The dark planet - (v1.0), page 5
The field was enormous; a prairie of sprawling concrete, the slim ships jutting out of it like buttes in a surrealistic painting. Nathan strode brashly, swinging his case, his heels clicking an even rhythm.
Ship number Seven grew taller as he approached until he was dwarfed under it. It climbed above him, smooth and gleaming in the sun. Excitement clutched him as he gazed up its length, straining backwards to see the top. It was Power in itself; thin and fragile compared to its purpose, but strong and sure in its daring. It was hard to imagine stubby creatures like the Cobs ever designing a piece of symmetry like this.
A short ladder led up from the side to an open hatch, and he climbed inside. He knew about these ships. All of the rooms rotated, so that now, with the needle-nose pointing skyward, their ceilings pointed skyward, too. Once in space, as the ship settled on its side, the rooms swung over, bringing the floors perpendicular to the sides. The environment was always normal.
He waited until his eyes adjusted to the dim light, then made his way up another ladder, traveling to the place where the pilot would logically be. He passed five different levels, taking the last one slowly. There was nothing he could plan. He didn’t know what the pilot knew, or would expect. Taking a deep breath for calm, he stepped into the control room.
The pilot was busy at a bank of machines. He heard the sound behind him, and spoke without turning, “I’m setting our course, now. We’ll leave in ten minutes.”
“I imagine you’ll have to change the course,” Nathan said quietly, keeping his voice devoid of any emotion.
The Cob looked up from the instruments, showing as much puzzlement as his broad features would allow. He stared at Nathan, but said nothing.
‘‘We’re going to Marik,” Nathan Cory said.
“I just changed from Marik. And I have specific orders that Marik is off-limits for Earth’s Delegate.”
“What Delegate?”
“You,” the Cob answered. “Paul Houseman.”
Nathan handed his papers into the stubby hands. “I’m not Paul Houseman; therefore, the order doesn’t apply to me.”
The Cob read the name, then re-read it. “Nathan Cory? But they said you were dead. I was all set up for you, and then they . .
“Set back up. I’m not dead, and I’m going to Marik.”
The Cob was confused.
“Look, your orders were for Paul Houseman, so you can forget about them. I’m not Paul Houseman. Just go back to your previous orders. It’s simple.”
“I don’t know … Commander Kash said that by no means was Houseman to be allowed to go to Marik. I have instructions—what to do in case he insists.”
Nathan could guess what those instructions were. He felt a bit of pity for this Cob, but he had to drive his point into the wide head. “I’m not Houseman! Do you have any orders against letting Nathan Cory go to Marik?”
“No—in fact, it was all set.”
“Then what’s wrong? I want to get underway. I’m an official delegate and you’re holding me up. Now, do we go, or do I have to voice a formal complaint?”
The Cob glanced from Nathan to the papers, and finally handed them back. “I’ll change course. Departure in ten minutes.”
“And where is my cabin?”
“Down two levels. I think you’ll find it comfortable.”
“Anything will do, just so we get off without any more delay. I’ll be watching the clock.” Nathan took to the ladder again. It had been close, and his knees were oddly weak as he climbed down. The Cob discipline and fear of punishment had worked for him. Without it, Kash would have had another chance.
His cabin was pure luxury; satins and silks on the bed, thick carpeting, and fine-grained wood that was polished and gleaming. Paul Houseman had never mentioned these things; probably because it only would have heightened the drabness of their camp. But he was going to enjoy this trip.
He unpacked his one extra suit and the few changes of underwear, and began a careful inspection of the room. It was senseless to take chances. Although Kash fully expected Houseman to be occupying this space, he might have taken precautions against a mix-up. But there was nothing visibly dangerous. Everything was innocent and frankly what it purported to be. Kash had done him a favor by planning the accident on the highway. Here, in this unfamiliar and cramped space, the outcome might have been different.
His watch showed an elapsed time of six minutes when the first vibrations from the ship’s motors resounded from the floor. He followed the instructions he had found on the bureau and prepared for acceleration. In two days—just two, short days—-he would arrive on Marik and come face-to-face with Janotek.
Chapter six
Nathan descended from the ship into the bright, yellow sun of Marik, anticipation tingling from the bottoms of his feet to encompass his body. But there was nothing unusual to excite him. The spaceport was a likeness of the Cob port, and two Marikans were approaching, ready to take him in tow.
He waited for them, surprised. These men were tall and slimly built, with fine, patrician features and haughty carriage. The Cob pilot was a gnarled dwarf beside them. Nathan held himself erect, confident that his six-feet-two-inches would put his head on an even plane with theirs.
The taller of the two Marikans asked, “Are you Delegate Nathan Cory?” His accent in the galactic language was softer and more subtle than the Cobs. Nathan had an idea that he might be able to like these people.
“I am,” he answered. “I’m glad to see that you were expecting me. There was some mix-up and delay on Earth, and I thought my appointment might have been cancelled.”
“It was unusually short notice,” the other said.
Nathan guessed what was behind the words without asking. Kash hadn’t even submitted the request to see Janotek until Paul Houseman had told him that Nathan was actually on the ship and away.
“We have a car waiting.” The tall man spoke again.
“Am I allowed to see your city?” Nathan asked innocently.
“I’m afraid not,” the other answered. “Councilor Janotek is very busy and cannot spare you much time. He asked that you be brought immediately to him— so, if you will come.”
Nathan followed silently, some of the exuberance gone from his step.
The drive through the Marikan capital was fast, and Nathan’s impressions came in blurs. The architecture was massive, broader than high, and the streets were wide and clean. Everyone he saw on the street was tall. Like the Cobs, these people were copies of each other, only their naturally shaped features allowed them individuality, even to unfamiliar eyes.
The car which bore him along was larger than the Cobs’ and more comfortably appointed, but of the same nature. He wondered if there was standardization of such things within the Federation.
The car drew up before a building that soared twenty stories—as tall as the tallest Nathan had seen. His companions climbed out and waited for him, then led him inside and onto an escalator ramp that spiraled its way upward. The main lobby had three-story ceilings and long windows that formed patterns on the plush carpets. The moving spiral of the ramp made a living pattern of its own. Crystal chandeliers and deep brown and yellow tones made the room warmly inviting, and then the ramp whirred on into an enclosed space and Nathan could see no more. At every floor, the ramp opened again onto a place for stepping off, and he caught glimpses of hallways and doors which obviously led to apartments.
He had counted sixteen floors when the Marikans shifted, and led him off at the next landing. There was only one door here, and they pushed the button and retreated, leaving him alone to face his appointment.
The door opened to reveal a medium-sized man with pale, white hair and water-blue eyes. He was small boned to the point of appearing fragile, and his skin was transparent, the blue tint of his veins standing out in definite pattern. Nathan thought he could almost see the man’s heart and blood and pulse.
“You are Delegate Nathan Cory?” the little man asked.
Nathan nodded.
“Then please enter. Councilor Janotek welcomes you.”
Nathan followed inside, catching his breath at the magnificence that poured upon him from the room. It was a huge room, with high ceilings and sheer glass walls that issued out upon the clean lines of the Capitol. The colors made his eyes ache in their brilliance—orange and turquoise, yellow and crimson. The walls were softly muted, letting the furnishings make the highlights.
The little man stopped. “Please be patient and be comfortable. Councilor Janotek will be with you in a few moments.” He left silently, his feet unable to raise a noise from the rugs.
Nathan soaked the luxury into his bones. He wondered how he would ever find a common ground of conversation with a man who lived in these surroundings.
“Hello,” a voice said out of the depths of a huge chair. “Are you going to stand in that same spot all afternoon?”
Nathan turned sharply. The voice was deep and silken, and it came from a woman. She was curled up in the softness of a turquoise chair; her skin shone copper at him, and her hair was blue-black and long, without a touch of curl.
“Come in and sit down,” she said, her large eyes laughing at him. She stood and waited for him to come, alien—and yet strangely desirable. Her body was all subtleties …
Nathan put his case down, taking that moment, and the moments when he crossed to a chair, to gather himself from the first startled shock of not being alone. He sat opposite her, consciously keeping his attention away from the outlined contour of her body that proclaimed itself through the tight, silk dress. She smelled of deep, jungle forests, and her jewelry tingled on itself.
She watched him, her eyes slanting as she smiled. “So, you’re the little Delegate from—what is the name of the planet?” She leaned back in the turquoise chair and crossed her copper-skinned legs.
“Earth.” Silence crept in behind the answer and he fought to fill it. “I’m Nathan Cory.”
“What do you call yourselves? Earthan? Earthian?”
He reached for a cigarette, one of the new luxuries he had gained with his position. “We call ourselves Men.”
“Ooohh,” she pursed her lips, “and you’re touchy, too.” She smiled. “Is it pride? Or uncertainty?”
He didn’t like the conversation. This woman was so much a part of the room, and he was so definitely not. “You’re not Marikan,” he stated, bluntly.
“How could you tell? Have you see many Marikans?”
He drew on his cigarette silently.
“Well, you’re right.” She leaned forward. “I’m not Marikan. My home planet is Kasna. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of it, but it’s a Federation world.” “I’ve heard,” he said. She reminded him oddly of a fine Siamese cat he had seen when he was a boy.
“My name is Tass,” she offered. “And I think that I have you entirely at a loss.”
“There you might be right,” he chuckled.
“At last!” she smiled in return. “You are alive, after all. You know, maybe Janotek will like you—if you show a little spirit. I like you already.”
“What did he do—leave you here to feel me out?” “You’re quaint, do you know that? And a little untamed. Of course, he didn’t. He just went in to take a shower. He’ll be out in a minute.”
Take a shower, Nathan spat to himself. The Councilor who was so busy that he could allow Earth’s Delegate only a few minutes of his time was wasting those minutes taking a shower. And now, the picture cleared, and Nathan could imagine what that same Councilor had been doing before his arrival.
He let the anger wash him and drive out the inferiority Tass had manufactured. He shouldn’t be surprised; he had known what to expect from Janotek when he selected him. And that was the one point where he had an advantage. He knew Janotek; but Janotek knew nothing about him. With Kash’s de-
layed notice, Nathan Cory would be a complete mystery to the Marikan and could play the interview any way he wanted.
Movement from behind a door far down the room turned them both around. Tass walked toward it. Then a deep, male voice called out, “Tass. Has he come yet?”
“He’s here. I’ve been keeping him entertained.”
The man who entered the room stopped to circle her in one arm and bring her with him. Nathan stood to meet him, intent on taking a measure of this man before he said anything.
Janotek was tall and slim, like his fellow Marikans. He was dark-haired and large-eyed, and there was a sureness and arrogance in him that registered on Nathan even more than the patrician expressions of the others had done. He wore the closely tailored black uniform and boots of a Federation Councilor, fashioned like a space-man’s jumper, and on his shoulder was the silver sunburst of the Federation Council. Beside him, Tass had found her perfect niche. But there was more to this man than sheer desire for pleasure. Nathan knew that when the shrewd, dark eyes met his own. There was fiery intelligence in them, and the hard gleam of ruthlessness.
Nathan waited, wondering what the protocol was in this situation, but the tall man solved the problem for him.
“Sit down.” He waved to a chair. “We won’t stand on any ceremony. I imagine it’s too late, anyway, since you’ve been alone with Tass.” He squeezed the copper shoulder of the girl and let his slender hand slide down its smoothness.
Janotek sat across from him, on an orange divan, and drew Tass close beside him. He noticed Nathan’s eyes on her and smiled. “So, you like her, do you?”
“That’s not hard to do. A man is a man, after all.”
“Yes,” came the reply, “but keep your eyes and hands off, all right? I’m not through with her, yet.”
Nathan looked at him sharply, surprised. What had he said to produce that reaction? But the dark eyes had changed. The brief flash had fled, and now there was estimation in them. “You’re not a bad looking individual,” Janotek said. “You’re rough, true, but well formed. I’ve never seen an Earthman. Your race isn’t pure yet, is it?”
“I don’t know exactly what you mean by ‘pure,’ ” Nathan admitted, “but the Cobellans claim to be working on it.”
“Simply that you’re not intermingled. That you haven’t come up with a prototype—a specimen you can point to and say, ‘This is an Earthman.’ I imagine you’re still divided into many types and sizes —even many colors.”
“That’s true,” Nathan answered, “but oddly enough, we consider that as being more pure than what you’re suggesting.”
“That only proves how young you are racially. You’ll find, Mr.—Cory, isn’t it?—that races are like governments. The younger they are, the more fanatically determined to remain pure, or nationally supreme, they are. As they mature, they melt into each other… . Would you care for a drink?” “Nothing,” Nathan answered. “I came here for a definite reason, and I understand that your time is limited. I don’t want to waste any of it.”
“I distrust anyone so eager to work.” Janotek’s smile didn’t ring true. “They’re usually dull, sterile men, who can’t enjoy life. You’re not one of them, surely.”
“I wouldn’t know what classification I might fall in, in your mind. But I have a purpose here, and I want to serve it.”
“Very well,” Janotek sighed. “Do you have your petition?” As Nathan reached into his case, he continued, “You know, I’m rather flattered that you should have selected me to be your petitioner. Oddly enough, I’ve never been offered the work before.” “Oddly,” Nathan thought with an inward laugh. He could see why Paul Houseman had questioned this choice.
“You’re right, anyway,” Janotek said as Nathan handed him the petition. “Our time is short; I have an appointment in half an hour.” He swung his gaze to Tass. “You’d better dress, Tassy, if we’re going to get that landscape.”
“Landscape?” Nathan asked, suspicious of the answer.
“It just came in from Venna II, and I want to get my hands on it. It’s going to be a hard bidding price, but it’s worth every bit of it.” He unfolded the petition and scanned it quickly.
Nathan swallowed an angry answer that wanted out. Now he had to fight a landscape from Venna II.
Tass hadn’t stirred, peering over Janotek’s shoulder to read the petition. He said impatiently, “Go on, Tass. We’re going to become very official. This isn’t for your ears.”
As she left the room, Nathan had the fleeting impression that she must be boneless.
Janotek mumbled as he read, “I can’t really understand any of this, Mr. Cory. These petitions are all alike. The wishes of a people to be free are always flimsy and unsteadily based. Can you give me one logical reason why you can’t wait and work out your apprenticeship in the Federation manner?”
“The desire for freedom can’t be put into cold sentences,” Nathan said. “It’s part of being alive— too close a part. But the immediate reasons are apparent. Too many of my people are giving in to the Cobellans and losing their ideals and courage. Soon they might even lose their need for freedom.”
“Don’t you imagine that is what the Federation had in mind when it passed the two-hundred-year law?” “Undoubtedly,” Nathan admitted, grateful for Houseman’s special tutelage. “It’s happened on most of the other captive worlds; they become permanent satellites, nonentities. But Earth is different. The Cobellans didn’t know us, or they might have left us alone. We have a strong drive and a strong spirit. We won’t be dominated. Some will give in, yes, but there will always be those who won’t, and from our history, that minority can cause a lot of grief.”
“Well, however it is, the petition is still flimsy, and to be perfectly frank, useless.” He glanced at his watch and started to fold the papers.
“But you haven’t read it all.”
“I don’t need to read it. I’ve heard your petition every year each of the four years I’ve been on the Council. I know what it says. I’ll present it for you, and that’s as far as I can go.”
“Now, wait a minute.” Nathan got to his feet. “We’ve had that much satisfaction from the old men on the Council. I expected that a man with your reputation would like a good fight.”
