The Lake family had ruled this sector since the days of Unification. The seat of the High Council was the hereditary right of the head of the family, and all other appointments were his to make. Lesser members of the clan controlled the sector trade monopoly, Farstell Freight and Trade, as well as the network of industry that served it. The name of the ruling family had changed often in that time. But the line had remained unbroken, so that Jon Lake, the current patriarch, could trace his ancestry back even before the Union, to the earliest days of colonization.
Word had indeed been left that the two Starwolves were expected. They were greeted politely by the guards at the main entrance and one guard accompanied them up, for he had one of the few keys that unlocked the controls that allowed the elevator to ascend to this upper floor.
Dveyella rang the bell, and a long moment passed before the door opened. It was neither the older Lake nor his nephew who faced them, but a servant in black formal clothing. He occupied the years between young and old, was just slightly tall for the human norm, and he had a nose like a bird of prey and a hairline in the process of a hasty retreat. His look of surprise quickly turned to one of disgust, as if he had found beggars at the door.
"We have come for dinner," Velmeran said.
"Dinner?" the hawk-nosed servant asked incredulously. "As if piracy was not enough, now they present themselves at the door asking to be fed!"
"It's all right, Javarns," Councilor Lake called from somewhere within. "They are expected."
"Starwolves?" Javarns was plainly skeptical, but he grudgingly stepped aside. "Somehow it does not surprise me as much as it should."
"It should not surprise you at all, since we have been cooking for them all afternoon," Jon Lake said as he crossed the room to greet his guests. "I am so glad that you could come. I was afraid that you would not take my invitation seriously."
"We would not think of missing this," Velmeran said as he quickly glanced about the room.
"Well, you are just in time," Lake continued excitedly, as if he were entertaining old and beloved friends. "Do excuse me a moment. Javarns will show you where you can wash your hands."
"A major undertaking, I am sure," Javarns mumbled peevishly. "Is there anything you require? Will you un-shell, or are you in the habit of wearing space suits at the table?"
"We are fine, thank you."
"As you wish, sir. Shall I take your gloves, capes or guns?"
Dveyella smiled pleasantly. "We have two rules about our guns. First, we never leave the ship unless we are armed."
"I can appreciate that," Javarns agreed. "And the second rule?"
"We shoot anyone who asks twice."
"Oh." Javarns straightened and pulled his jacket into place. "This way, please."
It seemed that they were indeed just in time for dinner. The Sector Commander was already at the table, drink in hand. He seemed to be in a better temper, now that he had adjusted to the loss of his prisoner, and neither of the two visitors knew just how great a loss that had been to his plans. He even assisted them with their chairs; the furniture of the apartment was all slightly oversized for the convenience of its inhabitants. A pair of firm cushions solved that problem.
Velmeran quickly realized that he needed to revise his opinion about this Sector Commander. He had thought of Donalt Trace as thoroughly military in the worst sense of the word, the perfect, obedient soldier. Obviously there was much of his uncle in him, the intelligence, wisdom and depth of insight that made him a giver of orders. Certainly he was less philosophical than his uncle, blunter and more passionate in both his devotions and his prejudices.
He was also the less dangerous of the two, since there was no danger that the Starwolf could forget that they were enemies.
"You really are a small people," he observed. He meant nothing unkind by that; it was purely an honest observation.
"We were made that way," Velmeran replied.
"I have never met Starwolves before," Trace continued, frowning as he considered the problem. "You know, speaking with you finally makes me realize that you are people. I never thought of you as people before. Starwolves have always been just the enemy, something that will get you if you don't watch out. As..."
"As machines?" Velmeran asked when he hesitated.
Trace glanced at him in surprise. "Yes, I suppose so. I am at a disadvantage. You know more about us than we know of you."
"Perhaps not," the Starwolf answered. "The Union has always been just machines to me. Machines are all I ever see, freighters and warships, and it is easy to forget that there are lives in those machines."
"Perhaps it's easier on the conscience not to think of your enemies as people," Trace said, then laughed at himself. "Listen to me! I'm not usually one to carry on this way. And with you, of all people!"
Councilor Lake returned from the kitchen at that moment, still struggling into a leisure jacket of some odd design. He quickly took his seat at the head of the table, the two Starwolves to his right and his nephew to his left. The battle lines were drawn.
"I have an excellent dinner prepared for you," he explained as he took a decanter from the center of the table to pour wine for himself and Trace. He knew better than to offer alcohol to Starwolves. "Vinthran follycrab, cooked in the shell, with a butter sauce that is my own invention."
"Follycrab?" Velmeran asked.
Lake shrugged. "The things crawl up on the beach in early morning, and then seem to forget the way back to the sea. Since they live well out of water, they often march inland for days. It is to their credit, I might add, that if they do find moving water, they will follow it to the sea.
"Now, let me see." The Councilor, glass in hand, turned to the two Starwolves. "I remember that you are Velmeran. But you I cannot recall... "
"Dveyella," she answered.
"De-vay-ella." Lake did his best with the name, and shook his head. "That's not an easy one for a native speaker of Terran."
Just then Javarns appeared from the kitchen, pushing a small cart that bore their plates. He served the two Starwolves with obvious reluctance, almost as if he expected a bitten hand for his reward. He clearly disapproved of their gloves lined up around their plates like the towers of a fortress wall, reaching skyward as they stood upright on their metal cuffs.
They, in turn, eyed their dinner with much the same hesitation, and for better reason. Follycrab, cooked in the shell, nearly filled an entire plate. Their blunt, thick bodies were carried on two sets of legs, and they were armed with two pairs of powerful pincers. Shell plates as intricately articulated as Starwolf armor covered a large swimming tail, half the creature's total length.
"Will there be anything else?" Javarns asked.
"No, not for the moment," the Councilor replied.
"Very well, sir," the servant said as he departed. "I will be in the kitchen, hiding the good silver."
"Good man, that Javarns. Been with me for years. I should have replaced him with a robot long ago," Lake muttered. Then he noticed that the two Starwolves were staring at the creatures on their plates. "Well, what do you think?"
"Icky-poo!" Dveyella declared, simple and to the point.
"Oh, trust me to be a better host than that!" Councilor Lake declared, laughing. "You must realize that in all the time you people have been coming here on leave, we have watched you very closely. It is the only part of your lives that we ever see. I looked up those records and found that Starwolves do eat follycrab, and they appear to like it. I am also aware of how much you eat, so do not fear. There are two more crabs for each of you."
The poor Starwolves did not know whether to count their blessings or curse their ill fortune. Dveyella had lived long enough and been on enough port leaves to have developed a healthy caution. Her rule was to be wary of anything hidden in a stew, under gravy or sauce, had eyes to stare back from the plate or came recommended by humans. Follycrab ran afoul of the final two of those rules, and she feared that the folly would be her own. Velmeran was sti
ll young enough to like taking a chance. After a moment of observing the tactics of the Sector Commander, he set about uncrating his own.
"Ah, yes! One of my finest efforts," Lake declared. "Do you not agree?"
"It is all right," Dveyella reluctantly agreed.
"What did I say?" Lake insisted jovially. The two Starwolves were becoming entranced, for the Councilor had a rubbery face that could change instantly to a wide variety of exaggerated expressions. "Though far be it for me to neglect my duties as a proper host, Iwas wondering if you would mind answering a few silly and possibly personal questions?"
"Not at all," Velmeran replied. "Ask whatever you wish, although we may not answer."
Lake considered that and shrugged. "Fair enough. First, let me see if I have this right. You are Velmeran, and you are Devayella. Male and female?"
"As far as I know," he answered. "Is it so hard to tell?"
"Well, yes," he admitted. "Starwolves may look very different to other Starwolves, but you all look very much alike to me. I will grant that your armor hides the more telling features. Your height, your appearance, even the length of your hair is the same."
Velmeran glanced at his companion, surprised. "The differences are very obvious to me. If I had to guess, you are misled by looking for the wrong things. Do we both look female to you?"
"Strictly speaking, neither of you look either male or female," Lake said, looking hard at first one and then the other. "There are certain childlike qualities to your features... "
"Velmeran is hardly more than a child," Dveyella said. "But I am nearly as old as you are."
"Is that so? I have seen seventy-three planet years. About seventy-eight or so standard years."
"I am sixty-seven myself," she replied.
"If I may," Commander Trace interrupted. "From what you have said – or how you have said it – I take it that you do not consider yourself human."
"Of course not," Velmeran said. "Why should we?"
"But if you are not human, what are you?"
"We are Kelvessan," he insisted. "Our race is of artificial origin. But we have been around for fifty thousand years, which means that our history is nearly as old as your own. Surely we have earned the right to consider ourselves our own people."
"You will do as you wish, I am sure," Donalt said, still distracted by his own thoughts. "It just never occurred to me that you might think of yourselves as a wholly independent race with a history and culture of your own."
"You were always the first to point out that they are not human," Councilor Lake reminded him. "The only thing that surprises you is finding that they agree with you."
Trace nodded absently, although he kept his true thoughts to himself.
"Perhaps you still hold the mistaken idea that we were bred out of human stock," Dveyella said. "But that is not so. We were generated out of an entirely artificial reserve of genetic stock. Culturally we share a part of the same heritage. Physiologically we are so unrelated that we can barely share the same environment or eat the same food."
"Yes, I can see that," Trace agreed. "As you may know, legend has it that Starwolves were created by interbreeding humans with wolfish traits."
"No, our name refers only to our manner of attack," she explained. "We began by calling our fighter groups 'wolf packs'; you were the ones who gave us the name Starwolves. Besides, we are in general agreement that the wolf was a legendary creature that never actually existed."
Councilor Lake stared at her in surprise. "Is that so?"
"It is only a theory, but a sound one," she said. "Wolves were described throughout ancient legend and literature as possessing a wide variety of magical traits. They were given the power of speech in every old legend that I can recall. Shakespeare placed them firmly among all other magical creatures. Tolkien went so far as to suggest that they were only spirits of darkness who could not bear the light of day."
"You certainly seem knowledgeable of scholarly matters," Lake observed, seemingly amused. "Hardly what I would expect of a warrior."
"We all have selective total recall," she explained. "When you have been around for a few years, you tend to accumulate an amazing volume of facts and information. Nor have we ever been under the impression that ignorance is necessarily a soldierly attribute."
The old Councilor nearly choked on his wine, especially when it became apparent that the Sector Commander was unaware that he had been insulted.
Dinner and dessert were soon past and Councilor Lake retired with his guests to the game room. The Councilor was able, with Dveyella's help, to convince Velmeran to meet his challenge in a game of chess. The Starwolf was not at all certain that he wanted to cross wits with the Councilor in so direct a manner, especially since he was under the disadvantage of having no familiarity with the game. He was no more pleased when Donalt Trace took his uncle's place at the game table. Councilor Lake quickly recited the rules, plainly dubious that even a Starwolf's absolute recall was up to such a challenge.
"Are you ready?" Trace asked, equally dubious.
"Yes, of course," Velmeran assured him.
"Oh? Then proceed."
"After you," Velmeran offered in return. The Sector Commander sat in silence for a long moment as he contemplated his strategy, carefully selecting a pawn and moving it forward in bold attack. Velmeran casually sent out a pawn of his own, and the battle continued briskly for several moves to come. After that the Sector Commander began to slow down, although Velmeran continued to move pieces as if he selected them at random.
"If I may be so bold," Councilor Lake said hesitantly to Dveyella, who sat beside him on the sofa beside the game table. He spoke slowly, obviously embarrassed. "Since you ladies only come to port in armor, there is no way to tell. But I have always wondered – since you have two sets of arms – whether you also have two sets of breasts."
Dveyella sat for a moment in bemused silence, the only sound that of her suit cycling on. Before she could reply, Trace roared aloud with laughter. "Ah, you lecherous old fool! There are no wolfettes among the pictures in those magazines you have taken to looking at... to refresh your memory in your old age."
Councilor Lake swatted indignantly at the accusing finger that was waving in his direction. "There is nothing wrong with my memory. I look at those pictures to remind myself that I am not so old after all."
"Can a horse do this?" Velmeran asked suddenly.
"Yes, a knight can do that," Trace snapped.
"We have only the one set," Dveyella answered softly.
Councilor Lake only shook his head slowly. "It still amazes me, the knowledge our ancestors must have had to build those big ships and then fill them with Starwolves. We could not hope to duplicate either."
"We have never tried," Trace remarked without looking up. The two Starwolves tried not to look surprised, but to them that was a dire threat. The only thing they could not fight was themselves.
"Actually, our genetic design and engineering was accomplished by the Aldessan of Valtrys," Dveyella said quickly, changing the subject.
Commander Trace stared at her in open amazement. "Valtrytians? Now you speak of myths and legends."
"Not so," Velmeran insisted. "The language that we speak among ourselves is Tresdyland, the language of the Aldessan. And our names are of Valtrytian origin."
"Then you have seen a Valtrytian?" the Councilor asked, greatly awed.
"No, but I have seen their ships," Velmeran replied. "There is considerable trade between us, and they are always there to help."
That, Dveyella realized, was a slight but obvious exaggeration. But she also believed that, whatever he was leading to, he had just made his point and these two worthies had swallowed the bait. And the Sector Commander must have swallowed his whole; he sat back in his chair, his arms crossed, and snorted with derision at the young Starwolf's apparent inability to protect trade secrets.
"So that is it. I always did wonder what you pirates did with all the loot you do not sell b
ack, and who maintains your technology," he said. "But what do the Valtrytians have against us?"
Velmeran shrugged innocently. "They do not like the way you do business."
"And what business is that of theirs?"
"The Aldessan are a very old and wise race," he explained. "They have a strong belief in the concepts of freedom, self-determination and the rights of the individual. Naturally they find you objectionable."
"That still does not make it any of their concern."
"Your great and glorious Union is of no concern to them. If you had ever become a big enough nuisance to be a problem to them, then you would have learned the meaning of real trouble. As it is, they have only provided technical assistance to the Terran Republic in the matter of ships and pilots."
"But there is no Terran Republic." Trace pointed out what seemed obvious.
"We are the Terran Republic," Velmeran said.
"You? Just look at you! A band of thieves, dependent upon your petty piracy to keep food in your bellies and your ships in space."
"We may not be Robin Hood," Velmeran replied evenly. "But you are hardly democracy and free enterprise, whatever you pretend. We have kept you to your own space for fifty thousand years. Enough said?"
Trace looked at him in surprise, recalling only too well how the Union had declined, and knowing that the Starwolf spoke the truth. Then he sat back and laughed. "Yes, we do understand each other. We know, beneath all the rhetoric, how matters really stand."
Velmeran smiled. "At least you are an honest man."
"And you are a pert Starwolf," Trace answered. He moved a piece, then watched closely as Velmeran moved another. He glanced up reprovingly at his opponent. "You cannot play chess defensively, or you have lost from the start. You have to make sacrifices."
"I know what I am doing," Velmeran replied. "I refuse to make sacrifices. It is a wasteful, careless way to make war."
The Starwolves Page 16