Norvis rose. He makes it sound impressive, he thought. "Yes, I'm Secretary Norvis," he said aloud.
"Please be seated, Acolyte." He indicated the chair which had recently been vacated by the merchant.
"Thank you.'' The yellow-clad man seated himself, and Norvis sat down again behind his desk. "I was told to see Leader Del peFenn Vyless, but I understand that he is at sea, and that you are empowered to speak for him."
"That's right, I am ... ah" Norvis smiled. "I don't believe you gave your name."
"Gyls peDom Danoy," said the acolyte. "It is unimportant; I am here only as a voice for the Elder Grandfather. His age is such that he cannot travel the long distance from the Holy City to Vashcor, so I speak as Elder Leader in his stead."
"I see. I shall respect your words as such, Acolyte Gyls peDom."
"And I shall respect your words as being those of your Leader. May the Great Light illumine our minds, and those of our superiors."
"And may the Way of our Ancestors prevail," responded Norvis.
"To begin with," the acolyte began abruptly, "the Elder Leader wants it understood that he—ah—greatly deplores the tactics that are being used by your organization. You have cast doubt upon the wisdom of the Elders; you have attempted to subvert the people's confidence on our Holy Government; you are upsetting the administration of the Law by advocating countless written petitions to the Council; you have preached falsely against the Council and the Earthmen; you—"
Norvis held up a hand. "One moment, Acolyte! How have we preached falsely against the Council?"
Gyls peDom widened his eyes, as though astonished that Norvis should ask such a question. "You have said publicly that the Council was reluctant to co-operate in the rehabilitation of Nidor after the terrible decimation caused by the unwise use of the growth hormone two and a half years ago. You have blamed the use and invention of the hormone on the Earthmen and claimed that the Council was duped into allowing its use. Do you deny that your organization has said these things?"
"No," Norvis admitted. "And the question of whether they are true or not, we will leave for later."
The acolyte looked at him through narrowed eyes for a moment, as though he were going to argue then and there. Apparently, he thought better of it; his eyes relaxed, and he went on in the same tone of voice as he had used before.
"To sum up; your entire program has been offensive to the Divine Priesthood, detrimental to the spiritual health of the people, and displays such disrespect and irreverence toward the Great Light Himself as to border on sacrilege and blasphemy.
"This attitude is intolerable to His Effulgence's Holy Government. You are therefore—" He reached inside his yellow robes and withdrew a sealed, embossed, official-looking paper. "—commanded, by order of the Council of Elders, to cease, desist and discontinue any and all such unholy practices, either by the spoken or written word, or by actions tending to have the same effect. This applies both to direct insults and to indirect suggestions, insinuations, and innuendoes.
"Is this fully understood?''
Silently, Norvis opened the official document and read it. It was, if possible, couched in even harsher terms than those the acolyte had used, but it said essentially the same thing.
"All right," Norvis said quietly, "the Council has gone on record as making an official protest. What else?"
Gyls peDom spread his hands. "That's all. Henceforth, you will simply bring your suggestions to the Council, where they will be properly handled; they must be debated and justified with the Law and the Way. Contrary to the statements made in your public vilification of the Holy Council, the Elders are most anxious to see that Nidor be returned to its former state of peace and tranquility. They are aware that extraordinary measures must be taken. Representing, as you do, the merchants and many of the farmers, your advice is considered valuable, though certainly not indispensable. You must not, however, make the mistake of thinking that you are Government; such presumptuousness is so insulting to the Great Light Himself that it can only end in disaster—for you, and for all Nidor."
Outwardly calm, Norvis leaned back in his chair. "I can well understand that, Acolyte Gyls peDom. Naturally, such a decision on policy change will have to be carefully considered, but, I think you can rest assured that the wishes of the Holy Council will be complied with. We have no wish to undermine the influence of the Ancient Elders; as a matter of fact, we had already considered that perhaps our stand might be a little too strong, and now that we see that it is, shall we say, much stronger than necessary, I'm quite sure our policies will be adjusted accordingly."
"Excellent." The acolyte arose. "There is, then, nothing more to be said. You will be expected to communicate with the Elder Leader, in writing, within the next twenty days. The peace of your Ancestors be with you always."
"And may the Great Light illumine your mind as he does the world, Acolyte," Norvis replied.
Without another word, the yellow-robed figure turned and walked out the door. His message had been delivered.
For a full minute, Norvis sat, unmoving, his face expressionless, listening to the footsteps of the acolyte recede. Not until he heard the faint clatter of deest-hooves on the pavement outside did he throw back his head and shout.
"Hoyhoy!" he chortled gleefully. "Total capitulation! Absolute surrender! Hoyhoyhoy!"
The Council had saved face, but the essence of the message was simply: "If you'll shut up and stop all this rabble-rousing propaganda, we'll do what you say."
There was a rap at the door, and the young clerk put his head in. "Is something the matter, Secretary Norvis?"
"Matter?" Norvis stood up, vaulted over his desk, and did a little jig. "Something the matter? No! What could be the matter? The Great Light sheds His Brilliance over everything and comforts everyone! Nidor glows beneath His Effulgence! And you ask if anything is wrong! A shadow upon you, boy! A shadow upon you!"
The clerk, taken aback by this un-Norvis-like behavior, stepped back in wide-eyed astonishment.
Norvis stopped his antics, but kept his grin. "Dom, keep it in mind that a man can fail a thousand times, but if he keeps plugging, success may come from the most unexpected quarters!"
"Yes, sir."
"Now, attend," Norvis continued, "The Krand is due in this evening, just after lastlight. The rain will have started, but I want a man stationed down there, waiting for it, anyway. As soon as the ship pulls in, Captain Del peFenn is to be told to come here as quickly as possible; have a deest waiting for him, too," "Yes, sir."
"And I don't want to see anybody else unless it's of absolutely vital importance. Understood?" "Yes. Ancient One." "Fine. Go to it, then."
The clerk backed out the door, still bewildered.
Norvis walked over to the window and looked out upon the busy streets of the harbor city. He had won. The Council was with him now; it was only a matter of time before the Earthmen were completely discredited, And then—
"And then, Smith, "he said softly, "we'll see about you, personally."
Outside the window, the Great Light, hovering near the horizon, began to dim.
AFTERWORD
By Robert Silverberg June, 1980
In the summer of 1955 Randall Garrett, a 28-year-old writer with about a dozen published science-fiction stories, moved to New York City, and, through a complicated series of events, settled in the residential hotel where I lived. I was eight years younger, a junior at Columbia University, and was just beginning my own career as a writer. I had been writing seriously for a couple years, and had sold one novel and five short stories—a decent enough showing for a teenager, perhaps, although my total income thus far had been under $400—including the novel. Nevertheless, I was undeniably a professional writer, and so (although he was vastly more proficient) was Garrett. It wasn't long before we were talking about collaborating.