spear against the floor, leaning the archaic weapon against the wall, and extending his bolstered blaster handle first. Dalton took it gingerly and laid it on the desk. “Greeting and welcome,” he began, since Skorrogan wasn’t saying anything. “The Commonwealth…”
“Thank you.” The voice was a hoarse bass, somehow metallic, and strongly accented. “The Valtam of the Empire of Skontar sends greetings to the Premier of Sol by Skorrogan Valthak’s son, Duke of Kraakahaym.”
He stood out in the room, seeming to fill it with his strong, forbidding presence. In spite of coming from a world of higher gravity and lower temperature, the Skontarans were a huge race, over two meters tall and so broad that they seemed stocky. They could be classed as humanoid, in that they were bipedal mammals, but there was not much resemblance beyond that. Under a wide, low forehead and looming eyebrow ridges, the eyes of Skorrogan were fierce and golden, hawk’s eyes. His face was blunt-snouted, with a mouthful of fangs in the terrific jaws; his ears were blunt and set high on the massive skull. Short brown fur covered his muscular body to the end of the long restless tail, and a ruddy mane flared from his head and throat. In spite of the, to him, tropical temperature, he wore the furs and skins of state occasions at home, and the acrid reek of his sweat hung about him.
“You are late,” said one of the ministers with thin politeness. “I trust you were not detained by any difficulties.”
“No, I underestimated the time needed to get here,” answered Skorrogan. “Please to excuse me.” He did not sound at all sorry, but lowered his great bulk into the nearest chair and opened his portfolio. “We have business now, my sirs?”
“Well… I suppose so.” Dalton sat down at the head of the long conference table. “Though we are not too concerned with facts and figures at this preliminary discussion. We want simply to agree on general aims, matters of basic policy.”
“Naturally, you will wish a full account of the available resources of AvaiM and Skang, as well as the Al-lanian colonies,” said Vahino in his soft voice. “The agriculture of Cundaloa, the mines of Skontar, will contribute much even at this early date, and, of course, in the end there must be economic self-sufficiency.”
“It is a question of education, too,” said Dalton. “We will send many experts, technical advisers, teachers…”
“And, of course, some question of military resources will arise…” began the Chief of Staff.
“Skontar have own army,” snapped Skorrogan. “No need of talk there yet.”
“Perhaps not,” agreed the Minister of Finance mildly. He took out a cigarette and lit it.
“Please, sir!” For a moment Skorrogan’s voice rose to a bull roar. “No smoke. You know Skontarans allergic to tobacco…”
“Sorry!” The Minister of Finance stubbed out the cylinder. His hand shook a little and he glared at the envoy. There had been little need for concern, the air-conditioning system swept the smoke away at once. And in any case — you don’t shout at a cabinet minister. Especially when you come to ask him for help…
“There will be other systems involved,” said Dalton hastily, trying with a sudden feeling of desperation to smooth over the unease and tension. “Not only the colonies of Sol. I imagine your two races will be expanding beyond your own triple system, and the resources made available by such colonization…”
“We will have to,” said Skorrogan sourly. “After treaty rob us of all fourth planet — No matter. Please to excuse. Is bad enough to sit at same table with enemy without being reminded of how short time ago he
This time the silence lasted a long while. And Dalton realized, with a sudden feeling almost of physical illness, that Skorrogan had damaged his own position beyond repair. Even if he suddenly woke up to what he was doing and tried to make amends — and who ever heard of a Skontaran noble apologizing for anything — it was too late. Too many millions of people, watching their telescreens, had seen his unpardonable arrogance. Too many important men, the leaders of Sol, were sitting in the same room with him, looking into his contemptuous eyes and smelling the sharp stink of unhuman sweat.
There would be no aid to Skontar.
With sunset, clouds piled up behind the dark line of cliffs which lay to the east of Geyrhaym, and a thin, chill wind blew down over the valley with whispers of winter. The first few snowflakes were borne on it, whirling across the deepening purplish sky, tinted pink by the last bloody light. There would be a blizzard before midnight.
The spaceship came down out of darkness and settled into her cradle. Beyond the little spaceport, the old town of Geyrhaym lay wrapped in twilight, huddling together against the wind. Firelight glowed rud-dily from the old peak-roofed houses, but the winding cobbled streets were like empty canyons, twisting up the hill on whose crest frowned the great castle of the old barons. The Valtam had taken it for his own use, and little Geyrhaym was now the capital of the Empire. For proud Skirnor and stately Thruvang were radioactive pits, and wild beasts howled in the burned ruins of the old palace.
Skorrogan Valthak’s son shivered as he came out of the airlock and down the gangway. Skontar was a cold planet. Even for its own people it was cold. He wrapped his heavy fur cloak more tightly about him.
They were waiting near the bottom of the gangway, the high chiefs of Skontar. Under an impassive exterior, Skorrogan’s belly muscles tightened. There might be death waiting in that silent, sullen group of men. Surely disgrace — and he couldn’t answer…
The Valtam himself stood there, his white mane blowing in the bitter wind. His golden eyes seemed luminous in the twilight, hard and fierce, a deep sullen hate smoldering behind them. His oldest son, the heir apparent, Thordin, stood beside him. The last sunlight gleamed crimson on the head of his spear; it seemed to drip blood against the sky. And there were the other mighty men of Skang, counts of the provinces on Skontar and the other planets, and they all stood waiting for him. Behind them was a line of imperial household guards, helmets and corselets shining in the dusk, faces in shadow, but hate and contempt like a living force radiating from them.
Skorrogan strode up to the Valtam, grounded his spear butt in salute, and inclined his head at just the proper degree. There was silence then, save for the whimpering wind. Drifting snow streamed across the field.
The Valtam spoke at last, without ceremonial greeting. It was like a deliberate slap in the face: “So you are back again.”
“Yes, sire.” Skorrogan tried to keep his voice stiff. It was difficult to do. He had no fear of death, but it was cruelly hard to bear this weight of failure. “As you know, I must regretfully report my mission unsuccessful.”
“Indeed. We receive telecasts here,” said the Valtam acidly.
“Sire, the Solarians are giving virtually unlimited aid to Cundaloa. But they refused any help at all to Skontar. No credits, no technical advisers — nothing. And we can expect little trade and almost no visitors.”
“I know,” said Thordin. “And
“I tried, sire.” Skorrogan kept his voice expressionless. He had to say something —
“So they do,” said the Valtam coldly. “But it was not great before. Surely the Mingonians, who are far less human than we, have received much good at Solarian hands. They got the same sort of help that Cundaloa will be getting and that we might have had.
“We desire nothing but good relations with the mightiest power in the Galaxy. We might have had more than that. I know, from first-hand reports, what the temper of the Commonwealth was. They were ready to help us, had we shown any cooperativeness at all. We could have rebuilt, and gone farther than that…” His voice trailed off into the keening wind.
After a moment he went on, and the fury that quivered in his voice was like a living force: “I sent you as my special delegate to get that generously offered help. You, whom I trusted, who I thought was aware of our cruel plight — Arrrgh!” He spat, “And you spent your whole time there being insulting, arrogant, boorish. You, on whom all the eyes of Sol were turned, made yourself the perfect embodiment of all the humans think worst in us. No wonder our request was refused! You’re lucky Sol didn’t declare war!”
“It may not be too late,” said Thordin. “We could send another…”
“No.” The Valtam lifted his head with the inbred iron pride of his race, the haughtiness of a culture where for all history face had been more important than life. “Skorrogan went as our accredited representative. If we repudiated him, apologized for — not for any overt act but for bad manners! — if we crawled before the Galaxy — no! It isn’t worth that. We’ll just have to do without Sol.”
