“Good evening, Captain Galloway.” The voice boomed out unexpectedly, startling Rick. It was the same cold, impersonal voice he’d heard on the transceiver. It sounded like a recording, or perhaps like something synthesized on a computer. Its tones told him nothing about the person-or being-who spoke.
“Good evening,” he said. He was surprised at how dry his mouth had gotten.
“You see we have brought your-supplies. Have you brought the-work crew-as instructed?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Have them bring the surinomaz.” The hatchway Rick was watching closed, and another, smaller doorway, leading into a much smaller compartment, opened about 45 degrees around the base of the ship. “Captain, you will oblige us by remaining where you are, while others bring the surinomaz.”
He felt rather than heard Tylara come up behind him. Then she took his arm. “We will stand here together,” she said softly.
“A-noble sentiment,” the impersonal voice said. “Very well. Instruct your crew to hurry. They are to carry no metal into the ship. Is that understood?”
“Right.” He turned to face down the hill. “Elliot, get the stuff loaded in that open compartment. Make sure the troops leave all their metal behind. Daggers, armor, everything. Make it sharp.”
“Sir! All right, you sons, move it.” There was a cacophony of sounds from lower down the hill, then Elliot’s voice rose above the chatter. “Move it now, or by Vothan you’ll be in the madweed fields before the True Sun is high! Move!”
The clerks and apprentices scurried up the hill. They were led by Apelles, who looked like a man not entirely successful at trying to be brave. None of them had been armed, so it didn’t take them long to shed all of their metal. Then they carried the semi-refined madweed into the small cargo compartment.
“It is not a large amount,” Rick shouted. “The rogue star isn’t close enough yet. Next year is supposed to be a better crop.”
“We know,” the ship answered.
Rick and Tylara watched as the cargo was loaded. Finally Apelles came out and signalled they were done.
“Now stand clear,” the voice called. The compartment door closed. The whining noise rose in pitch.
“I had thought they had goods for us,” Tylara said.
“Will it rise now?”
“I don’t know,” Rick said. He turned away from the ship.
“Remain there, Captain. If you please.” This time the voice sounded different.
Rick stood with Tylara for what seemed a long time. Then the first compartment door opened again.
“Your men may now begin to unload. They will stay on this side of the ship, and they will not carry weapons. You will remain where you are.”
“All right. Elliot, move ‘em.”
This time there was no argument from the work crew. The clerks and apprentices sweated and strained to get the boxes outside the ship. Others brought up mules and began to lash gear on their pack saddles.
Rick could see most of the cargo as it came out.
A lot of it was ammunition. One crate was labelled
“Armor, Body, Ballistic Nylon, Personal Protective.”
Another was unmistakably Johnny Walker Black, and two more bore Meyers Jamaica Rum labels. There was a case of Camel cigarettes.
Elliot came out grinning. He was holding a portable typewriter. “Carbon paper, too!” he shouted in triumph. “And a Carl Gustav recoilless.”
“Just like Christmas,” Rick answered with a grin. He didn’t move from his place in the circle of light. “Tylara-they didn’t say you have to stay here,” he said softly.
“They did not,” she answered.
“Hey, I love you.”
“I think perhaps you do,” she said. She squeezed his arm.
“Talisker Scotch!” Elliot shouted. “And Rennault fifty-year-old cognac! Can’t say they don’t pay for what they get!”
Oh, they pay, Rick thought. They understand about not binding the mouths of the kine that tread the grain. But they won’t take us home, and they gave us damned little choice about coming here.
The ship was unloaded, and most of the gear sent down the mountain on mules. The hatch closed, but the bright light from near the top of the ship continued to flood the bill with yellow light. Then the whine rose in pitch and became louder and louder. The ship seemed to lift slightly. It hung for a second, then rose swiftly and almost vertically into the dark sky.
“It is gone,” Tylara whispered. “I had-you had told me. But until I saw-”
Rick laughed. “I know,” he said. “Back on Earth I wouldn’t have believed it.” And I knew about airplanes, and radio, and- “Rick.” Tylara spoke quietly, but there was an urgent note in her voice. She tilted her head. “Look.” His eyes had not yet adjusted to the dark, and at first he couldn’t see what had alarmed her. Then it became clear. There was a man standing beyond where the ship had been. He wore a Burberry raincoat and Irish tweed hat, and beside him stood a plain Samsonite suitcase. An instrument about the size of a small briefcase hung from a strap over his left shoulder. It glowed with faint lights from dials on its face.
The man waved. “Hello, Captain,” he said.
It was Les.
“He is but a man,” Tylara whispered.
“Yes. He is the human pilot who brought us to Tran.”
“You know him-then he is-”
“Yes. The father of Gwen’s child. Tylara, do nothing. Say nothing, except to be polite. I don’t know why he’s here_but that box he’s carrying can talk to the ship, and that ship could destroy this whole world.”
“But if the box were destroyed?”
“Then those in the ship would do whatever they wish.”
“I see.” She released her grip on his arm and fell silent.
“Sergeant Elliot!” Rick shouted.
“Sir!”
“Clear the hill. Move everyone out, then come back for me.”
“Sir.”
“Sorry about the housekeeping,” Rick said. He moved toward Les. “Welcome to Tran.”
The pilot nodded. “It appears that you have come up in this world since last we met.”
Cold, Rick thought. Cold and haughty, as if he is master here. I suppose he is. “Let me introduce you to my wife. Tylara do Tamaerthon. Countess of Cheim and Justiciar of Drantos.” He used English and spoke rapidly despite Tylara’s frowns.
“Making you what?” Les demanded.
“Eqeta-that’s count-”
“I know the title.”
“Eqeta of Cheim, and Captain-General of Drantos.” No need to tell him about Tamaerthon at all. Or the Roman alliance. Let him find out for himself-or not find out, which would be better.
“Ah. But I forget my manners.” The pilot turned to Tylara and extended his hand. After a moment she gave him hers, and he bowed and kissed her fingers. “I am honored to meet you, Lady Tylara,” he said. His accent was not good, but the language was recognizably Tran local.
Usually Tylara was as resistant to male charm as a suit of armor, but she smiled warmly and thanked the starman. An act, Rick wondered? Or was she really impressed? Les was certainly handsome enough, and trying to be charming, but-still- “How long will you be with us?” Rick asked.
“That depends,” Les said. “I’ve come for my wife.
Gwen must have told you I would come.”
“She wasn’t always sure she believed you,” Rick said.
“Ah. Yeah, she had a right to her doubts,” Les said. “That’s over now. Where is she?”
“She didn’t tell you?”
Les eyed Rick thoughtfully in the dim-light. “So she told you she has a transceiver,” he said. “And you want me to believe she’s alive and it’s working.”
“She’s all right, and the transceiver works to the best I know,” Rick said. “I take it Gwen didn’t answer you, then.”
“No. Now where is she?”
“That sounds very much like a demand.”
Les shrugged. “Take it any way you-no. Eqeta Galloway; I would count it a very great favor if you would conduct me to my wife.”
“A couple of questions, first,” Rick said. “As for example-do your employers know you’re here?”
Les looked startled, then laughed. “I take it you mean, did I jump ship? No. My landing is-authorized, and the time I Will stay on Tran is up to me.”
And I can believe as much of that as I want to, Rick thought. But there’s no point in standing here on a hilltop. “Welcome to Cheim. I trust you will do us the honor of being our guest.”
“Thank you. But now that I’ve answered your question-where is my wife?”
Persistent chap, Rick thought. And maybe not quite as cool as he wants us to think- “The Lady Gwen is well,” Tylara said. “And your son is safe and well and under our protection.” The light was too dim for Rick to be certain, but he thought the pilot’s face showed joy. His voice, though, remained unchanged. “My son. What did Gwen choose to name him?”
“Les,” Tylara said.
Les turned to Tylara, but before he could say anything, she said, “The Lady Gwen is married to Lord Caradoc do Tamaerthon, a knight in my service. He is one of our most trusted captains, and my husband and I are very much in his debt.”