Derelict For Trade

21

Rip Shannon was not surprised when every present member of the Queen's crew expressed his desire to accompany Dane Thorson to the site

of the duel.

"Right," Captain Jellico said. "There are ten of us who want to go."

"Five is an important number to them," Van Ryke said.

"As well," Jellico said. "We’ll pick lots, then. I want half here to guard the Queen against any other tricks that Flindyk might concoct."

Frank Mura produced some fine tiles from somewhere, some colored white and some blue. He mixed them all up in a bag, and as each man picked one, the captain said, "White goes, blue stays."

Rip didn’t say anything, but he was relieved when the tile he pulled out was white. He wanted to be there for a number of reasons—partly guilt, because he still felt that he ought to have talked Dane out of the fruitless errand to the mail drop in the first place, but also out of an intense desire to see if Ali’s plan would work.

He thought grimly to himself as he handed his tile back to Frank and bounded down to get his sleeprod that he also wanted to be there to help in case Ali’s plan blew up in their faces. He wasn’t going to stand by and watch some planet-sized Shver warmonger munch his crewmate. Rip was very ready to prove that humans could fight—well—when they had to, and he could see in Kamil’s bright-edged gaze and challenging smile that he felt exactly the same, even though he was staying with the Solar Queen.

Surprisingly, Frank had chosen a tile, and as it was white, he had silently produced his feedle pipe before he took his place with the others.

Steen Wilcox had drawn blue. As he frowned at his heirloom, discreetly stowed in a sturdy bag in Dane’s arms, Jan Van Ryke, who had also gotten a white tile, said, "Wilcox, we can swap if you like. You can keep an eye on your property."

Steen hesitated, then gave his head a shake. "Better not," he said. "If there’s a problem, you’d be better at talking us out than I. If they come here, there won’t be any talking." He smiled grimly, then nodded at the bag in Dane’s hands. "As for that—my being there or not isn’t going to make a particle of difference. But it’s been safely through many a battle, so I’ll hold to the faith it’ll come through one more."

Jellico said, "It’s time. Let’s get this over with."

Rip followed the others into the lock tunnel. Behind, he heard Ali and Steen talking to Stotz, Tang, and Tau, planning their defensive strategy. Their voices very soon dropped away as the five bounded their way to the maglev access.

The five got half a pod to themselves. Rip had half expected either emptiness or stares, as if news of the duel had somehow gotten all over Exchange—demonstrating Flindyk’s far reach. Except that Flindyk wouldn’t want it publicized, he realized as he noted a group of Kanddoyds buzzing and clacking away in a corner, utterly unconcerned with either the knot of humans at the other end of the pod or the four Arvas spacers at one side, who spoke together in a sibilant language of their own.

He looked across at Dane, who was fingering some mysterious lumps and bumps pressing against his bag.

"You know what to do with that thing?" he asked.

Dane gave a short nod. "Steen showed me when we went down to his cabin to get it." He grimaced slightly. "Not that there was time enough to show me how to really operate it. But I know enough to." He stopped, then shrugged. "Succeed or fail."

Jellico had been conversing in low tones with Van Ryke. Now he glanced up, assessing the other occupants of the pod, and Dane and Rip. He didn’t say anything to the apprentices, but Rip decided to drop the subject.

As the grav increased, Rip became aware of a faint breathing sound coming from somewhere. He looked over, fascinated by the sight of Dane breathing into the bag, eliciting a soft wheeze from whatever was in it. It was changing shape, flattening into a kind of ovoid with odd bumps poking at intervals along one end. It reminded Rip unpleasantly of some asymetric sea creatures—was it some sort of biological construct? His stomach lurched. The use of living weapons was forbidden throughout Terran space, but out here. ?

Captain Jellico didn’t seem concerned. The last of the passengers on the pod hurried off, sending odd looks toward the Terrans.

Dane didn’t look back at Rip, hunching instead over the bag as if meditating. Was he imagining the impact of Shver weapons on his weaker frame? And how did that feel to someone who’d probably gotten used to—or become resigned to—being bigger than everyone else?

As they reached the one-gee level, whatever was in the bag had distended to a hard-looking mass; Rip could hear its coarse breathing, edged with a weird, honking whine, and the odor of its breath, a kind of rank, greasy sweetness, filled the maglev pod. What kind of bioweapon had Steen Wilcox been secreting in his cabin all these years? All Rip knew was that he had several heirlooms from his Scots ancestors, and that Ali had somehow found out about them. And he remembered a Scots word—"haggis"—that he’d overheard a spacer mention once with a look of great horror on his face. Was that what Dane had?

As the grav increased, the wheeze faded away, and Dane straightened up as the bag flattened out into a completely incomprehensible and utterly sinister shape. The haggis—if that’s what it was—was silent. Was it dead? Dane didn’t seem upset. Rip was no advocate of violence—or he’d be wearing the black and silver of a Patrol officer now—but the menace of the thing in that bag was comforting just at this moment. Rip firmly hoped a haggis was much more deadly, and fast, than whatever the Shver would face him with.

Soon the familiar vise squeezed slowly on his heart and lungs. Rip knew they were near the surface; he hoped he’d never have to feel this pressure—or see this place—again. Just let me leave alive, he thought as the maglev trundled its way slowly toward the place the Shver had told Dane they would be met.

They passed the mail drop building, and proceeded deep into Shver territory. At the proper stop, a group of five Shver waited, silent and impassive, for the Terrans to debark, which they did slowly and with care. The Shver waited without speaking until everyone was on the concourse, then the lead Shver made a slight gesture, touching hand to chin.

It was a neutral gesture of respect.

Jellico responded with the same gesture. Rip noted the only sign that the captain made of the effort it took to match the speed of the gesture was how his muscles tightened up his arm and shoulder.

"Come you this way," the lead Shver said.

He turned and started walking. The other four stepped out to the sides, closing in around the others as they proceeded in silence down a pathway past some thick, rubbery-looking shrubs that effectively curtained off the countryside around them.

Rip found himself paced by a tall female who, if he remembered aright what Dane had told him, was wearing the sign of a Khelv. Curious, he tried without moving his head much to scan the signs of the other four; they all wore different signs. He recognized one of them, the sign of a Jheel.

Again, a neutral signal, in that their company ranked one from each level. Five Zhems would have been an insult. Five Khelvs comprised an honor guard.

The path led downward, and Rip felt his thigh muscles protesting at each step. He did not look forward to walking back up that hill—if, of course, they lived through whatever was coming next—but at least it would agonize a different set of muscles.

At the bottom of the hill again they passed a line of boundary shrubs, and found two ground cars waiting. They were motioned into one; Jellico hesitated, and Rip could see how much he hated trusting their lives to these Shver. The leader of the group climbed in with them; as soon as they were seated, the plasglas opaqued to a deep blue, and they moved forward.

No one spoke at all during the ride. Rip listened to the roar of the engine and the deep, thrumming growl beneath him that he finally realized was the sound of wheels moving over ground.

When they stopped, the door opened onto a flat area made of flagged granite with obscure patterns worked in different minerals. The field of honor was ovoid, screened off all the way around by the thick waxy-leaved trees.

Waiting in the center of the ovoid was the Zhem who’d challenged Dane. He was not alone. Stationed round half the perimeter of the field was a great number of adult Shver— probably most of his clan, Rip realized.

Was this a bad sign? It was too late to do anything about it now.

Dane walked out into the center, still holding his bag. Rip felt a corresponding burst of adrenaline, as though he were the one walking out there. No time to pursue that empathic reaction—obviously his vivid imagination.

The Shver had something long and shiny lying at his feet; he bent and hefted a sword at least six feet long, with a wickedly curving blade. Rip didn’t know whether to be relieved that he had not chosen a force blade—an energy weapon would at least afford a cleaner death than being hacked apart one limb at a time by that sword.

The Shver stood ready, speaking no words.

Dane carefully worked his bag loose, then tossed it behind him. What he held looked just as sinister as it had sounded in the maglev pod. Rip blinked at the great bladder, covered with cloth of a faded geometric pattern, transfixed by a number of black tubes protruding from it. His preconceived notion shattered: the haggis was some sort of sonic weapon, like Frank’s feedle pipe.

For a moment no one moved. Rip saw the sheen of sweat lining Dane’s brow.

The Shver then gripped the sword and swung it in a swift, humming circle to one side, then the other. At the same time Dane drew in a deep, rasping breath, and his face purpled as he put his mouth to one of the tubes and blew.

Everyone watched, Shver and Terran alike, as the great bladder filled, and then, without warning, Dane punched it viciously! The haggis screamed, droning in weird multiplicity as Dane’s fingers danced spasmodically on one of the tubes, a groaning, wailing, urgent cacophony that tore at Rip’s ears and filled his heart with fierceness.

Clang-g-g! The sword hit the stones barely two centimeters from the side of Dane’s left boot. He stood his ground, squeezing the bag with his arm as he drew another breath. Rip could see sweat rolling off his purpling brow.

Clang-g-g! The sword’s edge caused red sparks to fly scarcely a centimeter from Dane’s right boot.

The sword raised high above the Shver’s head, the vast, powerful muscles bunched under the gray hide—

And Dane took a third breath, blew, and this time the rudiments of a tune tweedled out of the droning voice of the haggis.

And suddenly the Shver flung down the sword, opened his mouth, and out came a mighty "Hoom, hoom, hoom."

He was laughing.

Around the perimeter the Shver hoomed along, like some kind of musical thunderstorm.

The sound ceased as Dane tucked the bladder under one arm, fighting for breath, grinning slightly.

Ali was right, Rip thought. At least—so far. And won't he crow, came the rueful after-voice, but then Rip thought: if we get out of this alive, then as far as I’m concerned he can crow about it until Sol goes nova.

The Terrans did not make the mistake of moving. They waited until the Shver stopped laughing.

In the center of the field, the challenger said, this time in Trade, "Performed you brave, Terran. Quarrel have I none with you." And he made the gesture of respect. "It is dead."

Dane returned it with his free hand, and though he was still gasping for breath, he growled out a short sentence in Shver tongue.

This time the Shver answered in his own language, slowing when Dane half-raised a hand and said a word.

They held a short exchange, then Dane made a speech, not long in words, but it took him some time, between the cost to his lungs and his fighting for the correct words.

But when he was done, it produced a profound effect. This time the Shver in the watching circle made different sounds, growls so low Rip felt his feet thrum and his back teeth vibrate. Danger thrilled along his nerves, and he fought the impulse to clutch at his sleeprod. He forced himself to stand still, not even wiping his sweaty palms; he’d take his cue from Captain Jellico, who had not moved an inch the entire time.

The Shver spoke a little longer to Dane, and then something surprising happened: a tough-looking older Shver stumped forward, her great legs like animated tree trunks. She spoke just a couple of words to Dane in Shver, but then she too made the gesture of respect, turned, and left the field through a hidden access in the shrubbery.

Her clan followed, all except the original guard, who motioned Dane and his crewmates back to the ground car.

Rip was certain within half a minute that they were taking a different route back, but just as alarm was again squeezing his heart, they drew up directly next to the maglev pod.

Relief flooded through Rip’s aching body as he lowered himself gratefully onto the bench in the pod. The others sank down around him, and the otherwise empty pod started to move slowly.

Dane leaned back and closed his eyes, sighing.

"Here’s Steen’s carryall," Frank Mura said, holding it out. He poked cautiously at the deflated bladder clasped under Dane’s arm, its tubes dangling, and said, "What is that thing, anyway? Some kind of ultrasonic torture device?"

"It’s a musical instrument," Van Ryke said, his voice husky with laughter.

Rip stared. "That weird noise was—music ?"

Everyone laughed.

"It’s called a bagpipe," Dane said, trying to catch his breath. "When I started blowing it up on the pod—Frank told me it’s airproofed with some sort of oil and molasses and the bladder walls tend to stick together—well,

I knew I was in trouble. Playing it was a nightmare." He laughed softly and somewhat painfully. "Well, it’s bound to sound better when played by someone who knows how. Steen just had time to show me how to cause the notes to play, and Ali and I roughed out the first section of melody of a

Shver triumphal air. Then it was time to go. But it worked."

Van Ryke shook his head. "It wasn’t the song—if they even recognized it. What they liked was the way you stood your ground and played that silly thing while that fool of a Shver minced the stones around your feet."

Rip said, "What I want to know is, what did they say?"

Dane sighed again. "Just a minute. I don’t feel like I’ll ever breathe right again. whew!"

"Rest," Jellico said, clapping him once on the shoulder. "You can talk when we get to micrograv. You did well back there," he added, which praise—effusive for Captain Jellico— made Dane’s bony, long face turn a fierce red.

Rip tried not to laugh, and instead looked out the window as the pod raced up into lighter grav. The pressure eased slowly from his body, leaving a pins-and-needles sensation in his joints. He massaged his shoulders, noting the others easing necks and elbows and knees.

Finally Dane said, "Much better. And Ali was right, all the way down the starlane. The citizen told me I’d acquitted myself with such honor he couldn’t believe I would dishonor the blood or block the path."

"What?" Van Ryke exclaimed, his white brows rising.

"That’s what they were told."

"This is of the Blood, the Path, and the Conquest to Come," the cargo master said softly. "The formal statement of Shver honor."

Dane nodded. "So I guessed. He said it was a. I guess the easiest translation is ’a family obligation’; but it was an insult to them to have to challenge riffraff like us. Kind of like cleaning up the trash," he said with irony. "But he had to, or disgrace his family. And guess who forced them into it."

Rip and Van Ryke said together, "Clan Golm."

No one laughed.

Dane gave a grim nod. "That’s it. They disliked the duty enough to

believe that we might actually have a case, and so they chose the neutral approach all the way."

Van Ryke shook his head. "And except for Ali, we might have misread it to a lethal degree."

Dane said soberly, "True. All I could think of was fighting—and losing. I never could have lifted any weapon in that gee. Just holding this and blowing into it nearly killed me." He touched the bagpipe. "Anyway, by doing what we did, we made it clear we had no gripe with them, though I have to say, I was just as glad to be half fainting, when that sword came smashing down like that." He grimaced. "Anyway, now they say they owe us, and that’s when I told them all about Flindyk and the derelicts. The talk of hijacking got right to ’em."

Rip, remembering that deep growling, said, "It sure did."

"He said that Golm has been gaining influence through the office of the Administrator of Trade, more and more to the detriment of the other trading Shver clans."

"Interesting," Van Ryke said, steepling his fingers together. "Very interesting."

"And so?" Jellico prompted.

"And so we are to call on his clan if we want any help."

Jellico nodded slowly.

The others started talking over details of the duel, and how they’d reacted, and how the others would react when they heard about it. When the pod reached microgee, Rip felt as if his heart had lightened along with his body. Everyone was in a celebrative spirit as they made their way back to the Solar Queen. Only Captain Jellico was quiet, his gray eyes distant as if he was deep in thought.

When they reached the others, the whole story had to come out again, but this time it was properly celebrated in the galley with delicacies that Frank broke out, having saved them for just such an occasion.

Rip couldn’t help noticing that the captain still stayed silent, except for

sudden private talks first with Tang Ya, then Jan Van Ryke. He was going to shrug it off as not his worry when he noticed Tau watching the captain as well.

Time slipped along, and several crew members decided to call it a day and rest. It had been a long day, Rip realized; though the eternal lighting was the same, his body—strained the more by two trips to Shver territory—clamored for respite.

Something was wrong, though, he could sense it. But no one said anything, and at last he got up and swung himself through the hatch to go below and sleep. Dane had already gone, and Ali was just in front of him.

He’d gotten about four steps when he heard the crack of a hand against a bulkhead, and the captain’s voice. "Craig, if they’re not back in an hour, I’m going up to the Spin Axis to bring them out."

The Spin Axis. Rael Cofort and Jasper.

How long had it been?

Rip looked around for a chrono, and felt his head swim. He knew then he’d been awake too many hours.

Dropping his feet through the hatchway of the down-ladder, he pushed gently with his hands and prepared to catch himself at the bottom when there was a blue flicker at the edge of his vision.

With two fingers he snagged the edge of the ladder and halted his drop. Lifting his head, he watched Tooe zoom through the outer lock, rebound off the deckplates, somersault without losing an iota of velocity, and rocket straight up to the control deck.

"Captain!" she shrilled in her fluty voice. "Captain! We come!"

Rip’s eyes were still at the level of the floor; he felt a presence behind him, looked, saw Dane emerging from his cabin. "Tooe’s back," he said.

In silence the two apprentices ascended as Jasper Weeks and Rael Cofort sailed through the hatchway, clutching their gear, both looking tired and tense.

The captain dropped down from above, landing on the deckplates before the two, one hand keeping him motionless. "Why are you late?"

"The exigencies of events," Dr. Cofort said. Her hair was tousled, and there was dust smudging her face and clothing, but her eyes were alert, bearing a hint of challenge. "Do you not trust us?"

"It is the exigencies I don’t trust," Jellico returned.

"Sa-sa," Ali whispered, coming up behind Dane and Rip. "Another duel, eh, me hearties?"

"Shut up," Rip muttered.

"Freedom," the doctor said, unsmiling, "to a degree."

Jasper gave her one odd look, and the captain another, and silently Jasper pushed his bag of gear toward the hatchway where the other three apprentices were watching. They made space for him to drop below, but he just sent his gear out into the air and turned to watch as well.

The silence between the man and woman stretched until Craig Tau appeared from behind the captain, and murmured a few words to Cofort. She bent her head to listen, then her expression changed, and she said, "I’m sorry. I have a lot to report."

"So do I," the captain said.

"Then do it over a meal," Frank Mura spoke from the galley hatchway. "You both look like you need it."

They disappeared into the galley, and the apprentices turned to hand themselves down to the decks below.