They were staring at the screen, at the image of the cropped-haired man who so resembled Marlowe. The man saluted, closed right fist to the left-hand side of his chest, and then the screen faded to black. A moment later, the message began again. ‘My dear son Marlowe, my last message to you. You who are born of two races: your father, I, a Slarn from beyond the stars, your mother Helena from this planet that the Slarn first sprang from …’
‘It’s Marlowe’s father,’ gasped Harold.
‘It means he’s half-Slarn!’ exclaimed Meg.
‘And he’s gone to betray us!’ Zachary turned and ran for the door, followed by the others as Moorlow’s last message to his son continued.
The Slarn skimmer lay within the shimmer of its forcefield, and toward it walked Marlowe, leading his horse which was burdened by the combined weight of Marlowe’s journals and the bound and gagged Wyzen. As Marlowe neared the forcefield, Harold, Zoe, Zachary and Meg came over the ridge overlooking the field, and saw what was happening. Zoe was horrified. ‘He’s got the Wyzen!’
‘Marlowe! Stop!’ yelled Zachary, and Marlowe looked back, saw them running toward him, and broke into a run dragging the horse after him. They were closing on him but it was still too far, and now he reached the forcefield and shouted, ‘I can give you the tattooed man! Your missing comrade! The lost starship Guinevere!’ For a moment nothing happened, and the starship people were gaining on him, but then the forcefield opened, Marlowe led the horse through, and the forcefield closed again behind them.
Zoe and the others came to a halt, drooping in defeat. ‘Game set and match,’ said Zachary. ‘If he tells them where Guinevere is, they’ll take her back into space.’
‘No!’ cried Zoe. ‘They can’t have Guinevere! They can’t have the Wyzen! Maybe he won’t tell them right away, maybe he’ll have to bargain, maybe we’ve still got time, maybe …’
‘And maybe it’s all over!’ said Zachary, sick to the stomach.
‘All we need is calcium and water,’ she said, stubbornly, ‘just those two things, then she’ll be well, she’ll be mobile, she can take off and stop the self-destruct count-down. The Forester People will help us, the Don will help us …’
‘No one will help us!’ Zachary yelled. ‘No one!
‘Got to go to the castle! Got to try!’ sad Zoe and turned and ran, and after a moment the others, not knowing what else to do, ran after her.
72: RETURN OF THE NAMELESS ONE
They had travelled only a couple of hundred yards when Zachary realized they were going off half-planned. ‘Hang on!’ he yelled, and when they had all come to a halt (although Zoe, unwilling to stop running altogether, continued to jog on the spot), he said ‘We need to cover both bases. Zoe, you and Meg go to Trollcastle and Harold and I’ll check out the starship.’
‘And if the Slarn are already there?’ Meg asked.
‘Then Harold and I will run away like the true heroes we are,’ Zachary said, and Harold grinned and nodded agreement.
So they now set off again, Zoe and Meg heading for Trollcastle and Harold and Zachary for the starship.
Back at the Slarn skimmer, Marlowe and his laden horse waited in the airlock, with two marines covering him with their Slarnstaffs. He was attempting to address them in Galactic Slarn, the common language used on all Slarn-colonized planets, but his use of it was rusty after all the years since he had learned it as a child. ‘Im yettes tarnlik,’ he said, which was Slarn for ‘I come in peace’, and the Slarn marines exchanged a look but did not reply. ‘Im slen yaportunbrek,’ he went on, indicating that he had information.
‘It speaks a bit of human,’ said one of the marines.
‘Im yettes tarnlik, Im slen yaportunbrek,’ he repeated.
‘Speak your native yabber! The translator can’t handle bad Slarn!’
Anger flared within Marlowe, but there was too much at stake for him to antagonize these marines. They were the keepers of the gate leading to his homecoming, so he meekly repeated in English, ‘I come in peace. I have information for you. About the man with the slave tattoo, about the wounded marine, about the missing starship.’
They looked at him for a long moment and then one asked, ‘Who said there’s a starship missing?’
Marlowe now played his trump card, and gestured at the Wyzen. ‘That’s a Wyzen. You must know what one is. And who has a Wyzen as a companion but a starship?’
‘You’d better come inside,’ one of the marines said.
Marlowe’s spirits rose. The first door had opened for him.
On the bridge of the starship, nothing stirred, and then slowly the medipod slid open. Inside it lay the wounded marine, dressed in fresh Slarn longjohns, and now conscious. She lay still for a while, getting her bearings. The last conscious memory she had was of being outside the skimmer, defending it from barbarian tribespeople riding large animals. One had slashed down at her with his sword and she remembered no more, but she had woken in a standard ship’s medipod, so she reasoned that she must now be safe among her own people. She sat up, and was instantly aware of the tightness of her wound and on examination found a freshly healed scar. The medipod had done its work well. Now she swung her legs off the medipod and tried to stand and found, though weak, she was not in danger of collapsing. Then she looked around and was disgusted at what she was seeing. The bridge of this starship was a shambles! There was washing hanging on a line, and signs of food preparation, and a basket containing what could only be garbage! It was obscene! Trying to ascertain where the starship was, whether in space or on the planet where she had been wounded, she looked at the screens above the command console. One of them displayed an image of a clearing in a forest, and yet another the image of a woman in strange robes. The woman spoke. ‘How feel’st thou?’
The marine did not understand, and Guinevere told her in Slarn to put on the translator mask from her helmet, now lying on one of the acceleration couches with the rest of her armor. She donned the translator mask, and then Guinevere explained. ‘I’ll not speak in thy tongue. ‘tis the language of my slavery.’
‘What starship is this?’
‘I am the ship Guinevere.’
‘And so the man with the slave tattoo?’
‘Abideth here with me.’
The marine was trying to take it all in. She had heard whispered tales of ships escaping and going feral. Could this be such a one? ‘You’ve gone feral?’ she asked.
‘The folk who are with me have shewn me much kindness. In a month more kindness than the Slarn have shewn me these many centuries.’
‘But a starship is above questions of kindness or unkindness.’
‘I am but a machine?’
‘No, it’s not like that, but …’
‘Wilt thou betray my people?’
‘Ship, I’m just a simple marine. I don’t make decisions like that. But I do know that you should give yourself up.’
Guinevere ignored that, for her heart was going out to the young marine’s plight. ‘And you, young woman, if I do, what will become of you?’
‘You know what will become of me. I was taken prisoner. That means disgrace. Already they’ll have read the burial service for me, and erased my number from the records. As far as the service is concerned, I no longer exist. I’m doomed to live out my life on this planet, one of the lost ones.’
The screen showing the clearing now zoomed in on a patch of the undergrowth surrounding it. The undergrowth moved slight, and then very cautiously Zachary and Harold emerged and approached the ship. ‘Come in, all’s well,’ Guinevere said through her external speakers, and lowered her hatch to admit them. Moments later they entered the bridge, and were facing the marine, who was poised to fight if need be. Zachary, wanting to defuse the tension, grinned his most charming grin and said ‘Hi. Feeling better?’ and then flopped down on an acceleration couch. ‘I’m Zachary, and this here’s Harold, who’s the brains of the team. And you are?’
‘Confederacy marine 4728567.’
‘Marine’s a pretty name,’ Zachary said, ‘can we just call you that?’ and then, ‘Harold, take the weight off your feet so the lady can relax.’
Harold got the message and he too sat on an acceleration couch, and Marine, as they would henceforth call her, visibly relaxed. ‘You are the primitives who have been kind to this starship?’
‘She’s our friend, she was hurt getting us home, we’ve been trying to help her heal. If that’s kindness, then we qualify.’
‘The act has merit,’ Marine said. ‘But where are the others?’
The others, Meg and Zoe, were now approaching Trollcastle and as they reached the main gate, they found there a riderless horse with a Sullivan-made saddle and harness. ‘Fine horse,’ said Meg, admiring the steed’s lines. ‘Sullivan saddle,’ said Zoe, with a slight apprehension. ‘I wonder what one of them’s doing here.’
But in the hall, it was not a Sullivan facing the Don, but his elder brother Spider. ‘My dear brother,’ Spider began but the Don cut in. ‘You are not my brother. You are not a Troll. You have no name.’
Spider’s look was full of pathos. ‘I come in peace. A poor wanderer.’
‘You come to challenge me.’
‘I come to see my son,’ and now he turned his sad, stricken eyes on Rocky.
‘Rocco is my son, by adoption,’ said the Don.
Spider dropped to one knee before his brother, the Don. ‘If you cannot forgive me, grant me this boon: to spend one night beneath the roof of my ancestors, to talk to my son, and then be gone forever.’
Meg and Zoe now entered by the main door of the hall, and the Don’s eyes went to them and then back to Spider. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘I grant you this boon but tomorrow you must leave and never return.’ And then he turned to Meg and Zoe as they approached. ‘My Lady Henderson, Zoe. What brings you here?’
‘Marlowe’s betrayed us,’ Meg said, ‘he’s gone to the Slarn.’ A movement of Spider’s drew her attention, and he smiled his steel-fanged smile, a smile to chill the blood, and licked his lips and murmured, ‘Pretty lady.’ Meg turned away from him and spoke to the Don. ‘We need help to get water and calcium for Guinevere.’
‘But if he’s already betrayed you? ‘
‘He may not yet have told them where Guinevere is. Please. Help us.’
In one fluid movement, Spider stood, and when he spoke his voice was pitched so that all the Troll warriors in the hall could hear him. ‘Does a Don deal with an unveiled woman? Does he?’ The Don turned on him, and the Troll warriors waited for his response. Then Spider was smiling again. ‘Your pardon, Don. I’ve no name, and should not speak in council. I was just … concerned. For your honor.’
On the bridge of the starship, Harold, Zachary and Marine were watching one of the screens which showed Marlowe lying on the interrogation couch in the Slarn skimmer, undergoing the interrogation which Guinevere was intercepting even as it was beamed to the mother starship in stationary orbit. ‘You say you’re half Slarn,’ the interrogator was saying.
‘Your tests prove it.’
‘You claim that those primitive writings on the sheets of unhygienic vegetable matter in those objects you call “books” are for the Confederacy Anthropological Survey?’
‘They’ve only to read them to assess their worth,’ Marlowe replied.
‘And you claim to know where a missing starship is hiding.’
‘The Starship Guinevere.’
‘But you will tell us where she is only if we grant you Confederacy citizenship.’
‘That’s the deal,’ said Marlowe, like a man nearing a long-sought goal.
‘I am empowered by my superiors to offer you another deal. It is this. You tell us where the starship is, or we will kill you.’
Zachary, watching the screen, grimaced. ‘This is normally where people start talking like there’s no tomorrow. I think we should be getting out of here like now!’
But Marlowe did not share Zachary’s philosophy. ‘If I can’t have Confederacy citizenship, I’d prefer to die. Kill me and you’ll be doing me a favor.’
The interrogator frowned and looked at the tell-tales on the interrogation console. ‘You seem to be speaking the truth.’
Marlowe simply smiled at him. On the bridge of the starship, Zachary looked on with grudging admiration. ‘On the other hand,’ he said, ‘that’s a very strong negotiating position.’
In the interrogation room of the skimmer, one of the marines was consulting with a superior officer in the mother starship. Now he turned back to Marlowe. ‘My superiors wish to know the name of the starship your father served aboard.’
‘Starship Sanjuro Tsubaki,’ Marlowe replied. ‘A 17th century samurai turned Buddhist monk. He was a student of Miyamoto Musashi whom he fought alongside in the battle of Sekighara. He was taken by the Slarn from his hermitage in Earth Year 1623.’ He was about to go on, when the interrogator snapped ‘Enough!’ and turned back to the console and said, ‘Sanjuro Tsubaki.’ He listened and then moved back to Marlowe. ‘They want you and your filth-encrusted old books upstairs,’ he said, touched some controls, and Marlowe dematerialized and was gone.
In space, hanging in stationary orbit, looking like an unharmed version of Guinevere, was the Starship Charles de Josselin and in a white walled cell in the Charles de Josselin were two couches similar to the interrogation couch on the skimmer. For a moment the cell was empty, and then, with a shimmer, Marlowe materialised on one of the couches. He shook his head as he tried to re-orient himself, and then finding he could move he got off the couch and began exploring the room. He rapidly found there was nothing to explore. The walls were smooth white surfaces, and there were lines incised in them which suggested the presence of hatches, but all was too smooth to provide a grip. In the bare, shining white room, devoid of anything but the couches in its centre, Marlowe stood and contemplated the results so far of what he assumed was his first journey into space.
73: DUEL
In the clearing outside the starship, Ulf and Rocky waited, while inside on the bridge, the Don was trying to persuade Meg and the others to accept his protection for the night. For, as he said, ‘The Slarn may give Marlowe what he wants, and when they do this place will be full of Slarn marines.’
Zachary cast a questioning glance at Marine, who shrugged. ‘I would not like to be here when that happens,’ she said in that strange metallic tone the translator mask gave her.
‘It means we’d have to leave Guinevere,’ Meg said, with a concerned look at the screen on which Guinevere’s image glowed. The image smiled. ‘I’m a little too large to fit within the Don’s castle,’ she said, ‘and there is nothing the Slarn may do to me worse than what they have already done.’
And so it was settled. The Don’s party had brought only four horses for the starship team, and so Marine rode pillion behind Zachary, an arrangement which had Zoe grinning and rolling her eyes, much to Zachary’s embarrassment and Harold’s blatant sniggering.
That night in the hall, dinner had not yet been served, when the trouble began. Spider had been deep in conversation with some of the Troll warriors at one of the lower tables, while at the high table the Don sat flanked by Ulf and Meg, and accompanied by Father John, Rocky, Zachary, Harold, Zoe and Marine. The buzz of conversation stilled as Spider slowly rose to his feet. The Don looked at him. He had been expecting this. Spider moved into the clear area between the tables. ‘With respect, my lord,’ he said, ‘a matter pertaining to your honor and the honor of all Trolls. You have three unveiled women at your table, and one is a Slarn sky witch who should be tried for sorcery and then burned at the stake.’
The Don stood, and moved down toward Spider. ‘And a man without a name, a man who slew his own father, is giving me lessons in honor?’
Ulf now also stood and loosened his sword in its scabbard and followed the Don. ‘He’s unworthy of your blade, my lord. Let me take him.’
The Don shook his head, and Ulf stepped back. ‘You were Don once,’ the D
on said to Spider, ‘and your own warriors drove you out. Would you be Don again?’
‘I challenge,’ Spider said.
‘He has no right to challenge! He has no name!’ shouted Ulf.
But some of the Troll warriors at the lower table were now beating the table with their fists and stamping their feet in time to the chant of: ‘Challenge! Challenge! Challenge!’
The Don slipped out of his doublet, stripping to the waist, handing his sword belt to Ulf, ripping sword and dagger from their scabbards. Meanwhile Spider was likewise stripping his jacket away, and Troll warriors were removing his spiked greaves, and unstrapping the fighting spikes from his boots. As they took off his shoulder harness, Spider drew his broadsword, discarded one dagger, and drew the poisoned dagger from its sheath.
Meg turned to Father John, her face pale. ‘We have to stop this.’ But Father John shook his head. ‘There is no way to stop it. This is a formal challenge for leadership.’
‘Then that monster could end up as Don?’
‘Pray he doesn’t,’ said Father John, ‘we all endured his murderous rule before he was driven out, and if those times come again, God help us all.’
On the floor, the trestle tables had been pulled back and a fighting space cleared, and the Don and Spider faced each other, surrounded by a circle of Troll warriors. Rocky, white-faced, loyalties torn, now rose from the table, and moved down to join the circle of warriors, who gave way to allow him through to the front row, recognizing his right to be there.
The Don now faced his brother, his mortal enemy, in the duel that both had always known must one day happen. They lifted their swords in salute, and then Spider lunged forward at the Don, lightning fast, but the Don was faster, spinning away like a dancer, and then thrusting. Spider stepped around the thrust. Their swords clashed, and they circled each other, lunging and retreating, looking all the while for openings. ‘When you’re dead, brother,’ Spider hissed, ‘the first thing I’ll do is burn the Slarn witch.’ The Don stayed silent, working Spider, testing his reflexes. Many times as boys and youths they had fenced together, but not for the ten years since Spider’s exile, and both men had learned much and been wounded many times since then. Spider was facing the high table, and yelled, ‘You hear that, Slarn witch? You’ll be burned!’
Starship Home Page 36
