Exile From Xanadu, page 16
“Father!” The first sound in long seconds was a whisper from Manuel.
“Who is this man?” demanded Cabrera. “He speaks to me as if we claim acquaintance.”
For an instant Regan thought that the old man’s mind had cracked under the sudden shock, but his voice was too firm and his words too bitter for there to be any doubt of what he had said. Regan felt a sudden elation, for, in those few words the old man had shattered any illusions that any of them might have had for the future. He looked at Carlo and read the amazement in the black man’s eyes; he saw the tears shining on the cheeks of Giselle; he noted the grim anger on the face of Armand, and the stark bewilderment of Manuel.
“Father, it is I, Manuel.”
“Regan,” snapped the old man. “Regan, tell me of this man—what he has done—what he is doing here, on the Kaldori worlds.”
“He is a man with a dream, Cabrera,” said Regan coldly. “He has a dream of an empire with himself at its head, and he will realize that dream over the broken worlds of Earth and Caledon and Cleomon, of Ferroval and Cabri. There are dead men behind him, Cabrera, and dead men form the road ahead—if he is allowed to go on.”
“Father!” The dark eyes blazed their malevolence at Regan. “Tell him,” said Regan coldly. “Tell him of your plan to hide here and await the dissolution of mankind. Tell him how you hid yourself even from your own people. There are dead men to be paid for, and broken lives; there is the grief of your family to be assuaged and debts in plenty to be redeemed. This is the moment of redemption, Manuel, and I need to see you crawl.”
“There is no truth in you,” snarled Manuel.
“Murderer,” said Regan implacably. “Tell them of the dead men that have marked your passing. Tell them of the Ferroval cruiser. Deny me these hands and these scars. Deny the grief of your mother and your father—if you can."
The silence that followed his words stretched into aeons; Regan looked at the old man and knew that he was holding himself together only by a tremendous effort of will. He knew that the old man’s brain was fitting the pieces together, seeking motives here, placing facts there, in their proper order.
"Can you explain your lies and your deceit?” The old voice was a whisper but the contempt it bore was plain for all of them to read. “Can you explain the two lost years, or those who died in the Ferroval cruiser?”
Manuel took three faltering steps towards Regan. His ashen face and terrible eyes bespoke his state of mind more clearly than any words could tell. He hesitated and then turned back to the old man.
“Father, I had a dream—a dream too great for you to understand. I hold it still, deep within me, and I want it to blossom here, on the Kaldori worlds. I want the sort of world here that Earth once was. Can you not see it? Can you not understand it, and see why I have done what has to be done? Father—”
“No,” snapped the old man. “I see only ambition, a lust for power that has been placed above human life.” He leaned forward on the seat. “I landed for one reason—a reason that has not been told. Our time is running out. Regan—Carlo— what we have feared for so long has happened. I received word of an open breach between Earth and the colony worlds. It has come sooner than we expected, and it has come because of demands upon the economy of the colony worlds by the Terran government. They have taken fright over the situation that exists on Earth and have demanded that millions of colonists be taken from Earth and settled on the new worlds. They have demanded a long term program of evacuation that will be spread over the next twenty years and will reduce Earth’s population by at least twenty percent in that time.”
Regan stared bleakly at Carlo and read the horror in the man’s eyes. He looked at Manuel and saw the gleam of hope in the gray eyes—and he knew that this was what Manuel had been waiting for. This was the culmination of his idea.
“The colony worlds have rejected the suggestion,” said Cabrera.
“Then there could be war,” whispered Carlo.
“There will be if the situation deteriorates any further."
“It won’t,” broke in Regan decisively. “The answer is here —on the Kaldori worlds. We will offer them to Earth on the basis of Manuel’s original idea, and I think they will accept. Once that is accomplished then the reason for strife will be gone.”
“What of the colony worlds?” asked Carlo. “They will see their own dreams of conquest frustrated."
“Earth is too strong,” said the old man. “They would never dare to tackle her when she has had hope reborn. These worlds will mean life for millions and the rebirth of the entire Terran economy. No,” he shook his head, “I do not think—”
“You shall not do it,” screamed Manuel. “These are my worlds, and this is my plan”
“You are a dead man,” said Regan coldly. “Manuel your time is here and now, and you will wish a thousand times that you had died in the destruction of that ship.”
Even as he spoke, Manuel turned and threw himself at Regan. He screamed an animal howl of rage, and the momentary glimpse that Regan had of his face, contorted as it was with rage and fear, told him that Manuel had given up the fight. He was beaten and he knew it; yet, in one last effort at revenge he dared to contest his strength with that of the man whose death he had so nearly accomplished.
Regan threw him off, and caught him again as he came in a second time; he held him tightly in his prosthetic arms, tensing them against the maniacal struggles of a man half mad with rage and frustration. There was a sudden crack, and Manuel screamed with pain. Regan relaxed his grip slightly, and as he did so, Manuel shrieked, “Armandl Armand, kill him!”
The shock of it flooded through Regan’s whole being. His eyes jumped across the space that separated him from the blond man standing beside Giselle, and he read the flowering hatred and panic written so clearly upon the thin face. Armand! And Manuel had called upon him for aid. The blazing rage on Armand’s face answered any questions that he might have had. There had to be someone on Earth to tell Manuel of Regan’s survival and of his subsequent masquerade; there had to be someone to help him obtain his recruits—the men and women needed to populate the two Kaldori worlds; there had to be an agent for all the hundred things that needed to be done that could not be done by Manuel.
It had to be Armand!
No wonder Armand had opposed his plan to go to Ferroval; no wonder Armand had tried to trap Regan into leaving Xanadu to fall into the hands of Malatest—if the plans had come off then the agents of the colony worlds would have had the person of Manuel Cabrera in their hands—or so they would have believed—and the real Manuel would have been' doubly safe.
And it had been Armand who had kept Manuel informed of all that had happened—all, that was, except the closeness of Regan. And that he could not do because he didn’t know Regan’s plans until after he had left Earth with the old man. He and Cabrera would have been in space when the news reached them of Regan’s ultimate destination, and it would have been far too dangerous for him to have tried to warn his cousin of the threat that was developing.
Armand!
Regan felt a terrible rage flood through him; he was vaguely aware of the struggling form of Manuel clutched tightly in his arms like a fly in a giant web; he was vaguely aware that the man was screaming, a high, horrible sound that made a mockery of the beauty that was around them. Then thf screaming stopped, and the struggling. Regan wondered stupidly why Manuel was so still; he opened his aims and allowed the dead, crushed body of Manuel Cabrera to fall to the ground where it lay, twisted and crumpled, upon the green grass.
He looked at it, and realized with growing horror just what he had done. The frozen tableau of the old man, of Giselle, of Carlo, stood looking at him, and he spread wide his hands in a gesture of hopeless repentance.
“I—I am sorry”
Someone sobbed close by, a high pitched, bitter sound that had an edge of hysteria to it, and he thought at once that it was Giselle crying for her twice lost brother. But she stood still and straight as she had been, white and motionless with her great violet eyes fixed on him, unblinking. There was no hatred in them. Beside her the tall, hunched form of Armand stood and wailed and moaned in the hopelessness of discovery, a broken tool now that his cousin was no more.
“Cabrera.” Regan felt the words stick in his throat. “Cabrera, I have robbed you of your son again.”
The old man rose slowly to his feet, and crossed to him, leaning heavily on his stick; his face was as gray as death, yet it bore no sign of sorrow to add to the thousand wrinkles of his aged face. He paused beside the broken body of Manuel and poked at it gently with his cane.
"This was not my son, Regan,” he said. "No son of mine can bear my name and act as he has done.” The old eyes lifted from the body and looked at Regan, and there were tears in them. “You are more my son than ever he could be, and these tears of mine are for your survival—not for his death. My son lives on in what you have suffered, in what you have accomplished. And this—this carrion who bore my name has paid his debt in full."
He turned from Regan and walked slowly and stiffly towards the house. Giselle took his arm as he passed by and together they moved from Regan’s sight through the dark doorway. Behind them the tottering, weeping figure of Armand was ushered away by Carlo, and Regan was left alone in the garden, with the dusk closing silently around him.
Hysterically, he wondered how a brother and sister might marry, and he was still laughing, high and tearfully, When Giselle came out to fetch him.
THE END
Lan Wright, Exile From Xanadu
