Astounding Science Fiction Stories Vol 1, page 547
He found Xota sprawled confidently upon his bed, and kicked her off in a temper. His groping had found no loose object to fling after her as she slunk out the door, and that made his temper worse. He was a long time getting to sleep....
* * * * *
The next morning, he pecked at his breakfast and sneered at the artificial dawn that had been delayed for his benefit.
"Get me a lozard and a squad of guards!" he snarled to Wilkins. "I'll have a run through the woods while I wait."
He left the guards at the fringes of his engineers' forest and rode the eight-legged reptile recklessly among the huge trunks. Since the builder had artfully omitted all low branches, there was little chance of his knocking his head off.
Towards noon, he paused to rest at the little pool on the edge of the woods. He waved to a group of guards he saw peering at him across an open field of what looked very much like grass. One of the men ran over.
"The Jursan envoy is back, Your Illustrious Sublimity."
Vyrtl sighed.
"Tell General Wilkins to bring her here immediately."
He turned away and sat upon a flat stone beside the pool.
After a while, he noticed that the ground was liberally supplied with pebbles for casting into the water. He was watching the spreading ripples about fifteen minutes later when he heard approaching voices behind him.
A glance over his shoulder showed him Wilkins and two guards escorting the old woman. He turned away, tossing another pebble into the pool with a half-hearted motion of his arm.
When Wilkins coughed discreetly behind him, he told the aide and the guards to withdraw. He listened to the footsteps until he knew they were beyond range of ordinary conversation.
"You are the same Daphne Foster?" he asked, still facing the pool.
"The same, Your Illustrious Sublimity."
"Let us dispense with formality. Tell me how you did it."
"It is simple ... in a way. But it requires the use of a not-so-simple instrument."
"Such as I?" he asked, apparently intent upon the water.
"I did not mean Your Illustrious--I did not mean it that way. It is a little triumph of our Jursan technicians, which will shortly be at your disposal. I used it to force an illusion upon you."
"And very cleverly, I admit. Do you have it with you?"
"Yes. It is compact. It merely operates upon the idea that other forces can be used to produce hypnosis besides lights, drugs, and soothing sounds."
"Turn it on!" ordered Vyrtl.
* * * * *
He waited a moment, then twisted around on the stone to face her. There was no sign of the woman he had seen crossing the field. Before him seemed to stand the black-haired, lithe girl.
The only change was in her eyes, which no longer smiled into his so provocatively.
Funny, thought Vyrtl. When we actually were strangers, she seemed so intimate. Only now does she look at me so coldly.
"You see?" she said, and started to reach for some switch or button concealed by the jewel at her breast.
Vyrtl stopped her with a gesture.
"You must also be skilled in the sciences of the mind," he remarked. "What I mean is ... I suppose you never really looked like that?"
She shook her head a trifle ruefully.
"Not quite. Most of it is in your own imagination. We know a good deal about you, Your--"
"You deduced somehow what I would look for," interrupted Vyrtl, nodding. "I can see how a study of the things I chose to have about me--paintings, statues, furnishings, even people--might yield keys to my preferences. You did remarkably well."
He tossed another pebble and stared at the ripples.
"I suppose every man has his ideal of a woman," he said. "I doubt that any man has seen his absolute ideal--except me. I wonder if you know what it does to one?"
He chose a flat pebble and sent it skipping across the surface with a vicious snap of his wrist. It bounced three ... four ... five times, and sank.
"I presume," said Daphne Foster, breaking a tight little silence, "that you will grant me time to set my affairs in order?"
Vyrtl weighed a pebble in his hand.
"You expect to be executed," he stated flatly.
"Naturally, we knew all along that someone would have to pay for tricking you. The Emperor of Pollux must, after all, maintain his dignity."
Vyrtl wondered if he had detected a note of irony in the musical voice. He marveled anew at the pleasure of listening to her. But of course, he reminded himself, he heard his own imagined ideal of what a lovely woman's voice should be.
"No," he said abruptly, swinging about. "I am merely going to insist that you fulfill the terms of the agreement by remaining at my court. I want you near me from now on."
She blinked at that.
"But, surely ... you must realize ... it is only an illusion!" she protested.
"As am I," said Vyrtl. "A figurehead imprisoned in a maze of formalities and so-called pleasures."
* * * * *
He saw that she could not understand what could be wrong with his position.
"Once, when I was very young," he said, "I thought I would rule. But fourteen planets require a whole council of co-ordinators! I gave up that idea and tried to enjoy myself."
She stared at him uncertainly. He waved a hand at the artificial forest.
"It has been like that ever since. They fall all over themselves to devise new ways of getting my attention and to present pleasures and entertainment I am incapable of enjoying. I have more wealth than I can estimate, I sometimes forget which palace I am in, even my wives look alike by now."
"I must sympathize with Your Illustrious Sublimity."
He flung her a hard stare.
"Perhaps you ought! Even my generals and their soldiers have their dreams--of conquest or loot. The engineer who built this dome pictures himself famous and admired. Wilkins is proud of his influence, and other courtiers have visions of doing away with Wilkins and replacing him."
He stood up restlessly.
"You will laugh at me, I know--but there is little enjoyment in life when every whim is catered to at a snap of one's fingers. What have I to desire?"
"I see." She nodded slowly. "The old saying about the pleasure of anticipation outweighing that of attainment."
"You should know. You Jursans and your scientific renaissance, your goal of contacting Terra again."
He beckoned to Wilkins and the two guards. They ran eagerly across the grass.
"You see?" he snorted. "Sometimes I almost wish they would ignore me!"
He looked at her and saw the blue eyes achieve their knowing, amused smile once more.
"That's right," he said, smiling back. "Now I shall have something to keep my thoughts from becoming dull and bored. A man needs some impossible dream for moments when he wants to relax."
Wilkins panted up, trying to look alert and willing.
"The unattainable Lady Daphne will accompany us to our capital," said Vyrtl. "Make the necessary arrangements."
He enjoyed the way his aide covered up a momentary bewilderment.
No one else will ever, ever understand this, he thought with an unaccustomed thrill of pleasure and amusement.
* * *
Contents
THE OUTBREAK OF PEACE
By H. B. Fyfe
When properly conducted, a diplomatic mission can turn the most smashing of battle-successes into a fabulous Pyrrhic victory.
It was a great pity, Space Marshal Wilbur Hennings reflected, as he gazed through the one-way glass of the balcony door, that the local citizens had insisted upon decorating the square before their capitol with the hulk of the first spaceship ever to have landed on Pollux V.
A hundred and fifty years probably seemed impressive to them, amid the explosive spread of Terran colonies and federations. Actually, in the marshal's opinion, it was merely long enough to reveal such symbols as more than antiquated but less than historically precious.
"I presume you plan to have me march past that heap!" he complained, tugging at the extremely "historical" sword that completed the effect of his dazzling white and gold uniform.
Commodore Miller, his aide, stiffened nervously.
"Around to the right of it, sir," he gestured. "As you see, the local military are already keeping the route clear of onlookers. We thought it would be most impressive if your party were to descend the outer stairway from the palace balcony here ... to heighten the importance of--"
"To draw out the pomp and circumstance of opening the conference?"
"Well, sir ... and then across the square to the conference hall of the capitol, outside which you will pause for a few gracious words to the crowd--"
"And that will probably be my last opportunity to enjoy the morning sunlight. Oh, well, it seems much too bright here in any case."
The commodore absently reached out to adjust a fold of his chief's sky-blue sash, and the marshal as absently parried the gesture.
"I shall be hardly less than half an hour crossing the square," he predicted sourly. "With the cheering throngs they have undoubtedly arranged, and the sunlight reflecting from all that imitation marble, it will be no place to collect one's thoughts."
* * * * *
He turned back to the huge chamber constituting the "office" of the suite supplied by his Polluxian hosts. The skeleton staff of men and women remaining occupied chairs and benches along only one wall, since the bulk of the delegation had been sent out to make themselves popular with the local populace.
Hennings presumed the bulk of the local populace to consist of Polluxians assigned to making themselves popular with his Ursan Federation delegation. His people would be listening politely to myriad reasons why the Polluxians had a natural right to occupy all the star systems from here to Castor, a dozen light-years farther from Terra. No one would mention the true motive--their illogical choice in naming themselves the Twin Empire.
"Well, now!" he said crisply. "Once more over the main points of the situation! No, commodore, not the schedule of experts that will accompany me to the table; I rely upon you to have perfected that. But have there been any unforeseen developments in the actual fighting?"
A cluster of aides, mostly in uniform but including a few in discreetly elegant civilian attire, moved forward. Each was somehow followed within arm's reach by an aide of his own, so that the advance presented overtones of a small sortie.
Hennings first nodded to the first, a youngish man whose air suggested technical competence more than the assurance of great authority. The officer placed his brief case upon the glistening surface of a large table and touched a switch on the flap.
"It's as well to be sure, sir," the commodore approved. "Our men have been unable to detect any devices, but the walls may have ears."
"They won't scan through this scrambler, sir," asserted the young officer.
Hennings accepted a seat at the table and looked up to one of the others.
"Mirelli's Star," an older officer reported briskly. "The same situation prevails, with both sides having landed surface troops in force on Mirelli II, Mirelli III, and Mirelli V, the fourth planet being inhabited by a partly civilized, nonhuman race protected under the Terran Convention."
"Recent engagements?"
"No, sir. Maneuvering continues, but actual encounters have declined in frequency. Casualties are modest and evenly matched. General Nilssen on Mirelli III continues to receive Polluxian agents seeking his defection."
"I never thought to ask," murmured Hennings. "Is he really a distant connection of the Polluxian Nilssen family?"
"It is improbable, sir, but they are polite enough to accept the pretense. Of course, he rejects every offer in a very high-minded manner, and seems to be making an adequate impression of chivalry."
He stepped back at Henning's nod, to be replaced by another officer.
"One minor space skirmish in the Agohki system to report, sir. The admiral in command appears to have recouped after the error of two days ago, when that Polluxian detachment was so badly mauled. He arranged the capture of three of our cruisers."
"Was that not a trifle rash?" demanded Hennings.
"Intelligence is inclined to think not, sir. The ships were armed only with weapons listed as general knowledge items. The crews were not only trained in prisoner-of-war tactics, but also well supplied with small luxuries. The Polluxian fleet in that system is known to have been in space for several months, so a friendly effect is anticipated."
Hennings considered the condensed report proffered for his perusal. He noted that the Polluxians had been quite gentlemanly about notifying Ursan headquarters of the capture and of the complete lack of casualties. He also saw that while the message was ostensibly directed to the Federation flagship, it had been beamed in such fashion as to be conveniently intercepted at the secret Ursan Federation headquarters on Agohki VII.
"That was a bit rude of them," he commented. "We have never dragged their secrets into the open."
"On the other hand, sir," the commodore suggested, "it may be an almost sophisticated method of permitting us to enjoy our superior finesse."
"I am just as pleased to have the reminder," said Hennings. "It will serve to alert us all the more when we sit down with them over there."
An elegant civilian, a large man with patient, drooping features, stated that nothing had occurred to change the economic situation. Another reported that unofficial channels of information were holding up as well as could be expected. A uniformed officer summarized the battle situation in two more star systems.
"Those are positions we actually desire to hold, are they not?" Hennings asked. "Is action to be taken there?"
"Plans call for local civilian riots at the height of the conference, sir."
"But ... can we lay no groundwork sooner than that? Sometime in the foreseeable future, at least! Take it up with Propaganda, Blauvelt! It seems to me that the briefing mentioned an indigenous race on one of these planets--"
Blauvelt dropped his eyes momentarily, equivalent in that gathering to a blush of intense embarrassment. Hennings coughed apologetically.
"Well, now, I should not pry into arrangements I must later be able to deny convincingly with a clear conscience. I can only plead, my dear Blauvelt, the tenseness of the past several days."
The officer murmured inaudibly, fumbled with his papers, and edged to the rear rank. Someone, at Commodore Miller's fluttering, obtained a vacuum jug of ice water and a glass for the marshal, but Hennings chose instead to produce a long cigar from a pocket concealed beneath his resplendent collection of medals.
"My apologies to all of you," he said thoughtfully. "I fear that any of you who may expect contact with the local population had better see Dr. Ibn Talal about the hypnosis necessary to counteract my little indiscretion. And now--what remains?"
"Nothing but the prisoner exchange, sir," Commodore Miller announced after collecting the eyes of the principal officers.
Hennings got his cigar going. He listened to confirmation of a previous report that a massive exchange of "sick and wounded" prisoners had been accomplished, and learned that the Ursans now suspected that they had accepted unknowingly about as many secret agents as they had sent the Polluxians.
"Oh, well!" he sighed. "As long as the amenities were preserved! We must be as friendly as possible about that sort of thing, or run the risk of antagonizing them."
Seeing that the commodore was tense with impatience, the marshal rose to his feet. An aide deftly received the cigar for disposal, and the party drifted expectantly toward the balcony doors.
From among that part of the staff which would remain to man headquarters, an officer was dispatched to alert the Polluxian honor guard.
* * * * *
One more touch before the die is cast, thought the marshal, as two young officers opened the balcony doors to admit the blare of trumpets.
Cheers rolled successively across the square, rising like distant waves from somewhere beneath the gigantic banner that draped the capitol opposite with fiery letters spelling out "PEACE CONFERENCE."
With a dramatic gesture, Hennings held up the sheaf of reports they had just reviewed. Smiles disappeared in response to his own serious mien.
"So much for the hostilities!" he snapped. He tossed the reports to the officer who would remain in charge. "Now for the actual war!"
Pivoting on his heel, he led them smartly out to the ornate balcony stairway that curved down into the sea of cheering Polluxians.
* * *
Contents
THE TALKATIVE TREE
By H. B. Fyfe
Dang vines! Beats all how some plants have no manners--but what do you expect, when they used to be men!
All things considered--the obscure star, the undetermined damage to the stellar drive and the way the small planet's murky atmosphere defied precision scanners--the pilot made a reasonably good landing. Despite sour feelings for the space service of Haurtoz, steward Peter Kolin had to admit that casualties might have been far worse.
Chief Steward Slichow led his little command, less two third-class ration keepers thought to have been trapped in the lower hold, to a point two hundred meters from the steaming hull of the Peace State. He lined them up as if on parade. Kolin made himself inconspicuous.
"Since the crew will be on emergency watches repairing the damage," announced the Chief in clipped, aggressive tones, "I have volunteered my section for preliminary scouting, as is suitable. It may be useful to discover temporary sources in this area of natural foods."
Volunteered HIS section! thought Kolin rebelliously.
Like the Supreme Director of Haurtoz! Being conscripted into this idiotic space fleet that never fights is bad enough without a tin god on jets like Slichow!
Prudently, he did not express this resentment overtly.
His well-schooled features revealed no trace of the idea--or of any other idea. The Planetary State of Haurtoz had been organized some fifteen light-years from old Earth, but many of the home world's less kindly techniques had been employed. Lack of complete loyalty to the state was likely to result in a siege of treatment that left the subject suitably "re-personalized." Kolin had heard of instances wherein mere unenthusiastic posture had betrayed intentions to harbor treasonable thoughts.
