Now, it was time to re-unify man, and the UFS Truman was one of the thousands of ships created solely to do so. They'd followed a lead, a very tenuous lead, from incredibly ancient documents that referred to a very cultish pacifist group from a place called India having came out this far. After much narrowing down of which stars they might have gone to, and a search among the 47 that might have had suitable planets to colonize, they'd found it.
The ship orbited about the planet, but even after 1,000 years there were no artificial satellites, no real signs of anything that could be thought of as "tech", not even any large cities of note. Choosing a town not quite at random, but for the beauty of the surrounding area, they landed. It was a slow and ponderous landing, but that was by intent, to make a large show and instill - hopefully - some awe in the natives.
Having landed, the various crew did the things that crew always did - some few needful tasks and a lot of busy work. While waiting with varying degrees of patience for their superiors to get on with things. And while imagining the upcoming leave they'd be sure to have once this planet was incorporated into the Federation. The officers knew the crew was impatient, but cared not. The manual said to wait till the natives gathered, and wait they intended to do.
Of course, they did not have any longer to wait than the amount of time it took the people of the town to run, bike and drive out to the ship. As why wouldn't they? True, they'd been out of touch with Earth for ten centuries, true they had their own culture, their own values, their own tasks and such to keep them occupied, but when did humans ever fail to turn out to gawk at the new, the unexpected and the fascinating? It was duly noted, by the ship's sociologist, that they wore an incredibly diverse variety of clothing.
After keeping them all waiting for a couple of hours, time enough for the crowd to get anxious, a massive door slid up and a ramp eased out. The Captain, the Ambassador-at-Large, the Master-at-Arms and several other officers, junior attaches and guards came out and formed up between the ship and the crowd. The guards took up postures that were unmistakably defensive. The Master-at-Arms gave a nod to the Captain. The Captain gave a nod to the Ambassador.
The Ambassador stepped forward.
At that, one of the men from town stepped up, with what looked to be guards of his own on either side. The crowd parted for him at once, and quieted down to better hear any exchange. Striding up to the Ambassador, he bowed low and said, "Welcome to Gandia! I'm Geoff! Long have we heard from the Elders who have preserved the ancient story of our arrival here, but never did we believe that any one else would ever make it out this far! Fact is, some of us - including me! - weren't even sure there was any place we came from! Will you come to town with us? We've good food and drink, and we'd love to hear anything you have to share with us!"
The Ambassador listened carefully, as well he had to, due to the accent being so off. The words were Federation Standard, itself derived from Ancient English, but they were spoken in a sing-song way that made it sound vaguely musical. But he could understand it, and he was more busy noting that while the man clearly was in charge, there was an informality about him that was at odds with how the notables on these backwater worlds usually acted. Perhaps they'd lost any talent at diplomacy, but it'd hardly matter either way.
"On behalf of the UFS Truman, it's Captain and Crew, and the United Federation, we have come to re-unite you with the Greater Family of Mankind! I gladly accept your invitation, and we may go at once!" said the Ambassador. And at that, he and those in his charge started striding towards the village, forcing the man who had addressed him - and the two guards - to walk rather rapidly to catch up and guide them.
**********
Private Harrison was excited that he was assigned to guard the Ambassador. This was the fourth planet that he'd participated in incorporating, and everything always went well. Mostly. This first part was - most of the time - a formality, and the fun would be when after the Document of Reunion was signed and he and his buddies could hit town for leave. He hoped it wouldn't take too long for this native who was now strutting in front leading the way to get in touch with the planet's top leader.
Arriving in town, the Ambassador called out to the man, "Sir!" It had the tone of command, and the man stopped at once and turned around. "Thank you for guiding us here,", the Ambassador continued, "but as I'm not seeing any large administrative buildings, where is it you're desiring to take us?" The man said, "My home, if it pleases you! We don't have any place called 'administrative', just buildings for people to live or buy and sell in, or to store things, or to meet for eating or other kinds of trade and services."
The Ambassador inwardly sighed, aware that languages can have more changes than singsong phrasings. Whole words could be lost, invented and have meanings shift. He said, "You may not call it an administrative building, but it would be where the leader is. The leader of your town. He can then get us in contact with your planet's leader."
"Leader?," asked Geoff, looking quite puzzled. "I'm afraid that's another word I don't know. I can tell most of what you're saying easy enough, even though you speak it oddly, but I don't know some of what you're speaking of."
The Ambassador kept his composure. "A leader is whoever is in charge. Mayor. Governor. President. Boss. It's who gives the orders. Who tells people what to do." "Oh!", exclaimed Geoff, "Then I'm sorry, none of us tells others what to do." Here he was interrupted by several of the town folk coughing. He ignored that and continued, "Oh, sometimes if there's some large project to be done, like larger than a barn raising or house building, some of the folk who sell their labor might agree to listen to the guy hiring, but that's it. From the stories, we left Earth over some telling people what to do when they hadn't got that person's agreement first. So the stories were true? You guys still do that?"
Instead of answering the Ambassador asked, "Why did you step forward instead of another? And why are those two on either side of you acting like you're in charge? Are you not a person who tells others what to do?"
Geoff laughed. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know that how I am was what you meant, won't folks get a kick out of that!" No coughs interrupted him this time. "No, I just wanted to be the first, and the others not minding, or being afraid of the size of that ship, weren't up to see if they could get up to you first! Had they, we'd each have had our say, but as it is, they mostly figure they'll hear all about it soon enough! I mean, after we've fed you, as you are guests, and heard your tales! Oh, and these are my sons! They hang about me as they'll be inheriting my business one day!"
"And what, pray tell, is your business, sir?," the Ambassador asked. "I have a factory that makes tools. And I guess that given how many in town sell their labor to me, that might be another reason they let me speak to you first. But we're still free and equal here, and heck, I also make the metal cards!"
"What metal cards?," the Ambassador asked, before realizing that it was not relevant to getting to who was really in charge. "This one," said Geoff, and got one out of his pocket and passed it to the Ambassador. It was metal. It was the size of a business card. It was blank on one side. The other side said, "F.-I.W.". "I'm afraid this is another language difficulty," the Ambassador said. "What does fiw mean?"
"Fihuu? Oh, ef eye double yu,", Geoff said to the Ambassador. "It's just letters! It stands for 'Freedom - I won't!', it's our weapon!" At this, most of the crowd besides Geoff's sons and a few others, started to disperse, almost looking guilty.
"Weapon?", the Ambassador said and gave the finger motion that brought the guards to high alert and the Master-at-Arms to his side. He took the metal card, looked it over, and passed it back. He shook his head in the negative and stepped back. Geoff said, "Oh, I don't mean like a weapon to hurt you, it's our weapon that keeps people from hurting us! Look, if you don't care for my house, let's get you all over to Seth's Café! Then all of you can sit down, get a bite to eat, and we can swap stories and questions! Sound good?"
It did sound good to Private Harrison. It'd be good to at least be able to see and smell what the food was like, he could entertain his buddies with that while they waited for the leave. It must have sounded good to the Ambassador, too, or perhaps he was tired of standing in the street, so they all went there.
Seth met them at the door, looking angry. "Geoff, I know you like to think you're the 'big wheel', 'ripe cheese' or any other nickname from the Elder's tales, but you know what The Book said! We weren't supposed to meet that ship, and here you not only did that with too many of the others, but are actually helping these Antigands get comfortable!"
Geoff grinned and said, "Now, now, Seth, don't be that way! F.-I.W. means we could all go satisfy our curiosity, and being free hardly means being rude! Why not let them all have a bite to eat?"
"Really?" Seth said. "Well, my F.-I.W. means I don't have to - and besides, who'd be paying all the Obs that they'd be racking up? Not like they're going to stay, you know?"
Private Harrison, perhaps driven by hunger for the good food he could smell, broke protocol by piping up, "Oh, we're not going anywhere! We're here to welcome you all back into the fold!"
The Ambassador glared at him, and the Master-at-Arms, who was Sergeant Gleed, grunted "Silence!" The Ambassador then said to Seth, "Look, sir, we actually are here to stay, and I assure you that the Federation pays it's debts. I don't know what our Credit to your 'Ob' exchange rate will be, but I'm sure we can work something out!"
Before Seth could reply, Geoff chimed in, "Seth, I'll write you out a large enough Ob to cover it now, and if I choose not to collect from them, that's my own business. Not that you don't still have plenty of Obs owed to those who bring you food who in turn owe plenty of Obs to me for the tools they harvested the food with!"
Seth muttered to himself, but he was well aware that Geoff had a safe full of so many written Obs - as how else could they be kept track of in a town of 15,000? - that he couldn't say 'no" safely, not without all his suppliers drying up. He stalked to the back, and in a last bit of defiance said, "They'll eat what I serve and like it!"
After a great meal of fried chicken and a strange vegetable that seemed to have been a close imitation of potato salad, the Ambassador asked Geoff, "Now sir, you seem to be quite the 'teller' in this town, at least enough that the very freedom loving curmudgeon behind the counter did your bidding! Are there any tellers higher than you here, or can we safely speak to you?"
"You're as safe as you like regardless," said Geoff, "but I understand - at least as far as I can acknowledge in an orthodox town like this. You see, from the ancient stories, we did start off without anyone telling anyone, but like I said, for large jobs that gets hard. Sure, jobs like a house might get by with just the Patriarch of some family being the teller, but for things like irrigation systems and dams and sewers and such it takes so many that there is no common ancestor alive that could decide! So tellers come in handy, and - kind of unofficially mind you - those who had the most Obs, or Obligations owed them, inevitably got to do more of the telling more often."
"I see," said the Ambassador, who actually did see, being a well educated man of a galaxy spanning civilization. "You started out with something like a family communalism, but then adjusted to meet practical reality? So these 'obligations' got wrote out, and those who had the most people in debt to them got preferred treatment when it came to choosing who could tell?"
"It wasn't as bad as all that, though to hear folks like Seth talk it's pure evil.", replied Geoff. "Way a lot of us figure it, those who had the most in debt to them must have been a bit better at getting things done, or how would so many more be obligated to them? So it was natural that proven tellers keep telling. Now, we still take equality seriously, and we still go by The Book, but sure, there could be some say that abuses can happen now and then! But we're proud of being Gands, and we know our system is better than what we left, and we don't claim perfection!"
The Ambassador nodded. "You strike me as a sensible man. Now what's this book you're speaking of?" Geoff said, "There's plenty of versions, and it's really more a long pamphlet or short children's story. It tells a tale of how you'd all eventually show up and try to enslave us, but how if we used our F.-I.W. weapon that so many of you would defect to us that you'd have to leave the planet in terror, never to return!"
That got the attention of all the Federation men. The Ambassador looked at Sgt. Gleed, who nodded and tapped at his comp. The Ambassador did not wait for him to finish, but said to Geoff, "We'll be wanting to see that pamphlet. And so it's clear, we won't be leaving. I, and the rest of my diplomatic staff will be staying, and we'll be the ones who oversee the taxes and laws and the trade contracts with this world and the rest. In time, when this planet is more educated to the way of things in our Federation, your own 'Gands' can vote on who will represent you, and at that time, we'll be here simply for oversight."
Geoff pondered that. Sgt. Gleed looked up from his comp and nodded to the Admiral. Geoff waived over Seth. As Seth sat down, the Admiral looked at him briefly then addressed Geoff again. "Your remarks about weapons and a book about us leaving in terror may be harmless, but in keeping with protocol, we've put the ship on alert. Were we to fail to return, it would go hard on this town. We are here, it need not be unpleasant, things will only get better for all here if you cooperate. Can you tell me now who the 'teller' for this world is?"
Seth exploded, "Geoff, you see? You see? Bad enough having to deal with you arrogant tellers, but now that The Book turned out true, don't you see how we must get back to the pure ways? We must use the weapon, we must strive to be like the story! You must see that!"
Geoff put his hand on Seth's arm. "Relax", he said. "I know you think that printed Obs and people gawking at ships and me or others getting to 'tell' more folks than you is somehow us renouncing our founder's ideals. But nothing is further from the truth!"
Turning to the Admiral, Geoff continued, "We may have our differences here on Gand, between orthodox and modernist viewpoints, but we all are Gands, and you have no chance to take us over. There'll be no diplomats left here. None of us will accept you as tellers. As to 'tax' and 'law', I don't know what those are, but we won't be having anything you wish us to have here. You've enjoyed a good meal, and we're happy to swap yarns, but you'll either be leaving, or sitting in your ship till you die of boredom or old age!"
"Yeah!", exclaimed an attractive woman. "Now, Elissa, you hush - ", started Seth, but Elissa raised her voice to say to the Ambassador, "Here! Take this! Go back to your ship and read this, then worry about what you think you will or will not do here!"
And she flung The Book in his face, though fortunately it was but a pamphlet. Everyone at the table leaped up, but the Ambassador put a hand on Sgt. Gleed's arm saying, "No. Let us do as she says. We can afford to wait a night. If nothing else, this story may aid us in knowing what they're all about." And turning to Geoff and Seth he said, "I thank you for your hospitality and counsel, such as it was, and if it is okay, I should like to meet with you here tomorrow morning, say 1/8th of your day after sunrise?"
Seth looked like he had some hard words to say about that, but Geoff silenced him with a glance and said to the Ambassador, "Yes, please do retire and read that pamphlet, I'm sure it's as accurate in the broad strokes as any other version. And what we'd call third hour will be fine. But for diplomacy's sake, and given the tenor of our discussion, if it will be a meal you're wishing, or even for just the use of this café for a talk, bringing some useful trade items from your ship would be appropriate."
The Admiral looked briefly surprised, but then his face cleared and he looked quite satisfied. "But of course. Till then." And with that they went back to the ship.
**********
The Captain, the Ambassador and Sgt. Gleed were sitting in the Situation Room on the ship. Private Harrison was posted at the door. A discussion was taking place over the recently read pamphlet.
"It's a science fiction short story", said the Ambassador. "It's not a perfect match, but the comp says it derives from an author named Eric Frank Russell. Admittedly ancient, but that's what makes it science fiction. It comes from the same time period as this Gandhi that they've apparently tried to base their culture on. As crackpot cultures go, it's no different than planets like Hubbardia or Aynland. Just folks who's ancestors were all into some off-brand philosophy or the other, which is pretty much anyone who ever left."
"Good point", said the Captain. "It's been speculated that a lot of the uniformity and order of the Federation came about only when all the trouble makers, rabble rousers, cranks and oddballs left. So in this case, we stay at Level 1? Just normal pacification measures?"
"No", said Sgt. Gleed. As Master-at-Arms his duties were not only for the ship's discipline, but for any military forays that might be called for. "I had a summary of the computer search sent to me. This Gandhi preached what was called 'passive resistance' or 'civil disobedience'. And they also seemed to have started out with some form of communism, and the summaries of Lenin and Stalin didn't make me feel any better. What we may have here is some kind of thing where we can't control them, because they will be deliberately seeking martyrdom. We've ways of getting around that, but for the just in case, I would like Level II declared. That allows for force to be used, but not so much as an all out war. Not even really for battles. But it definitely allows for apprehensions, interrogations and confinement."
"It also allows for killing in self-defense", said the Ambassador, "And I wish to make clear that I do not want that to take place. I assume that you agree, from what you said about they seeking martyrdom?"
"Yes", answered Sgt. Gleed. "We will be certain and make no martyrs that way."
Private Harrison shuddered a bit at the words "that way". This wasn't his first trip. Back on Vulcan an entire city had been turned into radioactive slag before the natives understood the "logic" of ceasing their resistance.
The Captain inquired of Sgt. Gleed, "Do you think they've any military force?" Sgt. Gleed seemed to ponder that and then said, "Our dragonfly drones have gave us intel on the routine of half a dozen towns. In the 12 hours of viewing at random, there were only 42% of the personal conflicts that would be expected among that number of people. In each case, a man showed up wearing a small tank on his back and holding a nozzle that was attached to it. The conflicts always ended, whether it was a bar fight, a domestic altercation or some instance of road rage. At no point did we see what that nozzle could do. But past that, we have yet to see any base or grouping of what would seem to be a formal soldiery. There are 1,250 different towns, all about the same size, though. So six may not be enough of a sample to have found any military force. Though from what that book says, they'd theoretically not have one."
The Captain nodded and said, "I guess we'd have to expect some constabulary, no matter what their book says about how peaceful they are. Humans being human, there'll always be some random conflicts. But the lack of a military is troubling. If I had to guess between they not having one, or they having hid it, I know which I'd guess. And what is in those tanks?"
The Admiral nodded as if in agreement and said, "We'll be on Level II then, but I'm still going to play this out as Level I as long as we can. From how that 'teller' angled for trade goods, it might still come off that way. I suspect he and his fellow tellers have more of a hammerlock on the populace than either he or the populace cares to acknowledge. And those types have the most to gain from trade - and the most to lose if they can't get along with us. A million Gands here might be up for some goofy sit down strike, what have they to lose but a day's labor? But these tellers? I doubt the one we met cares to lose his factory, when for a bit of cooperation he can make more and better in that factory with our tech. And the others can't be much different from him."
The Captain looked pleased. "Sounds like this is probably going to go well. We'll adjourn then! Till 0900 tomorrow, gentlemen."
**********
Private Harrison called Sgt. Gleed before 0900. A clean shaved alert face appeared in the view screen. "What is it?"
"Well, sir", said Harrison, "I thought you'd want to know before you all disembarked that there's a mob outside the ship!"
Sgt. Gleed hit a button that set in motion a pre-planned, pre-programmed course of action. Weapon systems of the ships were brought to full alert, men sent to their posts, the off-duty recalled from out of their bunkrooms and breakrooms. 25 micro-missiles shot out so fast that from the outside, it could only look like a random puff of smoke. But such would go and hover over the 25 largest towns and at need, any or all could explode with a matter/anti-matter reaction that would take out 144 square kilometers. Level II didn't allow setting such off, but it didn't forbid having them in place. Or so he rehearsed saying in his mind should he be called out for launching them later.
He didn't answer Private Harrison, but went at once to the main door. Private Harrison saw him arrive and said only, "Look for yourself, sir."
Sgt. Gleed looked at the monitor. Easily a few thousand Gands from the town were there, far more than the few dozen yesterday. They had signs saying, "Antigand go home!" and "MYOB!" and "F.-I.W.". Without waiting to be asked, Private Harrison turned up the volume. Now a cacophony of words could be heard, saying pretty much what was on the signs, but also curses and general yelling.
The Captain and the Ambassador arrived, as it was the time to be leaving for their appointment with Geoff. The planned escort arrived, and given the mob, they were Waldoboys, humaniform robots perfectly controlled by soldiers that would remain safely in the ship. Each was dressed in full riot gear for psychological effect, and given that, it was doubtful the local populace would know they weren't humans in head to toe gear.
"Well?" the Ambassador asked Sgt. Gleed. Sgt. Gleed answered, "Sir, we can clear them away from the ship easy enough with the sonic cannon, or if you don't want any bleeding ears, we can use the photonic rays to induce nausea in them. We've even old fashioned tear gas if you want, but then we'd need masks to walk through it ourselves. I'd recommend the photonic rays - wait, look at this!"
He had the monitor's view transferred to a giant wall screen. A half dozen motorized vehicles with enormous balloon wheels were racing towards the mob. The volume still on, they could hear the blare of a voice over a loudspeaker mounted on the lead vehicle. "It is our freedom to meet with who we wish to meet with, go back and Mind Your Own Business at once! It is our freedom to meet with who we wish to meet with, go back and MYOB at once!" After four more repetitions of those two closely matching sentences, the vehicles stopped 20 meters out from the 2,000 plus people who now faced the vehicles instead of the ship.
All now chanting, "Freedom - I Won't!"
In each vehicle a man stood up, holding and pointing some kind of nozzle that appeared to be attached to some tank on the back of the vehicle. The tanks were larger than those that had been observed on the backs of the supposed constabulary that had been seen by the drones yesterday. The loudspeaker blared, "We are going to escort our guests to the appointment we've freely made with them. Any who try to curtail our freedom will regret it! Go back and MYOB!"
The crowd looked nervous and angry at this, and most dispersed at once. A quarter of the mob, obviously the hardcore rabble rousers, remained, yelling the louder and waving their fists. The ship's sociologist radioed to everyone that there were only 512 left in that mob. But that they seemed to have a great deal more anger than those who had left. Sgt. Gleed briefly wondered why they needed a Doctor in Sociology to state the obvious.
"Last chance!", blared the loudspeaker outside. "MYOB, or we will give you consequences!" The weaklings having already left, the 512 stood fast. Private Harrison spoke up, though. "Hey, I know they all dress funny, we must have seen a hundred different styles yesterday from stove pipe hats to bright green glowing dresses to polka dots on stripes..."
"Come, come, what's your point, Private?", Gleed rumbled. "Well, sir", Harrison said, "Don't all these ones still here look kind of plainer? They're all in brown or gray, and their clothes just look kind of poor."
"Kind of poor, what does that even mean, do you know anything about the economic state of this world?" said a junior diplomatic officer to the Private. "Wait", said the Ambassador, "He's right. I can't give an exact reason, but they do look poorer. Ill fitting clothes, more wear to them, just what strikes one as poor. And what's this now? What is that nozzle gun, why don't we have data on that?"
Sgt. Gleed only fumed, he had requested far more than half a dozen dragonfly drones, but his hands were tied by the budgetary concerns of those above him, those who had never had to directly pacify a populace themselves.
They all looked at the screen. The vehicles were advancing slowly, and out of each nozzle some strange blue liquid was shooting out, arcing up and landing ten meters from the screaming mob. Then seven meters. Then three meters. While defiant, those in front of the mob did seem to be trying to edge back, but those behind, braver for being marginally safer, were not yielding. Everyone on the Federation ship was glued to the screen, wondering what this unheard of blue weapon might be.
It hit those in front of the crowd, and almost as if they realized that they'd put up enough of a fight, that the principle had been stood up for enough, the rest of the mob started to rapidly retreat. But at that, the nozzles were aimed up higher, and shot out further, arcing first over the crowd, then being systematically eased back till the blue liquid had hit them all.
At once they started tearing off their clothes, angry screams turning to cries and sobs as they jumped up and down and all around, trying futilely to wipe off the blue liquid with the soaked blue clothes and even rolling in the soaked blue grass. Harrison guessed it first. "Paint!", he yelled, surprising all into turning to him. "It's like a spray paint, they're all painted blue! It's not a weapon, they're just blue!"
The blue colored half naked people, no longer a mob, were now streaking back to town. The vehicles all stopped, and another vehicle that had been behind now came near the door. Geoff got out.
The Ambassador asked Sgt. Gleed, "Could the Private be right? All that, and it was just paint?" Sgt. Gleed said honestly, "I don't know, sir, but those who then ran seemed to be healthy enough to do that. Maybe it was just to make them jump up and down or itch? But I'm going to remind you we're at Level II!" The Ambassador waved for the door to be open and said, "And I'm going to remind you that I don't want a single death! Now let's see what our teller has to tell!"
Geoff watched the door open, and as the delegation started to walk down the ramp, he and his two sons and Elissa hurried up. The Waldoboys instantly raised their batons from 'rest' to 'ready'. The Ambassador said, "Hold! Wait!" Both Gleed's men operating the Waldoboys and the four Gands coming briskly up the ramp thought this meant them. Which worked out well enough, the Ambassador thought.
"Ambassador! I'm sorry, for the inconvenience", started Geoff. "But may we have the meeting in your ship, for what should be obvious reasons?"
"An excellent idea. Captain?", asked the Ambassador. "Yes, come aboard!", said the Captain. And having got them into the dock, the ramp came up and the door closed.
***********
Four Waldoboys broke formation and one went to each Gand. Sgt. Gleed said, "Gentlemen - lady - if you would permit, we must check you, even if you dislike it, for weapons." Elissa and one of Geoff's sons looked like they wanted to start chanting F.-I.W., but Geoff only said to them, "I warned you that if we entered it would have to be on their terms."
The search found a metal card on each of them with F.-I.W. on it, three wallets and a pocketbook. In those were papers that were apparently Obs of various denominations. Including in Geoff's case a piece of paper simply stating, "As of Thoreau 15, 1017 After Flight, there are 14,500 Obs available to Geoff the Teller at Emma's Bank of Concord."
Perhaps most interesting were the colored cards each carried. Each pastel blue card had the name and physical description of the bearer, and in full color, a very well done drawing of the bearer's face. Gleed nodded at this, like he was confirming something he'd thought, and gravely passed them on to the Ambassador. The Ambassador looked at the ID cards - there was nothing else they could be - and then Gleed passed the credit letter over and said, "Looks like we were right about the tellers. They know who's who and what's what. Maybe Level I would have been fine after all."
"No", said the Ambassador, "Don't second guess yourself, you were correct to be cautious, and I'm not certain that we still won't need to be. I'm not even going to complain to you about those micro-missiles, though I assure you that none had better go off." He sighed. He personally had hoped to see if this 'weapon' of passive resistance could have done much, but he supposed that if this morning's demonstration meant anything, that there'd be opportunity to see it later in some town or the other. But it wasn't looking like it would be very effective.
"Come", he said to the Gands. "Let's get to a conference room and talk." In the background, the screen was showing that the vehicles were now ringed around the door, facing away from the ship, as if to guard it.
They sat around the long table. The Captain, the Ambassador, Sgt. Gleed, Geoff, his sons and Elissa. Private Harrison stood guard. A Federation woman came in and served tea and scones, though no one availed themselves of the scones. Geoff said, "Let me introduce everyone, please. These are my sons, Jefferson and Guatama. And Elissa is Guatama's wife. She's also Seth's daughter. While my sons and I are Modernist Gands, Elissa is from an Orthodox Gand family, as you probably gathered from Seth's reaction yesterday."
The Ambassador said, "And we've read your book. And researched some of your early roots, like this Gandhi who by some questionable accounts beat an Empire with passive resistance. And we've already seen enough of your system of tellers, printed Obs and ID cards to know that you've substantially strayed from those roots. I doubt that even your original founders could have tried to pull off what the story told of, but from where we sit, even the Orthodox among you have already adjusted to a hierarchical system of capitalist exchange."
Elissa looked like she wanted to cry. "We know it", she said, and when it looked like Geoff wanted to interrupt her, a brief head shake from the Ambassador changed his mind. Elissa continued, "The reason some of us weren't sure of what all happened in our early history, why some of us even wondered if there had been an Earth, was because when we tried having no tellers, no structure, and no printed Obs, everything went wrong!"
Guatama said, "She's right. Of the ten thousand that we believe arrived, less than 1,000 existed after a century. And only as hunters and gatherers and fishers. The first towns, they couldn't work right, even a town of 500 was too large for everyone to keep track of who owed who. And no project, however beneficial, could get done, as no one wanted to be told what to do by anyone else. Not if they could just fish or pick fruit."
Jefferson continued for his brother, "But game would get scarce and fruit would be over-picked. Farming was sporadic, and too many would define 'freedom' as gathering from the farms instead of the forests. Even if it wasn't their farm. Others that lasted longer only managed by having to employ non-food producing guards, who wanted more and more Obs for making sure others didn't take the food!"
Geoff picked up the tale. "It was our dark ages then. It was several centuries before we could start to build back up, so long because each time reform was suggested, it was shouted down as Antigand! But about seven hundred years ago, the Modernist movement started, and it saved us. Printed Obs meant no one could cheat others, and the drawn IDs meant that a town could grow past 150 people. I mean, if everyone knows everyone, great, but in a town of 15,000 or even just 500, who's to know who owes who? But the teller system was the hardest. Most figured at first it was just a trick to get folks to accept bosses, Presidents, Kings and supervisors, all titles we had been taught to hate. But when the first town to let a teller tell then got an irrigation system that quadrupled food production, the idea started catching on."
Elissa shook her head. Geoff shot her a warning look. Elissa said, "Forget it, Geoff, I get to speak! What he says is mostly true. Kind of. But it wasn't so noble as some shining example of an irrigation project and then the rest liking it and imitating it! Oh, no! It started out with strong Patriarchs of large families using Obs in a new way. They'd have a surplus from their own large family's efforts, and use that surplus to get many obligated to them. Then they called it all in at once, for one of those large projects. Folks would have to work all day each day to dig those. And if they refused, if they started saying, F.-I.W., well then the men of that family, well fed and not tired out by back breaking work, would be there to make sure they stayed at their tasks!"
The Ambassador interrupted. "So you do use physical force on each other? Or at least the tellers do?" "No!" exclaimed Geoff, "Yes!" exclaimed Elissa.
"We never use physical force, the initiation of force is always wrong!" started Geoff, but Elissa jumped in with, "No, you just arrange the system so that if someone doesn't do as they're told they starve!"
The Ambassador said, "If you'll pardon me, Geoff, while we will certainly hear what you have to say, I'd like Elissa to explain what she meant." Elissa looked smug and said, "There's a native plant here we call the scratchberry, which is inedible but makes a bright blue dye." "The paint!", Private Harrison exclaimed. "Yes", said Elissa. "Those who didn't discharge their Obs were sprayed with it. It takes about a month to wear off, no matter how hard they scrub, two months if they didn't wipe or rinse it off within a half hour. It tells everyone who sees them that way not to trade Obs with them. If you do trade with someone sprayed, you get sprayed, too."
"But what's to keep anyone from making this dye and spraying the tellers?", asked Sgt. Gleed. Elissa glanced at Geoff who just glared. "It wasn't unheard of, in the earliest times when we were getting out of the dark ages, for that to happen, but then a teller might find someone who owed a particularly large amount of Obs and offer to wipe those out - if he beat that person or even killed him!"
"Outrageous!", said Geoff, jumping to his feet. "That was very rare, centuries ago, and never happens now!" "Oh, it may well not", said Elissa calmly, "But it's kind of there as an unspoken threat all the same, isn't it? And it's not like there's no such thing as the Retaliators!"
"Elissa!" exclaimed Guatama. Jefferson said, "Retaliators are probably just a legend. It's said they appear if a town tries to take over another town, or if a man hurts others physically. I've never seen one." The others looked at him oddly at this, then hastily looked away.
The Admiral shook his head in wonder, he knew he was being lied to. The Retaliators must be the men with the spray tanks. Geoff looked worried. The silence stretched out. The Admiral said, "Surely these Retaliators are those with the tanks. We literally just saw them. I understand you may wish to hide the numbers and extent of your fighting forces, but you should assume we know more than you think. Care to confirm this?"
Elissa looked ashamed. "I'm Orthodox, but you can't blame me for trying to follow my husband's lead. Yes, the Retaliators are in each town. They keep the peace on such infrequent occasions as it is disturbed. People get drunk and people try and hurt others or steal no matter what their faith or philosophy! But only Tellers can dispatch Retaliators." That she had unconsciously capitalized "tellers" was not lost on any of the Terrans.
"What happens if another tries to tell, tries to paint others blue?" asked the Ambassador softly. Elissa answered as softly, "Such who try do not have as many obligated to them. So in a rough democracy, they inevitably end up dyed permanently. If a person is sprayed and not allowed to wash, and if it's done repeatedly, it sticks. As to those inappropriately sprayed, the Town Teller takes care of them till it fades."
Sgt. Gleed made a mental note that somewhere on this planet there had to be a colony of blue-skinned Gands, if things went south, they could be of aid later. But at this point, no Terran present was imagining this would go south.
The Admiral said, "Listen carefully, and tell me true - how do you collect taxes?" Geoff started to sputter, "I said I don't know what that word means - " but the Admiral cut in, "Each of the Gands pay the Tellers somehow, tell me that how."
Geoff looked defeated, Elissa looked puzzled. Elissa asked, "Please, he does know what taxes are, we all do, they're what Kings make slaves pay or they kill them. It's supposed to be one of the reasons we left. We don't have that here, though. I don't know why he's pretending not to know."
The Admiral cleared his throat. He suspected he knew why Geoff would pretend not to know. He said, "Well, Geoff? I'm afraid I must insist. Relax, I'm not here to judge, but I really must know."
Geoff looked like he wanted to sink into the deck of the ship. In a low voice he said, "You have to understand, order must be kept, those who make sure no one is scratching - taking on Obs but not discharging them - must be paid, those who Retaliate must be provided for, those who specialize in Telling must have access to resources to fund community projects, so, well, each resident of a town, like say those in this town of Concord, have a certain number of Obs placed on them at the beginning of each year, the first day of Spring, and we call it the Social Ob, and they have to discharge it by then participating in those community projects, like roads and such, with a small bit of that going to the maintenance of the Teller - "
But now Elissa was on her feet, and Jefferson and Guatama, too! "That's what a tax is? You mean we've been taxed all along?" Geoff's own sons were looking angry, too, but Jefferson got a look on his face and whispered to Gautama, and they both sat down at once. Guatama gestured for his wife to sit down, and she did with poor grace.
"When the other Gands hear of this", she started, but the Admiral cut her off. "Young lady, from what I can see, you've no complaint. You must surely get that your own husband is participating in this, even if inadvertently, and really, unless you know of how all that is accomplished on this world could have been done without such 'Social Obs', you should remain silent. Truth is, no projects larger than a doghouse ever gets done without someone telling. It's sad, but it's reality. After all, apparently before all this, you called it the dark ages."
The intercom spoke up, it was the ship's sociologist. He said, "Available data and current theory would suggest that there were really no orthodox Gands at all in the immediate aftermath of the dark ages, but that such are a more recent phenomena, where those who've already accepted this current system in the main can afford to at least pay lip service to the old ways - ways that they've all admitted did not work."
Guatama looked a bit fearful at the sound of the disembodied voice, but recovered and said to his wife, "He's right! It was only back in 930 AF that the orthodox movement got started, you know that, your dad was the one who told us both about that history! Some dissatisfied with the Tellers and the modernist system wanted to get back to the fundamentals, though none of them cared to wander off into some empty forest and try!"
Elissa said nothing, but a tear rolled down one cheek. It's never easy to have a utopic dream die, particularly if you've been raised to believe you're living in one. Private Harrison said quietly, "Please understand, Elissa, your science hasn't learned this yet, but ours has, that only those who want power seek it, like only those who want to be artists try and be artists. Many may fail, but always some succeed. No world in the Federation, or out of it, can avoid having a hierarchical system. It's our nature, and no wishing can change that."
Sgt. Gleed, the Captain and the Ambassador looked at Private Harrison in curiosity. Sgt. Gleed made a mental note to recommend Harrison for Officer Training School, the Captain wondered at the intellectual caliber of these new recruits, and the Ambassador ruefully pondered as to whether Private Harrison was really from the Diplomatic Internal Affairs Bureau.
Leaving that aside as irrelevant, the Ambassador said, "Geoff, may I assume you were only paying lip service to orthodox ideals when you said in the café last night that we'd never be able to stay here?" "Yes", said Geoff, looking glum. "I couldn't let everyone in Concord hear we were willing to cooperate for trade goods and tech, and I figured that if I let it seem like we'd resist that you'd do something to force it on us anyway, and then I could still benefit without looking like I gave in."
"You're as sensible as I thought", said the Ambassador. "And relax, all is not lost. You see...well, I don't know quite how to say this, but it appears you're already all up to Federation standards sociologically speaking. In some ways, with your clever sophistries, better. You use the words of freedom quite well, and so how I suggest we play it is that we're simply immigrants. I mean, I and my associates want to stay here, that's freedom, isn't it? And if we choose to provide for ourselves by exchanging tech and trade goods for land, a building, food and such, how can any - even orthodox Gands - object, right? And so what if we call it a consul, you've clearly got free speech."
Geoff looked up with real hope. "I think I see - you're not here to conquer, just to trade with us?" "Kind of - for starters.", said the Ambassador. "Of course, we'll have to have some Social Obs for the good of the Federation as a whole, but they will not be burdensome in light of the increased production we can guarantee to this world. I assume you're up for telling me who the main Teller is, the one who tells you Tellers of each town what to do?"
"That, well, you see, we Town Tellers meet every five years and cast votes by giving Obs - from each of our town's Social Ob pool - to whoever we feel will tell best. Usually the one who's already got the most Obs, as that's a sure indicator of past success and future success. He then uses those Obs to maintain the Planetary Retaliators, a body of men trained to respond if any town ever tries to use force against another town. They're rarely needed. Many go their whole lives without seeing them. As to our Teller's Teller, he's already on his way here. He...he..." but at that Geoff's voice trailed off.
The Ambassador didn't prompt him, only waited. "Well?", asked Elissa angrily, "Is he on his way to sell us out, too? I'm assuming you mean the Eldest Elder, there is no other place you go to every five years than the Elder's Gathering. To learn history, you said - another lie!"
Geoff said, "He's not coming to sell us out, he's coming to make the best terms we can. You didn't know what we were doing, can you conceive of what these Antigands can do?" Turning to the Ambassador he continued, "We've an extensive network of heliographs and carrier pigeons. I've been told to say that we can offer ten percent of the Social Obs of the planet, if you'll share tech and permit trade and let us retain our institutions and Tellerships."
The room burst into relieved laughter from all the Federation folk present, even Private Harrison. The Gands watched in wonder, save Elissa who looked even more angry. "Have you no shame?", she said, not to the Federation men, but to her husband, brother in law and father in law.
"Young lady", said the Ambassador, "I can assure you that you've no cause to be angry. In fact, you've a lot to be thankful for. And so you Gands all know, your 'Teller's Teller' or whatever he cares to call himself, has made a perfectly acceptable offer. When he arrives, we'll get it signed."
"Fat lot of good that will do you!", said Elissa. "When I'm done letting everyone know of this dirty deal, the whole planet will be orthodox!"
"Nonsense", said Private Harrison. All eyes swung to him, from the Federation members wondering at his rudeness, and from the Gands wondering if he was a man of many more Obs under his belt than they had thought. Gleed, seeing no objection from the Ambassador or Captain, said, "Speak your peace then - and make it good."
Private Harrison looked embarrassed. But he told Elissa, "First off, if you spark a resistance, it looks to me that folks just like your father-in-law will put it down with those paint cannons. But in addition...how to put this? It's like this, you've just learned that you were got over on already, and your whole world was got over on, for at least half of your history. But that they did it without physical violence, or at least not much of it. Do you want to change that? In Earth history, and even now, we will kill individuals, or whole towns, or even whole worlds. Or we'll capture a man and confine him to an empty room till he agrees to do as we would wish him to. And here you have a world in which your leadership - I mean, your 'Tellership' - has got you all to become civilized, got you all working together efficiently, and lets you keep an illusion of freedom so well that you were fooled for all these centuries! Why would you want to take that nice illusion from your fellow man? So they can resist and we round up some and take them away from their families forever? So a town can resist and we embargo it and let it starve? So a region can resist and we Q-bomb it into radioactive - "
"Ahem", the Ambassador cleared his throat and Private Harrison shut up. The Ambassador continued, "The young man is right, though. It can be peacefully, by the agreement of your own Tellers, who I assure you are as lenient and easy-going as any I've seen in the galaxy, or you can rile up the populace and we can start dishing out what we call 'instructive examples'. Examples that will make a thirty day 'no trading' sentence seem like a sweet dish of iced pineapple. And really, no one here is as bad as you make out. If even you thought so, you'd hardly threaten us with exposure now."
The voice from the intercom spoke up, it was the ship's sociologist again. "Young lady, your planet's founders were guilty of an error. No passive resistance ever worked unless those being resisted didn't mind. The Empire your Gandhi resisted didn't leave because he didn't eat, they left because aiding that area was too expensive. Passive resistance may work, here and there, now and then, but mostly it just gets the person confined till the best years of his life are gone, far away from his family, then the next person knows that if he loves his family, he needs to conform. Like the Admiral said earlier, it's sad, but it's reality."
Guatama spoke to his wife, "Look, dear, it lets us live in peace with as few of the off worlders as we can, and no one gets hurt. Must I be sprayed for resisting and we both then left to starve? Or worse, be confined or killed? Who provides for our kids then? And on the positive side, what of their tech? We still tell the stories of what it was before, what must it be now? We've much to lose for resisting, and much to gain for joining! Can you let this alone, please? For me? For us?" Elissa, near broken now, started to nod her head, but then looked at Private Harrison and asked, "Answer me this. If you could get away with it, would you be tempted to leave this ship and live here as one of us, you know, like The Book said you all would?"
Private Harrison looked embarrassed. The Ambassador said, "Answer her - and be honest. In fact, if you want to, I'll let you resign and go any where you want on this planet!" The Captain and Sgt. Gleed chuckled over that. Elissa looked hopeful. Private Harrison said, "Um, well, see, it's like this, we enlisted men might not get paid much, but even the poorest in the Federation live better than you folk do. I don't think you realize just how much tech you lack. I can have ten times the luxury you have for one tenth of the work, coming and living here would be a punishment to me!"
The intercom added, "The tech that lets life be worth living just isn't possible to some anarchic communal society, or even this quasi-feudal mercantile state. It takes a vast population, organized and guided for such to be. No utopic book has ever proved otherwise. You may have utter freedom alone in the woods grubbing for roots, or a comfortable, safe and pampered existence for just a few concessions. Is it a sell out? Perhaps. But anyone is free to go to the woods and grub for those roots, even on Terra, yet somehow they always choose to stay in the 'unfree' society and complain. Almost as if they want the benefits of a hierarchical society, but without having to do their share. Without, as you would say, discharging their Obs."
And now Elissa did droop her head down, defeated. The Book that she'd been brought up to revere had been a lie.
Guatama nodded to Geoff, who said, "My daughter-in-law will be fine. We all will be. Shall we adjourn until tomorrow at - third hour? Our Teller's Teller will be here then, though as I've explained, that will only be a formality."
The Ambassador nodded his head in agreement, and without further word, Sgt. Gleed and Private Harrison escorted them back to the door and ramp. The Captain congratulated the Ambassador and excused himself to his other duties. The Ambassador shuffled some papers, made a note on his comp, and got up.
**********
The next day, what was needful to sign was signed. Where and how the consulate would be built was figured out. The propaganda campaign of how the Antigands had been persuaded - the whole galaxy of them! - to the kindness and justness of the Gand system was hashed out. They'd build off the story, and make it out like the whole galaxy had gone Gand. And be it money or Obs, leaders or Tellers, Retaliators or Peacekeepers, who'd ever know the difference?
And then they were done.
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