“See here, Mordion,” he said suddenly. “I only ever dealt with a bannus once before, and Reigner One did most of it then. Would you mind helping me get some of the points about it straight in my mind?”
A warning look came over Reigner Five’s narrow sandy face. He raised a finger to show the others this was the bit he had meant.
“If you wish me to,” the Servant said courteously. It was obvious he did not want to. He had, after all, been trained never, ever to pry into any facts the Reigners wished kept secret. “But you will remember, sire, that there may not be a bannus to deal with. The reports were very confused. That letter from Earth to Albion could well be a hoax.”
“I know that, you fool!” Reigner Two said, irritated. “But you’ll agree that I have to be prepared in case it wasn’t a hoax?” The Servant nodded. “Right,” said Reigner Two. “Then I order you to think about the bannus.”
There was a gasp from the watching Reigners. Reigner Five smiled sarcastically. For of course the Servant was bound to do whatever a Reigner ordered him.
“What do you think the bannus is?” Reigner Two asked the Servant. “How would you describe it yourself?”
“A machine for making dreams come true,” the Servant answered. “At least, that’s what came into my head when I was first told about it.”
“Hm.” Reigner Two plodded down the pearly tunnel considering this. “Yes – in a sort of way – that describes quite well the way the bannus makes use of theta-space. One of its functions was to show people – very, far too vividly – whether or not they were making the right decisions.”
Reigner Three nodded approvingly. “A prudent half-truth there.”
“Wait,” said Five.
“So.” Reigner Two slowed down until the Servant’s strolling stride was forced to become a loiter from one long leg to the other. “So you have a machine that was designed to run through a set of scenes, showing what would happen if you made decision A in a certain position, and then decision B, and so on, until it had shown you everything that could possibly happen. Then, if you’d fed your stuff into it properly, it should stop, shouldn’t it? Now, if this isn’t a hoax, the evidence says that the thing’s still running. Why?”
The Servant loitered along with his hands in the pockets of his outlandish little yellow coat, obediently showing polite interest. “I suppose two reasons. The library clerk could have fed in a lot of stuff. Or he failed to do it properly and fed in something open-ended, which gave the machine no reason to stop.”
“Right,” said Reigner Two. “Which do you think he did?”
“Well, as Controller Borasus and six maintenance men – not to speak of the clerk himself – all seem to have disappeared, I suppose it was the second thing,” the Servant said. “I am right in believing the bannus co-opts living persons for its scenes where possible, am I?”
“Yes.” Reigner Two sighed glumly. “And I think it’s not a hoax and the clerk fed it something open-ended too. Now you have to add in this: with each person the bannus pulls in, it gets another set of possibilities to work with. This causes it to expand its field and go on working. Where does that lead?”
The Servant shook his head. “There doesn’t seem any reason why it should ever stop. Or not until it’s taken over the whole planet.”
“It could!” Reigner Two groaned. “And I’ve got to stop it! How am I supposed to do that?”
The Servant gave him a very polite look. “There is no reason for your Servant to tell you that, sire. You have abilities beside which mine are nothing.”
“Well—” Reigner Two began frankly.
The four watching Reigners held their breaths, well aware that if the undervest full of gadgets were stripped off Reigner Two, very little would remain, whereas the Servant’s abilities were bred into him.
“—yes, you could say I can rely on Reigner powers,” Reigner Two said mournfully.
The other Reigners breathed again. The Servant, looking very uncomfortable, said, “Here is the end of the walk-through. The next office will be on Iony.”
The Sector Head of Iony was the most fulsome yet. The watching Reigners were convulsed with laughter at the expression on Reigner Two’s face when this Governor offered the Servant dancing girls. “To help pass the time while we connect the walk-through to Plessy,” he begged the Servant. “I wouldn’t wish Your Excellency to be bored.”
The Servant glanced at Two’s face and refused the dancing girls with the utmost politeness. Reigner Four was heard to wonder what the Servant would have said if he’d been alone.
“Well, really!” Reigner Two said in a shocked whisper, when the Governor of Iony had hurried away. He said no more until the two of them were walking down another pearly, strobing tunnel. Then he said, “If the bannus is running, I sincerely hope that clerk didn’t set it to do anything with dancing girls. I really cannot cope with dancing girls at my time of life!”
The Servant obviously did not know what to say to this. He settled for, “Many people quite appreciate dancing girls, sire.”
“Don’t call me sire!” Reigner Two all but shouted.
“Ah,” Reigner Four murmured. “Our Servant would have said yes to those girls.”
Meanwhile the numbers speeding at the edges of the scene showed Reigner Two to be increasingly unhappy. “I wish you’d understand,” he told the Servant. “It may be centuries since we used the bannus, but I remember the worst part quite clearly. The only way to get that machine to stop is for me to enter into whatever dreadful fantasy the clerk has it running.”
The Servant looked startled. “Are you sure? Physically enter, si—er – enter?”
“Of course I’m sure! Here.” Irritably, Reigner Two pulled a folded faxsheet out of his tweed pocket, paused while it sprang out of its folds, and thrust the smooth white sheet at the Servant. “Take a look at what it says here.”
The Servant glanced at the heading and seemed stunned. “This is for the eyes of Reigners only, si—er – Excellency.”
“Read it,” said Reigner Two.
The watching Reigners were nearly as stunned as the Servant. “Twos being impossibly indiscreet!” said Three.
“I know. He wasn’t supposed to take that sheet with him,” said Five.
“And the Servant can memorise—” began Four.
“The Servant may have a near-perfect memory,” Reigner One put in, “but he can be ordered to forget, and he will. The danger is that some other person – say, on Earth – could get hold of that sheet. May have done by now.”
As the Servant walked along obediently reading the sheet, Reigner Two was saying, “There. Third paragraph. Doesn’t that make it quite clear that I have to go into the field and take command of the action?”
“Yes, it does seem to suggest that,” the Servant agreed. He read out, “‘The bannus is so programmed that it will always include itself in the field of action. Usually the bannus takes the form of a cup, weapon, trophy, or similar object. Once the operator has his hands upon this object, the bannus should normally become docile enough to bow to the will of the operator.’ I take it this is a safety device? It looks as if you need only enter the field for long enough to recognise the bannus and take hold of it. Then you order it to stop.”
“Fight my way through a mob of dancing girls and snatch the dulcimer off the leading damsel,” Reigner Two said morbidly. “I can just see myself. I think the fools who invented this thing might have thought of a simpler way to stop it. What’s wrong with a red switch?”
“Yes, why did they arrange it this way?” wondered the Servant.
“Oops!” said Reigner Four.
All the Reigners were greatly relieved when Reigner Two said austerely, “I can’t tell you that,” and took the faxsheet back. From the look of the Servant, he at once tried to stop thinking about it. “But how do I recognise the stupid thing,” Reigner Two complained, “when I have wormed my way into some horrible hall of fun? And then I have to exercise my will on it. Su
ppose it doesn’t obey?”
“No Reigner need have any difficulty there,” the Servant said soothingly.
It was clear that Reigner Two did not have the Servant’s confidence. When he trudged through the next portal and found another sector head standing there in full ceremonial robes, with all his underlings, also enrobed, ready to greet the Servant, Reigner Two contrived to look as dismal as any ruler of more than half the galaxy could.
“I’m glad to see,” Reigner Three said, “there are some things Two’s keeping his mouth shut about. Are we into crawling Governors again, Five? How long does this go on?”
“They single-hopped through about twelve major sectors after this one,” Reigner Five said. “Governors, consuls, controllers and all kinds of high executives grovel in all directions for a while.”
“Is that the end of Two’s indiscretions? Or did he go on?” Three asked.
“There’s more. In Yurov, just before they hopped to Albion,” said Five. “I can fast-forward it on to there if you like.”
“If you can assure us,” said Reigner One, “that neither of them said or did anything before that which we ought to know.”
“Absolutely nothing,” said Five. Reigner One raised Reigner power, looked into Five, and assured himself that Five was not lying. He nodded.
So the Four Reigners summoned robots and had them bring food and drink. They set their black pearly chairs to relax and recline and refreshed themselves, while Five ran the cube forward at high speed. Little figures rushed this way and that on the table. High voices gibbered, even with the sound right down. At last Five recognised the crimson and gold furnishings of the Yurov office, and stopped it. He ran it briefly the other way, so that little figures raced backwards, squealing more gibberish. Then they were ready to watch again.
Yurov Sector was, itself, some way out along the spiral arm of the galaxy towards Earth. The Reigners’ writ of course ran here too, but these parts were considered fairly uncivilised. Instead of a Governor, Yurov had a Controller to keep the natives down. And the image was not as clear as it had been, but it was clear enough to show that this office was decidedly opulent. It was hung with silk drapes and divided into rich little areas by worked-gold screens.
The slight blurring of the image caused Reigner Four to remark, “It’s a long way off. It must be quite a job getting the consignments of flint through from Earth to where we want them.”
“It is,” said Reigner Five. “And hellish expensive.”
“But worth it,” said Reigner Three. “It pays, Four, as you would know, if you thought of anything beside your own wants.”
“It pays some of these Controllers too,” Five remarked sourly, as the very fat Sector Head of Yurov pounded into the picture, fetched by a frantic underling, and wove his way among the gold screens and crimson settles. “This one looks to make a pretty good thing of his position.”
“And why not?” asked Reigner One cheerfully. “Provided he does an efficient job.”
“Great Balance, Excellency!” the Controller of Yurov gasped to the Servant. “I’d no idea you’d be here so soon! We only got the message a minute ago. It takes time to phase to Albion, I’m afraid – there’s quite a disjunction out here on the arm.”
The Servant smiled at the Controller. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We’ve probably been travelling almost as fast as the message. You may have heard there’s a bit of an emergency out in Albion sector.”
The Controller of Yurov gazed up at that smile of the Servant’s. He was plainly not sure whether it was as warm as it seemed, or whether it was the way the Servant looked at someone he was about to terminate. He managed a wavering, gasping grin in reply. “Yes, I’d heard the Controller there – well, they’re saying something’s happened to him. Terribly sorry. And sorry you caught us so unready. I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait at least a quarter of an hour.”
“Whatever time it takes,” the Servant said.
The Controller of Yurov seemed to decide the smile was friendly. He said, with much less annoyance and much more real distress, “And I’ve almost nothing I can offer you by way of entertainment while you wait! We thought we’d have an hour before you came. We were planning to be ready phased when you arrived.”
“Think nothing of it,” said the Servant. He glanced at Reigner Two, who was shuffling and looking twice the age he usually looked. The symbols and figures streaming at the edges of the scene confirmed that Reigner Two was tired out and low in blood sugar. “All we really need is to sit down quietly somewhere,” said the Servant.
“Then please be seated,” said the Controller of Yurov, waving to an underling, who hurried to pull forward a red settle. “I really do apologise—”
“I know,” said the Servant, “how inconvenient—”
“Wine?” said the Controller. “Can I get you wine? All I have here is some Yurov sangro, but it was grown on my own estate at—”
The Servant looked at Reigner Twos sagging figure and interrupted gratefully. “Thank you. Wine would be perfect.”
“I’m glad to see you trained him to be considerate,” Reigner Three remarked to Reigner One, as Reigner Two sank down on to the plump settle. A swift: muttering between Reigners Four and Five ended with the calculation that Two was only eighty years or so younger than Reigner One, and Reigner One, as everyone knew, was coming up to his two thousandth birthday. The celebrations were already being planned all over the Organisation.
“Two feels it, poor fellow. I don’t,” Reigner One murmured. He was smiling at the way the Controller of Yurov was now rushing about among the screens at the back of the picture, giving furious orders about the wine. “And bring it to me first,” he was heard saying. He had a very penetrating voice. “I shall die of shame if someone gives the Reigners’ Servant wine that isn’t properly breathed!” Reigner One chuckled.
“What an excellent fellow!” he said.
“I’m perfectly all right!” Reigner Two snapped at the Servant in the front of the picture. “I simply need a short rest.” He lay back on the settle looking exhausted.
Shortly an Assistant Controller hastened up with a tray of curious wood inlaid with gold, which had two goblets on it that were obviously solid gold. Another pulled up a gold-topped table. A Consul Manager followed diffidently with another tray loaded with little jewelled dishes of cakes. Finally came the Controller of Yurov himself with a pitcher of sculpted gold from which he filled the two goblets with rich red wine, and then stood holding the pitcher, almost prayerfully expectant, whilst the Servant first thanked him cordially and then sipped the wine. Reigner Two meanwhile grabbed gratefully for the cakes.
The Servant sipped, and his eyebrow moved like wings. “This is wonderful!” he said. And smiled.
This time the Controller stretched his own chubby mouth into a smile as warm, though not as enchanting, as the Servant’s. He left the pitcher and bustled away, looking thoroughly flattered.
“He certainly knows how to exploit that death’s-head grin of his,” Reigner Three commented. “Is that what we were supposed to notice?”
“No. Wait,” said Five.
Reigner Two drank off his goblet of wine, ate more cakes, poured himself more wine, and sank back with a contented sigh, pulling the faxsheet out of his pocket again as he did so.
“Fool,” murmured Reigner Four.
“There’s another danger in this bannus business, you know,” Reigner Two told the Servant. “You’ll have learnt up on how we used Earth as a convict settlement before we discovered how rich it was in flint—”
“Not in a sector office, you fool!” Reigners Four and Three said together.
Of course the image of Reigner Two simply went on talking. “Well, it wasn’t only folk who obstructed the Organisation we sent there. A number of rebel Reigners were put into exile there too.”
The Servant looked up from admiring the pattern on his goblet. “You wish me to know this?”
“No. Shut up, Two, you fool
!” said Four.
“Yes,” said Reigner Two. “It could be a factor. I might have to order you to deal with some of these people.”
“All right. Stop there,” said Reigner Three.
“Surely,” said the Servant, with his eyebrow down in a line, frowning, “after all this time, without any old-age treatments, any rebel Reigners would be dead?”
“Don’t answer him!” muttered Four.
“Well, there are two problems about that,” said Reigner Two. “The exiled Reigners were of course put on Earth under a ban as strong as – as I suppose your training is – and forbidden either to leave Earth or to go against the true Reigners – us, you know. One of the standard ways they hit on to get round our ban was to have children. The children would have Reigner blood and powers and so forth, and were not under the ban, so they could rebel for them. Naturally we sent a Servant – several Servants in fact – to deal with the children, but they didn’t get them all—”
“Didn’t get them?” The Servant had gone pale. His face shone like a skull against the crimson settle. “Failed?”
Reigner Two was far too busy with his own worries to care about the Servant’s state of mind. “Yes. The training wasn’t so good in those days. Just one of the things that’s worrying me is that there are certainly people with Reigner blood around on Earth. If one of them got near that bannus – suppose that clerk is one – that would be bad enough. But my main worry is those rebel Reigners themselves. I know at least one of them wasn’t terminated by the Servants.”
The Servant flinched. They saw him look round as if he were hoping someone would come along and interrupt. No one was near. They were all keeping respectfully distant.
“Remarkably fine wine, this,” the Servant said.
Reigner Two’s face was wrinkled with trouble. He took no notice. “The two Servants we had then did their best,” he said. “They were outclassed, but they put one rebel – maybe more, I wish I could remember – down into stass-sleep somewhere on Earth—”
Hexwood Page 11
