Chapter 6: “Valkarr’s Rescue and Report”
The G-forces during liftoff were cruel enough, but once the cumbersome, crudely powered craft hit deep space, Valkarr expressed a sigh of relief.
Completing inspection of his new living quarters, the Journeyman determined his prison was really “a pretty nice apartment, for what’s supposed to be solitary confinement.” Returning to the galley and starting breakfast, he reflected on the strange recent events and considered himself fortunate to have escaped the planet below.
There was no way to alter course, nor suit for EVA. Excepting mild sedatives, there were no medical supplies—and not so much as a drop of alcohol.
There was an extensive library, probably an oversight, from which Valkarr (once he had mastered the language) learned a great deal about his captors.
He found himself laughing often, early on, as he read the tabloids and began to gain insight into planetary politics. The propaganda rhetoric was more difficult to wade through than had been the planet’s slime.
Never had he encountered a fringe civilization where the sophistication of technology so far exceeded the cultural development.
They called themselves Listrongs; oddly enough, after a variety of rockrat, which they still worshipped in remarkably ancient ritual fashion.
He read that the lady of his acquaintance was indeed ruler of the entire planet, and her forces were engaged in an interplanetary war—with a sister planet of the same star. Such things, being tantamount to old fashioned tribal rivalry, were virtually unheard of in modern times.
While amused at the childlike squabbling depicted in the government controlled press, Valkarr quickly burned out on Listrong “literature” and began struggling with his anger and frustration.
Day-periods soon lost all dimension. Time, he marked only by the growth of his beard since that one shave, that one night, so long ago.
Eventually, Valkarr sat transfixed at the forecastle observation port, stargazing endlessly; looking, hoping, waiting…reaching out with his will.
* * *
When Faldon arrived on Karaool he possessed considerable information unavailable to Valkarr during the latter’s brief visit. Faldon had heard much about the High Priestess of Listra when he passed through Dacooma (the warring sister planet) a few years earlier. He also knew to avoid her spies. That short time ago he had sensed that if a war could start anywhere in the universe, it would be here.
Under the guise of a freelance labor recruiter, he arrived quietly in the Holy City of Laonlasa and quickly picked up the tale of the Journeyman who had caused such a fuss some months earlier.
He soon learned that while Valkarr’s ship was still being studied, nothing of value had been found; only the “front” cargo and whiskey.
It wasn’t so easy finding out what had happened to his partner. The Yoran affair was top secret, and the High Priestess chose not to reveal certain details which she thought might be embarrassing. After the stranger had been invited to her quarters, he was never heard from again.
There were rumors, lots of rumors: He was being kept as a lover; he was helping her plot ultimate victory; he was sent by Listra to show The Way, and had returned to the slime sea…His display in the council arena had grown to legend.
Faldon spent much in bribes of money and drugs before getting one of the Holybody’s guards to slip. He was the last live witness who, in paranoid desperation, spilled everything to Faldon, begging transport from the planet, fearing for his life.
It was not compassion alone that motivated Faldon to accept Bel-Haggel as a crewman. This former “Captain of Her Guard” had been the Holybody’s personal manservant and pleasure-giver. He knew the Holy Grounds, had supervised the security layout of the sealed hanger where the Beggar’s Grasp now was—and he knew of Yora.
A big man, whose loyal heart broke to flee his mistress, Faldon knew to watch this giant closely. The convolutions of his culture would require a lot of deprogramming.
Two Karaoolian months after his arrival, and four after Valkarr’s abrupt departure, Faldon, together with Bel-Haggel, rendezvoused with Apprentices Kelmaran and Sufa to begin pursuit of the slowly moving, unguarded prison cell.
* * *
Valkarr had known it would only be a matter of time, nevertheless, when the salutatory shots first flashed across his vision-field, he was startled into waking from a deep sleep.
It took the four man crew of Delirium Plus sixteen hours of extra-vehicular activity, working in shifts, to effect the rescue and complete Valkarr’s transfer.
When at last the airlock door opened, and he breathed the “essence of Alcon,” Valkarr nodded a bow and addressed his partner with a smile, “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”
“Permission granted, Captain,” Faldon laughed as he clasped his friend and co-worker, hand and shoulder. “And how is ‘the Messenger of Listra?’”
“Messenger of Listra?” Valkarr shook his head with wry reminiscence, “so that’s how she’s playing it.” He cast a wary look at Bel-Haggel, “And that makes me a living legend, right? Again.” His eyes stayed on the distantly familiar Karaoolian soldier.
“He’s the last eyewitness to your affair with Her Highness,” said Faldon, reassuringly. “He’s going to be a big help. He already has been. He was the last link to finding you, unless I could have somehow seduced her myself. What was that like, anyway?”
“The woman is a witch!” scowled Valkarr in remembering disgust. “You know something of their culture, I suppose? Well I didn’t, till she sent me on this leisure cruise, but she definitely belongs at the top of their slime heap.”
He paused, and smiled again, “Pity too, she’s got real potential in one area…” Starting to drift away for only a moment, Valkarr looked directly at Faldon and soberly added, “They have the Grasp.”
“I’ve already filed my report. Development execs are basically curious about the gynum and the bosar, which have, so far, eluded detection in connection with the ship. Tal-Mon is going to want a full report when we get to Cyncor, which will be day after tomorrow, if that time-frame means anything to you lately. Say, I bet you could use a drink.”
“You know too well,” said Valkarr gratefully.
Sufa (who once belonged to Valkarr) gathered refreshment while Faldon introduced Kelmaran, and the Captain of the Holybody’s Guard.
As they sat in the ship’s lounge and drank, Valkarr finally began to get loose. Bel-Haggel took offense at some of the humor, but was held in awe trying to understand the casual confidence with which these four strangers were talking of raiding his home planet. The very palace! They seemed so friendly; but how could they do this of which they spoke?
Though confused, the large Karaoolian listened eagerly. These men had saved his life—he would gladly help.
* * *
Cyril Tal-Mon was Regional Director of Field Development for the InterGalCon Combine, IGP&H’s parent company. The highest company official in the sector, and once step below a Vice Presidency, he had been in charge of the Zamlon Project since its inception, and he had requested Valkarr’s assignment based on resume and recommendation. They had never met.
It had been a while since Valkarr visited an executive’s office, and he didn’t relish this encounter. Faldon, who had worked with “Mr. Mon” before, had worked to coach his friend on what to say.
“He’s really alright,” Faldon assured repeatedly, “You’ll get along fine.” Nevertheless, Valkarr found the wait in the outer office worse than his solitary voyage from Karaool.
At the end of what seemed like forever, a woman wearing the badge of Requisitioner walked out of the private office, smiled at the waiting Journeyman, and left.
A long moment later, the beautiful receptionist flashed her smile:
“The Director will see you now, Mr. Listra.”
“That’s not funny,” Valkarr said, rising. He wasn’t nervous anymore. With searing detachment the Journeyman coldly asked, “How long has it been since you had a really terrible day?”
As he turned his stare from her and the door opened to the inner office, the secretary sat speechless; her face pale with fright, her body paralyzed with fear.
Immediately angry with himself for taking aim at the defenseless woman, he playfully lilted, “Just kidding,” sending her into a momentary oblivion, from which she would awaken, in about a minute, feeling great.
Hoping the bliss-trance would compensate for his lashing out, Valkarr sighed, entered the Director’s office, and the door closed behind him.
Tal-Mon was indeed personable. Valkarr was surprised at his age, forty-two, maybe. And almost a V. P.? He quickly put Valkarr at ease; he was, after all, a Master.
“So you think it should be easy enough to find the gynum?” he asked, handing Valkarr the bowl.
“Aside from my brief glance at the relief map in the palace, which helped reference where I’d stashed it, the properties of the crystals should be easy enough to isolate on a scan.
“As for the bosar, they’re still studying the ship, which is lined with the stuff, so my guess is those people will never find it.”
“True enough, but your proposal to recover the items…”
“You find fault with the plan?”
“No, not at all. It strikes me as very well considered, but do you think it’s worth it? It will be some time before we can produce more bosar, but it would be at far less expense than the recovery you outline. We should be able to get the gynum easily enough; without major confrontation.”
“Well, you see, I feel sorta responsible.”
“Nonsense, man! We’ve got insurance. You’ve been bonded long enough, you know…”
“I mean, it’s personal—furthermore, I’ll pay the full deductible incurred by IGCC for the raid.”
“When you put it like that,” Tal-Mon began the ceremonial pouring of Talasia, handed Valkarr a glass and toasted, “why not?”
“I really appreciate this,” said Valkarr, downing the drink in a gulp and re-extending his glass.
“Your contingent will be ready in two days,” said Tal-Mon, as he refilled both empty glasses. “You say it will take you three days to coordinate, and that you can do that in transit, so I suppose I’ll see you back here one week from today…with the gynum and the bosar, hopefully.”
“Most assuredly,” said Valkarr, starting to feel the Cyncorian “holy water.” “And then I suppose I’ll be back off to Zamlon?”
“If you wish. I would think you’d want to take a vacation. I’ve heard about that lady of yours, I thought you two were a bit of an item, aren’t you getting on? How long since you’ve seen her?”
Valkarr was drifting now, third glass on the way down.
Marsy…
“Year and a half, maybe…” Valkarr muttered, “I donno…” Then, he smiled, “Naw, we’re fine, thanks. We have our holosex chambers. We came together this morning, as a matter of fact. No, it’s the sentient fungus. I have my rights as Prime Procurer, and six more months under the Explorer’s Act. I want some for myself.”
“Fair enough. It is your deal,” the Director liked this Journeyman. He wished him well.
Completing inspection of his new living quarters, the Journeyman determined his prison was really “a pretty nice apartment, for what’s supposed to be solitary confinement.” Returning to the galley and starting breakfast, he reflected on the strange recent events and considered himself fortunate to have escaped the planet below.
There was no way to alter course, nor suit for EVA. Excepting mild sedatives, there were no medical supplies—and not so much as a drop of alcohol.
There was an extensive library, probably an oversight, from which Valkarr (once he had mastered the language) learned a great deal about his captors.
He found himself laughing often, early on, as he read the tabloids and began to gain insight into planetary politics. The propaganda rhetoric was more difficult to wade through than had been the planet’s slime.
Never had he encountered a fringe civilization where the sophistication of technology so far exceeded the cultural development.
They called themselves Listrongs; oddly enough, after a variety of rockrat, which they still worshipped in remarkably ancient ritual fashion.
He read that the lady of his acquaintance was indeed ruler of the entire planet, and her forces were engaged in an interplanetary war—with a sister planet of the same star. Such things, being tantamount to old fashioned tribal rivalry, were virtually unheard of in modern times.
While amused at the childlike squabbling depicted in the government controlled press, Valkarr quickly burned out on Listrong “literature” and began struggling with his anger and frustration.
Day-periods soon lost all dimension. Time, he marked only by the growth of his beard since that one shave, that one night, so long ago.
Eventually, Valkarr sat transfixed at the forecastle observation port, stargazing endlessly; looking, hoping, waiting…reaching out with his will.
* * *
When Faldon arrived on Karaool he possessed considerable information unavailable to Valkarr during the latter’s brief visit. Faldon had heard much about the High Priestess of Listra when he passed through Dacooma (the warring sister planet) a few years earlier. He also knew to avoid her spies. That short time ago he had sensed that if a war could start anywhere in the universe, it would be here.
Under the guise of a freelance labor recruiter, he arrived quietly in the Holy City of Laonlasa and quickly picked up the tale of the Journeyman who had caused such a fuss some months earlier.
He soon learned that while Valkarr’s ship was still being studied, nothing of value had been found; only the “front” cargo and whiskey.
It wasn’t so easy finding out what had happened to his partner. The Yoran affair was top secret, and the High Priestess chose not to reveal certain details which she thought might be embarrassing. After the stranger had been invited to her quarters, he was never heard from again.
There were rumors, lots of rumors: He was being kept as a lover; he was helping her plot ultimate victory; he was sent by Listra to show The Way, and had returned to the slime sea…His display in the council arena had grown to legend.
Faldon spent much in bribes of money and drugs before getting one of the Holybody’s guards to slip. He was the last live witness who, in paranoid desperation, spilled everything to Faldon, begging transport from the planet, fearing for his life.
It was not compassion alone that motivated Faldon to accept Bel-Haggel as a crewman. This former “Captain of Her Guard” had been the Holybody’s personal manservant and pleasure-giver. He knew the Holy Grounds, had supervised the security layout of the sealed hanger where the Beggar’s Grasp now was—and he knew of Yora.
A big man, whose loyal heart broke to flee his mistress, Faldon knew to watch this giant closely. The convolutions of his culture would require a lot of deprogramming.
Two Karaoolian months after his arrival, and four after Valkarr’s abrupt departure, Faldon, together with Bel-Haggel, rendezvoused with Apprentices Kelmaran and Sufa to begin pursuit of the slowly moving, unguarded prison cell.
* * *
Valkarr had known it would only be a matter of time, nevertheless, when the salutatory shots first flashed across his vision-field, he was startled into waking from a deep sleep.
It took the four man crew of Delirium Plus sixteen hours of extra-vehicular activity, working in shifts, to effect the rescue and complete Valkarr’s transfer.
When at last the airlock door opened, and he breathed the “essence of Alcon,” Valkarr nodded a bow and addressed his partner with a smile, “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”
“Permission granted, Captain,” Faldon laughed as he clasped his friend and co-worker, hand and shoulder. “And how is ‘the Messenger of Listra?’”
“Messenger of Listra?” Valkarr shook his head with wry reminiscence, “so that’s how she’s playing it.” He cast a wary look at Bel-Haggel, “And that makes me a living legend, right? Again.” His eyes stayed on the distantly familiar Karaoolian soldier.
“He’s the last eyewitness to your affair with Her Highness,” said Faldon, reassuringly. “He’s going to be a big help. He already has been. He was the last link to finding you, unless I could have somehow seduced her myself. What was that like, anyway?”
“The woman is a witch!” scowled Valkarr in remembering disgust. “You know something of their culture, I suppose? Well I didn’t, till she sent me on this leisure cruise, but she definitely belongs at the top of their slime heap.”
He paused, and smiled again, “Pity too, she’s got real potential in one area…” Starting to drift away for only a moment, Valkarr looked directly at Faldon and soberly added, “They have the Grasp.”
“I’ve already filed my report. Development execs are basically curious about the gynum and the bosar, which have, so far, eluded detection in connection with the ship. Tal-Mon is going to want a full report when we get to Cyncor, which will be day after tomorrow, if that time-frame means anything to you lately. Say, I bet you could use a drink.”
“You know too well,” said Valkarr gratefully.
Sufa (who once belonged to Valkarr) gathered refreshment while Faldon introduced Kelmaran, and the Captain of the Holybody’s Guard.
As they sat in the ship’s lounge and drank, Valkarr finally began to get loose. Bel-Haggel took offense at some of the humor, but was held in awe trying to understand the casual confidence with which these four strangers were talking of raiding his home planet. The very palace! They seemed so friendly; but how could they do this of which they spoke?
Though confused, the large Karaoolian listened eagerly. These men had saved his life—he would gladly help.
* * *
Cyril Tal-Mon was Regional Director of Field Development for the InterGalCon Combine, IGP&H’s parent company. The highest company official in the sector, and once step below a Vice Presidency, he had been in charge of the Zamlon Project since its inception, and he had requested Valkarr’s assignment based on resume and recommendation. They had never met.
It had been a while since Valkarr visited an executive’s office, and he didn’t relish this encounter. Faldon, who had worked with “Mr. Mon” before, had worked to coach his friend on what to say.
“He’s really alright,” Faldon assured repeatedly, “You’ll get along fine.” Nevertheless, Valkarr found the wait in the outer office worse than his solitary voyage from Karaool.
At the end of what seemed like forever, a woman wearing the badge of Requisitioner walked out of the private office, smiled at the waiting Journeyman, and left.
A long moment later, the beautiful receptionist flashed her smile:
“The Director will see you now, Mr. Listra.”
“That’s not funny,” Valkarr said, rising. He wasn’t nervous anymore. With searing detachment the Journeyman coldly asked, “How long has it been since you had a really terrible day?”
As he turned his stare from her and the door opened to the inner office, the secretary sat speechless; her face pale with fright, her body paralyzed with fear.
Immediately angry with himself for taking aim at the defenseless woman, he playfully lilted, “Just kidding,” sending her into a momentary oblivion, from which she would awaken, in about a minute, feeling great.
Hoping the bliss-trance would compensate for his lashing out, Valkarr sighed, entered the Director’s office, and the door closed behind him.
Tal-Mon was indeed personable. Valkarr was surprised at his age, forty-two, maybe. And almost a V. P.? He quickly put Valkarr at ease; he was, after all, a Master.
“So you think it should be easy enough to find the gynum?” he asked, handing Valkarr the bowl.
“Aside from my brief glance at the relief map in the palace, which helped reference where I’d stashed it, the properties of the crystals should be easy enough to isolate on a scan.
“As for the bosar, they’re still studying the ship, which is lined with the stuff, so my guess is those people will never find it.”
“True enough, but your proposal to recover the items…”
“You find fault with the plan?”
“No, not at all. It strikes me as very well considered, but do you think it’s worth it? It will be some time before we can produce more bosar, but it would be at far less expense than the recovery you outline. We should be able to get the gynum easily enough; without major confrontation.”
“Well, you see, I feel sorta responsible.”
“Nonsense, man! We’ve got insurance. You’ve been bonded long enough, you know…”
“I mean, it’s personal—furthermore, I’ll pay the full deductible incurred by IGCC for the raid.”
“When you put it like that,” Tal-Mon began the ceremonial pouring of Talasia, handed Valkarr a glass and toasted, “why not?”
“I really appreciate this,” said Valkarr, downing the drink in a gulp and re-extending his glass.
“Your contingent will be ready in two days,” said Tal-Mon, as he refilled both empty glasses. “You say it will take you three days to coordinate, and that you can do that in transit, so I suppose I’ll see you back here one week from today…with the gynum and the bosar, hopefully.”
“Most assuredly,” said Valkarr, starting to feel the Cyncorian “holy water.” “And then I suppose I’ll be back off to Zamlon?”
“If you wish. I would think you’d want to take a vacation. I’ve heard about that lady of yours, I thought you two were a bit of an item, aren’t you getting on? How long since you’ve seen her?”
Valkarr was drifting now, third glass on the way down.
Marsy…
“Year and a half, maybe…” Valkarr muttered, “I donno…” Then, he smiled, “Naw, we’re fine, thanks. We have our holosex chambers. We came together this morning, as a matter of fact. No, it’s the sentient fungus. I have my rights as Prime Procurer, and six more months under the Explorer’s Act. I want some for myself.”
“Fair enough. It is your deal,” the Director liked this Journeyman. He wished him well.
