“All right!” he exclaimed, stung by her blunt talk. “I will talk facts. There is no conceivable link between this crazy mechanized moose that’s been lurking around the begonias and your hypothetical, purely imaginary Saturnian plot to invade and conquer Ajaxia during my absense. You, my dear Miss Hackenschmidt, are the one who is talking guff, not I! Where’s your proof the Saturnian fleet—if they still have a fleet (and I doubt it, after we used the Asteroidal telepathically-aimed projectiles to smash their fleet during the heroic and glorious Battle of Ajaxia)—where’s your proof they intend striking at my kingdom? How would they dare face such terrible weapons again?”
Equally stung, she lashed back at him furiously:
“Ajax, you blithering idiot, we used up the projectiles—all of them—in destroying the fleet!”
He smiled again, that utterly infuriating “cooler heads than thine, my fiery miss (etc.)” smile of his, and, toying with the brandy goblet, said: “Of course we did. But the Saturnians don’t know it.”
Baffled, she turned away and took an enormous gulp of the potent liqueur as if to soothe inward fires. Unfortunately, the brandy was powerful stuff; unable to swallow it, her cheeks bulged, her eyes watered, and she flushed crimson.
He watched with absorbed fascination as she jumped up and ran over to the nearest group of potted plants with which the conservatory was crowded in exotic profusion. She spat the brandy out in a huge orchid bush, paying no attention to his anguished yelp.
“Not in my prize Tibetan odontoglossums—please!”
Too late; the lush orchids throbbed from root to blossom as the Martian brandy bubbled into their soil. He watched with suspended breath to see if the fiery fluid would have any adverse affect on the rare blooms, but instead of wilting into seared shadows of their former selves, the flowers opened even wider than before, lifting higher as their stalks drew taller and straighter. A gorgeous purple flush spread slowly over the flaring petals.
Marveling open-mouthed, Ajax reached out and stroked the radio-sensitive globe suspended beside the contour chair. When Jenkins appeared in the doorway, Ajax said absently: “Oh, Jenkins—fetch a glass of cold water for Miss Hackenschmidt. And order another case of that snowgrape brandy flown in, will you?… Better make it two cases, now that I think of it… I think we’ll have another gold-ribbon championship in next year’s Shanghai Flower Show, Jenkins! I’ve just discovered the most marvelous orchid-invigorator…”
“Very good, sir. And my congratulations!”
Emily drank the water down greedily and subsided, gasping and speechless, on the bench. Ajax smiled at her distractedly.
“Very good Emily! You’ll make a fine mistress for Calkins Hall… and a first-rate Queen of Ajaxia. Come along, now. Into my study.”
“What for?”
“I’m going to call the Wuj, dear, just as you’ve been suggesting. I’m going to show you just how wrong you are about these Saturnians.”
IV
They went into the ground-floor study. Ajax went over to the far wall where, in lone splendor, a superb and incredibly expensive original Emshwiller hung in a platinum frame. Night was coming on, and as the last rays of the Arctic sun drew their ruddy and lingering caress across the row of evergreens beside Great Slave Lake, the floor-to-ceiling glass window slowly polarized itself into opacity, displaying a full-length portrait of Ajax the First in full dress uniform, with the purple, gold and crimson Ajaxian national flag behind him. Etched into the glass windowpane by focused ion-beams, the portrait was only visible when the polarization was in effect. The result transformed a cozy if slightly pretentious study into something as monumental and national-shrinish as Westminster Abbey.
Ajax pressed his right hand at a radio-sensitive place in the picture frame. An electronic “key” implanted in the gold signet ring he wore unlocked something, and he drew the rare painting aside, revealing a private interplanetary videophone installation almost as expensive as the mid-20th Century masterpiece it was concealed behind.
Adroitly, he activated the mechanism, while saying, “Now, my dear, you’ll shortly see the folly of yielding to female impulses and whims. Ajaxia will be safe and the Wuj securely in command, with naught to disturb the tranquility of my royal realm.”
Emily set her small jaw stubbornly.
“I sure hope so, Ajax, but—if you’re wrong—then don’t blame me for saying I told you so!”
“Never fear.” He smiled complacently and dialed the number. There was a wait of several minutes while connections were made, then a brief delay while his photonic signal went winging many millions of miles through space. Across the gap of interplanetary space, they heard the phone ringing. It rang and rang. Finally, the squeaky, solemn voice of their friend the Wuj came to them from the receiver.
“Independent Kingdom of Ajaxia, good afternoon, sir or madam. Prime Minister speaking.”
Turning to tip a significant wink at Emily, Ajax said with odd emphasis, “Heigh-Ho, Wuj! How is everything—and what’s wrong with your visual at that end?”
There was a curious pause. Then…
“Who is speaking, please?”
“Who’s speaking? Who d’you think is speaking? Me! King Ajax, of course!”
Again came the annoying lag which was the one thing Ajax disliked most about modern interplanetary communications. No matter how the technicians improved their gadgetry, they could not come up with a method to make light travel faster than light. The light-lag between Earth and Ajaxia was only a handful of seconds; but what would happen when even distant Pluto on the edge of the Solar System was colonized, as it eventually would be? How could you conduct a conversation between two parties when you had to wait minutes between question and reply?
“King who?” asked the Wuj squeakily.
“King Ajax, your beloved leader! Heigh-Ho, Wuj! What’s the matter with you? Is anything going on at Ajaxia?”
The Wuj stated solemnly, “You are an impostor, sir, and it is a capital crime to impersonate reigning royalty. I shall now switch on the visual and expose you for a foolish hoaxer. One moment, please.”
Fuming, Ajax turned a bewildered look at Emily.
“He’s gone nuts! He doesn’t seem to recognize me, me, his beloved leader, his beneficent and Imperial sovereign!”
They waited. The video screen became a swirling haze of intermingled hues that gradually focused into the features of the loyal little Martian. They saw a furry, reddish basketball perched precariously atop eight thin, spiderish legs. A face like a sad Pekinese dog peered at them solemnly, great green compound eyes twinkling.
Ajax impatiently started to speak, but the Wuj’s comment dried up the strings of speech. “An amazing impersonation, sir! Although it little becomes the highest ranking public official of the Kingdom to congratulate a hoaxer on technical, though criminous, expertise—may I say your disguise is impressively similar to the royal features of my monarch?”