The Best of E E 'Doc' Smith

by E E 'Doc' Smith

  Three days later, the news media announced that Emperor Stanley Ten had had a heart attack.

  It wasn't too serious, as such things go, but a battery of specialists agreed unanimously that he bad to have at least two months of carefree rest, preferably at his favourite summer place, Big Piney in the Rockies. Wherefore Crown Princess Edna was given the unusual title of "Empress Pro Tem" and her parents went, with no pomp or circumstance at all-not to Big Piney, but to an island in the Pacific that was guarded by every defensive device known to the military science of the age.

  And Empress Pro Tern Edna announced a party-a getting-acquainted party that, beginning with a full Grand Imperial Court, would last for three days-to which all thirty-six Grand Dukes and their entire families were invited. And did any of the invitees even think of declining? Not one.

  As that party began, Jules and Yvette and a regiment of experts went as insidiously as possible to work on Castle Englewood. Having free run of the place, as far as anyone now there was concerned, the two went first-with stunners in their hands-to visit the key personnel. They were followed by fifty cat-footed, fully briefed d'Alemberts, who took care of everyone else; particularly of the many-times-too-numerous Castle Guard.

  Architects and engineers had detailed plans of the castle, but they were found useless. The actual details had never been registered. So electronic technicians unlimbered their most sensitive detectors and explored walls, floors and ceilings. They traced cable after cable, wire after wire; and section after section of the vast building went dark and powerless.

  It had been clear from the start that this was no ordinary residence of any ordinary Grand Duke. It was a fortress; a fortress that, except for the Head's brilliant strategy and the d'Alemberts' ability to carry it out, would have been starkly impregnable. And, even so, the attack almost failed.

  "How about this, Major?" Jules asked, as the company, after exploring all the other tunnels and corridors in the sub-basements, returned to a grimly thick steel wall.

  "It opens from somewhere, somehow." The officer pointed out an almost invisible crack where steel butted against steel. "It'd probably take a week, though, to find out where or how, I think we cut all external leads to here, but they could have independent power in that section."

  "We'll assume they have," Jules said. "And automatic blasters-or worse, stunners. Gas, maybe, or triggered bombs. But the Head gambled his life on a lot less than we know now, so bring up your shields and high-powers and burn the damned thing down."

  When the eight-inches-thick mass of armor-plate fell inward into the brilliantly lighted room, revealing a squad of tremendously-muscled DesPlainians, it struck a steel floor with a crash that shook the very bed-rock upon which Castle Englewood was built.

  One glance, however, was all Jules had; for even before steel struck steel he was smashed down flat by a force of twenty-five gravities; and the fact that the musclemen inside the room went down too was of little enough comfort. They were weight-lifters. He wasn't.

  "Ultra-grav!" Jules gritted, through his clenched teeth. "Can you fellows do anything with it, Rick?" he demanded of the leader of the fighting wrestlers who had done such good work on Aston. "It looks like they've got me just about stuck down."

  "We're working on it, Chief," Rick said hoarsely, and they were.

  It was fantastic to see two-hundred-fifty-pound brawlers, muscled like Atlases, exerting every iota of their tremendous strength; first to get up onto their knees and then to lift, with the full power of both arms, a five-pound weapon up into some kind of firing poistion. Unfortunately, one of the guards-a giant even for a DesPlainian weightlifter-made it first. His first blast went straight through the man in front of Jules; and Jules, who had managed to get almost to his knees, lost a fist-sized chunk of flesh out of his left leg and went back down.

  Only the one guard, however, beat the d'Alemberts into action. In the ensuing awkward, slow-motion battle eighteen men died; eight of them being the Grand Duke's guards. Then slowly, ultratoilsomely, the d'Alembert found the gravity controls and restored a heavenly three thousand centimeters per second. And Yvette, who had been pinned down all this time, rushed over and first-aid-bandaged the ghastly wound in her brother's leg.

  They did not try to unlock the vault. It was too late now for cat-footing. Demolition experts brought up their shields and sandbags and blew the whole face of it to bits. They removed the debris and ransacked the vault-and they found a Patent of Royalty.

  Then, hearts in throats and scarcely breathing, they looked on while hand-writing experts and documentary experts gave the parchment the works.

  "This is the genuine Patent," the chief examiner said finally; and in the joyously relieved clamour that followed even the dead were for the moment forgotten.

  The rest of the project went smoothly enough. The full regiment of Imperial Guards sealed the Principal Palace bottle-tight. The Navy put an impenetrable umbrella over all Chicago. Fleet Admiral Armstrong himself led a company of marines into the Grand Ballroom and broke up the Empress Pro Tem's party by putting Grand Duke Nicholas and his entire retinue under arrest. And immediately, then and there in the Grand Ballroom, the Emperor's personal physician administered nitrobarb and the Court Psychologist asked questions. And Empress Pro Tent Edna, her face too stern and hard by far for any girl of her years, listened; and having listened, issued orders which Fleet Admiral Armstrong carried out.

  Since it is much faster to work such an inquiry from the top down than from the bottom up, full information was obtained in less than a week. And thus, while the resultant vacancies in the various services were many and terribly shocking, the menace that had hung over the Empire for sixty-seven years was at long last abated.

  And thus-a thing supremely important to Jules and Yvette d'Alembert-the Service of the Empire was at long last clean.

  X

  Because of their high intelligence, their super-cat agility, their hair-trigger speed of reaction and their enormous physical strength, DesPlainians had been the best secret service agents of, in turn, the Central Intelligence of Earth, the Galactic Intelligence Agency and the Service of the Empire. And of all DesPlainians, throughout the years, the d'Alemberts had been by far the best. The fact that the Circus of the Galaxy was SOTE's right arm did not leak from Earth because only the monarch, the Head and a very few of their most highly trusted intimates ever knew it. Nor did it leak from the Circus. Circus people never have spoken to rubes, and the inflexible Code d'Alembert was that d'Alemberts spoke only to d'Alemberts and to the Head (unpublished data).

  Bill, Irene and Edna

  Again it was late at night. Again the d'Alemberts Service Special slanted downward through the air toward the roof of the Hall of State of Sector Four. This time, however, the little speedster was not riding a beam and there was no spot of light upon the building's roof. Except for the light of the almost-full moon, everything was dark and still.

  Yvette was the Yvette of old. Jules, again short-haired and smooth-shaved, looked like his usual self; but there was a crutch beside him and his sister was doing the piloting.

  She landed the craft near the kiosk of the ultra-private elevator, opened up and leaped lightly out; Jules clambered out, clumsily and stiffly; and Grand Lady Helena came running up in a very ungrand-ladylike fashion.

  "Oh, you're wonderful, Yvette-simply marvellous!" She put both arms around Yvette's neck and kissed her three times on the lips. "I'm awfully glad father let me be the one to meet you!" She turned and went somewhat carefully into Jules' arms. "And you, Jules! Oh, I just can't-but surely you can hug a girl tighter than this, can't you? Even with a bum leg?"

  Jules, returning her kisses enthusiastically, tightened his arms a little, but not much. Then, lifting her by the armpits, he held her feather-lightly out at arms' length, with her toes ten or twelve inches in air. "Sure I can," he said, solemnly but with sparkling eyes, "but the trouble is, I never hugged an Earther before and I'm afraid of breaking you in two. It wou
ldn't be quite de rigeur, would it, to break a Grand Lady's back and half of her ribs?"

  "Oh, there's no danger of that. I'm ever so much stronger than... ." She broke off and her eyes widened in surprise as her hands, already on his arms, tried with all their strength to drive her fingertips into them.

  "Oh, I see," she said quietly. "I never quite realized." Jules lowered her gently to the roof and she led the way into the elevator. She did not tell them what the Head wanted of them and they did not ask. As the elevator started down she said, "Jules, I'm going to tell you something. I was all set to fall in love with you and make you love me whether you wanted to or not. But when I couldn't make even a dent in those muscles of yours ... arms as big and as hard as those of a heroic-size bronze ... well... ." Her voice died away.

  "You couldn't, possibly," he replied soberly. "There's too much difference. Three of your gravities is a lot of grav, Helena. But we have your friendship?"

  "More than that, both of you. Ever so much more. That, and admiration and esteem and... ." She broke off as the elevator door opened.

  She stepped aside; motioned for them to precede her. They took one step into the Head's private office and stopped dead in their tracks, their eyes and mouths becoming O's of astonishment. For the big but trim old grey-haired man was Emperor Stanley Ten! The statuesque, regal, brown-haired woman was Empress Irenel And the beautifully built, prematurely stern-faced girl mixing drinks at the Head's bar was Crown Princess Edna.

  The emperor stood up and raised a hand. "Do not kneel," he said-but of course, with their speed of reaction, Yvette was already on her knees and Jules, gimpy leg and all, was on one.

  He raised them to their feet, kissed Yvette's hand and shook Jules' and said, "During this visit and here-after in private, my friends, to you two I am Bill."

  "Oh, we couldn't, Your ... Sire ... not possibly," Jules said. "But we might call you `sir,' sir?"

  Stanley Ten smiled; and in that smiling shed a heavy load. "Oh? I understand. Many of the younger generation are not so well bred. `Sir' will do very nicely. I take pleasure in presenting you both to Mrs. Stanley ... and to our daughter, Edna."

  Introductions made, Edna Stanley went around with her tray, serving Jules last. As she handed him his glass of lemonade her dark, grey eyes, usually distant, were soft and warm. "It's a damned dirty stinking shame," she said, feelingly, "that we can't give you two, the two who saved our lives, at least a Grand Imperial Court channelled to every planet in space. And to cap it off we have to give that stuffed shirt Armsbold all the credit. The fathead! And he'll get another medal, I suppose-and compared to you two he positively could not detect a smell on a skunk!"

  "Well-" Jules began, but the princess rushed on.

  "Oh, I know that's the way it has to be, Jules, and I know why. And I know exactly how you feel about it. The Service of the Empire. The fine tradition of the finest group of men and women who ever lived. But knowing all that doesn't make it taste any better or go down any easier that all we can do is thank you for saving all three of our lives at such tremendous risk of your own, and that we have to do even that on the sneak-or cost you yours."

  She threw her arms around Jules' neck and kissed him warmly. And, while he could not bring himself to the point of kissing the Crown Princess of the Empire as though she were an ordinary girl, his response was adequate.

  Edna Stanley was not the crying type, but her eyes brimming as she drew her head back, looked straight into Jules' eyes and went on, "But we three will remember it as long as we live; and you two will have a very special place in my heart as long as I live."

  Without giving Jules a chance to say anything-which was just as well, since he could not possibly have said a word-she wriggled free and embraced Yvette. "What did you expect. Yvette? And call me Edna; we're about the same age."

  "I'd love to, Edna, it warms me clear through. What I expected was a pat on the back from the Head there and another tough job."

  The Head laughed. "You'll get both, my dear." Then, turning to Stanley, "You see, Bill?"

  "I see, Zan. D'Alemberts. Metal of proof. Wrought and tempered." Stanley turned to Jules and Yvette. "You young people don't realize that your lives are more important to the Empire than mine is."

  "I not only don't realize it, sir," Jules said, doggedly, "but I don't see how it can possibly be true. You are the third and the greatest of the Great Stanleys. Eve and I are just two d'Alemberts out of over a thousand."

  "Correction, please. As of now you are, and probably for the next two or three years will continue to be the two most capable human beings alive." Stanley replenished his drink and brought Yvette a small pitcher of fresh orange juice, while Edna waited on the others. "Let's examine this 'Great Stanley' business a little; it will be a good way to get better acquainted. I've studied the House of Stanley quite thoroughly; enough to have developed what is-to me, at least-a new theory. Has it ever occurred to you to wonder why the three so-called Great Stanleys happened to be the three who reigned longest? Empress Stanley Three, thirty-seven years; Emperor Stanley Six, thirtysix years; and I, who have more than either, and will probably-thanks to you-reign two more before reaching the age of seventy and abdicating in favour of Edna here?"

  "N-o-o-o, sir. I can't say that I have."

  "It's a highly pertinent fact. You know, I'm sure, that only one Stanley so far has died in bed."

  "Yes, sir, but...."

  "And one died in a space accident. The other seven were assassinated, usually by their own sons or daughters or brothers or sisters."

  "Yes, sir. I know that."

  "They had too many children, too young. So Irene and I had only one child, and Edna wasn't born until I was forty-five years old. So as soon as she's able to carry the load we'll hand it to her on a platter and step out."

  "Dad!" the Crown Princess exclaimed. "You know very well I'd never even think of such a thing!" And: "William!" the Empress protested. "What a nasty thing to say!"

  The Emperor grinned. "If you'll analyze what I actually said you'll see that you read that wicked thought of regicide and patricide into it-and you'll know why. Anyway, Irene, you helped plan it. And it's worked out beautifully for all of us. You've all heard the old wheeze that "Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely?"'

  They all had.

  "My theory is that only the first part of that old saying is really true. For, as a matter of fact, no human being ever had absolute power until King Stanley the Sixth crowned himself Emperor Stanley One and took it. He had the whole galaxy. Every other despot in history was always reaching for more; so the truth of that old saying was never tested.

  "Indeed, there is much in pre-Stanley history that argues against its truth. The worst gangsters and the most rapacious capitalists Earth ever knew, when they got old enough and powerful enough and rich enough, turned from crime and rapacity to something that was for the good of all mankind. And the entire history of the House of Stanley bears this out."

  There was a short silence, then the Empress said, thoughtfully, "Well, it's something to think about, at least ... and it does seem to make sense ... but my dear, what has all that to do with the present case?"

  "Everything," Stanley said, deadly serious now. "It shows why these two d'Alemberts-highly trained, uniquely gifted, innately and- completely loyal to the Empire-are much more important to the Empire than I am. Not that they are indispensable. No one is. But they are at present irreplaceable and I am not. Any Stanley who is able to live long enough becomes a Great Stanley by sheer force of circumstance, and Edna will be one from the day she is crowned."

  The Emperor turned to face Jules and Yvette. "Nevertheless, my young friends, my life is extremely important to me. It is also extremely important to Irene and to Edna, as are their lives to me. Our three lives are important to a few real friends, such as Zander there and your father the Duke; but you would be surprised to know just how scarce such real friends are. The life of any individual Emperor or Empress, ho
wever, is of very little importance to the Empire itself, of which its rulers are merely the symbols. The Empire endures only because of the loyalty to it of such people as you. Such loyalty cannot be commanded; it must be earned. The Empire will endure as long as, and only as long as, it continues to be worthy of such loyalty. Without that loyalty the Empire would fall. Instead of prosperity and peace there would be widespread and terribly destructive wars of planetary conquest. Our present civilization would degenerate into barbarism and savagery.

  "We Stanleys do what we can; but in the last analysis the Empire rests squarely upon the arch of its various services, and your Service of the Empire is the very keystone of that arch.

  "As Edna said, it is a shame that we three can give you only our thanks. It is not, however the thanks of only three people, I am speaking for the Empire when I say to you and through you to those who work with you... ... Emperor Stanley Ten took the d'Alemberts' right hands, one in each of his own: "Thanks."

  Afterword - The Epic of Space

  How do I write a space story? The question is simple and straightforward enough. The answer, however, is not; since it involves many factors.

  What do I, as a reader, like to read? Campbell, de Camp, Heinlein, Leinster, Lovecraft, Merritt, Moore, Starzl, Taine, van Vogt, Weinbaum, Williamson-all of these rate high in my book. Each has written more than one tremendous story. They cover the field of fantastic fiction, from pure weird to pure science fiction. While very different, each from all the others, they have many things in common, two of which are of interest here. First, they all put themselves into their work. John Kenton is Abraham Merritt; Jirel of Joiry is Catherine Moore. Second, each writes-or wrote -between the lines, so that one reading is not enough to discover what is really there. Two are necessary-three and four are often-times highly rewarding. Indeed, there are certain stories which I still re-read, every year or so, with undiminished pleasure.