Джон Вэнс - Scanned by Highroller

«My modest residence is thick with celebrities,» said Harry.

Gameanza stepped forward with a glittering glance for the Magnerru. «Prince Harry, I consider the present atmosphere unsuited to discussion of policy. Whenever the Prince desires–the sooner the better–I will communicate to him the trend of Druid policy together with my views in regard to the political and ethical situation.»

The Magnerru said, «Talk to the dry-mouthed slug. Listen to his efforts to fix the slave system on Ballenkarch. Then send him back to his fetid gray world in the hold of a cattle ship.»

Gameanza stiffened. His skin seemed to become brittle. He said to Harry in a sharp brassy voice, «I am at your pleasure.»

Harry rose to his feet. «Very well, we'll retire for half an hour and discuss your proposals.» He raised a hand to the Magnerru. «You'll have the same privilege, so be patient. Talk over old times with Hableyat. I understand he formerly occupied your position.»

Arch-Thearch Gameanza followed him as he jumped from the dais and left the hall and after moved the Arch-Thearch Oporeto Implan. Margaret waved a casual hand to Joe. «See you later.» She slipped away through another door.

Joe found a bench to the side of the room, wearily seated himself. Before him like a posed tableau stood the rigid Mangs, the exquisite wisp of flesh that was Elfane, Hableyat–suddenly gone vague and helpless– the Ballenkarts in their gorgeous costumes, troubled, confused, unused to the bickering of sharp wits, glancing uneasily at each other over heavy shoulders, muttering.

Elfane turned her head, gazed around the room. She saw Joe, hesitated, then crossed the floor, seated herself beside him. After a moment she said haughtily, «You're laughing at me–mocking me.»

«I wasn't aware of it.»

«You've found the man you were seeking,» she said with eyebrows arched. «Why don't you do something?»

Joe shrugged. «I've changed my mind.»

«Because that yellow-haired woman–Margaret–is here?»

«Partly.»

«You never mentioned her to me.» «I had no idea you'd be interested.»

Elfane looked stonily across the audience hall. Joe said, «Do you know why I changed my mind?»

She shook her head. «No. I don't.»

«It's because of you.»

Elfane turned back with glowing eyes. «So it was the blonde woman who brought you out here.»

Joe sighed. «Every man can be a damn fool once in his life. At least once.»

She was not appeased. «Now, I suppose, if I sent you to look for someone you wouldn't go? That she meant more to you than I do?»

Joe groaned. «Oh Lord! In the first place you've never given me any reason to think that you–oh, hell!»

«I offered to let you be my lover.»

Joe eyed her with exasperation. «I'd like to...» He recalled that Kyril was not Earth, that Elfane was a Priestess, not a college girl.

Elfane laughed. «I understand you very well, Joe. On Earth men are accustomed to having their own way and the women are auxiliary inhabitants. And don't forget, Joe, you've never told me anything–that you loved me.»

Joe growled, «I've been afraid to.»

«Try me.»

Joe tried and the happy knowledge came to him that, in spite of a thousand light-years and two extremes of culture, girls were girls.

Priestesses or co-eds.

Harry and the Arch-Druid Gameanza returned to the room and a set expression hung like a frame on the Druid's white face. Harry said to the Magnerru, «Perhaps you will be good enough to exchange a few words with me?»

The Magnerru clapped his hands in repressed anger against his robe, followed Harry into the inner chambers. Evidently the informal approach found no responsive chord in him.

Hableyat settled beside Joe. Elfane looked stonily to one side. Hableyat wore a worried expression. His yellow jowls hung flaccid, the eyelids drooped over his eyes.

Joe said, «Cheer up, Hableyat, you're not dead yet.»

Hableyat shook his head. «The schemes of my entire life are toppling into fragments.»

Joe looked at him sharply. Was the gloom exaggerated, the sighs over-doleful? He said guardedly, «I have yet to learn your positive program.»

Hableyat shrugged. «I am a patriot. I wish to see my planet prosperous, waxing in wealth. I am a man imbued with the culture of my world; I can conceive of no better way of life, and I wish to see this culture expand, enriching itself with the cultures of other worlds, adapting the good, overcoming the bad.»

«In other words,» said Joe. «You're as strenuous an imperialist as your military friends. Only your methods are different.»

«I'm afraid you have defined me,» sighed Hableyat. «Furthermore I fear that in this era military imperialism is almost impossible–that cultural imperialism is the only practicable form. A planet cannot be successfully subjugated and occupied from another planet. It may be devastated, laid waste, but the logistics of conquest are practically insuperable. I fear that the adventures proposed by the Redbranch will exhaust Mang, ruin Ballenkarch and make the way easy for a Druid religious imperialism.»

Joe felt Elfane stiffen. «Why is that worse than Mang cultural imperialism?»

«My dear Priestess,» said Hableyat, «I could never argue cogently enough to convince you. I will say one word–that the Druids produce very little with a vast potentiality–that they live on the backs of a groaning mass–and that I hope the system is never extended to include me among the Laity.»

«Me, either,» said Joe.

Elfane jumped to her feet. «You're both vile!»

Joe surprised himself by reaching, pulling her back beside him with a thud. She struggled a moment, then subsided.

«Lesson number one in Earth culture,» said Joe cheerfully. «It's bad manners to argue religion.»

A soldier burst into the chamber, panting, his face twisted in terror. «Horrible–out along the road. Where's the Prince? Get the Prince–a terrible growth!»

Hableyat jumped to his feet, his face sharp alert. He ran nimbly out the door and after a second Joe said, «I'm going too.»

Elfane, without a word, followed.

Joe had a flash impression of complete confusion. A milling mob of men circled an object he could not identify–a squat green-and-brown thing which seemed to writhe and heave.

Hableyat burst through the circle, with Joe at his side and Elfane pressing at Joe's back. Joe looked in wonder. The Son of the Tree?

It had grown, become complicated. No longer did it resemble the Kyril Tree. The Son had adapted itself to a new purpose–protection, growth, flexibility.

It reminded Joe of a tremendous dandelion. A white fuzzy ball held itself twenty feet above the ground on a slender swaying stalk, surrounded by an inverted cone of flat green fronds. At the base of each front a green tendril, streaked and speckled with black, thrust itself out. Clasped in these tendrils were the bodies of three men.

Hableyat squawked, «The thing's a devil,» and clapped his hand to his pouch. But his weapon had been impounded by the Residence guards.

A Ballenkarch chieftain, his pale face distorted, charged the Son, hacking with his saber. The fuzzy ball swayed toward him a trifle, the tendrils jerked back like the legs of an insect, then snapped in from all sides, wrapped the man close, pierced his flesh. He bawled, fell silent, stiffened. The tendrils flushed red, pulsed, and the Son grew taller.

Four more Ballenkarts, acting in grim concert, charged the Son, six others followed. The tendrils thrust, snapped and ten bodies lay stiff and white on the ground. The Son expanded as if it were being magnified.

Prince Harry's light assured voice said, «Step aside... Now then, step aside.»

Harry stood looking at the plant–twenty feet to the top of the fronds while the fuzzy white ball reared another ten above them.