The Pharaoh Contract

Chapter 25

The boat was a standard low-level, low-speed model, suited to the laws that governed movement over the surface of Sook. Heavy monomol armor covered its squat frame, and a ruptor turret capped the control blister.

They filed aboard, Ayam leading the way, Banessa following behind. The giantess oversaw the securing of the prisoners to low metal benches on either side of the cramped portless hold. The herman did the work with relish. Ayam seemed to take particular pleasure in cinching Ruiz’s straps tight. Its strong arms bulged, hauling at the straps, and it smiled its unpleasant Dilvermooner smile. Banessa inspected Ruiz’s bonds and made the herman loosen them slightly.

“Your owner values this one,” the giantess said in her odd buzzing voice. “Damage him and she’ll take it out of your own precious hide.”

Ayam was sulky. “One will never understand the Lady’s preferences, though, of course, one is ill-equipped to advise the exalted Corean.”

“Keep that in mind.” The giantess moved along, found no fault with the rest of the straps.

Ruiz sat with Dolmaero on one side and the two mages on the other. Molnekh was closest to Ruiz, the sniveling Kroel at the far end. Nisa was secured across the narrow aisle, still flat-eyed with whatever drugs the philterer had dosed her with. He gave her a tentative smile, but she stared back without any discernible emotion.

They waited. The warm humid air of Sook filled the hold, and the prisoners sweltered. Ayam settled beside Nisa, and amused itself for a bit by peering into her drugged face. The herman touched her where her tunic had rucked up, smoothing its fingers across her knee. Ruiz glared. Ayam glanced at him, smiled maliciously, and slid its fingers a little higher. Nisa took no notice. Ruiz looked away, and eventually Ayam tired of its game and went forward to the control blister. Ruiz could hear a mutter of voices, and he thought he recognized the artificial tones of the cyborg, Marmo, raised in impatience.

A clatter on the cargo ramp announced the arrival of Flomel, strapped to a floater. Ayam rushed down to take the floater from the Pung guard who had delivered it, and the herman secured it to the empty bench next to Nisa. Flomel looked much improved, though the limpet still laced his belly. He craned his neck and realized that Nisa was sitting beside him.

“Help!” he shouted, in remarkably vigorous tones. “It’s her — keep her away; she wants to kill me!”

Ayam laughed and patted his face. “Not to worry, O exalted sir, her claws have been clipped. This lowly one will see to your safety.” Ayam fastened a control collar around the mage’s bony neck. “Here’s a valuable amulet for you. No, no, don’t thank me!”

When the herman had gone forward again, Dolmaero spoke. “Good to see you so lively. Master Flomel.”

Flomel turned his head to take in the opposite bench. “It’s a miracle, Guildmaster. There’s nothing like feeling your guts slipping through your fingers… gives you a new appreciation for life. Though I don’t recommend it as a routine physick. Is she truly safe?” Flomel jerked his head at Nisa.

“Yes, I would think so. The philterer has done well with her. She should be calm enough.”

“Good, good. Have you any idea where we’re bound, Guildmaster?”

“The herman told us a little, but we all hoped that the Lady Corean had taken you into her confidence.”

Flomel looked uncomfortable. “Apparently the Lady has been quite busy. Otherwise I’m sure she’d have instructed me at length. But from the remarks of my attendants, I gather that we’re going for some type of orientation or training, to better fit us for our new life in the pangalac worlds.” He sniffed. “Though I can’t imagine why the casteless one is being sent with us. Another mystery, eh?” Flomel looked at Ruiz, eyes glittering.

Dolmaero leaned forward. “The pangalac worlds? What are they, exactly?”

Agitation surfaced on Flomel’s face. The monitor lights on his limpet flickered toward amber. With a tiny hiss, the limpet injected a soporific, and calm washed over Flomel’s lean features. “I must rest now, Guildmaster. We’ll talk later.”

Flomel’s eyes dropped shut, and presently he began to snore.

Except for Flomel’s noisy exhalations, silence reigned in the hold again.

When the boat’s engines came up to speed, filling the hold with a metallic whine, the Pharaohans shifted uneasily in their bonds.

“What’s that sound, Ruiz? It sounds like a thousand headsmen whetting their axes.” Dolmaero’s voice cracked nervously.

“The engines — nothing to be alarmed at.”

Molnekh turned to Ruiz with a look of startled interest. “How is it,” he asked, “that you are so knowledgeable? I mean no offense, understand.”

Ruiz shrugged, but Dolmaero spoke. “Perhaps he’s from one of these ‘pangalac worlds.’ You can see he’s no Pharaohan.” Dolmaero nodded at Ruiz’s naked face.

“Ah?” Molnekh smiled. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell us what you know of our fate?” The mage touched his control collar with a bony finger. “Of course, I recognize the slave collar.”

Before Ruiz could reply, Corean swept into the hold, followed by Marmo.

“All set?” She seemed distracted.

“Yes. One last time, I ask you if this is wise. Wait two weeks and the circuit collector will be here. Does it make sense to accept the cost of shipment, the security problems, when all this could as easily be their problem, not ours?” Marmo gestured with his prosthetic arm, now fitted with a nerve lash.

“One last time, I will tell you why. We cannot start the rehearsals until they’ve been processed. Time presses. And, as you know, there is at least one dangerous creature in this cargo.” She favored Ruiz with a smile almost affectionate. “Do your job, Marmo, and all will be well.”

“As you say.”

Corean stroked Ruiz’s shoulder. “Be good,” she said, bending close. She kissed him lightly on the cheek.

She turned to Nisa with a frown. She studied Nisa’s drug-frozen face. She patted Nisa’s sleek head in a proprietary manner. “Won’t we all have fun when you get back?” Her tone was bright. She cast one last look about the cargo hold, and left.

Marmo fixed his sensors on Ruiz. “Yes, do be good,” the cyborg said. “I would love an excuse to be done with you.” He rotated, floated forward.

The boat left the ground with a lurch and stagger, then lifted slowly until it cruised over the pens at an altitude of a hundred meters. The Pharaohans paled.

“Don’t worry,” Ruiz reassured them. “This is a safe mode of travel.”

“If you say so, Ruiz.” Dolmaero’s voice shook slightly.

Kroel whimpered. Molnekh leaned a skinny, comforting shoulder against his fellow mage. “Now, now, Kroel. The outworlder says we’ll survive. That’s good enough for me.” Molnekh winked hugely at Ruiz. Ruiz smiled back, amused by Molnekh’s resilience in these alien circumstances. He found himself warming to the cadaverous mage. Molnekh seemed the best and bravest of the conjurors, despite his apparent frailty. Ruiz wondered how the timid Kroel had managed to play, so effectively, the powerful god of slavery.

The engines whined, they flew out over the purple jungle, and the hours passed. Ruiz fell into a drowse, his head tipping forward onto his chest.

He woke when he felt the jolt of landing. Ruiz looked about alertly.

“You do awaken swiftly,” Dolmaero said.

Nisa was watching him, her eyes huge. Only traces of the drug’s confusion showed on her face. “You’re a prisoner, too,” she said.

Ruiz smiled, shrugged. She did not smile back, and after a moment she looked away.

Banessa descended into the hold, trailed by Ayam. “Lunch,” the giantess announced. The Dilvermooner unsealed their straps, contriving to pinch Ruiz painfully in the process. Banessa watched impassively. Her clawed fingers hovered over the collar controller.

They left Flomel sleeping in his floater, but the others walked down the ramp into a grassy clearing.

Sook’s sun burned down brilliantly on the feathery pink grass, struck a blue glitter from the surrounding jungle. Beneath the sinuous trees, a noisy darkness crouched. Alien scents tingled Ruiz’s nose.

The Pharaohans, oppressed by this strangeness, clustered together at the base of the cargo ramp. Banessa gestured with the controller. “Remember the lesson. And the ruptor. It will kill anything that crosses our perimeter, coming in or going out. Besides, there’s nowhere to run to.” She looked at the jungle, a touch of dread on her vast face.

Presently Ayam passed among them with self-heating packets of standard shipfare. Ruiz showed the Pharaohans how to pull the activator strip, and they marveled. Ruiz wolfed his down, though it was bland amorphous stuff, and he advised the others to do the same. “Eat when you can, sleep when you can,” he said, smiling. “That’s the secret to successful travel.”

Only Kroel refused his portion, and Ruiz split it with Molnekh. The bony mage ate with an excellent appetite, despite his skinniness. “I’ve had worse,” Molnekh said, smacking his wide lips, when he’d scraped the last bit from the container.

Ruiz touched Nisa’s arm. “You should stretch your legs,” he said. “You may not have another chance soon.”

“Yes,” she said, and they walked slowly in the boat’s shade, not quite touching. “Tell me,” she said finally. “Tell me why. Was it those metal wasps? Did Banessa send them to fetch me back?”

“One of them. The other was for me. The sting would have been terrible, like nothing you’ve ever felt.” He put his arm lightly around her waist. “There was no chance, Nisa. Though it was a fine try.”

She pulled away from his touch.

The Dilvermooner saw them, frowned, and spoke to the giantess. “Time to load,” Banessa said.

Before the straps were replaced, Banessa allowed the prisoners to use the boat’s recycler, one at a time.

The boat flew on. Ruiz dozed off lightly now and then. The others eventually relaxed enough to do the same, except for Kroel, who sat hunched with terror, eyes wide and rolling.

At the next stop, the boat sat in the long grass of the uplands when the prisoners stumbled forth. The air was cooler, and a light breeze rippled the grass. The sun was setting swiftly behind a wall of jagged peaks, far away over rolling steppes. The vista was empty except for a herd of browsing creatures, tiny in the distance.

Banessa leaned her great bulk against the ramp and watched as the herman carried out her instructions. From the upper end of the ramp, Marmo scanned the grasslands, a splinter gun cradled in his manipulators. Ayam brought out an armload of perimeter sensors and dropped them every few meters, marking a hundred-meter circle centered on the boat. The herman was clearly nervous, and returned to the boat with a sheen of fearful sweat on its face. Ruiz surmised that the long grass held predators, though it was hard to imagine a predator that could evade the ruptor turret’s sensors. Perhaps Marmo was overcautious.

The hull of the boat extruded a security light. It lit a circular area at the side of the boat, and Ayam set a group of self-rooting leashes around the edges. The leashes spun noisily in the grass, then like great worms sank their tendrils deep into the soil.

One by one Ayam attached the prisoners to the two-meter whips of the leashes. It came to Ruiz last, and as it locked the whip to Ruiz’s collar, it leaned close and whispered, “One has the responsibility of the graveyard watch tonight. One plans to visit your tent; be ready. Or perhaps one will visit the woman first — one puts you next to her, so you may listen, and anticipate.” The herman smiled and pinched Ruiz’s cheek painfully.

Ruiz’s fingers ached for the herman’s throat. The giantess was watching, with her hand over the collar controller. He did not believe he would lose his head if he acted up. But he would certainly be sedated, and thereafter any opportunities that appeared would be lost.

Ayam passed out supper, which differed in no discernible way from lunch. As the prisoners ate, the herman unloaded tubetents from the boat, and activated one by each leash. They puffed up like huge white sausages; then both Ayam and Banessa went inside the boat. Marmo remained, his metal face slowly scanning the darkening grasslands.

Nisa seemed lost in thought, picking at her food. She went into her shelter without speaking, though she gave Ruiz a very small swift smile.

Dolmaero squatted in the grass, eating his supper, making a wry face with each bite. “I rely on your assertion that this is edible, friend Aw. Otherwise I would fear to be poisoned.”

“I make no guarantees.”

Dolmaero laughed. “You’re a cautious man. Tell me, why do we stop? Does the flying egg depend upon the sun’s light for its power? Or do terrible beasts roam the night skies?”

“It’s the Shards,” Ruiz said. “They permit no movement above the nightside surface. No night flights.”

“The Shards? Who might they be?”

Ruiz realized he had spoken without his customary restraint. But… Dolmaero might find a description of Sook entertaining, perhaps even useful, if they somehow escaped before the Gencha took them.

“Dolmaero,” Ruiz answered, “do you know of the Acasta, in the King’s city?”

Dolmaero finished the last bite of his supper. “Oh, yes. The quarter where anything may be found, for a price.”

“Yes. Well, this planet, which is called Sook, is the Acasta of the outworlds.”

“Sook… it has a low ring to it.”

Ruiz glanced about. No one else was paying attention. “Sook is the slave world, the world where bandits are born, where old pirates go to die.”

“So? Then the Lady Corean is a bandit? Slaving is not permitted in the worlds?”

“Oh, she’s a bandit. But slaving is legal on most of the pangalac worlds. She’s doing something else that isn’t legal — she’s stealing slaves that belong to others.”

“Ah? Who did we belong to, before?”

Ruiz concealed his uneasiness at this question. Once again he had underestimated Dolmaero. “I don’t know,” he lied.

Dolmaero considered this, eyes bright and noncommittal. “And the Shards — who are they?”

Ruiz glanced up at the sky, where the glitter of the orbital platforms outshone the stars. “Sook belongs to the Shards; they make the rules here, what rules there are. They permit no large craft or large fleets of small craft to ground on Sook. They allow no high-speed air transport, no heavy weapons, no large-scale settlement. They watch. From up there, Dolmaero.” With his hand, Ruiz indicated the swarming lights of the platforms. “Otherwise they don’t care what happens here, so long as the taxes are paid.”

Dolmaero gazed upward, mouth hanging open in wonder. “What are they like? Are they like you, Ruiz?”

Ruiz laughed uneasily. “No. They’re not even human. Much stranger than the Pung. Imagine a river lizard with a dozen arms, and in the palm of each hand, whispering mouths with poisoned fangs.”

Dolmaero shuddered. “Do they ever come down?”

“Never. But the platforms carry terrible weapons. They could reach down and turn me to a puff of smoke without disturbing you in the least.”

“Where did they come from? Why do they permit criminals to use their world?”

“No one knows. The guesses I’ve heard… maybe they’re a very old warrior race, tired of conquest, but still trying to maintain their way of life. They collect entry fees from visitors, a lucrative business. Or they think they’re running a game preserve. Or perhaps they simply find our antics entertaining.”

They sat silent for long minutes. At last Dolmaero said, “And they watch? They can see us now?”

“They can. But whether or not they’re watching at this very moment… that I don’t know.”

Dolmaero looked at him, eyes wide. “I believe I’ll sleep now.” The Guildmaster crawled into his tubetent.

Ruiz saw that he was the only prisoner still outside. He sighed and went to bed.

He woke in a thrash of terror, soaked with sweat. A moment passed before he remembered where he was. He breathed in ragged gasps and his heart thumped, as if he had been running.

When he was calmer, he heard a quiet scrabbling sound, a sound unlike the other sounds of the night.

Ruiz put his head cautiously through the tent flap. From the wheel of the stars, he judged the time to be well after midnight. He listened. The sound came again, from Nisa’s tent. He craned his neck to look up at the boat. No one stood guard at the top of the ramp.

Adrenaline fired into his blood. He squirmed from his tent, shook off the last of the dreams. Was the cyborg watching from the boat’s control blister? If not, he might have a chance.”

He could not quite reach the corner of Nisa’s tent; the leash was too short. The sounds from inside the tent took on a thrusting sexual rhythm. Ruiz reversed his body and hooked at the tent with his foot. It caught in a loop of cord, and Ruiz gave a great tug.

The tent slid toward him. Ruiz flipped again, and as the herman’s angry face emerged from the flap, Ruiz caught its throat in his hands.

“Hush, Nisa, not a sound,” he whispered urgently. Ayam slapped at Ruiz with its powerful arms, but Ruiz bore down, crushing its larynx under his thumbs. The herman thrashed, clawed at Ruiz’s face, weakened. As it expired, quivering, semen spattered on Ruiz’s stomach.

With a shudder of distaste, Ruiz threw the corpse aside. “Nisa,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

A muffled sob came from her tent.

“Nisa! Give me its things. Quick!”

He heard her move; a moment later the herman’s blouse and slacks flew out, followed by the stun rod it carried on watch.

Ruiz searched the pockets in a frenzy of impatience, darting an occasional glance at the boat. It remained dark and silent; he began to hope the others were asleep or inattentive.

In the last pocket he found a key and unlocked his leash. He shoved the herman’s corpse into his own tent, then scrambled into Nisa’s.

In the dark, he could barely see her, huddled at the back of the tent. Her eyes were wide, staring. “It’s dead?” she asked.

“Yes. Listen carefully. I’m going to try to take the boat. I’ll unlock your leash; I don’t have the key to the collar. If I succeed, everything will be fine.” He used the key and dropped it in her lap, patted her foot gently. “If I don’t come back in half an hour or so, or if you hear a big fuss inside the boat… you might want to think about running for the perimeter. A hit from the ruptor would be quick and clean. No pain. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

She nodded.

He turned to go. She reached out and covered his hand with hers for an instant.

At the foot of the ramp, Ruiz paused for a moment and listened. Nothing. He sauntered up the ramp, rolling his hips like Ayam, in case the boat was equipped to detect motion signatures. At the ramp’s top end, the lock hung open and dark.

He leaned against the cool metal, took a firm grip on the stun rod, and ducked inside. The hold was empty, unlit except for a small red light by the lock mechanism. He went silently to the end of the hold, where a ladder led up toward the crew quarters and control blister. Ruiz mounted the ladder, raised his eyes cautiously above the passageway sill.

He detected no obvious sign of the cyborg or the giantess, but a light showed from the aft-running passageway, back toward the crew quarters. He could see no obvious security cameras or other security sensors. He began to feel lucky.

Ruiz considered. He needed Banessa first. Her collar controller was the biggest danger. Where was she? If she was with Marmo, the situation was hopeless. Did they seem like boon companions? No.

Ruiz decided that Marmo would prefer the company of the boat’s computer, up in the control blister. Banessa might then be in the crew quarters. He slipped down the passageway aft.

Banessa’s cabin was the last one, and the only unlocked cabin. The door stood slightly ajar, so Ruiz applied his eye to the crack.

The giantess lay naked on her back, her enormous feet toward Ruiz. The massive curve of her belly and breasts prevented him from seeing her face, but he could see the distinctive horned shape of a sensie helmet on her head. Was she awake? Would she be too involved in her sensie to react swiftly when he made his rush? Was she equipped with a subcutaneous insulator field, to protect her from the stun rod? All too probable, he decided — skin fields were a standard slaver precaution.

He noticed an earthy pungent odor. The giantess moaned, pumped her hips, and her knees fell open. Ruiz suppressed an insane urge to giggle. He hefted the stun rod. An idea came to him, an ugly idea, but just possibly an effective one. Ruiz shrugged. Banessa was a slaver and a murderer. He thought, Now is not a time for chivalry. He thumbed the stun rod’s trigger, cranked it all the way up.

Ruiz swept the door open, plunged forward, socketed the stun rod between Banessa’s great thighs, where — he hoped — she was unprotected by the deadening mesh of the skin field. He threw himself away from her, but she was helpless, shaking, heels drumming against her bunk. She retained enough control of her body to extrude her claws and slash her arms back and forth, but her eyes stared blindly and her mouth was open in a scream that she had too little breath to make.

Ruiz dodged the claws, rolled behind her bunk, found the ribbon from which the collar controller hung. He crossed his wrists, wrapped the lanyard around both fists, wrenched it tight around her throat with all his strength. He gave thanks that the ribbon was stronger than it looked.

Minutes passed before the giantess grew still. Ruiz got up slowly, his hands numb. He was glad that it had not been a fair fight; he was beginning to feel very lucky indeed.

He took the controller, doubled the loop, and hung it around his own neck. Then he searched the cabin. He found a number of odd things: a locker full of absurdly undersized lingerie, a box full of illegal sensies of the most depraved sort, a big jar full of severed human penises, floating in blue-tinted preservative, several drawers full of antique weapons. But nowhere could he find the key to the collars.

Marmo will have it, he hoped. He refused to believe that Corean had kept it to send later by separate courier, though that would make sense. He refused to consider the notion, because Corean would have another and more powerful transmitter back at the pens. She would surely explode the collars herself should the boat fail to reach its destination.

He rummaged through Banessa’s weapons. He took a slender spring-loaded stiletto, tucked it into his shoe. He found a beautifully made bola, its bronze weights shaped like little skulls. He looped it through his belt. He found an old splinter gun with yellow ivory grips and a dead battery; reluctantly he set it aside. In the last drawer he found a truly anachronistic weapon, a chemical-propellant handgun, a revolver of blue steel that fired nonexplosive slugs. He flipped out the cylinder; miraculously there were cartridges, the brass green with age. He checked each cartridge carefully, discarded one with an obviously corroded primer. Perhaps one or two of them might still fire.

Lastly, overcoming his revulsion, he retrieved the stun rod, but it had apparently burned out.

He crept out into the passageway. The struggle with the giantess seemed to have gone unnoticed. He checked the other cabins, found them still locked. He would have to be content with the weapons he had found.

Ruiz moved as silently as he could, balancing caution with speed. He remembered the advice he had given Nisa, and he felt a twinge of alarm for her. How much time had passed? He shook himself, pushed those thoughts away, concentrated on the task at hand.

The passageway ran forward to the bow salon. Just before the salon, a ladder led up into the control blister. Here Ruiz paused for a moment to gather himself.

Ruiz went quietly up the ladder, peeped into the control blister. The cyborg stood by the armorglass port, motionless, gazing out over the dark steppe. The overhead lights were off. Dozens of green and amber telltales glowed on the main board, cast flickering reflections over Marmo’s polished carapace. The cyborg carried no obvious weapon, though his right manipulator was hidden from Ruiz.

Ruiz took a deep slow breath, closed his eyes for a moment. He took the ancient revolver in one hand, the bola in the other.