Emperors and courtiers were used to living with the time stress: the compensation was that the place could never fall, even from riots and civil commotion. The only danger that existed was the faint chance that someday the black hole itself might suddenly reach term and itself explode with unthinkable violence. But they could live with this: the topmost government was so safe, the Emperor was so secure that only a madman would contemplate an overthrow of the realm. Revolutionaries were doomed from the start. People like Prince Mortiiy were rightly, by normal standards, looked upon as insane: Even if they won a planet or two, they could never overthrow the whole government so long as Palace City held.
This was the problem the ambitious Lombar Hisst had confronted when he heard the angels telling him he should be Emperor. The only possible way to seize the government was through a coup d'etat, working from within Palace City. And Lombar Hisst was very near to the total completion of his goal. The weapon had been drugs. And as of this night, when Jettero Heller and the Countess Krak hovered above the mist, they did not know that every single member of the Grand Council was hooked. It had begun innocently enough: The court physicians had gullibly welcomed a means to stimulate the declining energies of Lords with small amounts of amphetamines. Then, when nervous symptoms arose, they were only too happy to accept, with a touch of blackmail here and there, the balm of opium. And from opium it went to heroin. Uppers and downers had done their work. Lombar Hisst controlled the supply.
The very last Lord had been hooked months ago. It was now thoroughly extended to everyone in Palace City. All Hisst had to say was "no bag for him" and very shortly the noncompliant officer or Lord was signing, ordering and doing exactly what he was told.
The whole thing had been very smoothly done. Medical journals sang the praises of "the new miracle drugs." The grip was now extending outward to the populations.
Earlier that very night, Lombar Hisst had been at Spiteos doing inventories and allocations of speed, heroin and opium, for it was at Spiteos that these bulk drugs were received from Earth. Lombar Hisst, thanks to a law that forbade the growth or manufacture of the lethal commodities in the Confederacy, had a total monopoly.
The crown itself was inches from his grasp and each night he heard the angels sing and urge him on. Mad already, Lombar Hisst himself was on drugs. Slum-rat born, he saw nothing insurmountable to his ascension to the throne of Voltar. Such a thing had happened many times on Earth: it was his model. That it had never before happened in the Confederacy was a matter he could brush aside. With drugs he could do anything and he was winning all the way. Palace City now danced to his slightest whim. All Voltar awaited him tomorrow. And every planet of the whole 110 would soon be his.
That was the actual scene which lay below the tug that night. And Heller and Krak really knew nothing of it.
True to the reputation of combat engineers taking foolhardy risks despite forlorn hopes, Heller was going about this one in an orderly way.
Amongst the things he had gotten from old Any was a collection of ship identifications of retired craft that were still listed as being in active, if reserve, service. He had thought he might need them to move about freely without reporting in or alerting others to the fact that he was home.
Hovering at a height of a hundred miles, inside the defense perimeter of the planet, he plugged in a repeating signal: Survey Ship Wave, Making Tests. Stand Clear. He had not used it over Spiteos but he would use it now. A survey ship could be testing almost anything from the concentration of moonlight to the potentials of an earthquake. Such ships were quite common in the sky; they often stayed still and people kept away from them.
Having then accounted for the fact that a vessel was hovering above Palace City, should his presence be detected, he went to his aft dressing room and got into his full-dress uniform. He then donned, over it, a technician's coverall. He picked up a pair of two-way-response radios and went back to the flight deck.
The Countess handed him the proclamations and he slid them inside his tunic. He slipped into the local-pilot seat. "Here goes everything on one roll of the dice," he said and pushed at the controls.
Down they went. Up came the mist of warped space.
There was a moment of giddiness and nausea and they were through. The cat let out a yowl; he didn't like it.
Abruptly, to their left, loomed the mountain. They were thirteen minutes in the future.
Jet listened tensely to see if there had been a Palace City alarm. His speakers were silent.
He looked ahead of them. The night-lit palaces sprawled on down the slopes; circles of lights marked the parks. He oriented himself exactly.
Then, carefully, he eased the tug over onto a shoulder of the mountain and gently landed.
He pointed straight ahead through the open pilot ports. "You see that tower down there, straight ahead?"
The Countess Krak singled out the black silhouette of the structure about half a mile away.
"That's their alert system," said Heller. He handed her one of the tiny radios. "Keep this on. When you hear me say 'Now!' push the firing pin on the dash. I'll only do it if something happens to me."
"Oh, dear," she said, "I hope it doesn't come to that."
"I trust it won't. Now, you sit tight. You've got the hardest part—waiting."
"If you step out there," she said, "won't you get a dose of radiation from the black hole?"
"Negligible, but keep the airlock closed after I leave and open it quick when I come back. This sort of operation has a lot of running in it if things get unstuck."
"Shouldn't you give me a blastrifle or something in case I have to cover your retreat?"
"You'd only attract fire. The defenses of this place internally are heavy beyond belief and, frankly, I think they must be getting awfully slack to let a survey ship land without a challenge. But the place has the liability of being sort of out of communication and, for the moment, they probably think, if they detected us at all, that somebody called us for some reason. If anybody calls you except me, say nothing. They'll think the crew has left the ship and is checking cables or reflectors or something. Just sit tight."
She watched him open the airlock outer door and drop to the ground. She began to realize that the risks might be pretty great. She had a sudden panic that she might not see him again.
He went past the front of the tug, turned back and waved and then melted into the night.
Chapter 5
Over the rocks and down the hill in blackness, Jettero Heller headed for the alert tower. The ground he was crossing was very tumbled and hard to cross: there were no paths, for nobody ever came this way. The real entrances to Palace City were a mile or more away, over on the perimeter of the eastern side.
The amount of light that glowed back from the palaces and parks gave everything a dusky glow and he was able to get along without any serious collisions with boulders, though a time or two he almost stepped off into unsuspected holes. It was rough walking.
He came to the tower. He inspected it and found a cable conduit which led toward the first palace. The path of it was marked with small stakes. He went along it: if challenged, he planned to say he was a technician making sure that it had no faults. It was also easier walking since the trench had been covered over and pounded flat.
He came to the side of the first palace. He oriented himself. The Emperor's quarters were a half mile to the south, past other palaces and parks: the structure was quite commanding, bigger than the rest.
Right here he had to make up his mind at what point he would abandon the technician role and become a Royal officer. He had not seen any guards as yet, for nobody in memory had ever tried to enter these precincts by the back door.
He decided that he had better not risk a guard seeing a technician one minute and a Royal officer the next. In deep shadow, standing against the palace wall, he removed the coveralls.
He adjusted his circular, brimless cap to the proper slant, put the gold chinstrap in its regu
lation place, switched the dust off his boots with a tuft of grass and looked up at the palace side. There was a large, round window about eight feet up. It was open. He gave a jump and a few seconds later he was through it.
Everything in Palace City is built in circles and the hall he was in was no exception. It was a quarters area. The doors were all closed. There was no one about. He tucked his officer's baton under his arm and, with no attempt at quietness, strode along.
He came near the front of the building. He started to exit from the front door and received an awful start. There were two guards there, lounging on blastrifles. They were NOT Palace City guards in blue and violet. They were Apparatus guards in mustard yellow!
For an instant he thought there might be an alert for him.
It was too late to turn back. He walked boldly forward, past them and down the curving steps. They looked at him oddly. They did not salute. But neither did they challenge him.
Heller headed across the circular park. His back was braced for a shot.
The statue of some statesman was ahead, bathed in light. Heller walked straight through the illuminated area looking like someone who knew where he was going and had a legal reason to be there.
Something moved on the other side of the statue. Two more Apparatus guards! They did not salute.
Heller crossed the remaining half of the circular park, again with an itching back. Where were all the palace guards? Usually they stood at intervals along the walks like statues in their own right. These sloppy, dishevelled Apparatus troops sent a chill through him.
He suddenly changed his plans. He felt the need of support. He knew where Captain Tars Roke was quartered: it was not out of his way. Still striding along, baton tucked under his arm, the gold citations on his tunic gleaming, feeling like an interloper, he approached the senior officers' quarters of the Royal staff. He went up the curving staircase to the front door.
Two more Apparatus guards!
They barred his way.
"I want to see Captain Tars Roke," said Heller, "the King's Own Astrographer."
One of the guards looked toward a screen and pushed a button. A series of names rolled off. He looked back at Heller. "You must not have been around lately, spacer. There's no Roke on this list and it hasn't been changed for months."
"He was transferred to Calabar," said the other, consulting another screen. He looked up suspiciously. "What's your name?"
"Thank you," said Heller. And he turned and walked down the staircase at a military pace. His back felt like it had holes in it.
So that was why Gris had felt he could kill him safely! He had had a communication line with Roke in a code of reminiscences he knew they could not decipher since there was no cipher in it. He felt a twinge of guilt: They had removed poor Captain Roke to cut his communication line. This was adding up to something very bad.
Well, he would go it without support.
The Emperor's quarters lay just ahead, round and imposing, blazing with light. A squad of Apparatus troops marched by, relieving guards and replacing them.
An armored vehicle, an oddity in Palace City, clanked in what appeared to be a constant tour around the imperial quarters.
Heller felt he was getting deeper and deeper into very dangerous territory. Every foot he travelled forward was one he would have to travel back. The only thing which kept him going was the belief that if he could get the proclamations signed, it wasn't likely they would then instantly shoot him. He didn't know he was carrying forgeries which could bring about just that. He stood on the walk, looking up at the curving, gold-and-silver-encrusted staircase that led to the imposing entrance.
Ordinarily, palace guards would be standing there every few steps, their silver helmets blazing. There were none.
Heller gave his baton a bitch and sedately went up the wide steps.
He passed through several halls of state. At this late hour they were deserted, dimly lit, their trappings faintly gleaming.
He went down a hall. He was in the Emperor's living area now: these doors must open into the rooms of Royal staff. They all must be asleep.
His bootbeats echoed far too loudly through this place. His reflection in the polished walls walked with him. It seemed to make him far too evident. Even in ordinary times an officer intruding here would have amounted to near sacrilege. He had been brought up impressed with the majesty and might of Palace City. Doing what he was doing even in daylight and for a better reason would have made him tense.
He went through a mammoth arched door and found himself in the antechamber of the sleeping quarters of the Emperor. And right there his luck ran out. Two Apparatus officers, uniformed in black, were sitting in chairs on either side of what must be the Emperor's bedroom door.
They saw him.
They stood up suddenly.
Heller paced to the middle of the room. He eyed the pair warily. They were both big men. The one on the left was sallow, with the twisted face of a criminal. The one on the right had deeply pocked skin and a snarl for a mouth. These were hoods, not officers, despite insignia and dress.
They were armed with long electric swords! A baton was no match for those!
"What in Hells is an officer of the Fleet doing here?" the one on the left said, advancing. He had his hand on his sword hilt.
"I have urgent news for His Majesty," said Heller. "I must get to him at once."
The one on the right, still beside the door, glanced at it and back at Jet. "He must be out of his wits!"
"What's your name?" snapped the one on the left, still advancing.
Jet knew he was taking a chance. He said, "Jettero Heller, Grade X. I am claiming the Royal officer right of——"
"Heller?" The one on the left took one more forward pace peering. "By blast, it IS!"
The electric sword swept out of its scabbard in a sizzle of sparks!
The one by the door started forward, drawing.
Heller looked at the snapping shaft of the first one's sword. It was coming straight for him.
Time seemed to slow down.
That blazing length was rushing straight at his stomach! One touch of it and he would burst into flame. He could not deflect it with his metal baton.
Heller did a sidestep. He pulled in his stomach. The sword went by him.
He seized the officer's wrist.
The other man was coming, a blazing shaft in his hand.
Heller turned the first officer and, gripping the sword wrist, directed the blade straight at the rushing second man whose sword was upheld for a stroke.
The first man's sword stabbed into the other one.
The second officer's sword, sweeping down at that instant, decapitated the one that Heller held.
Flames and smoke made two blinding pillars.
Heller had jumped back, protecting his eyes from the bursting glare.
The floor was alight with fire. The room was blurred by the billowing smoke.
The tinkle of a red-hot button sounded as it bounced across the tiles.
Heller grabbed a hanging from the wall and beat out the fires.
He stopped and peered through the smoke at the hall entrance door. Had either of this pair hit a pocket alarm?
What a spot to be in! The least they would suspect was attempted assassination!
Chapter 6
His only salvation, Heller realized, was to get to the Emperor. How you could explain two dead guards, he didn't know.
He rushed to the bedroom door. It was locked!
The keys must be in that mess of ash. At the risk of a burned boot he pushed at the cremated residue. Yes, there were the keys. Red-hot!
He took a corner of the hanging he had used to put the fire out and picked up the keys. The hanging cloth scorched but he could hold on.
Hastily he tried three keys, one after the other, his fingers blistering even through the cloth. He glanced toward the hall door. No one coming yet. The fourth key turned the lock but its metal was too pliable now and i
t jammed. He worked it amidst oil smoke that poured out around it. The lock opened. He could not withdraw the key.
He glanced once more at the hall entrance door. Nobody yet.
He stepped into the Emperor's bedchamber and bolted the door shut behind him.
He had had no real idea what he had expected to see: probably Cling the Lofty lying asleep on a huge bed all in silver and gold. But that wasn't what he saw.
The place looked like a hospital!
The Emperor was lying on a narrow metal cot!
The place was filthy!
It stank!
There was a huddled form under a sheet. Heller stepped forward and lifted up the cloth.
Cling the Lofty, in all his public portraits, was a tall, well-formed monarch of middle age, perhaps ninety or a hundred, imperious, arrogant.
This creature here was so far from that that Heller thought for a moment he might have come into the wrong room.
There was a side table and a glowplate. Heller turned it up.
Yes, this was the same man. But he must be at least 180. He was shrunken and gray. Only wisps of disordered hair remained. The face was covered with age mottles but they were not what gave the impression: It was that he looked like someone who had starved to death: Even the outline of the few remaining teeth could be seen through the skin of the face. As Heller peered, the man's eyes fluttered open. They were bloodshot in the extreme. A palsied hand came up. Then fear was replaced by some sort of recognition.
The voice quavered, "Are you a Royal officer?"
"Your Majesty," said Heller and was instantly on one knee.
The skeletal hand reached out, feebly raking at Heller's chest. "A real Royal officer," he said, as though it was too much for him to believe.
"At your service, Your Majesty."
"Oh, thank the Gods. At last! In the name of all my lineage, get me out of here before Hisst has me killed!"
Heller was about to speak. There was a sound of boots in the antechamber. Many! One of the officers had hit an alarm.
Jet gripped his radio. "NOW!" he said.
The door was bulging inward!
Mission Earth 8: Disaster Page 21
