Lord Drecke halted, looked Hack up and down, examined his luggage, then spat upon the ground. “Is this the total outcome of our journey to Earth? Zarius made grand promises. Someone will suffer!”

  “I suggest that we continue our talks in a more orderly style,” said Hack. “If we are to make any progress whatever, you must submit to a reasonable social discipline.”

  A gap-toothed grin split Drecke’s face. “We are not a submissive folk. Take us as you find us; you must deal with us, not we with you. This is the function of government!”

  Hack wished that by some wonderful mechanism he were able to change places with Edgar Zarius. “If you refuse to cooperate,” he told Lord Drecke, “you only cheat yourselves. My salary continues regardless, at your expense, so it is all one to me.”

  Drecke again showed his grin. “Well then, we might as well make use of you.” He jerked his thumb toward a small shack beside a ditch which appeared to serve as latrine and cloacum for the greater part of town. “Lodge yourself yonder.”

  Hack looked around the plaza, which was littered with disorder, the corpses of dead animals, general filth. The single sound structure appeared to be the three-storied building at his back. “Thank you,” said Hack. “I had better stay closer to the government offices, for which I will need the entire third floor of that stone building!”

  Drecke stared in outrage. “That is the Nobleman’s Lodging Association!”

  “I’ll make the best of it. What of my luggage?”

  “What about it?” growled Drecke with a face like a thundercloud.

  “I wish that it should accompany me.”

  “Bring it along then. Do you expect me to carry it?”

  “You or one of your fellows.”

  Drecke stalked truculently forward. “I must make clear to you that you are not now on Earth. You are surrounded by the men of Phronus. Any one of whom is better than your best. Must we then carry your cases?” And Drecke’s mood changed to fury: his face flushed purple-red, his mouth tensed and twitched. The crowd began an ominous keening sound.

  “Let us reason a moment,” said Hack. “You have —”

  “Are we your slaves?” roared Drecke. With a sinister hunching of the shoulders, he drew a heavy cutlass from one of his dozen sheaths. Hack held up his hand, to display a children’s toy: a small whirling disk from which darted colored coruscations, sparks, tongues of green and violet flame. Drecke lurched back in alarm.

  “Let us reason the matter out,” said Hack. “You have hired Zodiac Control to organize a government for you. For such a government to function it must command respect. I represent this government. If I carry this luggage I forfeit respect. The government thereupon fails; you have wasted your time and your money.

  “Secondly: a government is essentially a thing of the people it serves. If you insult the government, you insult the people. I represent this government. If you insult me, you insult yourselves. If I carried the luggage, I, the government, would be shaming and insulting you. If you have pride, you will carry the luggage. If you do not do so, you make yourself ridiculous.”

  Drecke listened, blinking. “I make myself ridiculous if I don’t carry your luggage?”

  “Certainly. You traveled to Earth to arrange for a government. If you don’t cooperate now that I am here, you become a fool and a laughing-stock before all your fellows.”

  Drecke shook his head fretfully, so that the golden fobs jangled together. “Who says I am a fool?” He glared around the group.

  Hack pointed to the luggage. “Take it to government quarters. I will follow.”

  But Drecke was dubious. “The government can be served by persons of low prestige.” He pointed. “You, Gansen! You, Kertz! Bring the governmental luggage! Steal nothing!”

  Hack was conducted, gruffly and without affability, to the large stone structure: the Nobleman’s Association. Lord Drecke took him to a dark damp chamber underground, uncomfortably close to the dungeons, which were occupied by a dozen or so Sabols and three miserable Seprissans awaiting ransom.

  Hack explained that the chamber outraged his dignity, hence the entire Phrone state; after grumbling he was taken to more commodious quarters on the third level. The boxes and cases were put down; the porters, under Hack’s direction, carried out a large proportion of the previous furnishings.

  Drecke stood in the arched doorway with legs apart, arms folded, watching as Hack arranged his belongings. Finally he uttered a great guttural sound, half-belch, half-ejaculation. “Somehow you have tricked me and caused me to lose face; yet I cannot quite define the process. I assure you that I am not a man to be trifled with!”

  “This is the least of my intentions,” said Hack. “Now to business. As I understand it, Phronus is now controlled by a council of nobles?”

  “True,” said Drecke. “There are nine members to the Conclave. None of us yields in dignity to any other, and we frequently find ourselves at loggerheads.”

  “There will be an end to this,” said Hack. “I will now make all decisions. The Conclave of Nobles is from this moment dissolved.”

  Drecke made a series of retching sounds, which Hack perceived to be a laugh. “Best that you break the news to the Conclave itself.”

  “Certainly, if you will be so good as to convene the group.”

  “All are not in the city. Gafero Magnus is aboard his yawl, pillaging to the south. Sharn Weg has been taken by the Sabols and hangs by his thumbs in the Peraz dungeons. Detwiler arranges an ambush on Opal Mountain, where Sabols continually trespass.”

  Hack, seating himself, assumed a posture of judicious deliberation. “Assemble those who are available. When Gafero Magnus returns from his pillaging, when Sharn Weg has been lowered to the ground and is able to resume his seat, when Detwiler has arranged the ambush to his satisfaction, we will apprise them of our decisions.”

  Lord Drecke gave a petulant grunt. “As good as any.” He called over his shoulder, the sound echoing down the stone stairs. “Summon the Conclave!” Presently he had a crafty second thought and hurried off down the stairs.

  Half an hour later, glancing down into the square, Hack saw Drecke conversing with five men, noses bejeweled and swollen as his own. Making signs of mutual accord, they turned and trooped into the Association building.

  Hack seated himself at the table, a slab of solid slate, supported by legs of polished timber, where he had already arranged his information bank, his catalogs and analyzers.

  The nobles filed into the room. Hack arose, gave them a dignified greeting. The nobles seated themselves along the table, glancing with interest at Hack’s informational aids.

  Without preamble or formality Hack set forth his program: “You have made a wise decision in hiring a professional management team. Needless to say, Lords Drecke, Festus and Matagan chose wisely: Zodiac Control is the most expert of all such organizations. Our system of operation is simple. We give our clients the government they need, what they have contracted for, and what they are willing to pay for. We realize and we want you to realize that making improvements means making changes. When changes are made, someone is inconvenienced, and you must expect a certain amount of dislocation.

  “So now — to specifics. I will make a brief survey of Phronus, to learn the areas of urgency. We can’t do everything at once. An automatic fire-prevention system is a luxury in a city of shacks and hovels. We won’t lay out horticultural gardens until we install a sewer system.”

  “On the other hand,” said the oldest of the nobles, a fox-faced man named Oufia, “there is no point in gilding the lily. Putting sewage underground changes nothing; sewage it is, sewage it remains.”

  “All in due course,” Hack conceded. “Now — as I indicated to Lord Drecke — the Conclave of Nobles, as a policy-making and executive board, has no further basis, and may be considered adjourned. Still, I am anxious to hear suggestions and recommendations. After all, you are the people most intimately acquainted with your own needs.”

  Lord Drecke cleared his throat, spat on the floor. “Our needs are endless, and, in my opinion, obvious. For instance, the air-car which brought you to the plaza escaped unscathed. We need a radar system and automatic weapon control.”

  “Our basic problem is Sabo,” stated Oufia. “Once we expunge the Sabols, we can maraud Parnassus at our leisure.”

  “Here is another of our urgent needs,” Festus pointed out. “A device to confound his sting-field.”

  Hack listened patiently to each in turn. Then he said, “I begin to understand the scope of your requirements … Well then, as to money: I need an initial hundred thousand Universal dollars. This sum will be spent to organize a staff, set up schools, a clinic and start a sanitary program. Then we will build a warehouse, a tool-depot and a sewage system.”

  The noblemen looked blank. “We must be practical,” said Matagan. “As Lord Oufia put it, sewage is sewage. And what avail are schools?”

  “To teach children the elements of technical weaponry,” explained Hack. “They learn to calculate effective weapon ranges, to read scales and gauges. They gain an understanding of warfare and raiding methods of the past, including, as an incidental, universal history.”

  The noblemen gave nods of dubious approval. “Children are of little use at an ambush or while sacking a village,” grunted Drecke. “They only get in the way, and are killed with the other children.”

  “Matters for the future,” said Hack. “The schedules in the contract are there to guide us. Incidentally, which of you gentlemen wrote the contract?”

  Lord Drecke performed an unctuous wink. “Let us not embarrass the writer. Let sleeping dogs lie.”

  Hack was unable to follow Drecke’s train of thought. “First I, that is to say, your government, needs money. Best that we settle this detail now. A hundred thousand dollars —”

  Lord Festus made an impatient gesture. “When do the military experts arrive?”

  Hack maintained his even demeanor. “If and when the need arises.” He considered a moment. “I have warned Cyril Dibden to attempt no aggression. He recognizes that Phronus, under the guidance of Zodiac Control, is a unified and progressive country, and will attempt no mischief.”

  Lord Prust made an incredulous sound. “Dibden? He poses no threat. We will pillage him and his esthetes at leisure. But the abominable Sabols, aha! We must wipe them out root and stock!”

  “First things first,” said Hack, “and first is money; then organization, in accordance with the provisions of the contract.”

  Lord Drecke struck the table with his fist. “Money, money, money! Is this all you think of? How can there be action without flexibility?”

  “By ‘flexibility’ you mean what?”

  “Your organization must be prepared to allow a certain latitude. In short: assemble your organization, bring in the necessary weapons and vehicles, both air and ground; then prepare a statement, and present it to us.”

  Hack gave a crisp negative. “Zodiac will distribute no largesse. Either provide adequate funds or tear up the contract.”

  Drecke looked around the circle of nobles, as if to gauge their shock and amazement. “We expected no such niggardliness; we are a candid people … Bah! How much do you require?”

  “A million Universal dollars.”

  Drecke leaned back aghast. “I thought you said a hundred thousand.”

  “On reflection, a million will provide greater flexibility.”

  Wrangling ensued, but finally Drecke wrote out a draught to the sum of one hundred and twelve thousand Universal dollars, on the Cordas Bank at Wylandia.

  Hack took the draught to his communication box, made contact with the Cordas Bank. The draught, so he was informed, had no validity. Hack turned to Drecke. “There seems to be a mistake.”

  “Only two counter-signatures and a secret mark,” grumbled Drecke. “Turste, Oufia: sign. We are in the presence of a vampire, who wishes to suck our blood.”

  Again Hack tested the draught at the bank, and this time it was confirmed.

  “Thank you,” said Hack. “You may now go about your affairs. Zodiac is in control. I will make a brief survey, then set up my staff. Feel free to confer with me at any time. After all, until we are more formally organized, I am your government.”

  Chapter III

  1

  Three days passed. Hack insisted on transportation, and from some hidden hoard of loot Drecke brought forth a gilded air-slider with brocade cushions and a tasseled canopy. In this flying palanquin Hack, with Lord Drecke beside him as a guarantor, inspected the entire territory of Phronus. The land was varied: marshes to the south, home to voracious saurians and red insects; dark hills to the west along the Parnassus border; a central plain under lackadaisical cultivation. Properly developed, thought Hack, the country would yield a modest prosperity to its inhabitants. There were extensive stands of exotic timber, much in demand on Earth, a generally metamorphic geology indicative of mineral concentrations. Between Parnassus and the sea was a pleasant countryside with the Hartzac foothills beyond. Hack spoke of the possibility of developing the area as a tourist resort, but Drecke evinced no great interest in the proposal. He pointed northwest, into Parnassus. “Why entice strangers into the country? Far easier to depredate our neighbor Dibden. But first things first: the Sabols must be destroyed!”

  He directed Hack along a line of irregular hills, which slanted up to a great crag. “Notice: Opal Mountain, Phrone ground from the earliest times. Can you believe the turpitude of the Sabols? They claim the mountain as their own! They have hired military specialists from Earth, they are importing great quantities of weapons!” He prodded Hack’s chest with his finger. “We must strike before they are ready!”

  “Argus Systems has the Sabo contract,” said Hack. “By no stretch of the imagination are they military specialists, any more than Zodiac. Furthermore, the import of weapons is impossible; the Contraband Patrol sees to that.”

  “There are ways, there are ways!” declared Drecke, winking and laying his finger along the cucumber-size lump of his nose.

  “The only way you’ll have modern weapons is to build them yourself,” said Hack, “starting with schools, a sound economy, hard work.”

  “It is time we were returning to Grangali,” said Drecke in disgust. “You are a man without vision.”

  Upon their return Hack found that his quarters had been ransacked. Various articles were missing, including the draught for a hundred and twelve thousand dollars.

  Hack sent for Lord Drecke who hulked into the chambers and stared coldly this way and that. Hack reported the crime and listed the missing articles. Drecke gave a bark of incredulous laughter. “This is the Nobleman’s Association! You imply that there are thieves among us? This is not a charge to be made frivolously!”

  “I am not a frivolous man,” said Hack. “I especially deplore the loss of the money paid to Zodiac Control.”

  “We hold your receipt; if the money is missing, the responsibility is yours!” Drecke started to swagger out of the room.

  “What if the thief can be identified?” Hack called after him.

  Drecke turned in the doorway. “There is no such thief. Only noblemen have access to the Association; to accuse a nobleman of theft is to court a dreadful revenge!”

  “What is the penalty for theft?”

  “If the theft be proved — and in this case it is either imaginary or deliberately contrived — the offender must pay the injured party double the value of theft and submit to twenty strokes of the rattan.”

  “Let us see then.” Hack went to a hidden recess and brought forth a camera. He turned back the picture disk, set the camera to project upon a wall. Drecke came reluctantly back into the room.

  The image was clear and bright, and depicted Lords Turste, Festus and Anfag, moving without stealth. While Drecke gave snorts of dismay they pillaged Hack’s belongings, gesturing in triumph as they came upon desirable items. When loaded with all they could carry they left the room.

  “Awkward,” muttered Drecke. “Awkward indeed. No doubt a prank.” The thought cheered him. “Of course! A good-humored prank!”

  “Lords Turste, Festus and Anfag are not to be fined and punished?”

  Drecke was astounded. “Can you be so sour-souled?”

  “Please see that my belongings are returned!”

  An hour later Drecke returned with a porter laden with Hack’s possessions.

  “I must be frank,” said Drecke. “Lords Turste, Festus and Anfag are aroused by your accusation. They thought only to amuse themselves, and are angered to find you so surly.”

  “You maintain them to be humorists?”

  “Indeed I do!”

  “What if they were shown to be self-confessed thieves?”

  “I would strangle them with my own hands! They would have affronted my honor as well as stolen your goods!”

  “Well then — once more to the camera. This time we shall listen as well as see.”

  For a second time Hack and Lord Drecke watched the depredation, and now Hack played back the sound record.

  “Aha! Where are the pale devil’s valuables?” cried Turste, upon entering the room.

  “Here!” called Festus, seizing upon a tabulator. “And I claim this device for my own!”

  “Don’t be greedy,” chided Turste. “There is enough for all.”

  “The usual system is to cast lots for the more valuable articles,” stated Anfag. “This ensures a fair share to each.”

  “Mind you, the money. This we must find!”

  “Hurry then, the fool may return.”

  “No fear, Drecke has guaranteed to detain him until afternoon.”

  “No doubt Drecke wants his share!”

  “Certainly. Was not this the arrangement?”

  Hack turned off the recording. “Well then?”

  Drecke’s face was swollen and purple. “What scoundrels! Do they hope to implicate me in their crimes?”

  “Let’s find them,” suggested Hack. “I’ll watch while you administer justice.”

  Drecke, tugging at his bejeweled nose, finally heaved a deprecatory sigh. “It amounts to nothing after all … To heed such scurrility would erode my dignity.”