Deeth had thought he was immune to pain. Hell, the girl
wasn’t even Sangaree . . . He walked. And
walked, without paying any attention to where he was going. His
feet responded to some instinct for the debts he owed. They carried
him to the spaceport.
It had grown during the human occupation. Prefactlas Corporation
involved itself in far more shipping than ever the Sangaree had.
The port was furiously busy. The Corporation was gutting the
world.
He paused to watch the stevedores unloading a big Star Line
freight lighter. The Corporation employed natives and former slaves
because human muscle power was less expensive than imported lading
machinery.
A familiar face turned his way.
“Holy Sant!” he whispered, spinning away. “It
can’t be.” He looked again. Rhafu’s weathered
face seemed to swell till it occupied his whole field of vision.
The breeding master had aged terribly, but Deeth did not doubt his
identity for an instant.
The old man did not seem to notice one curious boy. Back-country
kids came in to stare at the wondrous port all the time.
It took all Deeth’s will power not to run and hug Rhafu,
to seize this one scrap that had survived a devastated past.
He fled instead, his mind a riot. The possibilities!
Rhafu’s very existence set off the alarm bells. Was he a
human agent, either human himself or someone who had made an
accommodation to the animals? Someone had betrayed Prefactlas. The
perfect timing of the attack on the Norbon station reflected
possession of solid inside information.
If Rhafu were guilty why was he now a laborer, mildewing on the
ass of the social scale? The humans would have killed their traitor
the instant he was no longer useful. Or would have rewarded him
better.
Deeth locked himself into the crude shack where he and Emily
lived. Where he lived. Emily was no longer a part of his poverty.
He would never see her again. He wrestled with his fears and
suspicions.
Someone knocked. He had few acquaintances. Police? Emily?
Expecting a blow from the hammer of fate, he opened the
door.
Rhafu pushed through, seized his left wrist, glared at the
tattoo still visible there. The stony hardness left his face. He
slammed the door, enveloped Deeth in a ferocious hug. “Sant
be praised, Sant be praised,” he murmured.
Deeth wriggled free and stepped back. There were tears in the
old man’s eyes.
“Deeth. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you at
the pits. Thought my mind was playing tricks. I gave up years ago.
Lad, what’s been keeping you? Where’ve you
been?”
Deeth babbled his own questions.
They hugged again.
The past had come home. He was Norbon w’Deeth again. He
was Sangaree. He was a Head . . . Of a one-man
Family?
“Hold it. Hold it,” Rhafu said. “Let’s
get organized. You tell me your story, then I’ll tell you
mine.”
“You make me green with anticipation,” Deeth
complained.
“And compel you to be brief if you want your questions
answered,” Rhafu countered.
Deeth wasted few words. When he mentioned finding the remains of
the Dharvon heir, Rhafu chuckled but withheld comment.
“The girl,” he asked when Deeth finished.
“You’re sure you can trust her? We can reach
her.”
“She’ll keep her mouth shut.” He saw murder in
Rhafu’s eyes.
“It’s wisest to take no chances.”
“She won’t say anything.”
“You’re the Norbon.” Rhafu shrugged as if to
say he was acceding to Deeth against his better judgment.
“Tell me your damned story, you old scoundrel. How the
hell did you manage to live through the raid?”
“Your father’s orders. He had second thoughts about
sending you off alone. Said he wanted you to have a bodyguard and
adviser during the hard times after the raid.”
“How you survived is what stumps me.”
“It was grim. By then the Marines were dropping their
perimeter. We killed all the breeders and field hands who knew me.
I dressed up as a wild one. The first Marines in found me leading
an attack on one of the guest cottages, howling and screaming and
throwing spears around like a rabid caveman.”
Deeth frowned.
“It was the Dharvon cottage, Deeth. By then your father
had determined that they were behind the raid. They were supposed
to get ten points in the Prefactlas Corporation, and all the Norbon
holdings. They thought they could get Osiris that way. The animals
might have gone through with the deal, too. Boris Storm is an
honorable man. I suppose I saved him a lot of soul-searching by
killing his Sangaree partners.”
“All this because my father couldn’t bring himself
to share Osiris.”
“Who sows the wind reaps the whirlwind. Your father was
too jealous of his wealth, in hand or in prospect. Though he did
judge the Dharvon correctly when he foresaw that a Wholar would be
wasted on them.”
“Where do we stand? As a Family.”
“In vendetta with the Dharvon. I’ve resumed
communication with your House on Homeworld. The Dharvon have
recovered under a cadet line. The Norbon remain a House divided.
There is a dwindling Deeth faction still hoping you’ll return
and lead them to Osiris. The other faction, naturally getting
stronger by the month, want a new Head declared so they can control
what the House has now. The human and Ulantonid spheres will
collide before long. They want to develop a strong raid force and
cash in.”
“I see.” As he remembered talk overheard during
childhood, it sounded like typical in-House politics. Neither
faction would be overjoyed by his reappearance. “But back to
your escape. It couldn’t have been that simple. These animals
aren’t fools.”
“It did take some doing. They tried to double check every
captive to make sure none of us got away by hiding with the slaves.
I mostly outran them. I had a hard few years, then I got settled in
here. Except for the occasional agent from off planet, you’re
the first of our people I’ve seen in nine years.”
“We’re the only survivors?” Prefactlas was
irrevocably lost, then.
He had known that for a long time. The planet had been lost the
moment a Dharvon had approached a human. He had been ducking the
final admission. The denial was one brick in the wall he had raised
to hide himself from the charge his father had set upon him.
“How have you been keeping yourself, Rhafu? And do we have
anything to build on?” His duty could be shirked no more.
Rhafu smiled. “I haven’t been remiss. Once a field
man, always a field man. Don’t let my job fool you. I’ve
become a very rich man. Being the only one of our people here has
certain advantages. I’ve become the underworld here. I
control it all. Without bragging, I can say the only man on
Prefactlas with more power is Boris Storm. Nobody knows who I am,
but everybody has heard of me.”
“The Serpent?”
“In the scaly
flesh.”
“I’ll be damned.” Deeth laughed
uncontrollably. “Why didn’t we run into each other
sooner? Years have gone to waste, Rhafu.” The laughter
evaporated. Rhafu had an empire of his own now. He might consider
old obligations a liability.
“Were that true,” Rhafu replied to Deeth’s
indirect question, “I wouldn’t be here today. I
would’ve gotten off Prefactlas as soon as I had the machinery
running smooth. I’d have gone somewhere safe and collected my
cut and shown my strength just often enough to keep the would-be
independents in line. No. I stayed because I still haven’t
fulfilled my contract with the Norbon.”
Deeth grinned. Rhafu was as sentimental as a Sangaree could be.
“What should we do now, Rhafu?”
The old man grinned right back. “That’s easy. We
just reclaim the Family and its Homeworld power base.”
“Really? That’s going to take money and muscle, my
friend. Do you have it?”
“No. Not enough. We’ll have to liquidate here and
use the cash to pick up a ship and some good men. We’ll have
to work Osiris till we’re strong enough. We’ll have to
stay away from Homeworld but keep the Family informed so you
don’t get frozen out of your patrimony. Osiris will be our
leverage. It’ll bring them into line. Let’s see. Maybe
two years? Then at least another two to consolidate and fatten the
Family on Osiris? Another five to settle with the Dharvon, defend
ourselves in court and accommodate ourselves with any new enemies
the feud stirs up, and to thoroughly develop the Osirian operation?
Another year or two just for margin? Say plan on at least ten
before we’re solid, strong, and in any position to get down
to the real work your father left us, the destruction of the
animals who killed him and your mother.”
“That’s a lot of years, Rhafu.”
“You had something else to do with them? Perhaps you went
through all that business in that cave just so you could
retire?”
The years rolled away into the dusty corners of time. Deeth and
Rhafu made dream after dream come real. They recaptured the
Homeworld Norbon. They went to Osiris. They built a Norbon Family
as strong and feared as any among the Sangaree. By cunning and
guile they devoured several small Houses whom the Dharvon, aware of
their Family’s complicity in the Prefactlas disaster, tried
to frame with forged evidence. When the Norbon rapacity had been
sated and they were ready to settle with the Dharvon for all time,
Deeth had a friend bring in damning documents lifted directly from
Prefactlas Corporation files.
Emily stayed one day after her appearance before the assembled
Heads of the First Families. She had become a stunning woman. Deeth
felt the yearnings of their earlier life together. As did she.
But . . .
Her years with Boris Storm had chipped the rough edges off her.
She was no longer Emily the fugitive pleasure girl. She had become
a lady, and one even a Sangaree must respect. She was a completely
different person. She merely shared a few memories with Norbon
w’Deeth’s little Emily.
And Deeth was no longer an orphan boy surviving in a shack in a
slum on an enemy world.
They spent a quiet afternoon walking the perfectly landscaped gardens of the Norbon Family holding, remembering
when and trying to get to know the people they had become.
It was a ritual of ending, a final emotional endorsement of the
separation that had taken place while they were still those other
people. In their respective ways they agreed that there were no
debts between them now, no enmities, and no tomorrows.
Deeth shed a tear for her when she left him. And never saw her
again.
But the children that she brought with her, the sons, would
cross his path again and again.
Deeth had thought he was immune to pain. Hell, the girl
wasn’t even Sangaree . . . He walked. And
walked, without paying any attention to where he was going. His
feet responded to some instinct for the debts he owed. They carried
him to the spaceport.
It had grown during the human occupation. Prefactlas Corporation
involved itself in far more shipping than ever the Sangaree had.
The port was furiously busy. The Corporation was gutting the
world.
He paused to watch the stevedores unloading a big Star Line
freight lighter. The Corporation employed natives and former slaves
because human muscle power was less expensive than imported lading
machinery.
A familiar face turned his way.
“Holy Sant!” he whispered, spinning away. “It
can’t be.” He looked again. Rhafu’s weathered
face seemed to swell till it occupied his whole field of vision.
The breeding master had aged terribly, but Deeth did not doubt his
identity for an instant.
The old man did not seem to notice one curious boy. Back-country
kids came in to stare at the wondrous port all the time.
It took all Deeth’s will power not to run and hug Rhafu,
to seize this one scrap that had survived a devastated past.
He fled instead, his mind a riot. The possibilities!
Rhafu’s very existence set off the alarm bells. Was he a
human agent, either human himself or someone who had made an
accommodation to the animals? Someone had betrayed Prefactlas. The
perfect timing of the attack on the Norbon station reflected
possession of solid inside information.
If Rhafu were guilty why was he now a laborer, mildewing on the
ass of the social scale? The humans would have killed their traitor
the instant he was no longer useful. Or would have rewarded him
better.
Deeth locked himself into the crude shack where he and Emily
lived. Where he lived. Emily was no longer a part of his poverty.
He would never see her again. He wrestled with his fears and
suspicions.
Someone knocked. He had few acquaintances. Police? Emily?
Expecting a blow from the hammer of fate, he opened the
door.
Rhafu pushed through, seized his left wrist, glared at the
tattoo still visible there. The stony hardness left his face. He
slammed the door, enveloped Deeth in a ferocious hug. “Sant
be praised, Sant be praised,” he murmured.
Deeth wriggled free and stepped back. There were tears in the
old man’s eyes.
“Deeth. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you at
the pits. Thought my mind was playing tricks. I gave up years ago.
Lad, what’s been keeping you? Where’ve you
been?”
Deeth babbled his own questions.
They hugged again.
The past had come home. He was Norbon w’Deeth again. He
was Sangaree. He was a Head . . . Of a one-man
Family?
“Hold it. Hold it,” Rhafu said. “Let’s
get organized. You tell me your story, then I’ll tell you
mine.”
“You make me green with anticipation,” Deeth
complained.
“And compel you to be brief if you want your questions
answered,” Rhafu countered.
Deeth wasted few words. When he mentioned finding the remains of
the Dharvon heir, Rhafu chuckled but withheld comment.
“The girl,” he asked when Deeth finished.
“You’re sure you can trust her? We can reach
her.”
“She’ll keep her mouth shut.” He saw murder in
Rhafu’s eyes.
“It’s wisest to take no chances.”
“She won’t say anything.”
“You’re the Norbon.” Rhafu shrugged as if to
say he was acceding to Deeth against his better judgment.
“Tell me your damned story, you old scoundrel. How the
hell did you manage to live through the raid?”
“Your father’s orders. He had second thoughts about
sending you off alone. Said he wanted you to have a bodyguard and
adviser during the hard times after the raid.”
“How you survived is what stumps me.”
“It was grim. By then the Marines were dropping their
perimeter. We killed all the breeders and field hands who knew me.
I dressed up as a wild one. The first Marines in found me leading
an attack on one of the guest cottages, howling and screaming and
throwing spears around like a rabid caveman.”
Deeth frowned.
“It was the Dharvon cottage, Deeth. By then your father
had determined that they were behind the raid. They were supposed
to get ten points in the Prefactlas Corporation, and all the Norbon
holdings. They thought they could get Osiris that way. The animals
might have gone through with the deal, too. Boris Storm is an
honorable man. I suppose I saved him a lot of soul-searching by
killing his Sangaree partners.”
“All this because my father couldn’t bring himself
to share Osiris.”
“Who sows the wind reaps the whirlwind. Your father was
too jealous of his wealth, in hand or in prospect. Though he did
judge the Dharvon correctly when he foresaw that a Wholar would be
wasted on them.”
“Where do we stand? As a Family.”
“In vendetta with the Dharvon. I’ve resumed
communication with your House on Homeworld. The Dharvon have
recovered under a cadet line. The Norbon remain a House divided.
There is a dwindling Deeth faction still hoping you’ll return
and lead them to Osiris. The other faction, naturally getting
stronger by the month, want a new Head declared so they can control
what the House has now. The human and Ulantonid spheres will
collide before long. They want to develop a strong raid force and
cash in.”
“I see.” As he remembered talk overheard during
childhood, it sounded like typical in-House politics. Neither
faction would be overjoyed by his reappearance. “But back to
your escape. It couldn’t have been that simple. These animals
aren’t fools.”
“It did take some doing. They tried to double check every
captive to make sure none of us got away by hiding with the slaves.
I mostly outran them. I had a hard few years, then I got settled in
here. Except for the occasional agent from off planet, you’re
the first of our people I’ve seen in nine years.”
“We’re the only survivors?” Prefactlas was
irrevocably lost, then.
He had known that for a long time. The planet had been lost the
moment a Dharvon had approached a human. He had been ducking the
final admission. The denial was one brick in the wall he had raised
to hide himself from the charge his father had set upon him.
“How have you been keeping yourself, Rhafu? And do we have
anything to build on?” His duty could be shirked no more.
Rhafu smiled. “I haven’t been remiss. Once a field
man, always a field man. Don’t let my job fool you. I’ve
become a very rich man. Being the only one of our people here has
certain advantages. I’ve become the underworld here. I
control it all. Without bragging, I can say the only man on
Prefactlas with more power is Boris Storm. Nobody knows who I am,
but everybody has heard of me.”
“The Serpent?”
“In the scaly
flesh.”
“I’ll be damned.” Deeth laughed
uncontrollably. “Why didn’t we run into each other
sooner? Years have gone to waste, Rhafu.” The laughter
evaporated. Rhafu had an empire of his own now. He might consider
old obligations a liability.
“Were that true,” Rhafu replied to Deeth’s
indirect question, “I wouldn’t be here today. I
would’ve gotten off Prefactlas as soon as I had the machinery
running smooth. I’d have gone somewhere safe and collected my
cut and shown my strength just often enough to keep the would-be
independents in line. No. I stayed because I still haven’t
fulfilled my contract with the Norbon.”
Deeth grinned. Rhafu was as sentimental as a Sangaree could be.
“What should we do now, Rhafu?”
The old man grinned right back. “That’s easy. We
just reclaim the Family and its Homeworld power base.”
“Really? That’s going to take money and muscle, my
friend. Do you have it?”
“No. Not enough. We’ll have to liquidate here and
use the cash to pick up a ship and some good men. We’ll have
to work Osiris till we’re strong enough. We’ll have to
stay away from Homeworld but keep the Family informed so you
don’t get frozen out of your patrimony. Osiris will be our
leverage. It’ll bring them into line. Let’s see. Maybe
two years? Then at least another two to consolidate and fatten the
Family on Osiris? Another five to settle with the Dharvon, defend
ourselves in court and accommodate ourselves with any new enemies
the feud stirs up, and to thoroughly develop the Osirian operation?
Another year or two just for margin? Say plan on at least ten
before we’re solid, strong, and in any position to get down
to the real work your father left us, the destruction of the
animals who killed him and your mother.”
“That’s a lot of years, Rhafu.”
“You had something else to do with them? Perhaps you went
through all that business in that cave just so you could
retire?”
The years rolled away into the dusty corners of time. Deeth and
Rhafu made dream after dream come real. They recaptured the
Homeworld Norbon. They went to Osiris. They built a Norbon Family
as strong and feared as any among the Sangaree. By cunning and
guile they devoured several small Houses whom the Dharvon, aware of
their Family’s complicity in the Prefactlas disaster, tried
to frame with forged evidence. When the Norbon rapacity had been
sated and they were ready to settle with the Dharvon for all time,
Deeth had a friend bring in damning documents lifted directly from
Prefactlas Corporation files.
Emily stayed one day after her appearance before the assembled
Heads of the First Families. She had become a stunning woman. Deeth
felt the yearnings of their earlier life together. As did she.
But . . .
Her years with Boris Storm had chipped the rough edges off her.
She was no longer Emily the fugitive pleasure girl. She had become
a lady, and one even a Sangaree must respect. She was a completely
different person. She merely shared a few memories with Norbon
w’Deeth’s little Emily.
And Deeth was no longer an orphan boy surviving in a shack in a
slum on an enemy world.
They spent a quiet afternoon walking the perfectly landscaped gardens of the Norbon Family holding, remembering
when and trying to get to know the people they had become.
It was a ritual of ending, a final emotional endorsement of the
separation that had taken place while they were still those other
people. In their respective ways they agreed that there were no
debts between them now, no enmities, and no tomorrows.
Deeth shed a tear for her when she left him. And never saw her
again.
But the children that she brought with her, the sons, would
cross his path again and again.