Mission Earth Volume 10: The Doomed Planet Page 6

  They got Lombar up and onto the throne.

  “The crown,” the director hissed. “You forgot the (bleeped) crown.” He cut back to the mechanically bowing crowd.

  The two “Lords” got Lombar back on his knees.

  Impromptu, Flip and the other girl, who had dressed him and had now gotten into the robes of noble ladies, grabbed the pillow the crown was sitting on and did a sort of a dance, carrying it between them. The director thought it was very nice. Nobody had seen a coronation for upwards of a century, so it didn’t matter, in his opinion. He cut the dance in.

  Flip and the other girl let the “pontiff” take the crown off the pillow. The paint was still wet and the “pontiff” wiped her hands off on her gown before she went on.

  Lombar’s hair, not combed, was pretty unruly and hard to stuff under the crown. The thing was too small. But she got it on someway.

  “Say something!” hissed the director into the “pontiff’s” ear-radio channel.

  “I think it will stay on,” said the whore to all Voltar.

  The two “Lords” got Lombar off his knees and onto the big throne.

  Flip and the other girl didn’t know what to do with the pillow. But it had been impromptu thus far and they would carry it off the same way. Flip tossed the pillow over her head in an elegant gesture and then she and the other girl, with a bouncing costume display turn, did what they always did in handling fake-throne tableaux in the circus—did an arm snake dance in front of Lombar’s face and then settled elegantly on either side of him below the arms of the throne, heads at the level of his waist.

  Suddenly Madison remembered that in the pressure of other things, he had forgotten to write the announcement, much less give it. All Voltar was watching but they didn’t know what in Hells they were looking at.

  “Now!” hissed the director into the electronics man’s channel.

  Nothing happened. Then the electronics man hissed back over the radio to the director, “Somebody tripped over the (bleeped) plug!”

  Lombar was getting restless. Lord only knew what was passing through his mind. As LSD gives a time speedup, he certainly wasn’t aware of the fact that, due to somebody accidentally disconnecting something, there was a blank in the program.

  But Flip was aware of it and, sitting on the floor beside the throne, she showed that she was a born and trained trouper. The subject of this display was getting restless. There were slits in the side of the very ample and overflowing robe. Unseen by the camera, she slid her nearest hand through one and passed it softly over Lombar’s thigh, hidden by the garment.

  Lombar’s yellow eyes flared for a moment in surprise.

  Flip, hand and forearm hidden now through the robe slit, sat facing forward with an expression which was very lofty and noble.

  Lombar settled down. He put his head back. A look of ecstasy began to steal over his features.

  The lofty and noble expression on Flip’s face was retained. But her eyes flicked sidewise for a moment and then her eyelids began to twitch in rhythm.

  “Lovely, lovely,” whispered the ecstatic Lombar.

  “That’s great,” hissed the director, “hold it just like that.” And then to the electronics man, “Hurry up!”

  “Got it,” came the answer.

  Lombar was stiffening out his legs. Then his yellow eyes flared wide.

  Four, count them, four electronic-illusion angels came winging down out of the blue dome of the vast hall.

  They hovered right over his head!

  One of them, a delicate, ethereal thing, suddenly said in a deep male voice—the electronics man couldn’t find the girl who was supposed to do this—“Well, Hisst, old boy, you finally made it and it’s about time!”

  Lombar shuddered in ecstasy.

  Flip’s face, noble and lofty, was still registering a rhythmic twitch. Her lips parted slightly in concentration.

  Madison was wildly signaling to the director, giving him a sign to zoom in and hold.

  With the beatific smile on Lombar’s face filling the frame and trying to cut out the tangled hair now smeared with wet gilt from the crown, the director made a camera hold.

  Madison had a mike now. He tapped it with his finger—boom, boom. It was live.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen of the Voltar Confederacy,” he said, “we have just brought you live, live, live, the crowning of Lombar the Magnificent. Due to circumstances beyond our control, a hiatus has occurred in the Royal line of Voltar. The outlaw Jettero Heller stole Cling the Lofty and it was vital during this time of national unrest that the throne be filled. In a self-sacrificing moment, Lombar Hisst, lately Chief of the Apparatus and more lately Dictator of Voltar, heeded the resounding demands of the multitude and took the throne by popular acclaim. This program has been brought to you by the courtesy of the Grand Council. Long Live Lombar the Magnificent. He will give his all.”

  And at that moment, Lombar did give his all. Flip’s hidden efforts came to culmination. “Oooh!” groaned Lombar as his body gave a convulsive jerk.

  Flip grinned.

  The director held upon the face a moment more while Lombar panted.

  “Cut,” the director said. “That was beautiful!”

  PART EIGHTY-THREE

  Chapter 5

  If the Confederacy had thought it had riots, these were nothing compared to the riots they were having now, the day following the coronation.

  A stunned Voltar had not known what to make of the “coronation” event when it had come on Homeview. Word had flashed across mobs and even battles with the Apparatus, and action had suspended while one and all sought the nearest Homeview set in cars, tanks, buildings, stores or homes. At first some thought the rumor that brought them to the viewscreens must be mistaken: Was this some old musical? Or a circus? Or a parody in bad taste?

  Voltar takes its Royalty seriously and tampering with it had never been taken lightly. It had prospered and been stable for ages in the old galaxy and for 125,000 years in this one under the political system of a benign monarchy. There had been upsets in the past but these infrequent disruptions in Royal rule, even when occasioned by excessive repression, had been resolved by a conclave of the Lords of the land—of which there were thousands, existing not only on the central planet of Voltar but on the other one hundred and nine planets. A system existed, in other words, for handling the cessation of a Royal line.

  In the living memory of most of the four hundred billion inhabitants of the Confederacy, despite their long life expectancy, no coronation had taken place. But they suspected that it would be attended by some vast array of Lords, with pomp, parades, celebrations and even holidays complete with festivals and one’s best clothes. It wouldn’t be over in ten minutes, most of which was being performed without even saying what it was about.

  And then, at the end, the statement that that insanely rapturous face was their new monarch and that it was no one less than the head of the organization they had been battling in the streets for days, the Apparatus of trial notoriety, stuffed torches into an already roaring fire. People who had been on the sidelines before burst into the streets with screams of fury. Government offices and buildings that had nothing to do with the Apparatus became the targets for anything one could throw or any weapon one could steal or invent.

  Normal conduct of affairs and life all but ceased. In its place rose the anarchy of rage.

  The Domestic Police gave up any real effort to control the mobs and in some places even joined them.

  The smoke of burning buildings hung like black mourning over thousands of cities. The damage toll was soaring into billions of credits and hundreds of thousands of lives.

  Reports of all this, oddly enough, were only being centralized by Madison himself.

  He sat in the Emperor’s antechamber at a desk previously used by guard officers. Lounging around the large room were the forty-nine members of his crew. Because they had procured bales of them from Homeview, they were all attired, except for Madiso
n, in the aqua-green uniforms of that organization. The tunics, pants, boots and caps with their goggle-visor bills were easy to slip into. Furthermore, as the news came in, none of them were partial to looking like Apparatus: also, as “Lieutenant” Flick had pointed out, nobody ever looked twice at a Homeview crew—they were accepted as part of the scenery, and while people might be interested in something that was being camera’d, nobody ever looked twice at the crew. The fourteen women backed him up: they thought the uniforms were pretty.

  Madison, through the night, had dozed while sprawled across the desk. Lombar was in the Emperor’s bedchamber, excreta and all, dumped there to sleep off the counterfeit Scotch and LSD and maybe some heroin and speed they did not know or care about.

  From time to time Apparatus generals came in with reports that the situation was worsening. They would find that there was no one on duty but Madison: he would rouse and blink, hear about some new town going up in smoke and then say, “You just make sure, General, that the Fleet and Army are going after Heller,” and go back to sleep.

  About 9:00 AM, some fifteen hours after the coronation, Flip brought him his share of the hot jolt and sweetbuns they had looted out of the Imperial stores.

  “Chief,” she said, “you look awful. There’s several bedchambers opening into this room, probably left over from when some Emperor had mistresses. They all got bathrooms. I found an Emperor’s spin razor and spin brush and even a bottle of soap. I didn’t bring you any spare General Services uniform and that one is all sweated up, so I laid out a new Homeview outfit for you. Now eat your breakfast.”

  Madison groggily imbibed the sweetbun and hot jolt. He felt better.

  “Now,” said Flip, “we can slip into that bedroom, rip off a little piece of (bleep) and you can freshen up and change your clothes.”

  Alarm rang through Madison. He suddenly had a bright idea. “No, look. I can’t leave this desk unmanned. So you take over for me here while I go bathe and change.”

  “Aw, (bleep),” said Flip. “All right, but you sure are weird. Never mind, I’ll get you into bed yet.” She sat down in the chair he vacated.

  Madison looked at the crew. Some of them were dozing, a circle of six were shooting a quiet game of dice for minor loot they had found lying about. Flick was snoring on the floor between Cun and Twa. Madison went into the mistress’ bedchamber to shave, brush his teeth, bathe and change into a Homeview outfit.

  An Apparatus general came in and looked around, eyes a bit wild.

  “Can I help you?” said Flip in her best approximation of a male voice to fit her costume.

  “I got to see Hisst!” he said urgently.

  Flip pointed with a polished fingernail. “His Majesty is right over in that bedchamber, sleeping it off. The sideshow is free. We don’t have any nuts for sale, but you can tip me if you want.”

  The general hurried toward the Emperor’s bedroom.

  “Cheapskate,” muttered Flip. “Hey, Flick! Ain’t there some way we can sell some tickets? Isn’t every day people can see a drunk Emperor.” Then she saw Flick was simply snoring. “(Bleep),” she said. “No enterprise. I could make a fortune with this show.” And she began to tally up the potential profits from tickets and drinks and (bleeps) on the side. She got quite interested.

  The crew lolled on, oblivious of the fate that was about to overtake them.

  PART EIGHTY-THREE

  Chapter 6

  The chamber stank of old excreta and new vomit.

  The general closed the bedroom door behind him. He stared at Lombar, still in his coronation robe, lying on the soiled bed. The general was somewhat indecisive and he dithered up and down the side of the bed for a bit. Then he decided that the risks of not waking Lombar overbalanced the risks of his wrath. He shook him by the shoulder.

  Lombar woke up. It was all right until he tried to turn his head and then the hangover hit him a sledgehammer blow. He winced and then he glared at the general.

  “Sir, I mean Your Majesty,” said the perturbed officer, “I’d like to report . . .”

  “Your Majesty?” said Lombar. “Quit that! You could get me killed. Are you trying to be funny?”

  “No, sir. It’s no joke. You were crowned Emperor yesterday.”

  “WHAT? Oh, my head!”

  “Sir, Your Sir, don’t you remember anything about it?”

  Lombar was trying to move his head. The pain shattered him. He screwed up his face, trying to get oriented. Then he said, “I thought it was just a dream or something. Wait. Is this real?”

  “Well, yes, Your M . . .Your Sir, but I have to report that the whole Apparatus Section of Government City is in flames. The troops there fought the mobs and Domestic Police to the last man. I want to call reinforcements for Palace City here.”

  “Well, call them, call them,” said Lombar. “Nobody is stopping you. Just a minute.” He was staring down at the soiled coronation robe. “You said I was crowned yesterday. I have no recollection of it. WHO DID THAT?”

  “It was all on Homeview, Your M . . . Sir. I believe Madison and his camera crew did it, Sir Majesty.”

  Lombar might have been drunk and doped, but all that remained of it now was livid ferocity. “(Bleep) them! Grab a Death Battalion and put Madison and his crew under close arrest. Oh, my head! Then call for your reinforcements. Well, go on! Get out of here!”

  “Sir, Your Sir Majesty, there’s something else. An odd alert just came through on Homeview that an important announcement that affects you will be made in just half an hour. It sounded so ominous, we were worried.” Then he saw the animal savagery that was forming on Lombar’s face. Hastily, he added, “Yes, Your Sir, I’ll put Madison and his crew under arrest.” And he rushed out before Lombar took it into his head to kill him.

  The general had risen to his rank because he didn’t take on odds he couldn’t handle. He walked right on out past Flip. He went along the hall and out of the building.

  Palace City’s streets resembled, already, an armed camp. The general signaled a colonel of a Death Battalion and gave him a crisp order and a caution. Then the general hurried on to a communications tank to order far more Apparatus troops into the town and around its perimeter.

  The colonel grabbed a captain of a hundred-man company. Within a brace of minutes, black-uniformed Death Battalion troops went to the various outside doors of the Imperial Palace and entered to converge upon the antechamber through various halls.

  The aqua-green uniformed crew were suddenly confronted by leveled blastrifles. The dice game went into suspended animation. Cun prodded Twa and Flick awake. Others rose up staring.

  “CHIEF!” screamed Flip.

  Madison, who had just finished dressing in a Homeview rig, came out buckling on its equipment belt. He stopped with a jolt.

  “You Madison?” said the Death Battalion captain.

  Madison looked at the leveled blastrifles and the deadly troops. “I think there’s some mistake. If you’ll just step into the bedchamber with me, His Majesty will straighten it out.”

  “His Majesty, or whatever he is, ordered it,” said the captain. “You’re all under arrest. Come along.”

  “They’re going to kill us!” yelped Flick.

  “No,” said the captain. “You’re simply under arrest. I don’t want any trouble. My advice, knowing something of”—and he jerked his head toward the bedchamber— “I’d move quickly before it’s something worse. Where’s the dungeon in this place?”

  Flip leaped up. “Right this way!” She led off down a side hall.

  The rest of them shouldered their equipment, cameras and loot.

  Madison still would have gone to the bedchamber but the captain blocked his way. “You’re stupid,” said the captain. “You haven’t been in the Apparatus long or you’d know better. Move along!” And he shoved Madison into the wake of his crew.

  Followed by the soldiers, the crew was led down a long, curving flight of stairs. They came to a vast place that had a whole wall cove
red with locker doors, equipment, tables and benches. It had round windows that overlooked a park.

  “Well, here we are,” said Flip.

  “This is no dungeon!” snapped the officer.

  “Captain,” said Flip, “when you have been in as many dungeons as I have, you get to be an expert. Just because this LOOKS like the Imperial galley with its lockers all crammed with food is no reason it isn’t a perfectly satisfactory dungeon for your purposes. Now, if you want to give your troops piles from sitting on stone ledges, that’s up to you. But a smart officer always thinks of his troops above everything. Look at those soft benches.”