Imperial Stars 3-The Crash of Empire (5 page)

Shibura tried to allow the slow rhythm in the room to relax him. He felt a welling unease but he could not place the cause. Abruptly he realized that the Executive Officer was nowhere in the great hall. He glanced around but no one else seemed to notice it.

He padded quickly to one of the side antechambers and found nothing. Then he crossed to the side foyer and glanced among the columns there. Against one of them, in near darkness, something stirred.

As his eyes adjusted Shibura recognized one of the Priestsisters standing rigidly, back pressed against the stonework. Her eyes were wide, her hands clenched.

The Executive Officer had his knee between her legs, his hand caressing her hips.

He was speaking to her and she stared straight ahead, rigid. He moved his knee to widen her legs beneath the folds of her robes, and Shibura came forward.

The Executive Officer caught the faint slap of sandals on stone. He turned and saw Shibura.

Casually he released the woman and stepped back. She stared at him, still frozen. He regarded Shibura for a moment and then turned and walked casually away.

Her eyes showed too much white. She was on the verge of hysteria. Wordlessly he gestured toward the great hall and after a moment she seemed to comprehend what he meant; she nodded and shuffled away. The Executive Officer was gone, but the man had not walked in the direction of the great hall.

Shibura followed him, not quite knowing what to do. Beyond the foyer was a maze of meditation chambers; he spent several moments threading his way through them fruitlessly. He stopped and listened for a telltale sound. Even the talking from the great hall did not penetrate this far into the temple, and there was a pensive silence so still that Shibura could hear the sound of his own breath. Normally one could pick out the sound of sandals approaching, but the Starcrossers wore some form of boot with a padded sole which made no noise.

Shibura moved quickly along the torchlit corridors. He found nothing. In a few moments he reached the Organic Portal and decided to go back. Probably the Executive Officer had returned to the great hall.

Turning, he glanced down the bore of the Portal. The Executive Officer stood with his back to Shibura, his knees slightly bent in a familiar stance. Shibura felt a sudden rising premonition. In the dull glow of the Portal walls he saw a thin yellow-amber stream appear between the man's legs. It spattered soundlessly on the floor.

Shibura rushed forward. The soft padding muffled the sound of his approach. Something welled up from within him. He smacked the man smartly on the back with the flat of his hand.

"No. This is a most holy place!"

The Executive Officer took a half step forward to catch himself. He fumbled at his fly, blinking at Shibura. Then his jaw tightened.

"What in hell—?" He shoved Shibura away. "You just take off."

"No. This is the Portal from the Captain. It—"

"You don't know what this is. We don't run off into the bushes the way you do." He kicked at the floor. "This stuff absorbs it."

Shibura stared at him, uncomprehending. "And you stroked the woman, the Priestsister, in an inappropriate manner."

"Spying, huh?" The Executive Officer had regained his composure. He shook his fist. "You guys want to tell
us
about women? Huh—you're unqualified."

Shibura said slowly, "We have our own—"

"You have
nothing
. Nothing we didn't give you.
We
fixed you so you wouldn't screw too much, wouldn't overpopulate. So you got a mating season, like animals. We did it."

"The mating fortnight is the natural Fest time of all men—"

"No, skinhead. I'm a man. You're a test-tube experiment."

"That is an untruth!"

"Yeah? You're trained for obedience. To kneel down to Jumpship men—real men."

The Executive Officer's lip curled back. Casually, openhanded, he cuffed Shibura. The Priest's head snapped to the side. "See? Made to take it."

Shibura felt something terrible and strange boil up in him. His pulse quickened. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He could not find focus in this swirling of intense new feeling.

"We . . . are following the path of certitude . . ." he began, quoting from the ceremony of dedication.

"Right, that's a good boy. You just run along now, I've got some more business to attend to here."

Shibura started to turn away and suddenly stopped.

The Executive Officer was unbuckling his pants. With a muffled grunt he started to squat and then looked at Shibura again. "What are you waiting for? Get going."

"No. No!"

The man hitched up his pants and held them together with one hand. He stepped forward, bringing a fist around—

Shibura blocked the arm. He clutched at the man's hands, not knowing what to do, and felt a sharp blow in his ribs. The pain startled him and he pushed, nearly losing his balance. Cloth ripped. He grappled at the other man as they fell together. The floor seemed to rush upward into his eyes. He landed with the Executive Officer's weight on top. His face pressed into the softly resistant foam. He caught the stench of urine and gasped. He wrenched upward and got free of the weight. He rolled away. The Executive Officer was flailing after him, and Shibura came up on his heels, ready to spring.

There was some distracting noise but he ignored it to concentrate on his opponent, who was slowly getting to his knees. The noise came again. It was a voice.

"Hold! Shibura, move back—" It was a Priestfellow.

Shibura froze. He allowed arms to encircle him, half listened to their river of words and exclamations. His thoughts ran furiously, and the Organic Portal seemed bathed in hot red light. The Executive Officer glared at him and raised a hand to strike, but another hand appeared and blunted the blow. The other man's face moved away, saying something, and was gone.

The sounds came as though from a great distance, hollow and slow. He stumbled away from there on the arms of two Priestfellows.

There was a sharp burning in his nose. He wiped at it and his fingers came away smeared scarlet. He tried to speak and found his mouth clotted, as though stuffed with acrid cotton.

Word of the event had reached the great hall. There was a babble of voices. With carryingholds and slings the Priestfellows were removing the Paralixlinnes.

Shibura stood and watched numbly. The two Priestfellows still held his arms. He saw the Captain looking over at him, lines furrowed on his brow.

After a time he blinked and saw the Firstpriest standing before him. The old man regarded him for a long moment and then said softly, "No word will be repeated of this. I have heard of the event. I think it best you do not follow us to the canyon. The Captain wishes to depart soon."

There was another long silence; and then, "I know this is a difficult time for you. Let this moment pass away."

Shibura nodded and said nothing. The two Priestfellows at his side went to help with the loading of the crucibles, and after a pause Shibura moved to the doorway of the great hall. The sudden silence of the room reminded him that he was now alone. All others were making preparations and entering the carriages. At the doorway he watched them go, a long line of ceremonial carts. The Paralixlinnes were sealed in their crucibles, which were in turn sheathed in sleeves of polished darkwood. Each neatly filled a cart.

At a call the procession began to move. The carriages departed first, and then the long line of carts rattled away down the cobblestone streets and into the damp heat of the early afternoon. Dust curled in their wake.

Shibura stood with one hand on the massive burnished temple door as the procession slowly wound away. His mind seethed. The Executive Officer's words had battered Shibura more than the fists. The picture endlessly repeated itself in Shibura's mind: The unbuckling. The abrupt squat. The grunt as he settled himself—

It had been the act of an animal. Not a man.

A man knows the time to fondle a woman. A man senses what is sacred.

Such animals as that Officer now had the Paralixlinnes and would carry them away. The purity of those forms would be profaned by the touch of the Executive Officer. The work of a generation was delivered into the hands of that—

Out of the confusion in Shibura's mind came a thought. Shibura was a young man. The Firstpriest would pass away and Shibura, he-who-stands-on-the-right-hand, would become Firstpriest. He would supervise the slow, serene craftsmanship that made the Paralixlinnes. He would follow the right path.

But when next the Starcrossers came, the Paralixlinnes would be safely hidden in distant mountain caves. They would be revered as they were meant to be.

Shibura clenched his jaws tight and smiled a terrible smile. The Canyon of Audience would prove a different host next time.

A landslide starts with the fall of a single pebble. Thus did the Empire begin to erode.

Empires fall for many reasons. Sometimes they choose the wrong enemy.

In 1914 Woodrow Wilson told the world that the United States was too proud to fight. Some thought that meant we couldn't do it. Hitler made much the same mistake 27 years later.

Iadrubel Vire glanced over the descriptive documents thoughtfully.

"A promising world. However, considering the extent of the Earthmen's possessions, and the size of their Space Force, one hesitates to start trouble."

Margash Grele bowed deferentially.

"Understood, Excellency. But there is a significant point that we have just discovered. We have always supposed this planet was a part of their Federation. It is not. It is
independent
."

Vire got his two hind ripping claws up onto their rest.

"Hm-m-m . . . How did we come by this information?"

"One of their merchant ships got off-course, and Admiral Arvast Nade answered the distress signal." Grele gave a bone-popping sound, signifying wry humor. "Needless to say, the Earthmen were more distressed after the rescue than before."

Vire sat up.

"So, contrary to my specific instructions, Nade has given the Earthmen pretext to strike at us?"

"Excellency, restraint of the kill-instinct requires high moral development when dealing with something as helpless as these Earthmen. Nade, himself, did not take part in the orgy, of course, but he was unable to restrain his men. It was the Earthlings' fault, because they were not armed. If they had been in full battle armor, with their tools of war— Well, who wants to crack his claws on a thing like that? But they presented themselves as defenseless offerings. The temptation was too great."

"Were the Earthmen aware of the identity of the rescue craft?"

Grele looked uneasy.

"Admiral Nade feared some trap, and . . . ah . . . undertook to forestall treachery by using an Ursoid recognition signal."

Vire could feel the scales across his back twitch. This fool, Nade, had created out of nothing the possibility of war with both Earth
and
Ursa.

Vire said shortly, "Having given the Ursoid recognition signal, the Earthmen naturally would not be prepared. Therefore Nade would naturally be unable to restrain his men. So, what—"

Grele gave his bone-grinding chuckle, and suddenly Vire saw it as amusement at the ability of Nade to disobey Vire's orders, and get away with it.

Vire's right-hand battle-pincer came up off its rest, his manipulators popped behind his bony chest armor, three death-dealing stings snicked into position in his left-hand battle pincer—

Grele hurtled into a corner, all claws menacingly thrust out, but screaming, "Excellency, I meant no offense! Forgive my error! I mean only respect!"

"
Then get to the point!
Let's have the
facts!
"

Grele said in a rush, "Admiral Nade saved several Earthlings, to question them. They saw him as their protector, and were frank. It seems the Earthmen on this planet have a method for eliminating warlike traits from their race, and
-
"

"From their race
on this planet alone?
"

"Yes. The planet was settled by very stern religionists, who believe in total peace unless attacked. They eliminate individuals who show irrepressible warlike traits."

Vire settled back in his seat. "They believe in 'Total peace, unless attacked.'
Then
what?"

"Apparently, they believe in self-defense. A little impractical, if proper precautions have not been made."

"Hm-m-m. How did the crewmen know about this?"

"They had made many delivery trips to the planet. It seems that the Earthmen call this planet, among themselves, 'Storehouse.' The code name is given in the documents there, and it is formally named 'Faith.' But to the Earthmen, it is 'Storehouse.' "

"Why?"

"These religious Earthlings have perfected means to preserve provisions with no loss whatever. Even live animals are in some way frozen, gassed, irradiated—or somehow treated—so they are just as good when they come out as when they went in. This is handy for shippers who have a surplus due to a temporary glut on the market, or because it's a bad year for the buyers. So, within practicable shipping distance, Storehouse does a thriving business, preserving goods from a time of surplus to a time of need."

Vire absently grated his ripping claws on their rests.

"Hm-m-m . . . And the basis of this process is not generally known?"

"No, sir. They have a monopoly. Moreover, they use their monopoly to enforce codes of conduct on the shippers. Shippers who employ practices they regard as immoral, or who deal in goods they disapprove of, have their storage quotas cut. Shippers they approve of get reduced rates. And they are incorruptible, since they are religious fanatics—like our Cult of the Sea, who resist the last molt, and stick to gills."

"Well, well, this
does
offer possibilities. But, would the Earthmen be willing to lose this valuable facility, even if it is not a member of their Federation? On the other hand—I wonder if these fanatics have antagonized the Earthmen as the cursed sea cult antagonizes us? That collection of righteous clams."