A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows

by Anderson, Poul

  Aycharaych. The chill struck full into Flandry. He raised his eyes to

  the fading stars. Sol would soon drive sight away from them, but they

  would remain where they were, waiting.

  "I have often wondered what makes him and his kind serve Merseia," Desai

  mused. "Genius can't really be conscripted. The Chereionites surely have

  something to win for themselves. But what--from an alien species, an

  alien culture?"

  "Aycharaych's the only one of them I've ever actually met," Flandry

  said. "I've sometimes thought he's an artist."

  "An artist of espionage and sabotage, whose materials are living beings?

  Well, conceivably. If that's all, he is no more to be envied than you or

  I."

  "Why?"

  "I'm not sure I can make the reason clear to you, or even very clear to

  myself. We have not had the good fortune to be born in an era when our

  society offers us something transcendental to live and die for." Desai

  cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend to read you a lecture."

  "No, I thank you," Flandry said. "Your ideas are quite interesting."

  IV

  --

  The Hooligan sprang from Terra, pierced the sky, and lined out for deep

  space. A steady standard gravity maintained by her interior fields gave

  no hint of furious acceleration toward regions sufficiently distant that

  she could go into hyperdrive and outpace light. Nor did her engine

  energies speak above an almost subliminal whisper and quiver through the

  hull. But standing in the saloon before its big viewscreen, Kossara

  watched the planet shrink, ever faster, a cloudy vastness, a gibbous

  globe of intricate blue and white, an agate in a diamondful jewel box.

  At the back of her mind she wished she could appreciate this sight for

  which she had left the stateroom assigned her. Terra, Manhome,

  Maykasviyet; and sheer loveliness--But her heart knocked, her nails bit

  into wet palms though her tongue was dry and thick, she smelled her

  harsh sweat.

  Yet when her owner entered, calm crystallized in her. By nature and

  training she met crises coolly, and here was the worst since--As far as

  she knew, nobody else was aboard but him and his servant. If she could,

  somehow, kill them--or hogtie the funny, kindly Shalmuan--maybe before

  he took her--

  No. Not unless he grew altogether slack; and she sensed alertness

  beneath his relaxed manner. He was tall and well built and moved like a

  hunting vilya. Handsome too, she admitted to herself; then scorn added

  that anybody could be handsome who bought a biosculpture. A loose

  lace-trimmed blouse and flowing trousers gathered above sandals matched,

  in their sheen of expensive fabric, the knee-length gown she had chosen

  out of the wardrobe she found in her quarters.

  "Good day, Donna Vymezal," the man said, and bowed.

  What to do? She jerked a nod.

  "Permit self-introduction," he went on. "Hardly to your surprise, I am

  Captain Sir Dominic Flandry, Intelligence Corps of his Majesty's Navy."

  He gestured at a bench curved around two sides of a table. "Won't you be

  seated?"

  She stood her ground.

  Flandry smiled, placed hands on hips, and drawled: "Please listen. I

  have no intention of compelling you. None. Not that you don't inspire

  certain daydreams, Donna. And not that I couldn't make you like it.

  Drugs, you know. But vanity forbids. I've never needed force or

  pharmacopoeia, even on those few young ladies I had occasion to buy in

  the past. Have you noticed your cabin door locks on the inside?"

  Strength went from Kossara. She stumbled backward, fell to the bench,

  rested head in hands while whirling and darkness passed through her.

  Presently she grew aware that Flandry stood above. His fingers kneaded

  her neck and shoulders. As she looked up, he stroked her hair. She

  gasped and drew aside.

  He stepped back. "No offense, Donna." Sternly: "See here, we've a bundle

  to discuss, none of it very amusing. Do you want a stim pill--or what,

  to make you operational?"

  She shook her head. After two tries, she husked forth, "Nothing, thank

  you. I am all right now."

  "Drink? The liquor cabinet is reasonably well stocked. I'm for Scotch."

  "Nothing," she whispered, dreading in spite of his words what might be

  in a glass he gave her.

  He seemed to guess that, for he said, "You'll have to take from my

  galley in due course if not sooner. We've a long trip ahead of us."

  "What? ... Well, a little wine, please."

  He got busy, while she worked to loosen muscles and nerves. When he sat

  down, not too close, she could meet his eyes. She declined the cigarette

  he offered, but the claret was marvelous. He streamed smoke from his

  nostrils before saying, deliberately:

  "You might recollect who else was bidding on you." She felt her face

  blaze. "And I didn't spend quite a lot of beer money out of chivalry.

  Your virtue is safe as long as you want it to be--while I'm your owner.

  But I need your cooperation in some rather larger matters. Understood?"

  She gulped. "If I can ... help you, sir--"

  "In exchange for manumission and a ticket to Dennitza? Maybe. I haven't

  the legal right to free you, seeing what you were convicted of. I'd have

  to petition for a decree. Or I could simply order you to go back where

  you came from and enjoy yourself." He saw her glance fall to the slave

  bracelet. "Yes, now we're clear of Terra, I'm permitted to take that off

  you. But I haven't a key for it, and my tools would damage it, which'd

  put us through a certain amount of bureaucratic rain dance if we return

  there. Never mind. Beyond range of the comnet, it's inert." Flandry

  grinned. "If I were indeed a monster of lust, rather than a staid and

  hardworking monster, I'd still have taken you into space before

  commencing. The idea of an audience at any arbitrary time doesn't

  appeal. Let them invent their own techniques."

  Loathing tightened Kossara's throat. "The Terran way of life."

  Flandry regarded her quizzically. "You don't have a high opinion of the

  Empire, do you?"

  "I hate it. I would die--be tortured--yes, go into a brothel, if I could

  pull the rotten thing down around me." Kossara tossed off her wine.

  Flandry refilled the glass. "Better be less outspoken," he advised. "I

  don't mind, but various of my fellow Imperialists might."

  She stared. The real horror of her situation shocked home. "Where are we

  bound?"

  "Diomedes, for openers at any rate." He nodded. "Yes, I'm investigating

  what went on, what is going on, whether it threatens the Empire, and how

  to prevent same."

  Kossara rallied. "You have the records of my ... arrest and

  interrogation, then," she said fast. "I have no further information.

  Less, actually, because the hypnoprobe blanked out related memories,

  including those from Dennitza. What's left is bits, blurry and jumbled

  together, like barely remembered dreams. So how can I help

  you--supposing I wanted to?"

  "Oh, background and such." Flandry's tone was casual. "Give me the rest

  of your biography.
Explain what your people have against the Imperium.

  I'll listen. Who knows, you may convert me. I won't hurry you. There's

  an unsanctified amount of information pumped into the data banks aboard,

  which I need to study en route. And we've time. Seventeen standard days

  to destination."

  "No more?" In spite of everything, astonishment touched her.

  "This boat has legs, albeit not as well turned as yours. Do ease off,

  Donna. Your culture has a soldierly orientation, right? Consider me your

  honorable enemy, if nothing else, and the pair of us conducting a

  parley."

  She found little to say. He talked for two, mostly appealing to her

  xenological interests with tales of sophonts he had met. All were

  fascinating. A few eventually made her laugh.

  Books, musical pieces, shows were available by the thousands, in

  playback or printout. Kossara grew restless anyhow. Flandry had

  withdrawn immediately after the first breakfast of the voyage (following

  a nightwatch wherein she slept unexpectedly well) to concentrate on his

  briefing material. Interstellar space, seen in the optical-compensating

  screens, was utter splendor; but however fast the Hooligan drove, those

  immensities changed too slowly for perception. She exercised, prowled

  around, tried out different hobby kits, at last sought Chives. He was in

  the galley fixing lunch. "Can I help you?" she offered.

  "I regret not, Donna," the Shalmuan answered. "While I have no wish to

  deprecate your culinary gifts, you can see that Sir Dominic does not

  willingly trust this excellent chef-machine to prepare his meals, let

  alone comparative strangers."

  She stared at the open-faced sandwiches growing beneath his fingers.

  Anchovies and pimientos lay across slices of hard-boiled egg on

  fresh-made mayonnaise, caviar and lemon peel complemented pate de foie

  gras, cucumber and alfalfa sprouts revitalized cheddar cheese in the

  dignity of its age ... "No, I couldn't do that," she admitted. "You must

  be a genius."

  "Thank you, Donna. I endeavor to give satisfaction. Although, in candor,

  Sir Dominic provided my initial training and the impetus to develop

  further."

  Kossara drew a long breath. A chance to learn about him? "You were his

  slave, you said. How did that happen, if I may ask?"

  Chives spoke imperturbably, never breaking the rhythm of his work. "My

  planet of origin has no technologically advanced society, Donna. His

  late Majesty Josip appointed a sector governor who organized a slave

  trade in my people, chiefly selling to the barbarians beyond the limes.

  The charges against those captured for this purpose were, shall we say,

  arguable; but no one argued. When that governor met with misfortune, his

  successor attempted to right matters. However, this was impossible. Not

  even victims still within the Empire could be traced, across thousands

  of worlds. Sir Dominic merely chanced upon me in a provincial market.

  "I was not prepossessing, Donna. My owner had put me up for sale because

  he doubted I could survive more labor in his mercury mine. Sir Dominic

  did not buy me. He instigated a game of poker which lasted several days

  and left him in possession of mine and workers alike."

  Chives clicked his tongue. "My former master alleged cheating. Most

  discourteous of him, especially compared to Sir Dominic's urbanity in

  inviting him out. The funeral was well attended by the miners. Sir

  Dominic arranged for their repatriation, but kept me since this was far

  from Shalmu and, besides, I required a long course of chelating drugs to

  cleanse my system. Meanwhile he employed me in his service. I soon

  decided I had no wish to return to a society of ... natives ... and

  strove to make myself valuable to him."

  Head cocked, chin in hand, tail switching, Chives studied the lunch

  layout. "Yes, I believe this will suffice. Akvavit and beer for

  beverages, needless to say. Since you wish occupation, Donna, you may

  assist me in setting the table."

  She scarcely heard. "Maze, if he's a decent man," she blurted, "how can

  he work for an Empire that lets things like, like your case happen?"

  "I have oftener heard Sir Dominic described in such terms as--ah--for

  example, a slightly overexcited gentleman once called him a

  cream-stealing tomcat with his conscience in his balls, if you will

  pardon the expression, Donna. The fact is, he did cheat in that poker

  game. But as for the Empire, like the proverbial centenarian I suggest

  you consider the alternative. You will find tableware in yonder

  cabinet."

  Kossara bit her lip and took the hint.

  "To the best of my admittedly circumscribed knowledge," Chives said

  after silver, china, and glass (not vitryl) stood agleam upon snowy

  linen, "your folk have, on the whole, benefited from the Empire. Perhaps

  I am misinformed. Would you care to summarize the history for me while

  the spiced meatballs are heating?"

  His slim emerald form squatted down on the deck. Kossara took a bench,

  stared at her fists resting knotted on her lap, and said dully:

  "I don't suppose the details, six hundred years of man on Dennitza,

  would interest anybody else. That is how long since Yovan Matavuly led

  the pioneers there. They were like other emigrant groups at the time,

  hoping not alone for opportunity, room to breathe, but to save

  traditions, customs, language, race--ethnos, identity, their souls if

  you like--everything they saw being swallowed up. They weren't many, nor

  had the means to buy much equipment. And Dennitza ... well, there are

  always problems in settling a new planet, physical environment,

  biochemistry, countless unknowns and surprises that can be lethal--but

  Dennitza was particularly hard. It's in an ice age. The habitable areas

  are limited. And in those days it was far from any trade routes, had

  nothing really to attract merchants of the League--"

  Speaking of the ancestors heartened her. She raised head and voice.

  "They didn't fall back to barbarism, no, no. But they did, for

  generations, have to put aside sophisticated technology. They lacked the

  capital, you see. Clan systems developed; feuding, I must admit; a

  spirit of local independence. The barons looked after their own. That

  social structure persisted when industrialism began, and affected it."

  Quickly: "Don't think we were ever ignorant yokels. The

  Shkola--university and research centrum--is nearly as old as the colony.

  The toughest backwoodsman respects learning as much as he does

  marksmanship or battle bravery."

  "Do you not have a Merseian element in the population?" Chives asked.

  "Yes. Merseian-descended, that is, from about four hundred years ago.

  You probably know Merseia itself was starting to modernize and move into

  space then, under fearful handicaps because of that supernova nearby and

  because of the multi-cornered struggle for power between Vachs,

  Gethfennu, and separate nations. The young Dennitzan industries needed

  labor. They welcomed strong, able, well-behaved displaced persons."

  "Do such constitute a large part of your citizenry, Donna?
"

  "About ten percent of our thirty million. And twice as many human

  Dennitzans live outsystem; since our industry and trade got well

  underway, we've been everywhere in that part of space. So what is this

  nonsense I hear about us being Merseian-infiltrated?"

  Yet we might be happier in the Roidhunate, Kossara added.

  Chives recalled her: "I have heard mention of the Gospodar. Does my lady

  care to define his functions? Is he like a king?"

  "M-m-m, what do you mean by 'king'? The Gospodar is elected out of the

  Miyatovich family by the plemichi, the clan heads and barons. He has

  supreme executive authority for life or good behavior, subject to the

  Grand Court ruling on the constitutionality of what he does. A Court

  verdict can be reversed by the Skuptshtina--Parliament, I suppose you

  would say, though it has three chambers, for plemichi, commons, and

  ychani ... zmayi ... our nonhumans. Domestic government is mainly left

  to the different okruzhi--baronies? prefectures?--which vary a lot. The

  head of one of those may inherit office, or may be chosen by the

  resident clans, or may be appointed by the Gospodar, depending on

  ancient usage. He--such a nachalnik, I mean--he generally lets townships

  and rural districts tend their own affairs through locally elected

  councillors."

  "The, ah, ychani are organized otherwise, I take it."

  Kossara gave Chives a look of heightened respect. "Yes. Strictly by

  clans--or better say Vachs--subject only to planetary law unless there's

  some special fealty arrangement. And while you can find them anywhere on