Pantha had once tried to place people on Vallombrosa itself. But it proved far too difficult for any species made of solid matter to accustom itself to living long with those made of strange dark matter. The only people who lived on the planet's surface were those who worked in the alcazar, and they had to be rotated on a frequent basis for the sake of their own sanity.
But such minor inconveniences as living in a closed and artificial environment were infinitely preferable to the certain death these people had faced, and most were content to obey Pantha's laws. Any who were not content were removed by the dark-matter creatures.
To give Pantha credit—and later Flaim, when he grew old enough to take over the rule of Vallombrosa himself—he used this sort of drastic punishment sparingly, and then made generous reparations to the affected families. Those the prince removed were generally troublemakers, not particularly well liked anyway. And, as time passed, such removals grew fewer, were no longer needed.
Prince Starfire had the charisma of the Blood Royal, the charm of the Starfires. His people came to revere and respect him. They were wholly committed to his cause. Maigrey, who had hoped to find cracks of discontent, rebellion, was disappointed .
Dion Starfire was spoken of as the usurper. Flaim Starfire was known to be the true king.
Again and again, despite herself, she questioned Sagan's motives. "Why bring Dion here? The risks he runs are very great. If he should fail ..."
Is that it, my lord? Do you want him to fail?
She refused to let herself consider that possibility. She had faith in him, if no one else did. But her faith brought her no peace. Instead, she spent the days and nights wandering the alcazar, a restless spirit, the perfect spy, gaining valuable information she could never put to use.
The dark-matter creatures were the true danger, the true threat—but then Sagan already knew that. Flaim's military might was impressive. It was certainly not sufficient to conquer a galaxy, however. If it weren't for the dark-matter creatures, he'd be just another planet-popping dictator, gobbling up territory, making life miserable for his neighbors.
The creatures were a powerful ally, but a capricious one. This was something Maigrey discovered, wondered if Sagan knew. The creatures acted out of no loyalty to Flaim. Maigrey doubted if the creatures even understood the prince's ambition, or cared about it one way or the other. She guessed that anyone who possessed the ability to communicate with the creatures could elicit their services, though what the creatures' motives might be in serving was unclear to her . . . and apparently to Garth Pantha as well.
It was, Maigrey thought with a certain grim amusement, like trying to fathom the mind of God.
Pantha and Flaim were discussing this very subject one day. The two generally spent their evenings alone together in one of the upper-level rooms of the alcazar known as the Hall. The room, with its weirdly canting stone walls, its oddly sloping stone ceiling, was large and spacious and chill. A huge wood-burning fireplace located at one end provided the only heat.
Those who lived and worked in the alcazar were subject to primitive living conditions. No central heating, no electricity, no modern conveniences of any type—apparently. Maigrey soon discovered that, like so much else about the bastard prince, the medieval life-style was a facade. Not a light bulb in the place, but the alcazar was fitted up with a sophisticated electronic surveillance system that would have brought tears of pride to the eyes of the late Snaga Ohme.
A secret inner room, located far below the alcazar—adjacent to the dungeons—was equipped with nuclear generators. Their power ran the surveillance system, which spied on all Flaim's employees and visitors, as well as a communications network, keeping Flaim in contact with the outside galaxy. Much of the equipment in the communications room was old and outdated, having been salvaged from Pantha's spaceplane. Here, Flaim had grown to manhood, watching the rest of humanity on a video screen.
Small wondeir, thought Maigrey, that he knew them only as two-dimensional forms who could be shut off or turned on with a wave of the remote.
This night Pantha and Flaim were discussing Flaim's future rule of the galaxy, discussing it in cool, matter-of-fact terms as a done deed, brushing off Dion as they might brush a drop of blood off the royal throne.
"You realize, my prince," Pantha was saying, "that the dark-matter creatures cannot be trusted. I would not be so quick to include them in your plans, nor make any plans dependent on them."
"I am perfectly aware of that," Flaim returned impatiently. "How could I be otherwise? You remind me of it daily! But I see no harm in figuring the creatures into my plans. They have served me in the past. Why should they not continue to serve me in the future? Besides, by then I will have the space-rotation bomb—"
"Which the creatures could easily destroy."
"They've agreed not to. Besides"—Flaim shrugged—"if they do, you will build another. You have already discovered the theory behind it. You need only examine the bomb itself to figure out how it works. At least so you've told me.
"At any rate, by that time I will be fully established on the throne, my other allies in place. You see, my friend, I am not totally dependent on the creatures. I merely plan to take advantage of their incredible powers, if they are still around."
Allies? Maigrey asked, suddenly intensely interested. What other allies?
Her question was not immediately answered. The fire was dying, the room growing darker and colder. Flaim rose from his chair. Grabbing a log, he tossed it on the glowing embers, stirred them up. The prince was accustomed to performing such menial tasks himself. There were no servants in the alcazar, only a person to do the cooking, and even then Flaim often decided to fix his meals himself. Garth Pantha had not pampered the boy. The man had raised Flaim to be self-sufficient, and it was well he did. People were a precious commodity on this world. The living on Vallombrosa had far more important tasks to perform than waiting hand and foot on His Royal Highness.
Pantha drew his heavy chair closer to the fire, warmed his gnarled hands at the brightening blaze.
"What allies?" Maigrey repeated, frustrated.
Flaim turned suddenly, advanced toward the back of the room. "I heard you," he shouted. "Where are you? Who are you?"
"My dear boy!" Pantha was staring at Flaim in astonishment.
"What are you? Where are you?" Flaim demanded.
He walked into the back part of the large room, into the shadows. His blue eyes glittered; his gaze darted into every corner. He was not frightened so much as irritated, annoyed.
Maigrey held perfectly still. She had no idea what was happening or why. She had no notion how he knew she was here. He had earlier evinced awareness of her presence—in his tent in the forest—but she had discounted that incident, attributed it to an overactive imagination. Now she was forced to reconsider.
"I have heard you speak before now. I have seen you. I know you are here!" Flaim was starting to grow angry.
Pantha had risen to his feet, was regarding his young friend in concern. "Flaim, I assure you, we are quite alone—"
"No, my friend." Flaim stood in the center of the room, his hands on his hips, waiting. "We are not alone. I cant believe you haven't heard it! A woman's voice, low-pitched ... and familiar. I swear I've heard it before .. . the vids, I think ... the old ones. Damn! Why can't I place it?"
"I've heard nothing," said Pantha. "Perhaps the creatures—"
"Not them! I've known them and their ways since childhood. This is different. It's like a bug, buzzing in my ears. There now." Flaim paused, listening. "The voice is silent. Yes, you hear me, don't you, Lady?" he said to Maigrey, staring right at her. "Why won't you let me see you?"
"Or perhaps you're not permitted to do so," Flaim considered, his anger cooling. "Perhaps you are under some constraint. Forgive my hasty speech." He made a low bow. "I thank you for your attention, Lady, and bid you consider yourself a welcome guest in my house."
Laughing, he turned away.
/> Maigrey, considerably alarmed and perplexed, retreated to the darkest comer of the room, far from the fire's light, and even there she did not feel safe. Though Flaim resumed his chair and his conversation, his gaze occasionally swept the area, searching for her, aware that she had not left.
Blood Royal, she said to herself. But who could have supposed? . . . Yes, he knows me. Though he doesn't realize it yet. Pantha's old vids—those made of Sagan and me, when we were young. Flaim has watched them over and over again, studied them. And then later, vids taken when we were with Dion. . .. That's how you know me, Your Highness.
Now even Garth Pantha was glancing about nervously. "I must confess, you've unnerved me, my prince."
Flaim appeared amused. "In the Valley of Ghosts, we must expect ghosts, my dear friend"
"As a scientist, I can't accept that. And as a self-proclaimed atheist, neither should you."
"A belief in spirits does not necessarily imply a belief in any all-powerful being. Take the example of the fire. These ashes— they are dead to all appearances, the wood consumed, destroyed. Yet, hold your hand over them. You can feel warmth, energy still. I find it impossible to think that the boundless energy burning inside me will not outlast this frail shell of a body."
"A rather farfetched theory, my prince," said Pantha, relaxing, smiling. "I consider this my fault. I should have never indulged your penchant for horror stories as a child. This comes of too many hours spent reading H.P Lovecraft. You say you recognize the voice. Not your mother, perhaps?"
"Have your joke, my friend. It is not my mother. I never heard my mother's voice and, I tell you, this voice is almost as familiar to me as your own. I can't place it yet. But it will come to me. She is silent now. I trust I haven't frightened her away."
"That would be a switch!" Pantha grinned broadly. "For the living to frighten the dead! I do not think—"
What he did not think was to remain unknown. An attractive woman had appeared in one of the large, open doorways. She stood silently, waiting to be noticed, waiting for permission to enter.
Pantha, seeing her, bit off his remark. Flaim motioned her to come forward with a graceful wave of his hand and the invariably charming smile.
"Enter, please, Captain Zorn."
She entered, handed him a sheet of paper. She wore the same uniform that was standard on Vallombrosa, a one-piece jumpsuit which emphasized her slim and elegant figure.
Maigrey, thankful for the interruption, was paying little attention. She was thinking that it might be best to leave the alcazar. If Flaim figured out who she was, the knowledge might make him distrustful of Sagan. Or might it have the opposite effect? Egotistic as he was, Flaim might convince himself she'd come from the nether regions to serve him. She was pondering the matter when she noticed an interesting tableaux being played out in front of her.
Garth Pantha was regarding Flaim with marked curiosity, a curiosity that was almost eager, anxious, apparently occasioned by the entrance of Captain Zorn. Maigrey began to pay closer attention.
The woman was standing close, very close, to the prince. She had handed him a message, which he was perusing. A brief message, apparently, for he glanced up at her almost immediately, smiled again.
"Thank you, Captain. That will be all."
The woman bowed, turned on her heel with military precision, and left the room. But both Maigrey and Pantha had seen the ardor with which Captain Zorn regarded Flaim. And both had noticed the disappointment on her lovely features when she left. That disappointment was reflected on the face of Garth Pantha.
Flaim had been rereading his message. He looked up. "You will be interested in this. It is from Derek Sagan. It says—" He stopped, perplexed. "Now what's the matter? Oh, I see. That again."
"She is a lovely woman."
"I thought you had given this up," Flaim complained, irritated. "I grow quite tired of this."
"I had hoped these latest injections ..."
"I haven't taken them," Flaim interrupted. He looked exasperated. "I should think you would be grateful I am not prey to this weakness. After all, look where such uncontrolled appetites led my father."
"To your birth!" Pantha countered. "Was that such a bad result?"
"No, but only because of your quick thinking and smooth talking, my friend. Otherwise, God knows what Amodius would have done with me. I am what I am, Pantha—asexual. I accepted the fact long ago. You should, too. What am I missing?"
"Pleasure—"
Flaim smiled derisively. "Two naked bodies, rubbing together for an hour or so? An animalistic urge that we've never quite overcome, designed purely to induce us to procreate."
He put his fingertips together, held them to his lips. "True pleasure, Pantha. True pleasure comes with imposing my will on another. Forcing even the most powerful to submit themselves to my dominant authority. That excites me. That stirs the fire in my brain, if not necessarily my loins."
"Such fire will not provide you with an heir," Pantha observed, displeased.
Flaim waved an uncaring hand. "Artificial insemination."
"You have no seed. You are sterile."
"Then I will come up with a suitable donor," Flaim said impatiently. "The father who raises the child is more important that the father who creates it, as you have long told me. As you yourself are living proof. What has brought all this up again?"
"The child would not be Blood Royal."
"That is not necessarily a drawback." Flaim stretched his legs to the fire. "I would not want a child as strong as myself, as ambitious. One could never trust such a child. When it grew up, I would be constantly looking over my shoulder. What was it Henry IV termed his son, Prince Hal—his 'nearest and dearest enemy.' I want a cowardly, timid child, who will be afraid to take the crown—even from my stiff, cold corpse."
"Such a child would hardly make a good ruler, my prince."
"It won't need to be. I will leave a galaxy ringed around with steel and fire, ruled by darkness. The Corasians will control the outer planets. The dark-matter creatures will maintain control over the Corasians and any other potentially dangerous elements in my own population. The people, who have no inkling that the Corasians have been brought here solely for my benefit, will be so fearful that they will literally beg me to declare martial law.
"I shall do so, of course, by establishing a vast, all-powerful military. By the time my supposed heir takes over at my death—which we all hope will be in the far, far-distant future—he will have little to do but smile and look gracious and keep his fist clenched."
Flaim's allies—Corasians! An ingenious plan. Maigrey was forced to compliment the prince. You permit these monsters to enter the galaxy, give them a few insignificant planets in payment, let them conquer a couple more every so often, just to make the Corasians happy and the people frightened. Fear keeps everyone cowering under the bed, keeps their eyes shut to what you are really doing.
"But all that is in the future," Flaim was saying. "Back to the present. The message." He held up the paper. "Guess what it says."
"I cannot, my prince."
"Lord Sagan. He has found Mendaharin Tusca, convinced him to join us. They are on their way here now, as we speak."
"And you believe him?" Pantha inquired testily.
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Because as you well know, my prince, our spies lost all contact with Derek Sagan. They reported Tusca had lost his ship in a poker game and was forced to take up company with a quadriplegic named Lazarus Banquo—"
"Lazarus Banquo!" Flaim began to laugh.
Pantha frowned, looked displeased.
"Lazarus Banquo," Flaim explained. "Now I understand. It was Sagan all along, of course. Don't you get the joke? I find it really quite funny—"
"I don't," Pantha retorted. "Sagan had some reason for assuming this bizarre disguise—"
"Of course he did. Millions know the Warlord by sight. But who would think to see him in a wheelchair? I begin to reconsider, my friend. Derek S
agan is not the broken-down old man I took him to be."
"No. This proves that he is considerably more dangerous."
"To my enemies, Pantha. To my enemies. And my 'nearest and dearest' enemy—my cousin Dion—is almost within my grasp."
"That remains to be seen," said Pantha, unconvinced. "And it brings up another point. You are so cautious of your unborn heir, my prince, what will you do with your cousin—the one person who could be a serious threat to you?"
"Once he's abdicated the throne? Once he's meekly handed over the crown?" Flaim laughed. "Who would want the weakling back? Who would follow his tattered, yellowed standard? Besides, as we've discussed, it will be necessary to keep our cousin around to make it all look legitimate. Blood is thicker than water, that sort of thing. We will set our cousin up in the alcazar here—trot him out every year as our adored relation. And speaking of relations, now that phase one's objective has been achieved, I believe we should implement phase two."
"The queen's—"
"Hush, my friend." Flaim glanced back into the shadows. "Who knows who is listening?"
Pantha looked startled, then rather anxious. "My prince, surely you don't truly believe—"
Flaim began to laugh again.
"Ah," said the old man, "you're teasing me."
"I can't help it, Pantha! You take everything so seriously. Besides, if there really are ghosties and ghoulies out there, what can they do to stop me? What can any of them do?"
The two men rose. Flaim carefully banked the fire, to keep the embers glowing preparatory to building the blaze up again in the morning.
"A long day," he said, clapping the older man on the shoulder. "Good night, my friend. Sleep well."
The prince turned toward the part of the room that was now, with the fading firelight, left in deepest shadow. "Good night to you, as well, Lady."
Grinning, he walked with Garth Pantha out the door.
Maigrey huddled alone in the darkness, a disembodied spirit afraid to make herself visible even to herself.
Ghost Legion Page 38