Dramocles: An Intergalactic Soap Opera by Robert Sheckley Page B

suggest?”
    The computer cleared his response bank–a low, gritty sound–and said, “It seems to me that you need a good irrational approach, since, if rationality could serve you, I’d have had the matter solved already.”
    “Irrational,” Dramocles mused. “I like the sound of that. What do you propose?”
    “Your Majesty might consider consulting an astrologer, phrenologist, tea-leaf reader, I Ching thrower, or, possibly best of all, an oracle skilled in trance states.”
    “But which oracle?”
    “There are many of repute on this planet. One in particular has a most excellent reputation. Your Majesty may remember–”
    “My daughter, Drusilla,” Dramocles said.
    “She has scored very well on the Rhine tests that the ancients left us.”
    “My own daughter,” Dramocles said. “Why didn’t I think of her before?”
    “Because it is Your Majesty’s penchant to think of the members of his family only once a year, two weeks after their birthdays.”
    “Did I send Dru a present this year?”
    “No, Sire, nor last.”
    “Well, send her two magnificent gifts. No, make it three and we’ll take care of next year, too. And tell Max to get my space yacht ready. I’m leaving at once for Ystrad.”
    When the computer had gone, Dramocles walked up and down the room, rubbing his hands together and chuckling deep in his chest like a lion. Good old Dru! She would go into her holy frenzy and figure out what he was to do next. And the beauty part was, she was utterly trustworthy.

 
    15
    “Good wot, Daughter,” Dramocles said, in the formal manner he sometimes adopted when moved by deep emotion.
    “Hello, Daddy,” Drusilla said. Dramocles had just arrived in Ystrad. Father and daughter were seated in the pine-scented bower at the end of the garden. Below, the sluggish little waves of Lake Melachaibo lapped at the shore, faithful to their work of undermining the gray granite foundations of the castle, a job that would take uncountable centuries to accomplish, and that they therefore worked at without much urgency.
    “Oh, Daddy,” Drusilla said, “I’ve been so upset and worried. All these years of peace, and now Aardvark and Lekk. Why are you doing it?”
    “I guess it doesn’t look good, huh?” Dramocles said.
    “People are talking.”
    Dramocles laughed sardonically.
    “They say you’ve suddenly become power-crazy, and that you intend to reestablish the old Glormish Empire. But that’s untrue, isn’t it? Father, what is the real reason behind your recent actions?”
    “Well, Dru,” Dramocles said, “the fact is, all of this concerns my destiny, which I have just learned about.”
    “Your destiny? You’ve found it at last? How wonderful! What is it?”
    Dramocles said, “It’s a secret.”
    “Oh,” Drusilla said, her disappointment evident.
    “Now don’t get sulky. This stuff is so secret I don’t even know it myself. You’re the first person I’ve even told this much to, not counting my computer. I’m going to tell you what I know. I know you’ll keep my secret better than I will myself. I remember back when you were a little girl, you never told Momma about my girl friends, even though she always found out somehow.”
    Drusilla nodded. Her love for her father and detestation of her mother was well known in circles intimate with the royal family. Now, on a drowsy Sunday afternoon, not long after her brother, Chuch, had departed, she scratched her left eyelid with her left index finger–an unconscious gesture that would have betrayed her inner perturbation to an observant observer, had one been present–and waited for her dearly beloved father to continue talking his way into trouble.
    Dramocles said, “I actually discovered my destiny thirty years ago, soon after Father’s death. But circumstances were not right for me to do anything about it then. For various reasons, I had to have all memory of my destiny suppressed until now. Last week some of my memories returned and I got