Читать книгу Trekmaster - James B. Johnson - Страница 7

3. THE ENVOY

Before she began her briefing, she didn’t know she was going to antagonize the King. She looked at the man with the eye patch and the scars and thought him an executioner.

Sharon Gold was waiting for quiet. She found standing on a raised podium in front of the hierarchy of an entire planet intimidating despite her training and when she saw the King watching her she felt unusually disquieted. As things settled she saw a bug scurrying across the floor. Durn, she thought, the only constant in the universe: a roach. Had the pioneers brought them to Bear Ridge or had they already existed here? She’d never been to a planet where roaches did not exist.

“Herald.” the King grunted. The herald, Alfred, nodded politely and stepped to the door past the two stone-faced sentries. Soon he was back with an attendant who scurried to the front of the room and scattered leaves along the wall.

“Bay leaves,” murmured the herald to her as the attendant left the conference room.

Gradually, everyone found the proper seat, yet the King had not signaled her to start. Her confidence was fleeing fast, and she glanced around and saw the King’s gaze steady on her. She knew that he sensed her nervousness, her apprehension. She closed her eyes for a moment and forced her breathing to a slower pace. When she looked at him again his gaze seemed to be steadying, a comfort in her isolation.

She couldn’t help but be attracted to him.

She forced her eyes from him and looked about the crowded room. Besides the guards, some twenty people sat around the formal conference table. The King occupied the central position at the head of the table and was surrounded by all of his ministers and department heads. No round table of equals, this one. To one side sat the Queen, Gwendlyon, and the Queen Mother, Felicia, and the King’s son by Gwendlyon, Michale. Looking at Prince Michale, she saw that he’d gotten his good looks—soft beauty—from his mother. Both mother and son were tall, though TJ must have contributed some height to Michale; both stood and sat straight; rounded faces, ovals contrasting TJ’s occluded but sharper visage. And unlike the King’s, their noses fit their faces. Gwen’s hair seemed prematurely silver, Michale’s still thick and dark, curls hanging over his forehead.

LETS GET ON WITH IT! she screamed silently. She’d practiced this presentation all the way to Bear Ridge and she was becoming flustered.

The Chief Padre gave her a sour smile. He sat at the foot of the table, chair turned so that he could watch her presentation. A Catholic planet, her data base had told her, but she was not entirely certain whether this was a significant fact or not.

She avoided looking at the man in black, the man with the eye patch and the sword? knife? scars upon his face.

The jester slouched in the corner near her. The King had introduced everyone formally and, regardless of her mnemonic training, she couldn’t remember all of them; but with time, she’d get to know them. She didn’t understand why Prince Michale seemed unhappy and she did understand why the Chief Padre seemed unhappy. The Profane King? Or was there more to the Chief Padre’s discontent?

The King nodded and the room fell silent. He smiled at her. “Miz Gold?” Apparently he felt there was no need to formally introduce her to the assembly.

She decided to eliminate the formal introductory remarks that she’d copied out of the Federation Etiquette data base. She cleared her mind.

“Your Majesty,” she said, “as the Envoy of the Federation of Planets, it is my task to evaluate the planet of Bear Ridge and its people, and specifically its governmental structure to determine whether it meets the criteria for entrance to the Federation of Planets. The application by Thomas Jefferson Shepherd Rex to the Federation Council was well received, and thus Bear Ridge has been placed on a list of possible entrants. As you know, the Council sits for ten Federation standard years as constituted without membership change or addition of other planets—and the beginning of that session is not far off.”

As the King nodded agreement with her words, she knew the time compression factor weighed heavily on his mind. “We’re all familiar with this introductory stuff,” the King said in a tone of dismissal. “Who are we up against?” He looked around the room. “I’m not going to wait ten years and go through this test again just to get generated power and indoor plumbing.” He received a polite laugh. An expression of pain streaked across Prince Michale’s face.

Sharon stared at the King, wanting to repay his impatience with a tart word. Diplomatic? Hardly, but—blast it! She’d really practiced her presentation. And on another level she was fighting a growing attraction to this demanding man. He was pushing her, testing her. She simply stared at him. She could hold her own with men, people trying to push her. Had this man grown up in adversity? No, he’d been born to royalty. She had grown up in an Israeli refugee camp in a stinking valley edged off the Shan plateau in Burma country. A tributary of the Salween River was the only running water they had. The daughter of a Burmese general out of favor because he’d married an anglo-jewess. She squared her shoulders.

“Who are we up against?” the King asked again.

“Your Highness, only a dozen planets have been re-contacted this session, and not all of those are far enough advanced to meet the criteria yet. The wars of the Rollback struck when Earthe was stretched too thin, colonizing planets faster than they could plan for and almost faster than they could logistically support.”

“Almost as if they knew the Rollback was coming,” the King finished for her. “Who’s against us?”

“Eight planets have been evaluated thus far,” she said, “seven have failed.”

“You don’t really want to tell me, do you?” the King said, drawing himself straighter. “Lookit here, girl, I know there is only one slot open for the next Fed Council session. I want it. They can play their politics and do whatever the hell they want with their damned slots, but I want my planet admitted, and I want all the modern technologies here and here damn quick. I want aircars, indoor plumbing, air conditioning, instant communications....” He looked about and obviously realized that everyone in the room had heard it all before. Sharon simply watched and listened. “Okay, okay,” he said. “They are going to dilute their Council strength only by one this time. I want to be that one. I don’t want Bear Ridge to have to wait ten more years for TODAY to arrive. No contact for ten more years? Think of the diseases that could be conquered in that time, think of....” He hesitated. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

The Queen Mother nodded enthusiastically and Sharon felt an immediate liking for the old woman. She had the same craggy face the King must have under his beard. But there was something tough and smiling underneath Felicia’s put-down of her son. Entry to the Federation was as important to Felicia as it was to the King. Sharon did not agree with the Federation “hands-off” or quarantine of planets not yet admitted, but as part of that organization, she had to support the policy.

The King was still staring directly at Sharon and she felt antagonism rise in her, displacing the attraction she’d felt earlier. He was challenging her.

“If Bear Ridge passes my evaluation, you are up against only one other possible entrant to the Federation Council, Sire.”

“Which one?”

Sharon hesitated. Should she answer? She didn’t think it was required and wasn’t covered in her instructions. And since this was her first major assignment, she was unfamiliar with the form. The King continued to stare at her.

“Two Tongues.” There, she had said it.

“Tirano?” demanded the King, naming the ruler of Two Tongues.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Christ.”

The Chief Padre frowned.

“Christ,” the King said again as if to upset the priest. “Two Tongues is technologically more advanced than we are,” he pointed out, his voice sounding depressed.

Sharon sensed his disappointment. She also thought there might be more to his anger about Two Tongues than met the eye. “One seat, Your Majesty. Two potential applicants. Those odds are not bad.”

“Tyrannical Tirano? Tyrannosaurus Rex? That lard-ass, son of a....”

Felicia cleared her throat.

The King of the planet of Bear Ridge looked guilty, shook his head and stopped. Everyone else in the room seemed to be inspecting either the ceiling or the floor. The Prince shook his head and made a disapproving, dour face at his father.

“You know Tirano?” Sharon asked, curiosity overcoming diplomatic caution. Two Tongues was in this solar system, a rarity for two habitable planets to be located in the same system. But with only horsepower on Bear Ridge, how could...?

“Yeah,” said the King. “Met him a couple of times. Fed sponsored conferences, here, on Two Tongues, at Fed-central.”

Sharon failed to understand the animosity about Tirano. “May I continue?” Her voice came out more haughty than she’d intended.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“How I make the evaluations is all organized. By checklist. I shall observe, I shall investigate, I shall interview. There are certain mandatory requirements for entry to the Federation that must be met. For example, I must personally review everything about your military and observe a series of predetermined, complicated maneuvers. I must go through each governmental department to insure Bear Ridge is sound and able to adapt to Federation organization and regulations—if admitted.”

“Besides all that,” TJ interrupted again, “do you foresee any special problems?” He’d changed from his ruined formal court garb into a simple, almost military, sky-blue tunic which was reflected in his gray eyes.

“The mysterious inhabitants,” she said.

The King seemed to withdraw into himself. “In what manner?” he said, and she thought you could ice-skate on his words.

“Your relationship to them, their relationship to you, their position after—and if—you’ve gained Federation admission.”

“Why should anything change? What the hell difference does it make?”

Couldn’t she take a step without mashing his toes in some manner? She regretted it. But it was her job. “Mechanization. industrialization, technology, all these invariably and drastically change a planet. And the Federation is concerned with intelligent life—for we have yet to discover another space-faring race.”

“The Webbines are not space-faring. They should not enter into the question,” the King said adamantly.

Was the King trying to hide something? “We’ll see when we get to that point. Your Majesty.” Appease ’em, avoid confrontations. Cost her nothing. Just do her job. She was trained as a xenobiologist, and thus chosen for this mission. Fortunately for her, the others in that department at Federation Central were not available for the time span of this mission, and the task fell to her almost by default. Yet...that sounded almost too easy. Was she a political pawn? A sacrifice? Suppose she denied Bear Ridge admission to the Federation? Fine, the Council would back her up, no sweat. But if she said yes to TJ Shepherd, and that was not what the Council really wanted, couldn’t they simply overrule her, point out her inexperience and youth? Was that how her appointment to this important mission had occurred? And she had been so confident that circumstances and her outstanding job performance had provided her this opportunity.

As a xenobiologist, she’d jumped at the chance. In fact, she was itching to meet one of the mysterious inhabitants of Bear Ridge, to study one, to communicate with one.

“I hope you aren’t going to want to visit them?” the King asked in counterpoint to her thoughts.

“Yes.”

“Impossible.”

“Why?”

“Seldom are they seen. No one can speak to them if they are seen. They’re just there, mysterious and unaffected, going about their business, whatever that is.”

Now she knew he was hiding something. “Nevertheless, I shall attempt it.”

“Lady, your ship is gone. Did you perchance observe this continent from above on the way down?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you saw the two great ridges splitting the continent?”

“Teddy Bear Ridge and Big Bear Ridge? Yes, I saw them.”

“Well, you can’t get there from here. Unless you still have access to a ship.”

“No, I don’t.”

“That settles that. You see, they stay on the far side of the two ridges and we’re stuck over here. Hell, a damn monkeybird couldn’t climb Teddy Bear Ridge and live, much less the bigger one after that, Big Bear Ridge itself.”

Everyone in the room looked at the King and the jester snorted.

He shrugged. “Well, it is done, but perhaps only once in a generation.”

“By whom?” Sharon demanded, thinking she was the recipient of the old “dazzle ’em with fancy footwork and baffle ’em with bullshit” routine. Animosity rose in her voice and reflected in her posture. Damn, she couldn’t help it.

“You’re talking to him,” said Thomas Jefferson (Shepherd) Rex, “and sure as hell, I’m not going to do it again.”

Sharon regarded TJ. Her initial briefing had been scattered, some hard intelligence, some good background, but with notable holes in the “PERSONAL INFO” seg. Why hadn’t she known this fact about the King? A data clerk filtering items which seemed unbelievable or myth? What else was missing? TJ Shepherd had surmounted the two ridges and crossed the bottomless chasm between? Impossible...yet no one here had taken issue with his claim. The shuttle pilot had shown her the ridges from above. Both ridges circled the globe from pole to pole, even emerging higher than the ocean surface in places, and neatly divided this continent in half. At the time she’d thought the ridges and the immense canyon between them so forbidding that not even a professional hillary from the Planet of Mountains could surmount either. The shuttle pilot had told her: “You could shave yourself on some of that lava.” Still not satisfied, she asked, “The ocean?”

“Sure,” the King responded, grinning. “If somehow you could make your way almost to the pole, then fight a continuing blizzard in stormy seas and then cross the Cut. The Cut is where two oceans meet. From stories handed down, it is not a Sunday school picnic. That’s to the north. Legend has it that the south is the same; however, no one has been that way to confirm it in generations. Otherwise, to get over the ridges, you need your airship. Or else climb them,” he added, a slight challenge in his voice.

No thanks, she thought. “We’ll see,” she said.

Again, he seemed to read her mind. “Should you desire to try—as many others have—I’ll point the right way, and then you simply follow the bones until they run out. Then you’re on your own.”

Sharon tried to suppress a shiver, but knew what he had said so bluntly was true. The man was just stating fact, solid fact, and had no real need to drag the old male-dominance business out. No, he was definitely protecting or hiding something.

The Queen said, “Thomas, I think we should get on with this.”

“That we shall. In fact, I’m canceling the rest of this meeting.” He looked a challenge at Sharon but she held her expression in check. “Miz Gold can brief each department chief separately when she interviews them,” he continued. “And, Miz Gold, all the ministers and department chiefs have been instructed to cooperate fully and provide any information you request. Nothing is to be withheld.” He reinforced this statement with a royal glare around the room.

Sure, TJ, thought Sharon. I might be young but I ain’t dumb. As he continued instructing his ministers, Sharon couldn’t help but wonder about him. Were the rumors about the King’s affairs—liaisons?—true? If so, it didn’t jibe with his background nor the social and Roman Catholic background of the planet. Bear Ridge had been settled, mostly, by dissatisfied United Statesers, French Canadians, Amerind, Mexish, and Mexind. If there were any discontinuity in the society of Bear Ridge, it was her job to ferret it out for investigation. Many planets had changed during the Rollback. Like most of the rest, Bear Ridge, not being self-supporting at the time, was stuck on its own. Machinery wore out and humanity reverted to basics. An old story. And Bear Ridge had had a more difficult time reclimbing the ladder of human advancement: the weather on the planet was unfathomable. Only in certain areas, such as the alluvial valley around Crimson Sapphire, could the weather be counted on. And then, at times, it was disastrous. Sharon was amazed by the progress of humanity on the planet of Bear Ridge.

The King was still talking, giving her a short history of the planet. Why? His ministers already knew it and her briefing was at least well prepared in that area. He was now talking about the recent separation of Church and state and Sharon detected a sour grimace from the Chief Padre. But it reminded her of the changes TJ Shepherd had made since he had united the planet with his governance. He’d changed the face of the monarchy. Oh, it was still a one-man rule, dependent on his whims; yet it appeared to be more streamlined, more efficient, and most important, breaking free of rule by petty nobility.

“...after the Consolidation Wars, we divided the planet into provinces run by governors, or Ethnarchs. This leaves the governing to professionals and the nobles go about their business as farmers, industrialists, land owners, whatever.” And, Sharon knew, it was a well-policed planet. This King had an answer for every problem: the dreaded taxman. She remembered well the fate of the ecological group this morning. The Revenue Service Extension consisted of quiet, businesslike men and women who enforced the King’s laws and directives, not by force, but by fear. It saved a lot of money on standing armies, though there was one of the latter. The King was beginning to speak to the individual functions of each department, and he’d passed right by the Revenue Service (once known as Ancillary Revenue Service Extension, she recalled, until the King had tired of the joke).

“Your Majesty,” she interrupted, “I would like to hear about the Revenue Service in depth.”

The King frowned. “Hell with it. Everybody is dismissed. Reginald, you stay.”

The man with the scars and eye patch nodded. The Queen Mother looked relieved and marched out, followed by the Queen and the rest of the ministers. Soon Sharon was alone with the Taxman, the Prince and the King—and the jester in the corner.

The Prince sprawled in his chair and looked the King a challenge.

“All right. Ambassador, what do you want to know?” The King’s voice was all business.

“How? What? Why?” She had to tear herself away from the undercurrents here.

“Reginald?” the King prompted.

“Madam,” Reginald said with a deep voice, face failing to react to any of his own words, “when the King consolidated the planet, there had been many kingdoms, many city-states, many feudal holdings, so there was very much needed a source of funds; something other than the royal coffers from which to pay for governmental services. Thus came into being the Revenue Service Extension. The word Extension is there to show that it is indeed a part of the King’s planetary government.” He tried to smile and failed.

Sharon knew that the RSE also served the King as a secret police function, one so insidious and effective he needed no other.

“Our job,” continued Reginald sounding like an accountant reciting a well-rehearsed lecture, “is to provide funds for the operation of the Royal and provincial governments.”

Prince Michale snorted.

The King favored his son with a glare. “You see, Sharon, after Consolidation, I gave up most of my recently won and already held income-producing property and thus cannot support, personally or royally, the necessary functions of government. I still have a few farms, a mine or two, and interest in a few paltry commercial ventures. These I’ve kept for the security of my family and they aren’t sufficient for the vast payroll.”

So she was Sharon now?

Reginald was drawing an organizational chart: offices in each province reporting to him at the palace and he in turn reporting to the King. She noted that the Ethnarchs had no control over the tax agencies. “And the tax courts work independently also, with the King as the final arbiter, if necessary.”

An org chart? On a planet with swords and crossbows? Next thing you know, they’ll be trotting out their “Management By Objectives.” If they got MBOs, God help ’em.

All right, she had stalled long enough to make them uncomfortable. Play a card and see what happens. “And that is all?”

She saw the King knew immediately what her point was. Michale nodded enthusiastically. Reginald eased his eye patch.

“Miz Gold,” the King became formal again, “you must understand this is a monarchy. Instead of using the traditional spies and secret police and military to insure my word is carried out. we do it more subtly. Instead of imprisoning nonviolent offenders, we merely insure their cooperation by taxing the hell out of them. We even tax cities and ethnarchies. For instance, should a city not comply with a new sanitation code, the taxes start to rise until those standards are met. It works wonders.”

“If those standards are still not met?” she asked.

The King waved a hand, dismissing the problem. “We change officials. At any rate, once people began to realize we meant business, an amazing transformation occurred: the standard of living on Bear Ridge rose, the taxes dropped, and there was little trouble with people following royal decrees.”

Sure, sure, Sharon interpreted. A group shows a trend toward disloyalty, and its taxes rise until they can’t afford them, then they’re disbanded and jailed for nonpayment. She’d seen it this morning with that fellow Valdez. On the other hand, she had to admit, it was an effective system. Much better than public hangings and medieval oppression. Yet, it was a system that could explode. “Your Majesty, perhaps it would be better if I went ahead with my interviews and research?”

“Certainly. You need but to say it and whatever you require shall be provided.”

“Sure,” said Prince Michale.

Sure, thought Sharon simultaneously.