STAR HOUNDS -- OMNIBUS (10 page)

C
al Shemzak stood somewhere in a maze.

“All in all,” he said, sitting down to rest, “I think I’d rather be in New Philadelphia.”

The maze did not respond. Nor did the Jaxdron he knew were listening.

He lifted his head from between his knees.

“That’s a goddamned joke, guys! I read it in some twentieth-century book. Can I hear some applause for my efforts? Would you at least acknowledge my existence?”

Cal Shemzak realized he was screaming at the top of his lungs. His throat hurt from all this senseless screaming at the aliens. He decided he should stop for a while. “I’ve been in this stupid maze for hours now. Do I get fed, or is food what I’m supposed to find? Is that the game, guys?”

He’d woken up inside this crisscrossed, twisting affair of corridors after what had felt like a long sleep. Time was immaterial here … even more so than usual, Cal thought, chuckling to himself at the odd interplay of reality and concept.

A bright red arrow had pulsed before him. He had followed it because he’d nothing better to do. At certain intersections of halls in this maze were games of various complexities. The deal was, Cal Shemzak soon realized, that if you figured Out how to play the game and then you won the game, a door would open. Whether or not these doors led anywhere special was yet to be seen; Cal had mastered the games and taken the passages, and still he was lost in the maze.

“You jerks won’t even feed me, huh?” he muttered crossly. “I work my butt and my brain off for you, and you don’t take the time even to dish out some of that awful nutrient slop you’ve been giving me.”

That’s what the Jaxdron who’d visited him in his cell had been doing: delivering his dinner.

A roil of protoplasm, a shake of pseudopod, a lowering of slop dish, and then the thing was gone.

Or anyway, Cal Shemzak assumed that the deliverer of the food (which tasted like gravy-covered oatmeal) was a Jaxdron. Ugly fellow. The problem with that assumption was that it might not be true. The Jaxdron might have hired help.

“I gotta tell you guys, this is the worst diet I’ve ever been on!” He picked himself up and trudged onward.

Around the next section, on the wall next to the outline of a closed door, was a screen with symbols on it. Two sets of parallel lines, intersecting: X’s and O’s.

“My God, I just don’t believe it,” said Cal Shemzak. “You guys want me to play tic-tac-toe. You want a genius in quantum mechanics to duke it out with a child’s game. Well, just stuff it, okay? I’m not going to.”

Around the next bend was a table and a chair. Upon the table was a bowl of food with a spoon sticking out.

“You guys have got a sense of humor,” Cal Shemzak said, sitting down to his dinner. “A weird one, maybe, but a definite sense of humor.”

For some reason, the nutrient slop tasted great.

T
he Milky Way galaxy is a magnificent spiral. A hypothetical viewer placed light-years above its elliptical plane would note trails of trillions of stars, sparkling arms swirling out from the incandescent hub. Throughout this spectacular firework of the universe, which moves in a counterclockwise fashion, lie nebulae and clusters, sparks shedding off the arms, and the whole is suffused with a glow of spectral softness.

The Second Earth Empire, a.k.a. the Federated Empire, a.k.a. the Federation, occupied a very small section of space in comparison to the Milky Way galaxy. Nonetheless, it held dominion over a thousand occupied worlds. The Free Worlds comprised perhaps three hundred planets; the number changed constantly, because of their relationship to the Federation and the encroaching Jaxdron. Most of these worlds lay far from the core of Federation space, thus making the best use of distance, much as the American colonies did in revolting against Great Britain.

One of the key strongholds on the home spiral arm was Shortchild, a military and factory world. Its primary, Capella, was a Class G yellow sun, quite similar to Sol. Shortchild was suitable for military purposes not only because of its position, but because of its density and mass, 1.12 Earth standard, supplying a heavy concentration of metals vital for the construction of both fortifications and starships.

Because of its defensive importance, Shortchild was heavily defended. A large Federation fleet patrolled the sun’s seven planets. Recently the sophisticated Sheffield synchronous satellite defense shield had been placed around Shortchild itself.

The Capellan system was not a hospitable area for pi-mercs, to say the least, but this was where the
Starbow
was headed.

C
aptain Tars Northern and Navigator Dansen Jitt were at the helm when the
Starbow
broke out of Underspace, far enough beyond the Capellan planetary system to prevent interference from mass distortion and to elude Federation sensor sweeps.

Laura Shemzak sensed the transition, and so was not surprised when the guardian robots—whom she had gotten to know reasonably well by now—opened her cabin door and bade her follow to the dining hall.

“Mealtimes have a ritualistic quality here, don’t they?” Laura said casually to Napoleon Bonaparte. “Three per ship’s day, attendance mandatory for all crew at supper …. Who makes the rules?”

“Why, the captain, of course, mademoiselle,” answered Napoleon. “Is this not as it should be?”

“Does the ship belong to him?”

“Belong?” The robot smiled. “Belong to the captain? Ah, that is a difficult question to answer.”

“Well, I’m not exactly asking any kind of philosophical head knocker!”

“That statement might easily be debated, mademoiselle.”

“And by the way, Nap. What the hell is a mademoiselle, anyway?”

“A robot term. Highly complimentary, mademoiselle.”

“Just checking. Can’t be too sure about what people are jabbering about here.”

Napoleon and the others ushered Laura into the dining hall.

The entire human crew was seated—thirty men and women, at least half of whom Laura did not know.

Laura, who knew that it was not mealtime but who felt perverse and cantankerous enough after her incarceration to exaggerate the coarser aspects of her behavior, glanced down at the table, then looked up. “Where’s chow?” she demanded.

“This is a meeting, Laura Shemzak,” said Captain Northern solemnly, holding a glass.

“Dammit, if you can drink, why can’t I eat?”

Silver Zenyo cast an exasperated glance at the ceiling. Captain Tars Northern lifted his glass and tinkled ice cubes. “Water, Laura. You know. H2O. Have some if you like. It’s very refreshing, and if you must know, I never drink before an operation in which I am to be personally involved.”

Laura seated herself. “So. You can just drop me off and I’ll get my blip-ship and come back.”

“I wish it were that simple, Laura,” said Northern. “If you will remember, we are variously known to the Federation as either pirates or mercenaries. Now, what do you think the Shortchild authorities would do if they found the
Starbow
under their noses?”

“So how do we propose to deliver our young protégée to her destination without endangering ourselves?” a young man whom Laura did not know asked.

Silver Zenyo placed a final buff to her fingernails, then looked up, smiling maliciously. “Why don’t we give her a spacesuit and give her a push in the general direction?”

“Is that red polish for those claws, Silver,” asked Gemma Naquist, “or have you had a recent kill?” “Sticks and stones, darling,” returned the lacquered beauty.

“Children, bickering is not appropriate here,” Captain Northern said, his voice cold and calculating. “Dr. Mish has a few words.”

The doctor cleared his voice and set down his always present sensor board. “Our cloaking device will work up to a certain point. Of course, an orbit around Shortchild is out of the question.” He chuckled for a moment, then resumed dead seriousness again. “An orbit around the fifth planet will be sufficiently close and safe enough. We can then dispatch one of the shuttlecraft, which I have suitably disguised as an interstellar vessel. Laura Shemzak can be delivered to the capital city, Montezuma, where she will obtain her XT vessel. After that, both ships will rendezvous at the
Starbow
, and we can judiciously retreat to Underspace to decide what the next move will be.”

“Fine by me,” Laura said. “Just stick me in my blip and I’ll be happy as a Venusian clam sucking its pearl.”

“Laura, please allow Dr. Mish to finish,” said Tars Northern. Something in his tone shocked Laura into silence. He was the essence of authority now, serious as a black hole in a ram scoop.

“Yes, well, there is one other matter that needs to be discussed, Miss Shemzak,” said the doctor. “I am embarked upon a very important scientific project … yes, I know that you believe the
Starbow
to be just a pi-merc ship with a rollicking bunch of cutthroats and villains to man it, taking their loot where they can get it. But there is much more here than is immediately apparent. For my project I need a certain rare metal.”

“Yeah. Attilium,” Laura said, regaining her spunk and ignoring the glare from Captain Northern. “That’s the transuranic you were rooting round for on the
Zeke
. You said something about the Creature from the Planet X needing it. Extensive dental work?”

Captain Northern sighed, and the doctor’s eyes gleamed with good humor.

“Only on the jaws of entropy, actually,” the doctor continued. “But yes, that is the element we seek, and as it happens, there is a supply on Shortchild. We’d like to get our hands on some of it, Laura, and we’d like you to help us.”

“You will be accompanied by myself and at least two other crewmembers, Laura,” said Captain Northern after a moment of silence. “You will tell the authorities that you were rescued by a mining crew—us—who have brought you to Shortchild. Leave the rest to us.”

“And sell out my bosses, huh?” Laura said. “This attilium must be pretty important. Probably gets a good price on the black market. I heard Cal mention it once … said he used it in his quantum mechanics experiments. What are you guys trying to do, make a super-bomb to blow up the galaxy or something?”

“For heaven’s sake,” said Silver Zenyo, “are they substituting sewage treatment plants for breeding vats on Earth?”

“Ours can be a violent life at times,” said Captain Northern. “But we do not live for death. Perhaps, Laura, if we learn that we can trust you, you might come to appreciate what we are trying to do here as a group, and as human beings in a troubled time.” There was a kindness and a patience in his voice that for some reason infuriated Laura.

“Yeah, sure,” she said contemptuously. “Wonderful. I’m so impressed. What do you guys think you are, then, Robin Hoods stealing from the rich, giving to the poor? I’ve never seen such a sorry military group in my life. If I ever get back to the Federation, you can bet I’m going to tell them not to worry so much about some of the sad-sack pi-mercs cruising around the galaxy like lice. I’m sure that some of the guys in the Navy are going to get a real yuck from the fact that pi-merc brains hide themselves behind dyed flouncy hair or particularly ugly fright masks.” She laughed derisively. “But then, most of you haven’t got a hell of a lot to hide.” She smirked. “And these robots are such—”

Laura was enjoying her speech so much she did not notice Captain Northern’s action until it was too late.

The man stood, his face like rock, then leaned across the table and grabbed the top of Laura’s jump suit. Hands knotted into fists, he dragged her across the table until her face was only a bare centimeter from his own.

“This is my home,” said Captain Tars Northern in a hard but low voice. “And this is my family.”

Laura was so surprised she could not move to defend herself before Northern thrust her away from him, hurling her back into her chair. The chair tipped over, sending Laura sprawling on the floor.

“I am captain here, lady,” he continued, muscles and veins knotting in his throat. “And I demand respect.” His eyes blazed fiercely.

The robots helped the shaken woman back into her chair.

Captain Northern took a drink from his glass. “Now, I and my crew”—he smiled—“and perhaps even the
Starbow
would very much like an apology from that very attractive but very big mouth of yours.”

Laura began to smoke inside with fury, but she said nothing.

“My goodness, Silver,” said Captain Northern, “and I thought you were the champion pouter of this galaxy.”

Laura said, “You know where you can stick your goddamned apology, Northern.”

Northern threw the cold water in her face.

With a scream she lunged for him, but the robots grabbed her and held her still.

“In this kind of circumstance, one wishes that the ancient practice of keelhauling were possible in space,” Captain Northern said. “No apology forthcoming, Mademoiselle Shemzak?”

“I’d rather burn in hell,” she spat, hating him as she had never hated anyone before.

Captain Northern shrugged. “Very well. Then we will accept your nonapology in the spirit with which it was given. Now, Laura, can we get down to business?” The captain turned to the doctor. “Shall we get on with the details?”

He refilled his water glass.