Dramocles: An Intergalactic Soap Opera (19 page)

“You really think he surrenders, then?”

“I think he does,” Anne said. “Otherwise why leave Glorm open to our bombardment?”

John paced up and down the room, hands clasped behind his back. He was perplexed by this turn of events. He had never really believed he could best his older brother. Now that victory was at hand, he seemed affected by a sudden uncertainty. He shook his round head vigorously, rescuing his pince-nez just before it flew across the room. At last it was beginning to sink in. He had won!

“Well, well,” he said. “Do you hear, Anne, we’ve won!”

Anne nodded, her face unsmiling.

“Drinks for the whole fleet!” John said. “We must have a victory celebration. Contact my caterers, tell them I must see them at once. Has anyone told the newspapers yet? I’ll do that myself. And the television people must be notified.”

“Yes, Sire,” the equerry said.

John realized that he had to give a lot of orders, but he wasn’t sure what came first. He seemed to remember that protocol in these matters was for the defeated king to be marched before him in chains. But did that come before or after the formal ceremony of surrender? He would have to look it up.

Anne said to the equerry, “The Count will have more instructions for you presently. Go now, tell the troops to remain on guard, but not to offer aggressive action.”

The equerry saluted and left.

“Well done, my dear,” said John. “What a wonderful turn of events! But it needs some thinking out, doesn’t it? Should we execute Dramocles? Or merely confine him to a small cell for a few decades with a dog collar around his neck? I suppose there’s a standard procedure in these matters.” He chuckled and rubbed his hands together. “And now we have an entire planet, fairly won, and sure to yield an excellent income. We’re rich, my dear!”

“Not so fast, my dear,” Anne said, her voice acid. “There are a few things you’ve forgotten.”

“Like what?”

“Your ally, Haldemar, for one.”

“Hell and damnation,” John said, “I’d forgotten all about him.”

“Start remembering. He is stationed on our right flank with his large and unruly fleet.”

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” John said. An aide entered and gave John a spacegram from Haldemar. “congratulations on splendid victory,” it read, “when does looting begin?”

“Oh, no,” John said.

“Well, what do you expect from a barbarian ally?”

“Maybe if I give him one or two Glormish cities, he’ll return home content.”

“No!” Anne shook her head vehemently. “You can’t let him land any of his troops on Glorm. He’d never leave. I can assure you that we don’t want the Vanir for neighbors.”

“Agreed,” John said fervently. “I’ll just forestall the possibility by declaring myself the new king of Glorm. And you’ll be the new queen, of course. How does that sound?”

“Unrealistic,” said Anne.

“You never like my ideas,” John said sulkily. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“The Glormish are loyal to Dramocles. They’ll never obey you, never let you have a moment’s peace. If you try to rule both Crimsole and Glorm, you’ll get nothing out of it but years of costly guerrilla warfare. The costs would be disastrous.”

“Well, how about if we put Chuch on the throne? He owes us some favors, and he’s sure to be more amenable than Dramocles.”

“That’s out, too,” Anne said. “Haven’t you heard? Prince Chuch has run away, and it’s all your fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember that slave girl, Doris, whom you sent to Chuch? Well, they got to talking, those two, and somehow she bewitched him. Chuch did not join our fleet at invasion time. He slipped away with Doris in his own spaceship. No one knows his destination.”

“Why can’t people do what is expected of them?” John asked. “So Chuch is out of it. You’re sure I can’t rule the place myself?”

“Quite sure,” Anne said frigidly.

“All right, I was just asking. What about one of the King’s other sons?”

“Too young,” Anne said.

“Could we have his wife, Lyrae, declared regent? She seems a reasonable woman.”

“I’ve known Lyrae for years,” Anne said. “She’s a nice person, although somewhat scatterbrained and given to romantic impulses. But the Glormish would never let themselves be ruled by her, since she is of the old Aardvarkian nobility, and hence, an outsider. Besides, she’s not available.”

“How could that be?”

“My dear, she has fled.”

“I wish you would be more precise,” John said in a peevish voice. “What, exactly, do you mean?”

“You really should try to stay in touch more with what’s going on. I got this direct from my hairdresser, who got it from the jewelry maid. Lyrae has left Dramocles. Is that precise enough for you?”

“But I thought they got along so well.”

“All pretense, my dear. Lyrae has known for some time that Dramocles was tired of her and planning to divorce her as soon as he could get around to it.”

“How did she know that?” John asked.

Anne smiled contemptuously. “Dramocles’ attempts at guile are transparent. Any woman can read him like a book. Lyrae knew that she was to be replaced. So, at the recent peace conference, when she met a certain sympathetic person–”

“Who?” John demanded.

Anne shook her head, her eyes sparkling. “You’ll be surprised to hear who the lucky man is. Think about it and see if you can guess. Right now there are affairs of state that need tending. Most urgently, there is Haldemar.”

“Yes,” John said, “the Vanir situation could be tricky. What does Dramocles think about his wife running away?”

“To the best of my knowledge, he doesn’t even know about it yet. Now, down to business.”

45

On its upper levels, Ultragnolle Castle was a fantasy of spires, turrets, pitched roofs, shingled eaves, pediments, naves, gables, and the like. Here and there were flat roofs, and many of them had been converted into gardens and bowers, complete with flowers, waterfalls, fountains, statuary, trees, benches, hills, and valleys.

Otho had gone to the roof garden above the Operations Room. He was reclined on a white wicker chaise longue, and smoking a cigar rolled from rapunzel leaves, fragrant and mildly narcotic. On a little table beside him was a bottle of leaguetiller’s wine, pressed from the reddish brown grapes of the upper Uringaa valley on Aardvark. For a man who had just lost everything, he seemed strangely at peace with himself. He lay at his ease, enjoying the splendid view across the city. A flight of red-winged sycophants flapped overhead. Otho was content.

Dramocles, accompanied by Chemise, came onto the roof garden. Otho glanced at them, nodded pleasantly, and resumed his tolerant inspection of the landscape.

“Well, Dad,” Dramocles said, “I’m sorry it’s turned out this way for you. I know how many years of work you’ve put into your immortality thing.”

Otho smiled but did not reply.

“I just couldn’t go along with it,” Dramocles said.

“When you surrendered to John,” Otho said, “I had a moment of pure rage in which I came near to killing you. I could have done so easily. It took all my control to restrain myself. But after the moment had passed, I found that I was unexpectedly calm and at peace with myself. It was an eerie feeling. I needed time to think about it.”

“That’s why you came here?”

“This has long been a favorite spot of mine. I sat here and tried to think. It was difficult, though, because I was noticing so much.”

“Like what?” Chemise asked.

“The wind on my face. The fragrance of a good cigar. How the clouds move across the sky. There were a thousand little details that I became aware of, and I experienced great satisfaction in that awareness. It occurred to me that I had spent most of my life planning for immortality, and very little of it in enjoying what was at hand.”

“We’re opposites in that regard,” Dramocles said. “I’ve spent my life drifting, enjoying myself, getting along. And what do I have to show for it?”

“The same thing I have. Your life at this moment.”

“If that’s true,” Dramocles said, “then every man’s life is the same. No one has anything but this moment, if I understand you rightly.”

“Yes, this moment is all we have,” Otho said. “I was naïve when I thought that by extending the number of moments available to me I would extend my life. Life is not measured by years or decades. The heart keeps a different sort of reckoning. The only measure it goes by is intensity.”

Chemise nodded, but Dramocles said, “I don’t think I quite understand that.”

“The lowest degree of intensity,” Otho said, “is when a man is asleep or unconscious. If a sleeping man were to live forever, we would not consider him an immortal, at least not in the sense usually meant. Planning for the future to the exclusion of the present is a kind of dreaming.”

“This is all pretty abstract for me,” Dramocles said. “You don’t seem disappointed, though, and I’m glad of that. You even seem happy. I’ve never seen you happy before.”

Otho walked to the balustrade and looked out over the city. “I used to believe that the goal of magic was knowledge. Now I see that it is understanding.”

“Aren’t the two synonymous?”

“Not at all. Knowledge is something you can do something with. It can be converted into power. But understanding is a kind of powerlessness. Understanding is of something greater than yourself, something you can’t manipulate, only accept.”

“Well, Father,” Dramocles said, “those are very philosophical observations indeed, and quite over my head. You look rested and at peace, and I’m very happy to see it. I realize that the future has become a topic of some repugnance to you, in light of recent developments, but I must ask whether you have considered yours.”

“Yes, I’ve given it some thought.” Otho puffed on his cigar. “Fond as I am of Glorm, I will not stay here. Frankly, this place is a backwater. Earth is the place for me. I control most of it, of course, but that’s not why I’m returning. I’ll probably turn my political powers over to someone else, and retire. I already own a cottage on Capri, a cabana on Ipanema, a houseboat in Kashmir, a finca on Ibiza, a town house in Paris, and a penthouse in New York. I’m sure I’ll be able to keep busy. Earth is an interesting place. You might consider coming with me.”

“Me?” Dramocles said. “Go to Earth?”

“You’d like it,” Otho said. “Plenty of interesting opportunities there for a smart young fellow like you. You’ve abdicated the throne, I believe?”

“Yes,” Dramocles said. “I thought I had to. Otherwise John might have bombarded Glorm.”

“Do you know what John intends?”

“Not yet. He and Anne are still deliberating.”

“It could go very badly for you.”

“I doubt that John will have me put to death,” Dramocles said. “His feeling against me is more pique than hatred.”

“But he could humiliate you. He was spiteful even as a little boy.”

“I can take whatever he can hand out.”

“Yes, but why should you? Come with me to Earth and let me show you a new world.”

Dramocles hesitated, unsure how to say it. He was interested in new worlds, novelty, adventure. But not in company with Otho. It wasn’t that he had anything much against him now. He could even sympathize with the old king. But he certainly didn’t want to live his life with his father standing by, commenting, telling him how to do everything better.

“It is very tempting,” he said, “and I am most appreciative of your offer. But I am still king here, and I will see matters through to the end.”

Otho nodded. “Chemise, what about you? On Earth I could give you whatever you desired. I’d welcome your company. Will you return with me?”

“Thank you for asking me,” Chemise said, “but I will remain here.”

Otho looked at her with amusement. He laughed and said, “Very well. The cheese stands alone, as an old nursery rhyme from Earth puts it. Good luck to you both.” He embraced his son, and said, “Now I shall depart.”

“But how?” Dramocles asked. “I thought you needed a great explosion in order to travel between realities.”

“The explosion was required in order to open permanently the wormhole between the reality of Glorm and that of Earth. But to transport myself alone there, I need only do this.”

Otho drew a small object from the sleeve of his mantle. He held it aloft between thumb and forefinger, and Dramocles saw that it was a faceted crystal. Otho stroked it with his free hand, and withdrew from it a crystal of equal size, then another, and another. When he had a dozen of them, he arranged them in a circle on the flagstoned floor. As he laid the last one in place, a brilliant white light connected the crystals. Dramocles and Chemise moved back hastily. Otho stepped into the circle of light.

“Farewell, my son; good-bye, Chemise.”

The brilliant light flared, then winked out. Otho was gone, and the crystals also had vanished.

“Weird as always,” Dramocles said. “Good luck, Father, and may you find peace and happiness on Earth.”

He and Chemise stood quietly for a while, looking out over the rooftops of Ultragnolle. Then Dramocles asked, “Why didn’t you return to Earth with Otho?”