The Free Trader of Planet Vii

by Craig Martelle

  They decided to wait for a human rather than run the horses through the dogs.

  They didn’t have to wait long. Three dirty men, carrying massive clubs, approached. As they got closer, Braden saw spikes sticking out the end of the clubs. These men meant business. Mel-Ash’s word for them came to mind: brutes.

  With a few words and some kicking, they chased the dogs away, who only moved a short distance before renewing their barking.

  “I am Free Trader Braden, seeking an audience with the leader of Village Dwyer so we may discuss the future of trade through your area.” Braden ended with his usual flair, bowing at the end to the men.

  “Take yur crap and git, you farging craphead!” one of the three bellowed.

  ‘How pleasant,’ Braden said to the companions with his thought voice. Then with his outside voice he added, “Are you the leader? What are you called?”

  “Suck my balls, you stinking ass!” The man raised his club and waved it menacingly. Braden raised his bow and quickly sent an arrow into the club, ripping it from the man’s hand.

  “Git ‘im, boys!” The other two men stepped forward. Braden nocked another arrow while Micah jumped down and pulled out her sword. The two men laughed at her. “A woman?” the gross man said as a question, but not.

  Micah walked toward them, sword raised and back. One man rushed toward her and swung a mighty blow. He may have been trying to knock the sword from her hand, but they would never know. She easily ducked the blow, pivoted and brought the full power of a swing into the man’s midsection, nearly cleaving him in half. He tumbled over backwards, or at least his upper body did. His legs remained upright until finally his still-attached spine pulled them over.

  The second man looked at the entrails spread across the ground. He approached cautiously, then reared back for a wide swing. Micah stepped in quickly and thrust her sword tip into his groin. He dropped his club and bent over, howling in pain as a darkening circle of blood spread across the front of his pants. The first man cursed her and reached for his club on the ground. Micah took the delay to swing overhead toward the bent-over man. She took his head off cleanly and followed through bringing her sword up to face the gross man.

  He roared, eyes wide. Braden sent an arrow into his face. He froze in his threatening pose, then dropped to the ground. The wound bled little.

  “I had him!” Micah growled.

  “I know you did, lover. Look. We have more company,” Braden said calmly.

  The entire village had turned out in the brief time it took to dispatch the rather rude greeting party. She wondered what the villagers were in a hurry to see. Odd to think of that while three dead men littered the ground.

  “Please, please don’t hurt us!” an elderly man pleaded. Braden and Micah looked quickly around. The three men on the ground seemed like the only ones ready to fight. Everyone else looked like farmers, gentle folk.

  ‘G, do you sense anything?’

  ‘Only those stinking dogs. The smell is disgusting. I think I’m going to be sick.’ The ‘cat started gagging.

  “I am Free Trader Braden, come to talk with the free people of Village Dwyer about the possibility of trade.” He bowed only slightly, so he could keep his eyes on everyone. No one moved. No one spoke.

  “Who’s in charge?” Braden asked loudly. A younger person pointed at the men on the ground, where Micah was wiping off her sword on one of them.

  “Not anymore, they aren’t. Why isn’t anyone willing to talk?” Braden was angry and started to yell. Leaving the heaving ‘cat on the saddle, he jumped to the ground. He screamed at the dead bodies, “Why did you make us kill you? Why?” He forced himself to relax. “We only wanted to talk. Now, is there someone here willing to talk with us about trading with Village McCullough?” He looked from face to face.

  “If that’s all you wanted, why didn’t you say so?” the old man said under his breath, but everyone heard.

  “We did!” Braden lunged forward, but Micah grabbed his arm. More calmly, he added, “We did, but these idiots threatened us. We didn’t take that too well.”

  “Neither did they, it seems,” the old man mumbled in response. Braden was beginning to like him.

  “What’s your name, Elder?” Braden asked. Micah stood next to him, sword still in her hand.

  “I am Old Tom. That’s it, Crazy Old Tom.”

  “Well, Tom, I’m pleased to meet you. This is my partner Micah. The Hillcat’s name is Golden Warrior. The Tortoid is Aadi, First Master of the Tortoise Consortium. And up there is Skirill, a Hawkoid.” The crowd of people started to grumble. The word “muties” came through.

  “They are our friends. They are a crapload nicer than these idiots.” Braden pointed with his bow at the three corpses. “Assuming these things don’t rise from the dead, who is next in charge?”

  “Probably Gravenin, but he’s hunting right now. Not sure when he and his party will get back.”

  “That’s great,” Micah chimed in. “Am I going to have kill them, too?” The people shied away from her. They had seen the last of the battle, especially the part where she cut off the man’s head, well, both of his heads if you looked at it a certain way.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I expect he won’t like that you killed his brothers,” the old man answered.

  “I hope for his sake that he’s the smart one.” Micah knew that they couldn’t kill their way to a trade deal, but they couldn’t have a blood feud between the villages.

  “When will this Gravenin return and from where?” Braden saw people turn and look in a certain direction.

  ‘Skirill, if you would be so kind. See if you can find who they’re talking about. It would be nice to know where they are, how many, and what they look like. Will we need to run?’ Braden asked over the mindlink.

  Skirill leapt into the air and beat skyward, soon disappearing into the distance in the direction the villagers had looked. He made a lazy S in the sky, widening his search the further he got from the village. He saw a thin tendril of smoke rising. Staying high in the sky, he made a beeline for it.

  Three men stood around while the haunch of a boar hung over a fire pit. They would not return today.

  “I think they’ll be back mid-daylight tomorrow,” Braden said matter-of-factly. “Between now and then, we’d like you to get to know us. We can be great friends to Village Dwyer. You see what can happen if you are our enemy.” Braden said the last part sadly. He didn’t want to threaten them or for them to feel threatened, but this was two villages in a row. When Braden arrived, the men in charge died.

  Micah finally put her sword away. They each led a horse as they walked into the crowd of people. There must have been some forty or fifty there. No warriors in this group. No mutants of any sort, either.

  Once in the middle of the village, Braden and Micah realized it was more extensive than they thought. Maybe the husband trade could be lucrative as Village McCullough was short on men. They were short many men, owing to Braden and Micah.

  “Why are the men such asses in this part of Vii?” Braden asked Micah in a low voice.

  “Are they that different up north?”

  “No. Not really,” he said, exasperated. “You know that if you kill too many men, I’ll have to expand my man duties in each of these villages?” He smiled evilly at Micah.

  “I get your point.” She leaned heavily on the pommel of her sword. “And if you want to get my point, you’ll say something like that again.” She nodded toward the man without a head and a large pool of blood around his groin.

  He couldn’t help but smile at her. They locked eyes. His heart skipped a beat. They heard someone clear his throat. They looked toward the sound. Old Tom stood in front of the rest of the villagers.

  “Tom. So glad you could join us.” Braden clapped the man on the back. “Do you bury your dead?”

  It turned out they did, so Braden offered to help dig the graves. They made quick work of it, and dropped the men unceremoniously in. Braden waited t
o see if they would say something, but they didn’t. They simply threw dirt on top of the bodies, then tamped it down firmly and walked away without emotion.

  ‘G, I need you. I can’t figure these people out.’

  26 – Clean It Up

  The Hillcat couldn’t deal with so many dogs clamoring for a piece of him, so Skirill helped out by flying above the dogs’ heads and getting them to follow him. He flew low and slow. Incensed, they ran and nipped at his tail feathers. He kept going as long as they followed.

  This lightened G-War’s burden. And Braden’s too since he had been carrying the ‘cat to keep him out of the dogs’ reach. Once on the ground, G-War shook himself and sneezed a couple times. He looked up at Braden and Micah with a dismal expression on his ‘cat face. The ground must reek of dog.

  It was hard for them not to laugh, but they restrained themselves.

  They discovered that Old Tom wasn’t crazy at all. He was sharp, using sarcastic wit to keep himself sane. At one time, Tom thought he had a future in the village, a future where he could invent tools and things to make their lives better. But then the brute brothers grew up and took over. They wouldn’t allow anything they didn’t understand, so that’s how they ended up armed with clubs.

  Tom hated them for dumbing down the village, for taking out their ignorance on him.

  Micah was disgusted at the displays of brute force throughout her land. Some humans were the worst example of humanity, and she was embarrassed for her people. She had seen things might not be right, but she hadn’t considered how wrong they could be.

  And she was proud to be at Braden’s side, trying to reclaim humanity’s place. The companions showed her what was possible when creatures of different types banded together for a single cause. At times, they each showed their vulnerabilities, but when one was weak, another was strong. They carried each other until they could stand on their own again.

  That showed what was possible for them all. That showed what Micah wanted for the south. Braden called it trade. Micah called it civilization.

  Braden looked at the newly liberated village. No one wanted to take charge, for they were still afraid as long as one of the brothers lived. They looked to Braden to lead them.

  He knew he had to, until he and Micah could talk with the remaining brother and his two hunting partners. Those three would have to see reason.

  “When killing becomes easy, we will go to the oasis and live out the rest of our lives. Deal?” he asked Micah.

  “I enjoyed killing those men, I’m not sorry to say. At the time, anyway.” She hesitated and hung her head. “It doesn’t make sense. We have to be ready and willing to kill, but opposed to it at the same time. All in the name of free trade.” The warrior in her stood proudly, but the human in her deplored the killing. She was torn, but in the end agreed.

  “Deal. Killing is never the first choice.”

  “Everyone in the square! I want to see everyone out there. Right now!” Braden yelled, not in anger, but like a trader setting up for an auction.

  There was nothing to stand on to rise above the crowd, so he climbed into the saddle. Max stood peacefully. G-War was nowhere to be seen. Aadi and Micah stayed close to Pack. Skirill watched from a high branch, having only recently returned from leading the dogs deep into the wilderness.

  “Good people of Village Dwyer! I want you to take pride in your village and yourselves. Here is what we’re going to do…” Braden laid out a plan for everyone to clean the village, then clean themselves. They would restock their water supplies, dig a hole for an outhouse, tear down the shacks that looked ready to fall, and then put things in order. Where Max stood now would be the market square. They would bring logs to build the vendor stalls. He was going to drag them kicking and screaming into a world where people traded freely. Where people trusted first.

  The villagers got to work under the watchful eyes of their liberators. These people weren’t afraid of hard work. There was hope for them.

  27 - Hope

  While Micah stayed behind with Aadi to ensure work got done, Braden took two youngsters, G-War, and Skirill hunting. From the size of the village, they needed at least one deer for a single meal. Braden knew the power of a good celebration, and he wanted to reward the village for embracing a new way to treat visitors.

  G-War gave them the direction to go. Then, Skirill scouted ahead, easily finding both deer and wild boar.

  Braden decided to go with the boar as it was big enough. Plus he’d grown accustomed to pork, preferring it over venison.

  With G-War’s help to scare the boar into the open, Braden took a long shot, wounding the animal. It led to an unfortunately lengthy chase until he was successful in bringing it down with a second, better placed arrow.

  They cleaned it and then hurried to drag it back to the village. As they approached, G-War grew anxious. He could feel that the dog pack had returned. Skirill flew ahead to try his trick again, but the dogs were tired and wouldn’t chase him.

  G-War refused to go any further. He ran off perpendicular to the return route, to head upwind to avoid the unpleasantness of dog smell. He’d find a tree and wait for Braden and Micah to leave, even if it took a few turns for them to finish with the villagers.

  Braden let him go without question. G-War would show up if things got bad. He had his intuition of imminent danger. Although with all the dogs, Braden couldn’t be sure that the ‘cat could do anything.

  The sun was setting when they arrived at the village. The change was dramatic. The village looked warm and like a place one would enjoy being. The people were clean and cheering as he and the two lads pulled the boar into the market square.

  “Let’s get this pig on a spit with a roaring fire. For you, Village Dwyer! A celebration of life,” Braden bellowed in his best trader voice. Micah welcomed him back with a hug and fierce kiss. He liked coming home to that.

  During the day, she’d discovered that the villagers were rather good at growing. Their fields produced a variety of crops, as they rotated the crops so there was always something ripe to pick.

  Old Tom, it seemed, had the potential to be a master blacksmith. Metal was lacking in this village, but Tom had already bricked out a furnace that he would use as a rudimentary smelter. He had more work to do to build a bellows and other things he needed to start his smithy. It would take a long time before he could produce anything, but after that, there was a limitless number of metal items that would vault this village forward technologically. He would help them closer to the technology level in the north.

  Micah let Tom work on his smithy, even asking a few hearty souls to join him. It appeared that few people thought of him as crazy now that the brothers’ influence was gone.

  More people wanted to be like Tom, and Micah encouraged them to come forward with their ideas to help the village grow into a better place.

  Two middle-aged women took over the boar roasting duties, chasing Braden away, probably with some urging from Micah. They let the fire burn the skin, before they skillfully carved it away with old, small knives. Braden couldn’t wait until Tom’s smithy was operational. There was so much he could do to help these poor souls.

  As the meat on the outside cooked, they trimmed it away, letting the fire get to the inside before peeling another layer away. They piled it into a mound on wood trays. The people lined up as the women offered the first helping to Braden and Micah.

  Braden stood up, holding his hands high for silence. “From here forward, the young and the weakest of you shall eat first, then the others. We--” He indicated Micah and himself. “--will eat last.” Some villagers cheered, while others looked confused. Braden asked the women to put the trays next to the fresh vegetables and greens put out for the celebration.

  Braden and Micah picked up the serving utensils themselves. “Children first! Come on, bring your bowls!” And they started serving. A hearty cheer resounded through the market square. It took so little for people to start believing again. Maybe Brad
en would post the minimum standards for anyone who would lead a village. First, he’d have to teach them to read.

  So many hurdles stood between where they were and the place they wanted to be.

  As with all journeys, it started with a single step.

  Now that they were walking, he hoped the surviving brother would be reasonable.

  28 – The Last Brother

  In the morning, people woke to bright sunshine. Braden and Micah helped clean up the remnants from the celebration, while wishing people well as they went to their work in the fields or at the river. Everyone’s job was important to the village.

  The villagers’ attitudes had changed significantly from the turn before. Even if the last brother tried to reassert a brutish form of control over these people, they wouldn’t have it. Braden decided to let them take the lead.

  He and Micah stood in the background as the last brother and his fellow hunters walked into the village.

  Their reception instantly alerted them. The whole village had turned out. The three men stopped as soon as they saw the people in the new market square. They saw the two horses, a creature unknown in the south. They saw the Hawkoid in the tree, but thought it was a rare eagle. They saw Braden and Micah in the back.

  “Where are my brothers?” one man shouted. He looked around and saw only hostile faces looking back. The crowd slowly pressed inward toward him. He lifted his spear.

  “Who dies first?” His threat stopped the throng.

  Braden and Micah elbowed their way into the crowd, and the villagers allowed them to pass to the front.

  Micah drew her sword while Braden nocked an arrow. The three men looked at the weapons.

  “There’s no reason to resort to threats, don’t you think?” Braden stated in a low voice.

  “Who the crap are you?” the man continued shouting. Maybe that was his speaking voice, Braden wondered.