Beneath the Eye of God (The Commodore Ardcasl Space Adventures Book 1)

by Payne, Lee

  Malie had been struck silent by the awesome spectacle. Now she clapped her hands in glee. "It's beautiful. You look like one of the gods come alive off the pages of a book except you don't have quite as many feathers. Can I have a new outfit too?"

  "Ah, flattery. I love it." The Commodore drew a lavender handkerchief from his sleeve and let her smell its perfume. "But we all have our rolls to play. I am fated to be beautiful and you, my child, to be dowdy. If you play your role well," he winked, "I may let you have these when we're done."

  He turned to the twins. "Speaking of roles, gentlemen, you'd best assume yours."

  Each of them took a strange pair of glasses from their pockets and fitted them into place. Ohan had never seen these before. Their effect left him astonished. The lenses were as thick as his thumb and distorted the twins' yellow eyes giving them the appearance of two out-of-place fish blinking in the sunlight.

  "There you have it," the Commodore announced. "My two poor comrades suffering under the feeble glow of this pitiful little sun. The travel agent assured us that this was a suitable world. Can you imagine the incompetence? But of course one finds it everywhere. The light here is barely out of the red, very little white and not a touch of blue, not a fraction over 5,000 degrees Kelvin and what are we to do? Well, my dear, I never would have brought them if we had known, but here we are and making the best of it, as usual. The glasses can augment it a little but it's like the bottom of your pocket to them even at high noon and it's left to me to do all the work. But I'm used to that. What's one more stone in an already heavy load?"

  He sighed a ponderous sigh at the curious spectators who were beginning to gather. "What can I do?" he cried morosely. "I bought them this seeing-eye child but they keep falling over her." Then he turned and pranced cheerfully down the street, beckoning to the other to follow. "Ah well, it's ever onward, chums. Let's find a nice bright tavern, have a little libation and buy ourselves a ride into the highlands."

  As the strange party trooped off, Ohan marveled to see the twins actually become stooped and clumsy, groping along clinging to Malie, their seeing-eye child, she with one hand in theirs, the other clutching her basket.

  They chose a tavern near the center of town. All around it, long trains of wagons were being loaded with goods to be hauled up the great inland road to the towns and farms of the plateau. The tavern was filled with the drivers who would be taking the heavily laden vehicles up the long road. The entrance of the Commodore's group attracted considerable attention which he turned to his advantage by loudly announcing that he would pay well for the most luxurious transport into the mountains. Several drivers scurried out to inform their masters that a well-healed tourist was in town.

  While the twins groped their way to an empty table, several others in the tavern approached the Commodore with the intention of relieving him of his obviously overfull purse. The sight of his hooded and armed companion stopped them cold.

  The round of drinks he bought for the house raised their hopes but the story he then launched into dashed their dreams of quick wealth completely. "What, gentlemen? You don't see any Cirians here? Well, perhaps not. They don't travel much. Fine companions though. Never say anything because they can't speak. Don't eat much either. They have few real enthusiasms beyond killing. They do enjoy that. Ah, I wouldn't touch him if I were you, son. They don't care for that either. It makes them nervous. They lash out. Once they start, they're hard to stop. They prefer laser weapons but since those are banned on this planet, he found that old sword. Fell in love with its fabulous workmanship. Insisted I buy it for him. Practices with it by the hour. Anyone care for a demonstration? No? How about another round of drinks then?"

  They arranged passage on a wagon train leaving that same afternoon. In keeping with his new image, the Commodore paid half again as much as the usual rate and pronounced himself pleased with his hard bargaining. They also learned a good deal about the recent activities of Leahn's uncle, Blackman Nol. The attack on his brother's estate had allowed him to take over the freight depot and town at the head of the pass where all the road traffic stopped after the five-day climb up from the coast.

  He and his motley army pretended they were protecting traffic from bandits. But few drivers doubted that it was his own men who had committed most of the original outrages. Nol then proceeded to double and triple the fees the drivers paid for everything from hay and water for their animals to drink and women for themselves. There was a great deal of complaining in the tavern but without an alternate route, the drivers had no choice. They paid his prices.

  "Well personally," the Commodore gushed, "this Blackman Nol fellow sounds like a fascinating character, someone out of an old space-pirate story. I look forward to doing business with him."

  The weatherbeaten old wagon master they had just signed up with, cast a weary eye at the gaudy figure beside him and growled, "Blackman Nol will be happy to see you too. He should finish you off in about three bites."

  ***

  The journey into the highlands was long and tedious. The road was relatively good across the rich coastal plain but once they began to climb into the foothills it narrowed and they had to ford a river several times. Then they entered a series of switchbacks cut into the face of the steeper hillsides and progress slowed considerably.

  The luxury accommodations the Commodore had paid more than generously for, turned out to be a few extra pillows, and not particularly clean ones at that. They did have part of two wagons all to themselves however, with plenty of room to store their packs.

  The twins did not socialize in their new guise. They kept busy cleaning their equipment. The Commodore, with Leahn's dark figure always silent at his back, joined the wagon masters at their evening campfires and though they laughed as much at him as with him, the large supply of liquor he brought assured him a grudging welcome.

  The grizzled old drivers prided themselves on their capacity for strong drink but come morning, none could ever recall exactly how interested the Commodore had been in all the details of their destination and its inhabitants or how he had managed to remain alert while they had, one by one, dozed off.

  Ohan and Malie were encouraged to poke their noses everywhere they weren't thrown out of and talk to everyone who would talk to them. Malie was particularly adept at ingratiating herself with even the gruffest of drivers. They saved bits of their evening meals for her and patiently answered her endless childish questions.

  Ohan had not seen any of his people at the port or on the road but several of the apprentice drivers were obviously only a few generations away from the forest. They were striving mightily to fit in with the older drivers. Ohan's presence gave them someone to look down on. He emphasized his recent arrival and found them more than willing to play the role of old trail hand for their country cousin.

  He discovered that they were all terrified of the approaching depot and planned to stay close to their wagons and to venture out only with trusted older drivers. Blackman Nol's strong-arm men were apparently everywhere and thought nothing of snatching an inexperienced apprentice. He would simply disappear and his train would continue on without him. Though no one knew for sure, there were rumors of forced labor battalions working under the whip to build an empire for Blackman Nol.

  Each night as they climbed higher and came closer to the dreaded depot, the tales around the apprentices' campfire grew ever more graphic and lurid, until Ohan found the hair at the back of his neck standing on end. Malie loved the stories and would pipe up in her tiny voice from time to time with some especially grisly aspect of the tale she feared might otherwise be overlooked.

  When Ohan took his growing unease to the Commodore, he found him reclining on his pillows. He listened disinterestedly. "Fear not, young chum. Even the most nasty will trade with a trader who has something to trade."

  When Ohan tried to warn him of the sinister reputation of their rapidly approaching destination, he was dismissed with, "Yes, indeed, little fellow. It does soun
d delightfully wicked. If we're lucky, we'll get into all sorts of trouble there." A nudge, a wink and Ohan found himself outside the wagon again. As he trudged away he decided he much preferred the old Commodore to this new one.

  ***

  The depot turned out to be everything everyone promised. Back at the port the business of handling cargo had been spread all around the edge of the bay. Here it was concentrated in an immense field, churned and rutted by the wheels of thousands of wagons. There was bustle and activity everywhere. Cargo was being loaded and unloaded, animals changed, harness and wagons repaired, deals made and fights started. Blacksmiths' fires sizzled as animals were shod and wheels made. Chaos and confusion was everywhere yet somehow wagons arrived, unloaded, loaded up again and were on their way in the time allotted, though not without a great deal of shouting and cursing by their drivers. But even they seemed a little subdued by the place's reputation and even more by the stern-faced tax gatherers who poked into everything. Their word was final and was backed by armed horsemen who kept a close eye on everyone.

  There were also a large number of open-air taverns in the depot, some little more than a plank set on two barrels. As the day wore on, a quick ale between chores turned into a quick chore between ales. By nightfall many of the drivers and even a few of the apprentices who had sworn not to, found themselves crossing the ditch that marked the edge of the depot on their way into the lurking town in search of its wicked reputation.

  The Commodore and his party had their belongings open and ready when the tax gatherer approached. Ohan and Malie had been told to go for a short walk.

  "A very good day to you, sir," the Commodore said with a flourish. The tax gatherer, a grim little man with a short pencil and a sheaf of dirty papers, eyed him suspiciously. "You have, no doubt, been expecting our arrival," the Commodore continued cheerily. "We are a scientific expedition here to examine the relic collection of the esteemed Blackman Nol. But first we have all of our scientific paraphernalia laid out for your inspection."

  He threw his arm around the tax gatherer, enveloping him in a swirl of bright fabric that almost obscured the little man from view. "As you see, we have only the standard issue data gathering devices for field use. Nothing elaborate, of course. We are but simple scientists striving to illuminate the past. And as you see, all were duly inspected and registered at spaceport customs. You can't be too careful and I certainly don't blame you for checking. The way some people try to slip firearms into a quiet little planet like this is absolutely shocking. Personally, I don't care for weapons. They give me palpitations. All that icky blood and gore and everything."

  He opened the sonar boxes. "I do love these little gadgets. I'm sure you've seen much nicer ones. Fascinating job you have, getting to poke into interesting nooks and crannies all day long. The sonar probes send waves of thingees, electricity or something, into the structures we are examining and they bounce around inside and then get scooped up by this little thing and recorded on the computer over there. It's a very nice one though not nearly as nice as the ones you've probably seen, still it suits us splendidly." He opened another case. "I love the color, don't you? Let's see. I think you plug this thing in here. . . or is it there? Anyhoo, it works beautifully. It's been a godsend. We used to have to do all the correlating with just our . . . "

  The little man had, with mounting fury, been struggling to disentangle himself from the Commodore's embrace. Finally he tore himself free and turned on him in a rage. "Get away from me," he shrieked. "Let go of me. Stop talking."

  An armed guard rode up. "Any trouble here?" he growled.

  "Ah, just the man I've been looking for," the Commodore said cheerfully. "My friend seems a trifle overwrought. We have an appointment with Blackman Nol. Perhaps you could direct us."

  "They supposed to see the boss?" the rider asked the little man.

  "How should I know?" He was trying to pick up the papers he had dropped in the mud. "Nobody tells me anything."

  "Our original arrangement was with Mr. Nol's brother. We heard of his untimely demise in the capital and that Mr. Nol has kindly taken charge of the family's affairs."

  "The capital, eh?" The rider eyed them darkly. "We'll see about that. Take your junk over to the inn. I'll find out if he wants to see you."

  "Splendid. How very kind of you. And do warn Mr. Nol that it's his brother's relics we're after and we intend to drive a hard bargain."

  The tax gatherer demanded the absurdly high figure of five credits which the Commodore willingly paid, all the while complimenting him on the wonderful job he was doing. This only made the little man angrier. He stalked off in a terrible humor. "I pity his next customer," the Commodore said.

  As soon as Ohan and Malie returned, Leahn spoke up. "I promised I wasn't going to ask any more questions, but I'm going to anyway. This place has changed so much since I was last here, it's frightening. All these armed guards riding around. What exactly is our plan?"

  "Ah, our plan," the Commodore said thoughtfully. "Our main plan is to stay together and get into your father's house. If the skin and your uncle are both there, we deal with them and then leave."

  Leahn sounded doubtful. "Leave? Do you think it will be that easy? There must be a hundred armed riders around here. I've got my sword but that's not enough to . . . "

  "Actually, at the moment we have more firepower at our command than all this world's armies put together. If things go badly we can always blast our way out. The tricky part will be getting ourselves and our weapons in."

  "Weapons?"

  "When one is travelling fast and light, my dear, equipment has to serve a number of functions, some of which we don't always mention to spaceport customs. My ultrasonic insect repeller, for instance, is effective on bugs at low power and on people at high power. Then there's our laser dating device. Anything that can drill a small hole through a pyramid can do the same to just about anything or anyone. The boys modified it a couple of days ago. With the addition of the lighting device we used inside the pyramid, it is now an exceedingly efficient full-spectrum light and particle accelerator. We call it a laser cannon. The problem is where to hide it so it won't fall into the wrong hands." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Which of us is least likely to be suspected of carrying a laser cannon?"

  Even as the Commodore asked the question, Ohan knew what the answer would be. "I don't . . ." he began.

  "Of course you do, lad. Nothing to it. Step into the wagon. The boys have broken it down into several pieces and fitted it into as thin a pack as possible. They'll strap it around your middle under your shirt and no one will be the wiser. You'll just look a little chubbier than usual."

  Stripped of its gas analyzer and age-correlating scale, the laser consisted of battery packs, capacitors, boosters and a thin five-foot-long bundle of rods and tubes. These had been broken down into foot-long sections and fitted into separate pockets in a length of fabric that resembled an old-fashioned corset. Once back in his baggy shirt, jacket, coat and trousers, Ohan looked little different that he had before. But he could no longer bend at the waist or sit down.

  The Commodore pronounced the effect splendid. Ohan mentioned his lack of mobility. "Good," the Commodore said absently. "I want you and Malie to stay here in the depot. There are plenty of wagons coming and going. Move around and look like you belong. Nobody notices children. The rest of us will take our gear over to the inn, get a room and see what happens. Stay where you can keep an eye on the front door. If Nol comes for us and it looks like we can get to the house without arousing suspicion, I'll give a signal like this." He laid a finger beside his nose. "That will be the sign for you two to come and join us. Whatever happens, our goal is to get into that house."

  With that, he and the twins picked up their packs and set out for town. Leahn in her dark robe followed close behind. Ohan was left surrounded by wagons, horses, cursing drivers, piles of barrels, boxes and Malie. She smiled at him. She was holding her basket.

  ***

/>   There was one street in the town and one inn on the street. It was newly built from the logs that had been cleared to make room for it. The Commodore and the others were no more than inside the door when they were confronted by three men. One was the rider they had met earlier. "You the ones want to see Blackman Nol?" the largest of the three, obviously in charge, demanded.

  "We've come all the way from the capital," the Commodore began, "and we . . ."

  "That don't cut no ice around here," the big man sneered. "And I don't know that Blackman Nol is particularly interested in seeing you. But if you want to wait around for a few days he might decide to . . . "

  He was staring at Leahn. "What the devil is that?"

  "What? Oh, you've noticed my new bodyguard. I'm forced to carry a great deal of cash in my business. My friends at the capital assigned him to guard it. I feel ever so much more secure. He's a Cirian, you know. They're said to be exceedingly fierce and . . ."

  "Cash, eh? That might be of interest to Mr. Nol. As for this bird, grab him, men. Anything that comes wrapped like that, I like to take a look inside."

  The other two were on Leahn in an instant, pinning her arms before she had a chance to use the dagger that sprang to her hand. The big man grabbed her weapon and, with a single expert slice, cut her robe open from hood to waist. He stepped back, astonished.

  "Well, well. If this is what Cirian men look like, I'd like to see the women. Get that robe off her. Take the sword too. Wait a minute . . ." He looked closely at the struggling girl, then roughly tore off her goggles. "I know you. You're one of the old man's daughters, the good looking one who refused to cooperate."