Mission Earth Volume 9: Villainy Victorious
Page 36
Sex was far from attractive to him these days. Since Prahd had changed his anatomy, women had given him nothing but solid trouble. Also this marriage had not bought him any time. He really didn’t believe he’d have a trial. He had confessed his life away; the best he could hope for was the most painless execution Lord Turn could give him. During the ceremony, the more he had looked at Madison, the less he believed what Madison had said. The record of J. Warbler Madman was a proven thing to Gris. After his momentary hope, Gris had backslid.
“Oh, have some of this pink sparklewater. It is the very best: extremely nutritious,” said Pratia. “It will get your strength up.” And she laughed a little bell-like laugh. “You’re really going to need it.” Then she shook a finger at him. “Don’t be so unresponsive! You simply must stop worrying. Three of the very best attorneys in all Voltar will defend you. Trust me!”
“I don’t think any of you understand,” said Gris. “I am Heller’s prisoner. For some reason His Majesty has not issued orders to finish me off. But he will. He will. Even if you could help me, I just confessed to every crime in the book. I don’t believe you and I don’t believe, Gods forbid, Madison.”
“Oh, don’t be so gloomy. Look there! It’s already dark outside! Now have you had enough food and drink to feel really fortified? You have. Good. Now you just turn your back and I’ll fix up the bed there and WHEEE!”
He sat facing the blank wall and heard her working busily in the stone alcove. She had brought a roll of bedding and he had no idea at all what she was up to.
Finally, she tapped him on the shoulder. Woodenly, he turned around. She wore a gown that was so transparent it made her nakedness an exclamation point.
The alcove had been draped with white gauze and a blue blanket of shimmercloth lay upon it.
She was plucking at his clothes, unfastening things. Like some sort of statue, he stood there and let himself be stripped. The only motion he made was to step out of his boots and pants.
“Oooooooooh!” cried Pratia, standing back and staring. “LOOK what we have here! Oooooh! Why, Soltan, what has happened? WHAT an imPROVEMENT! Oh, Soltan, that is positively DIVINE! I never DREAMED there could be one like THAT!”
Gris looked at her with resignation.
She was staring round-eyed. “No WONDER you never answered my postal cards. Women must have been haunting you in MOBS!”
Gris looked like he had been whipped.
She frowned. “But I see you are not responding.” Then she smiled in inspiration. “Oh, I know what will get you excited. A picture of our son. It will make you want to have another one just like him!”
She rummaged in her purse. “I had this taken just yesterday. Here it is. Isn’t he BEAUTIFUL?”
Gris looked at it. It was a baby, two or three months old. It was smiling and wide-eyed.
Abruptly Gris took hold of it and approached the light. Yes!
Straw-colored hair! Green eyes!
He glared at her. “This is Prahd’s baby!”
“Oh, no, it’s yours. There’s lots of hair like that in my family and green eyes, too. Just because you have brown hair and eyes doesn’t mean a thing. He’s your son, all right. The registry papers show it. And now he’s all legal, not even a bastard since this afternoon. Aren’t you proud?”
It was just like Nurse Bildirjin’s baby. “This is Prahd’s,” he said.
She laughed delightedly. “Why, you’re jealous! Oh, this is wonderful! So you do love me a little bit after all. Well, come right over to this bed and you’ll get all the love you want!”
She dragged him over to the inset bunk and through the gauze.
The guard was watchful as he stared into the cell across the sights of his blastgun.
The white curtains that hid the bed were moving.
Pratia’s robe was thrown out of them and hit the floor. Her voice was reproving. “Come ON, Soltan. This is no time to be shy.”
The guard was very watchful as Pratia’s voice said, “Now, now, Soltan. Don’t be naughty. You’ve been living in all this stone. Use it as an example.”
A bird lit on the cell window ledge and listened. Pratia’s voice was a little strained. “Well, I suppose it is the lot of women to do all the work.”
The guard frowned.
“Oooooooh!” cried Pratia as the startled bird stared. “What QUANTITY!” The bird flew hastily away.
The guard’s face glowered. Pratia said, “Now, Soltan, be a good boy. Aaaah, that’s better. Now let me concentrate.”
The white gauze curtains were twitching.
Pratia’s face was staring up at the close-to ceiling of the inset bed.
Gris was staring down at her wonderingly.
Pratia’s face was very rapt, looking upward.
Puzzled, Gris was looking down at her. He decided she must be staring at something above his head.
Gris turned sideways to look upward and find what she was gazing at so raptly. Had she put something up there?
It was a three-dimensional picture. Big as life! Full color!
HELLER!
Gris suddenly began to scream.
He leaped out of the alcove. The curtains caught at him and he felt he was being seized.
His screams rose to total volume!
He was wrestling on the floor with the curtains!
Guards pounded in! Now he knew they were after him.
His screams battered the walls and sliced down the passageways. They tore out the window and into the night.
Outside, a moan rose from thousands of throats.
The camera crews went tense.
The ambulance started its motors.
Alarm gongs racketed in the courtyard!
A tense throng, in agony, watched the ponderous doors swing open.
A stretcher crew raced in.
In the darkness of the courtyard, the men in white were loading something. One of them was an actor: he expertly tossed a blood bag under the sheet, observed by no one.
And then into the glaring gate lights, before the eyes of cameras, attended by the men in white, the stretcher came to view.
Thousands groaned!
People shrieked in horror.
On it lay the sacrificial bride, sheet showing only part of her face.
AND DOWN FROM THE STRETCHER RAN A TORRENT OF BLOOD!
PANDEMONIUM!
The crowd tried to charge.
Guards with flashing guns fired over their heads!
A platoon struggled to get the prison gates closed.
The stretcher was slid into the ambulance. It took off with a roar!
Madison looked back through the rear windows of the ambulance.
WHAT A RIOT!
AND ALL ON HOMEVIEW FOR THE WHOLE OF THE CONFEDERACY!
He sat down by the stretcher. He took Pratia Tayl Gris’ hand and patted it. He was grinning from ear to ear.
“Oh, you did wonderfully,” he said. “I am very proud of you.”
“Well, I certainly hope all this works,” said the most dedicated nymphomaniac on Voltar. “I just can’t wait to get my hands on him again. Did you know he is now ENORMOUS?”
“Oh, I think the rest of it will come off smoothly,” said Madison.
“This PR is great stuff!” said Pratia. “Where’s it been?”
PART EIGHTY
Chapter 5
The rest of Madison’s caper was not long in following.
On the very next afternoon, an incredulous Lord Turn, already sorrier than sorry that he had said yes to the marriage, looked at the Royal prison seneschal. “WHO?” said Lord Turn.
“They’re asking for permission to land in the courtyard,” said the seneschal. “It’s an air-limousine and the identoplate of the occupant says ‘Queen Teenie.’ They are saying that as the occupant is Royal, they have a right to land.”
“That must be the Hostage Queen of Flisten,” said Lord Turn. “But a hostage monarch doesn’t have access to this place!”
“Tha
t’s what I told them. But they said royalty was royalty and that they have urgent business with Your Lordship that will NOT wait.”
“Well, it’s a moot question,” said Lord Turn. “Are those Homeview people still hanging around outside?”
“No, Your Lordship.”
“Well, nobody will notice. It can’t be anything very important. Probably wants some retainer locked up and I’ll have to tell her no, but I better do it in person or they’ll feel insulted. Tell them they can land.”
He got into a new robe and straightened up his desk.
Very shortly, two heralds stepped in and halted. In unison, they said, “Her Majesty Queen Teenie! All rise!”
A silver palanquin, covered, borne by two husky footmen in silver, was carried into the chamber.
“Kneel!” said the heralds.
Lord Turn, suffering, stepped to the side of his desk and knelt.
The footmen set the palanquin down.
A blue-gloved hand swept the front curtain of the palanquin aside. A young voice said, “Rise. You may sit at your desk.”
Lord Turn was irritated. Hostage monarchs had no business here. But he rose and seated himself at his desk. Then he looked into the curtained chair. She was sitting there, crown on head, scepter in hand, robed in gold. Her eyes and mouth were very big but she was actually quite beautiful. Then he realized she was little more than a child and he could not repress a fatherly smile. What possible trouble could a teen-age hostage monarch cause? None that he could imagine.
“Well, what can I do for Your Majesty?” he said, wondering if it would be protocol to offer her some candy.
“It is not what you can do for us,” said Teenie. “It is what we might be able to do for you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” said Teenie. “We are quite used to judges and courts and so on and we know how much trouble they can get into.”
“About what?” said Turn, a trifle amused.
“Gris,” said Teenie.
“GRIS?” cried Lord Turn. “OH, NO! NOT MORE GRIS!” He dropped his gray head into his hands, clutching his forehead.
“Yes, Gris,” said Teenie. “He is the vilest, most underhanded, unprincipled villain alive! Before I became the Hostage Queen of Flisten, I was a movie queen on the planet Earth.”
“Earth? What country?”
“Moviola. But it doesn’t matter. This Gris, a terrible villain, was hauled before my court there and sentenced to life imprisonment. He escaped. He is actually my prisoner. It would save you a great deal of embarrassment if you simply turned him over to me so he could finish his sentence.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that. It’s the wrong venue. I think I know what planet you mean now. Blito-P3—it’s been in the news. It’s not conquered yet. There are no treaties. And even if we were talking about Flisten, it would be the same. There is no possible way under heavens that I could turn Gris over to you.”
“No matter what?”
“Not even faintly possible.”
“It could save you a lot of embarrassment if you changed your mind.”
Lord Turn sighed. “I’m sorry, but it’s impossible.”
“Oh, well,” said Teenie, “It was a nice try. So I guess I’ll have to spill it to you.”
“My dear . . . I mean Your Majesty, I would give half my head to get rid of Gris. But unfortunately I cannot. However,” and he smiled, “I can’t possibly see how he could cause any more trouble.”
“It’s plain you don’t know Gris,” said Teenie. “He lies, he cheats, he steals. But this time he’s really done it. He has committed a crime right here in your own prison.”
Lord Turn shook his head. “That’s impossible.”
“You don’t know Gris,” said Teenie. “This time he has really done it. And that’s why I thought I could help. When I saw his picture on Homeview, I said, ‘NO! It can’t be! But there he is! That’s Gris! He’s done it AGAIN!’”
“My dear . . . WHAT has he done again?”
“The very same crime I sentenced him to life imprisonment for. BIGAMY!”
Lord Turn’s eyes went round with shock. Bigamy was a capital crime on Voltar. “No, no, there must be some mistake. You must have the wrong man.” He was pleading with himself, please, not more trouble with Gris.
Teenie said, “If he confronted me, you would know in a second that it is true.”
“Oh, I hope there is some mistake,” said Lord Turn. Then hastily, “Look, Your Majesty, we can settle this immediately. If you will consent to moving your palanquin into the courtroom, I will have Gris brought down.”
Teenie nodded and they carried her chair out into the main courtroom. They set it down in the empty hall before the witness seat and enclosure. Teenie shut her curtains.
There was quite a wait. But at last, a very manacled Gris was brought, closely escorted by six armed guards.
Gris had not known why they were fetching him. The curtained chair meant nothing to him. But when he saw that he was not being taken to an execution chamber, and it was probably just a matter of some questions, some of his morale returned. He sat down in the railed witness box, trying to make a good impression on Lord Turn who was now taking a seat on his judge’s dais.
“Gris,” said Turn, “have you ever been sentenced to life imprisonment?”
“All my crimes are in my confession, Your Lordship.”
“Well, that may or may not be,” said Lord Turn. “I’ve not read it. So please just answer truthfully, were you ever tried and sentenced in a country called Moviola?”
Gris had had a very hard night. But he knew that the last thing he must look was guilty about anything. After all, his crimes had all been done because of Heller and he had explained that in his confession. He forced an easy laugh. “That’s ridiculous,” he said.
“There is someone here who says otherwise,” said Lord Turn and waved a hand at the closed palanquin.
Gris managed a confident smile. “There isn’t anyone on Voltar who could allege such a falsity.” And he looked easily at the curtains.
Suddenly, a blue-gloved hand shot the covering aside.
TEENIE!
Gris went white.
He leaped back!
He hit the rail of the witness box and went right through it!
With a rip of splintering timber he reached the limit of his shackles!
His velocity was so great he parted chain links!
He hit the wall!
He madly tried to get through it!
With a shrieking, frantic moan, he realized he could not escape.
He fainted.
Lord Turn looked at the crumpled heap of severed chains, fallen plaster and Gris amongst it, lying there unconscious, now, upon the floor. Lord Turn, in the saddest voice said, “Oh, no.”
Lord Turn took a long breath and looked at Teenie. “Well, Your Majesty,” he said, “I guess that settles it. I have no choice now but to bring Gris to trial for committing a crime in my own prison.”
“I said it would be embarrassing,” said Teenie. “Pratia Tayl was the fourth time he got married. He’s not guilty of just bigamy: it’s QUADRIGAMY!”
Madison, two hours later, was dancing with joy. His plan had worked perfectly. He had brought Gris to trial. He would make sure the trial was public. WHAT HEADLINES THAT WOULD MAKE! And Gris would accuse Heller. Madison had it made! He could see it now! The greatest manhunt in the whole universe! The Fleet, the Army, everybody! All after Heller! Headlines, headlines, HEADLINES! What ecstasy!
Oh, it was great to be a pure genius at PR!
PART EIGHTY
Chapter 6
On a lonely mountaintop of Calabar and in the screaming wind, Jettero Heller stood, stung by the horizontally hurtling snow, half-blinded by the night, surrounded by thirty blastguns ready and eager to blow him apart.