They were not even really interested.
He knew he had failed miserably. He hoped he had not hurt any chances Jonnie might have. Forlorn hope. It was all up to Jonnie now. But what could the poor lad possibly do?
Part XXVII
Chapter 1
Music began to be heard in the conference room. It was slow, dignified music. Ponderous. Impressive. The emissaries looked about with some interest, wondering what was going to happen. So far this had been a deadly dull conference on an apparently deadly dull planet that didn't even have any night life or dancing or singing females to serve up. The conference had begun right away as though there was something urgent or important to take up: not even a customary round of hot spots to get acquainted; so far no one had even offered any bribes! instead just some boring, minor squabble that concerned combatants of just this one universe and just a sector of it at that. Nice music. Fit for regal functions, much less a conference.
A huge man entered the door. He was about six and a half feet tall, stripped to the waist, wearing a scarlet sash, with yellow skin, shaved head. (It was one of the Mongols from among the Chinese.) That in it self would not have been very interesting. But his muscles were huge and swollen with the effort of carrying something on his head that would seem to be very heavy indeed. But from all they could see, he was carrying nothing! There were his arms and gripping hands, there were his bulging back muscles and biceps. Although he was walking in cadence with the music, there was even a slightly perceptible tremor in his legs. But they could see nothing being carried.
The man went up to the platform and with great care set the nothing down. They even heard a bump. (It was a glassine electronics table used by Psychlos for small electronic work that required light from every angle. It had been sawed down and sprayed with lens spray that passed light one hundred percent and so reflected nothing.) He arranged the nothing with great care.
There was a bit of flurry in the audience as emissaries craned about and peered, amused and interested. The communicator acting as host (he had a stripped-down mine radio in his ear) said, “You have the solemn promise of this planet at the risk of heavy indemnity that no lethal, destructive, or harmful object will be
entered into this conference room.”
Several emissaries laughed. They were quite cheerful. A good joke to put nothing on the platform and then say it was harmless. It quite took their fancy.
But something else was happening now. The huge Mongol had withdrawn. To the stately music, two beautifully gowned Chinese boys, faces impassive, came down the aisle. Each was carrying a gorgeous red satin pillow with gold tassles and on each pillow was a huge book. Solemnly, first one, then the other, approached the host. He took each book from its pillow and laid it upon the heretofore invisible table, spine titles toward the audience.
So there was something on the platform. An invisible table. New interest. Those with better eyes could read the titles on the spines up there: one was a “Dictionary of the Psychlo Language”; the other was "Intergalactic Laws By Treaties of Governing Nations.”
But Lord Schleim, with his weak Tolnep eyes, was not even trying to read any book titles. He was tense and crouching back. Theatrics! They were pulling theatrics on him. Ah, well. He would corner whoever this was and bite him to death with wit-fangs! Sssst on theatrics! They would change nothing.
The two boys withdrew in a stately fashion, carrying away their now-empty pillows.
The music suddenly stopped. There was a roll of drums.
The host drew himself up and cried out his announcement in a strong, sonorous voice above the drums, “Masters of all planets! Lords of the great and powerful realms of sixteen galaxies! May I now introduce to your august presence, LORD JONNIE! He who embodies the spirit of Earth!”
A trumpet fanfare cut through and rose above the drums. The clear, piercing notes rose into the air.
Jonnie came walking down the aisle. He was walking slowly, heavily, commanding as though he weighed a thousand pounds. He was dressed in black and silver and he carried a silver wand. But it wasn't silver; it looked so, but when the light caught it on the slightest movement it flashed with blindingly bright rainbow colors.
He came to the platform, stepped up, moved behind the table, and turned.
At that instant a mine spotlight placed just above the door flamed on. He stood there in black and silver and yet a blaze of living color.
He did not speak. Feet apart, not blocked from their view by the table, he held the silver wand between his two hands and simply looked at them with a stern and even disdainful expression. Dominant.
This was impressive enough to the emissaries. Even though they were used to pomp and tended to discount it, they would have been respectful of this display. But there was something else.
That beast on the helmet! It looked alive. The trick of the light, the play of the silver metal that flashed, the glowing red coals of eyes, whatever it was it looked alive. Was he wearing a live winged beast on his helmet?
Lord Schleim would have none of it. Unfortunately there had been a slight slip which played directly into his hands. When one word meant several things in Psychlo, it required a slight change of inflection or tone to make it have the different meaning. The word “spirit” in Psychlo could also mean “mind,” “angel,” or “devil,” and although the communicator had used the right inflection for “spirit,” Lord Schleim chose to accept a different inflection.
The Tolnep sprang up as though striking from cover. “Lords and august emissaries,” he said with an acid hiss, “I challenge the right of this devil to speak! We have seen no credentials. We-'
“Sir,” said Jonnie. “I could not quite hear you. What did you say?”
Lord Schleim whirled on him. He began savagely, “I said-'
“Ah, yes, yes, yes,” said Jonnie, waving his wand. “I beg your pardon, your lordship. It was merely your uncouth Tolnep accent. Quite provincial. Can you understand him, my lords?”
They laughed. It was true that Schleim had a bit of an accent, due probably to his fangs and having to hiss. Tolneps were really quite rural; they had only one planet and that was quite distant from the center of things.
“You devil!” hissed Schleim.
"Uh, uh, uh," said Jonnie. “No violence in such a meeting. I am quite certain I nor the truly worthy emissaries in this gathering desire your ejection from it.”
Then before Schleim would retaliate, something else happened. The wand, which had been tapping Jonnie's palms, suddenly pointed in the direction of Schleim's feet. It had a small beam of light set in the end of it and it flashed on. (It was a light used to show dust in a mine shaft and it made a very thin white pencil of light, like a pointer.)
Jonnie looked a bit incredulous. Then he turned his head clear off to the side as though to hide a laugh. The light switched off.
Schleim looked down. He had to stretch for he had a bit of a paunch.
What had this devil seen?
Then Lord Schleim saw them. His boots! Instead of wearing his proper, scaled, glittering green boots, he was wearing old, rough blue boots. Dirty blue boots. His valet! In the rush of getting him off, his clumsy, damned valet had put the wrong boots on him. Oh, when he got home...when he got home he would have the oaf punctured! Worse. Dragged through the streets and bitten to death by small children.
But Jonnie was addressing the emissaries. “I must apologize to you, my lords. I pray you to overlook my discourtesy in arriving late. But I am sure you will understand when I tell you that I was looking for a point of law.” He looked at them in a kindly and deferential fashion, laid down the wand on the invisible table, and tapped the top of the law book. (The manners and phrases of the old