Star Soldiers by Andre Norton
Kana accepted the cup gingerly. He could not refuse to drink—it was offered with too much ceremony, though what effect the native liquor might have on a Terran stomach and head worried him, even as the stuff slid smoothly over his tongue and he swallowed. There was no sensation of heat such as Terran strong drink brought—only a coolness, a tingling which spread outward to the tips of his fingers and the surface of his skin. He set down the empty cup. Now what he sensed was mingled in some odd way with the scent from the brazier and the green radiance of the walls, as if taste, touch, smell and sight were suddenly one, all the keener and sharper for that uniting.
The Ventur shrugged his robe into place about his shoulders.
"We go now to your Master-of-Swords—"
Did he heard those words with his ears, mused Kana, or did they ring in his mind only? He stood up, this strange clarity of the senses persisting, and watched the frog-man drop the rope into the darkness below the trap door. On the platform the Ventur paused to adjust his hood, hiding his strange face.
"He's in the other building," Kana warned, remembering the storm.
"Yes—" The robed shadow glided noiselessly along, almost entirely invisible to anyone who did not know where he was. Kana knew that that must have protected him as he spied upon the Combatants.
They covered the few feet between the door of the warehouse and the recessed entrance of headquarters clinging to one another and both Kana's coat and the skirts of the other's robe were soaked with sea spray as they won to their goal.
Not only were his senses more acute, Kana decided, but his reactions were swifter. He was conscious of so much he had not noted before—that there were subtle differences in the shades of green light from room to room—that sounds hitherto drowned out by the muffled roar of the wind were perceptible.
"What's that—!" A Swordsman coming down the hall halted at the sight of the Ventur.
"Messenger to Hansu," Kana explained, hurrying his companion on to meet the Blademaster.
Hansu and two of the Swordtans glanced up frowning at the interruption. But they were alert at the sight of the trader.
"Where did you—?" the Blademaster began and then addressed the silent Ventur. "What is it that you wish?"
"It is rather what you wish, Master-of-Swords," the other returned. "You desire a meeting with our Masters-of-Trade. But I have not the right to answer in their name. This one of you"—the cowled head gave a half turn to indicate Kana— "has made clear to me why you are here and what you wish. Grant me"—he mentioned a space of Fronnian time— "and I shall have an answer for you."
Hansu did not hesitate. "Done! But how can you communicate with your people? In the storm—"
Kana received a vivid impression of the Ventur's amusement. "Do you then have no means among you of talking across distances, Terran? We have been rated a backward people by off-world races, but we have not displayed all our knowledge and resources before them. Come with me if you wish and see. There is no trickery in what I would do, only the use of things built by intelligent beings for their safety and comfort."
So it was that Kana and Hansu returned to that hidden room to watch the Ventur, his hampering robe discarded, open a thin box and display a silver mirror disc and a row of small levers. These he raised or lowered in a pattern, with infinite care, as if he worked out a complicated combination.
The mirror misted and at the coming of that film the Ventur moved quickly to snatch up a slender rod. With the pointed tip of that he traced a series of waving lines. They faded from the disc and there was a moment of waiting until the mist reappeared and a second collection of lines were inscribed. Four times that happened and then the trader put aside his pen.
"There is a matter of time now," he informed the Combatants. "We must wait until the Masters reply. I only report, it is for them to give orders."
Hansu grunted. There were cruel lines of weariness about the Blademaster's mouth, a cloud of fatigue in his eyes. Hansu was a man worn close to the edge of endurance. And what ate into him was not only the future of the Horde—but something even more important. He was fighting for more than their escape from Fronn—for a goal which might be of far greater importance than the lives of all the Archs on this world.
The Ventur inhaled the brazier smoke, but his golden eyes watched the Terrans.
"Master," he said to the Blademaster, "this much I can tell you—there has not been any off-world ship land here for ten tens of clors—"
Kana tried to translate the time measure. Close to four months' ship time! His mouth set hard.
"And that is not as it was in the past?"
"It is not," the Blademaster was answered. "We do not care for off-world trade, so its lack did not disturb us. But now—perhaps you can read another meaning into this. Also, what can you do if the trade ship comes not? Your enemies hold the port at Tharc."
"One thing at a time. Let me speak to your Masters and then we shall see—"
A tinkle of sound came from the box. The Ventur looked at the mirror. Although the Terrans could make nothing of what he saw there he spoke in a moment or two.
"The Masters summon you to Po'ult to speak with them in private council. And because you have met with treachery on Fronn, there shall be those of master rank who shall sit among your men as hostages while you are gone. To this do you agree?"
"I agree. But when do I go?"
"The first fury of the storm will ebb tonight. They will send a ship in, but you must be ready to return with it at once, for this lull will not last long."
"Am I to go alone?"
"Take one man if you wish. May I suggest this one." A claw finger pointed at Kana. "He speaks the trade tongue well."
Hansu did not object. "Let it be so."
The lull came as the Ventur had foretold. And the two Terrans went with the trader down the sea-slimed steps to the dock. Kana saw the vee of spray cutting down the bay, heralding the approach of a Venturi vessel. It arose from the water and came in to the pier with perfection of handling. Then a hatch in the conning tower opened and four robed figures disembarked. Three glided up to the Terrans, the other remained by the ship.
"This Master Roo'uf, Under-Master Rs'ad, and Under-Master Rr'ol—they shall stay with your men."
Hansu escorted the Venturi back to introduce them to his Swordtans. Then, with Kana at his heels, he climbed the ladder leading to the hatch. Within was a second ladder dropping into green dimness and the Combatants descended while strange odors and stranger noises closed about them as they went. The Venturi spy touched Kana's sleeve and drew him to the left.
"It is the thought of the master of this ship that you would be interested in watching from the lookout as we travel— This way."
They squeezed along a passage which was almost too narrow to accommodate Terrans and found themselves in a circular space where a wide seat pad ran three-quarters of the way around, broken only by the door through which they had entered. Directly facing them was a section of what appeared to be transparent glass. And beyond that they could see the clustered buildings of the Landing.
A Ventur without a robe was seated on the pad watching the scene intently. He gave them only a casual gesture of greeting before the dock began to recede and the whole shore line whipped to the right as the ship turned. The voyage to Po'ult had begun.
13 — Life or Death Trade
Po'ult rose out of the sea abruptly—the toothed rock walls of the island's rim lifting vertically from the sea without any softening fringe of beach. And on the crest of those walls were no signs of buildings.
Having afforded its passengers a single good look at the island the ship submerged until even the conning tower was under water. The Terrans were led down close to the keel, to wedge themselves into a smaller craft with two of the Venturi. Vibration sang in the walls of that tiny boat but there was no other indication that they had left the parent vessel.
Kana tensed. The sensation of being confined far below the surface of the sea
They saw but little of the Venturi city, being taken along passages chiseled through the native rock to a room near the top of the cliff, one side of which was transparent. Their guide withdrew and Kana went over to that window, craving the feeling of freedom it gave.
"Volcano crater," Hansu observed.
The center of the island was a cup, its walls terraced and planted, a grove of trees extending into a miniature woodland in the depth of the hollow. But there were no signs of buildings.
"But where—"
The Blademaster looked beyond the peaceful carpet of vegetation to the crater walls.
"We're in their city now," he explained. "They've hollowed out the cliffs—"
In a moment Kana saw the evidences of that—the regular openings in the rock which must equal such windows as the one before which he now stood.
"What a scheme!" he marveled. "Even a bomber would have a hard time putting this out of commission—unless it dropped hot stuff—"
At the corner of the Blademaster's jaw a tiny muscle pulled tight.
"When the law is broken once, it can be easily fractured again."
"Use hot stuff?" Kana's horrified amazement was genuine. He could accept the enmity of the Mechs, even the struggle for power backed in some mysterious way by Central Control Agents, but the thought of turning to nuclear weapons against—! Terra had learned too bitter a lesson in the Big Blow-up and the wars which followed. Those had occurred a thousand years ago but they had scarred the memories of his species for all time. He could not conceive of a Terran using nukes—it was so unnatural that it made his head reel.
"We've had evidence enough that this is not just a Mech plot," Hansu pointed out relentlessly. "We may be conditioned against hot stuff because of our past history—but others aren't. And we daren't overlook any possibility—"
That was an axiom of the corps he should have remembered. Never overlook any possibility, be prepared for any change in prospects—in the balance of force against force.
"War Lord"—one of the frog people had come up silently behind them—"the Masters would speak with you."
No hospitality had been offered them before that meeting, Kana noted, disturbed, no gesture made which could be termed friendly. He fell a step behind the Blademaster and stood at attention as they entered a room where four Venturi, their robes laid aside, awaited them.
The soft fabric of their short tunics was a somber blue-purple and there were gems set in their belts and in the broad bracelets they wore encircling all four upper limbs. At some distance squatted a fifth, writing pen in one hand and a block of the mirror stuff on the floor before him.
A single seat pad was placed facing the court and Hansu took his seat there, Kana standing behind him.
"We have been informed of what you wish." The Ventur whose tunic boasted a symbol stitched upon its breast opened the meeting without ceremony. "You wish a place of refuge for your men until you can make contact with your superiors off-world. Why should we be interested in what happens to interlopers, introduced on Fronn through no fault of ours? And since you are now being hunted by the Llor and these new allies of theirs, it might mean that in giving you sanctuary we would bring upon us the wrath of those at Tharc."
"Does not a state of war already exist between you and Tharc?" countered Hansu. "When we crossed the mountains we were met by a party of Llor driven off from an attack on the Landing. From them we rescued one of your men."
The frog-man's broad face displayed no emotion the Terrans could read.
"The Venturi do not war, they trade. And when it is not time to trade, when the world is disturbed, we withdraw until the mainland is sane again. So has it been in the past and that system has always worked to our advantage."
"But before did the Llor ever ally with those who could bring war through the air? Perhaps Po'ult cannot be captured from the sea—but what if you are attacked from above, Master of Many Ships?"
"You have no machine which can ride the wind, are these others then more powerful than you?"
"They are ones who have been trained in a different mode of making war. And it is against our custom for them to use that warfare upon such a world as Fronn. With the weapons they have they can make themselves master of this whole planet if they wish. Do you think that your withdrawal will avail you if that is their plan? One by one they shall search out your island strongholds and rain destruction upon you from the air. They may even bring to subdue you the burning death—which is a weapon forbidden to all living creatures—a weapon so terrible that its use once wrecked my own world and sent my race back to barbarism for centuries. For"—Hansu repeated the warning he had voiced to Kana earlier—"when the law is once broken, it is easily fractured again. These renegades have broken our law by coming to Fronn, and from that they may go on to worse things—"
"If you do not fight as do these others, then why or how could you be of service to us?"
"Just this—" Hansu held himself stiffly erect, braced as if facing an enemy charge. "The news of what has occurred here must be carried to our first rank Masters. Only they have the power to deal with these outlaws. And that message must be carried by one to whom they will listen. Give my men refuge and I, myself, will take the message off-world. And I promise you that when I am heard by our inner Council there shall be a reckoning and Fronn shall be cleansed. So that here off-world men shall be forbidden to land—as has happened on other planets—and you shall be left to manage your affairs as you wish. Do you not know that there are those who do not wish to see the trade of Fronn only Venturi trade? They would help the Llor to break you as they would a rotten stick for a night campfire—for the Llor are ignorant of the mysteries of your craft and those from off-world would speedily take it all into their own hands—to hold forever! You have never welcomed the alien traders and they would be free of your restrictions."
Was the Blademaster making an impression? Kana could not tell. And his hopes sank when the spokesman of the Masters answered:
"You say much which we must consider in council. Be thou becalmed in our waters this night—"
That last had the flavor of some formula of hospitality. And the Terrans discovered that it meant escort to a room overlooking the valley where two of the treasured smoke braziers filled the air with spicy scent. One of the Masters came in, followed by a lesser trader bearing a tray on which were set out three cups and a ewer. The Master poured out a small measure of the same liquid Kana had been given in the hidden room, and proffered the cups to the Combatants with his own hands. Again Kana sipped the icy stuff and felt it seep through him, bringing once more the heightened senses, the alertness of mind and body. The ceremonial drink was borne away and small tables set up on which were laid a series of dishes, none containing more than a mouthful or so of that particular viand.
"These foods have been exported off-world," the Master assured them. "They can be safely eaten by those of your species."
The Terrans ate, thankful for the change from rations, finding the subtle flavors intriguing. The Venturi were artists in food, striving for strange effects—substances were hot and cold at the same time, a sharp sour was followed by a bland sweet, the whole blending into a feeling of gastronomic content such as Kana, for one, had never before experienced.
"Your city is well concealed." Hansu gestured toward the bucolic scene in the crater valley.
"The plan was not intended to conceal," corrected the Master. "When our far-off ancestors first crawled from water to land they lived in caves within the cliffs of these sea islands. So, instead of building in the open, our race built within the land—for it is our nature to wish our living space to be enclosed and close to water. As our intelligence and civilization grew our cities became such as Po'ult. We are uncomfortable on the dry plains of the large continents—each of us
Hansu nodded, and began to describe Terra, her blue skies, green hills, and open, changeable seas.
"Tell me, since you appear to be one who thinks upon matters beyond his duties for the day, why do you sell your skill to war? You are not barbarian as are the Llor, who are a young race. You must come of an old people, perhaps older than we. Why have you not realized that what you do is a waste, a negation of growth and good?"
"We are born with a will to struggle, a desire to match our strength against that of others. Among our kind when that inner urge is stilled the tribe or nation which has lost it declines. We broke into outer space—and that was a struggle and goal which absorbed us for centuries—we were eager for the stars. But we discovered that space was not ours—that there we were deemed as young and barbaric as the Llor. There were many races and species before us and they had fashioned a code of law and order to control newcomers. Those who exercised that control judged us and ruled that we were, because of our temperaments, unfit for space except within the boundaries they set. Since it was in our nature to fight, we were to provide the mercenaries for other planets. We were geared to that service, a small piece fitted into their pattern. And so it is with us—the price we must pay for the stars since there is this guard upon the stellar lanes."
"To me that does not sound like an equal bargain," commented their host. "And when any bargain is uneven, there comes a day when it will be declared no bargain and he who has been defrauded will go elsewhere to trade. Does the time come when you of Terra will go elsewhere?"
"Perhaps. And what happens here on Fronn may decide that."