But, I Don't Think, Page 5

  III

  The Guesser had been fighting the Misfits for twenty years, and hatingthem for as long as he could remember. The idea that he could everbecome one of them had simply never occurred to him. Even the idea ofgoing to one of the Misfit Worlds was so alien that the very suggestionof it was shocking to his mind.

  And yet, the suggestion that the Sixer woman had made did require alittle thinking over before he accepted or rejected it.

  The Misfits. What did he really know about them, anyway?

  They didn't call themselves Misfits, of course; that was a derogatoryname used by the Aristarchy. But the Guesser couldn't remember off handjust what they _did_ call themselves. Their form of government was anear-anarchic form of ochlocracy, he knew--mob rule of some sort, asmight be expected among such people. They were the outgrowth of anancient policy that had been used centuries ago for populating theplanets of the galaxy.

  There are some people who simply do not, will not, and can not fit inwith any kind of social organization--except the very flimsiest,perhaps. Depending on the society in which they exist and the extent oftheir own antisocial activities, they have been called, over thecenturies, everything from "criminals" to "pioneers." It was a matter ofwhether they fought the unwelcome control of the society in power orfled from it.

  The Guesser's knowledge of history was close to nonexistent, but he hadheard that the expansion to the stars from Earth--a planet he had neverbeen within a thousand parsecs of--had been accomplished by theexpedient of combining volunteers with condemned criminals and shippingthem off to newly-found Earth-type planets. After a generation hadpassed, others came in--the civilizing types--and settled the planets,making them part of the Aristarchy proper.

  (Or was the Aristarchy that old? The Guesser had a feeling that thegovernment at that time had been of a different sort, but he couldn'tfor the life of him remember what it was. Perhaps it had been theprototype of the Aristarchy, for certainly the present system of societyhad existed for four or five centuries--perhaps more. The Guesserrealized that his knowledge of ancient history was as confused asanyone's; after all, it wasn't his specialty. He remembered that when hewas a boy, he'd heard a Teacher Exec talk about the Geological Ages ofEarth and the Teacher had said that "cave men were _not_ contemporarywith the dinosaur." He hadn't known what it meant at the time, since hewasn't supposed to be listening, anyway, to an Exec class, but he hadrealized that the histories of times past often became mixed up witheach other.)

  At any rate, the process had gone along smoothly, even as the presentprocess of using Class Sevens and Declassified citizens did. But in theearly days there had not been the organization that existed in thepresent Aristarchy; planets had become lost for generations at a time.(The Guesser vaguely remembered that there had been wars of some kindduring that time, and that the wars had contributed to those losses.)Some planets had civilized themselves without the intervention of theEarth government, and, when the Earth government had come along, theyhad fought integration with everything they could summon to help them.

  Most of the recalcitrant planets had eventually been subdued, but therewere still many "hidden planets" which were organized as separategovernments under a loose confederation. These were the Misfits.

  Because of the numerical superiority of the Aristarchy, and because itoperated in the open instead of skulking in the darkness of space, theMisfits knew where Aristarchy planets were located, while the Aristarchywas unable to search out every planet in the multimyriads of starsystems that formed the galaxy.

  Thus the Misfits had become pirates, preying on the merchantships of theAristarchy. Why? No one knew. (Or, at least, The Guesser correctedhimself, _he_ didn't know.) Such a non-sane culture would have non-sanereasons.

  The Aristarchy occupied nearly all the planets of the galaxy that couldbe inhabited by Man; that much The Guesser had been told. Just whyEarth-type planets should occur only within five thousand light-years ofthe Galactic Center was a mystery to him, but, then, he was noastrophysicist.

  But the Sixer woman said she had heard that the Aristarchy was holdingback facts; that there were planets clear out to the Periphery, alloccupied by Misfits; that the legendary Earth was one of those planets;that--

  A thousand things. All wrong, as The Guesser knew. But she was firmlyconvinced that if anyone could get to a Misfit planet, they would bewelcomed. There were no Classes among the Misfits, she said. (TheGuesser dismissed that completely; a Classless society was ridiculous onthe face of it.)

  The Guesser had asked the woman why--if her statements were true--theMisfits had not conquered the Aristarchy long ago. After all, if theyheld the galaxy clear out to the Periphery, they had the Aristarchysurrounded, didn't they?

  She had had no answer.

  And it had only been later that The Guesser realized that _he_ had ananswer. Indeed, that he himself, was a small, but significant part ofthat answer.

  The Misfits had no Guessers. That was a fact that The Guesser knew frompersonal experience. He had been in space battles with Misfit fleets,and he had brought the _Naipor_ through those battles unscathed whilewreaking havoc and destruction among the massed ships of the Misfits.They had no Guessers. (Or no _trained_ Guessers, he amended. Thepotential might be there, but certainly the actuality was not.)

  And it occurred to him that the Misfits might have another kind oftrained talent. They seemed to be able to search out and find a singleAristarchy ship, while it was impossible to even detect a Misfit fleetuntil it came within attacking distance. Well, that, again, was not hisbusiness.

  * * * * *

  But none of these considerations were important in the long run; none ofthem were more than minor. The thing that made up The Guesser's mind,that spurred him into action, was the woman's admission that she had aplan for actually reaching Misfit planets.

  It was quite simple, really; they were to be taken prisoners.

  "They spaceships got no people inside, see you," she said, just asthough she knew what she were talking about. "They just want to catchour ships, not kill 'em. So they send out a bunch of little ships onthey own, just to ... uh ... cripple our ships. It don't matter, theylittle ships get hit, because they no one in them, see you. They tryingto get our ships in good shape, and people in them and stuff, that'sall."

  "Yes, yes," The Guesser had said impatiently, "but what's that to dowith us?"

  She waved a hand, as though she were a little flustered by hisperemptory tone. She wasn't, after all, used to talking with ClassThrees as equals, even though she knew that in this case the Three washelpless.

  "I _tell_ you! I _tell_ you!" She paused to reorganize her thoughts."But I ask you: if we get on a ship, you can keep it from shooting theMisfit ships?"

  The Guesser saw what she was driving at. It didn't make much sense yet,but there was a glimmer of something there.

  "You mean," he said, "that you want to know whether it would be possiblefor me to partially disable the fire-control system of a spaceshipenough to allow it to be captured by Misfit ships?"

  She nodded rapidly. "Yes ... I think, yes. Can you?"

  "Ye-e-es," The Guesser said, slowly and cautiously. "I could. But not byjust walking in and doing it. I mean, it would be almost impossible toget aboard a ship in the first place, and without an official position Icouldn't do anything anyway."

  But she didn't look disappointed. Instead, she'd smiled a little. "I getus on the ship," she said. "And you have official position. We do it."

  When she had gone on to explain, The Guesser's mind had boggled at heraudacity--at first. And then he'd begun to see how it might be possible.

  For it was not until then that the woman had given The Guesserinformation which he hadn't thought to ask about before. The first washer name: Deyla. The second was her job.

  She was a cleaning woman in Executive territory.

  And, as she outlined her plan for reaching the Misfits, The Guesserbegan to feel despair slipping from his mind, to
be replaced by hope.

  * * * * *

  The Guesser plodded solemnly along the street toward the tall,glittering building which was near the center of Executive territory,his feet moving carefully, his eyes focused firmly on the soft, texturedsurface of the pavement. He was clad in the rough gray of a Class Sixlaborer, and his manner was carefully tailored to match. As he wasapproached by Fours and Fives, he stepped carefully to one side, keepinghis face blank, hiding the anger that seethed just beneath the surface.

  Around his arm was a golden brassard indicating that he was contractedto a Class One, and in his pocket was a carefully forged card indicatingthe same thing. No one noticed him; he was just another Sixer going tohis menial job.

  The front of the building bore a large glowing plaque which said:

  VIORNIS EXPORT CORPORATION

  But the front entrance was no place for a Sixer. He went on past it,stepping aside regularly for citizens of higher class than his ownassumed Six. He made his way around to the narrow alley that ran pastthe rear of the building.

  There was a Class Five guard armed with a heavy truncheon, standing bythe door that led into the workers entrance. The Guesser, as he hadbeen instructed by Deyla, had his card out as he neared the doorway. Theguard hardly even glanced at it before wagging a finger indicating thatThe Guesser was to pass. He didn't bother to speak.

  The Guesser was trembling as he walked on in--partly in anger, partly infear. It seemed ridiculous that one glance had not told the guard thathe was not a Class Six. The Guesser was quite certain that he didn't_look_ like a Sixer. But then, Fives were not very perceptive people,anyway.

  The Guesser went on walking into the complex corridors of the lower partof the building, following directions that had been given him by Deyla.There was no hesitation on his part; his memory for things like that wasas near perfect as any record of the past can be. He knew herinstructions well enough to have navigated the building in the dark.

  Again, The Guesser found himself vaguely perturbed by the relativefreedom of Sixers. As long as they got their jobs done there was almostno checking as to how they spent their time. Well, actually, the jobs towhich they were suited were rather trivial--some of them were actually"made work." After all, in a well-run society, it was axiomatic thateveryone have basic job security; that's what kept everyone happy.

  Of course, there were plenty of Sixers working in construction and onfarms who were kept on their toes by overseers, but cleaning jobs andsuch didn't need such supervision. A thing can only be so clean; there'sno quota to fill and exceed.

  After several minutes of walking and climbing stairs--Sixers did not uselift chutes or drop chutes--he found the room where Deyla had told himto meet her. It was a small storeroom containing cleaning tools andsupplies. She was waiting for him.

  And, now that the time had actually come for them to act on her plan,fear showed on her face. The Guesser knew then that he had been right inhis decision. But he said nothing about that yet.

  "Now are you certain about the destination?" he asked before she couldspeak.

  She nodded nervously. "Yes, yes. D'Graski's Planet. That's what he say."

  "Good." The Guesser had waited for three weeks for this day, but he hadknown it would come eventually. D'Graski's Planet was the nearest repairbase; sooner or later, another ship had to make that as a port of callfrom Viornis. He had told Deyla that the route to D'Graski's was the onemost likely to be attacked by Misfit ships, that she would have to waituntil a ship bound for there landed at the spaceport before the two ofthem could carry out their plan. And now the ship was here.

  "What's the name of the ship?" he asked.

  "Th-the _Trobwell_."

  "What's the matter with you?" he asked, suddenly and harshly.

  She shivered. "Scared. Awful scared."

  "I thought so. Have you got the clothing?"

  "Y-yes." Then she broke down completely. "You got to help me! You got toshow me how to act like Exec lady! Show me how to talk! Otherwise, weboth get caught!"

  He shook her to quiet her. "Shut up!" When she had quieted, he said:"You are right, of course; we'd both be caught if you were to slip up.But I'm afraid it's too late to teach you now. It's always been toolate."

  "Wha-what ... what you mean?"

  "Never mind. Where's the traveling case?"

  She pointed silently towards a shelf, one of many that lined the room.

  The Guesser went over and pulled out a box of cleaning dust-filters.Behind it was a gold-and-blue traveling case. The girl had spent monthsstealing the little things inside it, bit by bit, long before TheGuesser had come into her life, dreaming of the day when she wouldbecome an Exec lady. Not until he had come had she tried to project thatdream into reality.

  The Guesser thumbed the opener, and the traveling case split intohalves. The sight of the golden uniform of a Class One Executive gleamedamong the women's clothing. And she had forgotten no detail; theexpensive beamgun and holster lay beneath the uniform.

  He picked it up carefully, almost reverently. It was the first time he'dheld one since he'd been beamed down himself, so long ago. He turned theintensity knob down to the "stun" position.

  "We going to put them on _here_?" she asked in a hushed voice. "Justwalk out? Me, I scared!"

  He stood up, the stun gun in his hand, its muzzle pointed toward thefloor. "Let me tell you something," he said, keeping his voice as kindlyas he could. "Maybe it will keep you out of further trouble. You couldnever pass as an Exec. Never. It wouldn't matter how long you tried topractice, you simply couldn't do it. Your mind is incapable of it. Yourevery word, your every mannerism, would be a dead giveaway."

  There was shock slowly coming over her face. "You not going to take me,"she said, in her soft, flat voice.

  "No."

  "How I ever going to get to Misfits? How?" There were tears in her eyes,just beginning to fill the lower lids.

  "I'm sorry," he said, "but I'm afraid your idealized Misfits just don'texist. The whole idea is ridiculous. Their insane attacks on us showthat they have unstable, warped minds--and don't tell me aboutmachine-operated or robot-controlled ships. You don't build a machine todo a job when a human being is cheaper. Your fanciful Misfit nationwould have dissolved long ago if it had tried to operate on theprinciple that a lower-class human is worth more than a machine.

  "You'll be better off here, doing your job; there are no such havens asClassless Misfit societies."

  She was shaking her head as he spoke, trying to fight away the wordsthat were shattering her cherished dream. And the words were havingtheir effect because she believed him, because he believed himself.

  "No," she was saying softly. "No, no, no."

  The Guesser brought up the gun muzzle and shot her where she stood.

  * * * * *

  Half an hour later, The Guesser was fighting down his own fear. He washard put to do it, but he managed to stride purposefully across thegreat spacefield toward the towering bulk of the _Trobwell_ withoutbetraying that fear.

  If they caught him now--

  He closed his mind against the thought and kept on walking.

  At the base of the landing cradle, a Class Four guard was standingstolidly. He bowed his head and saluted as The Guesser walked by.

  _It's so easy!_ The Guesser thought. _So incredibly easy!_

  Even the captain of the ship would only be a Class Two Exec. No onewould question him--no one would _dare_ to.

  A lieutenant looked up, startled as he entered the ship itself, andsaluted hurriedly.

  "It's an honor to have you aboard, great sir," he said apologetically,"but you realize, of course, that we are taking off in a very fewminutes."

  Words choked suddenly in the Guesser's throat, and he had to swallowhard before he could speak. "I know that. I'm ... I'm going with you."

  The lieutenant's eyes widened a trifle. "No orders have been taped tothat effect, great sir."

&nb
sp; _This is it!_ thought The Guesser. He would either put it over now orhe'd be lost--completely.

  He scowled. "Then tape them! I will apologize to the captain about thislast-minute change, but I want no delay in take-off. It is absolutelyvital that I reach D'Graski's Planet quickly!"

  The lieutenant blanched a little. "Sorry, great sir! I'll see that theorders are taped. You wish a cabin?"

  "Certainly. I presume you have an adequate one?"

  "I'm sure we do, great sir; I'll have the Quarters Officer set one upfor you immediately."

  "Excellent," said The Guesser. "Excellent."

  Fifteen minutes later, the _Trobwell_ lifted from the planet exactly onschedule. The Guesser, in his assigned room, breathed a deep sigh ofrelief. He was on his way to D'Graski's Planet at last!

  * * * * *

  "Tell me, great sir," said the captain, "what do you think the finaldecision on this case should be?" He shoved the sheaf of papers acrossthe desk to The Guesser.

  The Guesser looked at them unseeingly, his mind in a whirl. For fivedays now, the captain of the _Trobwell_ had been handing him papers andasking him questions of that sort. And, since he was the ranking Exec,he was expected to give some sort of answer.

  This one seemed even more complex than the others, and none of them hadbeen simple. He forced his eyes to read the print, forced his mind toabsorb the facts.

  These were not clear-cut problems of the kind he had been dealing withall his life. Computing