L. Sprague De Camp - The Hostage of Zir

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The Hostage of Zir by L.

Sprague DeCamp

CHAPTER ONE

THE RELUCTANT SWORDSMAN

When the Goyaz touched down at Novorecife, the loudspeakers boomed:

"Chégamos; todos passageiros fora! We have arrived; all passengers out!"

Airlocks hissed, doors clanged, and the passengers shuffled down the ramp.

Terrans marvelled at the spectacular cloud effects and the peculiar vegetation,

with its leaves not only of green but also pink, blue, and purple. They eagerly

sniffed the warm spring air of the planet's subtropical zone.

At the foot of the ramp, the fat security officer, Cristovao Abreu, watched them

come. The dozen tourists from the Magic Carpet Travel Agency, recognizable by

their red arm bands, formed a block in the middle of the line. Abreu picked out

their courier, Fergus Reith, who was flitting about like an agitated sheep dog,

counting his charges and chivvying them to stay in line and close ranks. This

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pale, thin young man with carrot-red hair did not impress Abreu as quite the

fearless leader. With the instinct of a longtime policeman, Abreu foresaw trouble

with this group.

The twelve tourists and their guide soon stood at counters in the customs room.

Under the direction of a big, scowling Russian, the customs officers went

through their baggage.

Otto Schwerin, the stubby tourist with bad teeth and cameras hung all over him,

had trouble. Some of his cameras were neither small enough to hide in the hand

nor equipped with self-destruct mechanisms. After expostulating in voluble

German and broken English, he had to leave them under seal.

Once through customs, the gaggle of tourists got red-carpet treatment. The

Comandante, silver-haired William Desmond Kennedy, shook hands all around

and introduced Security Officer Abreu, Comptroller Angioletti, and Magistrate

Keshavachandra.

"You are celebrities," said Kennedy. This is the first guided tour to reach

Krishna. Earthmen are after coming here for decades, but they've mostly been

scientists, adventurers, missionaries, and officials. This is the beginning of

organized tourism."

"Then," asked Fergus Reith, "the Middle Kingdom Travel Bureau hasn't shown

up yet?"

"They have not, sir. You're the first."

"That's something. There's been a race among the agencies to bring the first

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party to Krishna, and we thought the Chinese might have beaten us to it. We

could hardly match the resources of that government. But you know, Mr.

Kennedy, you're something of a celebrity yourself. The terran press calls you the

most successful of all the terran administrators abroad."

"Do they now? That's very flattering. But you must remember, Mr.—ah—Reith,

that back in the days of the British Empire, we Irish were very successful

colonial administrators." Kennedy chuckled. "Having grown up in an

atmosphere of hospitality, flattery, treachery, and murder, we weren't surprised

when we encountered these things in the colonies."

A small, squirrel-like man came in. Kennedy said, "Let me present Senhor

Herculeu Castanhoso, assistant to Senhor Abreu. He'll get you outfitted."

Castanhoso took the party to their quarters. When Reith tried out his Portuguese

on Castanhoso, the latter laughed.

"Que esta comico, o Senhor Dom Herculeu?" asked Reith.

"Excuse me," said Castanhoso, "but I was marvelling at your European

pronunciation."

"Well, the fellow who made the phonograph records I studied from spoke

European Portuguese."

"Bem, our Brazilian form which we use in the Viagens Interplanetarias, is closer

to the Spanish. Now suppose I meet you all in front of the Compound in one

hour, to take you to the outfitting shop."

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The outfitter was the first Krishnan whom Reith had seen at close range. He was

about the size and shape of a tall, lean earthman—taller than Reith, who was of

good height himself. The Krishnan's skin had a faint olive-green tinge and his

hair a dark, bluish-green sheen. His features were not unlike those of Reith's

tourists—all but one of them Caucasoids—but flatter and more oriental-looking.

When Reith looked closely, he picked out many small differences: the pointed

ears, the form of the teeth, and so on. The most conspicuous feature was the

Krishnan's external organs of smell: a pair of feathery appendages, like a moth's

antennae. They sprouted up and out from the inner ends of the Krishnan's

eyebrows, like a pair of extra brows.

Castanhoso explained: "Years ago, earthmen went out disguised with wigs and

dyes. It was not safe to travel otherwise. Now we have normal relations with

nearby states, and their people know we are not all scoundrels or sorcerers.

Likewise, they are no longer so easily fooled; most of them know a terran voice.

For the more distant parts, however, we still advise the old disguises. Now I

present Mr. Sivird bad-Fatehan, our outfitter."

The Krishnan said: "May ze stars favor you. Ze Senhor Dom Herculeu and I, we

have already discuss your requirements. You will need some rough clozes for ze

outdoors, and formal costumes for presentation at ze court of Dur…"

Because of lack of space, the tourists had brought few changes of clothes. For

most sightseeing, terran garments would do; but it was thought that, for the court

of Dur, it was better to follow local custom.

Is this one of those courts," said Silvester Pride, "where the dames go around

with bare tits? Boy, I can't wait to see that!"

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"You are mistaken, Mr. Pride," said Castanhoso coldly. "That is the custom at

Rosid and Hershid, but Baianch is nearly a thousand kilometers north of here. I

must warn all of you that you will need to dress more warmly. It is like going

from your Philadelphia to—to—what would be an example, Mr. Reith?"

Reith thought. "Montreal."

For formal outfits, most of the party chose sober costumes. But the two tanned,

muscular young men, Considine and Turner, who jingled with jewellery and kept

to themselves, would out-peacock the peacock. The handsome Venezuelan

couple named Guzman-Vidal also chose colourful garb. Valerie Mulroy, a tall,

angular, but good-looking woman, wanted a bare-breasted gown. It took the

combined efforts of Sivird and Castanhoso to dissuade her. Reith was relieved;

as he had reason to know, her assets were modest.

Next morning, Castanhoso greeted Reith: "Bom dia, Senhor Dom Fergus! Como

vai?"

"Bem, obrigado. E o Senhor?"

"Good! Now I take you to the ginasio, where you will be trained."

"How about my tourists?"

"We have some little local tours planned, to keep them happy while you enjoy

the ministrations of the Senhor Heggstad."

In the gym, Reith found a stocky, bald, blue-eyed, burly man flinging himself

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about on the parallel bars.

"Senhor Dom Fergus," said Castanhoso, "this is Ivar Heggstad, in charge of

physical survival. Ate logo!

"How do you do, Mr. Haystack?" said Reith.

Heggstad felt Reith's biceps. "Uff! Too skinny. How do you expect to survive in

a vorld where everything is depending on the physical?"

"Please! I didn't ask for this job, but now I've got to make the best of it."

"You are not a regular tourist guide?"

"No sir! I was assistant office manager at Magic Carpet, in Philadelphia. The

courier assigned to this tour got married. Naturally, his bride wouldn't stand for

his going off for a quarter-century, objective time. That's why people who make

these trips are nearly always without close family ties on earth: the difference

between objective and subjective time. His back-up man was in the hospital, and

all our other regular couriers were out on tour, or pregnant, or something. We

couldn't find a free-lance guide to take over; so, being single without close kin, I

was drafted."

"They couldn't have made you go. You could have quit your yob, unless

America has changed."

"I know. I suppose I didn't fight very hard because in all the science-fiction

novels I read as a kid, the hero goes to some distant planet, has thrilling

adventures, and marries a beautiful native princess. One fellow, Otis Burroughs

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or some such name, wrote a lot of stories like that… But none of these old

romancers tells about the practical difficulties."

"Who vants to read a story about practical difficulties? Vell, have you had any

guiding experience?"

"Some local guiding around historic Philadelphia, and one little Latin American

tour. That didn't turn out very well. One couple got lost in Bogota and weren't

found for days. Another man, taking a picture at Machu Picchu, backed off a

cliff and was killed."

"Those things happen. But let us get to business. Do you ride? Sail? Fence?

Shoot the bow? Have you had military experience?"

Reith shook his head. "None of these things. If somebody had told me a year ago

that I'd need these medieval skills, I might have done something about it As it is,

I'm just an ex-schoolteacher and office manager—a paper-shuffler—who plays a

little golf and was put here by happenstance."

Heggstad sighed. "Ah, vell, in a year I could maybe make a real man of you. In a

mere fifteen days—but ve shall see. Firsht, see how many times you can chin

yourshelf on that bar.

Later, Reith sat in the Nova Torque Bar, trying out kvad, the local tipple. With

him was Castanhoso. Reith groaned. "After a day with that Norse physical-

culture fanatic, I haven't been so stiff and sore in my life."

"Sinto muito. But I, too, have had troubles. That Schwerin! Every time it is time

to go, he is off somewhere, taking one more photo. And I think the Senhora

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Mulroy would strike up an intrigue with any big Krishnan male she sees, if she

could get him alone for ten minutes."

"That nympho!" said Reith. "She kept us busy on the Goyaz. First me—an

education, you might say. Then we quarreled when I stopped her from smoking a

cigarette. So she took up with Afonso, the steward. Maybe you noticed Afonso

looking a little pale and wan."

"Yes, I suppose that little old professor, her husband, is no longer able to keep

her stoked."

"She's got the money."

"Entendido. But does he tolerate these games?"

"He seems to turn a blind eye, as we say. I guess he needs all the help he can get

in that department." Castanhoso shrugged. "Tell me about the others."

"Well, the middle-aged black woman is Miss Shirley Waterford, a retired

schoolteacher who inherited money."

"She seems nice, except when she wants to argue with everybody about racism.

Go on."

"The stout French couple are Aime and Melanie Jussac; he's a retired jeweller.

The two young men in extreme clothes —the dear boys, Valerie calls them—are

Maurice Considine and John Turner. The big, muscular one is Considine; the

shorter, plumper one is Turner. They're that way." Reith flipped a limp wrist

"Turner hasn't given any trouble, but Considine is always complaining. He's a

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sculptor or something; throws his weight around and likes his bottle. Turner

seems to have the money.

"The real old lady is Mrs. Whitney Scott She could buy all the rest of us. Be

careful with her; she's well over two hundred and fragile. That clown who wears

funny hats and tells bad jokes is Silvester Pride—"

An uproar arose outside. When Reith and Castanhoso got out, Santiago Guzman-

Vidal was chasing his wife with a knife. Reith tripped him, and Castanhoso

jumped on his back. Between them, they got the knife away from him. He

sputtered: kill them both! She was making eyes at that big Russian maton—"

Pilar Guzman came back when she saw it was safe. Santiago Guzman sank to his

knees in front of her, crying:

"Kill me! Lo merezco!"

"Ah, queridisimo! she said, folding him in her arms. They had a passionate

reconciliation, with tears and kisses, until Guzman suggested that they go back

to their quarters.

"Un momenta," she said, and departed. Guzman looked dreamily after her.

"After the esstorm, the sunshine," he said.

Castanhoso asked: "Do you do this sort of thing often?"

"Very often! All the time, in fact!"

"It sounds strenuous, Senhor."

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"It is the esspice of Me. And now my adored one awaits. Arriba! Off went

Guzman-Vidal.

"Whew," said Castanhoso. "Did you have that, too?"

"Oh, yes," said Reith. "One time Santiago hid in my cabin when his wife was

looking for him to brain him with a camera tripod. Valerie Mulroy had made

passes at him, and he didn't discourage her. If that's married life, I'm glad I'm

single."

"In your business you practically have to be, because of the time lag. How do

you make that ass Pride shut up?"

"Short of hitting him with a club, I don't know. There's at least one in every

group." Reith yawned. "Now I have to eat with my lambs. Then I'm supposed to

study a couple of your foul Krishnan languages, but I'm so tired I'll probably fall

asleep in the first declension."

"Gozashtandou and Durou are not too hard. They are as much alike as, say,

Spanish is like Portuguese, and they have fewer irregularities than most

European tongues. Katai-Jhogorai is something else; it belongs to another

language family."

"We're to depend on Prince Tashian's man as interpreter there."

"Watch yourself; I mistrust that Tashian."

"What's the matter with him?" asked Reith.

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