Beneath the Eye of God (The Commodore Ardcasl Space Adventures Book 1) (2 page)

Ohan gasped. "You mean the Evil Star?"

The big man stopped in his tracks, then turned slowly to glare at the twins. "You put him up to that, didn't you?"

"But everyone knows about it," Ohan hastened to explain. "It once rivaled the sun's brightness but was defeated. Now even the stars refuse to allow it to move among them or to join them in the night sky."

When he saw that all three aliens were staring at him in surprise, Ohan began to stammer. "Of course that's just a tale for children. I don't really . . . uh, believe it."

The Commodore sighed and turned back toward his tent. "I take it all back, gentlemen. You have acquired for us a veritable font of unexamined racial memory."

Chapter 2

Ohan slept fitfully in his bedroll on the ground. He awoke to the most amazing sight his eyes had ever beheld. The Commodore emerged from his tent dressed in red silk pajamas with green embroidered dragons encircling his ample midriff. He joined the twins already at breakfast.

"Well, you did it," he grumped at them. "Against my advice, my wishes, my better judgment. I notice you never mentioned a fee for your new assistant's services and I don't doubt that he will be worth every penny of it. Just keep the young pup out of my way. I've too much to do already without having to wet-nurse every stray provincial oaf you feel like inviting aboard."

He spied Ohan peering nervously from beneath his blanket. "Ah, there you are, lad. You don't drink coffee do you? No? Good. Nasty stuff. Bad for the liver. Besides, we haven't much of it. Great Odin's tooth! Stand up, lad. We can't lie about all morning. There's work to be done."

He poured himself a cup of coffee and watched in wonder as Ohan attempted to leap smartly from his bedroll, tangled his feet in the blanket and fell over sideways in the dirt.

"Well, he certainly fits right in," the Commodore sighed. He stirred his cup with his index finger, licked it thoughtfully, then said, "And yet, gentlemen, we do have a duty to impart our knowledge to the young, to guide and instruct them. I pondered upon this a bit last night. After young Ahab here has his breakfast and has finished straightening up my tent, I may find a few minutes to take him in hand. You do write, don't you, lad? Good."

He made a sweeping gesture with his coffee cup that grazed the top of Ohan's head. "A well-lived life, gentlemen, is as much a work of art as any symphony or statue cast in bronze. And here am I adding daily to one of the mightiest works ever conceived by fate and the mind of man. Yet who is to hear it, read it, view it in all its magnificent splendor?

"What I need is a Boswell, someone to follow me about, record the odd reminiscence as it falls from my lips in my rare moments of quiet reflection, chronicle the events of the day as I live them, struggling against insurmountable odds and the incompetence of my closest associates." He cast an evil glance at the two yellow-eyed reptiles who sat leisurely finishing their breakfast.

"We don't stand about on ceremony, lad." He ladled an unfamiliar substance onto a plate and handed it to Ohan. "Otherwise, these two will have all the breakfast eaten before you get any. Where was I? Oh yes, Boswell. Ever hear of him, lad? I thought not. He followed this great philosopher around, wrote down everything the fellow said and did. Without Boswell, nobody would have ever heard of the other fellow who was so busy thinking these great thoughts and doing these great deeds that he had no time left to write any of it down himself. His was the life, you see. He was busy living it, creating it. Can't remember his name. Famous chap though. Known everywhere—at least on all warm-blooded planets.

"But without Boswell, his life would have been lived unknown. Like Beethoven blowing his symphonies into the wind, never bothering to write them down. You follow me, lad? Did I ask you if you could write? You can? Splendid. There's a great opportunity for you here, lad. A great opportunity. Come to my tent when you've finished eating. It could use a bit of straightening up."

***

It could indeed. The inside of the Commodore's tent was strewn with clothes, boots, blankets, dishes, half-eaten sandwiches and equipment whose purpose Ohan could not imagine. It took him the better part of two hours simply to untangle everything and stack it neatly along the sides where no one would fall over it. When he was almost finished, the Commodore poked his head in.

"Ah, here you are, lad," he said. "Going to straighten the place up a bit, are you?" He looked around. "Actually, it doesn't look all that bad. Unlike some others I won't mention, I was taught to keep my quarters shipshape and in good order. I don't think you need bother with anything in here. Why don't you go help Elor instead?"

Ohan opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. The Commodore misinterpreted his hesitation. "I don't suppose you see many reptiles in this part of the country?" he said.

Ohan had to admit that he hadn't. The Commodore put a fatherly arm around his shoulder and led him from the tent. "Erol and Elor are both gentlemen and scholars," he explained. "You won't find better shipmates from one end of the galaxy to the other. For honesty and fair dealing, I much prefer them to most warm-bloods I've met. But the first thing a successful trader in this universe has to realize is that all species are different. Different backgrounds, different mental processes, different ways of seeing things. The two of us, lad, you and I, seem so different, yet we both suckled at our mothers' breast while my two shipmates hatched from the same egg. That makes us, lad, forever 'us' and them forever 'them'. Neither group is better than the other, just different. To be successful in the business of interstellar trade, you have to keep these differences forever in mind. That's why, as we go from world to world, we find it convenient for them to take charge of our business affairs when we are on a reptilian planet and for me to take command on a warm-blooded planet like this one.

"Just remember, lad, intolerance won't get you very far in this line of work. And one more thing, don't ever call them lizards. They'll rip your guts out."

Actually, Ohan had no prejudice against reptiles. The Commodore intimidated him every bit as much as the twins did. Ever since he had been taken from his native forest to the mission school where he first learned that most of the inhabitants of his world were not like him, he had been intimidated.

The shock of seeing his first smooth-skin was equal to the realization that this strange breed of furless person was, in fact, in the majority everywhere outside his forest. The teachers and administrators at the school were smooth-skins. The commonly used term was slightly misleading since all of them had a bit of fur, some more than others. Yet even the hairiest were taller and less furry than a true forest person.

His teachers were, for the most part, dedicated and well-meaning. They would doubtless be horrified to learn that, for Ohan, the primary result of several years of education was the deeply rooted suspicion that somehow his people weren't quite as good as the smooth-skins.

Ohan spent the rest of the day with Elor cataloging and packing the artifacts that had been found in the digging. Under Elor's casual questioning, Ohan found himself talking at great length about the baskets his mother wove, the social organization of the forest clans and many other subjects he hadn't realized he knew very much about.

The day passed quickly. Ohan was as much at ease with the reptile man as he had ever been with even his favorite teacher at school. The comparison was more than appropriate. His favorite teacher had been a young woman with skin smoother than most. Ohan liked to watch her from the back or side where she couldn't see him. Though a good deal of his interest was inspired by lust, some of it was simply a fascination with a completely new and different kind of creature. The way the hair of her head blended into the bareness of her neck, the way the bones of her jaw could be seen beneath her thin pale skin, was all mesmerizing to Ohan. So much so that he sometimes had to leave her presence and go out into the fresh air to regain control of himself.

Now he found he was looking at Elor in rather the same way. Not with lust, but with the same fascination in the way the reptile's yellow eyes were darkly slitted at their centers, the way his pale skin began to turn to scales as it went farther from his face and the way his lipless mouth turned up when he smiled. Ohan found himself stealing glances when he thought Elor wasn't watching and looking away before the reptile's darting eyes could catch him. He was embarrassed by his fascination. Elor, if he was aware of it, gave no sign.

Elor seemed as interested in Ohan's life in the forest as Ohan was in Elor. They began to trade questions as they worked. They had just gotten to the subject of the Commodore when the man himself, looked in. "Speak of the devil," Elor said with a smile. "We were just beginning to discuss you."

"Then it's a good thing I came along," the big man snorted. "I happen to be an authority on the subject, whereas you would undoubtedly fill the poor lad's head with speculation and wild surmise." He sat down across the table from Ohan. "What is it you wish to know, lad? A tale of daring cosmic adventure perhaps? Or how I achieved the position of respect and admiration which I enjoy throughout the galaxy? Possibly something about my humble beginnings and how I rose to my present prominence and . . . "

"Actually," Elor smiled, "he was wondering if Commodore was your first name."

The Commodore glared at him. "I doubt that I shall ever understand the reptilian sense of humor," he muttered. "The things that you and your brother find amusing are, I confess, quite beyond me. Why an innocent lad's simple question should . . . "

"Oh no!" Elor exclaimed in mock alarm. "You're not going to tell him?"

The Commodore ignored him. "It is a rank, lad, not a name. The rank of Commodore is unique among all the trade and battle fleets of all the solar systems of all the galaxies. Other ranks and titles, from Apprentice Spaceman third class, to the mightiest Captain-Admiral of the Gorgon fleet, are earned by skill, sweat, daring or politics. The rank of Commodore eschews all these—most especially sweat. A Commodore never sweats.

"It is an honorary title, self-bestowed and graciously accepted. For while the other ratings carry with them the onerous duties and responsibilities of their rank and office, that of Commodore stands alone, free of such mundane burdens, leaving its bearer at liberty to concentrate his full attention upon greater questions—such as the meaning of life.

"The lowly Ordinary Spaceman has no time for contemplation. His time is fully occupied in carrying out the orders of his superiors, of which he has many. Some of these superiors, such as Ensigns, have no task other than that of keeping the Ordinary Spaceman busy and out of trouble. But since the Ordinary Spaceman's entire being is dedicated to doing as little work as possible and getting into as much trouble as possible, all of the considerable skills of the Ensigns are also fully employed.

"The Armorers worry about their arms, the Cooks about their stews. The Captain worries about his ship and everyone who sails aboard her. The Admiral is concerned about his fleet—and all the other Admirals. It is the Commodore alone who stands majestically aloof, responsible for neither nut nor bolt and no man's soul except his own."

Ohan looked puzzled. "Speak up, lad," the Commodore urged him. "If you have a question, ask it. You'll never learn anything if you don't ask questions."

"Well, I was just wondering," Ohan began hesitantly. "As one of the ordinary forest people, don't I have the same freedom from responsibility as a Commodore has? Yet I have no need for a title or rank or anything."

"There, you see?" the Commodore smiled encouragingly. "An intelligent question, one that deserves an intelligent answer. And that answer is 'status'. It is true that as a forest person, leaving aside your duties to your clan, you are indeed free from both rank and responsibility. But you are also free from status. And without status, you are exactly the sort of person that an Ordinary Spaceman is most likely to take his hostilities out on. These are the hostilities he would prefer to direct toward the Ensign, were he not deterred by the Ensign's status, not to mention the fear of swift and terrible reprisal from everyone else in the system, each with his own status to protect.

"The average forest person, in his ignorance, does not even realize that he is the lowest of the low in the eyes of the system. He does not realize it but he is . . . " and here the Commodore lowered his voice, leaned close to Ohan and whispered, ". . . a civilian."

Ohan blinked. He felt as if he had just been let in on a terrible secret—but wasn't sure what it was. Elor merely sighed and continued with his work.

"The system we are referring to," the Commodore continued, "embraces all the interplanetary merchant fleets and battle navies. In order to be part of this system, one must have status. Otherwise, as you travel from one set of planets to another, they won't know where you fit in and thus, how they should treat you. To assume, however, that one may be a Commodore simply because one wants to be a Commodore is to miss the essence of the rank. You, for example, couldn't carry it off. You are small, furry and ignorant in the ways of the universe. No offense."

"Uh, no, sir." How could he be offended, Ohan wondered. It was clearly true.

"An imposing title demands an imposing individual, large and powerful, fierce in combat yet tender and gentle with women and children, intelligent, witty and gracious, as much at home in the roar of battle as in the drawing rooms of high society. In short, a man among men."

He rose abruptly from the table. "Now clear away this junk. Erol is paying off the workmen. We're out of here at first light headed for town where we'll buy horses and provisions, then strike out into the forest. Look lively now, lads!" He winked at Ohan. "See how it works. I'll be resting in the shade should anyone need me."