Part 2

"None of you spent the evening slacking, of course," continued the Commandant. He was a middle-aged man; the empty sleeve pinned to his shoulder told why he had been booted out of field duty while men twenty years his senior were still leading teams. "Total score for the night: fifty-seven villages. Commander Royceton merely had more fertile area to work in. As we move out from the Base I know you will all have equal opportunities to prove your prowess with the torch." An appreciative murmur ran through the little group.

"Now I know you're all tired, gentlemen, and anxious to hit the sack. I won't keep you much longer. I just want to emphasize the importance of our mission on this world. Many of your men don't like making these raids on the natives. They would rather be roaming the far starlanes, putting down pirates and other glorious deeds of derring-do. But you men are not cadets; there isn't a one of you without twenty years field service time. You know the real glory comes from satisfaction in a job well done. It is up to you to transfer that feeling of satisfaction to the malcontents within your ranks. Tonight you go out again; and you will continue to do so until every single village on this planet has been razed to the ground! If so much as one single village is permitted to escape, then we have failed. I do not like failure; you do not like failure. Working together, we can see to it that failure as a word disappears from the language. I thank you, gentlemen. Dismissed." He stepped down and strode rapidly from the room. Behind him the audience rose and burst into talk.

III

Sam Carter moaned silently. He tried for the hundredth time since the journey began to shift his legs into a position where the insides would not be rubbed raw by the rough hair of his horse-like mount. He resolved for the dozenth time that one of the "inventions" he would import from the southern provinces would be a good, comfortable saddle.

Another would be silk; the rough fabrics worn by Kahl's subjects were a fair substitute for the mount's hide.

"Ho, southerner!" Prince Kahl wheeled his mount back from the head of the column and waited until Sam had caught up, then he fell in beside him. "How goes it? Does my second favorite mount suit you well?"

"Very well indeed, graciousness," said Sam. "I cannot in honesty recall when I've had a more--_ouch!_--instructive ride!"

"Good!" Kahl leaned over and slapped him on the shoulder. "You'll be glad to know we've but three more hours to go before reaching the summer palaces."

"Only, uh, three more hours?" The sinking sensation in Sam's stomach had nothing at all to do with the undulating motion of his beast. "Ah, that is good news, your graciousness. We'll be there almost before we know it."

Sam wished Kahl would go away and leave him to his misery, but the prince seemed disposed to talk. "I think there will be many surprised faces in my father's court tonight. Eh, southerner?" He chuckled, and then burst into raucous laughter as he considered the idea further. "And to think, it will all be perfectly legal! You have the papers safe, my friend?"

"Yes, your graciousness," said Sam, sighing and patting his saddlebags.

"Good! Don't lose them--I'd hate to see you missing your head!" He laughed again, while Sam's stomach turned several more flipflops. "The sight of blood always did make me sick."

There were sixteen men in the mounted party, including a dozen of Kahl's private guard, the captain of the troop and the High Priest of the Sun God, the nation's officially sponsored religion. The High Priest was a little old man, bent over more from age than from the discomforts of the journey. Originally Sam had planned for one more member, but that had become unnecessary when he learned that the High Priest was also President of the Royal College of Chirurgeons. The latter role was even more important to his plans than the former. Now all that worried Sam was the possibility that the priest might not live to the end of the journey. He was inflicted with a hacking cough that sent chills racing up and down Sam's spine every time he went into a fit.

Kahl grew weary of bantering small talk with a man really fit to come up with witty replies. He wheeled his horse again and dropped back to the end of the column for a moment, saying something to the High Priest, then he spurred his mount back to the head of the line, falling into his original position beside the Captain of the Guard. The two men were soon lost in reminiscences that had bored Sam to tears, every time he had been an unwilling audience.

* * * * *

Another hour passed miserably, while the sun mounted to the zenith and began the long summer afternoon drop back down to the horizon. The members of the Guard and Kahl pulled short stubby loaves of bread and cheese from their saddle bags and munched as they rode on, washing the food down with vigorous pulls at the wine-skins that took the place of water canteens on the planet. Sam had first thought the constant imbibing of alcohol to be a national vice. Then he ran tests on half a dozen waterholes. Thereafter he drank wine himself.

Now, however, he was completely without an appetite. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that the priest was in the same boat. Suddenly, without knowing why, he pulled his mount up and waited until the priest caught up with him, then fell in at the end of the column.

"How goes it, Reverence?"

The priest looked up, watery eyes registering surprise at his company. "Oh, southerner." He broke into one of his coughing spasms. "Ahhh, not well, southerner. Not well at all. The Sun God does not ride with me this day--not that he's deserted me, you understand: he never rides with me. The Sun God has more sense than a foolish old man who should be staying home in the comfort of his apartments, not galivanting around the country-side like a frisky kitten."

"I wish he had imparted some of his wisdom to me," said Sam. "I confess I feel as you look, Reverence. No disrespect intended, believe me. It's just that the ardors of this journey have taken much toll from both of us. And I swear, by the Sun God himself, you are bearing up much better than I."

"A man who has traveled as long and as far as you talking this, southerner?"

"It's the way you travel, Reverence. The greatest part of my journey was by ship." It had been; Sam merely neglected to specify that it was a spaceship. "Ocean travel has its own peculiar discomforts, but for myself, I'll take it every time."

"Tell me, southerner," said the priest, "why do you make this trip?"

"Prince Kahl wished it," he replied.

"Ah, but there is more to this than lies on the surface. Why should Kahl bring you, a stranger and a subject of another house, along on a venture that may well cast the future course of events for this entire nation?"

"Prince Kahl seems to feel that, ah, I might, because of my experiences in other lands, serve him in some minor capacity of usefulness." Sam chose his words with care. The old man was entirely too observant for his liking.

"Kahl is an astute man," said the priest. "However, he is also a hungry man, and such a man on the verge of starvation will eat things that in more normal circumstances he would pass up without so much as a first look. Ideas are much like food, southerner."

"The philosophers of my country have a saying, Reverence. 'Man does not live by bread alone.'"

"Much wisdom is afloat in the world, disguised in strange ways." With that, the priest went into another coughing spell, after which he refused to pick up the threads of the conversation. Carter gave up, and spurred his mount back to his original place in the column.

* * * * *

The rest of the trip passed in, for Sam, self-commiseration. The lower the sun sank, the hotter the temperature seemed to climb. Several times he found himself with wineskin raised to lips. The native beverage was little stronger than the plain water he would have preferred, but even so he found himself more than a little tipsy by the time they crested a low range of hills and saw the summer palaces nestled by the side of a lake in the valley below.

The column dismounted in an inner courtyard, and Kahl, Carter and the High Priest strode past the protesting chamberlain into the King's private apartments. The King was lying on a couch, eating fruits served by a manservant and listening to poetry being read to him. He looked up when the trio came in.

"My son! This is indeed an unexpected honor. What brings you from the city on a day so hot as this one?" He smiled, but his eyes were sharp.

"Greetings, Father," said Kahl, bowing low. "I bring you important news from the Council of Priests. Reverence!"

"Your Most Graciousness." The old man was already nearly doubled over. When he bowed, Sam half expected to hear his forehead crack the tiles of the floor.

"Well, Reverence?" The king accepted another fruit and sucked on it, keeping a watchful eye on his son. _He suspects something!_ Sam thought.

The High Priest produced a scroll from his robes and ceremoniously broke the seal. Unrolled, it was short for the dynamite it contained.

"Your Most Gracious Person," he read. "The Council of Priests, meet and determined in the Holy Temple of the Sun God this fifth day of the seventh moon of the fifty-first year of the reign of Obar, King, announce to all and sundry within the domains of Obar, King, that he has incurred the wrath and displeasure of the Holy God, the Sun God, and henceforth from this day shall no more be known as Obar, King, but as father of Kahl, King."

He let the scroll snap back into its cylinder, bowed again, then handed the scroll to Obar. "Your graciousness." Then he turned to Kahl. "Your Most Graciousness." One final return to Obar. "One more message from the Council, your graciousness. They hope you will accept their eternal pleasure and gratitude for the excellence of your reign."

* * * * *

All during the reading, Obar had been staring at the High Priest, a ghost smile half-crinkling the corners of his mouth. The half-eaten fruit now fell to the pavement with a sodden _plop_! He licked his lips.

"This.... This is some sort of a joke?"

"No joke, Father," said Kahl, a little too heartily for Sam's liking.

"But how?" Obar shook his head. "How dare you?"

"I'm merely exercising my duty to our subjects, Father. You've grown old. You're no longer capable of carrying out the duties of king."

"No." He refused to believe. "You ... you have no right. _I_ am king! How can you.... How can you just walk in here and tell me that I'm not? What gives you this right?"

"The same source that made you king in the first place," said Kahl. "The Sun God."

"Nonsense! There is no Sun God!"

The High Priest gasped and covered his eyes. "_Blasphemy!_"

"_Guards!_" Obar pried himself up. "_Guards!_ Arrest these maniacs!"

Feet clumped outside, then turned into the chamber. Sam relaxed, unaware that he had been holding his breath, knowing that his plans were going through after all. The men who came in were the same who had escorted them from the city, Kahl's own private guards.

The captain turned to Kahl and bowed low. "You called, Your Most Graciousness?"

"Yes. Take this blithering idiot away."

The captain bowed again, and gestured. Two of his men grabbed the former king by the arms and carried him away, screaming.

"Ho, southerner!" Kahl sat down on his father's couch and gestured. The manservants had been cowering in the background; they came forward now and touched their foreheads to the ground. Kahl took a fruit and bit into it, letting the juice trickle down his chin.

"It worked," said Kahl, swallowing. "By the Sun God, it worked!" He slapped his knee. "I confess, southerner, when first I heard your plans, I thought you daft indeed. But it worked! I'm king!"

"I felt certain it would," said Sam, carefully omitting the title of respect. It passed unnoticed. More sure of himself, he continued, "After all, the idea was inherent in the very structure and strictures of your government. Your divine position comes from the Sun God. He should be able to remove it as easily as he grants it."

"True," said Kahl. "Howsomever, there shall be some changes made in that respect, once I have consolidated my position. Oh, I delude myself not in thinking that the battle is over, my friend. But the hardest part has been won."

"I've been thinking," said Sam, slowly.

"Well, keep it not to yourself!" said Kahl. "If any more of your ideas prove as useful to me as the last, then you have a glorious future indeed."

"My thoughts are, I'm afraid, roaming rather far afield. But take them for what they might be worth. You are king of this nation now, Kahl; and a very able king you shall be. Why limit the benefits of your rule to this one nation? Why not let the rest of the world know the joys of your rule?"

"Ummm?" He squinted, one eye closed. "You think it might work out?"

"Why not?" _And the Sun God help us all!_ he added to himself.

IV

The chambers were crowded as the delegates, alternates and just plain onlookers poured in for the afternoon session of the Central Worlds Conference. Two hours before the meeting was due to begin, an astute member of the press, long used to such functions, observed that there would undoubtedly be a record broken before the day was over. And it was easy to see why: all eyes were trained on the spot low in the tiers with the Ehrlan pennant floating overhead.

As yet, the central figure of all the interest had not arrived, although the rest of the Ehrlans were already in their seats and looking anxiously up the aisles towards the bank of elevators. An elevator would open from time to time, to disgorge a few late arrivals. But the man they expected was not yet among them. Below, on the chamber floor, the presiding secretary was mounting to the rostrum and arranging his papers.

"Where the devil can he be!" said Citizen Evrett to Citizen Sterm, the second ranking member of the delegation.

"God only knows! You don't suppose something has ... happened?"

"How could it, here in the heart of the city? He only had to come one block from the hotel. You've been watching too many thrillers, Citizen--I hope!"

"Well, we have to do _something_. The session will be starting in a few minutes. If he isn't here, someone else will have to make the presentation."

"Who?"

"I don't know. How about you, Citizen?"

"Now, wait a minute!" said Evrett. "What's the matter with you, Citizen? You're the logical choice. You rank second in the group."

"I wouldn't dare," admitted Sterm. "What if I should bobble things? I'd never be able to live it down. I wouldn't even dare go home. My wife is Lund's half-sister, you know."

"I'd forgotten. But somebody has to do it, if he doesn't get here. This is the only opportunity we'll have this decade. If we have to wait another ten years, we may as well forget the matter altogether."

"We can't do that!" protested Sterm. "We've worked too long and too hard on this plan. It's the only fair solution anyway. The other worlds will never accept anything else."

"Some of them may not want to accept this one, when they hear all of the details. You must admit, we haven't been too easy on some of your fellow members. They.... Here comes Arko. Maybe he found out something."

* * * * *

A junior member of the delegation came panting down the aisle, shaking his head when he saw the others' eyes on him. "Sorry, Citizens," he said, as soon as he was within the Ehrlan area. "He left the hotel over an hour ago. No one has seen a sign of him since."

"Well, that tears it," said Evrett, just as the presiding secretary struck his gavel on the little wooden block, announcing the opening of the session. "Who has the copy of the plans?"

"Here," said Sterm, digging the papers from his case.

"I'll make the presentation myself...."

"Just a minute, Citizen!" said Arko. "Look! Here he comes now!"

They all turned and looked at the pudgy figure ambling slowly down the aisle, nodding to greetings that came from all sides. The missing man smiled and shook hands with a couple of the onlookers, before entering the area and taking his seat at the head of the delegation.

"Citizen Lund!" cried Sterm, as though speaking to a wayward child. "Where in the name of the Seven Suns have you been?"

"Why, it's a beautiful day, Citizens," explained Lund. "I thought I'd take a stroll in the Park. There's quite a large Ehrlan section, you know. Makes one quite homesick to hear the singing flowers serenading the passerby. I can't wait to get back home again."

"If you hadn't shown up, none of us would have had the nerve to go home!"

"Why, Citizen Sterm!" Lund seemed amused by some private joke. "Whatever made you think I wouldn't be here? This is an important day for Ehrla, remember?"

"How could we forget?" said Evrett.

The presiding secretary fiddled with his bank of microphones for a moment, in the manner of presiding secretaries throughout history since the invention of the public address system, then turned hopelessly to the technicians. A man came forward, made a simple adjustment, then retreated. The Secretary cleared his throat, sipped at a glass of water and spoke.

"The fourth session of the Nineteenth Conference of the Central Worlds is open for business. The afternoon session will be devoted to the presentation and discussion of proposals by the membership. The Recording Secretary will call the roll of delegations."

A short stubby man with five o'clock shadow came forward and leaned into the bank of microphones, and yelled: "Accryllia!"

Across the chamber a man stood up, holding his delegation's microphone. "The grand and sovereign system of Accryllia, long known throughout the galaxy for the excellence of its citrus fruit, the beauty of its maidens, the virtue of its honorable young men ... the grand and sovereign state of Accryllia passes."

"Antares!"

"Antares passes."

"Bodancer!"

"The system of Bodancer passes."

"Buddington!"

"Mr. Secretary, the proud system of Buddington yields to Ehrla!"

"Ehrla!"

* * * * *

Citizen Lund stood up, unclipped the mike from the railing, smiled around at a few more wellwishers and launched into his speech. "Mr. Secretary! Ehrla wishes to thank the proud and ancient system of Buddington for relinquishing its rightful order in these proceedings, so that Ehrla may present a plan that the citizens of Ehrla feel certain will meet with the full approval of this meeting.

"For hundreds of years, the various peoples represented here today have been rightly concerned with the problems of new star systems being developed, new races being assimilated into the federation of free and lawful worlds. These new worlds need guidance, a guidance that only long experience can provide."

Evrett looked at Sterm, uneasily. "What is this?" he whispered. "He isn't presenting the plan like this, I hope? He'll alienate half the delegations."

"I don't know what he's doing," said Sterm. "I only hope _he_ knows."

"In the past," continued Lund, "the various and varied members of this honored organization have provided the same guidance in wise and infinitely proper manner. It is the hope of Ehrla that they will continue to do so in the future. Therefore the ancient and honorable system of Ehrla proposes, to this effect, that the members of this organization continue as they have in the past."

Pandemonium was breaking out in scattered sections of the chamber as various delegations realized that they were being snookered by the Ehrlans. Voices rose up here and there, trying to drown out Lund's words. Monitors moved up and down the aisles, trying to quell the disturbances.

"Therefore," said Lund, "Ehrla, to the implementation of its plan, announces to this organization that this day they have annexed the systems of Phelimina, Trepidar and Scolatia."

He sat down and turned to the rest of his delegation. "Gentlemen," he said, smiling, as he handed a sealed envelope to Sterm, "my resignation."

* * * * *

Reilly slumped in his chair with a sigh. The lecture had gone well, but it had ended not a moment too soon to suit him.

"I'm growing old," he said, unaware he was speaking out loud.

"Pardon, sir?" The regular service Sergeant-Major closed the door and brought over his cup of coffee. "Did you say something, sir?"

"What?" Reilly blinked. "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all, Sergeant. Just an old man muttering to himself."

"Begging the general's pardon, sir, I don't think you're an old man at all. At least, no older than myself." He cocked his head. "Although, to be perfectly honest with both of us, sir, there are times when I just can't seem to keep up with these children they keep sending us nowadays."

"We're both ready for retirement, Sergeant. Old work horses, ready to be turned out to pasture. I guess this will be the last class I see through these old doors. I've submitted my resignation, you know." Reilly moodily regarded his coffee.

"Yessir, I knew. The rest of the faculty knows too. And if I might be so bold as to say so, sir, we'll all be sorry to see you go. It won't be the same Academy without General Reilly glarin' a bit at us all."

"Glaring a bit, is it, Sergeant?" He glared now, then broke down into a smile. "I suppose I do at that. Do the cadets still call me Old Stoneface?"

"Not within my hearing, sir." He grinned. "But you know cadets. You were one yourself. I suppose it'd be as difficult to stop cadets from tagging their teachers with nicknames as it'd be to ride a star bareback."

Reilly sighed, and swiveled his chair until he could see through the one cluttered window. The parade ground stretched away beneath, the system pennant fluttered briskly in the stiff breeze. Into his view marched a battalion of Cadets. Much the same scene had repeated itself daily during the thirty years he had occupied the office. "The faces change."

"Sir?"

"The faces change, Sergeant. How many thousands of boys have come through these doors? The uniform never changes, though. And I suppose that's really the most important thing, in its essence--the uniform and the tradition."

"That it is, sir."

Reilly chuckled. "You know, Sergeant, I never considered myself a particularly sentimental man. Still, the faster the years fly by, the dearer old memories become. The clearer, too. I can recall things that happened when I was a boy much easier than I can remember what I had for breakfast this morning. And I know that's a sign of old age."

He picked up his coffee and made a face when he found it cold. "Sergeant, as two old men sharing the past, how about having a cup of something a bit stronger than this watery brew with me?"

"Sir! I really don't think...."

"Oh, bother regulations, Sergeant! I'm speaking as a man now, not as a general. I'd deem it an honor."

"Then I'd be proud to, sir."

* * * * *

He sat down in the visitor's chair while Reilly opened the bottom drawer of his desk and drew out a bottle and two very dusty glasses. He blew into them, set them on the edge of the desk and poured generous measures of the amber liquid. The sergeant accepted his with a bow of his head. They raised their glasses.

"To yesterday, Sergeant."

"To yesterday, sir. And may these days be as memorable to those who will be remembering fifty years from now."

"And those days fifty years further." They touched glasses, then tossed off the contents, wincing as the whiskey cut its way down. A soft ball of fire exploded in Reilly's midsection. He sighed, capped the bottle and stowed it and the glasses away.

A short rat-a-tat-tat sounded on the door; the Cadet Sergeant-Major opened it and stuck his head through. "Sir?"

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"Six gentlemen to see you, sir."