Collected Short Fiction, page 217
“Sire?”
“That was a fine decision you rendered in the case of the baker today, Navarre. I often wonder how I should endure the throne without two such ministers as you and Kausirn.”
“Thank you, Sire.” Perspiration beaded Joroiran’s upper lip; the monarch seemed dwarfed by the stiff strutwork that held his uniform out from his scrawny body. He glanced nervously at the Earthman, then said, “You spoke of a Chalice today, as your reason for being late to the audience. The Chalice of Death, is it? Or of Life?”
“It is known under both names, Sire.”
“Of course. Its details slipped my mind for the instant. It is said to hold the secret of eternal life, not so? Its possessor need never die?”
Navarre nodded.
“And,” Joroiran continued, “you tell me you have some knowledge of its whereabouts, eh?”
“I think I do,” said Navarre hoarsely. “My informant claimed to know someone whose father had led an earlier expedition in search of it, and who had nearly located it.” The statement was strictly from whole cloth, but Navarre reeled it off smoothly.
“Indeed? Who is this man?”
Sudden inspiration struck Navarre. “His name is Domrik Carso. His mother was an Earthman—and you know of course that the Chalice is connected in some legend-shrouded way with Earth.”
“Of course. Produce this Carso.”
“He was here today, Sire. He searched for pardon from an unfair sentence of banishment over some silly barroom squabble. Alas, the finger of fate did not fall on him, and he leaves for Kariad tonight. But perhaps if the sentence were revoked I could get further information from him concerning the Chalice, which I would most dearly love to win for your Majesty—”
Joroiran’s fingers drummed the desktop. “Ah, yes—revokement. It would be possible, perhaps. Can you reach the man?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Tell him not to pay for his passage tickets, that the Public Treasury will cover the cost of his travels from now on.”
“But—”
“The same applies to you, of course.”
Taken aback, Navarre lost a little of his composure. “Sire?”
“I have spoken to Kausirn. Navarre, I don’t know if I can spare you, and Kausirn is uncertain as to whether he can bear the double load in your absence. But he will try it, noble fellow that he is.”
“I don’t understand,” Navarre stammered.
“You say you have a lead on the Chalice, no? Kausirn has refreshed my overburdened memory with some information on this Chalice, and I find myself longing for its promise of eternal life, Navarre. You say you have a lead; very well. I have arranged for an indefinite leave of absence for you. Find this man Carso; together, you can search the galaxies at my expense. I don’t care how long it takes, nor what it costs. But bring me the Chalice, Navarre!”
The Earthman nearly fell backward in astonishment. The Chalice? Why, it was just a myth, an old wives’ tale he had resorted to as an excuse for oversleeping—
Greed shone in the Overlord’s eyes: greed for eternal life. Dizzily Navarre realized that this was the work of the clever Kausirn: he would send the annoying Earthman all over space on a fool’s mission while consolidating his own position at the side of the Overlord.
Navarre forced himself to meet Joroiran’s eyes. “I will not fail you, my lord,” he said in a strangled voice.
HE HAD BEEN weaving twisted strands, and now he had spun himself a noose. Talk of tradition! Nothing could melt it faster than a king’s desire to keep his throne.
For seven generations there had been an Earthman at the Overlord’s side. Now, in a flash, the patient work of years was undone. Dejectedly Navarre reviewed his mistakes.
One: he had allowed Kausirn to worm his way into a position of eminence on the Council. Allow a Vegan an inch, he’ll grab a parsec. Navarre now saw he should have had the many-fingered one quietly put away while he had the chance.
Two: he had caroused the night before an audience-day. Inexcusable. By hereditary right and by his own wits he had always chosen the cases to be heard, and in the space of a single hour the Vegan had done him out of that.
Three: he had lied too well. This was something he should have foreseen. He had aroused weak Joroiran’s desire to such a pitch that Kausirn was easily able to plant the suggestion that the Overlord send the faithful Earthman out to find the Chalice.
Three mistakes. Now, he was on the outside and Kausirn in control. Navarre tipped his glass and drained it. “You’re a disgrace to your genes,” he told the oddly distorted reflection on the wall of the glass. “A hundred thousand years of Earthmen labor to produce—what? You? Fumblewit!”
Still, there was nothing to be done for it now. Joroiran had given the word, and here he was, assigned to chase a phantom, to pursue a will-o’-the-wisp that was half fancy, half lie. The Chalice! Chalice, indeed! There was no such thing.
And even if there were, the sky was full of stars. Navarre could search the heavens for a billion decades and not touch each world twice. And he dared not return to Joroiran empty-handed. That was what Kausirn was counting on. Navarre was a prisoner of his own reputation, of the reputation of Earthmen’s ability to achieve anything they set out to do.
Navarre chuckled hollowly and wondered what would happen if they knew the truth—if they knew just how futile the much-feared Earthmen really were.
Here we are, he thought. A couple of million of us, scattered one or two to a world throughout the galaxies. We dictate policies, we are sought as advisers—and yet we were unable to hold our own empire. We don’t even remember where our home world is.
He tossed his empty glass aside and reached for the communicator. He punched the stud, quickly fed in four numbers and a letter.
A blank radiance filled the screen, and an impersonal voice said, “Citizen Carso is not at home. Citizen Carso is not at home. Citizen Car—” Navarre cut the contact and dialed again. This time the screen lit, glowed, and showed a tired-looking man in a white smock. “Jublain Street Bar,” the man said. “Do you want to see the manager?”
“No. Is there a man named Domrik Carso there—a heavy-set fellow, with a thick beard?”
“I’ll look around,” the barkeep grunted. A moment later, Carso came to the screen. His thick-nostrilled face looked puffy and bloated; as Navarre had suspected, he was having a few last swills of Joran beer before taking off for the out-worlds.
“Navarre? What do you want?”
“Have you bought your ticket for Kariad yet?”
Carso blinked. “Not yet. What’s it to you?”
“If you haven’t bought it yet, don’t. How soon can you get over here?”
“Couple of centuries, maybe. What’s going on?”
“You’ve been pardoned.”
“What? I’m not banished?”
“Not exactly,” Navarre said. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it at long range. How soon can you get over here?”
“I’m due at the spaceport at twenty-one to pick up my tick—”
“Damn your ticket,” Navarre snapped. “You don’t have to leave yet. Come on over, will you?”
NAVARRE peered across the table at the heavy-shouldered figure of Domrik Carso. “That’s the whole story,” the Earthman said. “Joroiran wants the Chalice—and he wants it real hard.”
Carso shook his head and exhaled a beery breath. “Your oversleeping has ruined us both, Hallam. With but half an Earthman’s mind I could have done better.”
“It’s done, and Kausirn has me in a cleft stick. If nothing else, I’ve saved you a banishment.”
“Only under condition that I help you find this damnable Chalice,” Carso grunted. “Some improvement that is. Well, at least Joroiran will foot the bill. We can both see the universe at his expense, and when we come back—”
“We come back when we’ve found the Chalice,” said Navarre. “This isn’t going to be a pleasure-jaunt.”
Carso glared at him sourly. “Hallam, are you mad? There is no Chalice!”
“How do you know? Joroiran says there is. The least we can do is look for it.”
“We’ll wander space forever,” Carso said, sighing. “As no doubt the Vegan intends for you to do. Well, there’s nothing but to accept. I’m no poorer for it than if I were banished. Chalice! Pah!”
“Have another drink,” Navarre suggested. “It may make it easier for you to swallow the idea.”
“I doubt it,” the halfbreed said, but accepted the drink anyway. He drained it, then said, “You told the Overlord you had a lead. What was it?”
“You were my lead,” Navarre said. “I had to invent something.”
“Fine, fine. This leaves us less than nowhere. Well, tell me of this Chalice. What is known of it?”
Navarre frowned. “The legend is connected with ancient Earth. They say the Chalice holds the key to eternal life, if the proper people find it—and instant death for the wrong ones. Hence the ambiguous name, Chalice of Life and Chalice of Death.”
“A chalice is a drinking-cup,” Carso observed. “Does this mean a potion of immortality, or something of the like?”
“Your guess is equal to mine. I’ve given you all I know on the subject.”
“Excellent. Where is this Chalice supposedly located, now?”
Navarre shrugged. “Legend is incomplete. The thing might be anywhere. Our job is to find a particular drinking-cup on a particular world in a nearly infinite universe. Unfortunately we have only a finite length of time to do the job.”
“The typical shortsightedness of kings,” Carso muttered. “A sensible monarch would have sent a couple of immortals out in search of the Chalice.”
“A sensible monarch would know when he’d had enough, and not ask to rule his system forever. But Joroiran’s not sensible.”
They were silent for a moment, while the candle between them flickered. Then Carso grinned.
“What’s so funny?”
“Listen, Hallam. We don’t know where the Chalice is, right? It might be anywhere at all. And so we can begin our search at random.”
“So?”
“Why don’t we assume a location for the Chalice? At least it’ll give us a first goal to crack at. And it ought to be easier to find a planet than a drinking-cup, shouldn’t it?” Navarre’s eyes narrowed. “Just where are you assuming the Chalice is? Where are we going to look for it?” There was a mischievous twinkle in the halfbreed’s eyes. He gulped another drink, grinned broadly, and belched.
“Where? Why—Earth, of course.”
CHAPTER III
ON MORE-OR-LESS sober reflection the next morning, it seemed to Navarre that Carso’s idea was right: finding Earth promised to be easier than finding the Chalice (if it were proper to talk about degrees of ease in locating myths). It seemed a good deal more probable that there had been an Earth than that there had been a Chalice, and, if they directed their aims Earthward, their quest would have a more solid footing.
Earth. Navarre knew the stories that each Earthman told to his children, that few non-Earthmen knew. As a halfbreed Carso would be aware of them too.
Years ago—a hundred thousand, the legend said—man had sprung from Earth, an inconsequential world revolving around a small sun in an obscure galaxy. He had leaped forward to the stars, and carved out a mighty empire. The glory of Earth was carried to the far galaxies, to the wide-flung nebulas of deepest space.
But no race, no matter how strong, could hold sway over an empire that spanned a billion parsecs. The centuries passed; Earth’s grasp grew weaker. And, finally, the stars rebelled.
Navarre remembered his father’s vivid description. Earth had been outnumbered a billion to one, yet they had kept the defensive screens up, and kept the home world untouched, had beaten back the invaders. But still the invaders came, sweeping down on the small planet like angry beetles.
Earth drew back from the stars; its military forces came to the aid of the mother world, and the empire crumbled.
It was to no avail. The hordes from the stars won the war of attrition, sacrificing men ten thousand to one and still not showing signs of defeat. The mother world yielded; the proud name of Earth was humbled.
What became of the armies of Earth no one knew. Those who survived were scattered through the galaxies. But fiercely the Earthmen clung to their name. They shaved their heads to distinguish themselves from humanoids of a million star-systems—and death it was to the alien who tried to counterfeit himself as an Earthman!
The centuries rolled by in their never-ending sweep, and Earth itself was forgotten. Yet the Earthmen remained, a thin band scattered through the heavens, proud of their heritage, jealous of their genetic traits. Carso was rare; it was but infrequently that an Earthwoman could be persuaded to mate with an alien. Yet Carso regarded himself as an Earther, and never spoke of his father.
Where was Earth? No one could name the sector of space—but Earth was in the hearts of the men who lived among the stars. Earthmen were sought out by kings; the baldheads could not rule themselves, but they could advise those less fitted than they to command.
Then would come a fool like Joroiran, who held his throne because his father seven times removed had hewed an empire for him—and Joroiran would succumb to a Vegan’s wiles and order his Earthman off on a madman’s quest.
Navarre’s fists stiffened. Send me for the Chalice, eh? I’ll find something for him!
The Chalice was an idiot’s dream; immortal life was a filmy bubble. But Earth was real, Earth merely awaited finding. Somewhere it bobbed in the heavens, forgotten symbol of an empire that had been.
Smiling, Navarre thought, I’ll find Earth for him.
Unlimited funds were at his disposal. He would bring Joroiran a potion too powerful to swallow at a gulp.
LATER that day he and Carso were aboard a liner of the Royal fleet, bearing tickets paid for by Royal frank, and feeling against their thighs the thick bulge of Imperial scrip received with glee from the Royal treasury.
A stewardess moved up and down the aisle of the liner, making sure everyone was prepared for blastoff. Navarre studied her impartially. She was a Joran native, pinkskinned, high-breasted, with only the flickering nictitating lid filming her eyes to indicate that she did not come from the direct line of Earth.
“A fine wench,” Carso murmured as she passed.
“For you, perhaps. Give me an Earthwoman of the full blood.”
Carso chuckled. “As a mate, perhaps; you fullbloods are ever anxious to keep your lines pure. But as for that one—if I judge you on past practice, you would not toss her from your couch if she sought a night’s sport.”
“Possibly not,” Navarre admitted wryly. “But sport and bloodlines are separate affairs to me. Obviously this is not the rule in your family.” Carso stiffened in his seat. “My mother was forced by a drunken Joran, else I would be full-blooded like the rest.”
“Oh,” Navarre said softly. Carso had never spoken of this before. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t think she’d seek a Joran bed willingly, did you?”
“Of course not. I—wasn’t thinking.”
“Ready for blasting,” came the stewardess’s voice. “We depart for Kariad in fifteen seconds. Relax and prepare to enjoy your trip.”
Navarre slumped back in the acceleration cradle and closed his eyes. His heart ticked the seconds off impatiently. Twelve. Eleven. Nine. Six.
Two. One. Acceleration took him, thrust him downward as the liner left ground. Within seconds, they were above the afternoon sky, thrusting outward into the brightly-dotted blackness speckled with the sharp points of a billion suns.
One of those suns was Sol, Navarre thought. And one of the planets of Sol was Earth.
Chalice of Life, he thought scornfully. As Jorus dwindled behind him, Navarra wondered how long it would be before he would see the simpering face of Joroiran VII again.
KARIAD, the planet nearest the Joran Empire’s cluster, was the lone world of a double sun. This arrangement, uneconomical as it was, provided some spectacular views and made the planet a much-visited pleasure place.
As Navarre and Carso alighted from the liner, Primus, the massive red giant that was the heart of the system, hung high overhead, intersecting a huge arc of the sky, while Secundus, the smaller main-sequence yellow sun, flickered palely near the horizon. Kariad was moving between the two stars on its complex and eccentric orbit, and, in the light of the two suns, all objects in sight had acquired a purple shimmer.
Those who had disembarked from the liner were standing in a tight knot on the field while Kariadi customs officials moved among them. Navarre folded his arms and waited for his turn to come.
The official wore a gilt-encrusted surplice and a bright red sash that seemed almost brown in the strange light. He yanked forth a notebook and started to scribble.
“Name and planet of origin?”
“Hallam Navarre. Planet of origin is Earth.”
The customs man glared impatiently at Navarre’s shaven scalp and said, “You know what I mean. Where are you from?”
“Jorus,” Navarre said.
“Purpose of visiting Kariad?”
“Special emissary from Overlord Joroiran VII; intent peaceful, mission confidential.”
“Are you the Earthman to the Court?”
Navarre nodded.
“And this man?”
“Domrik Carso,” the halfbreed growled. “Planet of origin Jorus.”
The official indicated Carso’s stubbly scalp. “I wish you Earthmen would be consistent. Or are you merely prematurely bald?”
“I’m of Earth descent,” Carso said stolidly. “But I’m from Jorus, and you can put it down. I’m Navarre’s travelling companion.”
“Very well; you may both pass.”
Navarre and Carso moved off the field and into the spaceport itself. “I could use a beer,” Carso said.
“I guess you’ve never been on Kariad, then. They must brew their beer from sewer-flushings.”
