Mamelukes

by Jerry Pournelle

“I know Saxon says we’re supposed to find him and help him grow some weed,” Haskins said. “Sounded like weed to me, anyway.”

  “Super weed,” Jimmy Harrison said. “But that’s close enough. ’Cept the stuff’s nasty, a lot nastier to grow than hemp. But yeah, that’s one of the things the Skipper does, grows and harvests madweed.” No secret to that, Clavell thought. Everyone in Drantos knows it, so the Signory will know it too.

  “So they sent you here to help us?” Harrison continued.

  “Something like that,” Haskins said. “You reckon anyone here except us speaks English?”

  “Pretty sure none of them do,” Harrison said. “They tell you where you were going? Before they picked you up, that is.” No need to explain who “they” were.

  “No, I thought we were headed to Africa for the CIA,” Haskins said. “You?”

  “Nope. Heh, we were already in Africa for the CIA. ’Course we didn’t have much choice,” Harrison said. “Rather come here than face the Cubans.”

  “Cubans?” Haskins asked.

  “Long story,” Harrison said.

  Interesting, Clavell thought. He doesn’t know how we got here. Maybe his partner does?

  They were well across the Palazzo and almost to the Palace now. They watched as the Doge was carried in, then the nobles followed him inside.

  “You reckon we’ll ever come out of there once we go in?” Harrison asked.

  “What’s all that?” Haskins asked. “Something going on I ought to know about?”

  “There’s always something going on in Nikeis,” Clavell said. “And you ought to know all of it, but we can’t tell you because we don’t know much either. We didn’t even know for sure you guys were on the planet until a couple of days ago. Now you say you’re here to help the Skipper. Maybe they’ll let us talk things over after all the bullshit’s finished.”

  “That’d be nice,” Harrison said. He took a deep breath. “Okay, in we go.”

  * * *

  The ceremonies in the Doge’s Palace were finally over, and Bart Saxon was glad enough to leave the Doge’s Palace and go to another palazzo, which he understood was where the Signory had put up Clavell and Harrison.

  They crossed the city square, escorted by Councilor Torricelli. The tide had gone out during their time in the Palace, and the stones were wet and slippery. Shops were open all around the Palazzo and people sat sipping coffee or what passed for coffee here, more like tea if it was anything like what they’d given Saxon and Haskins during the receptions. Everyone watched as they went by, not even trying to hide where they were looking and some flat-out stared. Their destination was in the second layer of palaces beyond the shops of the square.

  Once inside he looked around in curiosity. He decided that the great hall of Sergeant Lance Clavell’s palazzo would usually be impressive, but it looked small after the Doge’s Palace, which had proven to be huge and ornate inside and out. Still, this place is large enough, Saxon thought. And now it’s mine as well as Clavell’s. Wonder if he resents that? He regarded the lavish tapestries and hangings. The Signory were certainly treating them like honored guests. Now if they’ll just leave us alone to talk . . .

  It must have been clear what he was thinking, because Councilor Torricelli bowed and spoke in Italian too rapidly for Saxon to understand. Then he and his retainers departed, leaving the star men alone in the big hall. Men, Saxon thought. Spirit had been gay enough at the reception in the Doge’s Palace, but she’d sent her regrets through Senator Avanti when they were invited to accompany Clavell and Harrison.

  Is she a hostage? Or is this a mutiny? Except it wouldn’t be mutiny, she doesn’t owe me any loyalty, and whatever relationship she has with Senator Avanti sure as hell isn’t hostage and captor. Maybe she really is just tired out. It has been a damned long day. But I do wish I knew what was going on in her head. What does she want? Hell, what do I want?

  He looked at the ornate decorations in the big hall and nodded in satisfaction.

  “Nice place,” he told Lance Clavell. “Sure you don’t mind sharing it?”

  “I don’t own it, and I’m the one that suggested you stay with us.” Clavell shrugged. “Of course it was pretty clear Torricelli’s people liked the idea. Keep us all together. Easier to guard us. He’s got a detachment outside right now.”

  “Guard is fine,” Harrison muttered.

  Clavell nodded and lowered his voice.

  “Easier to watch us, too. And make no mistake about it, Mr. Saxon, they do watch us. Every damn minute. They won’t understand English, but they’re good at reading body language. And just be sure, someone’s watching us all the time. Including now.”

  He jerked his head towards the balcony railing above them where half a dozen servants waited for anyone to show a need.

  “Why?” Haskins asked, and Harrison laughed.

  “Because that’s what they do, Cal. That’s what they do. Welcome to the Serene Republic.”

  “Okay, they watch us. Fine by me,” Haskins said. “But what’s the rules here?”

  “Damfino,” Harrison said. “Me, I’m just real careful.”

  “Careful?” Haskins asked. “You mean like with the women?”

  “Yeah,” Harrison said. “Some of them look available and usually aren’t, but some are safe.”

  “How can you tell?”

  Harrison chuckled.

  “Cal, they usually make it pretty clear. My rule is, if it’s not really clear, then don’t. Use common sense.”

  “Lot of them look real young.”

  “Well, they marry at ten or eleven here,” Harrison said.

  “What?!” Saxon stared at him, and Harrison burst out laughing.

  “Sorry! Sorry, man! Couldn’t resist.” The merc shook his head and wiped his eyes. “Year’s a different length here, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Saxon shook his head and chuckled. “Got me,” he admitted, and did some quick mental math. “So seventeen or eighteen?”

  “Closer to sixteen, for a lot of ’em,” Harrison said with a shrug.

  Marry at sixteen, Saxon thought. Somehow that was disturbing. And did all the young girls look at men like the Michaeli girl had looked at him? She was a beauty. And they marry at sixteen . . .

  “ . . . but it’s pretty soft duty here, Cal,” Harrison was saying. “Be glad you’re over here and not having a tour in the madweed fields.”

  “Madweed. We’re here to help you grow madweed,” Haskins said. “Don’t know much about that, but it’s what they said we were here for. Not sure how we can help. One thing at a time, I guess.”

  “The further you stay from the madweed fields the happier you’ll be,” Harrison said.

  “So what’s next?” Clavell asked.

  “That’s up to Bart,” Haskins said. He looked to Saxon. “He’s in charge, far as I’m concerned.”

  Saxon shrugged.

  “Still working on what we do down the road, but the next step’s pretty clear,” he said. “I’ve asked that they bring the latest container here. To this house. Spirit says they’ll have it here by morning, it takes a big gang of stevedores to unload it and bring it across the Palazzo, even on rollers.”

  “Think that thing is safe where it is?” Harrison asked. “Maybe I ought to go down and do some guard duty around that ship tonight.”

  “No signs of tampering with either of the two containers that were already here,” Haskins said. “I don’t think they can get into them things without it showing. Not sure you could stop them if they decided to just break in . . . ”

  “No, I’m pretty good but I can’t do a point defense against the whole damn Serene militia,” Harrison agreed.

  “And standing guard there would certainly be a sign of distrust,” Saxon said. “If you were asking me, I’d say we have to trust them.”

  “You mean don’t stand guard,” Clavell said.

  “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

  “Just making it clear,” Harrison said. “O
kay, what’s next?”

  “When we get the container in here I’ll show you stuff, you tell me what we can do with it,” Saxon said. “But mostly we have to let Captain Galloway know we’re here.”

  “That may be hard to do,” Harrison said. “The Signory are nice, polite, generous, but they sure as hell haven’t been letting us send messages. Or leave here. And I’m guessing that once they see what all’s in them boxes of yours they’ll be even less likely to let us go wandering off.”

  “Colonel Galloway will come get us,” Clavell said.

  He sounds damned positive about that, Saxon thought.

  “How?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Clavell said. “But he will. The Skipper’s pretty smart. He’ll hear what’s going on. The story about the containers must be spreading all across the planet by now. If he ain’t heard it yet, he will. Soon.”

  “You know, I reckon that’s right,” Harrison said. “I don’t know if Galloway gives a rat’s ass about us, but he’s for damned sure going to want to know about all that stuff once he hears about it, and you say a lot of people over on the mainland got a look at those containers. He’ll find out about them. The Colonel won’t know what’s in them boxes, but he’ll sure as shit figure there’s a lot. So yeah, he’ll be showing up.”

  The private sat back for a moment, looking thoughtful as he considered the possibilities.

  “So what is in those boxes?” he asked then. “Guns and ammo? Sergeant Clavell’s student kids told us you say that’s not what’s in there. Not sure how they know that, but it’s what they say. So what is in there?”

  Saxon went to the side table and poured himself a glass of claret. Everyone drank wine here. It would be easy to get drunk and stay that way. The interesting thing was that the one night he’d had too much of the stuff, it wasn’t much fun. I’d rather have water. Maybe I’m growing up? That took thinking about, and he hadn’t really had time to think on it. The sense of having a mission, of a reason for living, was still growing in him, eating through the stagnation of his year in the Tenderloin. Life was interesting again. Humans, in need of education. In need of Bart Saxon. A scary thought, but nowhere near as scary as living in the Tenderloin for the rest of his life. And nobody on this planet knew about registered sex offenders.

  “Whatever they know they got from Miss Spirit, not me,” Haskins was saying. The others looked at Saxon, and he nodded in agreement.

  “Not from me, either. Had to be Lorraine. Not sure how much they understand of what she told them.”

  “A lot. My students were asking me about microscopes so I figure there’s one of those. So what else did you bring?” Clavell asked impatiently.

  “Books and information, mostly. A whole library of books, books about everything. Physics, electronics, biology, you name it. As to equipment, laptop computers, windmill power generator. Bicycle power generator, too. Some radios. Some tools. Scientific instruments. Not much in the way of guns and ammo.”

  “What’s a laptop computer?”

  “Just what it sounds like, a personal computer you can carry around with you,” Saxon said. “That whole field has advanced a lot since you left Earth.”

  “I can see that,” Clavell said.

  “Radios,” Harrison said. “The skipper will be damned interested in radios.”

  “Only handheld units,” Haskins said. “Not more’n a few miles’ range.”

  “A few miles is one hell of a lot better than no miles,” Harrison said with a chuckle.

  “Encyclopedia?” Clavell asked, ignoring the byplay.

  “Three, including Britannica,” Saxon said with a nod.

  “Industrial Revolution on the half shell,” Clavell said, and Saxon laughed.

  “Yeah, I suppose it is, once I teach them how to read English.”

  “Only, from what I hear, the Shalnuksis don’t cotton to that idea,” Harrison said. “They bomb the shit out of anyplace on the planet that looks like it’s developing technology. That’s what the skipper used to say. Maybe we better think hard about what you do with that stuff.”

  “What’s that? You say we’re not supposed to teach these people?” Haskins frowned. “But that’s what the inspector told us they wanted us to do!”

  “And Colonel Galloway tells us to be careful what we teach,” Harrison said. “We was sent out here to teach and preach about public health, but we’re supposed to be careful about technology. Here you bring the whole Industrial Revolution in one package.”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Saxon said. “I mean, they sent us with a bunch of useless stuff if they don’t want me teaching them. But on the other hand, Cal”—he looked at his friend—“he did say helping Galloway’s the main job. Might not be a bad idea to get his take on all this before we go around starting any scientific revolutions?”

  “Hey, like I said, you’re the boss, man!” Haskins said with a laugh. “You wanna throw on the brakes, though, you better be telling that Spirit lady. If it ain’t already too late. She’s telling everyone what a new day this is going to be. Started already, that’s for sure.”

  “We agreed not to open the containers unless we were all present,” Saxon said. “And I have the keys.”

  “And she’s got number two in her living room,” Haskins said. “And she’s anxious to open it.”

  “Okay, so we all get together and open them up to see what’s inside. Admire the contents,” Clavell said. “And then what?”

  Saxon shrugged.

  “I was recruited to come here and teach science to smart but uneducated kids,” he said. “That’s what I volunteered to do, anyway. It turns out that the real mission is to help Galloway grow crops for export, but teaching science is what I know how to do, and like I said, if they didn’t mean for me to do that, why send all this equipment?”

  “Not sure that’s what the Skipper’ll want you to do,” Clavell said, “but what the hell. If you want to teach, you came to the right place. The Serene Republic, that is. There’s plenty of students, they all want to know stuff, and nobody’s against learning. Not like some places. One town on the mainland, we had to shoot our way out. Turns out the local priest was sure we were sending everyone to hell by teaching hygiene. Disease is God’s Will, and it’s a mortal sin to prevent it. None of that bullshit here, at least I haven’t seen any. Sure none in my classes. Everyone wants to learn.”

  “Maybe not a fair sample,” Harrison muttered.

  “Well, no,” Clavell said. “But it’s who the Signory picked.”

  “Who are your students?” Saxon asked. He frowned as Haskins poured himself a third glass of wine. Probably no harm in it, but . . . “Who did they send?”

  “Mostly younger nobility,” Clavell said. “Some upper middle class. Mostly boys, four girls. Everyone here is used to being in school. They all have to take military training, for one thing, and the upper-class kids have schools for that. All the boys. But there’s girl schools, too. That’s mostly housekeeping and cooking and home economics, some music, but there’s girls in the merchant business too. You met one of the girls in my class when you landed.”

  “Ah. I remember. Lucia. She’s easy to remember.”

  “Yep. Pretty thing. She wants to be a courtesan.”

  Saxon frowned, and Clavell laughed.

  “Apparently it’s not all that frowned on as a profession for middle-class girls here.”

  “She seemed a bit young.”

  “I told you, they marry at about sixteen here, and she’s actually a little older’n that, I think.” Clavell grimaced, recalling his earlier thoughts in the Palazzo. “I think some of that’s because their medicine’s so primitive. Lose a lot of mothers to childbirth fever. That’s getting better since the Colonel started introducing the idea that germs are behind infections. It’s going to take a while for the social patterns to change, though, even if the Nikeisians start applying the lessons big-time.”

  “That young?”

  Saxon frowned. D
espite the incident with Sherry Northing, he’d never been remotely tempted to fool around with any of his students before disaster struck. He hadn’t been blind to how attractive some of them had been, but they’d never attracted him. Not until Sherry, and he’d been drunk that night. Drunk and angry and stupid. Not only that, he’d genuinely thought she was at least nineteen. Or at least, that was what he’d been telling himself. But that Lucia . . .

  God, maybe I did have a thing for younger girls all along and never realized it! Am I a “dirty old man”? The thought was more than a little disturbing, especially after all this time. But I am not going to screw up that way again. It’s just—

  “Younger’n that, a lot of them.” Clavell’s reply to his question pulled him out of his thoughts, for which he was grateful. Or he thought he was, anyway.

  “So your students haven’t been what you might call a sample of the general population,” he said, getting himself safely back to the original thread. “Don’t know how I feel about that.”

  “Way it is.” Clavell shrugged. “Oh, not back at the Colonel’s University, but here in Nikeis—and just about everywhere else on the planet, for that matter—them as has gets, and them as don’t have don’t. Can’t say I’m crazy about it, either, but things are gonna have to change a lot before we get to what you might call equal opportunity on Tran.”

  Saxon was about to comment on that when one of the servants rushed in.

  “Councilor Torricelli,” the servant announced. “His Honor says the matter is urgent and begs immediate audience.”

  “His daughter is in my class, too,” Clavell said. “Okay, Bart, I think we need to meet with the Councilor. You agree?”

  Now what? And just who’s in charge? And of whom? Saxon looked to Clavell and shrugged.

  “Bring him in,” Clavell said.

  Torricelli was red-faced. He spoke rapidly in the mainland trade language, stopping to repeat himself often when Saxon looked confused.

  “We have messages from our scouts in the north,” he said. “My pardon, Signori. I wish you greetings and good health—”

  “Consider the formalities served,” Clavell said. “You have urgent news, Councilor?”