[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction March 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Snaddra had but one choice in its fight
to afford to live belowground--underhandedly
pretend theirs was an aboveboard society!
"Go Away from me, Skkiru," Larhgan said, pushing his hand off her arm.
"A beggar does not associate with the high priestess of Snaddra."
"But the Earthmen aren't due for another fifteen minutes," Skkiru
protested.
"Of what importance are fifteen minutes compared to eternity!" she
exclaimed. Her lovely eyes fuzzed softly with emotion. "You don't seem
to realize, Skkiru, that this isn't just a matter of minutes or hours.
It's forever."
"Forever!" He looked at her incredulously. "You mean we're going to
keep this up as a permanent thing? You're joking!"
Bbulas groaned, but Skkiru didn't care about that. The sad, sweet way
Larhgan shook her beautiful head disturbed him much more, and when
she said, "No, Skkiru, I am not joking," a tiny pang of doubt and
apprehension began to quiver in his second smallest left toe.
"This is, in effect, good-by," she continued. "We shall see each other
again, of course, but only from a distance. On feast days, perhaps you
may be permitted to kiss the hem of my robe ... but that will be all."
Skkiru turned to the third person present in the council chamber.
"Bbulas, this is your fault! It was all your idea!"
There was regret on the Dilettante's thin face--an obviously insincere
regret, the younger man knew, since he was well aware how Bbulas had
always felt about the girl.
"I am sorry, Skkiru," Bbulas intoned. "I had fancied you understood.
This is not a game we are playing, but a new way of life we are
adopting. A necessary way of life, if we of Snaddra are to keep on
living at all."
"It's not that I don't love you, Skkiru," Larhgan put in gently, "but
the welfare of our planet comes first."
* * * * *
She had been seeing too many of the Terrestrial fictapes from the
library, Skkiru thought resentfully. There was too damn much Terran
influence on this planet. And this new project was the last straw.
No longer able to control his rage and grief, he turned a triple
somersault in the air with rage. "Then why was I made a beggar and she
the high priestess? You arranged that purposely, Bbulas. You--"
"Now, Skkiru," Bbulas said wearily, for they had been through all this
before, "you know that all the ranks and positions were distributed
by impartial lot, except for mine, and, of course, such jobs as could
carry over from the civilized into the primitive."
Bbulas breathed on the spectacles he was wearing, as contact lenses
were not considered backward enough for the kind of planet Snaddra
was now supposed to be, and attempted to wipe them dry on his robe.
However, the thick, jewel-studded embroidery got in his way and so he
was forced to lift the robe and wipe all three of the lenses on the
smooth, soft, spun metal of his top underskirt.
"After all," he went on speaking as he wiped, "I have to be high
priest, since I organized this culture and am the only one here
qualified to administer it. And, as the president himself concurred in
these arrangements, I hardly think you--a mere private citizen--have
the right to question them."
"Just because you went to school in another solar system," Skkiru said,
whirling with anger, "you think you're so smart!"
"I won't deny that I do have educational and cultural advantages
which were, unfortunately, not available to the general populace of
this planet. However, even under the old system, I was always glad to
utilize my superior attainments as Official Dilettante for the good of
all and now--"
"Sure, glad to have a chance to rig this whole setup so you could break
up things between Larhgan and me. You've had your eye on her for some
time."
Skkiru coiled his antennae at Bbulas, hoping the insult would provoke
him into an unbecoming whirl, but the Dilettante remained calm. One of
the chief outward signs of Terran-type training was self-control and
Bbulas had been thoroughly terranized.
_I hate Terrestrials_, Skkiru said to himself. _I hate Terra._ The
quiver of anxiety had risen up his leg and was coiling and uncoiling
in his stomach. He hoped it wouldn't reach his antennae--if he were
to break down and psonk in front of Larhgan, it would be the final
humiliation.
"Skkiru!" the girl exclaimed, rotating gently, for she, like her
fiance--her erstwhile fiance, that was, for the new regime had caused
all such ties to be severed--and every other literate person on the
planet, had received her education at the local university. Although
sound, the school was admittedly provincial in outlook and very poor
in the emotional department. "One would almost think that the lots had
some sort of divine intelligence behind them, because you certainly are
behaving in a beggarly manner!"
"And I have already explained to you, Skkiru," Bbulas said, with a
patience much more infuriating than the girl's anger, "that I had no
idea of who was to become my high priestess. The lots chose Larhgan. It
is, as the Earthmen say, kismet."
* * * * *
He adjusted the fall of his glittering robe before the great polished
four-dimensional reflector that formed one wall of the chamber.
_Kismet_, Skkiru muttered to himself, _and a little sleight of hand._
But he didn't dare offer this conclusion aloud; the libel laws of
Snaddra were very severe. So he had to fall back on a weak, "And I
suppose it is kismet that makes us all have to go live out on the
ground during the day, like--like savages."
"It is necessary," Bbulas replied without turning.
"Pooh," Skkiru said. "Pooh, _pooh_, POOH!"