02
As it turned out, we reached islands two watches later. The radar scan showed a deep archipelago of islands, ranging in size from tumbleweed rocks to islands 10 to 50 kilometers long, that stretched out of radar range. Countless smaller specks were moving amongst them - flocks of birds, lizards, dragons, and small boats.
I had not settled on how to enter the Saraime, so I approached the islands very carefully, hoping to avoid calling attention to the gig. While the hull of the Phoenix would likely withstand most attacks, the outer fixtures - its rockets and steering vanes - would not, so it paid to be cautious. Neither radar nor the ship's cameras showed anything more than a wilderness of islands, lots of drifting birds and lizards, and a dozen native boats - long, cage-enclosed tubes propelled (slowly) by broad, wing-like oars hunting them. I could see no farms or villages on the larger islands.
Steering well clear of the hunters, I edged the Phoenix into the archipelago until I found a tiny tumble weed island with a trailing fringe of flowering vines long enough to conceal the gig. Radar indicated a deep crevasse in the rocky core of the island so I carefully edged the boat into the trailing vines and nosed it into the crevasse where the floating vines easily concealed it. The outer hull cameras had showed nothing more than birds and lizards about, so I strapped on my darter, and grabbing a plasma machete, went out to anchor the gig to the island with a line around a large trunk of a vine. Then, with Hissi swimming safely behind me, I hacked a narrow path up through the vines to reach the bald spot of the island. Hissi took off after butterflies while I found a protected nook in the rocks to observe life in the Saraime. Using one of the ship's cameras with an attached screen, I discovered no signs of civilization. I began to suspect that these were the "Outward Islands" I vaguely recalled hearing talk of. They were said to be uncivilized islands populated by savage people someways off the Saraime's outer fringe. And even if they were not, there was nothing here for me. I'd have to sail on. They did, however, give me an incentive to finalize my plans - as far as I could - before pressing on.
To find Cin, I needed to find DeKan's Talon-Hawk. And to find it, I'd likely need to use my clan-token to get that information from a Temtre ship trading in a civilized port, all preferably without drawing attention to myself. Getting into a civilized region and finding a port without drawing unwanted attention to my strange boat was going to be a problem. I had a good supply of local coins so I could either hire workers on a remote island to build a bamboo hull around the Phoenix or buy a native boat and stash the gig as I'd just done. With coins and my experience with the Temtres, I was fairly confident that I could slip into Saraime society, at least into its port enclaves. I suspected that they were much the same as the spaceer rows I've known, where strangers are the norm.
Eventually Hissi returned stuffed to the gills with bugs and butterflies. I climbed to my feet and we headed back to the gig. I made myself a meal - one of Cin's dishes - a sweet and sour one - but then, they all were these days, and took a nap before setting off for the true Saraime Principalities.
On awakening, I had a bite to eat, brewed a mug of real cha and, after checking the radar to see that the area was clear of both boats and large dragons, Hissi and I climbed back to the knoll to enjoy my cha in the fresh air before setting out.
I was, however, anxious to sail so I didn't linger long. I had just taken my last sip of cha and called for Hissi, who was off hunting, when I heard movement behind me. Turning I discovered three men grinning cheerfully at me.
They were tall, broad-feathered chaps, each wearing an intricate headdress of beads and slim, shimmering dragon feathers which flowed behind them in the gentle breeze. Their own feathered manes were colored in deep blue and green with yellow highlights. Their bodies were just as colorful, with bright, geometric patterns painted across their chests, which wound around their arms and even their legs. They wore a knee length dragon feathered skirt. Very artsy fellows. And, as I said, very happy to meet me. Only the long, wicked, large-bore, compressed air rifles they were pointing at me, gave me cause for concern.
Still, I returned their broad smile and said 'Hello, mates!' as I rapidly weighed my chances.
I was dressed as any sharp, successful tramp ship captain in the drifts would be dressed, which is to say that I was wearing three layers of armored clothing. I had no real idea how powerful these compressed air weapons were, and though I suspected that my armored clothing might prevent the slugs from penetrating, their impact would probably send me flying and do me no good. The clothing was, after all, mainly designed for protection from tiny darts, not big slugs. On the other hand, they were well within my optimal range, so if I wanted to chance a hit or two, I might be able to put them out of commission before they could send more than three slugs my way since the air rifles, known as springers amongst the Temtre, needed to be pump-charged after each shot.
Caution is my default response, however, and though it was probably a mistake in this case, I decided to see if I could talk my way out of any difficulties. I grinned back at them and waited to see how it all lifted.
The apparent chief of the crew directed a few words towards me in a language that my com link could not translate.
I just shrugged, smiled and replied in Saraime, how happy I was to run into them.
He growled and stepping closer, indicated with a jerk of his weapon, that I should raise my hands.
With everything still in flux, I decided, I'd comply.
The chief turned to called back out in a loud voice to an unseen mate, and then rapped something to one of the lads beside him. He left his rifle floating and stepped over to me to grab my darter holster belt and attempt to pull it off, jerking me forward in the process. I thought? but didn't act. Again. He stared at it for a moment, and not understanding the purpose of the belt's clasp, reached for a long knife in his belt.
'You can just unbuckle it,' I said, trying to indicate the clasp with a quick movement of one of my upheld arms. 'I can do it if you like,' I added, waving one hand.
He stepped back and I took that as an invite to unbuckle the belt, lowered one hand to release the clasp, drawing it off and carefully handing it to him. Since the darter was keyed to my palm, it was not a threat to me in their hands. I still had my sissy in my jacket pocket, so the odds were now two gents with guns to one, but I was still content to await an even better chance.
The chief barked another command. His junior tossed the darter and holster to him, and stepped closer to search me for other treasures. As I mentioned, pockets were not in style in the Saraime, so that the only other thing that caught his eye was my com link. He reached up and tried pulling it off, only to jerk me around with the effort. He grinned and made to draw his long knife again, giving me a meaningful look and cheerful smile.
I hated to give it up, since it was my only link to the gig, but, I unlatched it anyway, and handed it over to him with my most friendly smile. I was still optimistic, and still remarkably calm, though I was beginning to fear that I'd let my best opportunities slip away.
At this point the fourth fellow appeared from below the curve of the knoll, calling out something and getting everyone's instinctive attention.
"Now," I thought, and leaped off to one side, reaching for my jacket pocket and my sissy.
The chief, catching my movement out of the corner of his eye, responded instantly, twirling about and diving forward while swinging his rifle as a club. I managed to partially block the first blow aimed at my head with my forearm, but I still felt an explosion of pain as the force of the blow lifted me off the island and sent me tumbling. Blocking his follow-up blow and snagging my cap, left me no time to pull the sissy out of its inner pocket before I was tackled by the other two, and driven to the ground. They added a few blows of their own, before twisting my arms behind my back and tied my wrists together with a leather strap. I was then dragged upright and, with a savage shove, was led around the curve of the small island to their boat tied up on the fringe
of vines. Clearly they wanted me alive. I didn't think it was out of Unity Standardness.
Their boat was floating, half hidden in the vines, on the other side of the little island. A smoking, two-chambered covered cooking pot was anchored to the vines. No doubt they had been here long before I ran my radar scan and so I'd missed them.
They shoved me through the hatch in the open-framed boat and pushed me forward to the bow where I lay against the frame, nursing a painful bump above my ear, that pounded with every heartbeat and cursed silently. The chief was content to sit in the stern of the boat, air rifle near at hand, and keep an eye on me while his crew broke camp, attaching the still hot cooking pot to open frame of the boat by its handles.
The boat was perhaps five meters long, constructed of wood, bamboo and vines. It had four arching wooden keels hewed from tree trunks, top and bottom, and on each side. Set in the space between them were curved, narrow-spaced bamboo ribs, with four short outriggers on each side with wide-bladed oars attached. There were also two masts with furled sails folded down on the keels, top and bottom. The interior consisted of a seat in the stern looking forward with the steering levers for the vanes and wings before it, and four back facing seats for the oarsmen.
With the camp broken, the crew climbed on board and took their places. The oars had wide leather paddles which they twisted flat when swinging them forward, and then broadside when they pulled them back, propelling the boat forward. Pushing off from the island, we set out. The chief steered and kept an eye on me while the crew, chatting cheerfully, rowed. Wedged in the narrow bow, I divided my attention between my captors and the islands we passed, in the hopes of being able to find my way back. My artistic captors seemed to have lots to say, and would give me a cheerful glance back every now and again. I'd a feeling that they were working up an appetite.
With my hands tied behind me, the odds certainly had not gotten any better, but I'd not yet abandoned hope. Even tied as I was, all I needed was an unobserved minute to twist about and work my sissy out of my inner jacket pocket. The chief, however, facing forward, had me always in sight the whole time and I didn't care to give him any cause for concern by trying to twist about to reach my sissy. I had to believe that sooner or later I'd have a chance to get at it unobserved, and with a sissy in hand and a bit of luck, I could still get the upper hand on these bright spirited artists.
I should mention, here and now, that I'm relating this yarn in my best old spaceer style - turning a blind eye on the fear I felt. And I felt fear, for if Glen Colin wasn't spinning his yarns out of lies, my intended fate was not going to be pleasant despite their cheerful demure. And after they'd had their fun, they'd likely dine on what was left of me. That being the case, I could only hope they'd make a special feast of it and I'd have a chance to get my sissy in hand. I could put a small village to sleep with the darts in its clip.
We soared through the maze of islands, large and small for what seemed like several hours - my hands grew quite numb. I was now going to need my com link to find my way back to the gig. Every once in a while we'd sail through a dense cloud, but the chief never hesitated, steering us onwards until we cleared a large island, half hidden in a cloud. Here the chief roared an exclamation and pointed below us. The crew ceased rowing, and looking down, broke out in a chorus of eager talk and laughter. Leaning over, I found a large, elongated teardrop shaped ship, perhaps half a kilometer below, with several small native boats floating around it. The leader shoved the steering bars up, and the eager crew returned to their oars with renewed enthusiasm, sweeping us down towards the ship.
From above, the ship could have been some 60 meters long with a blunt nose that gradually tapered back, ending with two large enclosed propellers set on short wings at its stern. It boasted a complex array of masts and rigging for sails and an array of steering wings and rudders. Like the Temtre ships, it had a semi-enclosed deck with deckhouses running down the center. What appeared to be large missile launchers were mounted on the forward and aft deckhouses.
Unlike the Temtre ships, this one had a rusty iron hull, which I initially hoped was evidence of a more advanced and civilized society than present company. A long gangplank extended from its lower deck to a large, wide-beamed iron and wood cutter. Tied up alongside the cutter was a single native boat, similar to ours, along with half a dozen other ones floating nearby, apparently a'waiting their turn to come alongside. We joined these idling boats and watched the proceedings through the cutter's grating.
Seen from the side, the black-hulled ship had three decks, not counting the deckhouses. It had one enclosed deck above, pierced by open ports, including four large missile launching ports and below, a double tall deck behind the iron bow which turned into a series of grated cages open to the air, populated by native Outward Islanders. Even at this distance, one could smell that certain miasma of human misery that made it impossible to mistake it for what it was. A slaver.
It appeared that I was about to escape the pot for slavery. My spirits rose.