The Privateer 2: AN HONEST LIVING

by Zellmann, William

  "You think he's building up there?"

  Zant's grin flared again. "Oh, yeah. Gorby Town had what, about ten thousand people? I'd bet there's enough traffic for three times that number now."

  Cale frowned. "Any signs of small groups heading north or west?"

  Zant shook his head. "Not yet. But these are high-def cameras, not super-def spy cams. It would be easy for them to sneak past us, especially at night. You think it's about to pop?"

  Cale sighed. "I hope not. Anyway, send down the Din-class, and you come with it. We're going to need your help."

  ********

  Coronel-General Ferdinand Ochoa-Mariden, Army of Santiago, retired, tossed the paper aside. It looked as though the third team had slipped out of Gorby Town last night without being noticed. Well, at least there'd been no reaction from that fool Rankin. No, that was wrong. Rankin was no fool, just a misguided idealist with a horrible sense of timing.

  Just as the General had been able to begin putting his plan for the unification and pacification of Jumbo's inhabited areas into effect, Rankin shows up with all that high-flown, idealistic rhetoric, and seizes the space station and his only starship. And now, he didn't even have the lifeboat, thanks to Rankin's sabotage. In one fell swoop, the air and space resources he'd counted on so heavily had been reduced to two damaged flitters.

  He slammed a fist on his desk. Why couldn't he make the man understand? Belen's plan would take a century to slowly begin lifting Jumbo back to civilization. And for nearly all that time, the colony would be vulnerable to attack by nomads or kings. But his plan would have a united Jumbo back on the road to the stars within a generation. Well, okay, maybe two.

  Yes, it would take a leader who was strong and tough-minded. These barbarians would have to be dragged, kicking and screaming, up the ladder. Left to themselves, the locals would spend the next 500 years the same way they'd spent the last 500; huddled on tiny subsistence farms, under the thumbs of ridiculous, tin-pot 'kings'.

  The first step, of course, was to unite the people of the settled area, to get them all pulling in the same direction. Yes, there would be resistance, but he had planned for that. And of course, he'd have to do something about all this 'magic' nonsense.

  The nomads would have been easy to handle. A few terror raids by his troops, and then a landing by the Din-class and an ultimatum: the savages could move well away from the settled area, return to the settled area and join Jumbo's development, or suffer extermination.

  He'd anticipated that they would fight, but with his space- and air-borne resources, all that would take would be the guts to see it through.

  He sighed. He wouldn't live to see it, of course, but within a century, the people of Jumbo would be ready to take the Din-Class back into space.

  But only if he could stop Rankin from spoiling The Plan. Okay, the man had gotten to that Rajo fellow before his own troops could. That meant Rajo would be the front man and rallying point for the opposition.

  Spec Ops troops weren't Intelligence types, but he'd found four volunteers that resembled the local people. A hypnogogue session to give them the local dialects, and they'd headed north, two of them through Whitan, and the others slipping north from Gorby Town. They all had concealed ultracoms using tactical frequencies Rankin's civilians weren't likely to know about.

  The function of the spies was twofold: to gather intelligence, and to assist the raiding force when it finally assembled in the ruins of old Valhalla.

  It would have to be a lightning raid: destroy the castle and kill the king and his family, and then break up again into small teams and attack Rankin's military preparations before escaping down the river.

  Once the attack on the castle was reported successful, the force he had slowly built up along the Gorby-Terjo border would attack and seize Terjo. That would attract Rankin and his ships into range of his concealed heavy lasers. With luck, he wouldn't have to destroy more than one starship, preferably that little yacht of Rankin's. They would need the space station and starships later, when Jumbo was ready, and the two Din-class ships would be much more useful than that gingerbread yacht. Too bad. He rather liked that yacht.

  Why couldn't that young fool see reason?

  ********

  "Did you take the hypnogogue training?" Cale asked.

  Zant groaned. "Yes, and I have the headache to show for it. So why did I do it?"

  Cale grinned. "One of our problems is that the kings all believe in 'honorable war'. If they had their way, our armies would line up facing each other and charge. They would rather lose the war than lose their 'honor'." He shook his head. "You and I know the General won't fight that way. The only king who seemed at all interested in the sniper rifles was Graylen of Whitan. The others considered them 'dishonorable' weapons. I'm planning to visit Graylen, and take him a few sniper rifles. I'd like to know why he's so interested in them. I'm hoping he's a bit more pragmatic than these other honor-bound idiots."

  "Anyway, I managed to get King Rajo to ask the others to send us their best hunters, and any poachers or livestock killers in their dungeons. I'm hoping you'll be able to turn them into snipers. You're a frontiersman yourself, so you'll be able to relate to them."

  Zant frowned and shook his head. "Hunters aren't usually joiners. Mostly they're loners who don't like people much. You're right though," he continued, "they would make good snipers." He brightened. "Our best bet is the poachers. They're used to sneaking around and killing from hiding. And those breech loading, smokeless powder rifles will be a big selling point." He shrugged. "Okay, I'll try. But we'd better keep looking. One good sniper will be worth more than a dozen fools standing up to show their bravery."

  Cale nodded. "I've got some ideas about that. But the first thing we have to do is get that ship unloaded."

  "Good luck. So far, all our cargo handlers want to do is stand back and stare at the ship. They're terrified of it."

  "I know," Cale replied. "King Rajo is sending down his Great Wizard to banish the evil spirits. Dee is flying him down here by flitter. After all, Valhalla Town is almost all the way across the kingdom from the river."

  Zant looked around with a puzzled expression. "Yeah. What's the story on this place? A big river port upriver from Nirvana ought to be humming. But this place has been abandoned for years."

  Cale smiled. "It was humming, ten years ago. I've heard they even considered moving the capital of the kingdom down here. But then the nomads decided it would be fun to pick off people as they went by on boats. It wasn't too long before river sailors became hard to find, and river traffic stopped completely."

  Zant shook his head. "Stupid," he said. "Just put some people on the boats to pick off the nomads." He paused. "What is it with these nomads, anyway? Why is everybody so scared of them? I mean, there's only a few thousand of them, and they keep millions bottled up west of the river."

  Cale frowned. "I think it's their ferocity. Why do the people on Selfa fear the dire cat so much?"

  "They don't stop," Zant replied. "The only way to stop a dire cat is to kill it. Wound it, and it'll still spend its last breath trying to kill you. It's all attack, no defense. You can't chase it off with threats or warning shots. They don't even respond to subsonics."

  Cale nodded. "I think it's the same with the nomads. When we were surveying and they attacked, I fired several laser bolts in front of their mounts. You would think a bright bar of light boiling the ground at their feet would scare them off. It didn't even slow them down. Like your dire cat – all offense, no defense. The only way to stop those nomads was to kill them. And they'll charge right into your weapon. Most humans don't function on that level. Even most animals don't. People talk about 'savage' beasts, but most beasts, even predators, will try to avoid injury. After all, an injured predator can't hunt, and will starve.

  "Anyway, think of the nomads as human dire cats. If the term applies to any humans, the Jumbo nomads can rightly be called 'savages'. They're fanatical, but apparently their fixati
on is focused on destroying anyone who invades their territory."

  Zant nodded soberly. "I think I understand." After a moment he continued, "You know, the dire cat is being purposely hunted to extinction. The people of Selfa decided they're just too dangerous to exist."

  Cale's eyebrows rose. "Really?" He paused. "I wouldn't be surprised if within a century the nomads aren't extinct as well, and for the same reason. With the weapons technology we're bringing to Jumbo, it might even be less than a generation. Mankind will not permit itself to be forever caged by savages."

  *********

  "Hey Sarge! C'mere, will ya? I got another one."

  "Another what, Vasquez?" the large man with sergeant's stripes on his Santiago battledress strolled casually over, his blaster cradled in his arm.

  The short, swarthy private shrugged. "Another one won't tell me his name."

  The sergeant looked at the compact, rather heavy middle-aged man and the cart he pulled. He turned to the private. "Vasquez, don't you ever read your briefing sheets? You don't ask people for their names here. They're afraid you'll hex 'em or something."

  The private's eyebrows rose. "Hex 'em? You mean like magic and crap?"

  The sergeant shook his head. "Exactly like magic, you idiot. Three weeks on this duty and you can't even remember that?" He turned to the man pulling the cart. "Where ya headed, trader?"

  The obviously frightened man bobbed his head. "King's Town, if't please." He replied, his voice quavering.

  The sergeant nodded and turned back to the private. "You see this cart?" at the private's nod, the sergeant continued, "it means he's a trader. He wanders from village to village trading stuff for stuff. It's okay, trader is one of the approved occupations." He turned back to the man. "You can go ahead, trader. I apologize for my man askin' for your name. He meant no threat."

  The man bobbed his head again, and resumed pushing his cart down the newly-widened road. Once the road took the checkpoint out of sight, Cale breathed a sigh of relief.

  The cart had been a last-minute idea. When he'd found that the new road between New Home and King's Town covered most of the Ham's Town-King's Town road, he'd quickly realized that the General would set up checkpoints along it. That was when he wondered whether his old trading cart was still hidden in the Giant Forest.

  Hugging the edge of the Giant Forest and avoiding the road, he'd slipped past Ham's Town and took the track that led into the forest. There was some new undergrowth, and he almost missed a landmark, but eventually, he found the small clearing where they had hidden the cart before leaving for Santiago.

  It was still there, and apparently untouched after a year. He grinned. There should even still be trade goods in it. They had taken only samples and a few valuables back to Santiago. The leather of the donkey harness was covered with mold, but still looked usable.

  He opened the cart to refresh his memory of its contents in case he was asked, then he stowed the donkey harness and closed up the cart once more. He smiled. It was almost like encountering an old friend.

  He regretted leaving the sniper rifle and ammunition in the canoe he had used to come downriver. Apparently the nomads had given up watching the river for victims. The only problem he had encountered had been the necessity to portage the canoe to bypass a sensor placed at the Whitan-Nirvana border. It had taken six trips and a long, heavy drag, but he'd apparently avoided detection.

  The sniper rifle and ammo had been held out from the 12-gun supply he'd given to Graylen of Whitan. He had been correct; the young king was very interested in the rifles. Cale had demonstrated one, and Graylen had tried one himself. But he was especially pleased when, with only two hours' practice, his best crossbowman had been able to consistently hit a man-sized target at over a hundred yards, very long range for Jumbo.

  "We are as honorable as the next king," Graylen had told him, smiling. "Which isn't very. But Rajo can afford to be honorable; he is farthest from the General. If these 'rifles' can help save Our kingdom, We are not too proud to use them, and We thank you for your gift."

  The foppish young man had been much amused by the offworld disguise kit that had changed Cale into a pudgy, middle-aged man. Cale had reluctantly offered to loan it to the King, but he doubted it would ever be returned.

  Cale had held out one rifle on a hunch. When he and Dee first visited the inhabited area, their first contact had been at a hunters' village. Cale decided that since he was going so far, it was possible he would find an opportunity to approach the hunters of that village to join his forces. Now he found himself nearly at the village, and did not have his rifle.

  He had passed Ham's Town in the darkness before he settled down for a few hours' sleep. The sun woke him early, and he grabbed a few bites of a military energy bar, washed down with water before plodding on his way. He regretted not being able to acquire a donkey or goat before grinning at himself. He was lucky to have the cart. He was certain it would help him pass any checkpoint he encountered.

  And it certainly had. In a local inn, he had heard a number of loud complaints about the limits the star men were putting on travel. Judging by the actions of the sergeant, it seemed the cart was a sort of passport.

  There were two more checkpoints before Cale entered King's Town proper, and it was late afternoon. He went to the same inn that Donord had recommended, and once again got barn space for his cart and himself. He hired the innkeeper's son to guard the cart for a few hours, and then went to Donord's inn.

  He sat across the street, watching and munching on some carrots he had bought.

  The Sergeant's Privy was busy, but not with the guardsmen who had filled it before. There were only a few of those, and from what Cale could see, they huddled around two tables in the rear of the common room.

  Men wearing Santiago battledress occupied the rest of the tables. The men were raucous and loud, shouting in Santiagan. Cale noticed there were few inn girls sitting with the star men. As the din grew louder and Donord was forced to eject some of the Santiagans, it appeared that a brawl might break out. But when Donord reached for a whistle hanging near the bar, and the guardsmen at the rear of the room began getting to their feet, order was restored.

  It was near midnight when an older man passed Cale and stopped. "You'd better get going. Curfew is at midnight and the starguard will grab you." He hurried on his way as Cale got to his feet and returned to the barn. He barred the door with a sturdy plank, and curled up under the cart.

  In the morning, he paid the innkeeper's son to fetch him a loaf of fresh-baked bread and a tankard of weak ale. Then he pushed the cart to the Sergeant's Privy, and on into the back yard. He pounded on the inn's back door until a pimply-faced teenage boy came and demanded to know his business.

  "I am a trader," he replied. "I have business with the owner."

  The boy looked annoyed. "The owner will not arrive for another hour. And he does little business with traders." He replied.

  Cale smiled. "I will wait here," he said. "I'm sure he will want to see me."

  It was more nearly two hours before the door flew open and Donord appeared, irritated and impatient. "What do you want here, trader? This is not the market."

  Cale smiled. "I come to buy, innkeeper, not sell. I wish to purchase some vodka."

  Donord started to snarl a reply when the word penetrated. "You wish to buy what?"

  Cale's smile remained. "I am informed that you sometimes have exotic drink," he said. "I'm interested in vodka. It comes in small silver flasks, I understand."

  Donord's eyes narrowed. He scanned left and right, and then replied in calm tone, "Perhaps I can help you, trader. Let's look in the storehouse." He led the way to the building where Cale had seen his pot still.

  The pot still was still there, as was the column still next to it. But a coating of dust showed they were not in use. Donord entered first, holding the door for Cale.

  As soon as Cale was inside, Donord slammed the door and grabbed Cale's jacket front, pushing him roughl
y against the closed door. "Who are you, and what do you know of flasks and vodka?"

  "It's me, Cale," he replied. "I'm in disguise, but close your eyes and listen to my voice. I'm Cale. My wife Dee gave you the leg you now wear, and I gave you the column still, there. I also gave you books and a reader."

  There was a quick movement, and suddenly Donord's knife was at Cale's throat. "Now tell me why I should not slit your throat and be done with you. You betrayed our good King Karel, and you betrayed me. You brought these strangers here who have turned our king into a puppet and his great-nephew into a hostage. You promised much, little man, but you delivered only misery."

  "Is that why you stopped distilling?" Cale asked softly.

  Pain crossed Donord's face. "You gave me hope, and a chance for a bright future. And then the animals you brought snatched away the brightness. Nearly all the old guardsmen have been replaced by star guards, and the ones that remain are watched constantly. The king is a prisoner in his own castle, his words and actions dictated by the star men. The one they call 'General' told King Karel that Ulrik is a hostage to his good behavior, and that if the king does not do as the star men order, Ulrik will die, King Karel will die, and the star men will lay waste to King's Town. So now, the king is their puppet, and the people think he has betrayed them." His face hardened. "Nirvana is destroyed, but at least I will have the satisfaction of destroying you, as you have destroyed us."

  "Donord," Cale said, and the man hesitated at the sound of his name. "These men are not the people I contracted to bring to Jumbo. Think, Donord. The misery did not start until sire Belen, the colony leader, was killed by nomads. These people are criminals. War criminals. They claim to be soldiers, but they are only killers. They have stolen Nirvana's future, and we have returned to defeat them and return Jumbo to its proper owners.

  "We have returned with a starship full of weapons and have allied with the four remaining kings. I have come to seek your help in fighting these monsters."