"Here will do," the captain said, standing on the end of the ramp. The Bishop shook his head as he pointed at the metal surface.
"We are still on the ship. "The ground if you please." They agreed on a neutral patch close to the ramp-but far enough from the ship to foil any attempt to rush us. The Bishop took out the check, accepted the stylo at last, then wrote his careful signature. The captain-ever suspicious!-compared it with the signature above and finally nodded. He walked briskly up the ramp as we picked up our bags-then turned and called out. "They're all yours now!" h As the ramp lifted up, out of our reach, powerful lights came on from the darkness, pinning us like moths. Armed men ran towards us as we turned, trapped, lost.
"I knew something was wrong," The Bishop said. He dropped his bags and grimly faced the rushing men.
Chapter 19
A resplendent figure in a red uniform strode out of the darkness and stood before us twisting a large and elegant set of moustaches. Like someone out of a historic flic, he actually wore a sword, which he held firmly by the hik. "I'll take everything you two have. Everything. Quickly}" Two uniformed men came running up to see that we did as we were told. They were carrying strange-looking guns with large barrels and wooden stocks. Behind us I heard a creaking as the ramp came back down with Captain Garth standing on the end of it. I bent over to pick up the bags. And kept turning-diving at the captain, grabbing him.
There was a loud bang and something whirred -by my head and spanged off the ship's hull. The captain swore and swung his fist at me. Couldn't have been better. I stepped inside the blow, grabbed the arm and levered it up into the small of his back. He screeched with pain; a lovely sound. — "Let him go," a voice said, and I looked over the captain's trembling shoulder to see that The Bishop was now lying on the ground with the officer's foot on his chest. And his sword was not just for decoration-because the point of it was now pressed to The Bishop's throat.
It was going to be one of those days. I gave the captain's neck a little squeeze with my free hand before I let go. He slithered straight down and his unconscious head bonged nicely on the ramp. I stepped away from him and The Bishop climbed unsteadily to his feet, dusting himself off as he turned to our captor.
"Excuse me, kind sir, but might I humbly ask you the name of this planet on whose soil we stand?" "Spiovente," was the grunted answer.
"Thank you. If you permit, I will help my friend Captain Garth to his feet, for I wish to apologize to him for my young friend's impetuous behavior. " No one stopped him as he turned to the captain, who had just regained consciousness.
He lost it again instantly as The Bishop kicked him in the side of the head.
"I am normally not a vindictive man," he said, turning away and digging out his Pallet. He handed it to the officer and said, "But just this once I wanted to express my feelings before returning to my normal peaceful self. You understand, of course, why I did that?" "Would have done the same thing myself," the officer said, counting the money. "But the games are over. Don't ever speak to me again or you are dead." He turned away as another man appeared from the darkness with two black metal loops in his hands. The Bishop stood, numb and unresisting, as the man bent and snapped one onto his ankle. I didn't know what the thing was-but I didn't like it. Mine would not be put on that easily.
Yes it would. The muzzle of the gun ground into my back and I made no protest as the thing was snapped into place. The thing-snapper then stood up and looked me in the face, standing so close that his sewer breath washed over me. He was ugly to boot, with a puckered scar that added no improvement to the face. He pushed a sharp finger into my chest as he spoke.
"I am Tars Tukas, servant of our lord the mighty Capo Doccia. But you never call me by name; you always call me master." I started to call him something, something that was quite an improvement on master, when he pressed a button a metal box slung from his belt.
Then I was on the ground, trying to shake the red fog of pain from my eyes. The first thing I saw was The Bishop lying before me, groaning in agony. I helped him to his feet; Tars lukas needn't have done that, not to a man his age. He was grinning a lopsided scarred grin when I turned.
"Who am I?" he asked. I resisted all temptation, for The Bishop's sake if not my own. "Master." "Don't forget, and don't try to run away. There are neural repeaters right around the entire country. If I leave this on for long enough, all your nerves stop working. Forever. Understood?" . "Understood, master." "Hand over everything you got on you." I did. Money, papers, coins, keys, watch, the works. He frisked me roughly and seemed satisfied for the moment. "Let's move." A tropical dawn had come quickly and the lights were being turned out. We didn't look back as we followed our new master. The Bishop was having difficulty in walking and I had to help him. Tars Tukas led us to a battered wooden cart that was standing close by. We were waved into the back. We sat on the plank seat and watched while crates were lowered from the cargo hatch of the spacer.
"That was a nice droplock on the captain," I said. "You obviously know something about his planet that I don't. What was the name?" "Spiovente." He spat the word like a curse. "The millstone around the League's neck. That captain has sold us down the river with a vengeance. And he is a smuggler too. There is a complete embargo on contact with this stinking world. Particularly weapons-which I am sure those cases are full of. Spiovente!" Which didn't really tell me very much other than that it was pretty bad. Which I knew already. "You couldn't possibly be a bit more informative about this millstone?" "I blame myself completely for getting you involved in all this. But Captain Garth will pay. If we do nothing else, Jim, we will bring him to justice. We'll get word to the League, somehow." The somehow depressed him even more and he dropped his head wearily onto his hands. I sat in silence, waiting for him to speak in his own good time. He did finally,. sitting up, and in the reflected light I saw that the spark was back in his eye.
"Nil carborundum, Jim. Don't let the bastards wear you down. We are landed in a ripe one this time. SpiOvente was first contacted by the League over ten years ago. It had been isolated since the Breakdown and had thousands of years to go bad. It is the sort of place that gives crime a bad name-since the criminals are in charge here. The madhouse has been taken o~er by the madmen. Anarchy rules-no, not true-Spiovente makes anarchy look like a Boy Sprout's picnic. I have made a particular study of this planet's system of government,while working out the stickier bits of my personal philosophy. Here we have something that belongs in the lost dark ages of mankind's rise. It is thoroughly despicable in every way-and there is nothing that the League can do about it, short of launching an invasion. Which would be completely against League philosophy. The strength of the League is also its weakness. No planet or planets can physically attack another planet. Any one that did would face instant destruction by all the others since war has now been declared illegal. The League can only help newly discovered planets, offer advice and aid. It is rumored that there are covert League organizations that work to subvert repulsive societies like this one-but of course this has never been revealed in public. So what we have here is trouble, bad trouble. For Spiovente is a warped mirror image of the civilized worlds. There is no rule of law here-just might. Criminal gangs are led by Capos, the swordman in the fancy uniform, Capo Doccia, he's one of them. Each Capo controls as large a capote as he can. His followers are rewarded with a portion of the loot extracted from the peasantry or from the spoils of war. At the very bottom of this pyramid of crime are the slaves. Us." He pointed to the paincuff on his ankle and thoroughly depressed himself. Me as well.
"Well, we can still look at the bright side," I said with desperation.