The only other thing Roan took was a magnificent, massive jewel, engraved TER. IMP. It hung around his neck from a gold chain and where it rested against his bare chest, between the edges of his scarlet jacket, it warmed him, almost seeming to throb like a beating heart.
I look the way a Terran ought to look, Roan thought, looking at himself in the enormous mirror that backed the door to the bathing room. The jewel glowed on his browned chest and his freshly washed hair clustered in dark red curls over his forehead.
Roan wondered if a Terran would think him handsome. A Terran Woman. O gods, how long since he’d had a woman!
Roan buckled back on his old link metal belt. He wondered why he thought it brought him luck, because it didn’t really. Then he reluctantly picked up the Mark XXX blaster. Here, it didn’t seem right. But he shoved it into the belt, which strained to hold it.
Roan retraced his steps through still corridors, down to the echoing concourse, out onto the broad terrace.
Far in the sky the lowering sun flashed orange from the towers of the city—where Henry Dread was searching for loot now with his vicious crew of cut-throats. It was soiled, grubby—all of the Universe—but here it didn’t exist. He didn’t want to call it into being again.
Roan took a new path, behind the house, walking quickly because he didn’t have much time left. Night was coming. He’d seen perhaps, most of what there was to see, and one more quick turn—”
Roan drew up short.
Because reflected in a round mirror-pool, among fragile violet flowers, was a human Woman.
She was flushed pink in the sunset, pouring water from a longnecked jar. The water, sparkling pink, too, in the light, rippled over her slim neck, between her lifted breasts and around her softly bent body over her flanks, and finally ran murmuring into the mirror-pool, making no splash or ripple.
“Oh, please,” Roan said, not meaning to speak, and went up to the woman. But it was a statue, smiling its dreamy, carved smile, thinking the secret things of women.
Roan reached out and touched the soft curve of the hard, marble cheek.
And then far away came the violent stutter of guns. Then a single shot. A power rifle.
Perhaps it was the anger against life that filled him or perhaps it was a premonition of what was really happening, but Roan was running. Along the curved paths and then straight across the middle of the park where there was a wide concourse and through a small grove where night had already come, and up the fence, holding to the nearest heavy vine, and slowing to be quiet now, along the fence to the tree.
A gun rattled, paused, fired again. A voice shouted.
Roan started down the tree. The streets were violet shadows now, the towers bright-edged silhouettes against the orange and purple sky. There was a faint movement in the gloom below the tree and a face, a white blob in the darkness, looked up toward Roan, the glint of a knife in the teeth.
There was a sharp hiss. Something chipped at the tiles and then another hiss and whoever it was starting up the tree fell back and slumped to the ground.
Roan hefted the gun out of his belt. His Mark XXX that he’d all but forgotten in the park. Well, that dream of peace was over now.
Roan waited, heard a few shots, distant now, saw nothing moving. He dropped softly from the tree, squatted, turned the body on its back. The coarse, slack features of a bald Minid stared past him with dead, surprised eyes. The stump of a broken-off wooden shaft poked from the Minid’s chest just below the edge of the sheepskin vest.
One of crew. A mean, dirty creature, but somehow one of his.
Roan stood, trying to see through the dark streets. The firing was becoming steadier now, coming from locations to the north and east. A cold, evening wind blew up, and one brilliantly, orange star came out. Probably the next planet of the sun Aldo.
Roan crossed the street, started up one of the dark avenues toward the north. Lights came on suddenly to illuminate the city; mists of light that seemed to hang in the air like clouds.
There was a sharp hiss. Something struck the doorway of the house near Roan and clattered on the steps. Roan dropped, rolled, brought his gun around and fired at a figure bounding from the shadowed doorway across the street. The figure fell under the misting streetlight.
Roan retreated to crouch in the angle between the steps and the Terran house. Three long-legged, roundshouldered creatures emerged from the side street. He saw the thick, recurving bows in their hands, the lank hair that dangled beside their oddly flat faces, the heavy quivers slung at their backs. They paused, fanning out. One saw the dead bowman, made a hoarse noise. At once, the three whirled, angled off quickly in different directions. One was leaping toward Roan. He brought his gun up fired, swung and fired on a second savage as the first slammed to the curb of the mosaic sidewalk, almost at his feet. The second bowman reeled, stumbled, went down. Roan swung to the third and it dived for the black shadow of the building at the corner as his shot sent blue sparks from the door of the Terran house.
Roan was up instantly, dashing for the corner, rounding it as a heavy arrow touched his shoulder, skipped high, flashed off into darkness. Roan skidded to a stop, stepped back to the corner, dropped flat, thrust himself out. The native was charging from cover. Roan’s shot caught him full in the chest and he fell with a tremendous heavy slam an impact of utter finality.
Roan let his breath out in a long sigh, slumped against the pavement, listening. There were no sounds, no moving feet, no stealthy breathing, only the intermittent rasp and crackle of guns, nearer now but still, he guessed, a street or two away.
He got to his feet, moved off quickly, following a side street that would bring him to the scene of the action by a roundabout route.
XXI
From a low balcony which he had reached by clambering up the shadowed carved front of a peach-colored tower, Roan watched as a party of a dozen or so bowmen assembled almost directly below him in a narrow way.
The sounds of firing came closer from along the wide avenue. Roan could see the blue flashes of power guns now, the yellow stabs of pellet throwers. Below, the leader of the ambushing party spoke, and his bowmen set arrows, crouching silent and ready.
Down the avenue, Roan made out Henry Dread’s tall figure among a huddle of humanoids. There were not more than fifty in the party, he estimated—out of over eighty who had landed; a straggling band of cursing frightened raiders caught off-guard, retreating under a rain of arrows that flew from the darkness without flash or sound. A bald Minid screeched, spun, fell kicking. The others passed him by, firing at random into the shadows, coming closer to the ambush.
Below Roan, the bowmen gathered themselves. There was a single, grunted syllable from the leader. He stepped forward—
Roan shot him, swept die gun across the others as they sprang back gaping. Three more fell, and the rest dashed for the deep shadows, disappeared between close walls.
No one in the retiring ship’s party seemed to have noticed the by-play. They were formed up into a defensive ring, watching each side street as they passed. Henry Dread held up a hand, halted the group fifty feet from Roan’s vantage point. Lying on the balcony, he had a clear view of the pirates and the empty streets all around.
“Belay firing!” Roan heard Henry Dread’s voice. “They’ve pulled back for now.”
There were snarls and mutters from the crewmen. They shifted uneasily, watching the dark mouths of side streets. A gun winked blue, a harsh buzz against silence.
“I said belay that!” Henry. Dread grated. “We’ll hold up here for ten minutes to give stragglers a chance to join us.”
“To the Pit with stragglers,” the A crewman who had fired his gun cut in. “We should stay here and let these local slobs surround us? We’re moving on—fast”
“Shut up, Snorgu,” Henry Dread snapped. “Maybe you’ve forgotten I busted you out of a Yill jail after you were dumb enough to get caught flat-footed strangling an old female for her nose-ruby. And now you’re goin
g to do the thinking for my crew!”
“Your crew my hind leg, you lousy Terry. We’ve taken enough orders from your kind. What about it boys?” Snorgu glanced around at the watching pirates.
Henry stepped up to the heavyshouldered crewman. “Hand over your gun, Snorgu!”
Snorgu faced Henry, the gun in his fist aimed at the pirate leader. He laughed.
“I’m keeping my gun. And I’m firing when I feel like it.”
A crewman beside Henry moved suddenly, caught the pirate captain’s arms from behind. Another struck out, knocked Henry’s gun from his hand. A third stooped, came up with it.
“Here’s where we get a new captain,” Snorgu growled. “Lead us into a ambush, hah? Some captain you are. I guess us Gooks have got just about a gut-full of fancy Terry ways.”
“I seem to remember giving some orders about looting parties posting sentries,” Henry drawled. “And about skeleton crews on the Bolos.” Snorgu snarled and jammed the gun hard against Henry’s chest. “Never mind nil that Hand over the keys to the chart room and the strong box in your cabin.”
Henry laughed, a hard sound like ice breaking. “You’re out of luck. You think I carry a bunch of keys around for stupid deck-apes like you to lift the first time you see a chance? They’re combination locks. Kill me and you’ll never get in.”
“You’ll open ’em,” someone harked. “A couple needle-bums through the gut, and a couple of days for the rot to set in, and you’ll be screaming for somebody to listen to you sing, and all you’ll ask is a fast knife in the neck before your belly explodes.”
“Meanwhile, how do you plan to get back to the ship?” Henry Dread cut in. “There might be a few natives between here and there that don’t want to see you run off after such a short stay.”
“Gun him down,” someone suggested. “We’ve got enough on our hands without we got to watch this Terry.”
“Sure. We can beam them locks open.”
“Suits me.” Snorgu grinned, showing large, widely-spaced teeth in a loose-lipped mouth wide enough to put a hand in sideways. He stepped back a pace, angled the gun down at Henry’s belt-buckle—Roan took careful aim, shot Snorgu through the head.
The pirate’s gun flew into the air as his hand jerked up; he stumbled back and fell, and Henry stepped forward, caught the falling gun out of the air, held it aimed from the hip. The crewmen gaped.
“Anybody else care to nominate himself captain?” Henry’s sharp voice cut across the silence. The men were craning their necks, looking for the source of the shot. Roan saw one ease a gun around, aim it at Henry Wread; Roan shot him through the chest. As he fell, another brought a gun up, and Henry, whirling, beamed him down.
“Next?” he said pleasantly. No one moved. The crewmen stood stiffly now, cowed, worried. Henry laughed shortly, lowered his gun.
“All right, spread out in a skirmish line and let’s get moving.” He motioned them past with his pistol. Roan lowered himself over the balustrade and climbed quickly down. Henry Dread watched him come. His narrowed eyes were on the gun at Roan’s hip. “Learned to use it?”
“Comes in handy,” Roan said casually, imitating Henry Dread’s manner. He stood with his thumbs hooked in his belt, looking at the older man. Henry’s eyes went from Roan’s scarlet vest down the length of the silvery trousers, back up. His eyes locked with Roan’s.
“You had a good chance to shoot me then,” he said. “But when it got right down to it, you sided me.” His face broke slowly into a smile. “I knew you’d figure out which side you were on, boy. You picked a good time. Something you learned in that park?”
“I found a garden,” Roan said. “It was perfect; the most perfect place I ever saw. I wanted to stay there. There was everything you could ever need. And then I saw a statue and I touched it, and all of a sudden I saw that it was all dead, frozen, just a fossil of something that was alive once. Something that could live again, maybe. I decided then. I want to make it live, Henry. I want to do whatever I have to do to make it come to life again. I want that stone girl to turn to living flesh and walk in that garden with me.”
Henry’s hand thrust out. Roan took it. “We’ll do it, Roan,” the pirate said. “Together, we’ll do it.
Smiling, Roan said. “Want the gun back?”
Henry Dread’s smile was grim. “Keep it,” he said. “From now on, you walk behind me. Keep the gun on your hip, and your right hand loose.”
He turned and followed the huddle of pirates, and Roan trailed him, walking with his head up, liking the feel of the heavy gun in his belt.
XXII
“These past two years have been A good, Roan,” Henry Dread said, refilling his heavy wine mug. “Seven raids, all successful. Enough new men recruited to more than cover our losses; and our fuel and ammo reserves are at the best level in years.”
Roan looked at his half-full glass sullenly. “And we’re still no closer to starting a new Terra than we ever were. We haven’t found even one more real Man to add to the roster. There’s still just you and me. Two Terries, two freaks, talking about what we’ll do some day.”
“Look here, Roan, we’ve followed every rumor of a Terry we’ve run across. Is it my fault if they didn’t pan out? We’ll find a colony of Terries yet. And when we do—”
“Meanwhile Iron Robert’s still chained. I want you to release him, Henry.”
The pirate’s hand came down to slam the table. “Damn it, are we going to start into that again? Haven’t I explained to you that that man-eater’s a symbol aboard this vessel? My cut-throats saw him stand up to a blaster; they heard him threaten to pitch me through the side of my own ship! And I let him live! As long as he’s chained to the wall his talk is just talk. Maybe a blaster can’t touch him, but Henry Dread has him under lock and key! But turn him loose—let him stamp around this ship a free Geek—well, you get the picture!”
“I get the picture,” Roan said. “For over two years now I’ve been living off the fat of the land while my friend sits in the dark with half a ton of steel welded to his leg.”
“Hell let’s be realistic, boy! He doesn’t mind it—not like you or I would! He says so himself. He sits and goes off into some kind of trance! Doesn’t even eat for days at a time. He’s not human Roan! By the Gods, with Man’s Galaxy at stake, you worry about one damned Geek!”
“Set him free. He won’t cause any trouble. I’ll be responsible for him.”
“That’s not the point,” Henry said in a hard voice. “You’d better settle for having him alive. He’s the first Geek I ever let live aboard my ship!”
“That’s what your grand dream really boils down to, isn’t it, Henry? Killing Geeks.”
Henry swiveled to stare into the view screen that curved above the command console. “Somewhere out there, there’s si Niss warship,” he said quietly. “We’re closing the gap, Roan. The stories we’ve picked up these last couple of months all tell the same tale. The Niss ship is real, and it’s not far off. We’ll pick it up on our long-range screens any day now.”
“More Geeks to kill. That’s all it is. It isn’t a war; the Niss were beaten—at least as much as the Empire. They’re no threat to us or to anybody. They haven’t attacked anyone.”
Henry swung back. “Haven’t they? What about the Mandevoy patrol boat they vaporized last year at a range of twelve thousand miles?”
“The Mandevoy went out looking for trouble. They admitted that. The Niss haven’t attacked a planet, or any ship that stayed clear of them. Let’s forget the Niss. It’s Terra we’re interested in. Let’s look for Terra.”
“Terra!” Henry snorted. “Don’t A you know that’s just a name. Roan? A mythical wonderland for the yokels to tell stories about! The Terran Empire isn’t some two-bit world somewhere at the far side of the Galaxy. It’s humanity—organized, armed and in charge!”
“There is a Terra,” Roan said. “And some day I’ll find it. If you’ve given up on it, I’ll find it alone.”
“Give
n up!” Henry Dread roared, coming to his feet. “Henry Dread never gave up on anything he set out to do! I’m not chasing rainbows! I’m fighting a live enemy! I’m facing reality! Maybe it’s time you grew up and did the same!” Roan nodded. “You’re right. Just set me down on the next inhabited world with my share of the spoils. I’ll leave your grand scheme to you; I’ve got a better one of my own.” Henry’s eyes were fierce fires blazing in a face purple with fury.
“By the Nine Gods, I’ve got a good mind to take you at your word! I picked you out of a damned zoo, a freak in a cage, and made you my second in command—and tried to make you my friend! And now—”
“I’ve never asked you for anything, Henry,” Roan cut in, his blue eyes holding the pirate’s. They stood face to face, two big, powerfully built men, one with gray hair and a face of lined leather, the other with a mane of dark red curls hacked short, the clean features of youth, a flawless complexion marred only by a welted scar along his right cheek where Ithc’s talons had raked him, long ago.
“But you’ve taken plenty!”
“I was content with the ’zoo. I had friends there. A girl, too.”
Henry Dread snarled. “You’ll befriend any lousy Gook or Geek that gives you the time of day. But me, a Commander in the Imperial Terran Navy—I’m not good enough for your friendship!”
Roan’s expression changed. He frowned.
“You said—the Imperial Terrain Navy.”
Henry Dread’s eyes held steady. “That’s what I said,” he grated.
“I thought,” Roan said carefully, watching Henry Dread’s eyes, “that the ITN was wiped out, thousands of years ago.”
“You did, eh?” Henry was smiling a tight, hard smile. He looked at Roan bright-eyed, enjoying the moment. “What if I told you it wasn’t wiped out? What if I said there were intact units scattered all over die Eastern Arm when the shooting stopped? What if I said Rim Head-quarters had taken over command control, reorganized the survivors, and held the Navy together—waiting for the day a counter-attack could be launched?”
Collected Short Fiction (Jerry eBooks) Page 44
