Part 2

The lieutenant said: "John Wanniston, did you murder Peter Wilks?"

* * * * *

Wanniston started. _Wilks!_

The magnitude of the plot amazed him. It was as nasty a frame as he could imagine. He knew that it would be as air-tight as the machinations of sixteen men could make it--and he wondered whether the operations of seventeen men might not be more like the truth. Wilks was ruined; had little to live for and knew it. He--and the rest--a sacrifice was not too unquestionable. Their crime--justified by themselves in the thought that better it be one of them than all of them.

Under suspicion himself, any moves he made would be viewed with distrust by the human race, who had cause to know him as the most hated man on earth. Any jury, hearing of his legal trickery, knowing and hearing the account of his masterful moves in business, which gained him fortune upon fortune as other men fell under his steam-roller tactics.

Any jury.

It was their crime. Yes.

But if, as, and when the truth came out truth? That was another angle and Wanniston cursed himself for not thinking with all of his 375 I.Q. The sixteen did not do it. Wilks must have framed murder out of suicide.

Without letting any of the others know!

For the lie detector would be used on each witness.

Even Gerd.

For he had been apprehended in Gerd Lel Rayne's home.

And Gerd would be asked the standard questions. Foolish, they were; utterly and stupidly foolish. They asked your name; they asked the identity of the suspected one; and--

_They asked if the suspected one might be able to outwit a lie detector._

And Gerd Lel Rayne's answer would be a ringing, clear, and damning "Yes!"

This, which takes time to record; to read, passed through Wanniston's mind in no flash of staccato continuity, but as a pattern-plan. It was like thinking of a scotch plaid, or a linoleum pattern to the ordinary mortal; it came instantaneously to the energized intellect of John Wanniston, and he knew the whole futile thing from upper left to lower right before Lieutenant Alfred's voice had ceased to echo through Gerd Lel Rayne's workshop.

He was framed.

He was IT.

And as nicely a nasty bit of connivery as ever hit the sight.

HE was IT.

Wanniston moved with rattlesnake swiftness. He hit the light cord, pulled and twisted. A splurt of sparks came with blackness and Wanniston faded back and down to run, stooped, across the workshop floor avoiding the clutter of machinery and furniture by the faculty of eidetic memory.

By sensitivity of mind, he knew where Gerd Lel Rayne kept his spacecraft, and he went there immediately. A _whoosh!_ of passing air and Wanniston was in the stratosphere, free and away. He dropped back again a few minutes later to his office where he bundled his mind machine into the spacecraft before he left Terra forever.

Terra.

A planetful of fools. They did not respect his superior intellect. They did not even admit it. They hated him for being able to get that which they could not get, and they resented the fact that he was capable of doing it to their misfortune. They gambled with him--and when they lost, they welshed, like stinking cry-babies.

But Wanniston was smart. He knew where he'd be appreciated. In the galaxy were men of intellect that would welcome him. Give him another month at the machine.

Gerd Lel Rayne. Now he knew the truth about Gerd. Emissary! Magnificent creature; supergenius!

Bah! One whose intellect was moronic compared to the Galactic Ones. One who had been placed on Terra because only a moron could be understood by Terrans. The Galactic Ones could understand Terrans after much painful, wearisome prodding and waiting while the Terrans, idiotlike, stumbled through their clumsy sentence structure. But no Terran could understand the pattern-plan of quadruple-ideas that passed from Galactic One to Galactic One--or even the most careful effort of the Galactic One to be patient and redundantly explicit when and if speaking to a Terran. That is why the inbetween--Gerd Lel Rayne.

Well, Wanniston was far superior to Gerd Lel Rayne, and another month would see him equal to any of the Galactic Ones.

* * * * *

Far, long light-years across the galaxy, Wanniston loafed along, taking accelerated treatments and seeking, idly, one of the main planets of the Galactic Ones. He found one, finally, and slid into the spaceport with all the boldness of a sector governor.

He decided to brazen it out--obviously the ship would be registered and his lack of license papers might be questioned. So he opened the space lock and stepped to the ground to face one of the attendants.

The attendant nodded and waved hands to an approaching crew. They nodded at Wanniston, too, and then swarmed through the ship, servicing it. Before Wanniston was at the registry office, the ship was lifted and slid over to the row upon row of parked spacecraft. Wanniston noted its position and then entered the register.

"Name?" asked the official.

"Wan Nes Stan," said he, putting the Galactic pronunciation to his own name.

"You have the ship formerly registered with Emissary Gerd Lel Rayne. Has he another?"

Wan Nes Stan was stopped momentarily, but his plan to brazen it out laid another pathway. "Not that I know of," he said.

"I'll see that another is delivered to him. You'll not be returning that way?"

"If I do," said Wan Nes Stan boldly, "I shall go in the way I got there before."

"Naturally."

Wan Nes Stan almost gulped visibly. He wondered for a moment whether the Galactic was having sport at his expense, or being sarcastic, or whether he was completely taken in by the boldness.

Wan Nes Stan entered his first Galactic city. To any Terran, it would have been nonunderstandable in scope, but to Wan Nes Stan it was beautiful as it should be, and yet not perfect. Color combinations were there beyond the concept of any Terran, all blended in a mad, ever-moving kaleidoscope of sheer symphony. Faint, stirring music emanated from everywhere--there seemed to be no focal point--and the blend of music with color matched exactly. Either would have been unfinished without the other, and both would have been incomplete without the senses of smell, taste, and feel that were excited ever so delicately.

There was no sign of the bustle and hustle of a mighty city. The indolent and the loafer all moved in a precision pattern that gave the impression of smooth machinery that wasted no motion in accomplishing its end.

Its end?

What could any such perfection need with an end? Was this not the end?

No, Wan Nes Stan knew that this was not the end. This was not perfection, any more than any Terran city was the ultimate in combined beauty and utility. This was not the least of the Galactic cities, nor was it the best. It--was average.

This was home.

He no longer looked down upon the crawling, struggling race of creatures that called themselves _homo sapiens_ any more than any Terran looked derisively at a dog. They knew the dog's place in the scheme of things and Wan Nes Stan and the rest of the Galactic Ones knew homo sap's place. There was no scorn in his mind now. The fact that he had once aspired to rule Terra did not appear to him to be a lowly ambition; Wan Nes Stan knew that it was a laudable ambition at one time in his rise--

"... _When he became of age he put away childish things._"

Wan Nes Stan checked into a hotel, using his assumed name. It was accepted without question, which pleased him greatly since he had need of procuring some Galactic currency so that he could pay bills. It gave him a place to stay until he could swing a deal, make a move, or steal a pocketfull of whatever the Galactic Ones used for money.

Assuming that the Galactic Ones were running their hotels in a manner similar to Terran establishments, Wan Nes Stan ordered newspapers, a library list, and dinner. Ordering these, he found, was to his liking. There was complete rapport. The steak he ordered by projecting it as a whole, giving the waiter a complete mental impression from sight to texture. It was superb, just as he had pictured.

Then he addressed himself to the papers.

There was no price listed on the paper. He looked. He'd hoped to establish the parity value of a newspaper for price-scaling.

He sought the financial section. There was none. There were sports, news items that interested him not one bit because not one of them pertained to the robbery of anything--the latter would have given him an initial idea of the value of things.

The newspaper was thin and uninteresting. A society column listed the comings and goings of people and their associations. He found among the new arrivals column a notation of his own arrival--sketchy and uninformative--in Gerd Lel Rayne's ship; and a statement to the effect that Wan Nes Stan might be able to give some information as to the struggle of Terra in their advancement to the Galactic state.

The latter was too close to home for Wan Nes Stan. It sounded a little as though he might be known; that his masquerade was understood.

It was.

* * * * *

A knock came at the door an hour later, and as Wan Nes Stan opened the door, the Galactic who stood there smiled and said: "Wan Nes Stan? Formerly Terran of Terra?"

"I ... must admit it."

"Think nothing of it," replied the Galactic affably. "I am Len Dor Vale, sector overseer."

"My masquerade is known?"

The Galactic laughed. "Known and appreciated. Look, my friend, when the substitute becomes as efficient as the real thing, we no longer look down upon it. You are no longer a Terran, you are as much a Galactic One as the rest of us."

"I am?"

"Aren't you?"

Wan Nes Stan swallowed. "I've considered myself so."

"We don't object."

"I thought you might consider me presumptive--"

"Not in the least!" boomed Len Dor Vale.

"That makes it easier," said Wan Nes Stan.

"Trying to conceal your real identity is both impossible and ridiculous," laughed Len Dor Vale. "Now, Wan Nes Stan, how will you spend your Galactic life?"

"First, how long have I to live?"

"Your super-intellect will, of course, cause subconscious repair of your body. I'd say another six or seven hundred years. You understand, of course, that not being born one of us has cut your life expectancy. That is too bad. But--" and the overseer dismissed the subject with a wave and a shrug.

"I've been a business executive most of my life."

"You may have trouble doing anything of that nature here," said Len Dor Vale with a sad shake of his head. "We are not a competitive race, we Galactic Ones. I might suggest that you try the main line here; overseeing the myriad of uninformed planets comprises the major portion of our lives."

"That seems not too productive."

"No? We have all we need. Anything you want is supplied, you will find. Our philosophy is settled and stable; we are luckily the highest order of intelligence in this galaxy--and that fact we know. In other galaxies near by, we have found no race to compare with us. There are rising races in all of them, but our prime job is to bring about the completeness of this, the First Galaxy before we struggle with the rest. Our job, Wan Nes Stan, is to co-relate and to advise. Our compensation is the fulfillment of our every desire. We--must carry the burden of all intelligence. We are repaid by those races just below us who are enlightened enough to know what we are doing and who appreciate it.

"Terra is not yet one of these, but another Galactic year and they will be. Our plan is endless, Wan Nes Stan, a project that only we, the Galactics can appreciate in its entirety. You understand the magnitude of any plan of steering a galaxy of races into the full realization of their destiny--and then spreading out through the universe to the countless other galaxies to do likewise.

"The end-product? Yes, you will, as one of us, be able to appreciate this, too. We are still rising, ourselves. We do not know what we may be in another million galactic years--but we do know it will be interesting, and our regret is that we cannot live to see it. Yet our children may, and for them we must plan."

Wan Nes Stan nodded. Certain things penetrated deep during the speech; they rang home with response greater than others; a natural thing. But the one thing that flared in his mind was the statement:

_We are not a competitive race._

Wan Nes Stan could and would go far in a culture like this.

"I want to know; how much training is necessary to join the ranks of your governmental service?"

"About a week will suffice. You will then be given an overseer's position. Perhaps you might enjoy being overseer in the sector that includes Sol."

Wan Nes Stan shook his head. "A prophet is not without honor save in his own country," he said.

He considered the idea of overseer's position and scorned it. He'd continue to use the mind machine.

_They were still rising._

He could and would rise too. He would rise above them, he could and would become the high governor of all the great widespread race of Galactics. With intelligence above them, he could and would direct them wisely and well, and though none would live to carry his name onward, the name of Wan Nes Stan would go ringing down the halls of time.

But Wan Nes Stan cared little for the halls of time, really. He wanted a present, not a future. That his name might appear as a beacon to uncounted numbers of yet unborn Galactics was attractive; his basic purpose was still to enjoy the power and the glory that would be his.

He wanted the sensuous thrill of having the power that would place him among those whose names still ring though eons have passed.

He began to plan craftily.

* * * * *

"Len Dor Vale, have I your backing?" he asked.

"In two days you have proved yourself most able," agreed Vale.

"I have your backing."

"Need you receive it in words?" puzzled Len Dor Vale. "Must you have acclaim thrust upon you?"

Wan Nes Stan smiled in self-depreciation. "I want you to help me," he said quietly.

Len Dor Vale nodded. "What have you in mind?"

"I want your help in securing me a grand overseer's position."

"We'll see. It might be done."

"Who must we convince?"

"Convince? Only the aptitude machine."

"A machine?" asked Wan Nes Stan.

"Certainly. You are rated on your ability alone, and the aptitude machine has been devised to best select those with the greatest aptitude."

"I see."

Wan Nes Stan said no more. He spent more time in his mind machine, and he took increased and accelerated doses, checking each time to the maximum. He knew his machine to the last decimal place, and in six-hour-periods, Wan Nes Stan energized his brain; increasing its capacity by mighty leaps and bounds.

He took his aptitude test, then, and the result caused mild wonder. His name was bandied back and forth across the galaxy, and he was requested to appear at the great Grand Council of the Galactics.

"Len Dor Vale, what is the real meaning behind this request?" asked Wan Nes Stan, as the message was handed to him.

"You do not know?" laughed the overseer.

"Frankly, no. I suspect--but again I presume."

"Not at all. No man presumes when his statements and beliefs are fact."

"I have surpassed the tests required for this sector?"

"You have surpassed all tests," smiled Len Dor Vale.

"All tests?"

"All tests. You are to be installed into the office of the Galactic Governor."

"Galactic Governor?" gloated Wan Nes Stan.

"Oh no. Aptitude is not all. Your aptitude is the highest in our race. Therefore you are to be installed in the office of the Galactic Governor as Governor-select."

"And?"

"When your experience-ability factor exceeds that of the Galactic Governor, you will automatically be installed in office. You understand, of course, that higher ability will offset lacking factors in experience, but you must have experience, Wan Nes Stan--a wealth of it. You will gain it by being in the governor's office, working with him, studying his methods, and--well, gaining experience."

"As simple as that," said Wan Nes Stan, brushing his hands.

Len Dor Vale nodded.

"How long will it take?" asked Wan Nes Stan.

"That depends upon you--and you alone. It depends entirely upon the rapidity and accuracy you exhibit in forming correct evaluations."

"I've heard that last remark before," smiled Wan Nes Stan. "A psychiatrist once mentioned that philosophy--personal philosophy is a man's evaluation of personal data."

"Precisely."

Wan Nes Stan nodded complacently. Len Dor Vale then started to help Wan Nes Stan to pack his bag for the long journey across the galaxy to Planet One.

When they raced into space, Len Dor Vale went along as Wan Nes Stan's personal advisor.

* * * * *

"This is routine, but a necessary part of your training," explained Len Dor Vale. "I may as well tell you, I once was selected for a minor post in this office and was subsequently replaced by a better-equipped man. Therefore I know my way around here, and was selected to act as your advisor. Each governor-select enjoys a personal advisor, you know."

Wan Nes Stan smiled quietly. The job was strictly that of a super file clerk. This would not last long and he knew it. With Len Dor Vale's help, he rose swiftly, learning the intricate details with ease. By the month, Wan Nes Stan went from department to department, learning the basic function of each, and when his education was complete, Len Dor Vale took him to meet the governor of the Galactic Council.

"He is ready," said Len Dor Vale.

"I'm glad to meet you," said the governor.

He offered a hand, and as Wan Nes Stan took it, the grip was firm and honest. They shook, and Wan Nes Stan went swiftly over his emotions, asking himself the purpose of this heartiness.

He knew that the Galactic Governor was genuinely glad to meet him. That was against Wan Nes Stan's grain. To greet a possible--no, _positive_ successor to such a position was not done with heartiness. It should be done with false heartiness, a completely counterfeit facade, behind which false front the machinery necessary to destroy was being brought to bear. Yet Wan Nes Stan knew that no such intent was in the governor's mind. Apparently the Galactic Governor was quite content to be replaced by a better man--and accepted the presence of the better man with good will and friendship.

Wan Nes Stan wondered whether the governor's henchmen might not lead him astray in his experience-gaining program so that he would get a false start, or even useless and detrimental data. His super-intelligence told him that this was not the case. Like all the rest of the Galactics, the governor was willing that a better man be found, and insisted that when, as, and if a better man is discovered, that he be placed properly, even though it meant stepping aside.

It was a philosophy that Wan Nes Stan never entertained. It was completely altruistic. It offered with no consideration of self, the most good for the greatest number. It was a fool's philosophy--but then, all the Galactics were fools.

The governor said: "You have shown a most magnificent level of intellectual aptitude. I congratulate you."

"You have no resentment?"

"Can a man resent that which he knows to be right and honest--unless he himself is unright and dishonest?"

"I suppose not," said Wan Nes Stan. He was safe. Continued use of his mind machine would keep him far and above all comers. "But the usual question comes: What are you going to do?"

"When that time arrives, I will become your aide--unless one better fitted for the position arrives first."

"Mind if I ask how I--"

"Replace me? I don't mind, at all. You replace me whenever you gain sufficient experience to balance your superior intelligence."

"How do I get experience?"

"By being governor," laughed the governor.

"Look," snorted Wan Nes Stan, "prerequisite for the position is experience in the position itself? That's a fool's statement."

"It is the rule of the Galactic Council."

"It remains a fool's rule."

"Is it not sensible," asked Len Dor Vale, "to demand experience before one is given the chance to rule a galaxy-wide civilization such as this?"

Wan Nes Stan could see no real objection to that and said so.

"Then is it a fool's rule?"

Wan Nes Stan thought. It was no fool's rule, really. But instead of making him operate as substitute during the governor's infrequent absences; handling the minor matters of state; and covering the lesser functions and passing rulings on the items of secondary importance, he should be placed in the governor's chair and advised intelligently. This advice should come from experienced men, and as the years rolled on, the advice should become less and less necessary until Wan Nes Stan was handling the entire proposition himself. They were doddling old fools, the entire cosmos of them.

He would change that ruling as soon as he could. There would be some changes made once he became governor--they must be shown the proper way to administrate. After all, it was an accepted fact that Wan Nes Stan had the highest intellect of them all. His judgment must be infallible; his decision would be correct. Their incompetent manner in this matter was an index of their own entire lack of integration. A period of teaching, perhaps, one that would give them better integration of thought, would be advisable.

The governor excused himself as the communicator buzzed, and Len Dor Vale took that moment to draw Wan Nes Stan out of the office. As they passed the door, the governor called after them:

"Good luck, Wan Nes Stan."

* * * * *

Len Dor Vale returned to the governor-select's quarters. "Wan Nes Stan," he said, "you realize that your machine has done its work."

The other nodded. "It has had practically no effect for a couple of weeks, now."

"Your mind is apt. In fact its increase in capacity surpasses even our greatest dreams. But like the untutored genius, you lack the manipulatory facility. Your mind--like the false fiction of the farmer that suddenly composes the brilliant symphony; the unlearned blacksmith that becomes world-acclaimed as a genius with the paintbrush; or the completely untutored grammar-failure that turns up with the galaxy's finest novel--is untrained. You do not want to be a flash in the pan, Wan Nes Stan.

"In order that you use that vast storehouse you have, you must fill it. It is like the galaxy's finest filing system--but it is empty. The drawer files haven't even collected dust, and the cross-index cries for its cards to be notated. Understand?"

"Of course. Intelligence is not sufficient. Experience can and will prepare a man for--"

"Be careful," smiled Len Dor Vale. "In gaining experience one gains also knowledge."

"My mind," said Wan Nes Stan sharply, "has the ability to contain ... a capacity for learning far above all. I know that the prime factor is the capacity. Without capacity, one cannot fill it with experience and knowledge. But get the knowledge--proper and well-balanced--and experience is really unnecessary."

"Providing that your knowledge is gained from one having the experience. Then you will get experience vicariously. The practise necessary to use that experience will come similarly. You are most fortunate, Wan Nes Stan. I want to know, can you keep yourself busy for a few days? I must make a short trip to a conference. I must not miss it. Can you--"

"I can, and will. I am going to see if I can make a machine that will transfer knowledge and experience from one mind to another. I shall convert my own gadget, here. I will not wait five centuries before I take my next step."

Len Dor Vale smiled in agreement. "I'd suggest that you take some time for amusement."

"Amusement? Spend my time in play when there are things to be done?"