bolts could be discharged. Beyond it, the gate of heavy wood plated with iron lay between the overseeing flanking-towers. Farther still the outward path was confronted by the outworks of the barbican tower.
Ren made a mental note that nobody could enter or leave without Sonel Taw’s permission and the cooperation of the guards. By a mental inversion he decided that the walls and gates, being impregnable to all save modern technological assault, not only formed a rare defense position but would also make a very secure prison. He had no immediate use for this information, but he stored it in his mind for future reference. There were some advantages in being all outworlder—it gave him a unique perspective on installations traditionally designed for specific local purposes. Ren felt that his tenure in Anharitte, as elsewhere, was bound to generate some new values and he was determined to be the first not only to recognize but also to apply these altered truths to the Company’s and his own advantage.
TEN
As he walked back past the wayward, half-timbered houses of the quaint alleys and streets, Ren’s speculations were soon eclipsed by a more immediate concern. His recent conversation with Alek Hardun had shaken him severely. Hardun had been introduced as a professional trouble shooter, Ren now felt that Hardun’s real function was that of a professional troublemaker. The equipment in the space-going laboratory that was the battle cruiser was directed primarily to one end—the sophisticated extermination of people.
For all his merchant-acumen and ambition, Ren still had reservations about the deliberate taking of life. His worldliness had inured him to the fact that some extremes of provocation could only be resolved by bloodshed, In self-defense or fair fighting, losers were apt to have to pay the irrevocable penalty. This was a fact of life and Ren accepted it, but Hardun’s projected subtle poisoning of dozens—if not hundreds—of people who would be mainly unaware that they were the subjects of an attack stuck in Ren’s throat. This he regarded as an atrocity, a treatment suitable for the extermination of lice and vermin but not to be confused with the humane waging of a battle.
Alek Hardun had chided Ren for expressing these sentiments.
‘You’re confusing the issues, Tito,’ he had said. ‘You were born several centuries too late. We know the ancients used to impose rules on warfare, presumably to prolong the enjoyment of the game. But the brutal fact is that we’re not here to fight—we’re here to win. I’ve offered you a dozen virtually foolproof ways of winning and you’ve rejected them all because of some romantic notion that the enemy deserves a chance.
‘Do you think the bowmen stood a chance when the cannon was invented? Do you think the artillery stood a chance against the introduction of nuclear weapons? Within the whole spectrum of devices for furthering man’s inhumanity to man, you have the temerity to stop at some arbitrary point and say: “Death devices on the left are sporting and humane while those on the right aren’t.” Such a stand is neither logical nor intelligent. And if you can’t bring yourself to do the job you’ve started to do, I’m damned if I won’t finish it for you.’
There had been more, a lot more. Ren had become increasingly angry and Hardun had become more professionally cruel and taunting. He had effectively dismantled Ren’s plans to conduct a campaign against the Imaiz and had produced alternative suggestions which Ren could only regard with horror. The effect of that conversation had lingered a long time in Ren’s mind and he was determined to compare the strength of his convictions with those of the director. Vestevaal, unfortunately, had been away for several days, making a tour of Company trading installations, and Ren had’ been left with the question festering in his mind.
When Ren reached his office chambers the director still had not
Ren made a mental note that nobody could enter or leave without Sonel Taw’s permission and the cooperation of the guards. By a mental inversion he decided that the walls and gates, being impregnable to all save modern technological assault, not only formed a rare defense position but would also make a very secure prison. He had no immediate use for this information, but he stored it in his mind for future reference. There were some advantages in being all outworlder—it gave him a unique perspective on installations traditionally designed for specific local purposes. Ren felt that his tenure in Anharitte, as elsewhere, was bound to generate some new values and he was determined to be the first not only to recognize but also to apply these altered truths to the Company’s and his own advantage.
TEN
As he walked back past the wayward, half-timbered houses of the quaint alleys and streets, Ren’s speculations were soon eclipsed by a more immediate concern. His recent conversation with Alek Hardun had shaken him severely. Hardun had been introduced as a professional trouble shooter, Ren now felt that Hardun’s real function was that of a professional troublemaker. The equipment in the space-going laboratory that was the battle cruiser was directed primarily to one end—the sophisticated extermination of people.
For all his merchant-acumen and ambition, Ren still had reservations about the deliberate taking of life. His worldliness had inured him to the fact that some extremes of provocation could only be resolved by bloodshed, In self-defense or fair fighting, losers were apt to have to pay the irrevocable penalty. This was a fact of life and Ren accepted it, but Hardun’s projected subtle poisoning of dozens—if not hundreds—of people who would be mainly unaware that they were the subjects of an attack stuck in Ren’s throat. This he regarded as an atrocity, a treatment suitable for the extermination of lice and vermin but not to be confused with the humane waging of a battle.
Alek Hardun had chided Ren for expressing these sentiments.
‘You’re confusing the issues, Tito,’ he had said. ‘You were born several centuries too late. We know the ancients used to impose rules on warfare, presumably to prolong the enjoyment of the game. But the brutal fact is that we’re not here to fight—we’re here to win. I’ve offered you a dozen virtually foolproof ways of winning and you’ve rejected them all because of some romantic notion that the enemy deserves a chance.
‘Do you think the bowmen stood a chance when the cannon was invented? Do you think the artillery stood a chance against the introduction of nuclear weapons? Within the whole spectrum of devices for furthering man’s inhumanity to man, you have the temerity to stop at some arbitrary point and say: “Death devices on the left are sporting and humane while those on the right aren’t.” Such a stand is neither logical nor intelligent. And if you can’t bring yourself to do the job you’ve started to do, I’m damned if I won’t finish it for you.’
There had been more, a lot more. Ren had become increasingly angry and Hardun had become more professionally cruel and taunting. He had effectively dismantled Ren’s plans to conduct a campaign against the Imaiz and had produced alternative suggestions which Ren could only regard with horror. The effect of that conversation had lingered a long time in Ren’s mind and he was determined to compare the strength of his convictions with those of the director. Vestevaal, unfortunately, had been away for several days, making a tour of Company trading installations, and Ren had’ been left with the question festering in his mind.
When Ren reached his office chambers the director still had not
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