Poracious murmured, “How in hell did he beat us here?”
“Who is he?” Jiacare asked, following her gaze to the stooped figure waiting at the gate, a younger man standing in attendance.
“The Procurator, boy. Things must be in a pickle if he’s decided to join us. Pull up your socks. Smile. Make pleasant. He looks like a nice old man, but he can have our guts for garters if he likes.”
The Procurator did not move toward them, but waited for them to come to him, murmuring as they did so, “Madam Luv,” and to the ex-king, “Citizen Lostre. How do you do, sir. May I introduce my aide, Mikeraw?”
They uttered conventional phrases of greeting as the Procurator led them away across a paved courtyard and into the nearest of the slablike structures that serve Dinadh as hotels or inns or warehouses, as needs must. The ex-king verified a suspicion by scratching a wall with his nails. The place was built of dried mud. He shook his head, wonderingly.
They went up a flight of shallow, curving stairs, down a wide hallway, and through an open door. Mikeraw shut the door behind them, then absented himself, leaving the three together in a sizable chamber lit by a score of glazed openings in the outer wall. They were not the shape Poracious associated with windows, being mostly round or oval, some head-sized, some larger, all randomly scattered from floor to ceiling, from sidewall to sidewall, though sidewall might be a misnomer since the general effect was that of being inside a perforated egg with a flattened bottom. Still, the chamber had a peaceful feel to it, and Poracious rejoiced to see several chairs large enough to hold her comfortably.
“Sit,” the Procurator urged them. “I’ve asked the person responsible for leaseholds to join us, but if you want to eat or drink or wash up before he arrives …”
Jiacare smiled his thanks, taking a piece of fruit from the bowl on the table.
Poracious said, “Nothing for me, Procurator. How did you get here before we did?”
“Military ship,” he answered. “In and out of holes like the proverbial rabbit. Very fast. Very uncomfortable. I felt there was no time to waste.” He fumbled with a case set on a nearby table, removing a dataplat, which he handed to Poracious. “Current situation.”
He sat down, leaned back, and shut his eyes.
The former king leaned over the big woman’s shoulder as she keyed the plat and scanned the contents.
Puzzled, he asked, “What language is this written in, I don’t read—”
“Never mind,” Poracious Luv replied with a sigh so heavy it was almost a groan. “All it says is that we’ve lost several million more people in Hermes Sector. The last populated world has been wiped clean, the attack is continuing. We still don’t know who or what or why. Every available ship was engaged in evacuation of the remaining planetary populations and all the ships that were in Hermes Sector are gone.”
“Succinct, Poracious,” said the Procurator without opening his eyes. “Very succinct. You left out that we are helpless. That we’ve kept this Ularian business inside our administrative skinnies about as long as we can. That we’re going to have panic once it gets out, as it will.”
The ex-king stared at him curiously. “You’re a Fastigat, aren’t you, sir? First among Firsters?”
Poracious made shushing motions, but the younger man shook his head at her.
“I’ll do what I can to help, but I want to know! Is there any chance these Ularians are actually human? Somebody out there we don’t know about?”
The Procurator gave him a long, level look. “The idea has crossed my mind.”
“I should have thought so. If the universe is made for man, who else could be out there?”
“I don’t know. If they are men, they are able to do things we cannot do. For purposes of action, I refer to them as Ularians, no matter what they are. I take it you are not of the Firster persuasion?”
“I am not, no.”
“May we set the matter aside? May we agree to let our differences alone for the moment?”
The ex-king shrugged. “You mentioned panic.”
“There will be panic. Many of the vanishees have friends or associates on Alliance worlds. Once ordinary person-to-person communication ceased, rumor began to spin among the citizenry. It won’t be long before they learn the truth. We could make up stories until we’re bright green; we could issue silence edicts until our voices fail, but not all the evacuation ships were in Hermes Sector; some of them had returned across the line. The crewmen are going to talk. The evacuees are going to talk. They already have! The newsies are already on it, if the opposition doesn’t tell the universe first! In either case, we’ll be up to our necks in chowbys.” He sighed heavily. “I reflect on my own coming political troubles to keep grief at bay. Some of those taken were my grandchildren.”
He got up and turned away, going to one of the windows and standing there with his back to them, his shoulders shaking.
Poracious heaved herself out of the chair and went to him, putting one huge arm around him and murmuring, “Has there been any word from Perdur Alas? From the shadows?”
“None that I’ve received,” the Procurator said, drawing himself erect. “Though we certainly should have had something by now, if only a preliminary report on their activities. I don’t understand the delay.”
The former king ran his hands through his hair. “Lord of all Confusion, I pray I have not added to this woe!”
“Sorrow comes as the seasons,” the Procurator answered, wiping his eyes as he returned to his chair. “Inevitably. Being Procurator doesn’t make me exempt. But it doesn’t make me any better able to bear it, either. Well and well, grieving gets one no fowarder, as
