"TO THOSE of you who do not travel the
star trails our case may seem puzzling—” the words were
coming easily. Dane gathered confidence as he spoke, intent on
making those others out there know what it meant to be
outlawed.
“We are Patrol Posted, outlawed as a plague ship,”
he confessed frankly. “But this is our true
story—”
Swiftly, with a flow of language he had not known he could
command, Dane swung into the story of Sargol, of the pest they had
carried away from that world. And at the proper moment he thrust a
gloved hand into the cage and brought out the wriggling thing which
struck vainly with its poisoned talons, holding it above the dark
table so that those unseen watchers could witness that dramatic
change of color which made it such a menace. Dane continued the
story of the Queen’s ill-fated voyage—of their forced descent
upon the E-Stat.
“Ask the truth of Inter-Solar,” he demanded of the
audience beyond those walls. “We were no pirates. They will
discover in their records the voucher we left.”
Then Dane
described the weird hunt when, led by the Hoobat, they had finally
found and isolated the menace, and their landing in the heart of
the Big Burn. He followed that with his own quest for medical aid
and the kidnaping of Hovan. At that point he turned to the
Medic.
“This is Medic Hovan. He has consented to appear in our
behalf and to testify to the truth—that the SolarQueen has
not been stricken by some unknown plague, but infested with a
living organism we now have under control—” For a
suspenseful second or two he wondered if Hovan was going to make
it. The man looked shaken and sick, as if the drastic awaking they
had subjected him to had left him too dazed to pull himself
together.
But out of some hidden reservoir of strength the Medic summoned
the energy he needed. And his testimony was all they had hoped it
would be. Though now and then he strayed into technical terms. But,
Dane thought, their use only enhanced the authority of his
description of what he had discovered on board the spacer and what
he had done to counteract the power of the poison. When he had done
Dane added a few last words.
“We have broken the law,” he admitted forthrightly,
“but we were fighting in self-defense. All we ask now is the
privilege of an impartial investigation, a chance to defend
ourselves—such as any of you take for granted on
Terra—before the courts of this planet—” But he
was not to finish without interruption.
From the play-back over their heads another voice blared,
breaking across his last words:
“Surrender! This is the Patrol. Surrender or take the
consequences!” And that faint sighing which signaled their
open contact with the outer world was cut off. The Com-tech turned away from the control board, a sneering half smile on his
face.
“They’ve reached the circuit and cut you off
You’re done!”
Dane stared into the cage where the now almost invisible thing
sat humped together. He had done his best—they had all done
their best. He felt nothing but a vast fatigue, an overwhelming
weariness, not so much of body, but of nerve and spirit too.
Rip broke the silence with a question aimed at the tech,
“Can you signal below?”
“Going to give up?” The fellow brightened.
“Yes, there’s an inter-com I can cut in.”
Rip stood up. He unbuckled the belt about his waist and laid it
on the table—disarming himself. Without words Ali and Dane
followed his example. They had played their hand—to prolong
the struggle would mean nothing. The acting Captain of the Queen
gave a last order:
“Tell them we are coming down—unarmed—to
surrender.” He paused in front of Hovan. “You’d
better stay here. If there’s any trouble—no reason for
you to be caught in the middle.”
Hovan nodded as the three left the room. Dane, remembering the
trick he had pulled with the riser, made a comment:
“We may be marooned here—”
Ali shrugged. “Then we can just wait and let them collect
us,” He yawned, his dark eyes set in smudges. “I
don’t care if they’ll just let us sleep the clock
around afterwards. D’you really think,” he addressed
Rip, “that we’ve done ourselves any good?”
Rip neither denied nor confirmed. “We took our only
chance. Now it’s up to them—” He pointed to the
wall and the teeming world which lay beyond it.
Ali grinned wryly. “I note you left the what-you-call-it
with Hovan.”
“He wanted one to experiment with,” Dane replied.
“I thought he’d earned it.”
“And now here comes what we’ve earned—”
Rip cut in as the hum of the riser came to their ears.
“Should we take to cover?” Ali’s mobile
eyebrows underlined his demand. “The forces of law and order
may erupt with blasters blazing.”
But Rip did not move. He faced the riser door squarely and,
drawn by something in that stance of his, the other two stepped in
on either side so that they fronted the dubious future as a united
group. Whatever came now, the Queen’s men would meet it
together.
In a way Ali was right. The four men who emerged all had their
blasters or riot stun-rifles at ready, and the sights of those
weapons were trained at the middles of the Free Traders. As
Dane’s empty hands, palm out, went up on a line with his
shoulders, he estimated the opposition. Two were in the silver and
black of the Patrol, two wore the forest green of the Terrapolice.
But they all looked like men with whom it was better not to play
games.
And it was clear they were prepared to take no chances with the
outlaws. In spite of the passiveness of the Queen’s men,
their hands were locked behind them with force bars about their
wrists. When a quick search revealed that the three were unarmed,
they were herded onto the riser by two of their captors, while the
other pair remained behind, presumably to uncover any damage they
had done to the Tower installations.
The police did riot speak except for a few terse words among
themselves and a barked order to march, delivered to the prisoners.
Very shortly they were in the entrance hall facing the wreckage of
the crawler and doors through which a ragged gap had been burned.
Ali viewed the scene with his usual detachment.
“Nice job,” he commended Dane’s enterprise.
“They’ll have a job moving—”
“Get going!” A heavy hand between his shoulder
blades urged him on.
The Engineer-apprentice whirled, his eyes blazing.
“Keep your hands to yourself! We aren’t mine fodder yet. I think
that the little matter of a trial comes first—”
“You’re Posted,” the Patrolman was openly
contemptuous.
Dane was chilled. For the first time that aspect of their
predicament really registered. Posted outlaws might, within reason,
be shot on sight without further recourse to the law. If that label
stuck on the crew of the Queen, they had practically no chance at
all. And when he saw that Ali was no longer inclined to retort, he
knew that fact had dawned upon Kamil also. It would all depend upon
how big an impression their broadcast had made. If public opinion
veered to their side—then they could defend themselves
legally. Otherwise the moon mines might be the best sentence they
dare hope for.
They were pushed out into the brilliant sunlight. There stood
the Queen, her meteor scarred sides reflecting the light of her
native sun. And ringed around her at a safe distance was what
seemed to be a small mechanized army corps. The authorities were
making very sure that no more rebels would burst from her
interior.
Dane thought that they would be loaded into a mobile or
’copter and taken away. But instead they were marched down,
through the ranks of portable flamers, scramblers, and other
equipment, to an open space where anyone on duty at the visa-screen
within the control cabin of the spacer could see them. An officer
of the Patrol, the sun making an eye-blinding flash of his
lightning sword breast badge, stood behind a loud speaker. When he
perceived that the three prisoners were present, he picked up a
hand mike and spoke into it—his voice so being relayed over
the field as clearly as it must be reaching Weeks inside the sealed
freighter.
“You have five minutes to open hatch. Your men have been
taken. Five minutes to open hatch and surrender.”
Ali chuckled. “And how does he think he’s going to
enforce that?” he inquired of the air and incidentally of the
guards now forming a square about the three. “He’ll
need more than a flamer to unlatch the old girl if she doesn’t care for
his offer.”
Privately Dane agreed with that. He hoped that Weeks would
decide to hold out—at least until they had a better idea of
what the future would be. No tool or weapon he saw in the assembly
about them was forceful enough to penetrate the shell of the Queen.
And there were sufficient supplies on board to keep Weeks and his
charges going for at least a week. Since Tau had shown signs of
coming out of his coma, it might even be that the crew of the ship
would arouse to their own defense in that time. It all depended
upon Weeks’ present decision.
No hatch yawned in the ship’s sleek sides. She might have
been an inert derelict for all response to that demand.
Dane’s confidence began to rise. Weeks had picked up the
challenge, he would continue to baffle police and Patrol.
Just how long that stalemate would have lasted they were not to
know for another player came on the board. Through the lines of
besiegers Hovan, escorted by the Patrolmen, made his way up to the
officer at the mike station. There was something in his air which
suggested that he was about to give battle. And the conversation at
the mike was relayed across the field, a fact of which they were
not at once aware.
“There are sick men in there—” Hovan’s
voice boomed out. “I demand the right to return to
duty—”
“If and when they surrender they shall all be accorded
necessary aid,” that was the officer. But he made no
impression on the Medic from the frontier. Dane, by chance, had
chosen better support than he had guessed.
“Pro Bono Publico—” Hovan invoked the battle
cry of his own Service. “For the Public
Good—”
“A plague ship—” the officer was beginning.
Hovan waved that aside impatiently.
“Nonsense!” His voice scaled up across the field.
“There is no plague aboard. I am willing to certify that before the
Council. And if you refuse these men medical attention—which they need—I shall cite the case all the way to my
Board!”
Dane drew a deep breath. That was taking off on their
orbit! Not being one of the Queen’s crew, in fact having good
reason to be angry over his treatment at their hands, Hovan’s
present attitude would or should carry weight.
The Patrol officer who was not yet ready to concede all points
had an answer: “If you are able to get on
board—go.”
Hovan snatched the mike from the astonished officer.
“Weeks!” His voice was imperative. “I’m
coming aboard—alone!”
All eyes were on the ship and for a short period it would seem
that Weeks did not trust the Medic. Then, high in her needle nose,
one of the escape ports, not intended for use except in dire
emergency opened and allowed a plastic link ladder to fall link by
link.
Out of the corner of his eye Dane caught a flash of movement to
his left. Manacled as he was he threw himself on the policeman who
was aiming a stun rifle into the port. His shoulder struck the
fellow waist high and his weight carried them both with a bruising
crash to the concrete pavement as Rip shouted and hands clutched
roughly at the now helpless Cargo-apprentice.
He was pulled to his feet, tasting the flat sweetness of blood
where a flailing blow from the surprised and frightened policeman
had cut his lip against his teeth. He spat red and glowered at the
ring of angry men.
“Why don’t you kick him?” Ali inquired, a vast
and blistering contempt sawtoothing his voice. “He’s
got his hands cuffed so he’s fair game—”
“What’s going on here?” An officer broke
through the ring. The policeman, on his feet once more, snatched up
the rifle Dane’s attack had knocked out of his hold.
“Your boy here,” Ali was ready with an answer,
“tried to find a target inside the hatch. Is this the usual
way you conduct a truce, sir?”
He was answered by a glare and the rifleman was abruptly ordered to the rear. Dane, his head clearing, looked at the
Queen. Hovan was climbing the ladder—he was within
arm’s length of that half open hatch. The very fact that the
Medic had managed to make his point stick was, in a faint way,
encouraging. But the three were not allowed to enjoy that small
victory for long. They were marched from the field, loaded into a
mobile and taken to the city several miles away. It was the Patrol
who held them in custody—not the Terrapolice. Dane was not
sure whether that was to be reckoned favorable or not. As a Free
Trader he had a grudging respect for the organization he had seen
in action on Limbo.
Sometime later they found themselves, freed of the force bars,
alone in a room which, bare walled as it was, did have a bench on
which all three sank thankfully. Dane caught the warning gesture
from Ali—they were under unseen observation and they must
have a listening audience too—located somewhere in the maze
of offices.
“They can’t make up their minds,” the
Engineer-apprentice settled his shoulders against the wall.
“Either we’re desperate criminals, or we’re
heroes. They’re going to let time decide.”
“If we’re heroes,” Dane asked a little
querulously, “what are we doing locked up here? I’d
like a few earth-side comforts—beginning with a full
meal—”
“No thumb printing, no psycho testing,” Rip mused.
“Yes, they haven’t put us through the system
yet.”
“And we decidedly aren’t the forgotten men. Wipe
your face, child,” Ali said to Dane, “you’re
still dribbling.”
The Cargo-apprentice smeared his hand across his chin and
brought it away red and sticky. Luckily his teeth remained
intact.
“We need Hovan to read them more law,” observed
Kamil. “You should have medical attention.”
Dane dabbed at his mouth. He didn’t need all that
solicitude, but he guessed that Ali was talking for the benefit of
those who now kept them under surveillance.
“Speaking of Hovan—I wonder what became of that pest
he was supposed to have under control. He didn’t bring
the cage with him when he came out of the Tower, did he?”
asked Rip.
“If it gets loose in that building,” Dane decided to
give the powers who held them in custody something to think about,
“they’ll have trouble. Practically invisible and
poisonous. And maybe it can reproduce its kind, too. We don’t
know anything about it—”
Ali laughed. “Such fun and games! Imagine a hundred of the
dear creatures flitting in and out of the broadcasting section. And
Captain Jellico has the only Hoobat on Terra! He can name his own
terms for rounding up the plague. The whole place will be filled
with sleepers before they’re through—”
Would that scrap of information send some Patrolmen hurtling off
to the Tower in search of the caged creature? The thought of such
an expedition was, in a small way, comforting to the captives.
An hour or so later they were fed, noiselessly and without
visible attendants, when three trays slid through a slit in the wall at floor level. Rip’s nose wrinkled.
“Now I get the vector! We’re
plague-ridden—keep aloof and watch to see if we break out in
purple spots!”
Ali was lifting thermo lids from the containers and now he suddenly arose and bowed in the direction of the blank wall.
“Many, many thanks,” he intoned. “Nothing but the
best—a sub-commander’s rations at least! We shall
deliver top star rating to this thoughtfulness when we are
questioned by the powers that shine.”
It was good food. Dane ate cautiously because of his
torn lip, but the whole adventure took on a more rose-colored hue.
The lapse of time before they were put through the usual procedure
followed with criminals, this excellent dinner—it was all
promising. The Patrol could not yet be sure how they were to be
handled.
“They’ve fed us,” Ali observed as he clanged
the last dish back on a tray. “Now you’d think
they’d bed us. I could do with several days—and
nights—of bunk time right about now.”
But that hint was not taken up and they continued to sit on the
bench as time limped by. According to Dane’s watch it must be
night now, though the steady light in the window-less room did not
vary. What had Hovan discovered in the Queen? Had he been able to
rouse any of the crew? And was the spacer still inviolate, or had
the Terrapolice and the Patrol managed to take her over?
He was so very tired, his eyes felt as if hot sand had been
poured beneath the lids, his body ached. And at last he nodded into
naps from which he awoke with jerks of the neck. Rip was frankly
asleep, his shoulders and head resting against the wall, while Ali
lounged with closed eyes. Though the Cargo-apprentice was sure that
Kamil was more alert than his comrades, as if he waited for
something he thought was soon to occur.
Dane dreamed. Once more he trod the reef rising out of
Sargol’s shallow sea. But he held no weapon and beneath the
surface of the water a Gorp lurked. When he reached the break in
the water-washed rock just ahead, the spidery horror would strike
and against its attack he was defenseless. Yet he must march on for
he had no control over his own actions!
“Wake up!” Ali’s hand was on his shoulder,
shaking him back and forth with something close to gentleness.
“Must you give an imitation of a space-whirly
moonbat?”
“The Gorp—” Dane came back to the present and
flushed. He dreaded admitting to a nightmare—especially to
Ali whose poise he had always found disconcerting.
“No Gorps here. Nothing but—”
Kamil’s words were lost in the escape of metal against
metal as a panel slid back in the wall. But no guard wearing the
black and silver of the Patrol stepped through to summon them to
trial. Van Rycke stood in the opening, half smiling at them with
his customary sleepy benevolence.
“Well, well, and here’s our missing ones.” His
purring voice was the most beautiful sound Dane thought he had ever
heard.
"TO THOSE of you who do not travel the
star trails our case may seem puzzling—” the words were
coming easily. Dane gathered confidence as he spoke, intent on
making those others out there know what it meant to be
outlawed.
“We are Patrol Posted, outlawed as a plague ship,”
he confessed frankly. “But this is our true
story—”
Swiftly, with a flow of language he had not known he could
command, Dane swung into the story of Sargol, of the pest they had
carried away from that world. And at the proper moment he thrust a
gloved hand into the cage and brought out the wriggling thing which
struck vainly with its poisoned talons, holding it above the dark
table so that those unseen watchers could witness that dramatic
change of color which made it such a menace. Dane continued the
story of the Queen’s ill-fated voyage—of their forced descent
upon the E-Stat.
“Ask the truth of Inter-Solar,” he demanded of the
audience beyond those walls. “We were no pirates. They will
discover in their records the voucher we left.”
Then Dane
described the weird hunt when, led by the Hoobat, they had finally
found and isolated the menace, and their landing in the heart of
the Big Burn. He followed that with his own quest for medical aid
and the kidnaping of Hovan. At that point he turned to the
Medic.
“This is Medic Hovan. He has consented to appear in our
behalf and to testify to the truth—that the SolarQueen has
not been stricken by some unknown plague, but infested with a
living organism we now have under control—” For a
suspenseful second or two he wondered if Hovan was going to make
it. The man looked shaken and sick, as if the drastic awaking they
had subjected him to had left him too dazed to pull himself
together.
But out of some hidden reservoir of strength the Medic summoned
the energy he needed. And his testimony was all they had hoped it
would be. Though now and then he strayed into technical terms. But,
Dane thought, their use only enhanced the authority of his
description of what he had discovered on board the spacer and what
he had done to counteract the power of the poison. When he had done
Dane added a few last words.
“We have broken the law,” he admitted forthrightly,
“but we were fighting in self-defense. All we ask now is the
privilege of an impartial investigation, a chance to defend
ourselves—such as any of you take for granted on
Terra—before the courts of this planet—” But he
was not to finish without interruption.
From the play-back over their heads another voice blared,
breaking across his last words:
“Surrender! This is the Patrol. Surrender or take the
consequences!” And that faint sighing which signaled their
open contact with the outer world was cut off. The Com-tech turned away from the control board, a sneering half smile on his
face.
“They’ve reached the circuit and cut you off
You’re done!”
Dane stared into the cage where the now almost invisible thing
sat humped together. He had done his best—they had all done
their best. He felt nothing but a vast fatigue, an overwhelming
weariness, not so much of body, but of nerve and spirit too.
Rip broke the silence with a question aimed at the tech,
“Can you signal below?”
“Going to give up?” The fellow brightened.
“Yes, there’s an inter-com I can cut in.”
Rip stood up. He unbuckled the belt about his waist and laid it
on the table—disarming himself. Without words Ali and Dane
followed his example. They had played their hand—to prolong
the struggle would mean nothing. The acting Captain of the Queen
gave a last order:
“Tell them we are coming down—unarmed—to
surrender.” He paused in front of Hovan. “You’d
better stay here. If there’s any trouble—no reason for
you to be caught in the middle.”
Hovan nodded as the three left the room. Dane, remembering the
trick he had pulled with the riser, made a comment:
“We may be marooned here—”
Ali shrugged. “Then we can just wait and let them collect
us,” He yawned, his dark eyes set in smudges. “I
don’t care if they’ll just let us sleep the clock
around afterwards. D’you really think,” he addressed
Rip, “that we’ve done ourselves any good?”
Rip neither denied nor confirmed. “We took our only
chance. Now it’s up to them—” He pointed to the
wall and the teeming world which lay beyond it.
Ali grinned wryly. “I note you left the what-you-call-it
with Hovan.”
“He wanted one to experiment with,” Dane replied.
“I thought he’d earned it.”
“And now here comes what we’ve earned—”
Rip cut in as the hum of the riser came to their ears.
“Should we take to cover?” Ali’s mobile
eyebrows underlined his demand. “The forces of law and order
may erupt with blasters blazing.”
But Rip did not move. He faced the riser door squarely and,
drawn by something in that stance of his, the other two stepped in
on either side so that they fronted the dubious future as a united
group. Whatever came now, the Queen’s men would meet it
together.
In a way Ali was right. The four men who emerged all had their
blasters or riot stun-rifles at ready, and the sights of those
weapons were trained at the middles of the Free Traders. As
Dane’s empty hands, palm out, went up on a line with his
shoulders, he estimated the opposition. Two were in the silver and
black of the Patrol, two wore the forest green of the Terrapolice.
But they all looked like men with whom it was better not to play
games.
And it was clear they were prepared to take no chances with the
outlaws. In spite of the passiveness of the Queen’s men,
their hands were locked behind them with force bars about their
wrists. When a quick search revealed that the three were unarmed,
they were herded onto the riser by two of their captors, while the
other pair remained behind, presumably to uncover any damage they
had done to the Tower installations.
The police did riot speak except for a few terse words among
themselves and a barked order to march, delivered to the prisoners.
Very shortly they were in the entrance hall facing the wreckage of
the crawler and doors through which a ragged gap had been burned.
Ali viewed the scene with his usual detachment.
“Nice job,” he commended Dane’s enterprise.
“They’ll have a job moving—”
“Get going!” A heavy hand between his shoulder
blades urged him on.
The Engineer-apprentice whirled, his eyes blazing.
“Keep your hands to yourself! We aren’t mine fodder yet. I think
that the little matter of a trial comes first—”
“You’re Posted,” the Patrolman was openly
contemptuous.
Dane was chilled. For the first time that aspect of their
predicament really registered. Posted outlaws might, within reason,
be shot on sight without further recourse to the law. If that label
stuck on the crew of the Queen, they had practically no chance at
all. And when he saw that Ali was no longer inclined to retort, he
knew that fact had dawned upon Kamil also. It would all depend upon
how big an impression their broadcast had made. If public opinion
veered to their side—then they could defend themselves
legally. Otherwise the moon mines might be the best sentence they
dare hope for.
They were pushed out into the brilliant sunlight. There stood
the Queen, her meteor scarred sides reflecting the light of her
native sun. And ringed around her at a safe distance was what
seemed to be a small mechanized army corps. The authorities were
making very sure that no more rebels would burst from her
interior.
Dane thought that they would be loaded into a mobile or
’copter and taken away. But instead they were marched down,
through the ranks of portable flamers, scramblers, and other
equipment, to an open space where anyone on duty at the visa-screen
within the control cabin of the spacer could see them. An officer
of the Patrol, the sun making an eye-blinding flash of his
lightning sword breast badge, stood behind a loud speaker. When he
perceived that the three prisoners were present, he picked up a
hand mike and spoke into it—his voice so being relayed over
the field as clearly as it must be reaching Weeks inside the sealed
freighter.
“You have five minutes to open hatch. Your men have been
taken. Five minutes to open hatch and surrender.”
Ali chuckled. “And how does he think he’s going to
enforce that?” he inquired of the air and incidentally of the
guards now forming a square about the three. “He’ll
need more than a flamer to unlatch the old girl if she doesn’t care for
his offer.”
Privately Dane agreed with that. He hoped that Weeks would
decide to hold out—at least until they had a better idea of
what the future would be. No tool or weapon he saw in the assembly
about them was forceful enough to penetrate the shell of the Queen.
And there were sufficient supplies on board to keep Weeks and his
charges going for at least a week. Since Tau had shown signs of
coming out of his coma, it might even be that the crew of the ship
would arouse to their own defense in that time. It all depended
upon Weeks’ present decision.
No hatch yawned in the ship’s sleek sides. She might have
been an inert derelict for all response to that demand.
Dane’s confidence began to rise. Weeks had picked up the
challenge, he would continue to baffle police and Patrol.
Just how long that stalemate would have lasted they were not to
know for another player came on the board. Through the lines of
besiegers Hovan, escorted by the Patrolmen, made his way up to the
officer at the mike station. There was something in his air which
suggested that he was about to give battle. And the conversation at
the mike was relayed across the field, a fact of which they were
not at once aware.
“There are sick men in there—” Hovan’s
voice boomed out. “I demand the right to return to
duty—”
“If and when they surrender they shall all be accorded
necessary aid,” that was the officer. But he made no
impression on the Medic from the frontier. Dane, by chance, had
chosen better support than he had guessed.
“Pro Bono Publico—” Hovan invoked the battle
cry of his own Service. “For the Public
Good—”
“A plague ship—” the officer was beginning.
Hovan waved that aside impatiently.
“Nonsense!” His voice scaled up across the field.
“There is no plague aboard. I am willing to certify that before the
Council. And if you refuse these men medical attention—which they need—I shall cite the case all the way to my
Board!”
Dane drew a deep breath. That was taking off on their
orbit! Not being one of the Queen’s crew, in fact having good
reason to be angry over his treatment at their hands, Hovan’s
present attitude would or should carry weight.
The Patrol officer who was not yet ready to concede all points
had an answer: “If you are able to get on
board—go.”
Hovan snatched the mike from the astonished officer.
“Weeks!” His voice was imperative. “I’m
coming aboard—alone!”
All eyes were on the ship and for a short period it would seem
that Weeks did not trust the Medic. Then, high in her needle nose,
one of the escape ports, not intended for use except in dire
emergency opened and allowed a plastic link ladder to fall link by
link.
Out of the corner of his eye Dane caught a flash of movement to
his left. Manacled as he was he threw himself on the policeman who
was aiming a stun rifle into the port. His shoulder struck the
fellow waist high and his weight carried them both with a bruising
crash to the concrete pavement as Rip shouted and hands clutched
roughly at the now helpless Cargo-apprentice.
He was pulled to his feet, tasting the flat sweetness of blood
where a flailing blow from the surprised and frightened policeman
had cut his lip against his teeth. He spat red and glowered at the
ring of angry men.
“Why don’t you kick him?” Ali inquired, a vast
and blistering contempt sawtoothing his voice. “He’s
got his hands cuffed so he’s fair game—”
“What’s going on here?” An officer broke
through the ring. The policeman, on his feet once more, snatched up
the rifle Dane’s attack had knocked out of his hold.
“Your boy here,” Ali was ready with an answer,
“tried to find a target inside the hatch. Is this the usual
way you conduct a truce, sir?”
He was answered by a glare and the rifleman was abruptly ordered to the rear. Dane, his head clearing, looked at the
Queen. Hovan was climbing the ladder—he was within
arm’s length of that half open hatch. The very fact that the
Medic had managed to make his point stick was, in a faint way,
encouraging. But the three were not allowed to enjoy that small
victory for long. They were marched from the field, loaded into a
mobile and taken to the city several miles away. It was the Patrol
who held them in custody—not the Terrapolice. Dane was not
sure whether that was to be reckoned favorable or not. As a Free
Trader he had a grudging respect for the organization he had seen
in action on Limbo.
Sometime later they found themselves, freed of the force bars,
alone in a room which, bare walled as it was, did have a bench on
which all three sank thankfully. Dane caught the warning gesture
from Ali—they were under unseen observation and they must
have a listening audience too—located somewhere in the maze
of offices.
“They can’t make up their minds,” the
Engineer-apprentice settled his shoulders against the wall.
“Either we’re desperate criminals, or we’re
heroes. They’re going to let time decide.”
“If we’re heroes,” Dane asked a little
querulously, “what are we doing locked up here? I’d
like a few earth-side comforts—beginning with a full
meal—”
“No thumb printing, no psycho testing,” Rip mused.
“Yes, they haven’t put us through the system
yet.”
“And we decidedly aren’t the forgotten men. Wipe
your face, child,” Ali said to Dane, “you’re
still dribbling.”
The Cargo-apprentice smeared his hand across his chin and
brought it away red and sticky. Luckily his teeth remained
intact.
“We need Hovan to read them more law,” observed
Kamil. “You should have medical attention.”
Dane dabbed at his mouth. He didn’t need all that
solicitude, but he guessed that Ali was talking for the benefit of
those who now kept them under surveillance.
“Speaking of Hovan—I wonder what became of that pest
he was supposed to have under control. He didn’t bring
the cage with him when he came out of the Tower, did he?”
asked Rip.
“If it gets loose in that building,” Dane decided to
give the powers who held them in custody something to think about,
“they’ll have trouble. Practically invisible and
poisonous. And maybe it can reproduce its kind, too. We don’t
know anything about it—”
Ali laughed. “Such fun and games! Imagine a hundred of the
dear creatures flitting in and out of the broadcasting section. And
Captain Jellico has the only Hoobat on Terra! He can name his own
terms for rounding up the plague. The whole place will be filled
with sleepers before they’re through—”
Would that scrap of information send some Patrolmen hurtling off
to the Tower in search of the caged creature? The thought of such
an expedition was, in a small way, comforting to the captives.
An hour or so later they were fed, noiselessly and without
visible attendants, when three trays slid through a slit in the wall at floor level. Rip’s nose wrinkled.
“Now I get the vector! We’re
plague-ridden—keep aloof and watch to see if we break out in
purple spots!”
Ali was lifting thermo lids from the containers and now he suddenly arose and bowed in the direction of the blank wall.
“Many, many thanks,” he intoned. “Nothing but the
best—a sub-commander’s rations at least! We shall
deliver top star rating to this thoughtfulness when we are
questioned by the powers that shine.”
It was good food. Dane ate cautiously because of his
torn lip, but the whole adventure took on a more rose-colored hue.
The lapse of time before they were put through the usual procedure
followed with criminals, this excellent dinner—it was all
promising. The Patrol could not yet be sure how they were to be
handled.
“They’ve fed us,” Ali observed as he clanged
the last dish back on a tray. “Now you’d think
they’d bed us. I could do with several days—and
nights—of bunk time right about now.”
But that hint was not taken up and they continued to sit on the
bench as time limped by. According to Dane’s watch it must be
night now, though the steady light in the window-less room did not
vary. What had Hovan discovered in the Queen? Had he been able to
rouse any of the crew? And was the spacer still inviolate, or had
the Terrapolice and the Patrol managed to take her over?
He was so very tired, his eyes felt as if hot sand had been
poured beneath the lids, his body ached. And at last he nodded into
naps from which he awoke with jerks of the neck. Rip was frankly
asleep, his shoulders and head resting against the wall, while Ali
lounged with closed eyes. Though the Cargo-apprentice was sure that
Kamil was more alert than his comrades, as if he waited for
something he thought was soon to occur.
Dane dreamed. Once more he trod the reef rising out of
Sargol’s shallow sea. But he held no weapon and beneath the
surface of the water a Gorp lurked. When he reached the break in
the water-washed rock just ahead, the spidery horror would strike
and against its attack he was defenseless. Yet he must march on for
he had no control over his own actions!
“Wake up!” Ali’s hand was on his shoulder,
shaking him back and forth with something close to gentleness.
“Must you give an imitation of a space-whirly
moonbat?”
“The Gorp—” Dane came back to the present and
flushed. He dreaded admitting to a nightmare—especially to
Ali whose poise he had always found disconcerting.
“No Gorps here. Nothing but—”
Kamil’s words were lost in the escape of metal against
metal as a panel slid back in the wall. But no guard wearing the
black and silver of the Patrol stepped through to summon them to
trial. Van Rycke stood in the opening, half smiling at them with
his customary sleepy benevolence.
“Well, well, and here’s our missing ones.” His
purring voice was the most beautiful sound Dane thought he had ever
heard.