When they were off the platform, lights began to go on.
This took a while.
Eventually Ginger said, “Why don’t you all live down here? There’s more room than all the domes.”
“We do. Different families have their own caverns, but they all connect up—how do you think we got this stuff down here?”
The equipment could have made up a well-equipped multifunction carrier—troopship, fighter station, hospital, and kzinforming—though the assembled hull sections would have given it an awfully odd profile. And extra nacelles would have had to be custom-made for all the weaponry. Possibly a tertiary power plant to supply them, too.
“This way,” Joanna said, interrupting Ginger’s reverie. They stepped onto a slidewalk, one of many, and began moving through what might have been the toy box of a precocious infant Titan. “What do you need two hyperdrives for?” she said.
“Equipping a couple of transport ships to evacuate a lot of humans from a kzinti world,” T.C. said.
“And Jotoki,” said Perpetua.
“What’s that?” Joanna said.
Ginger and Perpetua stared at her, speechless with astonishment.
“They look sort of like starfish,” T.C. said. “They don’t come to Sol System much,” he explained to the Wunderlanders. “The ARM harasses them about what they can sell.”
“They’re aquatic?” Joanna said.
“Amphibious, if I remember right,” T.C. said.
“They have an immature aquatic stage, and five sexes,” Ginger said. “Each limb starts as a separate nonsentient creature. They meet and join at maturity. They develop intelligence just before they breed.”
“Oh,” said Joanna. “Just the opposite of us, then.”
They had to get off to go back and get Perpetua; she was laughing so hard she fell off the slidewalk.
Once they were going again, Joanna asked T.C., “You two up to something?”
“Mother,” he said.
“Well, I just don’t like surprises.”
“Neither do I, so keep the next one to yourself…Great Ghu, where did all these come from?”
There were five complete hyperdrive systems, and parts to make up perhaps a dozen more. Two of the complete hyperdrives would need extensive rework before use—there is something distinctive and disquieting about a functional hyperdrive, at least to most organic intelligences, and those two systems didn’t have it. Of the working ones, one was immense—about the right size for the hypothetical ship made from everything in the cavern. The other two were about of a size, but not much alike in appearance. One was clearly human design. The other…“Who made that?” said T.C.
“Beats the free ions out of me,” said Joanna. “Came off a smuggler that piled in about nine years back. Notice how all the parts are linked to a central armature, so you can disconnect them without them floating away?”
“Pierin,” said Ginger. “I’ve never met one, but they’re supposed to do things like that. Incredibly fussy about details. Very good at war, the Patriarchy still isn’t making much progress against them.”
“They’re warlike?” Joanna said. She sounded surprised.
“Did you think we were the only ones?” Ginger said, and he definitely was surprised.
“Well, yes. I thought you were found by some peaceful species and got to space by conquering them.”
Ginger snorted. “We were found by the Jotoki, but what they wanted us for was to be mercenaries. If there’s a ‘peaceful’ race advanced enough for star travel, I’ve never heard of them.”
“There’s the puppeteers,” said Joanna. “They never attack anybody.”
“Funny how you never hear about anyone attacking them, either,” Ginger said. “How much for these two?”
“How much would you like to pay?”
“Nothing. Thanks, where can we hire a lifter?”
Perpetua and T.C. merely stood by and watched the two traders at work. Due to his combination of predatory shrewdness and disconcerting honesty, Ginger was even more effective at bargaining with humans than with kzinti. It threw off human merchants to have their claims taken with apparent seriousness; it slowed them down, forcing them to think about what they were actually saying.
There was another consideration. “Mom,” T.C. interrupted after about ten minutes’ chaffering, “has it occurred to you that he literally has a nose for just how low you’ll go?”
Joanna stared at her son, then looked at Ginger.
Cats always look like they’re smiling.
Joanna grumbled something inarticulate and named a price.
“Done,” said Ginger.
“I can rent you a lifter,” Joanna began.
T.C. sighed loudly—and theatrically—and then told the Wunderlanders, “My treat.” He opened one of his suit pockets and undid a sealed container. Inside was a tiny vial of yellow powder, resembling pollen.
Joanna said, “Is…” and trailed off.
“A gift from Aunt Sophronia,” her son said.
“Where did it come from?” she exclaimed.
“Jinx,” he said, as if to a small and unclever child.
“I know that,” she snapped.
“T.C., no,” Perpetua said. “We can’t let you give up your boosterspice.”
He looked blank. Then he dug out four more vials. “Where do you think confiscated contraband ends up?” he said.
The quickest way to effect the trade turned out to be bringing Jubilee into the cavern. Perpetua didn’t even think of doing the piloting for this. Ginger brought the ship through the series of hatchways and chambers not only safely, but symmetrically—that is, with almost identical clearance on all sides. (Locals in pressure suits stood around clapping after some of the narrower turns.) After he set the ship down and the cavern door began to shut, he turned to T.C. and said, “Breathe. It’s very distracting when you stop.”
Joanna ran the cargo lifter herself. She paused to stare at the gold. “I’ve never seen so much,” she said softly.
“Sol System uses a power standard, don’t they?” Ginger said.
“What?” she said, startled out of reverie. “Yes, of course, what else has a value that can’t change?”
“Nothing I know of. I was just wondering why gold is still so prized.”
“Eighteen billion flatlanders watch a lot of television,” she replied. “The only stuff that makes better connections is superconductor, and that can’t be laid down only one atom thick.” She started the lifter loading. “This planet with the refugees—” (she hadn’t been told they were Romans) “—does it have a lot of volcanoes?”
“I don’t believe it has any,” Ginger realized.
“That’s weird,” she said.
“Why? Jinx has no volcanoes.”
“And no gold. I was wondering where this stuff came from. Quartz is out.”
“There’s quartz,” he said.
“Must be old, if there’s no geological activity.”
“There’s hot springs,” he recalled.
She paused the lifter and said, “It’s going to bug me.” She did some searching on its control screen, then said, “Calaverite and sylvanite. Gold ores found in upwelling deposits from springs. Huh, no wonder the humans haven’t been rooted out!”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re tellurium compounds. Any refining process would produce huge amounts of tellurium residues, and that’d definitely keep away anyone with a nose like yours!” She started up the lifter again and got back to work.
“Why?” he said to her back.
“They reek. Smell just like garlic,” she called over her shoulder.
Once Jubilee was back outside, T.C. wandered around while they spent some of their gold on extra supplies. They were just coming in for another load when he showed up and said, “You guys have to go now. The ARM has figured out you’re buying starship parts, and they’ll have a ship here in five hours or so.”
Ginger just nodded, but Perpet
ua said, “You’re doing this without permission?”
They both looked at her, and T.C. told Ginger, “Look out for her, will you?”
“She doesn’t need it, she’s just surprised sometimes,” Ginger said. “Before we go, tell me: Where did Joanna locate a tank of lobsters for sale?”
Smith just spread his hands. “She does that.”
“Yes, but how?”
“I’ve always assumed some sort of pact. Look, no fooling, you need all the head start you can get. I’ll stay here and get a ride from somebody.”
“Will you be in much trouble?” Perpetua said.
“You kidding? If they fire me my income goes up eight and a half percent. Go, shoo.” He made brushing motions away from himself.
On a sudden impulse Perpetua stepped forward and kissed him. She took her time about it. When she let him go, Smith said faintly, “Cogswell.”
“What?”
“My middle name. You better go.”
Jubilee had a fusion drive along with the planer, and using the two together gave an acceleration of just under thirty-one gees. They left atmosphere on planer alone, then boosted straight down from the ecliptic until they could get into hyperdrive. The planer couldn’t be used to compensate for all the fusion thrust, so they put up with as much as they could stand—about two gees. It was worse for Ginger; Perpetua had a tank of water she could float in.
The transition to hyperdrive was blissful relief.
“What was that kiss about?” was the first thing Ginger said when conversation was worth trying. “You weren’t interested in mating with him. I’d have noticed.”
She smiled. “No. But I thought he’d enjoy thinking so.”
Ginger thought about that. He suspected there was an insight to be had into human thinking.
“Hey, he left us his stuff!” she exclaimed.
“Well, don’t open anything.”
“Of course not. But he could have got it out in about a minute. I must have done a better job than I thought.”
Definitely called for more thought. He’d have a few days before they got to Wunderland.
Finding a spy to inform to shouldn’t be difficult. There were markhams everywhere, it seemed sometimes.
XIII
Old Conalus Leophagus, whose scars were mute testimony to the standard that had won his family their surname, walked with a marked limp until he was near his commander’s workroom; then he straightened and strode as befit a herald. Outside the groveroom he coughed for attention; then he coughed a lot more.
Marcus Augustus came out and guided him in, bent over and gasping, to a seat with a back, and put him in it. The Jotoki leader, Kaluseritash, who had been coordinating plans with Marcus, opened a medical kit and got out a patch, which they slapped onto Conalus’s neck. “You should not be performing extra duties,” they said sternly.
“I wanted to be the one,” Conalus wheezed, the adrenaline opening his lungs already, “to give the news. Caesar, the hyperdrives”—he pronounced the foreign word carefully—“are being installed even now. The crews will be ready to steal the ships as soon as we can start our diversion.”
“Well done,” said Marcus. “Ask each legionary if he is certain, then tell them: the morning after tomorrow. And Conalus…are you certain?” he said, a little sadly.
“I am, Caesar. I am too weakened to hold a shield on the line, but I can kill one more kzin this way.” He grinned abruptly. “Maybe two or three. I’m a big man.”
“So say the women, too,” Marcus replied, and they laughed together for a moment before Marcus Augustus sent the man who taught him swordsmanship out to die.
“Trader, your resourcefulness is truly astonishing,” Warrgh-Churrg said, admiring his reflection in the stasis box. “I accept your opening offer.”
“Thank you, Potent One,” Ginger said, astounded and not a little concerned that he’d underpriced the thing—oh, well, they had two more. “It might be best not to deploy it before opening of outright hostilities.”
“Deploy?”
“On your flagship?”
“Ftah. This thing guarantees fresh meat whenever I want! What is it?” Warrgh-Churrg snarled at the human messenger who had just crept in.
“Warrgh-Churrg, there is an attack by ferals on your hunting estate,” the messenger quavered from the floor, emphasizing his entire Name, as was wisest when delivering really bad news.
“Fools. What part of the border?”
“All, Warrgh-Churrg.”
“WHAT?” he screamed. “How many?”
“The immediate report was more than five sixty-fours, Warrgh-Churrg.”
Warrgh-Churrg howled red wrath. “Trader, do you wish to go on a hunt?”
“I wasn’t expecting to leave my monkey alone that long,” Ginger said. “It gets into things…”
“Fine, go to your ship! You, tell my bursar to pay for this!…I’ll be using this at once,” Warrgh-Churrg said with some satisfaction. He switched off the field, then folded the container and left with it.
The messenger peeked after him when he was gone. Then he looked at Ginger.
And winked.
Slave Instructor was overseeing circuit tests of the new installation when the emergency call came in. He listened to his helmet speaker in growing amazement, then announced to his gang, “Down tools, we’re stopping work to go planetside.”
A human slave with a welding laser raised his visor. “Master, I’ve got the gravity planer working well enough to take the ship there directly.”
“That hardly matters to me,” Slave Instructor said haughtily.
“True,” said the human, lowering his visor again.
Slave Instructor just had time to notice the other humans and the Jotoki covering their eyes before the laser flared.
They were in zero gee. Slave Instructor’s last sight was an inverted view, of a kzin, in space armor, arms flailing, looking very foolish without a head.
The loading might have been practiced every day. In a sense, it had been; a legionary’s life was one of constant drills and exercises, almost all of them (up to now) for things that never did happen.
The Jotoki had maintained piloting skills with tenderly preserved simulators.
The noncombatants—meaning the very young and the crippled, for everyone else fought—had centuries they were attached to, and if some became confused and didn’t form up with the troops, they were found. A number of children were found in favorite places they didn’t want to leave; but they were all found.
There were others who were normally noncombatants…
Warrgh-Churrg had commanded that he be uninterrupted in the hunt.
The ferals didn’t provide much sport, but they displayed astounding destructive capabilities. A favorite tactic was setting a grass fire upwind of a herd of zianya. This had the added effect of overloading the ziirgrah sense, making the humans harder to pay attention to.
The hunt took eleven days. Messengers for him—all kzinti—had been sent back to his palace to await his pleasure.
When Warrgh-Churrg’s cargo carrier, bearing tons of fresh meat in stasis, landed in his courtyard, the first thing the Marquis saw on emerging was Trrask-Rarr. The lordling appeared to be sunning himself. Warrgh-Churrg—who had been getting a little twitchy just lately—was too startled to be angry. He ambled over to where his rival lay and said, “What are you doing here?”
“Being courteous,” Trrask-Rarr literally purred. “I was certain you wouldn’t want to hear this from someone you liked. The humans and Jotoki are gone.”
“Have someone round them up,” Warrgh-Churrg told Hunt Master.
“They’re gone, Warrgh-Churrg,” chuckled Trrask-Rarr. “They took the ships you rebuilt for them, and they left. The only ones left on the planet are in your meat locker there.”
He was far too pleased for Warrgh-Churrg not to take offense. He took a deep breath and began to crouch, and a voice from the donjon gate called, “Warrgh-Churrg, I have come to gu
ide you on a journey.”
He froze, and slowly turned.
Great golden eyes in a face of deepest black confronted him. More golden eyes were tattooed on the ears and the tail.
His tail drooped and lay on the ground. “Holy One, your Name?”
“I am Nabichi,” said the Blackfur. “You are called upon to share your wisdom and be instructed in turn.”
The Question, and death by torture. “But why?”
“Your plans were revealed earlier, though not in time to prevent the theft of the slaves. We will learn where you have had them taken, be assured.”
Warrgh-Churrg sagged all over, and followed the Inquisitor of the Fanged God out the castle gate, to his doom. There was really nothing else he could do.
Trrask-Rarr bounced to his feet and said, “Show me those supplies.” When the stasis box was opened, he took a long sniff and said, “Already seasoned. How very thoughtful. Invite the other lords to a feast tonight. I am celebrating the ownership of my new castle.”
The ships had to break out of hyperspace periodically to communicate for course adjustments, as Jubilee had the only hyperwave. There were meetings of leaders at those times. During the fifth such stop, Ginger found time to tell Marcus Augustus, “I figured out about the garlic.”
“I am impressed.”
“Not as impressed as I am. You’ve had it planned for how long?”
Marcus looked surprised and said, “I don’t know.” He looked at Kaluseritash.
“About three hundred years,” said the Jotoki leader.
“What about the garlic?” Perpetua said.
“They’ve been eating garlic before going out to fight kzinti,” said Ginger, “to get their enemies accustomed to the smell. Their gold ore was combined with tellurium. It’s a poisonous metal. One of the symptoms of tellurium poisoning is ‘garlic breath,’ according to Jubilee’s database.”
Marcus took over. “It tends to accumulate in the liver. A man can build up a tolerance for it, but it makes his lungs collect fluid.” He looked distracted for a moment, then went on. “We had hundreds of volunteers—men and women too old or injured to fight very well or for long, but who wanted to strike one last blow.”