Demon princes 01 05 the.., p.11
Demon Princes 01-05 The Star Ki, page 11
—From the television address by Madian Carbuke, Centennial (Hundredth Phase Fellow) of the Institute, December 2, 1502:
Conversation between two Centennials of the Institute, in connection with a third not present:
—“I would gladly come to your house for a chat, if I did not suspect that Ramus were likewise invited.”
—“But what is so wrong with Ramus? He often amuses me.”
—“He is a fungus, a flatulence, a pompous old toad, and he irritates me vastly.”
Question occasionally put to Fellows of the Institute:
Are Star Kings included among the fellowship?
The customary answer: We certainly hope not.
Motto of the Institute: A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, a great deal of knowledge is disaster, which detractors of the Institute scornfully paraphrase to—Somebody else’s ignorance is bliss.
Pallis Atwrode lived with two other girls in a seaside apartment tower to the south of Remo. Gersen waited in the lobby while she ran up to change clothes and retint her skin.
He went out on the deck overlooking the ocean, leaned against the rail. Great blazing Rigel hung low over the ocean, laying a molten road from shore to horizon. Near at hand in the harbor, enclosed by twin piers, a hundred boats were moored power yachts, sailing catamarans, glass-hulled submarines, a shoal of jet-powered aquaplanes, to be ridden at maniacal speed over, through, and across the waves.
Gersen’s mood was complex, and puzzled even himself. There was the heart-bumping anticipation of an evening with a pretty girl, a sensation he had not known for years. There was the melancholy normally induced by sunset—and now the sunset was beautiful indeed, the sky glowed mauve and green-blue around a green bank of persimmon-orange clouds stranded with magenta. It was not the beauty which brought on melancholy, mused Gersen, but rather the quiet halcyon light and its fading And there was another melancholy—different yet somehow similar—which came to Gersen as he watched the debonair folk about him. They were all graceful and easy, untouched by the toil and pain and terror that existed on remote worlds Gersen envied them their detachment, their social skills. Still, would he change places with any of them? Hardly.
Pallis Atwrode came to join him by the rail. She had tinted herself a beautiful soft olive-green, with a subtle patina of gold, she now wore her hair in a loose dark curly cap. She laughed at Gersen’s obvious approval.
“I feel like a wharf rat,” said Gersen “I should have changed into new clothes.”
“Please don’t worry,” she said “It’s completely unimportant. Now. What shall we do?”
“You’ll have to make suggestions.”
“Very well. Let’s go into Avente and sit on the esplanade I never tire of watching people walk past. Then we can decide what’s next.”
Gersen acceded; they walked to the slide car and drove north, Paths chattering with ingenuous candor about herself, her job, her opinions, plans and hopes. She was, so Gersen learned, a native of Singhal Island, on the planet Ys. Her parents were prosperous, owning the only cold-storage warehouse of the Lantango Peninsula. When they retired to the Palmetto Islands, her oldest brother took control of the warehouse and likewise the family home. The brother next older had wished to marry her, this form of union being countenanced on Ys, which had been settled originally by a group of Reformed Rationalists. The brother was stout, red-faced, arrogant, without a trade other than driving the warehouse van, and the prospect held no charm for Pallis. At this point Pallis hesitated and her candor seemed to slip gears, for she changed the subject. Gersen guessed at the dramatic confrontations, fierce reproaches and countering accusations which had taken place. Pallis had now lived in Avente for two years and, though sometimes homesick for the sights and sounds of Ys, she felt herself happy and lucky. Gersen, who had never known anyone so artless, was charmed by her talk.
They parked the slider, walked out along the esplanade, selected a table in front of one of the numerous cafes, and sat watching the crowds stroll by. Beyond spread the dark ocean, with the sky now plum and indigo-gray, with only the faintest tinge of lemon to mark the passage of Rigel.
The night was warm; folk from all the worlds of the Oikumene sauntered past. The waiter brought goblets of punch. Gersen sipped and his tensions began to relax. Neither spoke for a period; then Pallis suddenly turned to face him. “You’re so silent, so guarded; is it because you’re in from Beyond?”
Gersen had no ready reply. Finally he gave a rueful laugh. “I hoped you’d think me easy and suave, like everyone else ....”
“Oh come now,” said Pallis teasingly. “Nobody’s like everyone else.”
“I’m not altogether sure,” said Gersen. “I suppose it’s a matter of relativity: how near you are. Even bacteria have individuality, if they’re examined closely enough.”
“So now I’m a bacterium,” said Pallis.
“Well, I’m another, and I’m probably boring you.”
“No, no! Of course not! I’m enjoying myself.”
“So am I. Too much. It’s—enervating.”
Pallis scented a compliment. “How do you mean?”
“I can’t allow myself the luxury of emotional commitments—even if I should like to.”
“You’re much, much, much too sober for a young man.”
“I’m not young anymore.”
She made a gay gesture. “But you admit you’re sober!”
“I suppose so. But be careful, don’t push me too far.”
“A woman likes to think herself a temptress.” Again Gersen had no response. He studied Pallis across the table; for the moment she seemed content to watch the passersby. What a gay, warm-hearted creature, he thought, without a trace of malice or acerbity.
Pallis turned her attention back to him. “You’re really such a quiet man,” she told him. “Everyone else I know refuses to stop talking, and I listen to continual floods of nonsense. I’m sure you know hundreds of interesting things, and you refuse to tell me any of them.”
Gersen grinned. “They’re probably less interesting than you think.”
“Still, I’d like to make sure. So tell me about the Beyond. Is life really so dangerous?”
“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. It depends on whom you meet, and why.”
“But—perhaps you’d rather I didn’t ask—what do you do? You’re not a pirate or a slaver?”
“Do I look like a pirate? Or a slaver?”
“You know that I don’t know what a pirate or a slaver look like! But I’m curious. Are you a—well, criminal? Not that it’s necessarily a disgrace,” she added hastily. “Affairs which are perfectly acceptable on one planet are absolutely taboo on another. For instance, I told one of my friends that all my life I’d planned to marry my oldest brother—and her hair uncurled!”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” said Gersen, “but I’m not a criminal .... I don’t fit into any category.” He considered. There could be no indiscretion in telling her what he had told Warweave, Kelle and Detteras. “I’ve come to Avente for a particular purpose, naturally—”
“Let’s have dinner,” said Pallis, “and you can tell me while we eat.”
“Where shall we go?”
“There’s an exciting new restaurant, only just opened. Everyone’s talking about it and I’ve never been there.” She jumped to her feet, took his hand with an easy intimacy, pulled him upright. He caught her under the arms, bent forward, but his daring waned; he laughed and released her. She said archly, “You’re more impulsive than you look.”
Gersen grinned, half shamefacedly. “Well, where is the exciting new restaurant?”
“Not far. We can walk. It’s rather expensive, but I plan to pay half the account.”
“That’s not necessary,” said Gersen. “Money is no particular problem to a pirate. If I run short, I’ll rob someone. You, perhaps ....”
“It’s hardly worth the trouble. Come along, then.” She took his hand, and they walked north along the esplanade like any of the thousand other couples abroad this fine Alphanor evening.
She led him to a kiosk circled by large luminous green letters reading NAUTILUS. An escalator dropped them two hundred feet into a tall octagonal lobby paneled with rattan screens. A majordomo escorted them along a glass-vaulted tunnel, out upon the floor of the sea. Dining rooms of various sizes opened off the passage, into one of which they were conducted, and seated at a table close beside the sloping glass dome. The sea lay beyond, with beacons illuminating the sand, rocks, seaweed, coral, the passing submarine creatures.
“Now,” said Pallis, leaning forward, “tell me about the Beyond.
And don’t worry about alarming me, because I love an occasional shudder. Or better, tell me about yourself.”
“Smade’s Tavern on Smade’s Planet is a good place to start,” said Gersen. “You’ve been there?”
“Of course not. But I’ve heard it mentioned.”
“It’s a small, barely habitable planet out in the middle of nowhere; all mountains, wind, thunderstorms, an ocean black as ink. The tavern is the only building on the planet. Sometimes it’s crowded, sometimes there’ll be no one but Smade and his family for weeks on end. When I arrived the only other guest was a Star King.”
“A Star King? I thought they were always disguised as men.”
“It’s not a matter of disguise,” said Gersen. “They are men.
Almost.”
“I never have understood about the Star Kings. Just what are they?”
Gersen shrugged. “You’ll get a different answer every time you ask. The general speculation goes like this. A million years ago, more or less, the planet Lambda Grus III, or ‘Ghnarumen’—you have to cough through your nose to get it even approximately right—was inhabited by a rather frightening assortment of creatures. Among them was a small amphibious biped without any particular tools for survival except awareness and an ability to hide in the mud. He probably looked a little like a lizard, or a hairless seal .... The species faced extinction half a dozen times, but a few always managed to hang on, and somehow scavenge an existence among creatures who were more savage, more cunning, more agile, better swimmers, better climbers, even better scavengers than themselves. The proto-Star Kings had only physical advantages: self-consciousness, competitiveness, a desire to stay alive by any means whatever.”
“They sound rather like the proto-humans on ancient Earth,” said Pallis.
“No one knows for sure: at least no men. What the Star Kings know they’re not telling .... These bipeds differed from proto-man in several respects: first, they are biologically much more flexible, able to transmit acquired characteristics. Second, they are not bisexual. There is cross-fertilization by means of spores emitted on the breath, but each individual is male and female at once, and the young develop as pods in the armpits. Perhaps from this lack of sexual differentiation the Star Kings have no natural physical vanity. Their basic drive is the urge to outdo, to out-function, to out-survive. The biological flexibility coupled to a rudimentary intelligence provided the means to implement their ambitions; they consciously began to breed themselves into a creature which could outperform their less resourceful competitors.
“This is all speculation, of course, and what follows is speculation on an even more tenuous basis. But just let’s assume that some race able to traverse space visited Earth. It might have been the people which left ruins on the Fomalhaut planets, or the Hexadelts, or whoever carved Monument Cliff on Xi Puppis X.
“We assume that such a space-traveling people came by Earth a hundred thousand years ago. Assume that they captured a tribe of Mousterian Neanderthals, and for some reason conveyed them to Ghnarumen, world of the proto-Star Kings. Here is a challenging situation for both parties. The men are far more dangerous opponents to the Star Kings than the now-defeated natural enemies. The men are intelligent, patient, crafty, ruthless, aggressive. Under pressure of the environment the men themselves evolve into a different type: more agile, faster of body and mind than their Neanderthal predecessors.
“The proto-Star Kings suffer setbacks, but they have their hereditary patience, as well as important weapons: the competitive urge, the biological flexibility. Men have proved superior to themselves; to compete with men they shape themselves into human semblance.
“The war continues, and the Star Kings admit, very guardedly, that certain of their myths describe these wars.
“Another assumption now becomes necessary. About fifty thousand years ago the space travelers return, and convey the evolved Earthmen back to Earth, and perhaps a few Star Kings: who knows? And so the Cro-Magnons appear in Europe.
“On their own planet the Star Kings are at last more manlike than men, and prevail: the true men are destroyed, the Star Kings are supreme and remain so until five hundred years ago. The men of Earth discover the intersplit. When they chance upon ‘Ghnarumen’ they are astonished to find creatures exactly resembling themselves: the Star Kings.”
“It sounds far-fetched,” said Pallis dubiously. “Not as far-fetched as convergent evolution. It is a fact that Star Kings exist: a race not antagonistic, but not friendly either. Men are not allowed to visit ‘Ghnarumen’—or however the name is pronounced. The Star Kings tell us only as much about themselves as they care to, and they send observers—spies, if you like—everywhere throughout the Oikumene. There are probably a dozen Star Kings in Avente right now.”
Pallis grimaced. “How can you tell them from men?”
“Sometimes even a doctor can’t, after they finish disguising and faking themselves. There are differences, of course. They have no genital organs; their pubic region is blank. Their protoplasm, blood, hormones have a different composition. Their breath has a distinctive odor. But the spies, or whatever they are, are altered so that even an X-ray shows the same as that of a man.”
“How did you know the—the creature at Smade’s Tavern was a Star King?”
“Smade told me.”
“How did Smade know?”
Gersen shook his head. “I never thought to ask.”
He sat silent, preoccupied with a new notion. There had been three guests at Smade’s Tavern: himself, Teehalt, and the Star King. If Tristano were to he believed—and why not?—he had arrived in company only with Dasce and Suthiro. If Dasce’s statement to Teehalt were to be credited, Attel Malagate must be reckoned Teehalt’s murderer. Gersen had certainly heard Teehalt’s scream while Suthiro, Dasce and Tristano stood within his range of vision.
Unless Smade were Malagate, unless another ship had surreptitiously arrived—which were both unlikely—then Malagate and the Star King must be one. Thinking back, Gersen recalled that the Star King had left the dining hall in ample time to allow a conference outside with Dasce ....
Pallis Atwrode lightly touched his cheek. “You were telling me of Smade’s Tavern.”
“Yes,” said Gersen. “So I was.” He looked at her speculatively. She must certainly know a great deal about the comings and goings of Warweave, Kelle and Detteras. Pallis, misunderstanding the nature of his gaze, flushed prettily under her pale-green skin toning. Gersen laughed uneasily. “Back to Smade’s Tavern.” He described the events of the evening.
Pallis listened with interest, almost forgetting to eat. “So now you have Lugo Teehalt’s filament and the university has the decoder.”
“Correct. And neither one is valuable without the other.”
They finished dinner; Gersen, with no credit account on Alphanor, paid the bill in cash. They returned to the surface. “Now what would you like?”
“I don’t care,” said Pallis. “Let’s go back along the esplanade to a table, for a while, anyway.”
The night was now dark: the moonless black-velvet night of Alphanor. The facade of every building at the back of the esplanade glowed faintly, blue or green or pink; the pavement gave off a silver effulgence; the balustrade emitted a pleasant, almost unseen amber-beige radiance; everywhere was soft shadowless light, rich with muted ghost color. Up in the dark sky stars floated, big, vague, pale. A waiter brought coffee and liqueur; they settled back to watch the passing crowds.
Pallis said in a reflective voice, “You’re not telling me everything.”
“Of course not,” said Gersen. “In fact ....” He paused, grappling with a disturbing new thought. Attel Malagate might mistake the nature of his interest in Pallis—especially if Malagate were a Star King, sexless, unable to understand the male-female relationship. “In fact,” said Gersen in a bleak voice, “I really have no right involving you in my troubles.”
“I don’t feel involved,” said Pallis, stretching her arms lazily. “And if I were, what of it? This is Avente on Alphanor, a civilized city on a civilized planet.”
Gersen gave a sardonic chuckle. “I told you that others were interested in my planet. Well—these others are pirates and slavers as depraved as your romantic heart could desire .... Have you ever heard of Attel Malagate?”
“Malagate the Woe? Yes.”
Gersen resisted the temptation of telling her that she took messages and ran errands daily for Malagate. “It’s almost certain,” he said, “that stick-tights are watching us. Now. This very minute. And the other end of the circuit is possibly Malagate himself.”
Pallis moved uneasily, scanned the sky. “Do you mean that Malagate is watching me? That’s a creepy feeling.”
Gersen looked to right, to left, then stared. Two tables away sat Suthiro, the Sarkoy venefice. Gersen felt a sinking at the pit of his stomach. Meeting Gersen’s eye, Suthiro nodded politely, smiled. He rose to his feet, sauntered to the table.
“Good evening, Mr. Gersen.”
“Good evening,” said Gersen.
“May I join you?”
“I’d prefer not.”
