considered him ‘sthross’, indicating a manner flawed by an almost imperceptible slackness and lack of punctilio: not the best possible choice for clan chief.
Xanten’s response to 0. Z. Garr was blandly polite. “I shall be glad to take this task upon myself. Since haste is of the essence I will risk the accusation of precipitousness and leave at once. Hopefully I return to report tomorrow.” He rose, performed a ceremonious bow to Hagedorn, another all-inclusive salute to the council and departed.
III
He crossed to Esledune House where he maintained an apartment on the thirteenth level: four rooms furnished in the style known as Fifth Dynasty, after an epoch in the history of the Altair Home Planets, from which the human race had returned to Earth.
His current consort, Araminta, a lady of the Onwane family, was absent on affairs of her own, which suited Xanten well enough. After plying him with questions she would have discredited his simple explanation, preferring to suspect an assignation at his country place. Truth to tell, he had become bored with Araminta and had reason to believe that she felt similarly—or perhaps his exalted rank had provided her less opportunity to preside at glittering social functions than she had expected. They had bred no children. Araminta’s daughter by a previous connection had been tallied to her. Her second child must then be tallied to Xanten, preventing him from siring another child.*
----
*The population of Castle Hagedorn was fixed; each gentleman and each lady was permitted a single child. If by chance another were born he must either find someone who had not yet sired to sponsor it, or dispose of it another way. The usual procedure was to give the child into the care of the Expiationists.
----
Xanten doffed his yellow council vestments. Assisted by a young Peasant buck, he donned dark yellow hunting-breeches with black trim, a black jacket, black boots. He drew a cap of soft black leather over his head, slung a pouch over his shoulder, into which he loaded weapons: a coiled blade, an energy gun.
Leaving the apartment he summoned the lift and descended to the first level armory, where normally a Mek clerk would have served him. Now Xanten, to his vast disgust, was forced to take himself behind the counter, and rummage here and there. The Meks had removed most of the spotting rifles, all the pellet ejectors and heavy energy-guns. An ominous circumstance, thought Xanten. At last he found a steel sling-whip, spare power-slugs for his gun, a brace of fire grenades, ,a high-powered monocular.
He returned to the lift, rode to the top level, ruefully considering the long climb when eventually the mechanism broke down, with no Meks at hand to make repairs. He thought of the apoplectic furies of rigid traditionalists such as Beaudry and chuckled. Eventful days lay ahead!
Stopping at the top level he crossed to the parapets, proceeded around to the radio room. Customarily three Mek specialists connected into the apparatus by wires clipped to their quills sat typing messages as they arrived. Now B. F. Robarth stood before the mechanism, uncertainly twisting the dials, his mouth wry with deprecation and distaste for the job.
“Any further news?” Xanten asked.
B. F. Robarth gave him a sour grin. “The folk at the other end seem no more familiar with this cursed tangle than 1. I hear occasional voices. I believe that the Meks are attacking Castle Delora.”
Claghorn had entered the room behind Xanten. “Did I hear you correctly? Delora Castle is gone?”
“Not gone yet, Claghorn. But as good as gone. The Delora walls are little better than a picturesque crumble.”
“Sickening situation!” muttered Xanten. “How can sentient creatures perform such evil? After all these centuries, how little we actually knew of them!” As he spoke he recognized the tactlessness of his remark; Claghorn had devoted much time to a study of the Meks.
“The act itself is not
Xanten’s response to 0. Z. Garr was blandly polite. “I shall be glad to take this task upon myself. Since haste is of the essence I will risk the accusation of precipitousness and leave at once. Hopefully I return to report tomorrow.” He rose, performed a ceremonious bow to Hagedorn, another all-inclusive salute to the council and departed.
III
He crossed to Esledune House where he maintained an apartment on the thirteenth level: four rooms furnished in the style known as Fifth Dynasty, after an epoch in the history of the Altair Home Planets, from which the human race had returned to Earth.
His current consort, Araminta, a lady of the Onwane family, was absent on affairs of her own, which suited Xanten well enough. After plying him with questions she would have discredited his simple explanation, preferring to suspect an assignation at his country place. Truth to tell, he had become bored with Araminta and had reason to believe that she felt similarly—or perhaps his exalted rank had provided her less opportunity to preside at glittering social functions than she had expected. They had bred no children. Araminta’s daughter by a previous connection had been tallied to her. Her second child must then be tallied to Xanten, preventing him from siring another child.*
----
*The population of Castle Hagedorn was fixed; each gentleman and each lady was permitted a single child. If by chance another were born he must either find someone who had not yet sired to sponsor it, or dispose of it another way. The usual procedure was to give the child into the care of the Expiationists.
----
Xanten doffed his yellow council vestments. Assisted by a young Peasant buck, he donned dark yellow hunting-breeches with black trim, a black jacket, black boots. He drew a cap of soft black leather over his head, slung a pouch over his shoulder, into which he loaded weapons: a coiled blade, an energy gun.
Leaving the apartment he summoned the lift and descended to the first level armory, where normally a Mek clerk would have served him. Now Xanten, to his vast disgust, was forced to take himself behind the counter, and rummage here and there. The Meks had removed most of the spotting rifles, all the pellet ejectors and heavy energy-guns. An ominous circumstance, thought Xanten. At last he found a steel sling-whip, spare power-slugs for his gun, a brace of fire grenades, ,a high-powered monocular.
He returned to the lift, rode to the top level, ruefully considering the long climb when eventually the mechanism broke down, with no Meks at hand to make repairs. He thought of the apoplectic furies of rigid traditionalists such as Beaudry and chuckled. Eventful days lay ahead!
Stopping at the top level he crossed to the parapets, proceeded around to the radio room. Customarily three Mek specialists connected into the apparatus by wires clipped to their quills sat typing messages as they arrived. Now B. F. Robarth stood before the mechanism, uncertainly twisting the dials, his mouth wry with deprecation and distaste for the job.
“Any further news?” Xanten asked.
B. F. Robarth gave him a sour grin. “The folk at the other end seem no more familiar with this cursed tangle than 1. I hear occasional voices. I believe that the Meks are attacking Castle Delora.”
Claghorn had entered the room behind Xanten. “Did I hear you correctly? Delora Castle is gone?”
“Not gone yet, Claghorn. But as good as gone. The Delora walls are little better than a picturesque crumble.”
“Sickening situation!” muttered Xanten. “How can sentient creatures perform such evil? After all these centuries, how little we actually knew of them!” As he spoke he recognized the tactlessness of his remark; Claghorn had devoted much time to a study of the Meks.
“The act itself is not
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