The Ring of Ritornel Page 5

  James Andrek had duly risen, bowed, and was just sitting down again, smug in the knowledge that he was thoroughly prepared and perfectly rehearsed, when Poroth’s last statement struck him. He looked up quickly and caught the dean’s half-smile. He dropped numbly into his chair, and a chill began crawling up his spine.

  “However,” continued the dean blandly, “in the furtherance of the Academy’s primary objective, which is educating young men to become dons, we will make a very slight change in the program.” He leaned forward a little. “A thoroughly prepared don must know his opposition’s case as well as he knows his own: its strengths and weaknesses. He thus broadens his knowledge and frees himself of prejudice. Only then can he with certainty prepare his own case.”

  Andrek and Vang stared at each other, united at least for the hour in the comradeship of the doomed.

  Poroth smiled benignly down at them. “I see counsel have already divined the program change. It is just this: they will exchange places. Mr. Andrek will not argue for Terror’s destruction; he will instead attempt to persuade us to save her. And Mr. Vang, of course, will similarly reverse his role: he will rebut Mr. Andrek’s petition, and give us reasons why the sentence of planetary death should be duly carried out. In this way, each prospective young don can demonstrate his familiarity with the other’s case. And now, there being no reason further to delay the coming display of juridical virtuosity, we will hear from the petitioner to save Terror. Mr. Andrek, your summary, please!”

  It was not fair! The sins of the loser of the Terrovian Wars were known to every schoolboy. She had been justly condemned. What could be said in her defense? He needed more time! He rose, pale and drawn.

  “If it please your Excellencies, the condemnation of Terror cannot lawfully proceed. Terror was never a party to the Intergalactic Statutes that provide for her destruction. Condemnation is therefore not due process of law, but rather a judicial continuation of the war, which, however, ended years ago with the death of the last Terrovian. The arbiters are therefore without jurisdiction. And finally, it is not possible to commit a crime until there is a law that states the crime. Yet my client was found guilty of committing the crime of starting a nuclear war before there was an intergalactic law making nuclear aggression a crime, much less a crime punishable by annihilation of the aggressor. Cause is therefore shown why the order should not be granted.” He bowed awkwardly and sat down.

  “Thank you, Mr. Andrek. Mr. Vang?”

  Andrek glowered at the Alean novice, who smiled sweetly back. “Petitioner has raised no point competent for review here.” He looked at his notes. “Each arbiter has taken an oath to support the Intergalactic Treaty. The treaty requires destruction of every person, country, or planet starting a nuclear war. No procedural error in the proceedings below is suggested. No suggestion is made that Terror did not start a nuclear war, and wage it with all means at her disposal. No suggestion is made that Terror does not normally deserve her fate. No cause is shown; the order should be dismissed.” He bowed gracefully.

  “Thank you, Mr. Vang. You may be seated.” Poroth leaned forward and touched his fingertips together. “We can now give our decision, from the bench. The petitioner, Mr. Andrek, has not, to our satisfaction, shown cause why the destruction of Terror should not proceed. The charges will therefore forthwith be placed, and the planet duly destroyed. So ordered.” He looked at the two young men earnestly. “What I did to you both was unfair, and especially unfair to you, Mr. Andrek, for you had a hard case indeed. But in the long pull it will be of great benefit to you both. Know your opponent’s case! And that’s not all you should know. On the practical side, know your judge. When the court, as here, is composed of several judges, twelve to be exact, know them all. The personalities and leanings of each of the twelve arbiters is well-known throughout the Twelve Galaxies that they represent. Our own Zhukan, for example, is a stickler for the niceties of due process. Werebel, on the other hand, is a sentimentalist. He favors the underdog. Maichec is interested only in the ultimate moralities; you must persuade him a thing is just or unjust, no matter what the treaties say. But what happened? Neither of you paid the slightest attention to us arbiters as people. Any questions so far? Yes, Mr. Andrek?”

  “Sir, you keep talking about ‘twelve’ arbiters, but I notice that actually there are only eight people on the dais, seven students and yourself. Would you explain that, sir?”

  “I shall certainly not explain it, Mr. Andrek. It must be irrelevant to counsel why only eight of my twelve brother arbiters are here. What is relevant to counsel is whether the diminution of the full number changes the presentation of his case. May I have your views on that, Mr. Andrek?”

  James had it instantly. “In cases involving Section Nine of the treaty, the destruction of a planet, only the full court—all twelve arbiters—may act. In such case, an eight-man court is not competent to sit.”

  “Not bad at all,” smiled Dean Poroth. “Mr. Vang, any comment?”

  “It’s easy to say that here, sir. This is just practice court. But what if it really happened? Do you think any of us would really tell eight intergalactic arbiters they’re not competent to hear a case?”

  “Courage, Mr. Vang. Put it to them this way: You’re acting as a friend of the court in pointing out how they’re about to sit in violation of the treaty. Then ask for a thirty-day continuance. Ten to one you’ll get it. Gives them time to decide who’s insane. And now, if there are no more questions, practice court is dismissed. Mr. Andrek, may I see you in chambers?”

  Dean Poroth leaned back in the great leather chair and contemplated the young man over folded hands. He seemed to like what he saw. “Have you made any plans, James?”

  Andrek started. During all his years at the Academy, the dean had never before called him by his first name. Until he had reached sixteen he had been simply “Andrek.” After sixteen the professors added “Mister.” And he was now twenty-two. “None, sir. I’ll look for a job here on Goris-Kard, I suppose. I want to stay here to look for my brother.”

  “Twelve years is a long time, James. Can’t you accept—”

  “No, sir.”

  “I suppose not. Well, you were trained in the law, but of course you are free not to become a don. A number of the young gentlemen will in fact leave the profession. I understand Mr. Vang will be accepted into Alean orders.”

  “Yes, sir. He has always been very, ah, religious.”

  “Hm. Yes, of course. What I’m leading up to, James, is a way for you to remain in the profession, and yet continue the search for your brother. Would you like that?”

  “Indeed yes, sir. But how—?”

  “You’ll recall that all the people who have looked into your brother’s disappearance agree on one thing: he went into the Great House, sang at the coronation, and was not seen to come out. Now, if you were to be employed within the Great House itself, say as assistant to the third secretary in the Foreign Office (a position which I understand is presently vacant), you might be able to develop some real information.”

  Andrek moved forward eagerly in his chair. “Oh, thank you, sir!” Then his face fell. “No offense, sir, but I had thought that all appointments of this type had to be made by the arbiter representing the Home Galaxy.”

  Poroth’s eyes twinkled. “Quite so. However, Arbiter Zhukan is retiring within a few days. The Great House has already selected his successor, but the appointment will not be made public until tomorrow. Like you, James, I too am spending my last week at the Academy.”

  “You, sir, arbiter? They could not have selected better! Congratulations, sir!” He fumbled for the right words: “—in Ritornel’s design and Alea’s favor!”

  Poroth chuckled. “Thank you, James. And I hope the best for you, in the Great House.”

  5. AN APPROACHING EXPLOSION

  Somewhat to his own surprise, and assisted somewhat by the flux and uncertainties of high-level government service, Andrek advanced rapidly in the Great House. Within t
hree years he was second secretary of the Foreign Office.

  During these first years at the Great House he had occasion to attend a performance in the music room. The program consisted of three symphonies, composed, he understood, by computer. There was something about the music that haunted him. For several nights afterward, he would hear the strange themes again, and would awaken from dreams of Omere. He had been invited to subsequent performances, but the demands of the Foreign Office had interfered.

  He had quickly become acquainted with most of the inhabitants of the Great House, and had eventually even met Oberon, the Magister. He soon knew the members of the cabinet, the captains of the guard, and Oberon’s daughter, a fragile adolescent named Amatar, who seemed always in the company of that strange winged creature, Kedrys.

  He heard remarkable stories about Amatar. The exquisite child was said to be quite at home in the palace zoo with exotic creatures from other planets. The furry little zlonas, whose breath could kill a man, would come at her call and nestle in her arms. The great six-legged bison of Antara, whom even the keeper dared not approach, ate gladly from her hand, and moaned and pawed the ground when she left. There was no danger. She carried a protective witchery with her.

  Andrek wondered whether Oberon was aware of this side of his daughter’s life, and discovered, to his mixed relief and disquiet, that the Magister was indeed aware. Guards, both visible and invisible, attended the girl everywhere she went. And when the goru stretched its hideous head over the magnetic fence to give Amatar an affectionate lick of its tongue, the cross hairs of a needle biem half a kilometer away watchfully followed its heart. How many times, he wondered, had a similar biem watched him?

  But if Amatar was strange, Kedrys was stranger. His chimeric body had no effect on his intellect, except perhaps to stimulate it. He had his own laboratory in his rooms, and his boyish inventions were discussed (with disbelief) throughout Goris-Kard. While in his early teens he had written learned papers on the mathematics of matter transport, the nature of the Deep, time warp, and the mechanics of destiny. They were largely ignored; hardly anyone could understand them. Except for Amatar, Kedrys seemed to have no friends. It could hardly be otherwise, in Andrek’s view. How could a normal human being be chummy with a winged creature whose IQ was too high to register on the meter?

  Most of the staff complained about the loneliness of the trips to distant systems. But Andrek welcomed them. The solitude, the change of pace, gave him an opportunity to review progress, or lack of it, in his long search for Omere, and to plan the next step. Trip orders had a habit of coming suddenly—his valise and attaché case were always packed and ready to go. He generally carried a three-day supply of linen. If the trip took longer, there’d be a laundry somewhere, or he could even wash out something himself.

  More and more he was becoming convinced that the detectives originally hired by Poroth, and more recently those hired by himself, were being stopped cold by some unknown exterior factor at the very threshold of discovery. He needed someone with an entrée, even personal contacts, at the very highest level in the Great House. He needed someone who had been acquainted with the coronation ceremonies of years ago; perhaps even someone (if that were possible) who had known Oberon as a youth.

  In his sixth year in the Foreign Office he was assigned a field trip to represent the Home Galaxy at the ceremonies for drilling the great shaft in the condemned planet, Terror. The process would be demonstrated in miniature to the visiting functionaries in temporary buildings on Terror’s moon. Even after decades, Terror’s nuclear fires were still burning, and the shaft, a hundred meters in diameter, would have to be dug by a giant, remote-controlled diamond-toothed capsule. The shaft would gradually close behind the capsule, squeezed shut by massive pressures of trillions of tons of overburden. And as the capsule was closing to the last few hundred kilometers of the semimolten iron core, they would start Terror on her long journey to the Node. There, a series of explosive charges within the capsule would be ignited in augmented sequence. Titanic waves would be set up inside the planet’s core, each reinforcing the one preceding. And within days the core would break through the lithosphere. The planet would disintegrate, her dust quickly lost in the vastness of new space continually forming at the Node.

  After a half-day’s journey by hyper-drive courier ship, Andrek walked down the ramp into the tempo-bubble built into the side of a crater on Terror’s airless moon. He walked into his room, turned the polarizer on the single porthole to shut out the blinding glare of Terror’s sun sinking over the far wall of the crater, and then realized that he hadn’t eaten all day.

  The dining hall, hastily erected and undersized, was crowded. Andrek stood just inside the entranceway, looking for the engineers’ table. He wanted more detail on the drill mechanism for his report.

  But the only empty chair he saw was at a table almost straight ahead, and this chair was tipped against the table as though it were being reserved for someone. He glanced in casual disappointment at the occupant of the adjacent chair—and started.

  Glittering dark eyes stared back at him. It was Ajian Vang, elbows on table, chin propped up on his folded hands, sitting with two other men.

  At the instant of mutual recognition Vang’s hands separated, and he made a peculiar gesture with his fists as they moved apart across his chest. There was something tantalizing and sinister about this motion that Andrek could not immediately identify. And just then Vang arose, smiled at him, and motioned to the empty chair.

  After a moment of uncertainty—while he stared at the white-clad figure (for Vang wore the robes of an Alean monk), Andrek sighed, forced himself to smile back, then walked over and shook hands with his old classmate. He had no desire to renew school ties. He would just as soon have avoided the encounter altogether.

  Vang’s palm was wet; Andrek had to resist an impulse to wipe his own surreptitiously on the side of his trousers before accepting Vang’s introduction to the other two men.

  One of the men was named Hasard, a large, rather brutish type. As Andrek understood it, Hasard worked for the third man, who seemed to radiate a luxuriant prosperity, and who had evidently at some time past been involved in a serious accident. The left side of his face showed the unmistakable marks of plastic surgery, and a golden patch covered his left eye. He seemed to wear his scars proudly, though he might easily have hidden them with an attractive beard. The butts of two pistols peeked out from shoulder holsters just inside his velvet jacket. Vang introduced him as Huntyr.

  Vang was watching Andrek’s face carefully and seemed to enjoy the advocate’s mystification. The Alean then explained, with poorly concealed pride: “The Great House has asked that the Huntyr agency cooperate with me in security measures for the demolition of Terror. Actually, there have been no problems at all, and we foresee none. But it is best to be sure. Everyone here in the moon-works has been screened by our group.” He spread his hands delicately. “Everyone.”

  To Andrek, several facts were immediately clear. Vang had risen high in Alean circles, and was now in an Alean security unit assigned to the Great House. Vang knew all about Andrek, and his duties and assignments, including this trip to the Terror drill-site. Vang had selected this table just inside the dining hall, and had held the chair, awaiting Andrek’s entrance.

  Why? As far as Andrek could make out, there was no clear answer. Perhaps Vang’s fragile ego was somehow strengthened by demonstrating to Andrek his status in the religion-governmental hierarchy. But he had an uneasy feeling there was more to it than that.

  He smiled. “I understand, Ajian. I was investigated, and since I am here, I presume that I was cleared. I was investigated years ago, of course, before I was accepted into the Foreign Office. Investigation does not offend me. It is a necessary thing. But enough for me. How about you? You seem to be doing well with the Aleans. Are you happy there?”

  Vang looked at Andrek suspiciously. “Of course.”

  Huntyr interrupted smoothly. “I un
derstand you and Brother Vang were at the Academy together.”

  “We were classmates,” said Andrek politely.

  “This Terror thing should remind you of old times,” said Vang. “Do you remember that last session in practice court, when you and I were on opposite sides?”

  Andrek nodded. (He would never be allowed to forget that one!)

  Vang explained to Huntyr and Hasard. “On the program, I was supposed to save Terror, and Andrek was to make sure she was blown up. But who could save Terror? My case was lost from the beginning, I thought. Fortunately for me, the dean switched signals on us at the very last instant, right in front of everybody. The problem of saving Terror was assigned to Andrek, and he lost, of course. It was really rather humorous, except that no one dared laugh, eh, Andrek?”

  “Nobody laughed,” said Andrek. He pondered the Alean’s face thoughtfully. There was definitely something wrong with Vang. Conflicting forces within him were tearing him to pieces, and his face showed it to anyone who remembered him from the Academy. Andrek surmised it was the old problem, heightened and accentuated now by adult sophistication and enhanced ability for self-torture. Vang wanted two things. He wanted to lose himself within the intricate convolutions of the Alean structure. Equally, he wanted money. Even as Andrek watched, fascinated, Vang’s eyes moved caressingly over Huntyr’s iridescent fur-lined velours. And when the investigator’s diamond-studded golden neck-chain flashed, Vang put his hand up to his throat as though to hide the cheap brass chain that supported his own pendant die. Andrek almost felt sorry for him. If he does not decide soon, thought the advocate, this thing will kill him.

  He forced himself to reopen the conversation. “There are a couple of features about the Terror program that puzzle me. Why can’t the planet be destroyed right here? Why do we have to haul her to the Node?”