Poul Anderson - Flandry 07 - Ensign Flandry

VIP免费

2024-12-03 0 0 645.21KB 145 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

ENSIGN FLANDRY

Poul Anderson

—To Frank and Beverly Herbert

ENSIGN FLANDRY

Poul Anderson

About the Author

Excerpts (with some expansion of symbols) fromPilot's Manual and Ephemeris, Cis-

Betelgeusean Orionis Sector, 53rd ed., Reel III, frame 28:

IGC S-52,727,061.Saxo. F5, mass 1.75 Sol, luminosity 5.4 Sol,

photosphere diameter 1.2 Sol … Estimated remaining time on main

sequence, 0.9 begayear …

Planetary system: Eleven major bodies … V,Starkad. Mean orbital radius,

3.28 a.u., period 4.48 years … Mass, 1.81 Terra. Equatorial diameter,

15,077 Km. Mean surface gravity, 1.30 g. Rotation period, 16h 31m 2.75s.

Axial inclination, 25° 50'4.9" … Surface atmospheric pressure, ca. 7000

mm. Percentage composition, N277.92, O221.01, A 0.87, CO20.03 …

Remarks: Though 254 light-years from Sol, the system was discovered

early, in the course of the first Grand Survey. Thus the contemporary

practice of bestowing literary-mythological names on humanly interesting

objects was followed. Only marginally man-habitable, Starkad attracted a

few xenological expeditions by its unusual autochthons … These studies

were not followed up, since funds went to still more rewarding projects

and, later, the Polesotechnic League saw no profit potential. After the

Time of Troubles, it lay outside the Imperial sphere and remained virtually

unvisited until now, when a mission has been sent for political reasons.

The 54th edition had quite a different entry.

Evening on Terra—

His Imperial Majesty, High Emperor Georgios Manuel Krishna Murasaki, of the

Wang dynasty the fourth, Supreme Guardian of the Pax, Grand Director of the Stellar

Council, Commander-in-Chief, Final Arbiter, acknowledged supreme on more worlds

and honorary head of more organizations than any one man could remember, had a

birthday. On planets so remote that the unaided eye could not see their suns among those

twinkling to life above Oceania, men turned dark and leathery, or thick and weary, by

strange weathers lifted glasses in salute. The light waves carrying their pledge would lap

on his tomb.

Terra herself was less solemn. Except for the court, which still felt bound to follow

daylight around the globe for one exhausting ceremony after another, Birthday had

become simply an occasion to hold carnival. As his aircar hummed over great dusking

waters, Lord Markus Hauksberg saw the east blaze with sky luminosity, multi-colored

moving curtains where fireworks exploded meteoric. Tonight, while the planet turned, its

dark side was so radiant as to drown the very metro-centers seen from Luna. Had he

tuned his vid to almost any station, he could have watched crowds filling pleasure houses

and coming near riot among festively decorated towers.

His lady broke the silence between them with a murmur that made him start. "I wish it

were a hundred years ago."

"Eh?" Sometimes she could still astonish him.

"Birthday meant something then."

"Well … yes. S'pose so." Hauksberg cast his mind back over history. She was right.

Fathers had taken their sons outdoors when twilight ended parades and feasts; they had

pointed to the early stars and said, Look yonder. Those are ours. We believe that as many

as four million lie within the Imperial domain. Certainly a hundred thousand know us

daily, obey us, pay tribute to us, and get peace and the wealth of peace in return. Our

ancestors did that. Keep the faith.

Hauksberg shrugged. You can't prevent later generations from outgrowing naïveté. In

time they must realize, bone deep, that this one dustmote of a galaxy holds more than a

hundred billion suns; that we have not even explored the whole of our one spiral arm, and

it does not appear we ever will; that you need no telescope to see giants like Betelgeuse

and Polaris which donot belong to us. From there, one proceeded easily to: Everybody

knows the Empire was won and is maintained by naked power, the central government is

corrupt and the frontier is brutal and the last organization with high morale, the Navy,

lives for war and oppression and anti-intellectualism. So get yours, have fun, ease your

conscience with a bit of discreet scoffing, and never, never make a fool of yourself by

taking the Empire seriously.

Could be I'll change that,

Hauksberg thought.

Alicia interrupted him. "We might at least have gone to a decent party! But no, you

have to drag us to the Crown Prince's. Are you hoping he'll share one of his prettyboys?"

Hauksberg tried to ease matters with a grin. "Come, come, m'love, you do me an

injustice. You know I still hunt women. Preferably beautiful women, such as you."

"Or Persis d'Io." She sagged back. "Never mind," she said tiredly. "I just don't like

orgies. Especially vulgar ones."

"Nor I, much." He patted her hand. "But you'll manage. Among the many things I

admire about you is your ability to carry off any situation with aplomb."

True enough,

he thought. For a moment, regarding those perfect features under the diademed hair, he

felt regret. So his marriage had been political; why couldn't they nonetheless have

worked out a comradeship? Even love—No, he was confusing his love for ancient

literature with flesh-and-blood reality. He was not Pelléas nor she Mélisande. She was

clever, gracious, and reasonably honest with him; she had given him an heir; more had

never been implied in the contract. For his part, he had given her position and nearly

unlimited money. As for more of his time … how could he? Somebody had to be the

repairman, when the universe was falling to pieces. Most women understood.

To entropy with it. Alicia's looks came from an expensive biosculp job. He had seen

too many slight variations on that fashionable face.

"I've explained to you often enough," he said. "Lot rather've gone to Mboto's or

Bhatnagar's myself. But my ship leaves in three days. Last chance to conduct a bit of

absolutely essential business."

"So you say."

He reached a decision. Tonight had not seemed to him to represent any large sacrifice

on her part. During the months of his absence, she'd find ample consolation with her

lovers. (How else can a high-born lady who has no special talents pass her time on

Terra?) But if she did grow embittered she could destroy him. It is vital to keep closed

that faceplate which is pretense. Never mind what lies behind. But in front of the

faceplate waits open ridicule, as dangerous to a man in power as emptiness and radiation

to a spacefarer.

Odd,

reflected the detached part of him,for all our millennia of recorded history, for all our

sociodynamic theory and data, how the basis of power remains essentially magical. If I

am laughed at, I may as well retire to my estates. And Terra needs me.

"Darlin'," he said, "I couldn't tell you anything before. Too many ears, live and

electronic, don't y' know. If the opposition got wind of what I'm about, they'd head me

off. Not because they necessarily disagree, but because they don't want me to bring home

a jumpin' success. That'd put me in line for the Policy Board, and everybody hopes to sit

there. By arrangin' afait accompli, though—d' you see?"

She rested a hard gaze on him. He was a tall, slender, blond man. His features were a

little too sharp; but in green tunic and decorations, gauze cloak, gold breeches and

beefleather halfboots, he was more handsome than was right. "Your career," she gibed.

"Indeed," he nodded. "But also peace. Would you like to see Terra under attack?

Could happen."

"Mark!" Abruptly she was changed. Her fingers, closing on his wrist beneath the lace,

felt cold. "It can't be that serious?"

"Nuclear," he said. "This thing out on Starkad isn't any common frontier squabble.

Been touted as such, and quite a few people honestly believe it is. But they've only seen

reports filtered through a hundred offices, each one bound to gloss over facts that don't

make its own job look so fiery important. I've collected raw data and had my own

computations run. Conservative extrapolation gives a forty per cent chance of war with

Merseia inside five years. And I mean war, the kind which could get total. You don't bet

those odds, do you, now?"

"No," she whispered.

"I'm s'posed to go there on a fact-findin' mission and report back to the Emperor. Then

the bureaucracy may start grindin' through the preliminaries to negotiation. Or it may not;

some powerful interests'd like to see the conflict go on. But at best, things'll escalate

meanwhile. A settlement'll get harder and harder to reach, maybe impossible.

"What I want to do is bypass the whole wretched process. I want plenipotentiary

authority to go direct from Starkad to Merseia and try negotiatin' the protocol of an

agreement. I think it can be done. They're rational bein's too, y' know. S'pose many of

'em're lookin' for some way out of the quicksand. I can offer one." He straightened. "At

least I can try."

She sat quiet. "I understand," she said at length. "Of course I'll cooperate."

"Good girl."

She leaned a little toward him. "Mark—"

"What?" His goal stood silhouetted against a crimson sheet.

"Oh, never mind." She sat back, smoothed her gown, and stared out at the ocean.

The Coral Palace was built on an atoll, which it engulfed even as its towers made their

crooked leap skyward. Cars flittered about like fireflies. Hauksberg's set down on a

flange as per GCA, let him and Alicia out, and took off for a parking raft. They walked

past bowing slaves and saluting guardsmen, into an antechamber of tall waterspout

columns where guests made a shifting rainbow, and so to the ballroom entrance.

"Lord Markus Hauksberg, Viscount of Ny Kalmar, Second Minister of Extra-Imperial

Affairs, and Lady Hauksberg!" cried the stentor.

The ballroom was open to the sky, beneath a clear dome. Its sole interior lighting was

ultraviolet. Floor, furnishings, orchestral instruments, tableware, food shone with the

deep pure colors of fluorescence. So did the clothing of the guests, their protective

skinpaint and eyelenses. The spectacle was intense, rippling ruby, topaz, emerald,

sapphire, surmounted by glowing masks and tresses, against night. Music lilted through

the air with the scent of roses.

Crown Prince Josip was receiving. He had chosen to come in dead black. His hands

and the sagging face floated green, weirdly disembodied; his lenses smoldered red.

Hauksberg bowed and Alicia bent her knee. "Your Highness."

"Ah. Pleased to see you. Don't see you often."

"Press of business, your Highness. The loss is ours."

"Yes. Understand you're going away."

"The Starkad affair, your Highness."

"What? … Oh, yes. That. How dreadfully serious and constructive. I do hope you can

relax with us here."

"We look forward to doin' so, your Highness, though I'm 'fraid we'll have to leave

early."

"Hmph." Josip half turned.

He mustn't be offended. "Goes without sayin' we both regret it the worst," Hauksberg

purred. "Might I beg for another invitation on my return?"

"Well, really!"

"I'll be even more bold. My nephew's comin' to Terra. Frontier lad, y' know, but as far

as I can tell from stereos and letters, quite a delightful boy. If he could actually meet the

heir apparent of the Empire—why, better'n a private audience with God."

"Well. Well, you don't say. Of course. Of course." Josip beamed as he greeted the next

arrival.

"Isn't that risky?" Alicia asked when they were out of earshot.

"Not for my nephew," Hauksberg chuckled. "Haven't got one. And dear Josip's

memory is rather notoriously short."

He often wondered what would become of the Empire when that creature mounted the

throne. But at least Josip was weak. If, by then, the Policy Board was headed by a man

who understood the galactic situation … He bent and kissed his lady's hand. "Got to drift

off, m'dear. Enjoy yourself. With luck, things'll still be fairly decorous when we dare

scoot off."

A new dance was called and Alicia was swept away by an admiral. He was not so old,

and his decorations showed that he had seen outplanet service. Hauksberg wondered if

she would return home tonight.

He maneuvered to the wall, where the crowd was thinner, and worked his way along.

There was scant time to admire the view above the dome's rim, though it was fantastic.

The sea marched ashimmer beneath a low moon. Long waves broke intricately, virginally

white on the outer ramparts; he thought he could hear them growl. The darkness enclosed

by the Lunar crescent was pinpointed with city lights. The sky illumination had now

formed a gigantic banner overhead, the Sunburst alive in a field of royal blue as if

stratospheric winds bugled salute. Not many stars shone through so much radiance.

But Hauksberg identified Regulus, beyond which his mission lay, and Rigel, which

burned in the heart of the Merseian dominions. He shivered. When he reached the

champagne table, a glass was very welcome. "Good evening," said a voice.

Hauksberg exchanged bows with a portly man wearing a particolored face. Lord

Advisor Petroff was not exactly in his element at a festival like this. He jerked his head

slightly. Hauksberg nodded. They gossipped a little and drifted apart. Hauksberg was

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

ENSIGNFLANDRYPoulAnderson—ToFrankandBeverlyHerbertENSIGNFLANDRYPoulAnderson123456789101112131415161718AbouttheAuthorExcerpts(withsomeexpansionofsymbols)fromPilot'sManualandEphemeris,Cis-BetelgeuseanOrionisSector,53rded.,ReelIII,frame28:IGCS-52,727,061.Saxo.F5,mass1.75Sol,luminosity5.4Sol,photosphere...

展开>> 收起<<

Poul Anderson - Flandry 07 - Ensign Flandry.pdf

共145页,预览10页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Poul Anderson - Flandry 07 - Ensign Flandry

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: