The Space Barbarians

by Mack Reynolds

  John said evenly, “I do not understand much of what you say, Mister of the Harmons. I suspect you jest at me and remind you that already we carry the bloodfeud.”

  Harmon chuckled. “Another hour or so, my outsized lad, and you will feud never again, neither with me nor anyone else. A great prospect, eh? But to get back to our hallucinogens. One of the earliest was cannabis sativa, known variously as hemp, kif, bhang, hashish, ganja, charas and marihuana in its various forms. A rather mild hallucinogen, as a matter of fact, though the ambitious Hasan-i-Sabbah is said to have put it to profitable use. Ah, it is from his name we derive the term assassin.”

  He was obviously enjoying himself. “Then, of course, there was peyote, beloved of the Amerinds but not really to come into its own until mescaline, its active ingredient, was extracted in the laboratory. In fact, the hallucinogens as a whole didn’t achieve to their heights until they were taken up by the scientists, and the whole field of biochemistry was precipitated into a new look at the brain. The real breakthrough took place when a new compound of lysergic acid, derived from a common fungus called ergot, was synthesized. Lysergic acid diethylamide, or LSD, if you will.”

  John said, “You mock me, Mister of the Harmons, with your unknown words; however, you have still to tell of this soma.”

  Harmon jiggled his weapon in amusement. “But that is what I have been telling you, friend John. Soma is king of them all. He who takes soma is cured of all mental ills. He, ah, reaches nirvana while still on this mortal coil, so to speak. All passions are beyond him.”

  “All passions?” John was scowling. “You mean that even sex becomes meaningless? The love between man and woman?”

  “Exactly. That and all other passions, my bullyboy, as you are soon to discover. But not just sex becomes meaningless, but the desire for, well, say, fame, power, wealth. All things that ordinarily men strive for become meaningless when one has walked with Lord Krishna.”

  Inadvertently, John ran a tongue over his dry lips. “That is nonsense. It is but a saying, walking with Krishna.”

  Harmon grinned mockingly. “To the contrary. Evidently, when one takes soma he actually, in his hallucinations, thinks he meets and talks and walks with Lord Krishna, who explains all to him.”

  “All of what?”

  Harmon shrugged. “But how would I know? As yet I have not taken soma. Perhaps when I am an old man, and free of human passions, I will. But for just now, no, thank you. I feel as do most. I can wait awhile.”

  John said very evenly, “But if the relationship between man and woman became meaningless, then there would be no succeeding generations.”

  Harmon smiled jovially. “Of course, but that is not deemed of importance to the guru and the others who worship at the Shrine of Kalkin. The sooner all are gathered to the bosom of Kalkin and are united in one transcendent, ah, soul, the better.”

  There is a great difference between a warrior born and a soldier trained. Harmon, as a younger man, had once taken military training on one of the more backward planets belonging to the League. However, it would not have occurred to him to rush a man who had him covered with a weapon as deadly as a flamer. Nor would he have dreamed that a man as large as John of the Hawks could move so fast.

  He jiggled the hand weapon once too often. Momentarily, the muzzle was directed at the ceiling.

  The weapon flamed briefly, a pencil of light and heat, but Harmon had not the time to direct it with accuracy. John of the Hawks was upon him—less than gently. A fist the size of a quart container banged upon the side of his head, and he went under into temporary oblivion.

  John stared down at him momentarily, then stooped and swept up the gun and stuck it in his belt. He went to the small table upon whose top sat the two soma pills and picked one of them up. He stooped down again and pried open the fallen man’s mouth and popped the pill inside.

  “If you choke on that, so much the better.” he growled.

  He stood for a moment in thought, then returned to his chair and sat himself again, waiting patiently for Jim or one of the other members of the Revelation’s crew.

  They took almost as long to return to Aberdeen as they had taken on the way to the spaceship, since, although Don of the Clarks was healed in body, he was still weak from loss of blood and from his descent so deep into the valley of death.

  They talked it out considerably on the way and had reached conclusions by the time they came up to the gates of Aberdeen.

  “We have the means now to rally the clannsmen,” John of the Hawks had said. “We shall recommend to the muster that two criers go forth at greatest speed to Caithness and to Dumbarton, one to each, and spread the word of warning. Caithness will send forth, by fastest steed, two criers to give warning to two other towns, and Dumbarton will do the same. And thus, on and on. Each town will warn two more. Within three months, surely every phylum on Caledonia will have had the warning.”

  “Aüi,” Don said grimly. “And it will not be too soon, for by that time, how many will have taken this accursed soma?”

  “Too many,” John admitted. “But there is naught else we can do.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then the plans of these otherworldings will be thwarted—for the time, at least.”

  Don looked at him questioningly.

  John said, “But they will come again. And next time, undoubtedly, in other guise. We must prepare, Don of the Clarks.”

  “Prepare? Prepare for what? And how?”

  “Some of the old ways must go. No longer is Caledonia unknown to these men from Beyond. They know we are here, and some, at least, yearn for our resources. To repel them we must change many of the old ways.”

  Don stared at him. “But that is against the bann!”

  John said, “That is one of the institutions that must go.”

  When they reached the gates of Aberdeen, John shouted loudly, “As Raid Cacique of the Hawks, I summon the muster for emergency council!”

  A crier who had been standing nearby dashed for the town square to sound the conch.

  Dewey came riding up, grinning elation. “John! The Keepers of the Faith have ruled! Our raid was not against the bann! I am to be raised to sagamore at the next muster, and it is rumored Don of the Clarks will be made a raid cacique! Your exploits are being sung by the bards!”

  “Aüi!” John yelped. He leaped to the ground and threw the reins of his horse to his kynsman. “Here, take the animal. Meet me at the square in but five minutes, for the muster. I go to see Alice of the Thompsons.”

  He ran for his longhouse, even as the conch began to sound, summoning the phyletics.

  He banged into the great hall of the Clann Hawk and hurried to the door of Robert, the sachem. Without knocking, he dashed in.

  She was there, alone, in the living room. And at his entry, looked up, her eyes shining.

  He came to her. “Alice!” He put his hands on her shoulders. “The Keepers of the Faith have ruled that you can honorably be my bride.”

  There was a serene quality in her face that he didn’t quite understand. He said, “Alice, what’s wrong?”

  She said gently, “Nothing is wrong, John of the Hawks. And nothing will ever be wrong for me again. I walk in the path of Lord Krishna.”

  PART THREE

  OPPORTUNIST

  Chapter One

  Sublieutenant Mabsten heard the detector beginning to beep and walked over to the screen. He said to his warrant, “What is it, Venizelou?”

  Warrant Venizelou was scowling down at the screen. “Four men, on foot. No, five. Metal on them, but not much.”

  Marsten said, “Who’s on the laser rifles?”

  “Jenkins and Motoshi on the one covering that direction.”

  The sublieutenant looked down at the screen unhappily. “What in the name of Krishna are they doing, just walking toward us like that? You better have Jenkins cut them down.”

  “Maybe they’re women.”

  “Women don’t carry
weapons.”

  “Maybe they aren’t carrying weapons. That’s not much metal indicated.”

  The sublieutenant was irritated. He was a younger man than the warrant—younger and considerably less experienced—and was continually reminded of it. He knew that the warrant and the eight enlisted men in his detachment were aware that this was his first command and that he was newly out of cadet school. Not that anything had been his fault, nor had he lost any of his small command, but everything seemed to go wrong in this remote post.

  The warrant added, “Not enough metal to be a carbine or even a sword.”

  The sublieutenant said, “We ought to be able to see them visually. Let’s go up on the roof.”

  They went over to the side of the room where a ladder led upward. The building was approximately one hundred feet long and of roughhewn wood. The roof was flat, and at each end, behind sandbags, were rifle emplacements, two men at each.

  The sublieutenant wore binoculars and now trained them. He looked for a long moment, then handed the glasses to Warrant Venizelou. “What do you make of it?”

  The warrant put his eyes to the glasses, adjusted them slightly. “The one out in front’s got an orange robe on.”

  “I’m not blind, “Marsten said.

  “They’re coming from the direction of Nairn,” Venizelou said. “Nairn’s supposed to be pacified. United Mining’s been recruiting there.”

  The lieutenant took the glasses back. He walked to the end of the roof and trained them on the approaching group again.

  The two men stationed at the laser rifle looked up at him. One of them said, “Something, Lootenant?”

  Marsten said, “Five men on foot.”

  “You want we should ventilate them?”

  “They don’t seem to be armed.”

  The other enlisted man snorted at that.

  The sublieutenant said unhappily, “They’re not even wearing kilts.”

  “The only good Caledonian’s a dead one, sir, like everybody says.”

  The sublieutenant said snappishly, “If we killed every native on the damned planet, United Interplanetary Mining’d have to import labor all the way from Sidon. The cornet’s warned us there’s been too much bloodshed already.”

  He came to a sudden decision, returned his binoculars to their case and turned to the warrant, who had come up to stand beside him.

  “We’ll go out and interrogate them.”

  “Yes, sir.” Warrant Venizelou looked down at the riflemen. “You two keep slick, understand?”

  “Sure, Warrant, we’re not empty. I still say, ventilate them.”

  “That’s up to the sublieutenant to decide. Just keep that rifle trained.” The warrant turned and followed his officer.

  In the room below, Warrant Venizelou picked up a short hand weapon and hung it over his shoulder by its sling before following Marsten through the door.

  They issued forth into the open and advanced about fifty feet from the building and awaited the coming of the unknowns.

  After a few minutes the warrant growled, “They’re all Caledonians.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The size of them. The shortest must be seven feet. We don’t grow ’em that size. That lead one in orange might be done up like a monk or guru, but he’s local.”

  Sublieutenant Marsten said, “A lot of these people have taken soma, Warrant. Quite a few have even studied at the pagoda in New Sidon City.”

  However, he unsnapped his holster and loosened the handgun. Warrant Venizelou slipped his own weapon from his shoulder and held it at a nonchalant ready.

  Marsten called, “All right. You’re near enough. What do you want? This is a military post, and civilians are not allowed.”

  The orange clad one continued to amble toward them, as though he hadn’t heard—or didn’t care. There was a dour quality in his face, but superimposed upon it was a gentle meekness, characteristic of one who has taken the hallucinogen soma. The others brought up the rear.

  The warrant raised his weapon to the ready and trained it. “You heard the sublieutenant,” he snapped. “One more step, and I cut you in two.”

  The orange clad one came to a halt and said mildly, “We walk in the path of Lord Krishna and hence know no evil.” He looked at the sublieutenant. “Have you taken your Soma, my son?”

  The sublieutenant said impatiently, “I am a soldier; obviously not.”

  The monk said, “That is true, my son. He who is of the military has not accepted, as yet, the teaching of Lord Krishna, ‘thou shalt not harm.’ ”

  Marsten said, “What is it that you want, guru?”

  The other said, “I am David and come from the town of Nairn, where I am in charge of the Shrine of Kalkin.” He turned and indicated the four men who followed him. All of these were attired in black robes, and all kept their peace. They were typical Caldonian clannsmen, save that y wore no kilts, nor did they carry claidheammors at their sides. “These are acolytes, desirous of taking their soma and entering into oneness with Lord Krishna.” All right. Very praiseworthy, I’m sure. But what are you doing here? Civilians aren’t allowed in the vicinity of military posts, thank Krishna for that!”

  “My son,” the Guru David said chidingly, “you must not take the Lord Krishna’s name in vain, for it is he who leads us along the path to the Shrine of Kalkin.”

  Warrant Venizelou waggled the muzzle of his gun back and forth in a negative gesture. “You heard the sublieutenant, guru. What’d you want here? You better turn around and git on back to Nairn. Out here you got a good chance to get picked up by some raiding party, and most these clannsmen don’t go for none of you people that’s taken soma.”

  The monk looked at him in gentle reproof. “When you have taken your soma, my son, all evil will depart you, and no longer will you even dream of harming any living thing.”

  “I know, I know,” Venizelou grunted. “But what’ya want here?”

  The orange clad monk looked back to the sublieutenant. “My son, when the Guru Mark left Nairn to spread the message of Lord Krishna elsewhere, in my care he put a supply of soma sufficient for the needs of all in Nairn who might wish to enter into the Shrine of Kalkin. However, two weeks past, a raiding party from Dumbarton entered into the city and seized and destroyed the sacred soma. These four acolytes”—he gestured at his followers—“wish to follow the footsteps of Lord Krishna but have so soma.”

  “Why come to me?” Marsten said. “This is a military post, not a pagoda. The nearest pagoda is in New Sidon.”

  “But my son, that is many miles from here, and we have not even horses. Since so many of the people of Nairn have taken soma, the raiding parties, unresisted, have driven off all the horses, and we lack transportation. Is it not possible for you to communicate with the pagoda and have a fresh supply of holy soma sent to us?”

  The sublieutenant thought about it. He said finally. “My detector indicated metal on you. What is it?”

  “Metal?” the monk said blankly. Then, “Ah.” He looked at his four followers in mild reproof. “The acolytes have not as yet taken their soma and hence have fears unknown to the initiates. They carry skeans, so as to fight off the wild dogs.”

  “Wild dogs,” Venizelou said. “That’s a new one. What wild dogs?”

  The guru said, “My son, long years past when the Inverness Ark, which carried the first settlers to Caledonia, crashed, there were aboard various life forms from Mother Earth, including pets. In the misty years that followed the crash, many of these took to the wilderness and multiplied. Today there are both wild dogs, who run in packs, and wild cats, descended from the common house cat.”

  The sublieutenant said, “Warrant, stay here with the guru and his converts. I’ll put in a report on this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Marsten turned and strode off for the building that housed his detachment. On the roof, both laser rifles were trained on the small group from Nairn. At the windows, the four enlisted men off-duty we
re staring out at the newcomers. The lieutenant disappeared inside.

  The guru’s eyes went about the vicinity.

  “I do not believe I have been here before,” he said. He took in the considerable wreckage. “There was disaster?”

  “Kinda,” Warrant Venizelou said. “This usta be some kind of village of herdsmen, like. When the cornet based us here, these wild clansmen were dullies enough to try’n give us a hard time. So we had to flame the resta the houses down.”

  There was infinite hurt in the face of the monk. “You mean this was a small town and you have driven the folk away?”

  “That’s one way of puttin’ it, friend. But it’s the only way of dealing with these people. They’re born bandits. They don’t work. Or anyway, just enough to barely get by. They spend full time stealing from each other. They’ll spend a week sitting behind a rock on a hillside, waiting to get a potshot at their neighbor, when they oughta be out plowing or whatever.”

  “But… my son, this was their town.”

  The warrant was contemptuous. “They couldn’t get it into rough their empty skulls that we were going to be based here if they wanted it that way or not. We had to flame down half the clannsmen the first day. The rest took to the hills. For a while we let the women and kids stay, but you couldn’t even trust them. Finally, we cut the houses down, except for the one we’re in, and sent the rest of them packing.”

  “But where do they live now?”

  Venizelou shrugged. “Up in the hills somewheres, I guess. From time to time they pull some trick. Used to come especially at night. Guess they didn’t know our detectors can see as well at night as day. But we still can’t get any distance from the base without running the chance of being cut off or sniped at.”

  Sublieutenant Marsten returned. “All right,” he said. “I called New Sidon City. The skimmer was coming out today, anyway with stores. A supply of soma is being sent. Come on into the longhouse. You must be hungry.” Silently, the five followed him.