“Still got the singer, I see.” Bester nodded towards Sorudan.
“Yes, indeed.” The Margrave waved his visitor to an armchair. “I have been offered enormous amounts for Sorudan, but I consider it my prize creation. I will never sell. A drink, perhaps, to celebrate a successful transaction?”
“You bet, squire.”
Fujitsu examined the King closely, assessing the sophistication of the other man’s palate. At last he shrugged, disappeared into a closet in the corner of the study, and emerged carrying a bottle of pale amber liquid and two small glasses.
“Looks like good stuff,” said Bester.
“The best. Despite all our claims of progress, one cannot improve on perfection.” Fujitsu carefully poured two ounces of fluid into each glass and handed one to his guest.
Bester sniffed it and wrinkled his nose. He leaned his head back and drained the glass in one gulp. “Mmm.” He rolled his eyes. “Bit of all right, that. What is it?”
The Margrave glared.
“It is — or it was — one of the finest distilled liquors ever produced on Earth or off it. Santory scotch whiskey, cask-aged in the Hokkaido deep vaults, a single malt two hundred and fifty years old.” The Margrave took a first delicate sip. “Superb. When I hear of the nectar of the gods, I wonder how it could improve on this.” He shook his massive bald head. “Ah, well. Pearls before swine. I suppose we may as well get down to business. Did Brachis comment on the delivery?”
“Not a word.” Bester lifted the bag and placed it on the table between them. “I saw these counted in, and you might want to do the same coming out.” He saw the Margrave’s look. “Hey, don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t take any. This is just the way it was given to me.”
The bag was full of virgin trade crystals, their uncut surfaces gleaming a dull rust-red in the subdued light of the study. Bester lifted the crystals out in handfuls, examining each one and gloating over its quality before he set it on the table in front of Fujitsu.
“Best I’ve ever seen. Hey, wait a minute. What’s this doing in here?” Bester drew out a thin flat plate, round in shape and a couple of inches across. Unlike the other trade crystals, it had a smooth surface and no inner glow. “I know I didn’t see this one going in.”
At the touch of his fingers, the blue-grey disk came alive. There was a swirl of color in the center of the plate, resolving after a second or two to form a picture. A likeness of Luther Brachis appeared in miniature and peered out at them.
“Remember what you told me, King?” The tiny cameo spoke in a distorted metallic voice. “Any information you wheedled out of Fujitsu was supposed to come back to me alone. What happened to your promise? And you, Fujitsu. Why did you tell the King?”
Bester stared at the image with bulging eyes. The Margrave had knocked over his glass and jerked nervously to his feet.
“You didn’t keep your word, did you, King?” went on the tinny voice. “The Margrave told you more than he should have about the Artefacts — and you didn’t waste any time finding another buyer for the information.” The light from the small plate was steadily increasing. The face of Luther Brachis had almost disappeared, swamped by the glare of the brightening disk.
“That was a very bad mistake, King,” said Brachis, in distorted tones.
“Bester!” The Margrave started towards the door of the study. “Don’t touch the crystals — and get out of here.”
His cry was too late. Bester still held half a dozen crystals in his other hand. He wanted to drop them, but they were sticking to his palm. He shook his hand wildly, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge all of them. They had begun to glow, together with the ones on the table and in the bag.
“As for you, Fujitsu,” went on Brachis, “I don’t know how much you were in on the deal. I do know you were indiscreet. If you are otherwise innocent, you have my apology. I’m afraid that is all I can give you.”
The Margrave was at the door. He paused for a moment and pointed back. The ugly face was distorted with fury. “I hope you can hear me, Brachis. I will receive my due. My full due. That I promise you.”
He could not say more, because King Bester had begun a hideous high-pitched screaming and a mad capering dance around the study. The crystals in his hand were now incandescent. Lines of fire from them were spreading up his arm, running in blue-white sprays of sparks to his shoulder and across to his chest. The flames grew more intense. Fujitsu’s last glimpse of King Bester was of a brilliant living torch, a faceless column of fire that still screamed and leaped in impossible agony.
The Margrave ran through the laboratory, slammed the heavy door behind him, and dashed up the stairs that led to the surface.
At the top he froze. A new voice, inhumanly high and pure, added a counterpoint to Bester’s screams.
“Sorudan! The light!” The Margrave could not run. He turned back and took three steps down the stairs. Then he groaned, clapped his hands to his ears, and headed again for the surface. Blind to any possible danger from Scavengers, he ran headlong across the cultivated fields. Behind him the skylights of the lab shone brightly and brighter, while from within an ethereal melody rose ever higher and more beautiful.
The Margrave was seventy yards away and beginning to feel safe when the explosion came.
In his desire to destroy the source of the Artefacts and his thirst for revenge on King Bester, Luther Brachis had indulged in massive overkill. Everything within a hundred yards of the Needler lab was vaporized. A vast crater formed in the outer layers of Delmarva Town.
No trace of the Margrave was ever found. But in his family’s religion it was taught that the reward for a life well-lived was the separation of body and soul. Upon a true believer’s death, the spiritual essence was released from all corporeal bonds. The body’s component atoms would then be free to ride the swirling winds of Earth, in their endless flight about the turning globe.
The founders of Fujitsu’s ancient religion, had they been around to observe the manner of his death, would have judged that fate had granted him his fondest wish.
The Margrave, had he been around to do so, would have disagreed most strongly.
Chapter 13
On the good days, Tatty could not resist reaching out to Chan and hugging him. He might have the body of a grown man, agile and powerful, but inside he was a little Boy. And like a little boy, he was proud of any new thing that he could do and eager to show it off to Tatty.
But then there were the bad days. Chan would say nothing, cooperate in nothing, was interested in nothing. Tatty wanted to reach out and shake him until he was forced to take notice.
This was a bad day. One of the worst. Tatty told herself to keep calm. She could not afford to lose control — not with another Stimulator session due in an hour. She had to be mentally ready then to comfort Chan and ease him through the time of agony and misery. But for the moment …
“Chan! I won’t warn you again. You concentrate, and you look at that display. See? That’s Earth. You were born on Earth. So was I. These are pictures of parts of Earth. Chan! Stop gawping — look at the display.
Chan stared vacantly at the three-dimensional display for a second or two, then began to study the fine hair that grew on his forearm and wrist. Tatty swore to herself — cussing aloud to Chan was strictly forbidden — and slammed down the button that advanced the presentation. Useful or not, they had to work their way through the whole program. Not one word going in. Tatty had schooled herself to keep her comments internal. It’s all too abstract for him.
Whose stupid idea was it to give him astronomy lessons when he can’t even pick out the letters of the alphabet? He’s supposed to absorb at an unconscious level, is he? Sure — some hopes! He isn’t a bit interested in the lessons and he never remembers them. Waste of time — his time, my time … but what else is there for me to do, stuck out here? I should be on Earth … if only I could get away from this awful place. Oh, God, Earth — there it is. Just look at those beautiful pictures. Seas and skies and rivers and forests and cities. If only I were there now, back in my apartment, just me and …if Esro Mondrian were here I would kill him . … heartless, treacherous, monstrous, ruthless …