The Survival Game - Colin Kapp, ebook, CALIBRE SFF 1970s, Temp 2
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CHAPTER ONE
Evening cupped blood-red hands around the city of Tenarensor. The
quaint towers of the capital of Ortel became less distinct as the yellow sky
darkened through maroon to a deep crimson, shot with the bright stars of
the Hub. In mounting chorus the bright horns called over the rooftops,
summoning the faithful to give thanks to the gods and call blessings on
Oontara, the star king, whose imperious grip on more than a hundred
habitable worlds kept the trade lanes free around the Hub and assured the
vast fortunes of the empire.
Inside the palace, the twirling shadows of the triple suns at last found
rest in the motionless crimson of night. A capricious breeze dallied with
the ornate drapes, penetrating the window frets and disturbing the
priceless fabrics around the gaming table. Star King Oontara watched the
result of its antics, a little surprised, and turned to his guest.
"My Lord Xzan is cold, perhaps?"
Seated at the gaming table between two windows, each of which
contributed its fiery glow to the villainous outline of his face, the visiting
star lord could adequately have personified the principal of some ancient
demonolatry.
"My dear Oontara, you grow soft on this torrid world of yours. I've said
so before. I mind when you could wage great battles with the blood cold as
ice in your veins. Yet now you're disturbed by the merest draft."
"I was thinking only of your comfort, Xzan. I welcome a breath of fresh
air."
"Maybe. But I repeat, you're going soft What use is it for a star king to
ply trade with Terra?"
"Oh, so that's what's been on your mind all evening!" Oontara set about
stacking new tokens on the gaming table. "And I thought you'd tried too
 much of the wine, or too few of the women. We sadly misjudge each other,
old comrade."
"We used not. We were a fair match in cunning and guessing."
"Nothing's changed. There's still no matter in which I can't equal or
better you. As for your opinions of Terra, they're born of ignorance."
With a deft movement of his hand, Oontara spread the gaming tokens
across the board, each one falling with mathematical precision. The
gesture was not lost on Xzan, who attempted to follow suit but failed.
"Is this what Terran influence has reduced you to—a gamesmaster?"
asked Xzan critically. "Those who consort with the weak themselves
become weaker."
"You think Terra's weak?"
"The Terrans are a race of weaklings. There's scarcely one I couldn't
destroy with a single hand. And none I couldn't tear apart with two."
"Physically that may be true, but you've forgotten the strength of their
technology. If you want to see controlled power in action, you should see
my Terran-built bark. It's the most singular ship in space."
"I've heard of your ingenious toy. History proves innovators count for
little when faced with trained arms. Come, Oontara! You and I have the
empires to prove it. Would you pit a Terran expeditionary force against a
legion of hereditary star warriors? Of course not."
"Since you answer your own questions, you presumably don't want to
hear my views," said Oontara silkily.
"Heh! It was the
ransad
, the old knowledge, which carved the parsecs
off the galaxy and made the star empires possible. That was a thousand
years before the infant Terrans even discovered the wheel. All their
technology's won for them is eight habitable planets—all of them
self-governed. They don't even have the strength to rule what they've
gained. I give such playthings to favored concubines."
"You're trying to make me angry, Xzan." Oontara bent low over the
table, examining the geometrical de-signs. "You'll not succeed. You've
 already shown your hand."
"I have?" Xzan's evil visage scanned the game and found nothing amiss,
then looked up to meet Oontara's crafty smile.
"Yes. You thought Oontara's flirtation with Terra so unlikely, you had
to come in person to find out what the star fox was up to. You felt
impelled to know what advantage Oontara could gain from Terra which
might be to your detriment. Aren't I right?"
"I admit a certain curiosity."
"Had you asked me direct, I'd have told you. I've seen the light."
"The light?" Xzan's hand faltered on the board, and he misplaced a
minor token, but dared not withdraw.
"Certainly!" Oontara saw the false move and was heartened by it. "We
were taught that the
ransad
was absolute—that nothing further could ever
be known. The Terrans have proved that knowledge is unending. Whatever
you know is only a steppingstone to the infinite possibilities of what could
be known. Already they can step a tenth of the way to the next galaxy.
Why be limited to this one alone when the universe contains more galaxies
than the Milky Way does stars?"
Xzan was dubious. "You haven't mentioned price. What do these
wonders cost?"
"Merely the promise to assume membership in the Galactic
Federation."
"Federation!" Xzan's scorn was terrible. "Once there were no laws
around the Hub but my word and your word, my whim and your whim.
That has been the way of star kings since time began. Yet you seek an
alliance with upstart weaklings, and talk of federation. I can hear the gods
laughing from here."
"The alliance serves me well. I've access to technology the
ransad
said
couldn't exist. And if the promise of my plans is fulfilled, I'll one day
control a million worlds where now I've but a hundred. Even Kam Kanizar,
the King of Kings, will sit at my feet."
 Xzan spat expressively at the immaculate drapes. "In a federation you'll
control nothing. In return, you'll have lost your warrior's soul. You're
selling your birthright for a handful of platitudes and a headful of ideas."
"You speak as if there were a choice in the matter. There isn't, Xzan.
Our way of life became extinct the day Terra independently discovered
hyperdrive."
"What sort of heresy is this?"
"No heresy—a revelation. We've been worshipping false gods."
"Mine are the gods of strength and terrible vengeance. Show me
anything in the universe stronger than these."
"I intend to. He's a little, fat Terran by the name of Hilary
Rounding—Commissioner for Terran Outspace Technical Aid. Neither you
nor your gods stand a chance against him."
Oontara reached for a golden tassel, which evoked a distant, soulful
bell. A servant appeared, approaching with the deep, obsequious bows
which the presence of star nobility demanded.
"Tell the Commissioner well be pleased to see him now."
The man who entered made no attempt to follow protocol. He strode
into the room with a broad smile and a hand ready for shaking. Oontara
had described him as a little, fat Terran. He could have added that
Rounding was bald, suntanned, and seemingly unaware of the awe in
which star nobility was held.
Xzan regarded the white-clad dumpling with much surprise, and shook
the proffered hand before he had time to consider what the salutation
meant. His reaction to the soft, fleshy skin was one of considerable
distaste. He looked at Oontara appealingly. If this was the star king's idea
of someone who could depose the ancient gods and draw the teeth of
hereditary legions, then Oontara had indeed gone soft.
"Lord Oontara, Lord Xzan," the jovial Terran was saying, "I'd like to
introduce a colleague of mine— Colonel Bogaert, known to the rest of the
universe as Colonel Bogey." He waved his hand toward the door, and a
second Terran entered. "Bogey's my technical and military aide. You
 warlike chaps should find a lot in common."
While Rounding had been speaking, his eyes had been active, noting
the devillike scowl of Xzan with a questing interest. Xzan had the
uncomfortable feeling that the fat Terran was reading a lot more from his
face than the star lord wanted him to know. The arrival of the second
Terran served to divert the unwelcome attention.
Colonel Bogaert was as unlike his superior as could be imagined. He
was tall and lean, with muscles hard from a lifetime in the Space Service.
The spring in his step hinted at an internal confidence not explained
entirely by his fitness as a military man. Like most Terran Service
technicians, he was quiet-spoken, yet there was an edge of command at
the back of his voice which gave his casual words more than ordinary
force. Xzan sensed that here was a man who held a great deal in reserve.
Even so, Colonel Bogey was not to Xzan's liking. He had neither the
swaggering superiority of a hereditary warrior nor the desperate cunning
of the professional survivor. Xzan summed him up as a "painted
warrior,"—a derogatory term used around the Hub to describe those who
used a show of arms without true appreciation of the realities of battle.
Oontara read his guest's disapproval with shrewd eyes, and turned to
the Colonel.
"As a military man, Colonel Bogaert, you've surely acquired knowledge
of our war game. Have a look at our play, and tell me what you think of
Xzan's position."
Bogaert gave the board a few minutes' deep consideration.
"Indefensible, of course. My Lord Xzan would be advised to surrender
before his losses became insupportable."
"What!" Xzan rose swiftly to the defense. "My vocabulary admits no
such word as 'surrender.' "
"Does it have a term for complete annihilation?" asked Bogaert quietly.
"The concept exists—for application to enemies and weaklings."
"But not for yourselves?"
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