“Sure, we can let you have thirty pounds or so; can’t we, Mart?”
“Certainly. In view of what they are doing for us, I’d insist on it.”
Dunark acknowledged the gift with shining eyes and heartfelt, but not profuse, thanks. He himself carried the precious stuff, escorted by a small army of commissioned officers, to the palace. He returned with a full construction crew; and, after making sure that the power-bar would work as well through arenak as through steel, he fired machine-gun-like instructions at the several foremen, then turned again to Seaton.
“Just one more thing and the men can begin. How thick do you want the walls? Our battleships carry one inch. We can’t make it any thicker for lack of salt. But you have salt to give away; and, since we’re doing this by an exact-copy process, I’d suggest four feet, same as you have now, to save a lot of time in making drawings and redesigning your gun-mounts and so on.”
“I see. Not that we’ll ever need it . . . but it would save a lot of time . . . and besides, we’re used to it. Go ahead.”
Dunark issued more orders. Then, as the mechanics set to work without a useless motion, he stood silent, immersed in thought.
“Worrying about Mardonale, Dunark?”
“Yes. I can’t help thinking about that new weapon, whatever it is, that Nalboon now has.”
“Why not build another ship, exactly like this one you’re building, with four feet of arenak, and simply blow Mardonale off the map?”
“Building the ship would be easy enough, but X is completely unknown. In fact, as you know, it cannot exist here.”
“You’d have to be ungodly careful with it, that’s sure. But we’ve got a lot of it—we can give you a chunk of it.”
“I could not accept it. It isn’t like the salt.”
“Sure it is. We can get a million tons of it any time we want it.” He carried one of the lumps to the airlock and tossed it out upon the dock. “Take this nugget and get busy”
Seaton watched, entranced, as the Kondalian mechanics set to work with skills and with tools undreamed of on Earth. The whole interior of the vessel was supported by a complex falsework; then the plates and members were cut away as though they were made of paper. The sphere, grooved for the repellors and with the columns and central machinery complete, was molded of a stiff, plastic substance. This soon hardened into a rocklike mass, into which all necessary openings were carefully cut.
Then the structure was washed with a very dilute solution of salt, by special experts who took extreme pains not to lose or waste any fraction of a drop. Platinum plates were clamped into place and silver cables as large as a man’s leg were run to the terminals of a tight-beam power station. Current was applied and the mass became almost invisible, transformed into transparent arenak.
Then indeed the Earth people had a vehicle such as had never been seen before. A four-foot shell of a substance five hundred times as strong and hard as the strongest and hardest steel, cast in one piece with the sustaining framework designed by the world’s foremost engineer—a structure that no conceivable force could injure, housing inconceivable force!
The falsework was removed. Columns, members, and braces were painted black to render them plainly visible. The walls of the cabins were also painted, several areas being left transparent to serve as windows.
The second period of work was drawing to a close, and Seaton and Crane both marveled at what had been accomplished.
“Both vessels will be finished tomorrow, except for the instruments and so on for ours. Another crew will work during the sleeping-period, installing the guns and fittings.”
Since the wedding was to be before fourth-meal, all three went back to the palace, Crane and Seaton to get dressed, Dunark to make sure that everything was as it should be.
Seaton went into Crane’s room, accompanied by an attendant carrying his suitcase.
“No dress suits—shame on you!” Seaton chided. “I thought you’d thought of everything. You’re slipping, little chum.”
“I’m afraid so,” Crane agreed, equably. “You covered it very nicely, though. Congratulations on your quick thinking. Only Dunark will know that whites are not our most formal dress.”
“And he won’t tell,” Seaton said.
Dunark came in some time later.
“Give us a look,” Seaton begged. “See if we pass inspection. I was never so rattled in my life; and the more I think about this brainstorm I had about wearing whites the less I think of it . . . but can’t think of anything else we’ve got that would look half as good.”
They were clad in spotless white, from tennis shoes to open collars. The two tall figures—Crane’s slender, wiry, at perfect ease; Seaton’s, broad-shouldered, powerful, prowling about with unconscious suppleness and grace—and the two high-bred faces, each wearing a look of keen anticipation, fully justified Dunark’s answer.
“You’ll do, fellows, and I’m not just chomping my choppers, either.” With Seaton’s own impulsive good-will he shook hands with them both and wished them an eternity of happiness.
“The next item on the agenda is for you to talk with your brides . . . .”
“Before the ceremony?” Seaton asked.
“Yes. This cannot be waived. You take them . . . No, you don’t. That’s one detail I missed. You—especially the girls—would think our formal procedure at this point somewhat indec . . . anyway, not quite nice in public. You put your arms around them and kiss them, is all. Come on.”
Dorothy and Margaret had been dressed in their bridal gowns by Dunark’s six wives, under the watchful eyes of his mother, the First Karfedix herself. Sitar stood the two side by side, then drew off to survey the effect.
“You are the loveliest things in the whole world!” she cried.
“Except for this horrible light,” Dorothy mourned. “I wish they could see what we really look like—I’d like to, myself.”
There was a peal of delighted laughter from Sitar and she spoke to one of the maids, who drew dark curtains over the windows, and pressed a switch, flooding the room with pure white light.
“Dunark made these lamps,” Sitar said, with intense satisfaction. “I knew exactly how you’d feel.”
The two Earthmen and Dunark came in. For moments nothing was said. Seaton stared at Dorothy, hungrily and almost doubting his eyes. For white was white, pink was pink, and her gorgeous hair shone in all its natural splendor of burnished bronze.
In their wondrous Kondalian bridal costumes the girls were beautiful indeed. They wore heavily-jeweled slippers, above which were tiered anklets, each a glaze of gems. Their arms and throats were so covered with sparkling, scintillating bracelets, necklaces, and pendants that little bare skin was to be seen. And the gowns!
They were softly shimmering garments infinitely more supple than the finest silk, thick-woven of metallic threads of a fineness unknown to Earth, garments that floated about or clung to those beautifully-curved bodies in lines of exquisite grace.
For black-haired Margaret, with her ivory skin, the Kondalian princess had chosen an almost-white metal, upon which, in complicated figures, sparkled numberless jewels of pastel shades. Dorothy’s gown was of a dark and lustrous green, its fabric half hidden by an intricate design of blazing green and flaming crimson gems—the strange, luminous jewels of this strange world.
Each wore her long, heavy hair almost unbound, after the Kondalian bridal fashion: brushed until it fell like a shining mist, confined only from temple to temple by a structure of jewels in rare-metal filigree.
Seaton looked from Dorothy to Margaret, then back to Dorothy. He looked into violet eyes, deep with wonder and with love, more beautiful than any jewels in all her gorgeous costume. Disregarding the notables who had been filing into the room, she placed her hands on his shoulders; he placed his on her smoothly rounded hips.
“I love you, Dick. Now and always,” she said, and her own violin had no more wonderful tones than did her voice.
“I love you, Dot. Now and always,” he replied; and then they both forgot all about protocol; but the demonstration apparently satisfied Kondalian requirements.
Dorothy, eyes shining, drew herself away from Seaton and glanced at Margaret.
“Isn’t she the most beautiful thing you ever laid eyes on?”
“She certainly is not—but I’ll let Mart keep on thinking she is.”
Accompanied by the emperor and his son, Seaton and Crane went into the chapel which, already brilliant, had been decorated anew with even greater splendor. Through wide arches the Earthmen saw for the first time Osnomians wearing clothing; the great room was filled with the highest nobility of Kondal, wearing their resplendent robes of state.
As the men entered one door Dorothy and Margaret, with the empress and Sitar, entered the other. The assemblage rose to its feet and snapped into the grand salute. Martial music crashed and the two parties marched toward each other, meeting at a raised platform on which stood the Karbix Taman, a handsome, stately man who carried easily his eighty years of age. Taman raised both arms; the music ceased.