Assassins' Dawn by Stephen Leigh Page B

guild-kinship—Neweden’s replacement for the biological, nuclear family— and the normal jealousies to which humans are prone. Now; no, make that: Since the advent of the Hoorka, there is an alternative offered Neweden. Rather than calling a formal bloodfeud between guilds and the possibility of carnage that that entails and by all the gods, that’s a clumsy sentence. Umm, cancel and begin program, please.
    “The Hoorka function as an alternative to the traditional method of settling conflicts: the bloodfeud. On Neweden, a bloodfeud may become a small-scale war, all perfectly legal. By contacting the Hoorka and signing their contract, a person can fulfill his duty to his kin or his gods for any insult, and still retain his life with his pride.
    “The Hoorka price is high, but that fits in with their crude; no, make that”—(pause)—“ unsophisticated variation on Social Darwinism: in essence, crude survival of the fit. They contend that wealth is an outgrowth of power and fitness—and yet the victim retains a chance of escaping this harsh justice, for the victim may have ‘survival traits’ that are not tied in with the accumulation of lucre. The odds are never overloaded in the favor of the Hoorka. If the victim isn’t carrying a bodyshield, as an example, the Hoorka will decline to carry firearms or stings in carrying out the contract. This aspect of the code has had a corollary effect: most contracted victims decline to use such technologically-based defenses, relying instead upon speed and stealth.”
    Cranmer reached over the desk to switch off the voicetyper and then looked at the words he’d just written. “Anything particularly wrong with that, Thane? It’s simply for my notes. What eventually gets put together for publication will be scattered with a more esoteric vocabulary so that the University people don’t feel their intelligence is being insulted—if they can understand a concept too easily, they think it below their notice.”
    “You sound mildly bitter, scholar.”
    Cranmer leaned back in his floater and put his hands behind his head. He pursed his lips, eyes closed. “No, just realistic. I’ve been away from it long enough to have an objectivity about the drawbacks of my profession. I don’t care for that much posturing and pretension in anyone but myself.” He grinned. “And that’s a normal human instinct.”
    The Thane had been standing near the shield that cut this—Cranmer’s rooms—from the other caverns of Underasgard. Now he moved forward and sat on the bed. Above him, a lamp tinted gold threw light down on the crown of the Thane’s head, so that every line of his face was accentuated. The Thane caught sight of himself in a mirror across the room, and he grimaced. He moved slightly, so that the light struck him at an angle, softening his face. He surreptitiously examined the results, hoping Cranmer hadn’t noticed his vanity. “Wait until we Hoorka go offworld. You’ll have to revise your paper.”
    Cranmer frowned. He leaned forward toward the Thane, his eyes questioning. “Thane, in the months I’ve spent with you, I’ve never hedged truths. If the Hoorka do go offworld—and I don’t know that d’Embry’s ever going to allow that—I think you’re going to run into far more trouble remaining consistent than you realize. You’ll be operating under totally different social structures, if nothing else. The code might have to be re-worked to some degree. You’re set up for Neweden, not Niffleheim or Longago or Aris. This planet is the only one of which I’m aware that has such a hidebound caste system—the guilds—and they are what make the Hoorka code work.”
    “The code is sufficient.” The Thane shook his head in disagreement. Light shifted across his face. “If we start tampering with our structure, making exceptions and addendums here and there, what will distinguish us from common criminals? No,” he said emphatically, “I’ve thought of this