by Colin Kapp
“There are rumors of some unprincipled characters wandering this sector. That always puts a premium on freight rates and virginity. Under the circumstances I couldn’t get you off-world for less than a Marshal’s Credit Note for six million stellars …”
“Space-worms have eaten your mind!”
“… and the crawler …”
“Federation property, not for sale.”
“… and the girl.”
“That’s not even negotiable. You know, I’d be doing the galaxy a favor if I returned to my cannon and blasted this rat-hulk and all your family out of existence.”
“But you won’t do that, Marshal Jym. My scanners tell me more than thousand riders approach across the desert. Do we have trade?”
“I’ll offer you three million stellars. That’s about a thousand times what your whole stinking outfit’s worth.”
“And the crawler?”
“I’ll abandon it on the desert. If you load it, you do so at your own risk. There’s a death penalty attached to its unlawful acquisition.”
“And the girl?”
“Completely out of the question. The first man who touches her is dead.”
Saltzeim appeared to give the matter careful consideration.
“You drive hard bargain, Marshal Jym. But we have trade. Please accept the hospitality of our ship. We’ll be space-borne as soon as we’ve swept our traces from the dust.”
Wildheit shrugged. He knew that Saltzeim had no intention of leaving the crawler in the desert. He was comforted by the fact that all the ammunition and spares were deliberately non-standard and of such complexity that inept operation was as likely to be as dangerous to the operator as to those attacked. His own duty should have been to activate the crawler’s radio-linked self-destruct mechanism, but he was considering a balance of risks. During the progress of the bargaining one of the onlookers had used the phrase amindumi. Knowing something of the customs of space gypsies, Wildheit considered it wise to have extra armaments to hand. Unwittingly the Rhaqui were busily engaged loading the vehicle containing these armaments into their own hold.
The interior of the Rhaqui ship was indescribably dirty and unsafe. The hull, largely by virtue of its extreme thickness, was mainly sound and unpatched; but the bulkheads, engines and life-support mechanisms were a frightening hodgepodge of old and adapted parts scrounged from shipyards at all corners of the galaxy. It said much for the ingenuity of the Rhaqui space-tinkers that such an ill-suited assortment of pieces could be made to function in any way at all. It said even more for the desperate thirsting for independence which drove the gypsies to accept such an inherently dangerous habitat as part of their way of life.
The flight-bridge was the center of the community. Here, dangerously degraded instrument panels vied for place with wooden trestles, stone drinking vessels, and a bewildering assortment of junk including castoff clothing which appeared to have been dropped at random wherever the former wearer fancied. To complete the confusion, numerous small animals and birds from several worlds fed from trays placed about the floor and chased each other around the navigation consoles.
Saltzeim’s superior status was indicated by his possession of a private cabin, which was reasonably tidy except, ludicrously, for the presence of a bathtub full of antique books. He shepherded Wildheit and Roamer into the cabin and waited pensively while the marshal drafted the irrevocable Credit Note. Then he folded the note with due ceremony and placed it in the lining of his outlandish tricorn hat.
“Thank you, Marshal Jym. This cabin shall be yours for the duration of the journey. The woman shall be found sleepspace elsewhere.”
“Not while I breathe,” said Wildheit. “The girl stays at all times within my sight. Remember, I shall kill anyone who attempts to approach her.”
“That won’t be necessary. I give you my word.”
“Your lips move, but I hear no sounds. When you’re drunk, who will restrain the others?”
“Am I not the father of the family?”
“If you think so, you’re a fool. Don’t you hear them joking about amindumi? That’s not part of the contract.”
“You’d take much upon yourself, Marshal, if you killed one of the family.”
“I would be as happy to kill them all as to kill one. Therefore the onus is on you. Keep control, lest I be forced to do so for you.”
Saltzeim went away muttering under his breath, and Wildheit turned to examine the cabin.
“You can sleep on the bunk, Roamer. There’s a curtain to give you some privacy.”
“And you?”
“I shan’t sleep. I’ve some tablets that will suffice instead. It’ll be necessary for me to guard the door.”
“Is that why you were cross with Saltzeim?”
“Kes-kes is a fool. He’s losing his grip. He’s in no position to make promises binding on the others.”
“What is this phrase—amindumi?”
“To understand it, you have to understand Rhaqui history. There are only three or four small clans of them, and their life-style makes them a self-contained and insular people. Marriage outside the Rhaqui is forbidden by clan law.”
As he spoke, Wildheit was examining the construction and fittings of the cabin, his curiosity questing among the collection of intricate and ancient pipes, tubes, and conduits with which the walls were laden.
“Unfortunately such a high degree of in-breeding combined with long spaceflight exposures ensures a continuing supply of defective and imbecile children. Without the frequent introduction of new bloodlines, the Rhaqui would soon cease to exist. Their ingenuity suggested a way to ensure the new blood without breaking the marriage taboos.”
Taking tools from his pockets, Wildheit was removing some of the paneling from the walls and examining the wiring he found beneath. He shrugged, as if finding nothing of use, then turned back to Roamer.
“They abduct women of unrelated stock. When they have found a suitable prospect they hold a series of orgies in which every male in the clan tries to fertilize her. One usually succeeds, though none can prove which is the successful sire. The pregnant women is kept under careful restraint until the child is born. The infant is adopted by the clan, but the mother is ceremonially killed by the wives as punishment for conjugal theft. These last rites are particularly barbarous. Their phrase for the victim is amindumi.”
“And that’s their intention for me?”
Wildheit checked his weapons’ belt. “There’s a wide gulf between intention and attainment. But I think you’d better take to the bunk for a bit, because Kes-kes’s take-offs are not noted for their finesse.”
SEVEN
THE take-off was fully as frightening as the dilapidated state of the craft threatened it would be. After a series of great explosions, the hulk lurched uneasily skyward and seemed to be dragged upward more by a spirit of desperation than by the thrust of its uncoordinated jets. The final achievement of escape velocity was greeted by ribald cheers from the flight-bridge, as if its attainment had been the subject of much doubt. Wildheit listened attentively to every phase of the takeoff and winced repeatedly as operational atrocities succeeded one another in a seemingly unending stream.
Once the ship had clawed its way into interplanetary space and settled into a continuous acceleration on gravitational drive, the ship-breakfast was prepared. This was traditionally the first meal of any trip, and its serving had to await the completion of various chores associated with renewed flight. Thus its timing was dictated by the necessities of flight duties rather than by human need, and they were all truly hungry by the time food was produced.
Roamer and Wildheit joined the others on the flight-bridge for the meal. The presence of the full family underscored the marshal’s point about the high incidence of congenital defects. Nearly half the members of the family appeared to have some degree of lowered intellect. Yet behind their overt childishness Wildheit could detect a dangerous animal sharpness not tempered by conscience. Since all w
ere wiry, strong, and armed, it was a precarious situation for strangers.
The meal began peacefully enough. Saltzeim dominated the table from one end, with the seer and the marshal placed immediately to his right. Whole carcasses of meat had been roasted and brought to the table on thick metal trays at full oven heat so that cooking continued even while the meat was being served. Kes-kes, using a large-bladed knife of impressive sharpness, expertly divided the meat and flipped whole portions the length of the table where it was caught in plates held out by the family members. The guests were treated similarly except that the meat was slipped from the blade instead of being thrown.
As plentiful as the meat was the drink, a spirit raw from the crudeness of its fermenting and distillation. Wildheit, who had been uncomfortably aware that the eyes of all the male members of the family had been straying over Roamer since the meal began, became increasingly concerned as the alcohol loosened their tongues and began to conquer their minimal inhibitions. Soon the talk of amindumi was phrased not as a question but as an imminent reality. Finally the marshal rose to his feet, taking Roamer by the arm.
“Time to break this up, Kes-kes.”
“Sit down, Marshal! They’re just little high-spirited. Space has few entertainments.”
“And Roamer’s not going to become one of them. Keep control of them, else I’ll be forced to do it for you.”
“I’m their father,” said the Rhaqui belligerently, a tongue of meat curling down his chin. “Nobody would dare …”
A small gypsy youth with a curiously pinched face and shining, dark eyes leaped suddenly from the trestles and made a dive to get an arm round Roamer’s waist. The marshal’s hands were at his weapons’ belt, but he first looked at Saltzeim, giving him the chance to avert a tragedy. Kes-kes rose with an enraged oath, swayed drunkenly, then appeared to collect himself with a great shrug of his frame. He shouted at the errant Rhaqui, received no response whatsoever, then leaned across the corner of the table and struck out mightily with his broad-bladed knife.
The incident was a moment frozen in horror. The exploring hand, clean severed at the wrist, dropped on to the table where it spluttered rebelliously in the still-hot fat in one of the trays of meat. The miscreant, too shocked by the loss to acknowledge his pain, stood in dumb amazement at the fate of his appendage. Then he fainted. The absolute silence which had fallen over the family was broken by a storm of anger and protest. Wildheit foreshortened the melee by firing a noise-burst at the ceiling.
“Now hear this! You Rhaqui have accepted a trade, for which you are being paid a more than adequate price. Do not attempt to touch the girl. I shan’t be as merciful as Kes-kes. I’ll use a slim-beam on any and all of you who dares even to try.”
Back in the cabin, Roamer seemed quiet, but not as disturbed as Wildheit had anticipated. Nevertheless he gave her a relaxant from his medi-kit and sat watching the door thoughtfully while she slept.
Ostensibly the rest of the watch period was quiet, but when he and Roamer emerged at the start of the next watch, the attitude of everyone they encountered was one of hostility. At the controls an unfamiliar face wore Kes-kes Saltzeim’s tricorn hat. A form of clan justice appeared to have been exerted; and there was little doubt that in the space debris which reluctantly fell behind the still-accelerating ship, the body of the father of the family now drifted peacefully toward the farther shores of infinity.
No further incidents occurred until the middle of the third watch, when someone knocked on the door and invited them to join the meal. Hoping the previous lesson had been sufficient, Wildheit accepted. They found the family unusually subdued, but there was an unspoken expectation in the atmosphere which drew Wildheit’s fingers constantly closer to his weapon’s belt. With the serving of the drink, the tension appeared to relax a little, but Wildheit sharpened his perception and remained even more alert.
The attack when it came was treacherous and swift. Without any warning, someone flung a jugful of spirit in the marshal’s face. At the same instant a small and agile Rhaqui, who had not been present at the table before, sprang on to Wildheit’s back with a knife in each hand and drew in his arms preparatory to plunging each blade straight into the space-marshal’s eyes. Already partially blinded by the liquid, Wildheit could not have detected the danger in time. He would have been blinded permanently had not someone also attempted to drive a large stiletto between his ribs. The imminence of the certain death of his host was a circumstance Coul was not prepared to tolerate. For an instant, the scene became held in a time-locked stasis in which only Wildheit continued to move. Barely conscious of the few extra seconds the god had injected into his life, he hurled the enemy from his back straight on to a motionless stiletto; and before Coul could withdraw his temporal interference, he had gained access to his weapons.
Wildheit’s retribution was swift. He cut down three of the leaping Rhaqui with a slim-beam, then threw a localized shock-pellet to the far end of the room. The picopulse was painful to them all, but those closer to the pulse-point dropped to the floor, unconscious. One of the gypsies produced a chemical-propellant handgun and brought it to swift aim. Wildheit directed the slim-beam not at the man but at the gun. The device exploded with a roar, and the flying shrapnel did so much damage to the man and his accomplices that the attack turned into a screaming rout. Wildheit deliberately cut down three more as they fled, then found himself the only thing still moving on the flight-bridge.
This was the first moment he had realized Roamer was no longer at his side. A muffled noise behind him revealed the door through which she had been dragged. He cut the lock and hinges away with the slim-beam because it was quicker than attempting to open the door in the usual manner. On the far side of the portal he stopped short, amazed. The two young gypsies present in the room were dead. A quick inspection of their grotesque postures suggested neither of them still had any major bone unbroken in their bodies. Shaken, he turned to find Roamer watching him, her face unusually calm.
“Who did that?” Wildheit pointed to the tangled corpses.
“I did.” The answer was without particular emotion.
“How …?” He found his voice contained an element of anguish. Not the least disturbing fact was Roamer’s own composure.
She looked at her small, slim hands, then back to his eyes. “The Sensitive seers have specialties. But this doesn’t mean they’re limited to one talent. There are many things I’ve not practiced; but if this is the pattern of life among the stars, I’ll have to adapt to it. In time I think I shall learn to kill more.”
“You may not believe this,” Wildheit said ruefully, “but killing’s not the object of this exercise at all. I’m supposed to be a peacekeeper.”
She looked past him. “Then why do you carry so many dreadful weapons. Is peace not the last thing the stars want imposed upon them?”
“One day I’ll explain it to you,” said Wildheit. Then he began to wonder if he could ever explain it to himself.
Roamer suddenly gave a little gasp. The look of concentration on her face told him that her mind was searching far out beyond the Rhaqui ship.
“What’s the matter, Roamer?”
“The patterns of Chaos. Something happened—a causal point of this ship leading to a sudden leap in entropy.”
“Enough to destroy the ship?”
“Certainly enough. But there’s something odd. The entropic blaze should already have taken place, but something is intercepting the link between cause and effect. It’s delaying the reaction.”
“The Chaos Weapon?”
“I don’t know what to call it, but there’s a lot of energy involved. See—already it begins to stress the continuum.”
When she had pointed out the situation to Wildheit, he could see plainly what she meant. A critical view of any surface revealed a slight optical fuzz as if the light was being partially diffracted by the atmosphere.
Frowning as he tried to understand the implications, the marshal’s attention
was suddenly diverted by a noise outside on the flight-bridge. He swung ready to repel an attack, but saw nothing but a fleeting gypsy figure scurrying through a door. Wildheit fired high as a warning, whereupon the fellow let something drop to the floor as he disappeared round the corner. Suspecting a trick, the marshal slammed a shock pellet into the area and followed fast to recover the object which had fallen.
He came back to Roamer bearing the remote-control box for the crawler, which must have become dislodged from his belt during the fight. The state of the indicators on it gave him cause for concern.
“What’s the matter?” asked Roamer.
“Some cretin’s been playing with the crawler’s control box. They’ve keyed the command for self-destruct.”
“That could explain our causal point,” said Roamer.
“The timing would be about right. But even if the crawler destructs in the holds it’s unlikely to take a ship of this size with it. Yet the Chaos Weapon appears to be holding off the reaction. Why?”
“It could be to concentrate the effect. The more stressed the continuum, the greater the energy release when the reaction finally gets free. I see it as an act of desperation.”
“Desperation?”
“Think about it. You go to hunt the Chaos Weapon, right?”
“True enough.”
“And with my help, we would be unlikely to enter a Chaos omega point voluntarily. Right?”
“I think that’s a reasonable assumption.”
“So the only way the weapon’s controllers can stop us is to amplify the scale of some potential disaster we’re not in a position to avoid.”
“Of course! The crawler destruct mechanism can only do limited damage by itself. But if by holding that point sufficient stress can be built up in the continuum, the backlash could well tear the ship apart. Is there anything we can do?”
“I don’t know.” Roamer put her knuckles to her forehead. “I think all we can do is to try to get out of range before anything happens.”
