Inferno: A Chronicle of a Distant World (The Galactic Comedy) by Mike Resnick

that we cannot disprove it, and yet we remain here. I don't think anyone believes it will be Johnny Ramsey's "Diamond of the Outer Frontier" anytime soon, but somehow or other we've got to put Faligor on the right track once again.
    I think what keeps us here, those of us who haven't left, is our love of the jasons. They are such decent people, with such potential. They have no idea how to combat something like Gama Labu, and so we must do it for them, or at least show them the way. I still have difficulty believing that a Labu, or even a Barioke, could come from the same race that gave us a Disanko or even an ineffective but lovable ruler like Bobby.
    I know I'm rambling, Susan, but it's not safe to say these things aloud. You never know who might be listening, and who might report you to Labu's thugs for money, for position, or—more likely—for the release of a loved one from the hundreds of prisons that have sprung up like weeds across the countryside.
    I don't wish to unduly disturb you, but this may be the last letter I am able to write. Oh, not that anything will happen to me personally . . . but there is daily talk that off-planet mail service may be shut down, at least until Labu can set up a screening board to censor our letters. That's likely to take him a lifetime and then some, so few of his followers can read. The problem is that those who can read, and think for themselves, are not inclined to share their thoughts, at least not publicly—nor can I bring myself to blame them, since here I am, locked in my room with the windows covered, writing to someone who cannot possibly do anything about the situation.
    I think about you often, and I miss you, as do we all. But this must not be construed as a plea for help, or for you to return. It's our problem, and we'll solve it. As for you, you're much better off where you are, and I hope by now you've found an insect bald and rotund enough to be named after me.
    Love,
    Arthur

    9.

    The morning after he wrote his letter to Susan Beddoes, a squadron of armed, uniformed jasons came to Arthur Cartright's house and placed him under arrest. Within an hour he had been taken to the jail in Remus, holographed, fingerprinted, retinagrammed, and placed in a cell. His demands to know why he was being incarcerated went unheeded.
    His cell was eight feet by six feet, with a small bucket in the corner. There was a single barred window, from which he could look out over the main square of the city. There were no beds or cots, but he was given a pair of blankets so that he wouldn't have to sleep on the damp stone floor.
    He spent three days alone in the cell. Each evening he was given a single plate of food that he could not identify and a cup of water, each morning the plate and cup were removed and a fresh bucket placed in the corner. Whenever a guard passed by he asked if his lawyer had been informed that he had been imprisoned, but he received no answer.
    On the morning of the fourth day, the door was opened, the plate and cup picked up, the bucket replaced, and then a badly-beaten jason was tossed roughly onto the floor of the cell. Before Cartright could ask any questions, the door was locked once again.
    Cartright examined the jason, whose golden fleece was streaked with dried blood, and tried his best to make the his new cellmate comfortable. There was no water with which to wash out the wounds, no bed on which to lay him, but he wrapped him in both blankets and, taking off his shirt, rolled it into a ball and used it as a pillow beneath the jason's head.
    "Thank you," whispered the jason through bruised and bloodied lips. "You are Arthur Cartright, are you not?"
    Cartright nodded. "Don't talk now. Just rest and try to regain some of your strength."
    "For what purpose?" asked the jason. "We are doomed, you and I."
    Cartright stared at the jason. "Don't I know you?" he said at last.
    "We have met before," answered the jason. "I am the Reverend James Oglipsi."
    "My God!"