George Martin - Tuf Voyaging

“Skinned and butchered,” Herold Norn muttered. “House Arneth will use the pelt to upholster a seat in their section of the arena. The meat will be distributed to the beggars who clamor outside their gold and crimson door. The Great Houses are all of a charitable mien.”

“Indeed,” said Haviland Tuf. He rose from his seat, unfolding with slow dignity. “I have seen your Bronze Arena.”

“Are you going?” Norn asked anxiously. “Surely not so soon! There are five more matches. In the next, a giant feridian fights a water-scorpion from Amar Island!”

“I wished only to determine if all that I had heard of Lyronica’s far-famed Bronze Arena was so. I see that it is. Therefore there is no need for me to remain any longer. One need not consume the whole of a flask of mushroom wine to ascertain whether the vintage has a pleasant taste.”

Herold Norn got to his feet. “Well,” he said, “come with me out to Norn House, then. I can show you the kennels, the training pits. We will feast you as you have never been feasted!”

“This will not be necessary,” said Haviland Tuf. “Having seen your Bronze Arena, I will trust my imagination and powers of deduction to visualize your kennels and training pits. I shall return to the Ark forthwith.”

Norn reached out an anxious hand toward Tuf’s arm to restrain him. “Will you sell us a monster, then? You’ve seen our plight.”

Tuf sidestepped the Beast-Master’s grip with a deftness belying his size and weight. “Sir. Restrain yourself. I am not fond of being rudely seized and grasped.” When Norn’s hand had fallen, Tuf looked down into his eyes. “I have no doubt that a problem exists upon Lyronica. Perhaps a more practical man than myself would judge it none of his concern, but being at heart an altruist, I cannot find it in myself to leave you as I have found you. I will ponder your situation and address myself to devising the proper corrective measures. You may call upon me in the Ark on the third day hence. Perhaps by that time I will have a thought or two to share.”

Then, without further ado, Haviland Tuf turned and walked from the Bronze Arena, back to the spaceport of the City of All Houses, where his shuttle Basilisk sat waiting.

Herald Norn had obviously not been prepared for the Ark. He emerged from his tiny, battered, black and gray shuttle into the immensity of the landing deck and stood with his mouth open, craning his head this way and that, peering at the echoing darkness above, at the looming alien ships, at the thing that looked like a metal dragon nesting amid the distant shadows. When Haviland Tuf came rolling up to meet him, driving an open three-wheeled cart, the Beast-Master made no effort to disguise his reaction. “I should have known,” he kept repeating. “The size of this ship, the size. But of course I should have known.”

Haviland Tuf sat unmoved, cradling Dax in one arm and stroking the cat slowly. “Some might find the Ark excessively large, and perhaps even daunting in its spaciousness, but I am comfortable,” he said impassively. “The ancient EEC seedships once had two hundred crewmen, and I can only assume that they, like myself, abhorred cramped quarters.”

Herold Norn seated himself beside Tuf. “How many men do you have in your crew?” he asked casually as Tuf set them in motion.

“One, or five, depending on whether one counts feline crew members or only humanoids.”

“You are the only crewman?” Norn said.

Dax stood up in Tuf’s lap; his long black fur stirred and bristled. “The Ark ’s inhabitants consist of myself, Dax, and three other cats, named Chaos, Hostility, and Suspicion. Please do not take alarm at their names, Beast-Master Norn. They are gentle and harmless creatures.”

“One man and four cats,” Herold Norn said speculatively. “A small crew for a big ship, yesyes.”

Dax hissed. Tuf, steering the cart with one large pale hand, used the other to stroke and soothe his pet. “I might also make mention of the sleepers, since you seem to have developed such an acute interest in the various living inhabitants of the Ark. ”

“The sleepers?” said Herold Norn. “What are they?”

“Certain living organisms, ranging in size from the microscopic to the monstrous, fully cloned but comatose, held in a perpetual stasis in the Ark ’s cloning vats. Though I have a certain fondness for animals of all sorts, in the case of these sleepers I have wisely allowed my intellect to rule my emotions and have therefore taken no steps to disturb their long dreamless slumber. Having investigated the nature of these particular species, I long ago decided that they would be decidedly less pleasant traveling companions than my cats. I must admit that at times I find the sleepers a decided nuisance. At regular intervals I must enter a bothersome secret command into the Ark ’s computers so that their long sleep may continue. I have a great abiding dread that one day I shall forget to do this, for whatever reasons, and then my ship will be filled with all manner of strange plagues and slavering carnivores, requiring a time-consuming and vexing clean-up and perhaps even wreaking harm to my person or my cats.”

Herold Norn stared at Tuf’s expressionless face and regarded his large, hostile cat. “Ah,” he said. “Yesyes. Sounds dangerous, Tuf. Perhaps you ought to, ah, abort all these sleepers. Then you’d be, ah, safe.”

Dax hissed at him again.

“An interesting concept,” Tuf said. “Doubtless the vicissitudes of war were responsible for inculcating such paranoid attitudes into the men and women of the Ecological Engineering Corps that they felt obliged to program in these fearsome biological defenses. Being myself of a more trusting and honest nature, I have often contemplated doing away with the sleepers, but the truth is, I cannot find it in myself to unilaterally abolish a historic practice that has endured for over a millennium. Therefore, I allow the sleepers to sleep, and do my utmost to remember the secret countermands.”

Herold Norn scowled. “Yesyes,” he said.

Dax sat down in Tuf’s lap again, and purred.

“Have you come up with anything?” Norn asked.

“My efforts have not entirely been for naught,” said Tuf flatly, as they rolled out of the wide corridor into the Ark ’s huge central shaft. Herold Norn’s mouth dropped open again. Around them on all sides, lost in dimness, was an unending panorama of vats of all sizes and shapes. In some of the medium-sized tanks, dark shapes hung in translucent bags, and stirred fitfully. “Sleepers,” Norn muttered.

“Indeed,” said Haviland Tuf. He stared straight ahead as he drove, with Dax curled in his lap, while Norn looked wonderingly from side to side.

They departed the dim, echoing shaft at last, drove through a narrow corridor, climbed out of the cart, and entered a large white room. Four wide, padded chairs dominated the four corners of the chamber, with control panels on their thick, flaring arms; a circular plate of blue metal was built into the floor amidst them. Haviland Tuf dropped Dax into one of the chairs before seating himself in a second. Norn looked around, then took the chair diagonally opposite Tuf.

“I must inform you of several things,” Tuf began.

“Yesyes,” said Norn.

“Monsters are expensive.” Tuf said. “I will require one hundred thousand standards.”

“ What! That’s an outrage! I told you, Norn is a poor house.”

“So. Perhaps then a richer House would meet the required price. The Ecological Engineering Corps has been defunct for centuries, sir. No ship of theirs remains in working order, save the Ark alone. Their science is largely forgotten. Techniques of cloning and genetic engineering such as they practiced exist now only on distant Prometheus and perhaps on Old Earth itself, yet Earth is closed and the Prometheans guard their biological secrets with jealous fervor.” Tuf looked across to Dax. “And yet Herold Norn feels my price to be excessive.”