FORTUNATELY THE PATH out of the straggling town
was a twisted one and in a very short space they were hidden from
view. Dane paused as if the pace was too much for an injured man.
The Medic put out a steadying hand, only to drop it quickly when he
saw the weapon which had appeared in Dane’s grip.
“What—?” His mouth snapped shut, his jaw
tightened.
“You will march ahead of me,” Dane’s low voice
was steady. “Beyond that rock spur to the left you’ll
find a place where it is possible to climb down to sea level. Do
it!”
“I suppose I shouldn’t ask why?”
“Not now. We haven’t much time. Get
moving!”
The Medic mastered his surprise and without further protest
obeyed orders. It was only when they were standing by the flitter
and he saw the suits that his eyes widened and he said:
“The Big Burn!”
“Yes, and I’m desperate—”
“You must be—or mad—” The Medic stared
at Dane for a long moment and then shook his head. “What is
it? A plague ship?”
Dane bit his lip. The other was too astute. But he did not ask
why or how he had been able to guess so shrewdly. Instead he
gestured to the suit Ali had lashed beneath the seat in the
flitter. “Get into that and be quick about it!”
The Medic rubbed his hand across his jaw. “I think that
you might just be desperate enough to use that thing you’re
brandishing about so melodramatically if I don’t,” he
remarked in a calmly conversational tone.
“I won’t kill. But a blaster burn—”
“Can be pretty painful. Yes, I know that, young man.
And,” suddenly he shrugged, put down his kit and started donning the suit. “I wouldn’t put it past you to
knock me out and load me aboard if I did say no. All
right—”
Suited, he took his place on the seat as Dane directed, and then
the Trader followed the additional precaution of lashing the
Medic’s metal encased arms to his body before he climbed into
his own protective covering. Now they could only communicate by
sight through the vision plates of their helmets.
Dane triggered the controls and they arose out of the sand and
rock hollow just as a party of two men and a boy came hurrying
along the top of the cliff—Jorge and the rescuers arriving
too late. The flitter spiraled up into the sunlight and Dane
wondered how long it would be before this outrage was reported to
the nearest Planet Police base. But would any Police cruiser have
the hardihood to follow him into the Big Burn? He hoped that the
radiation would hold them back.
There was no navigation to be done. The flitter’s
“memory” should deposit them at the Queen. Dane
wondered at what his silent companion was now thinking. The Medic
had accepted his kidnaping with such docility that the very ease of
their departure began to bother Dane. Was the other expecting a
trailer? Had exploration into the Big Burn from the seaside
villages been more extensive than reported officially?
He stepped up the power of the flitter to the top notch and saw
with some relief that the ground beneath them was now the rocky
waste bordering the devastated area. The metal encased figure that
shared his seat had not moved, but now the bubble head turned as if
the Medic were intent upon the ground flowing beneath them.
The flicker of the counter began and Dane realized that
nightfall would find them still air borne. But so far he had not
been aware of any pursuit. Again he wished he had the use of a
com—only here the radiation would blanket sound with that
continuous roar.
Patches of the radiation vegetation showed now and something in
the lines of the Medic’s tense figure suggested that these
were new to him. Afternoon waned as the patches united, spread into the beginning of the jungle as the counter
was once more an almost steady light. When evening closed in they
were not caught in darkness—for below trees, looping vines,
brush, had a pale, evil glow of their own, proclaiming their
toxicity with bluish halos. Sometimes pockets of these made a core
of light which pulsed, sending warning fingers at the flitter which
sped across it.
The hour was close on midnight before Dane sighted the other
light, the pink-red of which winked through the ghastly blue-white
with a natural and comforting promise, even though it had been
meant for an entirely different purpose. The Queen had earthed with
her distress lights on and no one had remembered to snap them off.
Now they acted as a beacon to draw the flitter to its berth.
Dane brought the stripped flyer down on the fused ground as
close to the spot from which he had taken off as he could remember.
Now—if those on the spacer would only move fast
enough—!
But he need not have worried, his arrival had been anticipated.
Above, the rounded side of the spacer bulged as the hatch opened.
Lines swung down to fasten their magnetic clamps on the flitter.
Then once more they were air borne, swinging up to be warped into
the side of the ship. As the outer port of the flitter berth closed
Dane reached over and pulled loose the lashing which immobilized
his companion. The Medic stood up, a little awkwardly as might any
man who wore space armor the first time.
The inner hatch now opened and Dane waved his captive into the
small section which must serve them as a decontamination space.
Free at last of the suits, they went through one more improvised
hatch to the main corridor of the Queen where Rip and Ali stood
waiting, their weary faces lighting as they saw the Medic.
It was the latter who spoke first. “This is a
plague ship—”
Rip shook his head. “It is not, sir. And
you’re the one who is going to help us prove that.”
The man leaned back against the wall, his face expressionless. “You take a rather tough way of trying to get
help.”
“It was the only way left us. I’ll be frank,”
Rip continued, “we’re Patrol Posted.”
The Medic’s shrewd eyes went from one drawn young face to
the next. “You don’t look like very desperate
criminals,” was his comment. “This your full
crew?”
“All the rest are your concern. That is—if you will
take the job—” Rip’s shoulders slumped a
little.
“You haven’t left me much choice, have you? If there
is illness on board, I’m under the Oath—whether you are
Patrol Posted or not. What’s the trouble?”
They got him down to Tau’s laboratory and told him their
story. From a slight incredulity his expression changed to an alert
interest and he demanded to see, first the patients and then the
pests now immured in the deep freeze. Sometime in the middle of
this, Dane, overcome by fatigue which was partly relief from
tension, sought his cabin and the bunk from which he wearily
disposed Sinbad, only to have the purring cat crawl back once more
when he had lain down.
And when he awoke, renewed in body and spirit, it was in a new
Queen, a ship in which hope and confidence now ruled.
“Hovan’s already got it!” Rip told him
exultantly. “It’s that poison from the little
devils’ claws right enough! A narcotic—produces some of the
affects of deep sleep. In fact—it may have a medical use.
He’s excited about it—”
“All right,” Dane waved aside information which
under other circumstances, promising as it did a chance for future
trade, would have engrossed him, to ask a question which at the
moment seemed far more to the point. “Can he get our men back
on their feet?”
A little of Rip’s exuberance faded. “Not right away.
He’s given them all shots. But he thinks they’ll have
to sleep it off.”
“And we have ho idea how long that is
going to take,” Ali contributed.
Time—for the first time in days Dane was struck by that
time! Because of his training a fact he had forgotten in the past
weeks of worry now came to mind—their contract with the storm priests. Even if they were able to clear themselves of
the plague charge, even if the rest of the crew were speedily
restored to health, he was sure that they could not hope to return
to Sargol with the promised cargo, the pay for which was already on
board the Queen. They would have broken their pledge and there
could be no hope of holding to their trading rights on that
world—if they were not blacklisted for breaking contract into
the bargain. I-S would be able to move in and clean up and probably
they could never prove that the Company was behind their
misfortunes—though the men of the Queen would always be
convinced that that fact was the truth.
“We’re going to break contract—” he said
aloud and that shook the other two, knocked some of their assurance
out of them.
“How about that?” Rip asked Ali.
The acting-engineer nodded. “We have fuel enough to lift
from here and maybe set down at Terraport—if we take it
careful and cut vectors. We can’t lift from there without
refueling—and of course the Patrol are going to sit on their
hands while we do that—with us Posted! No, put out of your
heads any plan for getting back to Sargol within the time limit.
Thorson’s right—that way we’re flamed
out!”
Rip slumped in his seat. “So the Eysies can take over
after all?”
“As I see it,” Dane cut in, “let’s just
take one thing at a time. We may have to argue a broken contract
out before the Board. But first we have to get off the Posted hook
with the Patrol. Have you any idea about how we are going to handle
that?”
“Hovan’s on our side. In fact if we let him have the
bugs to play with he’ll back us all the way. He can swear us
a clean bill of health before the Medic Control Center.”
“How much will that count after we’ve broken all
their regs?” Ali wanted to know. “If we surrender now
we’re not going to have much chance, no matter what Hovan
does or does not swear to. Hovan’s a frontier Medic—I
won’t say that he’s not a member in good standing of their
association—but he doesn’t have top star rating. And
with the Eysies and the Patrol on our necks, we’ll need more
than one Medic’s word—”
But Rip looked from the pessimistic Kamil to Dane. Now he asked
a question which was more than half statement.
“You’ve thought of something?”
“I’ve remembered something,” the
Cargo-apprentice corrected. “Recall the trick Van pulled on
Limbo when the Patrol was trying to ease us out of our rights there
after they took over the outlaw hold?”
Ali was impatient. “He threatened to talk to the Video
people and broadcast—tell everyone about the ships wrecked by
the Forerunner installation and left lying about full of treasure.
But what has that to do with us now—? We bargained away our
rights on Limbo for the rest of Cam’s monopoly on
Sargol—not that it’s done us much
good—”
“The Video,” Dane fastened on the important point,
“Van threatened publicity which would embarrass the Patrol
and he was legally within his rights. We’re outside the law
now—but publicity might help again. How many earth-side
people know of the unwritten law about open war on plague ships?
How many who aren’t spacemen know that we could be legally
pushed into the sun and fried without any chance to prove
we’re innocent of carrying a new disease? If we could talk
loud and clear to the people at large maybe, we’d have a
chance for a real hearing—”
“Right from the Terraport broadcast station, I
suppose?” Ali taunted.
“Why not?”
There was silence in the cabin as the other two chewed upon that
and he broke it again:
“We set down here when it had never been done
before.”
With one brown forefinger Rip traced some pattern known only to
himself on the top of the table. Ali stared at the opposite wall as
if it were a bank of machinery he must master.
“It just might be whirly enough to work—”
Kamil commented softly. “Or maybe we’ve been spaced too
long and the Whisperers have been chattering into our ears. What about
it, Rip, could you set us down close enough to Center Block
there?”
“We can try anything once. But we might crash the old girl
bringing her in. There’s that apron between the
Companies’ Launching cradles and the Center—It’s clear there and we could give an E signal coming down
which would make them stay rid of it. But I won’t try it
except as a last resort.”
Dane noticed that after that discouraging statement Rip made
straight for Jellico’s record tapes and routed out the one
which dealt with Terraport and the landing instructions for that
metropolis of the star ships. To land unbidden there would
certainly bring them publicity—and to get to the Video
broadcast and tell their story would grant them not only world
wide, but system wide hearing. News from Terraport was broadcast on
every channel every hour of the day and night and not a single
viewer could miss their appeal.
But first there was Hovan to be consulted. Would he be willing
to back them with his professional knowledge and assurance? Or
would their high-handed method of recruiting his services operate
against them now? They decided to let Rip ask such questions of the
Medic.
“So you’re going to set us down in the center of the
big jump-off?” was his first comment, as the acting-Captain
of the Queen stated their case. “Then you want me to fire my
rockets to certify you are harmless. You don’t ask for very
much, do you, son?”
Rip spread his hands. “I can understand how its looks to
you, sir. We grabbed you and brought you here by force. We
can’t make you testify for us if you decide not
to—”
“Can’t you?” The Medic cocked an eyebrow at
him. “What about this bully boy of yours with his little
blaster? He could herd me right up to the telecast, couldn’t
he? There’s a lot of persuasion in one of those nasty little
arms. On the other hand, I’ve a son who’s set on taking
out on one of these tin pots to go star hunting. If I handed you
over to the Patrol he might make some remarks to me in private. You
may be Posted, but you don’t look like very hardened criminals
to me. It seems that you’ve been handed a bad situation and
handled it as best you know. And I’m willing to ride along
the rest of the way on your tail blast. Let me see how many pieces
you land us in at Terraport and I’ll give you my final
answer. If luck holds we may have a couple more of your crew
present by that time, also—”
They had had no indication that the Queen had been located, that
any posse hunting the kidnapped Medic had followed them into the Big
Burn. And they could only hope that they would continue to remain
unsighted as they upped-ship once more and cruised into a regular
traffic lane for earthing at the port. It would be a chancy thing
and Ali and Rip spent hours checking the mechanics of that flight,
while Dane and the recovering Weeks worked with Hovan in an effort
to restore the sleeping crew.
After three visits to the hold and the discovery that the Hoobat
had uncovered no more of the pests, Dane caged the angry blue
horror and returned it to its usual stand in Jellico’s cabin,
certain that the ship was clean for Sinbad now confidently prowled
the corridors and went into every cabin or storage space Dane
opened for him.
And on the morning of the day they had planned for take-off,
Hovan at last had a definite response to his treatment; Craig Tau
roused, stared dazedly around, and asked a vague question. The fact
that he immediately relapsed once more into semi-coma did not
discourage the other Medic. Progress had been made and he was now
sure that he knew the proper treatment.
They strapped down at zero hour and blasted out of the weird
green wilderness they had not dared to explore, lifting into the
arch of the sky, depending upon Rip’s knowledge to put them
safely down again.
Dane once more rode out the take-off at the com-unit, waiting
for the blast of radiation born static to fade so that he could
catch any broadcast.
“—turned back last night. The high level of
radiation makes it almost certain that the outlaws could not have headed into
the dangerous central portion. Search is now spreading north.
Authorities are inclined to believe that this last outrage may be a
clue to the vanished ‘SolarQueen,’ a plague ship,
warned off and Patrol Posted after her crew plundered an E-Stat
belonging to the Inter-Solar Corporation. Anyone having any
information concerning this ship—or any strange
spacer—report at once to the nearest Terrapolice or Patrol
station. Do not take chances—report any contact at once to
the nearest Terrapolice or Patrol station!”
“That’s putting it strongly,” Dane commented
as he relayed the message. “Good as giving orders for us to
be flamed down at sight—”
“Well, if we set down in the right spot,” Rip
replied, “they can’t flame us out without blasting the
larger part of Terraport field with us. And I don’t think
they are going to do that in a hurry.”
Dane hoped Shannon was correct in that belief. It would be more
chancy than landing at the E-Stat or in the Big Burn—to gauge it
just right and put them down on the Terraport apron where they
could not be flamed out without destroying too much, where their
very position would give them a bargaining point, was going to be a
top star job. If Rip could only pull it off!
He could not evaluate the niceties of that flight, he did not
understand all Rip was doing. But he did know enough to remain
quietly in his place, ask no questions, and await results with a
dry mouth and a wildly beating heart. There came a moment when Rip
glanced up at him, one hand poised over the control board. The
pilot’s voice came tersely, thin and queer:
“Pray it out, Dane—here we go!”
Dane heard the shrill of a riding beam, so tearing he had to
move his earphones. They must be almost on top of the control tower
to get it like that! Rip was planning on a set down where the Queen
would block things neatly. He brought his own fingers down on the
E-E-Red button to give the last and most powerful warning. That, to be used only when a ship landing
was out of control, should clear the ground below. They could only
pray it would vacate the port they were still far from seeing.
“Make it a fin-point, Rip,” he couldn’t
repress that one bit of advice. And was glad he had given it when
he saw a ghost grin tug for a moment at Rip’s full lips.
“Good enough for a check-ride?”
They were riding her flaming jets down as they would on a strange
world. Below the port must be wild. Dane counted off the seconds.
Two—three—four—five—just a few more and
they would be too low to intercept without endangering
innocent coasters and groundhuggers. When the last minute during
which they were still vulnerable passed, he gave a sigh of relief.
That was one more point on their side. In the earphones was a
crackle of frantic questions, a gabble of orders screaming at him.
Let them rave, they’d know soon enough what it was all
about.
FORTUNATELY THE PATH out of the straggling town
was a twisted one and in a very short space they were hidden from
view. Dane paused as if the pace was too much for an injured man.
The Medic put out a steadying hand, only to drop it quickly when he
saw the weapon which had appeared in Dane’s grip.
“What—?” His mouth snapped shut, his jaw
tightened.
“You will march ahead of me,” Dane’s low voice
was steady. “Beyond that rock spur to the left you’ll
find a place where it is possible to climb down to sea level. Do
it!”
“I suppose I shouldn’t ask why?”
“Not now. We haven’t much time. Get
moving!”
The Medic mastered his surprise and without further protest
obeyed orders. It was only when they were standing by the flitter
and he saw the suits that his eyes widened and he said:
“The Big Burn!”
“Yes, and I’m desperate—”
“You must be—or mad—” The Medic stared
at Dane for a long moment and then shook his head. “What is
it? A plague ship?”
Dane bit his lip. The other was too astute. But he did not ask
why or how he had been able to guess so shrewdly. Instead he
gestured to the suit Ali had lashed beneath the seat in the
flitter. “Get into that and be quick about it!”
The Medic rubbed his hand across his jaw. “I think that
you might just be desperate enough to use that thing you’re
brandishing about so melodramatically if I don’t,” he
remarked in a calmly conversational tone.
“I won’t kill. But a blaster burn—”
“Can be pretty painful. Yes, I know that, young man.
And,” suddenly he shrugged, put down his kit and started donning the suit. “I wouldn’t put it past you to
knock me out and load me aboard if I did say no. All
right—”
Suited, he took his place on the seat as Dane directed, and then
the Trader followed the additional precaution of lashing the
Medic’s metal encased arms to his body before he climbed into
his own protective covering. Now they could only communicate by
sight through the vision plates of their helmets.
Dane triggered the controls and they arose out of the sand and
rock hollow just as a party of two men and a boy came hurrying
along the top of the cliff—Jorge and the rescuers arriving
too late. The flitter spiraled up into the sunlight and Dane
wondered how long it would be before this outrage was reported to
the nearest Planet Police base. But would any Police cruiser have
the hardihood to follow him into the Big Burn? He hoped that the
radiation would hold them back.
There was no navigation to be done. The flitter’s
“memory” should deposit them at the Queen. Dane
wondered at what his silent companion was now thinking. The Medic
had accepted his kidnaping with such docility that the very ease of
their departure began to bother Dane. Was the other expecting a
trailer? Had exploration into the Big Burn from the seaside
villages been more extensive than reported officially?
He stepped up the power of the flitter to the top notch and saw
with some relief that the ground beneath them was now the rocky
waste bordering the devastated area. The metal encased figure that
shared his seat had not moved, but now the bubble head turned as if
the Medic were intent upon the ground flowing beneath them.
The flicker of the counter began and Dane realized that
nightfall would find them still air borne. But so far he had not
been aware of any pursuit. Again he wished he had the use of a
com—only here the radiation would blanket sound with that
continuous roar.
Patches of the radiation vegetation showed now and something in
the lines of the Medic’s tense figure suggested that these
were new to him. Afternoon waned as the patches united, spread into the beginning of the jungle as the counter
was once more an almost steady light. When evening closed in they
were not caught in darkness—for below trees, looping vines,
brush, had a pale, evil glow of their own, proclaiming their
toxicity with bluish halos. Sometimes pockets of these made a core
of light which pulsed, sending warning fingers at the flitter which
sped across it.
The hour was close on midnight before Dane sighted the other
light, the pink-red of which winked through the ghastly blue-white
with a natural and comforting promise, even though it had been
meant for an entirely different purpose. The Queen had earthed with
her distress lights on and no one had remembered to snap them off.
Now they acted as a beacon to draw the flitter to its berth.
Dane brought the stripped flyer down on the fused ground as
close to the spot from which he had taken off as he could remember.
Now—if those on the spacer would only move fast
enough—!
But he need not have worried, his arrival had been anticipated.
Above, the rounded side of the spacer bulged as the hatch opened.
Lines swung down to fasten their magnetic clamps on the flitter.
Then once more they were air borne, swinging up to be warped into
the side of the ship. As the outer port of the flitter berth closed
Dane reached over and pulled loose the lashing which immobilized
his companion. The Medic stood up, a little awkwardly as might any
man who wore space armor the first time.
The inner hatch now opened and Dane waved his captive into the
small section which must serve them as a decontamination space.
Free at last of the suits, they went through one more improvised
hatch to the main corridor of the Queen where Rip and Ali stood
waiting, their weary faces lighting as they saw the Medic.
It was the latter who spoke first. “This is a
plague ship—”
Rip shook his head. “It is not, sir. And
you’re the one who is going to help us prove that.”
The man leaned back against the wall, his face expressionless. “You take a rather tough way of trying to get
help.”
“It was the only way left us. I’ll be frank,”
Rip continued, “we’re Patrol Posted.”
The Medic’s shrewd eyes went from one drawn young face to
the next. “You don’t look like very desperate
criminals,” was his comment. “This your full
crew?”
“All the rest are your concern. That is—if you will
take the job—” Rip’s shoulders slumped a
little.
“You haven’t left me much choice, have you? If there
is illness on board, I’m under the Oath—whether you are
Patrol Posted or not. What’s the trouble?”
They got him down to Tau’s laboratory and told him their
story. From a slight incredulity his expression changed to an alert
interest and he demanded to see, first the patients and then the
pests now immured in the deep freeze. Sometime in the middle of
this, Dane, overcome by fatigue which was partly relief from
tension, sought his cabin and the bunk from which he wearily
disposed Sinbad, only to have the purring cat crawl back once more
when he had lain down.
And when he awoke, renewed in body and spirit, it was in a new
Queen, a ship in which hope and confidence now ruled.
“Hovan’s already got it!” Rip told him
exultantly. “It’s that poison from the little
devils’ claws right enough! A narcotic—produces some of the
affects of deep sleep. In fact—it may have a medical use.
He’s excited about it—”
“All right,” Dane waved aside information which
under other circumstances, promising as it did a chance for future
trade, would have engrossed him, to ask a question which at the
moment seemed far more to the point. “Can he get our men back
on their feet?”
A little of Rip’s exuberance faded. “Not right away.
He’s given them all shots. But he thinks they’ll have
to sleep it off.”
“And we have ho idea how long that is
going to take,” Ali contributed.
Time—for the first time in days Dane was struck by that
time! Because of his training a fact he had forgotten in the past
weeks of worry now came to mind—their contract with the storm priests. Even if they were able to clear themselves of
the plague charge, even if the rest of the crew were speedily
restored to health, he was sure that they could not hope to return
to Sargol with the promised cargo, the pay for which was already on
board the Queen. They would have broken their pledge and there
could be no hope of holding to their trading rights on that
world—if they were not blacklisted for breaking contract into
the bargain. I-S would be able to move in and clean up and probably
they could never prove that the Company was behind their
misfortunes—though the men of the Queen would always be
convinced that that fact was the truth.
“We’re going to break contract—” he said
aloud and that shook the other two, knocked some of their assurance
out of them.
“How about that?” Rip asked Ali.
The acting-engineer nodded. “We have fuel enough to lift
from here and maybe set down at Terraport—if we take it
careful and cut vectors. We can’t lift from there without
refueling—and of course the Patrol are going to sit on their
hands while we do that—with us Posted! No, put out of your
heads any plan for getting back to Sargol within the time limit.
Thorson’s right—that way we’re flamed
out!”
Rip slumped in his seat. “So the Eysies can take over
after all?”
“As I see it,” Dane cut in, “let’s just
take one thing at a time. We may have to argue a broken contract
out before the Board. But first we have to get off the Posted hook
with the Patrol. Have you any idea about how we are going to handle
that?”
“Hovan’s on our side. In fact if we let him have the
bugs to play with he’ll back us all the way. He can swear us
a clean bill of health before the Medic Control Center.”
“How much will that count after we’ve broken all
their regs?” Ali wanted to know. “If we surrender now
we’re not going to have much chance, no matter what Hovan
does or does not swear to. Hovan’s a frontier Medic—I
won’t say that he’s not a member in good standing of their
association—but he doesn’t have top star rating. And
with the Eysies and the Patrol on our necks, we’ll need more
than one Medic’s word—”
But Rip looked from the pessimistic Kamil to Dane. Now he asked
a question which was more than half statement.
“You’ve thought of something?”
“I’ve remembered something,” the
Cargo-apprentice corrected. “Recall the trick Van pulled on
Limbo when the Patrol was trying to ease us out of our rights there
after they took over the outlaw hold?”
Ali was impatient. “He threatened to talk to the Video
people and broadcast—tell everyone about the ships wrecked by
the Forerunner installation and left lying about full of treasure.
But what has that to do with us now—? We bargained away our
rights on Limbo for the rest of Cam’s monopoly on
Sargol—not that it’s done us much
good—”
“The Video,” Dane fastened on the important point,
“Van threatened publicity which would embarrass the Patrol
and he was legally within his rights. We’re outside the law
now—but publicity might help again. How many earth-side
people know of the unwritten law about open war on plague ships?
How many who aren’t spacemen know that we could be legally
pushed into the sun and fried without any chance to prove
we’re innocent of carrying a new disease? If we could talk
loud and clear to the people at large maybe, we’d have a
chance for a real hearing—”
“Right from the Terraport broadcast station, I
suppose?” Ali taunted.
“Why not?”
There was silence in the cabin as the other two chewed upon that
and he broke it again:
“We set down here when it had never been done
before.”
With one brown forefinger Rip traced some pattern known only to
himself on the top of the table. Ali stared at the opposite wall as
if it were a bank of machinery he must master.
“It just might be whirly enough to work—”
Kamil commented softly. “Or maybe we’ve been spaced too
long and the Whisperers have been chattering into our ears. What about
it, Rip, could you set us down close enough to Center Block
there?”
“We can try anything once. But we might crash the old girl
bringing her in. There’s that apron between the
Companies’ Launching cradles and the Center—It’s clear there and we could give an E signal coming down
which would make them stay rid of it. But I won’t try it
except as a last resort.”
Dane noticed that after that discouraging statement Rip made
straight for Jellico’s record tapes and routed out the one
which dealt with Terraport and the landing instructions for that
metropolis of the star ships. To land unbidden there would
certainly bring them publicity—and to get to the Video
broadcast and tell their story would grant them not only world
wide, but system wide hearing. News from Terraport was broadcast on
every channel every hour of the day and night and not a single
viewer could miss their appeal.
But first there was Hovan to be consulted. Would he be willing
to back them with his professional knowledge and assurance? Or
would their high-handed method of recruiting his services operate
against them now? They decided to let Rip ask such questions of the
Medic.
“So you’re going to set us down in the center of the
big jump-off?” was his first comment, as the acting-Captain
of the Queen stated their case. “Then you want me to fire my
rockets to certify you are harmless. You don’t ask for very
much, do you, son?”
Rip spread his hands. “I can understand how its looks to
you, sir. We grabbed you and brought you here by force. We
can’t make you testify for us if you decide not
to—”
“Can’t you?” The Medic cocked an eyebrow at
him. “What about this bully boy of yours with his little
blaster? He could herd me right up to the telecast, couldn’t
he? There’s a lot of persuasion in one of those nasty little
arms. On the other hand, I’ve a son who’s set on taking
out on one of these tin pots to go star hunting. If I handed you
over to the Patrol he might make some remarks to me in private. You
may be Posted, but you don’t look like very hardened criminals
to me. It seems that you’ve been handed a bad situation and
handled it as best you know. And I’m willing to ride along
the rest of the way on your tail blast. Let me see how many pieces
you land us in at Terraport and I’ll give you my final
answer. If luck holds we may have a couple more of your crew
present by that time, also—”
They had had no indication that the Queen had been located, that
any posse hunting the kidnapped Medic had followed them into the Big
Burn. And they could only hope that they would continue to remain
unsighted as they upped-ship once more and cruised into a regular
traffic lane for earthing at the port. It would be a chancy thing
and Ali and Rip spent hours checking the mechanics of that flight,
while Dane and the recovering Weeks worked with Hovan in an effort
to restore the sleeping crew.
After three visits to the hold and the discovery that the Hoobat
had uncovered no more of the pests, Dane caged the angry blue
horror and returned it to its usual stand in Jellico’s cabin,
certain that the ship was clean for Sinbad now confidently prowled
the corridors and went into every cabin or storage space Dane
opened for him.
And on the morning of the day they had planned for take-off,
Hovan at last had a definite response to his treatment; Craig Tau
roused, stared dazedly around, and asked a vague question. The fact
that he immediately relapsed once more into semi-coma did not
discourage the other Medic. Progress had been made and he was now
sure that he knew the proper treatment.
They strapped down at zero hour and blasted out of the weird
green wilderness they had not dared to explore, lifting into the
arch of the sky, depending upon Rip’s knowledge to put them
safely down again.
Dane once more rode out the take-off at the com-unit, waiting
for the blast of radiation born static to fade so that he could
catch any broadcast.
“—turned back last night. The high level of
radiation makes it almost certain that the outlaws could not have headed into
the dangerous central portion. Search is now spreading north.
Authorities are inclined to believe that this last outrage may be a
clue to the vanished ‘SolarQueen,’ a plague ship,
warned off and Patrol Posted after her crew plundered an E-Stat
belonging to the Inter-Solar Corporation. Anyone having any
information concerning this ship—or any strange
spacer—report at once to the nearest Terrapolice or Patrol
station. Do not take chances—report any contact at once to
the nearest Terrapolice or Patrol station!”
“That’s putting it strongly,” Dane commented
as he relayed the message. “Good as giving orders for us to
be flamed down at sight—”
“Well, if we set down in the right spot,” Rip
replied, “they can’t flame us out without blasting the
larger part of Terraport field with us. And I don’t think
they are going to do that in a hurry.”
Dane hoped Shannon was correct in that belief. It would be more
chancy than landing at the E-Stat or in the Big Burn—to gauge it
just right and put them down on the Terraport apron where they
could not be flamed out without destroying too much, where their
very position would give them a bargaining point, was going to be a
top star job. If Rip could only pull it off!
He could not evaluate the niceties of that flight, he did not
understand all Rip was doing. But he did know enough to remain
quietly in his place, ask no questions, and await results with a
dry mouth and a wildly beating heart. There came a moment when Rip
glanced up at him, one hand poised over the control board. The
pilot’s voice came tersely, thin and queer:
“Pray it out, Dane—here we go!”
Dane heard the shrill of a riding beam, so tearing he had to
move his earphones. They must be almost on top of the control tower
to get it like that! Rip was planning on a set down where the Queen
would block things neatly. He brought his own fingers down on the
E-E-Red button to give the last and most powerful warning. That, to be used only when a ship landing
was out of control, should clear the ground below. They could only
pray it would vacate the port they were still far from seeing.
“Make it a fin-point, Rip,” he couldn’t
repress that one bit of advice. And was glad he had given it when
he saw a ghost grin tug for a moment at Rip’s full lips.
“Good enough for a check-ride?”
They were riding her flaming jets down as they would on a strange
world. Below the port must be wild. Dane counted off the seconds.
Two—three—four—five—just a few more and
they would be too low to intercept without endangering
innocent coasters and groundhuggers. When the last minute during
which they were still vulnerable passed, he gave a sigh of relief.
That was one more point on their side. In the earphones was a
crackle of frantic questions, a gabble of orders screaming at him.
Let them rave, they’d know soon enough what it was all
about.