Across the Zodiac: The Story of a Wrecked RecordGreg, Percy
Science
Across the Zodiac: The Story of a Wrecked Record
Greg, Percy
Science fiction
When the door closed, I noticed that Ergimo had left us, and the
officers indicated by gesture rather than by words that they were to
lead me immediately into the presence. I had considered with some care
how I was, on so critical an occasion, to conduct myself, and had
resolved that the most politic course would probably be an assumption
of courteous but absolute independence; to treat the Autocrat of this
planet much as an English envoy would treat an Indian Prince. It was
in accordance with this intention that I had assumed a dress somewhat
more elaborate than is usually worn here, a white suit of a substance
resembling velvet in texture, and moire in lustre, with collar and
belt of silver. On my breast I wore my order of [illegible], and in my
belt my one cherished Terrestrial possession—the sword, reputed the
best in Asia, that had twice driven its point home within a finger's
breadth of my life; and that clove the turban on my brow but a minute
before it was surrendered—just in time to save its gallant owner and
his score of surviving comrades. In its hilt I had set the emerald
with which alone the Commander of the Faithful rewarded my services.
The turban is not so unlike the masculine head-dress of Mars as to
attract any special attention. Re-entering the hall, I was conducted
along a gallery and through another crystal door into the immediate
presence of the Autocrat. The audience chamber was of no extraordinary
size, perhaps one-quarter as large as the peristyle of Esmo's
dwelling. Along the emerald walls ran a series of friezes wrought in
gold, representing various scenes of peace and war, agricultural,
judicial, and political; as well as incidents which, I afterwards
learnt, preserved the memory of the long struggles wherein the
Communists were finally overthrown. The lower half of the room was
empty, the upper was occupied by a semicircle of seats forming part of
the building itself and directly facing the entrance. These took up
about one-third of the space, the central floor being divided from the
upper portion of the room by a low wall of metal surmounted by arches
supporting the roof and hung with drapery, which might be so lowered
as to conceal the whole occupied part of the chamber. The seats rose
in five tiers, one above the other. The semicircle, however, was
broken exactly in the middle, that is, at the point farthest from the
entrance, by a broad flight of steps, at the summit of which, and
raised a very little above the seats of the highest tier, was the
throne, supported by two of the royal brutes whose attack had been so
nearly fatal to myself, wrought in silver, their erect heads forming
the arms and front. About fifty persons were present, occupying only
the seats nearest to the throne. On the upper tier were nine or ten
who wore a scarlet sash, among whom I recognised a face I had not seen
since the day of my memorable visit to the Astronaut; not precisely
the face of a friend—Endo Zamptâ.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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