I counted out a pre-calculated number of coins, figuring them as bullion, tied them into a handkerchief, went outside, got Thuvia’s ear, said quietly, “I have a package for you. Do you have one for me?”
“Two,” she answered just as quietly.
“Both the same? Or do I deliver one to Deety, one to Hilda?”
“Exactly alike.” We made the exchange unobtrusively—although by then almost anything would be unobtrusive; it was beginning to resemble one of Sharpie’s parties on Earth-Zero.
I slipped one package to Hilda; it disappeared. I took the other around to Deety, who had shifted around to the jeddara’s place when Dej’ had moved down to hear something the admiral was saying—about military potential of the Burroughs Drive, I guess—it wasn’t English. Deety was sitting on Kach’s chest, dropping food into his mouth and talking to Call-Me-Joe through Tira. I slipped her the package; she slid it somewhere into that ornate harness without breaking her chatter.
I said to Kach in a low voice, “The baggage items—which thoat? Or both?”
“Kanakook,” he answered even more quietly. “Shall I call her here? Or does the captain wish to …?”
Deety jumped up. “I’ll call her! Kanakook! Come here, dear!”
I swore silently. The thoats were grazing off the port side of the car, away from both picnics—I having asked their owners to tell them to stay there. But my silent swearing was not at Deety; it was my goof—I had neglected to tell her what I had in mind.
The thoat answered at once, her three-note squeal very loud—and around the tail of my car came this misshapen mastodon at flank speed.
As she skidded to a stop, her ferocious face ten centimeters from Deety’s face, what had been the larger picnic fifty meters away was now a line of warriors charging pell-mell to save the royal family.
I figure it was the fact that the Princess Deety had her arms around as much of the thoat’s head as she could stretch saved Kanakook’s life that day; at least half of those warriors had drawn pistols rather than swords.
Cart snapped something at the admiral; he let out a bellow that bounced off that charge; it suddenly halted. He added another order, not quite so loudly; they returned to their rather-trampled feast.
Deety looked around, still petting Kanakook. “What’s the trouble? Hey, Cart! What’s going on?”
“Nothing, Princess. Everything’s all right.”
“When did I stop being ‘Deety’ to you? Why were those men running? Don’t fib to me, Cart—know I missed something.”
“Pri … Deety, everything’s all right now. It’s just that my guardsmen aren’t used to seeing a thoat charging at their jeddara.”
“But she wasn’t charging at anybody. She just came to me when I called her. Kanakook wouldn’t hurt anyone; she’s gentle as a lamb. As a sorak.” (Kanakook answered her name again.) “Dej’! Come meet my friend.”
The jeddara at once stood up; Cart said hastily, “Mother! Do be cautious!”
“You be cautious, Carthoris.”
The jeddara went straight to my wife. Kach Kachkan stepped closer to the thoat, placed his hand on her neck.
“Dej’, this is my friend Kanakook; she’s sweet and gentle. Kanakook, greet your jeddara, Dejah Thoris.”
The thoat sounded her birdcall, then added to it a longer flourish. Deety clapped. “Why, she said hello to you! That’s how she says it—she likes you, Dej’!”
“I said Kaor directly to her mind, dear. She is indeed a sweet creature. Kach Kachkan, you are fortunate.”
“Your Imperial Majesty, I have long thought so. Thank you.”
Cart came up, followed by Thuvia and the admiral; they all discussed thoats-we-have-known, with Thuvia and Dej’ translating for Deety and for the admiral. I waited, then looked up at Kach, his face three meters higher than mine. “Kach, where is the stuff?” I asked, trying to make it a stage whisper.
“In my rifle boot and in the bag behind it. I’ll get it, sir—but I had best stay here now.”
(Should have kept my mouth shut. I couldn’t reach either one without a ladder. And Kanakook was rocking just a touch, no doubt made nervous by too many strangers.)
Eventually they stopped and all went back to the “table.” Kach got out what he had carried for us: a silk-wrapped package containing two pairs of laundered boxer shorts, two laundered scarves, a smaller included package of jewelry, both real and costume, and a separate package containing shotgun shells, a loaded clip for an automatic, and ammo for my revolver—Jake and I were wearing firearms but decided against wearing them loaded—someone might want to look at strange firearms and it might be impolite to refuse.
Kach then removed his big rifle from its boot scabbard, reached far down with his upper right arm, hauled out Deety’s shotgun. He insisted on carrying everything for me—well, he had four hands. Feeling foolish, I walked with him to Gay Deceiver’s starboard door, placed the gear inside. If I had had the foresight to tell Deety my intention, the stuff would have been loaded in from the port side, out of sight of guests.
I returned to the picnic, accepted more fruit juice from Wogi while dreaming of a dry martini. A few minutes later Cart moved over and joined me. “You are leaving today,” he said quietly.
“Yes.”
“No criticism, I realized it before you loaded your baggage. Let me know when you want the air cover pulled back.”
“Cart, you saw how I moved our chariot here. Was your air cover on station? Did I tear a hole in your palace?”
He got a wry look. “Perhaps I don’t yet believe it in my belly.”
“I know, I went through that stage.”
“We’ll miss you.” He was silent a moment, then added, “I noticed the transaction with Thuv. Zeb, it wasn’t necessary to tell me you had buried your gold out here. The picnic would have been held anyhow.”
“Cart, I never said I had buried the gold out here. I said that I had left it out here. You took it to the palace—not me.” I added, “When you groused that it wasn’t safe, I told you that it was quite safe—and it was; you had a triple guard around it. I did not lie to you. But I had to get our space chariot out here—and you were trying to stop me. I wasn’t going to beg you to let me move my own property … not when your sole reason was a bunch of trumped-up charges. I know that you felt duty-bound to hold us here—to hold us in Helium, I mean. But, if I understood you a few days ago, this wasteland is not Helium—and we are neither a Green Horde not allied to you nor an unfriendly army.”
“No. But I could still stop you … and would, if duty required.”
“Could you, Cart? Are you certain that all your fliers overhead are as powerful as this one chariot? I offered you a harmless demonstration—do you insist on a more convincing one? It would give me no pleasure to destroy even one of your ships … and I certainly would not wish to kill those warriors behind us.”
“I know your ship is armored, Zeb. But you aren’t in it.”
I raised my voice just enough to be sure that the skin mic over the starboard door would pick it up. “Gay Deceiver—open up.”
The doors swung wide. I added, “Gay Deceiver—close up.” She closed again. “Anything more you want to see, Cart? I noticed that Hal Halsa was startled. But perhaps you noticed that Hilda was not. Cart, are you still bound by duty? You made every reasonable effort to hold me in Helium in answer to that phony extradition. But I am bound by duty, too—to protect my wife, to protect Hilda. I tried to make it easy for you by coming here, outside Helium. But we could have left last night … and nothing could have stopped us. I told you that guards did not matter. Nor do these guards matter. How much proof does it take?”
I thought he was changing the subject. “Milady Mother really chewed me out today. I have no further duty in the matter, as you know. You are free to leave anytime, as I also told you.”
“Yes, you told me. I was most happy to learn that we could leave freely. We would have left without permission. But it would have sorrow
ed us to be forced to do it that way. That’s why I waited and gave you an easy way out. But I’m glad that the jeddara knew that there was no duty involved over that silly extradition scroll. If you had still felt yourself bound by it, we would have left three hours ago—without bloodshed. We still can—even if your Lady Mother were to change her mind and order us held.”
“Hunh!” It was a more than a laugh. “Mother does not change her mind.”
“You still seem to be wrestling with your soul rather than thinking with your brain. I’ve asked you the same question again and again; you haven’t answered. Do you think that all the power of Helium can hold us? Those weird aliens tried to stop us with far stronger weapons; they failed. I would happily have killed them all. But they were disguised, too well hidden among our own people. Had we fought, many of our people would have died. So we fled—four innocent people in a private chariot. Someday we will find some way to dig them out, tear off their disguises. If we do— No, when we do”—I hammered the ground with clenched fist—“we’ll kill them all!”
“I wish you luck, blood brother. When the time comes, my sword fights with yours!”
“I know it, Cart. We’ll kill as many as possible personally, you and I. Cart, these aren’t honorable enemies; they are vermin. Intelligent and dangerous—but vermin, to be killed on sight.” I added, “You aren’t safe—Helium is not safe from them.”
“We figured that out—or Hilda did. Tomorrow we will know more.”
“Take no chances with them. Hmm …. Does Helium require health inspection?”
“Eh?”
“Incoming strangers. We were cleared without inspection. What inspections are routine?”
“Why, freight inspections are made at the gates. Certain imports are not permitted, others may be taxed—or may not; it varies. Each stranger must identify himself.” He smiled. “Sometimes we make mistakes—but not for long.”
“No, no!” I explained to him the idea of health inspection at immigration. “Each nation has its own law on this. Not even diplomatic immunity can exempt a newcomer from whatever health inspection that nation finds necessary to protect the health of its citizens. You can require them to strip naked. But simply examining arms and legs would unmask these vermin—I think. Let me call our expert. Hilda! Can you spare a moment?”
We were ready to leave when a hitch developed. Presents had been made—fancy watches to Kach and to Tommy Tucker, gold pieces to our borrowed domestic staff … and to Cart from Hilda, three spares of her record shots, stereo Polaroid, of the corpse of that fake “ranger”—how it had looked in uniform, stretched out dead on a workbench, how it had looked naked with extra joints and stub horns showing, and a stomach-retching view of it opened, greenish-blue blood everywhere. She showed these with a portable viewer.
Cart asked her to show them to Hal Halsa and to Mobyas Toras—did not want his mother and his wife to look at them. One word from the jeddara changed his mind.
Dej’ looked at all three, long and carefully, and, so far as her face showed, no emotion. Thuv looked at the first with interest, the second with fascination, the third with horrified disgust—but she examined them as carefully as her mother-in-law.
Hilda told Cart that she was sorry that there was no spare viewer. He asked, “May I see it a moment?”—looked at it again, called Hal Halsa and Mobyas Toras into conference.
Cart handed it back. “We’ll have one later tonight. Mobyas Toras asked me to tell you that the vermin pictured is beyond doubt a Pankera—of the Panki that once invaded Barsoom. Hal Halsa adds that we shall kill them again … to the last monster.”
“Good!” (Gentle little Hilda is bloodthirsty—when blood has the wrong color.)
I was forced to add, “Tell him not to be overconfident, Cart. Swords aren’t much use against these things.”
“You did well with a sword, blood brother. That was a nice belly thrust—I could see.”
“But Cart, they operate by stealth, in hiding. And now they have weapons that can destroy whole cities.” (I didn’t know that Earth-Ten had H-bombs, N-bombs, et cetera—but I knew that the vermin on Earth-Zero were in cahoots with vermin on Earth-Ten. Proof: that phony extradition.)
“Cousin Zebadiah …?”
“Cousin Dejah Thoris?”
“Any that are here now will be unmasked and destroyed. Any that come here will be destroyed at once. I have spoken.”
“Jeddara, don’t underrate the enemy. They are powerful. I have spoken!”
“Captain, your words will be taken most seriously.”
Deety had kissed goodbye nineteen people and one thoat. I had kissed eleven myself, clapped shoulders and shaken hands with men, and petted Kanakook—when a hitch developed: Hal Halsa, Mobyas Toras, Cart, Thuv, and Dej’ all wanted a ride in our sky carriage—Jake had already promised a ride to Mobyas Toras.
“But we have seats for only four.”
“I know, Zeb. But Hilda and Deety are willing to wait while ….”
“Lifeboat rules, Copilot. Our party will not be separated.”
“But ….”
“Pipe down. Remember Murphy’s Law.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
Hilda came up with a solution. “Captain, I don’t know why you installed safety belts in those sleeping spaces back behind ….”
“Murphy’s Law. One of us might be hurt, or ill.”
“… but now we can use them. Deety and I can ride back there. I don’t want to be separated from Jacob. I agreed just because they’ve been so nice to us.”
That solved everything but whom. The jeddara forbade the heir apparent to risk it. Cart, speaking for his father, forbade his mother to risk it. I welcomed the head-on collision; I didn’t want to be responsible for either jeddara or heir apparent—and neither would budge.
But Cart appealed to me. “Zeb, please explain to Mother that I need to know the military possibilities of this type of craft.”
I may be a fool—but not an idiot. I’d rather argue with a cop than be drawn into a family argument. My brain whizzed. “Cart, speak frankly. Which of you, you or Hal Halsa, is more skilled in strategy and tactics? I’m not speaking of skill as a warrior—you are probably second only to your father in that. I mean skilled in art of warfare.”
“Damn it, Zeb, that’s most unfair. Hal Halsa puts his whole time on it; he’s chief of staff and deputy to Tars Tarkus. But I have to spend my time on the grimy details of government. If I had the ti—”
“You’ve answered me. Now go give your mother your frank opinion.”
“Oh, go lay an egg!” He stormed off, told his mother that Hal Halsa should go.
Still a problem—Hal Halsa knew no English. Mobyas Toras and Jake could talk that horrible pidgin … but my copilot must not be distracted—or I would cancel the ride. I ordered Jake on that point … and got Dej’ to give Mobyas Toras the same order—explain to him that I would not allow him to board unless he gave his word of honor not to speak to captain and copilot once we were aboard.
“He understands it, Cousin Zebadiah. He did not like the order—but the supreme authority of a ship’s commander underway is the same with us as it seems to be with you. The learned one is a man of honor; he will speak only with Hal Halsa.”
But that left us with no interpreter, even a half-arsed one such as Jake. No skin off my nose, but it could be inconvenient.
I’m glad I’m not royal; they operate by different rules. The jeddara and the prince had stymied each other; neither could leave the ground. Thuvia herself could not inherit the throne; she was a princess of Ptarth. She was princess consort to the prince and might be jeddara someday, if and when Cart became jeddak. Her daughter Tara, Jeddara of Gathol, was hatched Princess of Helium and thus was in the direct line of succession—if her older brother, her father, her mother’s grandfather and great-grandfather, and her grandmother Dejah Thoris (hatched Princess of Helium) were all dead (unlikely).
But Thuvia was not in the line of succession
in Helium; her prime duty as consort was to provide fertilized eggs, potential heirs; this she had done—Thuvia was expendable.
Logical? The wild logic of Alice in Wonderland.
Space—those back seats weren’t narrow, never had been. It was fore-and-aft space that had made them inaccessible to me, until I refitted Gay Deceiver at the palace. “Thuv, everybody straps down, including me. Everybody—or we don’t lift off. Only two sets of straps in the back seat. The belts are long enough—but would you rather cuddle up to Hal Halsa, or to Mobyas Toras? Has to be one or the other.”
She wrinkled her nose like Deety, and grinned. “I suspect that Hal Halsa would be a better cuddle—but it would embarrass the poor man; he can’t forget who I am.”
“Neither could I. And I don’t mean ‘Princess.’ ”
She giggled. “Thank you, Zeb—it’s mutual. Mobyas is so old and skinny his bones will probably cut me. But he and I together won’t take up much more space that Hal Halsa. And, as you may have noticed, our great savant is not impressed by royalty. And he is so old that he would as lief cuddle a thoat as me.”
“I hope I never get that old.”
“You won’t, Zeb. Like my father, like my husband, you will die fighting.”
I changed the subject to camera, explained Jake’s stereo Polaroid to her. “Got it? Practically everything automatic. Don’t touch the focus; I’ll leave it locked on infinity. It’s loaded; all you have to do is to point it and push the button whenever I yell, ‘Picture.’ But only then; film is scarce and I can’t get more. These pictures Hal Halsa and Cart will need to prove to the Warlord how useful craft like Gay Deceiver can be. The strap goes around your neck—but at all times hold the camera firmly by at least one hand.”
The Pursuit of the Pankera: A Parallel Novel About Parallel Universes Page 36
