Garan the Eternal Read online

  The castes of Krand were rigidly ordered. A man might rise to honor in any one but he could not pass into another. A peasant might become a lord of the land and a noble but neither he nor his sons might serve at court nor in the fleet So a soldier of the forces, even though he bore a title, had no right to long for a daughter of the Learned Ones. They were our rulers and great nobles, far above the commoners in the breadth of their knowledge. They had as much ability to harness and bend to their will both men and natural forces as I had over the mindless slaves of the fields, that subhuman race which the Learned Ones had produced in the laboratories. They were a race apart, blessed — or cursed — with superhuman powers.

  But Thrala was my beloved and all the decrees of the Emperor and the chains of ancient custom could not alter that fact nor blot her image from my heart. I think I would have finished out my life, content at last only to worship my dreams of her, had not brooding Fate decided a far different future for all the pigmy men creatures who crawled about that globe which was Krand.

  That morning I was not left long to indulge in self-pity and fruitless longings. A tiny bell chimed in the room behind me, giving notice that someone desired to enter my sleeping chamber. I crossed to the disk on the wall and ran my hand across it. Upon its polished surface then appeared the likeness of my aide-de-camp, that young rascal, Ana tan of Hol.

  “Enter,” I said into the mouth tube beside the disk, my voice thus unlocking the door.

  “Well, scamp, what scrap have you gotten into?” I asked resignedly, being well used to meeting in the early morning a contrite but guilty young officer who wished me to get him out of some entanglement into which his reckless, youthful spirits had plunged him.

  “For wonder,” he answered brightly, “none. Praise be to On. But there is a messenger from the palace below.”

  In spite of my self-schooling, my pulse quickened. I turned again to my calling disk and ordered the military clerk in my inner office to assure the messenger that I would receive him as soon as I was properly accoutered.

  Anatan busied himself with laying out my trappings and equipment while I splashed in my adjoining bath. He kept up the while a steady chatter of gossip and rumor from both barracks and court

  “Lord Kepta is going to pay us a visit,” he said.

  I dropped the tunic for which I had reached.

  “Kepta of Koom?” I asked shortly, hoping that my perturbation had not been noted.

  “Who else? There is only one Kepta of whom I have knowledge.” His sudden round-eyed innocence did not deceive me.

  But Anatan, for all his careless talk and ways, had ever been loyal to me and I did not fear that he would betray me now. There was no one I hated more than Kepta of Koom, who had the power to crush me like an insect and who would be only too quick to use that same power should he ever suspect the true state of my feelings toward him.

  In every pile of fruit there is one piece softer and more inclined to rot than the others — and that same piece unless removed will, in time, corrupt the rest. To my mind the Master of Koom was the rotten piece among the Learned Ones.

  He did not mingle much with the rest of his caste fellows but kept close to the huge black stone citadel of his dark, wind-swept city, there carrying on secret experiments in his laboratories far under the crust of Krand. Just what those experiments were, not one of the Learned Ones could tell, but I had my suspicions and they were not pleasant ones. To all knowledge there is both a dark and a light side and, if rumor spoke true, Kepta turned to the dark far oftener that he did to the light. I had heard stories and even traced a tale or two, but without proof what could I do? Lord Kepta was a Learned One by birth and I was a state ward, who by the Emperor’s favor had won some fame and position. Should I care to retain both, or even my life, it would be well for me to forget vague stories.

  Kepta was highly popular with a certain class of officer in my corps. He entertained lavishly at intervals and his purse was always open to those in temporary financial difficulties. But to my suspicious mind it appeared that he wished to get as many of the soldiers as possible under obligation to him. I had always some civil plea of duty ready in answer to his frequent invitations and, under my guidance, Anatan, and the better sort of his comrades, did likewise.

  It was not often, however, that the Master of Koom ventured out of his tall keep. He preferred to entice his company to him, rather than to issue forth to seek it beyond his fortress. But for the past month there had been a mustering of the Learned Ones within Yu-Lac and he had doubtless been summoned to join them by the Emperor.

  If he were coming to take his place among his peers he had not been expected so soon, that much I knew. As Commander of the Airport of Yu-Lac, I had been given no warning of his coming so that I might make ready a berth for his private ship among the pleasure and traveling craft of the Emperor’s household. His sudden, almost unannounced arrival meant trouble for everyone, I thought impatiently.

  I buckled on my jeweled scale armor, made more for ceremonial show than defense, and snapped the catch of my sword belt. From Anatan’s hand I took my silver war cloak and left the apartment.

  The ramp which led from my private suite to the public offices curled about the center core of the cone-shaped tower in a graceful, though steep, spiral. Its walls were floridly frescoed with conventionalized scenes of warfare and the chase, occupations always bracketed together in the minds of my race. But here and there mirrors of vision were set deep into the smooth finish of the painted surface so that the passerby might be in instant touch with any part of the great military depot of which the cone tower was the heart.

  It pleased me now to check upon the efficiency of my under officers as I passed. Here I caught a glimpse of one of the almost obsolete mounted troops returning from early morning maneuvers. The men rode at ease, their small, scaly-skinned grippon mounts eager for the shelter of the stables, dragging their heavy armored tails in the dust of the parade ground. But two such troops remained and their duties were light — acting as the Emperor’s guard when he wished to travel in state.

  Commerce, in the persons of the frontier-breaking city merchants, had first demonstrated the advantages of deserting our island-infested seas and mountainous lands for the quicker and easier mode of travel by air. The military was not long in following the example set it. Infantry and grippon troops were speedily disbanded; the arrogant and all- powerful Air Force developed and consolidated its position within a single decade. The navy vanished from the decaying harbors of Krand, unless a handful of ships, rotting as they rolled at anchor, could be dignified by a title which had once been proudly borne by half a million war vessels.

  Not content with the profits and the supremacy it had raped from the forces of defense, the Air Ministry was attempting, as I had first suspected and could now prove, to establish an ironbound monopoly. What wild goal they had set for themselves only On knew, and yet, despite all warnings, rulers of Krand refused to stir against them.

  I fingered my sword hilt as I went. Men no longer turned to metal to solve their hates and passions; the weapon I wore was but a pretty toy, borne purely as insignia of rank. War meant more subtle armaments — liquids that burned or froze, death which curdled the very air about its victim. And horrors undreamed of by mankind-at-large had been evolved in the distant laboratories. A spark leaping out — what man could foresee the end? And this gathering of the Learned Ones at Yu-Lac. No wild border tribe was in revolt; the five great nations were at peace as they had been for years. It was said on every hand that there was naught to fear — Yet I was troubled and my hand sought my sword hilt by way of reassurance.

  The messenger from the palace, a smart young officer attached to the Emperor’s guard, was alertly awaiting my arrival.

  “The throne desires the presence of the worthy Lord Garan,” he recited formally. “He will be pleased to present himself in the Hall of the Nine Princes upon the third hour.”

  “To hear is to obey, in this as i
n all things.” I murmured the standard reply demanded of a recipient of a royal message.

  He slipped to one knee and touched the pavement before me in salute.

  At the third hour? Then I still had time to break my fast before I must go. Taking Anatan by the arm I went into the eating chamber used by all those who lodged within the confines of the tower. We took our seat at a polished table which stood with one side tight against the wall. Anatan thrust down a tiny plunger in the table top twice. The wall panel facing us sank back and our food bowls slid out. The stuff was well flavored and highly nutritious but so prepared with artificial colorings and tastes that no one could ever swear as to the original content of any dish. This fashion, introduced by the overcivilized city dwellers, had never found favor with me and I longed for the cruder but, to me, more succulent dishes one found set out in the frontier camps or in small country inns.

  The city dwellers, sated as they were with all the refinements life could offer, had lost many of the true joys of living. Their scented “pleasure palaces” were regarded with a sort of righteous horror by the sturdy country folk. And, unless the many tales we heard were ill-founded, the secret police might indeed have found much to interest them in one of those beautiful, almost dreamlike, castles.

  As if he had read the thoughts passing through my mind, Anatan broke the silence.

  “There is a new ‘palace’ in the Sotan quarter.”

  “So,” I observed indulgently. “Did you chance upon it last night?”

  He shook his head in mock regret. “It is not for the likes of me. Kanddon of Stal was entering as I passed and I saw Lord Palkun’s guards by the door.”

  “High play then?” I wondered aloud as he named the two most wealthy and influential men below the rank of Learned Ones who maintained residences in Yu-Lac.

  “That and other things.” He grinned in a knowing manner which ill became his boyish face. “If the Lord Garan visits there would he not be needing a companion?”

  “And when, puppy, have I wasted unwise moments behind the curtains of a ‘pleasure palace’? But this I promise you” — I spoke lightly enough, not being able to read the future — “when I enter that one in the Sotan you shall be at my side.”

  “Done! And that is a promise, my Lord,” he rapped out eagerly. Thus did we leave it as I clambered into the one- motor flier which was to transport me across the city to a landing stage behind the crystal walls of the Emperor’s palace.

  Chapter Two

  The Master of Koom

  It being yet early morning, the air lanes above the bulk of the city were uncrowded by the pleasure and business craft which would hover, dart down and across, during the later hours. Save for a patrol or two that I passed, no one disputed my course until just before I swung my ship in to land upon the stage by the middle, slanting spire of the citadel.

  Then it was that a slim, black two-passenger, whose rakish lines spelled both speed and ease of handling, cut ill-manneredly in before the nose of my ship and came down, with its belly hugging the very landing spot I had marked for my own.

  With a hot speech ready for the impudent youngster who had so high-handedly usurped my coveted place, I brought my tiny flier in to berth it beside the shining black speeder. But it was no sprig of the court whom I confronted when I stepped out.

  For, with a slight smile holding, to my mind, more than the suspicion of a sneer, curling his finely cut lips, the tall Master of Koom lingered by the entrance to the down ramp. His arrogantly held head was bare of either ceremonial crown or helmet and his crisp black hair was ruffled by the morning wind, the same wind which tugged at the heavy folds of his long orange cloak.

  By his side was his air commander, sulky fellow, Japlan of Toe, who had been held in ill repute among fighting men for many years. He, at least, made no pretense of desiring my friendship, but he scowled so belligerently that the knotted skin of his forehead drew his eyebrows together to form one bushy bar.

  “Our worthy Lord Gar an,” purred Kepta. “May we venture to congratulate the victor of Tarnan upon his exploit? Japlan developed a severe attack of jealousy when the news of your success reached our poor backwater. I marvel yet at his full recovery. It is full, is it not, Japlan?” he baited his surly officer.

  “Oh, aye,” growled that one, all the while making very plain to read upon his face his true opinion of me and all my works.

  My training as a soldier had not fitted me for the tongue- and thought-twisting ways of court speech where one can praise a man fairly to his face when you despise him heartily. So, as my speech was apt to be as blunt as my thoughts, I did not care to play the courtier more than was necessary.

  “You do me too much honor, my Lord,” I answered, with all the courtesy I could summon. “A word of praise from the Master of Koom is not to be lightly dismissed.”

  His drooping eyelids lifted a fraction and his smile grew more pronounced.

  “Your days at court have polished the soldier to produce the finished courtier, Lord Garan,” he observed, and now the sneer was broad and ill-concealed.

  A man of my own caste and rank would have felt my fist grate against his teeth for less. His position held him above my resentment, as well he knew, yet never before had his hostility been so open. I wondered, my blood quickening in my veins, if he had uncovered some trace of my active and inquisitive distrust of him. His mask of good fellowship had cracked and I had seen the real man who was using that mask for his own purposes.

  So, though my muscles tensed, I controlled my rising anger. But someday, On willing, I would face that sneering devil man to man,

  “I give thanks to the Master of Koom.” My reply was as chill as I could make it but still formally polite.

  He gathered his cloak closer about his broad shoulders and turned away abruptly with Japlan at his heels. I waited a moment or so, allowing them a start before following them down the ramp.

  As I hesitated there, the sleek lines of the Koomian’s flier caught my eye and interest. Ships were my life and new designs always held me enthralled. Though I dared not linger to examine it closely, I knew that its shape, especially the outward appearance of its motor compartment, suggested some startling new development, something very different from our most modern product

  Apparently the workmen of the dark northern island had chanced upon some new form of propulsion, producing as a result an engine much smaller and more compact than any I had ever seen.

  Reluctantly I tore myself away, knowing that Kepta would suspect if I lingered too long. But I determined, as I set foot upon the ramp, to discover the secret of the trim craft before its master whisked it away from Yu-Lac again.

  The ramp ended in a single broad step and then I was out upon the green and amber pavement which led to the Hall of the Nine Princes. Towering columns of burnished copper supported the roof of the covered passage but the sides were open to the scented winds. To my left, four deep steps of dull green stone cut into the first of the wonder gardens which made the inner hold of the sprawling citadel a place of marvels and delights.

  To the right, the steps leading down were steeper, giving access to a bronze landing where a half dozen or so gaily painted skiffs bobbed on the yellow, petal-strewn water of one of the five canals. As it was yet early, none save a solitary guard paced the passage. No lady, in spite of my daring hopes, swayed along the garden paths, or floated petal-wise on the canal. There was only a gentle brooding quiet.

  But the Hall of the Nine Princes was occupied when I entered. One of the smaller council chambers and reception rooms of the palace, it was furnished with a massive table, hewn from a single log and treated with the famous carbonizing process of the Emperor’s laboratories until it was as hard and durable as the age-old rocks of the Imurian Sea. Precisely in the center of this board, placed so that its occupant faced the single entrance to the chamber, was a chair of the same substance and, on either side of that, backless benches.

  By virtue of my position I was
well-known to the Emperor and the members of his all-powerful council. For the most part the latter were just, though severe, men, requiring of those under their authority a steadfast and utterly devoted loyalty to the state. Once convinced of my trueness, they had granted me an almost free hand in my own department, asking merely for a semimonthly report. In the past, since I had assumed my high office, our relations had been friendly enough, though never growing warmer than the austere formality of the court permitted.

  But now there was a change in their attitude. Long years of almost constant warfare and soldiering had supplied me with that sixth sense permitted those who live under the thin hem of Danger’s cloak. And now I felt instantly the tension, the certain chillness, which met me even as I stepped within.

  Whether I stood in personal peril of some sort, or whether some event beyond my control had aroused them, I had no means of knowing. But that same feeling, which had guided my hand to my sword that morning as I had hurried to meet the Emperor’s messenger, again twitched my fingers toward the weapon on my hip. I felt the skin across my shoulders roughen. There was trouble here.

  “The Marshal of the Fleet greets the Lord of the Air, the Ruler of the Five Seas, the Beloved of On — “ I began the formal salutation.

  “Enough.” The Emperor’s voice severed my greeting dryly. “Be seated, Lord Garan — there.” He motioned toward a stool some six paces to the right of where I stood. I obeyed, but now my tongue moved in a mouth suddenly gone dry. There was danger here — to me!

  “You maintain a secret system of information, do you not?”

  “Aye, Great One. That being part of my duties.”

  “And is this also part of your duties?” He handed two metal plates to the attendant at his side. The man arose from his seat and, passing around the table, came to stand before me, holding what he bore so that I might look upon it.