Mack Reynolds: The Space Barbarians

“Yes, sir, Cornet.” The other saluted.

John followed the Sidonian into the back of the vehicle and surreptitiously held on, as they zoomed off.

The ad building, as DeRudder had called it, was to the far side of the field. There was an air of ultraefficiency about it never witnessed by the Aberdeen clannsman before. Caledonians were on the philosophical side when it came to even such matters as obeying sagamores and caciques during their raids. Obedience to a raid chief was a voluntary thing, not truly a requirement.

They left their vehicle, and John followed DeRudder into a large entrance. Two guards at the door snapped to attention, presenting their hand weapons in a salute. The cornet flipped them a semi-salute in return and strode on, unspeaking. John looked at them from the corner of his eye. Little men, by Caledonian standards, as all these Sidonians were little men; few indeed were as much as six and a half feet tall. However although he didn’t know the old saying of another frontier age, he was aware of the truth of it. “All men are created equal—Sam’l Colt made “em that way.” He would hate to see what these two could do to a raiding party, with their weapons, from a distance of half a mile or more.

Samuel DeRudder came up before a desk. The man behind it looked up, startled, and then began to scramble to his feet to salute.

DeRudder said, “At ease, Ensign.”

“Cornet DeRudder! We had given you up for lost. The detachment at—”

“I know, I know. I was the sole survivor. Clannsmen of the Loch Confederation took me prisoner.”

“You’re lucky to be alive, sir!” The ensign sank back into his chair.

DeRudder said, “Any developments since I’ve been gone?”

“Not especially.” The ensign ran a hand back through his hair, as though in despair. “Two more skimmers banged up. Both got back, though. A patrol was wiped out up in the hills where those Highland Confederation clannsmen are. It’s evidently worse up there than here, sir. Leading a patrol through those mist shrouded hills full of murderous seven foot howling barbarians is like trying to collect crocodiles in the Amazon Park by diving into the river and swimming after them. And air transport’s no good either. Those Highlanders are crack shots, and sitting in all those mist covered hills, in caves and such, where the detectors won’t spot them. Come down below the mist to take a look, and what do you know? You’re dead.”

Cornet DeRudder wasn’t amused. “Got any answers, soldier?”

“No, sir. I sure haven’t. Trying to pacify this wild bunch of cattle rustling, horse stealing, murderous pillagers is more of a job than we ever thought it was going to be. We thought it was kind of a police action. We raid them if they gave us any trouble. But that’s their favorite occupation raiding and being raided. It’s like saying, “Junior if you take any more of that cake, I’m going to make you eat a whole dish of ice cream.’ ”

The ensign could evidently see that the comet still wasn’t amused. He said, “Who’s this, sir?” He pulled a report blank toward him.

“John Hawk. A Caledonian from the former town of Aberdeen. He’s come to take a job with the company.”

The ensign frowned unhappily, taking in the looming former clannsman and war cacique.

I vouch for him,” DeRudder said impatiently. Yes, sir. It’s just that we’re kind of busy. Won’t be able to process him for several days.”

“I’ll take him into my quarters. He’s a cut above the ordinary, Ensign.”

“Yes, sir.” The ensign made some marks on the report. “Got it, sir.”

“And, Ensign, see to it that a new ID credit card is cut for me and sent up to my quarters. All my things were taken, of course. My ID number is M-16A-15.643.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll do that immediately.”

John followed the other back through the entry. DeRudder waved a hand, summoning another of the small land cars. It came swooping up to them, and they climbed in.

As they progressed through the streets of New Sidon City, John again tried to hide the wide eyed element he was projecting. He had never seen so large a town; he had never seen such numbers of people; nor had he ever witnessed such a scurrying, such an amount of construction, such obvious purpose in what on the surface would have seemed utter confusion. A Caledonian town was on the slow moving side, even during the yearly festival of the Dail. DeRudder hid his amusement.

They darted down a side street and shortly to an apartment house. It was, John decided, at least the size of a longhouse on the ground floor alone. But then it towered some ten stories, as though one longhouse had been stacked atop another. For the moment, he could see no advantage to such an arrangement, for surely the aged and the very young would have difficulties climbing such a height.

He was glad he hadn’t said anything to that extent to DeRudder, since all was explained when they entered the gravity lift and were whisked upward. It had taken considerable courage for John to step into the shaft after the Sidonian, nor did he object when the other took his arm to steady him. There was no shame in not knowing how to conduct oneself in situations through which one had never been before.

The cornet’s apartments were on the top floor and so situated as to dominate the city. It came to John that this man must rank high among the chiefs of the Sidonians. As high, perhaps, as John had once ranked in the Loch Confederation.

DeRudder led him into what was obviously a living room, though furnished and decorated in a manner completely foreign to the Caledonian. He walked over to a piece of furniture set into the wall and said over his shoulder, “A drink? I suspect we could both use one.”

John was not particularly a drinker, but a good many things had happened to him within the past twenty-four hours. He said, “You have, perhaps, uisgebeatha?”

DeRudder said, “I have a descendent of your national beverage. We call it whiskey.” He selected a bottle from (he shelves, brought forth two glasses and poured. He handed one of them to John.

To the Caledonian warrior’s amazement, the contents were cool, although the surface of the glass seemed at room temperature.

“You want water or anything with that?” DeRudder said. John shook his head. “We have a saying in Aberdeen, that there is already too much water in uisgebeatha .”

DeRudder grunted. “It’s a saying that seems to have spread about a considerable portion of the galaxy, whatever the beverage involved.” He held his glass up. “To your successful adaptation to New Sidon City, John of the Hawks.”

John held his own glass up, but his words were bitter. “You forget that I am no longer John of the Hawks, but a clannless one.” However, he tossed the drink back.

He was prepared to snort and cough his throat clear, but then his eyes widened. He stared down into the glass. “It is uisgebeatha , without doubt,” he said. “But such uisgebeatha !”

DeRudder poured him another slug. “I told you that civilization has its advantages when it comes to material things. Among them, nip that can be appreciated and drunk for pleasure rather than just to get binged.”

He led the way into what was obviously, even to the Caledonian, a bedroom.

“You can stay here until you’re assigned quarters of your own. Over there’s the bathroom.” He made a grimace. “You could use a bath, if you don’t mind my saying so.” He looked at John with mild suspicion. “You wouldn’t have lice, would you?”

“Lice?”

“Or this planet’s equivalent. Little bugs that particularly get into your hair.”

“No,” John said. “Though it has been more difficult to maintain body cleanliness since you flamed us out of Aberdeen.