The Darkside Of The Sun

expert. And historian. His poetry is rather good, too. Did you know he was the one who deciphered the Joker language?’
    ‘The poet and the mad computer,’ quoted Dom.
    ‘Yes, though he’s not really mad. I don’t know who the poet was. His servant is quite fascinating, too, don’t you think he looks fascinating with all those scars, Dom? Dom?’
    ‘Uh, yes,’ said Dom, slowly. He twirled his wineglass thoughtfully. ‘Funny, isn’t it, you form an impression of people … I think I’d like a word with him. Excuse me.’
    Dom sidled round the table, but had not been careful enough. Joan caught him lightly by the arm – lightly it looked, at least, but there was a knowledge of anatomy behind the hold.
    ‘Good evening, Grandson. You have been mixing with some very bad company, it seems. Ways is the chief torpedo of the Joker Institute.’
    Dom sighed. ‘All right, Grandmother. I suppose you have been prying into my mind?’
    ‘Well, you were unconscious and it naturally seemed the logical thing to do.’
    ‘Oh, naturally.’
    ‘Don’t be peevish, this is real life. Every security man in the galaxy knows about Ways. Once he assassinated the deputy-chief of United Spies, you know. He’s a robot with a killer instinct. I see you’ve still got that swamp crawler?’
    ‘He’s spent a little time with Ways. I think it’s likely that he’s been booby-trapped,’ said Dom. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much.’
    ‘You think you’re invulnerable. Don’t bank on it,’ said Joan. She glared at Ig.
    The Emperor rose slowly to his feet and rang a small black bell. The diners began to leave the table. Dom saw Sub-Lunar and his serving man disappear into the crowd.
    ‘What happens now?’ he asked. ‘I understand everyone’s waiting for me to make a move.’
    ‘Are you going to discover Jokers World?’
    Most of the diners had left. The Emperor bowed to them and left them seated. Across the room Hrsh-Hgn and Isaac chatted to Tarli.
    ‘I think so,’ said Dom. ‘I’m getting the ...the sort of outline of it already. It’s not a planet. I mean, it may be a planet but … well, Widdershins is a planet, with an orbit, a hydrosphere and a magnetic field and so on, but Widdershins is also a world and a culture.’
    ‘I see,’ said Joan. ‘I wonder where it could be?’
    ‘I’ve got five days, less now, so that rules out most places outside the life-bubble. I think …’ Dom stopped. ‘You are pumping me.’
    ‘For the sake of Widdershins. I don’t want you to find Jokers World and lose it to a mob. You don’t care about politics. I tell you, used properly this could be the making of the Sabalos family.’
    ‘You mean that seriously?’
    ‘I do.’ She rose. ‘We’ll talk about this later. Are you coming to see the Masque?’
    ‘You must!’ said Tarli, hurrying round the table. ‘It’s a special production. Sub-Lunar wrote it on the ship coming here. Father likes a little entertainment after dinner.’
     
    Dom thought it was mildly entertaining. It was a skit on current Earth-Outer Worlds politics, which were always good for a laugh, written in early Greek style. All the characters wore larger-than-life masks, spangled with jewels. The chorus was robotic.
    Then it nailed Dom to his seat.
    The chief protagonist was a goat-legged Chairman Pan, complete with horn and syrynx. It happened after the bit of business with the First Sirian Bank, a bloated silver globe on spindly legs.
    The Bank said: ‘ DO YOU THINK, THEN, THAT MAN CAN PREVENT HIMSELF BEING OUSTED BY ROBOTS? ’
    Pan capered across the stage: ‘Certainly. What robot could do my job? They can only go down to Class Ones, you know.’
    Chorus: ‘Brekekekex, co-ax, co-axial!’
    Pan: ‘But list! Who is this weary traveller?’
    Another actor lurched onto the stage. He was a bright, vivid green. He was staggering under the combined weight of a pair of winged sandals that left a trail of feathers, a large sword made of rubber, a giant bottle of water and, on one emerald shoulder, a taxidermist’s nightmare of glass eyeballs, feathers, tufts of hair and badly assorted claws.
    Pan: ‘Good grief! What are you doing with that strange, ill-assorted creature?’
    Traveller: ‘It’s not a strange creature, it’s my pet.’
    Pan: ‘I was talking to your pet. What do you seek, traveller? Get on with it so we can continue with this sketch.’
    The traveller peered myopically around the stage and then glared at the audience.
    ‘I’m