Dramocles: An Intergalactic Soap Opera (16 page)

“What is that reward?”

Tlaloc avoided the question. “Let me present my project to you in practical terms. There is a planet named Glorm, existing in a reality stratum different from this one, but connected to it by what we may call, in present-day terminology, a wormhole in the cosmic foam. To control the passage between Earth and Glorm would be to command the two ends of a continuum of supreme power. To do this, I must take over Glorm as well as Earth.”

“But why?” Chemise asked. “What will you actually get out of it?”

“You go to the heart of the matter. But that is because you are a witch. Did you know that, child?”

“I suspected it,” Chemise said.

“You’re a witch, and you know the answers as well as I do. Tell me, what is the point of magic?”

“Power,” Chemise said, after a moment’s thought.

“Yes. And what is the point of power?”

She thought for a while, then said, “I can think of many answers, but none of them feels correct. I do not know.”

“Still, little witch, you know a lot for one so young. The answer will come to you. When you know the purpose of power, you’ll know why I need Glorm.”

“All right,” Chemise said. “But why are you telling me all this? What are you going to do to me?”

“I am going to help you,” Tlaloc said.

“That makes no sense at all.”

“You are my enemy, appointed, as it were, by the universe, or by the law of dramatic struggle that characterizes all life, and which demands that every protagonist have an antagonist. I am not permitted to operate in a vacuum, Chemise. I must have my opponent. I am very pleased that it is you.”

“I can understand your pleasure,” Chemise said. “As an enemy, I’m not very formidable, am I?”

“No,” Tlaloc said, smiling, “I would not characterize you as formidable.”

“So if you killed me, the universe might appoint a tougher opponent for you. Is that it?”

“Precisely. I only wish that my overzealous followers had not killed your bumbling friend Ron. With the two of you working against me, my victory would be assured. As it is, it is only fairly certain.”

“You’re despicable,” Chemise said.

“Well, you’re not so cute yourself,” Tlaloc said. “But traveling between realities will slim you down. You’re going to have to go to Glorm, you see. It’s your only hope of defeating me.”

“How am I supposed to get there?”

“I’ll send you there myself. I’m always glad to oblige an enemy. But only if you want to go.”

“Yes, I want to go!” Chemise said.

A description of the journey between Earth and Glorm will be given later. For now, let us say that after certain instructions and preparations, Chemise found herself in Drusilla’s castle in Ystrad.

Trying to marry Vitello had been her first attempt to reach a position of influence in this world. Chuch’s sending her into limbo had ended that, and she had needed Tlaloc’s help to get out of it. The trip between realities had changed her from a fat, unattractive girl to a slender and beautiful woman. With her newly activated clairvoyant sense, she had scanned the web of interrelationships and had sensed something strange going on with Drusilla. She had followed her to Anastragon, and recorded her conversation with Rufus. …

36

Dramocles’ best technicians were huddled around the big three-dimensional readout tank, trying to interpret the changing patterns of colored blips, light-streaks, and cabalistic notations that represented the movements of three spacefleets, those of Druth, Crimsole, and Vanir. Dramocles joined them, with Max and Chemise close behind. The display conveyed nothing to Dramocles; he relied on trained men to tell him what was happening.

At last the Operations Chief made a notation on his clipboard and addressed the King.

“A preliminary report, Sire.”

“Let’s have it.”

“Sectors 3A and 6B report a sixty-seven-degree movement along axis 3J, and–”

“Give it to me in plain Glormish, man.”

“Well, then, the enemy is moving directly toward Glorm, slowly, but with acceleration.”

“And Rufus’s fleet?”

“The fleet of Druth is withdrawing.”

“He’s letting the enemy through?”

“Yes, Sire, just as you ordered.”

Dramocles shook his head. “You can’t even rely on your best friend anymore. Why isn’t Rufus betraying me like he’s supposed to? Chemise, are you sure you heard what you claim to have heard?”

“I’m positive, my Lord.”

“Then what’s the explanation?”

Just then Dramocles’ computer, which had been listening from the back of the room and snickering, came forward, a large metal box under one spindly arm. He set the box down carefully. “Perhaps this will explain matters,” he said, taking a telegram out from under his cape.

“You and your confounded messages!” Dramocles said. He ripped it open and read quickly.

It was from Drusilla. It read,

FATHER COMMA I HAVE BEEN UNABLE TO REACH YOU COMMA THEREFORE HAVE SENT THIS MESSAGE TO YOUR COMPUTER TO GIVE TO YOU STOP OH COMMA FATHER COMMA IT IS WITH UTMOST SHAME THAT I CONFESS THAT I CONVINCED RUFUS TO BETRAY YOU FOR WHAT I THOUGHT WAS THE COMMON GOOD STOP MY ANALYST HAS HELPED ME SEE THAT IT WAS ALL A REACTION FORMATION STOP I AM SO SORRY STOP I AM GOING TO DO WHAT I CAN TO UNDO WHAT I HAVE DONE STOP GOOD LUCK WITH THE WAR AND TRY TO FORGIVE YOUR LOVING AND SORROWFUL DAUGHTER DRUSILLA STOP END MESSAGE.

“Well,” Dramocles said, “her story agrees with yours, Chemise. Yet despite this Rufus followed my order to the letter, rather than reversing it as he told Dru he would do. It’s apparent what happened. When it came right down to it, the dear fellow couldn’t bring himself to betray me. It’s my own suspicions that have put me into this fix. Thank God, there’s yet time to change the order. Rufus has got to stop them.”

Moving quickly for so big a man, Dramocles seized the emergency telephone.

37

A small space cutter came into the outer defenses of Druth at speed, decelerating just before the perimeter satellites began firing. Drusilla identified herself and was allowed to dock. Insisting on the extreme urgency of her mission, she hurried through the corridors of Fortress Druth to Rufus’s Operations Room.

“My dear,” Rufus said, “this is hardly the time–”

“Listen to me, Rufus! All that I told you about betraying Dramocles–it was wrong, wrong! I must have been out of my mind! Oh, Rufus, I’ve ruined everything!”

“Not at all, my love,” Rufus said. “I knew you weren’t thinking straight when you asked me to betray your father. So, despite my promise to you, I did not disobey Dramocles, but rather, followed his orders to the letter. I knew you’d think better of it, old girl.”

“What did he have you do?”

“He ordered me to let the enemy through, offering them no resistance. Extremely unorthodox! Only a military genius would attempt such a hazardous move.”

“But my dear, that’s very strange.”

“The very mark of Dramocles! He must have something good up his sleeve.”

“Perhaps … But there’s another possibility.”

Just then the telephone rang. A signalman picked it up. “It’s Dramocles, for you.”

Rufus took the telephone, listened intently, and said, “It’s as good as done, Sire. Yes. … What? What did you say?” He clicked the receiver several times, then put the phone down. “Sunspot interference. The ending was garbled. But his intent came through clear enough.” Turning to his Operations Chief, he said, “Stand by for further orders.”

“Wait,” said Drusilla.

“Eh?”

“There’s one thing more I must tell you. Before I came here, I sent my father a telegram telling him what I had done.”

“I see,” Rufus said. “And what did you say about me?”

“I said that you were betraying him due to my influence, since that’s what I believed at the time.”

“Damnation!” Rufus said. “Well, it’s my own fault. I should never have tried to cozen you in the first place. Deceit, even in a good cause, is always sure to come out badly. We’ll straighten it out later. Meanwhile, I have an order to carry out.”

“Whatever it is,” said Drusilla, “you mustn’t do it.”

“Dru, I have no time for this–”

“You don’t understand! Since receiving my telegram, Dramocles must believe that you are betraying him. If that’s so, then his last orders to you must be the opposite of what he
really
wants you to do.”

“The opposite? Is that possible?”

“Only too possible, my love.”

Rufus tried to call Dramocles for clarification, but sunspot activity, aggravated by jamming signals from Count John’s ships, made communication impossible. Rufus told one of his technicians to keep trying. He turned to Drusilla.

“You’re sure he believes me traitorous? Me, his oldest friend? This isn’t another of your schemes to end Dramocles’ reign?”

“It’s not, I swear it!” Drusilla wailed.

Rufus pondered. Dramocles had been concise, explicit. “Hold them right there!” he’d said. But what had he meant by it? Rufus paced up and down as the precious seconds ticked by. At last he came to a decision.

“Though I’m traitor in name,” he said, “yet I’ll prove myself loyal in the eyes of heaven by obeying my Lord’s mistaken notion that I am betraying him.”

He turned to his Operations Chief. “Keep pulling our ships back. We’re letting the enemy through. Dramocles wills it!”

38

Soon it became apparent to Dramocles that Rufus’s fleet was doing nothing to impede the enemy, was, in fact, still pulling back while John and Haldemar’s combined fleet continued moving toward Glorm.

Dramocles handed Drusilla’s telegram to Chemise. She read it and considered for a while. Then she asked, “Where is the Lady Drusilla now?”

“Home, I suppose,” Dramocles said. He had a call put through to Ystrad. A servant answered and told him that the priestess had left some hours ago, on urgent business to Druth.

“Why would she be going to Druth now?” Dramocles mused.

“There can be only one reason,” Chemise said. “She’s gone to Rufus and confessed what she’d done. Rufus, thinking you think him a traitor, is faithfully trying to carry out your purpose by reversing your orders to what he thinks you really want him to do.”

“That’s a little complicated for Rufus,” Dramocles said. “Still, I think it must be as you say. What a mess! But there’s yet time to correct it. One more order should suffice to bring the fleet of Druth to battle.”

Dramocles reached for a telephone. Before he could dial, a glowing purple light appeared in the middle of the War Room. It pulsed strongly, and from it came the incongruous sounds of tinkling bells. Sparkling red and yellow streamers of light appeared, coruscating like medieval displays of verbiage, and there were sounds of trumpets and timpani, and the low thunder of kettledrums was not absent, though it did come in late.

When the purple light faded, a man stood where it had been. He was tall and strongly made, and wore a long, iridescent cloak with a high collar. Beneath it he wore a simple one-piece jumpsuit of red nylon. He was somewhere beyond the middle years of life, was bald, and had long, thin, drooping mustaches that caused him to resemble Ming the Merciless.

Everyone was momentarily dumbstruck, except for the computer, who pretended to be for his own purposes. At last Dramocles found his tongue–it was attached to the roof of his mouth, as usual–and said, “Father! Is it indeed you?”

“Of course it is,” Otho said. “Quite a surprise, huh, kid?”

Chemise tugged urgently at Dramocles’ sleeve. “You say he’s your father? That’s impossible! I met this man on Earth. He is Tlaloc!”

“I don’t understand this at all,” Dramocles said, “and I like it even less. Dad, you’re supposed to be dead. It seems we have some things to discuss. But first, I have an important phone call to make.”

“I know about the call to Rufus,” Otho said, “and I must ask you to wait a few moments. I have information to give you which bears upon your decision.”

Dramocles looked skeptical. “Well, make it quick,” he said. “I’ve got an interplanetary war starting any minute.”

Otho found a chair and sat down. He crossed his legs, unzipped a pocket in his jumpsuit, and found a cigar. He lit up and said, “I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here when I’m supposed to have been killed in a lab explosion on Gliese thirty years ago. What actually happened is this. …”

Sensing what was to come, everyone in the War Room prepared themselves for a long and unavoidable interpolation.

39

Otho had come to the throne of Glorm just after the suppression of the Suessian Declension, that heresy which, absurd as it seems today, threatened in its time to engulf all Glorm in civil and religious strife. Although this is not a political or religious history, and much less an account of life on Glorm from earliest times, a little background is necessary to render Otho’s life and times intelligible to the non-Glormish reader.

Glorm developed just like many other planets, up to a point. After its birth from the fiery sun, the planet cooled and stabilized. Its atmosphere was rich in oxygen, and there were oceans and lakes of free-standing water necessary for protoplasmic life. The first spark of life developed mysteriously, or was brought to the planet–no one knows which. Nature was suddenly in business, and there followed the usual progression of simple forms changing into more complicated forms, lichen turning into pine forest, the birth of flowering plants, the age of reptiles, fish crawling out of the sea and becoming mammals, the emergence of man, primitive technology, the dawn of philosophy, early science, and all the rest of it. Glorm’s development up to this point was unexceptional.