Mimics of Dephene by E. C. Tubb

Author:E. C. Tubb [Tubb, E. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science fiction
ISBN: 9780575107878
Publisher: DAW Books
Published: 2011-09-29T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

It had been like a wonderful dream; the bearers who had carried her from the station, running beneath the litter on which she had sprawled, odd shapes which had raced over the ground and high into the hills. There others had been waiting, ranks and files of men, submissive women; all bowing, welcoming their Queen.

And, if the cavern had not been a castle, what of that? There were compartments furnished with bright hangings, tables and chairs, rough but serviceable; softer comforts for her private chambers. There was an amphitheater, a natural place in the hills; and there were high pinnacles of stone shaped and formed like fairy turrets.

And, all of it was hers.

Hers!

Not a gift from her father or the cynical pretense of commercial enterprise. The servants here did not hide their contemptuous sneers, and the men who bowed at her approach were not actors hired for an occasion. Here she was Queen; those around obeyed because of desire, not financial need.

It took little effort to regard herself as not only respected, but loved.

And Sylvia Lipousky had always wanted to be loved.

A girl brought her wine, a ruby liquid carrying a by now familiar tang, a subtle taste now almost unnoticed. She drank, relaxing a little, the white robe she wore a little soiled by dust and dirt. The dawn ceremony was over, the paen to the sun completed; soon there would be the need to sit in judgement but, before that, there would be time to bathe and change.

The responsibility of rule, she thought contentedly. Small quarrels settled by her word, her people accepting the decisions she would make; even those who lost their pleas recognizing the justice she dispensed.

Before her, Dellia offered more wine.

The girl was small, lithely built, her face a smooth petal graced with enormous eyes. A figment of pleasant memory now resurrected to stand before her, as there were other figments; men she had known, women, the linements of whom, caught by the rudimentary telepathic ability of the Mimics, now walked and talked all around her.

The same telepathic ability which gave the natives a life and volition of their own as they anticipated her half-formed desires; play-acting scenes of remembered interest, a host of incidents culled from old books and ancient records. Childish fantasies made real.

The magic of Dephene.

“Where is Dyar Chalal?”

“Your Highness the Grand Vizier is patrolling the Western Approach.” The girl bowed as she answered. “There has been talk of barbarians.”

Savages who would come to wreck her realm. Sylvia nodded, setting down the empty goblet.

“Send men to double the guard. Have watchers stand on the high places.”

“Your Highness, it will be done.”

“All prisoners to be stripped and set to fight in the arena.”

Again the girl bowed. “Your command is our law.”

Satisfied Sylvia Lipousky went to her bath; a great tub gouged from the solid stone, filled with scented water from hidden appliances. Naked she revelled in the steaming water, later submitting to the touch of slaves; short, squat girls who rubbed and massaged her flesh with tingling oils.

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