A MATTER OF ORDER
BY FOX B. HOLDEN
Balance is a fundamental law of
order. How, then, can integrity
cancel such a principle even though
the future of Mankind demands it?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, August 1956.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"I don't like it at all," the tall thin man said. His name was Tharn,and he was known throughout the sprawling colony for the high-strungnervousness that was understandable enough in a youth of fifty, buthardly normal for a man of his years. You had to be careful how youtalked to Tharn, even if you were Angelo, Dean of Masters, himself. "Idon't like it," Tharn reiterated, with another dramatic sweep of hislong bony arm, "one bit, Angelo. Look at them, circling up there."
The thin, lined face turned squarely to Angelo's own, and the large,almost protruding black eyes snapped with all the vibrant fire of thefine artistic mind that boiled constantly behind them.
Angelo turned his own eyes upward, momentarily following Tharn'sstill-upthrust arm. Although he did not need to look again. It wasas the Second-Eldest of the colony said, of course. The slender,stylus-shaped object that reflected the golden midday sunlight insplintering shards against the almost cloudless cobalt of the sky stillcircled.
It would land at the edge of the great colony. Angelo knew this, Tharnknew it, the colony knew it.
Angelo turned his old eyes back upon Tharn, and the ghost of a smileplucked at his white-bearded lips. Tharn colored, suddenly aware of theincongruous picture he presented. Poised with all the drama of a MarkAntony pleading to the populace to sorrow for a Caesar, while rathermundanely bedecked in his paint-spattered working-smock! The high colorin his seamed face remained, but he pursued his point as though Angelohad never smiled at all. "They won't be satisfied—"
Angelo got up from the canvas stool before his easel, and the motionitself was enough to halt Tharn in mid-sentence. There was going to besome sort of action, anyway.
"Now look," Angelo said slowly. His voice carried the measureddeliberation that its rich, deep timbre complemented so harmoniously."First of all, Tharn, if we begin showing signs of undue alarm, youknow what it will do to our younger men and women. They'll be upset forweeks, and we'll have another one of those terrible Realist periods."Angelo grimaced with his incredibly bushy eyebrows. "Besides that, ifyou'd take a really careful look at that ship, you'd see in a momentthat it's certainly of a type none of us have ever seen. We certainlycannot prevent its landing. We certainly do not have the means topresent a hostile front when it does. Therefore, we shall go to theDell and greet it. I would estimate—" Angelo turned his massive,white head slowly for another glance above the low, alabaster walls ofthe mosaic-tiled court-yard, "that they will effect a landing withinanother ten minutes or so. If you'll send an apprentice to go fetchMaler, the Philosopher, and Ghezi, the Semanticist, and—and I thinkOjar, the Orator, with word to meet us by the Lesser Amphitheaterthere, we can be on our way directly. Oh—and Tharn—"
Tharn followed the First-Elder's glance to his paint-smeared smock,colored once more, and immediately erupted into a volcano of action,as though rounding up a young jack-a-napes apprentice and locating anddonning a suitable street toga were things that could be sim