The Shaman of Karres

by Eric Flint

  “So,” said Me’a. “Tell me what brings you to Cinderby’s World.”

  So Pausert did, minus one or two details about the klatha use. She noticed, he’d bet.

  At the end of it all, she nodded slowly. “So: petty vengeance for not treating him like nobility. And taking it out on an available target, even though you weren’t the one who did it to him. That’s Stratel all over. And insurance fraud. Well, well, well. The Daal will be pleased about that. We had not successfully reinsured those cargos.”

  “Uldune insures them?” asked the captain, faintly surprised.

  She gave a small snort. “Of course. Banking is not the only form of robbery. And who better? We can often recover the goods, at a fraction of the cost of replacement. I think we will shortly be talking with some of Bormgo’s employees. I suppose the crisis has forced his hand into piracy.”

  “What crisis?” There was that prickle again. Something important had just been said.

  “The shortage of catalyst granules. The Imperials think that the Consortium—Stratel, Bormgo, Wenerside and Ratneurt—are hoarding to control the price. They have done so in the past. That is why they’ve sent some of their top enforcement officials here.”

  “But there just ain’t much out there,” said Nady. “They don’t believe it, but it’s true. They ain’t producing. Used ter be you could follow a tumbleflower for a week and so long as the porpentiles didn’t get you, you had a pouchful. Now it could take you a month. Every now and again yer get a good one, but it just ain’t like it uster be.”

  “The records we’ve been able to steal show the industry has been in a slow decline for centuries—but it’s only been in the last twenty years that it has really gone down fast, and the price of catalyst granules up through the roof. The gatherers used to work within sight of the spaceport. Now they’re going more than fifty times that distance, to the end of the Mount Lofty range and further.”

  “And there ain’t nothing out there. Just a chance to get onto the tumbleflowers coming in first,” said Nady.

  “So these tumbleflowers, don’t you get them in other places?”

  “Oh, yes. Planetary surveys show them as occurring just about anywhere. They’re very scattered, though. They tend to concentrate here because the mountains make an enormous wind-funnel. Early records of the spaceport record them piling in the thousands against the dome. Of course when the wind drops they walk away.”

  “I see,” said the captain, who really didn’t. “Anyway. Can you help us get back to our ship? I really need to talk to…ah, someone on board.”

  “Goth, or someone referred to as ‘the Leewit,’” said Me’a, knowledgeably.

  Pausert scowled at her. He really could use Goth here. “Yes. The Leewit.”

  “Respect will be given,” rumbled Ta’zara.

  “I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise to one of the Wisdoms,” replied Me’a, using the Uldune term for the witches of Karres. “If you think you can get into the ship by going outside the dome, I am very pleased to help. I’ll have rebreathers found for you. Nady here will be your guide. I will send one of my men.”

  “Strictly speaking,” said Vezzarn, “we work for the same boss. I used to work on the Jalreen jewel route. So the Daal has someone along, anyway. You see to that Bormgo’s goons. They already tried to track us.”

  “They did?” said Me’a, her chin rising, eyes narrowing.

  “Ta’zara dealt with them in one of your side streets,” said Vezzarn.

  “Twenty-seventh walkway,” supplied Nady.

  “I shall follow that up.” She pushed her chair away from the desk, and, as the bodyguard stepped forward to open the door for her, Pausert realized it was a wheelchair, and she needed it because she had no legs. “I will take myself, Pa’leto,” she said. “I know you would like to speak with your kinsman.”

  The bodyguard nodded. “Yes, my lady. But first I will see you safe, check the office and then return.”

  She sighed. “Bodyguards. I used to believe I that gave the orders.”

  A little later he returned with two other men, who wore the signs of the savage outside weather, carrying a crate. “Rebreathers, goggles, nose plugs and cold-weather gear,” he said. “The boys will fit you out.” Then he bowed to Ta’zara, held out his hands flat palms out. Ta’zara bowed back and pressed his palms against his. “Kinsman,” he said. It was always hard to tell with Ta’zara, but his voice sounded thickened, gruff.

  They spoke in their own language. Pausert hadn’t picked up more than about three words. But he did get the “La’gaiff” part, and the fact that big tears were flowing down both men’s faces, as he got kitted out for the harsh outside world. Then Me’a’s bodyguard left, and Ta’zara silently let the locals fit him out as well.

  Dressed up, Pausert was sweating. And they would still have to go down all those stairs to get to the street to walk to an airlock, he thought. That, however, was where he was wrong. They actually went up one more flight of stairs and onto the roof, almost flush with the dome…and there was an airlock. It was already night, and, barring a little starlight—there was no moon—outside the dome it was pitch black. The airlock was open and there were large coils of rope inside. Obviously the smugglers didn’t bother with hiding their cargo into and out of the domes. Pausert said so. Nady shook his head. “Not all of it. Got to keep the airlock cops busy.”

  One by one they were lowered down into the reaching darkness, the wind plucking at them. Soon they were out on the surface of Cinderby’s World. Pausert no longer thought he was in danger of being too hot. He wished for an extra layer, already. As soon as they were all on the ground, the ropes were hauled up, and they were alone out there in the night. Nady tied a rope between them and they set off, stumbling through the dark, upward, the only sound, their rebreathers. Pausert stopped being cold.

  Once they got up to the ridgeline the full blast of the night wind nearly froze him again. But at least they were walking downhill now, and Nady was using a small atomic light to show the stark terrain. Suddenly he stopped dead. “Back up slowly,” he said. “There’s a porpentile by the trail.”

  Pausert stared but couldn’t see anything. “Where?” he asked as they retreated.

  Nady pointed. “Just there. Look. The rock is too smooth. The edge is wrong.”

  Pausert still couldn’t see anything and said so. “Wait until we’re a bit higher,” said Nady. “I’ll show yer. We want to shift him anyway.”

  They retreated back up the path some more, and then Nady picked up a flat piece of rock, and said, “Watch.” He held up the light, and tossed the rock to land on a sheet of slab-rock, much like any other of hundreds of sheets of slab-rock, downslope.… And the sheet moved, undulating in a curious up-and-down movement. It seemed to swim across the scree, then settled down in a new spot and became something that looked like a rock once more. “I bin doing this forty years now, and there are times when I don’t see them. But they don’t always attack.”

  “Is it hurt?” asked Vezzarn.

  “Nah. Can’t hurt ’em. Not even an ordinary blaster does much to them. Makes a hole—but it doesn’t stop ’em. Takes a mining laser or heavy mounted blaster. They’re nothing more than rock themselves. They just don’t like to have rocks on top of them.”

  “Why are they so camouflaged? What do they hunt?” asked Ta’zara.

  “Gatherers,” said Nady with a sort of morbid delight. “They’ll smother yer if they gets a chance.”

  “Do they eat people?” asked Vezzarn, plainly horrified.

  “Nah. Jus’ kill ’em. And yet, sometimes they won’t do nothing to yer.”

  “Just how do you get away?” Pausert was wishing he’d paid more attention to Nady’s instructions, back in the cell.

  “Keep yer distance. You can outclimb ’em, but yer can’t outrun ’em. And if they gets yer, the trick is breaking the seal. An’ you gotta keep your rebreather under your arm like this…they etch anything metal. They suck down around
you. If you c’n breathe, they ain’t gonna suffocate you. They just gets tired and move on.”

  “Just how long until that happens?” asked Ta’zara.

  “’Bout three days with a small ’un. Could be a week or more for one of the big boys. Yer die then anyway, ’cause they ain’t light and anyways yer cain’t last without drinking.”

  “So…if someone put rocks on top of them, would they move?” asked the captain.

  “Nope. Not if they pounced a gatherer. Best thing is to spot ’em and not get under them. They like the sun-slopes. They’re thick there. Yer only find them movin’ across the shade.”

  That seemed very odd to Pausert. Perhaps the creatures ate metals? Why else would they bother with something that wasn’t from their world, which they couldn’t eat? Still, he was glad they had a guide. They walked on down the track. It led to a very crude airlock that went into the mountainside.

  “We’ll rest up here. Got to do the gorge in the daytime,” said Nady.

  So they went in and found themselves in a cave, lit by glow-globes. It was rank with the smell of unwashed gatherers—several of whom were in the various grottoes off the main chamber. “Nady. How yer going? What you got there? New bonders?” asked one, not bothering to get up.

  “Job fer Me’a,” explained Nady.

  No one asked further questions, after that. One thing that Pausert noticed was that there were several of the sleek fluffy creatures around, moving with that graceful gliding gait, which made them almost look like they flowed across the ground. They must be some kind of gatherer pet, he concluded.

  The next morning they left and began walking up the pass. The views were magnificent, with the jagged mountains almost seeming to reach into the heavens. Far below they could see the domes, below the cliff wall that prevented this from being a short walk. When they stopped for a breather, Pausert asked, huffing and panting through his rebreather, why they couldn’t have walked the other way along the valley to the spaceport.

  “There’s a cliff there too. Just a little ’un. But it’s a closed area. The concession holders have their store caves in that cliff. And the valley down there is fuller of porpentiles than bubbles in beer. They use flyers to get to the caves.”

  “Store caves?” prompted the captain.

  “Yes, Stratel, Bormgo, Wenerside and Ratneurt each have part of the caves.” Nady couldn’t spit through his rebreather—but sounded like he wanted to. “They hold back when the demand ain’t high, to keep the price up. Funny, we don’t see any of it.”

  They’d seen tumbleflowers in the distance—Nady pointed them out—one being tracked by a gatherer, and another just rolling along. “That one ain’t shedding,” he explained. A little later they had to dive off the path as two of the tumbleflowers came bouncing down the hill. They were basically a ball of flexible spikes that had pink florets sprouting along the shafts—about twice the size of a man. The end of each shaft branched into little springy tips, letting them bounce hither and thither. “Dry un’s,” said their guide disparagingly. “Big un’s don’t shed much. Down in the valley you’ll see hundreds like this.”

  Cinderby’s World plainly had much shorter days and although it did not take them that long to get to the top of the pass, the sun was already on its way down when they entered the gorge on the far slope. It was a narrow, awkward and steep descent, with no real path.

  “It ain’t much used. Too steep for tumbleflowers,” explained Nady. And then he gave a crow of delight, dropped to his knees, took a tiny pan and brush from his pouch and carefully brushed up little green crystals into a little oiled leather bag, which he tied closed very carefully. “You’re me lucky charm!” he said, beaming around the rebreather.

  “That’s your catalyst?”

  “That’s her. That’s a lucky break. Musta been one of the big ones, fell in here. They shed a bit now and again.”

  He was so busy looking around for more, that Ta’zara asked him if he was still looking for porpentiles. “Not in here. Too shady. Oh yes!” He spotted some more of the crystals. It took a little longer to get down the next section, with him hunting hopefully, but as they rounded the next bend they saw the tumbleflower, halfway up a small cliff, relatively close to the end of the gorge. “Is it stuck…or broken?” asked Pausert.

  “Nah. It’s climbing out. See. It has little suckers on the ends of its branches. They do it when they get stuck. It’s just not fast. And they don’t get busted. Thems as tough as hull metal. You see ’em bounce after falling over a cliff and just go on rolling. By tomorrow it’ll be out of here.”

  They skirted past, and with Nady no longer looking for the green crystals, they got to the end of the gorge quite quickly. From the end of it they could see the wall of the spaceport’s landing apron, and the nose of the Venture 7333, sticking out above it, gleaming in the setting sun.

  “Come dark and I’ll see if I can make us a hole,” said the captain, looking at his ship. It would be nice to get into her and get on their way, but there were a few things to sort out here first.

  “Ain’t going to be that easy,” said Nady…but it was. The captain slipped over to the wall with Ta’zara, leaving the other two in the gorge mouth, and used his klatha-cocoon skill, projecting it into the wall opposite the Venture. Ta’zara pushed on it and a disk of wall popped out. They waited. No alarms sounded, no searchlight beams penetrated the night, and so they called the others and went through. On the other side the captain and Ta’zara put the plug back in, leaving no sign of their entry.

  Once they got to the Venture, the captain went along to one of her tubes and began tapping out a repetitive rhythm with a rock—the stamping sound used to call the curious black mountain-bollems to come closer and look.

  The Leewit dropped a ladder from the hold door—and they climbed up into the welcome shelter of their ship.

  CHAPTER 6

  Goth embarked on the sheen clipper Sheridan. It was racing to get its cargo of fresh sheen to Morteen, the provincial capital of the Empire’s southwestern sector. Morteen, when she looked it up, was described as tropical to hypertropical, and conveniently situated to…a list of other worlds, some of which Goth had even heard of. On the hubward fringe of human space, it was a space navy base, with valuable minerals, large flying bugs, lots of money and lots of heat.

  A great place to sell sheen, in other words, and a good place for Goth to find another ship to take her further toward or across the border. Sheen clippers were fast and quite luxurious. They were also harder to stay unnoticed in than Goth liked, but then, as far as she knew, no one was looking for her anyway. She had a good cover story, the best fake papers Karres could provide, and plenty of money.

  All she was missing was the captain, and the Leewit, of course. But the Leewit was getting toward that age where she’d go off adventuring, either with a couple of other Karres witches or maybe even on her own. That would just leave the captain and Goth.

  Right now, that seemed like a really good idea. Maybe they could go to Parisienne, stay as far from the barges as possible, and dive. She’d never gotten to try diving, and by the pictures the spear fishing might be as good as hunting bollems with a bow. Not likely, but she’d like to try it with the captain. She was so taken up with this thought as she made her way down the corridor to the officers’ mess—where passengers also ate—that she didn’t see a woman in excessively high heels coming the other way, and nearly knocking her off her feet, sending the glass in her hand flying.

  The woman in the heels didn’t seem too upset about it, though, as Goth apologized and steadied her.

  “Not to worry, dear,” said the woman, smiling. “It happens. I’ll just get another drink for Jaccy. He’s winning at the moment.”

  “Let me,” said Goth. “I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry.”

  So she bought the woman, who introduced herself as Yelissa, a replacement cocktail at the bar, and did her best at the kind of small talk the captain always managed so easily. It wasn’t
hard to work out there was a little fishing going on. Of course there was no way of telling who was fishing or why. The woman could just be curious, or she could be anything from Imperial Security to a criminal.

  “Yes,” said Goth. “Parisienne was lovely. I had a wonderful dive at Ankawayhat.” The name came from a glossy brochure of a very expensive resort she had collected while in the spaceport.

  “How delightful. And now?” asked Yelissa.

  “I’m off to Morteen.”

  “Also delightful. To the Cascades or for some other reason?”

  “Just the Cascades,” answered Goth, thinking that had to be safe. Pretty waterfalls for the tourist trade or something. She really had to do her research better! But she hadn’t planned on spending any real time there. She had seen mention of “the Cascades,” but not really paid attention to it. Her focus was more to the spaceports and likely outbound traffic beyond the Empire’s borders. That was where the prognosticators said she was going.

  “Well, then you must join us later for a little game! These sheen clippers are fast, but rather dull compared to the passenger liners. Still, there are usually a few handsome young men on these trips,” she said archly.

  Goth had no interest in meeting handsome young men, but didn’t say so. This led on to more questions, about her home and attachments. It was something she should have prepared better, Goth thought, keeping her answers vague. She didn’t want to tell this quizzical woman that home was the Venture 7333, and that Captain Pausert wasn’t attached yet but would be before much longer—to her.