by S. N. Lewitt
"The way to keep them from fighting; to settle this whole mess," said Haakogard, his mind working very rapidly now that he had a direction to pursue. It felt so good to know what to do. "And to get us off the hook. I've been blind and stupid. It's so obvious!"
"Not to us," said Tallis, hoping Haakogard would explain.
"It will be." He pressed his private communications nodule and said, "Please ask Navigator Zim and Colonist Tenre to meet me in my quarters in five minutes." With that he waved to the others. "Get into class five dress uniforms. All of you. Bunter-perfect. We're going to need to fancy up. No jewels, but a lot of ribbon and brass. Put on every medal and award you have." He grinned as he pushed out of the conference room and hastened along to his quarters, rapping out a few sharp orders to his Bunter as he came through the door. "Class five dress. And find something in the music tapes, something loud and impressive, lots of roulades and explosions. Put it on all the exterior hailers on all four Katanas."
"At once?" asked his Bunter.
"At once," said Haakogard as he stripped off his standard work uniform and reached for his shiny class five.
By the time Zim and Tenre showed up, he was adjusting the red horse-head tags on his collar, positioning the four rosettes of his rank at the proper places around the horse's head. He welcomed them perfunctorily, saying, "I have an idea how to work this, but I'll have to get your help. I mean of both of you. It's risky, but I think it'll do the trick. Will that be acceptable to you?"
"It depends on what you want us to do," said Zim, not allowing Tenre to answer. "I want to know how risky it is. If it's reasonable, fine." The response was daunting, just as she intended it to be. She held her head higher than usual and the tone of her voice was defiant.
"Naturally," Haakogard assured her, smiling at his own reflection and hers behind him. If he could convince these two, he told himself, he would be able to persuade Thunghalis as well, and poMoend. One hurdle at a time, he warned himself inwardly. He tweaked the points of his collar and turned to face Zim and Tenre. "Correct me if I am in error, but the soldiers of poMoend will not attack the Comes Riton in any phase, will they?"
"It is dishonorable to do it," said Tenre, looking toward Zim for the reason for this question. He had not been prepared to answer, by the look of him, and now that he had, he feared he had done the wrong thing, or handled it badly.
Haakogard nodded. "And you are a clone of the Comes Riton just as legitimately as the current Comes is, am I right about that?" He could hardly help grinning.
Zim's eyes narrowed as she watched Haakogard beam at them. "You know the answers to your questions. We established that already. Genetically the Comes and Tenre are interchangeable. So what are you up to, Line Commander? And don't say you aren't up to something, because you are. If there's anything incorrect about—"
"Navigator, let me finish. You can upbraid me then if you still want to," he said, more convinced than ever that he had made a very clever decision. "I think we've found a way out of this mess. For all of us. You are a clone of the Comes Riton, that's what counts. You're the same phase as the current Comes Riton."
"Yes," said Tenre suspiciously.
Haakogard looked from Zim to Tenre, his excitement making him want to chuckle, though he controlled it. "Suppose you claimed your position as Comes Riton?"
"What?" demanded Tenre.
"Goren!" objected Zim at the same time. It was evidence of serious shock on her part to use Haakogard's first name that way.
"Well?" Haakogard inquired directly of Tenre, his eyes open and candid as a child's. "Couldn't you do that? Aren't you entitled to it? Couldn't your authenticity be demonstrated? Aren't you qualified?"
Tenre scowled and stepped back a little. "If I were despicable enough to want it, to disown my mother and her people, I suppose I am qualified."
"Ah, but that's just the point: strictly speaking she wasn't your mother, was she? You're a clone and she kidnapped you," said Haakogard, pressing what little advantage he hoped he had with Tenre. "Isn't that what happened?"
"What are you getting at, Line Commander?" Zim asked pointedly. "What are you up to?"
"I'm not up to anything, not the way you're implying at least," Haakogard insisted. "I have a plan, that's all." He regarded Tenre evenly, trying to convince the Comes Riton's clone by restating his case. "Are you willing to help us resolve this conflict? It can be done peaceably, if you're willing to make a few accommodations."
"Is that why you're dressed up?" Zim asked, more convinced than ever that Haakogard was manipulating her and Tenre.
"Yes; and I'd appreciate it if you'd get into your class fives, too. Or something that's the civilian equivalent. You've got some such clothes in your wardrobe, haven't you? I've given the order to the other Katanas for the crews to be ready in a quarter of an hour. I'll want a short Harrier drill done in the center of the ships, for starters." He grinned again. "That ought to get their attention. They seem to like drills."
"And what then?" Zim insisted. "You might as well tell us, if you expect any cooperation." She did not sound encouraging but Haakogard explained as if she had been wholeheartedly enthusiastic.
"Then we present them with the Comes Riton. Tenre." He looked from Zim to Tenre and back again. "In full regalia, or as close as we can come with the Bunters working on it. Since the officers and soldiers will not attack him, the other Comes Riton will have to negotiate. We will not hurt Tenre, and neither will the men of poMoend. Even the Mromrosi would have to like a plan like this." He pretended he had not noticed the look of repugnance on Tenre's face, or the wildness in Zim's eyes. "We can work out terms that are honorable but won't leave anyone dead. That's the most honorable of all, no matter what Thunghalis thinks."
Tenre shook his head. "Death is preferable to claiming that vile title," he announced vehemently to the air, his voice glorious.
Haakogard crossed his arms. "Is it?" He waited briefly. "Truly?" He waited again. "Is Navigator Zim supposed to agree with you? And how honorable is it for the men who follow you now and who will die to no purpose because you will not end this dispute? If you were not the alternate clone of the Comes Riton, he would have been able to crush you and your fighters long ago. It would have been a simple civil war. There would have been no need to bring the Petit Harriers into it. The only reason we were brought in is that it is dishonorable to attack you—you, the clone of the Comes Riton—directly. If you were not who you are, there would be no dishonor for poMoend in wiping all the First Colonists off Neo Biscay. What little protection the First Colonists have had is because of you." He swung around to face Zim. "Not one word, Nola. For once, you listen."
"But—" she began.
"Listen," said Haakogard in a light, conversational manner that silenced Zim more quickly than a command would have done. He gave his attention to Tenre again. "Will you make that claim? For the sake of your followers? Or do you all have to die?"
"No one does not die," said Tenre, lifting his head. "No man escapes."
Haakogard did not permit himself to be pulled off track. "Better old and happy than young and terrified," he said and resumed his argument. "Will you at least attempt to be recognized?"
Tenre coughed once, twice. "I have sworn never to—"
He got no further. The door to Haakogard's quarters opened and the Mromrosi scuttled in. He bounced in the direction of Haakogard and Zim in the most perfunctory courtesy, then moved purposefully toward Tenre, his frizzy locks mercurochrome-red. As he reached Tenre, he was shaking, his curls in greater disorder than usual. "You!" the Mromrosi howled directly at Tenre. "You do not emerge! You do not come forth. You are bound in losses. You have contempt where growth waits and you embrace your downfall." He jounced himself indignantly.
Tenre backed away from the Mromrosi until he was against a tall case containing Haakogard's personal weapons. His sand-colored eyes were enormous and he held his arms in defense posture. "What is this all about?" he kept repeating while the Mromrosi qui
vered at him.
Haakogard watched with some amusement as Tenre tried to avoid the aggravated Mromrosi. At last he said, "Our alien observer doesn't approve of your decision, Tenre. Maybe you'd better reconsider." He motioned to Zim. "That goes for you, too."
Her smile was sardonic and quick, but it was there. "Class five dress uniform, I believe that's what you said, Line Commander? Or its civilian equivalent?"
"That's what I said," Haakogard agreed, filled with relief.
The crews of the Yngmoto, Freyama, Sigjima, and Ubehoff had just completed the second part of their three-part drill when the stern military music that had accompanied them ceased abruptly, only to be replaced with a large, exuberant fanfare; the monitors around the zone brightened all their lights and the four Katanas added their own lights to the dazzle. The soldiers of the Comes Riton who had been watching the drill now came nearer, curious and determined at once.
"Good enough. All halt," said Executive Officer Mawson Tallis, indicating where the crews were to draw up in ranks.
The loading hatch of the Yngmoto was lowered to more peals of brazen joy. The Mromrosi emerged first, a series of bright clips attached to his curls. Behind him Line Commander Haakogard escorted the alternate Comes Riton.
Barbered and groomed, rigged out in the closest approximation to the dress uniform of the Comes Riton of poMoend, Tenre was disturbingly like his clone. This man was not quite as imperious, but his face showed more lines and therefore suggested age and experience beyond that of the other clone. He walked slowly because of the tight boots he wore, and he could not make himself smile. The stern line of his mouth was more impressive than he realized, and gained another notch of respect from the soldiers of poMoend.
Behind him, Navigator Zim came, not in uniform but in a reception dress of deep blue that shone black where the light struck it directly. She wore a wide sash decked with two jeweled orders and her splendid dark blue hair was dressed in the height of Hub fashion. The soldiers of poMoend were very still, very silent.
A longer, more majestic fanfare sounded; the Petit Harriers came to attention and saluted. Haakogard steeled himself for his gamble. He stepped forward and gave a short bow to Tenre. "We have been ordered by the Magnicate Alliance to assist the Comes Riton of PoMoend to end the conflict between the First and Second Colonizations. To that end, we give our assurances to you, as the continuing phase of the Comes Riton, to protect your claim to the leadership of poMoend." He could hear the translators repeating his words to the waiting soldiers and officers.
A Tydbar raised his hands in protest. "We serve the true Comes Riton, not this . . . interloper." He was echoed by several others, and a few of the Harriers exchanged uneasy glances. "We have sworn to defend the True First and all his phases."
"This is the true Comes Riton. You may authenticate him. He is as true as your version of him is," said Haakogard quietly, waiting for the translators to do their work. "He is as much the Comes Riton's clone as your leader is. They are the same. And you are honor-bound to serve this one as loyally as you serve the other." He turned so that he could stand at Tenre's side. "Say nothing yet," he warned in a whisper. He listened to the angry, soft words of the soldiers of poMoend, not wanting to rush them. It was foolish to press them now.
Navigator Zim came up next to Haakogard. "Do you really think this will work, Goren?"
"I hope it will," said Haakogard. "Otherwise . . ."
There was a sudden excitement in the poMoend ranks marked by shouting and a hurried attempt to stand in good order. Then an avenue of soldiers opened and the Comes Riton strode down it, his features thunderous.
"Do nothing," Haakogard ordered Tenre under his breath. "Just stand."
"I do not want to see the Comes Riton," said Tenre softly, and there was fright as well as hauteur in him.
"You're going to have to. He probably doesn't like it any better than you do," Haakogard declared, hoping that the Comes Riton was not armed. He palmed his stunner, just in case.
The Comes Riton stopped at the monitor line where a faint shimmer in the air revealed the deflection shields. "You betray me, Petit Harriers!" he shouted, the sound of it magnificent.
"How do we do that, Most Excellent Comes Riton?" Haakogard responded with great politeness. "We were asked to protect the clone of the Comes Riton: how have we failed to do that?"
"You have allied yourself with the alternate," accused the Comes Riton.
"Who is the clone of the Most Excellent Comes Riton just as you are," said Haakogard at his most reasonable. "We are following the orders given us by Fleet Commander Herd." He remained at attention while he spoke, so there would be no reason to claim he showed disrespect to the irate Comes Riton.
"He is the alternate!" the Comes Riton bellowed.
Haakogard closed his eyes an instant for respite, then took his single greatest chance. "Is he? Are you sure of that?" He felt Tenre stiffen with shock at his side; he continued persuasively, "Are you sure you were not the alternate, Most Excellent Comes? When Syclicis kidnapped the clone, would it not have made more sense for her to take the first, not the second clone? Think; wouldn't it?" He wanted to turn to Tenre in order to reassure him, but he dared not give up the advantage he had found with the Comes Riton. "What if you are the alternate, not this man? Isn't that what the alternate is for, to take the place of the clone of the Comes Riton if any mischance should keep him from reaching maturity?"
"I am the Comes Riton!" he screamed, and for the first time the sound of his voice was ugly. "I!"
"And so is this man," said Haakogard. He nudged Tenre so that he stepped forward one pace. "He is the Comes Riton, too."
The Comes Riton made a loud, furious noise and started to reach for his throwing axe, preparing to destroy Tenre with a single, decisive blow.
"Don't!" Zim yelled, bringing up her arm, her stunner aimed directly at the Comes Riton. "Don't," she repeated.
But the Comes Riton was already restrained by a dozen of his officers. "No one," said a lean Tydbar, "is permitted to attack the Comes Riton." He forced the Comes Riton to lower his hand and give up his weapon.
"I am the Comes Riton!" he bellowed. "I will have you flayed for what you have done, Tydbar."
"No," said another Tydbar. "That is not correct. You attacked a clone of the Comes Riton and we cannot permit that to happen." Then he abased himself. "I have done treason to thwart you. I want to end my disgrace by ending my life, Most Excellent Comes."
"I will kill you myself," said the Comes Riton grimly, showing his teeth without smiling.
Tenre took another step forward. "No!" His voice was as compelling as the other clone's. "I forbid it. These men have defended me. They deserve praise, not death."
"You forbid it? You?" the Comes Riton laughed ferociously. "You're something out of a bad dream. You have no right to forbid me anything." He kicked at the postrate Tydbar, whooping at every impact.
"Leave him alone," said Tenre, coming another step close. "He has done nothing wrong."
The Comes Riton started to protest but was suddenly restrained again by his own Tydbars. "If you do this, you are as guilty as Tydbar Grabt here, and you will answer with your lives."
"They will not," declared Tenre. He was almost at the barrier now, standing very straight; being half a head taller than his clone, he had a slight advantage. "Tydbar, get up. You have not dishonored yourself. You have tried to protect me, and that is your sworn duty."
"He is sworn to protect ME!" roared the Comes Riton.
"Precisely," said Haakogard, who had moved up behind Tenre. "Neither of you can attack the other or allow the other to be attacked. You have a stalemate here, and no way to change it that does not dishonor one or the other of you; any attempt at aggression brings both of you down, one way and another." He stepped back, murmuring, "Zim, for Loovrie's sake, put that stunner away."
"Don't wish any of your Grunhavn spooks on me," she whispered back, but returned the stunner to its hidden sheath.
&
nbsp; The Tydbars standing around the Comes Riton regarded one another in confusion; a few helped Grabt to his feet and dusted off the front of his uniform for him. No one could think what was proper to do next.
At last Haakogard spoke again. "Why don't you go back to Civuto poMoend and think about this? Talk it over. Consider your position. All right? When you decide how you want to handle having two Comes Ritons, you let us know."
"There cannot be two Comes Ritons," said the Comes Riton, his voice growling with emotion.
"Well, there are," said Haakogard, and addressed Tydbar Grabt. "We have Pangbar Thunghalis with us. You can work through him, if that makes it less difficult for you." He saluted Tydbar Grabt, then the Comes Riton. "There's got to be a reasonable answer to this problem, gentlemen." Very deliberately he put his hand on Tenre's shoulder. "We will expect to hear from you by dawn tomorrow. If you haven't sent word by then, we will come to Civuto poMoend. If you make it necessary, we will come armed, though we would much rather not." This warning was delivered with a pleasant smile to take away its bitterness.
"You will invade!" shouted the Comes Riton.
"We will negotiate," said Haakogard. "Be sensible. We haven't a large enough crew here to invade, even if we wished to, which we do not." He took two steps back, saluted one more time for good measure, then turned on his heel and started back toward the Yngmoto. He could hear Zim hurrying up behind him.
As she caught up with him, she said, "Tenre's still at the barrier."
"Fine," said Haakogard as he ducked into the shadow of the Katana's double wing. "The more of the poMoend soldiers who see him, the better." He watched as the rest of the Petit Harriers executed a quick herringbone drill and then went back to their Katanas. "Zim," he said when the Harriers were gone and the martial music was silent, "What is it? You're . . . not yourself. What's going on with you?"
"You mean Tenre? Oh, high empathy index, according to the psycher," she said with a little diffident shrug. "Disenfranchised nobility, underdogs, powerful personalities: it's all part of the pattern." Her laughter was harsh with self-mockery. "Don't worry. It's fleeting. It's not even very intense, just involved. If he weren't so oppressed, I wouldn't pay any attention to him at all."