Everard climbed weakly aboard the hopper. And when he got off again, a decade had passed.

The First Love

by Olaf Haraldsson

From my hill I followed
The faring, when on horseback,
Lightly did the lovely
Let herself be outborne;
And her shiny eyes
Did all my joy bereave me.
Known it is, to no one
Naught of sorrows happen.

Formerly in fairness,
Filled with golden blossoms,
Trees stood green and trembling
Tall above the jarldom.
Soon their leaves grew sallow,
Silently, in Russia.
Only gold now garlands
Ingigerdha’s forehead.

The Double-Dyed Villains

The Premier of Luan was speaking, and over the planet his face glared into telescreens and his voice rang its anger. Before the Administration Building milled a crowd that screamed itself hoarse before the enormously magnified image on the wall, screamed and cheered and surged like a living wave against the tight-held lines of the Palanthian Guard. There was mob violence in the air, a dog would have bristled at the stink of adrenalin and sensed the tension which crackled under the waves of explosive sound. The tautness seemed somehow to be transmitted over the screens, and watchers on the other side of the world raved at the image.

The Premier was young and dynamic and utterly sure of himself. There was steel in his tones, and his hard handsome face was vibrant with a deep inward, strength. He was, thought Wing Alak, quite a superior type.

In spite of being in the capital of the planet, Alak preferred sitting alone in his hotel room and watching the telescreen to joining the mob that yelled its hosannahs in the streets. He sat back with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, physically relaxed as the speech shouted at him:

“…not only a matter of material gain, but of sacred Luanian honor. Lhing was ours, ours by right of our own blood and sweat and treasure, and the incredible betrayal of the League in giving it to Marhal as a political bribe shall not be permitted to succeed. We will fight for our rights and honor—if need be, we will fight the Patrol itself—fight and win!”

The cheers rose fifty stories to rattle the windows of Alak’s room. Overhead rushed a squadron of navy speedsters, their gravitic drives noiseless but the thunder of cloven air rolling in their wake, and each of them carried bombs which could wipe out a city. Alak’s thoughts turned to a more potent menace, the monster cruisers and battleships orbiting about Luan—yes, the situation was getting out of hand. He wondered, suddenly and grimly, if it might not have gone too far to be remedied.

“…we will not fight alone. The whole Galaxy waits only one bold leader to rise and throw off the yoke of the League. For four hundred years we have groaned under the most corrupt and cynical tyranny ever to rise in all man’s tortured history. The League government remains in power only by such an unbelievable network of intrigue, bribery, threat, terror, betrayal, and appeal to all the worst elements of society that the like has never before been imagined. This is not mere oratory, people of Luan, it is sober truth which we have slowly and painfully learned over generations. Your government has carefully compiled a list of corrupt and terroristic acts of the Patrol which include every violation of every moral law existing on every planet in the universe, and each of these accusations has been verified in every detail. The Marhalian thievery is a minor matter in that list—but Luan has had enough!”