Collected Short Fiction, page 376
“I am Governor-General Meilis,” he said. His voice was light and flexible, a good vehicle for public speaking. “Will you come in?”
“Thanks,” Ewing said. He stepped inside. The doors immediately closed behind him.
Meilis came forward—he stood no higher than the middle of Ewing’s chest—and proffered a drink. Ewing took it. It was a sparkling purplish liquid, with a mildly carbonated texture. He settled himself comfortably in the chair Meilis drew for him, and looked up at the Governor-General, who remained standing.
“You wasted no time in sending for me,” Ewing remarked.
The Governor-General then shrugged gracefully. “I learned of your arrival this morning. It is not often that an ambassador from an outworld colony arrives on Earth. In truth,”—he seemed to sigh—“you are the first in more than three hundred years. You have aroused considerable curiosity, you know.”
“I’m aware of that.” Casually he. sipped at his drink, letting the warmth trickle down his throat. “I intended to contact you tomorrow, or perhaps the next day. But you’ve saved me that trouble.”
“My curiosity got the better of me,” Meilis admitted with a smile. “There is so little for me to do, you see, in the way of official duties—”
“I’ll make my visit brief by starting at the beginning,” Ewing said. “I’m here to ask for Earth’s help, in behalf of my planet, the Free World of Corwin.”
“Help?” The Governor-General looked alarmed.
“We face invasion by extragalactic foes,” Ewing said. Quickly he sketched out an account of the Klodni depredations, adding, “And we sent several messages to Earth to let you know what the situation was. We assume those messages must have gone astray en route. And so I’ve come in person.”
“The messages did not go astray, Mr. Ewing.”
“No?”
“They were duly received and forwarded to my office. I read them. They are filed somewhere in the bowels of Capital City, their contents duly recorded along the ten-mile length of the computer my remote predecessors found so necessary in the execution of their office.”
“You didn’t answer,” Ewing said accusingly. “You deliberately ignored them. Why?”
“Because there is no possible way we can help you or anyone else, Mr. Ewing. Will you believe that?”
“I don’t understand.”
“We have no weapons, no military forces, no ability or desire to fight. We have no spaceships.”
Ewing’s eyes widened. He had found it impossible to believe it when the Sirian Firnik had told him Earth was defenseless; but to hear it from the lips of the Governor-General himself—
“There must be some assistance Earth can give. There are only eighteen million of us on Corwin,” Ewing said. “We have a defense corps, of course, but it’s hardly adequate. Our stockpile of nuclear weapons is low—”
“Ours is non-existent,” Meilis interrupted. “Such fissionable material as we have is allocated to operation of the municipal atompiles.”
Ewing stared at the tips of his fingers. Chill crept over him, reminding him of the year spent locked in the grip of frost as he slept through a crossing of fifty light-years. For nothing.
Meilis smiled sadly. “There is one additional aspect to your request for help. You say the Klodni will not attack your world for a decade, nor ours for a century.”
Ewing nodded.
“In that case,” Meilis said, “the situation becomes academic from our viewpoint. Before a decade’s time has gone by, Earth will be a Sirian protectorate anyway. We will be in no position to help anybody.”
The Corwinite looked up at the melancholy face of Earth’s Governor-General. There were depths to Meilis’ eyes that told Ewing much; Meilis was deeply conscious of his position as ruler in the declining days of Terrestrial power.
Ewing said, “How sure can you be of that?”
“Certain as I am of my name,” Meilis replied. “The Sirians are infiltrating Earth steadily. There are more than a million of them here now. Any day I expect to be notified that I am no longer even to be Earth’s figurehead.”
“Can’t you prevent them coming to Earth?”
Meilis turned and stared reproachfully at the Corwinite.
“How?”
“Restrictions on their entry—spaceport regulations—legislation—”
Meilis shook his head. “We’re powerless. The events to come are inevitable. And so your Klodni worry us very little, friend Corwinite. I’ll be long since dead before they arrive—and with me Earth’s glories.”
“And you don’t care about the colony-worlds?” Ewing snapped angrily. “You’ll just sit back and let us be gobbled up by the aliens? Earth’s name still means something among the colony-worlds; if you issued a general declaration of war, all the colonies would send forces to defend us. As it is, the scattered worlds can’t think of the common good; they only worry about themselves. They don’t see that if they band together against the Klodni they can destroy them, while singly they will be overwhelmed. A declaration from Earth—”
“—would be meaningless, invalid, null, void, and empty,” Meilis said. “Believe that, Mr. Ewing. Officially I weep for you. But as an old man soon to be pushed from his throne, I can’t help you.”
Ewing felt the muscles of his jaw tighten. He said nothing. He realized there was nothing at all to say.
The cloud of Sirian domination hung over an Earth without spirit. He had come to a world even more helpless than his own.
He stood up. “I guess we’ve reached the end of our interview, then. I’m sorry to have taken up your time, Governor-General Meilis.”
“I had hoped—” Meilis began. He broke off, then shook his head. “No. It was foolish.”
“Sir?”
The older man smiled palely. “There had been a silly thought in my mind today, ever since I learned that a man styling himself Ambassador from Corwin had landed in Valloin. I see clearly now how wild a thought it was.”
“Might I ask—”
Meilis shrugged. “Well, the thought I had was that perhaps you had come in the name of Terrestrial independence—to offer us a pledge of your world’s aid against the encroachments of the Sirians—but you need aid yourself. It was foolish of me to expect to find a defender in the stars.”
“I’m—I’m sorry,” Ewing said haltingly.
“For what? For being unable to help? We owe each other apologies, in that case.” Meilis shook his head. “We have known brightness too long. Now the shadows start to lengthen. Aliens steal, forth out of Andromeda to destroy, and children of Earth turn on their mother.”
He peered through the increasing gloom of the room at Ewing. “But I must be boring you with my ramblings, Mr. Ewing. You had better leave, now. Leave Earth, I mean. Go defend your homeworld. We are beyond help.”
He pulled a wall-switch and a robot servitor appeared, gliding noiselessly through the opening doors.
Ewing felt a flood of pity for the old man whose misfortune it was to hold the supreme office of Earth at this dark time. He clenched his fists; he said nothing.
In silence he left the old man and followed the robot through the corridors to the lift. He descended on a shaft of magnetic radiance to the street-level.
The car was waiting for him. He got in; the turbos thrummed briefly and the homeward journey began.
CHAPTER VI
IT WAS past midnight when the car came to a stop outside the Grand Valloin Hotel. Hundreds of rooms in the vast building still glittered, though; it was the beginning of the weekend, and people stayed awake late.
He took the liftshaft to his floor, the forty-first, and got out. The deep pile of the crimson carpet cushioned his footsteps as he made his way down the hall toward his room.
He pressed his thumb to the identity-attuned plate of the door and said in a low voice, pitched so it would not awake any of his neighbors, “Open.”
The door rolled back. Unexpectedly, the light was on in his room.
“Hello,” said Byra Clork.
Ewing froze in the doorway and stared bewilderedly at the broad-shouldered Sirian girl. She was sitting quite calmly in the relaxochair by the window. A bottle of some kind rested on the night-table, and next to it two glasses, one of them half full of amber liquid.
“How did you get into my room?” he asked.
She had discarded her severely-tailored suit of earlier in the evening, and now wore a clinging plastic wrap that left the upper part of her body exposed and ended just above the knee. Her skin was deeply tanned; her arms and shoulders were extremely well-muscled. Despite the rounded fullness of her breasts, Ewing saw little feminine about her; she was too steely, too cold.
She said, “I asked the management to give me a pass-key to your room. They obliged.”
“Just like that?” Ewing snapped. “I guess I didn’t understand the way Terrestrial hotels operated. I was under the innocent impression that a man’s room was his own.”
“That’s the usual custom,” she said lightly. “But I found it necessary to talk to you about urgent matters. Matters of great importance to the Sirian Consulate in Valloin, whom I represent.”
Ewing became aware of the fact that he was holding the door open. He released it, and it closed automatically. “It’s a little late in the evening for conducting Consulate business, isn’t it?” he asked.
She smiled. “It’s never too late for some things. Would you like a drink?”
He ignored the glass she held out to him. He repressed any emotions that began to rise within him, even anger. He felt no desire for this girl. He merely wanted her to leave his room.
“How did you get in my room?” he repeated.
She pointed behind him, to the enameled sheet of regulations behind the door. “It’s up there plainly enough on your door. ‘The management of this Hotel reserves the right to enter and inspect any of the rooms at any time.’ I’m carrying out an inspection.”
“You’re not the management!”
“I’m employed by the management,” she said sweetly. She produced a glossy yellow card which she handed over to the puzzled Ewing.
He read it.
ROLLUN FIRNIK
Manager,
Grand Valloin Hotel
“What does this mean?”
“It means that the robots at the desk are directly responsible to Firnik. He runs this hotel. Sirten investors bought it eight years ago, and delegated him to act as their on-the-spot representative. And in turn he delegated me to visit you in your room tonight. Now that everything’s nice and legal, Ewing, sit down and and let’s talk. Relax.”
Uncertainly Ewing slipped off his coat and opened the clothes-closet; the robot arms emerged, took it from him, and hung it up. He sat down on the edge of the bed, facing her.
“We’ve had one conversation already today, haven’t we? A highly inconclusive and fragmentary one, which ended when you ran away from me.” Ewing moistened his lips. “Just before you left me you warned me that—”
“Forget about that!”
The sudden whiteness of her face told him one thing he had been anxious to know: they were being watched. He had nearly revealed something she had not wanted the watchers to find out.
“I—have different; instructions now,” she said hesitantly. “Won’t you have a drink?”
He shook his head. “I’ve already had more than my share today, thanks. And I’m tired. Now that you’ve gotten in here, suppose you tell me what you want.”
“You visited Governor-General Meilis tonight, didn’t you?” she asked abruptly.
“Did I?”
“You don’t have to be mysterious about it,” she said sharply. “You were seen leaving and returning in an official car. Don’t waste your breath by denying you had an interview with the Governor-General.”
Ewing shrugged. “How would it concern you, assuming that I did?”
With elaborate care she drew a cigarette from her bag, flicked the autolighter, and took a deep puff. A cloud of greenish-yellow smoke rose immediately from her lips.
“Your presence on Earth worries us,” she said. “By us I mean the interests of the Sirian government, whom I represent. We have a definite financial interest in Earth. We don’t want to see that investment jeopardized.”
Ewing frowned in curiosity. “You haven’t made things much clearer.”
“Briefly, we wonder whether or not you—representing Corwin or possibly a league of the outworld colonies—have territorial designs on Earth,” she said slowly. “I’ve been utterly blunt, now. Too blunt, perhaps. We Sirians are poor at diplomacy; we have a racial characteristic of always coming directly to the point.”
“I’ll answer you with equal bluntness: there’s no outworld colony league, and I’m not on Earth with the remotest intention of establishing a dominion here.”
“Then why are you here?”
He scowled impatiently. “I explained all that to our friend Firnik this morning, only a few minutes after I had entered the spaceport terminal. I told him that Corwin’s in danger of an alien invasion, and that I had come to Earth seeking help.”
“Yes, you told him that. And you expected him to believe that story?”
Exasperated, Ewing howled, “Dammit, why not? It’s the truth!”
“That any intelligent person would cross fifty light-years simply to ask military aid from the weakest and most helpless planet in the universe? You can think up better lies than that one,” she said mockingly.
He stared at her. Under the evenly distributed glow-lighting of the room her tanned face had taken on a bronze sheen; flecks of perspiration beaded her bare upper body, and she seemed to glisten. She held the glass cupped in her hand without drinking.
“We’re an isolated planet,” he said in a quiet but intense voice. “We didn’t know anything at all about the current state of Earth’s culture. We thought Earth could help us. I came on a fool’s errand, and I’m going home again tomorrow, a sadder and wiser man. Right now I’m tired and I want to get some sleep. Will you leave?”
SHE ROSE without warning and took a seat next to him on the bed. The nearness of her body did nothing to arouse him. He realized drearily that the Sirians evidently suspected him of being the key nexus of a vast secret organization centering in the outworld colonies, whose main purpose was to achieve dominion over battered old Earth and whose effect would be to thwart the intentions and designs of Sirius IV.
The Sirians were fanatics; once convinced of his high position in this mythical conspiracy, no mere words of his could serve to convince them of his innocence.
“All right,” she said in a husky but surprisingly soft voice. “I’ll tell Firnik you’re here for the reasons you say you are.”
Her words might have startled him, but he was expecting them. It was a gambit designed to keep him off guard. The Sirian methods were crude ones.
“Thanks,” he said sarcastically. “Your faith in me is heartwarming.”
She moved closer to him. “Why don’t you have a drink with me? I’m not all Sirian Consulate, you know. I do have an after-hours personality, too, much as you may find it hard to believe.”
He sensed her warmth against his body. She reached out, poured him a drink, and forced the glass into his reluctant hand. He wondered whether Firnik were watching this at the other end of the spy-beam.
Her hands caressed his shoulders, massaging gently. Ewing looked down at her pityingly. Her eyes were closed, her lips moist, slightly parted. Maybe she isn’t faking, he thought. But even so, he wasn’t interested.
He moved suddenly away from her, and she nearly lost her balance. Her eyes opened wide; for an instant naked hatred blazed in them, but she recovered quickly and assumed a pose of hurt innocence.
“Why did you do that? Don’t you like me?”
Ewing smiled coldly. “I find you amusing. But I don’t like to make love in front of a spy-beam.”
“How do you know—”
“Furthermore,” he went on, “you probably aren’t aware of this, but the planet I come from is passing through a hopelessly puritanical cultural phase just now. I tend to view my friends’ attitudes with some reservations, but I’m pretty thoroughly conditioned by my upbringing none the less. And I have a wife on Corwin to whom I prefer to be faithful.”
Her eyes narrowed; her lips curled downward in a momentary scowl, and then she laughed—derisive silver laughter. “You think that was an act? That I was doing all that for the greater glory of the Fatherland?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
She slapped him. It was utterly predictable; he had been waiting for it from the moment the affirmative word left his lips. The blow had astonishing force behind it; Byra Clork packed quite a wallop.
“Will you leave now?” he asked.
“I might as well,” she muttered bitterly. She glowered at him. “If you’re a sample of Corwinite manhood, I’m glad they don’t come here more often than once every five hundred years. Machine! Robot!”
She picked up a light wrap that had been on the back of the chair, and arranged it around her shoulders and bosom. Ewing made no move to help her. He waited impassively, arms folded.
“You’re incredible,” she said—half scornfully, half otherwise. She paused; then a light entered her eyes. “So you insist on treating me as a lady. I might kill you for it, but I won’t. Will you have a drink with me, at least, before I go?”
She was being crafty, he thought, but clumsily so. She had offered him the drink so many times in the past half hour that he would be a fool not to suspect it of being drugged. He could be crafty too.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll have a drink.”
He picked up the glass she had poured for him, and handed her the half-full glass that she had held—untasted—throughout the time. He looked expectantly at her.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked.
“Waiting for you to take a drink first.”
“Still full of strange suspicions, eh?” She lifted her glass and plainly took a deep draft. Then she handed her glass to Ewing, took his, and sipped it also.
