Koutroubis swallowed. He knew full well the accusation that was coming. The Methorian was probably using metaphors appropriate to his own lifeform. A human would have said “face” and “bones” rather than “veil” and “lacework.”
“What can it mean?” the creature continued. “Through the tear come incomprehensibles that cause havoc on three of our worlds. We ask ourselves what our scientists or engineers have done to create this catastrophe. We find nothing. We ask the other races with which we share the galaxy. From Diadem comes a positive answer. I must now ask you to confirm that answer in person.”
Had it been given a proper opportunity, the Imperial Council might well have preferred to dissemble about the matter. Unluckily a reply had been transmitted direct, in between Council meetings, by a group of tax-item scientists working in the civil service. It was too late to back out now.
“Yes,” Koutroubis said wearily, “we think—only think, mind—that one of our research facilities might have been responsible. It was working on feetol technique—the same that your ships use.”
“What is to be done? The rent grows bigger. Sentient beings in all galaxies might soon have cause to criticise your behaviour. I am instructed to ask what remedial action is proposed.”
“We’re working on it,” Koutroubis said doggedly.
“May I receive relevant technical information? We too will seek a way to avert catastrophe, the case being possibly dire.”
“Yes, I think I can arrange that.”
I hope I can arrange it, Koutroubis corrected himself. Even the civil service was now in disarray. The Council had lost much of its power of action.
By the Simplex, he wasn’t even sure if the emergency science team had been assembled in the end!
But it wouldn’t do to try to explain such confusion to the Methorian.
9
For the hundredth time Tengu finished checking the circuitry of the intermat kiosk and put his logic probe back in his pocket, his face displaying a now-familiar feeling of aggravation mixed with anxiety. There was nothing wrong either with the switching or with the feetol interface that enwrapped the cubicle and on which the system depended. Of course, he didn’t really know how the intermat worked, and there was one new introduction into the ship’s workings as a whole—the replacement flux unit. It delivered a flux curve that was perfectly normal—but could the old ruined one have added some necessary kink, perhaps? If so he would never find out what it was.
But he didn’t dare tell Ragshok that, Ragshok’s rages could be terrible.
After closing the panel, and as a matter of routine procedure, he tapped out the flagship code from the list beside the touch buttons, and fatalistically pressed GO.
For a blinding instant white light filled the kiosk. He blinked, then realised he was no longer in the same kiosk. The location plate had changed from Claire de Lune to Standard Bearer.
Tengu’s heart went into his mouth. For what reason he could not fathom, it had worked! He was on board the flagship!
Cautiously he pushed open the door. He was acquainted with the luxurious interior of the Claire de Lune, and he had heard of the extravagance of Diadem.
But the sight that met his eyes was far beyond anything he would have anticipated in a ship of war.
Archier took the slight, florid figure who crept from the kiosk and peered down into the salon for a crewman who had sneaked to the ball while on shift. What made him noticeable was that he wore no costume, only a ragged shirt that flapped over stained breeks and was cinched at the waist by a tool belt. No doubt he felt out of place and he deserved a reprimand, but Archier let it go.
He had permitted the victory ball to go ahead despite the seriousness of what lay ahead. The theme of the ball was Nemesis. Like most others, he wore a costume of electrically stiffened fabric that in its unexcited state was gauzy, limp and colourless, but which in answer to the currents flowing from a little generator mat could be pulled and shaped, could be given any variety of hues, translucencies and textures. The human figures that pranced the floor of the salon were an average of twelve foot in height, representing ancient gods of war, glowing warships and weapons of total destruction, giant masks of dread, aggressive abstract shapes. Animals were similarly bedecked, but in a manner adapted to their forms; long shapes worn by the four-footed darted about the ballroom, sometimes fronted with slavering jaws and sometimes playfully crashing into one another.
To the watcher on the mezzanine where the intermat kiosks were placed the pulsing streamers of light that bedecked the salon would also seemed to be joined by a dreadful cacaphony; about a dozen kinds of music were punishing the air at once. The costumed dancers, however, carried sound filters; they could tune into the airs of their taste.
“It’s sick, Admiral! It’s all completely sick!”
The girlish voice belonged to Hesper Positana, the last of the rebels to be captured. He turned and at first thought that in her silver and black uniform she was entering into the spirit of the thing. But her sulky face told otherwise.
She had been railing at Archier at every opportunity since being introduced to him. She should have been on the vessel that had been designated as a prison ship, but having been brought aboard together with the three Earthites, she had been left where she was.
Archier’s painted face smiled at her through the folds of Indra’s cummerbund. “But fun, you’ll agree.”
“Fun?” Hesper gaped at him in outrage. “Admiral, I hardly think fun is the word that should be used when describing the behaviour of imperialists. What have you got here? A celebration of oppression and random violence! Maybe that’s fun for you, but as far as I’m concerned it’s merely vile.”
“I assure you we don’t see ourselves that way.”
“So how do you see the nuke bombs you dropped on Earth, for instance? What need was there for that?”
Archier shook his head, setting the baleful face of Indra swaying. “But no such thing happened.”
“Don’t kid me. I saw the fireballs after we took off.”
Leaning closer so he could make himself heard over the music, Archier said. “You’re placing the blame in the wrong quarter. An insurgent can’t claim to be on the side of peace. What safety can there be without Imperial stability? It’s my duty to maintain it.”
“Huh! The Empire!” Disdainfully Hesper waved at the scene before her. “Just look at it! A pack of degenerates and perverts! Wallowing with animals, with cattle and wild beasts! It’s pathetic!”
“Yes, I know that intelligent animals aren’t allowed into decent society on many of the outer worlds. But is that attitude creditable, or even civilised? All mammals are part of the same family. And the Empire does need their services.”
“We don’t need them in Escoria, not at all. And do you know what, Admiral? Because we have lots of real people, and that’s because we breed. We have lots of children, remember them? Why don’t you try it? Family life’s not so bad.”
She took a deep breath. “But it’s not surprising you’ve forgotten what sex is for when one takes a look at your women, is it? Why are they so hideous? Why would anyone want to make herself look so old?”
Archier smiled again to see how hopelessly provincial Hesper’s outlook was. She had absolutely no comprehension of current fashionable ideas of female beauty.