The Radical Factor (Stone Blade Book 3) Page 9

  ***

  Micah sat straight up in bed with realization smacking him in the face. It made sense! It all made sense given one fact he didn't know for truth even existed, but must!

  "What is it?" Ferrel yawned most of the words but didn't resist as Micah roused him from sound sleep and hustled him into his clothes.

  By the time Micah got Ferrel focused on his terminal the others had gathered around.

  "Call up the data on Saddireb Libre, Allhai Mik and Barrhi Esav. We know they're the bankers and suppliers when any of the others fight. We need to find out why. There's something else they have besides money that gives them immunity from attack."

  "That is just money, Micah," mumbled Kidwell sleepily, "You don't attack the arm that feeds you after a war or helps you prepare for it in the first place."

  "No, Vera. That may be true for sane people but we're talking about Esavians. There is something to those three planets besides money that keeps them out of the fray when the fanatics and worse fanatics decide to be insulted and start a fight. Five standing says it's something to do with Dhu."

  "Sucker bet," said Siffai, "Everything the Esavians do has something to do with Dhu."

  Kidwell still looked ready to reject Micah's supposition out of hand but Ionoski thought harder on it.

  "Exactly, Ted," said Micah, "We know any Esavian sect, faction or planet will fight any other at the drop of a coin. Or a wrong sneeze or sour look. What do they all have in common?"

  "Esavians." Kidwell nodded with satisfaction. "Micah, we've been through this before."

  "Dhu Lan," said Ionoski, "That's what it means to be Esavian, Vera. Not just Esavians but Esavians with something universal to squabble over. We've all been trying to apply the standard economic and interplanetary metrics and heuristics. Neither money nor any other purely economic concern means as much to them as their Dhu Lan."

  "That's going to be a ruddy bastard plus tariff to model," said Ferrel, "But I shall do so! No more of a challenge than keeping an undamaged tongue when my brother buys food!"

  Micah paced. Ionoski and Kidwell worked alongside Ferrel with Siffai and Barstein watching with interest. Micah tried to help but with a body now full of energy he simply couldn't maintain the necessary focus. First Ferrel, then Ionoski and finally Kidwell shooed him away.

  "I don't know why we did not see this," said Siffai. Again. "The evidence was there before us from the start."

  "Four sigmas because we're all basically similar," suggested Micah, "As are our other trade partners. Even the Unitites. The Esavians aren't. They are utterly and completely dissimilar on any level or from any perspective. They absolutely do not value what we do and vise versa."

  Siffai nodded pensively. "Wait! Micah, dosha, I hate to rut your day but suppose we find what you seek. What then? What possible good will it do?"

  Micah shrugged and began pacing again. "We'll know when we find it. Once you know the motivation you necessarily have the carrot and the stick. We train very hard in information acquisition, analysis and use. Ted, Vera and Charlie are six-sigmas better at it than I am but I can think of a dozen points of leverage, just in general."

  "Such as?"

  "Using only what we know now," said Micah, "we could frame one world for seeding another one with Arfit's Pox."

  Siffai looked questioningly at Micah but Kidwell answered with disgust thick in her voice.

  "It's completely preventable, totally curable and mostly harmless. If, for whatever reason, you don't have the vaccine or the curatives your skin breaks out in large, nasty sores. As long as you clean those regularly they won't infect but even in the best cases they leave very visible scars over your entire body. That is horrible, Micah, and I don't like you at all right now."

  Micah stopped pacing under Kidwell's and Siffai's gaze.

  "Think about it," he said, "Disfiguring scars. Bad scars over arms, torso, face and any other place one might have ritual markings."

  Now Siffai's face wrinkled in disgust. "Tah'koos," she said softly, "That is truly unpleasant but still... It might work. Is this disease common?"

  "On the other side of League space," said Kidwell, "In small, mean systems that don't vaccinate against it like we do. Every ten to fifteen years there's a minor outbreak over there but always when someone brings it in from the outside. The only reason we know about it is from Dirty Tricks classes."

  "Because it is virulent, highly contagious and not life-threatening. Very useful if you want to cause mass effects without mass deaths."

  "Do you have something that will result in mass deaths," asked Siffai.

  "No," said Ionoski quickly, "Absolutely not! Not now and not ever! We don't operate that way, even on Esavians."

  "Sela'hai. Nor I. In weak moments I might wish it so but I could not deploy either such agent: the simple or the deadly." Siffai transferred her gaze to Ionoski. "Can you tell us more of your Dirty Tricks classes, dosha?"

  Chapter 5. Khav

  Micah guided the Jenni Silver gently toward the Allhai Mik starport, if such a grandiose word could indeed fit the everything-deficient spot on the planet where ships landed. GC kept them in orbit a long time while they verified his credentials. Micah suspected they worked the algorithms by hand, couldn't comprehend the results and flipped a coin. Assuming they had them! Then, as soon as he received clearance an Esavian ship commed and GC made him wait in an outer orbit until they grounded.

  Since most ports had them Micah checked for a local video feed. It would be interesting, he thought, to see what the Esavians advertised either through businesses at the port or by way of tourist information. Nothing. He then tried to pick up any planetary broadcast channels. Again squelch. He finally switched the passive opticals to full gain and turned them on the planet below. Amazingly, once the other ship landed it waited a long time before a tracked vehicle towed it into a berth. Not that heavitraks were uncommon in the League, but this one had a smoke-billowing pipe extending from the engine to above the roof.

  Now astounded, Micah widened the scan focus. He saw similar vehicles wheeling down the streets of the town around the port but not many of those and even fewer hovers! Pedestrians made up almost all of the traffic and animal-drawn carts far outnumbered the mechanical vehicles of any type! When he did zoom the scan the hovers and other mechanicals he saw were old and dented and obviously well-worn and hard-used. He also found three fights large enough to see! He actually saw the last one in its entirety. It blossomed from an indistinct incident, spread with a flash and lasted a good half hour. Incredible!

  "Rough place," said Ionoski over Micah's shoulder, "Do we have clearance yet?"

  "Nak. Not sure I want it either. No clearance, wire, beacon or even instructions. I might be worried if they had any traffic here."

  Ionoski settled to watch and not long afterward Micah received his clearance. GC sent vague coordinates and admonished him not to disturb the city residents. Micah killed what orbit he could high and followed a wide, slow spiral downward. As soon as he grounded solid GC informed him to power up his gravitics and wait. Before long another or the same smoking heavitrak chugged out, hooked on and began towing them toward a berth. Then they instructed him to ground and power down, lower his ramps and wait. Micah did so, locked the flight systems and activated the monitors. He and Ionoski joined the others in the lounge and waited.

  ***

  The man who finally gave his name as Khamir looked askance at Micah.

  "Tell me why you wish this. The infidel is not met with welcome in Miktown."

  "This is my first voyage here," said Micah, "I merely wish to see your wonderful town and, if possible, some of the rest of this world. It is truly magnificent and totally unlike any other I have ever visited. Your authorities told me..."

  Micah fell silent as several of the others gathered in the canopied area outside the port offices Micah couldn't call a port club hissed and bristled.

  "Learn your first lesson, stranger," said Khamir, cooler now, "Dhu i
s the first, last and only authority. Spoken outside this place those words might have cost your life."

  "Your pardon," said Micah, "and that of Dhu if I might ask it. The port officers cautioned us against wandering."

  "As should be," said Khamir, mollified now, "My sect is the Light of the Eyes of Dhu. My brothers and I will not kill over such small offenses but others are less tolerant."

  "Then will you be my guide? I can pay in talo, unis, metal or trade. I do wish to learn and I do not wish to offend."

  "It is said you bring spices," said Khamir.

  In response Micah pulled out a large bundle. Untied and unrolled it revealed a large number of small pouches, each containing a few ounces of spice.

  "This is my trade allotment," said Micah, "Will it suffice?"

  Khamir produced a large knife and Micah tensed, only to relax as he cut off less than a quarter of the pouches.

  "This will do for now, stranger," said Khamir, "Learn your second lesson. Do not be so quick to offer such value. Others less honest than I would have taken more and given less. For what you have given me I shall guide you for your stay here, hire no other! Outside the port you must listen to my words and obey them quickly. I shall also teach such as I am able and I do not charge for that."

  Khamir pulled the sleeve on his loose robe almost back to the elbow and offered Micah his hand. Micah copied the gesture and Khamir smiled.

  "Third lesson, not-stranger. When you offer your hand also show that you have no weapon ready to it. Come. We shall start now for I must have you back here before Sentinel Prayers."

  Bonusjack! Micah hid his smile as his erstwhile host led him outside the port and into the town.

  They hadn't gone far when they made their first stop, just outside the port complex. At Khamir's insistence Micah purchased a loose, sleeveless shirt and a hood-like cap with a veil.

  "You are infidel," explained Khamir, "Nothing can hide that and there are many who would gladly spill your blood for it. By showing that you have no marks you acknowledge this. The veil shows your shame." He eyed Micah critically. "By your scars you have fought and won many fights. All of this may sway prudence in those who have no stomach for outsiders."

  "Should I wear a knife?" Micah noticed no few of the men walking about had blades hung at their belts.

  "Only if you truly wish to do battle, not-stranger. Taken with your trophies a blade would bespeak great arrogance and a desire to fight."

  "No knife then," said Micah, "My only battle is to trade."

  That elicited a smile from Khamir and a genuine chuckle from the cloth merchant.

  "Well-spoken, stranger," he said, "May you battle well!"

  Micah bowed to the merchant which also drew Khamir's approval.

  "Lesson four," said Micah as they walked away, "Honor received deserves honor given."

  "Indeed," laughed Khamir, "Not-stranger, you may yet learn the wonder and glory of Dhu Lan."

  As they walked Khamir pointed out buildings, statues and monuments of importance. Each had a connection to Dhu, his glories, his triumphs and his occasional mercies. Micah adjusted the small holocaster hidden beneath his shirt to capture images of them all along with whatever Khamir said.

  They witnessed several fights but Khamir displayed an uncanny knack of knowing when one would start and he pulled Micah aside quickly. Oddly enough it took less hostility to start a fight than to strike a deal. They stopped to observe several merchants arguing with their customers. Micah cringed at some of the insults but Khamir dismissed them. Once he even laughed; the customer compared the merchant's family to various farm animals and the merchant replied, unruffled, that unlike the customer at least farm animals had some uses. When the customer didn't reply Micah knew for certain truth that a fight would soon follow. Instead the crowd applauded, the customer laughed and the deal followed quickly.

  "Do not try that, not-stranger," advised Khamir, "Those two are friends or family-friends. If you wish to bargain, and you should, you must plead poverty and ignorance. Drool and slap your chest if the price is truly outrageous."

  Several men nearby chuckled at this and looked at Micah with something less than blind hatred. He gave them a smile and a half-bow which they acknowledged, then Khamir had him on the move again. They had just competed a circuit around the Siisil Temple to Dhu, a large and impressive structure and one of the oldest on the planet, when the crowd suddenly parted before them. Micah glimpsed six black-robed figures each with an ornate, curved dagger, tight sleeves, black gloves and veils much more opaque than his. Before he could note more Khamir slapped the back of his head.

  "Lower your gaze, not-stranger. Now! Lower your eyes!!"

  Micah did so immediately and the crowd murmur increased. He saw a pair of black boots out of the corner of his eye; they approached him slowly.

  "Pah! Not worth killing," said a harsh voice. Then the boots walked away.

  "Those are Zehbol'ach Dhu," explained Khamir softly, "The Guardians of the Temple of Dhu. Do not challenge them unless you wish to die, not-stranger, scars or no."

  "Lesson eight," said Micah equally softly, "Well-noted!"

  The sun shone less than half its height above the horizon when bells began sounding throughout the city.

  "That is the Sentinel Call," said Khamir, "When they sound again it signals the Sentinel Prayer. You must be within the starport grounds else your life is forfeit. We have ample time but we must leave now."

  Just outside the main gate at the starport and with the sun not yet set Khamir guided Micah to a small shop.

  "I shall do you one last courtesy before we part for the evening, not-stranger."

  They sat at a table and Micah examined the room. It smelled strongly of spices, not unpleasant, and bottles, boxes, bags, jars and bundles of dried plants filled the shelves around its walls. The proprietor spoke a friendly insult to Khamir as he placed two steaming cups on the table before them.

  "Do not let this sandgrub swindle you, not-stranger," said the man, "Khamir would sell his family were the price adequate."

  "Then I would buy them," said Micah, "and we should both be happy."

  Khamir and the man both laughed heartily at this and he sat beside Khamir.

  "Well said, not-stranger. I am Omar." Then to Khamir, "Once again Dhu has strewn luck upon your path, brother. Drink, not-stranger, and tell me why my younger sister's husband has taken you in."

  "I've never been to this world," said Micah, "nor any other Esavian planet. I wished to learn more of it, and it is truly wonderful, but I also do not wish to see the shape of my liver when it is cut out."

  Omar nodded, smiled and raised his cup. Micah followed suit, sipping cautiously afterward. Then he sipped harder!

  "This is delicious," said Micah sincerely, "What is it?"

  "You honor me, not-stranger. This is khav. You starmen would name it tea but its preparation is much more complex."

  "It's still delicious! Do you trade in spices?"

  "Yes. The preparation of khav is my joy but it is the selling of spice that feeds my family."

  Micah nodded to Khamir. "Omar. I do not wish to offend so please forgive if I do. Would you be willing to speak with the captain of my ship? He is interested in trading spices."

  "So have I heard. I would take great honor in meeting him."

  Micah didn't miss the slight inflection of formality in Omar's voice and Khamir's relaxation at it. He grinned at them both! He knew a trade when he made one and by their looks they knew he knew! Khamir glanced at the sun and finished his khav quickly.

  "Until our next meeting, then," said Micah with a bow, "Honor to you, umm..."

  "Not-stranger," supplied Omar, "Your honor mine."

  Double-bonusjack! Plus-plus!

  ***

  The next day Khamir appeared around midmorning. This time he spent that and most of the afternoon showing Micah various bazaars and open-air markets. Though they all appeared chaotic Micah saw the organization there. For lunch they
had a dish of meat and vegetables, simply prepared and served with flatbread, all heavily spiced. At Khamir's request the food monger brought out samples prepared without spice. Micah found them plain, bland and tasteless.

  "Remember the taste, not-stranger, that you may know what spices will best flavor it."

  They finished exploring that market when Micah heard a high, reedy voice babbling somewhere off to his left and hurling insults and disasters indiscriminately. Khamir grabbed his sleeve and tried to pull him away when the crowd parted before them.

  Before Micah stood a strange man, bare to the waist and clad only in a torn and tattered pair of shorts. His skin was dark and sun-hardened. Leathery. Micah could easily count the man's ribs and it looked as though the sun and weather had leached out of him everything not critical to life itself. Angry red and purple scars marred every visible inch of skin and, suspected Micah, the non-visible skin as well. His hair hung in sparse, dirty strands and the light of madness shone in his eyes.

  "Infidels. Infidels! They walk among us!" The man reached up and ripped the veil from Micah's face. "They walk among us but they walk among us!" He shook the veil at the retreating crowd. "Fear the infidel, you cowards! Fear him! The shameless will bear shame! The shamed ones will know honor and the children of Dhu will eat of bitter fruit! Honor the veil that hides honor! Shame your faces who are bare!"

  The madman staggered away and the crowd folded around Micah. Many hands touched him or his face and a kind stranger placed another cloth in his hand.

  "Honor to you, stranger. Take no insult!"

  Micah finished fastening his new veil into place when a pale and shaking Khamir appeared beside him and bowed.

  "Your pardon, not-stranger. Ammi'duz approached before I could withdraw you."

  Micah started to ask but Khamir cut him off.

  "This is not the time! I shall answer your questions, not stranger, but now we must move!"

  After a good distance Khamir pulled Micah down at another spicemonger's table. The khav tasted different but still excellent.

  "But of course," said Khamir as though acknowledging the wetness of water, "Everyone makes it differently. Some formulations are well-known but others are kept as family secrets! Men have been killed over them!"