No World of Their Own by Poul Anderson Read Free Book Online Page A

Captain.”
    â€œYes, my lord.”
    â€œYour documents have already been presented to the Technon. Every scrap of information, however seemingly remote, is valuable. For only through sure knowledge of all the facts can the machine make sound decisions. You would be surprised how many agents there are whose only job is the constant gathering of data. The state thanks you for your service.”
    â€œIt is nothing, my lord,” said Langley with due deference.
    â€œIt may be much,” Sulon said. “The Technon is the foundation of Solar civilization; without it, we are lost. Its very location is unknown to all save the highest ranks of my order, its servants. For this we are born and raised, for this we renounce all family ties and worldly pleasures. We are so conditioned that if an attempt is made to get our secrets from us, and there is no obvious escape, we die—automatically. I tell you this to give you some idea of what the Technon means.”
    Langley couldn’t think of any response. Sulon was proof that Sol hadn’t lost all vitality, but there was an inhuman-ness about him.
    â€œI am told that an extraterrestrial being of unknown race was with your crew and has escaped,” went on the old man. “I must take a very grave view of this. He is a completely unpredictable factor—your own journal gives little information.”
    â€œI’m sure he’s harmless, my lord,” said Langley.
    â€œThat remains to be seen. The Technon itself orders that he be found or destroyed immediately. Have you, as an acquaintance of his, any idea of how to go about this?”
    There it was again. Langley felt cold. The problem of Saris Hronna had all of them scared. And a frightened man could be a vicious creature.
    â€œStandard search patterns haven’t worked,” said Chanthavar. “I’ll tell you this much, though it’s secret: he killed three of my men and got away in their flyer. Where has he gone?”
    â€œI’ll … have to think,” stammered Langley. “This is most unfortunate, my lord. Believe me, I’ll give it all my attention.”
    Langley was pulled away by a plump, hairy hand. It belonged to a large pot-bellied man in foreign-looking dress. The head was massive, with an elephantine nose, disorderly flame-red hair and the first beard Langley had seen in this age. The man had surprisingly keen light eyes. The rather high voice was accented, an intonation not of Earth: “Greeting, sir. I have been most anxious to meet you. Goltam Valti is the name.”
    â€œYour servant, my lord,” said Langley.
    â€œNo, no. I’ve no title. Poor old greasy lickspittle Goltam Valti is not to the colors born. I’m of the Commercial Society, and we don’t have nobles. Can’t afford ’em. Hard enough to make an honest living these days, with buyers and sellers alike grudging you enough profit to eat on, and one’s dear old homestead generations away. Well, about a decade in my case, I’m from Ammon in the Tau Ceti system orginally. A sweet planet, that, with golden beer and a lovely girl to serve it to you, ah, yes!”
    Langley felt a stirring of interest. He’d heard something about the Society, but not enough. Valti led him to a divan and they sat down and whistled at a passing table for refreshments.
    â€œI’m chief factor at Sol,” continued Valti. “You must come see our building sometime. Souvenirs of a hundred planets there, I’m sure it’ll interest you. But 5000 years’ worth of wandering, that is too much even for a trader. You must have seen a great deal, Captain, a great deal. Ah, were I young again …”
    Langley threw subtlety aside and asked a few straightforward questions. Getting information out of Valti took patience; you had to listen to a paragraph of self-pity to get a sentence worth hearing, but something emerged. The Society had existed for a thousand