Derelict For Trade

by Andre Norton

  Dane followed silently. Behind, he heard Steen Wilcox say, "All right, Tang, you’re the key, so take your place at the com and wait. Frank, you take charge of the defense team. Now, this is how we’ll divide up."

  Tooe darted ahead up the lock tube, then came scudding back, her crest wide and her eyes glowing. "Monitor! Pod coming—two tens of Monitor."

  "Good work." Jellico gave Tooe a quick nod. "Take us by your short route."

  Tooe grinned, her crest flicking up proudly. It didn’t take any great powers of observation to see that she was pleased to be called upon.

  With a racketing, sometimes heart-stopping speed, she led them through the outer byways of the Spinner. Dane recognized a landmark here and there, but he still would not be able to get around, he realized as they zoomed down an ancient air duct. Tooe only whistled once, and the answer came prompt and clear. So there was at least one person watching their progress unseen. The big, dark spaces no longer seemed empty; feeling a little unreal, Dane couldn’t decide if that was bad or good.

  They whizzed around a corner. Dane felt sudden coldness in his face as they dove through fog from one of the countless leaking tubes. An unwelcome memory of that frozen hand flying at him flickered through his mind, and he wondered why he had never heard anything from that particular clan again. Had they considered honor to be satisfied?

  Or were the Golm biding their time against a more propitious moment—like now?

  As they progressed, Dane became aware of odd noises here and there. Nothing profound; the clack of an old door, or the sudden whir of an ancient elevator. He realized then that the silent follower—or followers—were matching their pace.

  When he had a chance, he caught up with Tooe and whispered, "We’re being followed."

  Her crest flattened.

  "Bide easy," she whispered back. "For now, all Spinner is klinti."

  "You mean united?"

  She gave a flick of her crest that signified agreement.

  "Including the Deathguard?"

  "No," she said quickly, stealing a quick look around. "They choose no side. They stay away—watching."

  Wondering if that was the worst threat of all, Dane dropped back as Tooe led the others down the last portion of space.

  They eased out on a maglev leading from one of the Kanddoyd towers. As they boarded a pod, Tooe pointed a webbed blue finger through the window, and Dane saw the memorable landmark nearby: they would be at the Movable Feast in mere moments.

  Still, he found himself holding his breath every time the pod stopped.

  By the last stop the pod was crowded. Dane felt that people were staring at him as he followed the captain off the pod. The unpleasant sensation made him scan every face he passed; luckily he was tall enough to do it, for the sensation sharpened into conviction when he saw a Kanddoyd veer out of his path and dart, clacking and keening, through the crowd to a Shver. Dane peered after the Kanddoyd, trying to see more.

  A sudden surge in the crowd hid him, but a moment later there was a gap and Dane recognized the Jheel of Clan Golm.

  The Jheel recognized him as well, baring great teeth. His gray head bent: he was giving orders to the Kanddoyd.

  Dane took two fast steps to catch up with Jellico. "Captain—"

  "We saw," Jellico snapped. "Let’s hustle."

  Moving as swiftly as they could, the Queen's crew glided along the path. Dane was careful not to step in anyone’s way, or cause undue attention.

  On the periphery of the concourse crowd he could see figures darting here and there. The Golm leader was mobilizing his gang, Dane realized.

  Once again he had safety in view, but this time he wasn’t fighting against the pull of nearly two gravs. He wished they’d learned the low-grav lope, which used far less energy, but he, at least, kept flying off the deck every time he tried it. Sliding his feet in the shuffling walk they all adopted in low-gee, he lengthened his steps.

  Ten meters.

  Outcries from the crowd made him hurry: they were closing in.

  Five.

  Tooe dashed ahead, palming the doorway. She shrilled admonitions to hurry; the captain gripped Cofort’s arm, and together they went through. Van Ryke looked about—Dane heard heavy Shver breathing behind him, and gave one great leap—

  And he was in.

  He somersaulted to his feet, saw the Jheel himself standing directly outside the restaurant. Five or six sinister figures crowded in next to him, but as one of Gabby’s green-tunicked workers waved them away, they disappeared into the rest of the tourists.

  "Now for it," Jellico said.

  No one spoke as they made their way inside. First, through the garden area that marked off the section of the restaurant where the Shver liked to eat. Dane glanced about curiously, but all he saw were high walls of carefully trimmed ivy dividing off cubicles. The next couple of levels down were where humans and humanoids customarily ate. Why were the Shver above, he wondered, in inversion of the layout of the habitat? The prickling of his back as they descended told him: above, the Shver could see but not be seen.

  Dane tried to shake off the awareness of many eyes, glancing in casually at various cubicles, catching whiffs of inviting aromas. Jellico looked straight ahead, leading the little group past and down another level.

  Here the Kanddoyds had their area. It was mostly open, like the human area, so diners could see one another if they wished, though the tables were set at different levels, some facing the wide windows through which they could see the splendid towers and the liquid glint of the light strings. At the higher levels, certain booths were marked off, mostly by banks of exquisite ferns that blocked the view from above. It was straight toward one of these that Jellico made his way.

  A Kanddoyd glided smoothly from behind a tall tree bearing fragile blossoms, and his course intersected theirs. "Gentle Traders?" he asked, bowing.

  Van Ryke bowed back. "A fine evening, in a very fine place," he said genially. "We wish to avail ourselves of the rare opportunity to join a fellow human in the evening meal."

  "A compliment to your generous impulses, O Terrans," the Kanddoyd said, ticking and clacking rhythmically; Dane felt a visceral warning in the pattern. "Alas, in this direction are only those who wish to imbibe in solitude."

  "Ah," Van Ryke said, bowing again. "One must always respect the wishes of one’s fellow beings. One also must respect promises made by those who make them. Flindyk honored our captain with a specific request, and now is the time for the captain to heed the request."

  Dane felt his neck gripe. He didn’t have to look at the ultrasonic reader on his ring-brooch to know that the Kanddoyd was broadcasting loud and clear.

  Van Ryke smiled, knowing they had won. The Kanddoyds would have never promised any such thing, but Flindyk was human, even after all those years of taking on the guise and habits of another race, and that empty promise he had made Jellico and Cofort on their only visit to him had been a very human thing to do.

  The Kanddoyd had one more try. "It is my pleasure to acknowledge the rightness of requests being honored, and vows kept, but this is not a place of business. The strains and stresses of the business hours are now past. The rules here are strict, so that all beings may enjoy their delectable viands in a harmonious atmosphere."

  Van Ryke smiled, gesturing in the mode of Pleasant Discourse, with a little flutter of Surprised Inquiry.

  "What else could we have to do with our fellow being from far Terra, but compare the beauties of these herbaceous borders to those fine gardens we left at home? Now, can you not tell me the names of these attractive gymnosperms here?" He gestured behind the Kanddoyd, and as all of them pressed forward, Van Ryke kept up an admirable stream of questions about each plant they came to. The Kanddoyd clacked and squeaked increasingly but was forced to answer these direct questions, and so, plant by plant, step by step, they closed in until at last Flindyk was visible through a frame of delicate fronds. Amazingly, his cubicle, despite

  the greenery
, was open to the levels above. Was he so sure of his power?

  Flindyk saw them almost the same moment Dane saw him, and for a moment he went rigid. Then, as at last the Queen's crew rounded the last obstacle, he sat back, his fantastic carapace gleaming richly in the reflected light from the levels towering above them.

  "My very dear captain," he said suavely, opening his hands. "You honor me! If you have come to settle your affairs, I shall be most happy to terminate my free time early, and expedite matters for you."

  "There is no hurry," Jellico said. "Please, continue your meal. We shall discourse upon the pleasantries of life on the Garden of Harmonious Exchange."

  Through the green of the ferny border, Dane saw two of Gabby’s workers just visible, one a tall being in a green tunic, another a Kanddoyd wearing green ribbons.

  Flindyk sat back, a huge figure in his carved and gilded armor. Dane realized suddenly that that was, in fact, what he wore; he wasn’t just an old, obese human pretending to be a Kanddoyd; he was armored. He thought narrowly, I'll bet my life's pay that stuff he's wearing is blastproof.

  Flindyk smiled slightly, and raised a fine cut crystal goblet full of amber-colored wine. Dane noted he didn’t use a bulb, which meant he was sure of his control over the liquid. "You shall enjoy my hospitality when we depart this place," he said. "That is also a promise."

  Van Ryke moved slightly as if he were about to speak, but Jellico flicked a glance his way. Dane watched the cargo master nod and return to the posture of the observer.

  Jellico’s was not the first (or even the tenth) name that would have come to Dane’s mind if he were to count up the Solar Queen's crew members who were able to talk in the flowery, roundabout manner of the Kanddoyds. Apparently, though, the captain could employ that kind of language when he needed to.

  "If you wish," the captain said, "but you will permit me to provide the entertainment."

  "Alas," Findyk said, holding the goblet up to the light. Dane was fascinated by the ocher glints and sparks thrown off by the fine crystal. "Alas, though your intentions are. sincere. yes, we shall honor them for their sincerity, if not for their perspicacity. But to resume. Though your intentions are truly praiseworthy, I would regret deeply being a passive witness to the diminishment of your sadly limited means."

  Flindyk smiled as his fingers played with the crystal goblet. Dane forced his attention away from the odd behavior of the liquid in the wineglass, which never quite came close to spilling. Instead, it bulged up in an odd bubble above the lip of the goblet, held together by surface tension and the wetting action on the crystal. Seeing how deadly aspirated liquids could be in free fall, it was a powerful statement of confidence.

  It's a hint, Dane thought, feeling tension pound in his head. He's showing us how he's playing with us, and how he still retains control.

  Just then a slight movement on the periphery of his vision caused him to glance to the side to see that the ferny border of the booth was dark with witnesses. Dane saw the gray of Shver skin, black-clothed, and the tension accelerated into danger. Deathguard! Had the Jheel managed to bring his group of toughs in, then?

  But then a subtle change in the light from above drew his gaze upwards, and there, far above, the balconies of the highest level were lined with Shver staring down in silence, their martial ornaments glinting in the pinlight illumination they favored.

  Flindyk sensed it too, revealing this by the barest flicker of his eyes.

  His smile increased, full of confidence and false bonhomie.

  Before he could speak again, Jellico said quietly, "Though the means may be limited, if the story is compelling enough, the entertainment will fascinate the widest audience."

  "Perhaps," Flindyk said, finishing the wine at a toss, then setting the goblet down. At once his Kanddoyd servitor refilled it. "But at the end, the audience wakes up, and leaves, and knows after all that a story is just that: mere fabrication."

  "Only," Jellico replied, "if you overlook the holographic arts. Through

  them we can review the acts of history. I assure you, they are very entertaining."

  Flindyk’s eyes narrowed sharply, then he smiled, and steepled his fingers. On the periphery Dane saw movement again, this time a flicker of red.

  It was Gabby.

  Dane put his hands behind his back and gripped them tightly, determined if anyone made any move toward the captain, they were going through him first.

  "Alas for the fact that audience as well as performers are equally aware that holographic representations can be manufactured, just as are the stories our actors mouth out upon the stage."

  Jellico smiled. It was not at all a pleasant smile. "When the actors believe what they are saying, the performance can be remarkably convincing."

  Flindyk considered the keen gray eyes, the hard face creased down one side by a blaster scar, and leaned forward. For the first time Dane saw just a trace of doubt visible on the man’s face. "You haven’t enough actors for this play," he said in his mellow voice. "And when it is done, and you are gone, the. effects. of it remain with the actors for the rest of their lives."

  "It already has," Jellico returned. "And there are plenty of actors for the story of Sphere Eleven Startraders. More than you think."

  The ferns on the periphery rustled, and several figures stepped forward. Dane looked up, and it was then he realized what Jellico had gambled on: that the word would spread, through all the Traders, and not only were two Spinner gang leaders there, but Dane recognized the Shauv of the clan he’d had his duel with, and three Company ship captains—including one from I-S—and a cluster of Kanddoyds.

  "More than you think," Jellico repeated.

  Flindyk’s thin lips went white. With one hand he fumbled at his belt, then he leaned back. "You may have gotten these fools to believe your bluff," he said quietly, dropping all pretense of politeness. "But you forget I

  still hold this station, and too many owe their livelihoods—and their lives—to me."

  Both of them glanced aside; as yet Gabby had not moved.

  Jellico said, "I think the time has come for you to confess the truth: that you have committed piracy, theft, murder, and barratry, and have profited therefrom."

  "The time has come for your life to end," Flindyk said, all suavity gone. "Which will occur as soon as you step outside these doors."

  Jellico nodded at the people ringing the booth. "I believe I can make the same threat."

  "Then we wait here," Flindyk said, smiling cruelly. He stretched out his wrist, and pointed to the handsomely carved platinum chain there. Set in its midst was a jewel, not unlike Dane’s ring-brooch.

  "Alas for your loyal crew," Flindyk said. "I’ve just caused some modifications in life support for the Queen—of which, you know, the cylome docks have total control. Their air, my dear captain, is being contaminated by carbon monoxide." He smiled again, showing his teeth, startlingly feral against his babylike cheeks. "It’s a painless death," he added unctuously. "I am minded to be merciful in honor of our common heritage."

  "They will take care of themselves," Jellico said steadily. "You’ve been in a habitat so long that you’ve forgotten how common combustion engines are on planets. We’re familiar with cee-oh poisoning."

  "How about drowning in sewage?" Flindyk snarled suavely. "I can mix in some live steam, if you like."

  "Then my comtech will have time before he dies to issue one last com: we sank a bitbomb into the communications system, and every file we have will be spammed all over the starlanes."

  "You have no proof of anything," Flindyk said softly.

  "But someone with time, and money, and power will undoubtedly come who will get proof. There’s enough there to interest someone, don’t you think? Ya’s orders are clear: as soon as anyone does anything to my ship, that com goes out. And meanwhile, we can sit here until the restaurant descends. How long has it been since you experienced one grav, much less one-point-six?" Jellico went on. "I endured it today and lived
. Can you say the same?"

  "Many hours will pass between now and then," Flindyk said. "You will have no crew to return to."

  "That is the risk I take," Jellico said. "The cause is justice for a greater number than six."

  Flindyk started to fumble at his wrist communicator again, and no one moved to stop him.

  However, not everyone was still. Flindyk himself realized something had happened, and looked up, then froze.

  Gabby had raised one hand, his carapace droning a weird threnody of stridulations. He made a gesture, and the lights in the restaurant flickered—not once, but three times.

  And Dane felt a gentle lurch in the pit of his stomach that rapidly grew to dizziness. The restaurant was dropping! Whispers, toots, keens, hooms, all sounded around them as the apparent gee force slowly declined toward zero as the program Gabby had set in motion gradually released the restaurant into free fall. Far below, the surface began to expand slowly as they plummeted toward it.

  But his attention was wrenched around by sudden movement from Flindyk. A ring winked brightly on one fat finger and there was sudden movement among the Deathguard. They drew their weapons, serrated short swords intended for low-grav combat, designed to snag in the rent flesh of an enemy to enable the combatant to change vector easily after the stroke. Dane could see their huge muscles bunch under the black cloth that shrouded their forms.

  From far above, in vast recapitulation of his tweedling bagpipe in the duel, the ancient triumph music of the Shver pealed out, brass and drum and shrilling hydraulisynth, electronic echo of the bloody Shver past. The crowd of witnesses shouted, screeched, keened, and tooted in shock as the bulky Shver leaped off their balconies, floating down with elephantine grace, brandishing the same type of swords. Dane saw that every clan was represented, all by Shver of the highest caste.

  The Deathguard halted, frozen in a posture of pure menace, ready for anything as the Shver from above landed between them and the Terrans. Dane could hear the click of their magboots fastening to the deck. The eldest Shauv hoomed and rumbled at the Deathguard; Dane caught only one phrase, but it made his skin prickle.