10000 Light Years From Home Part 14

"Machines... racing with machines..." he muttered, his big shoulders twitching. He floated over the shouts, barks, coos, whistles, the holiday-makers of a million worlds. Dana met him on the balcony with a tray.

"Looks good, what is it?" Christmas demanded, his nose in a beaker of Infield ale.

"Don't ask. Lament sent it. His reward for saving something that broke a leg, he has a freezer full.""I didn't know we had a stunner, Dana."

"You don't. I do. Kurtis gave it to me last year. Remember those Altaireans who wanted to duel to the death in your office? Kurt says you have illusions of invulnerability." Dana's bristles curled in a grin.

"Well, I guess it paid off. Another of your hunches.... Yes, Hal?" he said to the intercom. "Indeed we did have a little excitement. How're the rats? Ah, too bad. Rotten shame, who could foresee it?

Great idea of yours, putting medication in the firefoam.... Anything on the Aukru grav check yet?"

"Their gravity compensators are absolutely correct," Lament told him. "Right on the nose at one point two. Funny thing, they look like really high gee types to me, too. And I'll tell you another funny thing-they're exercising some of their animals under double-grav loading. Of course there's no law against adding more gees, but they're being very quiet about it. I'd say you have the answer-there's a mistake in the handicapping from Detweiler's shop."

"That could be ugly, Hal. Who made the mistake, and why?"

"I hadn't thought of that," Lamont said slowly. He frowned.

"Well, it's not your screaming baby. How did things go with the Xemos Three birds?"

"Thank you for nothing, PC. No question, those things fly. I suggested nerve blocks or temporary pinions, and he frothed. We settled on a special strap job after I showed him that other contestants used them. Probably intends to sabotage the straps-better put a watch-note on him. But listen, PC, did you know he had gla.s.s spurs on those birds as long as your arm? Slice a leg right off, like a saber. We had another scene when I told him they'd have to go. It seems they have some bosom enemy here they've got to beat, preferably fatally. You better alert the equipment boys. He's out for mayhem."

"Scythes on his chariot wheels like that lot from Orion with the acid jets."

"Remember those she-minks who couldn't see why we wouldn't let them dump spikes on the track behind?"

The doctor chuckled. "Sometimes I think Gal Q is using us to civilize half the delinquents in the galaxy."

Christmas clicked off. His intercom was flashing for the daily staff meeting. Christmas tuned himself in and listened with one ear while going through a batch of rulings Dana had brought in for signature.

Secretary Detweiler was a plump little man with vulnerable eyes, very good at a job Christmas would have loathed. One of his staff began describing plans for celebrating the finish of the giant ice-slug race. The contestants had covered fifty feet in the extraordinary time of six months and were due to cross the finish line tomorrow. Interest in their home system was at fever pitch. The secretariat had arranged tridi FTL coverage from underneath the transparent track, so that viewers could observe the cell-by-cell approach of the slug's feet to the Line.

"They don't really locomote," the aide was saying. "They grow in front and slough off behind.

Fastest moving thing in their system, but of course outsiders aren't interested. I'd like permission to a.s.semble a small, ah claque, I believe the word is, and perhaps stimulate a little betting. It would help their morale."

Christmas grunted agreement. Detweiler announced plans for making a ceremonial award that evening to the mouse who had shot the alien.

"Quite a Little hero, really," the Secretary said. "If that lad had got his ship off, Gal Q would have had a messy chase, messy and expensive. You'll come to the presentation, won't you, PC?"

"Don't I get a wound stripe?" Christmas asked. "My ear is full of rat-c.r.a.p. Who were they, Det?"

"An officially uncontacted system 'way north of Murillo. Actually they've been trading with us for some time through Murillo. Apparently they got hold of some obsolete stuff and made it all the way here in that old warp boat. Gal Fed has an M/T mission landing there right now."

The bursar spoke up. "Either we or Gal Q are going to have reparations to pay on this. Three valuable animals hurt and all those scent-null tracks to rebuild.""And we have adjustments on the spoiled races," said the Mutuel chief. "I think Gal Q should be asked to disseminate word that one doesn't just drop in on Raceworld."

"Nor does one race with machines," growled Christmas. There was a moment's silence.

"Yes. Well," said Detweiler. "Now about our main business, the Magellans. You're getting them almost immediately, you know, PC. I don't know when they'll come to Mutuel and you others, if at all.

Frankly, the tour is not working out quite as well as we had hoped. They went through the Secretariat this morning, and among everything else we tried a really beautiful viewing of the complete range of galactic life we service here, with chemicogenetic a.n.a.lyses. You just can't tell how they're reacting, but I'm afraid it was negative. They asked to leave Raceworld tonight. Ser Nisrair is troubled."

"Who isn't?" asked Commo from Pole North. "I've seen aliens, but these are alien. Two of my techs are under sedation. Did you hear that Galtech hasn't been able to unscrew half the junk in that spook-boat they came in? Your viewing may have only whetted their appet.i.tes for dinner, Det. Or offended their sense of neatness, like finding out your neighbor's house is full of vermin. The Clouds are too d.a.m.n close."

"Well, we just have to do what we can," Detweiler said, determinedly brisk. "Anything else?"

"Sorry to add to the gloom," Christmas spoke up. "This concerns Mutuel, too. That new Ankru team has won four out of five events and they're only carrying a one point two gees handicap. Lamont has an idea this isn't enough by half. So do I. Check this out fast, Det, will you? I don't need to go into the implications."

"I'll get right on it." Detweiler looked startled. The Mutuel chief laid his hand over his eyes and groaned.

"Can't you hold up their races, PC? Great flying wormhole, the adjustments, the compensations-"

He was gesturing violently at somebody offscreen.

"Not solid enough," Christmas told him.

Detweiler signed off with a sick look in his eyes. He knew what Christmas meant.

Alone, Christmas rubbed his neck, turning to the window. The announcer's chants rang out, and a dozen rhino-type creatures, their tails like quivering flagpoles over their laboring rumps, padded behind the starter's gate.

Christmas smiled automatically, but somehow the magic had ebbed. He knew-all of them knew-what the magic was. It wasn't the clamor of the stands, or the rolling coffers of Mutuel, or the rhinos' horn-down charge across the finish, the silks of planets a thousand light-years apart flying from their tails. The magic invested those things, but it was not of them. And it was threatened.

His outercom chimed and cleared to show the bony black face of the young vet.

"Sir, the infirmary wouldn't keep her-that, ah, young lady from Myria, I mean, and she can't go back to her team. They insist that she kill herself or they'll do it for her."

"Oh, for Solsake! We've got our hands full right now. Take charge of her for a while, will you Doctor? Stick with her, show her around.... I know you're a veterinarian. Refer Lamont to me.... Well, take the sword away from her. And get some pants on her, will you? She looks horrible.... Why shouldn't virgins on Myria wear pants? Oh, never mind-do anything you can, right?"

"Ser Nisrair and the Magellans are on their way up, PC," said Dana's voice.

He stood to greet them as the big folding doors swung wide.

Looming beside Nisrair stood two coal-black sinuous shapes as tall as he, topped with dead-white triangular heads like bleached horse-skulls.

Christmas bowed and stood watching while Nisrair introduced them. The Magellans never moved.

Their long skull-faces turned on him, eyeless, expressionless. Christmas, like most of the galaxy, had seen the vast news coverage that announced First Contact, but he was not prepared for their unnerving aliennes in the flesh... or whatever they were. Sourceless disquiet gripped him; he suspected they wereemanating a subsonic field.

The Magellan's voder crackled suddenly, interrupting Nisrair.

"You are the (?) juridical (?) ethical organ," it said tonelessly. Christmas couldn't tell which one was using it.

"That's right," he said to the blank skull-eyes. "It is my job to see that the fairest possible rules are set for all contestants, and to enforce them in detail and in spirit. When some condition affects contestants unequally, we work out new rules by unanimous agreement if possible. If not, my word is final-sorry I didn't get that."

"Query your statement re spirit," repeated the voder.

"Oh! I meant that we do not allow the technical wording of a rule to work against the intent to deal equally fairly with all. We define an equal chance as conditions as close as possible to those on the contestants' home planets; for example, to compensate for different gravities we have a handicapping device-"

"Spirit-" the voder muttered unintelligibly. The two horse-skulls glared down at him unmoving.

"You have great power here," the voder went on. "You could affect many contests without (?) detection (?) supervision for your own profit. Query you do not do so. Query your ident.i.ty."

Christmas glanced at Ser Nisrair. Hadn't he briefed them? He saw a worry-helix in one of the Gal Q officer's tendrils.

"Why, like everyone here-everyone on the staff I mean-I'm a Solterran," Christmas said stiffly. "I a.s.sume you were informed that Solterrans originated and run Raceworld."

"Peculation (?) speculation (?)-" the voder gobbled. Evidently the alien semantics were giving Central Computer a hard time. Then it said clearly, "Query there is no illegal manipulation for profit."

Christmas said nothing.

"Deception, in a system of this sort, can be denned simply as entropy," Ser Nisrair took over smoothly. "And of course, entropy, or degradation of order, is avoided by all civilized beings, since no local increase in complexity can offset entropic effects in the larger matrix. We see three main entropic potentials in the Raceworld system. First, external parasitism-attempts at a take-over from without.

You have viewed the galactic security force which guards against this. Second, attempts by the contestants to subvert portions of the system for individual or planetary benefit. The Steward here functions to prevent this, with the aid of his own security staff and such outside help as continuous probability monitoring from Mutuel. Thirdly, there is the possibility of corruption of the system by its own organizing elements, that is, by the Solterrans themselves. This is highly unlikely, as I indicated earlier-perhaps too briefly-first because of the high value placed upon honesty and fair play in the Solterrans' own value system, in which they are indoctrinated from infancy as managers of Raceworld, secondly because the Solterrans themselves insist upon a program of periodic testing conducted by galactic experts in combination with a rotating panel from neutral planets. And of course we have tried to meet all their material needs-haven't we, Peter?"

A pause in which Christmas could hear the voder whispering to the Magellans.

"We will observe," the voder said. "Alone."

Nisrair's antennae, which had straightened out during his speech, kinked again. "You wish me to leave?" he asked.

"You mean, stay here and watch our normal operations?" asked Christmas.

"Yes."

"Well, certainly." Christmas found he was speaking through clenched teeth and flexed his jaw. "Glad to have you. Make yourselves comfortable. Would you like, ah, chairs? Resting surfaces?"

The Magellans rippled into sudden violent motion and then stopped abruptly. They were nowstanding behind Christmas's off shoulder.

"Proceed," said the voder.

"Right," grated Christmas. He rang for Dana and bowed to Ser Nisrair, who allowed himself to be unshered out, antennae rigid.

"All right, Dana, I'm open for business. Our guests are staying to observe. What's come in?"

"A complaint has been filed by Betelgeuse system." Only a slight starchiness about the whiskers betrayed Dana's awareness of the apparitions looming behind Christmas. "They have a team of giant bore-worms, and they claim their entry was fouled by striking tunnels left by a previous race."

Christmas grunted. "Those cursed worms have gnawed up that whole mountain range. Allow the claim, notify Mutuel, and tell the Secretariat we need some new mountains, they're going to devastate the planet. Wait-ask Detweiler if Gal Q could move in an asteroid for all those excavation contests. There's mining over in the next system, maybe they can shove us a rock or two. Det should have thought of that."

To the presences behind he added, "This is a just claim against Raceworld for improper track conditions and must be allowed. Those who bet on the affected team will be compensated."

"We understand your language," the voder said hollowly.

Kurtis came on the intercom. As the screen lit, Christmas realized that the aliens had chosen to stand where no viewer would pick them up.

"Your Flangians, PC. Its Pyrrhoxa all over again. Their drivers are nothing more than monkeys, the horses were training them. We caught the horses cold laying out a ploy for the next race. Their own odds were too short so they were fixing to have a long shot from Fitfat win. They actually pa.s.sed their betting instructions to one of my boys. They were doing it through a Spican food-handler. They had him terrorized."

"Mutuel will go up the wall on this one, Kurt; they've been in a lot of races." For the Magellans'

benefit Christmas added, "Of course they will have to reimburse all bettors, probably with damages.

Thank our stars those light equities aren't too popular. Give Detweiler the word, will you?"

"It's lucky they went for the big odds so openly," Kurtis said. "If they hadn't been so greedy they might have had a longer run. Well, that's horses for you."

Christmas flinched and cut him off.

Dana looked up from his own commocollar.

"Ankru has just won another one, PC."

Christmas nodded slowly. Holding his fingers on Detweiler's channel, he swung around to the Magellans. "I am now going to query the Secretary on a very serious case," he told them. "A team from ,a planet called Ankru appears to have been a.s.signed too light a gravity handicap, probably due to an error in the original schedules made up the Secretary's office. The team has of course been winning in several different cla.s.s events." He swung back, trying to shake off the black weirdness.

"Anything on Ankru yet, Det?"

The gravity is absolutely correct at one-point-two gee, PC," Detweiler told him gravely. "According to both our own star synopsis and the Gal Q master directory."

"Can't be-they're still winning. Four out of five now. Besides-have you seen the brutes?"

Detweiler nodded perplexedly. Suddenly both he and Christmas started to speak at once, the Secretary's tenor riding over Christmas's rumble.

"Ambima.s.s!" he exclaimed. "That could be it-I'll signal Center for the full planetary specs!"

"But-" said Christmas to the empty screen. The office door lit up.

"Visiting planetary minister, PC," Dana told him. "He's from somewhere I can't p.r.o.nounce in Sector 90. Insists on talking to you in person, something about their age-weight handicap."

The caller ambled in, an immense hump of sh.e.l.l with a sad, tapir-like face emerging at knee-height.He began hooting in nearly incomprehensible Galactic, with much ritual courtesy. Christmas waved Dana over to interpret.

"The problem is that their entry is now fifteen hundred Standard years old, and the age handicap's gone asymptotic."

"How long do your animals live?" Christmas asked.

"He's not sure," Dana translated. "This particular animal has been winning races for over a millenium-he races every twenty years-and the home system expects him to go on indefinitely, I gather. They don't have any more right now, breeding is slow. With no weight handicap differential anymore, it's getting tough. They're up against a much younger similar form from a new system, and planetary prestige is at stake."

"I recall him now, he's a nice old boy. But we can't b.u.g.g.e.r up the whole handicap system. Even anti-grav wouldn't help, the animal would lose traction. Ask him if he'd be satisfied to switch over to noncompet.i.tive exhibition, with choice of pace-setters, and lots of fanfare-oldest living champion, and all that?"

Dana and the alien hooted at length. Behind Christmas the aliens stood motionless, expressionless, exuding their faint aroma of disquiet.

"I think he says yes," Dana reported. "I told him the Secretary will-"

The office door burst open and a long white figure leaped in, drew itself up to eight feet of naked girl, rounded the desk and fell p.r.o.ne with a crash at Christmas's feet. Christmas curled up his toes as he felt cold steel sliding under them. Tapir-face hooted in alarm and backed into the Magellans, who did not move. He moaned louder and backed off into Dana. The office door was jammed with people, topped by the interns dark face.

"What the-you, Doctor Ooloo-this is no place-" Christmas yelped.

"She got away from me, sir, through the ladies latrine. She kept saying she was your slave since you saved her life and she had to swear fealty or something."

The girl nodded and patted his instep.

"She says now she must toil for you-she has no home."