Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

One survival-suited man sat at the controls. Trell stood behind him. Slightly to the left and still further back a third figure sat in a flexible seat. The seat was attached to a device consisting of a narrow, tapering tube two and half meters long that nested in a webbing of opaque ceramics, glassalloy, and spun metal. Ethan experienced a sinking feeling. The abstract sculpture was a beam cannon. One of modest size, but of sufficient capability to turn any fortification of Tran-ky-ky to a mound of molten rock.

Its operator was sitting easily in the seat, running a hand through her long red hair and waiting for instructions from the Commissioner.

The proximity of the skimmer rendered the use of voice amplifiers unnecessary. “Ethan Frome Fortune, Skua September, Milliken Williams!”

Ethan recognized Trell’s voice immediately. “Where’s Milliken?”

“Off with the wizard someplace. Never mind, feller-me-lad.” September roared over the wall. “We’re here, Trell!”

“You are engaged,” the Commissioner began officiously, “in unauthorized, unpermitted, and illegal diplomatic endeavors among the natives of this Class V unstatused world.”

“We’re trying to help them form something resembling a planetary government,” Ethan yelled back, “so they can make the jump to Class II. That’s a good thing. You said so yourself, Trell.”

“You do not have official permission,” Trell replied sweetly. “As Resident Commissioner I share your concern. But I cannot countenance unauthorized activities of such delicacy.”

“We’re willin’ to cooperate,” countered September. “Give us permission.”

“I’m not empowered to do so, Mr. September. I’m only an administrator, not a policy-maker. If you will return with me to Arsudun, I will help you fill out the proper forms and put the request through correct channels.”

“That would take years.” Ethan didn’t try to hide the sarcasm. “You know how the bureaucracy works. We’re not recognized diplomats, missionaries, anything but private citizens. We’d never get permission.”

“That is not for me to say. But you must go through official channels! As Resident Commissioner I am empowered to enforce the law. No law permits amateur meddling in native affairs.”

“You call it meddling. We call it somethin’ else.”

“Evidently, Mr. September. However,” and he nodded toward the waiting cannon, “whatever lies you’ve managed to foist on your native allies will not resist modern weaponry. For the last time, I implore you to return peacefully to Arsudun—”

“Where we might get our bellies slit… accidentally,” September cut in.

“—to pursue your endeavors through proper authorities.”

“If we don’t?” Ethan asked.

Trell managed to look pained. “If I am compelled to employ modern weapons against primitive peoples it will go very harshly with you.”

“What he’s sayin’,” September muttered, “is that if we and the Moulokinese resist, he can blow the whole city to fragments and blame it on us. If we go back with him, you know what’ll happen. If he doesn’t kill us outright, he’ll just have us put on the next ship outsystem. That’d be the end of any attempt to organize the Tran and lead ’em out of their self-destructive feudalism. You know how far any official request will get.”

“What say you, friends?” They looked back, saw Hunnar standing expectantly behind them. Ethan switched from the symbospeech he and September had been speaking back to Trannish and repeated most of their conversation for the knight and for Mirmib, who had chivaned over to join them.

Hunnar hefted the crossbow he’d taken from the Slanderscree ’s armory. “What happens if I put a bolt through the chief human’s chest? Will he not die quickly as any Tran?”

“Just as quickly,” September admitted. “But we’d have to kill all three of them simultaneously.” He glanced over the wall. “Near impossible. If one of ’em survives, they’ll move back out of range and reduce the whole city, or worse, return to Brass Monkey and report what happened here. Then Moulokin would be listed as an outlaw city full of belligerents, and Ro-Vijar and Rakossa would go down as the finest leaders on all Tran-ky-ky. Too risky except as a last resort. Like jumpin’ a crevasse, it’s an all or nothing proposition.

“Besides, Trell’s no dummy. He knows we’ve got a couple of beamers. Probably the skimmer’s beam-shielded right now. Anything we fired at ’em would just get bent into the ice.”

“We’ve got one other thing to fight with, Skua.” Ethan looked from man to Tran. “The new history of an entire race.”

September let go a derisive sniff. “I’m not sure Trell’s the sort of man to whom that would make much difference, feller-me-lad.”

“Don’t judge him too fast, Skua. You said yourself once you’re used to dealing in extremes. Let me try and sell him, first. Before we try any all or nothings.” September looked undecided.

“Maybe I’m wrong, but I think he might be the sort of educated functionary who likes to steal so long as it can be done quasilegally. There’s a difference between a professional killer and an immoral opportunist.”

“You spin words mighty fine, lad.”

“It’s my business. Let me at least try talking to him. If he ignores me, well,” he shrugged and eyed Hunnar’s ready crossbow, “we can always try blunter methods.”

“Why not slay him,” Hunnar suggested blithely, “when he comes to parley?”

“In the first place, Hunnar, we’re not that kind of folks,” September replied sternly. “In the second, Trell will come by himself. May sound paradoxical, but he’s safer with his bodyguard behind him, runnin’ the skimmer and the gun. Kill him and we lose.”

“We agree then. Friend Ethan, try your words.” Hunnar’s tone left no doubt what he thought Ethan’s chances were.

He showed himself at the wall’s edge. “Will you meet us at the gate? We have a lot to tell you that you don’t know, Trell.”

“I will,” came the response, “provided I can bring a couple of bodyguards!”

September’s jaw sagged. If Trell were fool enough to leave the skimmer and cannon unattended…

He was not. When the towering wooden gates were lugged slightly askew, the opening admitted Trell, two huge Tran, and Calonnin Ro-Vijar, looking like a great gray Cheshire cat.

Trell had come thoroughly prepared. He wore skates similar to those manufactured for Ethan and his friends.

“So you and Trell were together in this all along,” said Ethan.

“In what?” Trell looked as innocent as the man who claimed his garrote was a handkerchief. “As Landgrave of Arsudun, naturally Ro-Vijar would be interested in anything affecting the peoples of his world.”

“Such as personal profit?”

“We are all businessmen and traders here.” Ro-Vijar did not sound offended by Ethan’s intended insult. “As a trader, I would be most gratified if this could all be resolved quietly, with no dyings. You should do as your leader requests and return with him to your outpost.”

“That might settle things between outworlders.” Hunnar leaned against the wall nearby and inspected the edge of his sword. “After the humans depart, there would remain many things to be settled among people.”

“As you wish, so may it be.” Ro-Vijar gestured imperceptibly in the knight’s direction, and Hunnar stiffened angrily.

“It doesn’t matter,” Trell said hastily. He pointed to Ethan’s waist. “In case you’re wondering, the skimmer’s not beam shielded. No need for it to be so on this world. But we’re just out of range of your hand beamers. They can’t reach a tenth the distance of that cannon.