The captain bowed even more deeply. As master of the sole vessel owned by the ruler of Jest, his position was an enviable one; and if at times he wished that his command had been a little more modern, he kept such thoughts to himself.
"We became embroiled in the fringe of an interstellar storm, my lady," he explained. "The magnetic flux disturbed our instruments and retarded our passage a matter of some three days. I can, of course, accelerate our speed if you so desire."
As you could have done in the first place, thought Jocelyn. So why report the matter at all? Fear, he decided To safeguard himself against the report of a spy, to insure himself against the ambition of a junior officer. He felt his lips twist into a familiar wryness. Did he really appear so formidable?
"My lord?" The captain was sweating. "My lady?"
"You shall be flogged," snapped Adrienne, "stripped of your command! I shall-"
"Do nothing without due consideration," interrupted Jocelyn curtly. "The man is hardly to blame for the elements, and on Jest, we do not use the barbaric means of punishment common on other worlds."
"Barbaric!" He had touched her. Spots of color glowed on her thin cheeks, the anger reflecting itself in her narrowed eyes. "Are you referring to Eldfane?"
"Did I mention your home world?" Jocelyn smiled into her eyes. "You are too sensitive, my dear, too quick to take offense. But the fault is not yours. Those who trained you when young are to blame; they discouraged your childish laughter. That was wrong. In this universe, my darling wife, laughter is the only answer a man can make to his destiny, the only challenge he can throw into the faces of his gods."
"Superstition!" Contempt replaced her anger. "My father warned me of your peculiar ways. That is why-" She broke off, conscious of the listening captain. "Why do you linger?"
"My lady." His bow was mechanical, an automatic response rooted in defense. "My lord," he said straightening, "I await your instructions."
"Have they changed?" Jocelyn frowned. "Are we not proceeding to Jest?"
"We were, my lord, but the storm has placed us in a peculiar relationship. We are equidistant from both Jest and Scar and our relative speed is common to both. That means we can reach either in the same amount of time." The captain took a deep breath. "I am not a superstitious man, my lord, but the workings of destiny can sometimes reveal itself in strange forms."
"Such as a storm, a malfunction of the instruments and a peculiar coincidence?" Jocelyn nodded thoughtfully. "You could be right, Captain. You think we should proceed to Scar?"
The captain bowed, disclaiming responsibility. "The decision is yours, my lord."
And the derision should the journey be pointless, thought Jocelyn ironically. But could any journey ever be that? Jest waited with the same eternal problems and could wait a little longer without coming to harm. It would almost be a kindness to delay their arrival. Adrienne was accustomed to a softer world and less independence. She would have troubles enough once they had landed and she had been installed as his queen.
He glanced at her, noting the thin arrogance of her profile, the imperious tilt of her head. Strange how those with the least reason adopted the greater dignity, stranger still how the bare facts could be transmuted by pompous phraseology. He, the ruler of Jest, had married the daughter of Elgone, the Elder of Eldfane. If the people thought of it as a love-match, they were more stupid than he guessed. As a dowry she had brought him one hundred thousand tons of basic staples, the revenues from her estate on Eldfane, a million units of trading credit to be used on her home world, the services of an engineering corps for three years; and the promise of an obsolete space vessel when one should be available.
The promise meant nothing. The staples were already on their way, sealed in freight cans flung into space by tractors, aimed so as to orbit Jest until they could be collected by this very ship. The revenues would dwindle, the credit likewise as inflation and profiteering greed slashed their value. The engineering corps would turn out to be a handful of advisers strong on suggestion but woefully lacking in application.
All he would have left would be a shrewish woman to sit on his double throne.
All?
He felt his lips twist in their familiar expression, the wry grin he had developed when a boy and which was his defense against hurt, pain and hopeless despair. To smile, to treat everything as a joke-how else to remain sane?
"My dear," he said to Adrienne. "We are faced with the need to make a decision, to go on to Jest or to head for Scar, it is a problem which can be solved in many ways. We could spin a coin; we could arrange a number of random selective-choices, such as the first officer to walk through that door would decide for us by his first word; or we could apply logic and knowledge to guide our choice."
The edges of her thin nostrils turned white as she controlled her anger. "Is this a time for foolish jesting?"
He smiled blandly. "Can a jest ever be foolish?"
"On Eldfane," she said tightly, "we have a means of discouraging those who hold similar beliefs. Life is serious and no cause for mirth."
"And you make it so by the use of whips, acid and fire," said Jocelyn. "But, on Eldfane, laughter has an ugly sound." He shook his head, abruptly weary of the pointless exchange. As long as the woman kept her part of the marriage contract he would be content: food, credit, the help of trained and educated men, and. above all, a son.
He glanced at the captain as the man cleared his throat. "What is it?"
"If I may make a suggestion, my lord?"
Jocelyn nodded.
"The problem could be resolved by one trained in such matters. The cyber would doubtless be happy to advise."
Jocelyn frowned. He had forgotten Yeon, the final part of Adrienne's dowry, added almost as an afterthought by Elgone, which he had reluctantly accepted. He had been reluctant because he had an instinctive mistrust of a man who could not laugh.
"Thank you, Captain," said Adrienne before Jocelyn could speak. "At last we have had a sensible suggestion. Be so good as to ask the cyber to attend us."
"No," said Jocelyn.
She turned and looked at him, fine eyebrows arched over contemptuous eyes. "Husband?"
"Never mind." He surrendered. "Do as Her Majesty commands." She was, after all, his wife.
Yeon came within minutes, a living flame in the rich scarlet of his robe, the seal of the Cyclan burning on his breast. He stood, facing Jocelyn, hands tucked within the wide sleeves of his gown.
"You sent for me, my lord?"
"I did." Jocelyn turned to where Adrienne sat in a chair covered in ancient leather. "Do you wish to state the problem?" He sighed as she shook her head. "Very well, I will do so."
The cyber stood silent when he had finished.
"Are you in doubt as to the answer?" Jocelyn felt a sudden satisfaction in the thought that he had beaten the man, presented him with a problem to which he could find no solution. The satisfaction died as Yeon met his eyes.
"My lord, I am in some doubt as to what you require of me."
"I thought it simple. Do we go to Jest or to Scar?"
"The decision is yours, my lord. All I can do is to advise you on the logical development of certain actions you may care to take. In this case I lack sufficient data to be able to extrapolate the natural sequence of events." His voice was a smooth modulation carefully trained so as to contain no irritating factors, a neutral voice belonging to a neutral man.
A neuter, rather, thought Jocelyn savagely. A machine of flesh and blood devoid of all emotion and the capability of feeling. A man who could experience no other pleasure than that of mental achievement. But clever. Give him a handful of facts and, from them, he would build more, enough for him to make uncannily accurate predictions as to the course of future events.
Adrienne stirred in her chair. "Is there anything you can tell us about Scar?"
Yeon turned to face her. His shaven head gleamed in the lights as if of polished bone, the soft yellow of his skin accentuating the skull-like appearance of his face against the warmth of his cowl.
"Scar, my lady, is a small world with a peculiar ecology. The year is ninety days long and, as the planet has no rotation at all, the seasons are compressed between one dawn and another. There are thirty days for winter, during which it rains continuously and the same for summer, during which it gets very hot; the remainder is split between spring and autumn. The population is transient and consists mostly of tourists."
Jocelyn cleared his throat. "What else?"
"Exports, my lord?"
"That and anything else which may be of interest."