121055.fb2
“Good enough,” she said, and retrieved the helmet. “You recall the operation of the new features.”
Since the chestplate was still open, Velmeran looked down into the folded-down mirror at the controls. Valthyrra had incorporated two special features into his suit. One was a two-way system that allowed him to hear and speak with those outside while his helmet was on. The other was a control device that, when activated, gradually equalized pressure within the suit with that outside. Sudden pressure changes caused a temporary muffling of his acute hearing; during his last raid, he had nearly been shot by a mechanical sentry he should have heard.
“Everything works fine,” he assured her. “Are you certain that you will not come with me?”
Consherra shook her head sadly. “I cannot. We will be getting the Methryn battle-ready. Any advice?”
“Yes, two things. Do not take anything apart that will take more than an hour to put back together again. That is all the warning we will get.”
“That is understandable,” she agreed. “What else?”
“Make certain that the conversion cannon is ready for firing.” Consherra paused, startled. The Methryn’s conversion cannon possessed the destructive potential to reduce the planet below them to dust. Valthyrra had never fired the cannon in actual battle, since there was rarely any need for such power. If Velmeran planned to use this weapon, then he expected a battle such as the Starwolves had not seen since the ancient days.
“Yes, it will come to that.” Velmeran knew well enough what she was thinking. “We will be facing something quite capable of destroying us if we are careless or unlucky.”
“I will keep that in mind,” she promised. “And you watch out for yourself while you are down there.”
“I will. Without you to keep me company, I will probably be too bored and lonely to get into trouble.”
Velmeran hurried down to the landing bay, where he knew that his pack members would be waiting impatiently. They were already in their ships and ready to fly, and he dashed to his own. But he slowed as he neared the centermost of the nine fighters, savoring his first look at his new ship. It radiated newness in the deep matte black of its finish, unscratched by debris and handling and unfaded by cannon flash, hot engines, or the extremes of space.
Velmeran took his pack out of the bay and, without warning, led them on a wild chase as he tested out his new fighter, defying them to keep pace with him. They were real pilots now, far from the mere students they had been only two years earlier. They were the best pack on the Methryn by far, perhaps the best pack in the entire wolf fleet.
Although he knew that his days might well be short, this was not a time of sad reflection on what might have been. He was content with what he had accomplished; he would have said at peace, but that suggested a stoic but resigned surrender to one’s fate. He was by no means ready to surrender; his fate was not sealed and he meant to fight for his own life as hard as he fought for the Methryn But in his own order of priorities, the Methryn had to come first.
Velmeran knew that he could save his ship, but saving his own life in the process was problematical. He looked upon his apparent ability to glimpse the future as a method of forewarning, not a pronouncement of inescapable fate. There were always alternatives, and most of his forewarnings were self-defeating because they revealed those alternatives. Just because he had not yet seen those alternatives did not mean that they did not exist.
Such thoughts occupied his mind for the flight down to the port, but his first look at the mountainous landscape rising swiftly beneath him chased away such brooding thoughts. Kanis was a second home for the Starwolves. In terms of their balance of power, Kanis was Starwolf property, one of several worlds deep within Union space that enjoyed the freedom and independence that Starwolf protection brought. In practice, Kanis was an independent world, an empire self-contained in its own system, self-governed and free of the economic tyrrany of the trade companies. Its governing council did treat with the Union as one nation dealt with another, making trade concessions and treaties. Small allowances, but it kept the Union placated.
Still, no one doubted that the Union would arrive in force if the Starwolves relaxed their voluntary protection. In return for this service, Kanis was a strong supporter of the Starwolves. The Kelvessan enjoyed port leaves here such as they seldom knew, free from danger and at liberty to be their true selves, not their carefully maintained image of armored death.
Kanis itself obliged by being climatically ideal for the physical requirements of the Kelvessan. Most of its two major continents were extremely mountainous and situated in thick bands just below the polar seas. Thus the climate was cool at best, the summers short and pleasant and the winters long and harsh. The native population had been there long enough to adapt somewhat to the adverse climate, and they found it no hardship. For Starwolves, Kanis was something of a paradise, one of the very few inhabited worlds where it was both safe and practical for them to come out of their armored shells.
Kanis remained a frontier world, very sparsely populated, lacking in vast reserves of natural resources that would attract settlers and industry. Most of the natives were ‘Rangers’, keeping vast herds of langies — indigenous beasts of vast size, sharp wit, and evil temper — in the high mountain plains. Langie wool was a luxury item throughout the Union, so high in demand that trade companies argued among themselves for a share of the limited market. The wool was so profitable that the animals were seldom slaughtered, although a good langie hide was nearly worth its weight in gold. ‘Ranging’ was a harsh life for the natives, but rewarding.
Velmeran brought his pack down in the port field — such as there was. Kallenes was the only port, and even it saw little traffic except in late spring when scores of company freighters would descend upon it for their share of the thousands of bales of langie wool brought in from the highlands. Otherwise there was one ship in port at most, importing machines and luxury goods the Kanians could well afford.
The main business district was near the port, for the convenience of the members of ship’s crew and for the rangers who came into port to sell their wool. The main part of the shopping, district was the Mall, several blocks of the port’s best shops and restaurants that had been enclosed under a protective roof. It made no pretensions toward the domed cities of the inner worlds, a crude frontier flattery of the wealth at the Union’s heart. A simple wooden platform on heavy posts stretched between the roofs of the buildings. No attempt was made to enclose a warm, comfortable environment beneath. It was meant only to keep away the worst of the local weather, the harsh winds and volumes of snow that fell more than half the year.
Indeed, there had been a serious attempt to preserve the frontier appearance within the Mall, for Kanis could afford better. The shop fronts were dressed out in rough-cut wood and large windows of framed glass, while the narrow streets were paved in brick, stone, and planks of seasoned wood. Velmeran was not certain just who the natives were trying to impress with this touristlike atmosphere where there were no tourists, although his own suspicion was that they simply preferred things this way.
Velmeran first took his pack to a local jeweler, where they could sell the pieces of jewelry they received as pay for local money. Their business concluded, he dismissed his pilots to enjoy their port leave as they desired. The Mall was large enough to swallow up an entire ship’s portion of pilots so well that a glimpse of black armor became rare, and he wanted to be alone. Or so he thought, until he looked around and wondered what he was actually going to do with his port leave. If this was how he proposed to spend what might be the last days of his life, he would be better off to return to the ship, retire to his cabin, and read Shakespeare. Or Kipling, for all the good this did him.
Still pondering this problem, Velmeran began to walk slowly down the street, peering inside each shop as he passed. There were few people in the narrow streets; with winter coming, the rangers had long since returned to the highlands. Even beneath the protective canopy, the morning air was sharply frigid. After only a moment he came upon a tailor’s shop, an oddity that was more than enough to distract him. He knew what a tailor was, but he had thought that such an occupation had long since ceased to exist.
What captivated his interest even more was the fact that the tailor was a Feldennye, for that defied all reason. The Feldennye were a canine race, in appearance not unlike large wolves walking on their hind legs. Since they wore no clothes except for their own natural fur coats, it was unimaginable that one would choose such a profession. The Feldennye saw his staring and hurried to open the door.
“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked eagerly in a thick accent that indicated that he had come from a Feldenneh colony.
“Surely not, I suppose,” Velmeran replied. “I could wear nothing of yours.”
“Oh, there you are wrong!” the tailor insisted, surprising Velmeran again by taking him by the hand and pulling him into the shop. No one dared to touch a Starwolf, but Velmeran was so bemused that he went along willingly.
The interior of the shop was in keeping with the rustic appearance of the Mall. The floor was crude wooden planks and the interior walls were paneled with polished wood. The lights overhead hung from iron chains and the counter and other furnishings were constructed from real wood. But there was nothing simple about the merchant’s wares. Velmeran saw from the first that, while the tailor might undertake special orders here in his shop, he sold for the most part the very best this world had to offer. Most of the clothes were of the extreme of the local fashion, almost a native costume. The rest were less distinctive, reflecting off-world tastes.
“It happened that I was approached by a Starwolf several months ago,” the tailor explained as he stopped before a small rack in a remote corner of the room. “He asked me for clothes, shirt and pants, such as he could wear on port leave. I made him a set, all very fine, and he was most pleased. Then I made another, thinking that he or another might come back.
“I am a merchant, Starlord, and I cannot afford to have clothes on my rack that I cannot sell. And when I saw you, I thought that you might be tall enough to wear those clothes. Of the tags that you see, you may take away half.”
“That is generous,” Velmeran agreed. “But I do not know what I would do with such clothes.”
“Ah, but look at these!” the tailor declared proudly as he pulled the tunic and pants from the rack. The tunic was soft velvet, the pants of some hardier material that Velmeran did not recognize. Both had been dyed to a color that matched perfectly, a violet so deep that it graduated into black in the shadows of the folds.
“Surely you do not have clothes such as these,” the tailor insisted. “These are real clothes, not the armored suits that you hide yourselves in or the half-uniforms that I see. Surely there are times when you are not a Starwolf, just yourself. Clothes like these would be for such times.”
This furry merchant knew all the right words, Velmeran had to admit. His own thoughts were on the photograph that Mayelna had shown him, how easy it really was to make a Kelvessan into something that might just pass as human. The old fantasy, so long pushed aside for more important matters, began to stir. Just once in his life, even for only a very short time, he would like to pretend.
“Try it on, at least,” the tailor urged, his eyes seeming to glow with hope. “If it does not fit, that question at least is answered.”
Unfortunately, it fit perfectly. The tailor must have known, judging with an experienced eye that had not been confounded by armor. And he must have known as well that, once inside those clothes, his client would not be able to part with them. Velmeran emerged from the changing room, looking for a mirror.
That did not show him anything that he had not seen before; it was still Velmeran, even if the clothes were richer than he had ever known. But the costume was not yet complete. The tailor came up with a pair of low half-boots, having trouble finding a pair small enough, and a matching belt. A dress cape, deep black, was wrapped around his upper shoulders and hung down just below his rump. Since the main part of his body was rather small for his height, it was too large for him. He folded his lower arms behind his back, adjusting the folds of the cape to hide them.
“Ah, good!” the tailor crowed with delight as he beheld the vision. “You would play at being human? It is often done, and no one knows but me.”
“I had considered it,” Velmeran admitted cautiously, wondering if he really did dare to do such a thing. “I will have to do something about my ears. Do you have a hat?”
“No, not the type you would need.” The Feldennye paused a moment to consider the problem. “I think that braids would look best on you anyway.”
“Braids?”
“Yes, let me show.” Taking a brush, he parted Velmeran’s long, thick hair down the middle and deftly tied it on either side into thick, loose braids. Gold clips from under the counter tied off the ends, with the last ten centimeters left free and brushed into thick, plushy tufts. His heavy bangs, too short to be brought into the braids, remained in front. Although the braiding started low, it still brought a thick curtain of hair down over each of his ears. Velmeran rather liked the effect, lending him a rather handsome barbarian look. The Feldennye obviously knew what he was doing.
“This will do for you,” the tailor said. “Everything else you wear will be the same half off, because you are a Starwolf. Also, I have a little closet in back that I keep for Starwolves. You may put your armor inside, lock the door, and keep the key until you return. Is that fair?”
In the end he did as the tailor suggested, leaving his armor locked in the closet while he went out into the city wearing his new clothes. And he would not have been less ill at ease if he had been naked, since that was exactly how he felt. He still wore both his guns, hidden beneath his cape, but he was without the protection of his armor. He could only think how every loyal Unioner wished him dead, and a few would be willing to try their best at making that a reality. He hoped that his special senses would keep him safe.
When he stepped out of the tailor’s shop, however, he found that no one seemed to notice. He hardly resembled the tall, rugged natives, but he could pass as a member of some mutant branch of the race. Encouraged by the fact that he was completely ignored, he started down the street to his right. The morning air was chill enough to be comfortable, although he wondered how he would be able to endure the heated shops. If he did give himself away, he reflected, it would be from passing out from the heat.
Once again he did not make it very far. Two doors down from the tailor, in a corner shop, was an art gallery. Being a casual artist himself, he stepped inside for a quick look. He paused at the door as a blast of hot air struck him. At least there was no one in the front of the shop, although he could hear voices in the back. He looked about briefly but soon decided that most of what he saw was just tourist fodder and investments for healthy collectors, and he was not particularly impressed.
He was about to leave when something curious caught his eyes. It was a landscape much like any other, a deep glacial valley with a high, rocky peak in the background. It was definitely a painting, not a photograph. But as he watched, much to his surprise, a dark band of clouds began to rise behind the mountains, sweeping over the ridge to obscure it behind a white veil of falling snow.
“Like it, do you?”
Velmeran nearly jumped out of his new clothes at the sound of a voice immediately behind him. A human girl stood there, watching him with the same expectant stare the tailor had employed when anticipating a sale. Dressed in a stylized version of the local costume, she was small and slim, slightly taller than himself with a slender, bony build that was best described as lean and gawky. She was definitely not a child of the highlands but, curiously enough, of Trader stock. A small nose and large eyes peered out beneath a long, full mane of brown hair. From a distance, she might have passed for another Kelvessan in disguise.