by Isaac Asimov
“The chance of accident is greater, too,” said Hunter. “Please choose an edged weapon.”
“Okay.” Steve shrugged and picked up a rapier. “I’ll try this one. How about scabbards and belts?”
“Sorry, my friends,” said Henri. “I have collected these fine weapons wherever I could, but mostly they came from unfortunates who fell in courageous battle. Belts and scabbards were not close to hand.”
“Whatever.” Steve shrugged.
“Bargain with him,” Rita whispered to Hunter. Hunter tried, but without knowing the going price of swords and daggers, he was at a disadvantage. Rita helped, arguing vigorously and three times walking away from the booth in feigned disgust. Finally, at her instruction, Hunter bought all the weapons for less than a handful of coins.
The team walked away, satisfied.
“An interesting cultural phenomenon,” said Hunter. “My stored information tells me that parts of the world still routinely bargain even in our time. I had never experienced it before. It is more psychology than economics.”
“That’s right,” said Rita. “But now we all need belts or sashes to wear, to hold up our weapons.”
“Rita,” said Jane, pointing. “Look at the that booth, over there. Those are sashes and scarves.”
“Perfect,” said Rita. “Come on, Hunter.”
This time, Hunter bargained alone and successfully purchased four long cotton sashes, two of faded blue and two that were more or less black. Each member of the team took one. At Rita’s direction, they tied them around their waists and stuck their weapons through them at the hip.
“Good enough,” said Rita, looking around with an excited expression. “This is really special for me. I can hardly believe I’m doing this. I’ve spent my entire adult life studying this time and this region. And now I’m actually here.”
“We are glad to have you with us,” said Hunter. He looked at Rita and Jane. “What do you suggest now? How can we maximize our chances of finding MC 2?”
“Well …” Jane hesitated. “We’re back to what I Said earlier, I guess, about looking around the waterfront. After all, he may not have returned to full size yet, in which case we won’t find him now anyway.”
“I agree that we should circulate,” said Rita. “Maybe we can meet a few people and tell them to watch for someone of his description.”
“Ah, yes,” said Hunter. “In other words, create a network of people who can help us search.”
“That’s right,” said Rita. “But before we ask them for any help, we have to establish a rapport with them. Buccaneers survive partly by being suspicious of strangers. Offering a reward wouldn’t hurt.”
“We do not want to reveal unnecessarily that we are carrying much money,” said Hunter.
“Let’s talk to some people,” said Jane. “Then we can decide how to handle them.”
“I see taverns all up and down the docks,” said Steve. “How are we going to pick one to start?”
Rita thought for a moment, gazing up the street. “We have to be careful. Buccaneer women aren’t well thought of. Let’s start in one of the open-air taverns. The clientele is more varied and we can get away more easily if we have to leave.”
“I hope I don’t regret this,” said Jane.
“Hunter, you should go first. Lead us into that sidewalk tavern there.” Rita pointed. “Some other women are there, and they seem safe so far.”
“All right.”
Hunter walked in front, with the other three close behind. He was aware that many of the rough, dirty men looked up at him in some surprise. Hunter was, of course, unusually tall and powerful, and he knew he had attracted some attention on their earlier walk through town. He decided that the buccaneers routinely appraised the fighting ability of those around them, either as potential opponents in a brawl or as comrades on board ship.
In front of Hunter, a short, brawny buccaneer stomped forward to a bar made of three rough planks resting on a couple of barrels. Behind the makeshift bar, an overweight man in a shirt with full, baggy sleeves was dipping tankards into an open keg and setting them on the bar. Hunter watched carefully.
“Gimme four o’ those,” said the man in front, tossing down a small coin.
Hunter quickly sorted through his pouch for a coin of the same size. When his turn came, he tossed it down on the bar. “I would like four drinks, also, please.”
The barkeep glanced at him in surprise, perhaps at his phrasing, but said nothing. The man set four full tankards on the bar and scooped the coin into a pouch of his own. Hunter turned and handed out the tankards to his companions.
“Let’s move out of the way of the bar,” said Rita. She edged through the crowd and the others followed her.
Hunter took a sip of his drink. He found the flavor too strong to be pleasant. As his system quickly analyzed its contents, he realized that the substance was called rum. In small amounts, it was not necessarily dangerous to humans, but its effects could be if the amount accumulated.
Steve took a mouthful and grimaced before swallowing. “Wow. No wonder these guys are mean.”
“Please be careful with the amount of alcohol you consume,” said Hunter. “Remember, I am concerned with your health, under the First Law.”
Rita and Jane both took more cautious tastes. “Our modern rum is more refined,” Rita said quietly. “This is rather harsh, isn’t it?”
Jane made a face. “I think I’ll just hold mine, to look the part.”
“Aye, drink up,” said a stranger, hoisting his tankard to Hunter. “It flows freely in Port Royal tonight, but you never know when the river will stop.” He was tall man, only a little shorter than Hunter, with bushy red hair.
“Good evening,” said Hunter. “My name is Hunter. These are Steve, Rita, and Jane.”
“Greetings to all. I am Leitch. Haven’t seen you before, Hunter; you’re too big to forget. Sail in recently, did you?”
“We arrived today,” said Hunter. He glanced at Rita for help, concerned that he might say something that would reveal their status as ignorant strangers.
“I don’t recall any ships putting in today,” said another man, staggering against Leitch. He was a shorter, stocky man with a French accent.
Leitch elbowed him hard and shoved him upright again. “You sleep all day again, Cresson?”
Rita took Hunter’s arm casually and leaned against him. He realized that this was part of her playacting, but he was not sure what to do in response. Deciding to be cautious, he did nothing.
“Hunter,” said Rita. “I’ll bet these guys know a lot of people. Maybe we should tell them what your friend looks like. I know you want to be careful, but we could ask them.”
“How’s that?” Leitch looked at her over his tankard as he took another swig.
“I am searching for a friend,” said Hunter. “A small, slender man, probably in clothes that, uh —” He stopped uncertainly, looking at Rita.
“He probably scavenged them someplace,” said Rita. “He never has any money.”
“Sounds like most of my friends,” said Leitch, grinning at Cresson.
“He learns fast,” said Steve. “But he hasn’t spent much time in this part of the world.”
“Ah! Doesn’t know the ropes, eh?” Cresson nodded. “Can’t say I’ve seen anyone of that sort around lately, but if he’s on the docks, we’ll see him sooner or later.”
Leitch eyed Steve carefully. “Spanish, are you? With a touch of Moorish blood? Your English is very good.”
“Thank you,” said Steve, with a shrug.
Hunter saw that Jane was quietly shifting behind Steve. Cresson was studying her with a great deal of interest. Steve glanced at Hunter.
Suddenly angry shouts could be heard off to ‘one side, toward the docks. Hunter turned and was able to see over the heads of most of the crowd. Two buccaneers had squared off, one holding a curved dagger much like Rita’s and the other grasping a belaying pin.
Hunter’s first
reflex was to shove forward through the crowd and stop them. He resisted it, with effort, reminding himself that the larger First Law issue in the future took precedence over the welfare of these two buccaneers. Still, he stared at them with a kind of horror.
“Steady, Hunter,” said Jane softly. “If you’re having trouble, review your internal data about chaos theory. Reinforce your understanding that the First Law can be served by letting these guys fight.”
“Thank you,” Hunter said quietly. He followed her instructions instantaneously. It helped him keep his priorities clear, though his positronic brain still wanted to break up the fight.
“Haw! Look at that!” Leitch punched Cresson on the arm. “I’ll wager the next round of drinks that Carlos takes him.”
“With a belaying pin? You’re on,” said Cresson. “Come on, let’s move closer.”
They both pushed forward to see better.
Hunter realized that nearly everyone in the crowd was laughing, yelling encouragement or insults, and wagering on the outcome of the fight. None of them seemed to take it seriously, though both combatants held potentially lethal weapons. Their casual attitude toward such violence matched his historical data, but it made him very uncomfortable.
“All right, Hunter?” Jane asked, taking his arm. “You aren’t freezing up, are you?”
“No, Jane,” said Hunter. “I have to remain active in order to protect the three of you if the violence spreads. I think we should leave, though, and look elsewhere for MC 2.”
“Good idea.”
“Okay,” Steve said reluctantly. He obviously wanted to watch the fight.
“Let’s go out this way,” said Rita. She led the team away from the crowd to one side, well away from the developing fight. Other eager observers moved up to take their places.
The team followed Rita up the waterfront. Hunter felt a slight sense of relief, but he realized that these First Law situations were going to continue as long as he was in the past among humans. In this respect, going back to the dinosaur age had been easier, since the only humans there had all come from the future.
Jane stopped suddenly, grabbing Hunter’s arm. “There’s another fight.”
Hunter looked. Ahead, two large men were shouting at each other in the light from a tavern doorway. A short, slender man was trying to interfere.
5
ALL THREE FIGURES in the tavern doorway were silhouettes against the torchlight from inside. None of them could be seen clearly. So far, they were merely scuffling with each other, the two larger men yelling insults.
“Is the short one MC 2?” Rita asked anxiously.
“He’s roughly the right size,” Steve said in a low voice, uncertainly. “Hunter, what do you think? What do you want us to do?”
Striding forward quickly, Hunter turned up all his senses. The figure trying to break up the fight was not speaking, but just pushing between the two men, so Hunter couldn’t judge his voice. He was calling MC 2 on his internal radio link, but MC 1 had shut down his receiver to avoid receiving messages under the Second Law; MC 2 would probably do the same.
“We have to stop him and see,” Hunter decided. “I will go first. If you can help, act on your own, but don’t take any risks unnecessarily.” He jogged forward.
Suddenly the two shouting men lunged at each other, grappling for a moment and trying to gain some advantage. The smaller figure had gotten caught between them. Hunter broke into a run.
“Stop!” Hunter shouted in a deep, authoritative voice as he drew closer. “Stop!” None of the three struggling fighters seemed to hear him.
Hunter reached the three and grabbed an arm of the two larger men in each hand. Neither was as tall as Hunter. He pulled them apart and shoved, pushing them off balance. In the same moment, the smaller man ducked under one of Hunter’s outstretched arms and backed away.
“Hey! What’s it to you?” One of the big men glared at Hunter in surprise.
The other, without a word, swung a fist toward Hunter. With his fast reflexes, he dodged it with an easy, slight movement, then pushed both men away from him again. He was just about to speak, hoping to discourage them from further resistance, when he heard angry voices and the sound of footsteps running toward him from the tavern doorway.
Hunter turned and found a crowd of drunken pirates running toward him, yelling. He knew he could not stop them without a very hard collision, which might hurt them. So when the first four men threw themselves at him, he allowed himself to be tackled and taken down.
A moment later, however, Hunter gathered his legs under him and, with a wad of buccaneers’ clothes in each hand, stood up. The others simply fell off him; the two flailed wildly in his grip. Hunter dropped them, judging that a fall to the street would not do them any harm. Then he stepped back, warily looking around to defend himself again.
The buccaneers were muttering among themselves, but none wanted to go after Hunter alone.
“Come on, Hunter,” Steve called from behind him. “This guy isn’t MC 2, after all.”
Hunter stepped backward toward Steve’s voice, eager to avoid any further chance of harming these violent humans. Likewise, they remained where they were on the ground, eyeing him in drunken surprise. None of them spoke as Hunter joined the rest of the team.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Rita. “Hunter, you bring up the rear and see if they follow us.”
The slender buccaneer whom Hunter had rescued stayed with them as they jogged down the waterfront quickly, slipping through the crowd. Hunter focused both his vision and his hearing on the men they had left behind, but he detected no sign of pursuit. Instead, muttering to each other angrily, they just returned to the tavern.
“We have no pursuit,” Hunter announced. “We can walk if you prefer.”
“You sure?” Steve asked, but he slowed to a walk, as did the others. He looked back over his shoulder. “I guess pirates could be pretty sneaky.”
“They went back inside,” Hunter assured him. “Their motivation for another fight was lower than their motivation for more drinking.”
“That’s no surprise to me, mate,” said their new companion, in a strong British accent. “We merely had a difference of opinion about whose turn it was to pay for the round of drinks. Nothing to get your throat slashed for, hey?”
Hunter studied him. He was a young man with sun-bleached blond hair and a quick smile. Now that he was out of the shadows and walking normally, Hunter could see that he was almost as slender as MC 2, but really much taller. His clothes were similar to those of Hunter and Steve, knee breeches and a loose white shirt with flowing sleeves for freedom of movement. A belt and scabbard with a rapier in it completed the man’s attire.
“I am Roland Burke.” He turned to Rita. “And, sweet lady, you are? …”
“Rita,” she said, startled by the way he had addressed her.
Hunter introduced the rest of them.
“I’m pleased to meet you all,” said Roland. “Hunter, I thank you for your assistance. My friends can be short-tempered when the talk turns to hard coin.”
“Your opponents in the fight were your friends?” Hunter was surprised.
“Ah, well, does any buccaneer have true friends?” Roland shrugged.
Steve, saying nothing, was watching Roland with curiosity. Rita was staring at him in open fascination. Roland seemed oblivious to their interest, waving to an acquaintance in the crowd.
Hunter turned to Jane. “Is this important?” Hunter asked quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“This puzzles me,” said Hunter. “Friends brawling with each other does not fit my data on human behavior. As a roboticist, please inform me.”
“Yes, this is important.” Jane smiled indulgently. “And it’s reliable, at least in some circles and cultural milieus. Friendship is a complex idea. Store your new data. I suspect that the buccaneers are going to show you a lot of new human behavior before we go home.”
Hunter nodded.
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“Well, Hunter?” Steve looked up at him. “Aren’t we going to keep looking for you-know-who?”
“Yes, of course. Let us walk.”
Rita could hardly believe that she was actually talking to a real buccaneer. She had always loved reading about the buccaneers when she had been young. As an adult, she had chosen to make a career out of studying the history of the seventeenth century Caribbean. Until Roland had spoken to her, however, everyone had still seemed unreal. Talking to him had made her realize that she was truly in the past
As Hunter led the way down the waterfront, with Steve and Jane behind him, Rita and Roland came last.
“You have some pretty rough friends,” she said, jerking her thumb back toward the tavern.
“Eh? Oh, them!” Roland laughed. “No worse than I am, I fear.”
“Oh?” Rita laughed too, amused at his tone. “Have you been in Port Royal long?”
“Oh, coming and going, I’ve been here a few years,” he said, waving his hand vaguely.
“You mean sailing in and out of port?”
“Aye.”
“Searching for Spanish ships?”
“Privateering, Rita.” He caught her eye and grinned. That expression was almost a dare.
“Always?” She raised an eyebrow skeptically.
“Well … sometimes the governor’s commission can run out, you know, or a treaty will be signed across the sea in London.” He shrugged helplessly, still smiling. “What can a poor buccaneer do about that?”
“Not a thing, I’m sure.” Rita laughed, telling herself that getting to know a real buccaneer would advance her professional knowledge.
“Aye, sweet lady, not a single thing.” He winked and then threw his head back and laughed.
“You ever kill anyone?” She nodded toward the rapier swinging in its scabbard at his side.
“I’m still walking and talking, and not every man I’ve met on the high seas can say that.”
That might have sounded grim, except for his lighthearted tone. Rita didn’t think he was bragging as much as he was laughing at himself. She wondered if he was even better with the sword than he had admitted.