Empire of Two Worlds

“They wanted information,” he said dreamily, his voice faint. “I held back. I’ve been awake for some time.”

The gun was still in my hand. When he saw it there, the way it was pointing, he seemed to guess what was going to happen.

“I’m a risk, aren’t I?” he said, struggling to a half-sitting position. “I’m not in control of myself.”

“We have to protect ourselves,” I said stonily.

“Sure.” He stared, glazed, up into my face. “Shoot me, Klein. Go on, shoot me. Then I’ll be free, floating in Blue Space forever.”

I levelled the gun. Suddenly his face twisted wryly.

“Becmath’s hatchet-man!”

The blast sounded incongruously loud. The slug made a neat hole in his face and blew a chunk out of the back of his skull. He jerked back on to the couch, dead before he even knew it.

Quickly and efficiently I went through the other rooms to make sure there was no one else and then rejoined the squad. I wondered if Bec, watching in his tower two hundred miles away, had picked up Tone’s last remark.

Twelve

The planet Earth spins in a space filled with brilliant light. The atmosphere glows with the brightness of it. On that planet, the country of Rheatt is like one vast jewel glowing with colours, a big bowl of green grass and heady scents from the drooping trees.

Sometimes, from within my tower, I would peep at the spectacle of the setting or rising sun throwing vivid colours across the sky. Alien though it was, I could see the beauty of it.

Nine years had passed since we had first broken through the gateway from Killibol. Nine years in which we, the masters of Rheatt, had lurked invisibly in our sealed towers, rarely seen by the natives or by each other. Rheatt answered to our commands because we had organised it that way. Millions of Rheattites worked on Merame in Rotrox workshops or as household slaves. Down on Earth they manned the factories that, slowly but surely, had been turning out the weapons to equip an army. The muscles and nerves of the new order in Rheatt were supplied by a military-style élite that had never known Blue Space. They had been trained by us personally. They had their own kind of toughness, even of brutality, and they were in awe of the white men who had achieved all this.

There were still Rotrox in Rheatt, too, stalking about with their habitual arrogance, sometimes with the traditional molten metal-spewing lances, but more often with the repeaters and handguns that we had given them. They were respected by the Rheattic élite, but not admired.

Mine was the face that was most known in Rheatt. The organisation was largely my direct handiwork, and I still put in a personal appearance from time to time. But lately, like the others, I had grown taciturn and had withdrawn into a self-created environment.

Becmath had not stepped outside his tower for years. I myself had not seen him in the flesh since I had killed Tone; but he had been there, the constant shadow that followed and instructed me by television.

So it was something of an event when Bec called us together. When I entered his apartment Reeth, Grale and Hassmann were already there, sitting around waiting for me. Bec was sitting in the same chair that I had seen him in five years before, still surrounded by flickering television screens.

Of us all, Bec had aged the most. His white face had become slightly puffy and his eyes were tired. The others were simply ten years older, but fit and alert. At that, though, Bec was the only one who hadn’t put on weight through eating so much rich food.

He wasted no time in getting down to business.

“I guess you boys didn’t believe me, that time when we were on the outside and running, that one day we’d be back to get even with all those klugs who crossed us,” he said, “but that day has come. Now’s the time for the push on Klittmann.”

Reeth shrugged. “I’m happy as things are. But anything you say, boss.”

Grale grinned. His face had become more swarthy in the years we’d lived in Rheatt. “It can’t be too soon for me. We’ve been too long in this damned sun-drenched, green-skinned place.”

“That’s the idea,” Bec said approvingly. “You think we’re doing all right here? So we are. But we’re living on the wrong planet. Wait till we’ve finished on Killibol: Klittmann’s only the beginning, we’re going to move all over. I’ll give you a city apiece all for your own. Ten cities apiece. Nobody knows just how many cities there are on Killibol.”

“What about the Rotrox, Bec?” Hassmann rumbled, “Where do they fit in?”

Bec snorted, making a vague gesture with his hand. “They’ll expect it to be their empire, like Rheatt. But don’t worry: I don’t intend to be their hireling for very long. In the cities of Killibol we’ll be in a world they don’t understand at all. Furthermore we’ll have gigantic industries and the energies of trained populations all at our disposal. It’ll make our effort here look like protein peanuts.”

Grale gave a delighted laugh. “You mean we’re gonna push those klugs out of it, boss? I like that!”