John Maddox Roberts - Cingulum 03 - The Sword, The Jewel and the Mirror

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One
HAAKON SAT IN HIS CAPTAIN'S CHAIR WITH HIS BOOTED feet propped on the console
before him. He liked sitting here, mainly because he liked the feeling of
being the ship's commander and the knowledge that he was absolute monarch of
the vessel. That did not always apply in other parts of the ship, which tended
to be chaotic. Here he could banish all others and rule in lonely splendor. A
speaker squawked beside him.
"Hey, Boss. Jem says for you to get down here so we can get this deal
settled."
Haakon ran a palm over his bare scalp. Time to quit fantasizing and get back
to work. He rose from the chair in a ripple of springy muscles and headed for
the companion way. He was big and rough-hewn, and he looked like a convict,
which he had been. His face was more battered than some of the rocks he had
been forced
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to break during his years in the pits. It gave him a certain moral ascendancy
in his business dealings.
As his father had once told him: "Hack, if you can't be smart, at least be
intimidating."
He had found it to be good advice, which was just as well, because advice was
about all he had been able to salvage from his inheritance. His father had
been a viscount and so was Haakon, technically. The problem was that the
planet where the family estates had been was now in the hands of the
Bahadurans, a people notoriously reluctant to give back what they had taken.
That left him with this ship, Eurynome, which was without question a spacer's
fantasy of a vessel, and his crewmen, who were somewhat less than ideal from a
captain's viewpoint. There was also his business, which today was smuggling.
The crew was entertaining a syndicate of local businessmen in Eurynome^
sumptuous main salon while the latest deal was being closed.
As he entered the salon, a small 'bot floated up to him and extended one of
the tequila-and-iime concoctions he favored. The frosted glass was cool in his
hand as he crossed to where Soong was displaying his Han calligraphy to a pair
of merchants who shared his ethnic and cultural origins. On a sheet of
off-white paper, he had brushed a complicated character in red ink. The two
merchants examined it closely and expressed both admiration and puzzlement.
"I intend to have it registered among the official Han symbols," said the
small, neat man, "as soon as we reach a world where there is a guild house of
Master Scribes."
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THE SWORD, THE JEWEL, AND THE MIRROR
"I am at a loss to interpret it," said one of the merchants. "Of course, I
recognize the character for 'ship,' but what is this one which is repeated
twice?"
"It looks like a combination of the characters for 'human' and 'cat,'" said
the other.
"You are most perceptive," Soong assured them. "The character breaks down as
'two Felids in one ship.' Properly, it translates as 'discord.'"
"Ah, I see," said one, looking just as mystified as before. He caught sight of
the approaching Haakon. "Come join us, Captain. Mr. Soong has been enthralling
us with his mastery of the brush."
"He's a man of many talents," said Haakon with massive understatement. Soong
had once been an assassin in the wars between Han and Bahadur. He was making a
living as a gambler when he joined Eurynome's crew.
A big, ugly man in flashy clothing walked over to Haakon, a steaming,
multilayered drink in one beringed fist. "Fantastic ship you have here,
Captain. Does it help you in moving goods that your ship looks like a
space-going bordello?" He pushed a hand through his elegant coiffure. Neither
clothes nor hairdo softened the toughness of his face. This particular man,
Penrose, headed this planet's largest and most prestigious smuggling firm.
"Customs authorities seldom deal thoroughly with a luxury yacht," Haakon
acknowledged. "I'm not sure why. There wouldn't be much to find on this trip
anyhow." He nodded toward the woman who sat in an alcove near them. Six
others—three men, two women, and a herm—sat across from her, all speaking at
once in
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a high-speed, incomprehensible babble. It was the secret language of
technothieves, by which they transmitted, stored, and delivered data otherwise
accessible only to computers.
Haakon's technothief was Mirabelle. She was small, brown-haired and
voluptuous, and just now she was taking on their cargo: a list of transfer
coordinates for hundreds of deep-space rendezvous to be carried out over the
next standard year by vessels of Penrose's firm and their customers. It was a
sight he never quite believed, no matter how many times he'd seen it:
Mirabelle could feed all this information back to a computer, or to another
technothief, any time she was called to. She could also erase it from her
memory instantly, which was what made technothieves the best method of
smuggling contraband data.
"She has the schedule of contacts, of course," Penrose said. "I am assured
that you shall be able to make all of them on time over the next six months
standard." He did not inflect it as a question, so Haakon did not answer it as
such. "That leaves only the closing, then," Penrose said, holding out an open
palm. The two men touched palms and the deal was made. There could, of course,
be no official record, but if Haakon reneged on the agreement, he would never
get another contract from the sub-Bahadur underworld. Penrose would suffer
likewise if payment were not to be forthcoming at the contact points.
Jemal came in, accompanied by a man with long hair that had once been yellow,
but was now heavily shot with
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gray. "Hack," Jemal said, "meet Hamish Connaught. He's Delian."
"Jem and I are from Delius," Haakon said.
"So he's told me," Connaught said. He was slightly drunk. "Says you were both
in the war. Which fleet?"
"S'vth," said Haakon. "Lord Hatch's. You?"
"'Forty-seventh, the Prince's Own. Put up a good fight, didn't we?"
"That we did," Haakon answered.
"Well, maybe we're not through yet," Connaught said, the words coming a little
thickly. "We can always—"
"It's time we were going," Penrose interrupted- He glanced at a readout
floating in front of a wall-screen. "These people have an optimum exit window
to catch, and it's coming up within the hour. Captain, it's been a pleasure
and I look forward to a mutually profitable association."
Haakon saw the syndicate dignitaries to the airlock and went back into the
salon. The 'bots were tidying up as Alexander came in. Alex was a Singeur,
with genetic properties of both human and monkey. His feet were like hands and
he had a prehensile tail decorated with several jeweled rings. "We heading
out, Boss?" From a passing 'bot, he grabbed a stein of beer and sucked up half
of it. Alex looked to be about fourteen standard years, but then he had looked
that way since joining Eurynome, some years earlier.
"In about"—Haakon cocked an eye toward the floating readout—"twenty minutes.
What's Her Ladyship up to?"
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Alex shrugged, a gesture performed with his entire body. "Ain't seen her in a
couple of days. She keeps to her room. She's had the medbot in there a lot,
but she won't let it record or transmit no data. Me'n Soong got a bet going
about which it's gonna be, but even Mirabelle can't get the word."
"What about Numa?"
"Keeps to himself mostly. Been hiding down by hydroponics lately. Why do you
keep him around?"
"Why do I keep you around?" Haakon asked. "Felids. Jesus! I guess I'd better
go see her."
"Must be tough being captain," Alex commiserated.
"You don't know the half of it. Go tell Rand we're about to move out. Go find
Jem—"
"I'm right here," said Jemal. He was sitting in one of the little alcoves off
the main salon, sipping a drink and staring out the big bubble window. The
planet below was spectacular, and the nearby station with its parked ships had
a certain elegant beauty. Haakon walked over and sat in one of the plush
chairs, which curved itself to fit him and began to hum softly.
"It's a good contract," Haakon said. "Easy, safe, and it pays well. We seem to
be working with pretty good people, too."
"Business looks good," Jemal agreed, "but our personnel situation is getting
out of hand. The six of us who started this business didn't have any choice.
Then Alex showed up. Now we have Numa hanging around for his own Felid
reasons. And in a few weeks you know what Rama's going to present us with.
Hack, we just can't keep taking these—these" Jemal waved his hands
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THE SWORD, THE JEWEL, AND THE MIRROR
in an uncharacteristic search for the proper word, "these civilians onto the
ship."
"They know the risks," Haakon said. "At least, Alex and Numa were told. As for
Rama . . ." he said, trailing off into expressive silence. 'Td better go see
her. I've put it off long enough." He downed the last of his drink and took a
last look at the spectacular view out the bubble. It was the kind of sight
that a real spacer never tired of, no matter how long he'd been in space. "If
I'm not on the bridge within a half hour, send a rescue party."
Rama's suite was the most splendid on the ship. It had been designed as the
Prince-Admiral's quarters, back when Eurynome had been a royal yacht-cum-light
cruiser. Haakon knocked at the exotic-wood door.
"Go away! I hate you!" Rama squalled from inside.
"How did you know it was me?" Haakon asked.
"There is nobody out there I don't hate," Rama said. "Well, come in if you
must."
Cautiously, Haakon entered. Rama was a Felid, and Felids were among humanity's
deadlier variations. She was vicious at the best of times and lately she had
been impossible. Besides that, when she was in a bad mood her smell could
raise bubbles on durasteel. Haakon checked his nose filters as he came in.
Rama lay in her immense bed, her silver-and-black-striped hair in disarray,
her claws unpainted. She was wearing only the lower half of a filmy pajama
suit, which was probably all she had that would fit these days.
"You see?" she hissed. "Does it give you satisfaction to behold the ruin of my
beauty?" She gestured at her immensely swollen belly, her distended breasts
with their
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elongated, black nipples. Even the double row of vestigial nipples that dotted
her ribs had become enlarged slightly. Her whole white-skinned body was
enveloped in a net of blue veins. She glared at him with her slit-pupiled
eyes. "Go head, you horrible person, gloat!"
"You don't look half bad, Rama," Haakon said. "Once the baby's born, you'll be
right back up to snuff in a few days." He wasn't sure what snuff was, but it
seemed to be a good thing to be up to. In fact, even in this condition, Rama
was still beautiful enough to take his breath away. Why did the cat-woman have
to be such a pain?
"Do you really think so?" Rama asked, a little mollified. "I would hate to
think of my magnificence being dimmed permanently. What did you come to tell
me?"
"We leave orbit in about twenty minutes. Mirabelle has all the data. Our next
scheduled stop is Krishna in about a month, so we can take a side trip to
Balder. It's about time we had a little fun." Balder was the spacer's
paradise, an unexampled den of iniquity.
"Have fun if you must," said Rama tragically. "I am denied such things now.
The demands of the species override that kind of self-indulgence." She wiped
away a tear, which Haakon knew was fake since Felids could not weep.
"Look, Rama," he said confidentially, "there are a lot of bets on the ship
whether it's going to be a boy or a girl. If you'd just tell me, we could
split—"
"Get out of here, bald one!" she shouted, flinging a pillow. "My offspring
shall never be the mere object of
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your greed! Go! And seventy-five/twenty-five my favor is the best deal you'll
ever get from me!"
"To hell with that," Haakon said. "Strap your distended bulk Jn. We're on our
way."
He whirled and stalked out. She radiated a wave of scent that he couldn't
smell through his filters, but it was strong enough to feel through his skin.
The door shut behind him as he turned right and sprinted up the companionway.
The main salon was battened down already. Ordinarily, Eurynome made her jumps
so smoothly that all these precautions were unnecessary, but spacers were
creatures of habit, especially those who had learned their trade in the navies
of the recent wars.
When he got to the bridge, he found Jemal already there. Jemal was his second
in command and copilot. Rama was his—actually, he wasn't sure just what Rama
was. He plopped into his captain's chair. "Let's set course for Balder."
Wordlessly, Jemal pointed to a globe of light that hung above the console.
Haakon let loose a stream of sotto voce profanity. "Damn!" he finished off.
"If it's Timur Khan, I'll—"
"Don't say it. Who else would it be?" Jemal hit the interpreter. The ball
expanded into a holographic representation of Timur Khan Bey himself. The
image spoke. "You are summoned." Then it winked out.
"A man of few words," Jemal commented.
"Too damn many for me," Haakon said. For months he had been able to hang on to
the illusion that he was the captain-adventurer of a free ship. Now he was
once again
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John Maddox Roberts
faced with the hard fact that he was a slave; a convict under suspended death
sentence, no different from what he had been in the pits. He began to dictate
coordinates for Bahadur.
The Lower City of Baikal was the same as always. It was a warren of low
establishments catering to the wants and needs of spacers of the "inferior
peoples," but not nearly as much fun as Balder. The crew took a shuttle down
from parking orbit to the port. Rama stayed with the ship, being in no mood
for parties. So did Rand, the engineer. It would be some years before the
pleasures of the flesh appealed to him once more.
They couldn't just go to the Black Obelisk without arousing suspicion among
people whose good opinion they valued, so an excursion among the fleshpots of
Lower Baikal was called for. The array of low dives available was staggering,
but they decided to begin with Star Hell. They were well-known there and it
was as good a place as any to let the word get around that Eurynome was back.
The Pirian bouncer at the door gave them the onceover with its eyeless face,
but it was soon replaced by the owner, a small man in a sweep-sleeved evening
tunic. "Haakon! Dear boy, where have you been? And you, too, Jemal, your fans
have missed you! Soong, Mira-belle, your tables await. I'm so sorry about that
little contretemps last time. It was nothing personal, just that BT swine
showing up as he did, I'm sure you understand. And where is dear Rama? We'll
be disappointed if she doesn't dance and fight. Where is—" The next word
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caught in his throat as he saw the man following Mirabeile into the foyer.
"Orozco," Alexander said, "meet Numa. Rama's a little indisposed just now.
Numa's kind of her mate, you know?"
Numa put a massive, clawed hand on Orozco's embroidered shoulder. "Pleased to
meet you. I've been hearing about the place."
"Ah, charmed, I'm sure, dear boy," Orozco said. He took in the sight before
him with more than customary appreciation.
Numa was a Felid, and even bigger than Rama, and just as beautiful. His mane
was golden and spread from his brow across his shoulders and well down his
back. As with Rama, his features were perfectly human except for the
slit-pupiled eyes, the bristly whiskers flanking the nose, and the generally
catlike cast of countenance.
"And the, ah, nature of dear Rama's indisposition?" asked Orozco.
"She's great with kitten," Mirabeile explained. "Numa's the daddy."
"My congratulations," Orozco said to Numa, who merely grunted. "Ah, what might
the little creature be?"
"We still don't know," Haakon said. "But Soong's keeping book."
They went down the multiple levels into the amphitheater-style interior of
Star Hell. The descending tiers were packed with tables—the top ones for
eating, those lower for drinking or just watching the activities in the pit.
Everywhere, chemical smokes and gasses laced the air,
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and the noise was uproarious. On platforms in the pit -there were dancers and
fighters going through their acts.
Jemal watched bemusedly as a fighter was carried out, bleeding profusely from
a powerblade cut on the thigh. "I used to make my living that way," Jema) said
to no one in particular.
"How come you're still alive?" Numa asked.
Jemal shrugged. "Some of us are destined for greater things, I suppose."
Overhead a police 'bot floated by and Numa snarled and fanned his mane as it
floated too close. Jemal put a restraining hand on his arm. "Easy, there.
Those 'bots are never in working condition down here. The cops don't care what
foreigners do to one another. The 'bots are just to remind us that we're still
under police authority." As the thing floated past, they could see a long
crack running across its main visual sensor plate.
A band began a pounding rendition of an ancient piece by Bach. The Old-Earth
musical instrument revival was in full swing, and the band was equipped with
electronic bagpipes, alpenhorn, and digeridoo. They took seats around one of
the tables and looked over the crowd. It was a typical assemblage: mostly
humans of varying sorts, with a sprinkling of aliens. There was no day or
night in this place, because it catered largely to spacers, and the ships came
in at all hours, discharging passengers and crew anxious for a little
diversion. Rumor had it that Star Hell had not been closed in more than a
century. A towering herm threaded a way through the gaming tables to the one
occupied by the Eurynome crew. For reasons of their own, the majority of herms
preferred to
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be regarded as female, despite their possession of two sets of fully
functional reproductive organs—male and female. The minority preferred to be
male. Attempts had been made to devise and institute new genders and pronouns
in the common languages, but these expedients had met with little enthusiasm,
even among the herms.
"Good to see you, Hack," the herm said, looking pointedly at a vacant seat
next to Haakon.
"Sit, Roche," Haakon said. "What's your pleasure?"
Roche talked to the waiterbot and received a glass of something layered in
shades of purple and a small inhaler. Roche was one of the minority of "male"
herms, massively muscled with small but prominent breasts. The curvature of
hips was restrained and the male genitals made a noticeable bulge in the
codpiece of his bailoon-thighed trousers. He sniffed from the inhaler and
sipped off the top layer of his drink.
"How long's it been since you were here, Hack? A year?"
"A little more than that. Why? Did you miss me?" Haakon was curious. Roche was
an acquaintance, not the type he would have expected to be the first to seek
him out as soon as he made planetfall.
"There are people who've been missing you," Roche said.
Haakon was mystified, which translated as suspicious. "What are you trying to
tell me, Roche?"
"We could go someplace private," Roche said. "What for? You know my taste
doesn't run to herms." Roche glared. Haakon was being deliberately obtuse.
"C'mon, Roche," Jemal said. "This is Star Hell." 13
John Maddox Roberts
Star Hell had three basic appeals: all tastes were catered to, patrons were as
safe from the authorities as anyone could be on Bahadur, and there was
absolutely no eavesdropping. Anyone bringing a snoop device onto the premises
was immediately crucified to one of the walls.
Roche shot a glance at Numa. "He's crew, Roche," Haakon said. "Now give us
your message."
"They want you at the Cingulum."
"We were there within the last year to drop people off," Haakon said. "They
were no happier than usual to see us then. Why this sudden interest?"
Roche shrugged. He took another sniff and sip. "How should I know? I got word
from my contact. You're wanted there."
"When did this word come down?" asked Mirabelle.
"Eighteen days ago, Bahadur. About sixteen-point-five standard."
"Thanks, Roche," Haakon said. "I appreciate getting the word."
"You'll be going, then?" Roche asked.
"I said thanks for delivering the message. We'll take it from here." Damned if
he'd let anybody know what his plans were. Especially since he didn't know
himself.
"Well, just so you got the word. I said I'd deliver it."
"Thanks," Haakon said. "Can I buy you another?"
"No. I'll be going. See you." The herm rose and made a sketchy bow to the
others before leaving.
"I don't trust him," Mirabelle said when the herm was gone.
"Why?" Haakon asked. "Just because he has tits the size of yours and a schlong
to his knees."
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"No," she said imperturbably, "And don't think you can rattle me with
vulgarity. I've spent too much time in jail. No, his timing is wrong, and he's
too nervous. I vote we ignore this summons."
"I'd go along with you," Haakon said, "but it's kind of irrelevant, don't you
think? We've been called by Timur Khan, and our main problem is how to survive
whatever he has in store for us. The folks in the Cingulum just have to take
second place. Come on, let's tie one on. We go meet with Timur Khan in the
morning, and I'd hate to have to face him sober."
"Is he so fearsome?" Numa rumbled.
"We've told you about him," Jemal said. "In any case, you aren't going. Pray
he never takes notice of you."
Timur Khan Bey hung his bow on its peg. The bow, along with its bow case and
quiver, was the only decoration on the severely plain wall of his office in
the Black Obelisk. A tall, intense, slender man of middle years, Timur Khan
was the most feared human being of much of human-occupied space. He turned
toward his desk.
"Send in the Eurynome team."
The door opened and a pair of BT guards led four humans into the office. The
four were forced to their knees and made to bow until their foreheads touched
the floor. "There aren't as many of you as there used to be," observed Timur
Khan.
"Rand stays with the engines, as usual, Noyon," said 15
John Mdddox Roberts
Haakon, his voice somewhat muffled from speaking directly into the floor.
"Rama is not well."
"Illness and injury are not sufficient excuse to ignore a summons from this
office. I choose to overlook the offence this time. I have a mission for you."
"Let's hear it, Noyon," said Haakon, his face pressed to the floor.
"You are aware of the planet named Chamuka?"
If Haakon had had any hair, it would have been standing up. "Yes, Noyon."
Chamuka was a notorious hellhole of a planet.
"Some time ago, I sent an elite regiment of my Black Tumans to quell a
rebellion there with minimum disruption of the local economy. They have been
taking excessive casualties both from the local rebels and from the natural
hazards of the place. I want to know how it occurs that a miserable population
of subhuman peasants can wreak such destruction among the best troops in the
galaxy. Your task will be to infiltrate this movement and report to me. I do
not expect you to destroy the rebellion, just observe and report, is that
understood?"
"Understood, Noyon," Haakon said, relieved. Infiltrating a rebellion was
deadly enough without having to take subversive action against it.
"Then go at once and do my bidding. Fear me and obey."
16
TWo
HAAKON SAT AMID THE DIMNESS OF HIS BRIDGE, THINKING over the new assignment.
It was far from the worst Timur Khan had handed him. At least, this time, they
weren't being asked to bring back any heads. That made him suspicious. There
had to be some ulterior factor here. Timur Khan had never used the Eurynome
team for mere spying. There was, of course, the planet itself.
"May I enter the bridge, Captain?" Soong interrupted his musings.
"Of course. Have a seat. I was about to see what we've got on this planet
Chamuka."
"I have just been absorbing some of our data on the subject. Perhaps I can
save you some time by abstracting a few of the more cogent points." He took a
cup of steaming tea from a 'bot and settled into the copilot's chair.
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"I'd appreciate it," Haakon said. "AH I know about Chamuka is that it's
proverbially the last place anyone wants to be."
"And with excellent reason. Much of the animal life is hostile to human
presence. Many of the plants are poisonous or dangerous in some other fashion.
The climates are mostly ferocious and the terrain ranges from swamp to desert
to forbidding mountains with very little inviting land to be had. The
inhabitants are warlike and deeply divided into small, independent groups."
"Sounds like a real vacation spot. What makes such a godforsaken place
important?"
"Catalytic crystals are produced there. Apparently these crystals are of
supreme importance in producing many of the exotic alloys necessary for ships'
engines. They are horrendously expensive to make under laboratory conditions,
but they occur naturally on Chamuka. It seems they grow there, rather like
plants."
Haakon leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "Why
are the Bahadurans so tolerant with these people? Ordinarily, they don't
hesitate to sterilize a whole planet if it gives them too much trouble."
"It seems that these crystals must have a terribly precise balance of
chemicals and atmospheric conditions and such. If the environment is disturbed
loo much, they might cease to grow."
"That explains a lot. Timur Khan sent in his BT's to surgically excise the
source of this rebellion, only they haven't been successful. What do we know
about the natives?"
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"Not much. The original colonists seem to have been Japanese, or at least
Japanese-speaking. Incidentally, the name 'Chamuka' is one the Bahadurans gave
the place. The local name is a Japanese expression meaning 'Grass Cutter.'"
"Odd name for a planet."
"I checked on it. Grass Cutter was the name of a legendary sword in ancient
Japanese history. Only one small continent is settled, little more than a
large island. It is divided into districts by numerous, intersecting mountain
ranges. All the districts seem to be named after swords as well."
"These people have swords on the brain," Haakon mused.
"I suppose they have taken feudal Japan as their prime myth."
"Prime myth?" Haakon said,
"Yes. Many colonial peoples have them. When men left Earth, they tried to take
much of their old culture with them. Often they latched on to some phase of
their ancestral history and clung to it. Look at the Bahadurans. They idolize
the ancient steppe horsemen: the Hiung-Nu, the Turks, especially the Mongols.
To listen to Timur Khan speak, you would think that he and all his people were
the direct descendants of Genghis Khan. Yet anyone with eyes can see that the
Bahadurans are made up of a great mixture of races. My own people of Han chose
to emulate the great age of China, yet I am certain that the great bulk of the
early colonists could not have read the ancient Chinese characters until they
were
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John Mdddox Roberts
revived on Han. I am told that my clan came from northern China, up near the
Wall. I probably have more steppe blood in my veins than most Bahadurans."
"So these people on Chamuka may not be Japanese at all?"
Soong shrugged. "Undoubtedly many of the original colonists were, but their
attachment to feudal Japan is more likely to be a revival than a continuous
tradition."
"We'll know more when we get there. I'm suspicious of Timur Khan's motives,
though."
"It is never a good idea to relax your suspicion of that man," Soong
concurred. He looked up to see Jemal standing in the doorway.
"Permission to enter," Jemal recited.
"Come on in and join our council. You been studying up on Chamuka?" Haakon
waved to a navigator's seat and Jemal took it.
"Yes. Nasty place. What I came to see about is what's our cover? Timur Khan
gave us a carte blanche, and I'm damned if I know what to do with it. If we
don't know what's going on down there, how can we know what cover to use?"
"Good question. I suggest we keep the ship in high orbit and shuttle down to
the main port. Then we just hang around and behave suspiciously."
"Not a bad idea," JemaJ said. "If you want to contact rebels, it's best to
have a reputation for being anti-social. Finding the right port won't be
difficult, either, since there's only one."
"That's not so good," Haakon said. "I hate to go into a place that doesn't
have a back door."
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"Ourdata," Soong said, "lists only one official port."
"Hmm," Haakon mused. "There could be any number of smugglers' ports. Better
make that one of our first orders of business. We'll find out what they like
to bring in, hint that we're smuggling it, and get some coordinates for a
quick getaway port."
"That would be prudent," Soong said.
"First party to go down," Haakon directed, "will be just the three of us. Alex
and Numa might attract too much attention. Rama's indisposed, and Rand stays
with the engines. If it looks like the kind of place where Mirabelle can pick
up information easily, she can come down next. I figure if we act shifty
enough, somebody should contact us pretty soon. Once we have contact with the
underground market, contact with the rebels should be close behind."
That evening Haakon wandered back to the engine room. It was the one part of
his ship he rarely visited. Like everyone else, the big Teslas that powered
the ship made him nervous. They were notoriously temperamental, and were given
to spontaneous expulsions of nameless, deadly radiation, for reasons nobody
had ever been able to figure out.
He found Rand seated at the engineer's small desk next to the humped, hulking
shapes of the Tesla engines. Rand was completely sheathed in a therapeutic
suit of Galen manufacture. It looked like a suit of battle armor except for
some external tubes through which liquids bubbled. Rand had once been standing
near a Tesla engine when it blew. Burned down to little more than a
21
John Maddox Roberts
skeleton and a brain, he had been regenerating in the suit ever since. At
least, that was his story. There was much disagreement within the crew whether
there was really a human being in there at all.
Haakon stopped short when he saw what lay on Rand's desk. The engineer had
taken one of his gloves off. Holding his wrist with the other hand, he was
slowly flexing the fingers and thumb of the bare hand. The fingers were thin
and spidery, the bones nearly visible through the thin, pale flesh. Blue veins
laced the back of the hand and the nails had grown long, curling inward. The
sight made Haakon a little queasy. He had never seen any of Rand's flesh
before.
"Come in, Captain," said Rand through his voice grill. "I just took this off
for the first time in years. The regenerative process seems to be working." He
wiggled the fingers proudly.
"Congratulations. When will you be able to dispense with the suit?"
"Oh, a good many years yet. This hand's still so weak I couldn't pick up a
stylus with it. The skin's so delicate you could rub it off with your
fingertips. I took off the glove because from now on I'll have to cut my naiis
regularly. They started to grow back in a few months ago."
"Good to know it's working, anyway. What I came down to tell you is, we're
going to be staying in high orbit on this job, and I want the engines to be
ready for an instant jump if there should be trouble and we need to make a
fast getaway."
22
THE SWORD, THE JEWEL, AND THE MIRROR
"You know there's no such thing as an instant jump, Captain. I'll keep them on
standby ready to fire up for the first exit window, but that's the best I can
do. Anything more, and we'd be in more danger from the engines than we'd be
from whomever's chasing you."
"It's your department," Haakon said. "But we rarely have time to spare when we
have to cut and run."
He hurried from the engine area. The place gave him the creeps. He found most
of the others in the main lounge. "Guess what I just saw? Rand had one of his
gloves off, and there's a real hand in there. Flesh and blood, although not
much of either."
Soong turned to Jemal in triumph. "Pay me." Jemal had been of the opinion that
Rand was really a machine.
"Wait," Haakon told Soong, "you pay me first. Our bet was which part of him
we'd see first. I bet his hands and you—"
They were interrupted by a summons from the planet-to-ship communicator.
"Looks like the people downstairs want to talk to us," said Mirabelle.
Haakon summoned one of the floating 'bots and used its remote commo-receiver.
"Identify yourself," droned a bored voice. "This is Chamuka transport control.
Identify yourself."
"Ship Eurynome, free trader, Captain Haakon speaking. Request permission for a
shuttle landing."
"What is the nature of your business, Captain?"
"Repair and maintenance of our ship. We need parts and provisions." This was
the usual excuse for visiting someplace when they had no cargo to load or
discharge.
23
John Maddox Roberts
"How many in the landing party?"
"Three. Myself and crewmen Jeman and Soong. It is possible that others may
wish to come down at some later time." He saw Alexander sulking at not being
allowed to go down.
"Permission granted for the first party to land. Use Dock Eight. Report
immediately to customs and quarantine officers for examination. Do you have
personal armor?"
"Yes," Haakon answered the unexpected question.
"Wear it." '
"Why armor?" Jemal wondered.
"We'll find out soon." Haakon adjusted the sleeves of his armorcloth singlet
over the steel bracelets he always wore. "Trouble is, I can't think of any
pleasant reason for wearing armor."
The ground was coming up quickly now. They could see spectacularly rugged
mountains, largely covered with luxuriant vegetation. The spaceport was little
more than a clearing in the woods at the bottom of a narrow valley. The untidy
sprawl of buildings had a prefabricated look, and the vegetation had been
cleared back from the port for half a kilometer.
"I see gun emplacements and search towers down there. All of it aimed outward.
No anti-ship defenses visible, but that kind of thing is usually buried
anyway."
The shuttle docked at Dock Eight and a blast of warm, humid air struck them as
the hatch cycled open. The ladder unfolded to the port surface and they
descended. The landing pad area was paved with fused glass, made
24
THE SWORD, THE JEWEL, AND THE MIRROR
many years ago with atomics. Now the thick glass was cracked extensively, and
plant life was pushing its way through. Burned and blackened vegetation showed
where the growth had been poisoned, but fresh growth was pushing up
everywhere.
There were several shuttles present, and cargo pallets were being guided among
them. All the port laborers were oddly dressed in plates of loosely fitted,
ceramic armor. They wore wide helmets with spreading neck guards that covered
much of their shoulders. A towering wall of black cloud was coming over one of
the nearby mountain ridges.
"Odd folk costume they wear around here," Haakon said. There was a functionary
coming toward them, fiddling with a recording device at his belt. He wore a
suit of the peculiar armor but his was plain brown.
"You are from Eurynomel"
"Yes," Haakon said. "Why—"
"Weren't you warned to wear armor?" the man interrupted. He glanced nervously
at the approaching cloud.
"We are," protested Jemal.
"I'm afraid you were inadequately warned," the functionary said. "Armorcloth
is not sufficient. Come on, we might make it to the customs building on time,
but you'd better run."
"Anything you say," Haakon answered. They broke into a trot and headed for the
nearby cluster of buildings. "Were we supposed to wear battle armor?"
"That would have been better." It was getting very
25
John Maddox Roberts
摘要：

OneHAAKONSATINHISCAPTAIN'SCHAIRWITHHISBOOTEDfeetproppedontheconsolebeforehim.Helikedsittinghere,mainlybecausehelikedthefeelingofbeingtheship'scommanderandtheknowledgethathewasabsolutemonarchofthevessel.Thatdidnotalwaysapplyinotherpartsoftheship,whichtendedtobechaotic.Herehecouldbanishallothersandrul...

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