Earthblood (24 page)

"We've talked enough," Roan cut him off. "You plot your course to raid every second-rate planet between here and Alpha, if that's what it takes to make you happy. Just don't forget where we're headed." Askor was grinning again. "That's more like it, Chief," he said. "This is what the boys been waiting for. Boy, what a cruise! It'll be a ten-year run, cutting into new territory all the way!"

"And no more talk about ghostships—or live Niss either."

"OK, Cap'n. But with some good targets in sight, it'll take more than a shipload of spooks to scare the boys off."

After Askor left the bridge, Roan sat for a long time staring into the main view screen, with its spreading pattern of glittering stars. So much for the next ten years, he thought. After that . . . But there'd be time enough to plan that when the sun called Alpha Centauri filled the screens.

Roan sprawled in his favorite deep-leather chair in the genuine wood-paneled officer's lounge of the heavy cruiser Archaeopteryx, which had served the free-booters as home for seven years now, since a stray missile had uncovered the underground depot in which the retreating ITN had concealed it, fifty-seven hundred years before. Sidis sat across from him, his grin ragged now with the absence of five front teeth, carried away by a shell fragment in an engagement off Rastoum the previous year. Poion perched in his special seat, fitted up to ease the stump of his left leg, toying with a massive silver wine goblet. Askor was tilted back with a boot on the mahogany tabletop, paring chunks from a wedge of black cheese and forcing them into his capacious mouth.

"I called you here," Roan said, "to tell you the cruise is nearly over. The story that last batch of prisoners told fits in. The sun ahead is Alpha."

"Not many of the old bunch still around, hey, Cap'n?" Sidis observed. "Bolu, Honest Max, Yack—all gone."

"Whaddaya expect?" Askor inquired with his mouth full. He lifted his alabaster chalice and washed the cheese down with green Bacchus wine, then belched heartily. "We been on, lessee, twenty-one raids in the last eleven years, and fought three deep-space engagements with wise-guy local patrols—"

"You can reminisce later," Roan said. "I expect the ITN to pick us up on their screens any day now. I don't like that, but it can't be helped. If they let us alone, however, I'm making planetfall on the fourth world of the system. According to the records, ITN Headquarters is on the second."

"From the stories we been hearing, I got my doubts the ITN has a cheery welcome for nosy strangers," Askor said. "What you want with them Terries anyway, Chief?"

"I'm a Terry myself," Roan said. "I've got business with the ITN."

"In his origins a being finds hints of his destiny," Poion murmured. "Alas, our captain knows his not . . ."

"You'll wait for me on Planet Four," Roan went on, "and stay under cover. If I'm not back in ten days—you're on your own."

"Hey, you mean . . . ?" Sidis' grin was sagging, hooked up on the bad side by twisted scar tissue. He looked from Roan to Askor to Poion. "You're talking about letting the captain walk in there alone? And where does that leave the rest of us—"

"You'll be all right," Roan said. "You'll be happy; you can raid back down through the Eastern Arm and shoot up everything in sight, without me to nag you."

"Just like that, huh? Thirteen years together, and then, srrikk!" he made a cutting motion across his throat.

"I didn't take you to raise," Roan growled. "I remember you, the day we met: you were pounding some Ythcan's brains out against the bulkhead. You were doing all right."

"Back out through the Ghost Fleet, alone?" Sidis' grin was a grimace now.

"To the Ninth Hell with that! I'm going with you, Cap'n!"

"I'm going alone," Roan said flatly.

"Then you'll have to shoot me, Cap'n," Sidis said distinctly. Roan nodded quietly. "That could be arranged."

"And me too," Askor said. "Count me in."

"And I," Poion said. "I shall go or die, as my captain wills." Roan looked from one to another. He lifted his glass and took a long draft, put it back on the table.

"You're that scared of the ghosts of departed Terries?" Nobody spoke.

"You Gooks amaze me," Roan said. "All right, we four: But no more." Sidis' grin was back in place. Askor grunted and carved off another slab of cheese. Poion nodded.

"It is well," he said. "We four."

"Gungle," Roan asked, "you think you can navigate Archaeopteryx now?"

"Yeah, Chief," Gungle said, grinning his snaggle-toothed grin. "Yeah, I think. You show me what to feed in, I feed it in."

"Suppose you were captain now. What course would you set?"

"No offense, Chief, but I'd plug in a straight line back outa East Sector. Me and the boys, we heard back on Leeto about the Terry Ghost Fleets, and there ain't no civilization for parsecs. Just these dead worlds like Centaurus Four here, without even no air."

"What are your coordinates for the nearest all blood joy city?" Gungle grinned wider, flicked a chart of the Eastern Sector on the navigation screen, and punched out a course to Leeto.

"OK," said Roan. "You're captain in full charge until I get back."

"Huh?"

"I'm taking Poion, Askor, and Sidis with me to Centaurus Two." Gungle gaped. Roan took the heavy gem he'd worn on his chest since Aldo Cerise and tossed it to the newly appointed captain, who hung it around his neck and threw his shoulders back and stood proud, the grin turning into a stern look of dignity.

"Now pipe the crew up," Roan told him.

"Men," he said, when they had all assembled, "I'm going to leave you for a while—" and raised a hand to still the muttering that started up.

"Meanwhile Gungle's captain and he'll do any gut-splitting that's necessary. And anybody that's got any ideas about anybody else being captain had better think twice. That's my Terran magic jewel Gungle's wearing. As long as he wears it nothing can touch him."

The men rolled their eyes at Gungle and made magical signs in twenty-four different religions, but no one raised any objection.

"That thing really magic?" Sidis asked, as the scout boat nosed on toward the brilliant star that was Centaurus Two, with Archaeopteryx four days astern, outward bound for Leeto.

"It created magic in the heart of Gungle," Poion answered. "He is now a man and a leader. It created magic in the hearts of the crew as well. They fear him. All this I could feel very plainly."

"Yeah, but that's not what I mean," Sidis started—

"Look!" Roan was pointing at the forward view screen.

"A ship," Askor said. "Heavy stuff, too . . ."

"It didn't take 'em long to spot us," Sidis said. "Somebody's awake in these parts."

"We'll hold our course steady as she goes," Roan said. "Leave the first move up to them."

"What if the first move is a fifty megatonner amidships?" Sidis inquired.

"That'll be a sure sign we ain't wanted," Askor grunted. Roan tuned the all-wave receiver, picked up star static, a faint murmur of distant planetary communications. Then the drone of a powerful carrier came through.

"Inbound boat, heave to and identify yourself," a voice barked in a peculiarly intoned Panterran.

"Survivors from the merchant vessel Archaeopteryx," Roan transmitted. "On course for the second planet. Who are you?"

"This is the Imperial Terran Navy talking. Ye're in Navy space. Stand by to receive a boarding party and no tricks or we'll blow ye to kingdom come."

"Are we glad to see you," Roan transmitted. "Any hot coffee aboard?" But there was no answer and the four ex-pirates watched the Terran vessel growing in their tiny view screen.

"Ah, Captain," Poion observed sadly, "again the Terran Navy is a disappointment. You look for home and there is no home."

"Your emotion receiver's working overtime," Roan said. "But I admit our welcome lacked a certain something."

"Me, I feel like a fly that's about to get swatted," Sidis said. "Why don't you ever read my emotions, Poion?"

"You're too stupid to have emotions," Askor said. "We shoulda brought Trixie in; she could handle that Terry tub."

The ITN vessel came in, paced the tiny scout boat at a distance of fifty miles and then came alongside, looming like a dull-metal planetoid. There was a heavy shock as its magnetic grapples embraced the boat.

"Open up there," the harsh but strangely cultivated-sounding voice said from the communicator.

Roan nodded to Askor. He operated the control and the four pairs of eyes watched the lock cycle open. Hot, dense air wooshed into the boat from the higher-pressure interior of the naval vessel, bringing odors of food and tobacco and a pervading animal stink.

Askor snorted. "Terries! I can smell 'em!"

Boots clanged against metal decking. A tall, lean Man wearing an open blue tunic over a bare chest ducked through the lock. He had a lined, triangular face and there was sweat glittering across his forehead and chest and his pale eyes were restless. He gripped a power rifle with both hands and looked at the three massive humanoids and then past them at Roan.

"Who are ye?" he demanded of Roan, ignoring the others.

"Roan Cornay, master of Archaeopteryx."

"Who're these beasties?" he jerked his chin at the three Gooks, not looking at them.

"My crew. We were all that got out, and—"

"You go aboard," the Man said to Roan, keeping the power rifle pointed at him. "These others stay here."

Roan hesitated a moment. Poion caught his feeling and nodded imperceptibly at Askor. Then Roan stepped accommodatingly toward the port behind the Man, and as he passed he half turned quickly, slammed the gun from the Terran's hands with a lightning blow. Askor caught it, flipped it up, and let it point casually at its former owner.

"I prefer to keep my crew with me," Roan said calmly. The Man had flattened his back against a bulkhead and his mouth was open. "Ye're stark, raving mad," he said. "I'm Navy. One yell . . ."

". . . and I'll have your guts plastered on the ceiling," Askor said, grinning.

"Whattaya say, Cap'n. Let him have it?"

"Oh, I don't know," Roan said, watching a rivulet of sweat that was crawling along the Man's neck. "Maybe he's going to be nice after all. Maybe he'll decide to extend the hospitality of his ship to all of us. How about it, Terry?"

And Roan smiled an ironic grin at himself. This was the first time he'd called anybody else Terry. And it came out like a dirty word. Askor nodded. "He'll need to point his popgun at us." Askor pushed a thumb against the firing stud of the Man's power rifle and bent it out of line. He tossed it back to the Man. "Don't worry," he said. "We won't tell nobody it don't shoot."

Roan walked close behind the Man as they went through the port into the Navy ship. "No need to be nervous," Roan told the Terran. "Just say all the right things when you see your buddies."

A small, roundly built Man with a high, pale forehead stood waiting for them in the hold. He wore the tarnished silver leaf of an ITN commander on the shoulder of his uniform and he was flanked by four armed Men. He had small, dim eyes and they squinted at Roan and his companions, as though the brilliant lighting of the hold blinded him.

"Some reason why ye didn't dump 'em back out into space, Draco?" Draco cleared his throat. "Distressed spacemen, Commander Hullwright." Commander Hullwright frowned, still looking hard at Roan. "Aren't they all. But I see. This one seems . . ."

"Yes, sir," Draco said quickly. "He's Terran, but I don't think he even knows it. That's why I brought him in to you."

Hullwright grunted, but to Draco's obvious relief he was looking at Roan and ignoring the others.

"Ye speak a little Panterran?" the commander asked Roan.

"Yes, I recognized your voice."

"Then why didn't ye answer me hail?"

"I did."

"Hmmmph. Blasted receiver's prob'ly out again. Draco, see to it." Draco drifted back, eyeing Askor and Sidis nervously, and Commander Hullwright forgot about him again.

"Don't know you're Terran, eh lad?" Hullwright asked Roan. "Ye must be pretty overwhelmed with all this," indicating with a wave the Navy ship and himself and his officers.

"I've seen ships before," Roan said.

"Um. Got an ugly tongue in your mouth. No doubt ye're a dirty spy from Rim HQ. Blan send ye?"

"No."

"Fat chance ye'd tell me if ye were a spy. What's your story? What are ye supposed to be doing in ITN space?"

"My merchant man Archaeopteryx blew up a couple of parsecs back. I was outbound for Leeto for shore leave. We had a brush with pirates off Young and I guess they mined us. We four escaped in the boat; I was afraid we'd drift forever."

"Left ye'r ship and crew to fend for themselves, eh?" Hullwright's lip curled.

"All right. I'll give ye a berth and ye can start in the Navy, swabbing decks. Maybe ye can work up to something. Maybe ye can't. Take care of him, Draco . . ." He shot a look at Askor and Sidis. "And put the animals back on their boat."

"Wait a minute," Roan said. "These are my men and they're hungry and thirsty. And I don't swab decks. I'm a master."

"Right now you're the most insignificant swab in the Imperial Terran Navy, you puppy," Hullwright barked. "And as for your 'men,' they'll have to find their own animal feed in space. Put 'em back and cast 'em loose, Draco." Draco shuffled his feet unhappily. "Uh, Commander. They claim to be distressed spacemen . . ."

"What's this—pretty sentiments about distressed Gooks? What's going on, anyhow? Are ye in on this mutiny I keep hearing rumors about? What . . ." The four armed men with Hullwright had tightened up their ranks and one drew the gun from his holster. "Drop that power rifle, Draco," he said. Draco dropped it. Sweat dripped from the end of his nose. "Listen, Commander," he said hoarsely, "they made me—" Roan took a quick step while attention was centered on Draco; his right hand made an expert chop across the throat of the man with the unholstered gun. Askor leaped like a cork from a bottle, seized two of the Men in his vast hands, slammed their heads together in his favorite tactic. Sidis caught the last of the four as he was bringing up his gun, yanked the weapon from the Terran with such force that the Man skidded across the hold and slammed against the bulkhead screeching, clutching a bloody hand.