Beneath the Eye of God (The Commodore Ardcasl Space Adventures Book 1)

by Payne, Lee

  "We don't stand about on ceremony, lad." He ladled an unfamiliar substance onto a plate and handed it to Ohan. "Otherwise, these two will have all the breakfast eaten before you get any. Where was I? Oh yes, Boswell. Ever hear of him, lad? I thought not. He followed this great philosopher around, wrote down everything the fellow said and did. Without Boswell, nobody would have ever heard of the other fellow who was so busy thinking these great thoughts and doing these great deeds that he had no time left to write any of it down himself. His was the life, you see. He was busy living it, creating it. Can't remember his name. Famous chap though. Known everywhere—at least on all warm-blooded planets.

  "But without Boswell, his life would have been lived unknown. Like Beethoven blowing his symphonies into the wind, never bothering to write them down. You follow me, lad? Did I ask you if you could write? You can? Splendid. There's a great opportunity for you here, lad. A great opportunity. Come to my tent when you've finished eating. It could use a bit of straightening up."

  ***

  It could indeed. The inside of the Commodore's tent was strewn with clothes, boots, blankets, dishes, half-eaten sandwiches and equipment whose purpose Ohan could not imagine. It took him the better part of two hours simply to untangle everything and stack it neatly along the sides where no one would fall over it. When he was almost finished, the Commodore poked his head in.

  "Ah, here you are, lad," he said. "Going to straighten the place up a bit, are you?" He looked around. "Actually, it doesn't look all that bad. Unlike some others I won't mention, I was taught to keep my quarters shipshape and in good order. I don't think you need bother with anything in here. Why don't you go help Elor instead?"

  Ohan opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. The Commodore misinterpreted his hesitation. "I don't suppose you see many reptiles in this part of the country?" he said.

  Ohan had to admit that he hadn't. The Commodore put a fatherly arm around his shoulder and led him from the tent. "Erol and Elor are both gentlemen and scholars," he explained. "You won't find better shipmates from one end of the galaxy to the other. For honesty and fair dealing, I much prefer them to most warm-bloods I've met. But the first thing a successful trader in this universe has to realize is that all species are different. Different backgrounds, different mental processes, different ways of seeing things. The two of us, lad, you and I, seem so different, yet we both suckled at our mothers' breast while my two shipmates hatched from the same egg. That makes us, lad, forever 'us' and them forever 'them'. Neither group is better than the other, just different. To be successful in the business of interstellar trade, you have to keep these differences forever in mind. That's why, as we go from world to world, we find it convenient for them to take charge of our business affairs when we are on a reptilian planet and for me to take command on a warm-blooded planet like this one.

  "Just remember, lad, intolerance won't get you very far in this line of work. And one more thing, don't ever call them lizards. They'll rip your guts out."

  Actually, Ohan had no prejudice against reptiles. The Commodore intimidated him every bit as much as the twins did. Ever since he had been taken from his native forest to the mission school where he first learned that most of the inhabitants of his world were not like him, he had been intimidated.

  The shock of seeing his first smooth-skin was equal to the realization that this strange breed of furless person was, in fact, in the majority everywhere outside his forest. The teachers and administrators at the school were smooth-skins. The commonly used term was slightly misleading since all of them had a bit of fur, some more than others. Yet even the hairiest were taller and less furry than a true forest person.

  His teachers were, for the most part, dedicated and well-meaning. They would doubtless be horrified to learn that, for Ohan, the primary result of several years of education was the deeply rooted suspicion that somehow his people weren't quite as good as the smooth-skins.

  Ohan spent the rest of the day with Elor cataloging and packing the artifacts that had been found in the digging. Under Elor's casual questioning, Ohan found himself talking at great length about the baskets his mother wove, the social organization of the forest clans and many other subjects he hadn't realized he knew very much about.

  The day passed quickly. Ohan was as much at ease with the reptile man as he had ever been with even his favorite teacher at school. The comparison was more than appropriate. His favorite teacher had been a young woman with skin smoother than most. Ohan liked to watch her from the back or side where she couldn't see him. Though a good deal of his interest was inspired by lust, some of it was simply a fascination with a completely new and different kind of creature. The way the hair of her head blended into the bareness of her neck, the way the bones of her jaw could be seen beneath her thin pale skin, was all mesmerizing to Ohan. So much so that he sometimes had to leave her presence and go out into the fresh air to regain control of himself.

  Now he found he was looking at Elor in rather the same way. Not with lust, but with the same fascination in the way the reptile's yellow eyes were darkly slitted at their centers, the way his pale skin began to turn to scales as it went farther from his face and the way his lipless mouth turned up when he smiled. Ohan found himself stealing glances when he thought Elor wasn't watching and looking away before the reptile's darting eyes could catch him. He was embarrassed by his fascination. Elor, if he was aware of it, gave no sign.

  Elor seemed as interested in Ohan's life in the forest as Ohan was in Elor. They began to trade questions as they worked. They had just gotten to the subject of the Commodore when the man himself, looked in. "Speak of the devil," Elor said with a smile. "We were just beginning to discuss you."

  "Then it's a good thing I came along," the big man snorted. "I happen to be an authority on the subject, whereas you would undoubtedly fill the poor lad's head with speculation and wild surmise." He sat down across the table from Ohan. "What is it you wish to know, lad? A tale of daring cosmic adventure perhaps? Or how I achieved the position of respect and admiration which I enjoy throughout the galaxy? Possibly something about my humble beginnings and how I rose to my present prominence and . . . "

  "Actually," Elor smiled, "he was wondering if Commodore was your first name."

  The Commodore glared at him. "I doubt that I shall ever understand the reptilian sense of humor," he muttered. "The things that you and your brother find amusing are, I confess, quite beyond me. Why an innocent lad's simple question should . . . "

  "Oh no!" Elor exclaimed in mock alarm. "You're not going to tell him?"

  The Commodore ignored him. "It is a rank, lad, not a name. The rank of Commodore is unique among all the trade and battle fleets of all the solar systems of all the galaxies. Other ranks and titles, from Apprentice Spaceman third class, to the mightiest Captain-Admiral of the Gorgon fleet, are earned by skill, sweat, daring or politics. The rank of Commodore eschews all these—most especially sweat. A Commodore never sweats.

  "It is an honorary title, self-bestowed and graciously accepted. For while the other ratings carry with them the onerous duties and responsibilities of their rank and office, that of Commodore stands alone, free of such mundane burdens, leaving its bearer at liberty to concentrate his full attention upon greater questions—such as the meaning of life.

  "The lowly Ordinary Spaceman has no time for contemplation. His time is fully occupied in carrying out the orders of his superiors, of which he has many. Some of these superiors, such as Ensigns, have no task other than that of keeping the Ordinary Spaceman busy and out of trouble. But since the Ordinary Spaceman's entire being is dedicated to doing as little work as possible and getting into as much trouble as possible, all of the considerable skills of the Ensigns are also fully employed.

  "The Armorers worry about their arms, the Cooks about their stews. The Captain worries about his ship and everyone who sails aboard her. The Admiral is concerned about his fleet—and all the other Admirals. It is the Commodor
e alone who stands majestically aloof, responsible for neither nut nor bolt and no man's soul except his own."

  Ohan looked puzzled. "Speak up, lad," the Commodore urged him. "If you have a question, ask it. You'll never learn anything if you don't ask questions."

  "Well, I was just wondering," Ohan began hesitantly. "As one of the ordinary forest people, don't I have the same freedom from responsibility as a Commodore has? Yet I have no need for a title or rank or anything."

  "There, you see?" the Commodore smiled encouragingly. "An intelligent question, one that deserves an intelligent answer. And that answer is 'status'. It is true that as a forest person, leaving aside your duties to your clan, you are indeed free from both rank and responsibility. But you are also free from status. And without status, you are exactly the sort of person that an Ordinary Spaceman is most likely to take his hostilities out on. These are the hostilities he would prefer to direct toward the Ensign, were he not deterred by the Ensign's status, not to mention the fear of swift and terrible reprisal from everyone else in the system, each with his own status to protect.

  "The average forest person, in his ignorance, does not even realize that he is the lowest of the low in the eyes of the system. He does not realize it but he is . . . " and here the Commodore lowered his voice, leaned close to Ohan and whispered, ". . . a civilian."

  Ohan blinked. He felt as if he had just been let in on a terrible secret—but wasn't sure what it was. Elor merely sighed and continued with his work.

  "The system we are referring to," the Commodore continued, "embraces all the interplanetary merchant fleets and battle navies. In order to be part of this system, one must have status. Otherwise, as you travel from one set of planets to another, they won't know where you fit in and thus, how they should treat you. To assume, however, that one may be a Commodore simply because one wants to be a Commodore is to miss the essence of the rank. You, for example, couldn't carry it off. You are small, furry and ignorant in the ways of the universe. No offense."

  "Uh, no, sir." How could he be offended, Ohan wondered. It was clearly true.

  "An imposing title demands an imposing individual, large and powerful, fierce in combat yet tender and gentle with women and children, intelligent, witty and gracious, as much at home in the roar of battle as in the drawing rooms of high society. In short, a man among men."

  He rose abruptly from the table. "Now clear away this junk. Erol is paying off the workmen. We're out of here at first light headed for town where we'll buy horses and provisions, then strike out into the forest. Look lively now, lads!" He winked at Ohan. "See how it works. I'll be resting in the shade should anyone need me."

  Chapter 3

  To call it a town was to make it sound too grand by half. To call it a village suggested quaintness, which it in no way had. It was a dusty crossroads where traders traditionally gathered and a market had grown up. Around the market a number of businesses had taken root—taverns, gambling dens and brothels—all with the single purpose of separating the country people from their cash. None of the structures was imposing. Like the road and the market, they were haphazard and dusty.

  Ohan had never seen a place so grand.

  "Now listen carefully, lad," the Commodore said. "The twins and I are going to stop in at this tavern for refreshment and information. I have 80 coppers left over from paying off the workers. I make it a rule never to enter a tavern with more money than I intend to spend foolishly. I therefore am entrusting this purse into your safekeeping."

  Elor had given Ohan a list of things they needed from the market. The Commodore counted out five coppers which he stuffed into Ohan's pocket. The rest, rolled tightly in a purse so they wouldn't jingle, he placed inside the lining of Ohan's jacket. "There now. You look far from prosperous. No one should bother you. The market is just down the road. The money in your pocket will be enough for the supplies. Have a look around, buy a snack for yourself and meet us back here in a couple of hours."

  To be walking through this grand town on his way to market with money in his pocket seemed to Ohan an incredible dream. "Seek you a woman, young master?" A boy had fallen into step beside him.

  "I seek no one is this town. I have come to buy produce at the market."

  "It's best not to get there too early," the boy said knowledgeably. "They save their best produce until later in the day, you know."

  "They do?"

  "Oh yes. The early morning produce is the stuff they couldn't sell yesterday. The fresh produce comes in at noon and is ready for sale an hour later. Do you come here often?"

  "Oh . . . well, not often," Ohan lied. "That is, I haven't been here lately."

  "Then let me show you around while you're waiting. No sense standing outside in the hot sun." He was steering Ohan toward a narrow alley off the main street.

  "You mean you live here all the time?" The idea of a lifetime spent in such opulence was beyond Ohan's comprehension.

  "Sure." The boy glanced sideways at him. "Of course someday I'd like to travel and see the world like you do. Come on in and meet my friends." He had Ohan maneuvered almost into a doorway.

  "Oh, I couldn't meet anyone. I'm not properly dressed."

  "That's all right. They won't mind." He gave a shove and Ohan found himself inside a dimly lit room, richly curtained and heavy with perfume.

  It took his breath away, as did the women he began to perceive seated on cushions on the floor and standing in the shadows around the room. They were quite the loveliest he had ever seen. And some of them, he realized with a start, were looking at him.

  In a rush of panic he began backing toward the door. But his newfound friend was pushing him farther into the room. "These are your friends?" Ohan stammered.

  "Sure. I told you you'd like them. Which one do you want to meet?"

  "None! I mean I would but I can't. I wouldn't know what to say."

  "No problem. You needn't say anything at all. Give me three coppers and pick the one you want."

  "Three coppers?" Ohan fumbled dazedly in his pocket. "I don't understand. What are they doing here?"

  "Anything you want, but you have to pick one."

  "They're all so beautiful. Oh . . . look at that one."

  "The tall blond? That figures. How about the redhead over there? She's a lot nicer and knows tricks that'll curl your toes."

  "You said I could pick any one. Anyway, I shouldn't even be here and why did you want three coppers and . . . "

  "All right! The blond it is. You wait here." The boy scurried over to the woman who stood watching them from the shadows at the far side of the room. She was fair-haired, smooth-skinned and twice the height of the boy who sidled cautiously up to speak to her. She wore a short tunic. Her long legs, which Ohan found it difficult to take his eyes from, were bare. He watched in fascination the way they moved, then realized in horror that they were moving toward him. He looked wildly around for his young friend. The boy had disappeared. Before he could form a plan of escape, the woman was at his side propelling him through a curtained doorway, down a narrow hall and into a small room, empty except for rugs on the walls and large pillows on the floor.

  "OK, sport," she said. "What'll it be?

  It took Ohan a moment to find his voice. "What will what be?" he croaked feebly.

  "Look, kid, it's your two coppers and your choice. But I don't do guessing games. You've got to tell me what you want."

  "Actually I gave him three but I wasn't sure . . . I was just looking . . . He said we could maybe talk but I don't really . . ." He was feeling a little faint.

  "Look and talk. You got it, sport." She was untying her tunic. "And you only paid me two coppers. Your pal kept the other for himself. You better sit down. You're beginning to look a little green around the edges"

  Ohan sat down. She filled the little room. There didn't seem to be enough air left for him to breathe.

  "How about the story of what a nice girl like me is doing in a crummy dump like this?" She sat down opp
osite him. Ohan though his heart would stop. "That's always a crowd pleaser."

  Ohan nodded feebly.

  "I used to be rich." She leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "I told you this would be good for a laugh. My father had this big estate up in the highlands." She looked at Ohan. "You ever been up there?"

  He tried to shake his head.

  "It's not at all like it is here. It rains there. There are streams and mountains. We even had our own lake. I guess you never really appreciate things until it's too late. My father had six daughters. I was the youngest and the least ladylike. With so many other girls around to do the spinning, the sewing, the embroidery and all that girl stuff, nobody much cared if I spent my time climbing trees, hunting, riding and playing around with knives and swords. My father's grooms and soldiers taught me as if I were a boy. Those were great days. I can't think back on them now, here in this hole, without wanting to cry."

  She paused, her eyes focused beyond the little room. Ohan, fearing she might really cry, fumbled for his handkerchief.

  "Fool!" Her attention snapped back angrily as she swept it aside. "I haven't cried for three years." She softened when she saw him cowering against the wall. "Crying excites a class of men," she explained. "I will not do it for them."

  She retrieved Ohan's handkerchief, folded it neatly and tucked it back into his pocket. Her touch was very light. It made him nervous. "My father was also a fool, a gentle man who believed the world a better place than it is. He was a scholar, more interested in his books than in managing his estate and training his men."

  "His brother, my uncle, was another kind of man. He came with his troops and took our estate and killed my father and mother. He took my sisters as concubines or gave them as prizes to his lieutenants. I resisted. I too was a fool, and hot-blooded. Knowing what I do today of the ways of the world, I should have charmed him, then slit his throat as he lay beside me sleeping. I dream of watching as his life's blood soaks away into the sheets. But I was young then and knew nothing. I resisted so he took me by force, brutally, then gave me to his soldiers. Now I am here, older by three years and wiser in the ways of the world by a hundred."