Robert Silverberg - Stepsons of Terra

“And you don’t care about the colony worlds?” Ewing snapped angrily. “You’ll just sit back and let us be gobbled up by the aliens? Earth’s name still means something among the colony worlds; if you issued a general declaration of war, all the colonies would send forces to defend us. As it is, the scattered worlds can’t think of the common good; they only worry about themselves. They don’t see that if they band together against the Klodni they can destroy them, while singly they will be overwhelmed. A declaration from Earth—”

“—would be meaningless, hollow, invalid, null, void, and empty,” Mellis said. “Believe that, Mr. Ewing. You face an unfortunate fate. Officially, I weep for you. But as an old man soon to be pushed from his throne, I can’t help you.” Ewing felt the muscles of his jaw tighten. He said nothing. He realized there was nothing at all for him to say.

He stood up. “I guess we’ve reached the end of our interview, then. I’m sorry to have taken up your time, Governor-General Mellis. If I had known the situation as if stood on Earth, perhaps I might not have made this trip across space.”

“I had hoped—” Mellis began. He broke off, then shook his head. “No. It was foolish.”

“Sir?”

The older man smiled palely. “There had been a silly thought in my mind today, ever since I learned that an ambassador from Corwin had landed in Valloin. I see clearly now how wild a thought it was.”

“Might I ask—”

Mellis shrugged. “The thought I had was that perhaps you had come in the name of Terrestrial independence—to offer us a pledge of your world’s aid against the encroachments of the Sirians. But you need aid yourself. It was foolish of me to expect to find a defender in the stars.”

“I’m sorry,” Ewing said quietly.

“For what? For being unable to help? We owe each other apologies, in that case.” Mellis shook his head. “We have known brightness too long. Now the shadows start to lengthen. Aliens steal forth out of Andromeda to destroy, and children of Earth turn on their mother.”

He peered through the increasing gloom of the room at Ewing. “But I must be boring you with my ramblings, Mr. Ewing. You had better leave, now. Leave Earth, I mean. Go to defend your homeworld against its enemies. We are beyond help.”

He pulled a wall switch and a robot servitor appeared, gliding noiselessly through the opening doors. The Governor-General turned to it.

“Conduct Mr. Ewing back to the car, and see that he is transported to his residence in Valloin as comfortably as possible.”

Ewing felt a flood of pity for the old man whose misfortune it was to hold the supreme office of Earth at this dark time. He clenched his fists; he said nothing. Corwin now seemed strangely remote. His wife, his son, living under the menace of alien hordes, hardly mattered now compared with Earth and the fate, less violent but more painful, that was befalling it.

In silence he left the old man and followed the robot through the corridors to the lift. He descended on a shaft of magnetic radiance to the street level.

The car was waiting for him. He got in; the turbos thrummed briefly and the homeward journey began.

He amused himself on the way home by drafting the text of the message he would send via subradio to Corwin in the morning. In the afternoon he would leave Earth forever, setting out on the year-long return trip to Corwin, bringing with him sad confirmation of the fact that there was no help for them against the Klodni horde.

It was past midnight when Ewing stepped out of the lift-shaft on the forty-first floor of the Grand Valloin Hotel. He reached his room and examined the message box. Empty. He had half expected to find another threatening note in it.

He pressed his thumb to the identity-attuned plate of the door and said in a low voice, pitched so it would not awaken any of his neighbors, “Open.”

The door rolled back. Unexpectedly, the light was on in his room.

“Hello,” said Byra Clork.

Ewing froze in the doorway and stared bewilderedly at the broad-shouldered Sirian girl. She was sitting quite calmly in the relaxochair by the window. A bottle of some kind rested on the night table, and next to it two glasses, one of them half filled with amber liquid. She had made herself quite comfortable, it seemed.

He stepped inside.

“How did you get into my room?” he asked.

“I asked the management to give me a pass key to your room. They obliged.”

“Just like that?” Ewing snapped. “I guess I don’t understand the way Terrestrial hotels operated. I was under the innocent impression that a man’s room was his own so long as he paid his rent, and that no strangers would be permitted to enter.”

“That’s the usual custom,” she said lightly. “But I found it necessary to talk to you about urgent matters. Matters of great importance to the Sirian Consulate in Valloin, whom I represent.”

Ewing became aware of the fact that he was holding the door open. He released it, and it closed automatically. “It’s a little late in the evening for conducting Consulate business, isn’t it?” he asked.

She smiled. “It’s never too late for some things. Would you like a drink?”

He ignored the glass she held out to him. He wanted her to leave his room.

“How did you get in my room?” he repeated.

She pointed behind him, to the enameled sheet of regulations behind the door. “It’s up there plainly enough on your door. I’ll quote, in case you haven’t read the regulations yet: ‘The management of this Hotel reserves the right to enter and inspect any of the rooms at any time.’ I’m carrying out an inspection.”

“You’re not the management!”

“I’m employed by the management,” she said sweetly. She dug into the reticule suspended from her left wrist and produced a glossy yellow card which she handed over to the puzzled Ewing.

He read it.

ROLLUN FIRNIK

Manager, Grand Valloin Hotel

“What does this mean?”

“It means that the robots at the desk are directly responsible to Firnik. He runs this hotel. Sirian investors bought it eight years ago, and delegated him to act as their on-the-spot representative. And in turn he delegated me to visit you in your room tonight. Now that everything’s nice and legal, Ewing, sit down and let’s talk. Relax.”

Uncertainly Ewing slipped off his coat and sat down on the edge of the bed, facing her.

“We’ve had one conversation already today, haven’t we? A highly inconclusive and fragmentary one, which ended when—”

“Forget about that!”

The sudden whiteness of her face told him one thing he had been anxious to know: they were being watched. He had nearly revealed something she had not wanted the watchers to find out.

“I—have different instructions now,” she said hesitantly. “Won’t you have a drink?”

He shook his head. “I’ve already had more than my share today, thanks. And I’m tired. Now that you’ve gotten in here, suppose you tell me what you want.”

“You visited Governor-General Mellis tonight, didn’t you?” she asked abruptly.

“Did I?”

“You don’t have to be mysterious about it,” she said sharply. “You were seen leaving and returning in an official car. Don’t waste your breath by denying you had an interview with the Governor-General.”

Ewing shrugged. “How would it concern you, assuming that I did?”

“To be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Ewing, your presence on Earth worries us. By us I mean the interests of the Sirian government, whom I represent. We have a definite financial interest in Earth. We don’t want to see that investment jeopardized.”