The Ship Who Won (20 page)

the Old Ones. Similar, though. Both species were upright

and had rearward-bending, jointed lower limbs-can't tell

how many, but the Old One furniture is built for larger

creatures. Not quite as big as humanoids, though."

"It sounds as if one species succeeded after another,"

Keff said. 'The Old Ones moved in to live with the Ancient

Ones, and many generations later after the Ancients died

off, the New Ones arrived and cohabited with the Old

Ones. They are the third in a series of races to live on this

planet: the aborigines, die Old Ones, and the New Ones,

or magic-using humanoids."

Carialle snorted. "Doesn't say much for Ozran as a host

for life-forms, if two intelligent races in a row died off

within a few millenia."

"And the humanoids are reduced to a nontechnologi-cal existence," Keff said, only half listening to Chaumel,

who was lecturing him with an intent expression on his

broad-cheeked face. "Could it have something to do

with the force-field holding you down? They got stuck

here?"

"Whatever trapped me did it selectively, Keff!" Carialle

said. Td landed and taken off six times on Ozran already.

It was dehberate, and I want to know who and why."

"Another mystery to investigate. But I also want to know

why the Old Ones moved up here, away from their source

of food," Keff said. "Since they seem to be dependant on

what's grown here, that's a sociological anomaly."

"Ah," Carialle said, reading newly translated old data

from IT. 'The Old Ones didn't move up here with the

New Ones' help, Keff. They were up here when the

humanoids came. They found Ancient artifacts in the

valleys."

"So these New Ones had some predilection for talent

when they came here, but their contact with the Old Ones

increased it to what we see in them now. Two space-going

races, Carialle!" Keff said, greatly excited. "I want to know

if we can find out more about the pure alien culture. Later

on, let's see if we can trace them back to their original systems. Pity there's so little left: after several hundred years

ofhumanoid rule, it's all mixed up together."

"Isn't the synthesis as rare?" Carialle asked, pointedly.

"In our culture, yes. Makes it obvious where the sign

language comes from, too," Keff said. "Its a relic from

one of the previous races-useful symbology that helps

make the magic work. The Old Ones may never have

shared the humanoid language, being the host race, but

somehow they made themselves understood to the newcomers. Worth at least a paper to Galactic Geographic.

Clearly, Chaumel here doesn't know what the Ancients

were like."

The magiman, watching Keff talking to himself, heard

his name and Keffs question. He shook his head regret-fully. "I do not. Much before days of me."

"Where do your people come from?" Keff asked. "What

star, where out mere?" He gestured up at the sky.

"I do not know that also. Where from do yours come?"

Chaumel asked, a keen eye holding Keffs.

The brawn tried to think of a way to explain the Central

Worlds with the limited vocabulary at his disposal and

raised his hands helplessly.

'Vain hope." Carialle sighed. "I'm still trying to find any

records of settlements in this sector. Big zero. If I could get

a message out, I could have Central Worlds do a full-scan

search of the old records."

"So where do the Noble Primitives fit in, Chaumel?"

Keff asked, throwing a friendly arm over the man's shoulder before he could start a lecture on the next objet d'art.

He pointed at a male servant wearing a long, white robe,

who hurried away, wide-eyed, when he noticed the bare-skinned ones looking at him. "I notice that the servants

here have lighter pelts than the people in the farm village."

He gestured behind him, hoping that Chaumel would

understand he meant where they had just come from. He

tweaked a lock of his own hair, rubbing his fingers together

to indicate "thin," then ran his fingers down his own face

and held out his hand.

'They're handsomer. And some of them have five

fingers, like mine." Keff waggled his forefinger. "Why do

the ones in the valley have only four?" He bent the finger

under his palm.

"Oh," Chaumel said, laughing. He stated something in a

friendly, off handed way that the IT couldn't translate,

scissors-chopping his own forefinger with his other hand

to demonstrate what he meant. "... when of few

days-babies. Low mind. ... no curiosity . . . worker." He

made the scissors motion again.

"What?" Carialle shrieked in Keffs ear. "Its not a mutation. Its mutilation. There aren't two brands ofhumanoids,

just one, with most of the poor things exploited by a lucky

few."

Keff was shocked into silence. Fortunately, Chaumel

seemed to expect no reply. Carialle continued to speak

in a low voice while Keff nodded and smiled at the

magiman.

"Moreover, he's been referring to the Noble Primitives

as property. When he mentioned his possessions, IT went

back and translated his term for the villagers as 'chattel.' I

do not like these people. Evil wizards, indeed!"

"Er, very nice," Keff said in Ozran, for lack of any good

reply. Chaumel beamed.

"We care for them, we who commune with the Core of

Ozran. We lead our weaker brothers. We guard as they

working hard in the valleys to raise food for us all."

"Enslave them, you mean," Carialle sniffed. "And they

live up here in comfort while Brannel's people freeze. He

looks so warm and friendly-for a slave trader. Look at his

eyes. Dead as microchips."

"Weaker? Do you mean feeble-minded? The people

down in the valleys have strong bodies but, er, they don't

seem very bright," Keff said. 'These, your servants, are

much more intelligent than any of the ones we met." He

didn't mention Brannel.

"Ah," Chaumel said, guardedly casual, "the workers eat

stupid, not question... who know better, overlords."

"You mean you put something in the food to keep them

stupid and docile so they won't question their servitude?

That's monstrous," Keff said, but he kept smiling.

Chaumel didn't understand the last word. He bowed

deeply. 'Thank you. Use talent, over many years gone, we

give them," he pantomimed over his own wrist and arm,

showed it growing thicker, "more skin, hair, grow dense

flesh..."

IT riffled through a list of synonyms. Keff seized upon

one. "Muscles?" he asked. IT repeated Chaumel s last

word, evidently satisfied with Keffs definition.

"Yes," Chaumel said. "Good for living . . . cold valleys.

Hard work!"

"You mean you can skimp on the central heat if you give

them greater endurance," Carialle said, contemptuously.

"You bloodsucker."

Chaumel frowned, almost as if he had heard Carialle's

tone.

"Hush! Er, I don't know if this is a taboo question,

Chaumel," Keff began, rubbing his chin with thumb and

forefinger, "but you interbreed with the servant class, too,

don't you? Bare-skins with fur-skins, make babies?"

"Not I," the silver magiman explained hastily. "But yes.

Some lower . . . mages and magesses have faces with hair.

Never make their places as mages of... but not everyone

is ... sent for mightiness."

"Destined for greatness," Keff corrected IT. IT repeated

the word. "So why are you not great? I mean," he

rephrased his statement for tact, "not one of the mages

of-IT, put in that phrase he used?"

"Oh, I am good-satisfied to be what I am," Chaumel

said, complacently folding his fingers over his well-padded

rib cage.

"If they're already being drugged, why amputate their

fingers?" Carialle wanted to know.

"What do fingers have to do with the magic?" Keff

asked, making a hey-presto gesture.

"Ah," Chaumel said. Taking Keifs arm firmly under his

own, he escorted him down the hall to a low door set

deeply into the stone walls. Servants passing by showed

Keff the whites of their eyes as Chaumel slipped the silver

wand out of his belt and pointed at the lock. Some of the

fur-skins hurried faster as the red fire lanced laserlike into

the keyhole. One or two, wearing the same keen expression as Brannel, peered in as the door opened. Shooting a

cold glance to speed the nosy ones on their way, Chaumel

urged Keff inside.

The darkness lifted as soon as they stepped over the

threshold, a milky glow coming directly from the substance

of the walls.

"Cari, is that radioactive?" Keff asked. His whisper was

amplified in a ghostly rush of sound by the rough stone.

"No. In fact, I'm getting no readings on the light at all.

Strange."

"Magic!"

"Cut that out," Carialle said sulkily. "I say its a form of

energy with which I am unacquainted."

In contrast to all the other chambers Keff had seen in

Chaumel s eyrie, this room had a low, unadorned ceiling of

rough granite less than an arms length above their heads.

Keff felt as though he needed to stoop to avoid hitting the

roof.

Chaumel moved across me floor like a man in a chapel.

The furnishings of the narrow room carried out that

impression. At the end opposite the door was a molded,

silver table not unlike an altar, upon which rested five

objects arranged in a circle on an embroidered cloth. Keff

tiptoed forward behind Chaumel.

The items themselves were not particularly impressive:

a metal bangle about twelve centimeters across, a silver

tube, a flattened disk pierced with half-moon shapes all

around the edge, a wedge of clear crystal with a piece of

dull metal fused to the blunt end, and a hollow cylinder

like an empty jelly jar.

"What are they?" Keff asked.

"Objects of power," Chaumel replied. One by one he

lifted them and displayed them for Keff. Returning to the

bangle, Chaumel turned it over so Keff could see its inner

arc. Five depressions about two centimeters apart were

molded into its otherwise smooth curve. In turn, he

showed the markings on each one. With the last, he

inserted the tips of his fingers into the depressions and

wielded it away from Keff.

"Ah," Keff said, enlightened. "You need five digits to use

these."

"So the amputation is to keep the servers from organiz-ing a palace revolt," Carialle said. "Any uppity server just

wouldn't have the physical dexterity to use them."

"Mmm," Keff said. "How old are they?" He moved

closer to the altar and bent over the cloth.

"Old, old," Chaumel said, patting the jelly jar.

"Old Ones," Carialle verified, running a scan through

Keffs ocular implants. "So is the bangle. The other three

are Ancient, with some subsequent modifications by the

Old Ones. All of them have five pressure plates incorporated into the design. That's why Brannel tried to take my

palette. It has five depressions, just like these items. He

probably thought it was a power piece, like these."

'There's coincidence for you: both the alien races here

were pentadactyl, like humans. I wonder if that's a recurring trait throughout the galaxy for technologically capable

races," Keff said. "Five-fingered hands."

Chaumel certainly seemed proud of his. Setting down

the jelly jar, he mbbed his hands together, then flicked

invisible dust motes off his nails, taking time to admire

both fronts and backs.

"Well, they are shapely hands," Carialle said. 'They

wouldn't be out of place in Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel

frescoes except for the bizarre proportions."

Kefftook a good look at Chaumels hands. For the first

time he noticed that the thumbs, which he had noted as

being rather long, bore lifelike prostheses, complete with

nails and tiny wisps of hair, that made the tips fan out to.

the same distance as the forefingers. The little fingers were

of equal length to the ring fingers, jarring the eye, making

the fingers look like a thick fringe cut straight across.

Absently conscious of Keffs stare, Chaumel pulled at his

litde fingers.

"Is he trying to make them longer by doing that?"

Carialle asked. "It's physically impossible, but I suppose

telling him that won't make him stop. Superstitions are

superstitions."

'That's er, grotesque, Chaumel," Keffsaid, smiling with

what he hoped was an expression of admiration.

'Thank you, Keff." The silver magiman bowed.

"Show me how the objects of power work," Keff said,

pointing at the table. "I'd welcome a chance to watch without being the target."

Chaumel was all too happy to oblige.

"Now you see how these are," he said graciously. He

chose the ring and the tube, putting his favorite, the wand,

back in its belt holster. 'This way."

On the way out of the narrow room, Chaumel resumed

his monologue. This time it seemed to involve the prove-nance and ownership of the items.

"We are proud of our toys," Carialle said deprecatingly.

"Nothing up my sleeve, alakazam!"