The Man Without a Planet

FIVE

The black tunnel stretched endlessly on, branching off into a fantastic network of side-tunnels every fifty yards or so. At first, Raul tried to keep track of their route: left, then left, then left, then right, then left, and left, and left and then—left? or right?—he gave up after fifteen or twenty minutes. With Sharl and the Rilké sword-seller leading the way, and bearing the light, and Raul and Gundorm Varl stumbling along behind, they passed through an incredible, seemingly endless series of labyrinthine tunnels beneath Omphale City, whose existence no one had ever suspected.

During a rest-pause, Sharl came back to Raul.

“These are the remnants of the Old City, that was aban­doned and covered up and nearly forgotten a century ago, long after your ancestors, the vokarthu starmen came, to build their New City far above where we are standing now. But some did not forget—it is a secret of the Rilké.”

“And I shall honor it as such … but how much further are we going?” Linton asked, fighting to catch his breath.

The canary-yellow eyes flashed with sly humor.

“Only a few steps further, kazor. But we must make speed. With permission, then—if you and your servant are rested—?”

“I’m set—if you are, sir,” Gundorm Varl wheezed, his face beet-red. “But I don’t like these damn sewer-tunnels. And I’d give thanks for a mouthful of somethin’ cold and wet—that I would, sir!”

“There will be refreshments, and rest. But come—only a few steps more,” the Chieftain said soothingly. They rose and continued on through the rabbit-warren of cross-connect­ing age-old catacombs.

The “few steps more” turned out to number in the several thousands, but eventually—and suddenly—their journey did reach its goal.

Without warning, they turned into a lighted chamber whose walls of gray rock, rough-hewn and damp with mois­ture, were lined with hanging carpets, intricately worked in rich colors with the geometrical Clan-totem designs of the Rilké artisans. The floor, too, was thickly carpeted and strewn with nests of fat cushions, and here and there, scattered about the cavern chamber, stood low tables and taborets of dark, smooth wood inlaid with designs of ashmar-ivory, gar­net, sardonx and yellow jade from the Khorva Hills. They bore covered copperwear platters and closed beakers with cups hollowed from huge green crystals. Lights flared from old iron open-work brackets—not torches or candelabra, as might have been expected from the greasy smoke-stains on the roof, but good modem illuminants, both tube and globe forms.

Sharl threw off his snuff-brown robe, stretched, and sat luxuriously on a nest of bright, parrot-green cushions.

“Here we may rest for awhile. Please yourselves with food and drink.”

They sat, gratefully sinking into cushioned softness, and Gundorm Varl busied himself poking about the covered dishes.

“Well, now, sir, for fugitives from justice we got a fine feed laid out for us! Here’s loaves of iskth bread, a bit stale but tasty enough after all that walkin’ up an appetite. An’ sliced iophodon-steak with mint jelly. Here’s a platter of spiced pargolac, and some of those little Hill Country cakes with darrogay seeds—and Vegan brandy, by all the Gods of Space I Let me serve y’, sir. Fresh wine-fruit, too, over here. Well, now … we can hole up here for quite a spell o’ time without sufferin’ much from hunger, anyways.”

Raul and Gundorm Varl fell to with hearty appetites, but the Rilké Chieftain only picked fastidously at the mixed plat­ter the sword-seller silently prepared for him. When they were through, and relaxing each with a cigarel and crystal cup of brandy, Raul said:

“Tell me why this chamber was all set up, furnished with fresh food and drink, as if we were expected?”

The brown face smiled imperturbably.

“You were not expected, of gentility. But I was. Kazar, I have been here on Omphale for three days. Naturally, the Monitors came to know of my presence here—I am considered by the vokarthu government somewhat of a nuisance—be­cause I insist on serving my lady the Kahani, even though she be exile and outlaw, too, instead of betraying her and bending-the-knee to that vapid fool, her husband’s brother. Twice a day those who also serve she whom I serve come to this place and set down clean food, should I be needful of it, and in hiding.”

“Who is this lady whom you serve?”

Sharl’s eyes flashed proudly. “A great lady, of the blood of many Kings—the true Gods’-Race—sprung truly from the lions of Cazim and Ambalhu and Iokhar, and the other High Kings of ancient time! She served Rilké on her realm of Val­adon truly, and well, with many great works: places-of-books where all who knew the craft couldst read and learn—places of teaching, where those who knew not the craft, couldst leam it. All these she and my lord the Kahan (may the Seven give him bliss!) wrought and raised, for the better­ing of the People. And, too, of much honor, places-of-healing, where those in pain or of illness, with broken limbs and eyes that are clouded, or troubled-in-the-mind, might come and be healed by wondrous dok-i-tars of much craft, from beyond the stars. And other things as well that I do not understand, being a simple man and without learning, save of war and sword-craft.”

“And what happened to your lady?”

“Her the vokorthu pushed from the Dais, unrightfully and withouten honor, setting aside as void and unlawful the screed of commands my lord the Kahan left behind, nam­ing her husband’s younger brother Kahan and not her­self, as her husband willed should be done! Her they would have brought here—with unlawful force—here, to Omphale, to a Palace-Prison they keep for those they wish to keep from view but not to kill. But my lady took herself and all loyal to her, good warriors and wise elders, far from Valadon in secret and at night when there were none to see. To a tiny and very-barren world in the Rift—a world called Ophmar, beyond the reach of Imperial law; and there she gathers about her good men and true, for the winning-back of the Dais of a Thousand Kings, rightfully and lawfully hers by blood-right and screed. And half the Princes of the Border worlds—aye, and Outworlds, too—cleave to her bright ban­ners, day by day … for if blood-right and Kahan’s screed and sacred law of inheritance are of naught and may be set aside by whim or word of vokarthu lords, what law pro­tects us? What can we believe in?”

His words were sincere, deeply earnest—deeply moving. Warm and secure in this underground haven, his belly filled with good Rilké fare and blood stirring with sharp wine, Raul listened sleepily to the Chieftain’s words. He was thinking of Jeanne d’Arc, and Boadicea of the Britons, who held out against the iron legions of Rome with a pitiful handful of wicker-work chariots and a band of loyal men, and also of Elizabeth Tudor who balanced her woman’s wit and empty purse against the world-shaking weight of Im­perial Spain, with all the wealth of the Indies behind it.

Dreamily, he said, “… Should you be telling me all this? Of her hiding-place, and her plans, I mean?”

White teeth flashed in a frank smile.

“But why not, of honor! Since you are to join us, and be the Lord Shakar of all her force!”

“The war-leader . . . ?” Linton was jarred awake at the casual phrase. “So that’s the job you were going to offer me, eh? Well, I’ll need to do some thinkin’ about that, ere ever I accept… .”

A small red light flashed beside the door, and Sharl, who had been tensely awaiting it, relaxed.

“Think all you wish or need, kazar, but—of gentility—let us be gone from this place. The ship is waiting.”

“Ship? What ship?”

“The Kahani’s private space-yacht, kazar. To take us hence to Ophmar in the Rift.”

Linton came to his feet, swearing. “Now wait a minute, Sharl—I’m not jumping into anything with my eyes closed! I don’t know that I am at all interested in this lady’s fight —in fact, I am in the middle of a fight right now, to save my own name and honor, and can’t very well take on somebody’s else’s troubles, till I’ve cleared the board of my own—”

“But precisely, kazar! By now, Pertinax the Snake will have a warrant for your arrest and they will be searching the whole of Omphale City for you and your servant, and for myself as well, who aided in your escape. By now they have put two and three together—and made five of it. I am an agent of the Kahani. I aided you to escape. You are mal­content and insulter-of-officials and whipper-of-government- spies, and everything else the venomous imagination of Pertinax-Snake can think of—of course you are a traitor, and to be seized—or shot! Where can you go? What can you do—outlaw, exile, traitor? Where should you go, of honor, save to the planet of outlaws, and exiles, and traitors!”

“Aye, he’s got a point there, Commander,” Gundorm Varl muttered. “That sour-faced fella in green, the one I whipped, he won’t give y’ a chance to explain. Maybe we better jump while we got a ship waiting!”

“Yes … and the man behind him, that incompetent toad, Mather, won’t listen to an argument either,” Linton mused, fingering Asloth’s golden hilt grimly. “All right, Sharl. I’ll go with you. You offer me a haven, and I have naught else to do but accept.”

“Of honor, kazar, you will not regret it!”

“I’d better not,” Linton rasped, with all the insolent ar­rogance of a man pushed into a comer beyond human en­durance, and aching to lash out at an enemy. “But I want one thing very clearly understood, between us two. I am not accepting the Kahani’s offer to become her Shakar and to lead her horde up against Valadon! There’s an Imperial Patrol garrison on Valadon, and I may be a traitor in name and repute, but I will not lead armed men against my own comrades. That’s definite.”

“It is understood, kazar! And agreed!”

“Understand this, then, as well, Chieftain. I will go with you to Ophmar, then, because I must go somewhere and have no other haven. But. If I decide not to join the Kahani— and I may very well decide not to—then I want it clearly understood that I will be granted safe and swift passage from the Rift to a planet of the Cluster that I will name later. This must be guaranteed me. In return, I vow on my honor never to reveal the planet upon which your Kahani is con­cealed from official search—not even if she wages war against my own people will I speak of her hiding-place.”

“Kazar, it is guaranteed. Even as you have stated it. Upon my name and the honor of my Clan—I vow it!” Sharl stood up and faced Linton eye to eye. And his voice rang with candor and frankness.

But something moved just below the surface of Raul’s mind—an intuition, perhaps, or merely an impulse. He slid Asloth from her scabbard and proffered her.

“Swear it upon this sword!”

Fire blazed in the yellow eyes—swiftly seen and just as swiftly concealed. He darted a keen, piercing look inquiring­ly at Linton. Then … a quiet smile.

“Kazar, of love, I swear. Upon thy sword!”

Gently he took the long blade from the terrestrial, kissed her gleaming steel just beyond the hilt where an old, worn sigil was graven in the clean cold metal—kissed Asloth rever­ently as if she were a Holy Relic—and returned her in salute-position. Raul slid the blade back into her scabbard.

“Then let’s get going.”

The ship had come down in a deep gully a few miles beyond the outskirts of the city. Raul was astounded, when he got a good look at the craft. He had expected—he knew not what, exactly, an old battered space-tramp, a converted freighter, something like that. But no.

She was a dream of a ship. Small, very compact, but sleek and trim and expensive. Easily worth 200,000 munits, if a single copper. Technically a Falcon-class speedster, Raul could see at a glance that she had been completely over­hauled, with the addition of at least one set of dual drive-compensators, and fully equipped with the latest anti-detec­tion gadgets from neutrino-leakage baffles to full 360° radar shields. She was a beauty. Until he spotted the shield-nodules along the sleek hull, Raul was puzzled how such a ship could land so close to the capital without being picked up on the scanners and raising an alarm; but the expensive, custom antiradar equipment answered his question. With such shielding, she could fly anywhere without being discovered.

Their pilot was a young, grinning Rilké boy who had seen cadet service with the Border Patrol. He wore a supple suede cloak, Border-fashion, over familiar gray space fatigues. He was an intelligent youth, Raul could see, and obviously in love with the Kahani’s delicious little yacht.

They entered swiftly and took their places in the tiny but beautifully-appointed little salon. It was paneled in rare incense-wood, with screens of native carving in the in­tricate and traditional geometrical patterns beloved by Rilké artisans. Everywhere Raul noted the sigil of the House of Valadon, a seven-pointed scarlet star with wavy rays: picked out in chip rubies on the center panel, and inset in stained glass in the epergne that stood as an ornamental centerpiece on the small dining taboret.

The imprint and token of the Kahani was all about them, as if her spirit hovered invisibly near. Like certain rare force­ful men and women of extraordinary character, the essence of her personality seemed to permeate everything she touched … it was in the air, in the faint, lingering trace of candle- wood perfume which Raul intuitively guessed was her favor­ite scent … and in the furnishings, for he noted traces of a woman’s eye in the red-leather upholstery which con­trasted boldly with the hues of the subtle lighting.

It became apparent they were delaying lift-off for some reason. The reason arrived a few minutes later: the serving-woman who had warned Sharl of the Monitors entering the bazaar hours ago. She came swiftly in, carrying a bundle, with the small green-and-white bird riding on her shoulder. Once she was in, the young pilot sealed the space doors and activated the gravitron.

Weightless, the ship flashed up out of Omphale’s atmos­pheric envelope. Planetary drive cut in, and they rode for a time on the proton-jets until the craft was out of the sys­tem’s plane of the ecliptic. Then the proton-drive was cut off, and they converted to star drive, with all the familiar tingle of weird vibration down through every particle of the body, and the brief but never-pleasant surge of momentary vertigo.

Soon they were hurtling at the equivalent of a dozen light-velocities through the equivocal moving patterns of eye-wrenching color that made up neospace, Vision-screens cut off, blinding them to the sanity-jarring kaleidoscope of wild hues, and Raul settled back cozily into the leather sofa to do some thinking.

He slept, instead.

When he awoke some hours had passed, and they were approaching their destination. They had already converted to normal space, and the huge, curved forward vision-screens were filled with the wild, seething glory of Thunderhawk Nebula, a parsec-long cup-shaped cloud of free hydrogen, shot through with radiant splendor from the rays of the great nova, IGC 41189, that blazed deep within it.

Raul stretched stiffly (noting that someone had thrown a cloak over him as he slept), rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and went forward to stand silently with Sharl beside the pilot-chair. Ahead, like a black thread winding through the vast, incandescent fury of the nebula, he could see the Rift. Before long it swelled before them into a vast ebon tunnel, a channel of safe passage through the blazing chaos of the great spacecloud. They reached Ophmar a few min­utes later.

Swinging in close orbit about its primary, a small, dim red star with an F5 spectrum like Algol C, lonely little Ophmar was the only planet for all the long passage of the Rift. Raul felt an absurd pang of melancholy: sad, dark little world huddled here all alone amid the fantastic splen­dor of the vast nebula … yet it, too, like greater worlds in the more populous regions of the Galaxy, had its role in unfolding history ….

They swung in close orbit about the small planet, while the pilot exchanged recognition-code and obtained planetfall instructions. Then they spun down in a narrowing spiral, slowing speed, towards their landing-place. Raul got a good look at the planetary surface: a shattered wilderness of naked rock, riven and cleft into deep gorges, stupendous fanged peaks, sheer cliffs, desolate, grim, foreboding. The predom­inant hues of the rocks were ochre and dark vermilion. The air was thin, but breathable. The temperature was bit­ing and bitterly chill.

They drifted down feather-softly on the gravitron into a deep cleft in the rock that widened, deeper down, into a monstrous gorge. Halfway down the stark cliff a wide low cavern mouth opened in the wall: the young pilot dexterous­ly halted their descent and floated the ship into the cavern on special chemical rockets, a small spurt of semiliquid fuel at a time.

Then they got out and stood looking about curiously. The enormous cavern arched above them like the inside of a vast bell. Flat banks of illuminants were set at intervals along the roof above them, shedding a soft, even light. And scurrying, hawk-faced Rilké went to and fro, helping the pilot to moor his ship in a small cradle of wooden logs, drawing a tarpaulin over the slim craft.

“Eh, kazar! Welcome to Ophmar,” Sharl smiled. Raul grinned faintly, feeling uncomfortable and somehow out-of­place. He felt that in some way he had been nudged and maneuvered into coming here, and he subconsciously resented it.

Sharl exchanged a few low words with a small sleek, ob­sequious little man: not a Rilké but a Chahuna, from his crest of red feathers and liquid sloe-black eyes; the first non-Rilké Linton had seen in league with the Kahani.

Following Linton’s gaze to the lip of the cavern, where the chasm fell sheer, the Chieftain said: “Here, tunneled into the wall of the cliff, we are secure and beyond any eye looking down from above. But come, of gentility, my friend!” He propelled the smaller Chahuna forward with a brown, lean hand on his shoulder. “This is Imeon Bar-Kusac, who will do your bidding during your stay with us, kazar, be it long or be it short, Gods’ willing! He informs me that our arrival is already made known to my lady, and that she will give you audience at the ninth hour—four isata from now.”

Raul acknowledged the meeting, and Bar-Kusac bowed and said: “Of permission, if the kazar and his servant will come with me I will conduct them to their suite. There they may rest, and refresh themselves with wine and food, and don new raiment.”

They bade temporary farewell to Sharl, and followed the little Chalnina into a network of cross-connecting passage­ways cut through the ochre rock. Obviously the stone-work was very ancient: here and there traces of an ancient script, pictoglyphic in nature and unfamiliar to Raul, could be seen. Raul made a mental note to inquire of Sharl, when next he encountered the Chieftain, of the origin of these caverns.

Old enough, yet they were clean and dry and kept in good repair, well-lit and well-ventilated. All about them, he saw and noted signs of industrious and well-ordered prepara­tion: men in squads going to and fro in good order, busy­ing themselves on various errands. They passed a smithy, where a huge sweaty bull of a man bent over smoldering coals, hammering sword-blades into shape with ringing blows that raised scintillant fireworks. And a brace of storerooms well-stocked with steel weapons, preserved foods, modem radiation guns—both pistol, rifle and semi-portable models, as well as explosives.

The Kahani meant war—and she meant business!

The Chahuna left them at the entrance to their suite, a large and roomy series of chambers, hung with rich car­pets and set about with scattered low tables and piles of cushions.

“Here I leave the kazar, of gentility. Rest yourselves in good time. I will return just short of the ninth hour, to guide you thither to the Presence.”

Raul answered his salute, and entered their rooms. He wanted a good hot bath and a half-hour’s nap. He wanted to be at his best, and well rested, with a clear head, when he finally came face to face with this Cleopatra of the Bor­der worlds he had heard so much about.

It was a meeting he was looking forward to with great eagerness….