Brothers to Dragons (32 page)

"I sat in the Tandyman last night, after I escaped from Xanadu, and I thought about you and the Royal Hundred. I knew that if I gave that vial to Wilfred Dell, he would take it, and study it. But what would you do next? I knew the answer. You'd
restrict its use.
You and a few friends would get the benefits, along with the Royal Hundreds, whoever they are, of other countries.
You'd
like the fit life and the healthy old age—but you wouldn't want it for everyone, because the big side effect is
reduced fertility.
Hanna Kronberg talks about a future world population that will stabilize at one and a half billion, instead of increasing past twelve. That's good for most people. They'll be better off, because they won't
need
a whole bunch of kids to look after them in their old age—they'll able to manage for themselves. And Earth will be better off, too. It needs a breathing space. It fights back, better than we deserve, but it can use a rest from too many people."

Job opened his eyes. Reginald Brook was staring at him open-mouthed, with the terrified and hopeless expression of a rabbit facing a snake. Job rested his aching head on the soft seat back.

"Did I say
everyone
will be better off? I don't mean quite everyone, do I?" His voice was an unintelligible mumble. "I mean, everyone but you, and a handful of others like you. What
you
fear, you see, more than anything, is
change.
But when the world population shrinks, change is one thing that's absolutely guaranteed. 'It's nice to have plenty of young and poor,' Wilfred Dell told me, 'to look after the old and wealthy.' He meant
you
—the Royal Hundred. You need the status quo. But what will your kind do when the supply of young and poor dries up? Will you cook your own meals, and clean your own house, and mend your own clothes?"

There was silence. Job opened his eyes. Reginald Brook had left. Job was alone.

"It's the hardest problem of all, isn't it?" Job went on muttering, his head lolling forward onto his chest. "
Who should run the world?
There's no easy answer, no magic solution. There never is, to a really hard question. Who should run the world? Hanna Kronberg and her friends would
like
to run it, and they can make gadgets that help; but they don't understand
people
, so they don't know how the gears work in the real world. Wilfred Dell is different. He knows
how
it operates—the trouble is, he wants to operate it
himself.
And that's enough to rule him out."

Job sat up and stared around. It was clear daylight, but the room seemed to be filling with a pink fog, blurring the outlines of everything. When he tried to speak, his throat produced no sound.

So who will run the world?
The question rolled on, inside his head.
There's only one answer. No one knows if there's a 'right' way for the world to work, so
no one
can be allowed to run the whole thing. But
everyone
plays a part. Hanna Kronberg does her bit, trying to make things change for what she thinks is better. Maybe she's right. Reginald Brook and Wilfred Dell fight every change, doing their best to keep things just the way they are, and maybe they are not always wrong. Even Skip Tolson has a purpose, hanging on when there's no hope and no reason, surviving when he ought to die, clinging to life, never giving up. He does his bit.

And I did mine.

It was the answer that faith provided, and it was the right answer. Job was sure of it. Because although Reginald Brook had left the room, Father Bonifant had taken his place in the chair opposite. And Mister Bones was smiling.

* * *

Wilfred Dell returned in fifteen minutes, gray-faced and furious. He had three armed guards with him. But he was too late. Job had already slipped away.

THE END