Derelict For Trade

by Andre Norton

  "Right," Ali said. "Hits with bared blade mean to the death, no questions asked."

  "I thought all duels were to the death," Rip said.

  "Well, technically they are," Ali said. "Here’s where the Shver get subtle. Let’s suppose that someone is forced by the clan to challenge someone else to a duel, someone the individual has no quarrel with. He lets the person know in much the manner that Dane received his challenge, and this guides the combatants in their choice of weapons. If the fight is declared satisfactory to the challenger, whether there’s a death or not, then the insult can be declared dead, and they leave the best of friends."

  Rip sighed. "Except these guys can choose their own weapons before the duel. At least that’s what Dane told me while we were coming back up here. Though blasters and fire weapons that could breach the habitat walls are forbidden, anything else goes, right?"

  "Right," Ali said, grinning.

  "Then that oversized elephant can show up with a twelve-foot-long

  force blade big enough to take on an entire Patrol platoon if he wants, and Dane can’t do a thing about it—and the only weapons we have to choose from are sleeprods and. and. Frank’s ultrasonic feedle pipe!"

  Ali had begun to laugh, but he stopped, a strange look in his eyes.

  No one spoke for a time. When the silence began to seem protracted the captain’s quiet voice was heard. "Ali?"

  "I have to admit, I had everything figured out except what kind of weapon Dane might take," Ali admitted. "But I think. I have it."

  "We can’t get our hands on any illegal weapons now," Steen said, his impatience making him sarcastic. "The duel is in less than an hour!"

  "Won’t have to, if I’m right," Ali said.

  Van Ryke frowned. "This isn’t a game, my young friend," he murmured. "Dane has to go out there and face whatever weapon this fellow brings. He’ll be in heavy grav against someone who is bigger, stronger, and masses three times what he does, and has been trained in fighting since birth. I’d say he’s facing a terrible risk."

  "He faces that risk no matter what," Ali said. "We’ve been forced into that much of a situation. But think of this: that Shver is not a Golm, has never been near us before. He caused the duel in the most neutral manner he could—"

  "He has to face Dane armed with something deadly, or he’s declared a coward and an outcast," Rip said.

  Ali nodded. "Right. So Dane has a choice. Either he’s more deadly, or." He looked up. "Steen—you and Dane and I need to have a talk."

  A piercing whistle on five distinct notes echoed through the dim tunnels of the Spin Axis.

  The sound had become very familiar to Rael Cofort. She looked over at Jasper Weeks, who was already packing up their gear.

  Rael’s heart thumped warningly but her hands stayed still as she used her thin immune-probe to restimulate the ill-healed muscle tissue of the

  man lying against the wall before her.

  As soon as she was done Jasper dropped a healpak over the reddened flesh, now responding again to the memory, deep in bone and sinew, of the original injury. Healing would go to completion. The patient twisted slightly and pushed off with his feet; moments later he was gone, diving through a narrow crack in an old lock.

  "Come! Come!" Tooe shrilled, grabbing the gear from Jasper’s hands.

  They could hear the sounds of the Monitors clearly now; Rael’s heart was pounding as she rebounded after Tooe, shooting through a maze of abandoned air ducts in which ghostly fronds of ancient dust fluttered lazily.

  When they were safely away, Jasper veered close to Rael. "Fifth one," he muttered. "I wish I knew what was going on."

  "What’s going on is easy," Rael replied as they reached a dim chamber full of immense, flaccid sacks on the walls, dim and bulky in the reddish light—Rael was irresistibly reminded of enormous fungus. In this case, she thought, fungus marked with the sigil of chemhazard. Whatever had leaked out of them was long dissipated.

  Then they dived down into what seemed to be a dark well. Blackness closed around them and Rael flew along with her hands out. They bumped into a corner, another, and then saw light—and her orientation snapped into a new alignment: now she was ascending toward the light. "The Monitors are out in full force," she continued, now that she could see Jasper. "What we don’t know is why."

  They stopped at a nexus obviously well known to Tooe, and waited until, ever so faintly, a signal was heard. Tooe whistled back. After a long space of two or three mintues another whistle came, equally faint.

  Rael did not know the meaning of these particular signals, but that one five-note sequence would probably feature in nightmares to come, she thought grimly as once again they started off. Flee! Monitors coming!

  The signals being sent back and forth now were most likely the regroup points. Tooe led them on a wild flight through the endless ducts and abandoned chambers; Rael knew she could have been led through the

  same area again and again and not notice, the whole was so alien to her.

  But at last they stopped, this time in a long, thin room with what looked like a threshing machine at one end. Rael looked at it, and at the bare walls leading to it, and was glad that no one could turn on the grav and force them into it.

  Then she forgot it as, once again, patients of all ages and races began drifting in. She and Jasper unpacked their kit with practiced speed, and with no words wasted motioned the first person to come forward.

  Before, they had gotten well through at least a few patients before the alarm came. This time, though, Rael was just about to activate her scanner when the first two high notes sounded, faint and far off, but no less frightening for that: all around them people stiffened, alert, then bounced off the nearest surface and zoomed away through an opening.

  The alarm came again, clearer, now the room was empty; it was a five-note series, but different.

  Tooe turned glowing yellow eyes to Rael. "Deathguard!" Her voice was shrill with strain. She whirled about, then froze again, her crest flat and quivering.

  Another high note sounded, so high Rael knew what she had suspected before, that the Spinner people communicated in the ultrasonic range.

  "Truce," Tooe said. "Conference—"

  "What does that mean?" Rael asked, as Jasper once again began packing the gear.

  "Tooe not know, me. All those Monitors—Deathguard blame us, maybe. Monitors look for us, Monitors look for them, who knows? Maybe they know."

  "Do we have to go to this conference?"

  Tooe’s pupils went wide and black. "Oh yes." She nodded vigorously enough to make herself bob gently against the wall at her back. "Or they come to us."

  Rael felt the cold grip of fear at the back of her neck. Jasper was looking at her, plainly waiting for her to decide.

  "Let’s go," was all she could think of to say.

  A long, crazy journey later, Rael Cofort floated, hands loose at her sides, behind Tooe and Momo. Jasper was just above her, one hand hovering near the sleeprod at his belt, though his pale face was mild and polite as always.

  The neutral place was brightly lit and bare, affording nowhere to hide for those with treachery in mind. The air was warm and redolent of a faint metallic tang, and Rael felt more than heard a deep, ambient hum.

  Positioned around the circumference of the chamber were four clumps of people, all poised near a flat surface in wary readiness for action.

  Rael half-listened to the steady rise and fall of voices. Nunku and two other Spinner gang leaders spoke a strange melange of languages that she couldn’t make out at all. They all three faced the black shrouded figures against one wall; as yet none of these had spoken.

  The followers of the Spinner gangs kept absolute silence, including Tooe and Momo, so Rael and Jasper were also quiet.

  She was just as glad of the chance to watch, to reassess. She moved slightly, partly to get a clearer view and partly to ease her aching neck—and saw one of the sinister dark-clad beings across the room flick a glance a
t her from inimical-seeming eyes. She kept her hands wide, palms out, in the universal gesture of goodwill.

  Working in null gee was just as tiring as laboring in gravity, she realized as she watched the conversation, for one had to constantly brace oneself against the reaction of one’s efforts; one couldn’t rely on weight to absorb the energy of push and press—and one’s mass had very different meaning here.

  Despite all those interruptions a greater crowd than the first time had appeared, causing her a strange emotional response midway between exhilaration and despair, the latter because she knew she could not help them all. Her supplies would give out, or she would.

  A change in the speakers’ postures broke her thoughts. The three facing the black-shrouded figure were stiff, still, wary; a tense silence fell, and then a deep Shver voice growled something from inside the black cowl.

  The three whipped around and Rael found herself the focus of their attention. Someone spoke. Tooe touched Rael’s arm and said, "They have questions."

  Rael felt Jasper move restlessly at her side.

  She sent him what she hoped was a reassuring glance, and pushed away from the wall she’d floated near.

  Everyone’s heads were oriented in one direction—a concession to the Shver, she figured.

  The dark-cowled one spoke, and Nunku said, "The Deathguard wisheth to hear thy story from thine own lips."

  "What story?" Rael asked. "How we found the derelict, or what has happened since we arrived here?"

  "Everything," Nunku said. "They say that those from the Solar Queen have brought the Monitors into the Spin Axis. This changes what hath been accepted for lifetimes."

  Rael heard the threat implicit in her soft voice, and felt danger clamp her insides. She knew very little about the Deathguard, other than that they were Shver outcasts and assassins—and that they had nothing to do with anyone outside their numbers, unless they were paid. These Shver outcasts would not have any interest in the plights of the other inhabitants of the Spinner, so they certainly would not care about justice for the Starvenger or the Ariadne.

  She took in a deep breath, cast her mind back to Denlieth, and started to talk.

  21

  Rip Shannon was not surprised when every present member of the Queen's crew expressed his desire to accompany Dane Thorson to the site

  of the duel.

  "Right," Captain Jellico said. "There are ten of us who want to go."

  "Five is an important number to them," Van Ryke said.

  "As well," Jellico said. "We’ll pick lots, then. I want half here to guard the Queen against any other tricks that Flindyk might concoct."

  Frank Mura produced some fine tiles from somewhere, some colored white and some blue. He mixed them all up in a bag, and as each man picked one, the captain said, "White goes, blue stays."

  Rip didn’t say anything, but he was relieved when the tile he pulled out was white. He wanted to be there for a number of reasons—partly guilt, because he still felt that he ought to have talked Dane out of the fruitless errand to the mail drop in the first place, but also out of an intense desire to see if Ali’s plan would work.

  He thought grimly to himself as he handed his tile back to Frank and bounded down to get his sleeprod that he also wanted to be there to help in case Ali’s plan blew up in their faces. He wasn’t going to stand by and watch some planet-sized Shver warmonger munch his crewmate. Rip was very ready to prove that humans could fight—well—when they had to, and he could see in Kamil’s bright-edged gaze and challenging smile that he felt exactly the same, even though he was staying with the Solar Queen.

  Surprisingly, Frank had chosen a tile, and as it was white, he had silently produced his feedle pipe before he took his place with the others.

  Steen Wilcox had drawn blue. As he frowned at his heirloom, discreetly stowed in a sturdy bag in Dane’s arms, Jan Van Ryke, who had also gotten a white tile, said, "Wilcox, we can swap if you like. You can keep an eye on your property."

  Steen hesitated, then gave his head a shake. "Better not," he said. "If there’s a problem, you’d be better at talking us out than I. If they come here, there won’t be any talking." He smiled grimly, then nodded at the bag in Dane’s hands. "As for that—my being there or not isn’t going to make a particle of difference. But it’s been safely through many a battle, so I’ll hold to the faith it’ll come through one more."

  Jellico said, "It’s time. Let’s get this over with."

  Rip followed the others into the lock tunnel. Behind, he heard Ali and Steen talking to Stotz, Tang, and Tau, planning their defensive strategy. Their voices very soon dropped away as the five bounded their way to the maglev access.

  The five got half a pod to themselves. Rip had half expected either emptiness or stares, as if news of the duel had somehow gotten all over Exchange—demonstrating Flindyk’s far reach. Except that Flindyk wouldn’t want it publicized, he realized as he noted a group of Kanddoyds buzzing and clacking away in a corner, utterly unconcerned with either the knot of humans at the other end of the pod or the four Arvas spacers at one side, who spoke together in a sibilant language of their own.

  He looked across at Dane, who was fingering some mysterious lumps and bumps pressing against his bag.

  "You know what to do with that thing?" he asked.

  Dane gave a short nod. "Steen showed me when we went down to his cabin to get it." He grimaced slightly. "Not that there was time enough to show me how to really operate it. But I know enough to." He stopped, then shrugged. "Succeed or fail."

  Jellico had been conversing in low tones with Van Ryke. Now he glanced up, assessing the other occupants of the pod, and Dane and Rip. He didn’t say anything to the apprentices, but Rip decided to drop the subject.

  As the grav increased, Rip became aware of a faint breathing sound coming from somewhere. He looked over, fascinated by the sight of Dane breathing into the bag, eliciting a soft wheeze from whatever was in it. It was changing shape, flattening into a kind of ovoid with odd bumps poking at intervals along one end. It reminded Rip unpleasantly of some asymetric sea creatures—was it some sort of biological construct? His stomach lurched. The use of living weapons was forbidden throughout Terran space, but out here. ?

  Captain Jellico didn’t seem concerned. The last of the passengers on the pod hurried off, sending odd looks toward the Terrans.

  Dane didn’t look back at Rip, hunching instead over the bag as if meditating. Was he imagining the impact of Shver weapons on his weaker frame? And how did that feel to someone who’d probably gotten used to—or become resigned to—being bigger than everyone else?

  As they reached the one-gee level, whatever was in the bag had distended to a hard-looking mass; Rip could hear its coarse breathing, edged with a weird, honking whine, and the odor of its breath, a kind of rank, greasy sweetness, filled the maglev pod. What kind of bioweapon had Steen Wilcox been secreting in his cabin all these years? All Rip knew was that he had several heirlooms from his Scots ancestors, and that Ali had somehow found out about them. And he remembered a Scots word—"haggis"—that he’d overheard a spacer mention once with a look of great horror on his face. Was that what Dane had?

  As the grav increased, the wheeze faded away, and Dane straightened up as the bag flattened out into a completely incomprehensible and utterly sinister shape. The haggis—if that’s what it was—was silent. Was it dead? Dane didn’t seem upset. Rip was no advocate of violence—or he’d be wearing the black and silver of a Patrol officer now—but the menace of the thing in that bag was comforting just at this moment. Rip firmly hoped a haggis was much more deadly, and fast, than whatever the Shver would face him with.

  Soon the familiar vise squeezed slowly on his heart and lungs. Rip knew they were near the surface; he hoped he’d never have to feel this pressure—or see this place—again. Just let me leave alive, he thought as the maglev trundled its way slowly toward the place the Shver had told Dane they would be met.

  They passed the m
ail drop building, and proceeded deep into Shver territory. At the proper stop, a group of five Shver waited, silent and impassive, for the Terrans to debark, which they did slowly and with care. The Shver waited without speaking until everyone was on the concourse, then the lead Shver made a slight gesture, touching hand to chin.

  It was a neutral gesture of respect.

  Jellico responded with the same gesture. Rip noted the only sign that the captain made of the effort it took to match the speed of the gesture was how his muscles tightened up his arm and shoulder.

  "Come you this way," the lead Shver said.

  He turned and started walking. The other four stepped out to the sides, closing in around the others as they proceeded in silence down a pathway past some thick, rubbery-looking shrubs that effectively curtained off the countryside around them.

  Rip found himself paced by a tall female who, if he remembered aright what Dane had told him, was wearing the sign of a Khelv. Curious, he tried without moving his head much to scan the signs of the other four; they all wore different signs. He recognized one of them, the sign of a Jheel.

  Again, a neutral signal, in that their company ranked one from each level. Five Zhems would have been an insult. Five Khelvs comprised an honor guard.

  The path led downward, and Rip felt his thigh muscles protesting at each step. He did not look forward to walking back up that hill—if, of course, they lived through whatever was coming next—but at least it would agonize a different set of muscles.

  At the bottom of the hill again they passed a line of boundary shrubs, and found two ground cars waiting. They were motioned into one; Jellico hesitated, and Rip could see how much he hated trusting their lives to these Shver. The leader of the group climbed in with them; as soon as they were seated, the plasglas opaqued to a deep blue, and they moved forward.

  No one spoke at all during the ride. Rip listened to the roar of the engine and the deep, thrumming growl beneath him that he finally realized was the sound of wheels moving over ground.

  When they stopped, the door opened onto a flat area made of flagged granite with obscure patterns worked in different minerals. The field of honor was ovoid, screened off all the way around by the thick waxy-leaved trees.