Mission: Earth "Villainy Victorious" (28 page)

Before he could say a word, she had hung up. It left him in quite a quandary.

That was the trouble with amateurs. They got ideas. And ideas from an amateur PR were mostly useless and ideas from Teenie might be very deadly.

He very well recalled the chaos Gris caused. Everything had been running along well until Gris tried to muscle in on the PR business. Amateurs just didn't understand the smooth nuances of it.

Madison scanned over his plan again. It was quite standard and flawless. Create a public storm around Gris, using the media, and then get the trial itself to create a public storm around Heller. And even if His Majesty, for some reason, illness or otherwise, didn't stamp an order for the trial, public pressure would make it vital that Lord Turn change his mind. It would work.

What in Heaven's name was Teenie planning? It could well wreck everything! He had only intended to keep her interested! Not throw her into a stampede of senseless activity!

Oh, he mustn't let this gorgeous victory elude him just when it was beckoning.

He thought of the sad plight of Heller, shivering unknown in some lonely hideout, waiting for Madison to rescue him for posterity. What a waste of material!

Knowing how to handle Gris and Heller in PR terms was easy. Handling an almost-woman like Teenie might be quite something else! What a potential obstruction!

"Eighteen point," he said, "quote Madison on Edge of Cliff."

"What?" said Flick.

"Go home," said Madison. "We need rest. Tomorrow is going to be an awful day."

At that very second, but more than twenty-two light-years away, the object of Madison's concern, Jettero Heller, was not shivering in any dark cave. He was riding down Fifth Avenue, New York City, Earth, deafened by the roar of the ticker-tape parade that was celebrating the investiture of new top officials for New York, but which was being led by Babe after her assumption of the title
Capa di Tutti Capi
and whom people were now starting to call "Queen Babe." Heller, resplendent in U. S. Army full dress, on the seat beside her, was smiling into the newsreel and TV cameras, totally oblivious of the storm that threatened his whole future on Voltar and his good name and the future existence of Earth as well. The Countess Krak, on the other side, wasn't smiling. She had a premonition that was giving her nightmares.

Madison, as ordered-what else could he do? – was before the entrance of Teenie's palace at the crack of dawn. His fingernails were not in very good shape: he had been chewing them all night.

A guard captain came out, saw Madison and promptly went back in. When he came out a second time, he was buckling an electric saber around his silver tunic and he was followed by two sergeants with electric battle-axes. They took positions beside the airbus door, waiting for Queen Teenie to emerge.

Madison was in no mental state for any kind of a wait. The morning had already started badly enough. Flick, at the townhouse, when he got into the car, was seen to have an eye that was rapidly turning black. His footwoman had gotten in, disdainfully aloof, and then during flight had elaborately ignored Flick.

From various veiled remarks, Madison had gathered that Flick had been incautiously raving about Hightee Heller and both his bedroom girl and his footwoman had cleaned up on him.

Women! thought Madison. They were always trouble.

And here came more trouble: Teenie, in a suit that was a shimmering jet black, came out the door, drawing on a pair of long, red gloves. She was wearing her crown pulled forward on her forehead and her ponytail was swishing out behind like the tail of an angry cat.

She didn't comment on the car. She simply got in and took the best seat.

The guard captain got in and then both sergeants.

"Where in hell do you think you're going?" Teenie said to the guard captain.

"We're not going to trust you with that man," the guard captain said, pointing at Madison.

"You got good sense," said Teenie. "He's a PR and they don't deliver, never."

At that moment the major-domo, very portly, came running down the stairs, clutching rolls of scrolls and trying at the same time to get into his ceremonial robe. He sprang into the airbus.

It did not leave much room for Madison and he had to sit on a ledge across from Teenie.

"Where are we going?" said Madison.

The major-domo ignored him and, leaning forward, passed a slip of paper to Flick. The driver looked at it, glanced back to see if the doors were closed and then took off.

Thinking that they were going into Government City or some such place, Madison was very alarmed when, having emerged from the gate and gone through the nausea that always resulted from the violent time shift, Flick headed the airbus west of south.

As they built altitude, the desert wind devils dwindling in size, Madison tried to lean forward and see the map on Flick's screen. It looked blank!

The alarm on Madison's face must have been very pronounced. Teenie scowled at him and said, "Take it easy, buster. You've got a long ride. Three hours at the very least."

Madison reached for a music panel and turned it on, hoping that it would soothe the savage womanly breast. Then maybe she would tell him what this was all about.

Teenie reached over right after him and turned it off. "I don't want anything spoiling my concentration. I got a whole military campaign to plan."

"Military?" he gagged.

"Of course! You have gone palsy-walsy with Gris and I just gave up on you. Stronger measures are indicated, buster. And don't try to pry out of me the battle plan. For all I know, you're just acting as a spy for Hisst. Militarying and spying go hand in hand."

She had been talking to him in English and Madison continued in the same language. "I'm no spy, Teenie. I'm on your side."

"That remains to be seen," said Teenie. They rode for a while and then Teenie seemed to have completed her plans, for she popped a piece of bubble gum in her mouth as though to celebrate and a small smile began to play around her oversized and now busy lips.

"I should know where we're going," said Madison. "After all, I've got a right to know where I may have to walk back from."

"You wouldn't ever walk back from the place we're bound," said Teenie. "Not unless you brought a pair of Jesus shoes. It's an island, two thousand miles southwest, surrounded by the sea."

"Are you running away or something?" said Madison.

"Boy, did you ever get up into a fog. Too early for you, I guess. I
own
the place!"

"You own an
island?"

"Sure, mac. It's the place Queen Hora died."

"Was she exiled?" said Madison.

"Oh, hell no, Madison. She just got tired of smuggling her officers into Palace City and, as she was getting old, she simply moved to her island. It's part of the Treaty of Flisten."

"Teenie, you're losing me."

"Well, you ought to be like me and do your homework. I been sweating it out with the major-domo here and I got it all straight. I bet you thought I was a fake queen."

"Oh, no," lied Madison. "The thought never crossed my mind!"

"Oh, yes, you did. I can tell. So let me put you straight, buster. I'm the real article. No fakery about it, completely different from your profession. You see, Queen Hora was what they call a Hostage Queen. You got to know a lot about treaties and things. And I'm getting to be pretty expert now.

"About thirty thousand years ago, Voltar conquered the planet Flisten. The only reason the planet surrendered finally was Voltar promising that the Royal Family of Flisten would be preserved. This was all right with Voltar because it gave them an axe to hold over Flisten's head and the Royal Family was moved to Palace City as hostages. It's a pretty common Voltar maneuver: there's four or five such hostage families in Palace City.

"Anyway, the Flisten Royal line finally dwindled out because Queen Hora, in spite of all her time in bed, never had any children. And when she died on Relax Island– – "

"So that's the name of the place we're going to," said Madison.

"Don't interrupt," said Teenie. "I'm trying to complete your education. So when Queen Hora died on Relax Island about fifty years ago, it put the Exterior Division on the spot. You see, the maintenance of the Flisten Royal Palace-my palace-and the Flisten island– my island-was paid for out of Flisten taxes. The treaty was executed by the Exterior Division even though the planet is now under the Interior Division. The Flisten Royal Family stayed under the Exterior Division– – "

"You're getting me all mixed up."

"You don't need any help. Get the wax out of your ears and listen. So when Queen Hora died, it put the Exterior Division on the spot, like I been trying to tell you if you'd just stop fidgeting. Old Endow and the other officials count on the Flisten taxes for graft. And they been trying to justify to the Flisten taxpayers how come they still paid the Royal tax. And when I showed up, Endow put me in the slot. The old treaty is still valid, the Exterior Division still get their rake-off and everybody is happy as clams. Of course, I can't never go there, because that's part of the treaty, but I'm the real Queen of Flisten, sure enough. It's even awfully legal: about ten years ago His Majesty, Cling the Lofty, issued an order to Endow to head off a Flisten tax revolt by appointing a Hostage Queen of Flisten. But old Endow couldn't find anyone that wasn't from the Confederacy and who could be trusted to keep their mouths shut about the graft. So when Too-Too showed up and Endow was ecstatic over him, the old (bleepard) suddenly remembered the order and with one stroke of the pen, between strokes on Too-Too, he executed the blank patent Cling had signed. So there. I'm no fake. I'm a real queen!"

"Well, I'm very happy to hear it," said Madison. "But when I get finished with my work here, you can go back to Earth."

"Hah!" said Teenie. "I don't think you've heard a single thing I said about hostage queens. If Voltar takes it into its head to invade Earth, the Apparatus will knock off any royalty around there or anybody calling themselves queens or kings and Endow will appoint me the Hostage Queen of Earth. I won't ever be able to go back there but Endow will get his whack at the taxes– – "

"Teenie, this is madness!"

"There you go," said Teenie, suddenly speaking in a Park Avenue accent, "I try to educate you in Palace City politics and you insult me. And you're just a commoner, not Royalty like me." She blew and exploded a bubble for emphatic emphasis.

They had reached the coast and were now departing, at six hundred miles an hour, across what seemed a green and endless sea. No wonder the map Flick was using looked so blank. It was mainly water.

Madison nudged the footwoman in the front seat– he couldn't reach the driver. "Tell him," he whispered, "to turn on something that describes Relax Island."

"I'm not talking to him," the footwoman whispered back. "He says he's reformed and if he doesn't re-reform, I'm going to black his other eye."

"You've already done him damage enough," whispered Madison.

"No, that was his bedroom girl. I haven't begun on him yet."

Madison had the distinct sensation he was living in a madhouse. Teenie with her jabber about becoming Queen of Earth had thoroughly upset him. And now here was another woman acting up. Oh, but his mother had been right!

He had the sensation that his best-laid plans were going up in smoke. He thought sadly about poor Heller-Wister as they flew across what seemed an endless sea, going further and further, as he thought, from any sensible PR approach. What the blazes did Teenie mean by "military"?

Flick, nervously navigating and driving at ten thousand feet, looked all around: there was no land now anywhere in sight, only heaving green sea.

He pushed a button on his panel and in a screen alongside of the map, Madison read:

RELAX ISLAND, formerly known to the ancients as Teon, stronghold of the since departed sea people. Royal preserve of early Voltarian monarchs but fell into disuse fifty thousand years ago. Deeded to the Royal Family of Flisten after the Treaty of Flisten. Located in the semitropical grid 18/103, Western Ocean, 883 miles from the central continent mainland. Area 305 square miles. Surrounded by vertical black cliffs 2000 to 5000 feet in height, no beaches or harbors. Highest altitude, 9056 feet, Mount Teon located at north end, which, though snow-capped in colder months, blocks inclement storms. Island formed by geological upthrust of volcanic peak but volcano long since extinct. Mean annual temperature 76 degrees. First view, clouds usually clutching Mount Teon or reflective sky discolor. Warning to fishing craft and all aerial traffic, do not attempt to land.

Madison was chilled. What a bleak and awful place
that
must be! Black cliffs, no harbors, warning not to land. What on Earth was Teenie thinking of, coming out here?

Flick leaned toward him and whispered, "I think I'm lost. You're supposed to just punch in the grids but I think this Model 99 is lost, too! I forgot to read my ground distance meter when we left the mainland. That ocean down there is full of toothers, some of them fifty feet long and if they don't get you, the airborne flying batfish will. Visibility is getting bad. Can you get permission to turn back?"

Madison turned. Others had not heard Flick but the fact that he had moved caused the guard officer to glare. Teenie was deeply lost in her own thoughts, scowling.

Madison said to Flick, "For heaven's sake, find the place. I'm not tackling any more women today!"

"Me neither," said Flick. And he began to peer to the left and right.

There was a mist across the sun which made visibility poor. "Haven't you got a radar?" said Madison.

"You mean beams? Oh, yeah, beams," and Flick hastily began to twiddle knobs. The screens stayed blank. "I ain't no ocean pilot," said Flick. "When I crash 'em I like to have somebody find the remains. Look at that distance meter. We've already come twenty-one hundred miles."