Moral Equivalent, Kris Neville [leveled readers txt] 📗

of existence and us not able to do anything about it because we've stopped fighting."

"What are you talking about? If we stop fighting—"

"They won't!" she said. "Why should they? It's Earthlike to continue conquering, and if we quit fighting, there'll be nothing to stop them from conquering us completely."

"Nob!" Kelly shouted. "Igor! What can we do about this?"

Nob said, "There would appear to be only one certain solution. I can arrange a meeting for you—" he turned to Beliakoff—"with Lanvi, the President of the Allies."

"What would I say to him?" asked Beliakoff.

"To her," Nob corrected. "You can say, I suppose, the same sort of thing your friend said."

Beliakoff, ashy pale, started to back away. Kelly caught him in one meaty fist. "Okay, Mr. Fixer. Your duty is plain. Marry us out of trouble."

"But I've got a girl friend in Minsk—"

"She forgot you years ago. Stop squirming, buddy."

"What does she look like?" Beliakoff queried in apprehension.

"Very pretty," Nob said.

During the double-ring ceremony, Beliakoff peered at his bride with cautious approval. Lanvi was indeed a pretty girl and she seemed to possess the Malan virtues of obedience, patience and fire.

As soon as the final words were spoken, the war was declared officially over. Peace, an authentic Earth custom, was proclaimed.

"Now the real work begins," Beliakoff said. "First, we'll need a list of the casualties."

"The what?" Nob asked.

"Casualties."

"I'm not sure I understand," said the Prime Minister.

"Casualties! The number of people killed in the warfare."

"Now wait a moment," Nob said, his voice trembling. "Do I understand you correctly? Are you trying to tell me that civilized people kill people in their wars? Do you mean that they leave people in the cities they bomb?"

Kelly looked at Beliakoff. Beliakoff looked at Kelly.

"Lord, Lord," murmured Kelly.

Beliakoff merely gulped.

"Is it possible?" asked Nob. "Do civilized people really—"

"Of course not," said Beliakoff.

"Never," Kelly said.

Nob pursed his lips. "I've been wanting to ask a real authority, a genuine Earthman, some questions on the subject. Our texts were by no means complete and some parts we couldn't understand at all. Like the matter of determining victories. That's something we couldn't figure out. We decided you must use a complicated system of umpires. It was too much for us, so we built a bunker in no man's land and put a man from each side in it. They tossed coins to determine whose turn it was. The winning side would bomb an enemy city. After the occupants had been evacuated, of course."

"Of course," said Beliakoff.

"It worked out rather well with the coins," Nob said. "Law of averages, in fact."

"Substantially our system," said Kelly.

"Just the way we do it," Beliakoff added.

"A few more questions, if you please," Nob said. "Jusa, would you bring in the big War Encyclopedia?"

Jusa and Lanvi had been gossiping on the other side of the room. They hurried out and returned with the great book.

"Now here," Nob said, opening the volume, "it seems to imply—"

"Wait," Beliakoff broke in. He took the book from Nob's hands and flipped through it rapidly, then turned to Kelly. In a whisper, he said in Propendium, "It looks as though Kyne blotted out all references to killing."

"Sure!" exclaimed Kelly, brightening. "I told you he was a hemophiliac—a bleeder. Naturally, he'd cut out every single mention of bloodshed!"

"This point—" Nob began.

"Later," Beliakoff said. "Right now, we'd like to get a few articles from our spaceship." He winked at Kelly, who winked back. "It won't take a moment and then we'll be only too happy to—"

"Oh, dear," said Nob. "You mean you wanted the spaceship?"

"What?"

"Well, I assumed that you'd have no further use for it. Metal is hard to get nowadays and it seemed only proper to erect heroic statues to both of you, the men who brought the institution of peace to Mala. Did I do something wrong?"

"Not at all, not at all," Kelly said. "Oh, not at all. Perfectly delighted. Not at—"

"Johnny!" said Beliakoff.

"Sorry," Kelly apologized, a broken man.

The brides stepped forward to claim their husbands.

Peace and prosperity came to Mala, under the deft guidance of their Terran leaders. In time, spaceships arrived and departed, but neither man showed any particular desire to board one, for their wives—docile, patient, yet fiery—proved more appealing than the lonely far reaches of space.

Beliakoff sometimes pondered the opportune melting down of their freighter. He was never able to discover who had signed the order. But all Mala knew the saying, "An Earthman is easy to catch, but hard to hold." He wondered whether that had been the true reason behind the order to scrap the ship.

By this time, of course, he didn't really care; if his wife or Kelly's had been responsible, it was all the more reason to feel appreciated.

Nob knew the answer, but he had other things on his mind. He lay awake, restless, until his wife asked worriedly what was wrong.

"I've been wondering," he said. "Those war books that the Earthmen had us turn in—I never did understand why all those deletions were made. You know, the ones that made us figure out a way of deciding which side won."

"But the Earthmen said they used the very same system," she reminded him. "And they wouldn't lie, would they?"

"They would, if it was for our good. That's what is known as diplomacy, dear. Statesmanship. Or politics. Interchangeable terms."

She looked impressed. "Oh. And?"

"I've tried to question the crews of ships that land here. The answers are so evasive that I can't help thinking—"

"Yes, dear?" she prompted.

"—that civilized people actually kill each other in wars."

She turned a shocked face toward him. "How can you think such a thing? What would be the advantage?"

"Advantage?" he repeated. Then his expression cleared and he fell back on his pillow, completely relaxed. "I hadn't thought of that, dear. None, of course. It would really be too much, wouldn't it?"

"No question of it, dear," she said. "Now that that's settled, can you go to sleep?"

There was no answer. He was already snoring peacefully.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Moral Equivalent, by Kris Neville