Gwen's voice sounded in Rod's mind: Is he noble, then?
No, Rod answered. I don't think anyone here is. But someone has to do the jobs that the lords would do, if they were here—and he's been given that kind of authority. About as much as a knight.
By what right did he claim it?
Training, Rod answered, knowledge and intelligence. Sometimes even experience.
The great gates swung open, and the young officer stepped out to confront the wild savages.
He crossed both arms, fingertips touching his shoulders, and bowed slightly. One of the yellow-green men stepped forward, and returned the gesture.
"I think it's a salute," Rod muttered.
The lieutenant's words carried clearly. "I greet you, Scouting-Master."
The Scouting-Master returned the salute. "Have-um sun-filled day, Lieutenant."
"The sentiments are appreciated." The lieutenant's voice switched into crispness. "But though I am honored by your presence, I also wonder at it. For how long have noble warriors been attacking civilians?"
"Them not so civil. Them flew!"
"As I would, if I saw your valiant warriors pursuing me. Why did they?"
The Scouting-Master grinned, and his warriors chuckled. "Not for real. Just good fun."
"Fun!" Gwen gasped.
"Well, be fair." Rod shrugged. "It was, kinda, wasn't it?"
"Indeed?" The lieutenant's voice had become distinctly chilly.
The Scouting-Master's grin widened. "We could see-um was couple greenhorns. Why not have good time with-um?"
The lieutenant gave a wintry smile. "No harm intended, eh?"
"None." The Scouting-Master frowned. "But them have no business outside Wall! Them not traders!"
"A point well-taken, I must admit. Still, I cannot help but think your mode of contact was something less than honorable."
The natives scowled, muttering to one another, but the Scouting-Master only shrugged. "Could've done much worse, within-um rights. Could Shacklar gainsay?"
The lieutenant was silent a moment, then heaved a sigh. "The General-Governor would say that no lasting harm was done, so no hard feelings should last."
Rod frowned. 'General-Governor?' Didn't they have that the wrong way around?
"Even so." The Scouting-Master's forefinger stabbed upward, and his smile vanished. "Agreements hold. Me file-um complaint—formal! For trespassing!"
The lieutenant stood still for a moment, then sighed, pulled out a pad and began writing. "If you must. However, these two are civilians. That will necessitate a meeting with the General-Governor."
"Sound great." The Scouting-Master grinned. "Him always serve good coffee." He turned to his warriors, making shooing motions. "Go patrol again!"
"Boring," one of the warriors grumbled.
"Want-um soldiers stamp-um all over planet?" the Scouting-Master snapped. "Besides—good for-um! Build-um character!"
The warrior sighed, and the troops turned away. The Scouting-Master turned back, a grin spreading over his face again. "We go see Shacklar now, hm?"
The lieutenant ushered them into a thirty-by-thirty office with large windows (outside, Rod had noticed steel shutters), a desk at one end, and several padded armchairs at the other. All the furniture had a rough-and-ready look about it, as though it had been built out of local materials by an amateur carpenter. But it was made out of real wood. Rod thought that implied status, until he remembered that wood was cheaper than plastic on a frontier world. The floor was polished wood, too, most of it covered by a plaid carpet, woven of orange, purple, chartreuse, and magenta fibers. Rod winced.
The man who sat behind the desk seemed out of place. He was in full uniform, bent over paperwork, but was surprisingly young to be top kick; he couldn't have been much more than forty. He was lean, lanky, brown-haired, and the face that looked up at them as they came in was mild and quizzical, with a gentle smile. There was some indefinable air of sophistication about him, though, that made him seem incongruous with his rough surroundings.
He is a lord, Gwen thought.
She just might be right, Rod realized. Maybe a younger son of a younger son?
"General Shacklar," the lieutenant informed them, "the Governor."
Well. That explained the inverted title.
The General rose with a smile of welcome, and came around his desk toward them. The lieutenant snapped to attention and saluted. The General returned his salute and stopped in front of the native, crossing his arms and bowing. "May your day be sun-filled, Scouting-Master."
"And yours," the native grinned. "Coffee?"
"Of course! Lieutenant, will you serve, please?" But, as the young officer turned away, the General stopped him with an upheld palm. "A moment—introductions?"
"Certainly, sir." The lieutenant turned back to them. "Master Rod Gallowglass and his lady, Gwendylon."
"Charmed." The General took Gwen's hand and bowed. She smiled, pleased.
The lieutenant stepped away toward the coffeepot.
"I don't remember your arrival." The General gave Rod a keen glance.
Rod had a notion this man knew every single person who arrived on his planet—especially if he was, well, basically, warden. Of a planet-wide prison. And Rod and Gwen weren't exactly inconspicuous. "We were, uh, stranded, General. Landed out in the middle of the plains. No way to get back home."
Shacklar frowned. "I don't recall any report of a distress signal."
"We couldn't transmit." So far, Rod hadn't really told any lies. He hoped it would last.
It did. Shacklar gave him the keen glance again; he was definitely aware of the holes in the explanation; but he wasn't about to push them. "My sympathies. Just this morning, was it?"
"Soon after dawn," Gwen explained. "We had scarcely collected ourselves when these…"
She hesitated, and Shacklar supplied, "Wolmen. That's what they call themselves. Their ancestors were counterculture romantics, who fled Terra to live the life of the Noble Savage. They invented their own version of aboriginal culture, based largely on novels and screenplays."
Well. That explained some of the more bizarre aspects.
"I take it they discovered you almost immediately, and began to chase you?"
"Aye. We did fly from them."
Rod stiffened. Did she have to be so literal?
Yes, she did, now that he thought of it. When the Wolman talked about them flying, now, Schacklar would assume he was speaking metaphorically. Very clever, his lady. He glowed with pride.
Fortunately, the General didn't notice. He shook his head sadly. "Most unfortunate! My deepest regrets. But really, you see, by the terms of our agreement with the Wolmen, no colonist is supposed to be outside the Wall unless he's on official or commercial business, so you can understand why they would react in so precipitous a manner. And, truly, they did no harm—only enforced their rights under our treaty."
"Aye, that is easily understood." Gwen shrugged. "I cannot truly blame them."
"Most excellent." Shacklar beamed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must hear what the Scouting-Master wishes to say."
He turned away. Gwen turned to Rod, speaking softly. "Doth he say that these people but play at being savages, my lord?"
"No—but their ancestors did, so now they're stuck with it. But I get the feeling there was a real war when the Terran government decided to use this planet for a prison. Apparently they didn't consult the Wolmen first—and they resented it. Forcibly." He shrugged. "Can you blame them?"
The General had turned now, facing them again. "The Scouting-Master understands your predicament, but nonetheless charges you with trespassing." He sighed. "Actually, he's shown a considerable amount of forbearance in this matter. He could have taken any number of more or less lethal measures against you, rather than merely herding you to the Wall, as he did."