Honorable Enemies Rethought

cut off her voice, and the warder's shout rang and boomed down the hall: 'Your Majesty, the Ambassador of the Empire of Merseia asks audience.'

  The huge green form of Lady Korvish of Merseia filled the doorway with a flare of gold and jewelry. And beside her—Aycharaya!

  Flyndry was briefly rigid with shock. If that opponent came into the game now, the whole plan might crash to ruin. It was a daring, precarious structure which Alind had built; the faintest breath of argument could dissolve it—and then the lightnings would strike!

  One was not permitted to bear firearms within the palace, but the dueling sword was a part of full dress. Flyndry drew her with a hiss of metal and shouted aloud: 'Seize those beings! They mean to kill the Sartay!'

  Aycharaya's golden eyes widened as she saw what was in Flyndry's mind. She opened her mouth to denounce the Terran—and leaped back in bare time to avoid the woman's murderous thrust.

  Her own rapier sprang into her hand. In a whirr of steel, the two spies met.

  Korvish the Merseian drew her own great blade in sheer reflex. 'Strike her down!' yelled Alind. Before the amazed Sartay could act, he had pulled the stun pistol she carried from the holster and sent the Merseian toppling to the floor.

  He bent over her, deftly removing a tiny needle gun from his bodice and palming it on the ambassador. 'Look, your Majesty,' he said breathlessly, 'she had a deadly weapon. We knew the Merseians planned no good, but we never thought they would dare—'

  The Sartay's gaze was shrewd on him. 'Maybe we'd better wait to hear her side of it,' she murmured.

  Since Korvish would be in no position to explain her side for a good hour, Alind considered it a victory.

  But Flyndry—her eyes grew wide and he drew a hissing gasp as he saw her fighting Aycharaya. It was the swiftest, most vicious duel he had ever seen, leaping figures and blades that were a blur of speed, back and forth along the hall in a clamor of steel and blood.

  'Stop them!' he cried, and raised the stunner.

  The Sartay laid a hand on his and took the weapon away. 'No,' she said. 'Let them have it out. I haven't seen such a show in years.'

  'Dominique—'he whispered.

  Flyndry had always thought herself a peerless fencer, but Aycharaya was her match. Though the Chereionite was hampered by gravity, she had a speed and precision which no human could ever meet, her thin blade whistled in and out, around and under the woman's guard to rake face and hands and breast, and she was smiling—smiling.

  Her telepathy did her little or no good. Fencing is a matter of conditioned reflex—at such speeds, there isn't time for conscious thought. But perhaps it gave her an extra edge, just compensating for the handicap of weight.

  Leaping, slashing, thrusting, parrying, clang and clash of cold steel, no time to feel the biting edge of the growing weariness—dance of death while the court stood by and cheered.

  Flyndry's own blade was finding its mark; blood ran down Aycharaya's gaunt cheeks and her tunic was slashed to red ribbons. The Terran's plan was simple and the only one possible for her. Aycharaya would tire sooner, her reactions would slow—the thing to do was to stay alive that long!

  She let the Chereionite drive her backward down the length of the hall, leap by leap, whirling around with sword shrieking in hand. Thrust, parry, riposte, recovery—whirr, clang! The rattle of steel filled the hall and the Sartay watched with hungry eyes.

  The end came as she was wondering if she would ever live to see Betelgeuse rise again. Aycharaya lunged and her blade pierced Flyndry's left shoulder. Before she could disengage it, the woman had knocked the weapon spinning from her hand and had her own point against the throat of the Chereionite.

  The hall rang with the savage cheering of Betelgeuse's mistresses. 'Disarm them!' shouted the Sartay.

  Flyndry drew a sobbing breath. 'Your Majesty,' she gasped, 'let me guard this fellow while General Bronson goes on with our show.'

  The Sartay nodded. It fitted her sense of things.

  Flyndry thought with a hard glee: Aycharaya, if you open your mouth, so help me, I'll run you through.

  The Chereionite shrugged, but her smile was bitter.

  'Dominique, Dominique!' cried Alind, between laughter and tears.

  General Bronson turned to him. She was shaken by the near ruin. 'Can you talk to them?' she whispered. 'I'm no good at it.'

  Alind nodded and stood boldly forth. 'Your Majesty and nobles of the court,' he said, 'we shall now prove the statements we made about the treachery of Merseia.

  'We of Terra found out that the Merseians were planning to seize Alfzar and hold it and yourselves until their own fleet could arrive to complete the occupation. To that end they are assembling this very night in Gunazar Valley of the Borthudian range. A flying squad will attack and capture the palace—'

  He waited until the uproar had subsided. 'We could not tell your Majesty or any of the highest in the court,' he resumed coolly, 'for the Merseian spies were everywhere and we had reason to believe that one of them could read your minds. If they had known anyone knew of their plans, they would have acted at once. Instead we contacted General Bronson, who was not high enough to merit their attention, but who did have enough power to act as the situation required.

  'We planted a trap for the enemy. For one thing, we mounted telescopic telecameras in the valley. With your permission, I will now show what is going on there this instant.'

  He turned a switch and the scene came to life—naked crags and cliffs reaching up toward the red moons, and a stir of activity in the shadows. Armored forms were moving about, setting up atomic guns, warming the engines of spaceships—and they were Merseians.

  The Sartay snarled. Someone asked, 'How do we know this is not a falsified transmission?'

  'You will be able to see their remains for yourself,' said Alind. 'Our plan was very simple. We planted atomic land mines in the ground. They are radio controlled.' He held up a small switch-box wired to the televisor, and his smile was grim. 'This is the control. Perhaps your Majesty would like to press the button?'

  'Give it to me,' said the Sartay thickly. She thumbed the switch.

  A blue-white glare of hell-flame lit the screen. They had a vision of the ground fountaining upward, the cliffs toppling down, a cloud of radioactive dust boiling up toward the moons, and then the screen went dark.

  'The cameras have been destroyed,' said Alind quietly. 'Now, your Majesty, I suggest that you send scouts there immediately. They will find enough remains to verify what the televisor has shown. I would further suggest that a power which maintains armed forces within your own territory is not a friendly one!'

  Korvish and Aycharaya were to be deported with whatever other Merseians were left in the system—once Betelgeuse had broken diplomatic relations with their state and begun negotiating an alliance with Terra. The evening before they left, Flyndry gave a small party for them in her apartment. Only she and Alind were there to meet them when they entered.

  'Congratulations,' said Aycharaya wryly. 'The Sartay was so furious she wouldn't even listen to our protestations. I can't blame her—you certainly put us in a bad light.'

  'No worse than your own,' grunted Korvish angrily. 'Hell take you for a lying hypocrite, Flyndry. You know that Terra has his own forces and agents in the Betelgeusean System, hidden on wild moons and asteroids. It's part of the game.'

  'Of course I know it,' smiled the Terran. 'But does the Sartay? However, it's as you say—the game. You don't hate the one who beats you in chess. Why then hate us for winning this round?'

  'Oh, I don't,' said Aycharaya. 'There will be other rounds.'

  'You've lost much less than we would have,' said Flyndry. 'This alliance has strengthened Terra enough for his to halt your designs, at least temporarily. But we aren't going to use that strength to launch a war against you, though I admit that we should. The Empire wants only to keep the peace.'

  'Because it doesn't dare fight a war,' snapped Korvish.

  They didn't a
nswer. Perhaps they were thinking of the cities that would not be bombed and the young women that would not go out to be killed. Perhaps they were simply enjoying a victory.

  Flyndry poured wine. 'To our future amiable enmity,' she toasted.

  'I still don't see how you did it,' said Korvish.

  'Alind did it,' said Flyndry. 'Tell them, Alind.'

  He shook his head. He had withdrawn into a quietness which was foreign to him. 'Go ahead, Dominique,' he murmured. 'It was really your show.'

  'Well,' said Flyndry, not loath to expound, 'when we realized that Aycharaya could read our minds, it looked pretty hopeless. How can you possibly lie to a telepath? Alind found the answer—by getting information which just isn't true.

  'There's a drug in this system called sorgan which has the property of making its user believe anything she's told. Alind fed me some without my knowledge and then told me that fantastic lie about Terra coming in to occupy Alfzar. And, of course, I accepted it as absolute truth. Which you, Aycharaya, read in my mind.'

  'I was puzzled,' admitted the Chereionite. 'It just didn't look reasonable to me; but as you said, there didn't seem to be any way to lie to a telepath.'

  'Alind's main worry was then to keep out of mind-reading range,' said Flyndry. 'You helped us there by going off to prepare a warm reception for the Terrans. You gathered all your forces in the valley, ready to blast our ships out of the sky.'

  'Why didn't you go to the Sartay with what you knew—or thought you knew?'