IX

TOWING hawsers thrummed like bowstrings. The rafts moved forward with surges matching the Swimmers’ rhythms.

Han clasped the low deck rail. The water teemed with sauropteroids, both Kasarax’s cronies and Shazeen’s supporters, who had been kept from work by Kasarax’s alliance with the shore gang.

Long, scaled necks cut the water; rolling backs and broad flippers showed with each dive, and the spray of swimming and blasting blowholes made it seem the rain had resumed.

“Chewie!” shouted Hasti, who was hugging a rail stanchion, “the bag!”

The shoulder bag containing Skynx was sliding aft. Badure rolled from a stern-rail corner and caught it, wrapping his legs around a stanchion. Skynx popped out of the bag, his big red eyes more glazed now than before.

Taking in their situation unsteadily, the Ruurian scuttled up halfway onto Badure’s head, his antennae bending in the breeze, clinging resolutely with every digit he could spare, and hurled the empty jet-juice flask into the air, cheering, “Weee-ee heee-ee! I bet five driit on us!” Spying Kasarax’s raft, he added shrewdly, “And five more on them!” He sank back down into the bag, which Badure closed over him.

The rough ride didn’t trouble Han nearly as much as the fact that this was no ordinary race. The two bulls were straining, neither able to gain headway against the other. Kasarax made a bid for the lead, then another, but Shazeen matched his spurts and held the pace. Han could hear their booming grunts of effort over the rush of the wind and the slapping of water against the rafts.

Kasarax changed tactics, slackening his line. Shazeen followed suit. The younger creature changed course in an instant, cutting across Shazeen’s path just behind his elder. He ducked under Shazeen’s towing hawsers and pulled hard. His tow-raft came slashing after, hawsers brushing at angles under Shazeen’s.

Han saw the shore-gang chief hoist a broad-bladed axe; Kasarax’s men obviously intended to sever Shazeen’s hawsers when the hawsers came up against Kasarax’s raft’s bow rail. The pilot drew without thinking; a blaster bolt flickered red across the water, and the axehead jolted, sparks arcing from it, a black-edged hole burned through it. The shore-gang chief dropped it with a cry as his men ducked.

Someone else grabbed the axe and swung it as both rafts and the Swimmers towing them were dragged and slewed around by each other’s momentum. Han’s aim was spoiled and the axehead descended. Perhaps it was an off-world product with an enhanced edge; in any case the axe parted a hawser with one blow and bit into the bow rail. Shazeen’s raft swung, coming nearly side-on, with the unbalanced pull of the remaining hawser.

The chief had the axe back, ready to chop the other hawser. Han was aiming carefully at the axe when Shazeen changed course in an effort to see what had happened. The remaining towing hawser dragged across Kasarax’s raft’s rail, catching the shore-gang chief and pulling him overboard. At the same moment Shazeen’s maneuver bumped his own raft into a trough. Han lost his footing, slipped, and fell, whereupon the blaster flew from his hand.

The chief was still clinging to Shazeen’s remaining tow-hawser, lower body in the water, sawing at it with a knife. Han couldn’t spot his blaster, but was determined not to let that second line be severed. The gang chief was working at the hawser, Hasti was shouting something about not starting a firefight, and Badure and Chewbacca were yelling something he didn’t want to take time to listen to, being in no mood for a debate. Losing patience, he threw off his flight jacket, stepped over the bow rail, sprang, and began drawing himself down the hawser, hand over hand, his legs wrapped around it, the higher swells wetting his back.

The shore-gang chief felt the vibrations in the hawser, saw Han, and sawed more furiously at the tough fiber. The chief took a moment to slash at the pilot. Han suddenly realized how impetuous he had been, as if another man entirely had occupied his body for a moment. He didn’t quite avoid the stroke and the knifepoint cut across his chin. The water pulled at them both.

But Han avoided the back-slash with dexterity gained in zero-gee acrobatics drills. He lashed out flat-handed in a disarming blow, and the knife plunked into the water. As the knife fell, the shore-gang chief began to lose his grip on the hawser. He grabbed at Han, and both men plunged into the water. The lakewater was agonizingly cold and had a peculiar taste.

Han dove as deeply as he could, his clothes dragging at him. Underwater he heard the thud of the raft’s bow striking the chief’s head. Cheeks puffed, the pilot glanced up through the icy, dark water as the raft passed over him, and then surfaced just behind it. He grabbed for the stern rail, missed, and was himself grabbed.

Chewbacca pulled his partner over the stern rail in one motion just as the raft began drifting to a halt. Shaking wet hair out of his eyes, Han gave an involuntary cry of surprise, seeing why they had stopped. Kasarax’s maneuver had been Shazeen’s needed provocation for combat under Swimmer Law. Both the monstrous bulls had ducked out of their tow-harnesses; now they met in resolute battle.

They charged into collision, a butting of great heads whose report sounded like the crack of a tree trunk, and an impact of muscular necks and broad chests that sent waves racing outward. Neither seemed hurt as they circled for position, flippers whipping the water into foam. The shore-gang boss was paddling toward his raft, eager to be out of the behemoths’ way.

Han felt Bollux’s hard finger tap his shoulder. “You’ll no doubt be wanting this, sir. I caught it before it could go overboard, but you didn’t seem to hear me call you.” He passed over Han’s blaster.

Without taking his eyes from the battle, Han promised, “I’m doubling your salary,” ignoring the fact that he had never paid the ’droid a thing.

Kasarax wailed; he had been too slow on the withdrawal after nipping Shazeen. The older bull hadn’t gotten a full grip with his fangs, and Kasarax had gotten away, but now blood flowed down his neck scales. Kasarax, wild with rage, charged again.

Shazeen met him head-on, each of them trying to butt and bite, to press the other under the surface, shrieking and trumpeting. Shazeen failed to repel a determined assault by Kasarax and slid back as the younger creature surged up over him seeking a death grip on his uncle’s throat. But he had been too eager. Shazeen had drawn him out and now the older bull dropped his pretext and dove, rolling. His blunt tail slammed Kasarax’s skull, and the younger combatant fell back in pain. They resumed butting heads, biting, thrashing flippers, and colliding with one another.

“Hang on!” warned Hasti, the only one who had thought to watch for other danger. The raft shuddered and timbers splintered as the bow was tipped into the air.

It was one of Kasarax’s followers, a very young bull from the looks of him. He had closed crushing jaws on the raft’s stern, shaking it, spouting wrathful blasts from his blowhole. He tore a meter-wide bite out of the raft, spat the wood aside, then came at them again. Han set his blaster to maximum power.

“Don’t kill him!” Hasti shouted. “You’ll have them all down on us!”

As the sauropteroid butted the raft, nearly capsizing it, Han bellowed. “What do you want me to do, sweetheart, bite him back?”

“Leave it to them,” she answered, pointing. She meant the other Swimmers, who were closing in. Kasarax’s over-eager follower had ignited a general fray. One—Han thought it was the female who had surfaced at the dock and offered support to Shazeen—kicked up an impressive bow-wave, making straight for the raft. But once again the creature closed jaws on the raft’s stern.

The trick’s to keep on breathing till help arrives, Han told himself. He spied the cone of gooey dough Hasti had brought, still more than half-full. He reached for it, calling, “Chewie! Lock hands!”

Han got to unsteady feet. The Wookiee reached out his long arm and caught Han’s free hand, steadying him. The young bull had seen him coming and opened its maw, but when he pulled up short it closed its jaws with a crash and blew a geyser of spray through its blowhole.

When he saw the edges of the blowhole vibrate with the indrawing of breath, Han jammed the cone of dough down on it as hard as he could. It landed on the sucking blowhole with a peculiar shloop!

The Swimmer froze, its eyes bulging. Into what air passages and chambers the dough had been drawn, Han couldn’t begin to guess. The creature shook, then exploded in a sneeze that convulsed him, kicking up a fountain of water and nearly blowing Han off the raft with the fish-scented gust.

At that moment Shazeen’s friend arrived. She hit the younger creature and they battled furiously. All around, pairs of the creatures rolled, ducked, bit, and butted in pitched combat. Scaled hides took tremendous punishment and the sound threatened to deafen the humans; the turbulence promised to capsize the raft.

Han kept his attention riveted on Shazeen and Kasarax, thinking, If that old bull loses, it’ll be a wet stroll home. And the fish are biting today!

Both bulls were torn and injured, chunks missing from each one’s hide and flippers. The older one moved slowly, worn down by his nephew’s youthful endurance. They rammed together for another fierce exchange. Surprisingly, Kasarax went under.

Shazeen sought to follow up his advantage but failed to keep track of his antagonist and circled aimlessly. The air was so full of pealing battle cries that Shazeen took no notice of his passengers’ warnings. Kasarax had slyly and quietly surfaced behind his uncle and to his left, in the blind spot resulting from his missing eye. The younger Swimmer lunged with jaws gaping for a lethal grip at the base of his uncle’s skull.

But Shazeen moved with abrupt speed, coming around and bringing his head up sharply, tagging Kasarax’s chin with the boniest part of his foreskull. The crack echoed from the opposite lakeshore. Dazed by the terrible blow, Kasarax barely had time to wobble before Shazeen had his throat tightly between black jaws.

“That old con artist!” Badure whooped. Chewbacca and Hasti hugged, and Han leaned on the rail, laughing. Shazeen was shaking his nephew’s head, mercilessly, side to side and forward and back, but refraining from the death bite.

At last Kasarax, head bent back at a painful angle, no fight left in him, began a pitiful croaking. All around him, combat ceased at the sounds of ritualistic surrender. When all the others had separated, Kasarax was released and allowed to tread water meekly while his uncle stormed at him in the sibilant language of their kind.

With a final, piercing rebuke, Shazeen sent his nephew off with a hard butt of his head. Kasarax submitted, then stroked slowly away to haul his tow-raft back the way he had come. His followers trailed him in disarray, convoyed by Shazeen’s victorious supporters.

Shazeen moved to his own raft, feeling the pain he hadn’t allowed himself to show his enemies. Bleeding from fearsome wounds, his scarred, one-eyed head battered and torn, he asked, “Now then, where were we?”

“I was in the drink,” Han reminded him. “You were hauling the raft around to take out the shore-gang boss. Got him right in the bulb, too. Thanks.”

The old bull made a gurgling sound resembling a chuckle. “An accident, peewee; didn’t I tell you it’s un-Lawful to meddle in a human squabble?” He gurgled again, bringing his wide chest against the raft’s stern and shoving toward the opposite shore.

“What about your nephew?” Hasti wanted to know.

“Oh, he’s through trying to make the lake his own pond. Fool idea would have gotten him killed sooner or later anyway, and he’s too valuable to waste. I’ll need a deputy soon; haven’t got many more scraps like that one left in me. These youngsters always think they’re clever, going for my blind side.”

“I still wouldn’t trust him,” Han warned.

“You don’t trust anybody,” Hasti chided.

“And you don’t see me getting my flipper bit, do you?” he retorted smugly.

“Oh, Kasarax will be all right,” Shazeen said. “He just thought he wanted us to fear him. He’ll like it better once we respect him; all but the worst ones come around, given the chance.”

The far shore had come up quickly. Shazeen propelled them toward it with a few more hard strokes, then flipped over and shoved them on with a sweep of his rear flippers. The raft nosed onto the strand, lifted on the crest. Han stepped onto the damp sand.

The others followed him. Badure had a rather sick Skynx slung over one shoulder. The female who had saved Shazeen’s passengers surfaced next to him, obviously concerned.

But her eye fell on Hasti, whose cowl had fallen back to display her red hair. “You had a rougher ride this time, human,” the Swimmer observed.

Hasti registered confusion. “Wasn’t that you,” the Swimmer female asked, “back before Kasarax took over? Sorry; the hair and, what do you call them, the clothes, are just the same.”

Hasti whispered, “Lanni! These are her clothes!”

Badure asked the female what this passenger had done.

“Just came across and asked people questions about those mountains there, waved a little machine in the air, then went back,” she replied.

Han, pouring water from his boot, looked up at the mountains rearing to the south. “What’s up there?”

“Nothing,” answered Shazeen. “Humans don’t usually go up there. Fewer come back. They say it’s just desolation up there.” He was studying Chewbacca, who had doffed the hated cloak, Bollux’s gleaming form, and the now-reviving Skynx.

“I’d heard that,” agreed Badure. “The mining camp lies on the far side of the mountains, Han, but I’d reckoned we’d go around. Why should Lanni have been interested in them, I wonder?”

Han stood up. “Let’s find out.”