Starfishers Volume 1: Shadowline Read Free Page A

me, Rhafu.” The Norbon’s hand settled onto Deeth’s shoulder again. “Department Heads meeting in the morning. We’ll determine a policy then. Come, Deeth.”
     
    They inspected the sithlac in its vast, hermetically sealed greenhouse. The crop was sprouting. In time the virally infected germ plasm of the grain would be refined to produce stardust, the most addictive and deadly narcotic ever to plague humankind.
    Stardust addicts did not survive long, but while they did they provided their Sangaree suppliers with a guaranteed income.
    Sithlac was the base of wealth for many of the smaller Families. It underpinned the economy of the race. And it was one of the roots of their belief in the essential animal-ness of humanity. No true sentient would willingly subject itself to such a degrading, slow, painful form of suicide.
    Deeth fidgeted, bored, scarcely hearing his father’s remarks. He was indifferent to the security that a sound, conservative agricultural program represented. He was too young to comprehend adult needs. He preferred the risk and romance of a Rhafu-like life to the security of drug production.
    Rhafu had not been much older than he was now when he had served as a gunner’s helper during a raid into the Ulant sphere.
    Raiding was the only way possessionless Sangaree had to accumulate the wealth needed to establish a Family. Financially troubled Families sometimes raided when they needed a quick cash flow. Most Sangaree heroes and historical figures came out of the raiding.
    A conservative, the Norbon possessed no raidships. His transports were lightly armed so his ships’ masters would not be tempted to indulge in free-lance piracy.
    The Norbon were a “made” Family. They were solid in pleasure slaves and stardust. That their original fortune had been made raiding was irrelevant. Money, as it aged, always became more conservative and respectable.
    Deeth reaffirmed his intention of building raiders when he became Head. Everybody was saying that the human and Ulantonid spheres were going to collide soon. That might mean war. Alien races went to their guns when living space and resources were at stake. The period of adjustment and accommodation would be a raidmaster’s godsend.
    Norbon w’Deeth, Scourge of the Spaceways, was slammed back to reality by the impact of his father’s hand. “Deeth! Wake up, boy! Time to go back to the greathouse. Your mother wants us to get ready.”
    Deeth took his father’s hand and allowed himself to be led from the dome. He was not pleased about going. Even prosaic sithlac fields were preferable to parties.
    His mother had one planned for that evening. Everyone who was anyone among the Prefactlas Families would be there—including a few fellow heirs-apparent who could be counted on to start a squabble when their elders were not around. He might have to take a beating in defense of Family honor.
    He understood that his mother felt obligated to have these affairs. They helped reduce friction between the Families. But why couldn’t he stay in his suite and view his books about the great raiders and sales agents? Or even just study?
    He was not going to marry a woman who threw parties. They were boring. The adults got staggering around drunk and bellicose, or syrupy, pulling him onto their laps and telling him what a wonderful little boy he was, repelling him with their alcohol-laden breath.
    He would never drink, either. A raidmaster had to keep a clear head.
     
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Five: 3052 AD
    My father once said that people are a lot like billiard balls and gas molecules. They collide with one another randomly, imparting unexpected angles of momentum. A secondary impact can cause a tertiary, and so forth. With people it’s usually impossible to determine an initiator because human relationships try to ignore the laws of thermodynamics. In the case of the Shadowline, though, we can trace everything to a man called Frog.
    My father said Frog was like a screaming cue ball on