Slave Ship from Sergan

by E.C. Tubb

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Space Opera

Synopsis

HUMAN VS INHUMAN To the reptilian mind - especially the intelligent type of planets like Sergan and Obrac - the lives of others were as nothing to the need for status. To the feline mind - especially to the clever advisor of the master of Sergan - the agonies of others were not only of no consequence, they could even be a source of joy. So when these two types of inhuman intelligences got together to defy the Terran orders against interplanetary kidnapping, space hijacking, and human slavery, it was definitely a case for a top-notch secret agent. Because Earth could not afford a showdown with more than one alien species at a time. The secret agent was Cap Kennedy, Free Acting Terran Envoy, and his pursuit of the SLAVE SHIP FROM SERGAN turned out to be one of his most dangerous single-handed adventures.

Release date: September 29, 2011

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 127

Sample

From where he stood at the window Elgha Zupreniz could see the undulating surface of the tiny world which was his domain.
It was harsh, bleak, an airless scrap of rock circling a dying sun, red light somber on the rounded hills, ruby shadows thick
in the vales. Thirty miles long, ten wide and as many deep. Barren, useless, the remnant of a planet which had broken into
shards before the beginning of recorded time. His world. His kingdom. His patrimony.


He scowled, great jaws widening, fangs showing blue beneath the emerald of his snarling lips. Eyes, slotted like those of
a goat, rested deep beneath brows of massive bone. His crest, sharp with youth, was brightly orange in reflection of his rage.
Hands, clawed, gnarled, clenched as he tasted the bitterness of his father’s humor.


The old man was dead or he would have spat into his face. Had spat when he had seen him lying in state, his seven brothers
in solemn attendance. To them the old fool had given a planet, the lush and fertile world of Obrac. To Elgha he had given
a calculated insult. An asteroid on which nothing could grow. A tiny world with no air, no water, nothing but stone and minerals
and the too rare gems which alone could command a high price. The gems impossible to obtain without machines and labor.


The thought heightened the anger which stained his crest. A hut, a barely worked mine, equipment which could barely maintain
the air he breathed within the flimsy shelter. Some limited stores, primitive tools, broken machinery, and no fuel slugs to
power them even if they had been working. His inheritance!


Damn the old fool!

“My lord!” The voice was a soft purr, seeming to caress the window. “An uncut gem is an ugly thing, but once faceted and polished,
it holds a precious beauty. So it is with your domain. To the casual eye it is nothing, a bad joke, an insult even to one
such as yourself who grew up accustomed to the rights and privileges of his station. But pause a moment and think, my lord.
Your father was not stupid. What chance would you, the youngest, have stood against the selfish greed of your kindred? If
he had left you Obrac, how long would it have been before you were challenged?”


Elgha growled deep in his throat. “Am I afraid of a challenge?”

“Certainly not, my lord. Did I suggest that? But would the fight have been fair? One would have fallen, perhaps more, but
all seven?”


Elgha turned from the window, snarling at the hint of weakness. “Seven and twice seven,” he roared. “I’d have shredded them
all. My brothers and any they chose to send against me.”


Sina Lahari bowed, hiding the mockery in his eyes. Let the big fool rant and roar; no creature of lizard extraction could
hope to beat the intelligence of a man. And Sina was a man despite the wild mutations which had peaked his ears and covered
his skull and face with mottled fur.


Softly he said, “And the assassins, my lord? Those who would slip poison into your food and venom into your wine? I have seen
the way your brothers look at you behind your back. If you had inherited your father’s world, you would have been dead within
a week. Not on the floor of honest combat but by stealth and deceit. Your father did not hate you, my lord. He sought to safeguard
your life. He knew, as I know and as your brothers must suspect, that your skill and intelligence will enable you to take
what he gave and from it make that which will buy you a dozen worlds each as good as Obrac.”


Lies, he thought. The old man had hated the guts of his swaggering, selfish offspring. More than once he had cursed the egg
which had given him birth, but it was more than his life was worth to even breathe the truth. Instead he must rely on cunning,
flattery, the temptation of great riches. And, when the fool had fallen and the fruit was ripe, the rich harvest would be his.


“Assassins,” breathed Elgha. “They would dare?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Against all custom and the traditions of Obrac. My kindred are vile but—assassins?”

The thought shook him and his crest wilted a little, the flaming orange dying to a smoky red. Honest combat he could face,
fang against fang, claw against claw, ripping and tearing, feet lifting to disembowel, thumbs gouging at eyes. In the arena
he was to be reckoned with, a foe none dared to face, but the subtle threat of assassination was something against which he
had no defense.


“It would have been only a matter of time, my lord,” said Lahari, pressing the point. “But your father saved you from that
danger by his gift of this world.”


Elgha snarled, crest brightening as he looked again through the window.

“Think of what those rocks contain. Gems of price which will buy you all you can desire. A softer world for your pleasure,
submissive wives, men to obey your every command.”


The snarl showed yet more of the blue fangs. “You jest, cat-man. Perhaps you forget the anger of the Ghazen. We are not a
race to be lightly used. Am I a fool not to believe my eyes? You talk of riches and soft living and bid me to look at barren
stone. There are gems within, true, but how to obtain them? With these?” The hands lifted, claws extended. “Am I a serf to
delve in stone? Have I, a noble of Obrac, no pride?”


“Pride and to spare, my lord,” said Lahari quickly.

“You had best remember it.”

“How could I ever forget?”

Elgha rumbled, mollified a little as he turned from the window. Despite his disgusting appearance the cat-man was shrewd and
had so far shown himself to be a friend. They had traveled in his ship, lying now on the ground beyond the hut, connected
to the flimsy structure by an air-filled tube. And he had been the first with calming words when news of the inheritance had
sent Elgha raging through the corridors of the palace.


Words and wine and a whispered plan, never wholly revealed but hinting of great promise. Perhaps too great a promise. The
man was a trader, hanging on the fringes of court, bartering goods against favors, the gems wrested from the seas and mountains
of Obrac. Few gems, for the Ghazen had no liking for manual labor. To bask in the sun, to drink, to sport in the arena, to
follow the warrior-path of tradition was more to their liking. That and pursuing old feuds and maintaining a rigid formality.


Things he had enjoyed, gone now that he owned no land, no farms, nothing to provide the comforts to which he had grown accustomed.
He could imagine the sneers when his name was mentioned back at the palace, the grins and shrugs. Elgha Zupreniz—owner of
stone.


The thought turned his crest to crimson flame.

“My lord,” said Lahari softly, “you grow disheartened. There is no need. The jest is on others, not yourself.”

“Explain.”

“I will, my lord. If you will give me the gracious pleasure of your attention?”

He waited as Elgha turned again from the window and crossed the room with heavy tread. He wore glinting mail which covered
his own, natural scales, the metal banded with broad straps from which hung dagger and sword, the pouched mass of a missile
weapon, the butt shaped to his clawed hand. The bands bore intricate work of beads and stones, the insignia of his rank and
visible proof of his prowess. The row of claws hanging in a necklace low on his chest were trophies won in the arena when
his bested opponents had chosen to lose a claw instead of their lives. Twelve painted crests showed the fate of those who
had once held more courage than sense.


A barbarian, thought Sina Lahari. A creature devoted to the strength of arm and muscle instead of the superior power residing
in a human brain. A product of a backward world as yet unaffected by the pulse and tide of true civilization. The member of
a static culture which could shatter like glass beneath the right impact. Would shatter, given time.


But before that happened he intended to make his kill.

Luck, he thought. Nothing but pure, unadulterated luck. For years he had hung around the court waiting for his opportunity
to present itself. The time when he could move in and collect for all the sneers and abuse he had meekly suffered for the
sake of a precarious living. Well, now that was over. Now the opportunity was here. Just play this fool a little, blind him
with greed and get him to agree and the thing was as good as done.


Elgha halted before the bench on which he sat. The chipped expanse of cheap plastic which held a few assorted instruments,
some graphs, a scale and spectroscope, two soiled plates and a half empty bottle of wine. He caught up the flagon, drained
it, set it down with force enough to shatter the glass.


“Speak,” he rumbled. “My patience grows short.”

“Let us value our assets,” said Lahari quietly. “I align myself with you, my lord, because in this our aims are one. You agree?”

“A bargain?”

“Yes, my lord.” The crest, to Lahari’s relief, maintained its neutral slate. No anger then if, as yet, no pleasure. Quickly
he continued: “Your world is barren and of no apparent worth as we can both see but, my lord, it need not remain so. There
are devices which can seal any workings we care to make, others which will provide air and gravitation. Water can be wrested
from the stone and living quarters constructed beneath the surface. These things have often been done. Many societies have
their economy based on just such worlds as the one you own.”


Elgha scowled. “Continue.”

“It requires only the attention of planetary engineers. Such men can be hired. The machines they will need can be bought.
Within a short while you will be counting the gems and enjoying what their worth can bring. Think of it, my lord. Your inheritance
made to bloom like a flower in the desert. The brothers who now despise you beating their heads in envy.”


An entrancing prospect and one he could enjoy, but harsh reality dulled the pleasure of anticipation. Elgha bared his fangs.

“And the money, you worm? The cash to pay for the hire of engineers? The purchase of machines?”

“That can be arranged, my lord. I have friends. Those who would be willing to invest if the conditions were right. And perhaps
you know of those on Obrac who would not be averse to earning easy wealth.”


Every culture everywhere had more than enough of such men.

“A little here, a little there, it adds up, my lord,” said Lahari suggestively. “And, as I said, I have friends.”

Robbers like himself, thought Elgha. Traders and those who wanted a ready market for dubious goods, cash down and no questions
asked. But he had no cash.


Lahari shrugged as he mentioned it.

“My friends can be patient, my lord. For the sake of high profit they will be willing to extend credit. You can leave that
to me. All I really require is your sealed authority in order to act on your behalf. You own this world, my lord. You are
its sovereign. You have complete power to do exactly as you wish. Let me act for you and you will never regret it.”


Elgha turned and padded back to the window. His crest held the bluish tinge of pleasure, the more pleased he became the brighter
it would become. Beyond the pane he saw nothing he had not seen before but, spurred by his imagination, he could visualize
huts, shafts, domes to seal in air, pumps to distribute water, mounds of detritus, tunnels probing deep, and gems, a mountain
of gems.


The workers would find them. The creatures who would delve and sift and win the stones from where they la. . .