The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers

by Alan Dean Foster

  The brilliantly bedecked Tran stared at September. For an instant Ethan saw a glimmer in the native’s eyes of something other than respect. It vanished quickly. “As the sky outlander desires.” He turned to Hunnar.

  “I ask forgiveness, friend.” The last word was forced out like a recalcitrant belch.

  “Finish it properly.” Ethan threw the giant a warning look. They’d obtained an apology, for heaven’s sake! What more did September want?

  “My … my breath is your … your …” He looked uncomfortably at September, avoiding the eyes of the crowd.

  “Tell him,” insisted September coolly.

  Assuming a remarkable expression of distaste, the native put out both arms and approached Hunnar. Placing a hand on each of the knight’s shoulders, he exhaled toward his face. “My breath is your warmth,” he said quickly. Then he retreated into the crowd.

  The sympathy of the onlookers, Ethan decided, lay with the departed and not with Hunnar. The knight wrinkled his broad muzzle. “Pagh! That smells of falf lard.”

  “Anyone else have anything to say?” September stared at the crowd. With murmurs and mutterings, the assembled citizens began to move off. Like crumbs falling from a cake, they fell away in different directions and smaller and smaller groups. The murmurs included distinct apologies, but all had been directed to Ethan and September.

  “What was that all about?” Ethan asked the knight.

  Hunnar looked upset. “We were waiting patiently for you and friend September. Local people were going back and forth from the building you entered. Many of them made comments to us. None were pleasant to hear, Ethan. Some would have caused blood to freeze in the streets of Wannome.” He took a deep breath.

  “But this is not Wannome and we did not wish to do something that might give you trouble or embarrassment. It was very hard, but we ignored all such comments. At least, we did so until that last pash made a reference upon my family line which could not be ignored.

  “Had you not intervened, Ethan, I would have decorated the street with his insides.”

  “You are quick to forgive,” Suaxus said softly. Hunnar turned and glared at him, but the squire looked back defiantly. Suaxus had always been fast to take offense, Ethan recalled.

  “We hardly intervened,” he said, trying to mollify any discomfort Hunnar might feel for not having fought his opponent. “We were ready to fight alongside you if need be. Why did they all simply apologize and melt away as they did?”

  September began scratching the earring-decorated ear. “I’m not sure myself, lad. None of the Tran in Wannome acted like that toward us. They were polite, but independent.”

  Hunnar gestured at the locals chivaning to and from the building. “Not warriors.” He said it disdainfully.

  “Skua, did you notice the other’s clothing?” Ethan asked.

  “No. All I was watching was his face and sword arm.”

  “He was wearing metal-fabric sashes and other off-world decorations, and his sword was stelamic.”

  “Apologetic in proportion to commerce. Interesting.” September looked thoughtful.

  “They think,” Suaxus said bitterly, “they are superior to us because of their association with your people here.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Ethan felt acutely uncomfortable. “Why should they?”

  “It’s happened often enough in our own past, lad.” September divided his attention equally between Ethan and Suaxus as he spoke. “When the great, rich explorers from beyond, wherever beyond happened to be at the time, set up a trading post, the local natives were quick to consolidate the trade monopoly on their own behalf. Nor were they averse to showing off their trade wealth in front of their excluded brethren.

  “So though someone else is making the big money off the Tran-ky-ky trade, the Arsudunites are quite content with their own small corner on the market. It makes them feel big and important, just as Suaxus claims.”

  Budjir was as quiet as his companion squire was talkative, but when his spit hit the ground it possessed a certain nonverbal eloquence admirable in its conciseness.

  They started back to the ship. The three Tran kept slightly to themselves, moving just ahead of the humans.

  “I said inside the port, lad, that something else has got to be done to open up this world so all the locals benefit.” He nodded back in the direction of the port complex. “That little altercation back there between Hunnar and one citizen is going to form the pattern for inter-Tran relationships unless this local monopoly is broken. Both of ’em. The one the Arsudunites enjoy, and the bigger one behind it.”

  Ethan slipped slightly, just catching his balance on the frozen ground paralleling the icepath. “You told me you had something in mind. Me, I’d set up another trading post with shuttlecraft facilities somewhere else, maybe on Sofold. From there trade could be conducted that would be fair to all Tran, giving them fair value for their goods while still making an honest profit in return.”

  September shook his white-maned head. “No offense against our friends up ahead,” and he gestured at Hunnar and the squires, “but as much as we may’ve come to like ’em personally, inside they’re no different than any other Tran. Pretty soon Sofold would be just like Arsudun, jealous of its little monopoly. Oh, maybe Hunnar wouldn’t go for it, but there’re plenty of merchants in Wannome who’d fight to preserve it.

  “No, something else is needed. Something that’ll prevent any fiscal insularity from even getting established. And something that’ll just incidentally slice this present unfair setup into pieces the size of those the Slanderscree’s runners cut out o’ the ice.

  “Young feller-me-lad, the Tran need Commonwealth representation.”

  Ethan halted. “That’s impossible, Skua! It would’ve been done by now if survey had thought it possible. Sure, associate membership would be wonderful for them. They could deal with traders on a world-wide basis, spread the wealth and advances they could obtain evenly across the entire planet. But it’s just not feasible.”

  “Better to try than to leave them open to the kind of exploitation that’s goin’ on here, lad. I think it can be done. First we’ve got to talk to the local Commissioner. “But you’re leaving in a few days. No need to worry yourself about something you’re convinced is impossible anyway.”

  “I’ve got a few days, like you say.” Ethan resumed walking. “It won’t give me a depressex if I tag along and see the Commissioner with you.”

  The office of the Resident Planetary Commissioner was located in the main administration building, northwest of the port complex. Privately, Ethan thought it too ornate for a world where humanx population and interests were comparatively slight.

  Five single-story buildings projected outward like the spokes of a wheel from the central structure, a three story pyramid of white and black stone done in checkerboard pattern broken only by windows. The five subsidiary structures were living quarters for the administrative staff.

  The main entrance to the pyramid was another double-door arrangement with the halfway climate maintained between for interaction between human and Tran. That section was smaller than the one they’d previously encountered, and logically so. There was little need for Tran to come here, since all trade and commerce were handled at the port.

  Inside the circular main lobby a small, glowing directory hung suspended in midair. The Commissioner’s office was located on the third floor. They had to wait their turn at the small lift.

  At the top they discovered that the Commissioner’s suite was the third floor. They stepped from the lift directly into busy outer offices occupied by a great many large machines and two subsized humans, one male, one female. No one else was in sight.

  Ethan’s first impression of excessive ornateness was reinforced by the carpet. A glance showed his trained eye that it was strictly luxury material, an import—probably from Mantis or maybe Long Tunnel. Genetic manipulation had produced a natural substance with the look and feel of grass, the resistance o
f rubber, and the durability of dilyonite. The result was a pleasant-smelling and remarkably buoyant floor covering. It was very expensive. And though he wasn’t conversant with diplomatic purchasing guidelines, somehow he didn’t think that verdidion weave was standard decor for minor offworld offices, even that of a Resident Commissioner.

  A young man who looked as if he could stand a dozen good meals occupied the desk nearest the lift. His fingers danced over and across machinery and consoles with controlled jerkiness.

  Ethan’s eyes rose ceilingward, encountered the expected mosaic. Four circles of equal size met to form a crude square. The two nearest him were marked with stylized representations of continents, showing both hemispheres of Terra. Tangent to these two, the other pair had similar maps inlaid. These represented the two hemispheres of Hivehom, the home world of humanity’s partner in the Commonwealth, the insectoid thranx.

  Centered among these four larger circles and tangent to all of them was a single smaller circle. A vertical hourglass of bright blue, symbolizing Terra, was crossed by a horizontal hourglass of brilliant green signifying Hivehom. They formed the shape of the ancient Maltese cross, and where they merged the colors blended into aquamarine, the signet hue of the United Church. Since this was a Commonwealth and not a Church installation, the cross was surrounded by a field of crimson, the color of the Commonwealth.

  The straw man seemed to take notice of them. He turned, greeted them indifferently, hands still jerking and darting as if hunting for a rest never to be granted.

  “May I help you, sirs?” His eyes narrowed slightly then and he concentrated a touch more intently on them. “I don’t think I know either of you.” He had assumed a faintly disapproving air. “I thought I knew everyone in the outpost.”

  “We didn’t arrive via the visual channels,” September said.

  Ethan tried to make himself sound important. “We’d like to see the Resident Commissioner.”

  The man wasn’t impressed. “Concerning?” He spoke to Ethan, but his gaze remained fixed on September.

  Ethan thought a moment. “Possibly crucial developments involving native affairs.”

  “What kind of developments? Are you two attached to the xenology team here?” A hand brushed back straight blond hair, rubbed at the side of a small sharp nose, moved down to pull at the hem of his shirt and work up the other side to brush once again at the unruly hair.

  Actually, the itch was concentrated not in hair, nose, or shirt. Instead, it was permanently located in the man’s mind. Since he couldn’t scratch that very well, he settled as did many others for rubbing parts of his anatomy that had nothing to do with his condition.

  “We’d rather tell it to the Commissioner,” said Ethan, trying his best not to sound difficult.

  “Do you have an appointment? I don’t recall any appointments scheduled for this afternoon.”

  “Blessed!” snapped the woman at the other desk, speaking for the first time. She was a stout lady who looked slightly older than September, and she sounded exasperated with her colleague. “If they’re strangers here, then they must have come in on that big native ship.” The straw man showed no reaction. “Didn’t you hear about it?”

  “I’ve been at my desk for the last several days, Eulali. You know I don’t listen much to post gossip.”

  “No wonder you never learn anything,” she sighed. “Anything they have to say could be important. Never mind that they came in on that ship. Just the fact that they’re strangers.”

  “Okay,” the man replied doubtfully. “I guess they can see Trell. But I won’t break procedure.”

  “You and your damn procedure.” Eulali turned back to her own complex instrumentation resuming her work.

  “Procedure says you’ve got to have an appointment,” the man insisted, rubbing the other side of his nose.

  “Oh, all right.” Ethan couldn’t keep the impatience from his voice. “We’ll make an appointment.”

  Turning back to the console before him, the man punched a button. Scribbled words appeared on a display screen. “Don’t get excited. I said I wouldn’t break procedure, and I won’t. You can have an appointment for … five minutes from now be okay?” He smiled. It changed his face completely.

  “That’ll do,” Ethan admitted.

  “The nature of your business involves native affairs, right?” Ethan nodded once. “Names please?”

  “Ethan Frome Fortune.”

  “Your home world or planet of origin?”

  “Terra.”

  “Profession?”

  “Salesman, general manufactured goods, small, representing the House of Malaika.”

  “Thanks.” He glanced perfunctorily over at September. “Name?”

  “Skua September.” The words were grunted out, reluctantly.

  “World of origin or birth?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Now look here …”

  “I’m telling you honestly, son. I don’t know.”

  “Well, what does it say on your cardmeter?”

  “It identifies me as a Commonwealth citizen. That’s all.”

  “I’ve never seen an ident like that.” The skinny interrogator chewed his lower lip, moved to tug the hem of his shirt and decided not to. “Profession?”

  “Free-lance fehdreyer.”

  Again the youth hesitated. “That’s not a Terranglo word, is it?”

  “No, it’s not a Terranglo word,” September assured him.

  “What is it in Symbospeech?”

  “There’s no Symbospeech direct equivalent. It’s a phonetic rescription of an old Terran word from a language called yi’ish.”

  “Oh well, it doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “When do we go in?” Ethan eyed the large wooden door nervously. September’s replies were likely to provoke the skittish clerk if they continued much longer.

  “I’ll check.” He touched another switch. “Sir?”

  “I’ve been monitoring since you keyed me, Avence,” a rich baritone responded. “They can come in. Be careful, Mr. September. You may have to duck. Our ceilings are designed for average human beings and thranx, not athletes or sifters.”

  Ethan looked startled, but September simply smiled, pointing to a spot in the ceiling between the Commonwealth symbols and the top of the wooden door.

  “Don’t worry. I’m used to duckin’. And I’m neither athlete nor sifter.”

  They rose and walked to the entrance. September’s finger continued to point until Ethan spotted the spy-eye in the ceiling.

  “Then he’s been listening to and watching us the whole time?”

  “Naturally, feller-me-lad. What do you expect from a good politician?”

  The pyramid building had three sides, the room they entered three corners and walls. Both exterior walls were perfectly transparent, providing a sweeping and by now familiar view of the harbor and the city of Arsudun backed against uneven, white-clad hills. Between hills and harbor the steep-roofed houses looked like a vast spill of gray paint.

  Much to Ethan’s surprise, the usual desk was absent from the room’s furnishings. Several large couches in freeform design were positioned around the three-sided chamber. Each was covered in a different variety of local fur. Without knowing anything about their durability, Ethan tried to estimate their worth on the open market based on color and thickness alone. It was substantial. Any life-supporting world as cold as Tran-ky-ky was bound to produce some extraordinary fur-bearing creatures. The treated skins in the room gave ample proof of riches no synthetics could match.

  “I’m Jobius Trell,” the room’s sole inhabitant told them, moving to shake his visitor’s hands in turn. He was tall, quite tall, standing midway in height between Ethan and September. His mouth seemed positioned naturally and permanently in a gentle, almost boyish grin. That saved him the necessity of worrying about when to smile in ticklish situations. Blue eyes, a square face, small if unlikely dimpled chin, and thick gray hair combed straight back. Etha
n estimated his weight at around a hundred kilos, distributed on the build of an ordinary athlete. That is, one blessed with no athletic ability other than what was provided by more than usual size and weight, coupled with average coordination.

  Between the Commissioner and September, Ethan felt dwarfed in the room. A gesture directed the visitors to one couch. Trell took the recliner opposite. Ethan could now pick out numerous controls and devices, even thick tape files, set cleverly into the furniture.

  A casual wave at September, and Trell spoke. “You noticed my small preview eye, Mr. September. Have you been familiar with espionage work and equipment in the past?”

  “Nope. But I’ve been in the offices of a lot of politicians.”

  The Commissioner not only didn’t take offense, his laugh sounded quite genuine. “So there’s a sense of humor floating around inside that enormous frame of yours. Good. Let’s see if I can save us some time.” Leaning back into the couch, he ticked off points on his fingers as he talked.

  “One: I’ve already heard the report you gave the postmaster, so I know everything you’ve told him. Rest assured I agree with him completely on expediting your passage off this world. After what you’ve been through, it’s the very least I, as Resident Commonwealth representative, can do. You must’ve had a terrible time of it among the primitives.”

  “Not as terrible as everyone seems to think.” September spoke easily, inviting challenge.

  Trell chose not to accept, or perhaps didn’t perceive the giant’s comment as challenging. “Two, that ship you arrived in. I’ve had recordings made, solidos formed. Quite a piece of engineering.” His voice altered, became slightly more intense as he inquired, “Where did the natives get the duralloy for five runners of that size? Surely the locals haven’t mastered nuclear metallurgy somewhere out in the snow?”

  “No.” Ethan explained. “They cut them as best they could, with our help, from the hull of our wrecked lifeboat.”

  That apparently satisfied Trell. “I suspected something like that. While our Commonwealth charges here aren’t stupid, they’re much longer on muscle than brains.”