I folded my hands, standing, and said in the Wersgor tongue, “For the success of this parley, as well as to seal the truce, let me offer a Paternoster.”
“A what?” asked the chief of the foe. He was somewhat fat, but dignified and with a strong visage.
“Silence, please.” I would have explained, but their abominable language did not seem to have any word for prayer; I had asked Brarnthar. “Pater noster, qui est in coelis,” I began, while the other English knelt with me.
I heard one of the Wersgorix mutter: “See, I told you they are barbarians. It’s some superstitious ritual.”
“I’m not so sure,” answered the chief dubiously. “The Jairs of Boda, now, have certain formulas for psychological integration. I’ve seen them temporarily double their strength, or stop a wound from bleeding, or go days without sleep. Control of inner organs via the nervous system… And in spite of all our own propaganda against them, you know the Jairs are as scientific as we.”
I heard these clandestine exchanges readily enough, yet they did not seem aware of my awareness. I remembered now that Branithar had seemed a little deaf, too. Evidently all Wersgorix had ears less acute than men. This, I learned subsequently, was because their home planet had denser air than Terra, which made them wont to hear sounds more loudly. Here on Tharixan, with air about like England, they must raise their voices to be heard. At the time, I accepted God’s gift thankfully, without stopping to wonder why nor to warn the foe.
“Amen,” I finished. We all sat down at the table.
Sir Roger stabbed the chief with bleak gray eyes. “Am I dealing with a person of suitable rank?” he asked.
I translated. “What does he mean by ‘rank’?” the head Wersgor wondered. “I am the governor of this planet, and these are the primary officers of its security forces.”
“He means,” I said, “are you sufficiently well-born that he will not demean himself by treating with you?”
They looked still more bewildered. I explained the concept of gentle birth as well as I could: which, with my limited vocabulary, was not well at all. We must thresh it over for quite some time before one of the aliens said to his lord:
“I believe I understand, Grath Huruga. If they know more than we do about the art of breeding for certain traits—” I must interpret many words new to me from context — “then they may have applied it to themselves. Perhaps their entire civilization is organized as a military force, with these carefully bred super-beings in command.” He shuddered at the thought. “Of course, they wouldn’t waste time talking to any creature of less intelligence.”
Another officer exclaimed, “No, that’s fantastic! In all our explorations, we’ve never found—”
“We have touched only the smallest fragment of the Via Galactica so far,” Lord Huruga answered. “We dare not assume they are less than they claim to be, until we have more information.”
I, who had sat listening to what they believed were whispers, favored them with my most enigmatic smile.
The governor said to me: “Our empire has no fixed ranks, but stations each person according to merit. I, Huruga, am the highest authority on Tharixan.”
“Then I can treat with you until word has reached your emperor,” said Sir Roger through me.
I had trouble with the word “emperor.” Actually, the Wersgor domain was like nothing at home. Most wealthy, important persons dwelt on their vast estates with a retinue of blueface hirelings. They communicated on the far-speaker and visited in swift aircraft or spaceships. Then there were the other classes I have mentioned elsewhere, such as warriors, merchants, and politicians. But no one was born to his place in life. Under the law, all were equal, all free to strive as best they might for money or position. Indeed, they had even abandoned the idea of families. Each Wersgor lacked a surname, being identified by a number instead in a central registry. Male and female seldom lived together more than a few years. Children were sent at an early age to schools, where they dwelt until mature, for their parents oftener thought them an encumbrance than a blessing.
Yet this realm, in theory a republic of freemen, was in practice a worse tyranny than mankind has known, even in Nero’s infamous day.
The Wersgorix had no special affection for their birthplace; they acknowledged no immediate ties of kinship or duty. As a result, each individual had no one to stand between him and the all-powerful central government. In England, when King John grew overweening, he clashed both with ancient law and with vested local interests; so the barons curbed him and thereby wrote another word or two of liberty for all Englishmen. The Wersgor were a lickspittle race, unable to protest any arbitrary decree of a superior. “Promotion according to merit” meant only “promotion according to one’s usefulness to the imperial ministers.”
But I digress, a bad habit for which my archbishop has often been forced to reprove me. I return, then, to that day in the place of nacre, when Huruga turned his terrible eyes on us and said: “It appears there are two varieties of you. Two species?”
“No,” said one of his officers. “Two sexes, I’m sure. They are clearly mammals.”
“Ah, yes.” Huruga stared at the gowns across the table, cut low in shameless modern modes. “So I see.”
When I had rendered this for Sir Roger, he said, “Tell them, in case they are curious, that our womenfolk wield swords side by side with men.”
“Ah.” Huruga pounced on me. “That word sword. Do you mean a cutting weapon?”
I had no time to ask my master’s advice. I prayed inwardly for steadiness and answered, “Yes. You have observed them on our persons in camp. We find them the best tool for hand-to-hand combat. Ask any survivor of the Ganturath garrison.”
“Mmm… yes.” One of the Wersgorix looked grim. “We have neglected the tactics of infighting for centuries, Grath Huruga. There seemed no need for them. But I do remember one of our unofficial border clashes with the Jairs. It was out on Uloz IV, and they used long knives to wicked effect.”
“For special purposes … yes, yes.” Huruga scowled. “However, the fact remains that these invaders prance around on live animals—”
“Which need not be fueled, Grath, save by vegetation.”
’But which could not endure a heat beam or a pellet. They wave weapons out of the prehistoric past. They come not in their own ships, but in one of ours—” He broke off his murmur and barked at me:
“See here! I’ve delayed long enough. Yield to our judgment, or we shall destroy you.”
I interpreted. “The force screen protects us from your flame weapons,” said Sir Roger. “If you wish to attack on foot, we shall make you welcome.”
Huruga turned purple. “Do you imagine a force screen will stop an explosive shell?” he roared. “Why, we could lob just one, let it burst inside your screen, and wipe out every last creature of you!”
Sir Roger was less taken aback than I. “We’ve already heard rumors of such bursting weapons,” he said to me. “Of course, he’s trying to frighten us with the talk of a single shot being enough. No ship could lift so great a mass of gunpowder. Does he take me for a yokel who’ll believe any tinker’s yarn? However, I grant he could fire many explosive barrels into our camp.”
“So what shall I tell him?” I asked fearfully.
The baron’s eyes gleamed. “Render this very exactly, Brother Parvus: ‘We are holding back our own artillery of this sort because we wish to talk with you, not merely kill you. If you insist on bombarding us, though, please commence. Our defenses will thwart you. Remember, however, that we are not going to keep our Wersgor prisoners inside those defenses!’ ”