Chuch sat down without being invited, poured himself a muggard of wine, sipped at it fastidiously.
John, red-faced from drink, said, “Well, my Lord Chuch, have you been off discussing this latest treachery with your father, two-faced Dramocles?”
“Neither of the king’s faces wished to see me,” said Chuch. “Rudolphus told me that the king’s heart was sore vexed over what he had to do. There was some mention of aliens. What did he say to you, King Snint?”
Snint said, “He took me aside for private audience. His face portrayed distress, his voice trembled, yet he rarely met my eye. ‘Snint,’ said he, ‘I am much embarrassed by a recent turn of events, though I myself am guilty of no wrongdoing. Just minutes ago, my agents in Lekk reported that a force of aliens landed on the northern promontory of Catalia in the province of Llull. They numbered in the tens of thousands and were well armed. My agents identified them as Sammak nomads, of the Sammak-Kalmucki horde who have been coming into our region of space for the last century with their old-fashioned spaceships filled with smelly livestock. This group, however, was one of the elite Sammak battle groups, obviously come to try the defenses of our worlds before summoning the main horde. Since Lekk has no standing army, and since hesitation might prove fatal, I have ordered my Commander Rux to wipe out these invaders without mercy. The rapidity and sureness of our response will impress their warlords, and save us from grievous trouble in the future.’ ”
“Did you believe him?” Chuch enquired.
“Of course not,” said Count John. “But Snint feigned agreement. What else could he do?”
“What about loyal Rufus? How did he react to the news?”
John smiled maliciously. “Sweat sprang to his loyal brow, and his mouth turned down in pain and disbelief. Yet, still he declined to condemn Dramocles. He said it was a time of trials for us all, not least our host. He counseled us to be patient a little longer. ‘How long?’ I asked. ‘Until he takes your kingdom or mine?’ He had no answer for that, but turned away and went to his chambers, perplexed, disturbed, but still stubbornly loyal to Dramocles. But what’s good for Dramocles must be good for us all, for has not Dramocles himself told us so? Prince, you should join your father in wassailing and mirthful merriment.”
“I understand your bitterness,” Chuch said, “but it carries you too far. You very well know the disesteem which exists between Dramocles and myself. I am most vehemently opposed to the king’s present course of action, and, indeed, to the king himself.”
Snint said, “All of this is well known,” and John nodded grudgingly.
“How could it be otherwise?” Chuch asked. “Never has he loved me. My functions in the government are few and ceremonial. Despite my years of military training, Dramocles has never let me command so much as a platoon of soldiers. And although I am still considered the heir apparent, I consider it unlikely that I will ever inherit the throne.”
“It sounds like a tedious position,” said Snint, “for an ambitious young man such as yourself.”
Chuch set down his muggard. “I’ll not mince words. I wish to stand beside you, Count John and King Snint, in the struggle for hegemony that fast approaches. It must be apparent to you that his goal can be nothing less than the restoration of the old Glormish empire. And you must admit that two planets seized in a day is a good beginning. But after this, the going gets harder. Neither Aardvark nor Lekk is militarily significant. But he’ll not get into Crimsole so easily, I think. Nor will he invade Druth, for he needs Rufus’s strong space fleet. And there is still Haldemar to consider, as he sits in his distant planet of Vanir and considers the import of events. The outcome is unclear. But I’ll stake my life on Dramocles losing, especially if we can come to an agreement between ourselves.”
7.
Dramocles reclined on a king-sized water bed in a comer of the sitting room he had had constructed in one of the smaller turrets of his palace of Ultragnolle. At the foot of the bed sat a slender minstrel girl clad in the traditional costume of russet and fawn undies. She was singing a ballad and accompanying herself on a miniature moog dulcimer.
It had been three days since the conquest of Aardvark, two days since his robot army had invaded Lekk. Count John, Snint, and Adalbert were demanding explanations. Their behavior toward him had become sarcastic in the extreme. Adalbert, in particular, seemed to be losing his grip. He spent his nights in the gambling halls of Thula Island, losing vast sums and impressing the local ladies with tales of how he had been a king before Dramocles had taken away his patrimony. Worst of all, he was charging his gambling debts to the Exchequer of Glorm, and Dramocles really didn’t have the heart to stop him. The pretense that he was intervening in their planets for their own good was wearing increasingly thin. Even the loyal Rufus was upset, still loyal, but his mouth now a grim line as he contemplated the vistas of dishonor that lay before him no matter what he did.
And Dramocles still didn’t know what to tell anyone. It had all seemed so right at the time. Wasn’t destiny supposed to work itself out?
His computer swore it had no more envelopes, no clues of any sort, nor was it expecting to find any. Perhaps something had gone wrong. The next link in the chain of revelations—perhaps another old woman—might have met with some sort of misadventure, might be lying dead in a ditch.
Now he had conquered Aardvark, a place he didn’t have the slightest interest in, and soon he would have Lekk, a place he cared for even less. And he also had the hostility of his son, Chuch, who felt left out, as usual; and his wife Lyrae was irritated with him, and all, so far, for nothing. He certainly didn’t want to reestablish the old Glormish empire. That was a romantic notion, but completely unrealistic. Interplanetary empires had never been workable. And even if they could work, what would you have? A few more empty titles and a lot more paperwork.
Caught in a sudden mood swing, he realized that the only thing to do now was to make peace at once, while it was still possible, before too much damage had been done.
Dramocles sent for John, Snint, and Adalbert. He had decided to restore their planets, withdraw his troops, apologize, and tell them he’d gone out of his mind for a while. He was rehearsing his speech when a messenger brought him the news that the kings were no longer on Glorm. They had taken to their ships. There had been no orders to detain them. Only Rufus was left, faithful as always.
“Damnation,” Dramocles said, and told the palace operator to get John on the interplanetary phone.
Count John couldn’t be reached. Neither could Snint or Adalbert. The next Dramocles heard of them was a week later. John had returned to Crimsole, raised a force of thirty thousand men, and sent them to the aid of Snint’s beleaguered forces on Lekk. Dramocles’ demoralized army was suddenly caught in a two-front war and in danger of annihilation.
Sadly at first, then with mounting fury, Dramocles sent reinforcements to Lekk, and settled down for a long war.
Fighting a war was a novel experience for Dramocles, who was unused to regular work of any sort. But now his carefree, aimless existence was over. He set his alarm for eight o’clock every morning, and usually arrived at the War Room by 9:30. He would read a computer printout of the previous night’s actions, check out the over-all picture, and then turn to battlefield management.
Rufus mobilized his troops and awaited Dramocles’ instructions. Dramocles had intended to send Prince Chuch, his oldest son, with Rufus to act as military liaison. It was an empty but prestigious post that might keep the boy out of mischief. But Chuch was no longer on Glorm. No one knew where he was. Dramocles feared the worst.
8.
Back when the universe was young and still unsure of itself, there were a number of primitive races who inhabited the crowded worlds of the galactic center. One of these was the Vanir, barbarians addicted to shaggy dress and strange customs.
As they pushed outward in their lapstraked spaceships, the Vanir came to Glorm. Here they encountered the Ystradgnu, or Little People, as they were
called by the many races taller than themselves. Many great battles were fought between the two, but at last the Vanir prevailed. They enjoyed a period of dominance before the arrival of the last humans, fleeing a barren and poisoned Earth. Again there were great battles, resulting in the Vanir being driven off Glorm and out of the Local System and all the way back to the chilly outermost planet.
At the time of this telling, Haldemar was High King of the Vanir, and his heart raged with aggressive tendencies. Oftentimes Haldemar lay on his thagskin in a drunken stupor and dreamed of the spoils to be gotten by a quick raid into Crimsole or Glorm. It was especially women that Haldemar was interested in: sleek, perfumed women to replace the large-thewed Vanir girls, who, in bed, could always be counted upon to say, at their moment of highest ecstasy, “Oh, ya, dis good fun.” Whereas civilized women always wanted to discuss their relationship with you, and that was exciting for a barbarian who had been brought up on a minimum of relationships and plenty of fresh air.
Haldemar had been to civilization only once, when he was invited to make an appearance on the “Alien Celebrities” show that the GBC had tried out for a season, then dropped. Haldemar remembered well the excitement and bustle around the studio, and how the people asking him questions had actually listened to the answers. It had been the greatest time in his life.
His deepest instinct told him to let loose his lapstraked spaceships upon the effete civilizations of the inner worlds. He desisted, however; the inner planet peoples had too much going for them. They had deadly weapons and fast ships scavenged from the ruins of Earth, and they banded together whenever the Vanir attacked any one of them. So Haldemar stayed his hand and waited for an opportunity.
And now, at last, an emissary had come to him from civilization.
Haldemar arranged a meeting at once, as protocol demanded. Although he had a primitive man’s distrust of manners, he also possessed a barbarian’s exquisite sense of ritual. He went to the meeting with hope and trepidation.
The audience was held in Haldemar’s banquet hall. Haldemar had the place swept out and fresh rushes laid on the floor. At the last moment, remembering the refinements of civilization, he borrowed two chairs from Sigrid Eigretnose, his scrivener.
The emissary wore a cloak of puce and mauve, colors unknown in this rough barbarian world. He wore other things, too, but Haldemar, with a barbarian’s indifference to detail, did not notice them.
“Welcome!” said Haldemar. “How are matters?”
“Pretty good,” Vitello said. “How are things here?”
Haldemar shrugged. “The same as always. Raising luu and raiding each others settlements are our principal occupations. Raiding is particularly useful, and is one of our chief contributions to social theory. It serves to keep the men occupied, the population down, and goods like swords and goblets in constant circulation.”
“Not like the old days, eh? Raiding each other can’t be as much fun as raiding other people.”
“Well, it’s insightful of you to realize that,” Haldemar said. “But what can we do? Our weapons are too primitive and our numbers too small to permit us to raid the civilized planets without getting our asses kicked, if you’ll excuse the expression.”
Vitello nodded. “That’s the way it has been, up ’til now.”
“That’s how it still is,” Haldemar said, “unless you bring news to the contrary.”
Vitello said, “Haven’t you heard of the great changes that are going on? Dramocles of Glorm has taken Aardvark and landed troops on Lekk. Count John of Crimsole opposes him, as does my master, Prince Chuch, son of Dramocles. There’s trouble brewing, and where there’s trouble, there’s a profit to be made and some fun to be had.”
“Reports of this have reached us,” Haldemar said, “but we considered it no more than a family affair. If the Vanir were to enter the conflict, the various antagonists would combine against us, as they have done in the past.”
“It has gone beyond family squabbles,” Vitello said. “My lord Chuch has sworn to be seated on the throne of Glorm. Count John and Snint of Lekk have pledged their support. There’ll be no patching up this quarrel. It’s going to be war.”
“Well, good enough. But what has that to do with us?”
Vitello smiled deviously. “Prince Chuch felt that no interplanetary war could be complete without the participation of the Vanir. He invites you to join his side.”
“Aha!” Haldemar pretended to think for a moment, and tugged at his greasy moustaches. “What inducement does Prince Chuch offer?”
“A full partner’s share in the anticipated spoils of Glorm.” Vitello presented the treaty, a rolled parchment tied with red ribbon and bristling with seals. Haldemar touched it gently, for, barbarian to the core, he considered all pieces of paper sacred. Yet still he hesitated.
“What other sign of his love does Prince Chuch send me?”
“My spaceship is loaded with gifts for you and your nobles,” Vitello said. “There are Erector and Lego sets, puzzles and riddles, comic books, a selection of the latest rock recordings, Avon cosmetics for the ladies, and much else besides.”
“That is good of the prince,” Haldemar said. “Guard! See that no one gets into that stuff until I’ve had first pick. If a king can’t pick first, what’s the sense of being a king?”
9.
A few days passed before Dramocles reacted to John’s armed intervention on Lekk, but when he did, his retribution was swift and more than a little cruel. With typical cunning, he struck directly at a matter dear to John and his wife Anne’s hearts. This was the annual Interplanetary Charity Dinner, given by the Glorm Broadcasting Company on the restaurant planetoid Uffizi, at which prizes were awarded for Best King of the Year, Best Queen, etc. It was the top social event in that part of the galaxy. By using all his influence, and employing not inconsiderable bribes, Dramocles managed to have John and Anne stripped of their membership and barred from the celebration. The reason given was Aggression Toward a Fellow Potentate. John was outraged, but there was nothing he could do about it.
The war on Lekk was not going well. Dramocles had expected a quick victory over Snint’s insignificant militia, until John’s robots, striking unexpectedly, had almost overwhelmed his troops. General Rux had managed to stabilize the front, but morale was bad among the Glormish forces. The robots seemed to be affected by an analog of uncertainty.
On the other hand, the people of Glorm were reacting well to the war. Max had seen to that. His newspaper series, “Why Are We Fighting?” had told about the great conspiracies that were being directed against Glorm. Max had hired teams of writers to elaborate the various points, and the GBS was presenting the material in prime-time segments every night. The Glormish people were learning all about the various conspiracies—economic, religious, racial, and just plain evil-minded—that were boiling up around them.
That sort of thinking found a large and ready audience. A substantial portion of the population of Glorm had always believed that they were victims of a large interstellar conspiracy.
Max joined Dramocles for coffee. He was eager to discuss his latest findings with the king. Dramocles was getting a little worried about Max. He seemed to have been captured by his own theories.
“The vile plot is coming clear at last,” Max said. “I’m finally gathering the evidence I need. I have proof of psychic alien incursions and spirit possession as well as outright subversion.”
Dramocles nodded and lit a cigarette.
“It’s all documented,” Max said. “The roles of secret agents. Their program of provocation, intimidation, and assassination. The mysterious affair of Dr. Vinicki. The disastrous influences from Earth—the Carbonari, the Illuminati, the Tibetan Masters, and now the most powerful of all, Tlaloc.”
“That’s the first I’ve heard that name,” Dramocles said.
“You’ll be hearing it more. Tlaloc is our real enemy. He and his agents are planning to destroy most of our population so that they can ta
ke over Glorm and make everyone engage in revolting sexual practices and devil worship. Tlaloc himself is something more than a man; he’s a magician of supreme powers.”
“Yeah,” Dramocles said. “Right.”
“Tlaloc has been waiting for a very long time, centuries, circling our planet in his invisible spaceship, waiting for our technology to reach the point where we would be worth taking over. He has decided that now is the time, and this war is the beginning of the final, the ultimate war.”
“All right, Max,” Dramocles said. “It’s a little florid, but I think it sounds fine.”
Max looked puzzled. “Beg pardon, Sire? Every word I’m telling you is true.”
“Max, you and I both know how this war started. I started it. Remember?”
Max produced a weary, knowing smile. “My dear lord, it was much more complicated than that. You were influenced to start this war. By Tlaloc. I can show you proof.”
Dramocles decided that this was not the time to have it out with Max. He was doing his job well. There would be time to straighten him out later.
Spearheaded by Max’s elite group, the population of Glorm got behind the anti-Tlaloc crusade with great enthusiasm. A standard college text was Tlalocism: The Philosophy of Degradation. High schools used A History of the Tlaloc, and grade schools taught A Child’s History of the Tlaloc. On the kindergarten level, The Evil Tlaloc Picture Book was required coloring. The biggest-best-seller that year was My Five Years With Tlaloc, and the movie Tlaloc—My Father, My Husband! was a smash at the box office.
Dramocles didn’t know what to make of it all. Max’s industry was keeping the people of Glorm happy and occupied. The Glormish liked conspiracy, and that made them easy to govern.
He wasn’t happy when the arrests began, but he saw that they were necessary. You can’t have a conspiracy without arresting some of the conspirators. If there are no arrests, people don’t think you’re serious.
Various Fiction Page 286