Voodoo Planet
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DUEL OF THE COSMIC MAGICIANS
VOODOO
PLANET
ANDREW NORTH
Complete Novel]
CHALLENGE ME WITH MONSTERS!
"From between the two shuffling dancers padded something on four feet.
The canine-feline creature was more than just a head; it was a
loose-limbed, graceful body fully eight feet in length, and the red eyes
in the prick-eared head were those of a killer.... Words issued from
between those curved fangs, words which Dane might not understand....
"Dane slid his blade out surreptitiously, setting its point against the
palm of his hand and jabbing painfully; but the terrible creature
continued to advance.... There was no blurring of its lines...."
Dane Thorson of the space-ship _Solar Queen_ knew there was only one way
to win out over this hideous thing--a battle to the end between his
rational mind and the hypnotic witchcraft of Lumbrilo, the mental wizard
of the planet Khatka.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Dane Thorson
He wanted to spend a short vacation on Khatka, not the rest of his life.
Medic Tau
Was he physician or magician--or a little bit of both?
Chief Ranger Asaki
Tracking the forests had taught him that mad animals--whether real or
imaginary--were to be feared.
Captain Jellico
Would his knowledge of alien life-forms help him in his fight against
alien ghosts?
Nymani
Not even this pilot's most scientific skill could overcome a voodoo
charm's ground-drag.
Lumbrilo
On his own planet he was a witch doctor; on Earth he'd have been a
master politician.
VOODOO PLANET
by
ANDREW NORTH
ACE BOOKS, INC.
23 West 47th Street, New York 36, N. Y.
VOODOO PLANET
Copyright (c), 1959, by Ace Books, Inc.
All Rights Reserved
Printed in U. S. A.
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| Transcriber's Note |
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| There is no evidence that the copyright on this publication |
| was renewed. |
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I
Talk of heat--or better not--on Xecho. This water-logged world combined
all the most unattractive features of a steam bath and one could only
dream of coolness, greenness--more land than a stingy string of islands.
The young man on the promontory above the crash of the waves wore the
winged cap of a spaceman with the insignia of a cargo-master and not
much else, save a pair of very short shorts. He wiped one hand absently
across his bare chest and brought it away damp as he studied, through
protective sun goggles, the treacherous promise of the bright sea. One
_could_ swim--if he wanted to lose most of his skin. There were minute
organisms in that liquid that smacked their lips--if they had
lips--every time they thought of a Terran.
Dane Thorson licked his own lips, tasting salt, and plodded back through
the sand of the spaceport to the berth of the _Solar Queen_. This had
been a long day, and one with more snarl-ups than he cared to count,
keeping him on a constant, dogged trot between the ship and the fitting
yard where riggers labored with the slowest motions possible to the
human body--or so it seemed to the exasperated acting-Cargo-Master of
the Free Trader. Captain Jellico had long ago taken refuge in his cabin
to preserve the remnants of his temper. Dane had been allowed no such
escape.
The _Queen_ had a schedule for refitting to serve as a mail ship, and
that time allowance did not allow for humidity playing the devil with
the innards of robot fitters. She _had_ to be ready to lift when the
Combine ship now plying that run set down and formally signed off in her
favor. Luckily, most of the work was done and Dane had given a last
searching inspection before signing the rigger's book and reporting to
his captain.
The air-conditioned interior of the _Queen_ comforted him as he climbed
to his quarters. Ship air was flat, chemically pure but unappetizing
stuff. Today it was a relief to breathe. Dane went on to the bather. At
least there was no lack of water--with the local skinners filtered out.
It was chill but relaxing on his gaunt young body.
He was sealing on his lightest tunic when the ramp buzzer sounded. A
visitor--oh, not the supervisor-rigger again! Dane went to answer with
dragging feet. For the crew of the _Queen_ at the moment numbered
exactly four, with himself for general errand boy. Captain Jellico was
in his quarters two levels above, Medic Tau was presumably overhauling
his supplies, and Sindbad, ship's cat, asleep in some empty cabin.
Dane jerked his tunic into place, very much on his guard as he came to
the head of the ramp. But it was not the supervisor-rigger. Dane,
thoroughly used to unusual-appearing strangers, both human and alien,
was impressed by this visitor.
He was tall, this quiet man, his great height accented by a fit
leanness, a narrowness of waist and hip, a length of leg and arm. His
main article of clothing was the universal shorts of the Xecho settler.
But, being fashioned of saffron yellow, they were the more brilliant
because of his darkness of skin. For he was not the warm brown of the
Terran Negroes Dane had served beside, though he shared their general
features. His flesh was really black, black with an almost bluish sheen.
Instead of shirt or tunic, his deep chest was crossed by two wide
straps, the big medallion marking their intersection giving forth
flashes of gem fire when he breathed. He wore at his belt not the
standard stun gun of a spaceman, but a weapon which resembled the more
deadly Patrol blaster, as well as a long knife housed in a jeweled and
fringed sheath. To the eye he was an example of barbaric force tamed
and trimmed to civilized efficiency.
He saluted, palm out, and spoke Galactic Basic with only a suggestion of
accent.
"I am Kort Asaki. I believe Captain Jellico expects me."
"Yes, sir!" Dane snapped to attention. So this was the Chief Ranger from
fabulous Khatka, Xecho's sister planet.
The other ascended the cat ladder easily, missing no detail of the
ship's interior as he passed. His expression was still one of polite
interest as his guide rapped on the panel door of Jellico's cabin. And a
horrible screech from Queex, the captain's pet hoobat, drowned out any
immediate answer. Then followed that automatic thump on the floor of the
blue-feathered, crab-parrot-toad's cage, announcing that its master was
in residence.
Since the captain's cordial welcome extended only to his guest, Dane
regretfully descended to the mess cabin to make unskilled preparations
for supper--though there was not much you could do to foul up
concentrates in an automatic cooker.
"Company?" Tau sat beyond the cooking unit nursing a mug of Terran
coffee. "And do you _have_ to serve music with the meals, especially
that particular selection?"
Dane flushed, stopped whistling in mid-note. "Terra Bound" _was_ old
and pretty well worn out; he didn't know why he always unconsciously
sounded off with that.
"A Chief Ranger from Khatka just came on board," he reported, carefully
offhand, as he busied himself reading labels. He knew better than to
serve fish or any of its derivatives in disguise again.
"Khatka!" Tau sat up straighter. "Now there's a planet worth visiting."
"Not on a Free Trader's pay," commented Dane.
"You can always hope to make a big strike, boy. But what I wouldn't give
to lift ship for there!"
"Why? You're no hunter. How come you want to heat jets for that port?"
"Oh, I don't care about the game preserves, though they're worth seeing,
too. It's the people themselves--"
"But they're Terran settlers, or at least from Terran stock, aren't
they?"
"Sure," Tau sipped his coffee slowly. "But there are settlers and
settlers, son. And a lot depends upon when they left Terra and why, and
who they were--also what happened to them after they landed out here."
"And Khatkans are really special?"
"Well, they have an amazing history. The colony was founded by escaped
prisoners--and just one racial stock. They took off from Earth close to
the end of the Second Atomic War. That was a race war, remember? Which
made it doubly ugly." Tau's mouth twisted in disgust. "As if the color
of a man's skin makes any difference in what lies under it! One side in
that line-up tried to take over Africa--herded most of the natives into
a giant concentration camp and practiced genocide on a grand scale. Then
they were cracked themselves, hard and heavy. During the confusion some
survivors in the camp staged a revolt, helped by the enemy. They
captured an experimental station hidden in the center of the camp and
made a break into space in two ships which had been built there. That
voyage must have been a nightmare, but they were desperate. Somehow they
made it out here to the rim and set down on Khatka without power enough
to take off again--and by then most of them were dead.
"But we humans, no matter what our race, are a tough breed. The refugees
discovered that climatically their new world was not too different from
Africa, a lucky chance which might happen only once in a thousand times.
So they thrived, the handful who survived. But the white technicians
they had kidnaped to run the ships didn't. For they set up a color bar
in reverse. The lighter your skin, the lower you were in the social
scale. By that kind of selective breeding the present Khatkans are very
dark indeed.
"They reverted to the primitive for survival. Then, about two hundred
years ago, long before the first Survey Scout discovered them, something
happened. Either the parent race mutated, or, as sometimes occurs, a
line of people of superior gifts emerged--not in a few isolated births,
but with surprising regularity in five family clans. There was a short
period of power struggle until they realized the foolishness of civil
war and formed an oligarchy, heading a loose tribal organization. With
the Five Families to push and lead, a new civilization developed, and
when Survey came to call they were no longer savages. Combine bought the
trade rights about seventy-five years ago. Then the Company and the Five
Families got together and marketed a luxury item to the galaxy. You know
how every super-jet big shot on twenty-five planets wants to say he's
hunted on Khatka. And if he can point out a graz head on his wall, or
wear a tail bracelet, he's able to strut with the best. To holiday on
Khatka is both fabulous and fashionable--and very, very profitable for
the natives and for Combine who sells transportation to the travelers."
"I hear they have poachers, too," Dane remarked.
"Yes, that naturally follows. You know what a glam skin brings on the
market. Wherever you have a rigidly controlled export you're going to
have poachers and smugglers. But the Patrol doesn't go to Khatka. The
natives handle their own criminals. Personally, I'd cheerfully take a
ninety-nine-year sentence in the Lunar mines in place of what the
Khatkans dish out to a poacher they net!"
"So that rumor has spread satisfactorily!"
Coffee slopped over the brim of Tau's mug and Dane dropped the packet of
steak concentrate he was about to feed into the cooker. Chief Ranger
Asaki loomed in the doorway of the mess as suddenly as if he had been
teleported to that point.
The medic arose to his feet and smiled politely at the visitor.
"Do I detect in that observation, sir, the suggestion that the tales I
have heard were deliberately set to blast where they would do the most
good as deterrents?"
A fleeting grin broke the impassive somberness of the black face.
"I was informed you are a man skilled in 'magic,' Medic. You certainly
display the traditional sorcerer's quickness of wit. But this rumor is
also truth." The quirk of good humor had gone again, and there was an
edge in the Chief Ranger's voice which cut. "Poachers on Khatka would
welcome the Patrol in place of the attention they now receive."
He came into the mess cabin, Jellico behind him, and Dane pulled down
two of the snap seats. He was holding a mug under the spout of the
coffee dispenser as the captain made introductions.
"Thorson--our acting-cargo-master."
"Thorson," the Khatkan acknowledged with a grave nod of his head, and
then glanced down to floor level with a look of surprise. Weaving a
pattern about his legs, purring loudly, Sindbad was offering an
unusually fervent welcome of his own. The Ranger went down on one knee,
his hand out for Sindbad's inquiring sniff. Then the cat butted that
dark palm, batted at it playfully with claw-sheathed paw.
"A Terran cat! It is of the lion family?"
"Far removed," Jellico supplied. "You'd have to add a lot of bulk to
Sindbad to promote him to the lion class."
"We have only the old tales." Asaki sounded almost wistful as the cat
jumped to his knee and clawed for a hold on his chest belts. "But I do
not believe that lions were ever so friendly toward my ancestors."
Dane would have removed the cat, but the Khatkan arose with Sindbad,
still purring loudly, resting in the crook of his arm. The Ranger was
smiling with a gentleness which changed the whole arrogant cast of his
countenance.
"Do not bring this one to Khatka with you, Captain, or you will never
take him away again. Those who dwell in the inner courts would not let
him vanish from their sight. Ah, so this pleases you, small lion?" He
rubbed Sindbad gently under the throat and the cat stretched his neck,
his yellow eyes half closed in bliss.
"Thorson," the Captain turned to Dane, "that arrival report on my desk
was the final one from Combine?"
"Yes, sir. There's no hope of the _Rover_ setting down here before that
date."
Asaki sat down, still holding the cat. "So you see, Captain, fortune has
arranged it all. You have two tens of days. Four days to go in my
cruiser, four days for your return here, and the rest to explore the
preserve. We could not ask for better luck, for I do not know when our
paths may cross again. In the normal course of events I will not have
another mission to Xecho for a year, perhaps longer. Also--" He
hesitated and then spoke to Tau. "Medic, Captain Jellico has informed me
that you have made a study of magic on many worlds."
"That is so, sir."
"Do you then believe that it is real force, or that it is only a
superstition for child-people who set up demons to howl petitions to
when some darkness falls upon them?"
"Some of the magic I have seen is trickery, some of it founded upon an
inner knowledge of men and their ways which a shrewd witch doctor can
use to his advantage. There always remains"--Tau put down his mug,
"--there always remains a small residue of happenings and results for
which we have not yet found any logical explanations--"
"And I believe," Asaki interrupted, "it is also true that a race can be
conditioned from birth to be sensitive to forms of magic so that men of
that blood are particularly susceptible." That was more of a statement
than a question, but Tau answered it.
"That is very true. A Lamorian, for example, can be 'sung' to death. I
have witnessed such a case. But upon a Terran or another off-world man
the same suggestion would have no effect."
"Those who settled Khatka brought such magic with them." The Chief
Ranger's fingers still moved about Sindbad's jaw and throat soothingly,
but his tone was chill, the coldest thing in the cramped space of the
mess cabin.
"Yes, a highly developed form of it," Tau agreed.
"More highly developed perhaps than even you can believe, Medic!"
That came in a hiss of cold rage. "I think that its present
manifestation--death by a beast that is not a beast--could be worth
your detailed study."
"Why?" Tau came bluntly to the point.
"Because it is a killing magic and it is being carefully used to rid my
world of key men, men we need badly. If there is a weak point in this
cloudy attack shaping against us, we must learn it, and soon!"
It was Jellico who added the rest. "We are invited to visit Khatka and
survey a new hunting range as Chief Ranger Asaki's personal term
guests."
Dane drew a deep breath of wonder. Guest rights on Khatka were jealously
guarded--they were too valuable to their owners to waste. Whole families
lived on the income from the yearly rental of even half a one. But the
Rangers, by right of office, had several which they could grant to
visiting scientists or men from other worlds holding positions similar
to their own. To have such an opportunity offered to an ordinary Trader
was almost incredible.
His wonder was matched by Tau's and must have been plain to read for the
Chief Ranger smiled.
"For a long time Captain Jellico and I have exchanged biological data on
alien life-forms--his skill in photographing such, his knowledge as an
xenobiologist are widely recognized. And so I have permission for him to
visit the new Zoboru preserve, not yet officially opened. And you, Medic
Tau, your help, or at least your diagnosis, we need in another
direction. So, one expert comes openly, another not so openly. Though,
Medic, your task is approved by my superiors. And"--he glanced at
Dane--"perhaps to muddle the trail for the suspicious, shall we not ask
this young man also?"
Dane's eyes went to the captain. Jellico was always fair and his crew
would have snapped into action on his word alone--even if they were
fronting a rain of Thorkian death darts and that order was to advance.
But, on the other hand, Dane would never have asked a favor, and the
best he hoped for was to be able to perform his duties without
unfavorable comment upon their commission. He had no reason to believe
Jellico was willing to agree to this.
"You have two weeks' planet-side leave coming, Thorson. If you want to
spend it on Khatka...." Jellico actually grinned then. "I take it that
you do. When do we up-ship, sir?"
"You said that you must wait for the return of your other crew
members--shall we say mid-afternoon tomorrow?" The Chief Ranger stood up
and put Sindbad down though the cat protested with several sharp meows.
"Small lion," the tall Khatkan spoke to the cat as to an equal, "this is
your jungle, and mine lies elsewhere. But should you ever grow tired of
traveling the stars, there is always a home for you in my courts."
When the Chief Ranger went out the door, Sindbad did not try to follow,
but he uttered one mournful little cry of protest and loss.
"So he wants a trouble shooter, does he?" Tau asked. "All right, I'll
try to hunt out his goblins for him; it'll be worth that to visit
Khatka!"
Dane, remembering the hot glare of the Xecho spaceport, the sea one
could not swim in, contrasted that with the tri-dees he had seen of the
green hunters' paradise on the next planet of the system. "Yes, sir!" he
echoed and made a haphazard choice for the cooker.
"Don't be too lighthearted," Tau warned. "I'll say that any stew which
was too hot for that Ranger to handle might give us burned fingers--and
quick. When we land on Khatka, walk softly and look over your shoulder,
and be prepared for the worst."
II
Lightning played along the black ridges above them, and below was a
sheer drop to a river which was only a silver thread. Under their boots,
man-made and yet dominating the wildness of jungle and mountain, was a
platform of rock slabs, fused to support a palace of towering
yellow-white walls and curved cups of domes, a palace which was also
half fortress, half frontier post.
Dane set his hands on the parapet of the river drop, blinked as a
lightning bolt crackled in a sky-splitting glare of violet fire. This
was about as far from the steaming islands of Xecho as a man could
imagine.
"The demon graz prepare for battle." Asaki nodded toward the distant
crackling.
Captain Jellico laughed. "Supposed to be whetting their tusks, eh? I
wouldn't care to meet a graz that could produce such a display by mere
tusk whetting."
"No? But think of the reward for the tracker who discovers where such go
to die. To find the graveyard of the graz herds would make any man
wealthy beyond dreams."
"How much truth is there in that legend?" Tau asked.
The Chief Ranger shrugged. "Who can say? This much _is_ true: I have
served my life in the forests since I could walk. I have listened to the
talk of Trackers, Hunters, Rangers in my father's courtyards and field
camps since I could understand their words. Yet never has any man
reported the finding of a body of a graz that died a natural death. The
scavengers might well account for the bulk of flesh, but the tusks and
the bones should be visible for years. And this, too, I have seen with
my own eyes: a graz close to death, supported by two of its kind and
being urged along to the big swamps. Perhaps it is only that the
suffering animal longs for water at its end, or perhaps in the heart of
that morass there does lie the graz graveyard. But no man has found a
naturally dead graz, nor has any returned from exploring the big
swamps...."
Lightning on peaks which were like polished jet--bare rock above, the
lush overgrowth of jungle below. And between, this fortress held by men
who dared both the heights and the depths. The wildly burgeoning life of
Khatka had surrounded the off-worlders since they had come here. There
was something untameable about Khatka; the lush planet lured and yet
repelled at the same time.
"Zoboru far from here?"
The Chief Ranger pointed north in answer to the captain's question.
"About a hundred leagues. It is the first new preserve we have prepared
in ten years. And it is our desire to make it the best for tri-dee
hunters. That is why we are now operating taming teams--"
"Taming teams?" Dane had to ask.
The Chief Ranger was ready enough to discuss his project.
"Zoboru is a no-kill preserve. The animals, they come to learn that
after a while. But we cannot wait several years until they do. So we
make them gifts." He laughed, evidently recalling some incident.
"Sometimes, perhaps, we are too eager. Most of our visitors who wish to
make tri-dees want to picture big game--graz, amplet, rock apes,
lions--"
"Lions?" echoed Dane.
"Not Terran lions, no. But my people, when they landed on Khatka, found
a few animals that reminded them of those they had always known. So they
gave those the same names. A Khatkan lion is furred, it is a hunter and
a great fighter, but it is not the cat of Terra. However, it is in great
demand as a tri-dee actor. So we summon it out of lurking by providing
free meals. One shoots a poli, a water rat, or a landeer and drags the
carcass behind a low-flying flitter. The lion springs upon the moving
meat, which it can also scent, and the rope is cut, leaving a free
dinner.
"The lions are not stupid. In a very short time they connect the sound
of a flitter cutting the air with food. So they come to the banquet and
those on the flitter can take their tri-dee shots at ease. Only there
must also be care taken in such training. One forest guard on the Komog
preserve became too enterprising. He dragged his kill at first. Then, to
see if he could get the lions to forget man's presence entirely, he hung
the training carcasses on the flitter, encouraging them to jump for
their food.
"For the guard that was safe enough, but it worked too too well. A month
or so later a Hunter was escorting a client through Komog and they swung
low to get a good picture of a water rat emerging from the river.
Suddenly there was a snarl behind them and they found themselves sharing
the flitter with a lioness annoyed at finding no meat waiting on board.
"Luckily, they both wore stass belts; but they had to land the flitter
and leave until the lioness wandered off, and she seriously damaged the
machine in her irritation. So now our guards play no more fancy tricks
while on taming runs. Tomorrow--no," he corrected himself, "the day
after tomorrow I will be able to show you how the process works."
"And tomorrow?" inquired the captain.
"Tomorrow my men make hunting magic." Asaki's voice was expressionless.
"Your chief witch doctor being?" questioned Tau.
"Lumbrilo." The Chief Ranger did not appear disposed to add to that but
Tau pursued the subject.
"His office is hereditary?"
"Yes. Does that make any difference?" For the first time there was a
current of repressed eagerness in the other's tone.
"Perhaps a vast amount of difference," Tau replied. "A hereditary office
may carry with it two forms of conditioning, one to influence its
holder, one to affect the public-at-large. Your Lumbrilo may have come
to believe deeply in his own powers; he would be a very remarkable man
if he did not. It is almost certain that your people unquestionably
accept him as a worker of wonders?"
"They do so accept." Once more Asaki's voice was drained of life.
"And Lumbrilo does not accept something you believe necessary?"
"Again the truth, Medic. Lumbrilo does not accept his proper place in
the scheme of things!"