Part 2

"They serve a vital purpose," Thrang explained. "All the books agree on this. Spies keep a country alert, on its toes, eternally vigilant. Through sabotage, they cut down on arms production, which otherwise would grow absurdly large, since it has priority over everything else. They supply Security with subjects for Interrogation, Confession, Brainwashing and Re-indoctrination. This in turn supplies data for the enemy propaganda machine, which in turn supplies material for our counter-propaganda machine."

* * * * *

Draxil looked awed. "I didn't know it was so complicated."

"That's the beauty of the Earth War," Thrang said. "Stupendous yet delicate complications, completely interrelated. Leave out one seemingly unimportant detail and the whole structure collapses."

"Those Terrans!" Draxil said, shaking his head in admiration.

"Now to work. Boys, I'm calling for volunteers. Who'll be a spy?"

No one responded.

"Really now!" said Thrang. "That's no attitude to take. Come on, some of you must be harboring treasonous thoughts. Don't be ashamed of it. Remember, it takes all kinds to make a war."

Little Herg, a zipper salesman from Xcoth, cleared his throat. "I have a cousin who's Minister of War for the Allies."

"An excellent motive for subversion!" Thrang cried.

"I rather thought it was," the zipper salesman said, pleased. "Yes, I believe I can handle the job."

"Splendid!" Thrang said.

By then, the train had arrived at the station. The doors were unsealed, allowing the commuters to leave for their jobs. Thrang watched the zipper salesman depart, then hurried into the crowd. In a moment, he found a tall man wearing a slouch hat and dark glasses. On his lapel was a silver badge which read _Secret Police_.

"See that man?" Thrang asked, pointing to the zipper salesman.

"You bet," the Secret Policeman said.

"He's a spy! A dirty spy! Quick, after him!"

"He's being watched," said the Secret Policeman laconically.

"I just wanted to make sure," Thrang said, and started to walk off.

He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turned. The Secret Policeman had been joined by two tall men in slouch hats and dark glasses. They wore badges that said _Storm Troopers_.

"You're under arrest," said the Secret Policeman.

"Why? What have I done?"

"Not a thing, as far as we know," said a Storm Trooper. "Not a single solitary thing. That's why we're arresting you."

"Arbitrary police powers," the Secret Policeman explained. "Suspension of search warrants and habeas corpus. Invasion of privacy. War, you know. Come along quietly, sir. You have a special and very important part to play in the war effort."

"What's that?"

"You have been arbitrarily selected as Martyr," said the Secret Policeman.

Head held high, Thrang marched proudly to his destiny.

* * * * *

The whole of Mala took to war with a will. Soon books began to appear on the stalls: _War and You_ for the masses, _The Erotic Release of War_ for the elite, _The Inherent Will to Destroy_ for philosophers, and _War and Civilization_ for scholars. Volumes of personal experiences sold well. Among them was an account of daring sabotage by a former zipper salesman, and the dramatic story of the Martyrdom of Thrang.

War eliminated a thousand old institutions and unburdened the people of the heavy hand of tradition. War demonstrated clearly that everything was as temporary as a match-flash except Art and Man, because cities, buildings, parks, vehicles, hills, museums, monuments were as whispers of dust after the bombers had gone.

Among the proletariat, the prevailing opinion was voiced by Zun, who was quoted as saying at a war plant party, "Well, there ain't nothin' in the stores I can buy. But I never made so much money in my life!"

In the universities, professors boned up on the subject in order to fit themselves for Chairs of War that were sure to be endowed. All they had to do was wait until the recent crop of war profiteers were taxed into becoming philanthropists, or driven to it by the sense of guilt that the books assured them they would feel.

Armies grew. Soldiers learned to paint, salute, curse, appreciate home cooking, play poker, and fit themselves in every way for the post-war civilian life. They broadened themselves with travel and got a welcome vacation from home and hearth.

War, the Malans agreed, was certainly one of the cleverest of Earth institutions and as educational as it was entertaining.

* * * * *

"Nope," Beliakoff was saying, "you wouldn't like Ran-hachi Prison, not one little bit. It's on Mercury, you know, in the twilight zone. You blister by day and you freeze by night. Only two men have escaped from Ran-hachi in the last hundred years, and one of them figured his curve wrong and flipped into Sol."

"What about the other one?" Kelly asked, perspiring lightly.

"His gyros fused. He was bound straight for the Coal Sack. Take him a couple of thousand years to get there, at his speed," Beliakoff finished dreamily. "No, Johnny, you wouldn't like Ran-hachi."

"Okay, okay," Kelly said. "The death penalty would be better."

"They give that only as a measure of extreme clemency," Beliakoff said with gloomy Slavic satisfaction.

"Enough! We'll straighten out Mala." There was more hope than conviction in Kelly's voice. "Thar she lies, off to starboard."

Mala was a tiny blue and brown sphere, suddenly growing larger in their screens.

Their radio blared on the emergency channel.

Kelly swore. "That's the Galactic patrol boat from Azolith. What's he doing here?"

"Blockade," said Beliakoff. "Standard practice to quarantine a planet at war. We can't touch down legally until the war's declared over."

"Nuts. We're going down." Kelly touched the controls and the freighter began to descend into the interdicted area.

"Attention, freighter!" the radio blasted. "This is the interdictory ship _Moth_. Heave to and identify yourself."

Beliakoff answered promptly in the Propendium language. "Let's see 'em unscramble _that_," he said to Kelly. They continued their descent.

After a while, a voice from the patrol boat said in Propendium, "Attention, freighter! You are entering an interdicted area. Heave to at once and prepare to be boarded."

"I can't understand your vile North Propendium accent," Beliakoff bellowed, in a broad South Propendium dialect. "If you people can't speak a man's language, don't clutter up the ether with your ridiculous chatter. I know you long-haul trampers and I'll be damned if I'll give you any air, water, food, or anything else. If you can't stock that stuff like any normal, decent--"

"This area is interdicted," the patrol boat broke in, speaking now with a broad South Propendium accent.

"Hell," Beliakoff grumbled. "They've got themselves a robot linguist."

"--under direct orders from the patrol boat _Moth_. Heave to at once, freighter, and prepare to be boarded and inspected."

* * * * *

Beliakoff glanced at the planet looming large beneath them. He gestured at the power control to Kelly and said, "Hello! Hello! Do you read me? Your message is not coming across. Do you read me?"

"Stop or we'll fire!"

Beliakoff nodded. Kelly kicked in all the jets and they plummeted toward the surface. With his pilot's sixth sense, Kelly changed course abruptly. A blast seared past them, sealing a starboard tube for good. Then they were in the atmosphere, traveling too fast, the hull glowing red with friction. The heavy cruiser, built only for spatial maneuvering, broke off its pursuit curve.

"All right, freighter. This means your license. You gotta leave sometime."

Beliakoff shut off the radio. Kelly fired the braking jets and began to spiral in for a landing.

As they circled, Beliakoff saw the shattered rubble and ruin where cities had been. He saw highways filled with military columns, and, at the distant edge of the horizon, a fleet of military planes winging their way to a fresh target.

"What a mess!" he said. Kelly nodded glumly.

They touched down and opened the hatches. Already a crowd of Malans had gathered. A few artists had set up their easels and were busy painting the freighter, not because it was lovely, but because it was Terran, which was better.

A Malan stepped forward, grinning. "Well," he asked, "what do you think of it?"

"Of what?"

"Our war, of course. You must have noticed!"

"Oh, yes, we noticed," Beliakoff said.

"A real intercontinental war complete with ideological differences," the man stated proudly. "Just like the civilized planets have. You must admit it's Earthlike."

"Exceedingly Earthlike," Kelly said. "Now take us to whoever's in charge--quick!"

* * * * *

The conference with Nob at the Imperial Palace began well. The Prime Minister was overjoyed that real Earthmen had come to witness their war. He knew very well that, by Earth standards, it was a pretty small war. A beginner's war, really. But they were trying. Some day, with more know-how, with better equipment, they would be able to produce a war that would match anyone's.

"We were hampered from the start," Nob apologized, "by not knowing how to produce atomic fission."

"That must have been confining," Kelly said, and Beliakoff winced.

"It was. Dynamite and nitroglycerin just don't have the same grandeur and finality. The scale of demolition seems insignificant. But if you will come with me, gentlemen, I have something here which may interest you."

Nob ushered the Earthmen ahead of him so he could copy their loose-jointed, rolling walk.

"Here!" he said, darting ahead and opening a door. "Behold!"

The Earthmen saw, upon an ivory pedestal, a small model of an atomic bomb.

"We worked until we mastered it at last," Nob said proudly. "With any luck, we'll be in production within the month and using them within the year. Now I think I can safely say that Mala has come of age!"

Beliakoff said, "No."

"No, what?"

"No atom bombs."

"But it's Earthlike to use atomic bombs. Why--"

"This war has to end at once," Kelly said.

"You're joking!" protested Nob, looking intently at the Earthmen. But he saw at once that they were deadly serious. He groaned and sat down.

Nob was faced with a moral dilemma of fearful proportions. On the one hand, war was a typical Terran institution, an extremely important one, an institution clearly worthy of emulation by the people of Mala. But on the other hand, this Terran institution was being refuted, denied, in fact, by two typical Terrans.

The problem was insoluble for him. And Nob remembered that, when an ultimate crisis is at hand, that is the moment for the supreme authority to step in.

"We must discuss this with the Empress," he said.

* * * * *

He led them to Jusa's chambers, knocked and opened the door. Half a dozen vases shattered around them.

"On your knees, pigs!" Jusa shrilled. "You, Nob, have you brought the diamonds?"

"I knew I forgot something."

"Forgot them! Then how dare you show your face?" Jusa stamped her small foot. "And these peasants--who are they? I've a good mind to lock them up, especially that grinning red-headed ape."

Kelly's grin became a trifle strained.

"These are _Earthmen_, Your Majesty," Nob said. "Genuine Earthmen!"

"Really?" breathed Jusa.

"Really," said Nob.

"Oh, golly," Jusa said, losing all her painfully acquired imperial pose and becoming a frightened, albeit lovely, young girl.

"Your Majesty--" Beliakoff began.

"Just call me Jusa. My gosh! Real Earthmen! I never met a real Earthman before. I wish you had let me know in advance. My hair--"

"Is beautiful, just like yourself," Kelly said.

"I'm so glad. I think _your_ hair is beautiful, too."

Kelly turned brick-red. "You're not supposed to say that, you know."

"I _didn't_ know," Jusa said. "But I'm willing to learn. What should I have--"

"Excuse me," Beliakoff broke in sourly. "Your Majesty, we've come to ask you to stop the war."

"You don't mean it!" Jusa turned bewilderedly to Kelly.

"Have to do it, honey," Kelly said softly. "You folks just aren't ready for a war yet."

Jusa's eyes flashed and she began to regain a little of her imperial pose. "But of course we are! Look at what we've done. Go over our battlefields, look at our cities, interrogate our refugees. You'll find that everything has been done in strict accordance with the rules. We're as ready for war as anyone!"

"I'm sorry, you'll have to stop it," Beliakoff said, and Kelly nodded his agreement.

Jusa gave Nob a beseeching look, but the Prime Minister averted his eyes. The dilemma was there again, enormous, insurmountable, and squarely on Jusa's shoulders. To stop the war now would be Unearthlike; to refuse the Earthmen was unthinkable.

"I just don't know," Jusa said. She looked at Kelly, who wore the guilty expression of a man caught murdering a fawn. Then she burst into tears and collapsed on a couch.

* * * * *

Nob and the Earthmen looked at each other, made several helpless gestures, and left.

"What now?" Beliakoff asked, in the corridor. "Do you think she'll stop the war?"

Nob shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows? It's a problem without a solution."

"But she has to make up her mind," Kelly said. "That's one of the duties of authority."

"The Empress is aware of that. And she _will_ make up her mind, though it could take a year or more. Unless she fails completely under the strain."

"Poor kid," Kelly said. "She needs a man to help her out."

"Indeed she does," Nob agreed hastily. "A strong man, a wise man, a man who could guide her and be as adviser and husband to her."

Kelly blinked, then laughed nervously. "Don't look at me! I mean she's a cute kid, nice girl, make some man a wonderful wife, but I'm not the marrying kind, you know what I mean?"

"Johnny," said Beliakoff, "I'd like to have a serious talk with you."

Nob led them to a vacant room and left discreetly.

"I won't do it!" Kelly declared bluntly.

"You have to," Beliakoff said. "You got us into this mess. Now you can marry us out."

"No!"

"She'd make a wonderful wife," Beliakoff quoted Kelly's words back at him. "Docile, pretty, but spirited. What more could you ask?"

"Freedom of choice," Kelly said grimly.

"That's for adolescents."

"Speaking."

"She'll never be able to make up her mind to stop the war unless you marry her. Until the war ends, that interdictory ship is going to sit in orbit, waiting for us. You haven't anything to lose," Beliakoff added.

"I haven't?"

"Not a thing. It's a big galaxy and our freighter is always waiting."

"That's true...." Kelly admitted.

Ten minutes later, Beliakoff dragged him into the corridor. They were joined by Nob, who ushered them back to the Empress's chambers.

"It's okay by me if it's okay by you, kid," Kelly blurted out, in a tone that made Beliakoff shudder and made Nob smile in outright hero-worship.

"What is all right?" Jusa asked.

"Marriage," Kelly said. "What d'ya say?"

Jusa studied his face for several seconds. "But do you love me?"

"Give it time, kid! Give it time!"

Jusa must have seen something in his expression, something behind the embarrassment and anger. Very softly she said, "I will be most happy to marry you."

* * * * *

It was a double-ring ceremony and authentically Terran. Beliakoff produced a Bible from the freighter and the ancient words of the Earth ceremony were read. When it was over, Kelly, grinning, perspiring, nervously rubbing his hands together, turned to his bride.

"Now stop the war, honey."

"Yes, dear," Jusa said dutifully. She heaved a great sigh.

"What's wrong?" Kelly asked.

"I just tremble to think of our cities being bombed out of existence and us not able to do anything about it because we've stopped fighting."

"What are you talking about? If we stop fighting--"

"_They_ won't!" she said. "Why should they? It's Earthlike to continue conquering, and if we quit fighting, there'll be nothing to stop them from conquering us completely."

"Nob!" Kelly shouted. "Igor! What can we do about this?"

Nob said, "There would appear to be only one certain solution. I can arrange a meeting for you--" he turned to Beliakoff--"with Lanvi, the President of the Allies."

"What would I say to him?" asked Beliakoff.

"To her," Nob corrected. "You can say, I suppose, the same sort of thing your friend said."

Beliakoff, ashy pale, started to back away. Kelly caught him in one meaty fist. "Okay, Mr. Fixer. Your duty is plain. Marry us out of trouble."

"But I've got a girl friend in Minsk--"

"She forgot you years ago. Stop squirming, buddy."

"What does she look like?" Beliakoff queried in apprehension.

"_Very_ pretty," Nob said.

* * * * *

During the double-ring ceremony, Beliakoff peered at his bride with cautious approval. Lanvi was indeed a pretty girl and she seemed to possess the Malan virtues of obedience, patience and fire.

As soon as the final words were spoken, the war was declared officially over. Peace, an authentic Earth custom, was proclaimed.

"Now the real work begins," Beliakoff said. "First, we'll need a list of the casualties."

"The what?" Nob asked.

"Casualties."

"I'm not sure I understand," said the Prime Minister.

"Casualties! The number of people killed in the warfare."

"Now wait a moment," Nob said, his voice trembling. "Do I understand you correctly? Are you trying to tell me that civilized people kill people in their wars? _Do you mean that they leave people in the cities they bomb?_"

Kelly looked at Beliakoff. Beliakoff looked at Kelly.

"Lord, Lord," murmured Kelly.

Beliakoff merely gulped.

"Is it possible?" asked Nob. "Do civilized people really--"

"Of course not," said Beliakoff.

"Never," Kelly said.

Nob pursed his lips. "I've been wanting to ask a real authority, a genuine Earthman, some questions on the subject. Our texts were by no means complete and some parts we couldn't understand at all. Like the matter of determining victories. That's something we couldn't figure out. We decided you must use a complicated system of umpires. It was too much for us, so we built a bunker in no man's land and put a man from each side in it. They tossed coins to determine whose turn it was. The winning side would bomb an enemy city. After the occupants had been evacuated, of course."

"Of course," said Beliakoff.

"It worked out rather well with the coins," Nob said. "Law of averages, in fact."

"Substantially our system," said Kelly.

"Just the way we do it," Beliakoff added.

"A few more questions, if you please," Nob said. "Jusa, would you bring in the big _War Encyclopedia_?"

* * * * *

Jusa and Lanvi had been gossiping on the other side of the room. They hurried out and returned with the great book.

"Now here," Nob said, opening the volume, "it seems to imply--"

"Wait," Beliakoff broke in. He took the book from Nob's hands and flipped through it rapidly, then turned to Kelly. In a whisper, he said in Propendium, "It looks as though Kyne blotted out all references to killing."

"Sure!" exclaimed Kelly, brightening. "I told you he was a hemophiliac--a bleeder. Naturally, he'd cut out every single mention of bloodshed!"

"This point--" Nob began.

"Later," Beliakoff said. "Right now, we'd like to get a few articles from our spaceship." He winked at Kelly, who winked back. "It won't take a moment and then we'll be only too happy to--"

"Oh, dear," said Nob. "You mean you _wanted_ the spaceship?"

"What?"

"Well, I assumed that you'd have no further use for it. Metal is hard to get nowadays and it seemed only proper to erect heroic statues to both of you, the men who brought the institution of peace to Mala. Did I do something wrong?"

"Not at all, not at all," Kelly said. "Oh, not at all. Perfectly delighted. Not at--"

"Johnny!" said Beliakoff.

"Sorry," Kelly apologized, a broken man.

The brides stepped forward to claim their husbands.

Peace and prosperity came to Mala, under the deft guidance of their Terran leaders. In time, spaceships arrived and departed, but neither man showed any particular desire to board one, for their wives--docile, patient, yet fiery--proved more appealing than the lonely far reaches of space.

Beliakoff sometimes pondered the opportune melting down of their freighter. He was never able to discover who had signed the order. But all Mala knew the saying, "An Earthman is easy to catch, but hard to hold." He wondered whether that had been the true reason behind the order to scrap the ship.

By this time, of course, he didn't really care; if his wife or Kelly's had been responsible, it was all the more reason to feel appreciated.

* * * * *

Nob knew the answer, but he had other things on his mind. He lay awake, restless, until his wife asked worriedly what was wrong.

"I've been wondering," he said. "Those war books that the Earthmen had us turn in--I never did understand why all those deletions were made. You know, the ones that made us figure out a way of deciding which side won."

"But the Earthmen said they used the very same system," she reminded him. "And they wouldn't lie, would they?"

"They would, if it was for our good. That's what is known as diplomacy, dear. Statesmanship. Or politics. Interchangeable terms."

She looked impressed. "Oh. And?"

"I've tried to question the crews of ships that land here. The answers are so evasive that I can't help thinking--"

"Yes, dear?" she prompted.

"--that civilized people actually _kill_ each other in wars."

She turned a shocked face toward him. "How can you think such a thing? What would be the advantage?"

"Advantage?" he repeated. Then his expression cleared and he fell back on his pillow, completely relaxed. "I hadn't thought of that, dear. None, of course. It would really be _too_ much, wouldn't it?"

"No question of it, dear," she said. "Now that that's settled, can you go to sleep?"

There was no answer. He was already snoring peacefully.