Spartan Planet - A. Bertram Chandler [16]
Impatiently Brasidus turned to the index. Interstellar Federation. No. Not listed. Interstellar ships, interstellar drive, but no Federation. But that would have been too much to expect. Latterhaven had a history, but its people kept it to themselves. This Admiral Latterus had his ships and, no doubt, one planet had not been enough for him. He had his birth machines—and, even though Brasidus was no biologist, he was sure that it would be possible to accelerate production. The natural way—intercourse between two beings and, possibly, each one budding—was slow and wasteful. Suppose that all the seed were utilized. Then how long would it take to build up teeming populations on a dozen worlds?
Terra, for example.
And Arcadia?
No. Not Arcadia.
But were the Arcadians human? Could they be the result of a malfunction of the birth machine set up on their planet? If this was the case, how could they, with their obvious physical deficiencies, reproduce?
Brasidus looked up Arcadia in the index. It was not, of course, listed.
He put Alcamenes' book back on the shelf, went out to see the old librarian. "Have you," he asked, "anything on the Interstellar Federation? Or on a world called Arcadia?"
"I told you," buffed the ancient man, "that it was fiction you wanted. Science fiction, at that."
"Suppose I told you that there is an Interstellar Federation? Suppose I told you that there are, at present, Arcadians on Sparta?"
"I'd say, young man, that you were quite mad—if it wasn't for your uniform. And it's not that I'm afraid of that, or of the guns you wear into my library. It's because that I know—as who doesn't?—that a strange, unscheduled ship has made a landing at the spaceport. And you're a sergeant in the Police Battalion of the Army, so you know more about what's going on than we poor scholars." He cackled. "Go on, Sergeant. Tell me more. I am always willing to acquire new knowledge."
"What rumors have you heard?" asked Brasidus. After all, he was a Security officer now and might as well start acting like one.
"They say that this ship's a battleship—and, with the Air Navy hanging over the spaceport like a bad smell and the streets full of cavalry, it could well be. They say that the President of Latterhaven has demanded our instant surrender. They say, too, that the ship's not from Latterhaven at all, that it's manned by robots with twin turrets on their chests from which they shoot lethal rays."
"They must be functional . . ." mused Brasidus, "I suppose."
"What must be?" demanded the librarian.
"Those twin turrets. Good day to you."
He clanked out through the wide doorway, down the stone steps.
Chapter 9
BRASIDUS WALKED BACK to his barracks, thinking over what he had read and what the librarian had told him. It all tied in—almost. But how did it tie in with Diomedes' suspicions of the medical priesthood? Perhaps tonight he would be able to find something out.
In the mess hall he partook of an early evening meal—and still his active brain was working. The spices exported to Latterhaven were a luxury, so much so that they were used but rarely in Spartan cookery. And you can say that again, Brasidus told himself, chewing viciously on his almost flavorless steak. Obviously they were also a luxury on the other planet; otherwise why should the Latterhaveneers find it worthwhile to send two ships every year for the annual shipment? But what did the Latterhaveneers bring in return for the spices? Manufactured goods. But what manufactured goods?
Brasidus, as a spaceport guard, had watched the Latterhaven ships discharging often enough. He had seen the