Thieves of Light

by Michael Hudson

  "All struggles are ultimately decided by the Greater Instruments," was her simple reply.

  "A phaser at a hundred yards or a ship's battery at a thousand will decide it a long time before you can get close enough to wrap your nonchuks around your opponent's neck."

  Rebuttal came not from Tivia, but from Haj-til-ko-van, who had entered silently behind them.

  "Their ships have shields. Our ships have shields. Their warriors have body armor. Our warriors have armor and screens," the training supervisor said matter-of-factly. He bowed to Tivia. "Thank you for your efforts, Daryama Tivia. We will monitor the candidate's progress from now on."

  She nodded silently, smoothly swept up her gear, and was gone.

  "Bhodi Li," Haj said sternly when she was gone. "When all Lesser Instruments fail, a warrior lives or dies on his command of the Greater Instruments-first among them the mind. Remember that one truth, Bhodi Li, and you may live to outgrow your ignorance. A useful short-term goal would be to survive combat gunnery training, which you will begin tomorrow."

  When Bhodi returned to his quarters after his workout that afternoon, he found a message waiting for him with the welcome news that Parcival and Pike were back on-station.

  "Don't make plans for dinner," it said over Parcival's name. "I'll call when we escape from debriefing, and we'll do something."

  The prospect was enough to drive much of the fatigue from Bhodi's limbs. He took the shower he had postponed at the arena, and the call came as he was toweling off. This time it was Pike.

  "You ready?" the alien asked cheerfully. "I'm starving."

  "I'm five minutes from ready."

  "Excellent. Do you know how to find your way to Dock 16?"

  "I haven't really done much exploring-" The truth was that, his exhausting schedule notwithstanding, it had never occurred to him that there might be reasons to leave Section Yellow, and that he might be free to do so.

  "It's on Level 20 on Section Blue. Go out to the main corridor and come two sections sunwise around to rim. You know the sequence-like the spectrum. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet. Then take a speedlift to 20. Got it?"

  Pike had rattled off the instructions so quickly that Bhodi wasn't at all sure that he did have it. But he gamely said yes, hung up, and got on with dressing. Three minutes later he was going out the door.

  Bhodi saw Pike first. He was standing near the security gate for Dock 16, wearing what looked like a mad seamstress's version of a safari jacket. Pike's khaki bodysuit was festooned with more than twenty button-flap pockets of assorted sizes, from pairs of tiny ones on the half sleeves to a wide pouchlike pocket in the middle of Pike's belly.

  But what caught Bhodi's eyes was a surprising splash of color. For the first time in Bhodi's experience, the Fop was bare-headed, revealing a scarlet crest from mid-forehead back over the top of his skull, like a feathery mohawk.

  Pike was turned half away, caught up in animated conversation with the gate guard. Parcival was standing a few feet away, scanning the passing foot traffic.

  "Yo!" Bhodi called, his hand shooting up.

  Parcival's face brightened. "There you are. And you seem to have survived Tivia."

  "Don't bring up ugly subjects," Bhodi said. "I'm glad you came back okay."

  "It wasn't hard. There wasn't any fighting," Parcival said. "We got there too late."

  "Oh. Sorry to hear that-I think. Where are we going?"

  "Dirtside," Pike said, joining them.

  "Am I allowed?"

  "Sure-but don't be surprised they didn't tell you. The First Guardian's a prude."

  "No, she's not. She's an ascetic," Parcival disagreed.

  "The difference makes no difference. You still can't have any fun on Intellistar."

  The opening was there; Bhodi took it without thinking. "Besides, too many people know you here."

  Pike stared, then laughed heartily. "Haj-til-ko-van has been telling tales on me again, I see."

  "No tales. Just warnings."

  "Then I'll tell you the tales myself," Pike said cheerily, laying a long-fingered hand on Bhodi's shoulder and squeezing. "They're all lies, but entertaining ones. Come on, touch in and let's board, before the captain forgets how many favors he owes me and reels in the gangway."

  The ship anchored on Dock 16 looked like something lifted from an aircraft engineer's dream-doodle pad, with a sleek aerodynamic hull and a superthin delta wing. Inside, the windowless cabin had two ranks of plushly carpeted and thickly padded pits in place of rows of seats. Each pit was large enough to hold one Fop or Qeth or a couple members of any other Alliance species.

  "Not quite like riding the subway," Parcival said, noticing Bhodi's interest.

  "Not quite. I guess seating is a problem in mixed company."

  Parcival bobbed his head in agreement. "Even when all the species are upright and bipedal. This is the best solution anyone's come up with."

  Several of the pits were already filled with passengers, and several of the passengers were clearly impatient with the delay. But as Pike ambled down the center aisle ahead of Bhodi and Parcival, he exchanged greetings with many of them and the irritation vanished from their faces and voices.

  "Everybody seems to know Pike."

  "And he loves it," Parcival said as they came to an unoccupied pit. "Here, you and I can take this one."

  "I assume we're riding this thing because it's more efficient than the transporter," Bhodi said, following the youth into the pit at hand.

  "'That, and because we're not going 10 an official Alliance facility."

  "How rough is the ride?" Bhodi asked, looking in vain for any sort of safety restraint.

  "Barely 1.8 gees, and that down through the axis of the body if you're sitting up. But that's plenty to keep you planted. You won't end up on the ceiling-unless we crash, in which case it doesn't matter."

  Bhodi looked dubious. "Where are we going, anyway?"

  The ship lurched slightly as the dock grapples released it to space. "Dracona."

  "What's it like?"

  Parcival chuckled. "Like Uncle Pike says, you can have fun there."

  If there was a reason for Dracona, it was the simple principle that people who live on the edge need to play on the edge to keep their sanity. That was as true of Qeth, Fop, Riknoid, and Ikthalarian as it was for humans; less true of Nivians, though that may have been a matter of taste rather than temperament.

  The one real exception was the Celtans, who looked on Dracona as a proof of the weakness and imperfection of those who frequented it. Celtans were seen there only in the conduct of official errands, such as retrieving errant platoon-mates in danger of missing a muster. What, if anything, the Celtans themselves required in the way of relaxation was a continuing mystery.

  Nothing about Dracona had the blessing of Alliance decision-makers, not even its existence. It had sprung up like a concrete and flexiform weed on the wind-favored eastern coast of Rejia's largest sea, an unofficial colony under the nose of the top colonization planners. But despite the city's ambiguous status, vanishingly little effort was made to keep station personnel and members of the Force away, or even to make life difficult for the city managers.

  Proof of that was easily found. Freight for the city trans-shipped through the station's docks; deep-space communications to and from Dracona were relayed through the station's communications center. True, all such services were paid for by the dirtsiders on a cost-plus-tax basis. But the fact that the First Guardian even allowed those transactions was taken by most as a tacit acknowledgment that there was a need for what Dracona provided-which was what all such communities have always provided: sex, food and recreation.

  For the Fops and Qeth, who like Homo sapiens were blessed or cursed by year-round mating urges, there was companionship-both casual and professional. There were eateries of every description offering fare from every cuisine. Assorted intoxicants were available, though not much in demand among the Guardians. And those looking to be enterta
ined could choose from the popular arts of seven cultures-though the selection was admittedly skewed toward the raucous, the bawdy and the exotic.

  But most of all, what Dracona offered was games. Silly and serious, organized and informal, the city's inhabitants and its visitors loved games. Dracona offered a chance for the Guardians to exorcise their natural competitiveness without the penalty for defeat being death.

  And because the Guardians set the tone for what was admired, not only on Intellistar but throughout the Alliance, Dracona's game offerings had grown far beyond a casual round of pockets in the back room or wrestling match in the street outside a bar. From quoits to q'arim, from banuja to bell-of-warning, Dracona was the place where champions came to prove themselves.

  "Is this really the same planet my audition was held on?" Bhodi wondered aloud.

  He had paused at the top of the disembarkment ramp to look out through the transparent walls at the bustling city. None of the buildings was taller than a few stories, but the whole coastline was splendid with flashing laser lights.

  "Just like the Sahara is on the same planet with Tokyo and Mexico City," Parcival said.

  "Stop gabbing," Pike said. "If I have to wait much longer to eat I'm going to start thinking about broadening my diet to include humans. Though you'd look awfully silly on the platter."

  Nearly an hour passed before Bhodi fully understood Pike's macabre joke.

  The first third of that time was spent in a taxi, an odd little vehicle that looked like a bathtub slung between two bicycles. Eateries offering Terran foods were a minority, and the one Pike had chosen was near the northern end of Dracona's Main Street "strip." The crush of vehicles and pedestrians made what should have been a five-minute taxi ride three times longer, leaving time for conversation.

  "I'm surprised that any of the restaurants cater to humans. After all, how many of us are on-station?" Bhodi asked as they picked their way through traffic.

  "There are 108 humans attached to Intellistar," Parcival said. "Sixty-nine males and thirty-nine females. There are another thirteen humans located at other facilities in the system."

  Surprise registered on Bhodi's face. "That's about a hundred more than I'd have thought. Where've they been hiding? I haven't seen any other trainees from Earth."

  "Most are general station staff," Parcival said. "You ordinarily wouldn't run into them."

  "Most of them wouldn't want to run into you," Pike amended. "Nothing personal-a matter of pride. They're all culls, brought here as challengers and failed to make it for one reason or another."

  Bhodi twisted sideways to look at Pike. "I didn't know staying was an option when you wash out."

  "There's more to an army than its warriors," Pike said with a shrug. "If someone's got the right outlook and skills we can use, there's a place for them."

  "So how many of those hundred and whatever are Guardians?"

  "One," Parcival said, reentering the discussion. "And he'd appreciate it if you'd get your elbow out of his ribs."

  "Sorry," Bhodi said, settling back in his seat.

  "Mmm, ribs-" Pike murmured.

  "There's no meat on me," Parcival demurred. "Try Bhodi."

  "Now, just a minute-"

  "Hop Zoid's Grill," the driver announced.

  "Lucky Bhodi," Pike said, clambering out. "Thanks, Clarence. I'll knock a five off your debt."

  "Order whatever you want," Pike urged when they were settled in their seats.

  Of the half dozen Terran dishes offered, the best-sounding one was bar chicken. It came steam-cooked and deep-fat fried, crisp, moist and astonishingly hot. It would have tasted even better if Bhodi hadn't been sitting opposite Pike.

  The Fop's dinner came six-legged, furry, and alive, pinned to a wooden platter by a spike through the middle of its body. Bhodi thought that perhaps Pike had some sort of religious or cultural obligation to kill his own food. But Bhodi stared in mixed fascination and disgust as Pike systematically dismembered the still-squirming creature.

  "What do Fop mothers call out the back window? 'Come on in right now, Jimmy, before your food dies'?"

  "At least it he plays with his food, it can play back," Parcival said brightly.

  Bhodi got through dinner without being sick, which in light of what Pike did with his dinner's torso Bhodi considered an accomplishment of some note. Pike himself helped, distracting Bhodi with stories of his early life in the streets of Calamarod, on the Fop-settled world Fio. The common thread linking the stories was Pike as scoff-law. He cheerfully confessed to petty theft, burglary, grand larceny and assorted frauds and cons, as though none of those things were crimes on Fio.

  "I grew up figuring that the only rule that counted was don't get caught," Pike admitted when Bhodi questioned him on it.

  "So you joined up hoping the Guardians would change you?"

  "Hell, no," Pike said, grinning, "They recruited me because the Ninth needed a good scoundrel."

  Parcival shook his head. "Don't believe him. He was arrested in a scam that took half a million from a major landlord in Calamarod."

  "And put fifty-three street people into decent housing," Pike added.

  "The Fionese government gave him a choice: go off-world or be recycled into pillow covers and hand towels."

  "You wound me," Pike said. But his eyes were twinkling merrily.

  The waitress, a Fop with whom Pike had been flirting all evening, appeared then bearing the bill for the night's fare. "I'll handle it," Pike said, flourishing a credit chip. Then he reached out and covered Bhodi's right ear, where the translator plug rested. "Kep mardi fractiu noren?"

  Smiling coquettishly, the waitress placed the chip in a receptacle on her tray, waited until it beeped twice, then handed the chip back. "Jiau."

  "Thanks," Bhodi said to Pike as the waitress departed. "This was really good."

  "Don't thank me."

  "No, I appreciate it. I'd never have known about this place."

  "I mean it-don't thank me," Parcival said, sliding the credit chip across the table. "After all, this was on you."

  Pike grinned. Parcival laughed delightedly. With a sinking feeling, Bhodi patted dumbly at the empty pocket where his credit chip should have been. Then he snatched up the chip from the table possessively.

  "How did you-"

  "Oh, I've had it since we went through the security gate at Dock 16," Pike said easily. "I knew you'd want me to help you with the customs. Most junior buys-that's how its done."

  "That's a lousy trick," Bhodi said angrily. "You stole my chip. You owe me-how much was it? I don't even know."

  "Eighty-six units, not counting a generous tip for the young lady."

  "That's a week's allowance! You pig-faced thief, you owe me and you're going to pay me back."

  Pike feigned shock. "If you really feel that way, I'll give you a chance to win back what you spent. I hear that Li-hon brought a new game back from Earth on your pickup run." He laughed and pushed his chair back from the table. "Either of you any good at skeeball?"

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Pike's little "gotcha" soured Bhodi's enjoyment of the evening excursion. Right up to that moment, Bhodi had felt included and accepted. He knew that Pike was unscrupulous, but Pike was so casual about it and so genial that Bhodi could not make himself judge the Fop harshly.

  Then suddenly he became Pike's victim instead of his audience, and the whole business looked very different. Bhodi had never much liked practical jokes, and this was no exception. It wasn't the money. It was the sharp reminder that he, Bhodi, was the outsider.

  The incident even left Bhodi with some hard feelings toward Parcival, who not only didn't warn him but seemed to want Bhodi to join an I-was-stung-by-Pike fan club.

  "Why are you holding a grudge?" Parcival said when they had a moment alone. "It's nothing personal. I lost all my armor to him on a bet I was sure I could win, and I had to ransom it back. He gets everyone sooner or later."

  "That's what Haj said."

&n
bsp; "See, you were warned-and he got you anyway. You even had all dinner to notice what had happened. He always gives you a chance to stop him."

  Bhodi shook his head. "I guess I just don't expect people to do things like that."

  "That's why Pike's important to the platoon. He helps us remember to think sneaky-not to take things for granted. Anyway, considering how you did with Tivia, he probably figured he'd better get you sooner, because you might not be here later."

  "Is that what they're saying?"

  "Well-more money says you won't get through your gunnery instruction than says you will."

  "Is that so?"

  "Yeah. I've got fifty on you making it."

  "Thanks-I guess."

  Parcival shrugged. "It's a heart bet, not a head bet."

  "Why?"

  "Don't you know who your instructor is?"

  "No. Haj didn't tell me," Bhodi said. With a flash of anxiety, he added, "Don't tell me it's Lord Baethan."

  "No. The Lord B. never works with trainees. Doesn't have enough patience with inferior life-forms."

  "Who, then?"

  Parcival nodded toward a big-bellied figure edging its way toward them through the crowd in the gaming parlor. "It's Pike."

  Bhodi stared."Shit."

  The next morning, Bhodi stood outside the door leading to the gunnery range and drew a deep breath. He was trying unsuccessfully to settle his nerves before entering.

  Before they had left Dracona, Bhodi had won sixty units from Parcival and Pike in the gaming parlors. That was just about what their share of the dinner would have been, and Bhodi took enough satisfaction in the winning to forget if not forgive the business of the stray credit chip.

  But there was still the matter of Bhodi's own harsh words, which he had not taken back. He had decided to apologize at the end of the evening, but lost his chance when Pike unexpectedly advised them that he was staying on Rejia for the night.

  The announcement had come just as their taxi reached the flightline, five minutes before the scheduled departure of the night's final shuttle. Pike let Parcival and Bhodi clamber out first, then leaned forward to whisper an instruction in the driver's ear. The driver nodded, and the vehicle lurched forward.