Crisis On Doona

by Anne McCaffrey

  “No, son,” and Ken grabbed Todd’s arm as he passed. “You’ll saddle up Gypsy and go out hunting for likely places to stash livestock. Pat, you send out a blanket message to all ranches to be on the lookout for such storage spots, and also query folks about barren mares. Kelly, will you ask your father and brothers to help?”

  “I’ll go there first, but I promised Nrrna that I’d come over and give Hrriss the good news as soon as I’d told you.” She dared look at Todd again.

  “You were nearer Hrriss if you came in on the village grid,” he said.

  Kelly cocked her head at him, thought she wanted to shake him out of his stasis. Couldn’t he see what her priority was? She planted her fists at her belt so she wouldn’t do something drastic in front of his parents. “I’ve got my priorities in order, Todd Reeve. Hrriss doesn’t ranch horses.” With that she pushed past him and out of the house, down the steps, and vaulted to Calypso’s back before she thought what she was doing.

  “Hey ... Kelly?” Todd’s plaintive, puzzled call followed her down the track.

  When he went back into the house, he saw the amused expressions on his parents’ faces. “What’d I do to upset her?”

  “For a bright man, you can be as dense as two planks,” his mother said, and took herself back to the kitchen.

  Todd looked at his father, who was making strangled noises.

  “I think, son, it’s more what you didn’t do that’s upset her. And you should get your priorities right. But not now. Now we got some rustler pens to find. You’ll have time to apologize to Kelly later.”

  “Apologize?”

  Ken turned his son around and shoved him toward the door. “Saddle my horse when you’re tacking Gypsy. Tell Lon what we’re going to look for and let’s get going!” Ken’s voice raised to a triumphant shout as Todd pitched forward and out the door from his father’s hefty push.

  * * *

  What he should apologize to Kelly for bothered him as soon as he set off in the southeasterly direction his father had appointed him to search so that he could stay within the Reeve Ranch limits for more klicks than if he went west or north.

  Perhaps he ought to have been more effusive in his thanks, but he’d been so scared that Kelly had done something stupid—which she had, only it worked out right—or been abducted—which was not really a possibility, but in his anxiety he had imagined all kinds of gory fates. She really had come up a heroine to smuggle herself back to Earth on a Hrruban grid... he ground his teeth, knowing that she had faced a sentence of life on a penal world if she’d been caught. Why hadn’t she gone to one of those girlfriends she’d told him about? Who was this Dalkey Petersham? Why would she sponsor a Terran to Doona, a Terran working in Spacedep? It was analogous to inviting Jilamey Landreau to a weekend at her family’s lake cabin.

  And this DeVeer Polly! Who hadn’t really listened to his father when he reported hides that didn’t match their records. They had got the wrong end of that stick, all right. Stupid not to have tumbled to the duplications. Kiachif once again to the rescue. Only then did Todd become aware that Gypsy’s gallop was slowing. Gently he eased the gray to a more sedate pace. No sense taking his frustration out on his horse. He gave Gypsy’s neck several affectionate slaps to reassure him and kneed him toward the nearest height. It commanded a good view over to the next range of hills. As he reined Gypsy in, he looked out over the land, peaceful and greening up well. More mares would be foaling ...

  An odd noise attracted both him and Gypsy at the same time, the horse pricking his ears and turning his head to the right. An echo it was, a bass echo, too loud for a nearby mda. The sound gathered intensity, and suddenly, out of the fold of the hills before him, he saw the pointed snout of a shuttle angling upward. It pulled up above the hills, its engines roaring, thrusters blazing.

  Todd sent Gypsy down the hill at a gallop while he grabbed for his radio and called the ranch.

  “Mom! Notify Martinson at once. A shuttle just illegally lifted off our property. I’m going to see if there are any traces of stock near the launch burn.”

  “What? Are you sure, Todd?”

  “Mom! Don’t argue. Tell Martinson to monitor the tracking satellites. They can catch him as he leaves the atmosphere.”

  Despite the clip at which he pushed Gypsy, it took him nearly an hour to reach the launch spot. What he saw there made him weep, but it was also incontrovertible truth that someone had been rustling Reeve livestock. Concealed in a fold of the hill, where trees formed a screen, a paddock had been fenced, the posts and rails so well disguised by shrubs, some of them rroamal, that Ken, or Todd, or Lon could have ridden by here every day and never noticed the setup. They wouldn’t have looked past the rroamal to the glade, for horses avoided that plant as carefully as Humans did. Water had been piped into a big barrel, fitted with a stopcock. Dung dotted the little glade, enough for twenty or so horses, just the number to make a nice profit for the rustler’s efforts. But not all the horses had been loaded and that’s what upset Todd the most. Three yearlings, well grown, freeze-marked with the Reeve brand, lay on the ground. One had a broken neck—probably caused fighting to resist being loaded, for the rope burns on head and neck were obvious. The other two had broken legs. The nails that had been driven between their eyes into their skulls had not been removed. Todd shuddered. Circling the corral, Todd also found the bleach marks that freeze-brand chemicals made when carelessly spilled.

  His radio bleeped.

  “Todd?” It was Lon.

  “They caught ’em?”

  “Nothing, Todd,” and Lon’s voice sounded as savage as Todd felt. “Linc Newry says there was no alarm from the orbiters.”

  “But that’s impossible. I saw it launch. There has to be traces of that!”

  “I’ll patch Linc through to you,” Lon said, and Todd was too enraged to bother to hold the handset from his ear to avoid the high-pitch squeal as the patch to the Launch Center was made.

  “I know you think you saw something, Todd,” Newry said apologetically but firmly. “But no ships took off Doona today at all and none were scheduled to land.”

  “Linc, I know what I saw! I know what I see about me right now—three dead yearlings with nails driven through their skulls because one had a broken neck and two had broken legs. Check your readouts, will ya? Check your equipment ...” Todd almost suggested that Linc check for tampering but that would be premature. He knew Linc Newry too well to suspect the man was in league with Doona’s detractors, but this was the time to stand pat and let someone with clout, like DeVeer, handle that end of the business.

  “Todd, I’m serious. Nothing came through the atmosphere. All readings are normal. But you can be sure I’ll keep my eyes peeled to the gauges. Could be they only up-and-overed. Maybe they had another rendezvous but they won’t leave Doona without my seeing ‘em tonight.”

  “You’re probably right. They up-and-overed. Thanks, Linc. Over and out!” He held the radio away from his ear as the connection ended, then dialed Lon again.

  “Ouch,” Lon said. “I didn’t disconnect. I heard what he said, Todd, and I heard what you said. Fardling bastards! When I get my hands on ‘em ... Give me your whereabouts. We’ll join you to film the evidence. Got any idea whose they were rustling?”

  “The one with the broken neck is a leopard Appaloosa,” Todd said, his shoulders sagging at the irony.

  * * *

  Uncharacteristically loud voices echoed in the Council room of the Speakers of Hrruba. Third Speaker raised his voice to be heard above them all. He was getting old, but fury gave his throat the power to shout down his opponents who were arguing over his tirade against Rrala. Only the banging of the gavel of First Speaker Hrruna put an end to the snarling and growls.

  “That is enough,” First Speaker said in a very soft voice. “Third Speaker, will you give substance to your demand that Rrala be disbanded?”


  “You have all read the report from the Treaty Controller,” Third said, raking his fellow administrators with a glare which stopped short just before it fell on First Speaker. “One of our most prominent young diplomats is involved in a disgraceful situation, in which he is accused of capital crimes, in violation both of the Treaty of Rrala and of Hrruban Law. Hrrss theft! Robbery from interdicted worlds! He has been corrupted by his Hayuman companion. I have been getting full reports from my representatives on Rrala, and none of it is good news. It would seem that this is not an isolated case. Honorable, honest citizens are being lured into a life of crime by these animals who walk like Hrrubans! Rrala must be closed to Hayumans, or all of society will suffer!”

  “Surely responsibility for reporting the actions on Rrala falls to Second Speaker for External Affairs,” Hrruna said, indicating Hrrto, seated to his right. The First Speaker’s mane had gone entirely white, but his eyes were as keen as ever. “I have already had his report, and it gives me the same information you offer.”

  “This information affects Internal Affairs,” Third Speaker said doggedly. “Now that the date draws near for Treaty Renewal, when the Hayumans hope to have it extended, there is a chance to painlessly end these harmful influences before they do more ill unto the youth of Hrruba. I have been besieged by special interest groups here on Hrruba. This young Hrruban, Hrriss, has been implicated in crimes committed solely to profit a Hayuman. We cannot support corruption of this kind. It is an ill example for our young people. We must withdraw our support for the continuation of the Treaty.”

  There was more shouting, and the First Speaker applied his gavel to its stand. “I have heard also from Hrruvula, counsel for the accused. He is adamant that his clients are innocent of the charges brought against them and must be allowed to clear their names. I find that I agree with him. Hrriss and Zodd have always acted in honor before.”

  “A ruse! Never did trust bareskins.” Seventh Speaker for Management was the newest member of the Council, and of the narrowest stripe. As a result, he tried harder than any of the others to follow a clear mandate from his constituency rather than make risky decisions on his own. He was diligent and the trade figures continued to rise. So much so, in fact, that the higher the balance from the benefits of trading under the Treaty conditions, the more certain he was that the Hayumans were stealing profit from Hrruban interests. “They will destroy us.”

  “I disagree,” said the Fifth Speaker for Health and Medicine. “I have close associations with many Hayuman practitioners in my specialty. They have provided us with knowledge and techniques we could not have developed on our own. They have done nothing but improve our standards. You cannot deny that mental outlook and physical health have been on the upswing since the Rrala Experiment began. Rrala has moved steadily out of what could have been a terminal situation in the younger generations, in the main due to interaction with another speaking, thinking race. Why,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, “if only for the fresh food alone, the Rralan Experiment should not be ended—certainly not because of a situation involving one single Hayuman.”

  “He is representative of his race,” Third Speaker raged, unamused. He pounded on the table and pointed a claw at First Speaker. “The one you considered to be most honorable, above all other Hayumans. Here, honor is at stake. What is cohabitation without trust? We were warned from the beginning of this unnatural colony, by this Zodd’s own father, that one day Hayumans might try to take what is ours. What is more precious than honor?”

  “Honor certainly is at stake,” Second Speaker Hrrto agreed. “The honor of a Hrruban as well as a Hayuman. And Hrruban honor requires us to wait for the results of their trial before we condemn an entire society. That would be honorable behavior on our part.”

  There was more shouting, which First Speaker silenced by banging the gavel.

  “Very well, we will put it to the vote,” Hrruna said. “Those in favor of allowing Hrriss, son of Hrrestan, and Zodd Rrev to be proved innocent, vote aye.”

  Third Speaker held up a hand to stay the voting. “As a rider to this resolution, let us set a time period in which their honor must be proved. A significant date approaches: Treaty Renewal Day. If these two have not expunged the stain on their honor by that day, we must vote against renewal, for the sake of our youth. Those on Rrala will not be penalized, for other planets have been opened,” he added, “and they can make homes there, safe from Hayuman influence.”

  No one spoke to debate that rider, though several faces reflected dismay.

  “Very well, the rider is allowed,” Hrruna said reluctantly, then called for the vote. It was overwhelmingly in favor of the motion. Satisfied, Hrruna nodded. His eyes were bleak as he addressed Third. “You may so notify the Treaty Controller of our decision.”

  Third Speaker bowed. Probably to hide his true feelings, Hrruna thought sadly.

  * * *

  The Launch Center bar was the perfect place to hold meetings, Ali Kiachif thought as he entered the place. It had small nooks and obscure corners where private conversations could be held—and the proprietor debugged his rooms at random intervals. Kiachif had most opportunely made a gap in his schedule for a long stopover at Doona; originally to discuss new rulings and profit principles with the captains who answered to him. He had acquired a second purpose which he diligently pursued, leading almost every conversation to topics that might help Ken Reeve and his boy.

  “Well, look at you,” a man said, blinking, as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom in the bar. “If I’d known you were already here, Kiachif, I’d have gone to the Centauris instead.”

  “What for?” asked Kiachif airily, shaking hands with Captain Feyder. “We’ve been there already, with all the best the colony worlds have to offer. Tell ’em, never compel ’em, and you sell ’em, that’s my motto.” The friendly rivalry between the independent merchant Rog Feyder and Ali Kiachif had gone on for years. Feyder sat down, and Kiachif signalled to the barman to bring bottles for them both.

  “I’ve got a shipment of unrefined sugar for Doona. Special order. Just unloading.” Feyder let Kiachif fill his glass, waited till Ali had filled his own, and then raised it courteously to his old rival. “Your health.”

  “Yours! Hear unrefined sugar used to make damned fine spirituous potables.”

  “Did it? Well, we make sure the customers get what they order, don’t we? Though sometimes you wonder why they pay the freight charges.”

  “Oh?” Kiachif had long since learned the art of subtle prompting.

  “Sugar’s the most ordinary thing I have on board. The damnedest things are getting shipped these days.”

  “That they are,” Kiachif agreed. “Last season, I carried a copper sculpture fifteen meters long to one of the outer agriworlds from Doona. A commissioned work by the governor to commemorate ten years of the colony, engraved with the name of every colonist and his accomplishments. It was a pain up the afterburners to handle, but orders are orders! I hate to see what he’ll ask for when twenty-five rolls around, like Doona’s is.”

  “Aye, I wanted to come back for the big celebration, but I should be worlds away by then,” Feyder said. “I’m just here on turnabout, starting me route over from the topside. No, when I say strange, I mean the epitome of strange, not ordinary strange. Listen to this one. Got a meteorite puncture on my way in from the outer worlds. After we sealed it up, I found a container cracked open in that bay, with the meteorite smack in the middle like a ball through a glass window. Splintered the whole damned thing into pieces. D’you know what had been inside?”

  “Not an idea.”

  “A beacon. An orbital drone beacon,” said Feyder, slapping his leg. “No assignment code. No idea where it came from. We checked its memory, and it was hollering Mayday like a pack of banshees. Did you ever hear such a thing in your life?”

  “By all that’s white, bright, and right,” Ali
said, holding on to his excitement, “that surely is a strange thing to report. Never heard its like in all my years in space. And it didn’t have no ID number, you say?”

  Feyder was not at all taken in by Kiachif’s idle curiosity and gave him a long sly look. “Now I can’t rightly remember.”

  “We could both take a look,” Kiachif said.

  “So you can see what else I’m hauling and crossship me? Try another one, Kiachif.”

  “Surely there must be a little favor I could do for you, Rog ol’ boy!”

  Feyder regarded him speculatively. “Well, now, there’s the matter of the Eighth Sector.”

  “Oh?” and the single sound dove and swooped up again while Kiachif’s eyes went round as ball bearings.

  “Hell, Ali, you gotta leave some routes open for the independents.”

  “That’s true enough,” Kiachif said, scratching the stubble on his chin. “I don’t want to appear greedy, or restrict free trade ... You don’t happen to have it still on board, do you?” He winked at Feyder.

  “Happen I do. But you don’t get a look at it. That amadan portmaster’s gone all rules and regs on honest traders and he sealed my hatch when I told him that I was only here to refuel and get a drink or two. I can’t unseal till I reach Earth, my next port o’ call.”

  “Earth, huh? Is that where your funny gizmo’s going?”

  Feyder drained his glass, which Kiachif promptly refilled. “Yup, going to Earth. Spacedep’s the address on the manifest.”