THE MISSIONARY

                             By J. F. BONE

                           ILLUSTRATOR EMSH

                _What value has a promise when you make
               it to the Father of Evil? To slay him, I
               could promise anything--and still be free
           of sin. Indeed, his death would make me holier._

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                     Amazing Stories October 1960.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


My leg itched. The knitting fracture beneath the cast was letting me
know in no uncertain terms that a simple fracture is simple in name
only. There is nothing like a nagging, unscratchable itch. It doesn't
really hurt, but after awhile it can become unadulterated torture,--and
all you can do is grin and bear it. Ultimately you stop grinning.

To make matters worse, I had Wolverton for company. Zard knows, I
despised the man enough before I saw him and contact had only served to
change my dislike to active loathing.

He sat across from me, draped bonelessly in the contoured comfort of
a Varkhide chair fashioned for him by one of his Halsite retainers--a
tall, angular man of indeterminate age, sandy-haired, lean-cheeked,
beak-nosed, with piercing yellow eyes that flashed golden under
tufted brows. His face was leathery and hatched with innumerable fine
wrinkles, but his eyes and voice were young.

       *       *       *       *       *

To give the devil his due, he had a wonderful voice--cajoling,
persuasive, domineering and demanding. He could use it with all the
skill and passionate conviction of a Bearer of the Word. His tongue
was a weapon--a club and a rapier--and I had been pounded and pierced
with it for nearly two weeks. I hated it, but I had to listen for I was
literally a captive audience.

"As I was saying last time," Wolverton continued, "rabbits have nothing
on the human race. Given a halfway favorable opportunity and sufficient
time, humanity can make a planet look like the Australian bush. Men
don't understand it until it's too late--and then, stifled by their own
swarm, they either degenerate or strike out to find a new world where a
man can breathe. Always they go in pairs--male and female--and pretty
soon another world becomes another rabbit warren."

"What's a rabbit?" I asked.

Wolverton looked at me and laughed. "It's obvious you've never been on
the Inner Worlds, have you?"

I shook my head. "I am an Adept," I said. "I am satisfied here in
Promised Land."

"Thought so. You wouldn't be asking about rabbits if you had. The early
colonists took them along as food animals,--and it's touch and go
whether men or rabbits are the dominant species on some planets."

He didn't explain any further, but I got the general idea.

"But that isn't the point," Wolverton went on, his voice mellow and
persuasive. "Rabbits maintain a fairly balanced ecology because they're
more subject to natural forces which we humans ignore or circumvent. We
change environment to meet our needs--and in those rare instances where
environment changes us, we adapt to it and change ourselves. Take Samar
for example, normally a human being is monogamous either by nature or
by law--but what happens when women outnumber men?"

I stiffened. I had heard of Samar from traders and from the Word
itself. "Samar," I said, "is a disgrace--a sink of iniquity--a foul
blot upon the face--"

"Oh stop it," he said wearily. "You can't blame environmental forces.
Nor can you blame men for adapting to them. Sure, you can point with
holy horror at Samarian social customs, but even so, they aren't as bad
as your ancestors'. They don't murder excess girls."

"They should," I retorted brutally. "The old days were harsh, but they
were necessary. One man must cleave to one mate. The Word demands it.
Polygamy must be stamped out at the source if Faith is to survive.

"But it did no good population-wise," Wolverton said. "You're now
exceeding safe growth limits for your territories. That's why you want
mine."

"Lies," I muttered.

"Not at all. And you know it. Your people already _want_ my land. Soon
you will _need_ it. And in a few centuries, _you won't be able to exist
without it_!" His voice was flat with certainty.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Lies," I said, but my voice wasn't as certain as his. I had seen the
crowding in the towns and fields of Promised Land, and we _did_ need
Wolverton's Holding to absorb good farmers who had no land to farm.
Wolverton was right about that. We had lived up our naturally tillable
acreage and reclamation projects were slow to provide needed soil.
Deviants were already appearing who defied the Word by advocating birth
control. Yet the Word said, "_Be fruitful and replenish the land._"

"Back in the Dark Ages on a planet known as Earth," Wolverton went on
inexorably, "a man named Malthus predicted our birth rate would fight a
losing battle with famine. So far we have managed to avoid it by laws,
by finding new frontiers, and by improving food technology. But laws
and technology can only retard the growth, and frontiers are getting
even harder to find. Time is catching up with us."

"I don't see--", I said. Wolverton looked at me grimly. "I know you
don't," he said. "I haven't made the slightest impression."

"You've made an impression, all right," I assured him with equal
grimness.

He shrugged. "There are all kinds of impressions," he commented wryly,
"and not all of them are good."

"Yours has not been," I said boldly. "I place my trust in Zard, not in
the voice of Evil."

"That blank, sanctimonious stare!" he said acidly. "You Worders--gah!
You're so filled with catechism and cant that you won't see a fact if
it hits you in the face. Of all the possibilities on this benighted
planet, the one with all the proper qualities turns out to be mentally
defective." He glared at me. "I don't know why I waste my time.
Ordinarily I'd condition you and let it go at that."

"But you won't," I said confidently.

He winced and I smiled. It wasn't often that I won an advantage over
him, and the taste of it was sweet in my mouth.

"The power of Faith," I said sententiously, "is the greatest force in
the universe. It even restrains you."

       *       *       *       *       *

He looked at me with the pitying contempt an adult has for a
not-too-bright child. "What you need is an education," he said slowly.
"You've never had a chance."

I groaned inwardly. Always he tried to shake my faith--but he had
failed before and would fail again for my course was unalterably
clear. "_Avoid the smooth tongue of Evil lest ye lose your immortal
soul. For the Evil will come to judgment--and the tortures of Hell are
everlasting._" So said Zard in the days of his Teaching--and so we all
believed. The Word of Zard was more than a symbol. It was a way of
life, and Promised Land had bloomed and flowered under it.

Admittedly I was ignorant of the heathenish jargon Wolverton advanced.
I knew nothing of nucleonics, spaceways, genetic factors, chromosome
patterns, economies or sociology. Nor did I care. Our people had known
it once but they had passed it by as childish--as men put aside the
games of children. For us there was the Word. For did not Zard write in
letters of fire upon the riven rock, "_Be steadfast in thy faith. Fix
thine eyes upon the joys of heaven and abjure Evil. For the Faithful
Man is a bright beam in the Almighty's eye and naught shall harm him
who walks the fourfold path of Righteousness._" Zard's words were
comfort. Wolverton's were pain. I was thrice thankful I had learned the
Word. It was so much a part of me that not even Wolverton could shake
my belief. I was strong--in faith and in will. For I was an Adept--next
only to a Bearer of the Word.

Wolverton with his machines could contain my powers--but that was all.
He could not capture my soul. And that was what he wanted. My body was
useless to him. He had many bodies of flesh and metal to serve him, but
none had my powers to seek into the hearts of men, to know their inmost
thoughts, to bring things to me by the power Zard had given. To kill,
if need be.

It was because of my powers that I was here, nursing a broken leg,
helpless in the house of the Father of Evil, a prisoner of a primitive
idol worshipper who exalted his machines above the Word.

       *       *       *       *       *

Wolverton eyed me speculatively. "If you would get the idea through
your thick head that you are eventually going to join me--that you
are _not_ going to leave here until you do--that you are going to see
things as they really are and not as you wish they were--we'd both have
an easier time and I wouldn't be forced to keep a Halsite watching you,
or waste power blanketing this place with ultra frequencies. But if I
have to take ten years to pick the scales off your eyes one by one,
I'll still do it and count it time well spent. You see, you are unique.
There's no one quite like you anywhere in the known Universe--and
what's more, you are necessary."

I laughed at him and rejoiced in the black anger which came to his
face. Then the lines smoothed and the hard glitter vanished from his
golden eyes--and again I was afraid. Not for myself, but for my soul.

"Well, let's try again," Wolverton said with forced cheerfulness.

I tried to find his true meaning--but he was blank--a smooth,
cold-hard surface which I could not penetrate. Not like the
others. They were soft and fuzzy. Their pictures were not
clear--distorted--wavering--unreal, but that was due to Wolverton's
machines. I could not communicate with them, but I couldn't even
_reach_ Wolverton. And as usual, my failure increased my determination.
He was inhuman, a soulless monster, blacker than the Pit of Night. The
Bearers were right. Promised Land would never be safe until we were
finally rid of him. Wolverton must die.

But Wolverton was not dead. He survived and prospered. His Halsite
mercenaries guarded his island Holding--and the broad reaches of his
lands, innocent of the plow, were as lush and untamed as they had been
in the days of the first-comers.

The followers of the Word could gain no foothold on his lands--for
behind Wolverton was the might of his machines, which men could neither
influence nor withstand. Wolverton's ancestor had found this world,
and therefore the Holding was his--half a million square miles of
island kingdom that cried in darkness for the Word. The fierce Halsites
Wolverton employed and the hidden telltales scattered through his lands
inevitably found trespassers and most of these were promptly and
urgently returned to Promised Land. But not all. Adepts who tried to
kill him never returned.

It was infuriating. It was a disgrace to our world. It was intolerable.
And so it was that I had volunteered to kill Wolverton with an ancient
weapon of horrid power, and in the bright cleansing flame of the
explosion purge our world forever of the face of Evil.

       *       *       *       *       *

But Evil, it seemed, was not defenseless. High as I was--I was seen
from below and a flaming lance of power reached up from the forest
to touch me,--and I fell. In shameful cowardice I dropped the Weapon
without setting the detonator.

Hurtling down to certain death, I berated myself and swore a mighty
oath on Zard's bones never again to give way to weakness of the flesh
if I were permitted to survive. For it was borne upon me as I fell
toward the rocky ground below that I had never really expected to die
despite my proud boasts of sacrifice.

And Zard heard my prayer and was merciful--yet tempered his mercy with
a stern reminder of his power. For although I recovered enough control
to break the force of my descent, I did not escape completely. I did
not die on the cruel rocks, but as punishment for my sins of pride and
cowardice, my right leg was snapped between ankle and knee--a reminder
that while Zard was merciful, he was also just and meted out punishment
when it was deserved.

A Halsite found me an hour later--faint and weak with pain and shock.
I could not reach him as he advanced upon me warily. But his fierce
crest flattened back upon his head when he saw my helplessness and his
yellow fangs bared in a travesty of a human grin as he came forward
with gliding steps, lifted me in his huge arms, and ran with catlike
leaps down the mountainside. My weight was nothing to him, nor was the
pain of my broken leg. At the third dizzy leap and jarring landing, I
fainted and knew no more until I opened my eyes and saw Wolverton.

I was lying on a couch in a small inner courtyard. Around me towered
his fabulous stronghold--a mighty pile of metal and stone anchored
to the top of a hill, bristling with structures of metal and weird
spiderwork fabrications that rotated endlessly on gimbals. My head was
filled with buzzings and dizzy pinwheels of color as he bent over me
and examined my torn and dirty sacramental robe. "Hmm--an Adept," he
said--"Wonder what you're adept at?" He chuckled. "You're lucky that
my boy obeyed orders and brought you in. You had no business over my
land. And judging from that bomb you were towing, you were loaded for
bear."

I looked at him curiously. "What's a bear?" I asked.

"It's a--" he stopped abruptly and scowled. "You're pulling my leg," he
accused.

"I am _not_!" I said firmly. "I haven't touched your leg, although you
have broken mine."

He winced. "I asked for that," he said. "I mean, you were carrying an
Atomic."

I nodded. "I was," I said calmly, "and if it hadn't been for that
Halsite--"

"You wouldn't have done anything except destroy yourself," he
interrupted. "This place is shielded like a Base Fortress. But I didn't
want you dead," he chuckled. "You're more useful alive."

I choked back a gasp of pain.

       *       *       *       *       *

He noticed it. "Well," he said, "let's have a look at you." He gestured
at the Halsite. The humanoid produced a long knife, and slit through
my tight underdrawers, exposing my leg from ankle to thigh. The shame
of it was almost more than I could bear. Wolverton looked, whistled
through his teeth, and turned to the Halsite.

"Fetch doctor," he said.

The humanoid grinned, flapped his ears in acknowledgment, and
disappeared into the dark interior of the pile with a catlike bound.

And presently he came back with the doctor. She was an apostate,
the barred, tattooed circle of the Faith still visible on her right
wrist--a natural blonde--big-boned and graceful--carrying a small
medikit. She set it down, opened it, took out a fluoroprobe and
examined my leg, ignoring my ritual gesture of abomination.

Her diagnosis was swift and impersonal. "Transverse fracture of the
tibia and fibula," she said. "No complications. Probably it will be
difficult to set since the leg muscles are so well developed, but it
should heal within two weeks under stimuray."

I was embarrassed. To be examined by a female, and an apostate at
that, was bad enough, but to hear the diagnosis spoken so plainly was
unbearable.

I retched violently--and it wasn't entirely a ritual spasm.

Wolverton chuckled as he turned to the doctor. "This one's a _real_
hardshell," he said. "Better check for psi potential when you get back
to the infirmary--we don't want to get caught with our pants down like
we did last time." He laughed--a high-pitched cackle that grated on my
nerves and turned to face me. "Don't worry," he went on. "You will get
used to doc. You'll have to. She's the only medic we have."

The doctor looked at me with complete distaste.

"Do your worst," I said bitterly. "After your unclean hands have
touched me, I can stand anything."

"I'll do my best--even for _you_!" the doctor said. She looked into my
eyes until her own slid aside from the force of my superior will. "You
probably _can_ stand anything--and possibly even more," she admitted
grudgingly. She gestured to the Halsite who picked me up as though I
were a child and carried me into the building down corridors, past
courtyards and fountains to a small white room where he laid me on a
table and held me while the doctor set my leg--ignoring my flinching
revulsion to her touch.

So that was how I came to be seated in a wheelchair with a Halsite at
my back, listening to Wolverton's voice--the Voice of Evil. The Halsite
who attended me scratched idly at an insect bite on one massive arm and
eyed me speculatively. But I had seen quite a few Halsites these past
two weeks and so I didn't feel particularly disturbed. My itching leg
occupied most of my attention.

Wolverton looked at me, sighed and shrugged his lean shoulders. "I
wonder if you're worth it," he speculated audibly. "Possibly it'd be
better to wait until you've married and try again with your children."
He rose to his feet. "But I can't take the chance," he said. "Already
it's getting too late--in another generation there might be no
opportunity to salvage the race. Can't work with material like your
society. There has to be _some_ balance--and the old civilizations
are going downhill. There just doesn't seem to be anything now but
nut cults and decadence. There's no middle ground except for a
few places--and those are damn near Maximum Survival Density." He
capitalized the last three words verbally.

I don't think he was really conscious of my presence at the moment,
which was oddly annoying. For an instant he was miles away in a world
of his own--a world which I did not understand. And for an equally
brief instant I wished I could.

       *       *       *       *       *

He walked out--leaving me alone with the Halsite.

"Take me outside," I said.

"Boss say no."

"Boss didn't say no--he just told you to watch me. You can watch me
just as well outside as in here."

"Boss say keep you in house," the Halsite repeated, grinning
cheerfully as he talked, exposing his long, yellow canines.

"Are you afraid of _me_?" I asked with mild incredulity.

"E'Komo afraid of no man," the Halsite said. "Men weak--poor
hunters--poor fighters--but Boss say _inside_." His mouth closed like a
trap and he looked sullen.

"You are afraid," I said, putting as much contempt into the words as I
dared. "Afraid."

"E'Komo not afraid of any human."

"Of the Boss?" I asked insinuatingly.

"Even Boss--but he my chief. I put my hands in his and gave promise to
be his man. Halsite no break word."

"Oh, well," I said, "you'll never convince me with all your talk that
you're not afraid of Wolverton." I looked up at his broad, brutal face.
He wasn't smart--and he was proud. For the past two weeks I had been
feeling him out while my leg was rapidly mending under the doctor's
expert care. I despised her, but she knew far more of medicine than
did our best. At home, it would be a month away before I would be able
to walk, but here I was almost well again. But it would do me no good
as long as I was inside the house. Outside, the electronic field that
blanked my strength might be weaker--and maybe if I could get far
enough away I could escape. If I could once get away from Wolverton's
influence he'd never catch me. I could return and tell the Bearers--

Just what _could_ I tell them? The thought jerked my plans for escape
to a dead halt.

What had I learned about our enemy? What were his weaknesses? How could
he be attacked and destroyed? Sure, I knew his strength--but other
ones than I had learned of that. And here I was in the very heart of
Evil's power and I had learned exactly nothing that would help the Word
prevail.

       *       *       *       *       *

I could have kicked myself for being so stupid--for not leading
Wolverton on. Surely Zard must think me a weak reed--a coward--or at
best a fool. One cannot fight Evil by ignoring it. The Word came to
me, "_Smite Evil hip and thigh. Fight fire with fire--oppose craft
to craft--strike down the evil doer with his own spear that the Word
may triumph. For in my Kingdom honor waits for those who spread the
Word--that the light of the spirit may be passed to other minds
and the heathen rescued from the Pit._" What a fool I was to apply
the "Canticles of the Young" to Wolverton. It should have been the
"Missionary Creed." Against Wolverton, passive resistance could not
win. It would take a sharp mind and resolute spirit to combat him. And
it was time I displayed both.

Immersed in my thoughts I did not at first realize where the Halsite
was taking me until a brilliant blaze of light struck my eyes. We were
outside and the big fellow was pushing me rapidly down a smooth walk
between rows of flowering shrubs.

"See--not afraid," he said as he came to a branch in the walk. "I take
you outside. Now we go back."

I felt for him and he was all there--and with calculated force I
struck! He crumpled, eyes rolling in their sockets, powerless to harm
me as I stepped from the chair, limping a little from the weight of
the brace on my leg. I looked down at the helpless Halsite for a long
second, assimilating what I learned from him, and then I went over the
fence and into the darkness of the forest beyond the grounds.

As the trees closed behind me I had a panicky feeling to fly and keep
on flying until I was back home with my fellow Adepts in the cloister
behind the great cathedral in Hosanna. I longed for the quiet and the
comforting touches of my friends. Here I was alone in a savage land
with the Father of Evil. The thought unnerved me. I was not used
to Evil, and my cloistered days of study and practice as I mastered
an Adept's powers were poor experience to pit against such a one as
Wolverton. And then I remembered my vow to Zard, and the Missionary
Creed, and I knew I must go back and fight him on his own ground. I
must appear weak and inept until I could find an opening through which
to strike. Yet I must not appear too easy. Wolverton must be allowed
to recapture me, but I must make an obvious effort to escape. A pure
cleansing wave flowed through me and my spirit was eased and my soul
comforted. Zard was with me, and I felt no fear. He was pointing out my
course--the only one I could possibly take. Slowly I turned and moved
deeper into the forest, using my Adept's powers to confuse the trail.

       *       *       *       *       *

Wolverton found me as I knew he would. I was aware of him even before
he saw me. It surprised me that he had located me so quickly--but that
was the only unusual thing about it. His air-boat came slanting down
toward my hiding place, but I did not move. He stepped out and came
toward me, but I did not fly though every muscle in my body screamed
for flight. When he was close enough I reached for him, but my grip
slipped harmlessly away. Still, this did not surprise me for I had not
been able to touch him before--and was he not the Father of Evil? But
when the glinting metal flashed violet in his hand and the stunning
shock locked my muscles in rigid paralysis--I was afraid--but then it
was too late--

       *       *       *       *       *

I was again lying upon the narrow white table while the doctor massaged
my stiff body. Slowly a feeling that was agony came back to my numbed
body and I stirred weakly. "Fool," the doctor said. "Did you think to
escape from _him_?" There was bitter acid in her voice, mixed with an
odd note of admiration. "You had courage to try but you should have
known you wouldn't succeed."

"I nearly did," I said, "and I would have if he had been slower to
pursue. In the dark I could have avoided him."

"He would have found you though it had been as dark as the bottom of
the Pit."

"I would have been gone."

She laughed. "You do not know him."

"I know he is the Father of Evil," I said.

"You are wrong--he is not that--he is merely
different--older--wiser--but not evil."

It was my turn to laugh, and I did although it hurt my throat and made
my chest ache. "It is you who are the fool," I said.

She shrugged. "It may be," she agreed, "but you will learn that
Wolverton is master here, and what he wants he keeps. Nor will you
escape again."

"Why not?"

"Try," she said, "He has turned the field off."

I tried--and panic flooded me! I did not move--nor could I feel the
slightest trace of the doctor although I tried to reach her with all my
strength. Then I screamed! And my screams were echoed by her laughter.

The spasm died quickly enough--for I am not a coward. It is the unknown
which is frightening--the feeling of helplessness in the face of
powers greater than one's own. But then I realized I had chosen this
course--that it was not forced upon me, and that Zard was guiding my
faltering steps.

"You are lying," I said with forced calmness. "The field is still on."

She looked at me with pitying contempt, rose quietly into the air and
floated over my head! "So it's on, is it?" she asked.

My mouth dropped open in a gape of unmannerly surprise. "You're an
Adept!" I gasped.

"I was. Now I'm a doctor."

"But why?--why haven't you reported back to Hosanna? You are free. What
keeps you here?"

"I do not wish to leave," the doctor said calmly.

"You're conditioned!"

"You could call it that," she agreed. "I prefer to think I have learned
some sense, that I have forgotten the silly superstitions of my
childhood when I came here to kill. Ten years ago I was like you, but
now--"

"Now," I said bitterly, "you are a minion of Evil."

The doctor's laugh was merry and unforced. "Every year they get worse!"
she chuckled. "I see what Wolverton means when he says there's no hope
for this world." She floated quietly back to the floor.

I felt crushed and angry at the same time. Who was she to laugh at
the Word? Once again I tried to rise. With all my strength I tried,
but again I didn't move. There was something warm encircling my neck.
I raised a hand to it and touched smooth metal--a close fitting ring
about my throat.

"Yes," the doctor said, answering my unspoken question. "That is what
restrains you. And it will stay on until he removes it. Nothing can
cut that ring." She smiled ruefully. "I wore one once--for nearly five
years--"

She kept on talking, something about taking time for the electronics
section to develop a wave form that would cancel my powers--which
was why I had lived under the field--and why I had a chance to try
to escape, but I didn't really hear her. I hadn't figured on this
development. It shocked me into utter numbness.

It was two days later before I could rise. The braces were gone from my
leg and I was whole again. Whole, but helpless.

       *       *       *       *       *

Unmolested, I walked through Wolverton's stronghold. I passed the
Halsite whom I had struck down. He looked at me and grinned. There was
no malice in him.

"You fool me," he said cheerfully. "I not very smart--but next time you
try I run you down--bring you back. You no do that thing twice."

"If you can catch me," I answered.

"I catch, all right. You wear ring now. You no get away."

I sighed. He was right.

Later that day I saw Leslie--the Adept who tried to reach Wolverton
last year. I waved to him, but he did not notice me. He was reading a
book, and the glass wall that separated us prevented me from speaking
to him. A silver ring gleamed around his neck--he too was a prisoner,
and from the looks of it he, too, was learning forbidden things. I
wondered at the unholy spell of Wolverton. What was the devilish power
he had over the minds of men that made even an Adept ignore Zard's
teachings? There was a tense earnestness to Leslie's bent figure,
a driving air of concentration he had never shown when learning the
writings of Zard. He was absorbed--fascinated--and looking at him I
again felt the icy hand of terror grip my mind.

I shrugged it off. So far there had been no invasion of my thoughts. My
beliefs were still mine, and although my body was trapped, my spirit
was free. And if I could not reach him with my mind, there was always a
weapon to rely upon--something that would fit my hand--something blunt
to smash--something sharp to drive through skin and flesh into his
blackened heart.

But despite my freedom I was watched by seen and unseen eyes. No weapon
I could find remained long in my hand. It was the ultimate frustration.
And finally I gave it up. I would have to mark the location of weapons
and bide my time until Wolverton was close enough to one which I could
seize and slay him before his minions could prevent me. Slowly I
learned cunning--to dissemble--to hide my intent--to wait.

And while I waited Wolverton talked to me, and I listened, fascinated
by the evil of the man. For not only did he mock the Word, he
despised It, calling It a superstition-tainted mass of primitive
Mumbo Jumbo--whatever that might be. But except for this flouting
of the Word, Wolverton was not so evil as I thought. There was a
gentleness about him that was strange. My own people had little of
this. After all, Promised Land was not an easy world to tame, and our
rise to greatness had been the product of unending struggle against an
unfriendly if not inimical environment. But in the end, the Word and
those who believed in It, were triumphant. Did we not tame and rule
three-quarters of this world? Were we not the Chosen? Often I had to
go back to basics after a talk with Wolverton. He disarmed me with his
friendly voice and with his logic. It was getting harder to resist
him--and I understood now how the others had fallen. Wolverton, if he
tried, could charm the birds from the trees, make black look white,
evil virtuous, and righteousness unrighteous. He was truly a terrible
man and I looked forward to his daily visits with mingled dread and
anticipation. There was something toward which he was leading me and I
dreaded the revelation even while I enjoyed the trip.

       *       *       *       *       *

We--or rather Wolverton--talked of philosophy--of science--of
history--of distant worlds which he had visited with such disarming
charm that I learned despite my obstinacy. Soon I began to know
them--Earth--green Earth, the home-world of the race with her
impossible blue skies and seas, gray clouds, white snows, fierce arid
deserts, tall mountains and greenly verdant valleys. From her vast
forests to her broad plains and great cities, Earth was a thing of
loveliness. I could feel Wolverton's passion when he spoke of it--nor
was I surprised when he at last confessed that he was born there.

And I learned of Mars--rust red and rugged--harsh and cold--where men
lived under domes and husbanded the scanty air and water with miser's
care.

And Proxima--first star colony of Earth--a gentle world of soft pastels
and grays--a barren world which men reclaimed and made beautiful,
drawing from their skill and science to mold the primitive life forms
into things of beauty and utility.

And golden Fanar--ripe and lovely with its humanoids and developing
civilization that blossomed to full flower when men came and lent their
skills and science to their cousins.

And Kungtze--delicate fairyland of violet skies and soft rounded hills
like virgin bosoms waiting to be kissed.

And Samar--not the Samar I knew, but a land of seas and islands, tall
ships and gracious living.

And Halsey--harsh--forested and forbidding--a world that distrusted
and did not welcome man--a world peopled by savage humanoids who united
only in the face of danger.

And more--many more.

       *       *       *       *       *

I learned of them all in the days of their youth--together with the
struggles and pain that went into their taming. Wolverton's words were
wings that sent my spirit soaring. His tales--filled with courage and
adventure, of blood and treachery, of honor and fair dealing, made me
proud of my race. We were not perfect, we men--but there was within us
the seed of greatness that would perhaps flower into the true bloom.
It made me proud to learn the past glories of our race. Almost I could
feel that Wolverton was a brother in the great brotherhood of man.

And then he killed the dream--brought it crashing to the ground in a
brutal series of horridly frank solidograph projections. These were
real people that bled and died and performed unspeakable brutalities
upon each other and upon the worlds where they lived.

"On the average," Wolverton said bitterly, "it takes five to six
thousand years, but we have been in space longer than that, and some
societies last longer than others, but the end is always inevitable."

He showed me all--a solid month of it.

    Earth: A world of legalized cannibalism where men were bred for
    food--a world of wrecked glory swiftly returning to jungle and
    desert.

    Mars: Redying in slow bitter agony as technology failed under the
    pressure of excessive population, with legal infanticide, eugenics
    laws, and tyranny.

    Proxima: Bloody and torn--waging suicidal war whose ultimate end
    would be virtual annihilation of all life.

    Fanar: Dead and radioactive.

    Kungtze: A huge, monolithic state that owned and controlled
    everything down to the last living unit, where the population
    swarmed and jostled in huge collectives that were neither cities
    nor farms, but something of both--where everything was used even
    down to the dead bodies of those too old to work, slain by the
    state to make room for others.

    Samar: A matriarchate ruled by the few--filled by the many, where
    women outnumbered men twenty to one, and the men ruled by the sly
    and subtle tyranny of sex, and where--despite the disparity of
    sexes--people swarmed and teemed, and struggled for possession of a
    place to live and the partial possession of a man.

    Halsey: Harsh, forested, and forbidding--a world that distrusted
    and did not welcome man--a world peopled by savage humanoids who
    united only in the face of danger. They were united now--armed and
    ready to resist invasion.

    And there were more.

I was sick--sick at the folly of man, who threw away so much for so
little. "Whose fault?" I asked. "Why did these things happen?"

"It was no one's fault," Wolverton said, sadly. "It was everyone's. In
opening new worlds, people are needed, so they have large families. The
tradition becomes established and when at last the world is comfortably
filled--instead of stopping--holding the line and consolidating what
they have won--people go right on the same old way, producing more and
more of their kind until finally the world grows too small. Then they
quarrel, fight, and die until they are so reduced that they can start
the vicious cycle over again--and in the process civilization becomes
barbarism and culture becomes chaos. If the world is lucky, it survives
to rise again as Earth will do. If it is unlucky it ends like Fanar.

       *       *       *       *       *

"And that is where you come in. You and the others like you, but you
in particular. For you possess in a tremendous degree the ability to
_convince_. I could feel it in you despite my shields. It influenced
E'Komo despite his loyalty. It made Doctor Sara waver despite her
dedication. I have watched and waited for you for generations--for over
two thousand years. For here in this enclave I knew you _must_ some day
arrive. Your origin, frankly spiritual and mystic--your development
so ruthlessly selective starting with ritual sacrifice of excess--and
less desirable--maidens at puberty--your insistence upon developing
the spiritual rather than the mechanistic side of culture--all these
were bound to develop psi factors. And they have! It is here, I think,
where man's salvation lies. Here is the brake on rising population--a
person who can _convince_--who can inculcate into the very soul of men
that three children are _enough_--or that two are _enough_--or whatever
number is needed to stabilize the population of a planet."

I didn't really hear him. My mind had recoiled from what he had told
me. Two thousand years, he had said. Two thousand years! And he was not
old! Truly he was the Father of Evil, for only Evil and the soul are
immortal! "You said two thousand years, didn't you?"

Wolverton chuckled. "I should have added objective," he said.

I didn't understand.

"It's a trick with time," he explained. "Actually I suppose I'm about
forty or forty-five. It's not strange. Anyone with a lightspeed ship
can do it as long as one stays in normal space time. Take a two-week
trip subjective at Lume One and ten objective years go by just
like that. It's an old trick. The Timejumpers knew about it before
hyperdrive was developed, but it's been forgotten for centuries. Most
of the time I'm not here. The Halsites take care of the Holding for
me. I heard about you three years ago so I waited until you made your
try for me. It was inevitable that you would. Your Bearers are always
trying to get me inspired partly by religious and partly by economic
reasons--and they pick the best of each year's crop to try. As a result
I get about three new recruits a year. The old ones pick them up and
indoctrinate them. But we keep up the fiction of Wolverton being here.
It's good business." Wolverton looked at the dumbfounded expression on
my face and laughed.

"So you don't understand," he said. "Well, you have plenty of time to
learn after we treat about five rim worlds. We'll be practical about it
and let you learn about lightspeed and time stasis the normal way--in a
spaceship!"

"No," I said.

"But you can't turn me down," he protested. "I thought you understood.
People need you--need you badly. Our others can modify a little but
they can't convince. It takes a hundred of them to even begin to cover
a world--and there aren't very many hopeful worlds left. We have to
hold the line or humanity will breed itself into extinction."

"I am still your prisoner," I said, luxuriating in the first real
weakness I had found in him. "You might as well know that I still
oppose you. I don't believe you. You are Evil and Evil has a smooth
tongue--Zard said it long ago, and it is still the truth."

Wolverton groaned.

"Nor will I help you!"

Anger flowed from him. "You stupid fool!" he blazed. "Do you think
_I'd_ ask _you_ to do anything for _me_? His rage struck me like
a blow. I'm _telling_ you--not asking. You will do something for
your race--something you can do, or so help me God, I'll condition
everything out of you _except_ your superstitious prejudices and maroon
you on Samar!"

He meant what he said. His anger was a true anger--and he had spoken
the Name we all knew yet did not speak aloud. And he was not struck
down. I was confused and upset. I shivered with a fear that was as icy
as the River of the Dead. There was something wrong here--something I
could not understand. Then I saw the light.

"I will bargain with you," I said. Zard's plan was becoming clear. "I
will join you in good faith."

"With what reservations?"

"None--I will swear this by Zard's bones."

He looked at me speculatively. "What is the nature of this bargain?"

"I will join you willingly if you leave this world."

He smiled. "Sorry, it's no go. It's too good a psi trap. And your race
has a virtual monopoly on the supply. You presume too much on my claims
about your value. You're not _that_ valuable."

       *       *       *       *       *

I sighed. This was not the way. Zard would have opened it if it were.
I had weakened--but he had not retreated. I had shown a softness
in my armor and had given him hope of conquering--and with that
little opening what could he not do? He needed but one break in my
defenses--and I would be lost. Already I was dangerously weakened.
Rapidly I repeated the catechism of Zard as he talked, and presently
his voice faded and was gone as the ecstasy of spiritual union with the
Word gripped me in firm protecting hands....

       *       *       *       *       *

"Come with me," Wolverton said a week later. "I have something to show
you."

Obediently I rose and followed him. A Halsite followed as we walked
out into the sun. We had come a different way than before--a way I
had never taken. Before me was a broad concrete plain studded with
oddly curved walls. In the center of the area a tall, pinch-waisted,
needle-nosed spaceship stood on its landing pads--pointing straight up
to the sky. I looked at it with awe. It was bigger even than a trader
and it looked oddly menacing yet beautiful.

"Yours?" I asked.

He nodded. "Mine. She's Earth-built--one of the last battle cruisers
ever built in an Earth yard. Ships like this aren't made any more--even
though she's four thousand objective years old. Come, let's look at
her."

As we approached, I could see the ship was enormous. It rose over our
heads like some great campanile tower, yet despite its size there
was an air of subtle refinement about the mass, an impression almost
of delicacy--as though it had been tenderly and carefully constructed
by men who loved their work. Each part was beautifully finished and
perfectly machined, and the diamond-hard non-corrosive metal gleamed in
the golden sunlight. And despite its huge size and absurdly tiny jets,
it looked _fast_!

"It's big enough to move an entire city!" I gasped.

"She has a crew of five--and capacity for fifty marines," Wolverton
replied.

"All that size--but--"

"Most of it is taken up with weapons systems," he said. "I could
utterly destroy a planet of this size with her weapons. She'll travel
at Lume One as long as you care to drive her--or she'll go clear up
to ultra band in hyperspace. She's the fastest, deadliest thing in
this sector--beautiful--isn't she?" He talked as though the ship was a
woman--a woman he loved.

"I wanted you to see her," he pointed at the ship, "so that you will
know exactly what I mean when I offer you freedom such as you have
never known. With this ship we can do anything--go anywhere. Time
means nothing--hours in hyperspace--years in normal spacetime. I'm
offering you the Universe if you join with me to work and save--to
keep men from following the old paths to racial destruction." His
voice, eyes, and entire body were tense. Conviction flowed from him in
smothering waves. I had never really felt the power of the man and I
was shaken. Shaken and unsure. For the Word seemed oddly weak in the
presence of this titanic ship and the equally titanic man who owned
it. I could not explain the feelings that surged inside me--missionary
to the human race--freedom from worldly bounds--greed for life and
knowledge--weariness and surrender to Wolverton's endless urging--all
were there, but there was more than that. I kept looking up at the
ship, my head whirling from the dizzying sweep of her--her beauty and
power filling my eyes. My heart soared with her soaring lines. I felt
quite enthralled--uplifted--caught in a force greater than my will.
Now--suddenly I knew why Wolverton spoke of the ship with such passion
in his voice. It must have shown in my eyes for a great gladness
lighted his. "I will join you," I said in a small voice--and inside me
something died as soon as I had spoken. I had the hollow feeling I had
lost my soul.

"I will not ask you to swear," he said with odd gentleness. "I have
pushed you far enough. Let us go to the laboratory and remove that
ring and restore your powers."

A voice inside me spoke sluggishly. "_Fight fire with fire--craft with
craft_," it said. "_Strike down the Evil doer with his own spear_,"
but the voice was weak. I followed Wolverton and as I walked the voice
became stronger. "_And the Father of Evil took Zard to the top of
Mount Karat, and from this high place he offered the world and eternal
life if Zard would fall down and worship him. And Zard refused._" I
shook my head. I had promised--but what was a promise when it involved
the Father of Evil. To slay him, one could promise anything, and yet
receive absolution.

The ring was removed from my neck, and with its removal awareness
flowed into me. I was whole again! I could see as only an Adept knew
how to see. I turned to Wolverton with pleasure in my eyes, and as I
looked at him I stiffened with shock!

_His barriers were down!!_

I could penetrate his mind as though it were thinnest air, and in my
brain the voice rang out loud, clear, quick, eager, triumphant!

Now--NOW!!--KILL!!!

       *       *       *       *       *

I took his mind in mine, encompassing it. I held his life. One surge of
power, one squeeze and he was dead. The Father of Evil--helpless in
the grasp of righteousness.

I paused, savoring my triumph searching for the evil I knew lay
concealed beneath the surface web of flashing thoughts. I probed
beneath them, brushing aside his feeble defenses--and stopped--appalled!

For there was no evil, no guile, no treachery--only a deep limpid
pool of abiding faith and selfless love for mankind that transcended
anything I had ever dreamed. There was anger, too, a clean bright anger
at the stupidities and follies of mankind, impassioned yet impersonal,
and oddly lacking in bitterness. He knew that I could snuff him out
as easily as an acolyte snuffs a candle upon the Altar of Zard. Yet
he neither shrank nor feared. And I realized with numbing shock that
he had placed himself in my hands, knowing what I was, and what I
would do. Frantically I tried to withdraw, but I was immersed in love,
drowned in it, absorbed in a warm golden glow that rushed along the
power that connected us.

I shuddered. Father of _Evil_? If he was evil, then every responding
fiber of my heart and mind was evil too, and I was damned beyond
redemption. With a groan I wrenched myself free. I could not kill him.
Nor could I longer stand the shattering concepts of his mind. And with
stark realization I faced the elemental truth that it was I, not he,
who was wrong!

He looked down at me as I stood shrunken and defeated before him, and
his eyes were kind. "It was a chance I had to take," he said softly.
"And I was right. You were not conditioned beyond redemption." He
sighed and placed his hand on my shoulder. It was warm and gentle, and
I did not shrink from his touch. "There are many worlds," he murmured,
"and it is getting late, and you _are_ unique. Another like you might
not appear again. The plan would be useless without you, yet without
your complete cooperation it would fail. So I opened my mind, dropped
the screen which shielded me." He smiled wryly. "Desperate measures of
a desperate man," he said with a trace of the old masking cynicism.

But I knew him now and could see behind the mask. A strange wonder
filled me. I had tried to apply the Missionary Creed, but it was he
who was the missionary and I the convert. Slowly I knelt and placed
my hands in his as I would to a Bearer of the Word. "Show me the way,
Master, and I will follow," I said.

He raised me to my feet. "No, Saul," he said. "Not that way. In the
struggle to come, you will be the leader. Like your namesake."


                                THE END