‘Sweeney,’ he howled, ‘you tell that damned monkey-tailed chief that in just about one second, I’m going to get sore and pull the whole sky down over his head. Get tough!’

But the chief did not wait for the message. He gestured defiance and the natives made a united rush. Tubal roared, and his muscles cracked against the bonds. The weld-gun in Williams’ hand flared into life, its feeble power beaming outward.

The nearest native hut went up in sudden flames. Another followed – and another – and the fourth – and then the weld-gun went dead.

But it was enough. Not a native remained standing. All were groveling on their faces, wailing and shrieking for pardon. The chief wailed and shrieked loudest of all.

‘Tell the chief,’ said Williams to Sweeney, ‘that that’s just a little, insignificant sample of what we’re thinking of doing to him!’

To the Humanoids, as he cut the rawhide holding them, he added complacently,

‘Just some simple, ordinary savage psychology.’

It was only after they were back in their ship and off in space again that Forase locked up his pride.

‘But I thought Earthmen had never developed mathematical psychology! How did you know all that sub-Humanoid stuff? No one in the Galaxy has got that far yet!’

‘Well,’ Williams grinned, ‘we have a certain amount of rule-of-thumb knowledge about the workings of the uncivilized mind. You see-we come from a world where most people, in a manner of speaking, are still uncivilized. So we have to know!’

Forase nodded slowly. ‘You screwball Earthmen! At least, this little episode has taught us all one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Never,’ said Forase, dipping a second time into Earth slang, ‘get tough with a bunch of nuts. They may be nuttier than you think!’

Death Sentence

Brand Gorla smiled uncomfortably, ‘These things exaggerate, you know.’

‘No, no, no!’ The little man’s albino-pink eyes snapped. ‘Dorlis was great when no human had ever entered the Vegan System. It was the capital of a Galactic Confederation greater than ours.’

‘Well, then, let’s say tha it was an ancient capital. I’ll admit that and leave the rest to an archaeologist.’

‘Archaeologists are no use. What I’ve discovered needs a specialist in its own field. And you’re on the Board.’

Brand Gorla looked doubtful. He remembered Theor Realo in senior year – a little white misfit of a human who skulked somewhere in the background of his reminiscences. It had been a long time ago but the albino had been queer. That was easy to remember. And he’ was still queer.

‘I’ll try to help,’ Brand said, ‘if you’ll tell me what you want.’

Theor watched intently, ‘I want you to place certain facts before the Board. Will you promise that?’

Brand hedged, ‘Even if I help you along, Theor, I’ll have to remind you that I’m junior member of the Psychological Board. I haven’t much influence.’

‘You must do your best. The facts will speak for themselves.’ The albino’s hands were trembling.

‘Go ahead.’ Brand resigned himself. The man was an old school fellow. You couldn’t be too arbitrary about things.

Brand Gorla leaned back and relaxed. The light of Arcturus shone through the ceiling-high windows, diffused and mellowed by the polarizing glass. Even this diluted version of sunlight was too much for the pink eyes of the other, and he shaded his eyes as he spoke.

‘I’ve lived on Dorlis twenty-five years, Brand,’ he said, ‘I’ve poked into places no one today knew existed, and I’ve found things. Dorlis was the scientific and cultural capital of a civilization greater than ours. Yes it was, and particularly in psychology.’

‘Things in the past always seem greater.’ Brand condescended a smile. ‘There is a theorem to that effect which you’ll find in any elementary text. Freshmen invariably call it the ‘GOD Theorem.’ Stands for ‘Good-Old-Days,’ you know. But go on.’’

Theor frowned at the digression. He hid the beginning of a sneer, ‘You can always dismiss an uncomfortable fact by pinning a dowdy label to it. But tell me this. What do you know of Psychological Engineering?’

Brand shrugged, ‘No such thing. Anyway, not in the strict mathematical sense. All propaganda and advertising is a crude form of hit-and-miss Psych Engineering – and pretty effective sometimes. Maybe that’s what you mean.’

‘Not at all. I mean actual experimentation, with masses of people, under controlled conditions, and over a period of years.’

‘Such things have been discussed. It’s not feasible in practice. Our social structure couldn’t stand much of it, and we don’t know enough to set up effective controls.’

Theor suppressed excitement, ‘But the ancients did know enough. And they did set up controls.’’

Brand considered phlegmatically, ‘Startling and interesting, but how do you know?’

‘Because I found the documents relating to it.’ He paused breathlessly. ‘An entire planet, Brand. A complete world picked to suit, peopled with beings under strict control from every angle. Studied, and charted, and experimented upon. Don’t you get the picture?’

Brand noted none of the usual stigmata of mental uncontrol. A closer investigation, perhaps –

He said evenly, ‘You must have been misled. It’s thoroughly impossible. You can’t control humans like that. Too many variables.’

‘And that’s the point, Brand. They weren’t humans.’

‘What?’

‘They were robots, positronic robots. A whole world of them, Brand, with nothing to do but live and react and be observed by a set of psychologists that were real psychologists.’

‘That’s mad!’

‘I have proof – because that robot world still exists. The First Confederation went to pieces, but that robot world kept on going. It still exists.’

‘And how do you know?’

Theor Realo stood up. ‘Because I’ve been there these last twenty-five years!’

The Board Master threw his formal red-edged gown aside and reached into a pocket for a long, gnarled and decidedly unofficial cigar.

‘Preposterous,’ he grunted, ‘and thoroughly insane.’

‘Exactly,’ said Brand, ‘and I can’t spring it on the Board just like that. They wouldn’t listen. I’ve got to get this across to you first, and then, if you can put your authority behind it – ‘

‘Oh, nuts! I never heard anything as – Who is the fellow?’

Brand sighed, ‘A crank, I’ll admit that. He was in my class at Arcturus U. and a crack-pot albino even then. Maladjusted as the devil, hipped on ancient history, and just the kind that gets an idea and goes through with it by plain, dumb plugging. He’s poked about in Dorlis for twenty-five years, he says. He’s got the complete records of practically an entire civilization.’

The Board Master puffed furiously. ‘Yeah, I know. In the telestat serials, the brilliant amateur always uncovers the great things. The free lance. The lone wolf. Nuts! Have you consulted the Department of Archaeology?’

‘Certainly. And the result was interesting. No one bothers with Dorlis. This isn’t just ancient history, you see. It’s a matter of fifteen thousand years. It’s practically myth. Reputable archaeologists don’t waste too much time with it. It’s just the thing a book-struck layman with a single-track mind would uncover. After this, of course, if the business turns out right, Dorlis will become an archaeologist’s paradise.’