cigars–”
“Come on, now.”
“–no more vacations, no more eating out in fancy restaurants.”
John’s round face grew pensive. For the first time it had been brought home to him what war really meant.
“It’s a complicated situation,” he said. “I must think about it.”
“I shall go think about it, too,” Anne said. John knew that meant she was going to talk it over with her advisers–Yopi, the hairdresser, Maureen, the children’s nanny, Sebastian, the gardener, and Gigi, the ficelle.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” Anne said, turning to go.
“Yes, my love,” said John, sticking out his tongue at her retreating back.
“And don’t do that,” she told him, halfway down the corridor.
26
A few days passed before Dramocles reacted to John’s armed intervention on Lekk, but when he did, his retribution was swift and more than a little cruel. With typical cunning, he struck directly at a matter dear to John and Anne’s hearts. This was the annual Interplanetary Charity Dinner, given by the Glorm Broadcasting Company on the restaurant planetoid Uffizi, at which prizes were awarded for Best King of the Year, Best Queen, et cetera. It was the top social event in that part of the galaxy. By using all his influence, and employing not inconsiderable bribes, Dramocles managed to have John and Anne stripped of their membership and barred from the celebration. The reason given was Aggression Toward a Fellow Potentate. John was outraged, but there was nothing he could do about it.
And this was not the end of his troubles. Up till now, the Glorm Broadcasting Company had been mildly sympathetic toward Crimsole. But then came a swift corporate takeover, and a policy change. The new GBC management decided that John’s incursion into Lekk was morally reprehensible. John was left in the position of running an expensive war and getting nothing but bad publicity for it. He complained about this to Irving Bedizened.
Bedizened agreed to meet him and discuss the matter in the Sortilege Club in downtown Crimsole. It was a dimly lit cocktail lounge furnished in a style in which Humphrey Bogart would have felt right at home. Guy Fawkes and His Rhythm Rascals were on the bandstand laying down cool jazz sounds involving a lot of saxophone arpeggios. Bedizened was already there, sitting in a leatherette booth and stirring a Scotch mist. He was a short, skinny, sharp-nosed man wearing cream-colored slacks, a Hawaiian shirt, a gold chain around his neck, and huaraches. He liked people to call him Joe Hollywood, but only his employees did so.
John ordered a frozen daiquiri and got right to the point. “Why are they picking on me at GBC? Dramocles began all this by taking Aardvark.”
“That’s different,” Bedizened said. “Dramocles was following his destiny, and that was noble even if misguided. Whereas you were actuated solely by pique and petty envy. That’s what the new GBC directors think.”
“They’re not being fair,” John said.
“There’s worse to come,” Bedizened said. “Are you ready for this? The network is canceling your TV show.”
John’s television show, “Comments from the Crimson Court,” had a modest but solid following throughout the Local Planets. It had been running for five years and there had even been talk of airing it next season on the Galactic Network.
“Prejudice!” John declared.
Bedizened shook his head. “Show business. They need your time slot for a new show.”
“What is it?”
“‘The Agony of Lekk,’ a twenty-part documentary.”
John almost choked on his drink. “Damn it, that really tears it. Lekk’s agony is about to end because I am going to pull out my troops at once, no matter how great the loss of face.”
Bedizened frowned and pinched his nose. “I wouldn’t be too hasty about that, if I were you.”
“Why not? I thought everyone would be pleased.”
“It’s not as simple as that,” Bedizened said. “I’m going to tell you
“Come on, now.”
“–no more vacations, no more eating out in fancy restaurants.”
John’s round face grew pensive. For the first time it had been brought home to him what war really meant.
“It’s a complicated situation,” he said. “I must think about it.”
“I shall go think about it, too,” Anne said. John knew that meant she was going to talk it over with her advisers–Yopi, the hairdresser, Maureen, the children’s nanny, Sebastian, the gardener, and Gigi, the ficelle.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” Anne said, turning to go.
“Yes, my love,” said John, sticking out his tongue at her retreating back.
“And don’t do that,” she told him, halfway down the corridor.
26
A few days passed before Dramocles reacted to John’s armed intervention on Lekk, but when he did, his retribution was swift and more than a little cruel. With typical cunning, he struck directly at a matter dear to John and Anne’s hearts. This was the annual Interplanetary Charity Dinner, given by the Glorm Broadcasting Company on the restaurant planetoid Uffizi, at which prizes were awarded for Best King of the Year, Best Queen, et cetera. It was the top social event in that part of the galaxy. By using all his influence, and employing not inconsiderable bribes, Dramocles managed to have John and Anne stripped of their membership and barred from the celebration. The reason given was Aggression Toward a Fellow Potentate. John was outraged, but there was nothing he could do about it.
And this was not the end of his troubles. Up till now, the Glorm Broadcasting Company had been mildly sympathetic toward Crimsole. But then came a swift corporate takeover, and a policy change. The new GBC management decided that John’s incursion into Lekk was morally reprehensible. John was left in the position of running an expensive war and getting nothing but bad publicity for it. He complained about this to Irving Bedizened.
Bedizened agreed to meet him and discuss the matter in the Sortilege Club in downtown Crimsole. It was a dimly lit cocktail lounge furnished in a style in which Humphrey Bogart would have felt right at home. Guy Fawkes and His Rhythm Rascals were on the bandstand laying down cool jazz sounds involving a lot of saxophone arpeggios. Bedizened was already there, sitting in a leatherette booth and stirring a Scotch mist. He was a short, skinny, sharp-nosed man wearing cream-colored slacks, a Hawaiian shirt, a gold chain around his neck, and huaraches. He liked people to call him Joe Hollywood, but only his employees did so.
John ordered a frozen daiquiri and got right to the point. “Why are they picking on me at GBC? Dramocles began all this by taking Aardvark.”
“That’s different,” Bedizened said. “Dramocles was following his destiny, and that was noble even if misguided. Whereas you were actuated solely by pique and petty envy. That’s what the new GBC directors think.”
“They’re not being fair,” John said.
“There’s worse to come,” Bedizened said. “Are you ready for this? The network is canceling your TV show.”
John’s television show, “Comments from the Crimson Court,” had a modest but solid following throughout the Local Planets. It had been running for five years and there had even been talk of airing it next season on the Galactic Network.
“Prejudice!” John declared.
Bedizened shook his head. “Show business. They need your time slot for a new show.”
“What is it?”
“‘The Agony of Lekk,’ a twenty-part documentary.”
John almost choked on his drink. “Damn it, that really tears it. Lekk’s agony is about to end because I am going to pull out my troops at once, no matter how great the loss of face.”
Bedizened frowned and pinched his nose. “I wouldn’t be too hasty about that, if I were you.”
“Why not? I thought everyone would be pleased.”
“It’s not as simple as that,” Bedizened said. “I’m going to tell you
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