The Lost Star's Sea

by C. Litka

02

  I've crossed orbits with more pirates and general all-around cut-throats than I would've chosen to, had I any choice in the matter, so I'm qualified to say that on that scale, Fret was a very benign sort of cut-throat. His resigned acceptance of what fate had handed him - a stoker on a slaver - made him easy to get along with. Seeing that I was willing to learn and work, and was not a broken down wreck of a man, the usual stoker candidate, made him willing to share the few tricks of the trade, so that within a half a dozen watches, we had settled into a comfortable working relationship centered on shoveling black-cake. When I wasn't shoveling black-cake or sleeping, I was helping in the steamy hot engine room, tending the noisy, chugging, and spinning machines as directed by the gruff Chief. Still, as part of the engine room crew, I was free of deck work. When the engines were not needed, and all the repairs Chief DeJan could think of were done, we were free to lounge about - though this usually meant lounging near the two rocket launchers that the black gang were in charge of while taking on "passengers." Only small boats were allowed to come near the Bird of Passage. We kept a casual eye on them with a loaded rocket launcher. This was, however, more of a ritual than a necessity, since this business had been going on time out of hand and everyone knew the rules. Still, in the Outward Islands, you could ill afford to grow careless - the islanders watched us like hawks to make sure we were still playing the game.

  The way the Bird of Passage collected its passengers was to steam from one cluster of large islands to the next. We'd stop and blow the steam whistle to announce our presence and then wait for the passengers to arrive along with their "friends" who were "volunteering" them. As I mentioned, we stayed well clear of the islands, in order to provide a wide range of fire for our rockets. Given the warlike attitude of the Outward Islanders, our safety in this savage archipelago rested on the fact that our rockets flew further and straighter than the ones we sold them, so Captain KaRaya made sure we had all the air space we needed to keep the natives from surprising us.

  Having announced our arrival, the deck crew would rig the gangplank and launch the cutter to greet our customers. The crew on watch were issued long barreled, spring-pump charged, air rifles, and then we'd open the rocket launching ports in the hull and swing the rocket launchers out. Rockets are used because they don't have the recoil canons do, which, in free fall, could set the ship swinging wildly, making aiming impossible.

  While standing guard during our first island of call - that is to say, lounging about the rocket launcher in our charge - I told Fret about my first encounter with a Pela slaver - the one we saw while on the tumbleweed island.

  'So why don't we go out and collect our own slaves?' I asked as we watched the native boats arriving with their cargo of men, women and children.

  'Well, we're not really a slaver,' he replied. 'Ignorant people call us that, but that's not what we are. Slavery is outlawed in the Principalities.'

  I gave him a look. He was serious. 'What exactly are we, then?'

  'We're transporting immigrant workers to Tyrina. The farm owners, mine owners, even ship owners who hire them, reimburse us for their advances and passage.'

  'Seeing that they're bound, often beaten, crying in rage, and we have to pay to get them, I find it hard to believe that they're actually immigrating looking for work. Especially seeing that women and children are taken aboard as well.'

  He shrugged. 'Who's to say what goes on in these infernal islands? Oh, I'll admit it looks a little snaky. But I don't know their lingo, so I can't say they're not volunteering, with a portion of their wages being paid up front to their families.'

  I gave him a long, skeptical look.

  'Oh, no doubt most of them are really prisoners taken in raids or victims of the many feuds within the tribes,' he said with a sigh. 'Still, better to work on a civilized island like Tyrina than ending up the main course at a feast, wouldn't you say?'

  'There is that.'

  'And they'll be paid for the work they do once they get to Tyrina. Their employers pay us a transportation fee that covers all our expenses and more, which is how our owners make their coins. The employers dock the immigrates' wages to pay for that passage fee, and perhaps a bit of interest as well. Indentured workers, is what I think they're called. Still, once they've paid their bills, they're free men and women. So, you see they ain't exactly slaves.'

  'Well...'

  'They ain't no different than you. Are you a slave? Them trade goods the Cap'n bought you with ain't going to be paid off anytime soon at five coppers a round, mate. Not at the prices in the book.'

  I grinned. 'Which makes it mighty hard to tell the difference.'

  'But there is a difference. Once you've paid your debt, you're free to walk. You ain't no different than them passengers we're carrying,' he insisted. 'Except that you're working for your passage and they're just lounging about. And just like you, they're aboard because they made enemies, they offended someone they shouldn't have had, or got careless and got themselves captured. I gather some of 'em aren't even prisoners, they're just ungrateful sons or unfaithful wives, and the likes. They get a new life instead of being served in the stew. Why, you'll see plenty of Outward Islanders walking about free in Tyrina. Plenty of them aboard ships too. We don't employ them in our trade 'cause they're not to be trusted out here. Not to be really trusted anywhere, but a few here and there can be dealt with?'

  Well, whatever their ultimate fate was on the big islands, they were no different than slaves aboard the Bird of Passage. And I wasn't in a cage - well, not exactly.

  Being part of the engine room crew, I didn't have to deal with our passengers. They were, in fact, entirely out of sight below the slight bulge of the hull and had a separate crew to look after them, which mostly involved seeing that they were fed. They survived on a dried cake of some grain and cabbage soaked in drava, the fermented pulp of a cactus like tree found everywhere in the islands. The Captain would also buy fresh fruit now and again from the islanders for them and the crew. And every so often we'd stand off a large island and send the cutter ashore with a crew to gather a boatload of drava trunks. Once aboard they'd be chopped and pounded into mush, and then allowed to ferment in vats for a few rounds before soaking the dried cabbage and grain cakes in it and fed to our passengers. No doubt the mild intoxication drava produced contributed to the resigned acceptance most of the passengers displayed in time.

  The Outward Islands were a moist clime, with clouds often hiding islands. Nearly every round we sailed through clouds dense enough to be called rain. The deck crew would rig a large, funnel shaped sail to collect and direct the floating water into the ship's water tanks to keep both the crew, passengers, and the boiler supplied with water. And, as I've mentioned, the off-watch crew stripped down to wash and do laundry when the opportunity arose. Like Simla dragons, broad-feathered humans were particular about their feathers and hygiene in general, even on a slaver.

  The rounds rolled on until it seemed like the only life I'd ever known. I shoveled black-cake, dodged glowing embers, oiled the great cylinders of the engine, ate, slept, and very occasionally, watched the islands go by. And I looked after Hissi - not that she seemed to need or want looking after. She gave me to understand that she could look after herself quite well. Simla dragons have a big ego, even the little ones.

  Chapter 13 The Serrata