Rhapsody in Black (8 page)

‘If, as you say, we have all the advantages, why on Rhapsody should we work out a split with you?' I asked gently.

‘Ah!' he said. ‘But do you know what the payoff actually consists of?'

‘No,' I said, ‘and neither do you or you wouldn't be sitting there making a fool of yourself talking a load of utter garbage.'

‘It was worth a try,' he said, trying to laugh it off.

‘No, it wasn't,' I said. ‘The whole line was a bad joke. You're also way off beam. I'm not the head man in our outfit. Captain delArco outranks me, and if that isn't enough, we've got the New Alexandrian owner along as well. You haven't got a cat's chance of getting anything out of this shebang.'

‘Thanks a lot,' he said drily. ‘They really will have my guts, you know.'

‘Think yourself lucky,' I told him. ‘I remember four company captains who got themselves killed.'

‘Big man, eh?' he said sourly. ‘Tangle with Grainger and you lose your pants?'

‘It's not me, son,' I told him, deliberately patronising. ‘It's you. This crash bang, fast buck space opera stuff isn't going to get you anywhere but in trouble. What do the companies do to you guys? I know that everything happens in a flat rush these days, and everybody wants to rule the galaxy, but I just don't see how giving starships to whizz-kids like you is going to make anybody a fortune. The turnover in ships and men must be horrifying.'

‘We aren't running the rim for half a loaf and a hunk of cheese,' he said, ‘I know how you made your reputation, and any tramp out of New York port could have done the same. But things don't work that way now we can get ships into the sky at any rate we choose. What matters now is pace and guts. That's what makes fortunes.'

‘Pace you've got,' I said. ‘I'll grant you that.'

He got angry, but he cooled himself almost immediately.

‘OK,' he said. ‘OK. There's no point in sitting here arguing. You don't think much of me, and we both know that I haven't much chance of swinging this deal my way. Whatever the bloody deal is. But can we at least talk sense?'

‘What kind of sense?' I asked quietly.

‘You're not the boss. You just fly the ship. Great. How much do you want to cut me in?' He swung his eyes to where Johnny squatted on the floor. ‘That goes for you, too.'

Johnny just looked at me. He knew full well how much I hated Charlot. He also thought enough of the Grainger legend to fall in with whatever I decided. He expected me to agree, because of the twenty thousand which would buy my contract with Charlot.

And I was very tempted.

But also cautious.

‘That's very kind of you,' I said. ‘But I don't see that either of us is in a position to make deals.'

‘I told you. They'll let us out'

‘So what? That doesn't automatically give either of us a bite at whatever cherry they're hiding down in the caves. We've nothing to deal with. Either of us.'

‘My company will back me'

‘You don't know that! How can you possibly know, when we don't have the slightest idea what these people have for sale?'

‘You can at least let me know whether you're interested.'

‘Not until I know what's going on. Once I find out what all this hassle is about, I'll be in a position to estimate what can, will and ought to be done with it. Until then, nothing.'

‘I'll tell you what I know,' he said. ‘The top man—they call him the Hierarch—is called Akim Krist. He doesn't talk money, just dogma, by all accounts. The man I tried to deal with was Jad Gimli, who was first in on the find after the guy who originally leaked it. Krist found out what Gimli was doing, and began spreading poison all around the Church. The big men, who run a kind of Church council, split at least two ways, and everybody started howling heretic at each other. Somebody—maybe Krist—armed some of the miners and asked them to keep the peace. The miners shoved me in jail, for convenience, while the council got itself reorganised and began to talk strategy instead of hurling accusations. I guess they must have started by now, but it'll probably take them an age to get things sorted out. They aren't much concerned with practicalities, only with getting their damned consciences squared. I haven't seen Gimli since they shut me up, so I don't have up-to-date information. All I know is that they have to work out some kind of deal eventually, because the last thing they want is to keep the hot potato in their cellar for all time. All the talk will be about what kind of deal. I can't see them turning out New Alexandria for Star Cross on any kind of pretext, for all that Gimli's on my side—and anyone else he can bribe. Your side has the bigger money and the better line in holiness. The only way I can see for me to keep my job is to get the loaf sliced, and to grab some away from you. Sure, I'll be late getting it back, but when Star Cross finds I've got some of the goods it'll reckon I did all I could. Now, I don't care who I buy my slice from. I've offered an open contract to anyone who'd listen. You can include yourself if you want, or not, as the case may be. Fair enough?'

I considered the content of the diatribe carefully. ‘Seems fair,' I said. ‘I'll remember you, if the cards happen to fall that way. But don't take that as an offer. I'm making no deals until I see the gold at the rainbow's end. Which may be never while we're stuck in this place.'

Sometime during Sampson's speech, Johnny had developed a crick in his back from sitting folded up on the floor. He'd got to his feet and seemed to be occupying his time by staring morosely at the implacable door of our cage. He tested the bars that were set in the window—the sort of standard gesture one associates with prisoners.

He looked back at the pair of us, with a wicked gleam in his eye.

‘Like to bust out?' he asked.

‘No,' I said. ‘They have guns. They might shoot'

‘How do you mean?' asked Sampson, who was understandably attracted by the idea.

‘I can get us out,' said Johnny confidently.

‘Sure,' I agreed. ‘He balances himself on the doorway and when the guard brings in our food, he drops on the poor sucker like the avenging angel. It's all in the movies. I've seen it. Go ahead and try, heroes.'

‘No,' persisted Johnny. ‘It can be done.'

‘You can pick the lock, I suppose,' I said.

‘That's the point,' he mocked back. ‘We don't have to pick the lock. This isn't a real jail cell. It's a punishment cell—for penitents to work off their sins. It wasn't designed to prevent a determined escape. It hasn't got a real lock. Only bolts on the outside. And there's enough space in the crack for us to work them back with a knife-blade or even a comb. It world only take a couple of minutes, if we took a bolt each.'

Sampson was off the bed like a shot, peering into the crevice between the door and the wall.

‘He's right,' he said. ‘A kid could break out in five minutes fiat. And I've been here the best part of twenty-four hours.'

‘Hang on,' I said. ‘There are still the miners out there, and they still have guns. What the hell are we going to do once we're out?'

‘Whatever you want,' supplied Sampson. ‘Maybe there's nothing we can do. But it's a chance to find out what goes on here, and it's better than rotting in here. If all you want is to get away, you can always head for the lock and space out.'

‘You don't seem to get the point,' I pressed. ‘There are guys out there with guns. With the exception of my trusty flashlight, we're completely unarmed.'

Sampson made a noise that was intended to indicate scorn. However, I wondered again, did guys like that get to run starships? Low cunning and brashness, I supposed.

‘He's right,' said Johnny. ‘Better be out there than in here. We can get clean away before they realise we're gone'

‘Clean away to where?'

Common sense was on my side, of course. But Sampson thought he was on to a loser anyway, and desperate measures were needed to put him back into the hunt. He didn't have the slightest idea what might be done, but he was keen to try it. I could imagine him sending out missiles to plough up a contortive domain in a dark nebula, and blowing himself to bits for his trouble. This breed of spaceman couldn't last for long, inexhaustible supply of ships or not. Simple natural selection would consign them all to hell.

And there was no arguing with Johnny. He wouldn't learn to sit still until he was badly burned by playing with too much hot property. This was his idea, and nobody was going to talk him out of it.

‘Let's get on with it,' he said, to Sampson. He pulled his penknife out of his pocket, and set to work on the upper bolt.

‘Bugger you,' I said. ‘Play at Count of Monte Cristo if you want to.'

So they did.

I never really believed in digging tunnels with belt buckles and guards who were carefully dispersed so as not to disturb any potential escape plans. But I had to admire the speed and facility with which those two managed to open that door. It was straight out of the comic books. It had real style. I was suitably impressed.

Sampson went off like a rabbit, but Johnny paused to say, ‘Come on, you fool,' before he too disappeared.

Well, what could I do? My nerves were still ragged from the rigours of the last four days. I was sick of being manipulated by circumstance. I
needed
to act, to do
something
, whether it was constructive or pointless or just plain crazy. And I'd look a real fool when the miners came back and found that one of their pigeons had staunchly decided to play by the rules and not indulge in irresponsible chicanery.

I went.

I glanced at the bolts as I left, and remarked silently that it was a damn silly way to design a door.

There was the sound of running feet. The darkness and the echoes conspired to prevent me from defining the direction from which the sounds came. But they were close. There was no need for me to dive for the nearest cover. I'd been skulking in deep shadow whenever the opportunity presented itself.

There was a brief pause, while one set of footsteps died away, and then there was a gunshot. In the wake of the staccato echoes, many footsteps started up again. There were obviously several pursuers and several pursued. I crept forward to the nearest corner, intending to take a quick look at the lighted street in the hope of seeing something which might give me an idea what was going on. Then somebody stuck a gun barrel into the small of my back.

I froze, and a hand grabbed the collar of my borrowed overall.

‘
Quietly
,' hissed a voice, and the gunman began to pull me backwards. He was fairly gentle, obviously because he wanted me to comply with his wishes and keep it silent.

He backed me up through twenty metres or more of total shadow. He then reversed our positions, and pushed me into the half-light which filtered around the corner from another street.

‘He's an offworlder,' said an incredulous whisper. It wasn't the man who held me but an invisible companion. I had to admire the way they moved in absolute silence. I hadn't suspected the presence of either one until I was touched, although their initial approach might have been masked by the gunshot and the runners.

‘Who the hell are you?' whispered a second voice—that of my captor.

‘My name's Grainger,' I told him, in a hoarse whisper.

‘What are you doing here?' he breathed.

‘I escaped from the capital. They had me in prison.' I saw no logical alternative but to tell the truth. I could hardly claim to be a tourist.

‘I think we're in the clear,' said the other voice, this time from the corner.

‘Whose side are you on?' continued my interrogator.

‘Nobody's,' I said. ‘I'm just trying to find out what's going on.' He released my collar, but kept the gun barrel pressed against my spine.

‘Give it ten minutes,' he said to the other man.

‘What are you doing on Rhapsody?' This from the second man, who had moved back from the corner again. He was obviously used to moving about in pitch-blackness with the lightness of a ballet dancer. And whatever he was wearing on his feet, it wasn't boots like mine.

‘I'm a pilot,' I explained. ‘My owner heard that there was something up for sale here, and he came to try to buy it. We brought some exiles back with us.'

‘Exiles?' he hissed. ‘Coming
back
?'

‘That's right,' I said, wondering why he'd reacted.

‘Rion Mavra?'

‘He was one of them.' Suddenly, I could hear him breathing. Something connected with Mavra or with exiles in general was obviously stirring him up.

‘Who are you?' I asked.

‘Outcasts,' he said briefly, as if that explained everything.

‘It doesn't mean a thing,' said the first man, talking to his compatriot. ‘Mavra coming back. You know that. We still don't exist.'

The pressure of the gun eased slightly, and I contemplated trying to grab it. But these men didn't have anything against me, and I wasn't in any overt danger of being shot, just so long as I did what they told me. I decided to let things ride.

Then they pushed me up to the corner again. After a moment's pause, we went out into the street. Here I was able to see them for the first time. One was tall and thin. He walked in front of me in a cat-footed version of the local gait. He looked big and awkward, but he moved confidently and silently. The other—the man behind me, who covered me with his gun—was short and cadaverous. He was older. Both men were as pale as albinos, but they wore black caps to conceal their hair and their faces were discoloured with dirt. Only their hands and eyelids betrayed the real whiteness of their skin.

‘Come on,' said the short man. ‘Move it. We can't hang around here.'

‘We're all right,' the other assured him. ‘The miners went after the others.'

‘Why don't we just split, and leave this one behind?'

‘No,' said the tall man. ‘He might be able to tell us something.'

I should be so lucky.

We moved out of the township and into a corridor. It was lighted in the same perfunctory manner as the one by which I'd gained access to the town, but it didn't look like the same one. It was narrower and deeper.

‘Look,' said the short man, to me. ‘The lights give out along here. You put your hand out onto Tob's shoulder. He'll lead you. I'll be right behind you.'

‘I've got a flashlight,' I said.

‘Light! Forget it. You got to get used to the dark some time, kid. This might as well be it. Can't be afraid of the dark all your life.'

I was tempted to point out that people who did not live out their lives on Rhapsody could, in fact, afford that very luxury, but I refrained. I also refrained from fishing out the flashlight. I put my hand on Tob's shoulder, as I was instructed, and allowed him to lead me.

‘The gun's still here,' the short man reminded me, once we were again entombed by darkness. ‘Don't think I'll be shooting blind, neither. I'll hit you if I have to.'

‘Don't worry,' I assured him. ‘At the moment I need a few friends far more than I need a couple more enemies. I'm on your side, at least for now.'

‘Stop talking,' he said. ‘Keep moving.'

We seemed to go around endless bends, as though we were negotiating a maze. But the tunnels which we used were always a comfortable size. There was no crawling or climbing. The general direction of our journey seemed to be downward, and we were usually heading into slow-moving warm airflow, down arterial passages toward the hotcore. At first, we moved with exaggerated caution, stopping occasionally while one or other of the men satisfied his doubts as to whether it was safe to continue. But as time went on they both relaxed. They didn't say much nothing relevant, anyhow. They were probably guarding their tongues on my account.

It seemed a long way, but it was all easy. Our destination turned out to be a big cave not unlike the one where the town had been built. But this one hadn't yet been appropriated by the property developers as a suburb full of desirable family residences. Such buildings as there were had been thrown together, by inexpert hands, and they sat in a miserable huddle surrounded by acres of empty space. It was obviously more than a temporary resting place, but it was certainly not civilisation even by the somewhat elementary standards which applied in the Splinters. The only thing which seemed out of the ordinary about the cave itself was the fact that it provided its own lighting. Its vast dome was sprinkled with patches of luminescent bioplasm. The light was not strong, but compared with the feeble lamps characteristic of Rhapsody it seemed to me to be as glorious as daylight. It occurred to me that the only reason why this cave had
not
been appropriated for colonisation could well be the presence of the abundant natural illumination.

The people who
had
moved in here were presumably the outcasts of Rhapsody's religious society—and so, in fact, the two who had grabbed me had termed themselves. Any society which maintains itself by rigid principles—whether they be laws or beliefs—inevitably has occasion to cast out or otherwise dispose of its misfits. The Splinter culture, being basically non-violent, would naturally choose expulsion. For the privileged, expulsion to Attalus. For the underprivileged, a simple get-lost-and-look-after-yourselves. Which couldn't be easy, on a planet which lived so close to the survival line.

There were half a dozen other men visible in the ramshackle village as we passed through its streets. If you can call the gaps in between stone tents ‘streets'. The lanky man gently prised my fingers from his shoulder. I'd been so taken up with first impressions of the place that I'd omitted to realise there was no further need of being led.

He then ushered me into one of the largest of the dwellings—one which was more or less centrally placed. It was remarkable in that it was the first building in the warren I had seen which possessed windows. Inside, it was grim and grey, but it seemed more like a real house than the solid boxes of the town and the capital. It had only two rooms, but these were large and furnished adequately, if crudely. The bed was a strung frame like a spaceship bunk; the table was a cunningly balanced edifice of stone. The chairs were strung frames as well, and had apparently been improvised from various sources.

‘Very nice,' I commented to Tob. ‘Almost palatial, in fact. But a little more light would brighten it up considerably.'

‘You can see, can't you?' he replied.

‘After a fashion.' But he, of course, was used to nothing more. He had never seen a sun.

‘Wait here for Bayon,' he said.

‘Who's Bayon?' I asked.

‘It's his house. He's the boss.'

‘A priest?' I guessed.

He laughed. ‘Ain't no Churchmen here. They get along without us, we get along without them. Now, you just sit. Bayon won't be long. And don't try to run away.'

‘I'm quite well aware of the pointlessness of running away,' I told him. ‘I'm on your side, remember?'

‘Yeah,' he drawled sarcastically. ‘I remember.'

Then he left; presumably to talk to his friends. I looked out of the window for a while, but nothing of any consequence seemed to be happening. So I went back and sat down.

I was very hungry. It was a considerable time since I'd last eaten, and that had only been gruel. Not that there was liable to be anything better available here. Normal worlds have fake food, and good worlds have real food. But Rhapsody only had converters. Probably obsolescent and inefficient converters at that. I tried to imagine anything more lifeless and unappealing than gruel. I found, somewhat to my surprise, that it was easy. Everyone complains about gruel, but everyone eats it. One could do a lot worse.

My thoughts of hunger were interrupted by the arrival of Bayon. He came in, escorted by Tob and two other men, obviously prepared for a session of interrogation. Their manner was not exactly hostile, but it was determined.

Bayon was a tall man, like Tob, but of thicker build. For a troglodyte, he was something of a giant. But his frame wasn't fully fleshed out. He could have put on a lot more weight without beginning to look fat. Life must be hard for the refugees. He carried a power rifle—the only one I'd seen in the possession of the outcasts. The other men carried less sophisticated weapons.

‘Well,' I said, ‘have you decided whether to eat me yourselves or feed me to the crocodiles?' The allusion was totally wasted.

‘I'm Bayon Alpart,' said the leader—the man I'd already tagged as the big cheese.

‘My name's Grainger,' I told him. ‘I pilot starships. You, I take it, have no particular vocation except staying alive.'

‘We're outcasts,' he said.

‘I know'

‘You'd better tell me what you're doing here,' he said. ‘The whole story. Don't leave anything out.'

I sighed, and went over the whole sordid story again. I told it all straight, and I didn't leave anything out. I suspected that these were people I could work with, people whose interests might be persuaded to coincide with my own. I saw my first real chance of getting the whole mess sorted out, and actually doing something with the pieces.

It was a longer story than I'd anticipated, and it took a long time. My audience seemed totally engrossed and adequately entertained.

I even managed to forget, for a while, that I was on the brink of starvation.