The Second H. Beam Piper Omnibus

by H. Beam Piper

  "Them, see if there's a flask and a drinking-cup in the door pocket next you,” he said. “I think Miss Quinton could use a drink."

  * * * *

  The girl turned. Even in her present disheveled condition, she was beautiful-a trifle on the petite side, with black hair and black eyes that quirled up oddly at the outer corners. Her nails were black-lacquered and spotted with little gold stars, evidently a new feminine fad from Terra.

  "I certainly could, general.... How did you know my name?"

  "You've been on Ullr for the last three months; ever since the City of Canberra got in from Niflheim. On Ullr, there aren't enough of us that everybody doesn't know all about everybody else. You're Dr. Paula Quinton; you're an extraterrestrial sociographer, and you're a field-agent for the Extraterrestrials’ Rights Association, like Mohammed Ferriera, here.” He took the cup and flask from Themistocles M'zangwe and poured her a drink. “Take this easy, now; Baldur honey-rum, a hundred and fifty proof."

  He watched her sip the stuff cautiously, cough over the first mouthful, and then get the rest of it down.

  "More?” When she shook her head, he stoppered the flask and relieved her of the cup. “What were you doing in that district, anyhow?” he wanted to know. “I'd have thought Mohammed Ferriera would have had more sense than to take you there, or go there, himself, for that matter,” he added quickly.

  "We went to visit a friend of his, a native named Keeluk, who seems to be a sort of combination clergyman and labor-leader,” she replied. “I'm going to observe labor conditions at the North Pole mines in a short while, and Mr. Keeluk was going to give me letters of introduction to friends of his at Skilk. We talked with Mr. Keeluk for a while, and when we came out, we found that our driver had been killed and a mob had gathered. Of course, we were carrying pistols; they're part of this survival-kit you make everybody carry, along with the emergency-rations and the water desilicator. Mr. Ferriera's wasn't loaded, but mine was. When they rushed us, I shot a couple of them, and then picked up that big knife.... I never in my life saw anything as beautiful as you coming through that mob swinging that warclub!"

  * * * *

  The aircar swung out over Konkrook Channel and headed toward the blue-gray Company buildings on Gongonk Island, and the Company airport.

  "Just what happened, while you and Mr. Ferriera were in Keeluk's house, Miss Quinton?” O'Leary asked, trying not to sound official. “Was Keeluk with you all the time? Or did he go out for a while, say fifteen or twenty minutes before you left?"

  "Why, yes, he did.” Paula Quinton looked surprised. “How did you guess it? You see, a dog started barking, behind the house, and he excused himself and...."

  "A dog?” von Schlichten almost shouted. The other officers echoed him.

  "Why, yes.... “Paula Quinton's eyes widened. “But there are no dogs on Ullr, except a few owned by Terrans. And wasn't there something about...?"

  Von Schlichten had the radio-phone and was calling the command car at the scene of the riot. The sergeant-driver answered.

  "Von Schlichten here; my compliments to Captain Pedolsky, and tell him he's to make immediate and thorough search of the house in front of which the incident occurred, and adjoining houses. For his information, that's Keeluk's house. Tell him to look for traces of Governor-General Harrington's collie, or any of the other terrestrial animals that have been disappearing-that goat, for instance, or those rabbits. And I want Keeluk brought in, alive and in condition to be interrogated."

  "But, what...?” the girl began, her voice puzzled.

  "That's why you were attacked,” he told her. “Keeluk was afraid to let you get away from there alive to report hearing that dog, so he went out and had a gang of thugs rounded up to kill you."

  "But he was only gone five minutes."

  "In five minutes, I can put all the troops in Konkrook into action. Keeluk doesn't have radio or TV-we hope-but he has his forces concentrated, and he has a pretty good staff."

  "But Mr. Keeluk's a friend of ours. He knows what our Association is trying to do for his people...."

  "So he shows his appreciation by setting that mob on you. Look, he has a lot of influence in that section. When you were attacked, why wasn't he out trying to quiet the mob?"

  "When they jumped you, you tried to get back into the house,” M'zangwe put in. “And you found the door barred against you."

  "Yes, but.... “The girl looked troubled; M'zangwe had guessed right. “But what's all the excitement about the dog? What is it, the sacred totem-animal of the Ullr Company?"

  "It's just a big brown collie named Stalin. But somebody stole it, and Keeluk was keeping it. We want to know why. We don't like geek mysteries-not when they lead to murderous attacks on Terrans, at least."

  It seemed to satisfy her, as the aircar let down on the hospital landing stage. But it didn't satisfy von Schlichten. He could smell trouble brewing. Just what could the geeks do with a dog? Nothing, so far as he could tell-but they didn't go in for such behaviour without what they considered good reason. Good for them, that is!

  CHAPTER III

  Governor-General Sidney Harrington had a ruddy outdoors-man's face and a ragged gray mustache; in his old tweed coat spotted with pipe ashes, he might have been any of a dozen-odd country-gentlemen of von Schlichten's boyhood in the Argentine. His face was composed enough for the part, too. But beyond him in the governor's office, Lieutenant-Governor Eric Blount matched von Schlichten's frown, his sandy-haired and younger face puckered in worry.

  "We picked up a few of Keeluk's goon-gang,” von Schlichten was reporting. “But I doubt if they'll tell us anything we don't already know. The dog was gone, but we found where it had been kept; at least one of the rabbits had been there, too. No trace of the goat. Anyhow, the riot's been put down. The Kragans and some of King Jaikark's infantry are patrolling the section. Jaikark's troops are busy making mass arrests. Either more slaves for the King's court favorites or else our Prime Minister Gurgurk wants to use them for patronage."

  Blount nodded. “Gurgurk's building quite a political organization, lately. He must be about ready to shove Jaikark off the throne."

  "Oh, Gurgurk wouldn't dare try anything like that,” Harrington said. “He knows we wouldn't let him get away with it."

  "Then why's he subsidizing this Mad Prophet Rakkeed?” Blount wanted to know. “Rakkeed is preaching a holy war against all Terrans and against Jaikark. Gurgurk subsidizes Rakkeed, and...."

  "You haven't any proof of that,” the governor protested.

  Blount shrugged, his face looking grim. Von Schlichten knew how he felt. They couldn't prove it, but both knew that Rakkeed had been getting funds from the hands of Gurgurk. The prophet had been stepping up his crusade against the Terrans, and Gurgurk wasn't the only one backing him. The Prime Minister probably figured on using Rakkeed to stir up an outbreak; then Gurgurk could step in, after Jaikark was killed, put down the revolt he helped incite, and claim to be the best friend of the Company. But the question was whether Rakkeed could be used that way. He was becoming more of a menace than Gurgurk could ever be. Everywhere they turned, Rakkeed was at the bottom of their trouble-just in this case, where Keeluk was one of Rakkeed's followers.

  His power seemed to be growing, too. There were rumors that he had been entertained at the palace in Keegark, just as he was usually entertained by the big shipowning nobles here at Konkrook; come to think of it, the last time here, he'd been guest of the Keegarkan ambassador. He went all over Ullr, crusading, traveling coolie-class in disguise on Company ships, according to their best information.

  Blount sighed heavily. “This damned dog business worries me."

  "Worries me, too,” Harrington said. “I'm fond of that mutt, and God only knows what sort of stuff he's been getting to eat."

  "I'm a lot more worried about why Keeluk was hiding him, and why he was willing to murder the only two Terrans on Konkrook who trust him, to prevent our finding out he had Stalin,” Blount struck in.
>
  Von Schlichten chain-lit another cigarette and stubbed out the old one. “Maybe Keeluk turned him over to Rakkeed to kill before a congregation of his followers-killing us in effigy. Or maybe they figure we worship Stalin, and getting him would give them power over us. I wish I knew a little more about Ullran psychology."

  "One thing,” Blount said. “It doesn't take any Ullran psychologist to know about eighty per cent of them hate us poisonously."

  "Oh, rubbish!” Harrington blew the exclamation out around his pipe stem with a gush of smoke. “A few fanatics hate us, but nine-tenths of them have benefitted enormously from us."

  "And hate us more deeply with each new benefit,” Blount added. “They resent everything we've done for them."

  "Yes, this spaceport proposition of King Orgzild of Keegark looks like it, doesn't it?” Harrington retorted. “He hates us so much he's offered us a spaceport at his city...."

  "At what cost?” Blount asked. “He takes the land from some noble he executes for treason and gives it to us-together with forced labor. We furnish everything else. We get a port we don't need, and he gets all the business it'll bring. In fact, considering that Rakkeed is a welcome guest there, I wonder if he isn't fomenting trouble here at Konkrook to make us move our main base to Keegark. He's so sure we'll accept already that he's started building two new power-reactors to handle the additional demand from increased business."

  "Where's he getting the plutonium?” von Schlichten asked, suspiciously.

  "He just bought four tons of it from us, off the City of Pretoria,” Harrington replied.

  "A hell of a lot of plutonium,” Blount said. “I wonder if he has any idea of what else plutonium can be used for?"

  "Oh, God, I hope not!” Harrington exclaimed. “Bosh! What about those letters Keeluk gave the Quinton girl?"

  "All addressed to rabidly anti-Terran Rakkeed disciples,” von Schlichten replied. “We couldn't find any indication of a cipher, but the gossip about Keeluk's friends might have had code-meanings. I'll have to advise her to have nothing to do with any of the people Keeluk gave her letters to."

  "Think she'll listen to you? These Extraterrestrial Rights Association people are a lot of blasted fanatics, themselves. They think we're a gang of bloody-fisted, flint-hearted imperialists."

  "Oh, they're not as bad as all that. Old Mohammed Ferriera's always been decent enough. And the Association's really done a lot of good in other places."

  A calculating look came into Harrington's eye. “She was going to Skilk, eh? And you're going there yourself, to investigate some of this Rakkeed worry of Eric's. Why not invite her along, and maybe you can plant a couple of ideas where they'll do the most good. We all know there are a lot of things at the polar mines that would look bad to anybody who didn't understand. And with all this trouble being stirred up now...."

  It was his first admission that there was trouble, but von Schlichten let it pass. “Her company wouldn't be any heavy cross to bear,” he replied. “I won't guarantee anything, of course...."

  The intercom-speaker on the table whistled, and Harrington flipped a switch and spoke into the box. “Governor,” a voice replied out of it, “there's a geek procession just landed from a water-barge in front, coming up the roadway to Company House. A platoon of Jaikark's Household Guards with a royal litter, Spear of State, gift-litter, nobles and such."

  "Gurgurk with indemnity for the riot, eh? Let them in, give them an honor guard of Kragans, but keep their own gun-toters outside. Take them to Reception Hall until I signal from Audience Hall, then herd them in.” He flipped back the switch and turned back. “We'll have to let them wait or they'll think we're worried. But you see-everything's going along normal lines."

  Blount nodded, but his face showed disbelief. And von Schlichten grumbled unhappily to himself, without knowing why, until they finally went out to the big Audience Hall to meet the delegation.

  Governor-General Sidney Harrington, on the comfortably-upholstered bench on the dais of the Audience Hall, didn't look particularly regal. But then, to a Terran, any of the kings of Ullr would have looked like a freak birth in a lizard-house at a zoo; it was hard to guess what impression Harrington would make on the Ullran psychology.

  He took the false palate and tongue-clicker, officially designated as an “enunciator, Ullran” and, colloquially, as a geek-speaker, out of his coat pocket and shoved it into his mouth. Von Schlichten and Blount put in theirs, and Harrington pressed the floor-button with his toe. After a brief interval, the wide doors at the other end of the hall slid open, and the Konkrookan notables, attended by a dozen Company native-officers and a guard of Kragan Rifles, entered. The honor-guard advanced in two columns; between them marched an unclad and heavily armed native carrying an ornate spear with a three-foot blade upright in front of him with all four hands. It was the Konkrookan Spear of State; it represented the proxy-presence of King Jaikark. Behind it stalked Gurgurk, the Konkrookan equivalent of Prime Minister or Grand Vizier; he wore a gold helmet and a thing like a string-vest made of gold wire, and carried a long sword with a two-hand grip, a pair of Terran automatics built for a hand with six-four-knuckled fingers, and a pair of matched daggers. He was considerably past the Ullran prime of life-seventy or eighty, to judge from the worn appearance of his opal teeth, the color of his skin, and the predominantly reddish tint of his quartz-speckles. The retinue of nobles behind Gurgurk ran through the whole spectrum, from a princeling who was almost oyster-gray to the Keegarkan Ambassador, who was even blacker and more red-speckled than Gurgurk.

  Four slaves brought up in the rear, carrying an ornately inlaid box on poles. When the spear-bearer reached the exact middle of the hall, he halted and grounded his regalia-weapon with a thump. Gurgurk came up and halted a couple of paces behind and to the left of the spear, and most of the other nobles drew up in two curved lines some ten paces to the rear; the ambassador and another noble came up and planted themselves beside Gurgurk.

  * * * *

  The Governor-General rose slowly and descended from the dais, advancing to within ten paces of the Spear, von Schlichten and Blount accompanying him.

  "Welcome, Gurgurk,” Harrington gibbered through his false palate. “The Company is honored by this visit."

  "I come in the name of my royal master, His Sublime and Ineffable Majesty, Jaikark the Seventeenth, King of Konkrook and of all the lands of the Konk Isthmus,” Gurgurk squeaked and clicked. “I have the honor to bring with me the Lord Ambassador of King Orgzild of Keegark to the court of my royal master."

  "And I,” the ambassador said, after being suitably welcomed, “am honored to be accompanied by Prince Gorkrink, special envoy from my master, His Royal and Imperial Majesty King Orgzild, who is in your city to receive the shipment of power-metal my royal master has been honored to be permitted to purchase from the Company."

  More protocol about welcoming Gorkrink. Then Gurgurk cleared his throat with a series of barking sounds.

  "My royal master, His Sublime and Ineffable Majesty, is prostrated with grief,” he stated solemnly. “Were his sorrow not so overwhelming, he would have come in His Own Sacred Person to express the pain and shame which he feels that people of the Company should be set upon and endangered in the streets of the royal city."

  "The soldiers of His Sublime and Ineffable Majesty came most promptly to the aid of the troops of the Company, did they not, General von Schlichten?” Harrington asked, solemn-faced.

  "Within minutes, Your Excellency,” von Schlichten replied gravely. “Their promptness, valor and efficiency were most exemplary."

  * * * *

  Gurgurk spoke at length, expressing himself as delighted, on behalf of his royal master, at hearing such high praise from so distinguished a soldier. Eric Blount contributed a short speech, beseeching the gods that the deep and beautiful friendship existing between the Chartered Ullr Company and His Sublime etcetera would continue unimpaired. The Keegarkan Ambassador spoke his piece, expressing on behalf of King O
rgzild the deepest regret that the people of the Company should be so molested, and managing to hint that things like that simply didn't happen at Keegark.

  The Prince Gorkrink then spoke briefly, in sympathy. Von Schlichten noticed that a few of his more recent quartz-specks were slightly greenish in tinge, a sure sign that he had, not long ago, been exposed to the fluorine-tainted air which men and geeks alike breathed on Niflheim. When a geek prince hired out as a laborer for a year on Niflheim, he did so for only one purpose-to learn Terran technologies.

  Gurgurk then announced that so enormous a crime against the friends of His Sublime etcetera had not been allowed to go unpunished, signalling behind him with one of his lower hands for the box to be brought forward. The slaves carried it to the front, set it down, and opened it, taking from it a rug which they spread on the floor. On this, from the box, they placed twenty-four newly severed opal-grinning heads, in four neat rows. They had all been freshly scrubbed and polished, but they still smelled like crushed cockroaches.

  The three Terrans looked at them gravely. A double-dozen heads was standard payment for an attack in which no Terran had been killed. Ostensibly, they were the heads of the ringleaders; in practice, they were usually lopped from the first two-dozen prisoners or overage slaves at hand, without regard for whether the victims had ever heard of the crime they were expiating.

  There was another long speech from Gurgurk, with the nobles behind him murmuring antiphonal agreement-standard procedure, for which there was a standard pun, geek chorus-and a speech of response from Sid Harrington. Standing stiffly through the whole rigamarole, von Schlichten waited for it to end, as, finally, it did.

  They walked back from the door, whence they had escorted the delegation, and stood looking down at the saurian heads on the rug. Harrington raised his voice and called to a Kragan sergeant whose chevrons were painted on all four arms.