The Space Guardian (3 page)

Wumeera spaceport was something new in Lahks’ experience. No guards or customs officials emerged to greet the ship. If that was a pleasant change, the fact that no robot cargo and baggage handlers were available was not. Lahks’ luggage was unceremoniously dumped near some sheds at the periphery of the field, where it became her responsibility. The Free Traders were neither rude nor unkind; they were unable to help. As soon as the cargo they carried for Wumeera had been unloaded, they would space again. Although it was a regular stop, no man had ever been beyond the sheds where cargo was left.

“Where is the town?” Lahks asked.

“Somewhere there.” The Cargomaster of the vessel gestured northwest over a sharp range of hills. “The spaceport was put in this cup because when the winds come they can topple a ship. I think the town is in another similar valley, but none of us has ever been tempted to look. What for? This is a world man made a mistake on. It should have been left alone to die. Are you sure you do not want to change your mind and go on with us?”

Lahks laughed. “No. I think I might like Wumeera if I ever get to see any more of it. But someone must come for the cargo. Will they take my luggage, too?”

“Likely. Likely they will. But this is a hard world. They might take it more thoroughly than you mean or want.”

“If they will find a way to get my things into town, I will find a way to keep possession of them,” Lahks said calmly.

The Cargomaster shrugged. A sense of mild obligation to a passenger and ordinary kindliness had impelled him to warn Lahks. He had done his duty. If she would not listen, on her head be it. Groundworms were altogether unaccountable creatures, anyway. He was relieved of further responsibility for this one by a straggling line of men and beasts appearing, as if by magic, out of a hillside not far away.

“Camels!” Lahks exclaimed with delighted disbelief. “No, there are two humps—dromedaries. I didn’t know any survived, except in zoos. But here. . .”

“They are indigenous,” the Cargomaster said, his normally austere face breaking into a broad grin. “They are the only good thing on this planet. Nice beasts, very nice. Unfortunately, the adults are too big to ship off-world, except as a curiosity, and no one has ever seen a young one. Apparently no one has any idea of how they breed, either.”

By this time Lahks could see the creatures clearly and realized that, except for the size, the two humps on the back, and the spreading feet, they did not resemble dromedaries at all. They must be reptiles, she judged from the lizard-like face, the claws on the feet, and the scale-armor hide. But whoever heard of a reptile wearing bifocals and a silly smile? As the lead beast approached, it turned its head and observed Lahks and the Cargomaster, staring at them first from the upper lens and then from the lower lens of its large eyes. Then it stopped, sat down like a dog on its rear haunches, and grinned, if anything, more widely.

It was impossible to refrain from grinning back, and the beast bobbed its head as if in agreement, its eyes swinging dizzily from upper to lower lenses. Others came and sat alongside, also bobbing and grinning, and still others formed up behind. Lahks began to giggle. She sobered as the men who had accompanied the animals (for they certainly did not lead them) arrived and made their way through the squatting, bobbing pack. They were interesting, if not as charming as the beasts. They wore one-piece suits of something that looked disturbingly like the hide of their animals. Knee-boots of the same material shod them, and gloves, also of the same hide, were tucked into their belts. Each suit extended upward into a hood that was drawn down over the forehead and tight under the chin. Only the central portion of the face was exposed, and this was covered by a rigid. transparent shield clamped tightly at the temples and fitted under the chin so that it overlapped the hide suit. What Lahks could see of the faces was uniformly Mongolian in type.

The foremost of the men swung the shield up, and Lahks saw that it was hinged to the tight band that held it. “You have cargo for Landlord Vogil, Cargomaster? I am Hetman Vurn.”

The galactic basic was as accentless as Lahks’ own, but somewhat stilted, as if its pattern had been set at an earlier period and remained unchanged.

The Cargomaster nodded toward the shed. “It’s all yours. No other shipment this trip. Do you want to check it?”

Hetman Vurn shook his head. “We have dealt with you often enough to know you, Cargomaster. If something lacks, we will report it on your next trip.” He slapped his hip and the suit gaped open at the thigh, displaying a capacious pocket from which he extracted a sheaf of papers. “Further orders from Landlord Vogil and others.”

He turned and pushed through the pack animals, which had stopped bobbing and merely squatted, grinning happily. When he reached one beast that Lahks had noticed was laden, he removed something from his pocket, slapped the pocket closed, and extended his hand toward the animal. A long, prehensile pink tongue emerged from the grinning mouth, delicately touched the Hetman’s palm, and retreated between the quite respectable teeth. Hetman Vurn now returned to Lahks and the Cargomaster. The pack animal after twice trying to follow him directly finally backed out of the group and came around the side. Four men came forward and unloaded two small but heavy chests.

“As agreed, Cargomaster,” Hetman Vurn said.

“Do you have . . . anything else?”

The barely noticeable hesitation alerted Lahks. No one had mentioned heartstones on the Free Trader, and the ship seemed to make a perfectly adequate profit out of its regular delivery of goods; this oblique inquiry was the first indication Lahks had that there was off-world trade in heartstones.

“Not this trip, Cargomaster,” the Hetman replied. He shrugged. “Next time, perhaps. There are always hunters. You have already loaded the goods from the shed?”

The Cargomaster nodded and Lahks was alerted again. She had not been asked to debark as soon as the ship made planetfall. She wondered whether it was to keep her from seeing the cargo. However, with his ship’s business concluded, the Cargomaster was preparing to shed his final responsibility on Wumeera.

“This is Freelady Tamar Shomra. She has come to stay on Wumeera for private reasons. I hope your beasts can take her baggage into town?”

The Hetman looked curiously at Lahks. There were few types of business that could attract anyone to Wumeera. “Welcome to Wumeera, Beldame. There will be a drom to take your baggage. Would you like me to give a message concerning you to my Landlord? Perhaps he can help with your business.”

“Perhaps he can,” Lahks said with specious earnestness, but she was thinking of semantics. The Free Traders who dealt on many worlds used the form Freelady so that where slavery or serfdom was practiced there could be no doubt as to the status of their crew and passengers. On Wumeera, however, she was called Beldame; slavery was then unknown, but women were scarce or valuable or both, since all of them were called “beautiful lady.” “I am looking,” she said, giving no evidence that her mind was elsewhere, “for my brother, Absalom Shomra. He came here to find the jewel of the country, the one called the heartstone. We received two messages from him by private courier—and then nothing.”

“He resembles you, Beldame?”

“Not at all,” Lahks said. “He is very large—tall and strong. His face is broad, his hair very light, almost white; his eyes are a clear, pale blue.”

The Hetman’s eyes widened; then his face closed. Lahks’ heart leaped into her mouth. Surely Hetman Vurn had recognized that description, and it was an accurate rendering of Ghrey’s appearance. The void where Ghrey’s signal had lived ached so that various rational explanations of Vurn’s reaction were pushed aside in favor of the most unlikely. There had never been the smallest indication that Ghrey had touched on Wumeera, but, her heart cried, there was no evidence against it, either. Still, Lahks had enough control to ignore the Hetman’s response; it was apparent that he had tried to conceal it.

“You must ask in the town,” he said. “I live in the Landlord’s manor and have little contact with strangers.”

He turned away abruptly and shouted orders at his men for loading the cargo. Lahks watched his overabsorption in these details thinking that Hetman Vurn was a very bad actor. There could be no doubt at all that he knew something about a man who matched Lahks’ description. She had no intention of pressing him just then. When she wanted, she would find out anything she desired to know. Meanwhile, she tried to close down the newly opened void. Her eyes rested absently on the men who were now loading until a peculiarity in the process drew her total attention.

As far as Lahks could see, the men neither led nor signaled to the animals in any way, yet one by one they rose and moved forward so that the trade goods could be loaded on them. Even more remarkable, it grew increasingly clear that it was the animal who decided how much of a load it would carry. When a large and obviously heavy crate was dragged out, Lahks saw something that woke her deepest instincts. Two of the animals looked at each other, rose together, and went forward. Even the need to find Ghrey momentarily slipped into second place. Those bifocaled, grinning, two-humped reptiles—if that was what they were—could be intelligent.

Before Ghrey, before the heartstone, before all else, this must be investigated. Nowhere in the records on Wumeera was a living, intelligent, indigenous species hinted at. Had intelligence developed in these most unlikely creatures, catalyzed by the presence of an imported thinking species? If so, it was Guardian business. Were minds trapped in a body that could give them no fulfillment? Lahks tried to remember whether such a case had ever been recorded and what, if anything, had been done about it. Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft nudge. She turned to find that one of the . . . people? . . . had inched up to her and was slyly prodding her with its snout.

Having drawn her attention, its head turned toward the baggage and it began head-bobbing again. Lahks picked up a bag and thrust it into a pannier. The head-bobbing increased in intensity, as if to show approval. Lahks was more certain than ever that some thinking process was taking place in that ridiculous head, but whether it was true intelligence or high-level instinct acted upon by long and frequent repetition needed to be determined, and this was not the time or the place. By the time Lahks was finished loading, the other droms had started off in the direction from which they had come. Lahks was now poked tenderly by the snout of the drom carrying her baggage so that she was prodded in the direction the others were moving. Lahks moved but looked back, as if for guidance. Carefully, as one would explain to a rather dull child, she was shown, without words, exactly where and how to go.

When they reached the spot from which the caravan had appeared so suddenly, Lahks saw that there was a narrow cut in the hill, a ravine-like cleft. It did not look like a natural feature to her, but she had no time to examine it because Hetman Vurn had dropped back and approached her.

“You have no windsuit?” he questioned and then answered himself, “No, they are not sold off-planet. Well, there is no wind today, praise Be. I see you have a heavy cloak. Put it on and cover your face completely when we come out of the cut. We must pass a flat—a small one, thanks Be. Your drom will guide you and shield you as much as possible. I do not think you will have trouble. If the wind should begin—which Be prevented crawl in between the forefeet of the drom. It will do its best to protect you.”

Lahks cocked her head at the Hetman. “They are not animals, are they?” she asked. She was curious to hear what a Wumeerite would say—on many worlds enslavement of one intelligent species by another was cloaked by calling the enslaved animals. But Hetman Vurn said nothing; only shrugged his shoulders expressively.

“But you kill them for their skins to make the windsuits, don’t you?”

Vurn burst out laughing. “Kill droms? How? Perhaps it might be possible by putting a fusion bomb down their throats. No one has tried that yet—I think. No, the windsuits are from a beast of another kind—a meeting with which Be prevented. Anything that lives here, except us, has the same kind of skin. Perhaps someday we will grow it, too.”

Later, when they were safe in a second cut leading to the cup in which the town lay, Lahks reconsidered her decision to tear Hetman Vurn limb from limb. She realized he meant well by warning her, but his statement that there was no wind that day had been dangerously misleading. Now Lahks knew what “no wind” on a flat outside a cup meant. Her cloak was in shreds, a patch on one wrist was nearly skinned where it had been exposed for a few secs while she attempted to tighten a closure, and her whole body stung from the impact of particles through all the protective coverings. She had survived, she suspected, largely because the drom had shielded her from the full impact of a “calm day” on Wumeera.

Even if her rage against Vurn had not abated, she would have had no opportunity to vent it. The cut was narrow so that they traveled single file and, when they emerged near the town, her drom separated from the others and steered her firmly in another direction. Off to the right lay an ordered mass of low domed buildings surrounded by an odd-looking wall. To the left, in the direction she was being led, there was a much larger cluster of buildings. These were not walled, but except for that they were indistinguishable from each other and from the Landlord’s property.

Free of the near presence of other humans, Lahks tried to “ask” the drom where it was taking her. Even without organs of speech a thinking being should be able to indicate a reply. The drom gave no indication of realizing it was being questioned, yet thought and decision had obviously taken place. The drom was taking her somewhere definite; it had recognized the fact that she did not belong with Hetman Vurn’s group.

The “where” was soon answered. At a large dome, no higher than any of the others, merely of greater circumference, the drom stopped. The speaking tube was recessed into the building and was covered by a plate of the clear, vitreous substance the men had used as face shields. The door, peculiarly wide, fitted flush with the dome, its joint with the building covered by an overhanging flange. Lahks supposed the building to be the hotel, although there was no sign to announce it as such. She touched the clear cover and it popped off.