Part 42 (1/2)

Congenial fellow, Bron. Thinks well of you, too!”

A large figure followed his grandfather in. A large figure with snow-white hair. The amiable and relaxed Interstellar Amba.s.sador to Walden.

”Hard-gaited horses, Hoddan,” he said wryly. ”I want a chair and a drink. I traveled a good many light-years to see you, and it wasn't necessary after all. I've been talking to your grandfather.”

”Glad to see you, sir,” said Hoddan reservedly.

His cousin Oliver brought gla.s.ses, and the amba.s.sador buried his nose in his and said in satisfaction: ”A-a-ah! That's good! Capable man, your grandfather. I watched him loot that town. Beautiful professional job! He got some homespun sheets for your grandmother. But about you . . .”

Hoddan sat down. His grandfather puffed and was silent. His cousins effaced themselves. The amba.s.sador waved a hand.

”I started here,” he observed, ”because it looked to me like you were running wild. That s.p.a.cefleet, now . . . I know something of your ability. I thought you'd contrived some way to fake it. I knew there couldn't be such a fleet. Not really! That was a sound job you did with the emigrants, by the way. Most praiseworthy! And the point was that if you ran hogwild with a faked fleet, sooner or later the s.p.a.ce Patrol would have to cut you down to size. And you were doing too much good work to be stopped!”

Hoddan blinked.

”Satisfaction,” said the amba.s.sador, ”is well enough. But satiety is death. Walden was dying on its feet.

n.o.body could imagine a greater satisfaction than curling up with a good tranquilizer. You've ended that! I left Walden the day after your Ensfield raid. Young men were already trying to grow moustaches. The textile mills were making colored felt for garments. Jewelers were turning out stun-gun pins for ornaments, Darthian knives for brooches, and the song writers had eight new tunes on the air about pirate lovers, pirate queens, and dark s.h.i.+ps that roam the lanes of night. Three new vision-play series were to start that same night with s.p.a.ce-piracy as their theme, and one of them claimed to be based on your life.

Better make them pay for that, Hoddan! In short, Walden had rediscovered the pleasure to be had by taking pains to make a fool of oneself. People who watched that raid on vision screens had thrills they'd never swap for tranquilizers! And the ones who actually mixed in with the pirate raiders- You deserve well of the republic, Hoddan!”

Hoddan said, ”Hmm,” because there was nothing else to be said.

”Now, your grandfather and I have canva.s.sed the situation thoroughly. This good work must be continued. Diplomatic Service has been worried all along the line. Now we've something to work up.

Your grandfather will expand his facilities and s.n.a.t.c.h s.h.i.+ps, land and loot, and keep piracy flying. Your job is to carry on the insurance business. The s.h.i.+ps that will be s.n.a.t.c.hed will be your s.h.i.+ps, of course. No interference with legitimate commerce. The raids will be paid for by the interplanetary piracy risk insurance companies-you. In time you'll probably have to get writers to do scripts for them, but not right away. You'll continue to get rich, but there's no harm in that so long as you reintroduce romance and adventure to a galaxy headed for decline. Savages will not invent themselves if there are plenty of heroic characters-of your making!-to slap them down!”

”I like working on electronic gadgets,” Hoddan said painfully. ”My cousin Oliver and I have some things we want to work out together.”

His grandfather snorted. One of the cousins came in from outside the yacht. Thal followed him, glowing.

He'd reported the looting of the s.p.a.ceport town, and Don Loris had gone into a tantrum of despair because n.o.body seemed able to make headway against these strangers. Now he'd turned about and issued a belated invitation to Hoddan and his grandfather and their guest the Interstellar Amba.s.sador-of whom he'd learned from Thal-to dinner at the castle. They could bring their own guards.

Hoddan would have refused, but the amba.s.sador and his grandfather were insistent. Ultimately he found himself seated drearily at a long table in a stone-walled room lighted by very smoky torches. Don Loris, jittering, displayed a sort of professional conversational charm. He was making an urgent effort to overcome the bad effect of past actions by conversational brilliance. The Lady Fani sat quietly. She looked most often at her place. The talk of the oldsters became profound. They talked administration.

They talked practical politics. They talked economics.

The Lady Fani looked very bored as the talk went on after the meal was over. Don Loris said brightly to her: ”My dear, we must be tedious! Young Hoddan looks uninterested, too. Why don't you two walk on the battlements and talk about such things as persons your age find interesting?”

Hoddan rose, gloomily. The Lady Fani, with a sigh of polite resignation, rose to accompany him. The amba.s.sador said suddenly: ”Hoddan! I forgot to tell you! They found out what killed that man outside the power station!” When Hoddan showed no comprehension, the amba.s.sador explained. ”The man your friend Derec thought was killed by death rays. It developed that he'd gotten a terrific load on-drunk, you know-and climbed a tree to escape the pink, purple, and greenduryashe thought were chasing him to gore him. He climbed too high, a branch broke, and he fell and was killed. I'll take it up with the court when I get back to Walden. No reason to lock you up any more, you know. You might even sell the Power Board on using your receptor, now!”

”Thanks,” said Hoddan politely. He added. ”Don Loris has that Derec and a cop from Walden here now. Tell them about it and let them go home.”

He accompanied the Lady Fani to the battlements. The stars were very bright. They strolled.