Stardogs, page 8
It was one of his many attempts at odiousness which had backfired due to his own ignorance. He disliked leaving the palace; and space, where the hand of the League would be around him was simply not to be considered. He’d never been up there and never seen the Denaari craft, but the idea of the tiny, alien designed ship frightened him, arousing claustrophobic feelings. Apparently, because of space constraints, the ship’s only lounge was also the navigation deck. It had vast forward windows, actual thin transparent stuff, not just the safe, switch-off-able viewscreens of human-built ships. Through this the starswirl chaos of wormhole surf was not only visible but unavoidable. In addition there was actual physical contact with those revolting space-monsters too. It was the sort of gift he’d enjoyed giving her. He was suitably nastily gratified by her tepid but unavoidably polite response.
Actually, she loved it. Unlike the deep-space vessels of the League, lumpy things built out here where gravity and streamlining had no dictates, the old Denaari craft was externally cat-sleek. The make over had tacked secure cabins into the interior. However everything, roof height included, had originally been suitable for Denaari sized passengers. It had been impractical to change the height of the ceilings. Thus, while all other ships plying human space had standard 7 foot ceilings, the roof in the Imperial barge came in at just under twelve feet. The rooms were of suitable Imperial dimensions. The ship, now fitted for twenty-three humans, would, in cubic footage, have carried more than ninety people in League container-ship space.
The stardeck, on which one could watch the endless panorama of gravity-shifted light was her favourite place. Etching by space-dust and micrometeor impacts had made human ships resort to small and replaceable external lenses and interior viewscreens. But the windows of the Denaari-barge had some miracle of crystallographic engineering about them. Even after centuries in space the huge windows were not opaqued by micrometeor scarring. Indeed you could watch the scars happen… and heal.
The Stationers had the ship ready. That was unusual. There was usually a suitably arranged delay so that she could spend several extra hours on station. And judge yet another guinea-pig show! Her lip twitched at the thought. One day perhaps she could reveal that they were not her favorite animal. Otto II had nearly caused a major incident by chasing one.
But among those who were to be her crew the stationers had identified at least four recognized League agents. Killers… and then there had been Syrian.
Of course the efficient Syrian Brynant had been waiting at the Space-Station. Fussing about like a mother-hen. She’d known that he’d soon start to pester her with a slew of high-profile functions he wanted her to attend, at the expense of several back-country visits. As usual the thought of the pointless argument irritated her. She’d sighed to herself, in annoyance… if he wasn’t a faithful old retainer… But that was the way her brother treated those who were loyal to him. She was damned if she’d be tarred with the same brush. So she’d greeted him with every sign of pleasure. “Dear Sir Syrian. A delight to see you again. I trust you have organized everything with your usual efficiency?”
He bowed low. “Yes, your highness. Everything is perfectly in hand.” His voice seemed slightly strained, but he led her forward to introduce her to the station commander. That worthy greeted her with the perfunctory politeness that the egalitarian Station-folk customarily accorded any of the hereditary title-holders of the empire. The only vaguely unusual public deed was his request to take a holo-pix of Otto III. That request was unlikely to attract much attention from his Imperial masters.
For the first time ever Syrian hadn’t tried to alter her on-planet schedules! Normally, he tried desperately to shuffle her itinerary. This time… he hadn’t. Something must be wrong. So the Stationers had hurried things along to try to upset any assassin’s timetables. She was really upset by the Station folk too… Usually, they were so carefully aloof, even when there were no Imperial officials present. Now, suddenly, the corridors were full of people who had fawned about and wanted to touch her, or touch her clothing, or touch Otto III, even when there were Imperial or League witnesses. Plainly, they didn’t expect her to come back. And Otto hadn’t liked being pawed by all and sundry.
Even if she was heading into danger… she was relieved to be back in the ship. Maybe she was being sentimental, but the imperial barge had a warmth about it that was missing from the League ships. Somehow she felt that it was a place which had been loved, once. It would be a good place to face whatever was coming. And at least while they were in surf it would be safe to relax for a while. The League would never move while she was in surf. It might disturb the Stardog.
The stubby tugs pushed the barge away from the space station, and off into space. The Stardog was on its way and would intercept them there. Shari watched from the stardeck. She’d seen it several thousand times now, but never tired of it. This time the poignant knowledge that this might be her last trip, made the sighting of the indrifting Stardog, with its filament-mat gleaming like a filigree of silver wires against the blackness of space, even more rich and rare. As if to reward her this beast was the most gloriously silvered she’d ever seen.
Gradually the rest of the retinue came up to join her. Last came the Guildsmen and the poor rider, looking like a dog that had just been whipped for no reason he could understand. If only she could tell him… She ignored him, acted as if he simply wasn’t there. Accepted the Leaguesmen’s bow coolly, and turned away from them and the rider.
Actually she was watching them, particularly the rider, in the reflection of the highly polished bar that some long-dead emperor had had fitted to cover the inscrutable Denaari instruments. The odd-shaped alien couches had also been ripped out and replaced. In their place they had fitted comfortable, velvet-upholstered loungers for the Emperor’s guests to enjoy watching the starswirl. She wished the pompous ass had been less fond of Lapis-Lazuli inlays in the mirror-polished surface of the bar. She loved watching the riders while they discovered the difference between Denaari and human ships. The bar gave her a way of doing so without being obvious.
Juan Biacasta studied the model of the Denarii barge again. Carefully he opened the small airlock in the tail-section. It was something he’d found by accident, and he was sure that most people had no idea existed on the centuries old ship. He’d checked it in every online resource he’d been able to find. The Denaari engine-room airlock had been welded shut when they converted the ship to the royal barge. Of course no-one would be able to access the Princess royal’s ship while it was in port. No one would be allowed into the docking area. Well, no-one who did not have his father’s access codes. And the main airlock would be well guarded.
Which was why he would not go near it. In fact he wouldn’t even be at dock level. The airlock was underneath, out of sight. He could be waiting in the refuel area. That was such high security… once you were in, and if you were good at hacking…
CHAPTER 7
FLEAS
As wanton flies to boys are we to the Gods. We sport with them, bringing ourselves to their attention, and they kill us. It is wiser to leave them strictly alone.
From the collected sayings of Saint Sugahata the Reviled.
The League-watcher had an ornately carved throne in the front of the cockpit. The rider was accorded a low plastic chair at the League-watcher’s feet.
Liton looked around cautiously. Since he had been brought forward from the riders’ cabin in which he had been locked before the barge had left the space station, he hadn’t dared raise his eyes. Now he risked a glance. The royal party sat about the foredeck, talking cheerfully while watching the tugs pull them toward the sun-grazing Stardogs. The cockpit was plainly a familiar locale for the royals, who treated the stunning space-view with the disregard that one accords to the everyday.
Shahjah knew he was coming. She was already jetting slowly away from the other dogs towards them. His heart leapt as it always did when he beheld his beloved. He didn’t understand how people could possibly say that all Stardogs looked alike. She was larger than most, and she also was more silvered. To an uninformed person that was beautiful. To the rider it was tragic. She was silvered because many of her filaments had lost their ability to absorb and transport light. She was getting very old… Still, he could already feel her love, and suddenly the room full of rich and powerful people no longer frightened him. He had stopped being a half-person. And they had stopped being of anything but trivial importance.
Several members of the Imperial party had greeted the Wienan League Watcher. They ignored the rider, which was hardly surprising. He would have been alarmed to be greeted people by such as these. The girl rider was missing, doubtless tranquillized and locked up, but her League escort was already there. He stood on the far side of the cockpit, an uneasily held drink in hand, looking uncomfortable. Liton avoided his eyes and stared out into the blackness once again, watching Shahjah.
He was startled to find himself being tapped on the shoulder by a stocky lady who wore ultra fashionable garments with total disregard for their appropriateness to coloring or figure. She also had a terrifyingly white face behind the glasses. Apparently she had got as far as putting on a make-up foundation, but had been distracted into looking up a few peripheral matters and forgotten to proceed. “I say, do you hear me?”
Liton stood up hastily. Bobbed his head servilely. Of course he hadn’t heard her. He was in a quandary. Riders were forbidden to speak to Non-League people. In Human built ships their quarters were segregated and the situation had never arisen in his previous experience. On the other hand not to reply would be construed as an insult.
“He is deaf, M’lady.” The Wienan smoothly interposed. This young soft man did not look at all out of place here, sipping a cocktail from a tall glass.
“Yes, I’d heard you did that to them, but it had slipped my mind.” The scholar suddenly peered over the edge of her glasses at Johannes. It was an alarming sight, and he started back slightly. She continued. “I have some questions to ask. Use your sign-language to pass them on to him.”
The young Leaguesman was at something of a loss. He cast an anguished eye across at his League colleague. “I cannot ask him about certain matters. They are League secrets, you understand…”
The dumpy woman snorted. “I’m not interested in the League. You are recent and transient history. I want find out what he has learnt from his Stardog about the Denaari. It’s a line of research that has never been pursued.”
It shocked obviously shocked the young Leaguesman to have the League described like that. His fellow Leaguesman also stood open mouthed, and nearly dropped his drink.
Liton smiled at her, however. A trusting, disarming smile. It was one of the reasons the League kept riders from the general populace, apparently. She didn’t even notice. “I lip-read quite well, my Lady,” he said. Shahjah was near. He was brave. He didn’t even stutter. “If you speak slowly.” He carefully turned so that he could not see the Leaguesman. The only way for the Leaguesman to interrupt the conversation now would be to rudely step in front of the Princess’s companion.
The woman, absorbed in her questioning, did not even notice his actions. “What does your Stardog remember about the Denaari?” she asked. The rest of the group’s conversations had died away, leaving this centre-stage.
Liton shrugged. This was safe to answer. “The Stardogs remember them. The Stardogs are not clever, you understand, Ma’am. But they don’t forget. They loved them. They were very lonely until we came.”
“Hmm. So how long ago did these loved ones leave?” the woman asked.
“About three thousand five hundred of their years back,” Liton replied drawing the knowledge from Shahjah.
The little woman flushed with excitement even through the plaster of make-up foundation. “Excellent! That’ll give Hargreaves something to put in his pipe and smoke.” Her head bobbed forward in an oddly predatory movement, “But wait! Their years. What are their years? Do they measure time accurately?”
Liton nodded, quite entranced by interest. “Very accurately M’lady. They need to, to navigate. And they have perfect memories. They’re just… not very clever. Their year is longer than Phillipia, and shorter than Nekrat. It is hard to explain. They use solar-revolutions to measure years. They don’t understand days and nights.”
But his answer had her rivetted. “The Denaari motherworld! It must be the orbital period of the motherworld! Do they know on which world they were made?”
He shook his head. “Shahjah, my Stardog, was born, not made.”
She shook her head dismissively. “Silbersohn and Ohnasha proved that that is impossible. The Stardogs were plainly the product of a species far in advance of ours in genetic engineering. The gene structure….”
He was angered. He shared to some imperfect extent Shahjah’s memories. He remembered her birth. “No!” he burst out. The way she straightened and pulled away he knew he had spoken too loudly. “No. She was born. She could also have pups of her own!”
The strange glasses-magnified eyes bored into him. “Where are the pups, then? Why are there none now? And where is their homeworld?”
“Lady Tanzo. Leave off grilling the menial. We need you for a fourth for bridge.” There was no ignoring a summons from Princess Shari.
With an, “I’ll speak to you later,” the dumpy little matron turned away and left the rider. He was relieved. He had no answers to give her.
A rough hand took him by the shoulder, turned him from the window. He found himself facing not one, but two angry Leaguesmen. The angular man signed furiously, his hands clumsy with haste and anger. “Your dog be whipped. Food rations be cut. Your dog …”
“If you don’t mind, Leaguesman Kadar, I shall handle this,” said the Wienan. Liton could not hear the tone, but he could feel the hauteur. “This is my rider. I shall deal with him.”
Johannes Wienan faced Liton again. His hands flickered, as he signed with more skill than the angular man, “Your Stardog is old…you say. Do not endanger her by speaking to the woman again. That is all. Sit until it is time for you to go out.” Somehow he had far more power to frighten than the angular man. Liton huddled down on the hard plastic seat.
“Leaguesmen.” It was the handsome officer in the midnight blue uniform. He looked across the crumpled rider as if Liton was not there. “Her Majesty has decided she would like to play Vingt-et-un. You are summonsed.” The rider was left sitting staring into space again, a picture of abject misery.
Very little of Shari’s attention was focused on the game. But she continued her cheerful, non-business chatter with her card-playing companions without having to devote much of her mind to it. Her companions scarcely saw ever Shari being serious, except in planning her trips in her role as Patron of the Society. Her companions were always similar. A pretty bit of brainless fluff; a handsome male escort, usually a relatively low-ranking officer-gentleman of some sort, a useful ladies-man; and a bluestocking to get the brainy ones off her back. Each carefully selected for filling a social niche. Each chosen to run interference for her.
After the last trip Dame Olga m’Themba had been obliged, because of her worsening arthritis, to give up travelling with the Princess. Shari had asked Tanzo to join them in her place. Shari wondered about the wisdom of that now. Tanzo was a brilliant scholar, but unlike Dame Olga, she was very narrowly focused on the Denaari. And Tanzo rushed in where angels feared to tread. Still, she had been a good foil for Shari. The Leaguesmen now regarded Tanzo with grave suspicion, and the obviously bored Princess with some approval. By the way the hypocritical, thin, bony one was peering down Carol Leyven’s cleavage, he was becoming more distracted by her other foil too. Still, those Leaguesmen were going to keep a close eye on that poor foolish rider from now on.
She had to admit, however that Tanzo’s questions had fascinated her. Lack of Stardogs was a major factor limiting interplanetary trade. Although a shortage of riders too was hampering the League. That plan had rather backfired on the Society. They’d hoped by helping potential recruits, getting them into their foster-home system, and away from the League, would serve to reduce the increasing work-load being put on the Stardogs. Well, it had improved Society’s membership quite dramatically in the last fifty years…
The great silver fur shawl drifted up to them. It slid into place around and under the barge, as the tugs disengaged. She loved watching this, and watching the working of that centuries-old Denaari system. It would fail one day, and all the passengers of the barge would be sucked to a horrible, explosive death. But in the meanwhile…
There were the strange sucking and grinding noises. The slow hiss. Then the section of floor-plate slid aside. She thought that it went very much against what the little rider had said about the creatures being born, not made. The physical structure on the back of the neck was too contrived. Nature would surely not have designed a space-tight animal-to-metal interface. She risked stealing a direct glance at the rider. This was always the best bit, when they realised they could actually physically touch their beloved.
When it was over she threw her hand in. “Gentlemen, Ladies.” she yawned artistically. “It’s has been a long day. Forgive me, but I need my sleep.” The game she’d got up, folded. They straggled off down the passage, the Viscount, as usual, gallantly offering her his arm. When they arrived at her suite she dismissed him, and called out to the Countess, who was flirtatiously running her fingers up the young Leaguesman’s arm. “My dear Lady Caro, won’t you come and help me with these nail-Icons? My stupid maids have not as yet learned how to get them off in one piece, and of course you always know how to do these things.”
