Exile (5 page)

And now that madman, in the form of Prime Cornelian, had come—and unless Kris, with his own weak voice, could reverse the process that Cornelian had set in motion, Mars would once again show its malevolent side to all the worlds.

favorite sights: at the edge of the road, a cluster of impossibly fat sunflowers, feeding off some errant rise in the local aquifer, their faces pointing flatly toward him like suns; and, at the farthest edge of the horizon stood the towering caldera of mighty Arsia Mons. Even at this distance, it seemed to bite a wide, high hole out of the pale pink sky. In front of it, miles of highlands led down to the Syria Planum, where Lowell lay. As a younger man, Kris had attempted to climb Arsia Mons with two college friends; and though they had given up after a week, carried down more dead than alive by rescuers, it had been one of the ecstasies of his life, as, for a scant moment, he had stood nearly at the top of his world, only the sky and a single ridge between himself and God....

"Enjoying the view, Senator?" Pynthas Rei tittered beside him. "It may very well be your last view of anything, you know."

"I'm aware of that," Senator Kris said idly, trying unsuccessfully to bring back that vision of Mars spread out below him like a rusty red ornament, as he spun in the thin air, a victim both of rapture and hypothermia.

Pynthas tittered again. "I imagine it won't be long before you see nothing at all." The vile man cocked his head sideways and laughed, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Senator Kris turned to stare at him.

"Being dead and all," Pynthas added.

"Yes," Senator Kris said, staring levelly at Pynthas, easily remembering the man as he had been before Prime Cornelian took power. He had been more than a janitor and less than a court jester. His main function had been to carry tidbits of gossip to Prime Cornelian, and his fool's status had been in plain view. Apparently some of those tidbits had been valuable to Cornelian.

And now this reptile was

"What exactly are you, Pynthas?" Senator Kris said.

Sitting in the cab of the truck, Pynthas Rei nevertheless tried to preen himself up to full and inadequate height. "I am
important!"

"What I mean," Senator Kris continued in a serious vein, "is what makes a man like you? How does an individual surrender his soul to another individual—sell himself to a devil, in effect? Why would one man become less than himself, and give himself to another, evil man?"

The senator turned away from the confused but angry Pynthas Rei and contemplated the scenery again. They were almost to the city limits of Lowell. The sandstone spires of the city were rising into view ahead of them, giving the desert form.

"It's a question we humans, since our early times on Earth, have not answered," the senator mused to himself, while Pynthas beside him suddenly found his voice, deciding that he had been insulted, and spewed forth invective, which was not listened to.

Their entry into the residence of the High Prefect of Mars was not a grand one. The convoy, five pink camouflaged Marine trucks, slipped unobtrusively into the rear gates of the building, down into the depths of the parking garage beneath.

Senator Kris listened to the funereal clang of the metal doors closing behind him. Men like Pynthas Rei were used to entries like this. But to the senator, this was a new experience. Like all new experiences, it sparked his interest. He noted, for instance, how well armored the underground area was with precious steel walls. That steel had been imported from Earth. The steel-making process had never been perfected on this planet. He imagined these walls dated back to the War for Independence, when more than one Martian landmark had been destroyed by sabotage. Remembering his Earth history, Senator Kris recalled that the Martians, too, had had their Tories.

you please?" Pynthas Rei said sarcastically, waiting for the senator to exit the vehicle, whose door had been opened by a Marine.

Senator Kris climbed out. Once again, a phalanx formed around him as they walked to an elevator tube nearby. The tube hissed to a halt and the senator was escorted in.

As it rose, Senator Kris studied the design of the tube's interior. This, too, seemed to date from the war, with ornate designs reminiscent of ancient Earth's art deco period. The floor was inlaid with green marble—another luxury not often found on Mars.

"Tell me, Pynthas, do you know anything regarding—"

The tube arrived at its floor and hissed open.

"Out!"
Pynthas Rei shouted, shoving Senator Kris through the phalanx of Marines and nearly into the insect arms of Prime Cornelian.

"Pynthas!" Prime Cornelian screeched.

Instantly the sychophant began to tremble. "That's no way to treat our guest! Now get out—and take these men with you!"

The Marines turned as one, reboarding the elevator, with Pynthas Rei scrambling into the tube behind them, stumbling and then falling as the doors hissed shut. The end of his tunic caught in the closing mechanism, and the doors flew open again, revealing Pynthas on the floor, mumbling to himself, trying to crawl farther into the elevator's cage.

Striding forward on his ticking limbs, Prime Cornelian kicked at Pynthas as the doors once again sealed.

With a faint hiss, the tube lowered.

Prime Cornelian turned his head without moving his body and gave his slit-eyed insect's smile to Senator Kris.

"How nice of you to come! I trust you enjoyed your journey home?"

"It was pleasant enough," Senator Kris answered. "Until I landed."

Prime Cornelian maneuvered his body around to face the same direction as his head.

"More pleasant than the last—or should I say final—session of the Senate. You missed quite a meeting."

"I demand to know when the plebiscite will take place."

Prime Cornelian ignored the challenge, moving past the senator to the depths of the room. At the far end, the wall from ceiling to floor spread out in a magnificent window showing a panorama of the city of Lowell below; nearly to the edge of the field, sandstone structures dotted the landscape, while down the center, between the High Prefect's residence and the dome of the Senate chambers a mile distant, spread a mall of pale green grass. Continually fertilized, a soft fescue completely unlike the tough stiff native grasses, it was the only bed of its kind on the planet. Citizens flew kites and picnicked on that expanse; and occasionally it was the site of protest to various government measures—though this day not a protester was in sight.

Prime Cornelian stopped at the window, took in the vista for a moment, then turned to face the senator.

"What news have you from Earth? Did you gain the trading pact the late High Prefect sought?"

"We both know you have no intention of honoring that pact."

Cornelian shrugged, an eerie gesture. "Soon there will be no need."

"I've warned Faulkner of your designs."

"No matter. There is nothing he can do. This is a resource-poor world, and we have been polite about getting what we need long enough. That will change."

"With war?"

Cornelian smiled thinly. "You remember that Mars was the god of war, Kris. You forget the wars that were fought here long ago."

"Those were foolish times, and we've tried to banish that spirit from Mars."

"Tried, yes. But succeeded? I don't think so. You yourself have watched the people recently. At first they thought me a circus freak. So did the High Prefect. They listened, smiled, and then went back to their daily lives. But in the last months my word has started to take hold. They've begun to listen. As shortages began to affect them—less Earth sugar for their coffee, less Titanian metals for their jewelry—their ears have pricked up. They look around at the other of the Four Worlds and say, 'Why don't we have that? Why must we pay so much for that?' And soon they will be ready to say, 'Why don't we just take that?'

"You'll never get them to follow you blindly, Cornelian."

"We both know how wrong you are, Senator. The amount of unrest following the Senate's and High Prefect's departure was surprisingly small. I crushed it, of course. It also helped that I blamed the High Prefect's assassination on Venusian agents. The Senate was wiped out by agents from Earth, of course."

Senator Kris barely held in his boiling anger. "They won't follow you into war."

"Oh, but they will. They want someone to lead them, to tell them what to do. A little terror may be necessary, of course—but in the end they'll follow gladly. Already the old war spirit is resurfacing. Enlistment in the Marines is up thirty-five percent!"

"Once again I ask you: When will the plebiscite take place?"

Prime Cornelian's eye slits narrowed. "I notice that your daughter did not come up with you. Is she resting?"

Senator Kris said nothing.

"Did she proceed to your residence to refresh herself after the journey? I trust I'll see her this evening?"

"She's not on Mars, Cornelian."

For a moment Prime Cornelian was visibly stunned.

He quickly recovered. His nails clicking on the stone floor, he walked slowly over to stand beside the senator.

"Did I hear you correctly?" he hissed, his metallic breath warm on Senator Kris's face.

With effort, Senator Kris retained his composure. "She's not on Mars. I know what you want from her, and I've taken steps to assure that you never receive it."

For a moment there was nothing but the hot, oil
scented bellows of Prime Cornelian's breath on the senator's face.

"You were very foolish to do this, Kris."

"She's my daughter."

"Yes, but she would have been—will be—much more!"

"I could not allow that to happen."

"She will go through
that
with or without you! Who do you
dare
to think you are?" One metallic hand, fingers splayed and locked, drew back and came across Senator Kris's face, cutting deep across the cheek and knocking him to the ground.

"You dare to oppose me? Your daughter belongs to me!"

"Not if I can help it," Kris said through pain.

Prime Cornelian moved forward to stand over the fallen senator; straddling his body, his head ratcheted down to stop inches from Kris's own. Kris could hear the whirs and tickings within Prime Cornelian's corpus; could smell the faint scent of plastic, metal, and lubricants.

"Listen to me very carefully," Prime Cornelian hissed. The slits of his eyes had become thin and sharp as knife blades. "No one ever disobeys me, Kris. No one."

Prime Cornelian lowered his metallic torso to rest upon the prone body of Senator Kris. Sudden fear rose into the senator's eyes, and he stared straight into the huge elongated quartz orbs of Prime Cornelian.

With a faint humming sound, Prime Cornelian's body began to descend, like a shop press toward its lower plate. The senator's body began to feel pressure, and he found it hard to breathe.

"Comfortable, Kris?" Cornelian purred.

Prime Cornelian's body continued to lower in precise increments.

Senator Kris gasped, and suddenly two ribs in his chest cracked with a muffled snap, followed by two more.

"Cornelian—for the love of--God!"

Cornelian's face split into a smile, even as the rest of his torso continued its inexorable lowering.

Another rib cracked, and another, and now Senator Kris's face began to go blue with lack of oxygen. The red gash on the senator's face showed deep purple.

"Cor . . . nelian!"

There was another chorus of breaking ribs, and then Prime Cornelian suddenly pulled his body up and away from the gasping senator.

Senator Kris fell into unconsciousness, then rose out of it to find himself being dragged across the floor toward the elevator cage by two burly Marines.

He tried to gasp out words, but they would not rise through the pain he felt.

"Don't worry, Kris—you'll live, at least for a while. Look on this as an example of what is to come. I very much wanted to kill you a moment ago. I could have lowered myself until your body had turned to jelly. Besides being messy, though, it occurred to
me in the middle of that plan that it would be best to let you live—although in a rather reduced state. "By the way: I lied about the plebiscite."

There came excruciating pain in Senator Kris's chest as the Marines dumped his body on the floor of the elevator.

The senator floated down toward unconsciousness once more, hearing Prime Cornelian's final words:

"You're alive because you'll make wonderful bait to catch your daughter!"

I
t is strange how, one's perspective changes with morning light.

Despite his heartsickness, Dalin Shar slept well. And when he awoke, with the sun streaming through his open window and a soft breeze wafting the curtains, it seemed as if the events of the day before had happened to someone else.

He was not quite himself again, to be sure. But now it seemed like his interlude with Tabrel Kris had been a pleasant afternoon spent in a dream. That Dalin Shar, who had given away his heart so quickly and so freely, seemed somewhat distant now, somewhat foolish. After all, how could one tell, from a single brief meeting, that one had met the love of one's life? How could a king, ruler of a planet, declare true love with his heart before his head had had time to be brought in for consultation?