Michael Kurland - Princes of Earth.rtf

THE

PRINCES OF EARTH

MICHAEL KURLAND

THOMAS NELSON INC., PUBLISHERS

Nashville New York

No character in this book is intended to represent any actual per­son; all the incidents of the story are entirely fictional in nature.

Copyright © 1978 by Michael Kurland

First edition

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Kurland, Michael. The princes of earth.

I. Title.

PZ4.K9674Pr [PS3561.U647]          813'.5'4 ISBN 0-8407-6602-5

78-803

I

One week before high school graduation I got the notice. First period in the morning, right after the bell, my work board lit up, and there it was. Under it, as on all the other boards in the room, was the Planetary History quiz we were scheduled to have, but on my board there it was: ADAM WARRINGTON, it said, the neat computer letters blurring out the test under it, PLEASE REPORT IMMEDIATELY TO ROOM 2614.

What, I wondered immediately, had I done wrong? Or, more to the point, what did the school think I had done wrong? Mr. Babdyke, I noticed, was scowling at me from his console in front of the room, so the message must be repeated on the teacher's board. Of course, it would be. I hurriedly reviewed all my recent indiscre­tions while I punched EXCUSE on the board. Mr. Babdyke printed pardoned, hurry up, in teacher's red under mine, so I got up, straightened my jacket, and walked calmly out of the room. It was the first time I realized Mr. Babdyke had a sense of humor. I won­dered what I was going to be pardoned for, if at all.

Clinging to one side of the broad, empty escalator (elevators are for teachers only), I remembered one or two things. But surely they couldn't have found out who had punched the extra holes in the bell-ringing tape last Thursday before assembly. The poor, simple machine had gone crazy with an orgy of clanging dur­ing the speaker's sermon before the maintenance crew was able to figure out what was wrong. The Reverend Thrumbody—I think that was his name—was defining sins of omission and commission for us, one of the school's favorite topics. He must have added one to the list before that hour was up.

The Big Problem in school for that week was smok­ing. They'd caught one of the senior boys puffing on a homemade jibweed cigarette in the bathroom, and we'd been hearing about it ever since. But that let me out. The only time I'd ever tried it, two years before, I'd been sick as a dog—throwing up all over the place and afraid to go home until I stopped.

When I reached the twenty-sixth floor, I saw that it wasn't an administration level, but had classrooms. Twenty-seventh to thirtieth were administration. I was saved by a floor.

There were several other students in the corridor when I got there. I recognized some of them as fellow seniors, and we were all headed for the same room. I reached the BOYS door, took a deep breath, and plunged into the room with the rest. They all, I'm glad to say, seemed as worried as I was. A guilty conscience never likes to ride alone.

The desks were all dark, the work boards not lit up, so it didn't matter where we sat. I went down to the front of the room and took a desk in the second row. It was pure habit. I like sitting where I can see the teacher without having to wait for him to project onto the desk board. If I'd thought about it, I'd probably have sat toward the rear, where whoever came in couldn't see me as easily.

Both sides of the room seemed to be filling up now, the girls' side, if anything, being slightly fuller than the boys'. I was quickly getting a lot less worried; anything this many kids had done—and over half of them girls—couldn't be that bad.

After a few minutes Principal Lowepride came in and took a seat at the desk console. My seat at assembly is at the back, so it was the first time I'd seen him up close; he looked a lot older in person. Then two other people I didn't know came in and sat beside him. One of them, a woman, wore the badge of School Adminis­tration, but the other didn't seem to be from the school at all.

The woman stood up and went to the lectern. "Cour­tesy, students," she said. "Please punch your names," and the work boards lit up. I punched WARRINGTON, Ad. into mine. "All right," she said, checking the panel, "they're all here."

She sat down and Principal Lowepride took her place. "Good morning, students," he said.

"Good morning, Principal Lowepride," we all chanted back.

"You represent the top two percent of the graduating class," he told us, "and according to the Imperial Char­ter, as written into our binding, you're required to hear this talk." He didn't sound at all happy about it.

"Imperial Charter" sounded very impressive, and I couldn't help wondering if this was the legendary sex lecture that a school myth said we were supposed to get shortly before we graduated. But I decided it couldn't be that. First of all, it wouldn't be given for just the upper two percent, and second of all they wouldn't give it with the girls and boys in the same room. I suppose girls had to know about sex too, but they'd certainly learn in a different classroom.

The upper two percent, he'd said. Today was the first time I'd heard that, and it was good news. It meant that I was eligible to go to college, as the upper two percent was certainly part of the upper ten. My father wanted me to go to college, since only a college graduate was allowed to vote or hold office. I couldn't imagine ever wanting to become a deacon, or caring who was, but Father thought it was important. I was looking forward to Hapsburg Aggie, but for different reasons.

"Mr. Tule is on the staff of the Imperial Representa­tive here on Jasper, and he'll speak to you this morn­ing," Principal Lowepride said. Then he sat down and scowled. Jasper, as you've probably guessed, is the name of my planet. It isn't very big or important, as I've found out since, so don't feel bad if you haven't heard of it. It's the third planet out from the star Deuteronomy, one of the Reformation Group, if that helps.

Mr. Tule got up and faced us. You could tell right away that he was offplanet. His clothes, for one thing. Not that they were greatly different; it's only polite— and, I found out later, a regulation—to dress the same as the natives on the planet where you're stationed. He wore a black double-button suit with a white shirt, a high, stiff collar, and a broad tie like every other male in the room, but they were cut differently somehow, and he looked more relaxed in them. The shirt collar, for example, was cut slightly lower than our standard.

Right off, he started speaking, without saying "Good morning," or "Courtesy," which was just enough against custom to be unusual, but not enough to offend. Anyway, he got everyone's attention, which must have been what he wanted. "I have an offer to make you," he said. "It is an offer that must be made, by tradition and law, in the name of the Emperor, to the top two percent of every graduating class of every high school of every Human-federated planet, kingdom, freehold, colony, satrapy, and League member in the Empire."

Now he really had our attention, or at least mine. The fact that Jasper was a part of a galactic empire didn't figure much in our lives or thoughts. Jasper, like all the other independent planets, is just about completely self-governing and left alone, but every kid must day­dream about the Emperor and his court on far-off Earth.

I found out later that he was exaggerating. Some planets had been able to have that law written out of their bindings, and some didn't come up to standard. Then there are the planets that aren't part of the Em­pire, but we won't talk about those. Not right now.

"So in the name of Alexander the Ninth, Liege Sovereign of the Inner Planets, Protector of the Princes of Earth, Chairman of the Solar Hanse, and Hereditary Emperor of the Confederation of Human Planets, I extend to you this offer." The titles rolled off his tongue. Everyone leaned forward in his seat. I know because I looked around. "You are to be privileged for the next two months, standard, if you so desire, to take the tests required for entrance to the Imperial Univer­sity. The tests are to be administered by Imperial per­sonnel, and your planetary officials—in this case the administration of this school—are to extend this oppor­tunity to you freely. It shall not be denied to any of you for any cause. If, at the end of two months, you have not availed yourself of this offer, you will be asked to sign a waiver stating that you have freely refused." He sounded very severe. I wondered if he thought some­one wouldn't want us to take the tests. I also wondered why we hadn't been told about this before; you'd think it would be used as an incentive. Heaven knows they Use everything else.

It sounded like a set speech, and he wasn't using a cheat-screen. I could tell from where I sat that no words were being flashed on his retina. So he must have memorized the speech. If he'd gone to that trouble, then he thought it was important, so I listened closely to the rest.

"If you take the test and fail it" —he smiled— "and very few pass the test, so it's no disgrace—you are to be admitted without prejudice to whatever form of higher education your planet offers, in this case a branch of Jasper's Planetary College.

"If you pass the test, you are eligible to be sent, at the expense of the Emperor, to whichever branch of the Imperial University the examination shows you to be the most qualified for. The minimum time at the Uni­versity, unless you flunk out," he added, smiling again, "will be four standard years. After that you may go home if you wish, go on if you're qualified, take em­ployment with any private firm that offers it, or enter into service in whatever government branch is open to you.

"If you return home, or take private employment, you will be expected to reimburse the Emperor for the nominal cost of your education at a set rate, interest-free, over a period of time not to exceed ten years, standard. If you accept government service, the Uni­versity is one of the job benefits, and you'll probably be going back for more of it over the years. I refer to the Imperium government, of course, and not any local planetary governments."

He stood there for a second, and then said, "That is all. I have been informed that there is no time for questions, so if you have any, contact me at the Em­peror's Freeground. My name is Tule. Ask for me. But if you forget, anyone there will help you. I'm in the Parthenon."

The Parthenon is a small building with a lot of pillars in the middle of the Emperor's Freeground. It's bigger inside than it looks.

Tule walked out of the room, and Principal Lowepride got up and glared at us. "I'm sorry you had to hear that," he said. "If it weren't required, and they didn't insist on it, you wouldn't have." He made they sound like a dirty word. "And I put this whole talk under seal: you are not to repeat any part of it to anyone, not even to the other students with you in this room." That was laying it on kind of thick, but Principal Lowepride was good at such things.

"I'll explain," he said. He leaned over and got confi­dential with us, which always makes me kind of ner­vous.

"The Galaxy is a big place," he informed us, "with all sorts of people in it. All sorts. Most of them are pretty decent folks like you and me, maybe not as strong on morality as we are here on Jasper, but pretty decent. But many of them are not decent at all." He went into lecture 3-A on the Big Bad Galaxy, and I tuned out

II

Billy Denton caught up with me as I headed to the parking lot after school. "Hey, Adam," he called, put­ting his arm confidentially around my shoulders, "what was that meeting about?"

Billy was a sloppy-looking, heavy kid who always looked as if he had a couple of buttons unbuttoned somewhere—even when he didn't. He wanted to be buddy-buddy with everyone in the class, but he told nasty stories about people behind their backs. There was also a rumor that talking to Billy was a good way to inform the Dean of Discipline of all your latest en­deavors. "What meeting?" I asked him.

"Oh, come on," he said, thrusting his face close to mine and breathing in my eye. "What's a friend for? You can trust me."

I pretended to look around nervously. "I trust you, Billy," I told him, "but I can't talk about it. You know."

"I know?"

"Sure. It was the talk about—you know." I looked embarrassed.

"Oh!" He finally caught on. "The talk about"—his voice dropped—"ess-dash-exx?"

"Billy!" I said.

"How come I didn't get one?" he whined. "I thought we were all supposed to get a—you know—talk."

"Sure," I told him. "We'll all get it before the end of the term, but in small groups."

"There's only a week left in the term," he reminded me.

"Learn from your elders and do not question them," I said, quoting the motto above our library door. Per­sonally, I've always wondered how you can learn from someone you can't question. "Anyway, they take only a few kids out of class at a time, but we'll all get it."

"We will?"

"Sure. Don't worry about it." I had reached my wheel, and I climbed on, stuffing my books and tapes in the junk box in back. "It's a good lecture," I told him. "You'll see."

I switched on the motor and wheeled out into the street. The image of Billy Denton waiting for the Spe­cial Lecture day after day for the next week, and it never coming, would brighten up my few remaining Study and Meditation periods.

The wheel is a vehicle peculiar to Jasper, and I should describe it to you. It's a kind of monocycle: one large rubber wheel with the motor in the middle and the seat on top. It's gyroscopically stabilized, can go about thirty kilometers an hour, and can run for about a hundred kilometers between charges. The legal age for riding a wheel is fourteen, and you hardly ever see anyone over fourteen and under twenty without one.

I took my time going home, thinking about the Impe­rial University and the entrance test. The idea of taking the test appealed to me, even though I had no interest in going to the University. Not that I thought the galactics were as immoral and decadent as Principal Lowepride had said—anything adults on Jasper didn't want you to do was immoral and decadent—but my future was all laid out for me, and that wasn't part of it. I was going to get a degree at the Agricultural College at Hapsburg, and go into my father's business selling farming machinery. Warrington and Son Hydroponics and Electronics was an old established firm. My grand­father was the Son. He still came around two or three times a month to tell my father how to run the business.

But I would have kind of liked to take the test. It would really be something to be proud of, if I passed. And, as Mr. Tule had said, it couldn't hurt if I failed. They would still have to let me into Hapsburg Aggie.

Principal Lowepride had stated strongly that it was not a Good Thing to take the test. He had hinted that they did all sorts of disgusting and repulsive things to you in the Parthenon. But Principal Lowepride was known for saying what he thought you should hear. Not that he ever actually lied—lying was immoral—but it was both moral and proper, when speaking to school children, to state the truth in terms that would simplify their understanding. Principal Lowepride could stretch very far from the facts to find those terms.

When I got home I did my chores, then settled down to get my homework out of the way before dinner. I did my math, ethics, and geography, and then, before get­ting into Problems of Morality, I punched Library: Information on my home board.

LIBRARY, the board said. CODE ? ? ?

I punched my class ID number.

REQUEST ? ? ? the board said.

Universities, I punched. List.

The library listed all the colleges and universities on Jasper.

The last entry was MORE, and I tapped that with my lightstick.

Now the list changed to show all the major univer­sities throughout the Reformation Group.

Again I tapped MORE.

This time when the board lit up it was covered with names, the print so small that I could hardly read any of them. There were names from ancient Earth, from the First Expansion, and from all over the galaxy. There, finally, in one corner, was IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY SYSTEM, very small.

I tapped it.

THE IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY SYSTEM IS THE GENERAL NAME FOR THAT SYSTEM OF COLLEGES AND UNIVERSITIES CHAR­TERED OR ENDOWED BY THE IMPERIUM OR, IN SOME CASES, BY THE ROYAL FAMILY. AS VARIOUS ENTITIES OF THE SYS­TEM WERE ESTABLISHED AT DIFFERENT TIMES OR EN­TERED UNDER DIFFERENT CHARTER TERMS, THE INTERRE­LATIONSHIP BETWEEN THE SEPARATE COLLEGES AND/OR UNIVERSITIES IS COMPLEX, AND A LARGE VARIETY OF EDU­CATIONAL MODALITIES IS REPRESENTED. MANY OF THESE ARE QUITE UNACCEPTABLE TO THE ENLIGHTENED, AS THEY EMBRACE ATTITUDES OF MORALITY AND STANDARDS OF BEHAVIOR THAT IGNORE FUNDAMENTAL TEACHINGS OF ENLIGHTENED REFORMATION.

THE INSISTENCE OF THE IMPERIUM ON SELECTING CANDI­DATES FOR POSTS WITHIN THE IMPERIAL BUREAUCRACY FROM GRADUATES OF THE IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY SYSTEM, AND THUS OVERWEIGHTING THE GOVERNMENT WITH PER­SONNEL WHOSE BELIEFS ARE BASICALLY ANTAGONISTIC TO THOSE OF ENLIGHTENED REFORMATION, IS ONE OF THE MAJOR CAUSES OF FRICTION BETWEEN THE PLANETARY GOVERNMENTS OF THE REFORMATION GROUP AND THE IM­PERIUM. THE OLDEST AND BEST KNOWN OF THE UNIVER­SITIES OF THE IMPERIAL SYSTEM IS THE UNIVERSITY OF SOL ON MARS. IT IS SAID TO HAVE BEEN FOUNDED WELL BEFORE THE FIRST EXPANSION, BUT NO ACTUAL DATE IS KNOWN. HEREDITARY NOBILITY OF THE SOLAR HANSE, LIFE MEM­BERS OF THE HOUSE OF LORDS, ELECTORS OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS, AND OFFICERS OF FLAG RANK IN THE SER­VICE OF THE IMPERIUM ALL HAVE THE PERQUISITE OF SENDING THEIR CHILDREN TO THE UNIVERSITY OF SOL. THE UNIVERSITY OF GNADA IS FAMOUS FEDERATION-WIDE FOR ITS SCHOOL OF PLANETARY ENGINEERING. LANGERT COLLEGE IS KNOWN FOR ITS SCHOOLS OF MACROBIOLOGY AND LIBRARY SCIENCE. UNFORTUNATELY THESE SCHOOLS CONDONE IMMORAL BEHAVIOR, AND NO PARENT ON JASPER WOULD BE ENCOURAGED TO ALLOW HIS CHILD TO ATTEND.

That was all. There should have been a list of subject headings after that, so I could get whatever else I wanted to know. I punched Subjects—more.

The screen cleared. The board hummed.

CLOSED STACKS, the board said. AUTHORIZA­TION NEEDED: TEACH / AD

That meant I had to get the permission of a teacher or administrator to find out anything more on the subject. And that meant it had to be an authorized project. It seemed that the library didn't want you to think any­thing nice about the Imperial University and didn't want you to know anything at all beyond what every schoolboy already knew. I gave up and did my Prob­lems of Morality homework.

Father came home late that evening, so we ate din­ner almost an hour late. And he was in such a bad mood that he scared Miss Foot—she's the maid—and she dropped the roast. Then he yelled at her for being so clumsy, and she ran out of the dining room with her hands over her mouth. Mother picked the roast off the...