Andrew J. Offutt - Spaceways 15 - Starship Sapphire

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Fidnij realized the basis of her surprise. In the matriarchal

almost-gynecocracy of Aglaya, women were the leaders in matters social and

political. He was about to reply-and never did. His ears caught a faint

sound-overhead. A sound entirely too familiar, and chilling on Aglaya. He

jerked his head upward and Pransa's gaze followed his. Above the forest raced

a long streak of fire, orange-red as a swinger's fur at rutting-time, and

brighter than anything ever seen in Aglaya's sky even in daytime. The night

sky here was near and blank, the stars a permanent unknown to the dwellers on

the hothouse planet. Two moons shone murkily through the clouds but gave

little light. Sky-ghosts. Yet such skyfire proved not unknown to

Pransahilodial: "Sky-demons!" SPACEWAYS #1 OF ALIEN BONDAGE #2

CORUNDUM'S WOMAN #3 ESCAPE FROM MACHO #4 SATANA ENSLAVED #5 MASTER OF

MISFIT #6 PURRFECT PLUNDER #7 THE MANHUNTRESS #8 UNDER TWIN SUNS #9

IN QUEST OF QALARA #10 THE YOKE OF SHEN #11 THE ICEWORLD CONNECTION #12

STAR SLAVER #13 JONUTA RISING! #14 ASSIGNMENT: HELLHOLE #15 STARSHIP

SAPPHIRE BERKLEY BOOKS, NEW YORK The poem Scarlet

author. SPACEWAYS #15: STARSHIP SAPPHIR A Berkley Book / published by

arrangement with the author PRINTING HISTORY Berkley edition / January

illustration by Ken Barr. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in

part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. For information

address: The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York,

10016. ISBN: 0-425-06539-1 A BERKLEY BOOK (r) TM 757,375 The name "BERKLEY"

and the stylized "B" with design are trademarks belonging to Berkley

Publishing Corporation. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA for Robin

Kincaid, pro A: All planets are not shown. B: Map is not to scale, because

of the vast distances between stars. SCARLET HILLS Alas, fair ones, my

time has come. I must depart your lovely home- Seek the bounds of this

galaxy To find what lies beyond. (chorus) Scarlet hills and amber

skies, Gentlebeings with loving eyes; All these I leave to search for a

dream That will cure the wand'rer in me. You say it must be glamorous For

those who travel out through space. You know not the dark, endless night Nor

the solitude we face. (reprise chorus) I know not of my journey's end Nor

the time nor toll it will have me spend. But I must see what /' ve never

seen And know what I've never known. Scarlet hills and amber skies,

Gentiebeings with loving eyes; All these I leave to search for a dream That

will cure the wand'rer in me. -Ann Morris 1 The reasonable man adapts himself

to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to

himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man. -G.B.

Shaw The late summer's gentle rain had only just ceased falling, and the trees

of leper-bark and graygrain shed large droplets from broad leaves. Their

brilliant colors of chartreuse, gamboge, and turquoise bore an overlay of soft

haze that muted them. Above the plashing of the drops a fringebird called,

waking. Near the edge of the forest a swinger prowled the clearing margin on

long legs, seeking breakfast. The tawny fur on his head wagged jerkily as the

long-tailed simian alternately bent to the sparkling grass and rose to scan

for predators. A sudden swishing alarmed him, and'he sought cover beneath the

showy blue blossoms of a phrillia bush. Only an early-rising molgin, the

swinger saw: darting silvery fur in the underbrush as the molgin sought seeds

and berries. The swinger returned to its own foraging. Slowly the day grew.

The haze thinned. It would never lift completely, on this world. Heavy

atmosphere and a permanent inversion held heat and vapor so that the sun

rarely shone directly. The leaves of the forest remained wet for most of the

day. At this season the sweet, fresh odor of damp soil was near permanent. A

new sound came to the swinger's ears, a heavy sound of branches and even

bushes being brushed aside. He darted for 1 2 cover again, up a tree this

time. It could be a bladepaw, the big orange feline that preyed on swingers

and other smaller animals. Or it could be a harmless leapfoot. Neither should

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be making that much noise but the rather anthropomorphic little swinger did

not pause to think. It reacted. He peered around and down from the other side

of the tree's bole, nose twitching in aid of an underdeveloped sense of smell.

Presently the branches parted and a phrillium bowed, and a creature entered

the clearing. For a moment the swinger did not know what to make of it, eyes

and nose and ears. Then he realized that he was looking at an animal not to be

feared, one of the erect two-legs that lived in the Big Clearing. No-this one

was different! This one was all sheathed in black, though it hadn't the look

of fur. Since he had never known harm from any such being, the swinger let go

with all four "hands," hung for an instant by his tail, and returned to the

ground and his foraging. The two-legs-a man, and fully clothed-stood gazing

into the clearing. His hands remained on branches on either side of his point

of emergence. He was of medium stature, though well-muscled. His hair, blond

as sunlight, had been cropped short. Below it, eyes the color of opaque water

squinted into the mist. His nostrils flared with heavy breathing, as if he

were winded from this planet's heavy gravity. The black sheathing that had

disconcerted the swinger was a snugly fitted fabroprene jumpsuit. From the

black equhyde belt around its middle depended a holster filled with a cylinder

of dark blue metal. Boots of the same color and material as the belt and

holster covered the man's feet and extended well up his shins. He moved slowly

into the clearing-and out of the haze appeared the Big Clearing: a village.

Small stone cottages nestled around a central plaza, where the well was. Roofs

of woven phrillium-root covered the simple structures. From the vicinity of

one or two of them the smoke of early cookfires eddied, lowering, to blend

into the overcast. While the man took all this in, one word kept repeating

itself in his mind. Home. And then: Home? And yes, home. 3 Aglaya. With a

sigh, he set his hands to his hips. And am I of Aglaya, still? When now I have

difficulty breathing her air, walking in this gravity? He started, surprising

himself. O Aglii-I'm thinking in Erts! Hesitantly, pushing himself, he

repeated the same thought in Aglayis. Then: Can I ever feel a part of this

place again? Do I know if I want to? He shook his head slowly, feeling even

heavier than Aglaya's gravity made him. Fighting down the rising thickness of

emotion, he moved toward the buildings. He smelled it before he saw it:

roasting leapfoot. He remembered that aroma so long out of mind. Rounding the

corner of a house, he saw a figure bent over a fire, turning a spitted rump of

the antelope-like beast. An old man, long white hair loose in the custom of

Aglayan males. He wore only an off-white tunic that bared one arm and

shoulder. Natural, the newcomer thought. I've learned to call that un-color

"natural." Well-it's that all right, on Aglaya! The other straightened from

the fire, set his hands behind his hips to arch his back as lean old men will

do, and turned. He saw the newcomer. At once the old man froze in seeming

fear. Then he squinted, cocking his head to study the strangely-attired

intruder, who also ceased movement. The oldster shook his head in

disbelief. "No! Can it be?" he muttered. Then, louder, "No! O

Sunmother-Fidnij! Fidn'jherdhar! It's you!" He dropped the stick he'd been

using to poke the fire and bustled toward the black-clad younger man. His gait

was good enough, despite his years. The man called Fidnij, meanwhile, looked

blank. Almost he retreated a bit. Then recognition lighted his face. "Kentoj!"

he said, the last syllable a puff of expelled air as the other man embraced

him. He returned the embrace. "Kentoj!" he repeated. "Friend of my father-of

me!" He drew back to hold the oldster by the shoulders, at arm's length. "I

nearly did not recognize you, Kentoj!" "Sunmother has aged me, to be sure,"

Kentoj said. "Time has passed your vanishing." "Not so much time, it seems,

Kentoj. But-of course you 4 were here." Of course he's aged faster than I did,

offplanet. But-so much . . . "And you, Fidnij! You have hardly changed, save

for your dress and womanly short hair. What is this! And where have you

been?-how come you return? We thought you taken by Sky-demons." Fidnij

released his friend's shoulders. Again he transferred hands to hips. He looked

at the ground, pondering. How to say it, now he was here? "I was, Kentoj," he

said at last. "At least, what you call Sky-demons." He paused, coming to a

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decision. "There . . . are no Sky-demons, Kentoj. No wait-listen a moment.

There are only humans who come from the sky. Humans who-" He broke off,

searching for the nearest equivalent word in the Aglayis he was speaking,

here. "-Humans who enslave other humans. Who come from places other than

Aglaya. Places beyond Sunmother's light." There. And now I've said it, if it's

ever found out, I'm a wanted criminal all along the spaceways. A

Mindrunner. Kentoj was busy looking baffled. He hardly knew which perplexity

to address first. "Other . . . people? Off Aglaya? Beyond S-" He shook his

head. "But Fidn'jherdhar-no Sky-demons? It is a teaching of Sunmother! They

are evil ones, demons opposed to us Her children. They . . ." He spread his

arms helplessly. "The 'demons' are a teaching of Sunmother's children, and of

Tribemother, Kentoj-and Sunmother has never spoken to her directly. There are

many such teachings in the . . . (universe)" he said helplessly in Erts, for

no precise equivalent word existed in Aglayis, on Aglaya. "And of many

deities. No no," he said, seeing shock on the other's face, his drawing back.

"I do not speak against Sunmother, or blaspheme Her. I am of Aglaya,

Kentoj. "But come! We will talk of this later, all of us. Now we must rouse

the others, everyone I have come to see. My parents . . . ?" No; he knew

already, from the look on the lined face. And Kentoj shook his face, looked

sympathetic. "They died within months of your disappearance, Fidnij. You know

they were old. Old. You were a late-life child. The grief of losing you ..."

5 Fidnij looked at the ground, sighed, nodded. "May their souls be forever at

one with Sunmother. I knew it before you asked, old friend. Before even I

returned, I think." "They were worthy of Aglaya, Fidnij." Fidnij nodded once

more, smiled. "They were worthy of Aglaya. Cool winds to them-" He broke off.

His parents were beyond cool winds, now. They were one with Sunmother, happy

in her sky-searing heat. "And you are worthy of Aglaya, Kentoj. Now come! Let

me see my friends." Kentoj had little rousing to do, as the villagers were

nearly all awake by now. Soon Fidnij was encircled by old friends, all talking

at once. Answering questions under such conditions was impossible, and soon

all adjourned to the long council building at the edge of the village. As they

walked Fidnij wondered about his reaction to the death of his parents. Am I

still so much of Aglaya that I ritualize my feelings so? Or am I now so much a

Galactic that I am removed from those feelings? It sounds so strange to be

called Fidnij after all this time-and it's my own name! No one commented on

his reactions. Aglayans formalized their emotions; it was the Way.

Occasionally there was one who wore feelings as clothing, out in the open for

others to see. There had been that woman-scarcely more than a girl!-on Resh.

The slave . . . who had so bloodily freed herself. In the council building,

all seated themselves quietly to gaze at Fidnij. He sat at the head of the

room at the side of Tribemother. Before her on the latticework table: the disk

and the bud, signs of Sunmother and Aglii. Out there-faces. Aglayan faces,

waiting to hear Fidn'jherdhar. They expected wonders, naturally. Many Aglayans

had disappeared, either known or presumed to have been taken up by the demons

from the sky. None had ever returned. Until now. They heard wonders. They were

hardly prepared for them- for the shaking of their very concept of

creation! Sky-demons were humans (nearly!), slavers, who came from other

planets? But no one on Aglaya knew of other worlds. The near-constant cloud

cover made astronomical observation impossible. No one on all Aglaya suspected

even the existence of other peoples-like Aglayans and yet not- called

Galactics. 6 Fidnij told them. Told them that those Galactics traveled between

planets, along the parsec abyss between planets, between suns-yes! there were

many "Sunmothers!"-in great metallic craft. Even stronger than iron, yes. That

most of those systems, including Aglaya's, hung in "space" near the center of

a vast group of "star systems" called the Galaxy. That Aglaya was one of those

few planets not a member of a sort of interstellar village; not admitted to

the fraternity of the spaceways; but instead deliberately kept in ignorance.

("Protected," Fidnij termed it.) That despite this "protection," slavers came

and took Aglayans-or because of it, since "protection" made Aglaya a sort of

ignorant game preserve for slavers. They took Aglayans as merchandise, to be

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sold throughout the Galaxy. No, it was not legal. Yes, slavers did it. Sons

and daughters of Sunmother and Aglii looked at each other in shock and

incomprehension. "In fact," Fidnij told them, retaining the speaker's bud,

"what I am doing now is not legal. Telling you of the spaceways is a crime! I

am happy to be guilty of it! It was either this or never see you all again.

So!" Out of unconscious habit he flipped the fingers of one hand out and

upward, the Galactics' equivalent of a shrug. Though the gesture was unknown

here, his words were enough. His audience understood the ties to Aglaya that

bound them all. They were the ties; they were Aglaya. Because they were

Aglayans, that little sea of pale faces under blond hair, and because Fidnij

was Aglayan, the question of belief or disbelief never arose. Fidnij was

Aglayan. He spoke. Therefore it was true. With each new wonder he spoke, the

men of Aglaya looked about at their women, who merely nodded assent (though

not without looks of astonishment). With that ability peculiar to Aglayan

women, they chermed Fidnij's sincerity throughout, and some chonceled his very

thoughts, and confirmed it to their men. There could be no non-acceptance of

this incredible tale of how one of their own had been carried off to the

skies, the realm of Sunmother, goddess, and of demons-and carried beyond!

Still, shock showed on their faces. They were being asked to compromise their

religion and 1 rewrite its tenets, nothing less. Thus it was that Fidnij's

attention was drawn to one among them whose face registered something

else. She was hardly a woman; more a girl still, and pretty. Young and strong,

her breasts (warheads, Fidnij caught himself thinking, in the jargon of the

spaceways) not yet affected by the years of high gravitic tug. Her hair was

milky and short and girlish, her skin the lovely golden hue of a sun she had

hardly seen. He thought, She seems not so much amazed as-what? Excited! She

continued to watch him intently, too, after the assemblage broke up and most

of the villagers dispersed to ponder and discuss the shattering things they

had heard. She stood nearby, cradling in her arms an enjjo, the traditional

Aglayan stringed instrument. Fidnij approached Kentoj and asked quietly, "Who

is that, Kentoj? With the enjjo." "What, do you not know her? But of course

not-I forget. That is Pransahilodial. You recall-daughter of your parents'

neighbors." "Pransa? Little Pransa? Great Tao-Aglii, but time has passed

differently for me! I knew her as a child." Fidnij did not note the frown that

clouded his friend's face at the-sound of an alien religion in Fidnij's

swear-by (which indeed interested him, picked up from proximity to his ship's

captain). Kentoj tactfully said nothing of it, but spoke only of Pransa. "She

has become . . . something of a rebel, I fear. A dreamer, a wanderer.

Undisciplined. She is Promised to a boy from another community against her

parents' wishes. And Tribemother's." Fidnij raised his blond eyebrows. Then he

smiled self-consciously. "I nearly let myself be shocked, Kentoj. For a moment

I forgot where I have been and was truly of Aglaya again. It felt

good." Kentoj looked gratified. "You are of Aglaya, my friend. Why should you

feel that you are not? Have we not been kind in our welcome?" Fidnij smiled

warmly. Acceptance, that was Aglayan 8 welcome. "You have, of course.

Worthy of Aglaya, all. I'm the one who has doubts." He turned away, frowning

again. "We need not speak of them now." If ever, he thought. Kentoj paused,

then brightened. "Then come! There will be feast for you this night, and we

can talk until then." And taking the younger man by the arm, feeling that

strange clothing, Kentoj hurried him outside. After dusk, at the feast, Fidnij

spoke to Pransahilodial. Again he had the feeling of being torn between his

Aglayan upbringing and his Galactic ways. The former said: She is Promised.

The latter said that she was a beautiful young woman, and Fidnij was not known

along the spaceways for his reticence with women. Indeed, he had been

called-but never mind. His honor was of Aglaya. Thus he walked with her along

the fringes of the gathering, with no intention other than to talk. They spoke

of her childhood, when he had been the older boy in the next cottage. She made

him laugh by recalling the "love" she had felt for him then. And he had been

completely unaware of it! "You made me angry," she said. "I hated you." Even

with the harshness of those words, her voice had the softness of the Aglayan

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mist. "Perhaps the thing I was most unfortunate to lose when they stole me off

Aglaya was something I did not know I had," he said. He noted that she did not

look away at the compliment, but smiled openly in a way that ran a big dimple

up her left cheek. She is bold, for a daughter of Aglaya, he mused- knowing

that out along the spaceways she'd seem the picture of reticence. "Shall I

sing for you?" she asked, and Fidnij nodded. Pransa sat on the soft grass with

no seeming care for her burnt-orange tunic, and tuned her enjjo in the humid

evening. She sang him an old song they both knew, all about love's being as

fleeting as the fringebird but strong as the phrillia root. It seemed quaint

to Fidnij now, accustomed as tie was to the unsentimentality of those who

fared the spaceways. It also soothed him and made him feel still more at

home. When she finished on that last low, soft note, he had been lulled to the

point of closing his eyes. He became aware that 9 her hand had moved to his

shoulder. She was stroking him gently. Fidnij looked at her in surprise. The

look on her pretty face was one he had seen before, on the faces of more

sophisticated women of other planets. Fidnij of Aglaya, Whitey of the space

ways, was attractive and knew it. Easy, he reminded himself. She is promised.

He recognized that her attraction was more likely to the romantic image of

what he was-a spacefarer, an adventurer-than to himself. At least that's so if

Kentoj is right about her. He had known that sort of woman, too-and, too

often, girl rather than woman. They were good for socializing a bit, for

trysting-slicing and soaring-and little else ... as were their male

equivalents. Some of the husts at Kit-Cat's on Resh were more sincere than the

type that hung around spacefarers, male or female, for the thrill of

association. He rose, feeling the downard push of gravity that was once

natural to him, and reached down. She came to her feet supple as a cat and

they resumed their ambling walk along the edge of the rain forest. Attempting

to keep her at some length by being as formal as possible, Fidnij expanded on

the reasons he was able to visit home after his long sojourn offplanet. "The

captain of my ship is gathering phrillia. We are a merchantship, you see, and

the phrillia blossom is much prized on other planets-and hates to grow

anywhere else. Since Aglaya is a Protected planet, it is rarely that anyone

gathers cargo here. It is technically illegal, Pransa-but no one bothers

merchanters much, so long as they avoid populated areas. It's the slavers that

TGO comes down on." "Teejiyo?" "T.G.O.," he pronounced again; "TransGalactic

Order. Sort of a peacekeeping organization." (He saw her frown at that. Peace

was. It need not be "kept," on Aglaya.) "Anyway, we had just unloaded cargo on

Karma-a moon of Luhra, a planet-and were sort of in this 'vicinity,' and

Captain Tachi decided it would be worth our while to come over and down for

the phrillia. Choosing this area now-that was my

doing.'' "Keptan-Dotchey?'' He grinned and nodded. "Captain Tachi,

right." "Then other people of your sky-sship are on Aglaya? Gathering

flowers?" 10 "Uh," he confirmed with another nod. "On the other side of this

thin stretch of forest. A klom or two." Excitement shone on her face and she

grasped his arm with strength. "Could I see them? Meet them, Fidnij? Oh

Fidnij, could I ..." He cut her off: ''No. I have done enough already, Pransa-

too much, in telling you about them. I haven't the right to make greater

lawbreakers of them. No!" he repeated, when she opened her mouth for further

pleading. They walked in silence for a time, until: "Fidnij . . . they are

your friends? I mean-you care for them, as you would for those of your

home?" "In a different way, yes. Some of them, anyway. And all of them are

good crewmates. Companions," "And your Tribemo-captain! This Dotchey, is that

right?" "Tachi, yes," he chuckled. "He's a good man, and a strange one.

He-" "He?" Pransa cut in, showing her surprise. "He?-a man?" Fidnij realized

the basis of her surprise. In the matriarchal almost-gynecocracy of Aglaya,

women were the leaders in matters social and political. He was about to

reply-and never did. His ears caught a faint sound-overhead. A sound entirely

too familiar, and chilling on Aglaya. He jerked his head upward and Pransa's

gaze followed his. Above the forest raced a long streak of fire, orange-red as

a swinger's fur at rutting-time, and brighter than anything ever seen in

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Aglaya's sky even in daytime. The night sky here was near and blank, the stars

a permanent unknown to the dwellers on the hothouse planet. Two moons shone

murkily through the clouds but gave little light. Sky-ghosts. Yet such skyfire

proved not unknown to Pransahilodial: "Sky-demons!" she said, in a shaky

whisper. 2 This is the end- He's run from the land, And beauty is saved By a

valorous band. -Walt Kelly, The Pogo Stepmother Goose It was quite a moment. .

. . There was the build-up of G forces. . . . There were also some events that

were not normal. -John H. Glenn, Jr., We Seven "No!" Fidnij snapped. "No

Pransa, it's a lander. But not ours, and it's headed for the village.

Come-run!" He took her by the arm but she had no need of being hurried through

the thick, grasping foliage. They ran, Fidnij feeling the effort more than the

lithe, muscular-legged woman at his side. On most other planets Aglayans were

excellent runners and jumpers, because of their high-G musculature. Fidnij,

long away from the relentless tug of his native world, felt the strain. He was

winded by the time they broke from the woods into the village clearing. Before

them, darting in and out of the flicker of the great central cookfire, milled

a running multitude of screaming or yelling figures. The villagers screamed;

those others yelled, while they chased Aglayans. A few of the younger

villagers had already been captured. They were being held by

strangers 11 12 who were clothed as Fidnij was, in snug all-over suits of

fabroprene. Their fists bristled with metal cylinders like the one bolstered

at Fidnij's side. Occasionally they raised and pointed the cylinders, and

Pransa saw her fellows freeze where they stood or drop senseless to the

ground. "Outworld stoppers," Fidnij whispered. Since he spoke in Erts, the

language of the Galactics who had "conquered" the star-lanes, Pransa heard

only gibberish. The scene before her, however, was all too comprehensible. She

had heard Sky-demons described. She knew that they were what Fidnij called

"slavers," despite her initial reaction to the flames in the sky. Never before

had she heard of these demonic slavers attacking a village! Fidnij's hand went

to the chill blue cylinder at his side, hesitated twitching as he thought

better of the move. He took his hand away and turned to his companion, face

close to huge-eyed face. "Pransa-we've got to flee. I cannot fight them alone.

I can't even make out how many of them there are." It had not even occurred to

Pransa that Sky-demons might be resisted, fought. She looked at him in

momentary confusion. Then she put a hand to his chest. "Wait," she said. "I

will return in a moment." She ran off toward the nearby buildings, crouching

low. Fidnij, in shock, called after her once, low. Then he cursed and crouched

down against a bushy shrub. He watched as she circled behind the outer rim of

the cottages until she reached her family's, and disappeared within. Almost at

once she emerged, with a humplike something draped across her shoulders. She

no longer carried her enjjo. As she came swiftly (and gracefully, Fidnij was

helpless not to note and appreciate) up to him, he saw that she bore a

swinger. The frightened animal clung tightly to her neck. Its tail was curled

tightly, close. "Tao's Name, girl!" Fidnij had snapped before he realized he

had blurted in Erts. He switched to Aglayis: "What are you doing?'' "I

couldn't go without Prot! He's mine; he's my friend. We stay together. I-I did

not see my parents. They must have fled." Her lip was atremble, and Fidnij saw

her firm it. 1 hope they fled, he thought. "Straight out of the village, if

13 they have any brains. Don't worry, the slavers won't hurt them if they

don't resist. What they want is the young ones. Like you. Now let's go." She

nodded assent, and he led her off into the forest again, at speed. A swinger,

he thought in exasperation. A double-damned sillyswingerl Now there were only

the fading sounds of screams from the village, very soon overpowered by

labored breathing and the crashing and rustle of underbrush as the two-and the

swinger- got themselves far enough away to dispense with caution. Pransa soon

realized that they were heading for the Great Meadow, a clearing even bigger

than the one housing the village. She surmised that Fidnij was leading her to

his-what did he call it? Lander. A huge patch of phrillia was a burst of blue

at one side of the Meadow. That must be the gathering-place. Emerging from the

woods, they paused to catch their breaths, and Pransa saw the vast pool of

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light a few hundred meters away. She had never seen artificial light, and she

swallowed hard. It did not occur to her to wonder at it, so great was the

wonder that produced the illumination and lay at its edge. It was a great

metallic thing, sleek and streamlined and bearing stubby wings on its sides

and fins at its tail. The size of two cottages set side by side, with a gaping

hole into which a human-looking figure was carrying a big blue armload. -Two

others moved in the light, hacking at phrillia bushes with long-bladed knives.

One was very long and lean, the other close to her size. So that's a lander,

Pransa thought. And a ship is even bigger! Then Fidnij was hurrying her toward

it. As they came up to the two with knives, Fidnij yelled. "Mehadar!

Disco!" The two figures stopped their work to stare at the running pair. One

of the spacefarers held a great bunch of royal and teal-blue blossoms that

completely obscured its face. The other, Pransa saw, was a man of about

Fidnij's age and size, in a yellow fabroprene jumpsuit-but otherwise a man

such as she had never seen or heard of or even conceived. His hair 14 was

brown as dead wet leaves, his skin the hue of leapfoot hide. "Whitey?" Pransa

heard him say, evidently addressing Fidnij-and then they went off into Erts,

and she understood only one word. Slavers. "We've got to log off and redshift,

fast," Fidnij said. "Slavers! Over at the village. We don't want to see or

know about it, and we don't want the bastards to know they had witnesses." "Ah

grabbles," the man said in disgust. "We're hardly half loaded and these are

beauties." As if realizing for the first time that Fidnij was not alone, he

stared at Pransa. "Musla bless-so's she!" "She comes with me," Fidnij said,

moving a hand possessively to Pransa's arm, and the other man nodded. Pransa

had no notion what Fidnij had said, but there was no mistaking the tone of

command or the fact that the reference was to her, or his gesture in taking

her arm. She emphasized it by moving a step closer to his side. She saw that

the strange dark man accepted what was said, unquestion-ingly. Fidnij looked

at the other spacefarer. "Disco: where's Willie?" The owner of the name Pransa

heard as "Deesko" hurled its obscuring armload of big blossoms and Pransa

received her biggest shock yet. Above the lime-green jumpsuit this face Was

orange!-true orange; very orange. More orange by far than even Sunmother on

her rare appearances at day's end. In the face were set two big eyes of

absolutely perfect roundness-dark eyes. The nearly pointed chin below those

big round eyes gave its face a strangely sweet aspect. This one wore a

headdress of straps with some sort of studs that she assumed were decorations.

Leader? Pransa thought. The . . . creature was obviously female, since the

jumpsuit bore two smallish but definite bulges at the chest. Strangest of all

were her hands. Each had four fingers, flanked by two opposable thumbs. Six

fingers! It/she addressed Fidnij. The language was theirs again- Erts-but the

voice that produced the incomprehensible sounds was very odd. It might have

been described as mechanical- 15 sounding save that Pransa had never heard

anything mechanical in her life except that of overflying "demons." "Willie's

at the lander, loading." "Come on," Fidnij snapped, and repeated it to Pransa,

in Aglayis. The four ran for the open hole in the lander's side. The third

crewmember emerged as they arrived. Another woman, Pransa saw, with hair that

was really black!-and a dark, dark! tan face. Never had Pransahilodial seen

hair and skin so dark. The woman was older than she, and maybe older than

Fidnij too. Attractive, if not beautiful-at least of face. Her figure was

something else again. Breasts apparently meant for twins or triplets strained

the stretch fabroprene of her jumpsuit, which gaped open nearly to her navel.

Her waist was small and her hips as smooth and rounded as Pransa's younger

ones. Those breasts though- they were as large as any Pransa had ever beheld,

and yet without any trace of sag or at least steepening downward slope that

would have marked the bosom of an Aglayan woman of her apparent age. The

jumpsuit was dazzling, and Pransa stared. It was striped. It wasn't that it

had stripes; it was stripes, all of it, diagonally, and in every color Pransa

could put name to and a few that were nameless to her because she had never

seen them. And the colors gleamed, positively glowed in the light. The woman

looked straight at Fidnij and said, "Flash?" "Slavers. Shut down, zip up, and

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let's get blasting," Fidnij said in those same commanding tones. The woman

nodded. She shot a glance at Pransa but cast no questioning look back at

Fidnij, as the man had done. She turned and headed back inside the lander, and

Pransa's eyes bulged at the churning display of buttocks that were clenched

indecently tightly by the suit of stripes. Then Pransa was looking at Fidnij,

blinking. He gave orders to that (indecent) woman! And she is older! Yet

Pransa was more fascinated than shocked. Later, when she reflected on this

night, she would realize (with genuine shock) that she had felt more alive

during all this chaos than she had in all her eighteen years on idyllic

Aglaya. "Whitey!" The yell came from the man called Mehadar. "The

woods!" Fidnij whipped his head back toward the forest. Pransa imi- 16 tated

him to see that two men-jumpsuited men-had broken cover and were racing toward

them. "Tao's dangle," the one called Disco said in that strange voice. "The

flainers followed you, Whitey!" Fidnij whirled back to yell into the gaping

hatchway: "Willie! Close up now\ We'll board for'ard!" He pushed Pransa along

the lander's side, both of them in a crouch. Mehadar and Disco followed,

close. Again Fidnij reached for the cylinder holstered at his side, and this

time he drew it forth. It gleamed dully, bluely. Without using it he reached

another, smaller hatch, this one with steps leading up to the opening the size

of a normal doorway. He pushed Pransa up and through into a small low chamber

filled with cushioned seats with straps depending from their sides. The seats

faced a large curved window at the lander's front. Below it curved a panel

with buttons and colored lights and-other things that meant nothing to

Pransa. She merely glanced at all of it before turning to Fidnij, who was

still outside. "Out of the doorway and stay down!" he ordered, and she

crouched beside one of the seats. Not enough, however, to obscure her view

outside. Whatever happened, Pransa wanted to see it. She saw the two slavers

coming on fast-and diverging, putting space between each other so as to come

at the lander from two different angles. She saw Fidnij crouch low and point

his cylinder outward, moving it back and forth, scanning. (Out of her sight to

Fidnij's right, Mehadar and Disco were doing the same, and) Mehadar's voice

drifted in. "They're dropping, Whitey! Take cover, now!" "Firm," Fidnij's

voice came, followed by : "Careful. Modified stoppers." A moment later he was

clambering backward up the few steps to join Pransa, with his hand still

leveled out toward the Great Meadow. He cut the lights at once, so that they

were not limned in the hatchway. She looked past him to see their pursuers

lying prone in the grass out there. Their arms were extended toward the

lander, as if pointing with both hands together. Then they were blocked by

Mehadar. He appeared in the hatchway, also crouched and backing. Suddenly he

stiffened, a gurgle com- 17 ing from his throat but quickly choking off. He

seemed somehow to shimmer . . . And then he was gone. Gone. Pransa saw a faint

shimmer, a sparkling in the air where he had been, a strangeness that swiftly

settled, like dust motes in lamplight, to the ground. Empty space filled the

hatchway. "Oh, Mehadar," Fidnij said low, his voice strained. "Tao's ..." and

he switched to Aglayis: "Oh, Sunmother!" Pransa turned to ask what had

happened. Disco's voice sounded first. "Got him, jacko! Get back-coming

onboard fast!" Fidnij crowded back against Pransa as the orange creature

leaped headfirst through the hatchway. Landing on the deck, Disco reached a

long arm up to the curved panel and hit a button. The steps to the hatchway

rose. They joined to the lander's hull and formed a seal. Fidnij scrambled up

and seated himself before the panel. He snapped at Pransa in Aglayis, and then

past her in Erts: "Get into a seat and strap yourself in. Willie, help

her." Pransa realized for the first time that the very dark-haired Willie was

in the cabin. The woman came around in front of Pransa, who was settling into

a seat. Her swinger was still attached, shivering, to her shoulders. She

lifted him down to her lap while the spacefarer woman began fastening stasis

locks across Pransa's lap. "There, Prot, good Prot, it's all right. I'm here."

She stroked the beast's fur. She looked up at the other woman and received a

reassuring smile. "So Flashdoll's got hisself a souvenir, hmm?" Willie said-

and of course it was just so much babble to Pransa. Fidnij's voice came, hard

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and calm. "You gonna talk or are we redshifting?" His fingers played over a

panel. Crimson and turquoise lights came alive. Pransa heard, felt a humming

commence somewhere, growing. "I'm doing as best as best as I can," Willie

said, and Fidnij rolled his eyes upward while he shook his head. Willie took a

seat next to the orange creature. Pransa glanced at it, just as it was

removing the strange helmet-like contraption to reveal-red hair! True red,

bright scarlet, the 18 red of the yarn used as hair on the dolls Aglayan

children cradled. Fidnij spoke. "Everybody static?" Then, in Aglayis, "Pransa?

In?" "Yes." "Firm," Willie said. "Tlee," came from the unhelmeted

Disco. Pransa's head jerked around. She understood none of what was said, but

that last hadn't sounded like speech. It was more a birdlike whistle. "Put

that translahelm back on," Fidnij said irritably, and the orange creature

replaced the peculiar device on its-her, Pransa thought-head. "Sorry," she

said. "Just brushing the sweat off." "I didn't know you Jarps sweated, Disco

darlin'," Willie said. "I thought Jarps just panted." "Only when we're

ignited, Will-liee." "Which is all the time, right?" "Think we're all just

alike, huh bigot? Do you know that we think all you-" Fidnij cut in even more

irritably: "May I point out that this lander's about to be ignited?" And in

Aglayis, "Hold on to that swinger, Pransa." She clutched Prot tightly to her

and heard Willie's voice again. "Did you Fry that vugslicer, Disco?" "Pos. I'd

like to Poof the whole flaining bunch. Poor Mehadar ..." Disco's voice was

drowned out by the whine of the lander's engines. A moment later the vessel

rose slowly straight up over the Meadow. Prot squealed in pain as Pransa

clutched him reflexively. They began to move forward slowly, then with a roar,

picking up speed. They seemed headed straight for the trees. At the last

instant their trajectory curved and they cleared the forest, still climbing,

steeper and steeper. Pransa's ears were filled with the roaring. She was

mashed back into her seat by an acceleration force she did not understand. The

swinger tried to squeal again but couldn't get it out through the G-forces.

19 Something's wrong! Pransa thought, worse than frightened. We're all going

to die! She wondered-was that true or did only she feel this crushing pain?

She had to work to turn her head to look at the others. With an effort, she

caught a glimpse of Fidnij at the controls. He too was pressed into his seat,

face made ugly, fingers working laboriously with some buttons set into the

chair's arm. Pransa became aware of a pain in her chest and her teeth hurt her

lip. The pressure against her breasts was agonizing. Dimly she heard Willie's

voice, badly slurred. "Don't worry, sweetcakes. 'sallright. You'll get used to

it." Pransa blacked out first. She awoke an indeterminate time later to the

distant sound of Fidnij's voice-and an unholy stink that stung her

nostrils. "Orbit stable. Rambler three kloms away. Tachi signals dock

open." "Any sign of the slaver?" That peculiar voice of Disco's

again. "Rambler's SIPACUM reports that their boat is pursuing. We can make

dock before-Ah. Now they've changed course. Heading for their own

ship." "Would they dare chase Rambler, Flash?" Willie asked. "We'll see ...

Holy Tao, what is that stench!" He turned around to Pransa. "Oh, muth, that

swinger's dumped its cargo in the excitement. Pransa, did you have to bring

that animal?" Pransa, only dimly aware of what he was asking, looked baffled.

Fidnij nodded toward her lap. Glancing downward, she saw the brown blob of

excrement. On the deck at her feet, moaning and rolling its eyes, lay

Prot. "Thank all the gods for artificial G, or that cess'd be floating about,"

Disco said. "Right now I'd be more grateful for an antinaus pill," Willie

said. "Oh, Theba ..." She reached for her insy bag, dumped its contents on the

deck, and stuck her face into it. Pransa's chagrin and embarrassment at her

pet's behavior nearly overcame her sense of awe at sight of and docking with

the lander's mother ship. Nearly. She had had no idea 20 from Fidnij's tales

that these ships were so big. (He said that he crewed on a small

vessel!) Pransa went with Willie directly to her quarters, where the older

woman gave her a jumpsuit to replace her fouled tunic. (This suit was checked:

mauve and heliotrope.) Willie tossed the tunic into a nearby opening, flipped

her fingers at Pransa and said, "Poof!" Despite the language barrier, Pransa

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felt this woman's kindness and attempts at reassurance. After all, she was one

of Fidnij's companions. Pransa trusted Fidnij. The two women rejoined him in

the con-cabin. (The strange orange woman-creature was evidently elsewhere.) An

older man, bearded, not quite as dark as Willie, and dressed in oddly baggy

brown clothing and a hard-billed cloth cap, stood before a larger version of

the curved panel in the lander. He appeared to be reading something that

glowed on a large dark green screen. Pransa sidled up to Fidnij. "That's

Captain Tachi," Fidnij whispered. "He's tracking that slaver ship." At that

moment two more crewmembers walked in. One was a slight man, perhaps Fidnij's

age. He glanced at Pransa, then cast an odd look at Fidnij. Fidnij stared back

coldly. Pransa, with the ability common to all Aglayan women to cherm, to

sense the emotions of those around her, caught from the newcomer the first

sensation of hostility that she'd felt from any of these people. From Fidnij

she felt defensive-ness-and a little confusion. She had no time to dwell on

these sensations, though, so taken aback was she at the other crewmember who

entered. It was the orange-woman? But she was wearing a halter top now, and

tight briefs of some stretch fabric. Pransa looked her over. She was orange to

her toes, no doubt about it, or at least to the tops of her cream-colored

evershine equhyde boots. That seemed positively normal compared with the sight

of those briefs. There was no mistaking the male bulge in the front of the

garment. Pransa looked again at the halter top. There was no mistaking those

breasts, either. Holy Sunmother, what am I looking at? The creature tossed a

friendly nod to Pransa, who would 21 have recoiled had she not chermed simple

hospitality from the . . . thing. She turned to Fidnij, seeking some

explanation. He shook his head as if to say, "Later." She chermed

amusement. The bearded man turned from the panel to address the two

newcomers. "Achmet, Disco, to DS, pres. Redshift!" The two nodded and left the

con. "The rest of you into your seats. We're leaving orbit at once." Willie

headed for one of the two rear seats in the group of four that faced the

panel. Fidnij escorted Pransa to the seat next to hers and helped strap her

in. "We're going to be feeling a little more G-force, Pransa. Gravity. Not so

bad as before. Do you think there's anything left in that animal?" He

indicated the swinger draped over her shoulders, twitching its long,

two-fingered tail and looking about as happy as a hust in a mosque. "He'll be

all right. I'm sorry, Fidnij." Fidnij smiled and shook his head. Then he

headed for the chair next to the one Tachi had strapped into. "Are they

pursuing, Captain?" "Aye," Tachi said, eschewing spacer slang for something

older and more to his taste, a preference that showed also in his

anciently-patterned Homeworld sailor's garb. "Which means they'll intercept.

Us with only sublight drive! That's no small-timer out there. It's the fast

ship of a successful slaver." "Will we fight, Captain?" Willie asked. "No

average in that. No, if that bastard wants a scrap, we're space dust. I'm

hoping it won't try pirating a merchanter no matter how easy a catch we are.

Slave-raiding Aglaya is one thing, but I don't think we're enough of a prize

for him to risk piracy. Still," and he inclined his head toward Pransa without

looking her way, "they did seem quite eager to pursue this youngster. She

would make them prime . . . merchandise." Pransa tried to cherm this man and

found it difficult. Not that he was any harder to sense than anyone else. The

problem was that she had trouble interpreting what she felt, putting a name on

it. 22 He seems so matter-of-fact about everything. Accepting. That was the

way he seemed to feel toward her, toward their situation, everything. She did

seem to catch some hostility, evidently toward the slaver, but the captain

kept it in tight check. Overall he was simply calm, commanding, in control.

Efficient. And Fidnij seems to be his second-in-command, not the

woman. Pransa's thoughts were interrupted by the increasing G-load, pressing

her once more into her seat. Not so bad this time. It lasted a few minutes,

during which she was able to watch Tachi and Fidnij work the controls,

pressing buttons, activating lights. She found it fascinating. Soon the

acceleration eased and gravity returned to standard. Pransa discovered that

she hadn't been imagining it when she had felt, earlier, that she was lighter

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摘要：

Fidnijrealizedthebasisofhersurprise.Inthematriarchalalmost-gynecocracyofAglaya,womenweretheleadersinmatterssocialandpolitical.Hewasabouttoreply-andneverdid.Hisearscaughtafaintsound-overhead.Asoundentirelytoofamiliar,andchillingonAglaya.HejerkedhisheadupwardandPransa'sgazefollowedhis.Abovetheforestra...

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Andrew J. Offutt - Spaceways 15 - Starship Sapphire

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