Throne of Stars (33 page)

“Hey, I t’ink t’at was Pentzikis, and heatstroke’s no joke!” Poertena protested. “I was only kidding! Get a pocking grip—we’re almost done here.”

“Well, pock you, you shrimp!” the Mardukan snarled. “I’m done.
You
finish. If you can even lift the boxes!”

“Denat, what’s eating you?” Poertena asked, and there was genuine alarm in his tone. The Mardukan was trembling, as if he were having a fit. “We can quit t’is if we need to. You don’ look so good.”

“I’m
fine
!” Denat bellowed. He grasped his horns and yanked furiously at them. “I’m
fine
. I’ll . . .
aaaarh!
”

Poertena thought very hard about keeping his mouth shut, but he’d just noticed something, and it was really bothering him.

“Uh, Denat?” the armor asked carefully. “Did you know t’at t’e bases of your horns were swelling?”

Roger smiled and accepted the candied apsimon from O’Casey.

“Ah, for the days of kate fruit!” he sighed.

The main command group had gathered, and he turned to the newest member of their party.

“So, Harvard. What in hell are you doing here?”

The IAS journalist set down his
basik
leg and wiped his hands fastidiously.

“It was a routine assignment, Your Highness. Not much has been done on Marduk, since there’s not a regular passenger line that stops here. There was an IAS piece back in your grandfather’s time, when they were first planning on opening the planet to colonization, but since then, nothing. And that piece just covered the Krath capital. At the time, the Shin were more or less at peace with the Krath, and a sidebar about the Shin in the article caught my editor’s eye. He sent me out to get a story about the ‘mountain tribes.’”

He took a sip of wine and shook his head.

“I knew as soon as I landed that things had changed. The only information on the planet available was the earlier IAS article and two studies of Mardukan sociology and planetography. They didn’t say much, but there were obvious sociological changes in the Krath capital. Among other things, when I tried to get updated photos of their religious celebrations, I was barred from their temples.”

“Updated?” O’Casey asked. “The previous IAS team had gotten pictures? And
included
them in its article?”

“Yes, the Krath were very open about their ceremonies,” Mansul said. “It was a highly ascetic religion, similar in some ways to Buddhism, stressing personal restraint and meditation. The ceremonies involved small sacrifices of grain and meat to the God of Fire. Most of the contributions actually went to the priests, who were also the primary researchers and archivists, to pay for their upkeep. I don’t know what they’re doing now, but the rate of sacrifices has certainly gone up, if the smoke from the fires is any indication.”

“You might say there have been a few . . . liturgical changes,” Roger said darkly. “I wonder what bright person introduced them to the concept of human sacrifice?”

Mansul choked on his wine.

“Human sacrifice?”

“Well, Mardukan, mostly,” Roger said. “Cannibalism, too.” He took another bite of apsimon and grimaced at the taste.

“I take it you find their transition . . . unusual?” O’Casey asked Mansul.

“To put it mildly.” The IAS photographer wiped daintily at the spilled wine. “All of the source material on the Krath religion insists that it’s an ascetic faith, similar in some respects to Taoism in ancient China. Or, at least, that was the case when the original IAS team came through. Its sacrificial aspects were personal: meditation, and acts of generosity. They didn’t even sacrifice
turom
!”

“Well, they sacrifice their slaves, now,” the chief of staff said flatly. “And then they eat them. We saw the inside of the temples. And the kitchens and the bone pits.”

“Are all the slaves from the Shin?” the journalist asked.

“I don’t know,” O’Casey admitted, “and our local Shin guide seems to be missing.”

“She’s tending to Cord,” Roger said. He glanced at Mansul. “It’s a long story.”

“I like long stories,” Mansul admitted. “Once they’re boiled down, they make excellent articles. Why don’t you tell it to me?”

“Where to start?” Roger asked.

“Start at the beginning,” Pahner advised. “Go to the end—”

“—and fill in all the stuff in the middle.” Roger nodded. “Okay.”

“But maybe later,” the Marine added. “We need to determine what happens next. Mr. Mansul, you came from the port?”

“Yes, and there are problems there, too.”

“Saints,” Roger said.

“Really? That I hadn’t noticed. What I did notice was that the governor did
not
want any humans drifting out of the compound. He hadn’t been apprised of my visit, and he acted like I was an Imperial spy. Frankly, I was starting to wonder if I was going to be an ‘accidental death’ when one of the locals offered to smuggle me out. I fell in with the Shin, and I was with a village south of Mudh Hemh when a Krath raiding party fell on the group I was filming. They took the Shin with them to Kirsti, but left me here, presumably for repatriation. Or maybe to wait for the governor to recover me. And then you happened along.”

“How were you ‘smuggled out’?” Pahner asked.

“There are breaks in the defenses,” Mansul replied. “Contraband moves in and out.” He shrugged. “I was just one more package.”

“Now that’s interesting,” Roger said.

“Isn’t it, just?” the captain agreed.

“Oh, there’s more,” Mansul said. “There’s a small . . . colony, might be the right word . . . of humans living among the Shin. Others who have run afoul of the governor’s bully boys. There’s about fifteen or twenty of them, and supplies are funneled to them from somewhere.”

“From where?” Julian asked.

“That I don’t know, although I think the local chieftain does. These people aren’t given to charity. He’d only be supporting the refugees if there was a reason.”

“Satan,” Kosutic sighed. “Complicateder and complicateder.”

“Yeah,” Roger said. “And no. The basics are the same, maybe even easier, if their security is so lax smugglers can move in and out at will. We need to get to Mudh Hemh and make contact with this Shin leader.”

“Pedi Gastan,” Mansul inserted.

“Pedi Gastan?” Pahner repeated sharply.

“Why, yes.” Mansul looked surprised. “You’ve heard of him?”

“You might say that.” Roger’s expression was a cross between a grimace and a smile. “Truth being stranger than fiction, we rescued his daughter from pirates.” Mansul blinked, and the prince chuckled. “But what I don’t quite understand,” he went on, “is why we didn’t hear anything about this ‘colony’ of humans from
her
.” He gazed at the photographer with just an edge of suspicion. “She’s been very open with us, as far as we can tell, and she’s never even
heard
of humans, much less anything about any refugees her father might be shielding.”

“I don’t know why she wouldn’t have,” Mansul said slowly. “I only met the Gastan briefly, and my understanding is that the refugees’ existence is kept very secret. In fact, none of us are allowed in Mudh Hemh at all. Instead, he keeps the ‘colony’ hidden away in one of the really remote vales under the eye of a very small clan. I was on my way there when my escorts and I ran into the Krath. I suppose it’s possible that even his daughter might not know what he was up to.”

“I guess
anything
is possible,” Roger allowed slowly. Then he snorted. “Of course, some things are more possible than others, and keeping a secret from Pedi strikes me as one of life’s more difficult endeavors!”

“But it
is
possible,” O’Casey said. “And if the Krath are in contact with the port, and if the Gastan knows it, then he’d have every imaginable reason to keep the Krath from finding out that
he
was, too.”

“But could he really keep it so secret that Pedi hadn’t even heard about humans at all?” Roger asked a bit skeptically.

“Probably he could,” O’Casey replied. “Don’t forget that this is a pre-technic society, Roger. I know there’s a trading interface between the Krath and the Shin, but every bit of information has to be passed by word-of-mouth, and I doubt very much the there’s anything like a true information flow between the Shin and the people who keep slaughtering them as religious sacrifices. So even if the Krath know about the human presence here on Marduk, they probably don’t discuss it with the Shin. Anyway, it’s obvious from the way most of the Kirsti population have reacted to us that the existence of humans isn’t general knowledge even among them.”

She shook her head.

“I’d say that it’s entirely possible that the very existence of humans is restricted to the uppermost levels of Krath society this far from the port itself. In which case, it’s probably entirely possible that the Gastan could keep the secret even from his own people. Of course,” she frowned thoughtfully, “I’d
love
to know how this human managed to contact him in the first place.”

“You may have a point,” Roger conceded, and nodded to Mansul. “You were saying before we interrupted?” he invited.

“Well, if you’ve rescued the Gastan’s daughter, that should work out well,” the reporter said, trying not to show his relief as the hard light of suspicion dimmed just a bit in the prince’s dangerous green eyes. “I think he’s on our side, anyway, but—”

There was a knock at the door, and then Poertena stuck his head in without waiting for permission.

“Beggin’ you pardon, You Highness, but I need Doc Dobrescu right pocking now! Somet’ing’s wrong with Denat. I t’ink he going nuts!”

“Go,” Pahner and Roger said simultaneously. Then they looked at each other for a moment before Roger gestured at Pahner.

“I think we’re about done here,” the captain continued smoothly. “Doc, you go. Julian, wring everything you can out of the prisoners about the rest of the route to the Shin lands. Sergeant Major, everyone else is on full rest and refit. I want us to be in good condition when we leave. Let’s get to it.”

“And I’ll go find out what’s wrong with Denat,” Dobrescu said.

“Any ideas?” Roger asked.

“I haven’t even looked at him yet, Your Highness,” the medic protested. “And I’m a shuttle pilot, not a psychologist. I’ll keep you posted, though.”

Warrant Dobrescu followed Poertena into the small supply office that the Pinopan and Denat had taken over and shook his head at the Mardukan.

“What have you been sniffing, Denat?”

“I’m fine,” the Mardukan said. He was shivering, his body sliming heavily, and a reddish bulge had appeared around the base of each of his horns. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, Poertena. But I’ll be fine. This will pass.”

“What is it?” Dobrescu asked, setting down and laying out his med-scanner. The scanner could pick up a lot even from a distance, and it showed Denat’s heart and metabolic rate off the scale. The Mardukan was actually at an elevated temperature compared to ambient, which was very unusual. “Poertena said you’d been grouchy lately, and he told me about what just happened. I need to know what’s going on.”

“It’s . . . a Mardukan thing,” Denat said. A shudder ran through his massive body.

“I kind of need to know a little more than that,” the medic persisted. “I have to tell Captain Pahner something. That’s a human thing.”

“It’s nothing!” Denat shouted, banging all four fists on the massive, ironwood desk so furiously that the eight-hundred-kilo piece of furniture leapt into the air.

“Denat, according to my instruments, you’re coming apart at the seams,” Dobrescu said mildly. “Why not tell me what’s wrong?”

“Because nothing’s
wrong,
” the Mardukan ground out. “This is perfectly
normal
.”

“Then what is it?” the warrant officer asked reasonably.

Denat looked at him, rubbing his hands together in distress. Then he sighed, and told him.

Pedi removed the rags from around the injury and dropped them into the solution the healer had given her, then reached for fresh dressings. She and the two other released slaves had been caring for Cord ever since the injury. The wound itself was mostly healed, but he still wouldn’t awaken, and he was getting even more restless and warmer. Lately, though, she’d at least been able to get him to take a little food, and he’d been muttering under his breath. She’d picked up a few words of his home language before he was wounded, but not enough to recognize much of what he was saying, although the word “
banan
” was close to “
benan
,” so perhaps he was talking to her.

She opened a jar of lotion and began smoothing it on the dry patches in his skin. She’d picked up some of his background, more from talking to the humans and Denat than from him, and she realized what a valued person he must have been in his home country. To come to such knowledge as he had developed was hard for the sort of backcountry village from which he’d sprung, and men—warriors especially—who gathered that much training and understanding were extremely valuable to any tribe. She suspected that the human prince, surrounded as he was by a plethora of warriors and scholars, didn’t know what a wrench it must have been for both Cord and his people to lose him.

And she had to admit that it would be a wrench for the human to lose him. And for her. The old shaman was one of the finest men she’d ever met; strong, yet gentle and wise. Knowledgeable, but physically brave, and often humble to a fault. It was hard to find such qualities anywhere, and she had to admit that they were even harder to find amongst the Shin than most places.

Because the medic didn’t know if the increased body heat might cause mental damage—surely a horrible thought!—they had been wrapping the shaman’s head in cool cloths. She started to replace the current cloths, then stopped with a gasp.

She laid her hands on the swellings at the base of the shaman’s horns and felt a shudder pass through her body. She had to fight conflicting emotions, but finally she drew a deep breath, pulled back the light sheet that covered him, and took a peek before she quickly dropped it back again.

She sat back, thinking hard, and many things fell abruptly into place. She remembered what Light O’Casey had said about the language similarity, and she thought about the ramifications of the situation. She thought about them very carefully, and then, last of all, she thought of the sight of Cord coming over the railing of the pirate ship.