on its way to me. I called you as soon as I found out.”
Lang nodded. “Okay. So … what happened?”
“He drew a big crowd, but there were no miracles.”
“Zambendorf didn’t show?”
“Uh-uh.”
“And?”
“Flopso—even better than we hoped. The troops arrived and hauled his messiah
away. I guess our main problem just got solved.”
Lang was beginning to grin as the full meaning sank in completely. “Yeah . – .
yeah, I guess it just did, Dan. Well, how about that! I guess Zambendorf really
went for the missile story, huh?”
“It sure looks like it. I don’t mind telling you now though, Caspar, I thought
it was a long shot—but I have to hand it to you: You had every one of them
figured. Maybe we should retire Gerry Massey and make you the psychologist.”
“They don’t get paid enough,” Lang said.
Leaherney grinned briefly, and then his expression became serious again. “So how
are things going with Henry down there?”
“Pretty much as we expected,” Lang replied. “He’s still sore about what happened
to his invasion, but I don’t think we’ll have too much trouble straightening
that out now. As I said, a week from now we’ll be back on the right track.”
“Well, I hope you’re right. I’ll let you get on, then, I guess. Sorry to drag
you away, but as I said, I just wanted to tell you the news
personally—especially after the delay.”
“That’s okay, Dan. Thanks for the thought. I’ll talk to you later.”
Inside the cavern of the Lumian flying vehicle, Eskenderom paced irascibly over
to the huge, opened door, and stopped for a moment to glower out at the other
two vehicles and the temporary Lumian shelters huddled together against a
background of barren hills and stark rock. Then he turned and stamped back to
where Monnorel, the royal counselor, was standing a short distance away from the
table at which General Streyfoch and the three Lumians were sitting on opposite
sides of the talking Lumian plant.
“Our whole army, disarmed and vanquished without a fight . . . babbling nonsense
about being the Carthogians’ brothers and returning to Kroaxia?” Eskenderom
fumed. “What kind of bungling oafs of aliens are these? Within two brights of
promising us invincibility, they have succeeded in rendering us impotent beyond
Kleippur’s wildest dreams. Are they in league with Carthogia, therefore, or
afflicted with such crass incompetence that the only thing miraculous about them
is that any of their flying constructions should ever leave the ground? Am I
betrayed by deceivers or undone by fools?”
“It would be as much an error to assume a unity of purpose among all Lumians as
among all robeings, it appears,” Monnorel replied. “Our army was intercepted by
a rogue band of Lumian criminals, whose actions were not sanctioned by the
Lumian king. They have gone into hiding and are being hunted.”
“One tiny band of criminals can confound a whole army? Are these aliens unable
to maintain discipline among their own kind?”
“Perhaps their criminals have access to the same powers as their artisans,”
Monnorel suggested.
Eskenderom snorted, paced away a few steps, and then wheeled back again. “What
of the identity of this so-called miracle-worker that they used?” he demanded.
“Is there news of that?”
“Not as yet,” Monnorel confessed. “But it appears he was brought from Carthogia,
where similar events are reported to have taken place among the Waskorians.”
“So now the truth begins to emerge,” Eskenderom said darkly. “Kroaxia has not
been favored by special considerations as we were led to believe. While one
faction of Lumians brings aid to me, another is supporting Kleippur. What result
can this bring but the destruction of both our realms? Is that the goal of the
strategy which these incomprehensible Lumians are unfolding? If so we should
unite all the nations of Robia against them and at least perish honorably.”
“I think not,” Monnorel said. “I believe them when they say that what happened
in the Meracasine was as much a surprise to them as it was to us. I say we must
trust them.”
“I too,” General Streyfoch advised from the table. “We cannot risk being