Short Fiction Complete

by Fred Saberhagen

  “Not yet,” said the Blond in a cold voice. “Not yet for a little while.”

  BRAZIL and Foley stood among tall bushes and grass on a hillside with a fair view of the town whose name translated into Capital City, early after sunrise on the next morning. They wore heavy ground armor, in camouflage colors. They studied the city before them, adjusting their heavy glass faceplates for telescopic vision.

  Capital City was plainly divided into two sections. The Reds dwelled on a hill at the far side of the harbor from the watching planeteers, in an area surrounded by a defensive wall. Their buildings were mainly of stone or mud brick, and a number of Blond servants could be seen going about various menial tasks.

  In the Blond section, on lower ground and closer to Brazil and Foley, no Reds were visible except for an occasional squad of patrolling soldiers. They stuck close together, looking grimly over their shoulders. The houses were built mostly of dried groundvine mats, though some mud bricks were used.

  Beyond the Blond section were the docks. The water of the harbor was studded with the low shapes of fishing boats and, larger, a few of Galamand’s war galleys.

  “Well—shall we march?” asked Foley.

  “Might as well. I expect Ariton will know were here before we’ve gone very far.”

  Brazil moved his legs. The suit servos drew power from the tiny hydrogen fusion lamp in the backpack; the suit legs churned the massive shape ahead. The wearer had the sensation of moving in light summer clothing, but he could plow through heavy bush and small trees if he chose.

  Brazil and Foley had no wish to leave such a monstrous trail, so they picked their way with care to the nearest road and set out at a slow walk toward town.

  Ariton met them in a narrow street before they were well inside the town. She stared at Foley hard when Brazil introduced him, but gave him a common greetingword in a pleasant voice.

  “Sunto is waiting with a boat in the harbor,” she told them. “It is the shortest and easiest way to Galamand’s building.” The planeteers followed her through narrow winding streets toward the harbor, ever a center of apathetic, curious, hopeful, or poker-faced stares from the Blond slum-dwellers. None of the Red patrols came within sight. That suited Brazil fine.

  Sunto was waiting at a low dock, in a crude and lopsided rowboat fashioned of reeds plastered together with clay.

  “Hope the blasted thing can hold us,” said Foley on radio, trying to check his suit floats unobtrusively. “It’d be a long swim from the middle of the harbor.” The sun was still bright in the morning sky, promising a warm day. Galamand’s castle rose forbidding across the harbor, beyond the fishing boats and the moored biremes of his navy. Above and beyond the castle rose the slender stone Tower of the Sea God.

  THE rowboat held up as Sunto propelled it across the calm water of the harbor, straight toward the landing steps at the base of the castle. Reds appeared on the steps, watching. Their number grew as the boat approached.

  “Galamand will have heard of you, of course,” said Ariton. “I think he will be eager to see you for himself. Of course he may decide to kill you.” She observed them.

  “I don’t think he will harm us,” said Foley. From inside heavy ground armor they could remonstrate gently but confidently with Galamand while he boiled them in oil or his cohorts attempted to bash in their faceplates with axes. It would require a local Archimedes and considerable work for any primitive king to damage them seriously, inside of a days time. But Ariton wore not much of any clothes at all. Foley asked her: “Do you think you will be safe?”

  “The priestess of the Sea God is safe even from Galamand,” she answered absently. Brazil thought she was worried, but not about herself.

  A slight leak developed in the rowboat. Foley bailed rapidly with a leaky gourd, muttering exotic curses.

  Brazil scanned the ranks of grimly watching Reds as they neared the landing steps. “Is Galamand among those?”

  “I do not see him. No doubt he awaits you in the great hall inside.”

  The boat wallowed up to the landing. Ariton hopped nimbly out and made it fast with a rope of vine. A couple of Red soldiers made half-hearted motions of leveling spears in her direction, but no one moved to stop her. Brazil and Foley disembarked and stood quietly, giving the Reds the chance to look them over and make the first move if they felt like it. There were no women or children in sight.

  Ariton moved her hand in an intricate gesture, in the air above Sunto’s head; then touched his head briefly.

  “Now they will not bother him—for a while,” she said to Brazil. “Well, let us go on and try to see the king.”

  A sword-bearing Red who might be an army officer stepped forward. “King Galamand has been told that you are here. Stand and wait.” He eyed Foley with unconcealed and unfriendly curiosity.

  Some of the Red troops looked Brazil over and commented among themselves with openly truculent contempt. His blondness was plainly visible through the faceplate. He looked back at them, deadpan, unobtrusively inflating his suit’s flotation bubbles. Giant red swellings ballooned out around his shoulders and torso. The soldiers stared and fell silent.

  “Brazil, what are you doing?” hissed a peremptory voice in his helmet.

  “All right, I guess it wasn’t funny.” He deflated the bubbles and tried to wait patiently.

  A FEW minutes passed in silence. Then a more elaborately costumed Red appeared, and imperiously beckoned the delegation to follow him into the castle.

  There were only a few Blonds inside the walls. They had the look of prisoners or the lowest of slaves. Now a few Red women and children were in evidence, but they retreated rapidly out of sight of the visitors. The complex of walls and buildings making up the stronghold had been built of heavy stone, with little if any mortar used. But the stones were cut and fitted superbly, especially in the lower levels of the walls.

  The great hall was a high chamber about thirty yards by ten, dimly lit by smoking torches and small high windows. It was crowded with Red men of varied appearance. But across one end of the room stood a solid wall of tall soldiers bearing shields and leveled spears.

  “The old boy’s probably right behind his army,” Brazil radioed.

  “Stand and wait here,” said the distinguished Red who was acting guide, indicating a spot not far from the leveled spears. He disappeared into the crowd at one side.

  Brazil and Foley turned casually around as they waited, studying the chamber and the Reds in it. No attempt had been made to surround the visitors at close quarters. The door by which they had entered still stood open. Ariton stood waiting between the planeteers, with utter calm.

  Another important-looking Red appeared before them; but it was somehow obvious that he was not the king. He held his hands clasped before him and owned a nose remarkable in size even for one of his tribe.

  “Do you bear weapons?” he demanded sharply, looking from Foley to Brazil.

  “We do,” said Foley. “And we are not the only men here who bear them.” He tried to give his speech the accent of a Red.

  “You must give me your weapons,” said the chamberlain. “Then you may advance and prostrate yourselves before the king.”

  “We will advance to greet the king in all friendliness,” said Foley. “But the law of our own nation forbids us to do homage to him or to give up our weapons.” The chamberlain hesitated a moment, then began to screech at the Earthmen threateningly, as if they were slaves. He raved and glared and waved his arms, and jabbered so fast he became almost unintelligible. Yet Brazil got the impression the man was trying to avoid direct personal insult. It was a masterful performance of denouncing their disrespectful behavior but not themselves.

  “Better just wait him out,” Brazil subvocalized to Foley via radio. “Maybe they just want to see if we bluff. It wouldn’t do for the king himself to fail.”

  THE planeteers stood silent a full thirty seconds longer, glaring stony-eyed back at the speaker. The harangue gave no sign of slackenin
g.

  “Better squelch him,” Brazil said. Evidently the torrent of words was going to continue until they reacted to it in some way. Brazil did not now want to give the impression that Earthmen had infinite patience. The squelch might be better accepted coming from the “Red” planeteer.

  “Silence!” Foley bellowed, after turning up his airspeaker volume. He got what he called for with magical suddenness. Ariton wore a pleased smile.

  “We have come here to talk with a king, not to listen to you,” Foley went on. “If King Galamand is not pleased to receive us today, we will return tomorrow. Our business is important.”

  “Get out of the way,” said a firm voice from behind the wall of soldiers. “Let them come here.” The rank of soldiers opened, but stayed within spear-thrusting distance on either side. Brazil, Ariton and Foley advanced toward the man who sat alone upon an ancient carven chair.

  The low dais and throne were nothing remarkable. The helmet and breastplate of the king were richer than those of his soldiers. Upon the breastplate was worked in relief an image of the Tower of the Sea God, the torchlight glinting on it.

  The man upon the throne was not ordinary. A vast scar sliced across his face, nearly obliterating one of his eyes. He was approaching middle age, not big for a Red, but thick-limbed and strong.

  Foley opened his mouth to say something a little nasty about the way the chamberlain had spoken to them. “Greetings, oh king,” was what came out. Galamand’s bright blue eye seemed to nail you with more effect than if there had been two.

  “Greetings, oh, king,” said Brazil. Ariton stood between the Earthmen, saying nothing and watching Galamand haughtily.

  The king ignored her and spoke to the armored planeteers, looking from one to the other. “I bid you welcome,” he said perfunctorily. “Does your king send greetings to me?”

  “He does, indeed,” said Foley. “And would send you gifts, as is our custom.” He waited momentarily for a reaction which did not come, then added: “But in some lands it is considered an insult to present such gifts immediately. It is, indeed, so considered by us.”

  The king raised an eyebrow, and his mouth twisted slightly. Some facial expressions seem to be well-nigh universal among humanoids, Brazil thought. He spoke up: “Oh, there are such lands, King Galamand. Not many, but a few.”

  The blue eye fixed on his. “I thank your king for his greetings. Is he Red or Blond?”

  “Neither,” said Brazil, truthfully enough. “In our country there are men of many tribes, who live together fairly peacefully. It is only by chance that I look like one of the Blonds of this island. But Foley here was chosen deliberately to come here today, because he looks like a Red, that you might not think we believe Reds to be our enemies.”

  The king nodded toward Ariton. “You bring this woman with you. Why?”

  “I have come with these my friends, to speak for my people,” she said, flaring up at him. “And I speak also to the Sea God, as you well know.”

  GALAMAND seemed faintly amused. “Do you speak against me to the Sea God, woman? Your words are not strong enough. The Tower still stands against the waves. The sea-sound is faint in my ear, and soothing as I go to sleep at night. Will you arouse the Sea God to destroy me?”

  Brazil heard the faintest stir and mutter among the soldiers on either side; evidently the king’s words might be thought a provocation to the God. Galamand swept his blue eye around, but said nothing to his men.

  He spoke again to the planeteers: “And you are this woman’s friends?”

  “We would be friends with Red and Blond alike.”

  Galamand digested the statement swiftly and without comment, and changed the subject. “Your ship is swift and hard to see; my ships have circled the island every day since you first appeared, and have not found it. Yet at night it draws near, for you to land. And when you leave, your ship is not seen either. Now I admit this puzzles me.”

  “He may be convinced that you’re just castaways,” said a rapid whisper from the Yuan Chwang in Brazil’s ear, bringing him no news.

  He answered the king: “As you say, our ship is swift, and hard to see. It is not the wish of our king that our first visits here be seen by many ships upon the sea.”

  “And why do you come here at all?”

  “We seek always the knowledge of new lands, oh king,” said Foley. “Some twenty or thirty of us would like to live on this island for a year or two, on some small area of land that you who live here now do not need. We are willing to pay for this privilege. But we are not willing to deal with a government engaged in civil war, under which two tribes contend against each other; or with a king who holds another tribe in slavery.”

  “No one contends against me here and lives.” Galamand spoke quietly and distinctly. He gave Ariton his twisted grin and asked: “Is it not so?”

  It stung her deeply, and her voice rose loud: “Your day is not forever, Redman. One day your children will be our slaves, if you beget any before you die. We will—”

  Brazil’s voice rose over hers. “That is not what we want! That would yet be war and slavery.” Both native rulers looked at him, for a moment united against the outsider. Then Galamand asked quietly: “How would you have us live?”

  “As one tribe.”

  Galamand narrowed his operational eye and scratched his beard. “You spoke of payment, for the use of land. What do you mean to offer?”

  Foley answered: “To a just and peaceful ruler we would offer, to begin with, a great quantity of cord, stronger and more lasting than your vines, to make excellent fishnets, oh king.”

  “And weapons?” The king’s voice was casual and gentle.

  “A quantity of swords and spears might be included—”

  “You do not carry swords or spears.”

  “We carry them for trade.” They could be made up.

  Galamand’s blue eye did not waver from Foley’s face, but his right arm shot out toward the nearest guard, and his fingers snapped. The haft of the guard’s spear was instantly in his grip.

  THE king stood up and thrust the spear, butt first, toward Foley, at the same time holding out this left hand open.

  “If you are men who deal in spears, then I will deal with you. I offer in trade this good Red spear, for that weapon you wear at your side.”

  Foley assumed an expression of deep trouble, and he answered reluctantly: “Oh king, we have no wish to anger you. But we must refuse to trade our weapons. If we did, the anger of our king would fall heavily upon our heads. And against his anger we have no defense.”

  “And against mine?” Galamand’s voice was still gentle. So is a gorilla, when not offended.

  “We have our weapons, which we will not trade,” said Brazil, with utmost courtesy. The blue eye lanced at him, and he looked right back down the shaft of it, while from the corners of his eyes he watched the spearmen carefully. He wondered if Galamand could really identify the butt of a stun pistol as a weapon.

  Galamand grounded the butt of the spear and stood drumming his fingers on the shaft.

  “Fishnets,” he said meditatively. He looked from one planeteer to the other. “Your great king has then no weapons to spare? I would reward you well if you were to convince him that he has; or if you were to act, shall we say, on your own . . .” He reached into a pouch at his side and brought out a lustrous pearl, bigger than a grape.

  Foley shook his head slowly, forgetting that the gesture might mean nothing or anything here. “Oh king, it cannot be so. If you offer us kingdoms greater and richer than this whole island, still we will give or trade to you no weapons, save such as you can make yourselves.”

  Galamand tossed the spear back to the soldier and seated himself again.

  “And your armor, I suppose?

  I admit I have not seen such glass.”

  This time Brazil joined in the headshaking, to preserve unity, since no one had seemed shocked by the gesture.

  “Strange men,” Galamand mused. “You
say you will not trade with a ruler who holds another tribe in slavery. I will not ask you why. I have not asked for any trade with you that would pay me in fishnets, and I want none. While the waves spare the Tower, the Sea God supports me. I am king upon this island. My slaves are my slaves. When you are willing to trade something worth while for the use of my land, you may come again and speak with me.”

  “Suggestions?” Brazil radioed.

  “Leave without argument,” said a voice from above. “We can analyze what we’ve got and try again.”

  ARITON stood proudly erect while Brazil and Foley bowed deeply to the king, who told them with a straight face that he was providing them with an escort back to their ship, that no harm should come to them on the way.

  “They’ll see the scout unless we can shake them,” Brazil radioed, starting out of the throne room.

  “Guess maybe we’ll have to give them a minimum marvel to look at,” said Gates’ voice. “There’s a suitable deep cove just outside the city, about two miles from where you are. Just walk south along the shore; I’ll bring the scout up partly out of the water for you to get in, and let them get a good enough look to be sure it’s a ship and not a sea monster. Okay?”

  “Good idea,” said Captain Dietrich. “A submarine will explain to them why they haven’t seen our ship. It’ll startle them some, but it should further convince them we’re not spirits who just materialize.”

  Ariton walked with the planeteers out of the castle; they stopped at the landing steps to pick up Sunto, who was much relieved to see them.

  Sunto ceased bailing and climbed out of his rowboat when told they were leaving by land. He said to a Red soldier standing guard nearby: “I leave to you as a gift the noble craft which you have praised so highly.” And he ground his foot against the stone stair. The Red glowered but said nothing.

  The walk out of the city was uneventful. Within an hour the four of them stood on the steep sloping shore within the chosen cove, with Galamand’s heavily armed honor guard watching very carefully from a little distance and a Red galley casually standing by off shore.