The Sioux Spaceman Read online

“One,” replied Kade deliberately, “which on our world is and has long been prized highly. It belongs to warriors who ride, by our customs, not borne on the shoulders of men or in chairs of state but on the backs of these beasts. Even into battle do they so ride. And among us the warriors who so ride are held in honor.”

  “Ride on the back of a beast!” Toph looked prepared to challenge such an outrageous statement. “It would see!” He held out his hand in demand and Kade allowed him to take the plate.

  “So.” Toph expelled breath in a hiss which might have signified either admiration or contempt. “And warriors ride upon this beast for honor?”

  “That is so.”

  “You have seen them?”

  Kade plunged. “On my world I am of a warrior people. I have ridden so behind those who are my overlords.”

  Toph glanced from the Terran back to the tri-dee plate.

  “These beasts could live on Klor?”

  “On Klor, yes; in Cor, no.” Kade proceeded with the caution of a scout on the war trail, fearing to push too much or too fast.

  “Why so?”

  “Because they graze the grasses of the plains just as the kwitu. They could not live confined in a wall garden of a city tower.”

  “But at the holdings they could? One could ride them where now only the sky ships pass overhead?”

  Toph were certainly getting the point fast, perhaps almost too fast. But the off-worlder replied with the truth.

  “That is so. A lord or the guardsman of a lord could ride across the country without slave bearers or a sky ship. My own world is plains and for hundreds of years have we so ridden—to war, to the hunt, to visit with kin, to see far places.”

  Toph looked down at the plate once again. “This is a new thing. The High One may be amused. I take.” His thick fingers closed about the tri-dee with a grip of possession Kade did not try to dispute. The Terran had taken his first step in his plan, and by all signs Toph was snared. Surely the head animal keeper of the Pac would have some influence with the Lord of Cor, and the acquisitiveness of a zoo keeper faced with a new animal of promising prestige would be a lever in the Terran’s favor.

  When the Overman left without any further demands for information about the newly arrived bear, his hand still grasping the tri-dee, the Team Commander, who had taken no part in the exchange, smiled faintly.

  “Why horses?” he asked.

  “This is natural horse country. The plains will support them.”

  “You will have to have proof of that, an analytical report, before the Service will ship them.”

  Before he thought, Kade replied, “Steel had that made.”

  “Interesting,” Abu commented. “You found that in his tape, of course. Horses—” he repeated thoughtfully. “They’d come high on import price.”

  “Too high?”

  “For the High-Lord-Pac of a planet to indulge a whim? With all the resources of Klor to draw on? No, I think he can afford them if he wishes to. You might get a reprimand from the ecology boys however.”

  Kade had not foreseen that angle. To introduce to any alien world a plant, animal, or bird without natural enemies and with a welcoming terrain was a risky thing at best. To Kade the plains of Klor seemed a natural setting for horse herds. They would share those vast expanses with the kwitu, with the deer species, and with the large flightless birds. Natural enemies—well, beside mankind, or Styor and Ikkinni, who should consider horses prized possessions and not prey, there were several carnivores. But none in quantity. Yet that was what he had hoped to see; a horse population exploding as it had on the plains of his own home, unleashing wealth and war mobility for the natives. However, if he had to untangle red tape within his own Service—

  Kade was startled by a sound from his superior which was suspiciously like a chuckle.

  “A little too soon, Whitehawk. Don’t ride your rockets up full blast until you are sure of your orbit! Horses for the Styor. I wonder how the Ikkinni will welcome them. The currents of air keep their lords’ ships out of the mountains. On horseback their slavers could range more widely. And I wonder about that, young man. You did not join this Team recommended as a Styor lover. Horses—” He studied Kade as a man might inspect an intricate piece of machinery which he did not understand, but must be able to set working with smooth ease.

  “You said to tempt the High-Lord-Pac with something new,” Kade said, on the defensive. He had been so full of his idea that he had underrated the Commander, a mistake he could see might be a disastrous error.

  “So I did, so I did. And Steel, asking for an analysis, put all this into your mind?”

  That was partly true and Kade was glad he could admit it. But he knew that Abu was not wholly satisfied. For the moment he was saved by the return of Toph with an order for them both to attend the High-Lord-Pac.

  When they entered the antechamber of the garden where they had earlier deposited the bear, they found the ruler of Klor, his carrying-chair grounded, viewing the tri-dee which a guard held at eye level for his master’s convenience.

  “Tell of these.” The order was passed to Kade.

  Using the Trade tongue, the Terran enlarged upon equine virtues, giving what he hoped were vivid and entrancing descriptions of appearance, action, the advantages of horses to be bred and raised on Klor. There was no answering enthusiasm visible in the Styor, though it was plain the waiting Toph was already a convert.

  “But in Cor they could not be?” The Styor interrupted.

  “That is so. They must have open land.”

  “And the great ones of your world ride upon their backs with ease?”

  “That is the truth.” He launched into a description of saddles and riding gear, of the development of cavalry, both as fighting units and as striking and colorful guards for ceremonial occasions.

  “These shall be bought,” the Styor made his decision in his usual expressionless way. “Also there shall be sent to Cor reports concerning these creatures, other representations of them such as this, or larger.” He gave the faintest inclination of head to the plate before him. “All this shall be done as speedily as possible.”

  Abu bowed. “The will of Pac is the law of the land and sky,” he replied with the formal speech. “As the wish, so is the action. Have we now leave to depart from Cor, since we must carry out the will of Pac?”

  “Depart and serve.”

  It was so quickly decided that Kade almost distrusted his success. On the way back to the Styor ship Abu asked some questions of his own.

  “Where are you going to get horses in a hurry? When Pac says he wants a thing speedily, he means just that. Horses brought from Terra will be months on the way, and in quarantine and transhipment as well.”

  “There are horses, for generations toughened by space hopping, to be had on Qwang-Khan.” Not his horses, the blooded breed of the Terran plains, but another stock, tough, wiry, inured to new worlds, developed from ponies which had once carried Tartar horsemen not only into battle, but on treks to challenge the rule of a quarter of the world.

  “You’ve already done your research on the subject, I see.” Abu again came uncomfortably close to the truth. But to Kade’s relief, he pried no deeper.

  CHAPTER 7

  KADE AWOKE with that same feeling of present danger which had instantly aroused him into full awareness in the mountains. Yet behind him was the wall of his room at the post, beneath him the easi-foam of his bunk. He lay, schooling his breath to the even lightness of sleep, trying to catch sound or movement.

  The window slit giving on the corridor was a lighter oblong against the dark wall. He heard the feather-light scuttle of a hunting “eight-legs” crossing the surface. Then he caught a small sigh of breath released.

  Another scurry from the “eight-legs”, followed by the faintest of tiny squeaks as the Klorian creature captured one of the furry night moth-things. Then, from the courtyard, the sound of boots; sharp taps, rapping on the door of his senses.

  A
figure slid along the wall and the brush of passing was clearly audible. Whoever shared his room was almost within reach. He caught a trace of odor and knew that an Ikkinni crouched there, perhaps torn between the peril of the supposedly sleeping Terran by his side and the patroler in the courtyard.

  Kade sighed as might a disturbed sleeper, rolled over so as to bring his forearms under him, ready to impel him off the bunk. Again he heard that catch of breath, felt rather than saw ruddy eyes fast on him. He had no idea of how keen Ikkinni night sight was, and he could take no chances. Though the post natives were supposedly unarmed, there were objects within this very room which could be improvised into deadly weapons.

  With one hand the Terran drew his stunner from the night pocket of the bunk and threw himself floorward, rolling over, to come up with his back against the opposite wall, the weapon ready. And he heard a flurry of movement from his invisible visitor, movement checked as the other laid hand on the door panel. For outside those parading boots still tapped a message of danger.

  Then Kade had his answer to the amount of night sight possessed by an Ikkinni. Before he could move another body crashed against his and a hairy shoulder dug into his middle, driving the air from the Terran’s lungs, smashing him back against the wall with a force which half dazed him so that he was helpless against a second attack. A blow on the side of the head crumpled him to the floor, barely conscious, and a second brought with it complete darkness.

  “Whitehawk!”

  Pain was a red band behind his blinking eyes, a light adding to it. His head rolled loosely as someone tried to pull him up, and he tasted the flat sweetness of blood. Then, somehow, fighting the swift stab of hurt in his head, he focussed his sight on Che’in. For once the other Trader was not smiling, in fact a very unusual grimness tightened the corners of his lips, brought into line the jaw structure which lay beneath the soft flesh of his round chin.

  Kade’s hand went uncertainly to his head and he winced when his fingers touched raw, scraped skin above a welt. They came away sticky red.

  “What happened?” he asked huskily.

  Che’in’s arm slipped behind his shoulder, supported him so that he looked about a room which had been ripped apart. Every cupboard panel was open, forced where they had been thumb sealed. The foam of the bedding frothed through numerous rents in its outer skin, and a trail of record tapes crossed the top of the desk, ending in a confused pile on the floor. The evidence was that of a mad search, a search where the fury of the searcher had mounted with his inability to locate what he sought.

  That could mean only one thing—or perhaps two!

  Kade fought waves of dizziness as he tried to raise his head higher to survey more closely the debris on the floor about him. His boots were still standing at attention at the foot of the bunk. And noting they were undisturbed he knew that one secret had been safely kept.

  “Stunner!” He cried. “Where is my stunner?”

  If his assailant was Dokital and the native had his weapon— Why, an attack on Buk using the stunner might well mean death for half the Ikkinni slaves at the post. And whether that sacrifice was willing or not, Kade must prevent it by telling someone the full story.

  Che’in pulled a familiar object from under Kade’s leg. And the younger man snatched at it with a second wave of pure relief blanketing out the pounding in his skull for a welcome instant or two.

  “I don’t think your untidy friend will be back,” Che’in remarked. “Have you any idea of what he was hunting for?”

  To answer that meant danger of another kind. Again Kade stared at his boots. No one could possibly guess what had been cached in their concealed top pockets. And his head hurt so that his thinking was fuzzy.

  “Wait!” Che’in edged Kade’s head forward delicately, gently, making an examination, not of the welt left by the blow, but of the other’s scalp lock. “So. When your visitor did not find what he wanted—” the Trader’s breath came out as a hiss and again all lazy good humor was wiped from his features.

  “What’s the matter?” Kade put up his own hand, felt for the customary short braid. But his fingers discovered only a ragged tuft left. He had been hastily shorn by the thief.

  “Why?” Groggily he looked to Che’in for an answer.

  Kade could understand the search for the remnants of the control which was still crumbling to smaller pieces in spite of his careful wrapping of the bits. And he could have understood the disappearance of the stunner. But why had the thief overlooked the weapon to take a few inches of human hair? The motive for that baffled him completely though he guessed it was clear to Che’in.

  “The ordeal of the knots,” the other spoke as if thinking aloud. “He did not find what he sought, so he would practice the ordeal of knots. But why? What did he seek here? This is important, Whitehawk. It may be deadly. Something Steel or you had?”

  Kade took refuge in a collapse which was not more than a quarter acted, heard Che’in call out, and lying limp with closed eyes, heard the answering pound of feet. From his feigned faint he must have slipped into real sleep, for when he awoke again he was in the small post infirmary with the bright sheen of sunlight across the foot of his cot. They had probably drugged him for he discovered that thinking was a foggy process when he tried to put together into some sensible pattern the events he could remember.

  What connection did those events have? He was almost certain Dokital had been his attacker. Since Kade’s return from Cor he had seen almost nothing of the young Ikkinni, and a few offhand questions had told him that the native had been on a second hunting trip as Santoz’s attendant. Kade’s conscience had been none too easy. Out in the hills Dokital could put his dangerous knowledge to the rescue of another party of slaves. So the Terran had been relieved when the party had returned the day before, intact, and with an unusually good catch of musti in the bargain. If the Ikkinni had passed on his information, the natives had had no chance to steal a stunner and act upon it.

  Unfortunately Kade was no nearer his own solution of how to have the broken control box investigated. The technical knowledge such an examination would require was completely out of his field and he had no contact at the nearest Trade Base who could make such a study and subsequently keep his mouth shut. To approach the Commander here was simply asking for his own dismissal. And with his plan beginning to work Kade could and would not jeopardize his service on Klor. The order for horses had gone through to Qwang-Khan and been approved. Horses were on their way to Klor. And he had already made a start with his project of introducing the Ikkinni to what might be their future secret weapon of liberation.

  On the very plausible argument that horses could not be transported to their final destination by Styor planetary freighters, but would have to be driven or ridden overland, Kade was conducting a lecture course for the post Ikkinni in the care, feeding and nature of the new arrivals-to-be. Tri-dees blown up to almost life size served to make familiar the general appearance of the off-world beasts. And, with the aid of an improvised structure of wood and tubing, Kade had demonstrated some of the points of riding, the nature of a saddle pad, and the use of reins in governing the mount. The imported mounts would naturally be already well trained and docile, at least considered so by their Terran breeders. But Kade still had no way of telling whether horse and Ikkinni could and would learn to live together.

  To his disappointment so far he had awakened no visible reaction in the natives. Herded to the place of instruction by Buk, who watched and listened himself with close attention, none of the slave laborers appeared to consider lesson time more than an interlude of rest, enduring the Terran’s efforts at teaching as the price which must be paid for such a breathing spell. With Buk there Kade had to keep closely to the text concerning the welfare of the off-world animals, imported directly for the pleasure and benefit of the Styor which the Ikkinni so hopelessly hated.

  He had been pleased to see Dokital in his audience at the last class meeting. Somehow Kade had expected a m
ore alert response from the native who had been attracted by the bear. But the young Ikkinni had proved as stolidly unresponsive as his fellows.

  And now, with a faint ache still behind his eyeballs when he tried to focus upon the band of sunlight, Kade was discouraged enough to admit that Dokital wanted just one thing, release from bondage. Undoubtedly he believed the Terran had that in his power to grant but would not.

  He had not found and plundered the hidden pockets in Kade’s boots, nor taken the stunner. Why had he taken most of the off-worlders short braid? As far as Kade knew there was no Ikkinni custom demanding that to disgrace an enemy. And what possible use could Dokital find for about three inches of alien hair?

  What had Che’in said? “Ordeal of the knots.” Kade repeated that aloud now, but the words meant nothing.

  “Yes.”

  Kade turned his head on the foam support. Che’in was well within the door, walking with a cat’s silence in spite of his boots. There had been a subtle alteration in this Teammate, no direct change of feature, or real disappearance of the basic placidity Kade had always seen the other display. Only now the Terran knew that serene expanse as a mask, under which a new pattern was coming to life.

  The other stood looking down at Kade thoughtfully.

  “Why do they hate you, Whitehawk?” He might have been inquiring about the other’s health, only he was not.

  “Who?”

  “The Ikkinni” Che’in paused, and then there was a slight difference in his tone. “So you don’t really understand after all! But then what a disappointment, what a grievous disappointment.” He shook his head slowly.

  “For whom?” Kade bottled his irritation. Trying to get any concrete information out of Che’in would seem to be a project in itself.

  “The Ikkinni. And, of course, the Three Times Netter they employed to work on you. Or perhaps they have even hired a four knot man. From the disaster area they—or he—made of your quarters, I am inclined to believe your visitor was angry enough to go to a Four Netter—”