FERGUS THE TEMPLAR 
(Part One: The Museum of Horrors)
by Frederick Rustam 

The Initiate 
Grand Master Fulbak bon Jaldwin stood at the exact center of the 
mother Temple on Terranova. The dais on which he stood rotated 
slowly so that none of his circular audience would be favored. His 
unamplified voice reverberated in a calculated, complex acoustic 
pattern about the room as he spoke the ritual words. 
"Does anyone present hold that any of these men and women should not 
be admitted to the Order of Poor Fellows of the Temple of Solomon? ... 
If so, speak their names, now." 
But silence reigned in the Centrum, the rotunda sancta sanctora of 
Temple Jerusalem. All movement of those present had ceased after the 
question was asked.... Lighted only by candles, as of yore, the domed 
Centrum resembled a planetarium without stars. Against an inverted 
bowl of marble were cast, instead, the shadows of the Priors, Knights, 
Esquires, and Brothers who stood on concrete steps, ranked from the 
outer wall to the initiation circle. Some of those of the higher ranks 
had traveled here from their outworld temples. The ceremony was an 
annual one-ring circus without horses, trapeze, or clowns. 
"The initiates will step forth and kiss the cross, which symbolizes 
our history and traditions -- and Baphomet, who symbolizes the wisdom 
we have acquired from foreign lands and far worlds." 
Fergus Sinclair was the last in the long line of initiates to step 
forward, but he soon-enough kissed the engraved golden cross and the 
jeweled skull. Of whom the latter was the remains, he had not been 
told. He was curious, but he knew his place in the Order; he would 
be told what he had to know. More than that would come as a gift of 
his own quiet resourcefulness.... He moved back into the line of 
initiates. 
The Grand Master outthrust his arms. The ample sleeves of his symbol- 
patterned white robe slid to his bony elbows. The master of masters 
looked like an ancient alchemist about to announce the successful 
transmutation of base metals into gold. He lacked only a conical hat 
to impersonate Merlin, the fabled court sorcerer of Camelot. 
"Welcome to the Order, novice Brothers and Sisters Templar." 
These were the words Fergus had been waiting years to hear -- for 
most of his youth, plus three hard years of study in the Templar 
Academy. He was now a full-fledged Templar, if not yet a Knight. 
"Go forth and perform only good works. Gather unto yourselves and to 
your Temple the acclaim of humble accomplishment. Never put aside 
the wisdom of the ages for transitory popular belief. Support your 
Brothers and Sisters. And, above all, protect those who have sought 
our protection." 
The Grand Master pressed his palms together and bowed respectfully 
as the new Brothers and Sisters turned and strode from the Centrum, 
two abreast. This was the only time they would be the first allowed 
to leave a room of ranked Templars. 
The Apprentice 
Fergus's memory of the lofty atmosphere of the Centrum's initiation 
ceremony and the following formal banquet in the Refectory were 
somewhat deflated the next day when he was summoned to the office of 
the Precentor to be assigned to an Esquire for his apprenticeship. 
Sitting in one of the two chairs before the Precentor's desk was a 
man he had heard gossiped about. Fergus felt a keen disappointment. 
"Brother Fergus, this is your journeyman, Esquire Yosi Minaker." 
The Esquire remained seated, but offered his hand to Fergus. "Glad to 
meetcha, kid. Welcome aboard. You're on the first team, now." 
This pompous greeting brought about an expression of disapproval on 
the Precentor's aged, lined face. Fergus maintained his accustomed 
appearance of apprentice enthusiasm, and kept his own remarks to a 
minimum. 
"Thank you, sir. It's a pleasure to serve with you." 
"Esquire Yosi will explain the nature of your assignment, Brother. 
Go forth and learn from him the craft of your duty. I wish you a safe 
journey and good luck." 
* * * 
Yosi Minaker was an overage Esquire. He felt he would never gain 
a promotion to Knight, and he had ceased caring. His record in the 
field was well-known among the members of the Order; it wasn't exactly 
exemplary. Minaker was smart, shrewd -- but self-centered. His record 
of early accomplishments had quickly changed to a pattern of survival 
skills which kept him on the margin of good odor with his bosses. 
Minaker was a large man, who smoked cigars when he could get away 
with it. He seemed perpetually rumpled, even in his formal uniform: 
a plain, dark-gray suit of heavy military fabric, which consisted 
of trousers and a jacket with a choke-collar. Even his rank-marking 
Templar breast pin -- a white shield with a large red cross below his 
Esquire's symbol -- seemed to be pinned off-center, almost as if he 
were showing disdain for the Order to which he belonged. 
His homely, oft-scowling face made him seem more like a suspicious 
policeman than a private security consultant. It often intimidated 
those clients who had contracted for Templar services, and gave them 
a false assurance that Minaker's recommendations for security upgrade 
would make them and their property safe. 
Most apprentice-Brothers griped about their experiences with Yosi 
Minaker. But even those gained from their apprenticeship, and became 
skilled in their work. They often received promotion quickly to and 
beyond the rank of their journeyman instructor, who was never able 
to sacrifice opportunism and self-aggrandizement to the general good 
of the Order. 
Fergus had heard his journeyman's attitude characterized as "don't- 
give-a-damn," but he decided to keep an open mind during his own 
apprenticeship because he'd been told by a wise older Brother that 
much of Minaker's outward attitude was a put-on by a disappointed man 
seeking a persona appropriate to his years of experience and lack of 
knighthood. 
* * * 
Fergus and Minaker sat on a stone bench in the lovely Garden of 
Contemplation, which surrounded the golden-domed Centrum and separated 
it from the rest of Temple Jerusalem's foursquare mass. Only a few 
late-summer flowers lingered on under the cloudy sky and cool air, 
Fergus awaited the facts of his new situation from the man who was 
now in charge of him. 
Minaker took a used cigar from his jacket pocket. It was rolled up 
in a sheet of paper that looked to Fergus like an official memorandum 
of some kind. ("How typical,") he thought. Minaker stuffed the paper 
back into his pocket and lit the cigar with a butane lighter. 
Flourishing the lighter, he remarked enigmatically to Fergus, "Also 
good for setting fires, if you have to." He puffed and blew a big, 
blue smoke-ring which was noticed with distaste by an elderly Knight 
sitting on a nearby bench. 
"Okay. We're being sent to Tristia. Whadda ya know about it, kid?" 
"Well ..." Fergus tried to recall his galactography. There were so 
many inhabited worlds that most could carry knowledge of only a few. 
"Uh..." He couldn't remember anything about the planet. "I can look 
it up; I got good marks in Information Retrieval at the Academy." 
He smiled wanly at the hulking journeyman, who made a wry gesture 
with his mouth. 
"Yeah, sure ... How did you get into this chicken outfit, anyway?" 
The question seemed irrelevant to Fergus, but he spoke frankly of his 
personal history. 
"I had an advantage, I guess. My ancient terran ancestors assisted 
the Templars who escaped from the French persecution to Scotland in 
the fourteenth century. The St. Clairs were liege to Robert the Bruce. 
The King of the Scots had been excommunicated by the Pope, so he was 
able to use the Templar Knights in his war with the English, even 
though Rome had dissolved and banned the Order ..." 
"I know the history.... So you got into the Order by favoritism. 
Is that about the size of it?" 
"Well, not exactly, but I guess my ancestry didn't hurt my chances." 
Minaker grunted. His ancestry hadn't helped him into the Order. He 
had come to the attention of the Templars by virtue of his academic 
record in the study of criminology, and for his thesis, "Building 
Security: Monitoring Utility Connections and Sewers".... He returned 
to the subject of their assignment. 
"Tristia is the personal property of the Autarch Kameroni. He changed 
the aboriginal name of the planet after he took it over and his wife 
died there of some local disease.... Ever heard of him?" 
"Oh yeah. He's a ..." Fergus paused to chose his words. 
"He's a cruel tyrant and a bloody butcher of the first rank. He's 
hated by both the aboriginals and colonials of his benighted world. 
I'd say his chances of living to old age and dying of natural causes 
are almost nil," opined Minaker. 
"I see," remarked Fergus. "Quite a challenge for us, then." 
Minaker snorted and took another puff on his smelly cigar. He blasted 
the smoke into the chill air, without artistry. 
"That's why the Precentor assigned his contract to us." 
Fergus knew that Minaker really meant, "to me." But Minaker was quite 
willing to share the predicament of this unfavorable assignment 
equally with his apprentice. 
"So pray that old Kameroni doesn't get assassinated 'til we write our 
report and get the hell out of there." 
Arrival and Departure 
Esquire Yosi and Brother Fergus trudged across the concrete of the 
spaceport from the jumpliner "Excelsioris" to the passenger terminal, 
as their luggage, previously unloaded, was being probed and sniffed 
by the Autarch's customs men and security techs.... They were the 
only passengers to leave the ship for this infamous world, and the 
"Excelsioris" was being turned around for rejump as quickly as her 
Captain could prod the ground crew. 
The spaceport was located near the capital city of Inoremak in the 
north temperate zone of Tristia. The planet's GO-class sun benignly 
warmed the morning air as it blushed spectrally through the greater 
thickness at the horizon. 
"I'm surprised. I expected this world to be a dark, gloomy place -- 
like something out of a horror video. It's as nice here as the best 
parts of Terranova. This assignment may not be so bad after all." 
Ignoring his apprentice's sanguine remarks, Minaker grumbled, "Did you 
notice how they didn't extend a passenger tube to the jumpliner? How 
they're making us walk to the terminal? ... Kameroni's sec-thugs don't 
trust anyone. They're watching us as we walk, and they're probing our 
luggage now, before we can get there." 
"That's diplomatic, in a way," remarked Fergus. "I guess there are 
precedents for the Autarch's mistrust of strangers -- don't you think? 
Offworld assassins hired by locals to kill him?" 
"Probably ... And we shouldn't trust that damned tyrant, either." 
Fergus had learned, by now, that Esquire Yosi was short on trust and 
long on suspicion. 
* * * 
The Tristian customs men were, nonetheless, quite accommodating to the 
new visitors. They ignored Minaker's purposely lighted cigar, despite 
the many posted NO SMOKING signs. They politely invited the Templars 
into a VIP lounge for the formality of document clearance. 
"I'll take care of the red tape, kid. You stay here and check the 
luggage." Their bags and equipment boxes had been loaded onto an 
electrocart. A redcap driver awaited the order to move them to the 
sleek, armored groundcar that was standing by to transport them along 
the forest-girt guideway away from the capital to Castle Kameroni. 
Fergus, glad to be free of documentary matters, began checking their 
luggage against a list he kept in his personal pocketcomp. He looked 
at the electrocart's built-in scale to see if the total weight was 
less than it should be.... The redcap driver took careful notice 
of the visitor's inspection. He would report it to the terminal's 
security chief, and this report would rapidly work its way up the 
line to the Autarch, who would be impressed with his new consultants' 
personal security-consciousness. 
"Well, well ... a Knight Templar -- as I live and breathe." 
Fergus turned to find himself facing someone he'd been briefed about 
-- briefly -- Crown Prince Mollis. He was a foppish dandy, standing 
before his hefty bodyguards in an embroidered Nehru jacket and gold- 
striped trousers. A large medallion depicting a horned, flame-shrouded 
diablo dangled from his neck. He thus sought to be viewed as devilish 
and nonconformist. 
"I presume so by your shoulder patch: the white of purity and the red 
of blood." The soft voice contained a note of cynicism, as if its 
owner were unconsciously declaring himself to be free of any such 
subservience as that to an order of functionaries. 
"Your Highness." Fergus bowed. "I'm Brother Fergus Sinclair. Esquire 
Yosi Minaker is in document clearance. We're here in the service of 
His Majesty, the Autarch." 
"Is there anything to those rumors about you Templar fellows.... 
You know: that medallion depicting two men on one horse." 
"In ancient times, perhaps, Your Highness. Now, we have a commercial 
image to maintain." He smiled at the dandy. Mollis closed his eyelids 
and waved his hands in the air in a gesture of mute acceptance. 
Fergus added, "The two-men-on-a-horse symbol has often been 
misinterpreted, Your Highness. It was about comradeship on the field 
of battle. Rescuing a fallen brother. That sort of thing." 
Prince Mollis shrugged, "Oh. Too bad," then changed the subject to 
something closer to his heart. "So you're here to keep my father on 
his throne for a bit longer -- to protect him from his many enemies? 
... A most unenviable assignment, I judge." 
"We've been contracted to inspect the security at Castle Kameroni and 
present a report of our recommendations. We won't take an active role 
in the Autarch's personal security, though." 
Mollis considered this with half-lidded eyes, as if he really couldn't 
care about his father's security. 
"Well then, help to keep him alive until I graduate from the ghastly 
Terranovan school he's sending me to." He sniffed and waved a many- 
ringed hand airily. "It's supposed to make a man of me.... How droll. 
Pater is so foolishly idealistic in some ways. But he's not trying to 
turn my sister into a lady.... Bah!" 
Fergus kept his face a mask of serious purpose while listening to the 
Crown Prince. When the young man stopped his tirade, Fergus shook his 
head affirmatively, in lieu of comment. 
Mollis glanced at the loaded luggage cart. "You have almost as many 
bags as I have," he stated. He returned his gaze to Fergus, who seemed 
to be about the same age as he. 
"Well then, good luck in your mission-impossible, Brother Templar," 
he said, and turned toward a passenger tube, now extended to the 
jumpliner "Excelsioris," which was being held for the Crown Prince's 
unceremonious departure. "Ta-ta." 
As Fergus watched the Crown Prince depart, Yosi Minaker appeared at 
his side. His comment on the scene was unexpected, but prophetic. 
"Sonny Boy should hang around for awhile. I have a feeling that his 
daddy might get offed while we're here." 
Fergus reacted to his journeyman's pessimism with shock. 
"Oh, yeah... It won't be the first time that's happened to me," 
Minaker growled. "I point out unnoticed security failures, and then 
-- before they get corrected -- one of those failures proves a handy 
means for somebody to do his dirty work. Our clients rarely keep our 
recommendations secret, like they should." 
Brother Fergus felt a lump in his throat. "They didn't mention this 
at the Academy," he declared, lamely. He didn't want such a failure 
as the assassination of a client during his first assignment. 
"There're a lot of things you don't learn in the Academy, kid." 
The Redoubt 
The groundcar rounded a curve in the guideway, and the forest that 
had contained them for kilometers from the spaceport fell away to 
reveal a vast, sunlit meadow. In its center was a hill that seemed 
too broad and flat to be natural. 
On it was Castle Kameroni.... "Wow," exclaimed Fergus. 
Even Minaker was impressed. "Looks like it was transplanted intact 
from your ancestors' cold and drizzly land. It's a classic, I'll 
admit, but a dumb idea.... I wonder how many slaves died piling up 
that custom-built hill it's on?" 
With its crenelated turrets, battlements, and embrasures, Castle 
Kameroni was, indeed, a terran classic -- an ivy-splotched pile of 
stone, which every Templar who had learned his Order's history could 
appreciate. 
"I'm gonna have to gig 'em for that ivy, though. Look. In some places, 
a dwarf-ninja could use it to climb right up to the crest of the damn 
wall." 
The winding road up the hill circled the castle three times before 
it reached the drawbridge over the moat. Fergus searched his memory 
for some significance, but could find none. ("Superstition, perhaps.") 
As the groundcar sat waiting for the wooden bridge to be lowered, 
the loudspeaker of the driver's radio crackled, "Who goes there?" 
As the man answered the challenge, Minaker commented, "Ancient. 
Too ancient.... I have a feeling we'll have lots of sec-upgrade to 
recommend here." 
"That challenge was probably just ceremonial," said Fergus. 
"In the security business, ceremony is crap," sneered Esquire Yosi. 
* * * 
The groundcar moved across the drawbridge, under the raised 
portcullis, through the outer yard, and into the interior bailey 
of the castle -- where it was surrounded by armed, uniformed dogmen. 
"Watch it, kid. You're staring." 
"I can't help it. I've heard about them, but I've never met a human- 
animal genetic mix." 
"Way out here in the rimworlds, you'll see a lot of things that're 
frowned on by the moralists and know-it-alls on Terranova." 
The door to the groundcar's passenger compartment was opened, and a 
bulldog-faced man stuck his head inside. From the splendor of his 
uniform, the Templars guessed he must be the Captain of the Guard. 
His fourragere had a silver ultrasonic whistle at its tip. 
"Welcome to Castle Kameroni, noble knights. I'm Capt. Caneena. I'll 
escort you to your quarters. The Autarch will meet you at supper, 
tonight.... Are you armed?" Like a bulldog, his lower fangs showed, 
even when his mouth was closed. 
"No, Captain. We're unarmed," said Minaker. ("You know we wouldn't 
come in here armed, Cap'n Dogface.... More damn ceremony.") 
As the Templars were led into the castle's keep by Caneena, Fergus 
looked meaningfully at his journeyman. Esquire Yosi knew what his 
apprentice wanted to say. 
He held up his hand in an unmistakable gesture. "Never mind, kid," he 
whispered. "He doesn't need to know we haven't been knighted yet." 
With his keen hearing, the Captain heard every word. He made a mental 
note to check the background report on these Templars for their actual 
titles.... Even in his earliest days as a pupman in the kennels, he'd 
learned the importance of rank and position. 
At the Table of the Autarch 
"Have some more venison, son. There's no shortage; my forests are 
overrun with imported terranovan roe deer.... Try some of those 
candied yams, too. They're a delicacy out here in the rimworlds." 
Autarch Kameroni had apparently eaten many a course set before him. 
He was quite overweight, from a security point of view. But he was 
not a helpless flabbo. Despite his age and poundage, he was still 
capable of taking swift personal action against his enemies -- and 
some of those who mistakenly believed themselves to be his friends. 
The bearded baron of Castle Kameroni seemed a Falstaffian figure only 
to those who hadn't yet felt the lash of his anger. He was dressed in 
a loose black robe that lacked the cowl that would have made him 
resemble the abbot of a monastery. He even had a large ring to be 
kissed by his liege lords. (Minaker guessed it probably contained 
poison for the kind of extreme emergency he had never faced.) The 
Autarch Kameroni was nothing like a monk, though. His appetites for 
what life had to offer were legendary, as was the gossip about how 
he satisfied them. 
Fergus couldn't eat any more of the rich food on the trencherman's 
banquet table in the commonroom of the castle keep below the hanging 
banners of the planet's noble houses, but he took some more meat and 
potatoes, anyway. Minaker didn't need any urging to partake of the 
Autarch's larder. Templars weren't fed like this in their regional 
temple refectories, where discipline and self-control were expected. 
"Thank you, Your Majesty," said Fergus. He decided to divert the 
Autarch's culinary benevolence with a new table subject. "I was 
graciously greeted today at the spaceport terminal by Crown Prince 
Mollis before he left for school." 
The Autarch rolled his eyes heavenward. "I hope he didn't give you his 
idiot interpretation of our security here. He's never had to lift a 
finger in the defense of his family.... He probably won't crack a 
bookchip at that fancy school, either.... It's so disappointing to 
have a son turn out bad. I hope you'll have better luck with your 
children than I did." 
"Thank you father!" A brittle voice rang out from the second-floor 
loggia which surrounded the commonroom. "Your confidence is so 
touching!" 
Fergus and Minaker stared upward at the young woman in black leather 
who leaned over the railing. Her pretty face was contrasted by her 
unfashionably short blonde hair and the long dagger at her waist. 
Although it was pleasantly warm, she wore black action-gloves, the 
kind favored by sportswomen and combatants. The blood-red ruby pin 
at her neck seemed the one out-of-place touch of feminine decoration 
in an otherwise dark and ominous configuration. 
"This is my daughter, the Princess Enola. I invited her to our table, 
but she disrespectfully declined," grumbled the Autarch. 
"I was busy.... Welcome to our house, Templars. I feel safer now," 
she snarled sweetly, as she turned and strode from their sight. 
"Enola lacks the social graces of her sainted mother, but I'll say 
this for her: she can handle herself in a tricky situation almost as 
well as I can," double-boasted the Autarch. 
("I'll bet she can,") thought Minaker. ("I'd like to see how she 
handles herself in a clinch with me. Maybe ...") The Esquire began 
planning a sexual conquest -- far-fetched though this might seem at 
first consideration. 
"She's quite attractive, sir," remarked Fergus, diplomatically. 
"Yes, quite attractive," added Minaker, hastily. ("But not as 'pretty' 
as that brother of hers.... Yech.") 
* * * 
"I think we've got good security here, Esquire Yosi. It's the result 
of many years of experience.... Of course, I'm receptive to any 
improvements you may suggest." 
The feast had reached the brandy-and-cigars stage. Fergus had politely 
declined to light up, but Minaker and the Autarch were engaged in a 
puffing contest that enveloped the area around the table in a blue 
haze. Refilled brandy snifters had added to the negative situation of 
the Templars. They were in no condition, right then, to contribute 
much to the improved security of Castle Kameroni. This was obvious 
to its sly master, whose wolfish smile betokened a forthcoming ploy 
he'd used before on other visitors. 
"I'd like to show you gentlemen what I've already accomplished in my 
many years of security consciousness.... Would you like to visit my 
museum?" 
The Templars stared at each other through the haze. ("He's up to 
something,") both suspected -- something they dared not reject for 
fear of offending their client. 
"Yes, Your Majesty," replied Minaker. "We would." 
The Autarch leaped to his feet, thrusting his chair backward noisily. 
The harsh scraping sound against the stone floor echoed throughout the 
huge room and jarred the stuffed, logy visitors to attention. 
"Come along, then." 
Unforgettable Exhibits 
The Templars followed in the wake of the Autarch down a gray granite 
corridor lined with exhibits of body armor, from the elaborate suits 
of ancient times to the sleek partial-polyarmor of the present. The 
corridor was straight and, in the visitors' opinion, too long and 
narrow. 
"When I built the museum, I connected it to the keep by this corridor. 
With these armor displays added, it's become an exhibit-hall annex." 
The Templars kept their opinions to themselves as they hastened 
somewhat unsteadily after their client. They would have to deal with 
this place in their final report. No guards were stationed here, and 
apparently there were no intrusion sensors. It was a natural trap. 
Finally, they passed through the arched entrance to the museum.... 
Before them lay a modern complex of plastiglass exhibit cases above 
a terrazzo floor. Spotlights artfully illuminated the exhibits within 
the darkened hall. 
The Templars were stopped in their tracks by the first exhibit, 
free-standing and centered just beyond the entrance. 
It was a plastiglass man-container, shaped to fit its occupant. On 
the side, electrodes were mounted. At the bottom were a tube and 
valve. These were connected to an apparatus with controls and dials 
on top and casters below, like some garage's automotive diagnostic 
machine. 
In the container was a mummy. Its mouth was frozen open in a scream. 
The Autarch detected their cessation and turned back to begin his 
lecture-tour with the prime exhibit which had captivated his visitors 
-- as he knew it would. It always did. 
"Not bad, eh? I waited years to capture that fellow, a famous rebel 
leader.... I've forgotten his name -- some colonial who didn't know 
his place." 
Minaker's screwed-up expression told his reaction, before he quickly 
changed it to a wan smile. "It's quite a ... unique ... exhibit, Your 
Majesty.... What do you think, Brother?" he inquired mischievously. 
"Yes. Quite unique, sir," echoed Brother Fergus as he stared in horror 
at the container and its contents. 
The Autarch began pointing out the exhibit's details. "Minnigerode--- 
that was his name." He chuckled. "On Terranova that's some kind of 
pudding, I understand.... Well, I made a pudding out of him, I'll tell 
you. I connected his extremities to the neural generator. Then I sat 
down and jumped the current around on his body at random. The fellow 
went mad guessing what would hurt next. 
"But, of course, all good things must come to an end. So I activated 
all the electrodes to a more-or-less tolerable level, and while he 
screamed, I slowly pumped the air from his container -- his coffin. 
"He's remarkably preserved, don't you think? ... It must be the high 
vacuum he ended up in." 
"Remarkable," mumbled Minaker, who removed his cigar to gape at the 
erstwhile rebel in the container. "Excellent preservation, sir," 
seconded Fergus, who suddenly wanted to return to his guest room. 
"Right. Now, come this way." He turned and proceeded farther into 
the museum. "Down this aisle is my historical exhibit of torture 
devices. Some of them are millennia-old -- but still useful. There's 
really no such thing as an obsolete method for extracting information, 
you know." 
The Templars hesitated.... The Autarch turned to face them. 
"Or would you prefer to see the exhibit of body parts taken from my 
enemies? I've used some rather innovative preservation techniques 
for them, too." 
Minaker was temporarily speechless. It was Fergus who replied to the 
Autarch's invitation in a respectful and hopeful manner. 
"Uh... Do you have any stuffed animals, or anything like that?" 
"No animals, but I've got some stuffed traitors.... Follow me." 
As the Templars reluctantly followed their guide, Minaker recovered 
his poise long enough to inform his younger colleague, sotto voce, 
"He's testing us. He wants to see how tough we are." 
"You don't say?" replied Fergus, grimly. 

(Part Two: The Corridor of Death) 
Security Evaluations 
"I don't feel so good, Esquire. All that food and drink at the 
Autarch's table---and then, that museum of prideful horrors." 
The Templars were moving down a hallway on the second floor of the 
castle keep. They were escorted by one of Capt. Caneena's dogmen, who 
never once relaxed his watchful gaze, as if he expected the visitors 
might attempt to steal one of the many heirlooms on display. 
"Bear up, kid. It could get worse." 
Fergus mumbled, "I don't see how." 
As they moved down the hall, they took notes by speaking them into 
microphone masks that carried their remarks to belt-mounted portacomps 
which transcribed them into report-ready language. The guard-escort 
strained to hear their remarks, but the masks were designed to 
frustrate such eavesdropping. 
As they approached the ornamental wooden door to a bedroom suite, it 
opened, and Princess Enola leaned against the doorframe in a languid 
pose, staring at the approaching men. She had a twisted smile and 
spoke in a voice which dripped with sensuality. 
"You two look like a couple of asthmatics holding those things on your 
faces." Without waiting for a response from the Templars, she said, 
"I need improved security in my rooms. How about checking me out?" 
The significance of her request did not escape them. 
Minaker removed his mikemask and quickly ordered his apprentice, 
"I'll handle this, kid. Why don't you work on the museum and the 
corridor? We can finish this floor, later." 
Fergus amiably accepted his journeyman's opportunism. It verified 
some of the anecdotes he'd heard about him back at Temple Jerusalem. 
"The museum?... Okay, I'll give it another check." 
"Good. See ya later." Enola stepped back to admit the Esquire to her 
chambers. As she closed the door, she winked at Fergus. 
("Not me, babe... I'll leave your `security' to Yosi the Great.") 
"Take me to the museum," he ordered the guard. The dogman displayed 
the sharp teeth in his long muzzle in a half-human smirk. "As you 
wish, sir," he replied, while guessing otherwise of the Templar. 
* * * 
"The Autarch expects to fill this floor with exhibits like those 
upstairs. But now, it's just used for storage." 
Fergus and the dogman stood in the unfinished basement of the museum. 
Some boxes were stacked in a corner of the big underroom, but it was 
otherwise unused. The gray concrete walls were damp in places where 
ground water had permeated them.... Fergus spoke into his mikemask. 
"Okay. Let's go back upstairs." 
As they passed the museum's exhibits, Fergus stared studiously ahead, 
trying not to look at the Autarch's horrific collection arrayed neatly 
in the cases. His escort continued to show his teeth at the visitor's 
obvious repugnance. 
In the armor-lined corridor, he stopped to check one of the ancient 
suits. He tested the suit by pulling it toward him; it was securely 
mounted. Then, he lifted the helmet visor. Its hinges were lubricated, 
and the visor moved quietly. He stood on tiptoes and stuck his hand 
down into the suit. The guard frowned. 
As Fergus was feeling around the interior of the suit, he heard the 
guard snap to attention by clicking his boot-heels. 
"You can try it on, if you like, Brother Fergus." The deep voice of 
the Autarch Kameroni boomed out in the narrow hallway. 
Fergus pulled out his hand and dusted it off with his other, somewhat 
ostentatiously, as he faced the castle's master. 
"Good morning, Your Majesty." He gave a little bow to cover his 
embarrassment. 
"Let me guess: you're going to recommend that I weld that visor shut." 
Fergus hesitated. "Well, sir..." He stepped down from the suit's 
mounting and moved closer to the Autarch. The dogman moved closer 
to him. 
"Yes...? Give me your honest recommendation, Brother Templar." 
"I'm concerned that someone could put an explosive charge in one of 
these steel suits, sir. Such an explosion would be devastating to 
anyone passing by.... I recommend that the armor display items be 
checked frequently with sonic probes to make sure they're empty." 
"Your `someone' would have to get in here, first. The walls are one 
meter of solid granite blocks---and, as you can see, there are no 
windows here or in the museum." 
"Yes sir, that's true.... But, according to the blueprints I saw, the 
foundation walls of the museum are only a few centimeters of ordinary 
ferroconcrete, being of a modern load-bearing design. They could be 
breached fairly easily with a diamond electrodrill." 
The Autarch scowled. "From where? The museum is in the outer yard. 
Capt. Caneena's men patrol there constantly, and their hearing is 
very acute---right, Sergeant?" He glanced at the escorting guard. 
"Yes, Sire. Quite acute." he replied. 
"That's good, Your Majesty. But we Templars prefer to view security 
situations from a worst-case viewpoint.... I'd feel a lot better if 
geophones were installed in the museum's basement walls to detect 
underground tampering, outside." 
"Geophones?..." said Kameroni, shaking his head. "Well, I guess I'm 
paying for the best security evaluation available, and that's what 
I'm going to get.... Put that in your report and I'll consider it." 
Fergus was relieved. After viewing the museum's horrors, he preferred 
to deal with the tyrant of Tristia as if he were walking on eggs. He 
was surprised at the man's apparent acceptance of what he must have 
felt was an unnecessary recommendation. 
"Thank you, sir." 
The Autarch nodded. "By the way, where is Esquire Yosi?" 
A little frisson of fear raced through Fergus' nervous system. He 
feared the consequences of lying to his client, but he also feared 
for his journeyman's safety. He chose his words carefully. 
"Uh... he was invited to check the security of Princess Enola's 
quarters, sir." 
A smile formed on Autarch Kameroni's lips. "I understand," he said. 
Then, he turned and walked slowly back up the corridor toward the 
keep. "If you need me, I'll be in my office." 
Perception and Reality 
Early next day, Fergus was standing by a window in his guestroom when 
Minaker entered without knocking. 
"Man, you won't believe the great time I had!" 
"You stayed the rest of yesterday and all night, evaluating the 
Royal Princess' situation." He stared at Minaker disapprovingly. 
"That girl has her own harem.... Yes, a harem of women beholden to her 
whims, and---believe me---she has some bizarre whims. She and her gals 
really wore me out," he boasted. "She isn't exactly what we thought 
she was." 
"I hope you had a good time, Esquire Yosi. Yesterday, the Autarch 
found me in the corridor to the museum and wanted to know where you 
were. I had to tell him.... He ran right off to the museum. Said he 
had to `get an ancient device out of its case.'" 
"What?!" The remark transformed Minaker's face. 
"Just kidding.... Don't worry. He said he understood.... He didn't 
seem to care that you were probably bonking his daughter." 
Minaker relaxed. "Well, I guess he isn't worried I'll propose to Ms. 
Enola," he remarked, dryly. "But just to make sure, I'll finish the 
second floor by myself this afternoon to make it seem I belong there. 
You go over the museum again." He left the room to hasten downstairs. 
("Oh, great. Another day in the chamber of horrors,") thought Fergus 
quietly, assuming his room was bugged. 
* * * 
The next morning, Fergus again stood at his window while he awaited 
the arrival of Minaker. 
From his top-floor guestroom, he had a sweeping view of the inner yard 
of the castle. He could see the museum and its connecting corridor. 
Nearby were some of the other outbuildings: the standby powerhouse, 
the stables, the greenhouse. 
The large plastiglass-roofed greenhouse was closest to the museum. 
Adjoing it, was a walled garden for nursery plants. Soil was piled 
up against the garden walls.... Fergus moved his gaze to the stables 
for few seconds.... Suddenly, he shifted it back to the garden. 
"Soil." He mused, aloud. "A lot of new soil piled up, recently." He 
stared at the yellowish earth---then, realized what he was seeing. 
"Subsoil," he said. "Damn! It's subsoil!" 
He ran from the room into the hallway and yelled at the guard outside. 
"Take me to the Autarch's office, please. It's important." 
He completely forgot to consult Esquire Yosi on the matter. 
* * * 
"Subsoil?... What does that mean?" 
The Autarch pushed back from his data-terminal in his highback chair 
and stared at the young Templar who stood before the ornate mahogany 
desk. Morning sunlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the 
ground-floor office illuminated the scene. Through one of the tall 
windows, Fergus could see the greenhouse and its garden wall. 
He couldn't believe Kameroni was so dense. 
"Sir, it means someone's been digging deep into the ground. The 
nursery garden, itself, is all dark topsoil.... Do you know of any 
recent deep excavation on the castle grounds?" 
The tyrant rubbed his bearded chin. "No... But I did ask my resident 
engineer about tunneling into the museum basement, and he said that 
was quite unlikely. Besides, all the workers in the castle have been 
investigated and pronounced trustworthy." 
("The `trustworthy' people are the ones you have to watch, man.") 
"Your Majesty. If someone is digging a tunnel from the greenhouse to 
the museum, they can just pile the soil in the walled nursery garden. 
It's the perfect place. The greenhouse is less than twenty meters 
from the museum. They could start the tunnel from there." 
"What does Esquire Yosi think about your theory?" 
"Uh... I haven't discussed it with him, yet. He's still working on the 
second floor." 
"I'll bet he is," commented the Autarch. He hesitated, as if he felt 
too uncertain to take action on Fergus' information. 
"I tell you what: I'll have Capt. Caneena search the greenhouse for 
any signs of a tunnel. As I recall, it does have a basement of some 
kind." He tapped a key on his data-terminal. Caneena appeared on the 
screen, and received his orders. The Captain immediately left his 
station to investigate, though without much enthusiasm. He viewed 
the Templars as hired intruders. 
"Now, do you feel better, Brother Fergus?" Kameroni's smile showed he 
wasn't reconciled to the Templar's sudden bright idea. 
"Yes, sir... But I should point out that, if there is a conspiracy 
to tunnel into the museum basement, and the conspirators hear about 
my discovery of their soil heaps, they might rush things." 
"We'll have to take that chance, won't we?" Then, the Autarch began 
to regale Brother Fergus with irrelevant anecdotes of his escapes 
from assassination, most of which had occurred years ago, and none 
of which had happened here in his castle. 
CRASH!! 
A window broke in a shower of genuine, jagged glass, as three men 
smashed their way through it with pick, hoe, and pruning shears. 
They quickly gained entry and stood, seeking their bearings.... 
Their deadly-serious intent was not at all theoretical. 
Fergus rushed around the desk to stand between the assassins and their 
target, who remained seated. The Templar held out his arms, as if to 
shield his Order's client. He did this without considering his own 
safety because it seemed the right thing to do. 
The men advanced toward the Autarch and his youthful protector. 
They didn't get far. 
The Autarch tapped keys on his terminal---Fergus heard the clicking, 
and for a moment he thought it an odd action, given the perilous 
circumstances.... He was wrong. It was the only thing to do. 
From a ring of concealed jets in the floor, a mixture of smoke and 
teargas gushed into the room, screening the Autarch from view and 
painfully closing the eyes of the assassins, who reached the desk 
just in time to feel the full force of the hissing gas. 
The noxious cloud of protective aerosol enveloped Brother Fergus, too. 
He pawed at his eyes and fell to the floor, helpless to do anything 
but grovel and moan with pain. 
As Fergus and the assassins writhed, the Autarch Kameroni escaped 
clean away when a pneumatic ram swiftly lowered his chair into a 
basement well, then closed the opening with a gasketed plate. 
Before he lost consciousness, Fergus' last thought was one of 
annoyance that Esquire Yosi Minaker wasn't there to share his 
"security" experience. 
Hero and Prophet 
"I present to Brother Templar Fergus Sinclair the Medal of Merit, 
Tristia's highest civilian award, for his courageous attempt to 
forestall an attack upon my person." The Autarch pinned the golden 
medal to Fergus' hospital gown. "Your action was in the finest 
traditions of the Order of Knights Templar." 
"I'm honored, Your Majesty," said Fergus through the bandages which 
skillfully covered his face, neck, and hands. He was in the process 
of recovering his sight and healing his burns after the gas attack 
on the assassins which he had found himself in the middle of. 
"And Esquire Yosi has something to tell you." He stepped back from 
Fergus' bed in the castle infirmary and motioned the journeyman to 
approach. 
"Brother, it's my pleasure to inform you that you've been promoted 
to the rank of Esquire Templar for your meritorious service on behalf 
of our distinguished client, the Autarch Kameroni. This notice was 
personally promulgated by Grand Master bon Jaldwin." 
Esquire Yosi's flat intonation was the most enthusiastic he could 
muster to inform the younger Templar of his swift promotion to the 
same rank he himself had held for many years. 
"Thanks, Yosi." 
The Autarch's presentation was not yet complete. 
"My surgeon assures me you'll be as good as new in a couple of weeks, 
Esquire Fergus.... Now, in the matter of the tunnel you projected: 
you were correct in every respect. My Head Gardner, Ennis Hortu, 
was the leader of the conspiracy. He and his assistants formed an 
assassination team and dug the tunnel. Your discovery of those piles 
of subsoil caused them to have to act, prematurely." 
"Good work, kid," remarked Minaker, begrudgingly. 
"In fact, I'm going now to my museum to install a new exhibit. I'm 
replacing old Minnigerode in his container with Hortu. You'll have to 
come around and see it, later. He'll be holding his hoe in one hand. 
It should make a most dramatic display.... Of course, I'll have to 
process him, first. I'm sorry you can't attend the installation, but 
I want you to get well." He paused and looked around at Minaker. 
"Join me, Esquire Yosi. Then, you can describe the ceremony to your 
colleague." 
Minaker looked as if *he* had been hit with a hoe. "Well, uh..." 
"Just a thought," amended the Autarch. "You don't have to. I'm sure 
my daughter hasn't quite finished with you, yet." 
"Well, sir, I do have another message to give our hero from Grand 
Master bon Jaldwin. It's rather detailed." Minaker's lie was apparent 
to all present in the white-painted recovery room. But the Autarch 
chose to let it pass. It was also apparent to him that not all 
Templars were made of the same heroic material. 
"Very well. I'll see you, later." He moved toward the doorway, but 
stopped and turned. "We'll have another banquet before you leave for 
Terranova." Then, he was gone. 
"Nice footwork, Yosi," said Fergus through his bandages. 
"Damn right, kid. I couldn't see myself witnessing one of the old 
boy's museum `installations.' Not even on an empty stomach. But he 
was right about Enola. She does want me back in her quarters." Yosi's 
boasting went unappreciated by his injured apprentice. "Besides, I 
have to write up our security evaluation." 
Fergus fingered his new medal with his bandage-mittened hands. 
"Don't worry about me. Unlike Minnigerode, I only hurt when I laugh." 
Self-Fulfilling Prophecy 
Head Gardner Hortu awaited his installation in the museum. He knew 
he would soon be Exhibit No. 1, but he had the satisfaction of also 
knowing that his team of assassins weren't the only persons in Castle 
Kameroni plotting the death of its master. He hadn't been told who 
the others were, but he'd been assured they were also active. 
They were. 
As Autarch Kameroni and Capt. Caneena sauntered down the corridor 
to the museum, a proximity device---newly-installed near one of the 
ancient suits of armor---detected them. 
The device initiated a long cylinder of molded plastic explosive, 
which had been inserted into the superbly-fabricated steel suit 
through its helmet visor. 
The blast wave of the explosion shattered the suit of armor into many 
fragments, and sent them many of them flying toward the two men at 
high velocity. The collision of these fragments with their bodies was 
reinforced a few milliseconds later by that portion of the wave which 
was reflected from the thick granite wall. 
Thus, a long and bloody reign ended, appropriately, in much blood. 
* * * 
The remains of the former Autarch were gathered into a large stainless 
steel kitchen pot and temporarily stored in the walk-in refrigerator 
for later interment within a marble mausoleum in Inoremak---as was 
provided for in his will. In his honor, the name of the capital city 
was reversed, again, to `Kameroni.' 
Capt. Caneena's remains were fed to his men at a ceremonial dinner. 
This grisly practice, although customary among dogmen, was unknown 
to the moralists of Terranova---most of whom were even unaware that 
dogmen were real, and not merely a genetic possibility. 
* * * 
The explosion was heard by Brother Fergus, lying in his infirmary bed. 
He was overheard by the on-duty nurse to moan loudly, "Oh, no!" With 
his heavily-bandaged hand, he tore off his new medal and threw it to 
the floor. 
It was heard by Esquire Yosi, Princess Enola, and the harem girls on 
the second floor of the keep.... Yosi immediately dressed, left the 
room, and completed his client-report---which recommended frequent 
sonic probing of the armor displays in the museum access corridor. 
He back-dated the report to the previous day before he transmitted 
copies to Kameroni's office and to Temple Jerusalem on Terranova. 
And, of course, it was heard---with satisfaction---by Head Gardner 
Hortu, awaiting installation in his plastiglass container. The air 
in the container had not yet been evacuated, so the the blast wave 
which surged into the museum and rocked his container came through 
to his ears, undiminished. 
It was not heard by Crown Prince Mollis, who was waiting on a nearby 
planet for what he believed to be inevitable: that `Pater's' Templar 
security consultants would reveal to his enemies the means of killing 
him.... He was contacted by the surviving authorities on Tristia, 
and he began his return---quite pleased that he would not have to 
matriculate at a faraway school---but somewhat apprehensive at the 
stark realization that *he* was now the Autarch Kameroni. 
As the ancient Knights Templar might have summarized this adventure: 
SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDI. 

(Thus passes away the glory of a world.) * 

Story copyright ©1998 by Frederick Rustam <