Dramocles: An Intergalactic Soap Opera (14 page)

Rufus paced rapidly up and down the room, pain and uncertainty evident on his blunt soldierly features. “Must it come to this?” he asked. “That Dramocles, the noblest and most generous soul in the world, should be betrayed by the two people who love him most? Why, Dru, tell me why?”

Tears were flowing down Drusilla’s cheeks as she said, “Because it is the only way we can save him and the Local Planets from destruction.”

“And there’s no other way?”

“None at all.”

“Can you explain to me how betrayal would help?”

“My darling, I’m afraid it would be over your head. Couldn’t you take my word for it?”

“Well, explain a little, anyhow.”

“Very well. You know, Rufus, that the great moral balancing beam of the universe is slow to move from its pivot within men’s souls. Yet once it is set into motion, change is inexorable and irresistible. We are at such a point, Rufus, and all creation is hushed at this moment, poised for the plunge into catastrophe which none desire yet none can avert. The two great fleets, snubnosed destroyer facing lapstraked attacker, await the order; and Death, that grinning joker, shakes the dice of war and takes one last mocking look at the petty affairs of men before–”

“You’re right,” Rufus said. “I don’t understand. I’ll just have to take your word for it. You say that I must betray Dramocles. How am I do to that?”

“Military action is imminent,” Drusilla said. “Dramocles will be sure to call on you soon. He will ask you to do something with the fleet of Druth.”

“Yes, go on.”

“Whatever he asks of you, agree to it, but then do its opposite.”

Rufus’s brow knitted in concentration. “Its opposite, you say?”

“That’s it.”

“Opposite,” Rufus said again. “All right, I think I’ve got it.”

Drusilla put her hand on his arm. In low, thrilling tones she said, “Can we count on you, Rufus?”

“We?”

“Me and the civilized universe, my darling.”

“Trust me, my love.”

They embraced. Then Drusilla gave a start of alarm. “Rufus! There’s a face at the window!”

Rufus whirled, needle beamer in his hand. But he could see nothing through the double-glazed windows except the usual floating bits of Anastragon’s real estate.

“There’s nothing there,” he said.

“I saw someone!” Drusilla declared.

Rufus suited up, turned on the planetoid’s external lighting system, and went outside to investigate. He returned, shaking his head. “No one out there, my dear.”

“But I did see a face!”

“A hallucination, perhaps, brought on by stress.”

“Did you check for spaceship tire marks?”

“As a matter of fact, there were some out there.”

“Aha!”

“But they were from our own ships.”

“I guess I do have a case of nerves,” Drusilla said, with a shaky laugh. “I’ll be glad when this is over!”

They kissed, and Drusilla went out to her space cutter and set off for Ystrad.

Rufus remained on Anastragon a while longer. He toasted marshmallows on the end of his sword over the gas ring and thought about what Drusilla had said. A dear girl, Drusilla, but overserious and inclined to hysterics. It was all nonsense, of course. Rufus had no intention of betraying Dramocles. If it came right down to it, better he and Dramocles and the universe should go down gloriously in atomic fire than that real friendship should be betrayed. But it would never come to that. Trust Dramocles to pull the marshmallows out of the fire, or rather, the chestnuts. Dru would see how wrong she had been, if any of them were alive after that.

Rufus really didn’t mind the idea of a war. In fact, he was quite up for it, just like his friend, Dramocles.

32

There was an air of hushed expectancy in the dimly lit War Room of Ultragnolle Castle. On the TV displays, the screens were filled with tiny gleaming figures, rank upon rank of them. Two spacefleets were coming together in the immensity of space. To one side, the forces of Druth were arranged in neat phalanxes. Rufus’s ships were motionless, battle-ready, keeping station just behind the coordinates that marked Druth’s personal space. Approaching them, strung out in a double horn formation, were the enemy. John’s superdreadnoughts held the right flank and center, Haldemar’s lapstraked vessels the left. Dramocles could see that the enemy fleet was considerably larger than Rufus’s. John had called up all his reserves. Aside from the regular navy, there were stubby freighters outfitted with missile launchers, high-speed racers with jury-rigged torpedo tubes, experimental craft with bulky beam projectors. John had called up everything that could get off the planet and keep up with the fleet.

Utilizing a split-screen technique handed down from the ancients, Dramocles could watch as well as listen to the conversation between Rufus and Count John.

“Hello there, Rufus,” said Count John, in a voice of elaborate unconcern.

Rufus, in his Operations Room, touched the fine tuning. “Why, hello, John. Come visiting, have you?”

“That I have,” John said. “And I’ve brought along a friend.”

Haldemar’s shaggy head appeared on another screen. “Hi, Rufus. Been awhile, ain’t it?”

Rufus had been peeling a willow branch with a small pocket knife. “Reckon it has,” he said. “How you boys doin’ out there on Vanir?”

“It’s pretty much the way it’s always been,” Haldemar said. “Not enough sunlight, too short a growing season, no industry, no decent-looking women. Not that I’m complaining, mind.”

“I know it’s tough conditions out your way. But wasn’t there some big project planned for Vanir?”

“You must mean Schligte Productions. They’d planned to film their new super war epic,
Succotash Soldiers
, on our planet. It would have meant a lot of work for the boys. But production’s been held up indefinitely.”

“Well,” Rufus said, “that’s show business.”

The amiable, rambling talk of these men could not conceal the air of tension that ran through their casual words like a filament of tungsten steel passing through the inconsequential fluff of a fiberfill pillow. At last Rufus asked, “Well, it’s nice to pass the time of day with you fellows. Now, is there anything I can do for you?”

“Why yes, Rufus,” John said. “We’re just passing this way on our way to Glorm. We ain’t got no quarrel with you. Me and the boys would appreciate it right kindly if you’d ask your boys to step aside so we could continue.”

Rufus said, “It downright distresses me to tell you this, but I don’t think I can do that.”

John said, “Rufus, you know very well we’ve come here to have it out with Dramocles. Let us through. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Just a minute.” Rufus turned to a side monitor that employed a tight-beam TV circuit passing through a double scrambler. He said to Dramocles, “What do you want me to do?”

Dramocles glanced at the differential accelerometer. It showed that John and Haldemar’s spaceships were creeping forward slowly, taking their time, just moseying along; but they were on the move, directly toward Rufus’s phalanx.

Dramocles had already ordered his own ships to a distant backup position on the perimeter of Glorm. He told Rufus to hold position and await orders. Then he heard a commotion behind him. The guards were arguing with someone who was trying to gain admittance to the War Room. Dramocles saw that it was Max. There was a woman with him.

“What is it?” Dramocles asked.

Max said, “Have you given Rufus any orders yet? No? Thank God! Sire, you must listen to me and to this young lady. There’s treachery afoot, my Lord!”

The enemy fleet was not yet within firing range of Rufus’s ships. There was still a little time.

“Hold everything for a moment, Rufus,” Dramocles said. “I’ll get back to you in a minute.” He turned to Max. “Come in. This had better not be some wild fancy, Max. And who’s your friend?”
 

“They call me Chemise,” the girl said.

33

While these events were transpiring, Drusilla sat and brooded in her castle in Ystrad. She had gone there directly after leaving Anastragon. By the time she arrived, she was in a state of misery. The righteous anger that had sustained her while she had been with Rufus was gone. Doubts had begun to assail her. She wondered now why she had trusted Chuch so readily, when she knew well his hatred of Dramocles and his propensity toward lying. Had she done the right thing? She was no longer certain, and her depression deepened until she could bear it no longer. Luckily for her, her psychiatrist, Dr. Eigenlicht, happened to have a cancellation that very day.

Their session was extremely productive. Drusilla told Eigenlicht what she had done, and why, and then went into hysterics.

Eigenlicht waited until she had calmed down. Then he lighted a short, stubby black cigar, sat back in his armchair, crossed his short, stubby black legs, and said, “My dear, this is what I call a real breakthrough. Your perception of your brother’s true motives forces you to recognize your own unconscious motivation for accepting his treacherous plan so readily. Now you can see that your oh-so-great love for Dear Old Daddy was actually a cover-up for feelings of unacknowledged rage and a desire for revenge.”

“But I love him!” Drusilla wailed.

“Of course you do. But you also hate him. The ambivalence is obvious. How could it be otherwise? Consider your childhood, think of all those girl friends Dramocles had. But Daddy never wanted
little
Dru
in that way, did he?
Little Dru
wanted to be Daddy’s girl friend, but her perfidious father always treated her like a child, always wanted someone else. Thus were engendered feelings of murderous rage, unacceptable to your conscious mind. In an attempt to sublimate them you went into religion, seeking to subsume your destructive energies under the aegis of a higher purpose. And this is why you chose Rufus to love–Rufus, the embodiment of stern control, another father figure, a man obsessed with many things, but not with you. When the chance came to take revenge upon Dramocles, the subtle servant of bad faith, rationalization, let you clothe your vengeful feelings in the sweetest and most loving of motivations.”

“Oh, Doctor,” Drusilla said, “I guess you must be right. I’m so ashamed.”

“Nonsense, everyone feels that way. You have made a splendid breakthrough, my dear, and you should be proud of yourself. It is a triumph for your ego strength! With this ancient and suppressed complex drained of its poisonous energies, you can realize at last your true love for your father.”

“Oh, Dr. Eigenlicht, you’re right,” Drusilla said, smiling through her tears. “It’s like some unbearable weight has been lifted off me, you know what I mean?”

“Indeed I do,” said Dr. Eigenlicht. “But remember, this is the first flush of your enthusiasm. There’s still a lot of hard work for us to do so that we can consolidate your gains.”

“I know,” Drusilla said.

“I see that our time is about up. Shall we say next Thursday at the same time?”

“Oh dear,” Drusilla said. “I just remembered. We’re on the verge of war.”

“Yes? What are your associations to that?”

“No, really, Doctor, this is a reality situation. I must see my father and Rufus at once! I just hope there’s time, before civilization is destroyed.”

Dr. Eigenlicht gave her an imperturbable smile and uncrossed his short, stubby black legs. “In the event that civilization is not destroyed,” he said calmly, “I will see you at this time next Thursday.”

34

“Max,” Dramocles said, “I’ve got no time for Tlaloc. The real fighting is about to begin.”

“I know that, Sire,” Max said. “It’s why I have come. I have just received the most astounding information. It is of vital cornern to the war. It involves treachery.”

“Treachery? In the military?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Who?”

“It is most lamentable,” Max said. “This lady has brought me incontrovertible proof that Rufus is going to betray you in the coming battle.”

“Rufus, did you say?”

“Aye, Sire.”

“Come with me,” Dramocles said. He led them through the War Room to an unoccupied office. The room had two lumpy couches, some wooden folding chairs, and a desk piled high with Xeroxed duty rosters. Dramocles told them to sit down. He drew a cup of cappuccino from the wall spigot, then turned to Max.

“The evidence had better be something stronger than overwhelming, or I’ll see your head on the end of a pike as soon as I can get one from Supply.”

Max said to Chemise, “Give it to him, girl.”

Chemise opened her purse and gave the King a tiny cassette recorder. Within it was a single-use Reprono cassette. Reprono, an Earth invention, could only record once, and would only play back once. Any attempt to dub or replay a Reprono cassette resulted in a steady hiss of static punctuated by old weather forecasts.

Dramocles played the tape and listened to the entire conversation between Rufus and Drusilla at the lodge on Anastragon. As he listened, a look of shock and amazement came over his face.