Mack Reynolds - The Space Barbarians

He jiggled the hand weapon once too often. Momentarily, the muzzle was directed at the ceiling.

The weapon flamed briefly, a pencil of light and heat, but Harmon had not the time to direct it with accuracy. John of the Hawks was upon him—less than gently. A fist the size of a quart container banged upon the side of his head, and he went under into temporary oblivion.

John stared down at him momentarily, then stooped and swept up the gun and stuck it in his belt. He went to the small table upon whose top sat the two soma pills and picked one of them up. He stooped down again and pried open the fallen man’s mouth and popped the pill inside.

“If you choke on that, so much the better.” he growled.

He stood for a moment in thought, then returned to his chair and sat himself again, waiting patiently for Jim or one of the other members of the Revelation’s crew.

They took almost as long to return to Aberdeen as they had taken on the way to the spaceship, since, although Don of the Clarks was healed in body, he was still weak from loss of blood and from his descent so deep into the valley of death.

They talked it out considerably on the way and had reached conclusions by the time they came up to the gates of Aberdeen.

“We have the means now to rally the clannsmen,” John of the Hawks had said. “We shall recommend to the muster that two criers go forth at greatest speed to Caithness and to Dumbarton, one to each, and spread the word of warning. Caithness will send forth, by fastest steed, two criers to give warning to two other towns, and Dumbarton will do the same. And thus, on and on. Each town will warn two more. Within three months, surely every phylum on Caledonia will have had the warning.”

“Aüi,” Don said grimly. “And it will not be too soon, for by that time, how many will have taken this accursed soma?”

“Too many,” John admitted. “But there is naught else we can do.”

“And then what?”

“Then the plans of these otherworldings will be thwarted—for the time, at least.”

Don looked at him questioningly.

John said, “But they will come again. And next time, undoubtedly, in other guise. We must prepare, Don of the Clarks.”

“Prepare? Prepare for what? And how?”

“Some of the old ways must go. No longer is Caledonia unknown to these men from Beyond. They know we are here, and some, at least, yearn for our resources. To repel them we must change many of the old ways.”

Don stared at him. “But that is against the bann!”

John said, “That is one of the institutions that must go.”

When they reached the gates of Aberdeen, John shouted loudly, “As Raid Cacique of the Hawks, I summon the muster for emergency council!”

A crier who had been standing nearby dashed for the town square to sound the conch.

Dewey came riding up, grinning elation. “John! The Keepers of the Faith have ruled! Our raid was not against the bann! I am to be raised to sagamore at the next muster, and it is rumored Don of the Clarks will be made a raid cacique! Your exploits are being sung by the bards!”

“Aüi!” John yelped. He leaped to the ground and threw the reins of his horse to his kynsman. “Here, take the animal. Meet me at the square in but five minutes, for the muster. I go to see Alice of the Thompsons.”

He ran for his longhouse, even as the conch began to sound, summoning the phyletics.

He banged into the great hall of the Clann Hawk and hurried to the door of Robert, the sachem. Without knocking, he dashed in.

She was there, alone, in the living room. And at his entry, looked up, her eyes shining.

He came to her. “Alice!” He put his hands on her shoulders. “The Keepers of the Faith have ruled that you can honorably be my bride.”

There was a serene quality in her face that he didn’t quite understand. He said, “Alice, what’s wrong?”

She said gently, “Nothing is wrong, John of the Hawks. And nothing will ever be wrong for me again. I walk in the path of Lord Krishna.”

Sublieutenant Mabsten heard the detector beginning to beep and walked over to the screen. He said to his warrant, “What is it, Venizelou?”

Warrant Venizelou was scowling down at the screen. “Four men, on foot. No, five. Metal on them, but not much.”

Marsten said, “Who’s on the laser rifles?”

“Jenkins and Motoshi on the one covering that direction.”

The sublieutenant looked down at the screen unhappily. “What in the name of Krishna are they doing, just walking toward us like that? You better have Jenkins cut them down.”

“Maybe they’re women.”

“Women don’t carry weapons.”

“Maybe they aren’t carrying weapons. That’s not much metal indicated.”

The sublieutenant was irritated. He was a younger man than the warrant—younger and considerably less experienced—and was continually reminded of it. He knew that the warrant and the eight enlisted men in his detachment were aware that this was his first command and that he was newly out of cadet school. Not that anything had been his fault, nor had he lost any of his small command, but everything seemed to go wrong in this remote post.

The warrant added, “Not enough metal to be a carbine or even a sword.”

The sublieutenant said, “We ought to be able to see them visually. Let’s go up on the roof.”

They went over to the side of the room where a ladder led upward. The building was approximately one hundred feet long and of roughhewn wood. The roof was flat, and at each end, behind sandbags, were rifle emplacements, two men at each.

The sublieutenant wore binoculars and now trained them. He looked for a long moment, then handed the glasses to Warrant Venizelou. “What do you make of it?”

The warrant put his eyes to the glasses, adjusted them slightly. “The one out in front’s got an orange robe on.”

“I’m not blind, “Marsten said.

“They’re coming from the direction of Nairn,” Venizelou said. “Nairn’s supposed to be pacified. United Mining’s been recruiting there.”

The lieutenant took the glasses back. He walked to the end of the roof and trained them on the approaching group again.

The two men stationed at the laser rifle looked up at him. One of them said, “Something, Lootenant?”

Marsten said, “Five men on foot.”

“You want we should ventilate them?”

“They don’t seem to be armed.”

The other enlisted man snorted at that.

The sublieutenant said unhappily, “They’re not even wearing kilts.”

“The only good Caledonian’s a dead one, sir, like everybody says.”

The sublieutenant said snappishly, “If we killed every native on the damned planet, United Interplanetary Mining’d have to import labor all the way from Sidon. The cornet’s warned us there’s been too much bloodshed already.”

He came to a sudden decision, returned his binoculars to their case and turned to the warrant, who had come up to stand beside him.

“We’ll go out and interrogate them.”

“Yes, sir.” Warrant Venizelou looked down at the riflemen. “You two keep slick, understand?”

“Sure, Warrant, we’re not empty. I still say, ventilate them.”

“That’s up to the sublieutenant to decide. Just keep that rifle trained.” The warrant turned and followed his officer.

In the room below, Warrant Venizelou picked up a short hand weapon and hung it over his shoulder by its sling before following Marsten through the door.

They issued forth into the open and advanced about fifty feet from the building and awaited the coming of the unknowns.

After a few minutes the warrant growled, “They’re all Caledonians.”