Captive of the Centaurianess Read online

"No," said Ray, "that's Ursa Major. You Kathantumans have a wild imagination."

  Seated in the pilot's chair—for she had soon mastered the controls of the star drive, as crude as they were—Dyann continued swinging the scanner around the heavens. Abruptly the screen blazed. Had radiance not been stopped down, the watchers might have been blinded. As was, they saw a vast, incandescent globe from which flames seethed millions of kilometers—"A blue giant sun," Urushkidan whispered. For once he was awed.

  Dyann's eyes sparkled. "Let's play tag vith it," she said, and applied a sidewise vector. "Yippee!"

  "Hey!" the Earthling yelped. "Stop!"

  They whizzed among the flames, dodging, while Dyann roared out a battle chant. Urushkidan huddled in his chair, squinched his eyes shut, and muttered, "I am being serene. I am being serene." Ray tried to recollect his childhood prayers.

  The star fell behind. "Okay, ve continue," Dyann said. "Vasn't that fun? Ray, darlin, after this trouble is over, ve vill take a cruise through the galaxy, yust the two of us."

  Time passed. The heavens majestically altered their aspect. The conquerors of the light-years floated about, gazed forth at magnificence, and ate cold beans.

  "Ve are in the yeneral sector ve seek," Dyann said. "I have been thinkin. First ve go to Varann."

  "Your native planet?" asked Urushkidan. "Ridiculous! We are returning directly to Uttu."

  "Ve may need help in the Solar System," she argued. "Ve have been gone for two or three veeks. Much can have happened, most of it not good."

  "But . . . but what help do you expect to get from a bunch of . . . Centaurians?" Ray spluttered. "It isn't practical."

  Dyann grinned. "How vill you stop me, sveetheart?"

  He considered the muscles which stirred beneath her tawny skin. "Oh, well," he said, "I always wanted to see Varann anyway."

  For a few hours the amazon kept busy with instruments and pilot board. Then, astoundingly to Ray, she found her goal. Waxing in the screen were two yellowish suns very much like Sol. Out of the stellar background, a telescope identified a dim red dwarf at a greater distance. Nowhere else in this part of space did such a trio exist.

  "Home, oh, home," Dyann murmured almost tearfully.

  "Not quite," Ray reminded her with a certain slight malice. "How are you going to find your planet?"

  "Vell . . . vell, uh—" She scratched her ruddy head.

  He took pity and thought aloud for her benefit. "Planets are in the plane of the two main stars. They'd have to be. If we put ourselves in that plane, at a point where Varann's sun, Alpha A, appears to be the right size, and swing in a circle of that radius, we should come pretty close. It has a good-sized moon, doesn't it, and its color is greenish-blue? Yes, we ought not to have trouble."

  "You are so clever," Dyann sighed. "It is sexy. Yust you vait till ve have landed."

  At a modest fraction of the speed of light, a mere few thousand kilometers per second, the boat paced out her path. Before long, Dyann was jubilating, "There ve are! Look ahead! Home! After all these years, home!"

  "I would still like to know what we are supposed to do when we get tere," Urushkidan snorted.

  "I told Ray vat," Dyann retorted. "You suit yourself."

  The man said nothing, being preoccupied. Terminal maneuvers were necessarily his responsibility. They took his entire flying skill and then some. He could use the cosmic drive to shed a velocity which would else have caused his craft to explode on striking atmosphere. However, he could not thereafter use the conventional jets; they were never meant for thick air or strong gravity. Thus he must also come down on the new system, which was incredibly precarious when he didn't have a universeful of room for error around him. He must make a descent which was largely aerodynamic, in a boat hijacked from a moon where aerodynamics was a farce. Probably he would never have succeeded, were it not for experience he'd gained when he spent part of his legacy on rakish sports flyers.

  Wind boomed outside. The sky turned from black and starry to blue and cloud-wreathed. Weight dragged at bodies. The hull bucked and shuddered. Far below, landscape emerged. Ray had directed his approach by what he and Dyann remembered of maps—

  "Kathantuma!" she shouted. "My own, my native land! See, I know her, yonder mountain, old Hastan herself. Yes, and that town, Mayta. Ve're here!"

  VI

  When Ray had thumped the boat down onto the ground and his teeth had stopped rattling, he admitted to himself that this was pretty country. Around him waved rows of white-tasseled grain, wildflowers strewn among them in small brave splashes of color. Beyond the field he glimpsed a thatch-roofed rustic cottage and outbuildings, surrounded by trees whose foliage shone green-gold. In the opposite direction gleamed a river, crossed by a stone bridge which led to Mayta. The town seemed an overgrown village, timber houses snuggled about the granite walls of a castle whose turrets bore lacy spires from which banners flew. Elsewhere thereabouts, the land was devoted to pasture and woodlots, whose verdancy turned blue with distance till it faded into the snow-crowned heights which guarded this valley.

  "Home," Dyann exulted. She unharnessed, rose, and stretched sinew by sinew, like a great cat. "And yust feel, darlin, ve got a decent up and down again."

  "Uh—yeah." Ray had less pleasure. Fifty percent more pull than on Earth. . . . Urushkidan groaned and collapsed over his own seat like so much molasses.

  "Come on out for some fresh air," Dyann said, "and ve vill find us a nice soft patch of turf."

  She started to operate the airlock. He prevented her barely in time, and opened the valves the merest crack. Atmospheric pressure outside was considerably in excess of that within. No sense in getting a sinus headache; let the buildup be gradual. "Keep chewing and swallowing," he advised as the inward draught began to shrill.

  "Vat? Vell; if you say so." Dyann reached for a hunk of cheese.

  When at length they could go forth, it was into a freshness of cool breezes and the manifold scents of growing things, into trillings and chirpings from winged creatures that darted beneath sun-brilliant clouds, into air whose richness made every lungful heady as wine, so that aches and exhaustion vanished. "A-a-ah," Ray breathed. "You were right to make us stop here, sweetheart. What we need most after what we've been through is unspoiled nature, peace and quiet and—"

  An arrow hummed past his ear and rang like a gong off the boat.

  "Yowp!" Ray dived into the grain. Another arrow zipped where he had been. Dyann stood fast. After a moment, he ventured to raise himself, behind her back, and see what was happening.

  From the rustic cottage, half a dozen women ran: a squat and scarred older one, and five tall and youthful who must be her daughters. They hadn't stopped to armor themselves with more than helmets and shields, but they did brandish swords and axes. The archer among them slung bow on shoulder as her companions closed in, and drew a dirk. Several man watched nervously from the farmyard.

  "Ho-hai, saa, saa!" whooped Dyann. She herself was in full battle gear, that being the only clothing she had brought along. Her blade hissed free of its sheath. The matriarch charged. Dyann's blow was stopped by her shield, and her ax clanged grazingly off the newcomer's helmet. Dyann staggered. Her weapon fell from her grasp. The rest came to ring her in.

  Dyann recovered. A karate-like kick to the elbow disarmed Mother. At once Dyann seized her by the waist, raised her on high, and threw her. Two of the girls went down beneath that mass. While they were trying to disentangle themselves, Dyann got under the guard of the next nearest and grappled.

  Centaurian hospitality! flashed through Ray's mind.

  A backhanded blow sent him over. Dazed, he looked up to see a daughter looming above. She smacked her lips, picked him up, and laid him across her shoulder. A sister tugged at him—by the hair—and said something which might have meant, "Now don't be greedy, dear; we go shares, remember?" They didn't seem worried about the rest, who were busy with Dyann and would obviously soon overcome her.

  A trumpet blare and a thu
nder of hoofs interrupted. From the castle had come galloping a squad of armored ladies. Their mounts were the size and general shape of Percheron horses, though horned, hairless, and green. They halted at the fight and started to wield clubbed lances with fine impartiality. Combat broke up in a sullen fashion. From his upside-down position, Ray saw that none of the gashed and bruised femininity had suffered grave wounds. Yet that didn't seem to have been for lack of trying.

  The guttural, barking language of Kathantuma resounded around. A rider, perhaps the chief, pointed a mailed hand at Ray's captor and snapped an order. The girl protested, was overruled, and tossed him pettishly to the ground.

  When he recovered full awareness, his head was on Dyann's knees and she was stroking him. "Poor little man," she murmured. "Ve play too rough for you, ha?"

  "What. . . was that... all about?"

  "Oh, this family say they vas mad because ve landed in their grainfield. That's a lie. They could have demanded compensation. I'm sure they really hoped to seize our boat and claim it as plunder. Luckily, the royal cavalry got here in time to stop them. Since ve are still alive, ve can file charges of assault if ve choose, because this is not a legal duellin ground. I think I vill, to teach a lesson. There must be law and order, you know."

  "Yes," whispered Ray, "I know."

  Two days later—Varannian days, a bit shorter than Terrestrial—Dyann gave a speech. She and her traveling companions were on a platform by the main gate of the castle, at the edge of the market square. She stood; they sat in leather chairs, along with Queen Hiltagar, the Mistress of Arms, the Keeper of the Stables, and similar dignitaries. Pikes of troopers and lances of mounted ladies hedged the muddy plaza, to maintain a degree of decorum among the two or three hundred who filled it. These were the free yeowomen of the surrounding district, whose approval of any important action was necessary because they would constitute the backbone of the army. In coarse, colorful tunics; body paint; and massive jewelry, they kept flourishing their weapons and beating their shields. To judge by Dyann's gratified expression, that counted as applause. Here and there circulated public entertainers, scantily-clad men with flowers twined into their hair and beards, who strummed harps, sang softly, and watched the proceedings out of liquid, timid eyes.

  Ray wasn't sure what went on, nor did he care very much. A combination of heavy weight, heavier meals, reaction to the rigors of his journey, and Dyann's demands kep him chronically sleepy. This evening, a lot of the potent local wine had been added. He could barely focus on the crowd. Beside him, Urushkidan snored, Martian style, which sounds like firecrackers in an echo chamber.

  Dyann ended her harangue at last. Both cheers and jeers lifted deafeningly. Long-winded arguments followed, which tended to degenerate into fist fights, until Ray himself dozed off.

  He was shaken awake when sunset turned heaven sulfurous above the roofs, and gaped blearily around. The assembly was dispersing, most people headed for the taverns which comprised a large part of Mayta. Stiff and sore, he lurched to his feet. Dyann was more fresh and rosy than he felt he should be asked to tolerate.

  "It has been decided," she rejoiced. "Ve have agreement. Now ve must call other meetins throughout the realm, but there is no doubt they vill follow this lead. Already ve can send envoys to Almarro and Kurin, for negotiatin alliance. How soon can a fleet leave, Ray?"

  "Leave?" he bleated. "For where?"

  "Vy, for Yupiter. To attack the Yovians. Veren't you listenin?"

  "Huh?"

  "No, I forgot, you don't know our language. Vell, don't trouble your pretty little head about such things. Come on back to the castle, and ve vill make love before dinner."

  "But," stammered Ray, "but, but, but."

  How do you equip a host of barbarians, still in the early Iron Age, to cross four and a third light-years of space for purposes of waging war on a nation armed to its nuclear-powered teeth?

  A preliminary question, perhaps, is: Do you want to?

  Ray did not, but found that he had scant choice in the matter. Affectionately but firmly, Dyann made him understand that men kept in their place and behaved as they were bidden.

  She did go so far as to explain her reasoning. Centaurians were not stupid, or even crazy. What they were—on this continent of Varann, at least—was warlike. While in the Solar System she had almost automatically, but shrewdly, paid close heed to the military-political situation. Afterward she had plugged the capabilities of the cosmic drive into her assessment. Most of the Jovian naval strength was deployed widely through space. If the escape from Ganymede had, indeed, made the Confederation decide to lean hard on the Union while the balance of power remained in its favor, that ought to leave the giant planet quite thinly guarded, sufficient to intercept conventional attackers but not any who came in faster than light. A raid in force should, if nothing else, result in the capture of Wotanopolis. No matter how austere by Terrestrial standards, that city was incredibly rich in Varannian terms. The raiders could complete their business and get home free, loaded with loot, covered with glory, and well supplied with captives. (As for the latter, there was hope of ransom, or possibly more hope of keeping them permanently as harem inmates. The polyandrous customs of this country worked hardship on many women.) While Earth might disown the action as piracy, it would doubtless not take punitive measures; everybody on the planet would be too relieved when an alarmed Confederation pulled its forces back to the Jovian moons.

  Thus the calculation. Numerous ladies, Dyann foremost, recognized that it might prove disastrously wrong and the expedition end up as a cloud of incandescent gas or something like that. The idea didn't worry them much. If they fell audaciously, they would revel forever among the gods; and their names would ring in epic poetry while the world endured.

  Failing, to convince her otherwise, Ray sought out Urushkidan. The Martian, after an abortive attempt to steal the spaceboat and sneak off by himself, had been given a room high in a tower. Having adjusted a bit to the gravity, he sat amidst trophies of the hunt and covered a sheet of parchment with equations. This place, thought Ray, has squids in the belfry.

  He poured forth his tale of woe. The Martian was indifferent. "What of it?" he said. "Tey may conceibably succeed, in which case we will doubtless be granted a bessel to trabel home in. If tey fail, ten it cannot be a matter of bery much time before te faster-tan-light engine is debeloped independently in te Solar System and somebody arribes here who can take us back."

  "You don't understand," Ray informed him. "These buccaneers count on us as experts. They're bringing us along."

  "Oh. Oh-oh! Tat is different. We better habe suitable armament." The Martian riffled through his papers. "Let me see. I tink equations 549 tro' 627 indicate—yes, here we are. It is possible to project te same type of dribing field as we use for transport in a beam which imparts a desired pseudobelocity bector to an extraneous object. Also . . . look here. Differentiation of tis equation shows tat it would be equally simple to break intranuclear bonds by trowing a selected type of particle into te state, and none oter. Te nucleus would ten separate, wit a net energy release regardless of where it lies on te binding curbe because of te altered potentials."

  Ray regarded him in awe. "You," he breathed, "have just invented the tractor beam, the pressor beam, the disintegrator, and the all-fuel atomic generator."

  "I habe? Is tere money in tem?"

  The man went to work.

  Headquartered hereabouts, the three expeditions from Sol had each left behind a considerable amount of supplies, equipment, and operating manuals. The idea had been to accumulate enough material for the establishment of a permanent scientific base—an idea that faster-than-light travel had now made obsolete. Most of this gear was stored in the local temple, where annual sacrifices were made to the digital computer. It took an involved theological argument to get it released. The point that Ormun must be rescued was conceded to be a good one, but not until the high priestess held an earnest private discussion with Dyann, and w
as hospitalized for a while thereafter, did the stuff become available.

  Meanwhile Ray had been working on design and, with native assistants, some of whom knew a little English or Spanish, getting a team organized. Urushkidan's new principles proved almost dismayingly easy to apply. Everything that wasn't in the depot, native smiths could hammer out, once given the specs. Atomic engines came forth capable of burning anything whatsoever. After consulting the gods, Queen Hiltagar decreed that the fuel be coal. Nobles vied for the honorable job of stokers.

  The engines not only drove ships, but powered weapons such as Urushkidan had made possible. It proved necessary for Ray to call on the Martian for more—radiation screens, artificial gravity (after experiment showed that too many Kathantumans got sick in free fall and barfed), faster-than-light communicators, et cetera. These developments might well have taken years, except that the Martian grew sufficiently exasperated at the interruptions that he tossed off a calculus by which the appropriate circuits could be designed in hours.

  Given this much, the spacecraft proper could be built to quite low standards. They were mere hulks of hardwood, slapped together by carpenters in a matter of weeks, varnished and greased for air tightness. Since the crossing would be made in a few hours, air renewal systems weren't required; it sufficed to have tanks of compressed gas, with leakage to prevent a buildup of excess carbon dioxide. Ray gave most of his attention to features like locks and viewports. Those had better not blow out!

  Still more did he concentrate on the drive circuits. They must be reliable during a trip to Sol and back, with an ample safety margin, but soon thereafter, they must fail. Not wishing the Centaurians ill, despite everything, he gave warning that this would happen, and was glad when it was accepted. Everybody knew that wire gave way after prolonged use, and here these ships were festooned with wires. The prospect of an amazon fleet batting about in the galaxy wheresoever it pleased had not been one that he could cheerfully contemplate.