by Mind Guest
sigh, breaking out of the preoccupation. "It seems Valdon was right:
every one of our female fighters is committed to post 9's territory,
and we'd have to use a scoutship to reach them - if we knew exactly
where they were. They're involved with the barbarians and the
barbarians are on the move, and we can't just walk in there and
politely ask to speak to one or two of our girls. We can't settle the crisis in Narella by creating a new one in Natha."
"You know, I've heard it said that the best way to thi is to occupy
your hands and attention with something that has nothing to do with
your problem," I remarked, folding my arms as I looked down at him.
"The subconscious gets it all settled for you, and you've accomplished
two things instead of one."
"You don't give up, do you?" he rejoindered, amused. "This isn't the
sort of problem my subconscious can do anything about. It may turn out
to need something on the order of a miracle. Are you going to make me
get a crick in my neck from looking up at you while I talk? These
details take some telling."
I could see from the sparkle in his dark eyes that his amusement had
increased, but I wasn't sharing any of it. he wasn't going to be
working on my course computer unless I threatened his life, and
probably not even then. he struck me as the sort who would die in his
tracks rather than let himself be forced into something he'd decided
against, even if the decision was temporary. I looked up at the blue
ceiling in defeat as I shook my head, then turned to the lump chair I'd
refused earlier. I'd listen to his damned story, then start working on
him again once it was over.
"You have my neck's grateful appreciation," he chuckled as he watched
me sit, trying not to sound too victorious. "I've also heard it said
that you can solve a problem by explaining the situation to someone
else aloud, so don't think of this as wasting time. Think of it as
giving me some help in return for the help I'll be giving you."
He grinned outright at that, probably thinking he was backing me into a
corner of guilt-riddled gratitude, but he had to be forgiven for the
mistaken belief. he just didn't know me very well - but he would learn.
"The area we're primarily concerned with right now is called Narella,
after Naro, its current king, the fourth in his line," Dameron began,
leaning back comfortably in his squarish chair. "Narella is the most
advanced country on this continent, and although we're not ignoring the
other countries, this is where we're concentrating our efforts. Here's
what the country looks like."
He reached over to tap a series of keys on his terminal, and suddenly
the block of metal or plastic on his other side was no longer blank.
The side facing me lit up to show a map of sorts, heavy lines
surrounding an area that was divided up into six sub areas of varying
sizes.
"King Naro rules the country, but he has five princes governing
different parts of it under him," Dameron continued, looking at the top
of the block, which was out of my line of vision. "The eastern-most
area is his own domain, and larger than any of the other five. His
capital city Naridon is here, near the western border."
A black dot appeared on the map, roughly halfway between the northern
and southern boundaries, just as Dameron put a finger on the top of the
block in what would be the same place if he had a view of the map in
front of him. The block seemed to be a repeater screen of middling
complexity, and not the limited desk area I had originally guessed at.
"The political situation in Narella is no different from any other
primitive area - and too many so-called civilized ones," the lecture
went on. "Naro is a really good king, not terribly despotic, more fairminded
than you would expect, a crafty leader, a capable military
commander, and a man willing to consider intelligent advice. he runs
the country to suit himself, but he understands that the better off his
people are, the more he can demand in taxes and levies. Despite the
fact that Naro is making life profitable and pleasant for his princes as well as himself, some of them would prefer seeing another king on
the throne, namely one of their number.
"The leader of the most well organized opposition is Prince Clero, a
man we know more about than we care for. He's not nearly as intelligent
as he thinks he is, has the support of the others through fear, and
indulges in brutality just for the fun of it. Giving him advice is like
spitting before you know what direction the wind is coming from: you
only find out after you do it whether or not it was a good idea. Re's a
paranoid who suspects everyone of plotting against him, and we lost two
agents before we were able to adopt a lower profile in his keep. His
lands are here."
Black dots circled the second most westerly division as Dameron's
finger moved around a section on the top of the block. Not counting the
king's lands, the area was second largest of the rest, the section to
the west of it being a third again its size.
"This Clero sounds like a real charmer," I said, studying the map. "Why
don't you arrange for a fatal accident and be rid of him?"
"Have you ever tried to reach a paranoid in high position?" Dameron
asked with a serious snort. "We might be able to justify a move like
that to Absar Central, but even if we could we'd still have to be able
to do it without using anything of our more advanced technology. If I
authorized taking Clero out any other way, I'd spend the rest of my
career on Absar, listing the thousand best reasons why I should have
the same thing done to me. We're here to help these people by guiding
them, not by taking them over."
"Then why are you working so hard against Clero?" I asked, raising my
eyes to Dameron's face. "If you don't have the right to stop him by
killing him, it could be argued that you don't have the right to stop
him at all. Maybe he'd make a better king than Naro in spite of your
opinions to the contrary."
"We're not discussing unsupported opinion," Dameron snapped, with a
frown. he didn't realize I was needling him on purpose, playing devil's
advocate to get even for the lecture he was forcing me to sit through.
"We're discussing carefully documented evidence that supports the
contention that Clero is a dangerous psychopath who would have the
country in ruins in less than two years. Even if you dismissed
everything else, his views on the slave trade should be enough to prove
the point."
"The slave trade?" I echoed, suddenly seeing Radman's face flash across
my mind. "He's a slaver?"
"Not directly, no," Dameron answered with a head-shake, his face grim
and his voice nearly a growl. "He just gives slaving his whole-hearted
support, and patronizes the trade regularly and eagerly. he buys male
slaves and works them to death without looking at them twice; he
wouldn't care if it was his own grandfather who had been enslaved.
Female slaves he looks at more than twice, especially the very yo
ung
ones. Some of them have been sold to the slavers by their fathers, some
were stolen when they weren't watched carefully enough; he never
questions their origins when he buys them. After he buys the - well,
they usually survive, but you'd be surprised how little that says. Use
like that is hard enough on grown women; what it does to little girls
is unspeakable, especially if he decides to train them to a life of it.
That's one of his hobbies. Can you see it in his eyes?"
The map was suddenly replaced by a depth photo of a man, but Dameron's
question was bitterness without meaning. The eyes that stared out at me
were light-colored and laughing, set in a handsome face topped by sandy
hair. The handsome face was wreathed in smiles, true delight and good-
natured happiness clear in every line. If the man had been a politician
women would have eagerly raised their babies for him to kiss, and
fathers would have volunteered their teenage daughters to help him in
his campaigning. It was the face of a man who loved life and loved
people, a man who trusted and could be trust - a man who, according to
Dameron, was a sadistic psychopath.
"And Naro's above all that?" I asked after a minute of studying the
mature, handsome face. "No hidden little twists he keeps out of the
public eye?"
"Naro's a product of his culture," Dameron shrugged, tapping the
terminal again. "He enjoys indulging himself with female slaves, but he
knows the slave trade can get out of hand if it isn't kept under tight
control. People beating the woods for stolen children aren't very
productive, and a drop in productivity affects his tax collections.
He's nothing if not practical, but what more can people ask for in a
ruler?"
The face now projected in front of me was approximately the same age as
Clero's, but there the similarity ended. Naro was dark-haired and darkeyed,
his features average and nondescript except for a faint and
difficult to define air to competence and decisiveness. he also looked
as though he would be harder to get along with than Clero, harder to
talk to and harder to relate to.
"Why isn't Naro taking care of seeing to Clero?" I asked, looking up to
see Dameron's eyes on me. "If he's as competent as you say, he ought to
know who the opposition is."
"Naro does know who the opposition is," Dameron answered with a faint,
humorless smile. "He knows all about the distant cousin of his who
Clero uses as a front. As far as Clero goes, no one beyond the other
princes involved - and ourselves - know what he's up to. And even if
people were told about it, how many of them would believe it? Could you
look Clero in the face and suspect him of anything underhanded? Being
hard on slaves doesn't equate with planning treason. Every-one is hard
on slaves."
"You do have a problem," I admitted, seeing that King Naro's face had
been replaced with the map we'd been looking at. "And just what is
Clero planning?"
"He's trying to reach the throne by the back door," Dameron said, his
tone still annoyed. "King Naro's oldest son and heir, Remo, is
seventeen, a ripe marriage-able age. Clero has been trying to pair Remo
up with one of his daughters, which would be the beginning of the end
for Naro. Right after the marriage an accident could be arranged to
settle Naro, and then Remo would become king. Remo's two brothers would
then follow their father, after which it would be Remo's turn. With
Clero's daughter a widowed queen and no other heir in sight, guess who
could walk into the Regent's job - which would evolve into the
kingship?"
"Why would a widowed queen need a regent?" was my next try, seriously
curious. "Are Clero's daughters so incompetent they'd need a regent, or
are they just so far under daddy's thumb they'd ask for him?"
"Neither," Dameron came back, a sudden amusement in his dark eyes.
"Narella will never be ruled by a queen simply because women aren't
competent enough to rule. They're shallow, flighty, empty-headed,
unknowledgeable, too flatterable and totally helpless. Women are made
for bedrooms and kitchens, not thronerooms."
"How would you like your arm broken in three places?" I asked mildly
and pleasantly through a comfortable smile. "Afterward I can even give
you the medical terminology for each of the breaks, which break came first, and a pretty good estimation of how long each will take to
heal."
"Why do I get the feeling you're not really joking?" Dameron asked, his
grin coming full out. "If I didn't know better I'd think you were angry
with me, but that couldn't be. All I was doing was quoting the way
Narellan men see the thing. Which, of course, has nothing to do with my
own views."
"Oh, of course," I agreed with a sober nod. "Are they really all that
backward?"
"Backward isn't the word," Dameron snorted, still somewhat amused. "If
their women step out of line they beat them, without hesitation and
without regret. A woman with a smart mouth would get it twice as fast,
just to be sure she didn't make the same mistake a second time. If
there's one thing those women give their men, it's obedience and
respect."
"That's two things," I pointed out, giving him the ghost of a smile.
"And there's a difference between respect and fear, a big difference.
So Clero's daughter as a widowed queen would mean Clero as king, but
you and your horde have a plan to stop him - if you can make it work
right."
"It damned well better work right," Dameron growled. "The only way we
could counter his move was to find another candidate for bride-to-be,
which we did. Havro is another prince governing under Naro, his lands
lying here, to the west of Clero's."
The dots ran around the most westerly section, the largest area after
the king's, the one lying right next to Clero's, and then the map
disappeared to show the face of a man. Obviously part of the age group
shared by Naro and Clero, Prince Havro was a man with a broad, boyish
face and bright red hair, blue eyes sharp with private amusement. he
wasn't as distant as Naro or as handsome as Clero, but there was still
something - involved - about him.
"Havro is a competent man, reliable enough to guard the country's
western border from barbarian invasion, and intelligent enough to take
suggestions when they make sense," Dameron said. "He considers ruling a
responsibility rather than a right, and he has a daughter who is
perfect for our purposes. Bellna has no sisters, but in any contest
between her and Clero's three eligible girls, she might as well be
considered quintuplets. She's prettier than Clero's three, smarter than
they are, quick to learn, and eager to become the eventual queen of
Narella. We maneuvered Bellna and Remo into a meeting at the capital -
right after Remo'd had Clero's daughters presented to him. Our timing
couldn't have been better."
The repeater screen first showed three girls ranging in age from
fourteen to seventeen years, standing near
a dark-haired, dark-eyed,
very handsome young male. The male looked as though he would have been
happy to drop through the floor, but from boredom more than anything
else. The youngest girl was still a boy, straight up and down and with
no hint of femininity even in her face. The second girl was clearly
feminine, but too sweetly female and very delicate looking. The third
and oldest was pretty, but the stiffness in her stance and the forced
smile on her face said that nothing in life was likely to please her.
All three wore long, complicated party gowns, well fitted and well
made, but none of them looked right in the clothing.
And then the screen changed to a single girl standing near the boy, and
I blinked at the extreme difference. This girl had lots of bright red
hair and dancing blue eyes, a smile to make a man three days dead rise
again, and a body that made all the previous three look like boys. The young male was grinning down at her, his eyes nearly a blur, his
approval and interest so clear that anyone watching him would have to
laugh softly. The girl returned his look with a cloaked arrogance and
wordless challenge in her eyes that had probably made him quiver, and I
laughed at that, too.
"Bellna is no more than about fifteen, but Remo considers that
perfect," Dameron said, a chuckle in his voice. "His bride bar to be
from one of the princely families, and Clero's daughters are about
average among the rest. Remo spoke to his father about his decision,
got Naro's approval, then made the engagement formal. Re's bright and
able to make even unpleasant decisions quickly, and should make a good
king when he succeeds his father."
"And his marrying Bellna should let him live long enough to reach that
point," I nodded. "I'm assuming that if Bellna ends up a widowed queen
with all the rest of Remo's family gone, Havro rather than Clero would
he tapped as Regent. What I'm wondering is, wouldn't that simply put
Havro in the same spot as Naro and the others? If Clero can scratch a
king and his sons, what's to keep him from doing it to another prince
like himself?"
"That's a good question," Dameron said with a smile of approval.
"You're right in all of your assumptions except for the one concerning
worry about Havro. Havro and Clero are enemies of long standing, and
while Havro isn't paranoid he also isn't foolish enough to let Clero or
