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42 pages

English

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In this gripping sci-fi novella from award-winning writer Poul Anderson, the galaxy has been taken over by a regime known as Valgolia, whose brutality and ruthlessness is known far and wide. A man named Conru sacrifices everything to aid the uprising against Valgolia, but when he penetrates the resistance's upper echelons, he finds himself immersed in a complex political game.

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Science fiction

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 octobre 2016
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776671236
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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INSIDE EARTH
* * *
POUL ANDERSON

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Inside Earth First published in 1951 Epub ISBN 978-1-77667-123-6 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77667-124-3 © 2016 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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I II III IV V VI VII VIII
*
Obviously, no conqueror wants his subjects to revolt against his rule. Obviously? This one would go to any lengths to start a rebellion!
I
*
The biotechnicians had been very thorough. I was already a littleundersized, which meant that my height and build were suitable—Icould pass for a big Earthling. And of course my face and hands and soon were all right, the Earthlings being a remarkably humanoid race.But the technicians had had to remodel my ears, blunting the tips andgrafting on lobes and cutting the muscles that move them. My crest hadto go and a scalp covered with revolting hair was now on the top of myskull.
Finally, and most difficult, there had been the matter of skin color.It just wasn't possible to eliminate my natural coppery pigmentation.So they had injected a substance akin to melanin, together with a viruswhich would manufacture it in my body, the result being a leatherybrown. I could pass for a member of the so-called "white" subspecies,one who had spent most of his life in the open.
The mimicry was perfect. I hardly recognized the creature that lookedout of the mirror. My lean, square, blunt-nosed face, gray eyes,and big hands were the same or nearly so. But my black crest hadbeen replaced with a shock of blond hair, my ears were small andimmobile, my skin a dull bronze, and several of Earth's languages werehypnotically implanted in my brain—together with a set of habits andreflexes making up a pseudo-personality which should be immune to anytests that the rebels could think of.
I was Earthling! And the disguise was self-perpetuating: the hairgrew and the skin color was kept permanent by the artificial "disease."The biotechnicians had told me that if I kept the disguise long enough,till I began to age—say, in a century or so—the hair would actuallythin and turn white as it did with the natives.
It was reassuring to think that once my job was over, I could berestored to normal. It would need another series of operations and asmuch time as the original transformation, but it would be as completeand scarless. I'd be human again.
I put on the clothes they had furnished me, typical Earthlygarments—rough trousers and shirt of bleached plant fibers, jacket andheavy shoes of animal skin, a battered old hat of matted fur known asfelt. There were objects in my pockets, the usual money and papers, aclaspknife, the pipe and tobacco I had trained myself to smoke and evento like. It all fitted into my character of a wandering, outdoors sortof man, an educated atavist.
I went out of the hospital with the long swinging stride of oneaccustomed to walking great distances.
*
The Center was busy around me. Behind me, the hospital and laboratoriesoccupied a fairly small building, some eighty stories of stone andsteel and plastic. On either side loomed the great warehouses, militarybarracks, officers' apartments, civilian concessions, filled with thevigorous life of the starways. Behind the monstrous wall, a mile to myright, was the spaceport, and I knew that a troopship had just latelydropped gravs from Valgolia herself.
The Center swarmed with young recruits off duty, gaping at the sights,swaggering in their new uniforms. Their skins shone like polishedcopper in the blistering sunlight, and their crests were beginning towilt a little. All Earth is not the tropical jungle most Valgoliansthink it is—northern Europe is very pleasant, and Greenland is even alittle on the cold side—but it gets hot enough at North America Centerin midsummer to fry a shilast.
A cosmopolitan throng filled the walkways. Soldiers predominated—huge,shy Dacors, little slant-eyed Yangtusans, brawling Gorrads, all themanhood of Valgolia. Then there were other races, blue-skinned Vegans,furry Proximans, completely non-humanoid Sirians and Antarians.They were here as traders, observers, tourists, whatever else of anon-military nature one can imagine.
I made an absent-minded way through the crowds. A sudden crack on theside of my head, nearly bowling me over, brought me to awareness. Ilooked up into the arrogant face of one of the new recruits and heardhim rasp, "Watch where you're going, Terrie!"
The young blood in the Valgolian military is deliberately trainedto harshness, even brutality, for our militarism must impress suchbackward colonies as Earth. It goes against our grain, but it isnecessary. At another time this might have annoyed me. I could havepulled rank on him. Not only was I an officer, but such treatment mustbe used with intellectual deliberation. The occasional young garrisontrooper who comes here with the idea that the natives are an inferiorbreed to be kicked around misses the whole point of Empire. If, indeed,Earth's millions were an inferior breed, I wouldn't have been here atall. Valgol needs an economic empire, but if all we had in mind wasserfdom we'd be perfectly content with the plodding animal life ofDeneb VII or a hundred other worlds.
I cringed appropriately, as if I didn't understand Valgolian Universal,and slunk past him. But it griped me to be taken for a Terrie. If I wasto become an Earthling, I would at least be a self-respecting one.
*
There were plenty of Terries—Terrestrials—around, of course, movingwith their odd combination of slavish deference toward Valgolians andarrogant superiority toward mere Earthlings. They have adopted thehabits and customs of civilization, entered the Imperial service, speakValgolian even with their families. Many of them shave their heads savefor a scalp lock, in imitation of the crest, and wear white robessuggesting those of civil functionaries at home.
I've always felt a little sorry for the class. They work, and study,and toady to us, and try so hard to be like us. It's frustrating,because that's exactly what we don't want. Valgolians are Valgoliansand Earthlings are men of Earth. Well, Terries are important to theultimate aims of the Empire, but not in the way they think they are.They serve as another symbol of Valgolian conquest for Earth to hate.
I entered the Administration Building. They expected me there and tookme at once to the office of General Vorka, who's a general only asfar as this solar system is concerned. Had there been any Earthlingsaround, I would have saluted to conform to the show of militarism, butGeneral Vorka sat alone behind his desk, and I merely said, "Hello,Coordinator."
The sleeves of his tunic rolled up, the heat of North America beadinghis forehead with sweat, the big man looked up at me. "Ah, yes. I'mglad you're finally prepared. The sooner we get this thing started—"He extended a silver galla-dust box. "Sniff? Have a seat, Conru."
I inhaled gratefully and relaxed. The Coordinator picked up a sheaf ofpapers on his desk and leafed through them. "Umm-mm, only fifty-twoyears old and a captain already. Remarkably able, a young manlike you. And your work hitherto has been outstanding. That Veganbusiness...."
I said yes, I knew, but could he please get down to business. Youcouldn't blame me for being a bit anxious to begin. Disguised as I wasas an Earthman, I felt uncomfortable, embarrassed, almost, at beingwith my ex-countrymen.
The Coordinator shrugged. "Well, if you can carry this businessoff—fine. If you fail, you may die quite unpleasantly. That's theirtrouble, Conru: you wouldn't be regarded as an individual, but as aValgolian. Did you know that they even make such distinctions amongthemselves? I mean races and sub-races and social castes and the like;it's keeping them divided and impotent, Conru. It's also keeping themout of the Empire. A shame."
*
I knew all that, of course, but I merely nodded. Coordinator Vorka wasa wonderful man in his field, and if he tended to be on the garrulousside, what could I do? I said, "I know that, sir. I also know I waspicked for a dangerous job because you thought I could fill the role.But I still don't know exactly what the job is."
Coordinator Vorka smiled. "I'm afraid I can't tell you much morethan you must already have guessed," he said. "The anarch movementhere—the rebels, that is—is getting no place, primarily because ofinternal difficulties. When members of the same group spit epithetsat each other referring to what they consider racial or nationaldistinctions which determine superiority or inferiority, the group isbound to be an insecure one. Such insecurity just does not make for astrong rebellion, Conru. They try, and we goad them—but dissentionsplits them constantly and their revolutions fizzle out.
"They just can't unite against us, can't unite at all. Conru, you knowhow we've tried to educate them. It's worked, too, to some extent.But you can't educate three billion people who have a whole culturalpattern behind them."
I winced. "Three billion?"
"Certainly. Earth is a rich planet, Conru, and a fairly crowded one atthe same time. Bickering is inevitable. It's a part of their culture,as much as cooperation has been a part of ours."
I nodded. "We learned the hard way. The old Valgol was a poor planetand we had to unite to conquer space or we could not have survived."
The Coordinator sniffed again at his silver box. "Of course. And we'retrying to help these people unite. They don't have to make the