Lepidop, in contrast, was truly beautiful. Iridescent films decorated its aesthetic continents, and rainbows were reflected from its shining oceans.
The ship jolted to rest on a platform mounted on a spire about two miles above the surface. July was afraid the weight of the ship would collapse the insubstantial edifice, but there was no sag or tremor. They emerged to meet the Lepidops.
"Butterflies!" Judy exclaimed. "What marvellous wings!"
"This is Lepidop," Trach reminded her gently. "Capital world of the declining Lepidopteran Empire. But you are right to compliment their wings: Leps are subject to flattery. Now the honour guard will insist on conveying you personally to the Monarch, and I don't see how you can refuse."
"An honour guard? I'm the one who's flattered! And I want to thank the Monarch effusively for saving me from Ra. Why should I refuse?"
"Well, their mode of transportation is not to every creature's taste. I would prefer to walk, myself. But since I am not permitted within the palace environs, I shall merely relay my compliments and depart for my next mission."
"You're going?" Her original distrust of him was as though it had never been. Trach was as nice a dinosaur as she had ever met. "I thought—"
"Some of the finer architectural structures are delicate, and I'm rather solid," he explained. An understatement; she judged he weighed several tons. "But the Monarch is basically a kindly fellow; don't let his gruffness fool you. And beware of palace intrigues. I'm sure he'll treat you well, provided—"
"But how do I find Dr. Dillingham?"
"I'll notify the University of Dentistry. They'll advise him in due course. You just stay put and wait for word. It may take a while."
She had other questions, suddenly pressing now that Trach was about to leave her. But the man-sized butterflies were upon them, a fluttering phalanx. "Provided what?" she whispered urgently.
"Miss Earthbiped?" a translator inquired. She didn't see the instrument, but hardly needed to. There was always a translator within earshot on civilized planets, except for places like Gleep where such machinery was inconvenient, and Enen, where they couldn't afford the expense. She automatically associated the translation with the speaker, as she had once associated sub-titles with foreign speech in Earth movies.
"This is Miss Galland of Earth," Trach said formally. She had to pick up the introduction through the translator, for he was speaking directly in Lepidopteran. He was a phenomenal linguist! "Summoned by the Monarch, for dental assistancy and hygiency." And privately to her: "Provided he lives."
"This way, honoured guest," the lead butterfly said, spreading his huge yellow wings as he turned. Judy followed him to an ornate and fragile little cage, the other butterflies falling in around her and matching her step. "Enter the royal carriage."
She hesitated, the Ra experience fresh in her memory. This thing had neither wheels nor runners, and white bars encircled it. It reminded her of a lobster trap. But Trach gave her a thumbs-up signal from across the platform, and she had to trust him again. She opened the latticed gate and climbed in.
The fit was tight, vertically, and there was no proper seat; evidently this had been designed for a reclining butterfly. A narrow section of the top was peaked: space for folded wings to project.
The yellow butterfly closed the gate with one of his six small legs. She arranged herself half-supine, propped against one elbow so she could wave to Trach. Then the others circled the cage, picked up threads hanging from its sides, and beat the white wings in unison while the yellow called the cadence.
"Hup! Two! Three! Four!" she heard, not certain whether there was a translator, or at least a little transcoder in the cage, or whether her own mind was doing it. "Hup!... Hup!..."
Suddenly they were aloft: butterflies, cage and Judy—clinging desperately to the bars. No wonder Trach had been nervous about the transportation. But it was too late to protest now.
They flew over the edge of the platform, and she closed her eyes to stop the vertigo. Two miles in the air—with only butterfly wings and slender threads to support her! Did the Monarch often travel this way? Was that what Trach had meant by his hasty warning: the Monarch would treat her well, provided he lived? Let one thread snag, one wing falter...
But the cadence was steady, and she was reassured that they were not about to drop her. She watched the aerial life of Lepidop: brown-winged butterflies, grey ones, green ones and blue, gliding their myriad ways. A number carried bags in two or three hands, as though they had been shopping, and others clustered and whirled in dazzling mid-air games.
Yet Trach had said the Lepidopteran Empire was declining.
The palace was a tremendous silken nest, with massed strands forming gleaming geometric patterns that glowed prismatically in the slanting sunlight. At every nexus a pastel-winged butterfly perched, gently fanning the air. "Air-conditioning!" she murmured.
The cage came to rest in a cushiony chamber, and the bearers let go the threads. Judy disembarked cautiously, and found the seemingly tenuous webbing quite strong. It gave a little under her feet, adding bounce to her step, and was in fact rather fun to walk on. Trach would have put a foot through, however.
The yellow butterfly led the way to the throne room. This was a splendid chamber whose lofty arches reached into a nebulous web-flung dome and whose furniture was all of stressed silk. Upon the mighty yet delicate throne reclined the ruler of the planet and empire.
The Monarch was old. His torso was stiff and scaley, his antennae drooped, and his wings were dead white cardboard. Had he been human, she would have assessed his age at an infirm eighty. She knew immediately that he had no teeth.
Why, then, had he wanted a dental assistant? Had his demand been made purely as a favour to Trach, or was there more to it?
"My dear, come here," the Monarch whispered, and the translator conveyed jointly benign and imperative tonality.
She stepped up to him, impressed by his bearing despite his antiquity. It was no longer a mystery why Trach had been concerned for the Monarch's life. It was as though the very act of speaking might terminate his span.
"You care for teeth?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," she replied, deciding not to quibble over descriptions. She was no dentist, but she did take care of teeth.
"You have experience with—" here he paused to regain his shallow breath. "Lepidop mandibulars?"
"On my world, butterflies don't have teeth."
"Interesting. On Lepidop (another breath),
primates
don't have teeth." He laughed—a painful rattle, even in translation. "But I suppose you (breath) don't have genuine lepids, any (breath) more than we have real primates. (Breath, breath) It is merely a con (breath) venience of expression."
Judy was happy to agree. This royal butterfly had no connection to any Earthly creature, just as Judy Galland had no connection to any galactic biped. The Monarch was not stupid, but he was rapidly weakening from the effort of conversation. Gruffness was hardly the problem; a fatal over-sociability might be.
"Dismissed," the Monarch snapped.
Two small purple Leps hurried her out of the chamber. "He's obnoxious when balked," one confided to her. "But he'll die soon, fortunately," the other said.
This irritated her unreasonably. "Now stop that! I think he's very nice, and I won't have you saying such things behind his back."
The butterflies tittered, and she realized that she had chosen a poor figure of speech that the translator had rendered literally. There was no "behind" for a butterfly's back; there was only "above". And that ruined the sentiment. She had made a fool of herself to no purpose. Their remarks might even have been well intentioned—and were probably true.
Well, Trach had told her to beware of palace intrigues. She had probably already put her foot in it by speaking out thoughtlessly. She would be more careful henceforth.
They showed her to a private chamber without further comment and left her. There was a galactic all-purpose unit that took care of all conceivable and some inconceivable physical needs, and she had learned how to squeeze entertainment from a standard translator. "Sing me a ballad," she directed it. And it did.
The Monarch summoned her to another audience next day. He was considerably more affable, and she suspected that the court minions had dutifully relayed her remarks to him. She had spoken automatically, but she had defended the Monarch. Had she been negatively impressed, she might have said something entirely different, with no more thought. Or just let it pass. Little accidents like this could make all the difference, as she knew from her experience with patients on Earth. That was one reason dental assistants were usually personable and cautious about giving opinions. Usually.
Now she almost felt guilty for speaking out, as though she had deliberately played politics. Maybe, subconsciously she had.
But still the Monarch had no teeth, so could have no use for her. She was embarrassed, holding her little case of instruments. What politics was
he
playing?
"My dear, I like your spirit. (Breath) Most visitors praise me lavishly (breath) to my antennae, but sneer (breath) behind their wings. How would (breath) you like to visit my past?"
"Your Majesty, I don't understand."
"I am forty-two years old," he said. The translator had rendered the time span into her terms, just as the all-purpose unit had created light and darkness to match her Earthly pattern of day and night. But it was a surprise. The Monarch was just about the same age as Dr. Dillingham! "We Lepids have lesser lifespans (breath) than some of you landbound forms. But then we (breath) have greater abilities. So life is fair."
She had little basis to object, yet the Monarch's abilities were obviously long past. "I don't know how to—to visit your past. I'm sorry."
"Of course you don't, my dear. (Breath) I shall take you. Ten years; I (breath) have strength enough for that.!
Whatever it was, if it required strength it was best discouraged. He could afford no superfluous expenditures of energy. "I don't see what this has to do with dental hygiene, Your Majesty. Why take me?"
"Give me your hand," the Monarch said. "Oh, you have only two. (Breath) Awkward, but I suppose you're used to it."
"Yes." Hesitantly she held out one of her few hands, and he took it with one of his stick-thin members. His grasp was so feeble that she was afraid to close her fingers; even her lightest grip might crush his chitinous appendage.
He shuddered. Something like a mild shock went up her arm. Then there was a strange shimmer. A wave of dizziness passed over her.
Ten years," the Monarch said with pride. "My subjects can manage no more than five, even in their primes."
She disengaged her hand from his surprisingly strong grip and looked at him, wondering whether he could be senile. A decade could not be wished away.
His wings were orange. His body was full. His antennae were erect. He looked twenty years younger.
Judy felt strange. Her clothing did not fit comfortably. Her blouse was loose, her skirt tight, her shoes wrong. She felt gangling and her face itched. What was wrong?
"And now I have my teeth again," he said, smiling. And he did. "Of course they are not in good condition, and in five more years I lost them entirely. But with your care and advice I may be able to preserve them longer."
This seemed to answer an important question, but she hardly heard him. "I'm younger too!" she exclaimed.
"Naturally. So is the palace, the planet, the galaxy. This is my past."
"Time travel? That's impossible!"
"Impossible for you, certainly. And for most species. That is why I was able to extend my empire so readily, though it is drifting away now that my powers have declined."
"But what about paradox? I mean—"
"There is no conflict.
We
are ten years younger, and the
universe
is ten years younger, but we are not
of
it, precisely. The full explanation would be too technical for your comprehension. We merely experience, we do not affect, except for our own bodies."
Judy shook her head. "How could you conquer an empire if you couldn't use your talent to affect it?"
"Simple. I travel to a foreign planet, then I visit its past and make notes. Then I comprehend its vulnerability, and in the present I exploit it. No enemy strategy is a surprise to me, nor can it ever be, unless it dates from beyond my own lifetime."
"Your Majesty, it still doesn't make sense. I see you younger, and I seem to be about sixteen myself. But when I was really sixteen I was a high-school girl on Earth, ruining my teeth with cola. So this
can't
be—"
"It is
my
past, my dear, not yours. You become younger merely to stay in phase with me. I would take you to Earth and show you that school of yours, but my migrating years are over and no ship will respond to our touch now. You may look at Lepidop instead."
"Don't tell me you migrated between planets without ships!"
"
Don't
tell you? Very well, you shall remain ignorant of that talent." The Monarch preceded her to a silken parapet walling off a bulging room, so that they actually stood outside the body of the castle. Beyond it the colourful butterflies danced in the early dusk, whirling in columns of turbulence. "See, the chrono gives the date," he said, gesturing towards a huge clock-tower about a mile distant. "Just over ten years ago."
She was the clock but did not know how to read its symbols. She was coming to believe that they
had
travelled back; nothing else explained the phenomena. She was younger; she could not be deceived about a thing like that. The Monarch now had plenty of breath and physical vigour, and he
did
have remarkable powers.
A yellow messenger lighted on the parapet. July stepped back, but the insect took no note of her or the Monarch. The yellow mouth parts were moving, but she heard no translation. Naturally not, she realized when she considered it: the machines could not have been programmed for English ten years before she came. They would be inoperative for her—and of course unnecessary for the natives.