Produced by Jason Isbell, Greg Weeks, Cori Samuel and theOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
ANDRE NORTON
(Writing As "Andrew North")
PLAGUE SHIP
Copyright, 1956 by Andrew North
All Rights Reserved
Chapter I
PERFUMED PLANET
Dane Thorson, Cargo-master-apprentice of the Solar Queen, Galactic FreeTrader spacer, Terra registry, stood in the middle of the ship's crampedbather while Rip Shannon, assistant Astrogator and his senior in theService of Trade by some four years, applied gobs of highly scented pasteto the skin between Dane's rather prominent shoulder blades. The smallcabin was thickly redolent with spicy odors and Rip sniffedappreciatively.
"You're sure going to be about the best smelling Terran who ever set booton Sargol's soil," his soft slur of speech ended in a rich chuckle.
Dane snorted and tried to estimate progress over one shoulder.
"The things we have to do for Trade!" his comment carried a hint ofpresent embarrassment. "Get it well in--this stuff's supposed to hold forhours. It'd better. According to Van those Salariki can talk your earsright off your head and say nothing worth hearing. And we have to sit andlisten until we get a straight answer out of them. Phew!" He shook hishead. In such close quarters the scent, pleasing as it was, was alsooverpowering. "We would have to pick a world such as this--"
Rip's dark fingers halted their circular motion. "Dane," he warned,"don't you go talking against this venture. We got it soft and we'regoing to be credit-happy--if it works out--"
But, perversely, Dane held to a gloomier view of the immediate future."_If_," he repeated. "There's a galaxy of 'ifs' in this Sargolproposition. All very well for you to rest easy on your fins--you don'thave to run about smelling like a spice works before you can get the timeof day from one of the natives!"
Rip put down the jar of cream. "Different worlds, different customs," heiterated the old tag of the Service. "Be glad this one is so easy toconform to. There are some I can think of--There," he ended his massagewith a stinging slap. "You're all evenly greased. Good thing you don'thave Van's bulk to cover. It takes him a good hour to get his creamon--even with Frank helping to spread. Your clothes ought to be steamedup and ready, too, by now--"
He opened a tight wall cabinet, originally intended to sterilize clothingwhich might be contaminated by contact with organisms inimical toTerrans. A cloud of steam fragrant with the same spicy scent poured out.
Dane gingerly tugged loose his Trade uniform, its brown silky fabric dampon his skin as he dressed. Luckily Sargol was warm. When he stepped outon its ruby tinted soil this morning no lingering taint of his off-worldorigin must remain to disgust the sensitive nostrils of the Salariki. Hesupposed he would get used to this process. After all this was the firsttime he had undergone the ritual. But he couldn't lose the secretconviction that it was all very silly. Only what Rip had pointed out wasthe truth--one adjusted to the customs of aliens or one didn't trade andthere were other things he might have had to do on other worlds whichwould have been far more upsetting to that core of private fastidiousnesswhich few would have suspected existed in his tall, lanky frame.
"Whew--out in the open with you--!" Ali Kamil apprentice Engineer,screwed his too regular features into an expression of extreme distasteand waved Dane by him in the corridor.
For the sake of his shipmates' olfactory nerves, Dane hurried on to theport which gave on the ramp now tying the Queen to Sargol's crust. Butthere he lingered, waiting for Van Rycke, the Cargo-master of the spacerand his immediate superior. It was early morning and now that he was outof the confinement of the ship the fresh morning winds cut about him,rippling through the blue-green grass forest beyond, to take much of hismomentary irritation with them.
There were no mountains in this section of Sargol--the highest elevationsbeing rounded hills tightly clothed with the same ten-foot grass whichcovered the plains. From the Queen's observation ports, one could watchthe constant ripple of the grass so that the planet appeared to belargely clothed in a shimmering, flowing carpet. To the west were theseas--stretches of shallow water so cut up by strings of islands thatthey more resembled a series of salty lakes. And it was what was to befound in those seas which had lured the Solar Queen to Sargol.
Though, by rights, the discovery was that of another Trader--TraxtCam--who had bid for trading rights to Sargol, hoping to make acomfortable fortune--or at least expenses with a slight profit--in theperfume trade, exporting from the scented planet some of its mostfragrant products. But once on Sargol he had discovered the Korosstones--gems of a new type--a handful of which offered across the boardin one of the inner planet trading marts had nearly caused a riot amongbidding gem merchants. And Cam had been well on the way to becoming oneof the princes of Trade when he had been drawn into the vicious net ofthe Limbian pirates and finished off.
Because they, too, had stumbled into the trap which was Limbo, and hadhad a very definite part in breaking up that devilish installation, thecrew of the Solar Queen had claimed as their reward the trading rights ofTraxt Cam in default of legal heirs. And so here they were on Sargol withthe notes left by Cam as their guide, and as much lore concerning theSalariki as was known crammed into their minds.
Dane sat down on the end of the ramp, his feet on Sargolian soil, thin,red soil with glittering bits of gold flake in it. He did not doubt thathe was under observation from hidden eyes, but he tried to show no signthat he guessed it. The adult Salariki maintained at all times anattitude of aloof and complete indifference toward the Traders, but thejuvenile population were as curious as their elders were contemptuous.Perhaps there was a method of approach in that. Dane considered the idea.
Van Rycke and Captain Jellico had handled the first negotiations--and theprocess had taken most of a day--the result totaling exactly nothing. Intheir contacts with the off world men the feline ancestered Salariki wereceremonious, wary, and completely detached. But Cam had gotten to themsomehow--or he would not have returned from his first trip with thatpouch of Koros stones. Only, among his records, salvaged on Limbo, he hadleft absolutely no clue as to how he had beaten down native salesresistance. It was baffling. But patience had to be the middle name ofevery Trader and Dane had complete faith in Van. Sooner or later theCargo-master would find a key to unlock the Salariki.
As if the thought of Dane's chief had summoned him, Van Rycke, hisscented tunic sealed to his bull's neck in unaccustomed trimness, hiscap on his blond head, strode down the ramp, broadcasting waves offragrance as he moved. He sniffed vigorously as he approached hisassistant and then nodded in approval.
"So you're all greased and ready--"
"Is the Captain coming too, sir?"
Van Rycke shook his head. "This is our headache. Patience, my boy,patience--" He led the way through a thin screen of the grass on theother side of the scorched landing field to a well-packed earth road.
Again Dane felt eyes, knew that they were being watched. But no Salarikstepped out of concealment. At least they had nothing to fear in the wayof attack. Traders were immune, taboo, and the trading stations were setup under the white diamond shield of peace, a peace guaranteed on bloodoath by every clan chieftain in the district. Even in the midst ofinterclan feuding deadly enemies met in amity under that shield and wouldnot turn claw knife against each other within a two mile radius of itsprotection.
The grass forests rustled betrayingly, but the Terrans displayed nointerest in those who spied upon them. An insect with wings of brilliantgreen gauze detached itself from the stalk of a grass tree and flutteredahead of the Traders as if it were an official herald. From the red soilcrushed by their boots arose a pungent odor which fought with the scentthey carried with them. Dane swallowed t
hree or four times and hoped thathis superior officer had not noticed that sign of discomfort. Though VanRycke, in spite of his general air of sleepy benevolence and carelessgoodwill, noticed everything, no matter how trivial, which might have abearing on the delicate negotiations of Galactic Trade. He had notclimbed to his present status of expert Cargo-master by overlookinganything at all. Now he gave an order:
"Take an equalizer--"
Dane reached for his belt pouch, flushing, fiercely determined insidehimself, that no matter how smells warred about him that day, he was notgoing to let it bother him. He swallowed the tiny pellet Medic Tau hadprepared for just such trials and tried to occupy his mind with the workto come. If there would be any work--or would another long day be wastedin futile speeches of mutual esteem which gave formal lip service toTrade and its manifest benefits?
"Houuuu--" The cry which was half wail, half arrogant warning, soundedalong the road behind them.
Van Rycke's stride did not vary. He did not turn his head, show any signhe had heard that heralding fanfare for a clan chieftain. And hecontinued to keep to the exact center of the road, Dane the regulationone pace to the rear and left as befitted his lower rank.
"Houuu--" that blast from the throat of a Salarik especially chosen forhis lung power was accompanied now by the hollow drum of many feet. TheTerrans neither looked around nor withdrew from the center, nor did theirpace quicken.
That, too, was in order, Dane knew. To the rank conscious Salarikiclansmen you did not yield precedence unless you wanted at once toacknowledge your inferiority--and if you did that by some slip ofadmission or omission, there was no use in trying to treat face to facewith their chieftains again.
"Houuu--!" The blast behind was a scream as the retinue it announcedswept around the bend in the road to catch sight of the two Tradersoblivious of it. Dane longed to be able to turn his head, just enough tosee which one of the local lordlings they blocked.
"Houu--" there was a questioning note in the cry now and the heavythud-thud of feet was slacking. The clan party had seen them, werehesitant about the wisdom of trying to shove them aside.
Van Rycke marched steadily onward and Dane matched his pace. They mightnot possess a leather-lunged herald to clear their road, but they gaveevery indication of having the right to occupy as much of it as theywished. And that unruffled poise had its affect upon those behind. Thepound of feet slowed to a walk, a walk which would keep a carefuldistance behind the two Terrans. It had worked--the Salariki--or theseSalariki--were accepting them at their own valuation--a good omen for theday's business. Dane's spirits rose, but he schooled his features into amask as wooden as his superior's. After all this was a very minor victoryand they had ten or twelve hours of polite, and hidden, maneuveringbefore them.
The Solar Queen had set down as closely as possible to the trading centermarked on Traxt Cam's private map and the Terrans now had another fiveminutes march, in the middle of the road, ahead of the chieftain who mustbe inwardly boiling at their presence, before they came out in theclearing containing the roofless, circular erection which served theSalariki of the district as a market place and a common meeting groundfor truce talks and the mending of private clan alliances. Erect on apole in the middle, towering well above the nodding fronds of the grasstrees, was the pole bearing the trade shield which promised not onlypeace to those under it, but a three day sanctuary to any feuder orduelist who managed to win to it and lay hands upon its weatheredstandard.
They were not the first to arrive, which was also a good thing. Gatheredin small groups about the walls of the council place were the personalattendants, liege warriors, and younger relatives of at least four orfive clan chieftains. But, Dane noted at once, there was not a singlecurtained litter or riding orgel to be seen. None of the feminine part ofthe Salariki species had arrived. Nor would they until the final tradetreaty was concluded and established by their fathers, husbands, or sons.
With the assurance of one who was master in his own clan, Van Rycke,displaying no interest at all in the shifting mass of lower rankSalariki, marched straight on to the door of the enclosure. Two or threeof the younger warriors got to their feet, their brilliant cloaksflicking out like spreading wings. But when Van Rycke did not even liftan eyelid in their direction, they made no move to block his path.
As fighting men, Dane thought, trying to study the specimens before himwith a totally impersonal stare, the Salariki were an impressive lot.Their average height was close to six feet, their distant feline ancestryapparent only in small vestiges. A Salarik's nails on both hands and feetwere retractile, his skin was gray, his thick hair, close to the textureof plushy fur, extended down his backbone and along the outside of hiswell muscled arms and legs, and was tawny-yellow, blue-gray or white. ToTerran eyes the broad faces, now all turned in their direction, lackedreadable expression. The eyes were large and set slightly aslant in theskull, being startlingly orange-red or a brilliant turquoise green-blue.They wore loin cloths of brightly dyed fabrics with wide sashes formingcorselets about their slender middles, from which gleamed the gem-sethilts of their claw knives, the possession of which proved theiradulthood. Cloaks as flamboyant as their other garments hung in bat wingfolds from their shoulders and each and every one moved in an invisiblecloud of perfume.
Brilliant as the assemblage of liege men without had been, the gatheringof clan leaders and their upper officers within the council place was ariot of color--and odor. The chieftains were installed on the woodenstools, each with a small table before him on which rested a gobletbearing his own clan sign, a folded strip of patterned cloth--his "tradeshield"--and a gemmed box containing the scented paste he would use forrefreshment during the ordeal of conference.
A breeze fluttered sash ends and tugged at cloaks, otherwise the assemblywas motionless and awesomely quiet. Still making no overtures Van Ryckecrossed to a stool and table which stood a little apart and seatedhimself. Dane went into the action required of him. Before his superiorhe set out a plastic pocket flask, its color as alive in the sunlight asthe crudely cut gems which the Salariki sported, a fine silkhandkerchief, and, last of all, a bottle of Terran smelling saltsprovided by Medic Tau as a necessary restorative after some hourscombination of Salariki oratory and Salariki perfumes. Having thus donethe duty of liege man, Dane was at liberty to seat himself, cross-leggedon the ground behind his chief, as the other sons, heirs, and advisorshad gathered behind their lords.
The chieftain whose arrival they had in a manner delayed came in afterthem and Dane saw that it was Fashdor--another piece of luck--since thatclan was a small one and the chieftain had little influence. Had they soslowed Halfer or Paft it might be a different matter altogether.
Fashdor was established at his seat, his belongings spread out, and Dane,counting unobtrusively, was certain that the council was now complete.Seven clans Traxt Cam had recorded divided the sea coast territory andthere were seven chieftains here--indicative of the importance of thismeeting since some of these clans beyond the radius of the shield peace,must be fighting a vicious blood feud at that very moment. Yes, sevenwere here. Yet there still remained a single stool, directly across thecircle from Van Rycke. An empty stool--who was the late comer?
That question was answered almost as it flashed into Dane's mind. But noSalariki lordling came through the door. Dane's self-control kept him inhis place, even after he caught the meaning of the insignia emblazonedacross the newcomer's tunic. Trader--and not only a Trader but a Companyman! But why--and how? The Companies only went after big game--this was aplanet thrown open to Free Traders, the independents of the star lanes.By law and right no Company man had any place here. Unless--behind a faceDane strove to keep as impassive as Van's his thoughts raced. Traxt Camas a Free Trader had bid for the right to exploit Sargol when its soleexportable product was deemed to be perfume--a small, unimportant tradeas far as the Companies were concerned. And then the Koros stones hadbeen found and the importance of Sargol must have boomed as far as thebig boys could see
. They probably knew of Traxt Cam's death as soon asthe Patrol report on Limbo had been sent to Headquarters. The Companiesall maintained their private information and espionage services. And,with Traxt Cam dead without an heir, they had seen their chance and movedin. Only, Dane's teeth set firmly, they didn't have the ghost of a chancenow. Legally there was only one Trader on Sargol and that was the SolarQueen, Captain Jellico had his records signed by the Patrol to provethat. And all this Inter-Solar man would do now was to bow out and trypoaching elsewhere.
But the I-S man appeared to be in no haste to follow that only possiblecourse. He was seating himself with arrogant dignity on that unoccupiedstool, and a younger man in I-S uniform was putting before him the sametype of equipment Dane had produced for Van Rycke. The Cargo-master ofthe Solar Queen showed no surprise, if the Eysies' appearance had beensuch to him.
One of the younger warriors in Paft's train got to his feet and broughthis hands together with a clap which echoed across the silent gatheringwith the force of an archaic solid projectal shot. A Salarik, wearing therich dress of the upper ranks, but also the collar forced upon a captivetaken in combat, came into the enclosure carrying a jug in both hands.Preceded by Paft's son he made the rounds of the assembly pouring apurple liquid from his jug into the goblet before each chieftain, agoblet which Paft's heirs tasted ceremoniously before it was presented tothe visiting clan leader. When they paused before Van Rycke the Salariknobleman touched the side of the plasta flask in token. It was recognizedthat off world men must be cautious over the sampling of local productsand that when they joined in the Taking of the First Cup of Peace, theydid so symbolically.
Paft raised his cup, his gesture copied by everyone around the circle. Inthe harsh tongue of his race he repeated a formula so archaic that few ofthe Salariki could now translate the sing-song words. They drank and themeeting was formally opened.
But it was an elderly Salarik seated to the right of Halfer, a man whowore no claw knife and whose dusky yellow cloak and sash made a subduednote amid the splendor of his fellows, who spoke first, using theclick-clack of the Trade Lingo his nation had learned from Cam.
"Under the white," he pointed to the shield aloft, "we assemble to hearmany things. But now come two tongues to speak where once there was butone father of a clan. Tell us, outlanders, which of you must we now harkto in truth?" He looked from Van Rycke to the I-S representative.
The Cargo-master from the Queen did not reply. He stared across thecircle at the Company man. Dane waited eagerly. What _was_ the I-S goingto say to that?
But the fellow did have an answer, ready and waiting. "It is true,fathers of clans, that here are two voices, where by right and customthere should only be one. But this is a matter which can be decidedbetween us. Give us leave to withdraw from your sight and speak privatelytogether. Then he who returns to you will be the true voice and thereshall be no more division--"
It was Paft who broke in before Halfer's spokesman could reply.
"It would have been better to have spoken together before you came to us.Go then until the shadow of the shield is not, then return hither andspeak truly. We do not wait upon the pleasure of outlanders--"
A murmur approved that tart comment. "Until the shadow of the shield isnot." They had until noon. Van Rycke arose and Dane gathered up hischief's possessions. With the same superiority to his surroundings he hadshown upon entering, the Cargo-master left the enclosure, the Eysiesfollowing. But they were away from the clearing, out upon the road backto the Queen before the two from the Company caught up with them.
"Captain Grange will see you right away--" the Eysie Cargo-master wasbeginning when Van Rycke met him with a quelling stare.
"If you poachers have anything to say--you say it at the Queen and toCaptain Jellico," he stated flatly and started on.
Above his tight tunic collar the other's face flushed, his teeth flashedas he caught his lower lip between them as if to forcibly restrain ananswer he longed to make. For a second he hesitated and then he vanisheddown a side path with his assistant. Van Rycke had gone a quarter of thedistance back to the ship before he spoke.
"I thought it was too easy," he muttered. "Now we're in for it--mayberight up the rockets! By the Spiked Tail of Exol, this is certainly _not_our lucky day!" He quickened pace until they were close to trotting.