War on Jupiter

By Lieutenant Nublander

War On Jupiter is Book I of the Chronicles of Jupiter. The three books of the Chronicles of Jupiter are written by three different authors, but are considered a trilogy on Jupiter, because they cover similar topics during one relatively short period of Jupiterian history, and include some recurring characters.

Lieutenant Nublander is a native of Ramosan, Jupiter. He was educated at Emperors Officers Academy, Ramosan, and has served in four wars (to the date of this book). His memoir War On Jupiter was a worldwide best seller on his native planet. It is his first book.

Books II and III of the Chronicles of Jupiter have already been translated into English, and edited for American audiences. They will be appearing soon, D. V.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 13, 2008
• ISBN: 9781467807449

Lieutenant Nublander

NA

Book preview

© 2009 Carl Wells. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 3/23/2009

ISBN: 978-1-4343-4957-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4678-0744-9 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2.

Chapter 3.

Chapter 4.

Chapter 5.

Chapter 6.

Chapter 7.

Chapter 8.

Chapter 9.

Chapter 10.

Chapter 11.

Chapter 12.

Chapter 13.

Chapter 14.

Chapter 15.

Chapter 16.

Chapter 17.

Chapter 18.

Chapter 19.

Chapter 20.

Chapter 21.

Chapter 22.

Chapter 23.

Chapter 24.

Chapter 25.

Chapter 26.

Chapter 27.

Chapter 28.

Chapter 29.

Chapter 30.

Chapter 31.

Chapter 32.

Chapter 33.

Chapter 34.

Author’s dedication:

For Ramosan and Godosan,

and for Graplander.

Translator’s dedication:

To the memory of Edgar Rice Burroughs,

H. Rider Haggard, C. S. Lewis, and

Talbot Mundy, with gratitude, admiration,

and affection.

Translator’s and editor’s introduction

The following personal memoir was, I am reliably informed, a best seller on the planet Jupiter, the narrator’s home planet. I hasten to point out that I have never been on Jupiter, nor do I have the means of getting there. I am, however, naturally skillful in languages, and I believe it was for this reason that I was chosen as translator of War On Jupiter. Who chose me I refuse to comment on in writing; I would not be believed, in any case, so it is better to hold my tongue.

Besides the text of War On Jupiter, I was given a small library of Jupiterian reference works. All would have been useless, of course, had I not been given a thorough introduction to the language by one well qualified to teach, but I did receive several days of concentrated instruction, plus several subsequent follow-up sessions in which any problems which I had run into were solved. There were problems, but happily only a few. Jupiterian is, as languages go, relatively a simple one, though as capable of as great subtlety as English. Fortunately it is also the solitary language of Jupiter. All the nations and peoples of Jupiter, no matter how widely scattered, speak and write Jupiterian alone.

My small shelf of Jupiterian reference works has allowed me to know enough of Jupiterian culture and history to be able to comment with footnotes. I have tried to keep my own editorial comments to a minimum, however, for War On Jupiter is not intended to be a treatise on Jupiter. Such a treatise is certainly needed, and I would be pleased to write it if there is sufficient public call for such a book, but first things first. My own footnotes are always signed American editor, in order to distinguish them from the author’s. After much discussion with myself, I finally decided to put all the footnotes, designated with an asterisk in the text, at the end of the book. Reading the footnotes will help the reader to a deeper understanding of Jupiter, but one could read the book without reading the footnotes and probably not be hampered too much.

A further word about the translation. I frequently ran into metaphors whose literal meaning could only confuse an American reader. In all such cases, I have tried to communicate the author’s basic meaning to my intended audience. As a result Lieutenant Nublander ends up sounding, all too often, more American than Jupiterian, but I saw no way to avoid the problem. That, I admit, is a flaw in my translation. But I believe very strongly that I have communicated, to people reading English, the information that Lieutenant Nublander conveyed to his Jupiterian reading audience. I hope and believe the author would approve, could he know what I have done.

If any find War On Jupiter to be of interest, they may be interested to know that it is the first book of a trilogy. The next two books are by different authors, but on similar themes, and are considered a trilogy on Jupiter. The titles and authors will be revealed when the books are published. The books are almost ready for the printer.

About the planet Jupiter, and its culture, all I had better say here is that Jupiter is very like the earth, and also very different; I’ll leave it to the reader to discover what I mean.

Carl Wells, translator and editor

Oct. 4, 2007

Chapter 1

Allobanquar’s Brilliant Idea

Ramosan, thou art a fool, and one of a triplet of fools. But you are brave, and Ramo will make you wise in His own time.

Elizat 7:14-15, in Ramo’s Way

I remember very well the day it all started. I was in my room, quietly struggling with my novel, when Allobanquar’s familiar triple knock roused me. Up and out of bed, Nub! There are kingdoms to be conquered out here.

I wasn’t sorry to be disturbed, for the writing was not going well that day. I was always glad to see Allobanquar—unless I was in a good groove with my writing. Who wasn’t glad to see him? Handsome, brave, intelligent, open and open-handed, a born leader, and the emperor’s favorite nephew on top of all, who among our generation (or the others, for that matter) could resist Allobanquar? Certainly not I, for I had loved him since I was twelve (fifteen years ago), and with good reason. This very room (in the emperor’s castle) which I now occupied, was mine only because Allobanquar insisted that his best friend should always have a home in his own home.

Of course Allobanquar sometimes lived at his father’s estate far on the outskirts of Ramo’s City, but he preferred spending most of his time at the castle, which is in the middle of the city and is the steadily beating heart of all Ramosan. He had set me up in comfortable fashion in a room not far from his own suite of rooms, insisting that I was necessary to his happiness. His Majesty was pleased to do a favor for Allobanquar, and so there I was living in the emperor’s castle—a most unlikely place for the middle class first lieutenant son of a middle class minor foreman of an arrow factory to be living.

He entered at my bidding. What are you up to—scribbling again? What is it this time? Oh, I see: still the novel. How is it going?

Don’t ask, I said, shaking my head.

"One of those days. Then at least I’m not disturbing you. Although you’ll honestly admit you need disturbing. You’re going to seed in this place, Nub," he said.

No danger of that, with you to roust me out every other day.

Yes, you are, he insisted. We’ve got to get you out of this rut.

What you mean is, you’re in a rut, and you want out and you want someone along to pick up the pieces when you crash. You’re heading for a two-brak night, and probably an upper class prostitute, I said calmly.

Not a bad idea, at that, though I’m not up to more than one brak*, he mused. Maybe later. But I’ve got better than that on my mind.

I frowned, for I had an approximate idea of what was coming, and my inclinations lay, on this subject, completely opposite to his. He was going to propose going off into some battle or war; I would bet on it. He had been drifting toward such a notion for weeks.

I was right. I’m weary of this peace, he said. I need a conquest to drive the cobwebs out of my mind. And you’re going to help me.

That remained to be seen, for although he was (aside from being my friend), my superior officer, he being a colonel and I being a first lieutenant, and although I was directly under his command (in the 7th Army), still I doubted that the Imperial Army of Ramosan would automatically go to war at the whim or word of Allobanquar, and his power to impress me into some scatter-brained scheme was limited. I gathered all my skepticism, and all my powers to resist, and prepared for an intellectual battle.

Cheer up, Nub, we’re not going off to Final War with Banosan and Arnosan yet, he laughed, seeing my gloomy looks. We won’t be fighting for many months, even with the best of luck. Tell me, have you ever heard of Godosan?

Godosan? I think . . . yes. Yes, we heard it mentioned in history class. Isn’t that the place where some religious heretics—from Ramosan, I think—went all the way across The Ocean to the western mainland and settled there? A few centuries ago. Memories of my boyhood Jupiterian history were coming back to me. They made some outrageous claim that Ramo, Bano, and Arno were really just one god, or something like that.

Not exactly, but close enough. They claimed that there was only one god, and a lot of other stuff, none of it very interesting. The point is, they’re a fairly powerful kingdom, according to The Register, and I’m going to conquer them.

You’ve been thumbing through the new Register*, looking for likely countries to conquer, I said, seeing it all in an instant: Allobanquar lounging on his bed with The Register, comparing statistics and measuring distances on the map. It took no great visionary powers on my part to picture the scene, for it was one I could remember from our boyhood. Oh, here’s a nice plump one, and close, he would enthuse, and I would mumble mm and go on reading my book. Neither of us had changed much in essentials from those long-ago days.

He acknowledged my successful guess with a smile. But why Godosan? I continued. It must be one of the farthest away of all kingdoms. It’ll take us a year just to get there. Why not just conquer some island a few hundred miles away? Like Marn or Stugosan? Marn and Stugosan were the two islands Allobanquar and I had helped conquer in two brief wars. Much as I had disliked those campaigns, at least they had been short, neither one requiring more than three months, including preparation and travel.

Nope. Nub, I have a confession to make. I knew what was coming, and interrupted with a laugh.

Ha! ‘I’m a failure. Here I am, 28, a nephew of the emperor, and still only a colonel. It’s time I proved what kind of general I can be.’ How many times have I heard that nonsense, Banque?

Well, it’s true, Nub, he protested.

I doubt if there’s another colonel under 30 in the emperor’s entire army.

But you forget, I’m the emperor’s nephew. I’m a colonel sheerly through nepotism.

This was a wild exaggeration, and Allobanquar knew it, and he knew I knew it, but he still was able sometimes to convince himself that he should worry about the reasons for his rapid promotion. Actually, the Emperor Sagwind IV usually left the daily running of the Imperial Army to the Imperial Army, just as he usually left the daily running of everything to the appropriate department. Few who knew anything about Allobanquar’s military prowess would attribute his early promotion to nepotism. Still, the fact that Sagwind IV was emperor and the fact that Allobanquar was his nephew and a colonel gave, undeniably, a certain suspicious ring to the equation, and mankind as a whole cannot be blamed for guessing that, at worst, being the emperor’s nephew had not positively hurt Allobanquar’s chances of early promotion. Even Allobanquar, and even I (loyal as I am) have the same guess. The idea grates on Allobanquar sometimes, though it shouldn’t, for he is a colonel of great abilities. I believe he would have deserved to be a colonel at his age, had he been no relation to the emperor—but whether he would have been, in that case, I don’t know. He might well have been, for the Imperial Army is good at discerning talent and encouraging it. Allobanquar had earned his colonel’s sword through his bold and brilliant performance in two wars; his rise was unusual but not unprecedented. Talented men of much less social standing had had similar rises.

Time’s running out on me, Nublander Tantbar.* He called me by my full name, intending to show thereby that he was being very serious. I’ve got to make a real name for myself. I’ve been reading up on Godosan. It’s quite a place. We tried to conquer it once, you know, about two hundred years ago—that was just a hundred and forty or so years after it got started—and didn’t make much of a showing. Never even got to the city, as a matter of fact. Apparently the city can only be conveniently reached by sea, by going through narrow straits, and the Godosans were ready for us and drove us back. The Register says they are very prosperous, and they’ve got lots of colonies now on the western islands. It’s quite a kingdom; quite a challenge. There was one of the many differences between Allobanquar and me: he preferred a challenge, while my idea would have been to pick on one of the most rickety many-times conquered island kingdoms in a nearby section of The Ocean here in the East, and get it over with as quickly and easily as possible.

This sounds like something that’s going to take a decade, if we live through it, I sighed. Why don’t you just go pirating for a year or two—I’ll go with you—and wait for the war to break. For the last half-dozen years we had been heading toward a war with Arnosan. Everyone on Jupiter could see it coming. The only questions were when, and how major it would be.

That could take a long time, Nub. Be reasonable, Nub, he said, trying to be persuasive. But the idea about pirating has merit. Let’s see, how could we do it without people knowing who we were? he mused.

I looked at him in shocked surprise, realizing too late that he also was only joking about going pirating. You belong on the stage—some comedy review, I said, while he laughed at my gullibility.

But seriously, Nub, something’s got to be done. My career’s at a standstill, I’m bored to tears, and Godosan’s just sitting there begging to be conquered.

Because you’re bored, you’re going to rush us off across the world and get into what might turn out to be an endless war.

‘That’s Jupiter for you,’ he quoted. It was, of course. We are always either at war, or between wars. But I’m not rushing off, Nub. I’ve thought this thing through. It’s got to be done right. It’s a long-range task, and we’ll approach it in that light. That’s where you come in.

Oh? I said coolly, but curious nonetheless. How is that?

Like this. I need a scout. Someone intelligent, someone I can trust, to go to Godosan and search out all the salient facts and find out how we can attack it and be successful. He saw the gloom increasing on my face. There’s no one I have more faith in than you, Nub.

I appreciated all the compliments, but had no liking for the job. My ideal life is to sit at home among my books and writings. To spend long weary months traveling across The Ocean, and then risk my neck spying out state secrets so that—if all goes well and I don’t get executed as a spy—I can go to war and kill people or be killed: all this, as the reader must sense by now, is not to my taste.

I slammed a book on my desk and threw myself on the bed, my back to Allobanquar, sulking. He knows how to handle me, though. He sat silently. I began to feel ashamed of my temper tantrum, after a while, as he knew I would. Apparently he was prepared to sit there forever until I had something to say. After a bit I began to see the humor of the situation; there was no hope that I could maintain my coldness once I had reached that stage. How well he knew me!

So, I said at last, gruffly and reluctantly, I’ll make my will out, and say good-bye.

I hate to have you go as much as you hate to go—I’ll miss you, of course, he said. But I don’t think you’ll have to make your will out. I’ve got the perfect cover for you.

What’s that? I asked, sitting up slowly, and facing him.

You are now a special envoy of the Emperor Sagwind IV, empowered to negotiate a trade treaty with Godosan.

What will your uncle say to that?

He already agrees.

You’ve talked this out with him already? I wasn’t surprised. Allobanquar is volatile, then cautious, then cautious, then volatile. His spur of the moment idea, dredged up on some boring rainy day, was extravagant—to conquer a kingdom across the world—but he would implement it slowly and carefully; until the time to strike came, and then he would strike with courage and decision. No, I was not surprised that he had been to his uncle, and that the plan was advancing. I knew him, too! He agrees, then? He gave you the go-ahead?

With reservations. He won’t promise anything until he knows more about the details. That’s your job. And of course everything’s off if we go to war with Arnosan, or anyone else. Of course I understand that.

If we went to war with Arnosan you’d have your heart’s delight anyway.

Yes. And of course he wants to be sure we have a very good chance at winning before we have a try at Godosan.

So that if I come back and say Godosan is impregnable, the whole thing will be off? I asked with a grin.

Very funny, Nub. Just bring back the truth. I know you won’t lie to me, much as you dislike the idea of war. Unfortunately for you, I know I can trust you.

What’s this about the trade treaty? I don’t know anything about any of that.

"No, but you will. You’re going to be spending the next month—or however long it takes—learning all about that. If worst comes to worst and there’s no war, we ought to make a trade treaty with them, anyway, because they grow certain items and manufacture certain things which we need."

Practical.

And perfect cover for you. You really will be a special envoy of the emperor.

They’ll see through me like a pane of glass, I said, pessimistically doubting my ability to carry off the deception.

I’ve thought about that, said Allobanquar. They might. Everyone on Jupiter knows ‘war is a whisper away’ all the time, and Godosan will guess that Ramosan might be interested in trying to take them, so they’ll have their doubts about you, I’m sure. They’ll watch you pretty carefully, I’d guess, so my advice to you is to go everywhere and do everything openly. Take Godosans with you wherever you go. Let them have their suspicions if they want to, but keep your eyes and ears open and maybe you’ll learn enough to help set up the invasion.

I didn’t say anything, but sat quietly on the edge of the bed, trying to estimate my chances of coming back with my homely head still connected to my neck. I guess Allobanquar was watching me, for after a while he said, It won’t be so bad as you think, maybe. You can read and write on board ship; we’ll send a healthy library along with you—one befitting the dignity of an envoy of the emperor. You don’t mind the sea, I know, and Ramo knows you don’t do anything around here.

I hope he meant that last comment humorously. The rest was true enough. I could read and write to satiation on the way out, and, if I lived, on the way back. And true that I had never minded sailing on the quiet surface of The Ocean. And I think now at last there might also have been a tingle of anticipation of adventure, brief and indefinable though it was, running through me. It may have been in that moment, though I won’t swear to it, that I first had the intoxicating thought that was often to ring in my head in the next months: Who knows, I may turn out to be a hero, and the history books will write Thanks to the clever sleuthing of the spy Nublander (who was promoted to major as a reward), the Ramosan army knew exactly where to deploy their troops, and Godosan soon fell.

Chapter 2.

A Night On the Town

There’s nothing like the exhaustion caused by a good spree for making one appreciate the subtle and reliable charm of too much sleep. But then there can’t be such a thing as too much sleep, can there? I leave the paradox for you to wrestle with. I, wisely, slept sixteen hours.

Someone Slipped Up, by Partsnip, p. 97

Now that that’s settled, let’s go out on the town, said Allobanquar.

Okay, I quickly agreed. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get any work done the rest of the day, so why not?

Your idea was the best one: a brak and a prostitute.

Well, I’ll tag along, as usual. But I’m not up to drinking today.

He misunderstood me, no doubt purposely. "Then you will go to a prostitute? he asked. Good! Every lockma is on me, for the most beautiful upper class prostitute you can find."

There was some momentary temptation, but it was really very slight. Thanks, but I didn’t mean that. I’ll keep on as I have been, I said, probably blushing slightly.

It’s your decision, of course. I don’t want to persuade you away from your ideals, he said delicately, but I thought you meant . . . well, you know. But it’s fine with me if you really don’t want to. I remember your sweet mother, and . . . Allobanquar was getting into such difficulties that I felt sorry for him. My mother, a gentle, angelic woman whom my father and I had highly honored, had died four years ago, just before Allobanquar and I set out upon the Marnian conquest. Her influence upon me had been very great, and she had been an extreme Ramolite in ideals. Where her influence ended and my own ideas began I would be hard-pressed, even today, to explain.

It’s not because of my mother. You know that. She extorted no promise from me, though I would have promised her anything when I saw her dying. The idea of a prostitute just doesn’t appeal to me—not much anyway.

You don’t know how to judge what you haven’t experienced, said Allobanquar cautiously. We had had similar discussions about once every year ever since my fifteenth birthday twelve years ago. Many of them are very shy and gentle. He knew how my tastes run.

I don’t doubt you. I can’t explain exactly why I won’t go. Stubbornness or self-righteousness, I suppose.

It’s your nature, perhaps, said Allobanquar, pondering the great rarity of a Jupiterian male so ultra-chaste as to refuse to patronize the temple prostitutes. "Remember the Emperor Masantwan VII. And Oranular, the general who over-ran the eastern part of Arnosan in 24,412. They were two of the more famous extreme Ramolites. Masantwan was chaste until marriage at age 48, and never went to a temple prostitute, and Oranular, I think, died chaste and unmarried, in battle, at age 56. There are precedents."

Yes, I agreed, smiling to see Allobanquar dredging up his boyhood Ramosan history to find some semblance of excuse for my oddity, and quite a few ordinary married men don’t go to the temple prostitutes at all—but they’re married, which makes a difference—and we also could make up a healthy list of prophets of Ramo who lived chastely, whether married or unmarried. So, though I am a rarity and unusual, I am only slightly so. ‘You’ll find most things here,’ I quoted. But don’t let me stop your fun. I like to come along to look, anyway. I’ve waited in many a temple prostitute reception room, lower, middle, and upper class—and slave twice or thrice—examining the pretty girls, while waiting for Allobanquar to finish his business. Once a kind-hearted middle class matron, feeling sorry for me, was determined to pair me off with a really pretty brunette, at her own (the matron’s) expense; she wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I was red-faced and panic-stricken—it never occurred to me simply to walk outside—before Allobanquar came sauntering back. I was much younger then—I was eighteen, Allobanquar nineteen, and we hadn’t even graduated or fought our first battle yet—and very far from impressing anyone with a soldier’s dignity. Nowadays matrons leave me to myself, or discuss political rumors with me, once they see that I’m not purchasing the services of their girls.

Allobanquar smiled at my last comment and we set out, each with his own varying anticipation of having a good time.

I’ll have to drop by home and tell Dad I won’t be in tonight, I said. I told him I’d be there for supper unless something came up. But stay, let’s eat supper there. You’ll want something on your stomach anyway, if you’re brakking it tonight.

Accepted, with pleasure, said Allobanquar promptly. Let’s go.

Allobanquar stopped by his rooms in order to dismiss Lar and Mapet for the evening, to the slaves’ delight. I saw him slip some silver potsams into the hands of each of them. Knowing Mapet, he would save his and be that much closer to buying his freedom, but Lar would probably spend part of his on a slave temple prostitute tonight, and the rest the next time he got a night off—that is, if he hadn’t drunk it up or wasted it on something else long before then.

Exiting the castle from the east gate, we walked south, disdaining rutch-drawn cabs in favor of stretching our legs, though it was a matter of three miles from the castle to my father’s home in the southern part of the city. The first third of our walk was, of course, by the handsome homes of the aristocracy, with their spacious grounds. Then came the city proper. It was that time of the afternoon when the day businesses were beginning to close up, and the night businesses—brak shops, theaters, gambling houses, and the like—still several hours from opening. We moved comfortably through the familiar scene. Perhaps because I was so soon to leave it—forever, if things went poorly—I looked at it all with more feeling than normal. This was, after all, home: Ramo’s City, capital of Ramosan. I had spent most of my life here. My mother lay buried here. Here, 9,706 years ago, my known family tree had had its beginning when one Arturan, aged approximately two, was brought in as a slave from the recently conquered island of Lapalat. Here my family’s fortunes had waxed and waned in the mobile Ramosan society, for 9,706 years. Is it any wonder I was attached to the wide, neat streets, and felt something like kinship with every person—aristocrat, middle class, lower class, and slave—who brushed by me? I was a Ramosan, and in that moment felt that I would break Godosan, or bust.

Before and after the business section were middle class residences. The farther south, of course, the less handsome were the houses. Somewhere not too long before the middle class dwellings ceased and the lower class ones began, we came to my father’s house. We used to live farther north (and at one time I know Dad dreamed of moving still farther north), but that changed with my mother’s death. When she died, the heart went out of my father. He kept his job as a lower foreman in an arrow factory, but even that was nip and tuck for a while. Gone was his major motivation for succeeding, and in her place came dreary nights of brak (occasionally two-brak nights, I fear), gambling, and wasting. Our family fortunes took a decided dive, and by the time Dad pulled himself up just short of falling into the lower class, most of what Dad had saved was irretrievably gone. We had lived in a large, comely dwelling with a lovely garden (the delight of my mother), and eleven slaves had attended us. Now we were reduced to a modest four-room house (not yet fully paid for!) far south, and only Bestor and Lestina (man and wife) remained of the slaves. Gone were all the investments which Dad had made; now he lived on his salary, and on what I contributed as my fair share when I was staying with him.

Gone were my father’s hopes for himself. Now his hopes lay in me. I was to rescue the family fortunes. He still hadn’t given up on me. True, I had been undistinguished in military school, and was, at twenty-seven, still only a first lieutenant despite the advantage of having fought in two wars, when most of the men of my class were captains and some were majors, and true, I showed no sign of rising, and true, I persisted in wasting my time writing things no one wanted to read, and true, my salary was small, but there were other promising aspects to my situation (according to Dad, anyway). The nephew of the emperor was my close friend, and I had served beside him during said wars; that must count for something in the long run. Plus, I was a clever lad, though I hadn’t made anything of it yet. And if I married I would find a latent ambition to succeed stirring in me. So the jury was still out on me, and Dad was hopeful that his only child would distinguish himself yet. Not that he pestered me about trying to advance; he didn’t. But sometimes I could sense a certain wistful hoping that I would do particularly well. One day several years ago, after Allobanquar had been praising me to my father, Dad had said to me that if he hadn’t lost all the family’s money that I would probably already be one of the aristocracy. Dad felt guilty about the dent he had put in my prospects. He needn’t have, though, for I was comfortable in my station and with the life I led. I was and am ambitious in my own way, though; I want to write good novels, and though the only thing I’ve published is this memoir—except for three newspaper articles which I’ll mention later—I have not given up on my dream. This book, though not a novel, is a start.

It occurred to me, a block or two before my father’s house, that this mission to Godosan would be pleasing to Dad, as a help to my career.

Banque. Can we tell my father about this? I can’t just disappear for two years.

Good point. Let me tell him.

How much will you tell him?

Enough; you’ll see.

Dad was just home a half-hour when we arrived, and was still in his work clothes relaxing reading The Evening Warrior.

Colonel Allobanquar! Come in! They shook hands heartily. Dad was always glad to see Allobanquar—not from any pride at being with the emperor’s nephew, but simply because Allobanquar was that kind of person: people liked to be with him. Son, you should have sent a message on that you were coming. Lestina could have fixed something special for supper. Wait, I’ll send Bestor . . .

But he stopped as he observed Allobanquar, who was shushing him as he (Allobanquar) tiptoed, in extravagant fashion, to the door leading from the living room to the kitchen. He opened it cautiously, spied his prey (with her back to him) at the stove, and crept carefully across the room. There he nearly startled the unsuspecting Lestina into the next century when he grabbed her around the waist and gruffly demanded, Your money or your life!

She had not breath enough to scream, but was almost ready to try anyway, when Allobanquar added in a normal voice, What’s for supper? and released her.

Oh! Colonel Allobanquar! You’re the cruelest man in Ramo’s City, Lestina gasped. Allobanquar laughed and kissed her chubby cheek, and she returned the kiss in motherly fashion. Let me sit down a minute, she said breathlessly, moving to a chair by the table.

Sit down! When you’re fixing supper for a colonel in His Majesty’s Imperial Army you dare to sit down! demanded Allobanquar in mock anger. This slave ought to be beaten! Sell her to me so I can beat her, Ballandar.

Here’s Bestor, said Dad. I’ll send him for some arsimon. Allobanquar greeted the smiling Bestor with the traditional left-hand shake between a free man and a slave. Not too many more years would he do that. Bestor and Lestina were both taken into slavery when Ramosan conquered Bettina, and that was 47 years ago, so only three more years and they would have their freedom. They grew up with my father. They were purchased, here in Ramo’s City, on the same day. How many times I have heard the story about how, not knowing each other previously on Bettina, Bestor and Lestina, eleven years old, hated each other on sight and fought all the way home from the slave market and beyond, driving my mild-mannered grandfather near tears and within a week causing him to promise to sell them both the next day. That quieted them down, for already they knew that Grandpa Masartan was a kind master, and that if they must be slaves they had best stay where they knew they would have a pleasant home. They called an uneasy truce, still hating each other, and promised my grandfather to cease their war. To make a long story short, of course my grandfather never sold them, and of course the hatred eventually gave way to gentler emotions. Four years later, when they were both fifteen, they were married, and four children followed. All those four had to be sold when my father was dissipating his fortune, but Bestor and Lestina still remained. In three years (from the day I am recalling now) all six of them would be free, and if Allobanquar sees Bestor then, their handshake will be the double one between free Jupiterians.* Into the great seething cauldron of the lower class with them, to take their chances with every free Jupiterian! Thank goodness Bestor has had the sense to look to the future. He hasn’t been able to save nearly enough to buy his freedom and Lestina’s—few slaves, unless attached to luxuriously generous masters of the aristocracy, ever do that—but I know he has planned their future out intelligently. I’ve listened to enough verbal essays on the subject When we’re free to give me confidence that they’ll be all right when the great day comes. Jobs are plentiful, and neither one is afraid to work.

The conversation was general during supper, but Allobanquar got to the point as the three of us dawdled over a hot cup of joppa while Lestina’s good meal settled in our stomachs. Well, Ballandar, did you ever think your son would be a trade treaty negotiator for the empire?

What’s this? What do you mean?

The explanation that followed did not include a word about my spying sideline, but Dad is no simpleton and he knows well that the emperor has dozens of men more fit to negotiate trade treaties than some unknown lieutenant commanding a Fifty, and so it wasn’t long before he sniffed out a rough idea of what was going on. Indeed, Allobanquar admitted as much, though not verbally. At Dad’s pointed questions Allobanquar gave frothy, impossible answers, and accompanied them by elaborate winks and a shushing finger to his lips, grinning like a young man on the eve of his fifteenth birthday.* Ramo knows it was no way to keep a secret, but Allobanquar knew my father and trusted him. After all, it probably made little difference, for the Godosans would be idiots not to guess that I would be spying for Ramosan on the side.

Dad was pleased, as I had foreseen. It was a responsible job for me, with or without the spying, and who could tell to what it might lead?

Then Allobanquar and I went out on the town. It was an uneventful and typical evening. First a hard-fought session of mesh-ball (he won two of three games, 21-18 in the third) for exercise. Then off to the temple prostitutes, where Allobanquar picked out a beautiful brunette of the upper class sort. He took his time choosing, to my satisfaction, for they were all handsome young ladies. Nevertheless, I didn’t feel much tempted—which was often the case, and which alternately relieved and worried me! When Allobanquar returned, he was in an even better mood than usual, and obviously considered the evening as just beginning. He dragged me off to a brak shop, where he downed his brak in near personal-record time, and was quickly as soaked as a sponge. He wanted to rush off to a gambling den, and so I came in handy immediately, for if he had gone in that condition there’s no telling how much money he would have lost. I persuaded him to wait a while, so we stayed in the brak shop, Allobanquar no small contributor to the general hilarity. The gambling den was not forgotten, however, only postponed, and when he had begun to sober up in about four hours—though he wouldn’t be completely sober for another four—I felt he was well enough in control of himself for us to take our chances at the tables, and so I allowed him to lead the way to Sparky’s. At that late hour, after midnight on a weekday night, Sparky’s was not crowded, but their patrons were mostly serious gamblers, many of whom already knew and genuinely liked Allobanquar. He won or lost with equal courtesy—I defy any man to be able to tell me from Allobanquar’s actions whether he has won or dropped fifty lockmas—but then who in Ramosan could dislike the kindly Allobanquar? He was welcomed with pleasure, and with respect, by all those who knew him personally, and the rest were glad of the opportunity to meet the emperor’s well-known nephew.

As luck would have it, he won a little bit. When dawn broke through the shaded windows at Sparky’s Allobanquar was cashing in stacks of silver potsams for lockmas*, and found himself just exactly six lockmas ahead. Look, Nub, he said, as we stumbled wearily out into the sunlight, I won a tidy sum on the very night in which I set in gear the plan to conquer Godosan. It’s an omen: Ramo is with me and approves my plan.

I was not in the best of humors, for I had a headache of three hours’ duration, and I was bone tired and knew that meant I would sleep in much of the day and lose a day of writing, and yes, I had ventured two potsams and lost them (which I can afford, but which still amounted to several hours’ salary, as I had disgustedly computed), and I answered with some asperity. Yes, or it’s a sign that Arno or Bano are taking this means of ruining the health of two of Ramosan’s officers—one of them a colonel and one of them a fool for going along.

You’ve bet and lost! How much? Allobanquar exclaimed, really worried about me, for he knows I haven’t much to gamble with. But despite his concern for me, I was still more angry, for it grieved me to see him immediately take my grumpy mood as a signal that I had lost money gambling. Who likes to be thought mean about money?

That has nothing to do with it! I declared. I can lose without complaining, as well as the next fellow. Honesty compelled me to add, I admit I used to be slightly immature, occasionally, when I lost, but . . .

How much? said Allobanquar, with maddening singleness of purpose.

Two potsams, I growled. I don’t care about them.

Whew! said Allobanquar, relieved. You had me worried. How about breakfast? But I wanted only to go to bed, and we took a cab to the castle. The quick and powerful little rutch had us there quickly, but not quickly enough to prevent Allobanquar falling asleep in the corner, and so I paid the bill for the cab—two mees—and with the help of the cab driver finally coaxed Allobanquar on to the sidewalk beside the very same gate of the castle from which we had issued forth sixteen hours previously (it seemed like a month). It occurred to me to be glad I was staying at the castle, for it would have worried Dad to see me coming home at this hour, even though he might know I had not been drinking and had gambled only a trifle. But mainly I was just conscious of how tired I was, and how sweet the word bed sounded.

I have spent many such evenings in my life, but the one described above was destined to be my last such for a long time. And my writing was done, for a shorter while, for after a day for both of us to sleep and rest, Allobanquar had me begin a full-scale crash course in the intricacies of trade treaties. Every morning I walked through the castle halls down to the Department of Foreign Trade. The beginning was dismaying, for I was completely ignorant of the subject I was supposed to master, but the emperor’s ministers were patient with me, and I studied hard, and I made satisfactory progress. Mezzinand, a congenial middle-aged man of vast theoretical and practical knowledge on trade treaties, was my chief instructor, and we were soon friends. He was kind enough to say, near the end of my month of instruction, that he believed I would do very well, though he admitted that at the start he had been tempted to tell his immediate superior to find another man for the job of teaching me or allow him, Mezzinand, to resign. We had both persevered, however, and here I was, a month later, with a rather extensive, if frail, knowledge of the art of negotiating trade treaties.

I knew considerable less about Godosan. It might be thought that that month would be spent stuffing me with information about the country, but actually I learned only enough of Godosan’s history to pique my interest. The reason for that was practical: my time at home was best spent learning how to be a trade envoy. Meanwhile, Allobanquar had set castle librarians to work compiling a library of books which contained references to Godosan. That kind of thing I could read on my long sea journey, but it was vital that I learn about trade treaties at home, where I could ask questions. Once at sea, I could learn Godosan history by my reading—I could learn it no other way until I got to Godosan, for apparently no one in Ramosan knew very much about Godosan beyond the facts available in The Register. Now it was important for me to learn the myriad things I needed to know about negotiating a trade treaty. I would have to do it myself, for no matter how precise the guidelines the emperor’s ministers lay down, I could be certain—this I was warned of time and again—that in the actual negotiating nothing would fall exactly into place, and I was expected to use my knowledge and my common sense to negotiate as sensible a treaty as I could. For the emperor supposedly really did want a trade treaty with Godosan. They were a productive country, and some of the items they produced Ramosan would like to be able to get hold of if the tariffs were not too high. On the other hand, Ramosan is famous for its vast production, and no doubt the barbarians would like to get some of our goods. (From the very start of this whole affair, I must admit I had my doubts that there would ever be much trade between the two countries, even if the treaty negotiated was pleasing to both Ramosan and Godosan. My doubts were due to the immense distance between Ramosan and Godosan, rendering the expense of shipping very high and making it impractical. As I write this memoir, it remains to be seen if my instinctive feeling was correct or not.)

Anyway, I had guidelines, but within the rough give and take of negotiating—and Mezzinand and I had several mock sessions, the first one of which nearly drove both of us into the brak shops—I would be expected to come up with a trade treaty favorable (or at least not unfavorable) to Ramosan. Several nights I woke up sweating after dreams in which some faceless Godosan minister had tossed me out of the room, out of his country, and back to Ramosan, a disgrace and a laughing stock.

Allobanquar was not much with me in that month, for my time was taken up with my studies. He dropped by to encourage me now and then, and to give me advice on the spying part of my mission, or to report on how my private library was coming along. He was confident that by the time I reached Godosan no other Ramosan would know half as much about Godosan as I would know. As for the trade treaty negotiating half of the job, he was casually confident that I would do very well. He laughed at my doubts on that score; the subject didn’t interest him much, but feeling sanguine about my abilities, he knew that part would work out. It was the spying that moved him. I think he was a bit less confident of my abilities in that category.

The next to the last night before I sailed I was at home with Dad, but I rested the last night in the castle, for I was to sail not long past dawn. Allobanquar spent the evening with me, by turns excited about the actual beginning of his plan and quieted by the realization that he was sending his best friend off for perhaps a year or . . . well, the worst was unlikely to happen. Oh, one thing I meant to mention, Nub. The Godosans have a book called Why?. You’ll read all about it. Try to get hold of that book, if you can. Use your head, of course; don’t try to get it if the risk is too high. Easy to say, but I would probably find out the risk was too high the hard way. It’s a religious book of some sort, and might give some insight as to how the Godosans think.

The state library doesn’t have a copy? I said, surprised. The state library’s collection is of course fantastic, and I would have guessed that they had a copy of every extant holy book on Jupiter, of which books there must be thousands.

"No. And I’ve checked every other library in Ramo’s City."

Odd. I’ll remember the book, and try to get a copy.

"That’s why I’m so curious about it, precisely because there are no