The White Stars lfteot-2

by Michael Moorcock

  "However," he told her, "I am getting the first principles. You decide, to start, that you are superior to someone else — that is that you have more of these primitive attributes than the other person or persons — love, hate, greed, generosity and so on…"

  "Are not some of these opposites?" Her conversations with her son had told her that much.

  "They are…"

  "And you claim you have all of them?"

  " More of them than someone else."

  "I see. Go on."

  "Patriotism is difficult. With that you identify yourself with a whole country. The trick is to see that country as yourself so that any attack on the country is an attack on you."

  "A bit like Werther's Nature?"

  "Exactly. Patriotism, in Trooper O'Dwyer's case, can extend to the entire planet."

  "Something of a feat!"

  "He accomplishes it easily. So do his companions. Well, armed with all these emotions and conceptions you begin a conflict — either by convincing yourself that you have been insulted by someone (who often has something you desire to own) or by goading him to believe that he has been insulted by you (there are subtle variations, but I do not thoroughly understand them as yet). You then try to kill that person — or that nation — or that planet — or as many members as possible. That is what Trooper O'Dwyer and the rest are currently attempting with Alpha Centauri."

  "They will succeed, according to Werther. But I understand that the rules do not allow resurrection."

  "They are unable to accomplish the trick, most delectable of blossoms, most marvellous of metals."

  "So the deaths are permanent?"

  "Quite."

  "How odd."

  "They had much higher populations in those days."

  "I suppose that must explain it."

  "Yet, it appears, every time one of their members was killed, they grieved — a most unpleasant sensation, I gather. To rid themselves of this sense of grief, they killed more of the opposing forces, creating grief in them so that they would wish to kill more — and so on, and so on."

  "It all seems rather — well — unaesthetic."

  "I agree. But we must not dismiss their arts out of hand. One does not always come immediately to terms with the principles involved."

  "Is it even Art?"

  "They describe it as such. They use the very word."

  One eyebrow expressed her astonishment. She turned as Trooper O'Dwyer shuffled into the room. He was eating a piece of brightly coloured fruit and he had an oddly shaped girl on his arm (created, whispered the duke, to the trooper's exact specifications). He nodded at them. "Duke," he said. "Lady." His stomach had grown so that it hung over his belt. He wore the same clothes he had arrived in, but his wounds had healed and he no longer had the respiratory gear on his back.

  "Shall we go to the — um — 'gym', Trooper O'Dwyer?" asked the duke in what was, in the Iron Orchid's opinion, a rather unnecessarily agreeable tone.

  "Sure."

  "You must come and see this," he told her.

  The "gym" was a large, bare room, designed by Trooper O'Dwyer, hung with various ropes, furnished with pieces of equipment whose function was, to her, unfathomable. For a while she watched as, enthusiastically, the Duke of Queens leapt wildly about, swinging from ropes, attacking large, stuffed objects with sharp sticks, yelling at the top of his voice, while, seated in a comfortable chair with the girl beside him, Trooper O'Dwyer called out guttural words in an alien tongue. The Iron Orchid did her best to be amused, to encourage the duke, but she found it difficult. She was glad when she saw someone enter the hall by the far door. She went to greet the newcomer. "Dear Lord Shark," she said, "the duke has been so looking forward to your visit."

  The figure in the shark-mask stopped dead, pausing for a moment or two before replying.

  "I am not Lord Shark. I am his fencing automaton, programmed to teach the Duke of Queens the secrets of the duel."

  "I am very pleased you have come," she said in genuine relief.

  6. Old-Fashioned Amusements

  Sergeant Martinez and his twenty-five troopers relaxed in the comparative luxury of a perfect reproduction of a partially ruined Martian bunker, created for them by My Lady Charlotina. It was better than they had expected, so they had not complained, particularly since few of them had spent much of their time in the menagerie.

  "The point is," Sergeant Martinez was saying, as he took a long toke on the large black Herodian cigar, "that we're all going soft and we're forgetting our duty."

  "The war's over, sarge," Trooper Gan Hok reminded him. He grinned. "By a couple million years or so. Alpha Centauri's beaten."

  "That's what they're telling us," said the sergeant darkly. "And maybe they're right. But what if this was all a mirage we're in? An illusion created by the Vultures to make us think the war's over, so we make no attempt to escape."

  "You don't really believe that, do you, sarge?" enquired squat Trooper Pleckhanov. "Nobody could make an illusion this good. Could they?"

  "Probably not, trooper, but it's our duty to assume they could and get back to our own time."

  "That girl of yours dropped you, sarge?" enquired Trooper Denereaz, with the perspicacity for which he was loathed throughout the squad. Some of the others began to laugh, but stopped themselves as they noted the expression on the sergeant's face.

  "Have you got a plan, sarge?" asked Trooper George diplomatically. "Wouldn't we need a time machine?"

  "They exist. You've all talked with that Morphail guy."

  "Right. But would he give us one?"

  "He refused," Sergeant Martinez told them. "What does that suggest to you, Trooper Denereaz?"

  "That they want us to remain here?" suggested Denereaz dutifully.

  "Right."

  "Then how are we going to get hold of one, sarge?" asked Trooper Gan Hok.

  "We got to use our brains," he said sluggishly, staring hard at his cigar. "We got one chance of a successful bust-out. We're gonna need some hardware, hostages maybe." He yawned and slowly began to describe his scheme in broad outline while his men listened with different degrees of attention. Some of them were not at all happy with the sergeant's reminder of their duty.

  Trooper O'Dwyer had not been present at the conference, but remained at the palace of the Duke of Queens, where he had become very comfortable. Occasionally he would stroll into the gym to see how the duke's fencing lessons were progressing. He was fascinated by the robot instructing the duke; it was programmed to respond to certain key commands, but within those terms could respond with rapid and subtle reflexes, while at the same time giving a commentary on the duke's proficiency, which currently afforded Trooper O'Dwyer some easy amusement.

  The words Lord Shark used in his programming were in the ancient language of Fransai, authentic and romantic (though the romance had certainly escaped Lord Shark). To begin a duel the Duke of Queens would cry:

  "En tou rage!"

  — and if struck (the robot was currently set not to wound) he would retort gracefully:

  "Toujours gai, mon coeur!"

  Trooper O'Dwyer thought that he had noted an improvement in the duke's skill over the past week or so (not that weeks, as such, existed in this world, and he was having a hard time keeping track of days, let alone anything else) thanks, thought the trooper, to the original basic training. A good part of the duke's time was spent with the robot, and he had lost interest in all other activities, all relationships, including that with Trooper O'Dwyer, who was content to remain at the palace, for he was given everything his heart desired.

  A month or two passed (by Trooper O'Dwyer's reckoning) and the Duke of Queens grew increasingly skilful. Now he cried "En tou rage!" more often than "Toujours gai!" and he confided, pantingly, one morning to the trooper that he felt he was almost ready to meet Lord Shark.

  "You reckon you're as good as this other guy?" asked O'Dwyer.

  "The automaton has taught me all it can. Soon I shall pay a visit
to Lord Shark and display what I have learned."

  "I wouldn't mind getting a gander at Lord Shark myself," said Trooper O'Dwyer, casually enough.

  "Accompany me, by all means."

  "Okay, duke." Trooper O'Dwyer winked and nudged the duke in the ribs. "It'll break the monotony. Get me?"

  The Duke of Queens, removing his fencing mask (fashioned in gold filigree to resemble a fanciful fox), blinked but made no answer. O'Dwyer could be interestingly cryptic sometimes, he thought. He noticed that the automaton was still poised in the ready position and he commanded it to come to attention. It did, its sword pointing upwards and almost touching its fishy snout.

  The duke drew O'Dwyer's attention to his new muscles. "I had nothing to do with their appearance," he said in delight. "They came — quite naturally. It was most surprising!"

  The trooper nodded and bit into a fruit, reflecting that the duke now seemed to be in better shape than he was.

  The Iron Orchid and My Lady Charlotina lay back upon the cushions of their slowly moving air carriage, which had been designed in the likeness of the long-extinct gryphon, and wondered where they might be. They had been making languid love. Eventually, My Lady Charlotina put her golden head over the edge of the gryphon's back and saw, not far off, the Duke of Queens' inverted palace. She suggested to her friend that they might visit the duke; the Iron Orchid agreed. They adjusted their gravity rings and flew towards the top-most (or the lowest) door, leaving the gryphon behind.

  "You seem unenthusiastic, my dear," murmured My Lady Charlotina, "about the duke's current activities."

  "I suppose I am," assented the Iron Orchid, brightening her silver skin a touch. "He has such hopes of beginning a fashion."

  "And you think he will fail? I am quite looking forward to the — what is it — the fight?"

  "The duel," she said.

  "And many others I know await it eagerly." They floated down a long, curling passage whose walls were inset at regular intervals with cages containing pretty song-children. "When is it to take place, do you know?"

  "We must ask the duke. I gather he practises wholeheartedly with the automaton Lord Shark sent him."

  "Lord Shark is so mysterious, is he not?" whispered My Lady Charlotina with relish. "I suspect that the interest in the duel comes, as much as anything, from people's wish to inspect one so rarely seen in society. Is duelling his only pastime?"

  "I know nothing at all of Lord Shark the Unknown, save that he affects a surly manner and that he is pleased to assume the role of a recluse. Ah, there is the 'gym'. Probably we shall find the Duke of Queens therein."

  They came upon the duke as he divested himself of the last of his duelling costume.

  "How handsome your body is, manly master of Queens," purred My Lady Charlotina. "Have you altered it recently?"

  He kissed her hand. "It changed itself — a result of all my recent exercise." He inspected it with pleasure. "It is how they used to change their bodies, in the old days."

  "We wondered when your duel with Lord Shark the Unknown was to take place," she said, "and came to ask. Everyone is anxious to watch."

  He was flattered. "I go today to visit Lord Shark. It is for him to name the time and the location." The duke indicated Trooper O'Dwyer, who lay half-hidden upon an ermine couch. "Trooper O'Dwyer accompanies me. Would you care to come, too?"

  "It is my understanding that Lord Shark does not encourage visitors," said the Iron Orchid.

  "You think you would not be welcome, then?"

  "It is best to assume that."

  "Thank you, Iron Orchid, for saving me once again from a lapse of manners. I was ever tactless." He smiled. "It was that which led to this situation, really."

  "Trooper O'Dwyer!" My Lady Charlotina drifted towards the reclining warrior. "Have you seen anything of your compatriots of late?"

  "Nope. Have they gone missing?" He showed no great interest in his one-time messmates.

  "They appear to have vanished, taking with them some power rings and a large air carriage I had given them for their own use. They have deserted my menagerie."

  "I guess they'll come back when they feel like it."

  "I do hope so. If they were not happy with their habitat they had only to tell me. Well," turning with a smile to the duke, "we shall not keep you. I hope your encounter with Lord Shark is satisfactory today. And you must tell us, at once, if you agree to the place and time, so that we can tell everyone to make plans to be there."

  He bowed. "You will be the first, My Lady Charlotina, Iron Orchid."

  "Is that your 'sword'?"

  "It is."

  She stroked the slender blade. "I must get one for myself," she said, "and then you can teach me, too."

  As they returned to their gryphon, the Iron Orchid touched her friend's arm. "You could not have said a more pleasing thing to him."

  My Lady Charlotina laughed. "Oh, we live to indulge such honest souls as he. Do we not, Iron Orchid?"

  "Do I detect a slightly archaic note in your choice of phrase?"

  "You do, my dear. I have been studying, too, you see!"

  7. The Terms of the Duel

  Lord Shark's warning devices apprised him of the approach of an air car, and his screens revealed the nature of that car, a large kitelike contraption from which hung a gondola — in the gondola, two figures.

  "Two," murmured Lord Shark the Unknown to himself. Beneath his mask he frowned. The car drifted closer and was seen to contain the Duke of Queens and a plump individual in poorly fitting overalls of some description.

  He instructed his automata, his servants, to admit the couple when they reached the building, then he sat back to wait.

  Lord Shark's grey mind considered the information on the screens, but dismissed the questions raised until the Duke of Queens could supply answers. He hoped that the duke had come to admit himself incapable of learning the skills of the duel and that he need not, therefore, be further bothered by the business which threatened to interrupt the routines of all the dull centuries of his existence. The only person on his planet who had not heard the news that the universe was coming to an end, he was the only one who would have been consoled by the knowledge or, indeed, even interested, for nobody else had paid it too much attention, save perhaps Lord Jagged of Canaria. Yet, even had Lord Shark known, he would still have preferred to await the end by following his conventional pursuits, being too much of a cynic to believe news until it had been confirmed by the event itself.

  He heard footfalls in the passage. He counted thirty-four before they reached his door. He touched a stud. The door opened and there stood the Duke of Queens, in feathered finery, and lace, and gold, bowing with elaborate and meaningless courtesy.

  "Lord Shark, I am here to receive your instructions!" He straightened, stroking his large black beard and looking about the room with a curiosity Lord Shark found offensive.

  "This other? Is he your second?"

  "Trooper O'Dwyer."

  "Of the 46th Star Squadron," said Trooper O'Dwyer by way of embellishment. "Nice to know you, Lord Shark."

  Lord Shark's small sigh was not heard by his visitors as he rose from behind his consoles. "We shall talk in the gunroom," he said. "This way."

  He led them along a perfectly straight corridor into a perfectly square room which was lined with all the weapons his long-dead companion had collected in his lifetime.

  "Phew!" said Trooper O'Dwyer. "What an armoury!" He reached out and took down a heavy energy-rifle. "I've seen these. We were hoping for an allocation." He operated the moving parts, he sighted down the barrel. "Is it charged?"

  Lord Shark said tonelessly, "I believe that they are all in working condition." While Trooper O'Dwyer whistled and enthused, Lord Shark drew the Duke of Queens to the far end of the room where stood a rack of swords. "If you feel that you wish to withdraw from our agreement, my lord duke, I should like you to know that I would also be perfectly happy to forget —"

  "No, no! May I?" The
Duke of Queens wrapped his heavy cloak over his arm and selected an ancient sabre from the rack, flexing it and testing it for balance. "Excellent!" He smiled. "You see, Lord Shark, that I know my blades now! I am ready to meet you at any time, anywhere you decide. Your automaton proved an excellent instructor and can best me no longer. I am ready. Besides," he added, "it would not do to call off the duel. So many of my friends intend to watch. They would be disappointed."

  "Friends? Come to watch?" Lord Shark was in despair. The Duke of Queens was renowned for his vulgarity, but Lord Shark had not for a moment considered that he would turn such an event into a sideshow.

  "So if you will name when and where…" the Duke of Queens replaced the sword in the rack.

  "Very well. It might as easily be where we first met, on the plain, as anywhere."

  "Good. Good."

  "As to time — say a week from today?"

  "A week? I know the expression. Let me think…"

  "Seven days — seven rotations of the planet around the sun."

  "Ah, yes…" The duke still seemed vague, so Lord Shark said impatiently:

  "I will make you the loan of one of my chronometers. I will set it to indicate when you should leave to arrive at the appropriate time."

  "You are generous, Lord Shark."

  Lord Shark turned away. "I will be glad when this is over," he said. He glared at Trooper O'Dwyer, but the trooper was oblivious to his displeasure. He was now inspecting another weapon.

  "I'd sure love the chance of trying one of these babies out," he hinted.

  Lord Shark ignored him.

  "We shall fight, Duke of Queens, until one of us is killed. Does that suit you?"

  "Certainly. It is what I expected."

  "You are not reluctant to die. I assumed…"

  "I've died more than once, you know," said the duke airily. "The resurrection is sometimes a little disorientating, but it doesn't take long to —"

  "I shall not expect to be resurrected," Lord Shark told him firmly. "I intend to make that one of the terms of this duel. If killed — then it is final."