Andrek laughed, despite himself.
The intercom sounded. “Don Andrek, calling Don Andrek.”
The advocate grimaced and stepped over to the phone panel. He flipped the communications switch. “Andrek here.”
The clerk’s face appeared on the screen. “Don Andrek, the arbiters will convene in a few minutes.”
“Thank you. I’ll be right up.” He flipped the switch over and turned back to Iovve. “The quake,” he said quietly. “When?”
The pilgrim drew himself up to his full height and stared back at Andrek. “James, Don Andrek, it is not my intent that you shall die in the quake. In fact, let me remind you that I have saved your life three times, and instead of plying me with foolish questions, you should be expressing your gratitude. You owe me a debt. Will you concede that you are in my debt?”
Ah! Now it was finally coming out. Iovve might be both a liar and a scheming scoundrel, yet he schemed with method. The moment was now at hand that would explain why Iovve had saved his life that time in Huntyr’s office, and the reason for Raq, and the journey, as bodyguard, with him on Xerol. But he did not intend to make it easier for Iovve.
“I will concede it, arguendo,” he said warily.
“A curse on your legal niceties,” barked Iovve. “But for me, you’d be dead thrice over!”
Andrek was equally harsh. “Did you save my life three times for a price?”
The pilgrim shot a searching glance at him. Andrek got the sudden impression that he had said exactly what the other had expected him to say, that the trap had been baited, and he had walked into it. So now the question of the price of his life was up for discussion; he himself had just put it on the agenda. Well, then, what was his price? He was genuinely curious, Iovve’s demand might also answer several other questions. So he waited.
Iovve’s voice was now soft, almost sorrowful.
“Ah, my son, what an ungrateful, mercenary attitude! By my beard! You seek only to be rid of me, and to be freed from your obligation. Well, then, out of my boundless affection for you, and yielding to your insistence, I suppose I might be able to think up some little task that you could perform, so as to relieve you of this debt, which you feel so burdensome, and so to put matters in complete balance between us.”
Andrek smiled sardonically. “And what is this little task?”
“Just this. Save Terror. Persuade the arbiters to leave the planet here at the Node, untouched, unharmed.”
Andrek stared at the pilgrim in amazement. Well, there it was. Payment for his debt. Save Terror! Was it for this that Iovve had brought him to the ends of the universe? Save Terror? Whatever for? Who had need of such a bleak, desolate, devastated ball of rock and frozen seas? Well, then, what had he expected? He did not know. But certainly not this. This was impossible. “By the blind eyes of Alea! What are you thinking of? The Great House has sent me here to make sure Terror is destroyed, not saved. The arbiters are sitting here for that purpose. It is all over.”
“Not at all, my boy, not at all. You disappoint me. You are seeing events only in terms of black and white. A binary response unworthy of an illustrious don. So let us consider the matter. Terror is under a show-cause order, which means that the planet has this one last chance to show cause why it should not be destroyed. In fact, you are here for the purpose of opposing any such plea, in the remote event it is made. Right?”
“Quite right,” said Andrek. He laughed in sputtering unbelief. “So now, you think I can save Terror simply by reversing the position of the Home Galaxy?”
“If done persuasively—yes. Especially considering the circumstances.”
“What circumstances,” said Andrek suspiciously.
Iovve lifted his gloved hands vaguely. “Oh, you know. These condemnation proceedings are boring, routine… The arbiters want to get it over with and get home. Some of them have probably already gone.”
Probably to beat the quake, thought Andrek. He said: “If I reversed position on a case like this, I could never return to Goris-Kard. In fact, I wouldn’t be safe anywhere in the Home Galaxy. I’d be a hunted man the rest of my life.”
“You already are.”
They looked at each other. Unhappily, Iovve was quite correct. Nothing that he did here in the case of the Twelve Galaxies vs. Terror would have the slightest effect on his death sentence. He could condemn Terror; he could attempt to save Terror; he could ignore Terror. It would be all the same: Oberon would still search him out and kill him.
Andrek lifted his shoulders wearily. “You’re right, of course. I can’t go back. I am hunted. And I don’t even know why. Curious, isn’t it? As far as the arbiters are aware, I’m a fully accredited representative of the Home Galaxy; yet, personally, I’m under a worse interdiction than Terror.”
“Then you’ll do it?”
“Not so fast. You haven’t explained why you want Terror saved.”
“I can’t tell you everything, not just yet. But I can say this: it is needful that Terror go into the Deep.”
“And how will saving Terror put her into the Deep?”
“It won’t. At any rate, not directly. But at least it would hold her here at the Node until the quake comes. And eventually a quake must come. If Terror is still here, the quake will crack her into the Deep. It’s just a question of waiting.”
Now they were finally getting somewhere. He felt he had the pilgrim off-balance. Andrek bored in. “The thing that you have very carefully not explained,” he said, “is why it is needful that Terror go into the Deep.”
“True. I haven’t explained that. But if you take the case—and save the planet, then I’ll tell you.”
Should he settle for this? Perhaps he’d have to. He should know by now he couldn’t force Iovve to talk when Iovve didn’t want to talk. Still, he had caught a glimpse of a fantastic cosmic scheme. Terror in the Deep! If it were madness, it was a breathtaking madness, and he wanted to know more about it. He temporized. “Even if I were successful, the reprieve would be only temporary. The Great House would discover the ‘error’ and ask for a rehearing. And they’d get it.”
“That would take weeks. By then, Terror will be in the Deep.”
Andrek stared in hard surmise at the other. Iovve was quite right. All that was necessary was to have the planet waiting here when the quake struck. For this, a week’s delay in the proceedings would be just as effective as a complete and final reprieve. But now he felt his bargaining position was strengthened. He would try once more. He said, “This gets us back to my original question. When is the quake due?”
But Iovve was not to be swayed.
“Not right away. Plenty of time to save Terror. In fact, that may be a factor operating in our favor. The arbiters may consider that leaving Terror to the quake is about the same as destroying her by explosives.”
The visor buzzed. It was the arbiters’ clerk. “Don Andrek, are you coming?”
“Thank you, right away.” He arose slowly and picked up the Terror dossier.
“Well?” said Iovve, rising with him.
“I haven’t decided. Even if I agreed, what arguments would I have? We have only a few minutes—I’d need weeks, perhaps even months, to prepare a competent presentation.” Even with Poroth on the board, he knew he could expect nothing. The most he might expect from Poroth was that the great jurist would not lean over backward to avoid deciding in favor of an ex-pupil.
“I don’t think so. I believe you have sufficient elasticity of intellect to reverse yourself and present a well-organized analysis of the opposition, all in a matter of minutes. To be a good advocate you have to have this facility; you have to know the case for the opposition as well as your own. I think you are a very good advocate.”
“Let us get one thing straight.” Andrek spoke slowly, carefully. “Are you telling me that you selected me just to do this for you? That you got me out of trouble, that time in Huntyr’s office, and then on the ship, just so I could be here and take this case for you?”<
br />
“You might say that,” admitted Iovve.
His eyes met Andrek’s without wavering. The advocate knew that Iovve now spoke the truth. He had been brought here for the sole purpose of saving Terror, so that Terror might go into the Deep. The whole thing, from start to finish, was insanity on a scale so vast that it made his flesh creep. And he had a sickening conviction that he had merely scratched the surface, that there was more to come. Much, much more. He found himself toying with the idea of running from the room, up the corridor, and back out to Xerol. But that would surpass even Iovve’s lunacy. He had to keep calm, get a grip on himself. Somehow, there had to be a way out. Meanwhile, he would have to humor his weird companion.
He put his hand on the chamber portal. “I suppose,” he said quietly, “that there’s a great deal more, and that you’ll give me the whole story eventually?” (After it’s too late to do anything about it, he added to himself.)
“Yes, dear boy, as you have guessed, there is more. So, in the Terror matter, how will you plead?”
“Come along,” said Andrek noncommittally.
Iovve followed him meekly out of the room and up the corridor to the arbiters’ chambers.
9. JUDGMENT: LIFE
Planet, planet, flaming hell,
(Was’t Alea, or Ritornel?)
What titanic hand of fate
Drew thee to the waiting quake?
And in the Deep’s eternal night,
What strange chance, or what design,
(Or what monumental mind?)
Shall set thee once again aright?
—Rimor, Quatrains.
As they entered the room the clerk greeted them in a whisper and checked off Andrek’s name on the roster. They were barely in time.
“Remember,” hissed Iovve, “save Terror!”
“Be quiet!” whispered Andrek. His mind was churning. He had not the faintest idea what he would do. He felt infected by Iovve’s madness. Nothing made any sense. His chest was heaving, his pulse was wild. His mouth was like leather, and he was very thirsty. At this moment he doubted his competence to petition the court for a glass of water.
The robed arbiters had apparently just finished filing in and taking their seats. Poroth was there, in the center chair, but was bent over, whispering to a brother arbiter, whom Andrek recognized as Karbol of Andromeda, and did not immediately notice Andrek. The sight of this good man was a sharp nostalgic blast: the smell of ancient desks and new books … the sound of young voices … wind in the courtyard trees … back when he had only one concern, to find Omere, and no one was trying to kill him. Andrek gave a hurried glance at the other arbiters. There were three other hominids, whom he identified from descriptions and biographies in his files as Telechrys of the Greater Ellipse, Rokon of the Lesser Ellipse, and Lyph of the Blue Spiral. These, with Poroth and Karbol, were the hominids, hard, cold, absolutely logical. And then the three nonhominids, Wreeth, Maichec, and Werebel, aloof, elegant, their scaled faces and tentacled arms drowned in alien clothing.
Altogether, there were only eight. Four empty great-chairs. As he realized this, Andrek was suddenly back at his last recital, at the Academy before Poroth’s final practice court, and in this instant his petition crystallized, exquisitely ordered, perfect.
The clerk arose and began to chant. “Arise, all! Intergalactic Arbiters are now in session. Draw nigh and give your attention. Be seated.”
As he took his seat at counsel’s table, Andrek looked about him. Iovve sat behind him, in the first row. The room was practically empty. He looked up. The clerk was reading from the docket.
“The sole case is Twelve Galaxies vs. the planet Terror.” He sat down.
Chief Arbiter Poroth studied the file in front of him. He spoke in slow, careful Ingliz. “This is a post-conviction proceedings, a routine show-cause.” He looked about the room, and now noticed Andrek for the first time. There was a barely perceptible pause as he gave the advocate a friendly nod of recognition. He then continued. “I shall sign the destruct order, entered by this court by due proceedings previously had, and the crew will proceed forthwith, unless anyone now present shall show cause as to why this should not be done.” He picked up the stylus. “Very well, then.”
This, thought Andrek, is madness. I am going to regret it the rest of my very short life. How startled Poroth is going to be! The Chief Arbiter would probably puzzle over this reversal for years. Andrek doubted that he would ever see Poroth again to explain it to him, or that Poroth would really understand if he did. It was too bad. Somehow, it would help if he could get Poroth away, as he used to on the old Academy quadrangle, and explain everything, and get the advice of his old friend.
He arose. “My lords, I am James, Don Andrek, accredited advocate of the House of the Delfieri, of the Polyspiral Galaxy, sometimes called the Home Galaxy.” His voice was, he thought, surprisingly strong and clear. Behind him, he heard Iovve shifting restlessly.
The stylus hung in midair. The Chief Arbiter nodded gravely. “The Court recognizes Don Andrek.”
He was enthralled by a fine madness. How would it be now if he told Poroth, in dry legal terms, that in the past three days sundry attempts had been made to murder him, and that as a matter of self-defense and simple survival he had killed three men, all without the slightest benefit or consent of duly constituted authority, and that he was now a hunted criminal. But no. The native goodness of his boyhood mentor might break through the thick cast of law and precedent, and Poroth might impulsively attempt to help Andrek, at great peril to himself. The advocate was bound to silence. He hoped that Poroth would not invite him to chambers after the hearing.
“My government,” said Andrek slowly, “hereby withdraws its earlier recommendation for destruction of the Planet Terror. Further, we now enter a plea that the planet be preserved, and we move that the Court so order.” So now it was done; he had accepted—nay, embraced—Iovve’s insanity. And for the life of him, he did not know why.
For a moment Poroth stared at him, dumbfounded. Then there was a hurried stirring at the bench as the arbiters leaned forward.
And now he knew that the past was over, closed, irretrievable. At this moment, he was a stranger even to himself. An entire career had collapsed beneath him, and with it everything supporting and leading to that career, including the Academy, and above all, Poroth. He should be feeling an immense sense of loss. But he was numb, anesthetized. Of the things he should be feeling, he felt nothing, save only the distant ring of voices in vanished classrooms, and the smell of smoke from piles of leaves burning in the Academy courtyard. Whatever else you may think of me, Dean Poroth, when you return to Goris-Kard and learn everything, at least think back on this moment, with a measure of pride, and know that you taught me well.
Hail, old friend! And farewell! Andrek knew he would never see him again. One by one, all the doors of his past had closed. This was the last, and the best. And he himself had closed it, and locked it, and thrown away the key. Somewhere in all of this there was divinity: for only the gods could have conceived an irony so sublime.
The clerk and recorder, he noted, had turned and were staring at him.
“Will the Court instruct the Recorder to enter the withdrawal of the original plea, together with my motion as stated,” he continued smoothly, “so that this Honorable Court may duly consider the same.”
“So ordered,” rumbled the Chief Arbiter. But he was plainly puzzled. “Don Andrek, this turn of events is indeed a surprise. I think you must appreciate that it is highly irregular for the party complainant to withdraw the plea in a case such as this, and that the irregularity is further compounded when the don accredited for the plaintiff appears here as advocate for the defendant.”
“Granted, my lord,” said Andrek. He smiled crookedly. “Yet, I have it on the highest authority that no turn of events should surprise a truly skilled advocate, nor—I would assume—a truly great judge; and certainly not the eight here sitting as the supreme judicial body of
the Twelve Galaxies. In any event, the irregularity, if such there be, will be somewhat mitigated if the Court decides to grant my motion—as I am sure will be the case.”
Wreeth spoke up in a thin reedy whistle. “Don Andrek, do you realize that you are now proposing to save from destruction a planet that stands proven guilty of starting a nuclear war over a hundred years ago—a war that destroyed every living thing in nearly one-third of your own galaxy—and which was duly condemned for destruction by the Intergalactic Convention for the Control of War?”
“I so understand, your Honor. May I plead my motion?”
“Approach the bench, Don Andrek.”
The advocate left his seat and walked up to the rostrum.
“Now, Mr. Andrek,” said Poroth, “since we must adjourn within the hour, we will ask that you be brief.” Something like a smile flickered around the edges of his mouth.
“I do not propose to waste the Court’s time,” said Andrek. “On the other hand, I do not propose to omit any points vital to a proper disposition of my motion.”
“Proceed.” Poroth leaned back in his chair.
“My petition is founded on three premises,” said Andrek coolly. “First: procedurally, this honorable Court, as it now sits, is without jurisdiction. Second: substantively, on the merits, Terror ought not to be destroyed. Third: I plea for a thirty-day continuance. I will explain each basis in detail.”
Poroth had now settled thoughtfully back into his great cushioned chair, and was tapping his fingertips together, exactly as he used to, years ago at the Academy, when he was listening to an A-plus brief. Except that now the great man’s mouth twitched intermittently. “Continue,” he murmured.
The Ring of Ritornel Page 17