Direct Descent Read Online Free Page A

Toris.”
    “I can tell you myself he was,” she said. “It’s no secret. Darling, what’s come over you? Toris said you threatened to dump the whole surface off into space.”
    “It was an empty threat then,” said Coogan. “Toris was going to disobey the government. I couldn’t permit it. That would only—”
    “Vince! Have you gone out of your mind?” Her eyes registered amazement and horror. “This Adams means to destroy the Library! We can’t just sit back and let him!”
    “We’ve grown lax in our training.” said Coogan. “We’ve had it too easy for too long. That’s a situation I intend to correct!”
    “But what about—”
    “If I’m permitted to handle things my way, he won’t destroy the Library,” said Coogan. “I was hoping you’d trust me.”
    “Of course I trust you, darling, but—”
    “Then trust me,” he said. “And please understand that there’s no place I’d rather be right now than home with you.”
    She nodded. “Of course, dear.”
    “Oh, yes,” he said, “tell Phil he’s under house arrest for deliberate disobedience to the Code. I’ll deal with him, personally, later.” He closed the switch before she could reply.
    Now for General Pchak, he thought. Let’s see if he can give us a hint on how to deal with Leader Adams.
    O O O
    The room was vaguely egg-shaped for acoustical reasons, cut at one end by the flat surface of a screen and with space in the center for a realized image. The wall opposite the screen was occupied by a curved couch split by drop arms in which control instruments were set.
    Pchak was sprawled on the couch, a brown blob against the gray plastic, watching two Krigëllian gladiators spill each other’s blood in an arena which had a shifting floor. As Coogan entered, Pchak turned the screen to a book page in the Zosma language of Krigëllia, scanned a few lines. He looked up at Coogan with an expression of irritation.
    “Director Coogan,” said Pchak, “have you chosen a successor yet?” He slid his feet to the floor. “I find semantics most interesting, Director Coogan. The art of using words as weapons appeals to me. I’m particularly interested in psychological warfare.”
    Coogan stared thoughtfully at the figure in the brown toga, an idea racing through his mind. If I get this barbarian started on a study of psychological warfare, he’ll never leave. He pulled out a section of the curved couch, sat down facing Pchak. “What’s the most important thing to know about a weapon?” he asked.
    The general’s forehead creased. “How to use it effectively, of course.”
    Coogan shook his head. “That’s an overgeneralization. The most important thing is to know your weapon’s limitations.”
    Pchak’s eyes widened. “What it cannot do. Very clever.”
    “Psychological warfare is an extensive subject,” said Coogan. “According to some, it’s a two-edged sword with no handle. If you grasp it strongly enough to strike down your enemy, you render yourself hors de combat before your blow is delivered.”
    Pchak leaned against an arm of the couch. “I don’t believe I understand you.”
    Coogan said, “Well, the whole argument is specious, anyway. You’d first have to apply the methods of psychology to yourself. As you measured more and more of your own sanity, you’d be more and more incapable of using the weapon against another.”
    In a cold voice, Pchak said, “Are you suggesting that I’m insane?”
    “Of course not,” said Coogan. “I’m giving you a summary of one of the arguments about psychological warfare. Some people believe any warfare is insanity. But sanity is a matter of degree. Degree implies measurement. To measure, we must use some absolute referent. Unless we could agree on the measuring device, we couldn’t say anyone was sane or insane. Nor could we tell what opponent might be vulnerable to our weapon.”
    Pchak jerked forward, a hard light in his slitted eyes.
    Coogan hesitated, wondered, Have I