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Unlike Mardukan robots, which looked like surrealist conceptions of Pre-Atomic
armored knights, it was a smooth ovoid floating a few inches from the floor on
its own contragravity; as it approached, its top opened like a bursting
beetle-shell and hinged trays of food swung out. The boy looked at it in
fascination.
"Is that a Sword-World robot, sir, or did you capture it somewhere?"
"It's one of our own." He was pardonably proud; it had been built on Tanith a
year before. "Has an ultrasonic
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dishwasher underneath, and it does some cooking on top, at the back."
The elderly captain was, if anything, even more impressed than his young
charge. He knew what all went into it, and he had some conception of the
society that would develop things like that.
"I take it you don't use many human servants, with robots like that," he said.
"Not many. We're all low-population planets, and nobody wants to be a
servant."
"We have too many people on Marduk, and all of them want soft jobs as nobles'
servants," the captain said. "Those that want any kind of jobs."
"You need all your people for fighting-men, don't you?" the boy count asked.
"Well, we need a good many. The smallest of our ships will carry five hundred
men; most of them around eight hundred."
The captain lifted an eyebrow. The complement of the Victrix had been three
hundred, and she'd been a big ship. Then he nodded.
"Of course. Most of them are ground-fighters."
That started Count Steven off. Questions, about battles and raids and booty
and the planets Trask had seen.
"I wish I were a Space Viking!"
"Well, you can't be, Count Ravary. You're an officer of the Royal Navy. You're
supposed to fight Space Vikings."
"I won't fight you."
"You'd have to, if the King commanded," the old captain told him.
"No. Prince Trask is my friend. He saved my father's life."
"And I won't fight you, either, Count. We'll make a lot of fireworks, and then
we'll each go home and claim victory. How would that be?"
"I've beard of things like that," the captain said. "We had a war with Odin,
seventy years ago, that was mostly that sort of battles."
"Beside, the King is Prince Trask's friend, too," the boy insisted. "Father
and Mummy heard him say so, right on
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the Throne. Kings don't lie when they're on the Throne, do they?"
"Good Kings don't," Trask told him.
"Ours is a good King," the young Count of Ravary declared proudly. "I would do
anything my King commanded. Except fight Prince Trask. My house owes Prince
Trask a debt."
Trask nodded approvingly. "That's the way a Sword-World noble would talk,
Count Steven," he said.
The Board of Inquiry, that afternoon, was more like a small and very sedate
cocktail party. An Admiral Shefter, who seemed to be very high high-brass,
presided while carefully avoiding the appearance of doing so. Alvyn Karffard
and Vann Larch and Paytrik Morland were there from the Nemesis, and Bentrik
and several of the officers from the Victrix, and there were a couple of Naval
Intelligence officers, and somebody from Operational Planning, and from Ship
Construction and Research & Development. They chatted pleasantly and in a
deceptively random manner for a while. Then Shefter said:
"Well, there's no blame or censure of any sort for the way Commodore Prince
Bentrik was surprised. That couldn't have been avoided, at the time." He
looked at the Research & Development officer. "It shouldn't be allowed to
happen many more times, though."
"Not many more, sir. I'd say it'll take my people a month, and then the time
it'll take to get all the ships equipped as they come in. ;
Ship Construction didn't think that would take too long.
"We'll see to it that you get full information on the new submarine detection
system, Prince Trask," the Admiral said.
"You gentlemen understand you'll have to keep it under your helmets, though,"
one of the Intelligence men added. "If it got out that we were informing Space
Vikings about our technical secrets . . ." He felt the back of his neck in a
way that made Trask suspect that beheadment was the customary form of
execution on Marduk.
"We'll have to find out where the fellow has his base," Operational Planning
said. "I take it, Prince Trask, that
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you're not going to assume that he was on his flagship when you blew it, and
just put paid to him and forget him?"
"Oh, no. I'm assuming that he wasn't. I don't believe he and Ormm went
anywhere on the same ship, after he came out here and established a base. I
think one of them would stay home all the time."
"Well, we'll give you everything we have on them," Shefter promised. "Most of
that is classified and you'll have to keep quiet about it, too. I just skimmed
over the summary of what you gave us; I daresay we'll both get a lot of new
information. Have you any idea at all where he might be based, Prince Trask?"
"Only that we think it's a non-Terra-type planet." He told them about Dunnan's
heavy purchases of air and-water recycling equipment and carniculture and
hydroponic material. "That, of course, helps a great deal."
"Yes, there are only about five million planets in the former Federation
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space-volume that are inhabitable in artificial environment. Including a few
completely covered by seas, where you could put in underwater dome cities if
you had the time and material."
One of the Intelligence officers had been nursing a glass with a tiny remnant
of cocktail in it. He downed it suddenly, filled the glass again, and glowered
at it in silence for a while. Then he drank it briskly and refilled it.
"What I should like to know," he said, "is how this double obscenity of a
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