than read sutras in my retirement; I hope to apply my experience and my
studies to thought about just such problems.” The old man sighed. “Of
necessity, this assumes the Empire will not fall prey to its foes before
I’ve made some progress. That may be an unduly optimistic assumption …
considering what a head start they have in the Roidhunate where it comes
to understanding us.”
“Are you implying they know this theory of human history which you’ve
been outlining to me?”
“Yes, I fear that at least a few minds among them are all too familiar
with it. For example, after considering the episode for many years, I
think that when Aycharaych tried to kindle a holy war of man against
man, starting on Aeneas, he knew precisely what he was doing.”
Aycharaych. The chill struck full into Flandry. He raised his eyes to
the fading stars. Sol would soon drive sight away from them, but they
would remain where they were, waiting.
“I have often wondered what makes him and his kind serve Merseia,” Desai
mused. “Genius can’t really be conscripted. The Chereionites surely have
something to win for themselves. But what–from an alien species, an
alien culture?”
“Aycharaych’s the only one of them I’ve ever actually met,” Flandry
said. “I’ve sometimes thought he’s an artist.”
“An artist of espionage and sabotage, whose materials are living beings?
Well, conceivably. If that’s all, he is no more to be envied than you or
I.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure I can make the reason clear to you, or even very clear to
myself. We have not had the good fortune to be born in an era when our
society offers us something transcendental to live and die for.” Desai
cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to read you a lecture.”
“No, I thank you,” Flandry said. “Your ideas are quite interesting.”
IV
—
The Hooligan sprang from Terra, pierced the sky, and lined out for deep
space. A steady standard gravity maintained by her interior fields gave
no hint of furious acceleration toward regions sufficiently distant that
she could go into hyperdrive and outpace light. Nor did her engine
energies speak above an almost subliminal whisper and quiver through the
hull. But standing in the saloon before its big viewscreen, Kossara
watched the planet shrink, ever faster, a cloudy vastness, a gibbous
globe of intricate blue and white, an agate in a diamondful jewel box.
At the back of her mind she wished she could appreciate this sight for
which she had left the stateroom assigned her. Terra, Manhome,
Maykasviyet; and sheer loveliness–But her heart knocked, her nails bit
into wet palms though her tongue was dry and thick, she smelled her
harsh sweat.
Yet when her owner entered, calm crystallized in her. By nature and
training she met crises coolly, and here was the worst since–As far as
she knew, nobody else was aboard but him and his servant. If she could,
somehow, kill them–or hogtie the funny, kindly Shalmuan–maybe before
he took her–
No. Not unless he grew altogether slack; and she sensed alertness
beneath his relaxed manner. He was tall and well built and moved like a
hunting vilya. Handsome too, she admitted to herself; then scorn added
that anybody could be handsome who bought a biosculpture. A loose
lace-trimmed blouse and flowing trousers gathered above sandals matched,
in their sheen of expensive fabric, the knee-length gown she had chosen
out of the wardrobe she found in her quarters.
“Good day, Donna Vymezal,” the man said, and bowed.
What to do? She jerked a nod.
“Permit self-introduction,” he went on. “Hardly to your surprise, I am
Captain Sir Dominic Flandry, Intelligence Corps of his Majesty’s Navy.”
He gestured at a bench curved around two sides of a table. “Won’t you be
seated?”
She stood her ground.
Flandry smiled, placed hands on hips, and drawled: “Please listen. I
have no intention of compelling you. None. Not that you don’t inspire
certain daydreams, Donna. And not that I couldn’t make you like it.
Drugs, you know. But vanity forbids. I’ve never needed force or
pharmacopoeia, even on those few young ladies I had occasion to buy in