The Privateer 2: AN HONEST LIVING

by Zellmann, William

  Donord shook his head. "Even if I believed you, I am no longer fit for war. The new leg is wonderful, but it will never be good enough for fighting."

  Cale grinned. "You can be of much more value than a single fighting man without leaving your inn. I spent all of last evening sitting across the street. I saw your customers, and how many of them were star men, the criminals I mentioned.

  "Such men drink, a lot. And when they drink, they talk, they brag, they say things which would be of great value to their enemies, us. I'm sorry to see you no longer distill liquors. Distilled liquors are much stronger than fermented ones, and will make men drunker, quicker."

  Donord was looking thoughtful. "What you say is true. I have sought to discourage these men from coming to my inn, but they quickly learned that mine was an inn for soldiers. As you say, they drink, they talk, they brag, they argue, and then they fight. The star guard gave me a whistle so that I can summon help quickly."

  He grinned. "They have learned that when I reach for the whistle, it means trouble for them. So, often reaching for it is enough, as it was last night. Now, tell me more about these weapons, and your alliance with the other kings."

  Cale gave him a quick summary of happenings since they had left Jumbo, and of their return. He told Donord of seizing the space station and ship, and disabling the lifeboat. He smiled grimly as he told of the battle with the flitters.

  "That is true!" an excited Donord said. "One of them talked about how lucky they were to make it home. Another night, another of them talked about the torture and deaths of those who did not return."

  Cale started describing the weapons they had brought, when he had a sudden thought. "Can you close your inn for a few days? Or hire someone to run it for you? There is something I would like to show you, and something you can help with."

  Donord looked interested, so Cale told him of the rifle he had brought, and his idea for recruiting forest hunters.

  "You remember where we met, in Ham's Town? Well, that was our second stop. Our first was a hunters' village a few miles away. I had thought of hiding the rifle in my cart, and returning to the village. There I will demonstrate the rifle, and offer one like it to every man who joins us to kill star men. They will be what are called 'snipers'. These are marksmen who kill enemies from a great distance. It requires men having great skill with the crossbow. Archers are welcome, of course, but we have different weapons for them."

  The big man grinned. "I fear I feel a great fever coming on. By curfew tonight, no one will doubt that I am indeed ill." He paused. "The girls and that fool of a bartender will rob me blind, but I would see this wonderful weapon that kills from far away."

  Cale grinned. "Spoken like an innkeeper. All right, that gives me most of today to locate a donkey I can buy. You would not believe how tired I am of pulling that thing around." He paused. "But there are checkpoints manned by star men. As a trader, I have no problem, but they could be trouble for you."

  Donord frowned. "Perhaps. I . . . No! I have it! I will replace my new leg with my old one. It is uncomfortable, and I will have to also bring my crutch, but these guardsmen will not worry about a one-legged cripple. If I trim my beard to another shape, I doubt anyone will recognize me. And when I return, I'll simply shave the beard off." He shook his head. "It has been too long since I have left King's Town." A sudden smile flared in the bearded countenance. "And to get away to see a new weapon!"

  "We'll have to detour a bit to get it. It's in a boat hidden on the river."

  Donord's eyes widened. "The river? You rode a boat on the river? But that is suicide!"

  Cale shook his head. "I came all the way down from Valhalla in a canoe, and never saw a single nomad. But I traveled mostly in the early morning and late evening. And, of course, I can't go back that way, against the current."

  Donord clapped him on the shoulder. "Ha! Well done, sire Cale. Very well done! I will have my boy guard your cart today, so you can seek out a donkey."

  It turned out to be a long day. Cale found a donkey easily enough, and had been provided with enough steel to buy it several times over. He also spent several hours browsing the market, looking for items to add to his less-than-full cart. Despite this, he found himself spending many hours in the still shed, endlessly checking his cart and his donkey, and then trying to rest amid the racket coming from the inn. Finally, he managed to get a few hours' sleep.

  They got a rather late start the next morning, but Donord was nearly unrecognizable. He hobbled on the peg leg he'd had built from Dee's sketches, wincing occasionally. His crutch was on the cart.

  Cale was worried when they reached the first checkpoint, but he garnered little interest, his cart again becoming his passport. Donord had a bit more trouble, but since he was now limping on both his peg leg and his crutch, the soldiers obviously didn't consider him a threat. They claimed he was taking the trader to meet a relative in Ham's Town who had some Old Time artifacts. Once the checkpoint was out of sight, Donord threw the crutch back onto the cart and his limp lessened considerably.

  Cale had no difficulty spotting his landmarks, and despite the extra four-hour walk, they reached the river and the hidden canoe in good spirits. Cale had Donord keep watch while he sneaked down to the river, searching all the way for any sign the canoe had been discovered and turned into a trap. When he reached the canoe, he snatched the cased rifle and ammunition, and ran back to Donord.

  Donord examined the rifle with a combination of interest and awe. Never had he seen such flawless metalwork in anything but Old Time pieces, and the plas of the stock fascinated him. But most impressive of all was the telescopic sight. He kept raising and lowering it from his eye to compare the unaided view with the telescopic image.

  They decided to move a mile or so from the canoe's hiding place before finding a camp site for the night.

  Chapter 13

  Donord got more sympathy than harassment at the last two checkpoints. Soldiers easily recognize one another, and Donord was so obviously what he seemed that the star men were more likely to ask how he lost his leg than where he was going and why.

  When they passed through Ham's Town and Cale turned onto the forest track, Donord laughed aloud.

  "I think I know this village," he said. "An old comrade lives there, married to a fat woman and with half a dozen kids."

  Donord was right. He did know this village, though his comrade had been out hunting when Cale first visited.

  Donord introduced his old comrade, a large man starting to run to fat, though not, of course by name; nor was Cale's name mentioned. They spent over an hour sounding out the village folk about the current situation and the star men, and there were many angry stories, sour expressions and shaken heads.

  Finally, Cale felt confident enough to broach the subject. "I've heard that there is another group of star men," he said tentatively, "One that is fighting the General and his people. They say the General and his men are criminals on their home world, and they came here to fight them."

  Voices arose, some doubtful, some indifferent, but most interested.

  "Yes," he continued, "I heard that they are seeking people to help them fight against these criminals, and are giving people star weapons, wonderful things that can hurt and kill the star men."

  "Pah!" said an older man. "The star men cannot be killed. A man from Tusa village fired his strongest crossbow at one. The star man just plucked out the bolt, and fired a bar of light that burned through the man."

  Cale shook his head. "They wear armor. But they can be killed. Twenty were killed by the other star men two weeks ago near Valhalla."

  "If the star men could be killed," Donord said, "I would like to be the man that killed one. I myself have seen a star man shoot a man with that bar of light. It burned through the man's body and hurt a woman. I do not like these star men."

  Donord's old comrade nodded. "I, too would like to kill one, if they can be killed."

  Finally, after about another half hour of careful
conversation, Donord's old comrade turned to Cale, his expression suspicious. "Tell me, trader, how is it that you know so much about so much? Have you perhaps been sent by the star men to spy?"

  Cale smiled. It was now or never. "I know so much," he replied, "because I am one of the star men fighting the General." There was a general movement away from him by everyone but Donord. "I have come here," he continued, "because I know that this village contains brave men, men who do not fear the rainbow cat. Men who are expert with the crossbow."

  "Crossbows do not kill them," the man said flatly.

  "That's true," Cale replied, "but I can show you a weapon that can." He rose and went to the cart, a babble of voices rising in his wake. He got the case containing the rifle and its ammunition from its hidden compartment, and returned to the skinning table around which the men had gathered.

  As he approached, one of the older men was moving away. "I have no truck with magic," he said, shaking his head. "Neither Jumbo magic nor star magic."

  Cale had known this would be something he must deal with, and he raised his voice so the man could hear. "No magic," he said. "Star men do not use magic. We use instead something called 'science', which requires no charms, spells or incantations."

  The man turned back as Cale continued, "You have all seen wonders from the Old Time: Glass that is so clear it is invisible. Knives that do not rust, yet remain sharp for many years. These wonders came not from magic, but from the Old Time knowledge. On other worlds, there was no Madness, the Old Time knowledge was not lost, and we have continued to learn. We still travel between the very stars themselves. We make machines that think, and yes, weapons that kill with light. Nearly anything can be put to good use, or to evil. A bow can feed a family, or murder an innocent. I am here because these star men are putting our knowledge to evil use.

  "Star men have many weapons with which to fight each other, some of which can destroy entire worlds. But star weapons require star knowledge. The weapons we have brought to Jumbo are those suitable to Jumbo. They contain no magic, no spells, no charms, but only star knowledge, and they must be operated by men, or they are simply lumps of metal.

  "This weapon I have brought is for use by men of skill and courage. Men who dare hunt the rainbow cat with only a crossbow."

  He opened the case and removed the rifle and a paper cartridge. He opened the breech of the single-shot rifle, and passed it down the table. It was passed from hand to hand, despite the occasional man who stepped back from it, making signs to ward off evil magic.

  "As you can see," he said as the men "oohed" and "aaahed" at its flawless workmanship, "the weapon resembles a crossbow, though with a long tube on top and another, larger tube on top of that. I would have you look down the long tube that replaces the arrow bed of the crossbow. You will see that it is only that; a simple tube, open on both ends. No magic, only the wonderful workmanship that star world machines can produce.

  "Even a child knows that wood burns," he continued, "and that leaves also burn, but much faster than wood. And you have all heard green wood make popping sounds in a fire. There is no magic in such. We have used the knowledge that some things burn slowly and others burn fast to create powders that burn very, very fast. And we have learned that if you put such powders behind a pebble and into a tube, when the powder burns, the pebble will be pushed out of the tube very fast."

  He took his knife and cut open the paper cartridge, showing the grayish powder it contained, and the conical bullet that closed one end of the cartridge. "Here is the 'magic'," he said. "The powder burns very fast, and pushes the metal pebble out the end of the tube." He stepped over and grabbed a twig, lighting it in the always-burning fire in the plaza. "Watch," he said, and touched the burning twig to the powder. Unconfined, the powder produced a sputtering flash and a whoosh sound. "You see?" Cale continued. "No magic. Merely the burning of a powder."

  Others were still examining the rifle. "It is true," Cale heard one say. "It is only an empty tube."

  "Faugh!" Another said. "I have seen mages produce animals from empty tubes. That means nothing." But the man did not move away.

  "And who is the best crossbowman in the village?" Cale asked.

  There was a lot of good-natured arguing and teasing before a short man with graying hair tied back into a ponytail stepped forward. "And a practice area?" Cale asked.

  Excitement began to spread as the men saw a shooting contest developing. They led Cale to one end of the village, where the underbrush had been cleared to create a shooting range some fifty meters long; long range for a hunting crossbow. A large piece of whitish tree bark, much perforated, stood at its end, another at about the halfway point.

  The short man returned, a well-worn crossbow and quiver in his hand.

  "Don't bet with him, star man," came a voice from among the onlookers. "He'll end up owning your ship that sails the stars!" The short man flushed and grinned self-consciously.

  One of the onlookers jogged down the range to the farthest target. He plucked a small flower from a bush as he passed, and put it in one of the many holes in the tree bark, the blossom facing the shooters. As he returned to the growing crowd of onlookers, the short man put his foot in a stirrup on the front of his crossbow and grunted with effort as he grabbed the thick string with both hands and pulled on the string. Finally there was a click as the trigger mechanism secured the string of the now-bent bow.

  The man took a short, thick arrow with only two flights from his quiver, and squinted along its length as he spun it in his hand, checking its straightness. Keeping the crossbow pointed carefully downrange, he slid the arrow into its bed on top of the stock. When he raised the crossbow to his shoulder, Cale noted that the man used two fingers on the trigger, and that he could see the man's muscles tense as he pulled the apparently very heavy trigger. After a moment sighting, a thrum sound accompanied the launch of the missile. The arrow sank home less than an inch from the flower. Cale decided it was a very impressive performance, given the obvious effort required to fire the crossbow.

  Cale smiled and stepped forward. He knew that the rifle had been designed for extreme simplicity, with the Jumbo users in mind. The telescopic sight featured a red dot that was scaled. A tiny comp adjusted the magnification of the sight, and its trajectory, to keep the dot always the same size, and always exactly on target. There were no user-accessible adjustments for curious hands to break or misalign.

  He stepped to the firing line, and took a cartridge from his pouch. He handed it around to the onlookers, so they could verify it was the same as the one he'd cut open, and was adorned with no spells or charms.

  He slipped the cartridge into the chamber, and a small lever raised the breechblock into position. A sharp edge on the top of the breechblock cut the back off the paper cartridge as it raised into position, exposing the powder to two electrical contacts on the breechblock.

  The trigger was two stage, with a short take-up pull and then a crisp let-off with three pounds' pressure on the trigger. The trigger was actually electrical, operated by the body's own tiny electrical charge. The breechblock contained a small amplifier to raise the current, and a pressure switch. When the set pressure of three pounds was reached, the switch would send the amplified current through two contacts to ignite the powder.

  Tonio had carefully designed the rifle to be useful to the Jumbo locals long after the war was over. They had brought over a hundred thousand paper cartridges containing smokeless powder with them, but the rifles were also designed to be used with the black gunpowder Valhalla was already producing. A nearly invisible hidden switch would allow the scope to reprogram itself for the less-powerful black powder. The rechargeable battery in the scope was guaranteed for a million shots, as were the amplifier and pressure switch.

  "There will be a loud crack! sound when the powder burns instead of the whoosh you heard before," he warned his audience. "This is because the powder is confined and is pushing the bullet out of the barrel tube."

&n
bsp; Cale was no expert with firearms, but he was experienced with shoulder-stocked lasers, and he was confident. He raised the rifle to his shoulder, and took up the slack on the trigger. As the red dot settled on the flower, he increased the trigger pressure, and the gun fired.

  There was an ancient saying that the firing should come as a surprise, and it certainly was to Cale, as the rifle bucked into his shoulder. Recoil was a new experience for Cale; lasers and energy weapons do not produce it. He staggered back a step, and nearly dropped the rifle, only his convulsive grip permitting him to hang onto it. He regained his balance and grinned at his openmouthed audience. The crack! of the weapon was impressive to people conditioned to nearly silent bows and crossbows.

  Cale chuckled. "I'm not used to such strong weapons," he explained. It was about that time that someone actually looked at the target, and realized that the flower was gone.

  The entire crowd, now enlarged by people attracted by the noise, moved down to examine the tree bark target.

  The flower was indeed gone, pushed through the nearly half-inch hole left by the bullet. One more, Cale decided. "Can someone pluck two more flowers?" he asked, and two bright yellow ones were handed to him. He placed them into holes about a foot apart, and everyone tramped back toward the village.

  But Cale didn't stop at the firing line. He kept walking across the bare earth plaza in the center of the village. When he stopped, it was directly in front of a log home, and the scope's rangefinder told him the targets were now just about 100 meters away, and invisible to most of the people who followed him.

  Once again he passed a cartridge around, so the audience could assure themselves there were no charms or spells written on its paper body.

  The scope's magnification was stronger this time, though that wasn't noticeable to Cale. He saw exactly the same sight picture he'd seen at 50 meters. This time he was ready for the recoil, and remembered Tonio's advice to press the rifle tightly into his shoulder.