Trekmaster. James B. Johnson

his hands about as if saying something important.

      “...and I have been an avid student of Olde Earthe history,” the King was telling her. Kellen felt a twinge of jealousy. There was so much he wanted to learn—for without knowledge, without the learning skills, he would not be able to better himself, to reach further....

      They entered an antechamber. This room was more businesslike, not the ostentatious display Kellen had expected; spacious offices fed off from this reception area.

      The King waved everyone to a seat, but no one sat. Kellen started to sit down when a cold glance from the herald told him no one sat before the King did.

      The jester had accompanied the procession and slumped unceremoniously into a corner, scratching his rear end. Nobody seemed to notice.

      The King disengaged himself from the envoy and addressed the herald. “Well, Alfred, what is the order of business?”

      Sharon Gold stepped back and stood beside Kellen. She was taller than he. Her eyes remained on the King.

      The herald said, “Sire, the calendar is clear for both the celebration and the staff meeting this afternoon. Besides this young man here.” Alfred nodded toward Kellen, “there is only one pressing matter of business.”

      “Well, Hark, what is it?”

      “Sire, the Ethnarch of Juarez requests an immediate determination regarding an ecological problem.”

      “This is pressing business?” demanded the King.

      “It is, Sire.”

      “Shall we see if the facts bear out your judgment, then, Hark?”

      “Yes, Sire.” Alfred spoke aside to a guard who stepped into a side room. Soon he returned with two men. The first was formally garbed with the tunic insignia of a province official. The second was a young man, about Kellen’s age, dressed in many bright colors like a young nobleman.

      “Sire,” said the herald, indicating the official, “this is Hammond Wouk, the representative of the Ethnarch of Juarez.” The man bowed. “And this young man is a representative of the Juarez Ecological Society, Franco Valdez.”

      “Well, what’s the situation? Can the Ethnarch not handle his own problems these days?”

      “Sire,” said Wouk, “that he can. However, there is a conflict between two different royal decrees. Thus it is not resolvable at our level.”

      “It is so urgent that it could not wait for a business day?”

      “Time passes and money is lost.”

      “Tell me what the hell the problem is, then. Let’s get this over with.”

      “Yes, Sire. Construction was to have begun three days ago on the long awaited aqueduct from the lake to the city of Figgeredwrong. Running water for the first time. The Juarez Ecological Society has prevented its start.”

      “How?”

      “May I, Sir?” asked Valdez.

      “I wish somebody would.”

      Valdez visibly blanched, gulped and started. “Sire, the royal decree regarding ecology will be thwarted. They plan to cut through a large forest, despoiling wild life and ruining thousands of trees.”

      “Your Highness, the aqueduct is necessary for sanitation and public welfare, all found in another royal decree—plus it is in accordance with your modernization drive,” Wouk put in.

      “Ah, I see it now. The conflict.” The King nodded.

      “The crews are waiting in place and it’s costing the provincial treasury daily to have them sit thusly,” said Wouk. “And. by extension, the royal treasury.”

      “Good thinking. Any other ancillary problems? Like, for instance. Mr. Valdez, would not the people of the province require the cut timber for building and winter heating?”

      “Yes, Sire, but that could be done more judiciously, more selectively. And not harm the wild life.”

      “Did it occur to you, Valdez, that people are a form of life and deserve to be considered under an ecological order?” The King was standing over Valdez and glaring down at him.

      “Er, yes. Sire. People can think for themselves, choose their own habitats without disturbing the natural scheme of things.”

      The King’s eyebrows went up. “And the sheepaloe your province lives off, are they in the natural scheme of things?”

      “Er, yes. Sire.”

      “Negative, Valdez. Our ancestors introduced them from Olde Earthe. Ever wonder why one animal is so useful? From the wool to the meat to the hooves? Wonder why sheepaloe grow fat on the sparse vegetation of the hills?” Valdez looked bewildered. The King stepped back and looked around him. He rubbed his hands as if approaching a favorite subject. Kellen saw the Queen stifle a groan. “In vitro mean anything to you? No, I can tell it doesn’t. When you’re settling a planet, you can’t take everything you want with you. So the genetic engineers on Earthe stole from the sheep, the longhorn steer and the buffalo, the toughest and most adaptable animals, and developed an animal that would not only live on Bear Ridge, but thrive on its harsh conditions. Once they had the sheepaloe perfected, they preserved sufficient sperm and ovae. So they only had to ship a few of the animals to act as host mothers. Fortunately, the herds were building well when the Rollback came and the wars separated Earthe from its former colonies. All the time we spent regressing to almost a primitive state the sheepaloe thrived. When we finally turned around and began advancing again, the sheepaloe provided sufficient food and clothing.

      “Now you see how our ancestors changed things. Can we not also?”

      Valdez stammered. “My group, Sire, understands, but we have tasked ourselves with preservation. It is all important.”

      “How many in your group?”

      “Nearly a hundred. Sire. We have an enclave just outside Figgeredwrong.”

      “Ah.”

      Kellen watched Wouk bursting to respond. But the King didn’t seem to notice.

      The King turned to the herald. “Have your scribes amend those royal decrees mentioned. I want them sprinkled liberally with the words ‘common sense’ and like that.”

      The herald motioned and a secretary hastily wrote down the King’s words.

      “Also, I want the following: the aqueduct to begin construction as soon as possible. The sons of ecology or whatever the hell their name is,” he glared at Valdez, who seemed to be shrinking in place, “shall gather buggaloes and dry them and sell them for heating and cooking fires. They will turn in the receipts to the province until those monies equal the amount spent on idle construction crews. Lastly, there is to be no connection of running water to their enclave. If they choose to remain together as a group in that place and do not maintain minimum sanitary conditions, they are to be taxed enough money to pay for cleanup. If, after all this, they still be recalcitrant, then come and see me again.”

      Wouk appeared both pleased with his victory and frightened by the King’s wrath. Valdez looked crestfallen.

      Sharon Gold leaned toward Kellen and asked in a low voice, “Whatever are buggaloes?”

      “Chips,” he said and when she shook her head she still didn’t understand, he added, “manure.” She looked startled and nodded understanding.

      It seemed to Kellen that even though the King might have been right, he could have handled the situation far more delicately, and at least commend Valdez and his group for their interest in the well-being of Bear Ridge. But obviously, this monarch had no patience, no tact, no diplomacy. Thinking this merely hardened Kellen’s resolve.

      As Wouk and Valdez left, Kellen saw the King brighten as though disposing of something distasteful.

      “And