He had been told a little about the spaceport on Darkover. Darkover, which did almost no trading with the Empire, was in a unique location, between the upper and lower spiral arms of the galaxy, unusually well suited as a crossroads stop for much of the interstellar traffic. In spite of the self-chosen isolation of Darkover, therefore, enormous numbers of ships came for rerouting, bearing passengers, personnel and freight bound elsewhere. They also came for repairs and reprovisioning and for rest leaves in the Trade City. Most of the Terrans scrupulously kept the agreement limiting them to their own areas. There had been a few intermarriages, a little trade, some small—very small—importation of Terran machinery and technology. This was strictly limited by the Darkovans, each item studied by Council before permission was given. A few licensed matrix technicians were set up in the cities; a few had even gone out into the Empire. The Terrans, he had heard, were intrigued by Darkovan matrix technology and in the old days had laid intricate plots to uncover some of its secrets. He didn’t know details, but Kennard had told him some stories.
He started, realizing that the street directly before him was blocked by two very large men in unfamiliar black leather uniforms. At their belts hung strangely shaped weapons which, Regis realized with a prickle of horror, must be blasters or nerve guns. Such weapons had been outlawed on Darkover since the Ages of Chaos, and Regis had literally never seen one before, except for antiques in a museum. These were no museum pieces. They looked deadly.
One of the men said, “You’re violating curfew, sonny. Until the trouble’s over, all women and children are supposed to be off the streets from an hour before sunset until an hour after sunrise.”
Women and children! Regis’ hand strayed to his knife-hilt “I am no child. Shall I call challenge and prove it?”
“You’re in the Terran Zone, son. Save yourself trouble.” “I demand—”
“Oh hell, one of those,” said the second man in disgust “Look here, kiddie, we’re not allowed to fight duels, on duty anyhow. You come along and talk to the officer.”
Regis was about to make an angry protest—ask a Comyn heir to give an account of himself in Council season?—when it occurred to him that the headquarters building was right on the spaceport, where he was going anyway. With a secret grin he went along.
After they had passed through the spaceport gates, he realized that he had actually had a better view yesterday from the mountainside. Here the ships were invisible behind fences and barricades. The spaceforce patrolmen led him inside a building where a young officer, not in black leather but in ordinary Terran clothing, was dealing with assorted curfew violators. As they came in he was saying, “This man’s all right; he was looking for a midwife and took the wrong turn. Send someone to show him back to the town.” He looked up at Regis, standing between the officers. “Another one? I’d hoped we’d be through for the night Well, kid, what’s your story?”
Regis threw his head back arrogantly. “Who are you? By what right did you have me brought here?”
“My name’s Dan Lawton,” the man said. He spoke the same language in which Regis had addressed him, and spoke it well. That wasn’t common. He said, “I am an assistant to the Legate and just now I’m handling curfew duty. Which you were violating, young man.”
One of the spaceforce men said, “We brought him straight to you, Dan. He wanted to fight a duel with us, for God’s sake! Can you handle this one?”
“We don’t fight duels in the Terran Zone,” Lawton said. “Are you new to Thendara? The curfew regulations are posted everywhere. If you can’t read, I suggest you ask someone to read them to you.”
Regis retorted, “I recognize no laws but those of the Children of Hastur!”
A strange look passed over Lawton’s face. Regis thought for a moment that the young Terran was laughing at him, but face and voice were alike noncommittal. “A praiseworthy objective, sir, but not particularly suitable here. The Hasturs themselves made and recognized those boundaries and agreed to assist us in enforcing our laws within them. Do you refuse to recognize the authority of Comyn Council? Who are you to refuse?”