Villainy Victorious

by L. Ron Hubbard

  The sergeants pushed Madison backwards across the room and plunked him down in a metal chair. They clamped some shackles on him and bound him there solidly. One of them gave the chains a final yank, unnecessarily hard. “You must be crazy mad, you fool, to insult our queen. She’s the most wonderful thing that’s happened here in centuries and you just made yourself a lot of enemies. So sit quietly! Not another word out of you. Hammer,” he said to the other guard, “you better stay here so you can prevent some other staff from sneaking up and cutting this (bleep’s) throat.” He turned back to Madison. “Insulting Queen Teenie!” And he spat straight in Madison’s face!

  Madison cringed. He had not thought he could get any lower. And as the spittle dripped down his cheek, he recomposed his obituary. He added a line:

  Body taken to the local garbage dump.

  PART SEVENTY-TWO

  Chapter 6

  The hall resounded with the sounds of hurrying staff who dashed about setting up the place. They roped off two large areas, one with red ropes, the other with blue. Before them they left an open expanse. About five hundred square feet of it was suddenly underlit so that it glowed and shimmered. The whole ceiling turned into a blue haze, much like a summer sky.

  Two liveried footmen raced out, pushing a big vertical board on wheels. Two more, with the sound of thunder, pushed into view a massive golden throne all covered with sparkling jewels. The seat was twelve feet above the floor, reached by scarlet steps. They placed it in front of the open expanse, across from the ropes.

  There was a rumble. On the wall, over to the right of the throne, ten feet above the floor, a whole section moved outward to form a balcony that was a stage. Eight musicians with strange instruments were already in place, adjusting their equipment: they were dressed in shimmering yellow clothing that sparked other colors each time they moved.

  A dozen silver-liveried men with axes on tall handles marched in smartly and took positions at the ends of the roped areas and on either side of the throne.

  As quickly as they had appeared, the hurrying staff vanished, leaving only the silent musicians and guards. The stillness, after all that noise, was almost like a blow.

  There were then some murmurings and footsteps coming from the main entrance stairs.

  Madison tried to fish in his pocket, hopeful that he had a Kleenex so he could wipe his face, wet with spittle that was too much like tears.

  “Sit still!” snarled Hammer and blocked his motion with the axe. Madison froze: little chains of sparks were racing up and down that blade, giving off the odor of ozone. He recoiled: It wasn’t just a ceremonial axe as he had thought—it was an electric weapon. Gods knew what it would do! Would the sparks jump? He hoped it wouldn’t touch his chains: it could electrocute him! He let the spittle drip. Maybe they were tears now, for he certainly felt like crying. In all of his career as a PR, he had never felt quite so dejected—except maybe that time he had accidentally wrecked the country of Patagonia, or perhaps that afternoon he had icily been dismissed by the president of an international airline Rockecenter had told him to PR, or possibly the dreadful day the presidential candidate Bury had given him as a client suddenly announced he had gone insane. Unaccountable failures dogged his life. He certainly hoped that somehow he would not fail again on Heller: it was his only hope. Or did he have any hope left, sitting here in this overwhelming hall waiting on the whim of a juvenile delinquent from New York? Would that little pathological liar and infant con artist really try him and sentence him to death? He decided she would. Maybe if he threatened to expose her and tell these Voltarians that “movie queen” was just an expression, not royalty. . . . Oh, no! They would kill him if he even so much as looked like he was being critical. She had even taken care of that! He could think of no way to reach her. Actual tears began to mix with the spit.

  He became aware that small groups of boys had been coming in the vast front door. They were being greeted by two bowing seneschals in silver and then directed toward the roped areas by polite ushers. The boys were beautifully dressed, some flashier than others. In the main they were handsome or pretty, and a few wore powder and paint. They all had belts with a shining metal plate which hugely, in Voltarian, said “Page.” They appeared to range in age from eight to fifteen, but one couldn’t really tell with these long-lived people. There must be two hundred of them here by now, and laggards still sauntered in.

  At last a seneschal with a list gave a signal and the giant front doors closed. Another scanned the roped areas: the larger number of boys were behind the red ropes, a smaller, better-dressed number were behind the blue.

  An usher gave a signal to one of the seneschals, who pushed a button on his livery.

  A spotlight went on, striking at the top of the golden stairs.

  Four heralds closed across the bottom of the balustrade. They raised what must be battle horns. A chorded blast struck the hall.

  And in the spotlight glare at the stairway top stood Teenie!

  She had a golden crown upon her head, ponytail sticking out behind. She wore a scarlet military coat with golden frogs: it gripped her neck with its high collar and fell away to her black-booted heels. In her hand she carried a golden rod that sparked with jewels, a scepter.

  Like a benediction from above, a gauzy gold cape, full of glitter, settled over her shoulders. The two boys Madison had seen earlier were now in golden suits.

  Teenie took a forward step to descend the stairs.

  The musicians bashed out a cymbal crash! Then they began to play a stately air of celestial majesty. With the two boys in gold carrying her long golden train, in time to the sedate music, Teenie came down the curving golden stairs.

  The throng gazed at her in ecstasy.

  Followed by the spotlight, she paraded across the hall. With great dignity she mounted the scarlet steps to the throne. Regally, she seated herself, and the two boys gave the train an artistic, curving fold upon the approach. They folded their arms and stood like two small golden statues at her feet. The music ceased.

  The seneschal approached the throne and gave a sweeping bow. Kneeling and speaking to the floor, not her, he said, “Your Majesty, I beg to announce the court is assembled. I have further been told to say that there are several virgins here. The courtiers await your pleasure. They beg that you would condescend to caress their ears with the celestial beauty of your voice. They eagerly attend. Long Live Your Majesty. May I withdraw?”

  Teenie gave a twitch with the scepter and he backed away. She gazed down upon the lifted faces of the throng across the open space.

  The spotlight narrowed to a glittering circle upon her.

  She smiled.

  A sigh of pleasure rippled like a friendly breeze about the room.

  Teenie spoke and her voice was quite commanding and loud: there must be a microphone in the arm of that throne. Her Voltarian accent had changed: she was speaking with the lilt that characterized the speeches of the court.

  “Welcome, welcome, my dear, loyal vassals and sweet friends. I spread my love upon you and accept your kisses on my feet. May the blessings of a thousand heavens rain into your waiting lips.” She paused and gave a sly smile. “And into your hips as well.” There was a patter of applause. Teenie smiled more broadly. “I thank you from my bottom.”

  Instant cheers broke out.

  Then the boys were throwing her kisses.

  Teenie beamed. “I love you, too!” she said.

  Wilder cheers racked the hall. The sentries had to twitch the ropes as a warning not to burst across the open space to the throne.

  Teenie was laughing. She held up the scepter for quiet.

  The two boys in gold saw some signal and rushed up the steps to her. She kissed each one and then they unfastened the chain which held the golden cape and, doing a sort of swirling dance with it, bore it off.

  Teenie stood up. “But enough, my darlings, of this ceremony. I fear that I must now go into the stuffy, technical end of life. Are you ready fo
r my lecture?”

  Cries of “Oh, yes, Your Majesty!” “Please, please!” rocked the hall. No professor in a school ever got such an invitation to begin.

  Madison wondered what in heaven she was going to talk about. Like all good PRs, he was an expert in presentation and stagecraft, and up to now he had been struck with awe at how well the page school had trained her and how she must be working under the guidance of an expert palace staff with all the expertise that they must have. A technical lecture after this? Surely Teenie, now on her own, was going to blow it. The foolish girl: good heavens, how she needed his help! And, oh, how desperately he needed her assistance to finish his job with Heller!

  PART SEVENTY-TWO

  Chapter 7

  Covered from throat to heels by her scarlet military coat, topped by her glittering crown, Teenie strode to the wheeled vertical board. Madison could not see what was on it. But he was very glad she had good enough sense not to appear naked or exposed before these boys: they were much too young to be subjected to female nakedness, even that as immature as Teenie’s.

  The hall was hushed. She raised her scepter, using it as a pointer. It must have a microphone in it, for her voice came loudly, with authority, from speakers Madison could not locate.

  “Here, my loving students,” Teenie said, “we have a graphic illustration of the naked male body.” She gestured with the scepter in a sweep. “A front view, a right-side view, a left-side view and a back. Now, I must admit that the artist has made the (bleep) too large for my taste.” She turned to them and smiled a too-big smile. There was pleased laughter at her joke. “But somehow getting around that point”—more laughter—“you will see that I myself have marked in certain places with an X. Now attend, and no more giggling, for this is serious business and I have left you clearheaded for this part of the program so that the information can slide in and stick. There are 172 of these Xs on these four drawings. Can everyone see them?”

  Choruses of “Yes.”

  “They are called the erotic spots. Touching them or manipulating them can bring about sexual stimulation, prolong it or cool it off.” Jabbing with her scepter she rattled them off, for each one had a name. English? Chinese? She turned to the assemblage, quite out of breath, and smiled. “I know it seems an awful lot, but nevertheless, you must know each one and know just how to use it. You will see these boards again in subsequent evening classes. The palace artist, who is a very splendid fellow really, despite his exaggerated idea of (bleeps) . . .” She paused to let their laughter pass. “He offered to make copies of this for you, but the information is secret. So these boards will be placed in the basement near the rear portcullis and you can slip in and out to your heart’s content and study them. Now mind that you do, for you will be personally examined on each one of them. Got it?”

  The two groups nodded vigorously, interest was intense.

  “Now,” said Teenie, “for tonight’s first demonstration. I need a virgin volunteer.”

  Instantly fifty hands went flailing toward her.

  Teenie pointed with the scepter. “I’ll take you!”

  A boy who appeared to be about fifteen slid eagerly under the red ropes. He was quite pretty, with a clear white skin.

  The staff ran out a platform five feet high with steps. The two young boys in the golden suits led the volunteer up it. With expert hands they stripped off his clothes and in a moment had him standing there naked. They withdrew. Teenie mounted the platform. “Now behold!” She pointed with her scepter to the boards. Then with one finger she touched a spot on the boy near the spine.

  INSTANT RESPONSE!

  The audience gasped.

  Teenie pointed at the boards with her scepter. Then she touched a spot on the lower outside right thigh.

  THE RESPONSE DEFLATED!

  The audience groaned.

  Again Teenie indicated the boards and then, with one finger, touched the lower middle lip of the boy’s mouth.

  RESPONSE OCCURRED AT ONCE!

  She gestured at the charts and then she touched the side of the boy’s neck.

  THE RESPONSE GREW BIGGER AND STAYED!

  Once more she pointed at the chart. Then with one light finger she touched a spot at the lower center of the boy’s pubic hair. His eyes rolled up, his chin thrust forward, he gave an ecstatic groan.

  HE (BLEEPULATED)!

  Gasps echoed in the audience like an echo of the groan. Then there were cries of amazement and suddenly wild applause.

  But Teenie wasn’t through. She touched a spot at the base of his throat. He straightened up.

  ANOTHER RESPONSE!

  Gasps of astonishment slid through the hall.

  Teenie leaned over and touched his ear with her tongue.

  ANOTHER (BLEEPULATION)!

  The crowd went mad!

  The stern-faced sergeants had to twitch the ropes quite hard to prevent a forward surge onto the cleared space.

  “We could keep this up all night,” said Teenie, “and though I’d dearly love to, the program must continue. You,” she said to the volunteer, “have been a very good boy. You are very pretty, too.” And she gave his (bleep) a pat. It was suddenly erect again. “So thank you for coming up here.”

  Although dismissed, the boy dropped to his knees and clutched the bottom of her military coat. He kissed it passionately. “O Teenie, Queen Teenie, thank Gods that you are here. I shall be your vassal forever.”

  She patted his head and smiled. “For that, sweet fellow, my two little grooms will take you into the hall there and in no time at all, you will no longer have to suffer your virginity.”

  Many behind the ropes had knelt when the boy did. There came a shout of “Long Live Your Majesty!” from 250 pairs of lips, more like a prayer than an accolade.

  Madison was torn between revulsion at what she had just demonstrated and sheer awe at the power she had over these misguided youths. Oh Lord, he prayed, if I could just somehow channel this INFLUENCE in handling Heller!

  PART SEVENTY-TWO

  Chapter 8

  But Teenie never glanced at Madison. She obviously had forgotten him utterly.

  The platform and the boards were now being wheeled away.

  Teenie said, “Thank you for your patience, lovely court. After the ardors of stuffy technical harangue, I bid you have a moment’s relaxation before we go on.”

  Madison blinked. She certainly taught a very unorthodox class! What more could there possibly be to this after TWO (bleepulations)? He knew she could be taken in hand and educated in good presentation. She had achieved a program peak with “Long Live Your Majesty.” There couldn’t be anything more. Then he wondered why he should be so anxious to be tried and probably executed. He must think of something!

  Teenie had clapped her hands and servants were now passing amongst the boys behind the ropes. They had silver boxes and were handing out a joint to every four boys and lighting them.

  Marijuana smoke soon rose sweetly and blue in the hall. The boys had evidently already been instructed in their use for they dragged the smoke in and held it, on and on, while the joints went round. One could see the euphoric surges hit their faces.

  Teenie had walked over to the musicians. The bandmaster had come down and was kneeling before her while she conversed quietly with him. Then he kissed the hem of her military cloak and raced back up to the bandstand.

  A prolonged chord was struck. The hall was filled with sound. And then Madison could not believe his ears.

  ROCK AND ROLL!

  Good heavens, how had these musicians ever learned this? It was an old piece of the Beatles! The electric whang of the guitars was there, even if a little strange, but the savage, pounding rhythm surged clear up to the painted angels. Then, as he saw the boys begin to jerk under the pall of marijuana smoke in time to the music, he remembered that Teenie had had an awesome collection of records in her baggage as well as tapes and players. Somebody must have matched current to them and these musicians had practiced to
imitate the sound. He expected any minute to see Harrison walk out and begin to sing!

  But this was just an interlude. Teenie had retired to her throne. She sat there, buttoned up to her throat, keeping time with her scepter. A servant knelt before her and passed her the pipe of a golden bong. She took only a small puff of it, seemingly to just be companionable, and then waved the servant away.