you're puzzled. Please come inside where it's warmer and we'll tell
you." The rest behaved in equally friendly wise.
Their story was simple in outline. They too were Imperial subjects, from
Esperance. That planet wasn't immensely remote from here. True to its
pacifistic tradition, it had stayed neutral during the succession fight,
declaring it would pledge allegiance to whoever gave the Empire peace
and law again. (Kossara nodded. She had heard of Esperance.) But this
policy required a certain amount of armed might and a great deal of
politicking and intriguing abroad, to prevent forcible recruitment by
some or other pretender. The Esperancians thus got into the habit of
taking a more active role than hitherto. Conditions remained
sufficiently turbulent after Hans was crowned to keep the habit in tune.
When their Intelligence heard rumors of Ythrian attempts to foment
revolution on Diomedes, their government was immediately concerned.
Esperance was near the border of Empire and Domain. Agents were smuggled
onto Diomedes to spy out the truth--discreetly, since God alone knew
what the effect of premature revelations might be. Johnson's party was
such a band.
"Predecessors of ours learned Dennitzans were responsible," he said.
"Not Avalonian humans serving Ythri, but Dennitzan humans serving their
war lord!"
"No!" Kossara interrupted, horrified. "That isn't true! And he's not a
war lord!"
"It was what the natives claimed, Mademoiselle Vymezal," the
Asian-looking woman said mildly. "We decided to try posing as
Dennitzans. Our project had learned enough about the underground--names
of various members, for instance--that it seemed possible, granted the
autochthons couldn't spot the difference. Their reaction to us does
indicate they ... well, they have reason to believe Dennitzans are
sparking their movement. We've been, ah, leading them on, collecting
information without actually helping them develop paramilitary
capabilities. When Eonan told us an important Dennitzan had arrived,
openly but with hints she could be more than a straightforward
scientist--naturally, we grew interested."
"Well, you've been fooled," burst from Kossara. "I'm here to, to
disprove those exact same charges against us. The Gospodar, our head of
state, he's my uncle and he sent me as his personal agent. I should
know, shouldn't I? And I tell you, he's loyal. We are!"
"Why doesn't he proclaim it?" Johnson asked.
"Oh, he is making official representations. But what are they worth?
Across four hundred light-years--We need proof. We need to learn who's
been blackening us and why." Kossara paused for a sad smile. "I don't
pretend I can find out much. I'm here as a, a forerunner, a scout. Maybe
that special Navy team working out of Thursday Landing--have you heard
about them?--maybe they'll exonerate us without our doing anything.
Maybe they already have. The commander didn't act suspicious of me."
Johnson patted her hand. "I believe you're honest, Mademoiselle," he
said. "And you may well be correct, too. Let's exchange what we've
discovered--and, in between, give you some outdoor recreation. You look
space-worn."
The next three darkling springtime days were pleasant. Kossara and
Trohdwyr stopped wearing weapons in the cave.}
Flandry sighed. "Aycharaych." He had told her something of his old
antagonist. "Who else? Masks within masks, shadows that cast shadows ...
Merseian operatives posing as Esperancians posing as Dennitzans whose
comrades had formerly posed as Avalonians, while other Merseian
creatures are in fact the Terran personnel they claim to be. Yes, I'll
bet my chance of a peaceful death that Aycharaych is the engineer of the
whole diablerie."
He drew on a cigarette, rolled acridity over his tongue and streamed it
out his nostrils, as if this mordant would give reality a fast hold on
him. He and she sat side by side on a saloon bench. Before them was the
table, where stood glasses and a bottle of Demerara rum. Beyond was the
viewscreen, full of night and stars. They had left the shining nebula
behind; an unlit mass of cosmic dust reared thunderhead tall across the
Milky Way. The ship's clocks declared the hour was late. Likewise did
the silence around, above the hum which had gone so deep into their
bones that they heard it no more.
Kossara wore a housedress whose brevity made him all too aware of long
legs, broad bosom, a vein lifting blue from the dearest hollow that her
shoulderbones made at the base of her throat. She shivered a trifle and
leaned near him, unperfumed now except for a sunny odor of woman.
"Monstrous," she mumbled.
"N-no ... well, I can't say." Why do I defend him? Flandry wondered, and
knew: I see in my mirror the specter of him. Though who of us is flesh
and who image? "I'll admit I can't hate him, even for what he did to you
and will do to your whole people and mine if he can. I'll kill him the
instant I'm able, but--Hm, I suppose you never saw or heard of a coral
snake. It's venomous but very beautiful, and strikes without malice ...
Not that I really know what drives Aycharaych. Maybe he's an artist of
overriding genius. That's a kind of monster, isn't it?"
She reached for her glass, withdrew her hand--she was a light
drinker--and gripped the table edge instead, till the ends of her nails
turned white. "Can such a labyrinth of a scheme work? Aren't there
hopelessly many chances for something to go wrong?"
Flandry found solace in a return to pragmatics, regardless of what
bitterness lay behind. "If the whole thing collapses, Merseia hasn't
lost much. Not Hans nor any Emperor can make the Terran aristocrats give
up their luxuries--first and foremost, their credo that eventual
accommodation is possible--and go after the root of the menace. He
couldn't manage anything more than a note of protest and perhaps the
suspension of a few negotiations about trade and the like. His
underlings would depose him before they allowed serious talk about
singeing the beard the Roidhun hasn't got."
His cigarette butt scorched his fingers. He tossed it away and took a
drink of his own. The piratical pungency heartened him till he could
speak in detachment, almost amusement: "Any plotter must allow for his
machine losing occasional nuts and bolts. You're an example. Your likely
fate as a slave was meant to outrage every man on Dennitza when the news
arrived there. By chance, I heard about you in the well-known and
deservedly popular nick of time--I, not someone less cautious--"
"Less noble," She stroked his arm. It shone inside.
Nonetheless he grinned and said, "True, I may lack scruples, but not
warm blood. I'm a truncated romantic. A mystery, a lovely girl, an
exotic planet--could I resist hallooing off--"
It jarred through him:--off into whatever trap was set by a person who
knew me? His tongue went on. "However, prudence, not virtue, was what
made me careful to do nothing irrevocable" to you, darling; I praise the
Void
that nothing irrevocable happened to you. "And we did luck out, we
did destroy the main Merseian wart on Diomedes." Was the luck poor silly
Susette and her husband's convenient absence? Otherwise I'd have stayed
longer at Thursday Landing, playing sleuth--long enough to give an
assassin, who was expecting me specifically, a chance at me.
No! This is fantastic! Forget it!
"Wasn't that a disaster to the enemy?" Kossara asked.
" 'Fraid not. I don't imagine they'll get their Diomedean insurgency.
But that's a minor disappointment. I'm sure the whole operation was
chiefly a means to the end of maneuvering Terra into forcing Dennitza to
revolt And those false clues have long since been planted and let
sprout; the false authoritative report has been filed; in short, about
as much damage has been done on the planet as they could reasonably
expect."
Anguish: "Do you think ... we will find civil war?"
He laid an arm around her. She leaned into the curve of it, against his
side. "The Empire seldom bumbles fast," he comforted her. "Remember,
Hans himself didn't want to move without more information. He saw no
grounds for doubting the Maspes report--that Dennitzans were
involved--but he realized they weren't necessarily the Gospodar's
Dennitzans. That's why I got recruited, to check further. In addition,
plain old bureaucratic inertia works in our favor. Yes, as far as the
problems created on Diomedes are concerned, I'm pretty sure well get you
home in time."
"Thanks to you, Dominic." Her murmur trembled. "To none but you."
He did not remind her that Diomedes was not, could never have been the
only world on which the enemy had worked, and that events on Dennitza
would not have been frozen. This was no moment for reminders, when she
kissed him.
Her shyness in it made him afraid to pursue. But they sat together a
spell, mute before the stars, until she bade him goodnight.
{On the tundra far north of the Kazan, Bodin Miyatovich kept a hunting
lodge. Thence he rode forth on horseback, hounds clamorous around him,
in quest of gromatz, yegyupka, or ice troll. At other times he and his
guests boated on wild waters, skied on glacier slopes, sat indoors by a
giant hearthfire talking, drinking, playing chess, playing music,
harking to blizzard winds outside. Since her father bore her cradle from
aircar to door, Kossara had loved coming here.
Though this visit was harshly for business, she felt pleasure at what
surrounded her. She and her uncle stood on a slate terrace that jutted
blue-black from the granite blocks of the house. Zoria wheeled dazzling
through cloudless heaven, ringed with sun dogs. Left, right, and
rearward the land reached endless, red-purple mahovina turf, widespaced
clumps of firebush and stands of windblown plume, here and there a pool
ablink. Forward, growth yielded to tumbled boulders where water coursed.
In these parts, the barrens were a mere strip; she could see the ice
beyond them. Two kilometers high, its cliff stood over the horizon, a
worldwall, at its distance not dusty white but shimmering, streaked with
blue crevasses. The river which ran from its melting was still swift
when it passed near the lodge, a deep brawl beneath the lonesome tone of
wind, the remote cries of a sheerwing flock. The air was cold, dry,
altogether pure. The fur lining of her parka hood was soft and tickly on
her cheeks.
The big man beside her growled, "Yes, too many ears in Zorkagrad.
Damnation! I thought if we put Molitor on the throne, we'd again know
who was friend and who foe. But things only get more tangled. How many
faithful are left? I can't tell. And that's fouler than men becoming
outright turncoats."
"You trust me, don't you?" Kossara answered in pride.
"Yes," Miyatovich said. "I trust you beyond your fidelity. You're strong
and quick-witted. And your xenological background ... qualifies you and
gives you a cover story ... for a mission I hope you'll undertake."
"To Diomedes? My father's told me rumors."
"Worse. Accusations. Not public yet. I actually had bloody hard work
finding out, myself, why Imperial Intelligence agents have been snooping
amongst us in such numbers. I sent men to inquire elsewhere and--Well,
the upshot is, the Impies know revolt is brewing on Diomedes and think
Dennitzans are the yeast. The natural conclusion is that a cabal of mine
sent them, to keep the Imperium amused while we prepare a revolt of our
own."
"You've denied it, I'm sure."
"In a way. Nobody's overtly charged me. I've sent the Emperor a
memorandum, deploring the affair and offering to cooperate in a
full-dress investigation. But guilty or not, I'd do that. How to prove
innocence? As thin as his corps is spread, we could mobilize--on desert
planets, for instance, without positive clues for them to find."
The Gospodar gusted a sigh. "And appearances are against us. There is a
lot of sentiment for independence, for turning this sector into a
confederacy free of an Empire that failed us and wants to sap the
faction who plot to get us committed--who'll overthrow me if they
must--"
"I'm to go search out the truth if I can," she knew. "Uncle, I'm
honored. But me alone? Won't that be like trying to catch water in a
net?"
"Maybe. Though at the bare least, you can bring me back ... um ... a
feel of what's going on, better than anybody else. And you may well do
more. I've watched you from babyhood. You're abler than you think,
Kossara."
Miyatovich took her by the shoulders. Breath smoked white from his
mouth, leaving frost in his beard, as he spoke: "I've never had a harder
task than this, asking you to put your life on the line. You're like a
daughter to me. I sorrowed nearly as much as you did when Mihail died,
but told myself you'd find another good man who'd give you sound
children. Now I can only say--go in Mihail's name, that your next man
needn't die in another war."
"Than you think we should stay in the Empire?"
"Yes. I've made remarks that suggested different. But you know me, how I
talk rashly in anger but try to act in calm. The Empire would have to
get so bad that chaos was better, before Fd willingly break it. Terra,
the Troubles, or the tyranny of Merseia--and those racists wouldn't just
subject us, they'd tame us--I don't believe we have a fourth choice, and
I'll pick Terra."
She felt he was right.}
A part of the Hooligan's hold had been converted to a gymnasium.
Outbound, and at first on the flight from Diomedes, Flandry and Kossara
used it at separate hours. Soon after her therapy commenced, she
proposed they exercise together. "Absolutely!" he caroled. "It'll make
calisthenics themselves fun, whether or not that violates the second law
of thermodynamics."
In truth, it wasn't fun--when she was there in shorts and halter, sweat,
laughter, herself--it was glory.
Halfway to Dennitza, he t
old her: "Let's end our psychosessions. You've
regained everything you need. The rest would be detail, not worth
further invasion of your privacy."
"No invasion," she said low. Her eyes dropped, her blood mounted. "You
were welcome."
"Chives!" Flandry bellowed. "Get busy! Tonight we do not dine, we
feast!"
"Very good, sir," the Shalmuan replied, appearing in the saloon as if
his master had rubbed a lamp. "I suggest luncheon consist of a small
salad and tea to drink."
"You're the boss," Flandry said. "Me, I can't sit still. How about a
game of tennis, Kossara? Then after our rabbit repast we can snooze, in
preparation for sitting up the whole nightwatch popping champagne."
She agreed eagerly. They changed into gym briefs and met below. The room
was elastic matting, sunlamp fluorescence, gray-painted metal sides. In
its bareness, she flamed.
The ball thudded back and forth, caromed, bounced, made them leap, for
half an hour. At last, panting, they called time out and sought a water
tap.
"Do you feel well?" She sounded anxious. "You missed an awful lot of
serves." They were closely matched, her youth against his muscles.
"If I felt any better, you could turn off the ship's powerplant and hook
me into the circuits," he replied. "But why--?"
"I was distracted." He wiped the back of a hand across the salt dampness
in his mustache, ran those fingers through his hair and recalled how it
was turning gray. Decision came. He prepared a light tone before going
on: "Kossara, you're a beautiful woman, and not just because you're the