Andre Norton - Moon Singer 1 - Moon of Three Rings

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Moon of Three Rings by

Andre Norton

KRIP VORLUND

I

What is space? It is a wilderness beyond any man's exploring, even if he

had a hundred, a thousand life spans in which to prowl the lanes between

solar systems and planets, to go questing, to seek ever new and newer

knowledge of what may lie beyond the next sun, the next system. Yet to

such seekers comes also the knowledge that there must be no boundaries

to man's belief, but rather an acceptance of wonders which would leave

the planet-bound, those who follow familiar trails, incredulous and

refusing to accept the evidence of their own senses.

Those who do venture ever into the unknown— the First-in Scouts of

Survey, the explorers, and not the least, the Free Traders who pluck a

living from the fringes of the galaxy—to these it is a commonplace thing to

discover that the legends and fantasies of one planet may be lightsome or

grim truth on another world. For each new planet-fall brings its own

mysteries and discoveries.

Which is perhaps too much of a pseudo-philosophic beginning for this

account—save I know of no better, not being used to making more than

trade reports for that repository of some very strange facts—the League of

Free Traders. When a man tries to deal with the unbelievable, he finds it a

fumbling business, in need of some introduction.

First-in Scouts, from their unending quest for new worlds and systems,

turn in many weird and strange reports to Survey. But even the planets

opened to human contact by their efforts can yield hidden secrets, after

they have been pronounced favorable ports for wandering ships, or even

for pioneer settlements .

The Free Traders who exist upon cross trade, having no fat plums to

sustain them as do the Combines of the inner planets with their

monopolies, face now and again things that even Survey does not know.

Thus it was on Yiktor—in the time of the Moon of Three Rings. And who

better can make this report than I, to whom this happened, though I was

only assistant cargomaster of the Lydis, the last-signed member of her

crew into the bargain.

Over the years the Free Traders, because of their way of life, have

become almost a separate race in the galaxy. They own no one world

home, nor do some ships possess a home port, but wander always.

So it is that among us the ship itself is our only planet, and we look

upon all without its shell as alien. Although not in this sense are we

xenophobic, for it is part of our nature that we have a strong bent toward

exploration and acceptance of the outer.

Now we are born to the trade, for families live within the larger ships, it

being decided long since that such was better for us than casual and

transitory connections in ports which might lead to a man's losing his

ship. The big space-borne ports are small cities in themselves, each

operating as a central mart for a sector where large deals are carried out,

where those who have a mate and children may enjoy a kind of home life

between voyages.

But the Lydis was a bachelor ship of the D class, intended for risky rim

trading where only men without ties would venture. And I, Krip Vorlund,

was well content to so set my feet on the ladder of trade. For my father had

not returned from his last voyage years back. And my mother, after the

custom of the Traders, had married again within two years and followed

her new mate elsewhere. So I had no one to speak up for me at the time of

assignment.

Our captain was Urban Foss, well regarded as a coming man, though

young and sometimes thought to be a shade reckless. But that suited his

crew, who were willing to have a leader who might by some gamble

advance them well into the ranks of those who had solid credit at the trade

center. Juhel Lidj was the cargomaster, and my only quarrel with him,

though he was no light taskmaster, was that he guarded some of his trade

secrets jealously, leaving me to ferret hints for myself. But perhaps that

was the best way of training, putting me ever on the alert when I was on

duty, and giving me opportunity to think much when I was not being

official.

We had made two good voyages before we landed on Yiktor, and

undoubtedly we felt that we were perhaps better than we were. However,

caution is never forgotten on a Free Trader. After we planeted, before we

opened hatches, Foss had us all in to listen to the guide tape carrying all

the warnings for this world.

The only port, such as it was—for this was truly a frontier world—lay

outside Yrjar, a city as far as Yiktor knew cities, in the middle of a large

northern land mass. We had timed our arrival carefully for the great trade

fair, a meeting of merchants and populace from all over the entire planet,

held at two-planet-years intervals at the end of the fall harvest season.

Like fairs on many other worlds, this gathering had once had, and still

possessed as a pallid shadow, religious significance, being the supposed

date when an ancient folk hero had met and vanquished some demoniacal

enemy to save his people, died as a result of his exertions, and thereafter

been entombed with pomp. The people still enacted a kind of play of this

feat, followed by games in which the lords vied with one another, each

backing his personal champions. The winners of each contest carried off

enough awards and prestige—not for himself alone but also for his

patron—to last until the next fair.

II

The government of Yiktor was at the feudal stage. Several times in its

history kings and conquerors had risen to unite whole continents under

their sway for perhaps their lifetimes. This unification sometimes

extended into the following generation, or maybe two, but eventually fell

apart through quarrels of the nobles. The pattern had held constant with

no advancement. The priests, though, had vague traditions that there had

been an earlier civilization which had risen to a position of greater

stability and technical knowledge.

No one knew the reason for the stagnation at this step of civilization,

and no native appeared to care, or to believe there could be another way of

life. We had arrived during one of the periods of chaos wherein half a

dozen lords snapped and snarled at one another. But none had the

backing, audacity, luck, or whatever was demanded of a leader, to take

over. Thus the existing balance of power was a delicate thing.

This meant for us Traders brain lock, weapon lock, nuisances though

they were and much as we disliked them.

Far back in Free Trading, for their own protection against the power of

the Patrol and the wrath of Control, the Traders themselves had realized

the necessity of these two safeguards on primitive planets. Certain

technical information was not an item to be traded, no matter how high

the inducement. Arms from off-world, or the knowledge of their

manufacture, were set behind a barrier of No Sale. When we planeted on

such a world, all weapons other than belt stunners were put into a lock

stass which would not be released until the ship rose from that earth. We

also passed a brain lock inhibiting any such information being won from

us.

This might seem to make us unarmed prey for any ambitious lord who

might wish to wring us hard for such facts. But the law of the fair gave us

complete immunity from danger—as long as we stayed within the limits

set by the priests on the first day.

For following almost universal galactic custom, one which appeared to

be spontaneous and native to every world where such gatherings had

existed for ages, the fair ground was both neutral territory and sanctuary.

Deadly enemies could meet there and neither dared put hand to weapon.

A crime could be committed elsewhere and, if the criminal reached the

fair and was law-abiding therein, he was safe from pursuit or punishment

as long as the fair continued. The gathering had its own laws and police,

and any crime committed within was given speedy punishment. So that

this meeting place was also a site for the cautious sounding out between

lords for the settlement of feuds, and perhaps the making of new alliances.

The penalty for any man breaking the peace of the fair was outlawry—the

same as a sentence of death, but perhaps in its way, more torturous and

lingering for the criminal.

This much we all knew, though we sat in patience as the guide tape told

it over again. For on a Trader one does not ever push aside any briefing as

unnecessary or time-wasting. Then Foss launched once more into the

apportioning of planetside duties. These varied in rotation among us from

world to world. There was always a guard for the ship—but the rest of us

could explore in pairs in our free time. From the morning gong until

midafternoon we would man our own booth for meeting with native

merchants. Foss had visited Yiktor once before, as second in command of

the Coal Sack, before he had his own ship, and now drew upon his notes to

refresh his memory.

As is true on all Free Traders, though the cargomaster handles the

main cargo and the business of the ship at large, each member of the crew

is expected to develop some special interest or speciality, to keep his eyes

open, and to suggest new products which might add to the general

prosperity of the voyage. Thus we were encouraged to explore all such

marts in pairs and to take an interest in local produce, sniffing out a need

of the natives which we might in the future supply, or picking up some

hitherto overlooked export.

The main cargo from Yrjar was Lidj's concern; it was sprode, a thick

juice pressed from certain leaves, then hardened into blocks which could

be easily stored in our lowest hold after we had emptied it of bales of

murano, a shimmering, thick silk which the Yiktor native weavers seized

upon avidly. They patiently unraveled its threads to combine with their

finest material, thus making a length go twice as far. Sometimes a lord

would pay a full season's land tribute for a cloak length of unadulterated

fabric. The sprode blocks, transferred at section base to another ship,

would end up halfway across the galaxy, where they were made into a

wine which the Zacathans declared heightened their mental powers and

cured several diseases of that ancient lizard race. Though I can't imagine

why a Zacathan needed his mental powers heightened—they already had

quite a start on mankind in that direction!

But the sprode would not provide a full cargo, and it was up to us to

discover odds and ends to fill in. Guesses did not always pay off. There

were times when what seemed a treasure turned out to be a worthless

burden, eventually to be space-dumped. But gambles had done so well in

the past that we were certain they would pay off again for all of us.

Any Trader with a lucky choice behind him had a better chance for

advancement, with hopes for not too long a time before he could ask for an

owner's contract and a higher share in a venture. It meant keeping your

eyes open, having a good memory for things recorded on past voyage

tapes, and probably having something which our elders called flair and

which was a natural gift and nothing learned by study, no matter how

doggedly pursued.

Of course, there were always the easy, spectacular things—a new fabric,

a gem stone—eye catchers. But these were usually right out in the open.

And the fair steerer made very sure that the cargomaster saw them at the

first sighting when the big merchants met. On such sales as these

depended perhaps all a planet's lure for off-world Traders, and they were

publicly hawked.

The others were "hiders," things you nosed out on spec, almost always

an obscure product some native merchant had brought to the booths on

spec himself—small items which could be made into luxury trade for

off-world, light, easy to transport, to sell for perhaps a thousand times cost

price to the dilettanti of the crowded inner planets, who were always in

search of something new with which to impress their neighbors.

Foss had had a storied success on his second voyage with the Ispan

carpets, masterpieces of weaving and color which could be folded into a

package no longer than a man's arm, yet shaken out in silken splendor to

cover a great-room floor, wearing well, with a flow of shade into shade

which delighted and soothed the eyes. My immediate superior, Lidj, was

responsible for the Crantax dalho discovery. So it was that a very

insignificant-appearing, shriveled black fruit had now become an industry

which made the League a goodly number of credits, put Lidj on secondary

contract, and benefited a quarter of a struggling pioneer planet. One could

not hope for such breaks at the start of course—though I think that deep

down inside all of us apprentices did—but there were smaller triumphs to

bring a commendation for one's E record.

I went with Lidj and the captain to the in-meeting on first day. It was

held in the Great Booth, which was really a hall of no mean dimensions on

a field beyond the walls of Yrjar, now the center of the fair. While most

Yiktorian architecture tended toward the gloom and dark of buildings

which must always be ready to serve as fortifications in time of siege, the

Great Booth, being free of such danger, was somewhat less grim. Its walls

were of stone but only part way. Inside there was an open space almost the

entire width, broken only by pillars which supported a sharply peaked

roof, the eaves of which extended far out from the walls to afford good

weather protection—though it was the dry season in which the fair was

held and usually fine weather. The light thus given to the interior was far

more than you could find in any building elsewhere on Yiktor.

We were the only Free Trader in port, though there was a licensed ship

under Combine registry, carrying, by contract only, specified cargo which

we did not dispute. This was one time when there was truce between

off-worlders and no need for sharp maneuvering, our captains and cargo

masters sharing the high seats of the senior merchants in amicability .

The rest of us lesser fry were not so comfortably housed. We rated on a

level with their second guildsmen and by rights would have had to stand

in the outer aisles, save that we each bore, with a great deal of show,

counting boards. These served the double duty of getting us inside with

our officers, and impressing the native population that off-worlders were

rather stupid and needed such aids for reckoning—always a beginning

move in shrewd bargaining. We therefore squatted at the foot of the

high-seat platform and took ostentatious notes of all the exhibits

displayed and praised in the offering.

There were some furs from the north, a deep rich red with a ripple of

golden light crossing them as they were turned in the hands of the

merchant showing them. Fabrics were brought out by the bolt and draped

over small racks put up by subordinates. There was a great deal of

metalwork, mostly in the form of weapons. Swords and spears appear to

be a universal primitive armament in the galaxy, and these were

undoubtedly forged by masters who knew their art. There was chainlink

armor for the body, helmets, some of them crested with miniature beasts

or feathered birds, and shields. And then a last merchant came up with

the air of one about to top the show of war materials. Two of his

guildsmen exhibited shooting at a mark with a new type of crossbow

which, from the stir his demonstration provoked, must have been a vast

improvement over the usual.

The arms display, which was a very large item in the local market, was

more or less of a bore for us. Of course now and then one picked up a

sword or dagger to sell to some collector. But that was the smallest of

private ventures.

It was a long session. The Yiktorians broke it once for refreshments,

passing around tankards of their bitter, and to us undrinkable, ale and a

"hasty meal" made of a fruit-and-meat paste between flat grain cakes. But

it was near to sunset before we were dismissed. By custom Captain Foss

and Lidj were to go on to the official banquet given by the fair authorities,

but we second men would return to our ships. The junior representative of

the Combine Duffoldan who had been sharing the same uncomfortable

board seat with me at the platform foot, stretched and grinned after he

slammed his note board between his middle and his belt for safekeeping.

"Well, that's safely over," he said, stating the obvious. "You free to port

crawl?"

Usually Free Traders and Combine men do not mix. There was too

much trouble in the past history we share, though nowadays things are

better policed than they used to be. The League has a weighty hand and

the Combine leaders no longer try to elbow out a Trader who can call upon

such support. In the old days a one-ship Trader had no hope of fighting

back. But the feelings and memories stemming from those times still kept

us apart, so I was no more cordial than mere civility when I answered. .

"Not yet. Not until after report."

"Same here." If my coolness meant anything he did not show it. Instead

he waited for me to stow away my own board, which I did slowly to give

him a chance to go, though he did not take it. "I am Gauk Slafid."

"Krip Vorlund." Reluctantly I matched step with him. The exit was

crowded by native merchants and guildsmen. And, as is wise for

off-worlders, we did not push in among them. I saw him glance at my

collar badge, and I returned that check. He was in cargo, but his disk was

modified by two bars while mine bore only one. But then promotion in the

Combine, while leading perhaps to greater wealth in the end, came more

slowly.

One can never judge the planet age of those who spend most of their

lives in space. Some of us cannot even tell the number of our years by that

method. But I thought this Gauk Slafid might be somewhat older than I.

"Done your spec-looking yet?" That was a question I would have

thought too brash for even a Combine man, arrogant as they were inclined

to be. Yet when I stared at him, I believed he did not honestly realize that

that was one of the questions one did not ask, save of a kinsman or blood

comrade. Perhaps he had heard of Free Trader customs and was drawing

on faulty knowledge to make conversation.

"We are not yet port free." No use taking offense if his question was an

innocent one, though in bad form. One learns to put aside offense when

dealing with aliens, and the Combine in the past had been more alien to

those of my calling than many nonhuman contacts.

Perhaps he read something of my feeling, for he did not pursue that

line; but as we came to a thronged side street he motioned at its gaudy

flags and banners, each bearing the squiggles of local sign writing, and

proclaiming a number of amusements, both innocent and bordering on

the vicious. For, as the fair gathered sellers and buyers, priests and

respectable people, so was it the focus for those who earn their livelihood

by offering excitement for the mind and senses.

"There is plenty to see here—or are you ship-bound at night?" Was

there or was there not a faint trace of patronage in that? I decided it was

best not to explore beyond surface emotions. We were not engaged in any

sale, and I was cautious.

"So I have heard. But I have not yet drawn my watch button."

He grinned again, raising his hand to his forehead in a gesture

approximating a salute. "Fortune attend you then, Vorlund. We have

already drawn and I have my night free. If you make it, look me up." Again

he gestured, this time indicating a banner near the end of the line. It was

not bright in color like those the wind tugged at around it, being an odd

shade of gray, yet also shot with rose. Still, once you looked at it, your eyes

kept returning, undeterred by the more garish lures surrounding it.

"That is something special," Slafid continued. "If you like beast shows."

A beast show? For the second time I was disconcerted. My mental

picture of a Combine man suggested a far different taste in amusement—

something closer to the sophisticated, almost decadent pleasures of the

inner planets.

Then suspicion moved in me. I wondered if this Gauk Slafid was esper.

For he had unerringly picked out the one entertainment which would

draw me first, did I know of it. I allowed one of my mind-seek tendrils to

uncurl, not actually to invade, naturally—that was the last thing I must

do—but to seek delicately for any esper aura. There wasn't one, and I was

left a little chagrined at my suspicion.

"If I am fortunate," I answered him, "I will indeed follow your advice."

He was hailed then by a crewman wearing the insignia of his ship, and

gave me that half salute once more before he joined his friend. But I stood

for a moment or two watching that almost demurely colored banner,

trying to figure out why it drew the eye so steadily. Things such as that are

important for Traders to learn. Was it only me that it could so influence,

or was it the same for others? Somehow to know the answer became so

important that I was determined to bring someone, the most cool-headed

crew mate I could find to test it.

I was lucky to come away from the drawing with port leave for that

night. The Lydis had so small a crew that only four of us were free, and it

can be difficult for four pledged to go in pairs if they have very diversified

ideas of amusement. Because of our junior status I went out with Griss

Sharvan, the second engineer. Well, I had wanted a hardheaded

companion to try my banner on, and in Griss fate had given me one. He is

a born Trader, generations bred as all of us. But his first love is the ship

and I do not believe that he ever, except when it was expected of him,

searched for any trade. Luckily I remembered that the deep crimson

banner of a swordsmith's display fencer flapped not too far from the beast

show, and used that as a lure for Griss. Among our own kind Griss is a

gambler, but that is another activity against which we are inhibited in an

alien port. It can lead, as drinking, drugging, and eyeing the daughters of

strangers, to trouble which would endanger the ship. Thus the desires for

such amusements are blocked for us temporarily, and in our sober

moments we agree that is wisdom.

At the end of the show street, now brilliant with lanterns, each as

brightly colored as the banners above, each patterned with pictures

through which light shone to advertise the fares within, I pointed out that

of the fencer. The pink-gray flag was still there, but the lantern below it

was a silver globe with no pattern breaking its pearl luster.

Griss pointed to it. "What's that?"

"I was told a beast show," I replied.

Living as we do mostly in space, Free Traders might be expected to

have little contact or interest in animals. Long ago all ships carried felines

for the protection of the cargo, since they hunted to rout out any pests

stowing away. For centuries they were inseparable crew members. But

their numbers grew less and less; they did not have as large or as many

litters any more. We had forgotten where that animal had originated, so

fresh stock could not be obtained to renew the breed. There were still a

Andre Norton - Moon Singer 1 - Moon of Three Rings

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