Robert Silverberg - Cosmic Kill

“Meanwhile, you, Archman—you go to Meryola and tell her what I’ve done. Tell her Darrien is going to have her killed, and suggest to her that if she wants to stay alive she’d better get to Darrien first. After that, it’s simple. She’ll tell you how to kill Darrien; you do it, we rescue Elissa, get Meryola out of the way somehow, and the job is done. Neat?”

“I couldn’t have planned it better myself,” Archman said admiringly. It was so: this was exactly as he would have handled the situation. He felt a moment of regret that he and Hendrin were working for opposite masters; what a valuable man the Mercurian would be in Intelligence!

But Hendrin would have to die too, for Earth’s sake. He was a clever man. But so was Darrien, Archman thought. And Darrien would have to die.

“What about me?” Elissa asked. “Are you sure you’ll get me out of this all right?”

Archman took her hand in his, and was gratified that she didn’t pull away. “Elissa, we’re asking you to be a pawn one last time. One more sale—and then we’ll rid the universe of Darrien. Will you cooperate?”

She hesitated for a moment. Then she smiled wanly. “I’m with you,” she said.

Hendrin waited nervously outside the throneroom with the girl. “You say Darrien’s in there, but not Meryola?” he asked the unsmiling guard.

“Just Darrien,” the guard replied.

“The stars are with us,” Hendrin muttered. He took the girl’s arm and they went in.

Together they dropped on their knees. “Sire!”

Darrien rose from the throne, and an expression of joy lit his warped little face. “Well, Mercurian! You’ve brought the girl—and saved your life.”

“I did it not to save my life but my honor,” Hendrin said unctuously. “Your Majesty had accused me of acting in bad faith—but I’ve proved my loyalty by recovering the girl for you.”

Darrien came waddling toward them on his absurdly tiny legs and looked Elissa up and down. “You’ve been in the dungeons, my dear. I can tell by the soot clinging to your fair skin. But by whose order were you sent there?”

Hendrin glanced at the courtiers, who maintained a discreet distance but still were within hearing. “Sire, may I talk to you a moment privately?”

“About what?”

“About the girl…and Meryola.”

Darrien’s sharp eyes flashed. “Come with me, then. Your words may be of value to me.”

The dwarfish tyrant led Hendrin into a smaller but equally luxurious room that adjoined the throne room. Hendrin stared down at the tiny Darrien, nearly half his height. Within that swollen skull, the Mercurian thought, lay the galaxy’s keenest and most fiendish mind. Could Darrien be manipulated? That was yet to be seen.

One thing was certain: this was not the real Darrien before him. The tyrant would not be so foolish as to invite a massive Mercurian into a small closed room like this; it would amount to an invitation to assassinate him.

“Sire, the girl Elissa was in the dungeons at the direct order of the lady Meryola.”

“I suspected as much,” Darrien muttered.

“And when I arrived there, I found that the jailer was about to carry out an order of execution on Elissa, also at your lady’s behest.”

“What!”

Hendrin nodded. “So strong was the order that I was forced to kill the jailer, a worthless Plutonian, to prevent him from carrying out the execution.”

“This is very interesting,” Darrien mused. “Meryola rightly senses a rival—and has taken steps to eliminate her. Steps which you have circumvented, Hendrin.” Gratitude shone in Darrien’s crafty eyes.

“I have further news for you, Sire. When you came upon me in Meryola’s chambers earlier today—it was not an errand of perfumery that brought me there.”

“I hardly thought it might be.”

“On the contrary—your lady was pleading with me—to assassinate you!”

Darrien—or the Darrien-robot—turned several shades paler. Hendrin reflected that the robot, if this were one, was an extraordinarily sensitive device.

“She said this to you?” Darrien asked. “She threatened my life?”

“She offered me five thousand credas. Naturally, I refused. Then she offered me her body as well—and at this point you entered the room.”

Darrien scowled. “My life is worth only five thousand credas to her, eh? But tell me—had I not entered the room, Mercurian, would you have accepted her second offer?”

“I was sorely tempted,” Hendrin said, grinning. “But pretty women are easily come by—while you are unique.”

“Mere flattery. But you’re right; Meryola has outlived her worth to me, and I see now that I’ll have to dispose of her quickly.” Darrien reached for the speaking-tube at his elbow. “I’ll order her execution at once—and many thanks to you for this information, friend Hendrin.”

Archman paused for a moment outside the door of Meryola’s private chamber, preparing his plan of attack and reviewing the whole operation so far.

He’d been in and out of trouble—but Darrien was going to die. The mission would be accomplished. And Lon Archman would sur-vive it.

He had a double motive for survival now. One was the simple one of wanting to stay alive; two was the fact that he now thought he had someone to stay alive for. Perhaps.

He knocked gently at the door.

“Who’s there?”

“You don’t know me, but I’m a friend. I’ve come to warn you.”

A panel in the door opened and Archman found himself staring at a dark-hued eye. “Who are you from, Earthman? What do you want?”

“Please let me in. Your life depends on my seeing you.”

A moment passed—then the door opened.

“Are you the lady Meryola?”

“I am.”

She was breathtakingly lovely. She wore but the merest of wraps, and firm breasts, white thighs, were partially visible. There was a soft, clinging sexuality about her, and yet also a streak of hardness, of coldness, that Archman was able to appreciate. He also saw she was no longer very young.

She was holding a zam-gun squarely before his navel. “Come in, Earthman, and tell me what you will.”

Archman stepped inside her chambers. She was nearly as tall as he, and her beauty temporarily stunned him.

“Well?”

“Do you know Hendrin the Mercurian, milady?”

“Indeed. Are you from him?”

“Not at all. But I know Hendrin well. He’s a cheating rogue willing to sell out to any bidder.”

“This is hardly news,” Meryola said. “What of Hendrin.”

He eyed her almost insultingly before answering. Meryola was indeed a desirable creature, he thought—but for one night only. Archman mentally compared her with Elissa Hall, who was nearly as beautiful, though not half so flashy. It wasn’t difficult to see why Darrien preferred Elissa’s innocence to this aging, shrewd beauty.

He smiled. “At this very moment,” he said, “Hendrin is with our master Darrien. He has brought him the girl Elissa, and they are together now.”

“It’s a lie! Elissa’s in the dungeons!”

“Would you care to call your jailers, milady?”

She stared suspiciously at him and picked up the speaking-tube. After nearly a minute had passed, she looked back at Archman. “The line is dead, Earthman.”

“As is your jailer. Hendrin freed the girl and took her to Darrien. And one other fact might interest you: Darrien has tired of you. He has made out the order for your death.”

“Lies!”

Archman shrugged. “Lies, then. But within the hour the knife will be at your throat. He vastly prefers the younger girl. Believe me or not, at your peril. But if you choose to believe me, I can save your life.”