Collected Short Fiction (Jerry eBooks)

by Rosel G Brown

  The Minid roared. Roan braced his neck and clung, tasting acrid blood, feeling a bone snap before the hand was tom from his grip.

  And he struck again, buried his teeth in Snaggle-head’s shoulder, grinding a mass of leather-tough muscle, feeling the skin tear as the Minid fell backwards.

  They were on the floor, Snagglehead bellowing and striking ineffectually at Roan’s back, throwing himself against the scrambling legs of spectators, kicking wildly at nothing. Roan rolled free, came to his knees spitting Minid blood.

  “What in the name of the fourteen devils is going on here?” a voice bellowed. Henry Dread pushed his way through the crewmen, stood glaring down at Roan. His eyes went to the grovelling crewman.

  “What happened to him?” he demanded.

  Roan drew breath into his tortured chest. “I’m killing him,” he said.

  “Killing him, eh?” Henry Dread stared at Roan’s white face, the damp red-black hair, the bloody mouth. He nodded, then smiled broadly.

  “I guess maybe you’re real Terry stock at that, boy. You’ve got the instinct, all right.” He stooped, picked up Snagglehead’s knife, offered it to Roan. “Here. Finish him off.”

  Roan looked at the Minid. The cuts on the bald scalp had bled freely, and more blood from the tom shoulder had spread across the chest. Snaggle-head sat, legs drawn up, cradling his bitten hand, moaning. Tears cut pale paths through the blood on his coarse face.

  “No,” Roan said.

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “I don’t want to kill him now.

  I’m finished with him.”

  Henry Dread held the knife toward Roan. “I said kill him,” he grated.

  “Get the vet,” Roan said. “Sew him up.”

  Henry stared at Roan. Then he laughed. “No guts to finish what you started, hey?” He tossed the knife to a hulking Chronid, nodded toward Snaggle-head.

  “Get the vet!” Roan looked at the Chronid. “Touch him and I’ll kill you,” he said, trying not to show how much it hurt to breathe.

  In the profound silence, Snagglehead sobbed.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Henry Dread said. “Alive, he’ll be a walking reminder to the rest of the boys. Okay, Hulan, get the doc down here.” He looked around at the other crewmen.

  “I’m promoting the kid to full crew status. Any objections?”

  Roan listened, swallowing against a sickness rising up inside him. He walked past Henry Dread, went along the dim way between the high bunks, pushed out into the corridor.

  “Hey, kid,” Henry Dread said behind him. “You’re shaking like a Groaci in moulting time. Where the hell are your bandages?”

  “I’ve got to get back to my mop,” Roan said. He drew a painful breath.

  “To hell with the mop. Listen, kid—”

  “That’s how I earn my food, isn’t it, I don’t want any charity from you.”

  “You’d better come along with me, kid,” Henry Dread said. “It’s time you and me had a little talk.”

  XVIII

  In his paneled, book-lined cabin, Henry Dread motioned Roan to a deep chair, poured out two glasses of red-brown liquid.

  “I wondered how long you’d take the pushing around before you showed you were a Man. But you’ll still have to watch yourself. Some of the boys might take it into their heads to gang up on you when they think I’m not looking.”

  “I’ll be looking,” Roan said. “Why do they want to kill me.”

  “You’ve got a lot to learn, lad. Most of the boys are humanoids; I’ve even got a couple that call themselves Terries. I guess they’ve got some Terry blood, but it’s pretty badly mutated stock. They don’t like having us damn near pure breds around. It makes ’em look like what they are: Gooks.” He took a swallow from his glass.

  “I don’t like to work around Gooks, but what the hell. It’s better’n living with Geeks.”

  “What’s the difference between a Gook and a Geek?”

  “I stretch a point. If a being’s humanoid, like a Minid or a Chronid, okay, give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’s descended from mutated human stock. You got to make allowances for Gooks. But a life-form that’s strickly non-human—that’s a Geek.”

  “Why do you hate Geeks?”

  “I don’t really hate ’em—but it’s them or us.”

  Roan tried his drink, coughed, put the glass down. “What’s that? It tastes terrible.”

  “Whiskey. You’ll learn to like it, boy. It helps you forget what you want to forget.”

  Roan took another swallow of the whiskey, made a face.

  “It doesn’t work,” he said. “I still remember.”

  “Give it time,” Henry Dread growled. He stood and paced the room.

  “How much do you know about Terry history, boy?”

  “Not much, I guess. Dad used to tell me that once Terries ruled the whole galaxy, but then something happened. Now they’re scattered, what there is left of them.”

  “Not ‘them,’ boy. ‘Us.’ Tm a Terry. You’re a Terry. And there are lots more of us. Sure, we’re scattered, and in lots of places the stock has mutated—or been bred out of the true line. But we’re still Terries. Still Human. And it’s still our Galaxy. The Gooks and Geeks have had a long holiday, but Man’s on the comeback trail now. And every Man has to play his part.”

  “You mean murdering people like—Stellaraire and Gom Bulj?”

  “Look, that’s over and done. To me a Geek’s a Geek. I’m sorry about the girl. But what the hell. You said she was only a mule.”

  Roan got to his feet; Henry Dread held up a hand. “Okay. No offense. I thought we had a deal? Let’s lay off this squabbling. We’re Terries. That’s what counts.”

  “Why should I hate Geeks?”

  Roan finished his drink, shuddered, put the glass on the table. “I’ve got reason to hate you, but I was raised with Geeks. They weren’t any worse than your Gooks. Some of them were my friends. The only Human I ever knew was my father and I guess maybe he wasn’t all Human. He was shorter than you and wide through the shoulders and his arms were almost as thick as a Minid’s. And he had dark brown skin. I guess that couldn’t be real Terry human stock.”

  “Hard to say. Seems like I read somewhere that back in prehistoric times Men came in all kinds of colors: black, red, yellow, purple—maybe green, I don’t know. But later on they interbred and the pure color strains disappeared. But maybe your old man was a throwback—or even descended from real old stock.”

  “Does anybody know what a real Terry looks like?” Roan took a lock of his thick dark-red hair between his fingers rolling his eyes up to look at it. “Did you ever see hair that color before?”

  “Nope. But don’t let it worry you. Everybody’s got a few little flaws. Hell, Men have been wandering around the Galaxy for over thirty thousand years now. They’ve had to adapt to conditions on all kinds of worlds; they’ve picked up everything from mutagenic viruses to cosmic radiation to uranium burns; no wonder we’ve varied a lot from the pure strain. Pure or not us Humans must stick together.”

  Roan was looking at the empty glass. Henry filled it and Roan took another drink.

  “He wasn’t really my father,” he said. “He and Ma bought me in the Thieves Market on Tambool. Paid two thousand credits for me, too.”

  “Tambool. Hmmm. Hell of a place for a Terry lad to wind up. That where you were raised?” Roan nodded.

  “Who were your real parents? Why did they sell you?”

  “I don’t know. I was only a fertilized ovum at the time.”

  “Where’d those Geeks get hold of Terry stock?”

  “I don’t know. Dad and Ma would never talk much about it. And Uncle T’hoy hoy either. I think Ma told him not to.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re the closest thing to pure Old Terry stock I’ve seen. I’ve made you a member of my crew.”

  “I don’t want to be a member of your crew. I want to go back home. I don’t know if Ma’s still alive, ev
en, with Dad not there to look after her. I miss Dad. I miss Stellaraire; I even miss Gom Bulj.”

  “Don’t cry into your beer, kid. What the hell, I’ve taken a liking to you. You play your cards right and you’ll do okay. You’ll live well, eat well, see the galaxy, get your share of loot, and some day—when I’m ready—you may be in on the first step toward something big. Bigger than you ever dreamed of.”

  “I don’t want loot. I just want my own people. I don’t want to destroy. I want to build something.”

  “Sure, you’ve got a dream, kid. Every Man has. But if you don’t fight for that dream somebody else’s dream will win.”

  “It‘s a big galaxy. Why isn’t there room for everybody’s dream?”

  “Boy, you’ve got a lot to learn about your own kind. We’ve got the drive to rule. To conquer or die. Same day we’ll make this galaxy into our own image of Paradise. Nobody else’s. That’s the way Men are.”

  “There’s billions of Geeks,” Roan said. “But you’re the only Man I’ve ever seen.”

  “There are Terries all over the Galaxy—wherever the Empire had an outpost. I mean to find them—one at a time if I have to. You think I’m just in this for the swag? Not on your life, boy. I could have settled down in luxury twenty years ago, but I’ve got a job to do.”

  “Why do you want me? I’m not going to kill Geeks for you.”

  “Listen, kid, goon squads are cheap. I can hire all I want for the price of a good dinner at Marparli’s on Buna II. But you’re human—and I need every Man I can get.”

  “I still haven’t forgotten,” Roan said. “That whiskey’s a fake. So are you. You killed my friends and now you think I’m going to help you kill some more.”

  Henry gripped Roan’s shoulder with a hard hand. “Listen, boy! A Man’s got to live. I started off in the Terry ghetto on Borglu, kicked around, spit on, worked like a tun-lizard in the wood mines. There wasn’t a day they let me forget I was a Man—and that all I’d ever get was a Man’s share—the scraps, and the kicks, and the curses. I hung around back doors and ate garbage, sure. A Man’s got a drive to live—no matter how. And I listened, and learned a few things. They used to call me in and laugh at me. They’d tell me how once the Terries had been the cock of the walk in every town on ten million worlds, master of everything. And how I was a slave now, and just about good enough, maybe, to wash their dirty clothes and run their errands and maybe some day, if I was a good worker, they’d get me a half-breed wench and let me father a litter of mules to slave for them after I was gone.

  “Well, I listened, and I got the message. But not the one they had in mind. They didn’t know Terries, boy. Every time they’d show me a book with a picture of a Terran Battle Officer in full dress, and tell me how the Niss had wiped out the fleet—or hand me an old Terran pistol and tell me how their great grand-pap had taken it off a starving Man—it didn’t make me feel like a slave. It made me feel like a conqueror. One day one of them made a mistake. He let me handle a Mark XXX hand blaster. I’d read a book or two by then. I’d studied up on Terran weapons. I knew something about a Marx three-X. I got the safety off and burned old Croog and two by-standers down and then melted off the leg-band.” Henry Dread stooped, pulled his boot off, peeled back his sock. Roan stared at the deep, livid scar that ringed the ankle.

  “I made it to the port. There was an abandoned Terry scout boat there, dozed off-side, buried in the weeds. I’d play around it as a kid. I had a hunch maybe I could open it. There was a system of safety locks—

  “To make it short, I got clear. I’ve stayed free ever since. I’ve had to use whatever gutter-scrapings I could find to build my crew, but I’ve managed. I’ve got a base now—never mind where—and there’s more battle-wagons ready for commissioning—as soon as I get reliable captains. After that—

  “Well, I’ve got plans, boy. Big plans. And they don’t include Geeks running the Galaxy.”

  “Iron Robert’s a Geek—and he’s my friend. He’s a better friend than any of those Gooks of yours.”

  “That’s right boy. Stick up for your friends. But when the chips are down—will he stick by you?”

  “He already has.”

  Henry Dread nodded. “I have to give him credit. I admire loyalty in a being—even a Geek. Maybe old Iron Pants is okay. But don’t confuse the issue. A good, solid hate is a powerful weapon. Don’t go putting any chinks in it.”

  “Iron Robert is a good being,” Roan said. “He’s better than your Gooks and Geeks. He’s better than me. And better than you, too.” Roan stopped talking and swallowed. “I feel kind of sick,” he said.

  Henry laughed. “Go sleep it off, kid. You’ll be okay. Take the stateroom down the hall from mine here. A Terry crew member doesn’t have to sleep with Gooks any more.”

  “I’ve got some rags outside Iron Robert’s cell. I’ll sleep there.”

  “No, you won’t, kid. I can’t have a Terry losing face with Gooks.—for the sake of a Geek.”

  Roan went to the door, walking unsteadily. “You’ve got a gun,” he said. “You can kill me if you want id. But I’m going to stay with Iron Robert until you let him out.”

  “That animated iron mine stays where he is!”

  “Then I sleep in the corridor.”

  “Make your choice, boy!” Henry Dread’s voice was hard. “Learn to take orders, and you live a soft life. Act stubborn, and it’ll be rags and scraps for you.”

  “I don’t mind the rags. Iron Robert and I talk.”

  “I’m asking you, kid. Move in next door. Forget those worthless Geeks.”

  “Your whiskey’s no good. I haven’t forgotten anything.”

  “What’s the matter with you, you young squirt? Haven’t I tried to treat you right? I could send you below decks in lead underwear right now to swab out a hot chamber!”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “Get out!” Henry Dread grated. “You had a big credit with me, kid, because you looked like a Man. Until you learn to act like one, keep out of my way!”

  Outside in the corridor, Roan leaned against the wall, waiting for the dizziness to go away. Once he thought he heard a sound, as though someone had started to turn the door latch. But the door remained closed behind him.

  After a while he made his way down to Iron Robert’s cell and went to sleep.

  XIX

  Iron Robert shook the bars. “You big fool, Roan, go on raid with riff-raff, maybe get killed. What for? You stay safe on ship!”

  “I’m tired of being aboard ship, Iron Robert. This is the first time Henry Dread has said I could go along. I’ll be all right.”

  “What kind gun Henry Dread give you, Roan?”

  “I won’t need a gun. I won’t be in the fighting.”

  “Henry Dread still ’fraid give you gun, eh? He big fool too, let you go in combat with no gun. You small, weak being, Roan, not like Iron Robert. You stay on ship like always!”

  “There’s a city on this world—Aldo Cerise—that was built by Terrans, over ten thousand years ago. Nobody lives there now but savages, so there won’t be much of a fight. And I want to see the city.”

  “Extravaganzoo play on Aldo Cerise, once, long time go. Plenty natives, plenty tough. Have spears, bows, few guns too. And not fools.” Roan leaned against the bars. “I can’t just stay on the ship. I have to get out and see things, and listen and learn, and maybe some day—”

  “Maybe some day you learn stay out of trouble!”

  A wall annunciator hummed and spoke: “Attention all hands. This is Captain Dread. All right, you swabs, now’s your chance to earn some prize money! We’re entering our parking orbit in five minutes. Crews stand by to load assault craft in nine minutes from now. Blast off in forty-two minutes.” Roan and Iron Robert listened as Henry Dread read the order of battle, feeling the deck move underfoot as the vessel adjusted its velocity to take up its orbit four hundred miles above the planet.

  “I’ve got to go now,” Roan said. “I’m in boat number o
ne, the command boat.”

  “Anyway Henry Dread keep you by him,” Iron Robert rumbled. “Good. You stay close, keep head down when shooting start Henry Dread not let you get hurt, maybe.”

  “He wants me on his boat so he can keep an eye on me. He thinks I’ll try to run away, but I won’t. Not until you can go, too.”

  Boots clanged at the far end of the corridor. Henry Dread, tall in close-fitting leather fighting garb, swaggered up. He wore an ornate pistol at each lean hip and carried a power rifle in his hands.

  “I figured I’d find you here, didn’t you hear my orders?”

  “I heard,” Roan said. “I was just saying good-by.”

  “Yeah. Very touching. Now if you can tear yourself away, we’ve got an action to fight You stay close to me. Watch what I do and follow suit. I don’t expect much static from the natives, but you never know.”

  “Roan should have gun, too,” Iron Robert rumbled.

  “Never mind that, Iron Man. I’m running this operation.”

  “You nervous as caged dire-beast, Man. If everything so easy, what you afraid of?”

  Henry narrowed his eyes at the giant.

  “All right, I’m edgy. Who wouldn’t be? I’m hitting what used to be the capital of one of the greatest kingdoms in the Empire—and me with a seven-thousand year old hulk and a crew of half-breed space-scrapings. Who wouldn’t be a little nervous?”

  “Give Roan gun. Or does lad make you nervous too”

  “Never mind, Iron Robert,” Roan said. “I’m not asking him for anything.”

  Henry Dread’s jaw muscles worked. He jerked the power rifle. “Come on, boy. Get down to the boat deck before I change my mind and give you a job swabbing the tube linings!”

  “You bring Roan back safe, Henry Dread,” Iron Robert called. “Or better not come back at all.”

  “If I don’t, you’ll have a long wait,” the pirate growled.

  In the cramped command compartment of the assault boat, Henry Dread barked into the panel mike: “Now hear this, you space scum! We’re dropping in fast, slick and silent! I’m giving you a forty-second count-down after contact, then out you go. I want all four Bolos to hit the ramp at the same time, and I want to see those treads smoke getting into position! Gunnery crews, sight in on targets and hold your fire for my command! Heli crews—”