Gordon R. Dickson (8 page)

“Perfectly sure. She tried to stop me,” said Jim. “And as for Slothiel—when I told him I was coming, he laughed.”

“Laughed?” Vhotan echoed the word, then grunted. “Look at my eyes, Wolfling!”

Jim fastened his own gaze on the two lemon-yellow eyes under the slightly yellowish tufts of eyebrows. As he gazed, the eyes seemed to increase in brilliance and swim before him in the old man’s face, until they threatened to merge.

“How many eyes do I have?” he heard Vhotan’s voice rumbling.

Two eyes swam together, like two yellowish-green suns, burning before him. They tried to become one. Jim felt a pressure upon him like that of the hypnotic influence Afuan had tried to bring to bear on him before the bullfight. He stiffened internally, and the eyes separated.

“Two,” he said.

“You’re wrong, Wolfling,” said Vhotan. “I have one eye. One eye only!”

“No,” said Jim. The two eyes remained separate. “I see two.”

Vhotan grunted again. Abruptly his gaze ceased burning down upon Jim, and the hypnotic pressure relaxed.

“Well, I see I’m not going to find out that way,” said Vhotan, almost to himself. His gaze sharpened upon Jim again, but in an ordinary rather than a hypnotic fashion. “But I suppose you understand that I can easily find out if you’ve been telling the truth or not.”

“I assumed you could,” said Jim.

“Yes… .” Vhotan became thoughtful again. “There’s a good deal more here than surface indication implies… . Let’s see, the Emperor can act on Slothiel’s application for sponsorship, of course. But I think you’ll need more than that. Let’s see… .”

Vhotan turned his head abruptly to the right and spoke to empty air.

“Lorava!”

The thin young Highborn appeared.

“The Emperor is appointing this Wolfling to an Award Commission as unit officer in the Starkiens. See to the details and his assignment to a section of the palace guard … . And send Melness to me.”

Lorava disappeared again. About three seconds later another, smaller man materialized where he had stood.

He was a slim, wiry man in typical white tunic and kilt with close-cropped reddish hair and a skin that would almost have matched the color of Jim’s own if there had not been a sort of sallow, yellowish tinge to it. His face was small and sharp-featured, and the pupils of his eyes were literally black. He was clearly not one of the Highborn but there was an air of assurance and authority about him which transcended that even of the armed bodyguards called Starkiens.

“Melness,” said Vhotan, “this man is a Wolfling—the one that just put on the spectacle in the arena a few hours ago.”

Melness nodded. His black eyes flickered from Vhotan to Jim, and back to the tall old Highborn once more.

“The Emperor is appointing him to an Award Commission in the Starkiens of the palace guard. I’ve told Lorava to take care of the assignment but I’d like you to see to it that his duties are made as nominal as possible.”

“Yes, Vhotan,” answered Melness. His voice was a hard-edged, masculine tenor. “I’ll take care of it—and him.”

He vanished, in his turn. Vhotan looked once more at Jim

“Melness is majordomo of the palace,” Vhotan said. “In fact, he’s in charge, at least in theory, of all those not Highborn on the Throne World. If you have any difficulties, see him. Now, you can return to your own quarters. And don’t come here again unless you’re sent for!”

Jim visualized the room where he had left Ro and Slothiel. He felt the slight feather touch on his mind, and at once he was back there.

Both of them, he saw, were still there. Ro rushed at him the minute she saw him and threw her arms around him. Slothiel laughed.

“So you came back,” said the languid Highborn. “I had a hunch you would. In fact, I offered to bet on the point with Ro here—but she’s not the betting kind. What happened to you?”

“I’ve been given an Award Commission in the Starkiens,” said Jim calmly. His eyes met Slothiel’s. “And Vhotan tells me that the Emperor will act promptly upon your offer to sponsor me.”

Ro let go of him and stepped backward, staring up at him in astonishment. Slothiel condescended to raise his eyebrows in surprise.

“Jim!” said Ro in a wondering tone. “What—what did happen?”

Briefly Jim told them. When he was done, Slothiel whistled admiringly and cheerfully.

“Excuse me,” he said. “This looks like a good chance to clean up on a few small bets before the rest of the Throne World hears about your promotions.”

He disappeared. Ro, however, had not moved. Looking down at her, Jim saw that her face was tightened by lines of worry.

“Jim,” she said hesitantly, “Vhotan did ask exactly that about me, did he? … About whether I might’ve suggested that you go to the Emperor that way? And he asked that after he remembered that I was in Afuan’s household?”

“That’s right,” said Jim. He smiled a little bleakly. “Interesting, isn’t it?”

Ro shivered suddenly.

“No, it isn’t!” she said tensely but in a low voice. “It’s frightening! I knew I could teach you things and help you survive here in the ordinary way. But if things are going on in which others of the Highborn want to use you… .” Her voice trailed off. Her eyes were dark with unhappiness.

Jim considered her in silence for a moment. Then he spoke.

“Ro,” he said, slowly, “tell me. Is the Emperor ill?”

She looked up at him in astonishment.

“Ill? … You mean, sick?” she said. Then, suddenly, she laughed. “Jim, none of the Highborn are ever sick—least of all the Emperor.”

“There’s something wrong with him,” said Jim. “And it can’t be much of a secret if it happens the way it happened in the arena after the bullfight. Did you see how he changed when he started to speak to me after the bull was dead?”

“Changed?” She literally stared at him. “Changed? In what way?”

Jim told her.

” … You didn’t see how he looked, or hear the sounds he made?” asked Jim. “Of course not—come to think of it, you probably weren’t sitting that close.”

“But, Jim!” She put her hand on his arm in that familiar, persuasive gesture of hers. “Every seat in the arena there has its own focusing equipment. Why, when you were fighting with that animal”—she shuddered briefly, in passing, then hurried on—“I could see you from as closely as I wanted, as if I were standing as close to you as I am now. When you turned toward the Imperial box, I was still focused right in on you. I saw the Emperor speak to you, and if he’d done anything out of the ordinary, I’d have noticed it too!”

He stared at her.

“You didn’t see what I saw?” he said after a second.

She continued to meet his eyes in a pattern of honesty; but with a sudden sensitivity inside himself, he seemed to feel that, within, she was somehow refusing to meet his eye—without being really aware of this herself.

“No,” she said. “I saw him speak to you and heard him invite you to visit him after you’d had a chance to rest. Nothing more than that.”

She continued to stand, gazing up into his eyes in that pattern of exterior honesty, with the inner aversion of her gaze unknown to her but evident to him. The seconds stretched out, and he suddenly realized that she was fixed. She was incapable of breaking the near-trance of this moment. He would have to be the one to interrupt it.

He turned his head away from her and was just in time to see the gray-skinned, bald-headed figure of a Starkien appear in the room about five feet away from them.

Jim stiffened, staring at him.

“Who are you?” Jim demanded.

“My name is Adok I,” responded the newcomer. “But I am you.”

Jim frowned sharply at the man, who, however, showed no reaction to his frown at all.

“You’re me?” Jim echoed. “I don’t understand.”

“Why, Jim!” broke in Ro. “He’s your substitute, of course. You can’t actually be a Starkien yourself. Any more than a—” She fumbled for a parallel and gave it up. “Well, look at him. And look at yourself!” she finished.

“The Highborn is quite right,” said Adok I. He had a deep, flat, emotionless voice. “Award Commissions are usually given to those who are not Starkien by birth and training. In such cases a substitute is always provided.”

“A substitute is, is he?” said Jim. “In that case, what do they call you officially, in the records?”

“Officially, as I said, I’m you,” answered Adok I.

“Officially, my name is James Keil. I am a Wolfling from a world that calls itself”—the Starkien’s tongue stumbled a little with the pronunciation of the unknown word—“Earth.”

“I thought you told me that you were Adok I,” Jim said. The extreme seriousness of the Starkien was tempting him to smile, but an instinct kept the smile hidden within him and off his face.

“Unofficially, to you, Jim,” said the other man, “I am Adok I. Your intimates, like the Highborn lady here, may call me either Adok I or Jim Keil—it makes no difference.”

“I’ll call you Adok I,” said Ro. “And you can call me Ro.”

“I’ll do that, Ro,” said Adok I in a tone of voice as if he were repeating an order he had just been given, and affirming his willingness and ability to execute it.

Jim shook his head, amused and intrigued by the combination of characteristics the Starkien was exhibiting. The man seemed humorless to the point of woodenness, obedient to the point of servility, and in conjunction with these things, evidently considered it the best possible manners to address Jim by the familiar short form of Jim’s first name. Moreover, beyond this, Adok I seemed to assume a strange mixture of superiority and inferiority toward Jim at the same time. Clearly the Starkien did not for a moment appear to consider that Jim had the capabilities to perform the tasks that Adok I was himself fitted to perform. On the other hand, plainly he considered himself completely a creature of Jim’s will—at Jim’s beck and call. However, thought Jim abruptly, investigation of Adok’s character could come later. There was a more immediate question.

“Well,” Jim said, “now that I’ve got you, what am I supposed to do with you?”

“We should begin with my doing things with you, Jim,” said Adok I. He looked over at Ro. “If Ro will excuse us, I should immediately begin instructing you in the necessities and duties of being a unit officer—over and above those in which I can substitute for you.”

“I’ve got to get back to my pets anyway,” said Ro. “I’ll come and find you later, Jim.”

She touched him lightly on the arm and disappeared.

“All right, Adok,” said Jim, turning back to the Starkien, “what do we do first?”

“We should begin with a visit to the quarters of your unit,” Adok said. “If you will allow me to show you the way, Jim—”

“Go ahead,” said Jim, and immediately found himself with Adok in what seemed to be an enormous, windowless, high-ceilinged room. In spite of all that space, however, something within Jim felt the sensation of closeness, an oppression as of confinement.

“Where are we?” he asked Adok, for the polished floor stretching away from them was empty in all directions for large distances, except for a few distant moving figures almost lost in the dimness and distance.

“We’re at the parade ground.” Adok’s head came around to gaze at Jim with the first faint sign of emotion the Starkien had yet shown. After a second Jim realized Adok was registering surprise. “We are also below ground.” Adok gave their depth in Empire terms, which translated to something like half a mile down from the surface of the planet. “Does it disturb you? It disturbs the Highborn, but only a few of the servants are disturbed by it.”

“No, I’m not disturbed,” Jim said. “I felt something, though.”

“If you are disturbed, you should admit it to me,” said Adok. “If you are ever afraid or disturbed, you should tell me, even if you tell no one else. No one else but I need to know. But it is necessary for me to know when you are emotionally weakened, so that I can take measures to protect you from such weakness and hide the fact from others.”

Jim chuckled, and the sound echoed eerily away into the distances around them. It was an odd moment and place for humor, but Jim was finding Adok I strangely likeable.

“Don’t worry,” he told the Starkien. “I don’t usually feel emotionally weakened. But if I ever do, I promise to let you know.”

“Good,” said Adok seriously. “Now I brought you first to this point on the parade ground because one of the things I cannot do for you is stand certain parades with the unit. At some parades we both must be present. Now that you have been brought to this spot, you can instantly return to it on your own in case something may have made you a little late in showing up for the parade. Now, let’s go to the armory, and we’ll draw your weapons and accouterments while you memorize that destination also.”

The next room they appeared in was more brightly lit and a very great deal smaller than the parade ground. It was a long narrow room, both long walls of which seemed to be divided into compartments holding the leather straps and the bands of silver stuff such as those which encircled the legs, arms, and body of Adok, as well as those of the Starkiens in the room with the Emperor and Vhotan. Adok led Jim directly to several of the compartments and collected an assortment of the straps and silver bands. He did not, however, suggest that Jim put them on at this time. Instead, Adok himself carried them, while he transported Jim in quick succession to the barracks, or living quarters, of the Starkiens in Jim’s unit—these were suites of rooms not unlike those that Jim himself had been given, except that they were smaller and in this below-ground location; a gymnasium; a dining hall; a sort of underground park, with grass and trees flourishing under an artificial sun; and finally to a sort of amusement and shopping center, where many Starkiens mingled with many times more their own number of other servants of the lesser races.

Finally Adok concluded the quick shift about these various locations by bringing Jim to a large room fitted out somewhat like the room in which Jim had encountered the Emperor and Vhotan. Not only was it large and well furnished, but Jim instantly felt a lightening of the sensation within him that had warned him before that he was below ground. Apparently this room, whatever it was, was above ground.