SELIM SERVED the dessert. Palma continued: "Gnoth told me the formulas were in the archives of the Temple of Xir. By this time she loved me passionately—didn't you, Gnoth?"
"Yes," said Gnoth tonelessly.
"So she arranged to disguise me as a priest of Xir..." Palma rattled on between bites of meringue glace. It was a pretty thrilling story, full of good blood-and-thunder melodrama. The only trouble was that Vera already knew it.
It was, in fact, freely adapted from (1930), by Otis Howard Rice. Vera, who read with incredible speed and re membered everything, had come across this work while helping a reader who was writing a thesis on the history of imaginative fiction.
They smoked and drank several ponies of liqueur while Palma rambled on about his Fleurian adventures. He concluded:
"... so we slammed the door of the spaceship in the face of these furious priests. The skipper warned them he was going to take off, but they hung round the base of the ship, pounding on the supports, till the jet roared out and fried the whole lot to cinders. So here we are."
"How exciting! And you still have those original data-sheets?" said Vera.
"Yes. I haven't dared copy them lest the code-numbers leak out. I can't get proper patent protection because the patent-law's been in a mess ever since interstellar travel started. So I have to exploit the formulas secretly, which is a precarious business. No doubt earthly biochemists will some day catch up to the Fleurians and my formulas will be worthless, so meanwhile I make all the hay I can. I don't think Alexander or Napoleon would be ashamed of me. True, I haven't conquered the world by force of arms, but I do have influence on the World Organization."
This, thought Vera, was probably true. The newspapers also hinted that Sigmund Palma had several of this parliament's representatives in his pocket. But for heaven's sake, what, in this monstrous mass of lies, boasts, and affectations, was true? Certainly Palma's wealth was. If he wasn't really a reincarnation of Winston Church ill, he did sway the destiny of millions as a tycoon and political wire-puller on the world stage. If Gnoth was not a real Fleurian, Palma had certainly been to Fleury's planet and had brought back something.
"Would you like to see the formulas?" said Palma.
"You'd show them to me?"
"Why not? You won't betray me."
"Oh, Siggy, how sweet of you!"
"Come along, then. Selim, show us to the dungeon."
SELIM LED the three down stone stairs where dank moss grew on slimy walls. At least so it looked until Vera's finger-tips, brushing the wall, discovered that the moss was artificial. Even the water seeping down the wall was made of water-glass and was quite dry. This was certainly carrying a pose pretty far. Vera resolved that nothing Sigmund Palma might do should startle her.
The- dungeon was fitted up with instruments of torture and death, such as a realistic-looking beheading-block with an ax to match. Vera shuddered. The quicker this maniac was confined, the better. It might all be just play-acting, but there was probably a sadistic streak here that might break out into deeds of horror. And he surely wouldn't show her these precious papers unless he meant to see more of her—perhaps even to marry her. She would really be doing good...
Sigmund Palma went to the wall. A section of the stone swung back. It was just plaster-board on a hinge, painted to look like stone. Behind it was a modern-looking safe-door.
Palma spun the dial and spoke some low words at the door. The door opened. Palma took out a thick roll of paper, yellow in the gaslight."Here they are," he said, unrolling them.
Vera strained her eyes to read the sheets in hope of gleaming enough mental pictures with her eidetic memory so that, no matter what the outcome, she would have something to exploit. But the writing seemed to be in a strange signary. Fleurian, no doubt. There was a short paragraph at the top of each page, and below it long columns of what looked like numbers, or combinations of letters and numbers. How could she ever remember all those odd little shapes...
"How does it work?" she asked.
"Those are code-numbers, in a Fleurian language of course. By setting the controls of the synthesizers I control the order in which the guani-dino-sulfonic acids are arranged in the proteoid molecule. With modern automation I run the factory practically single-handed as far as the materials are concerned; most of my workers are just maintenance-men. Each day I set the controls for the day's run and scramble them at the end of the day. My biochemists assemble the zooids from these materials. I know now how God felt when Adam worked."
"Do you synthesize the whole zooid, or just an egg?"
"Neither; I synthesize an individual at what would be the stage of hatching or birth. Proteoid-molecules are simpler than protein-molecules and don't include mechanisms of heredity and differentiation. So I have to make most of the proteoids that go into the complete zooid, or at least organs to make these proteoids."
"But aren't there thousands of different kinds?"
"There are thousands of different proteins in a zoon, but a zooid is a much simpler biochemical structure, though it works well enough for our purposes. But it can't breed, or heal an injury by itself, or be anywhere near as adaptable as a fairly simple zoon."
"Why can't you make real people? Out of real protein, that is?"
"Because there are so many complications that a factory, to make them, would have to be as big as a continent. Have you seen all you want?"
"Yes. Oh, Siggy, it's so nice of you to trust me like this..."
"Yes, isn't it? Take her."
GNOTH SEIZED one of Vera's arms and twisted it behind her. Selim did the same with the other.
"Siggy!" screamed Vera."What are you doing?"
Palma grinned."What do you think?"
"Tell them to stop!"
"No."
"Let me go!"
"After showing you those? Ha!"
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll do you a favor."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, anybody who calls me an empty, neurotic poseur deserves torture."
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!"
"But, because we've been friends, I'll give you a quick death.. Strip her."
Vera screamed and struggled and wept but could do little against the strength of the zooids. They tore and cut off her clothes.
"You've kept your figure well," said Palma."If I were just a man, I might be tempted to use that body. All right, her head."
Selim and Gnoth tied Vera's wrists and ankles. They dragged her to the block and forced her to kneel. From the far side of the block, Gnoth dug steely fingers into Vera's black curls and pulled her head forward so that her neck pressed into the narrow, hollowed-out place on top of the block.
Out of the corner of her eye, Vera saw Selim pick up the ax. He swung it.
Vera stopped screaming and shut her eyes. Instead of a sharp shock and oblivion, there was a loud clang and a yell from Palma."Gnoth! Help me!" he cried.
Gnoth let go of Vera's hair. Vera fell in a heap and struggled up to see Selim and Palma fighting, the former with the ax and the latter with the Atlantean sword. As an ax is not much good for parrying, they leaped back and forth and swung and jabbed without much actual contact. The front of Palma's cuirass was creased by a glancing ax-blow.
Gnoth picked up an iron dojigger, something like a poker with an intricate end, from the rack of torture instruments. She ran around Selim and hit him over the head from behind, The djinn whirled and struck. Gnoth's head flew off. Blue haemoid fluid spouted.