The Space Barbarians

by Mack Reynolds

  A voice was saying, “They’re platinum.” “Platinum? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I think Harmon’s right. Look at this, Skipper.”

  “Who’d ever use platinum for faucets?” Another voice, the second one John had heard, broke in. “A people who have so much of it that it’s comparatively worthless, that’s who.” There was an element of awe in the tone.

  “Here, let me scratch it with this knifeblade.” John had removed his belt with its skean and claidheammor, but now he went over to his bed and picked the harness up again and belted it about his waist, still scowling. He went back to the door and pressed his ear against it once more.

  The voice that had disclaimed knowledge of ethnology, whatever that was, was saying, “A really primitive culture. They must have an unbelievable system of rituals and taboos.”

  He who was addressed as Skipper said, “Why do you say that?”

  “Because their language has changed, over a period that must amount to centuries, so little from Earth basic. And they still retain so many customs of the original Earth. Only very strict adherence to taboos and rituals would maintain such institutions so well. It’s too bad we’re not a larger expedition with a few anthropologists and such along.”

  “Oh, no it isn’t.”

  The skipper’s voice said, “What do you mean, Harmon?”

  “I mean platinum. Probably mountains of it. There are only eight of us. Four back on the ship, and us. Good. Only that number to split it with.” There was a long pause.

  John could stand it no longer. He opened the door and walked through, staring.

  There were four of them, and he’d never seen such dress in his life. It was evidently some sort of uniform, and all were garbed almost identically, so undoubtedly they were fellow clannsmen. The dress was colorless, drab by any kilt standards, and each leg was completely sheathed. Above everything in strangeness was that though all were obviously adult, none wore claidheammor or even a skean.

  It came to him then that these, of course, were the travelers from Beyond, in short, men from another world. Until this very moment, John had never really believed in such, in spite of the Holy Books and the preachings of the bedels and the Keepers of the Faith.

  And It came to him also that although the others wore no swords or daggers, the bolstered devices on each hip were undoubtedly weapons, and weapons that would have mine under the bann in any phylum John of the Hawks had even heard of.

  Two were seated in the most comfortable chairs the room provided, and two were leaning against the fireplace. All eyes turned to John when he entered.

  He blurted, “What are you doing in this home?”

  The youngest of the four, one of those leaning against the fireplace, let his hand drop nonchalantly to the bolstered object on his hip. It was, John decided, probably some sort of gun, though he had never seen a gun smaller than a carbine.

  The eldest, who was seated, scowled at the intruder. “Who in the name of Krishna are you?”

  Although their voices were heavily accented to John’s ear, the words were almost all understandable, although he didn’t know what Krishna meant.

  He said, “I am John of the Hawks, and these are my assigned quarters.”

  The other seated man said, “Oh. Of course. Sorry, John, uh, of the Hawks. The… what did they call him? The head man.”

  One of those at the fireplace said, “The sachem.”

  “That’s right. The sachem offered us this apartment. Your family has been moved in with one of your cousins, I think he said. You were away. We’re very grateful, of course.”

  John of the Hawks flushed. “I am shamed. My home has been honored by being chosen to provide hospitality for travelers.”

  The oldest, a heavyset, heavy faced man, said, “I am Skipper William Fowler of the exploration Spaceship Golden Hind. And these are three of my officers.” He indicated them. “First Officer DeRudder; Perez, First Engineer; and Mr. Harmon, my second.”

  Harmon, who had put his hand on his weapon when John had entered, was seemingly not very much older than John himself, possibly twenty-five, and notable largely for a somewhat twisted, sardonic mouth.

  Perez was a little man, and nervous of movement. De-Rudder, next in age to the one they called Skipper, was the largest of the four, which wasn’t saying much. None were more than six feet tall, so that even John, who hadn’t reached his full growth, towered above them.

  Still flushing embarrassment, John said, “May the bards sing your exploits. My family is honored. My excuses for bothering you. Undoubtedly, you rest before the council of the muster. My claidheammor is at your command.” He turned to leave.

  The one named DeRudder said, “Just a moment, son.”

  Son? This was a term that could be used only to a fellow clannsman, and from an elder. Certainly the otherworlder couldn’t claim to be kyn of the Hawks. John was taken aback. However, he turned politely.

  The other said, “In there. I suppose it’s a bathroom. That metal the faucet’s made of. What is it?”

  John looked at him blankly, but now the conversation he had eavesdropped upon came back to him. It wasn’t quite clear just what the excitement had been about.

  “Why, it’s called platinum, I believe. The Hawks are herdsmen, not scrabblers in the dirt or metalworkers. However, it is called platinum.”

  There seemed to be a narrow eyed quality in all four of the strangers now.

  DeRudder said carefully, “And it is in good supply on this planet, uh, Caledonia?”

  John said blankly, “Why, honored guest, it is certainly the most common of metals, is it not?”

  The other licked his lower lip unconsciously. “Your sword, there, is steel, isn’t it?”

  John nodded, still uncomprehending of this bent of conversation.

  “Ah, is platinum more common than iron? Cheaper?”

  “Cheaper?” John said blankly.

  The skipper was leaning forward, and John again got the impression of narrowed eyes, though he didn’t know why. The older man said, “We don’t know anything about your means of exchange, but this platinum is so abundant that you use it instead of iron for such things as household fixtures?”

  “Why yes, honored guest. I suppose so. As I say, we Hawks are herdsmen, not metalworkers. I know little about it.”

  DeRudder cleared his throat. “All right,” he said. “Thank you.” !

  John shrugged inwardly and turned again to leave.

  He heard their voices, in excited conversation, when he had emerged into the long hall beyond. He made a face, accentuating his youth. The travelers from Beyond were certainly an incomprehensible group.

  Robot, Sachem of the Clann Hawk, came hurrying up, his face anxious. As was usual, he was a clann elder and deserved the respect granted him by his clannsmen. Past the age of raiding, he devoted full time to participating in the government of the clann and of the phylum, and younger Hawks took over the burdens of herding the flocks and otherwise participating in the economies of the clann.

  John saluted him respectfully.

  The sachem said, “John! I left messages for you, but evidently you have failed to receive them. Your home has lid 11 relinquished to travelers.”

  “Yes,” John said unhappily. “I am shamed. I intruded upon them.”

  The sachem looked at him. “There was no intended discourtesy, and hence it was not unseemly.” He beamed suddenly. “Don of the darks has informed me of your triumph. If all wasn’t confusion, with the coming of the travelers from Beyond, I would insist we adjourn to my quarters, and over your first glass of uisgebeatha of manhood, you could tell me in detail. As it is, I must summon the visitors for the muster. But quickly, did you kill or wound any of the raiders?”

  John smiled his satisfaction at the compliment of his clann sachem. “Robert of the Hawks, I counted coup on three of them.”

  He was again awarded the goggling that had already been shown the warder of the gate and his two younger friend
s.

  “Coup! On three?” John nodded.

  Robert stood suddenly straighter. “It will be until June-time before the next regular meeting of the muster, but on my own responsibility as Sachem of the Hawks, I grant you permission to sit with the clannsmen at this assembly.” John was stricken speechless.

  The sachem turned to hurry on, but as he went he muttered, “Three! In all my life I have counted coup but twice. Three!”

  John, in a daze of glory, made his way to the apartment of the cousin with whom he suspected his family would be quartered while the strangers occupied their usual chambers. He was correct, for although no one else was present he recognized various possessions of his mother, sisters and brother. He found a container of his own things as well, and after stripping and bathing, he put on fresh clothing.

  He then went to the community kitchen and found food. There was no one else here, either, and he realized that all must be in the town square for the unusual muster of the sachems, caciques and sagamores.

  Tired as he was, he made his way in the same direction, unable to resist the opportunity to join the clannsmen as a fellow. Ordinarily, he could have expected at least another five years of acting as a herdsman and scout before being raised to full clannsman.

  The muster was in progress. The four strangers were seated together in positions of honor in the circle of the eight sachems of the Aberdeen Phylum. Behind them were seated the second circle of the phylum caciques, sagamores and noted raiders. Behind them were seated circles of clannsmen, each clann together. Beyond, a respectful distance, were standing the women, young men and children of the phylum, and beyond them, crowded against the walls of the council building, the great kirk, the phylum arsenal and the structure that held the archives, were the clannless ones.

  Trying not to be ostentatious but failing miserably, John made his way through the ranks of women, children and younger men to where the Clann Hawk sat, passing his mother, brother and sisters as he went. They stared at him, uncomprehending, as he joined the full clannsmen and took a place.

  There were a few raised eyebrows from his adult kynsmen, but none spoke. He knew they would hold him to account later, probably not having heard of the sachem’s permission for him to join them.

  The eldest of the phylum sachems, Thomas of the Clarks, was speaking, he alone of the inner circles on his feet. The speech was predictable. He was welcoming the outworlders, tendering them the hospitality of Aberdeen as travelers in a strange land. Evidently, a bedel, or possibly one of the Keepers of the Faith, had already completed the praise.

  When Thomas of the Clarks was finished—and he was a garrulous speaker—he resumed his place among the other claim sachems, and all eyes went to the newcomers.

  The one who had announced himself as Skipper William Fowler came to his feet and cleared his throat. He looked about at the assembled muster and bobbed his head, in a sort of greeting, in all directions.

  “You must forgive us if we are unacquainted with some of your customs,” he said. “As you know, we come from a great distance.”

  Which was a strange thing to say, John thought. Surely customs were the same everywhere. The banns laid down by the Holy were as necessary on one world as on another, and surely the Holy presided over all creation.

  The commander of the strangers was saying, “Briefly, we are part of the crew of the exploration Spaceship Golden Hind, and our assigned task is to map out this sector. We represent the League, a confederation of planets settled by the human race, originally from Earth. You will, of course, be invited to join the League. Frankly, we had been of the opinion that the Golden Hind was the first craft ever to penetrate this far into the galaxy. But here you are.”

  Robert, Sachem of the Clann Hawk, came to his feet. His face duplicated the expressions of puzzlement of all the sat hems and caciques.

  He said, “But honored guest, this League of which you speak—surely you must realize that this muster represents only the Phylum of Aberdeen, and we can speak only for ourselves. The meeting of the Dail, of all the Phyla of the Loch Confederation, would still only represent this immediate region. And even the Dail could speak only for our confederation. We know of twenty-three other confederations to the north, south, east and west, and how many more lie beyond, what man can say? Save for our two sister confederations, with whom we are at perpetual peace, of course, how could we possibly hold council with the others to decide whether to join this League?”

  It was the skipper’s turn to frown lack of understanding. “You mean you are at war with all other, uh, confederations?”

  “War?” Robert of the Hawks said in puzzlement.

  “War. Conflict between nations, uh, that is, confederations.”

  One of the caciques said, “Ah, he means raids.”

  The skipper looked at him. “More than that. A conflict in which the full, uh, confederation would throw its united power against another confederation.”

  A bedel came to his feet, his face in horror. “But that would be against the bann!”

  The otherworld officer who had been introduced to John as DeRudder said hurriedly, “A taboo. Easy, Skipper.”

  The leader of the strangers said smoothly to the bedel, “I was not advocating war, simply requesting information about the way of things on Caledonia.”

  Thomas of the Clarks came to his feet. “Assuming that by some means it was possible to unite all the confederations of Caledonia into a gigantic Dail and all agreed to join this League—of what advantage would it be to us?” He sat again.

  The skipper held out his hands in a gesture to indicate the answer was obvious. “Why, for trade, for one thing.”

  One of the caciques spoke up. “Trade of what?”

  The skipper said, “Why, that would have to be decided. Trade for the things you have in abundance, for goods, ideas, and so forth, of which you have need.”

  A sagamore said, “But I can think of nothing we need from the stars. Those items for which we must trade are easily available from other phylum, and we need go no further than the yearly Dail.”

  DeRudder stood and said, “Do you mind, Skipper?”

  The Skipper muttered, a frustrated element in his voice, “You’re the nearest thing we have to an ethnologist. Go on.”

  DeRudder said, “Perhaps we can start this trade right here and now. Evidently, somewhere near Aberdeen there is at least one mine from which platinum is extracted. Very good. We will draw up a paper giving all rights to exploitation of these mines to us eight crewmen of the Golden Hind. In return, we will immediately have shipped to Caledonia, and to your town of Aberdeen, enough repeating rifles and submachine guns to arm each of your clannsmen.”

  Thomas of the Clarks stood once more. “I do not understand. Some of your words are confusing. What is a repeating rifle, and what is a submachine gun?”

  DeRudder said, “You have single shot rifles and use cartridges in them. These guns fire the same type of cartridges at great speed, five hundred a minute and more.”

  The bedel was on his feet again, his eyes popping. “But that is against the bann!”

  Thomas of the Clarks motioned him to his seat. He turned to the strangers coldly. “You are travelers and hence eligible to remain in Aberdeen for the three traditional days of hospitality. But as to granting you the exclusive rights to the mines of platinum, obviously that is against the bann. The products of the earth belong to all. Even should we wish to grant them to you, the other phyla would hardly agree. And above all, we would not trade them for what you call repeating rifles, which are most surely against the bann. Furthermore—”

  But he was interrupted by the sounding of the conch.

  Clannsmen leaped to their feet, dashing for their individual longhouses. The caciques and sagamores were shouting orders. Women ran for the arsenal for extra bandoliers of cartridges.

  A voice shouted from a housetop, “Raid! Raid! The Thompsons! Raid!”

  Chapter Three

  John of the
Hawks, with the speed of youth, got back to the longhouse where he had left his carbine as quickly as did any of the clannsmen. He tore into the room he was sharing with his brother, ripped his rifle from the wall, grabbed up a bandolier, made a snap decision and sped to the roof, deciding he had no time to await the orders of the raid cacique of the Hawks.

  The longhouse of the Hawks served on one side as part of the defensive wall of the town of Aberdeen. The wall was windowless on the side looking out over the fields and the roof flat, save for a parapet.

  John sat down behind the parapet, slipped a cartridge from the bandolier, threw the breech and inserted the bullet. He breathed deeply, getting his breath after his run. They were after the horses, that was obvious. There were shooting and shouting over in the direction of the pastures, and a great deal of dust.

  Undoubtedly, the raid caciques would shortly launch a counterblow, but meanwhile John’s position was an advantageous one, just in case the aggressive Thompsons attempted to force the town.

  He heard someone come up behind him but didn’t turn. He had his elbow:, resting on his knees, the muzzle of the gun resting on the parapet.

  The newcomer sat down next to him. It was one of the men from Beyond, the one called DeRudder. He was puffing. He said, “What’s happening?”

  John said, “The Thompsons. They’re raiding our horses.”

  “Oh. Members of one of the other confederations, eh?”

  “No. The Thompsons are part of our confederation.” The other stared at him. “And they’re attacking you?” John put off answering for the moment. Through the swirl of dust a double score and more of mounted men came dashing at full tilt, shouting the battle halloo of the Clann Thompson. In the fore, at breakneck speed, rode two who held only coup sticks in their hands.

  John’s lips thinned back over his teeth in a grimace of excitement. They were not quite in range. He held his fire. At the pace they were coming, they would be to the wall and directly below him before he could get off more than two or three rounds from his carbine. He pulled two more shells from the bandolier and placed them on the low parapet.