Adaptation | Page 9

of the
State reading and writing within a year."
The Tulans gaped at him.
He moved ponderously over to Roberts, drew from its scabbard the
sword bayonet the other had at his hip. He took it and slashed savagely
at a stone pillar, gouging a heavy chunk from it. He tossed the weapon
to Reif, whose eyes lit up.
"What metals have you been using? Copper, bronze? Probably. Well,

that's steel. You're going to move into the iron age overnight."
He turned to Taller. "Are your priests also in charge of the health of
your people?" he growled. "Are their cures obtained from
mumbojumbo and a few herbs found in the desert? Within a decade, I'll
guarantee you that not one of your major diseases will remain."
He turned to the priest and said, "Or perhaps this will be the clincher
for some of you. How many years do you have, old man?"
Mynor said with dignity. "I am sixty-four."
Plekhanov said churlishly, "And I am two hundred and thirty-three."
He called to Stevens, "I think you're our youngest. How old are you?"
Stevens grinned, "Hundred and thirteen, next month."
Mynor opened his mouth, closed it again. No man but would prolong
his youth. Of a sudden he felt old, old.
Plekhanov turned back to Taller. "Most of the progress we have to offer
is beyond your capacity to understand. We'll give you freedom from
want. Health. We'll give you advances in every art. We'll eventually
free every citizen from drudgery, educate him, give him the opportunity
to enjoy intellectual curiosity. We'll open the stars to him. All these
things the coming of the State will eventually mean to you."
Tula's Khan was not impressed. "This you tell us, man from First Earth.
But to achieve these you plan to change every phase of our lives and
we are happy with ... Tula ... the way it is. I say this to you. There are
but eight of you and many, many of us. We do not want your ... State.
Return from whence you came."
Plekhanov shook his massive head at the other. "Whether or not you
want these changes they will be made. If you fail to co-operate, we will
find someone who will. I suggest you make the most of it."
Taller arose from the squat stool upon which he'd been seated. "I have

listened and I do not like what you have said. I am Khan of all the
People. Now leave in peace, or I shall order my warriors ..."
"Joe," Plekhanov said flatly. "Watson!"
Joe Chessman took his heavy gun from its holster and triggered it twice.
The roar of the explosions reverberated thunderously in the confined
space, deafening all, and terrifying the Tulans. Bright red colored the
robes the Khan wore, colored them without beauty. Bright red
splattered the floor.
Leonid Plekhanov stared at his second in command, wet his thick lips.
"Joe," he sputtered. "I hadn't . I didn't expect you to be so ... hasty."
Joe Chessman growled, "We've got to let them know where we stand,
right now, or they'll never hold still for us. Cover the doors, Watson,
Roberts." He motioned to the others with his head. "Cogswell, Hawkins,
Stevens, get to those windows and watch."
Taller was a crumbled heap on the floor. The other Texcocans stared at
his body in shocked horror.
All expect Reif.
Reif bent down over his father's body for a moment, and then looked up,
his lips white, at Plekhanov. "He is dead."
Leonid Plekhanov collected himself. "Yes."
Reif's cold face was expressionless. He looked at Joe Chessman who
stood stolidly to one side, gun still in hand.
Reif said, "You can supply such weapons to my armies?"
Plekhanov said, "That is our intention, in time."
Reif came erect. "Subject to the approval of the clan leaders, I am now
Khan. Tell me more of this State of which you have spoken."

IV
The sergeant stopped the small company about a quarter of a mile from
the city of Bari. His detachment numbered only ten but they were well
armed with short swords and blunderbusses and wore mail and steel
helmets. On the face of it, they would have been a match for ten times
this number of merchants.
It was hardly noon but the sergeant had obviously already been at his
wine flask. He leered at them. "And where do you think you go?"
The merchant who led the rest was a thin little man but he was richly
robed and astride a heavy black mare. He said, "To Bari, soldier." He
drew a paper from a pouch. "I hold this permission from Baron
Mannerheim to pass through his lands with my people and chattels."
The leer turned mercenary. "Unfortunately, city man, I can't read.