by Andre Norton
Chapter VII
BARRING ACCIDENT
The morning winds rustled through the grass forest and, closer to hand,it pulled at the cloaks of the Salariki. Clan nobles sat on stools,lesser folk squatted on the trampled stubble of the cleared groundoutside the stockade. In their many colored splendor the drab tunics ofthe Terrans were a blot of darkness at either end of the makeshift arenawhich had been marked out for them.
At the conclusion of their conference the Queen's men had been forcedinto a course Jellico had urged from the first. He, and he alone, wouldrepresent the Free Traders in the coming duel. And now he stood there inthe early morning, stripped down to shorts and boots, wearing nothing onwhich a net could catch and so trap him. The Free Traders were certainthat the I-S men having any advantage would press it to the ultimatelimit and the death of Captain Jellico would make a great impression onthe Salariki.
Jellico was taller than the Eysie who faced him, but almost as lean. Hardmuscles moved under his skin, pale where space tan had not burned in theyears of his star voyaging. And his every movement was with the liquidgrace of a man who, in his time, had been a master of the force blade.Now he gripped in his left hand the claw knife given him by Groft himselfand in the other he looped the throwing rope of the net.
At the other end of the field, the Eysie man was industriously moving hisbootsoles back and forth across the ground, intent upon coating them withas much of the gritty sand as would adhere. And he displayed the supremeconfidence in himself which he had shown at the moment of challenge inthe Great Hall.
None of the Free Trading party made the mistake of trying to give Jellicoadvice. The Captain had not risen to his command without learning hisduties. And the duties of a Free Trader covered a wide range of knowledgeand practice. One had to be equally expert with a blaster and a slingshotwhen the occasion demanded. Though Jellico had not fought a Salariki duelwith net and knife before, he had a deep memory of other weapons, othertactics which could be drawn upon and adapted to his present need.
There was none of the casual atmosphere which had surrounded the affairbetween the Salariki clansmen in the hall. Here was ceremony. The stormpriests invoked their own particular grim Providence, and there was anoath taken over the weapons of battle. When the actual engagement beganthe betting among the spectators had reached, Dane decided, epicproportions. Large sections of Sargolian personal property were due tochange hands as a result of this encounter.
As the chief priest gave the order to engage both Terrans advanced fromtheir respective ends of the fighting space with the half crouching,light footed tread of spacemen. Jellico had pulled his net into as closea resemblance to rope as its bulk would allow. The very type of weapon,so far removed from any the Traders knew, made it a disadvantage ratherthan an asset.
But it was when the Eysie moved out to meet the Captain that Rip'sfingers closed about Dane's upper arm in an almost paralyzing grip.
"He knows--"
Dane had not needed that bad news to be made vocal. Having seen theexploits of the Salariki duelists earlier, he had already caught thesignificance of that glide, of the way the I-S champion carried his net.The Eysie had not had any last minute instruction in the use of Sargolianweapons--he had practiced and, by his stance, knew enough to make him aformidable menace. The clamor about the Queen's party rose as thebattle-wise eyes of the clansmen noted that and the odds against Jellicoreached fantastic heights while the hearts of his crew sank.
Only Van Rycke was not disturbed. Now and then he raised his smellingbottle to his nose with an elegant gesture which matched those of thebefurred nobility around him, as if not a thought of care ruffled hismind.
The Eysie feinted in a opening which was a rather ragged copy of theyoung Salarik's more fluid moves some hours before. But, when the netsettled, Jellico was simply not there, his quick drop to one knee hadsent the mesh flailing in an arc over his bowed shoulders with a good sixinches to spare. And a cry of approval came not only from his comrades,but from those natives who had been gamblers enough to venture theirwagers on his performance.
Dane watched the field and the fighters through a watery film. Thediscomfort he had experienced since downing that mouthful of the cup offriendship had tightened into a fist of pain clutching his middle in atorturing grip. But he knew he must stick it out until Jellico's ordealwas over. Someone stumbled against him and he glanced up to see Ali'sface, a horrible gray-green under the tan, close to his own. For a momentthe Engineer-apprentice caught at his arm for support and then with avisible effort straightened up. So he wasn't the only one--He looked forRip and Weeks and saw that they, too, were ill.
But for a moment all that mattered was the stretch of trampled earth andthe two men facing each other. The Eysie made another cast and this time,although Jellico was not caught, the slap of the mesh raised a red welton his forearm. So far the Captain had been content to play the defensiverole of retreat, studying his enemy, planning ahead.
The Eysie plainly thought the game his, that he had only to wait for afavorable moment and cinch the victory. Dane began to think it had goneon for weary hours. And he was dimly aware that the Salariki were alsorestless. One or two shouted angrily at Jellico in their own tongue.
The end came suddenly. Jellico lost his footing, stumbled, and went down.But before his men could move, the Eysie champion bounded forward, hisnet whirling out. Only he never reached the Captain. In the very act offalling Jellico had pulled his legs under him so that he was not supinebut crouched, and his net swept but at ground level, clipping the I-S manabout the shins, entangling his feet so that he crashed heavily to thesod and lay still.
"The whip--that Lalox whip trick!" Wilcox's voice rose triumphantly abovethe babble of the crowd. Using his net as if it had been a thong, Jellicohad brought down the Eysie with a move the other had not foreseen.
Breathing hard, sweat running down his shoulders and making tracksthrough the powdery red dust which streaked him, Jellico got to his feetand walked over to the I-S champion who had not moved or made a soundsince his fall. The Captain went down on one knee to examine him.
"Kill! Kill!" That was the Salariki, all their instinctive savageryaroused.
But Jellico spoke to Groft. "By our customs we do not kill the conquered.Let his friends bear him hence." He took the claw knife the Eysie stillclutched in his hand and thrust it into his own belt. Then he faced theI-S party and Kallee.
"Take your man and get out!" The rein he had kept on his temper thesepast days was growing very thin. "You've made your last play here."
Kallee's thick lips drew back in something close to a Salarik snarl. Butneither he nor his men made any reply. They bundled up their unconsciousfighter and disappeared.
Of their own return to the sanctuary of the Queen Dane had only thedimmest of memories afterwards. He had made the privacy of the forestroad before he yielded to the demands of his outraged interior. And afterthat he had stumbled along with Van Rycke's hand under his arm, knowingfrom other miserable sounds that he was not alone in his torment.
It was some time later, months he thought when he first roused, that hefound himself lying in his bunk, feeling very weak and empty as if alarge section of his middle had been removed, but also at peace with hisworld. As he levered himself up the cabin had a nasty tendency to moveslowly to the right as if he were a pivot on which it swung, and he hadall the sensations of being in free fall though the Queen was stillfirmly planeted. But that was only a minor discomfort compared to thedisturbance he remembered.
Fed the semi-liquid diet prescribed by Tau and served up by Mura to himand his fellow sufferers, he speedily got back his strength. But it hadbeen a close call, he did not need Tau's explanation to underline that.Weeks had suffered the least of the four, he the most--though none ofthem had had an easy time. And they had been out of circulation threedays.
"The Eysie blasted last night," Rip informed him as they lounged in thesun on the ramp, sharing the blessed lazy hours of invalidism.
But somehow that news gave Dane no lift of spirit. "I didn't think they'dgive up--"
Rip shrugged. "They may be off to make a dust-off before the Board. Only,thanks to Van and the Old Man, we're covered all along the line. There'snothing they can use against us to break our contract. And now we're inso solid they can't cut us out with the Salariki. Groft asked the Captainto teach him that trick with the net. I didn't know the Old Man knewLalox whip fighting--it's about one of the nastiest ways to get cut topieces in this universe--"
"How's trade going?"
Rip's sunniness clouded. "Supplies have given out. Weeks had anidea--but it won't bring in Koros. That red wood he's so mad about, he'spersuaded Van to stow some in the cargo holds since we have enough Korosstones to cover the voyage. Luckily the clansmen will take ordinary tradegoods in exchange for that and Weeks thinks it will sell on Terra. It'stough enough to turn a steel knife blade and yet it is light and easy tohandle when it's cured. Queer stuff and the color's interesting. Thatstockade of it planted around Groft's town has been up close to a hundredyears and not a sign of rot in a log of it!"
"Where is Van?"
"The storm priests sent for him. Some kind of a gabble-fest on thestar-star level, I gather. Otherwise we're almost ready to blast. And weknow what kind of cargo to bring next time."
They certainly did, Dane agreed. But he was not to idle away his morning.An hour later a caravan came out of the forest, a line of complaining,burdened orgels, their tiny heads hanging low as they moaned their woes,the hard life which sent them on their sluggish way with piles of redlogs lashed to their broad toads' backs. Weeks was in charge of theprocession and Dane went to work with the cargo plan Van had left, seeingthat the brilliant scarlet lengths were hoist into the lower cargo hatchand stacked according to the science of stowage. He discovered that Riphad been right, the wood for all its incredible hardness was light ofweight. Weak as he still was he could lift and stow a full sized log withno great difficulty. And he thought Weeks was correct in thinking that itwould sell on their home world. The color was novel, the durability anasset--it would not make fortunes as the Koros stones might, but everybit of profit helped and this cargo might cover their fielding fees onTerra.
Sinbad was in the cargo space when the first of the logs came in. Withhis usual curiosity the striped tom cat prowled along the wood, sniffingindustriously. Suddenly he stopped short, spat and backed away, his spinefur a roughened crest. Having backed as far as the inner door he turnedand slunk out. Puzzled, Dane gave the wood a swift inspection. There wereno cracks or crevices in the smooth surfaces, but as he stopped over thelogs he became conscious of a sharp odor. So this was one scent of theperfumed planet Sinbad did not like. Dane laughed. Maybe they had betterhave Weeks make a gate of the stuff and slip it across the ramp, keepingSinbad on ship board. Odd--it wasn't an unpleasant odor--at least to himit wasn't--just sharp and pungent. He sniffed again and was vaguelysurprised to discover that it was less noticeable now. Perhaps the woodwhen taken out of the sunlight lost its scent.
They packed the lower hold solid in accordance with the rules of stowageand locked the hatch before Van Rycke returned from his meeting with thestorm priests. When the Cargo-master came back he was followed by twoservants bearing between them a chest.
But there was something in Van Rycke's attitude, apparent to those whoknew him best, that proclaimed he was not too well pleased with hismorning's work. Sparing the feelings of the accompanying storm priestsabout the offensiveness of the spacer Captain Jellico and Steen Wilcoxwent out to receive them in the open. Dane watched from the hatch, awarethat in his present pariah-hood it would not be wise to venture closer.
The Terran Traders were protesting some course of action that theSalariki were firmly insistent upon. In the end the natives won and Kostiwas summoned to carry on board the chest which the servants had brought.Having seen it carried safely inside the spacer, the aliens departed,but Van Rycke was frowning and Jellico's fingers were beating a tattoo onhis belt as they came up the ramp.
"I don't like it," Jellico stated as he entered.
"It was none of my doing," Van Rycke snapped. "I'll take risks if I haveto--but there's something about this one--" he broke off, two deep linesshowing between his thick brows. "Well, you can't teach a sasseral tospit," he ended philosophically. "We'll have to do the best we can."
But Jellico did not look at all happy as he climbed to the controlsection. And before the hour was out the reason for the Captain'suneasiness was common property throughout the ship.
Having sampled the delights of off-world herbs, the Salariki weredetermined to not be cut off from their source of supply. Six Terranmonths from the present Sargolian date would come the great yearly feastof the Fifty Storms, and the priests were agreed that this year theirinfluence and power would be doubled if they could offer the devoutcertain privileges in the form of Terran plants. Consequently they hadproduced and forced upon the reluctant Van Rycke the Koros collection oftheir order, with instructions that it be sold on Terra and the pricereturned to them in the precious seeds and plants. In vain theCargo-master and Captain had pointed out that Galactic trade was a chancything at the best, that accident might prevent return of the Queen toSargol. But the priests had remained adamant and saw in all sucharguments only a devious attempt to raise prices. They quoted in theirturn the information they had levered out of the Company men--thatTraders had their code and that once pay had been given in advance thecontract _must_ be fulfilled. They, and they alone, wanted the full cargoof the Queen on her next voyage, and they were taking the one way theywere sure of achieving that result.
So a fortune in Koros stones which as yet did not rightfully belong tothe Traders was now in the Queen's strong-room and her crew were pledgedby the strongest possible tie known in their Service to set down onSargol once more before the allotted time had passed. The Free Tradersdid not like it, there was even a vaguely superstitious feeling that sucha bargain would inevitably draw ill luck to them. But they were left withno choice if they wanted to retain their influence with the Salariki.
"Cutting orbit pretty fine, aren't we?" Ali asked Rip across the messtable. "I saw your two star man sweating it out before he came down toshoot the breeze with us rocket monkeys--"
Rip nodded. "Steen's double checked every computation and some he's donefour times." He ran his hands over his close cropped head with a wearygesture. As a semi-invalid he had been herded down with his fellows toswallow the builder Mura had concocted and Tau insisted that they take,but he had been doing a half a night's work on the plotter under hischief's exacting eye before he came. "The latest news is that, barringaccident, we can make it with about three weeks' grace, give or take aday or two--"
"Barring accident--" the words rang in the air. Here on the frontiers ofthe star lanes there were so many accidents, so many delays which couldput a ship behind schedule. Only on the main star trails did the hugeliners or Company ships attempt to keep on regularly timed trips. A FreeTrader did not really dare to have an inelastic contract.
"What does Stotz say?" Dane asked Ali.
"He says he can deliver. We don't have the headache about setting acourse--you point the nose and we only give her the boost to send heralong."
Rip sighed. "Yes--point her nose." He inspected his nails. "Goodbye," headded gravely. "These won't be here by the time we planet here again.I'll have my fingers gnawed off to the first knuckle. Well, we lift atsix hours. Pleasant strap down." He drank the last of the stuff in hismug, made a face at the flavor, and got to his feet, due back at his postin control.
Dane, free of duty until the ship earthed, drifted back to his own cabin,sure of part of a night's undisturbed rest before they blasted off.Sinbad was curled on his bunk. For some reason the cat had not beenprowling the ship before take-off as he usually did. First he had sat onVan's desk and now he was here, almost as if he wanted human company.Dane picked him up and Sinbad rumbled a purr, arching his head so that itrubbed against the young man's ch
in in an extremely uncharacteristic showof affection. Smoothing the fur along the cat's jaw line Dane carried himback to the Cargo-master's cabin.
With some hesitation he knocked at the panel and did not step in until hehad Van Rycke's muffled invitation. The Cargo-master was stretched on thebunk, two of the take off straps already fastened across his bulk as ifhe intended to sleep through the blast-off.
"Sinbad, sir. Shall I stow him?"
Van Rycke grunted an assent and Dane dropped the cat in the small hammockwhich was his particular station, fastening the safety cords. For onceSinbad made no protest but rolled into a ball and was promptly fastasleep. For a moment or two Dane thought about this unnatural behaviorand wondered if he should call it to the Cargo-master's attention.Perhaps on Sargol Sinbad had had _his_ equivalent of a friendship cupand needed a check-up by Tau.
"Stowage correct?" the question, coming from Van Rycke, was also unusual.The seal would not have been put across the hold lock had its contentsnot been checked and rechecked.
"Yes, sir," Dane replied woodenly, knowing he was still in the outerdarkness. "There was just the wood--we stowed it according to chart."
Van Rycke grunted once more. "Feeling top-layer again?"
"Yes, sir. Any orders, sir?"
"No. Blast-off's at six."
"Yes, sir." Dane left the cabin, closing the panel carefully behind him.Would he--or could he--he thought drearily, get back in Van Rycke'sprofit column again? Sargol had been unlucky as far as he was concerned.First he had made that stupid mistake and then he got sick and now--Andnow--what _was_ the matter? Was it just the general attack of nerves overtheir voyage and the commitments which forced their haste, or was itsomething else? He could not rid himself of a vague sense that the Queenwas about to take off into real trouble. And he did not like thesensation at all!