Space Opera (18 page)

Dame Isabel pursued the subject relentlessly. “Would you be good enough to enlarge upon the nature of these sources?”

Logan de Appling scratched his head. “Let me think … I believe that one of my astrogation manuals —”

“Let me ask you this: has Miss Roswyn mentioned this planet to you?”

Logan de Appling flushed. “Well, yes. As a matter of fact, she had heard something about it. We agreed that I should mention the planet to you.”

“In short,” said Dame Isabel in the iciest of voices, “she insisted that you recommend a visit to this planet.”

“Well — I wouldn’t say ‘insisted’.”

“You may tell Miss Roswyn that under no circumstances will we cross half the galaxy in order to gratify her whims. We absolutely will not visit this world. Please do not mention it again.”

Logan de Appling’s face burned an angry red. “Just as you wish.”

“Now, if you will, please verify that our present course is that which takes us most expeditiously to Swannick’s Star.”

Logan de Appling bowed, stalked away.

Several days passed and still Captain Gondar did not show himself. “Let him stew in his own juice,” Bernard Bickel advised. “The longer he sits the more amenable he’ll be to reason.”

Dame Isabel dubiously agreed. “A strange man indeed. But we cannot waste time analyzing his conduct … Do you suppose, Bernard, that our audience on Swannick’s Star will consist entirely of the upper classes? If so, I might be inclined to another performance of
Fidelio
— or do you think we should undertake Wagner?”

“Either should be eminently suitable,” said Bernard Bickel. “Still, we might at least consider Puccini …” He paused as Logan de Appling entered the saloon. Dame Isabel signaled: the young astrogator — rather reluctantly, or, so it seemed — approached. “How long before we reach Swannick’s Star, Mr. de Appling?” asked Dame Isabel. “This seems a simply interminable journey, and I observe no star on the cross-hairs.”

“Quite true; there is a local ether-drift which must be taken into account … We’ll probably be another several days …”

“My word!” said Bernard Bickel, “I had no idea Swannick’s Star was all that far!”

“Relax, Mr. Bickel; enjoy the scenery!” Logan de Appling smiled down at Dame Isabel and left the saloon.

After three days Captain Gondar still had not appeared, and Dame Isabel finally made up her mind to confer with him. As she and Bernard Bickel crossed the bridge, Logan de Appling and Madoc Roswyn stood talking in great animation. At the sight of Dame Isabel they abruptly fell silent.

Dame Isabel went to the view-screen, where a view of the cosmos was projected by the dephasing system. She checked the cross-hairs, turned to Logan de Appling. “Swannick’s Star is that greenish sun dead ahead?” she inquired.

“It can’t be,” said Bernard Bickel. “Swannick’s Star is an orange dwarf!”

“True,” said Logan de Appling cheerfully. “We’re allowing for space-drift and also galactic rotation, which in this region is quite considerable.”

“Surely we should be closer to our destination!” said Dame Isabel. “Are you absolutely sure of your calculations, Mr. de Appling?”

“Of course! It wouldn’t do to get lost this far from home!”

Dame Isabel gave her head a puzzled shake. Crossing the bridge she knocked at Captain Gondar’s door. “Yes?” came a surly voice from within. “Who is it?”

“It is I,” said Dame Isabel. “I want a word or two with you.”

The door flung open; Captain Gondar looked out. He was gaunt, his eyes glowed, a straggly black beard covered his cheeks and chin. “Well?” he croaked. “What do you want?”

“I’d like you to check the astrogation,” said Dame Isabel in a mild voice. “I don’t altogether trust the judgment of Mr. de Appling. It seems that we should long ago have reached Swannick’s Star.”

With four long strides Captain Gondar was on the bridge. He took one look at the view-screen, gave a harsh laugh. He paused, then laughed again, until Dame Isabel wondered whether he was mad indeed. She glanced at de Appling, who stood stiffly to the side, his fair cheeks flushing. She turned back to Captain Gondar. “Why do you laugh?”

Gondar pointed. “See the cant of the Milky Way? And that star off there to the right? That’s Alphard or I’m a baboon. All of which puts us in Hydra.”

“There must be some dreadful mistake,” stammered Dame Isabel. “Swannick’s Star is in Taurus.”

Once more Captain Gondar vented his harsh croak of a laugh. “No mistake.” He pointed a long finger at Madoc Roswyn. “That’s why we’re in Hydra.”

Dame Isabel was speechless. She stared from Madoc Roswyn to Logan de Appling and back to Captain Gondar. “Do you mean — can it be —”

“He’s taken you on a joy-ride. Don’t blame him too much. I don’t believe a man alive can stand up to her. She’s a dire Welsh witch. If I were you I’d throw her into space and let her swim.”

Dame Isabel swung about. In a terrible voice she asked, “Is this true, Mr. de Appling?”

“Yes.”

“Captain, turn the ship about. Then confine these two to their respective cabins.”

Gondar said, “Don’t lock up de Appling. He’s just a jackanapes. Make him work. If he swerves a second of an arc I’ll strangle him. But lock her up. Keep her from the sight of men, or she’ll use her magic.”

“Very well. Miss Roswyn, to your cabin. I can’t imagine how to deal with you.”

“Put me in a life-boat and let me go off by myself.”

Dame Isabel stared. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Naturally,” said Dame Isabel, “I shall do nothing of the sort. It would be nothing less than murder. To your cabin, if you please.”

Madoc Roswyn went slowly from the bridge.

“As for you,” Dame Isabel said to Logan de Appling, “Captain Gondar will note this occurrence in the log. You will receive no pay, and I shall take every step to ensure that you never again secure employment as an astrogator.”

Logan de Appling said nothing. The heavens swung across the view-screen as Captain Gondar swung the
Phoebus
about on its axis.

Four hours later Roger tapped at Madoc Roswyn’s door. Slowly the door opened and she looked at him.

“May I come in?” Roger asked.

Without speaking she drew listlessly back.

Roger seated himself on the bunk. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry.” She moved across the little cubicle, to lean against the wall.

“If I only knew why you’ve been doing all this,” said Roger tentatively. “It’s beyond my understanding. How could anyone be so beguiling, so faithless — unless she had some overpowering motive?”

Madoc Roswyn hardly seemed to hear. She said in a low voice. “Do you think your aunt will …” Then she sighed, made a helpless motion. “I know she won’t.”

“I realize that you only pretended to be fond of me,” went on Roger, “to get aboard the ship … And the same with Captain Gondar and that ass de Appling …”

Madoc Roswyn nodded drearily. “Yes. I only pretended. I had no other way.”

“But why? If only I could understand why I might not think so harshly of you.”

Madoc Roswyn looked at him with a ghost of a smile. “Do you think harshly of me, Roger?”

He nodded. “Yes. It’s humiliating to be used.”

“All I can say, Roger, is that I’m sorry. Really I am. But I’d do it again,” she added in a low voice, “if it would help … But it won’t.”

“No. Not now. Tell me why.”

“No … I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m secretive. I’m born of secretive people. All my life I’ve had secrets you’d never dream of.”

“No doubt,” said Roger sadly. “No doubt.”

She sat down, rather diffidently, on the bunk beside him. Roger swayed, as if he were iron and she a magnet. With an effort he brought himself to his previous position. After a moment’s thought, he asked: “This planet in Hydra is one of your secrets?”

“Yes.”

“If the
Phoebus
visited this planet, it would no longer be secret.”

Now it was Madoc Roswyn’s turn to ponder. “This had never occurred to me. But you must remember my upbringing. I’ve been habituated to secrecy.”

“Secrecy,” said Roger, “is a miserable vice. I have no secrets whatever.”

Madoc Roswyn smiled wanly. “You’re indeed an admirable man, Roger. Very well. I’ll tell you my secret. It’s all mine now, because none are left to share it. And since we’re not to visit Yan, no one would believe either you or me.”

“‘Yan’ is the name of this planet?”

“Yan …” She breathed the name with the most fervent reverence and affection. “It is my home behind the stars. So near now, and so far.”

Roger frowned in puzzlement. “Is this Welsh folk-lore? I’m sorry to be ignorant, but I’ve never heard anything like it before.”

She shook her head. “I am not Welsh. Or not altogether Welsh. Long long ago — thirty thousand years …” She talked for an hour, and Roger’s head swam with the marvels which came casually from her lips.

Shorn of detail and circumstance her story was simple enough. Thirty thousand years ago a race of Earth-folk inhabited a pleasant land whose exact location was now unknown — some thought it to be Greenland, others the land now submerged below the Bay of Biscay. They attained civilization, of a texture as rich as any of those which followed. During a period of decadence, a certain arcane group contrived a ship of space and exiled themselves from Earth. After an epic voyage they landed on Yan, which they made their home. And what of the once-noble civilization which had been left behind? Its destiny no one ever learned: apparently it spent itself and lapsed to ruins.

On Yan a new era began, with advances, retreats, dark ages, renewals, culminations, aftermaths. Then, two hundred years ago, another dissident group decided to return to Earth. Their landing on the Isle of Man was a catastrophe which destroyed the ship and all but a handful of the passengers. These fled the superstitious persecution of the Manxmen and settled in Wales, where for generations they farmed the remote valleys of Merioneth. Such were Madoc Roswyn’s forebears, who perpetuated their traditions, whispered the history of Yan to their children, dedicated themselves to secrecy. They lived only to return to Yan, and bred this yearning into their children. One of these was Madoc Roswyn, the last of her line. Longing for Yan, she had taken advantage of Roger’s bemusement to win herself passage on the
Phoebus
.

She finished her story. She had tried and failed; Yan was now forever lost to her.

Roger sat quietly a long moment, then heaved a sigh. “I’ll help you as best I can. If I succeed it means I’ve lost you forever — but not really, because I can’t lose something I’ve never had … I’ll talk to my aunt.”

Madoc Roswyn said nothing, but when Roger departed, she slumped back on the bunk and tried to restrain the tears which welled from behind her eyelids.

Roger found Dame Isabel on the bridge, trying to learn the exact location of Rlaru from a brooding and taciturn Captain Gondar. His only reply to her expostulations was, “All in good time, all in good time.”

Roger attracted Dame Isabel’s attention and asked to speak with her in private. With poor grace she acceded, and took him to her cabin. Here walking back and forth he said, “I know you consider me a wastrel, and credit me with very little judgment.”