Space Opera (24 page)

“What of Adolph Gondar?” asked Bernard Bickel.

“It is clear that he committed a wrong against these people,” said Dame Isabel. “Clearly he had been warned never again to approach Rlaru; when he did so he was punished. His fate is out of our hands.”

“Could they spirit him out of his cabin?” demanded Bernard Bickel incredulously. “Through the solid walls of the ship?”

“Why not?” Dame Isabel demanded sharply. “It is amply clear that they brought the Ninth Company back from Earth; why should they not extract Mr. Gondar from his cabin?”

“It is beyond my understanding,” said Bernard Bickel.

“And mine as well.”

Roger looked through the ship: saloon, bridge, every place he could think of, but Madoc Roswyn was nowhere to be found. He went down the ramp, looked back and forth, then circled the ship. Madoc Roswyn sat by herself watching the sunset. Roger, still not certain that he understood her moods, started to beat an inconspicuous retreat, but she called to him, and so he joined her. Without words they watched dusk settle over the countryside. Two gaunt silhouettes passed across the afterglow: from their garments and gait a pair of the vague-eyed men Adolph Gondar had described as “vagabonds”.

Madoc Roswyn spoke in a low voice, so that Roger had to bend to hear her. “They could destroy all their knowledge, forget all their power; they could move to a new planet; they could begin all over. I wonder why they don’t.”

Roger could provide no information, and they watched the two figures wander off into the dusk. A cool breeze began to blow in from the sea; they rose to their feet and started back around the ship. And now another dark shape appeared against the sky: a tall half-running, half-stumbling figure emitting hoarse panting cries. “It’s Gondar!” said Roger. “He’s alive!”

Adolph Gondar rushed past them, pressed his hands against the ship and gave a great sob of relief. Unsteadily he made his way to the entrance-port with Roger and Madoc Roswyn coming behind. At the port, with what seemed to be his final reserves of strength, he drew himself upright, threw back his shoulders and summoning all his dignity, staggered up the ramp.

In the saloon, after he had eaten ravenously, Adolph Gondar told his story. As Dame Isabel had speculated, he had been warned never again to visit Rlaru. He had hoped that by keeping to his cabin he would remain unnoticed, but such was not the case. He had been snatched out into the night, tossed back and forth through clouds, wind, sleet and rain, dropped into the ocean, lifted, flung twenty miles head over heels, and finally dropped into a thicket of coarse furze. For days he had wandered and finally from the ridge of a distant hill had spied the
Phoebus
.

Dame Isabel was not inclined to be sympathetic. “You are lucky to escape so easily!” she told him sternly. “Your conduct was no less than piratical; you kidnaped twenty persons without the slightest intent of returning them to their homes.”

“Not at all!” Adolph Gondar protested, “I planned to send them back after we had earned enough money. I told them so, which is the only reason they agreed to perform.”

“There naturally will be no question as to the disposition of the money,” said Dame Isabel. “Under no circumstances will you be allowed to profit by what, at the most lenient interpretation, was an unethical act. The money involved is barely enough to cover costs of the present tour, and I can think of no better use for it.”

Adolph Gondar threw up his hands in despair and tottered off to his cabin.

The following morning as the sun rose above the low hills, the
Phoebus
departed Rlaru. Logan de Appling fed the coordinates of Earth into the computer; Rlaru fell behind. The golden sun dimmed, became one among the stars and presently was lost.

The day after the return of the
Phoebus
to Earth, Dame Isabel held a press conference on the terrace of her beautiful home Ballew. “The tour, in general, was a resounding success,” she told the assembled journalists. “Beyond question it contributed to the culture and understanding of all those before whom we performed.”

Bernard Bickel, who was also present, concurred with the statement. “As might be expected there were various levels of comprehension, corresponding to what I call the ‘cultural perspective’ of the peoples who formed our various audiences. They learned much from us, and we from them. I am sure we have enhanced the musical reputation of Earth.”

“What of Rlaru?” called someone. “Does it exist? Or was Adolph Gondar a fraud?”

“There was never any uncertainty in this regard,” Dame Isabel replied coldly. “I informed you that the world existed; this assurance should have been enough.”

“Then you visited Rlaru?”

“Yes indeed; this was one of the goals of our tour. The world is not as stimulating as might have been expected. We gave several performances which were well received, though the inhabitants do not display a notoriously high level of taste.”

“Tell us more about Rlaru. Are there theaters? Music-halls?”

“Nothing like that. At the moment I do not care to discuss the matter further. My nephew Roger Wool is writing a book describing the voyage in detail, and if you need further information, you will find it here.”

Roger Wool was indeed very busy, with his new wife, Mrs. Madoc Wool, providing invaluable assistance. The world was in a very satisfactory state, reflected Roger. His aunt’s wealth had been restored to its previous state, and he stood to make a substantial sum from the publication of his book. It was always possible, of course, that Dame Isabel might embark on some new and even more expensive project, but this was one of the hazards of living. Occasionally watching his bride an even darker apprehension came to trouble him: what if she should meet a man of her own race? She had assured him that none remained on Earth, but what of Yan? And Roger’s thoughts would fly far, far across space to a stretch of stony barren beside a dark forest where stood a ruined piano … Small chance, Roger told himself, small chance.