“Where’s he getting the plutonium?” von Schlichten asked.
“Where can he get it?” Harrington replied. “He just bought four tons of it from us, off the City of Pretoria.”
“That’s a hell of a lot of plutonium,” Blount said. “I wonder if he mightn’t have some idea of what else plutonium can be used for, beside generating power.”
“Oh, God, I hope not!” Harrington exclaimed. “You’re going to get me started seeing burglars under the bed, next. …”
“Maybe there are burglars,” Blount said, pointing with his cigarette-holder to Harrington’s threatened king. “Can’t you do something about that, Sid?” Then he turned to von Schlichten. “Before we get off the subject, how about those letters the Rev. Keeluk gave to the Quinton girl?”
“All addressed to Skilkans known to be Rakkeed disciples and rabidly anti-Terran,” von Schlichten replied. “We radioed the list to Skilk; Colonel Cheng-Li, our intelligence man there, teleprinted us back a lot of material on them that looks like the Newgate Calendar. We turned the letters themselves over to Doc Petrie, the Ulleran philology sharp, who is a pretty fair cryptanalyst. He couldn’t find any indications of cipher, but there was a lot of gossip about Keeluk’s friends and parishioners which might have arbitrary code-meanings. I’m going to explain the situation to Miss Quinton, and advise her to have nothing to do with any of the people Keeluk gave her letters to.”
Harrington had gotten his king temporarily out of danger, losing a piece doing it.
“Think she’ll listen to you?” he asked. “These Extraterrestrials’ Rights Association people are a lot of blasted fanatics, themselves. We’re a gang of bloody-handed, flint-hearted, imperialistic sons of bitches in their book, and anything we say’s sure to be a Hitler-sized lie.”
“Oh, they’re not as bad as all that. I never met the girl before today, but old Mohammed Ferriera’s a decent bloke. And their association’s really done a lot of good. For one thing, they put an end to the peonage system on Yggdrasill, and I know what conditions were like, there, before they did.”
A calculating look came into Harrington’s eye. He puffed slowly at his pipe and slid a piece from the center toward the sector of the board nearest him. Blount whistled softly and made a quick rearrangement.
“Carlos, did you say she told you she was going to Skilk, in the near future?” Harrington asked. “Well, look here; you’re going up that way, yourself, with that battalion of Kragans, on the Aldebaran. Why don’t you invite her to make the trip with you? You can be quite attractive to young ladies, when you try, and she’ll be grateful for that rescue this afternoon, which is always a good foundation. Maybe you can plant a couple of ideas where they’ll do the most good. She’s only been here for three months—since the Canberra got in from Niflheim. You know and I know and we all know that there are a lot of things up there at the polar mines that would look like hell to anybody who didn’t understand local conditions. …”
“Well, Miss Quinton’s company won’t be any particularly heavy cross for me to bear,” von Schlichten replied. “I won’t guarantee anything, of course. …”
The intercom-speaker on the table whistled several times. Harrington swore, laid down his pipe, and got up, brushing ashes from the front of his coat. He flipped a switch and spoke into the box.
“Governor,” a voice replied out of it, “there’s a geek procession just landed from a water-barge in front, and is coming up the roadway to Company House. A platoon of Jaikark’s Household Guards, with rifles; the Spear of State; a royal litter; about thirty geek nobles, on foot; a gift-litter; another platoon of riflemen, if you say the last syllable quick enough.”
“That’ll be Gurgurk, coming to tell us how unhappy his Sodden and Inebriated Geekship is about that fracas on Seventy-second Street,” Harrington said. “The gift-litter will contain the customary indemnity, at the current market quotation. Have Gurgurk and party admitted, all but the rifle-platoons; give him an honor guard of our Kragans, and keep his own gun-toters outside. Take them to the Reception Hall, and hold them there till I signal from the Audience Hall, and then herd them in.”
He came back and made a move. Immediately, Blount took one of his pieces, moved again, took another, and made the third move to which he was entitled.
“I’ll mate you in four moves,” he predicted. “Want to play it out, before we go down?”
“Sure; what’s time to a geek? Gurgurk’d think we were worried about something if we didn’t keep him waiting. … Good Lord! You do have me over a barrel, Eric!”
III
Four-and-Twenty Geek Heads
Governor-General Sidney Harrington sat on the comfortably upholstered bench on the dais of the Audience Hall, flanked by von Schlichten and Eric Blount. He didn’t look particularly regal, even on that high seat—with his ruddy outdoorsman’s face and his ragged gray mustache and his old tweed coat spotted with pipe-ashes, he might have been any of the dozen-odd country-gentleman neighbors of von Schlichten’s boyhood in the Argentine. But then, to a Terran, any of the kings of Uller would have looked like a freak birth in a lizard-house at a zoo; it was hard to guess what impression Harrington would make on an Ulleran.
He took the false palate and tongue-clicker, officially designated as an “enunciator, Ulleran” and, colloquially, as a geek-speaker, out of his coat pocket and shoved it into his mouth. Von Schlichten and Blount put in theirs, and Harrington pressed the floor-button with his toe. After a brief interval, the wide doors at the other end of the hall slid open, and the Konkrookan notables, attended by a dozen Company native-officers and a guard of Kragan Rifles, entered. The honor-guard advanced in two columns; between them marched an unclad and heavily armed native carrying an ornate spear with a three-foot blade upright in front of him with all four hands. It was
