The Pharoah Contract

At the next stop, the boat sat in the long grass of the uplands when the prisoners stumbled forth. The air was cooler, and a light breeze rippled the grass. The sun was setting swiftly behind a wall of jagged peaks, far away over rolling steppes. The vista was empty except for a herd of browsing creatures, tiny in the distance.

Banessa leaned her great bulk against the ramp and watched as the herman carried out her instructions. From the upper end of the ramp, Marmo scanned the grasslands, a splinter gun cradled in his manipulators. Ayam brought out an armload of perimeter sensors and dropped them every few meters, marking a hundred-meter circle centered on the boat. The herman was clearly nervous, and returned to the boat with a sheen of fearful sweat on its face. Ruiz surmised that the long grass held predators, though it was hard to imagine a predator that could evade the ruptor turret’s sensors. Perhaps Marmo was overcautious.

The hull of the boat extruded a security light. It lit a circular area at the side of the boat, and Ayam set a group of self-rooting leashes around the edges. The leashes spun noisily in the grass, then like great worms sank their tendrils deep into the soil.

One by one Ayam attached the prisoners to the two-meter whips of the leashes. It came to Ruiz last, and as it locked the whip to Ruiz’s collar, it leaned close and whispered, “One has the responsibility of the graveyard watch tonight. One plans to visit your tent; be ready. Or perhaps one will visit the woman first — one puts you next to her, so you may listen, and anticipate.” The herman smiled and pinched Ruiz’s cheek painfully.

Ruiz’s fingers ached for the herman’s throat. The giantess was watching, with her hand over the collar controller. He did not believe he would lose his head if he acted up. But he would certainly be sedated, and thereafter any opportunities that appeared would be lost.

Ayam passed out supper, which differed in no discernible way from lunch. As the prisoners ate, the herman unloaded tubetents from the boat, and activated one by each leash. They puffed up like huge white sausages; then both Ayam and Banessa went inside the boat. Marmo remained, his metal face slowly scanning the darkening grasslands.

Nisa seemed lost in thought, picking at her food. She went into her shelter without speaking, though she gave Ruiz a very small swift smile.

Dolmaero squatted in the grass, eating his supper, making a wry face with each bite. “I rely on your assertion that this is edible, friend Aw. Otherwise I would fear to be poisoned.”

“I make no guarantees.”

Dolmaero laughed. “You’re a cautious man. Tell me, why do we stop? Does the flying egg depend upon the sun’s light for its power? Or do terrible beasts roam the night skies?”

“It’s the Shards,” Ruiz said. “They permit no movement above the nightside surface. No night flights.”

“The Shards? Who might they be?”

Ruiz realized he had spoken without his customary restraint. But… Dolmaero might find a description of Sook entertaining, perhaps even useful, if they somehow escaped before the Gencha took them.

“Dolmaero,” Ruiz answered, “do you know of the Acasta, in the King’s city?”

Dolmaero finished the last bite of his supper. “Oh, yes. The quarter where anything may be found, for a price.”

“Yes. Well, this planet, which is called Sook, is the Acasta of the outworlds.”

“Sook… it has a low ring to it.”

Ruiz glanced about. No one else was paying attention. “Sook is the slave world, the world where bandits are born, where old pirates go to die.”

“So? Then the Lady Corean is a bandit? Slaving is not permitted in the worlds?”

“Oh, she’s a bandit. But slaving is legal on most of the pangalac worlds. She’s doing something else that isn’t legal — she’s stealing slaves that belong to others.”

“Ah? Who did we belong to, before?”

Ruiz concealed his uneasiness at this question. Once again he had underestimated Dolmaero. “I don’t know,” he lied.

Dolmaero considered this, eyes bright and noncommittal. “And the Shards — who are they?”

Ruiz glanced up at the sky, where the glitter of the orbital platforms outshone the stars. “Sook belongs to the Shards; they make the rules here, what rules there are. They permit no large craft or large fleets of small craft to ground on Sook. They allow no high-speed air transport, no heavy weapons, no large-scale settlement. They watch. From up there, Dolmaero.” With his hand, Ruiz indicated the swarming lights of the platforms. “Otherwise they don’t care what happens here, so long as the taxes are paid.”

Dolmaero gazed upward, mouth hanging open in wonder. “What are they like? Are they like you, Ruiz?”

Ruiz laughed uneasily. “No. They’re not even human. Much stranger than the Pung. Imagine a river lizard with a dozen arms, and in the palm of each hand, whispering mouths with poisoned fangs.”

Dolmaero shuddered. “Do they ever come down?”

“Never. But the platforms carry terrible weapons. They could reach down and turn me to a puff of smoke without disturbing you in the least.”