The Fugitive Worlds Read Online Free Page B

two planets.
    Cassyll had an instinctive distaste for the notion of conquest, reinforced by the fact that his father had died in a monumentally futile attempt to claim the third planet of the local system, but in this case none of the usual philosophical or humanitarian restraints applied. Overland's sister world belonged to his people by right of birth, and if there was no indigenous population to be subjugated or slaughtered he could see no moral objection to a second interplanetary migration. As far as he was concerned, the only questions would relate to scale. How many skyships would Queen Daseene want, and how soon would she need them?
    Toller will want to take part in the expedition, Cassyll thought. The crossing is bound to have its dangers, but that will only serve to make him more determined to go.
    The carriage soon reached the river and turned west in the direction of the Lord Glo Bridge, which was the principal crossing for the palace. In the few minutes that he was on the curving boulevard Cassyll saw two steam-driven carriages, neither of which had been produced by his own factory, and again he found himself wishing he had more time for practical experimentation with that form of transport. There were many improvements yet to be made, particularly with regard to power transmission, but all his time seemed to be taken up with the administration of the Maraquine industrial empire.
    As the carriage was crossing the ornate bridge the palace came into view directly ahead, a rectangular block which was rendered asymmetrical by the east wing and tower which Daseene had recently built as a memorial to her husband. The guards at the main gate saluted as Cassyll passed through. Only a few vehicles were waiting in the main fore court at this early hour, and at once he noticed the official Sky Service coach which was used by Bartan Drumme, senior technical adviser to the Chief of Aerial Defense. To his surprise, he saw that Bartan himself was loitering by the coach. At the age of fifty, Drumme still retained a lean and wiry figure, and only a slight stiffness in his left shoulder— the result of an old battle wound—prevented him from moving like a young man. A whisper of intuition told Cassyll that Bartan was waiting to see him in advance of the official meeting.
    "Good foreday!" Cassyll called out as he stepped down from his carriage. "I wish I could afford the time to dawdle around and take the air."
    "Cassyll!" Bartan smiled as he came forward to shake hands. The years had scarcely altered the boyishness of his round face. Its permanent expression of humorous irreverence often deceived people who were meeting him for the first time into thinking he was an intellectual lightweight, but over the years Cassyll had learned to respect him for his mental agility and toughness.
    "Are you waiting to see me?" Cassyll said.
    "Very good!" Bartan replied, raising his eyebrows. "How did you know?"
    "You were as furtive as an urchin dallying by the bakery window. What is it, Bartan?"
    "Let's walk for a minute—there is time before the meet ing." Bartan led the way into an empty quarter of the forecourt where they were partially screened from view by a bed of spearblooms.
    Cassyll began to chuckle. "Are we going to conspire against the throne?"
    "In a way it is almost as serious as that," Bartan said, coming to a halt. "Cassyll, you know that my position is officially described as scientific adviser to the head of the Sky Service. But you also know that—simply because I survived the Farland expedition—I'm somehow expected to have a magical awareness of all that goes on in the heavens and to advise her Majesty of anything of import, anything which might constitute a threat to the realm."
    "Suddenly you make me uneasy," Cassyll said. "Is this anything to do with Land?"
    "No—another planet."
    "Farland! Say what you've got to say, man! Out with it!" Cassyll felt a coolness on his brow as the dread thought heaved in his mind.