Sir Dominic Flandry:
The Last Knight of Terra
Poul Anderson
Compiled by
Hank Davis
Baen Books by Poul Anderson
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The Technic Civilization Saga
The Van Rijn Method
David Falkayn: Star Trader
Rise of the Terran Empire
Young Flandry
Captain Flandry: Defender of the Terran Empire
Sir Dominic Flandry: The Last Knight of Terra
Flandry's Legacy (forthcoming)
The High Crusade
To Outlive Eternity and Other Stories
Time Patrol
Hoka! Hoka! Hoka! (with Gordon R. Dickson)
Hokas Pokas! (with Gordon R. Dickson)
SIR DOMINIC FLANDRY: THE LAST KNIGHT OF TERRA
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
"Enter Hero and Adversary, Accompanied by Alarms and Tumult" copyright © 2010 by Hank Davis.
"A Chronology of Technic Civilization" by Sandra Miesel copyright © 2008 by Sandra Miesel.
"Lurex and Gold" (revised version) by Sandra Miesel copyright © 2010 by Sandra Miesel.
Acknowledgements
"The Plague of Masters"—originally published in Fantastic, December 1960 and January 1961, under the title "A Plague of Masters." Copyright © 1960 by Ziff-Davis Publications, Inc. Reprinted 1961 by Ace Books, Inc. under the title "Earthman, Go Home!"
"Hunters of the Sky Cave"—originally published in Amazing Stories, June 1959, in a shorter version under the title "A Handful of Stars." Copyright © 1959 by Ziff-Davis Publications, Inc. Reprinted 1959 by Ace Books, Inc., under the title "We Claim these Stars!"
"The Warriors From Nowhere"—originally published in Planet Stories, Summer 1954, under the title "The Ambassadors of Flesh." Copyright © 1954 by Love Romances Publishing Co., Inc. Revised version in Agent of the Terran Empire, Ace Books, Inc., 1980. Copyright © 1980 by Poul Anderson.
A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows—originally published in If: Worlds of Science Fiction, September-October and November-December, 1974. Reprinted 1975 as a Signet Book by The New American Library, Inc.
A Baen Book
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN 13: 978-1-4391-3401-6
Cover art by David Seeley
First Baen printing, December 2010
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Anderson, Poul, 1926-2001.
Sir Dominic Flandry : the last knight of Terra / by Poul Anderson.
... p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-4391-3401-6 (trade pbk.)
1. Life on other planets--Fiction. I. Title.
PS3551.N378S57 2010
813'.54--dc22
..............................2010039850
Printed in the United States of America
9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
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In her essay "Lurex and Gold," Sandra Miesel referred to Dominic Flandry as "the last knight of Terra." I am grateful to her for giving me permission to use that striking phrase as the subtitle of this volume.
ENTER HERO
AND ADVERSARY,
ACCOMPANIED BY
ALARMS AND
TUMULT
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Captain Sir Dominic Flandry of the Intelligence Corps, Imperial Terrestrial Navy continues to fight, usually against the Merseians, who plot to overthrow the Terran Empire and replace it with their own. If Flandry's fight is not always the elusive Good Fight, at least it's usually the best possible fight that circumstances allow.
There's a greater fight: against the fall of the Terran Empire and the Long Night which will fall across the known region of the galaxy. But the Empire is fatally flawed, its fall is inevitable, and that fight cannot be won. Time is always on entropy's side, and social systems built by humans and other sentient beings have their own entropy.
That's on a galactic scale. On a smaller, human (or other sentient being's) scale, Flandry can win, though his victory may come with a price. Sometimes that price is one which Flandry would not have paid, if he had any choice...
I've covered this ground in introductions to previous volumes in the Technic Civilization series, and I don't want to rehash the basics of Flandry's universe yet again. But I did want to give a short orientation to the reader who picks up this volume without having read its predecessors.
Now, onto fights which can be won (but, don't forget, sometimes with a price). This volume of the unified Technic Civilization series begins with Flandry visiting a planet and finding that he's walked into a trap. The planet's ruling class has what looks like a foolproof way of keeping the masses—and Flandry—in line. However, foolproof doesn't mean Flandryproof. The planet has a Plague of Masters, but Flandry is the cure for that plague. And watch for a mention of a now legendary historical figure named van Rijn.
This episode of Flandry's illustrious career doesn't have galactic implications: just one planet under a tyranny, one inhabited planet among millions, out of touch with other worlds and likely to go on as it has even after the Empire falls. The inhabitants of the planet would have a different perspective, of course. And it hardly needs mentioning that the reader will get a first-class action yarn. But if a larger perspective is desired, Hunters of the Sky Cave delivers that in spades.
This novel-length Flandry was my introduction to Captain Sir Dominic Flandry when I read a shorter version in Amazing Stories a few decades ago. It was also my introduction to Flandry's frequent adversary, Aycharaych, a mysterious alien with telepathic powers, working with (but not quite for) the Merseians. This time, we learn that Aycharaych has a passion for the 20th century composer Richard Strauss, and the tone poem Death and Transfiguration in particular. One is tempted to speculate on that choice, since Strauss is known not only for his music (particularly since 2001: A Space Odyssey, which was nearly a decade in the future when this novel was published) but also for his coziness with the Nazis, which might be compared to Aycharaych's alliance with the Merseians. And the subject matter of the tone poem might be compared with what the reader finally will learn about Aycharaych and his people...
But Aycharaych is not the only fascinating alien in town. Chives, Flandry's valet-cum-butler, has a large part here (and will reappear in the two yarns which follow). This omnicompotent chap seems to be P. G. Wodehouse's immortal Jeeves reincarnated in an alien body, this time with an employer who isn't an upper class twit. There are also the Ymirites, very unusual beings who evolved on a gas giant and have colonized Jupiter, whose crushing pressure, poisonous (to humans) atmosphere, and temperatures far colder than anywhere on Earth are as a spring day to them. And check out the colorful non-humans in Flandry's task force near the end of the novel.
There's no shortage of action, either. Plus memorable observations from Flandry, such as, "I don't want to die so fast I can't feel it. I want to see death coming, and make the stupid thing fight for every centimeter of me." Or, "Let civilization hang together long enough for Dominic Flandry to taste a few more vintages, ride a few more horses, kiss a lot more girls and sing another ballad or two. That would suffice. At least, it was all he dared hope fo
r."
The shortest yarn here, "The Warriors from Nowhere" is the earliest of these tales to be written. It appeared in that notable sf adventure pulp, Planet Stories, in 1954, under the more pulpish title of "The Ambassadors of Flesh" and with an equally pulpish cover by the late, great Kelly Freas. The version here was somewhat rewritten by Poul Anderson when it first appeared in 1979, but the headlong action typical of Planet still remains, with Chives again being conspicuously indispensible. ("One of nature's noblemen," Flandry calls him.)
Then comes the longest episode, A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows. Flandry and Aycharaych have their final showdown, and we finally learn the secret of the latter's homeworld, Chereion—and also learn just how tragic a figure Aycharaych is. Without giving away too much of what is a pivotal episode in Flandry's part of the Technic Civilization saga, I'll only say that Aycharaych has long been playing with sentient beings as if they were pieces on a cosmic chessboard, and this time two of the pieces had too much importance to Flandry—and Aycharaych is going to pay. Go read the story.
Flandry will return (Admiral Flandry, that is) in the next and final volume of the Technic Civilization saga, Flandry's Legacy, which will also contain stories set long after Flandry had left the stage. There's one story set during the Long Night, plus three more tales set in the time when galactic civilization is beginning to rise again. But there's plenty of Flandry in the book. Not to mention Chives. And Flandry isn't going to let a little thing such as being promoted to Admiral keep him stuck behind a desk—but I'll save that for next time.
In the meantime, I should mention that the online version of this book has a bonus: "Lurex and Gold," another of Sandra Miesel's essays on the Technic Civilization universe, which is far more perceptive and gracefully written than this introduction.
—Hank Davis, 2010
THE
PLAGUE OF
MASTERS
—————————
I
First he was aware of rain. Its noise filled the opened airlock chamber, a great slow roar that reverberated through the spaceship's metal. Light struck outward, glinted off big raindrops crowded together in their falling. Each globule shone quicksilver. But just beyond that curtain was total night. Here and there in blackness a lamp could be seen, and a watery glimmer reflected off the concrete under its pole. The air that gusted into the lock chamber was as warm as wet, and full of strange smells; Flandry thought some were like jasmine and some like rotting ferns, but couldn't be sure.
He tossed his cigarette to the deck and ground it under his heel. The hooded raincape which he slipped on seemed useless in such weather. Diving suit might help, he grumbled to himself. All his careful elegance had gone for naught: from the peaked cap with the sunburst of Empire, down past flowing silkite blouse and embroidered blue doublet, red sash with the fringed ends hanging just so, to sleek white trousers tucked in soft but shiny leather halfboots. He pressed a control button and descended from the lock. As he reached ground, the ladder retreated, the valve closed, lights went out in the ports of the flitter. He felt very much alone.
The rain seemed even louder here in the open. It must be striking on foliage crowding every side of the field. Flandry heard water gurgle in gutters and drains. He could make out several buildings now, across the width of concrete, and started toward them. He hadn't gone far when half a dozen men approached from that direction. It must be the receiving committee, he thought, and halted so that they might be the ones coming to him. Imperial prestige and so forth, what?
As they neared, he saw they were not an especially tall race. He, who was about three-fourths caucasoid, topped the biggest by half a head. But they were wide-shouldered and well-muscled, walking lithely. A nearby lamp showed them to be tawny brown of skin, with black hair banged across the forehead and falling past the ears, a tendency toward almond eyes and flattish noses. They wore a simple uniform: green pocketed kilt of waterproof synthetic, sandals on their feet, a medallion around each neck. They moved with a confident semi-military stride, and haughtiness marked the beardless faces. Yet they were armed only with truncheon and dagger.
Odd. Flandry noted the comforting weight of the blaster at his own hip.
The squad reached him and deployed. There had been another man with them. One of the squad continued to hold a gracefully shaped umbrella over this one's head. It was a head shaven smooth, with a symbol tattooed on the brow in fluorescing gold. The man was short and slender, but seemed athletic. Hard to judge his age; the face was unlined, but sharper and with more profile than the others, a sensitive mouth and disconcertingly steady eyes. He wore a robe which flared outward from the shoulders (held by a yoke, Flandry judged, to permit free air circulation around the body) and fell in simple white folds to the ankles. On its breast was the image of a star.
He regarded Flandry for several seconds before speaking, in archaic and thickly accented Anglic: "Welcome to Unan Besar. It is long since an... outsider... has been on this planet."
The newcomer sketched a bow and answered in Pulaoic, "On behalf of His Majesty and all the peoples of the Terran Empire, greetings to your world and yourself. I am Captain Sir Dominic Flandry of the Imperial Navy." Intelligence Corps, field division, he did not add.
"Ah. Yes." The other man seemed glad to slip back into his own language. "The dispatcher did mention to me that you spoke our tongue. You honor us by taking the trouble to learn."
Flandry shrugged. "No trouble. Neural educator, don't y' know. Doesn't take long. I got the implantation from a Betelgeusean trader on Orma, before I came here."
The language was musical, descended from Malayan but influenced by many others in the past. The ancestors of these people had left Terra to colonize New Djawa a long time ago. After the disastrous war with Gorrazan, three centuries back and a bit, some of those colonists had gone on to Unan Besar, and had been isolated from the rest of the human race ever since. Their speech had evolved along its own track.
Flandry was more interested in the reaction of the robed man. His beautifully curved lips drew taut, for just an instant, and a hand curved its fingers to claws before withdrawing into the wide sleeve. The others stood impassive, rain running off their shoulders, but their eyes never left Flandry.
The robed man exclaimed, "What were you doing on Orma? It's no planet of the Empire. We're beyond the borders of any empire!"
"More or less." Flandry made his tone careless. "Terra is a couple of hundred light-years away. But you must be aware how indefinite interstellar boundaries are—how entire hegemonies can interpenetrate. As for Orma, well, why shouldn't I be there? It has a Betelgeusean trading base, and Betelgeuse is friendly to Terra."
"The real question," said the other, hardly audible above the rainfall, "is why you should be here."
And then, relaxing, donning a smile: "But no matter. You are most welcome, Captain. Permit self-introduction. I am Nias Warouw, director of the Guard Corps of the Planetary Biocontrol."
Chief of detectives, translated Flandry. Or... chief of military intelligence? Why else should the Emperor's representative—as they must figure I am—be met by a policeman rather than the head of government?
Unless the police are the government.
Warouw startled him by switching briefly to Anglic: "You might call me a physician."
Flandry decided to take things as they came. As the tourist in the sultan's harem said. A folk out of touch for three hundred years could be expected to develop some strange customs.
"Do you always get these rains?" He drew his cloak tighter. Not that it could prevent his collar from wilting. He thought of Terra, music, perfumed air, cocktails at the Everest House with some bit of blonde fluff, and wondered dismally why he had ever come to this sinkhole planet. It wasn't as if he had orders.
"Yes—normally about nightfall in these latitudes," said Warouw.
Unan Besar has a mere ten-hour rotation period, thought Flandry. They could easily have waited another five of those hours,
till their one and only spaceport came around into daylight again. I'd have been glad to stay in orbit. They kept stalling me long enough as it was; and then suddenly their damn dispatcher ordered me down on the instant. Five extra hours—why, I could have spent them cooking myself a really decent dinner, and eating it at a decent speed, instead of gobbling a sandwich. What kind of manners is this, anyhow?
I think they wanted me to land in darkness and rain.
Why?
Warouw reached beneath his robe and took out a vial. It held some large blue pills. "Are you aware of the biochemical situation here?" he asked.
"The Betelgeuseans mentioned something about it, but they weren't too clear or thorough on the subject."
"They wouldn't be. Having a nonhuman immunochemistry, they are not affected, and thus are not very interested. But to us, Captain, the very air of this planet is toxic. You have already absorbed enough to cause death in a few days."
Warouw smiled sleepily. "Of course, we have an antitoxin," he went on. "You will need one of these pills every thirty or so of our days while remaining here, and a final dose before you leave."
Flandry gulped and reached for the vial. Warouw's movement of withdrawal was snake smooth. "Please, Captain," he murmured. "I shall be happy to give you one now. But only one at a time. It is the law, you understand. We have to keep a careful record. Can't be careless, you know."
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