Inferno: A Chronicle of a Distant World (The Galactic Comedy) (5 page)

"To your good health, your majesty," said Cartright, raising his glass.

"I have a better toast," said Bobby, lifting his own glass.

"I should like to hear it," replied Cartright.

"Very well, then," said Bobby. He rose to his feet and waited until he had everyone's attention. "My friends," he said in a loud voice, "I propose a toast: to the swift and happy marriage of Faligor and the Republic."

There was wild applause from the jasons, and more restrained clapping from the humans.

"I beg your pardon, your majesty," said Cartright when Bobby had seated himself once again, "but I don't think I fully understood your toast. Relations between the Republic and Faligor have never been better."

"True," said Bobby. "That is why I think it is time for us to be given full membership."

"You will be, in time," said Cartright. "But let's not rush things."

"Why not?" asked Bobby with a disarming smile.

"I realize it seems an excellent idea to you, your majesty," continued Cartright. "But I urge you to consider your position as a protectorate: you pay no taxes, your people are not conscripted into the military, you receive massive aid, the Republic supports your produce prices . . ."

"You make it sound like being a protectorate is better than being an equal partner," said Bobby. "Why do I have trouble believing that?"

"Believe me, your majesty, when Faligor is ready to join the Republic, you will be invited and accepted. But your literacy rate is less than 15%, Tantram University will not graduate its first class for two more years, you have only three spaceports, most of your land is still undeveloped. Faligor has made extraordinary progress, but it is not yet ready to compete with the worlds of the Republic on an equal footing."

Bobby smiled. "Then you will help us."

"We are helping you, your majesty," said Cartright. "Faligor has made more progress than anyone had any right to expect. And it will continue to progress."

"Then we should be allowed to join the Republic, and progress until their watchful eye."

"You are progressing under their watchful eye already."

"It is not the same thing."

"Might I ask what has brought about this sudden interest in joining the Republic?" interjected Beddoes. "This is the first any of us has heard of it."

Bobby shrugged. "I went to Sirius V to watch this man Billy Wycynski fight before offering to bring him here. Have you been to Sirius V, Arthur?"

"No."

"Susan?"

"Once, many years ago," she replied.

"It is a huge world," said Bobby. "Far bigger than Faligor. But it has a population of only 35,000, and it is a full member of the Republic."

"There are reasons," said Cartright.

"I would be pleased if you would tell me what they are."

"Sirius V was one of the very first planets colonized by Man when we went forth into the galaxy. It has been an important shipbuilding and mining world to us for more than a millennia. Furthermore, there are no native inhabitants on Sirius V; it is entirely a human colony."

"There
were
natives once," noted Bobby ironically.

"That is an unhappy moment in our history. We were terraforming the planet, and did not realize that they were sentient." Cartright paused uncomfortably. "At any rate, the entire population of Sirius V has been human for more than a thousand years now."

"Are you saying no world that is not predominantly human can join the Republic?" asked Bobby. "I happen to know that is not true."

"No, of course I am not saying that. We have made our mistakes in the past, but over the years we have recognized them and rectified most of them. There was a time when worlds were assimilated into the Republic against their will, but that time has thankfully passed. These days, a world must vote to become a member of the Republic."

"I am sure I can convince my people to vote for that."

"Your people are the Enkoti," replied Cartright. "The entire planet must vote for membership, and most of the people on this planet cannot yet read a ballot. Furthermore, the Republic strongly favors worlds with a planetary government, so they know who they will be dealing with. They don't want to contract for so many tons of grain from the Rizzali, only to find that war has broken out with the Traja and their fields have been burned."

"These are all minor problems, capable of solution," said Bobby. "I suggest that you and I put our heads together and start solving them."

"I repeat," said Cartright. "We
are
solving them, and at an unprecedented pace."

"You see?" said Bobby with a smile. "We have faith in you, Arthur." He looked out across the lawn. "Excuse me for a moment. I see the Ambassador from Lodin XI has just arrived. Time for me to play the obsequious host."

And with that, he arose and walked off to greet his newest guest.

"Well," said Cartright, and then repeated himself: "Well. What do you make of that?"

"You mean his going over to be 'obsequious' to the Lodinite ambassador?" asked Beddoes. "He's just trying to let you know that he's got alternatives. I hear that Lodin XI is about to join the new Association of Worlds that the Canphorites are organizing."

"No," said Cartright impatiently. "I mean what did you think about the rest of what he said? He knows we can't take Faligor into the Republic for decades."

"Of course he knows it, Arthur," said Beddoes.

"Then what was that all about?"

"I think it's obvious," she said. "He knows it's time to start preparing for membership, and he's putting in his bid."

"His bid?"

Beddoes smiled. "You've been dealing in huge problems and theoretical situations for too long. What we have here is a very practical, pragmatic one. You even said it yourself: before Faligor can join the Republic, it's got to have a planetary government. Right now, the Enkoti are the only tribe capable of governing Faligor. Ten or fifteen years from now that might not be so, so he wants to set up the government now."

Cartright frowned. "You're sure that's it?"

"Pretty sure." She paused and watched Emperor Bobby charming the Lodinite and his party. "He's no fool, Arthur. If you offered him full membership tomorrow, I think he'd turn it down. He's just angling for the best possible deal for his people."

"His people being the Enkoti?"

"He considers himself an Enkoti, not a Faligori, and his people have been the dominant tribe for centuries. He just wants to make sure they remain on top."

"Well," said Cartright after some consideration, "he does have a point. The Enkoti are the most politically sophisticated tribe on the planet." He paused. "Still, we've got to get them to start thinking of themselves as one people, instead of twenty or thirty different tribes."

"Arthur, they were living in huts less than a decade ago. How long did it take Men to forego their national identities and start thinking of themselves simply as Terrans?"

"We didn't have anyone to help us," answered Cartright defensively. "We had no examples to follow."

"Well," she said with a shrug, "you're the politician. I'm just an entomologist."

"You don't think it can be done?"

"I don't know," said Beddoes. "If you'd told me five years ago that we'd be sipping cognac at lawn party hosted by a jason, I'd have said you were crazy. They're a remarkable race."

Cartright looked up. "And here comes the most remarkable of them to rejoin us."

Emperor Bobby made his way across the lawn, glad-handing one and all, and finally arrived at their table.

"Well," he said, taking a seat and signaling for another drink, "I hope you're enjoying yourselves."

"We are, your majesty," said Cartright. "We were just discussing the upcoming prizefight."

"Were you indeed?" asked Bobby with a smile that suggested he didn't believe a word of it. "And what are your conclusions?"

"I think your fighter is overmatched."

"It's possible," agreed Bobby. "Actually, I've never seen him fight, but I'm told that he has defeated everyone he's met."

"He hasn't met anyone like Wycynski," said Cartright.

"And do you agree with him, Susan?" asked Bobby.

"I have no opinion."

"Ah. You are not a boxing fan?"

"I've never seen any reason why two people should climb into a ring and try to knock each other senseless."

"But it's not just a matter of strength, but of skill," said Bobby. "The strongest doesn't always win. It is said that a good boxer will always defeat a good puncher. That means the intellect counts for something."

"Always assuming that it's still functioning after the first two blows to the head," responded Beddoes dryly.

Bobby threw back his head and laughed. "Men have such remarkable senses of humor! Is it any wonder that we cherish your company so?"

"Did I say something funny?"

"And such modesty!" added Bobby. "Susan, if you were a jason, I'd be inclined to propose marriage to you."

"Thank you for the compliment, your majesty, " said Beddoes, "but you have six wives already, and my race practices monogamy."

"Isn't it Men who say that you can't have too much of a good thing?" asked Bobby, laughing uproariously at his own joke. He was about to say something else when suddenly a uniformed jason put a large Redbison horn to his lips and blew a few blaring notes through it. The assembled guests took their seats and fell silent.

"Ah!" said Bobby excitedly. "The entertainment!"

Billy Wycynski was the first to walk down the makeshift aisle between tables, nodding an occasional greeting to the four or five Men he recognized. His nose and left ear had been surgically reconstructed at various times during his career, but he was missing a number of teeth, and had evidently decided not to have them replaced until his career was over. It could have given him a silly grin, but for some reason the actual effect of his smile was one of ferocity. He was tall, well-muscled, and walked with a fluid grace. Once in the ring, his seconds removed his robe, and he danced lightly around, shadow-boxing and trying to keep loose, as Bobby's human guests cheered and applauded.

A moment later Gama Labu, the Rizzali champion, emerged from his dressing tent, wearing a loose-fitting pair of knee-length shorts and disdaining a robe. Everything about him was big: his head, his neck, his shoulders, his chest, even his belly. His golden fur rippled with every step he took, and his small ears were in constant motion, listening to the comments of the audience as he passed by.

"You should have put him on a diet," remarked Cartright. "He's got to be 40 pounds overweight."

"We expect great things of him," said Bobby. "Great things."

He stood and saluted as Labu moved past, and the fighter returned a slovenly salute and a huge grin.

"Well," said Bobby, trying to keep the contempt from his voice, "you can tell by that salute that he's not in the Enkoti army."

"He's a soldier?" asked Cartright.

"A minor officer, so I'm told."

Labu moved ponderously toward the ring. Beddoes could almost imagine the ground trembling beneath his feet, and the thought occurred to her that Emperor Bobby, all protests to the contrary, would not be heartbroken to see the champion of the Rizzali humbled in front of this assemblage. It was not an attitude that was shared by the other jasons in the audience, who roared their approval as Labu shuffled ponderously around the ring, trying to loosen his bulging muscles.

A human referee climbed into the ring, brought the fighters together for their last-minute instructions, then sent them to their corners. Wycynski kept dancing and shadow-boxing, working up a mild sweat, while Labu simply stood in his corner, his arms draped over the ropes, smiling to the some of his Rizzali tribal brothers in the crowd.

Then the bell rang, and Wycynski moved to the center of the ring, bobbing, weaving, jabbing, ducking. Labu seemed to approach him almost in slow motion, and threw a huge roundhouse right. The human segment of the audience gasped, then relaxed as Wycynski ducked it, stepped inside, and threw a flurry of six rights and left to the jason's midsection, then danced back out of reach with the Men's cheers ringing in his ears. Labu seemed more surprised than hurt, grinned foolishly at his opponent, and plodded after him. Each time he came within reach, Wycynski moved in quickly, delivered another flurry of punches, and withdrew before Labu could counter.

"They might as well stop it," said Cartright to Bobby. "Your fighter will be lucky to land a punch all night."

The sitate mumbled some answer, but never took his eyes from the ring.

Beddoes was watching the ring, too, and wondered if anyone else saw what she was seeing: that despite the fact that Wycynski was hitting him at will, Gama Labu seemed none the worse for all the punishment he was taking. He still had that foolish grin on his face, he still pursued his opponent doggedly if not gracefully, he seemed to feel no need to protect himself from the human champion's heaviest blows. And despite all the excess weight he was carrying, he wasn't puffing or gasping for air.
You may not look like much
, thought Beddoes, as the fighters returned to their corners amid much cheering from the humans and almost total silence from the jasons,
but you are one hell of a remarkable specimen.

By the third round, Labu had convinced himself that his foe could do him no damage, and he walked out to the middle of the ring when the bell rang, spread his arms out, and invited Wycynski to take his best shot. The human looked surprised, but he wasted no time in accepting Labu's offer, and pummeled him for a full thirty seconds, stopping only when Labu broke out in peals of amused laughter, which was suddenly echoed by the jasons in the audience.

And suddenly the nature of the fight changed, for now Labu, who had still not landed a blow, began stalking Wycynski in earnest, and somehow, although he continued to move flat-footed, with his head down and his belly hanging over the elastic band of his shorts, Beddoes began to appreciate that he had a certain alien grace, that a Man moving like this might appear slovenly but that the jason seemed like an engine of destruction, bearing down relentlessly on his opponent. He cut off the ring, backed Wycynski into a corner, and moved in for what everyone in the crowd sensed would be the kill.