Exile (26 page)

"Then what makes you think he wants to negotiate at all?"

"Perhaps he'll listen to you."

After a moment's pause, during which there were loud exclamations behind them, Targon said, "I'll do what I can. Perhaps we can save the civilians, at least."

Sneaden said, "Cornelian's light-soldiers have been killing everyone but the children."

"The children, then."

"That's what I had in mind."

Ramir looked at Sneaden with comprehension. "You have a daughter, don't you?"

"I'll do what I can."

There was a great rush and blast of light behind them; Sneaden and Targon Ramir turned to see plasma soldiers rushing into the opened doorway at the back of the Piton, their forms still and then flashing in quick movement as they cut down the remaining technicians and Screen monitors in the room.

"My God—" said Targon.

There was the slight punch of air being displaced,
a whiff of ozone; and then Jean Sneaden gave a small cry at Targon's side and was cut down where he stood.

Ramir waited as the last technician was slaughtered, and a ring of plasma soldiers now stood vigil around him.

Oddly, the engineer in him wanted to reach out and touch one of them, to test their corporeality; but he stayed his hand.

Targon took a deep breath and put his mind at peace.

But the end did not come. Rather, there came a loud noise at the rear of the Piton, as someone bustled into the room, followed by more plasma soldiers in formation.

Targon Ramir now knew who had engineered the break in Venus' shields, allowing Prime Cornelian to beam his plasma troopers to the surface.

"Hello, Carter," Ramir said.

With quick strides, Carter Frolich strode toward Targon. The ring of plasma soldiers broke to let the two men face one another.

For a moment the two men's eyes met, and Ramir saw the madness swimming in Carter's mind.

Then Carter said, loud enough for anyone else in the room to hear, if anyone had been alive,
"Now Venus belongs to me!"

D
alin was beginning to fancy the life of a pirate.

It beat working—or running a planet. The hours were flexible; and if one didn't feel like working, one didn't work.

Which encompassed most of Ralf and Enry's philosophy. Dalin could not recall ever meeting a more slothful pair of men in his life. Even his Earthly ministers couldn't compare for lack of initiative. It turned out, in fact, that the scavenging expedition which had brought Dalin into their circle had been the first real work the two had done in months.

"Mostly we drift," Enry explained, days after Dalin's arrival—and after their gargantuan drinking jag, which had finally rendered Dalin unconscious and ultimately all three of them with epic hangovers. The two pirates, in fact, had all but turned the running of the ship over to their protégé, whom they now termed a full partner.

Which gave Dalin one-third of... what?

For it turned out that the acres of stored goods in the ship's hold had been there for months and that there was little chance of moving any of it anytime soon—or making a profit.

"These things 'appen, they does," Enry continued, explaining their situation from the bow of the freighter, where Enry and Ralf sat nursing their latest hangover. Dalin had learned from his first ..experience with Titanian champagne that it was powerful and stealthy stuff: a froth of bubbles with a kick like an Afrasian elephant. He had since all but refrained—though he had to make a good show of keeping his glass filled, just to be sociable.

The maximum glare shielding was down over the fore windows, making the stars dull blue points; this was a necessity, to spare Ralf and Enry's latest headaches.

"'Appens ev'ry once in a while, it does," Ralf piped in. "The lines o' commerce get blocked, an' nothing gets moved. 'Appened in '21, an' again in '25. This time could be a bad 'un, with the 'appenings on Venus, and the situation on the Four Worlds."

"It's a bad 'un, indeed." Enry sighed, comforting himself by filling his glass with champagne and sipping at it—which made him wince but didn't stop him.

"It's ii' this," Ralf said, holding up the index fingers from his two hands a few centimeters apart. "Things need to go from point A to point B." He folded one index finger. "But when point B ain't there no more, things has t' stay where they is."

"So true." Enry sighed, again sampling his wine.

"So the war is holding you up?" Dalin said innocently.

"Oh, it's great Fr business!" Ralf said. "Wif war you get explosions and such, an' battles, and things get left around for the pickin'. Like the load you came in on, Fr instance. Trouble is, you can't sell it so easy. So you've got to sit on it awhile."

"Yeah, sit on it," Enry said.

"Things'll get better, though," Ralf said with conviction. "They always does. Just Ii' in th' ol' days, afore Wrath-Pei was runnin' things, when Shatz Abel was king o' the pirates."

Enry smiled. "Now, tha' was a pirate, ol' Shatz Abel! Tear y'r 'ead off wif one hand if y'crossed him, 'e would!"

"But 'e was fair, 'e was," Ralf added.

"Yeah, he was fair enough, all ri'. Unless 'e didn't Ii' you, an' all."

"An' 'e kept things runnin' pretty much regular, he did. Point B 'ardly ever shut down wif ol' Shatz Abel at the 'elm. But then Wrath-Pei comes along, an' being Martian and all, 'e drives ol' Shatz Abel off, an' plants 'im on Pluto by 'imself, where it's all cold and such, wif tha' little SunOne giving a teeny bit o' light an' a little teeny bit o' heat, and such—"

"A bad break for ol' Shatz Abel, that was."

The two of them sighed, lost in sad, nostalgic thoughts.

"So you're convinced things will eventually get better?" Dalin asked.

Breaking out of his reverie, Ralf said, "Once Wrath-Pei figures out wha' he's up to, things'll get ri' back to where they was."

"Gravy an' onions!" Enry said hopefully.

"RI' enough. Gravy an' onions. But ri' now, ol' Wrath-Pei hasn't quite settled his score with that bug Cornelian on Mars, so point B is closed down. You follow?"

Ralf gave Dalin a serious look, and Dalin nodded. Ralf nodded with conviction. "I knew you would. You're a smart 'un, you is."

"Smart as a pin," Enry said. "You'll make a dandy pirate, wif us as your teachers."

"Ri' enough," Ralf said. "I could tell ri' off that ol' Nub here has had Screen-book learnin', and such. It won't help much in piratin'—but it can't 'urt."

"Can never 'urt," Enry said, filling his glass again and offering his two companions a fill-up. Though Dalin had not meant to imbibe, he now found that he had emptied his glass while listening to these two talk and was ready to empty it again; the light, airy bubbles were spreading through him like a warm bath from the inside out.

"Yes, sir, Screen-book learnin' is a useful thing t'ave. I been wondering, young Nub," Ralf said, slapping Dalin on the knee good-naturedly, "where did you ge' all that learnin'?"

"On Earth," Dalin said brightly. The smooth warmth of the champagne was spreading through him, and he felt himself smiling wider than usual—his glass had been emptied and filled again, as had those of his companions, whose own smiles had grown in proportion. "I grew up in Afrasia! In a palace!"

"A
palace!
Oh-ho!" Ralf said. "And wha' was our little Nub, here—some sort of page or courier?"

Enry was laughing now, spilling as much champagne on himself as he managed to get into their three glasses.

"No!" Enry said. "'E's the king 'imseif! Dalin Shar, 'e is!"

"Ha!" Ralf said, slapping his knee before downing his glass. "Imagine tha'! Wouldn't tha' be somethin', if we was entertainin' Dalin bloody Shar!"

"Ho-ho!" Enry said. "Wouldn't tha' be grand as 'eli!"

Dalin, laughing along with them, took another refill, knocked it back in one swallow, and then heard himself say, "It's true!"

His two companions broke into gales of laughter; Enry quickly uncorked another bottle of champagne and said, "This calls for a toast! The king 'imseif!"

Another round was taken, and then another; Dalin felt himself buoyed on champagne and goodwill. Suddenly he was grabbing the two pirates by the arm and proclaiming, "No, it's really true! I
am
Dalin Shar, King of Afrasia and Ruler of Free Earth!"

The two men gave a gulp of laughter.

And then suddenly Ralf caught Enry's eye and the two men stopped laughing.

"Say tha' again?" Ralf asked Dalin soberly.

But Dalin was smiling now, boastful and full of himself, and he proclaimed with pride, "You do have the king himself on board your modest ship! I am Dalin Shar!" Dalin took the bottle from Enry's hand, poured himself and the others a round, and drank off his own.

He saw that his companions hadn't joined him. Abruptly, they looked very serious and sober.

"Say, Nub," Ralf said slowly, "is all this true about you being King Dalin Shar and all?"

"Certainly!" Dalin said, lost in champagne. And then he told them the story of his escape, exaggerating his own exploits, finishing with his arrival in their cargo hold on the verge of death.

"Well, I'll be a Martian monkey," Enry said in wonder.

"Yeah, me, too," Ralf concurred. "And 'ere I thought we was lucky just findin' all tha' champagne. Turns out we 'ad a treasure ri' under our noses and didn't know it."

"We know it now," Enry said, all business.

,

'' .Ri,,, said Ralf.

Dalin heard all this through a haze of alcohol and laughter. The laughter was his own, and he barely felt it when the bottle and glass were lifted from his hands, and when he himself was lifted bodily and carried from the foredeck to the cargo hold.

"Time to work?" he asked, his grin creasing his face, and he began to giggle so hard that his two companions had to stop and lay him on the ground until the fit passed.

"Not work. Not for you, exactly, Nub," Ralf said.

The two pirates once again lifted him and bore him to the hexagonal cargo holder which had borne Dalin into their midst.

It was only when he woke up with a headache eight hours later, sealed within what had so recently almost been his coffin, that he realized perhaps he was not to be a pirate after all.

He lost track of time. He was not treated badly; but neither was he treated with the comradeship he had so recently enjoyed with Enry and Ralf.

Enry brought him his meals twice a day; but there was no more champagne, and Enry would not meet his eyes and only grunted when Dalin tried to talk to him.

Dalin knew they had gone into phase drive, because he felt the emblematic shiver and rush—but where they were heading he could only guess at—which began to fill him with a growing fear.

He spent his time thinking of Tabrel Kris.

When, on the fifth or sixth day, Enry brought him his first meal of the day, Dalin finally said, "Is this a matter of money, Enry? Because if it is, I can work something out. Whatever you're being paid for my capture, my people on Earth will double, when the time comes."

Enry grunted.

"They'll murder me, you know, if you turn me over to Cornelian or to his Afrasian traitors. I won't live for ten minutes after you hand me over."

Again, Enry grunted.

"Don't you have any feeling at all? Any pride, or patriotism?"

"I wouldn't know abou' tha', Nub," Enry grumbled, before closing the door.

But on the other side, Dalin heard Enry say, "An' it ain't like we 'ave a choice, Nub. Sorry and all." The days passed. And passed.

And then suddenly they pulled out of phase drive. There followed nearly a whole day of inactivity; and then Ralf was there at mealtime, only he did not bear a meal but rather a grim visage.

"Time to shove off, Nub."

Dalin said, "You'll pay dearly for what you're doing."

Ralf said, "You don't qui' understand, Nub. We got 'earts, and all. Truly we do. We ain't turning you over to no Martian or Earth scum. Almost as bad and all—but not anything we could do anything abou'." Earnestly he went on, "We could 'ave 'id you, but in the long run 'e would 'ave found out and cut us up like fresh meat. He's quite a pirate, 'e is, and 'e knows everything." He put his index fingers up, wiggled one, then the other. "Our choice was an easy one, Nub. Either get kilt or turn you over from point A to point B. You was one o' the only moveable commodities on the market these days."

He lowered his eyes. "Sorry and all, Nub. Truly I am."

Two strangers had appeared behind Ralf and waited for the pirate to move out of the way before pulling Dalin out of the capsule. They were dressed in black, including boots and gloves, though they appeared fingerless and wore visors which covered most of their faces. Between them, though, they had enough strength to hold Dalin between them and propel him forward, out of the ship's lock and into another, docked vessel, where other black-suited strangers waited.