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A CIRCUS OF HELLS=================Poul Anderson=============[31 jan 2003--scanned by Wickman99][07 feb 2003--proofed for #bookz]I-The story is of a lost treasure guarded by curious monsters, and ofcaptivity in a wilderness, and of a chase through reefs and shoals thatcould wreck a ship. There is a beautiful girl in it, a magician, a spyor two, and the rivalry of empires. So of course--Flandry was latertempted to say--it begins with a coincidence.However, the likelihood that he would meet Tachwyr the Dark was notfantastically low. They were in the same profession, which had themmoving through a number of the same places; and they also shared theadventurous-ness of youth. To be sure, once imperialism is practiced onan interstellar scale, navies grow in size until the odds are hugeagainst any given pair of their members happening on each other.Nevertheless, many such encounters were taking place, as was inevitableon one of the rare occasions when a Merseian warship visited a Terranplanet. A life which included no improbable events would be the realstatistical impossibility.The planet was Irumclaw, some 200 light-years from Sol in that march ofthe human realm which faced Betelgeuse. Lieutenant (j.g.) DominicFlandry had been posted there not long before, with much wailing andgnashing of teeth until he learned that even so dismal a clod had itscompensations. The Merseian vessel was the cruiser Brythioch, on a swingthrough the buffer region of unclaimed, mostly unknown suns between thespaces ruled in the names of Emperor and Roidhun. Neither governmentwould have allowed any craft belonging to its rival, capable of spoutingnuclear fire, any appreciable distance into its territory. But borderauthorities could, at discretion, accept a "goodwill visit." It brokethe monotony and gave a slight hope of observing the kind of triviawhich, fitted together, now and then revealed a fact the oppositionwould have preferred to keep secret.In this case Merseia profited, at least initially.Official hospitality was exchanged. Besides protocol, the humans weremotivated, whether they knew it or not, to enjoy the delicate frissonthat came from holding converse with those who--beneath every diplomaticphrase--were the enemy. Flandry did know it; he had seen more of lifethan the average twenty-one-year-old. He was sure the liberty partiesdown in Old Town were being offered quite a few drinks, and otheramenities in certain cases.Well, why not? They had been long in the deeps between the stars. Ifthey were straight back from here, they must travel a good 140light-years--about ten standard days at top hyperspeed, but still anabyss whose immensity and strangeness wore down the hardiestspirit--before they could raise the outermost of the worlds they calledtheir own. They needed a few hours of small-scale living, be their hostsnever so hostile.Which we aren't anyway, Flandry thought. We should be, but we aren't,most of us. He grinned. Including me. Though he would have liked to jointhe fun; he couldn't. The junior officers of Irumclaw Base must hold thecustomary reception for their opposite numbers from the ship. (Theirseniors gave another in a separate building. The Merseians, variouslybemused or amused by the rigid Terran concept of rank, conformed. Theyset more store by ceremony and tradition, even that of aliens, thanlatter-day humans did.) While some of the visitors spoke Anglic, itturned out that Flandry was the only man on this planet who knew Eriau.The mess hall had no connection to the linguistic computer and there wasno time to jury-rig one. His translations would be needed more than hisphysical presence.Not that the latter was any disgrace, he reflected rather smugly. He wastall and lithe and wore his dress uniform with panache and had become afavorite among the girls downhill. Despite this, he remained well likedby the younger men, if not always by his superiors.He entered at the appointed evening hour. Under Commander Abdullah'sfishy eye, he saluted the Emperor's portrait not with his usual vaguewave but with a snap that well-nigh dislocated his shoulder. And a heelclick to boot, he reminded himself. Several persons being in line aheadof him, he had a minute for taking stock. Its tables removed except forone bearing refreshments--and its chairs, in deference to theguests--the room stretched dreary. Pictures of former personnel,trophies and citations for former accomplishments, seemed to make itswalls just the more depressing. An animation showed a park on Terra,trees nodding, in the background the skyward leap of a rich family'sresidential tower and airborne vehicles glittering like diamond dust;but it reminded him too well of how far he was from those dear comforts.He preferred the darkness in the real window. It was open and a breezegusted through, warm, laden with unearthly odors.The Merseians were a more welcome sight, if only as proof that auniverse did exist beyond Irumclaw. Forty of them stood in a row,enduring repeated introductions with the stoicism appropriate to awarrior race.They resembled especially large men … somewhat. A number of theirfaces might have been called good-looking in a craggy fashion; theirhands each had four fingers and a thumb; the proportions andarticulations of most body parts were fairly anthropoid. But the posturewas forward-leaning, balanced by a heavy tail. The feet, revealed bysandals, were splayed, webbed, and clawed. The skin was hairless andlooked faintly scaled; depending on sub-species, its color ranged fromthe pale green which was commonest through golden brown to ebony. Thehead had two convoluted bony orifices where man's has external ears. Aridge of serrations ran from its top, down the spine to the end of thetail.Most of this anatomy was concealed by their uniforms: baggy tunic, snugbreeches, black with silver trim and insignia. The latter showed familyconnections and status as well as rank and service. The Merseians hadpolitely disarmed themselves, in that none carried a pistol at his widebelt; the Terrans, in turn, had refrained from asking them to removetheir great knuckleduster-handled war knives.It wasn't the differences between them and men that caused trouble,Flandry knew. It was the similarities--in planets of origin and thus inplanets desired; in the energy of warm-blooded animals, the instincts ofancestors who hunted, the legacies of pride and war--"Afal Ymen, may I present Lieutenant Flandry," Abdullah intoned. Theyoung man bowed to the huge form, whose owner corresponded approximatelyto a commander, and received a nod of the ridged and shining pate. Heproceeded, exchanging names and bows with every subordinate Merseian andwondering, as they doubtless did too, when the farce would end and thedrinking begin."Lieutenant Flandry.""Mei Tachwyr."They stopped, and stared, and both mouths fell open.Flandry recovered first, perhaps because he became aware that he washolding up the parade. "Uh, this is a, uh, pleasant surprise," hestammered in Anglic. More of his wits returned. He made a formal Eriausalutation: "Greeting and good fortune to you, Tachwyr of the VachRueth.""And … may you be in health and strength, Dominic Flandry … ofTerra," the Merseian replied.For another moment their eyes clashed, black against gray, before theman continued down the line.After a while he got over his astonishment. Albeit unexpected, thehappenstance that he and Tachwyr had met again did not look especiallyimportant. Nonetheless, he went robotlike through the motions ofsociability and of being an interpreter. His gaze and mind kept strayingtoward his former acquaintance. And Tachwyr himself was too young tomask entirely the fact that he was as anxious to get together withFlandry.Their chance came in a couple of hours, when they managed to dodge outof their respective groups and seek the refreshment table. Flandrygestured. "May I pour for you?" he asked. "I fear that except for thetelloch, we've run out of things native to your planet.""I regret to say you have been had," Tachwyr answered. "It is a dreadfulbrand. But I like your--what is it called?--skoksh?""That makes two of us." Flandry filled glasses for them. He had alreadyhad several whiskies and would have preferred this one over ice.However, he wasn't about to look sissified in front of a Merseian."Ah … cheers," Tachwyr said, lifting his tumbler. His throat andpalate gave the Anglic word an accent for which there were no Anglicwords.Flandry could form Merseian speech better if not perfectly. "Torychwei." With both hands he extended his glass so that the other mighttake the first sip.Tachwyr followed it with half of his own in a single gulp. "Arrach!"Relaxed a little, he cocked his head and smiled; but under the shelf ofbrow ridge, his glance held very steady on the human. "Well," he said,"what brings you here?""I was assigned. For a Terran year, worse luck. And you?""The same, to my present ship. I see you are now in the IntelligenceCorps.""Like yourself."Tachwyr the Dark--his skin was a slightly deeper green than is usualaround the Wilwidh Ocean--could not altogether suppress a scowl. "Istarted in that branch," he said. "You were a flyer when you came toMerseia." He paused. "Were you not?""Oh, yes," Flandry said. "I transferred later.""At Commander Abrams' instigation?"Flandry nodded. "Mostly. He's a captain now, by the way.""So I have heard. We … take an interest in him."After the Starkad affair, Flandry thought, you would. Between us, MaxAbrams and I wrecked a scheme concocted by none less than BrechdanIronrede, Protector of the ... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]