A RELIC OF THE EMPIRE

WHEN THE SHIP arrived, Dr. Richard SchultzMann was out among the plants, flying over and around them on a lift belt. He hovered over one, inspecting with proprietary interest an anomalous patch in its yellow foliage. This one would soon be ripe.

The nature-lover was a breadstick of a man, very tall and very thin, with an aristocratic head sporting a close cropped growth of coppery hair and an asymmetric beard. A white streak ran above his right ear, and there was a patch of white on each side of the chin, one coinciding with the waxed spike. As his head moved in the double sunlight, the patches changed color instantly.

He took a tissue sample from the grayish patch, stored it, and started to move on.

The ship came down like a daylight meteor, streaking blue-white across the vague red glare of Big Mira. It slowed and circled high overhead, weaving drunkenly across the sky, then settled toward the plain near Mann’s Explorer. Mann watched it land, then gave up his bumblebee activities and went to welcome the newcomers. He was amazed at the coincidence. As far as he knew, his had been the first ship ever to land here. The company would be good…but what could anyone possibly want here?

Little Mira set while he was skimming back. A flash of white at the far edge of the sea, and the tiny blue-white dwarf was gone. The shadows changed abruptly, turning the world red. Mann took off his pink-tinged goggles. Big Mira was still high, sixty degrees above the horizon and two hours from second sunset.

The newcomer was huge, a thick blunt-nosed cylinder twenty times the size of the Explorer. It looked old: not damaged, not even weathered, but indefinably old. Its nose was still closed tight, the living bubble retracted, if indeed it had a living bubble. Nothing moved nearby. They must be waiting for his welcome before they debarked.

Mann dropped toward the newcomer.

The stunner took him a few hundred feet up. Without pain and without sound, suddenly all Mann’s muscles turned to loose jelly. Fully conscious and completely helpless, he continued to dive toward the ground.

Three figures swarmed up at him from the newcomer’s oversized airlock. They caught him before he hit. Tossing humorous remarks at each other in a language Mann did not know, they towed him down to the plain.

The man behind the desk wore a captain’s hat and a cheerful smile. “Our supply of Verinol is limited,” he said in the trade language. “If I have to use it, I will, but I’d rather save it. You may have heard that it has unpleasant side effects.”

“I understand perfectly,” said Mann. “You’ll use it the moment you think you’ve caught me in a lie.” Since he had not yet been injected with the stuff, he decided it was a bluff. The man had no Verinol, if indeed there was such an animal as Verinol.

But he was still in a bad hole. The ancient, renovated ship held more than a dozen men, whereas Mann seriously doubted if he could have stood up. The sonic had not entirely worn off.

His captor nodded approvingly. He was huge and square, almost a cartoon of a heavy-planet man, with muscularity as smooth and solid as an elephant’s. A Jinxian, for anyone’s money. His size made the tiny shipboard office seem little more than a coffin. Among the crew his captain’s hat would not be needed to enforce orders. He looked like he could kick holes in hullmetal, or teach tact to an armed Kzin.

“You’re quick,” he said. “That’s good. I’ll be asking questions about you and about this planet. You’ll give truthful, complete answers. If some of my questions get too personal, say so; but remember, I’ll use the Verinol if I’m not satisfied. How old are you?”

“One hundred and fifty-four.”

“You look much older.”

“I was off boosterspice for a couple of decades.”

“Tough luck. Planet of origin?”

“Wunderland.”

“Thought so, with that stick-figure build. Name?”

“Doctor Richard Harvey SchultzMann.”

“Rich Mann, hah? Are you?”

Trust a Jinxian to spot a pun. “No. After I make my reputation, I’ll write a book on the Slaver Empire. Then I’ll be rich.”

“If you say so. Married?”

“Several times. Not at the moment.”

“Rich Mann, I can’t give you my real name, but you can call me Captain Kidd. What kind of beard is that?”

“You’ve never seen an asymmetric beard?”

“No, thank the Mist Demons. It looks like you’ve shaved off all your hair below the part, and everything on your face left of what looks like a one-tuft goatee. Is that the way it’s supposed to go?”

“Exactly so.”

“You did it on purpose then.”

“Don’t mock me, Captain Kidd.”

“Point taken. Are they popular on Wunderland?” Dr. Mann unconsciously sat a little straighter. “Only among those willing to take the time and trouble to keep it neat.” He twisted the single waxed spike of beard at the right of his chin with unconscious complacence. This was the only straight hair on his face-the rest of the beard being close-cropped and curly-and it sprouted from one of the white patches. Mann was proud of his beard.

“Hardly seems worth it,” said the Jinxian. “I assume it’s to show you’re one of the leisure classes. What are you doing on Mira Ceti-T?”

“I’m investigating one aspect of the Slaver Empire.”

“You’re a geologist, then?”

“No, a xenobiologist.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What do you know about the Slavers?”

“A little. They used to live all through this part of the galaxy. One day the slave races decided they’d had enough, and there was a war. When it was over, everyone was dead.”

“You know quite a bit. Well, Captain, a billion and a half years is a long time. The Slavers left only two kinds of evidence of their existence. There are the stasis boxes and their contents, mostly weaponry, but records have been found too. And there are the plants and animals developed for the Slavers’ convenience by their tnuctip slaves, who were biological engineers.”

“I know about those. We have bandersnatchi on Jinx, on both sides of the ocean.”

“The bandersnatchi food animals are a special case. They can’t mutate; their chromosomes are as thick as your finger, too large to be influenced by radiation. All other relics of tnuctipun engineering have mutated almost beyond recognition. Almost. For the past twelve years I’ve been searching out and identifying the surviving species.”

“It doesn’t sound like, a fun way to spend a life, Rich Mann. Are there Slaver animals on this planet?”

“Not animals, but plants. Have you been outside yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Then come out. I’ll show you.”

The ship was very large. It did not seem to be furnished with a living bubble, hence the entire lifesystem must be enclosed within the metal walls. Mann walked ahead of the Jinxian down a long unpainted corridor to the airlock, waited inside while the pressure dropped slightly, then rode the escalator to the ground. He would not try to escape yet, though the sonic had worn off. The Jiaxian was affable but alert, he carried a flashlight-laser dangling from his belt, his men were all around them, and Mann’s lift belt had been removed. Richard Mann was not quixotic.

It was a red, red world. They stood on a dusty plain sparsely scattered with strange yellow-headed bushes. A breeze blew things like tumbleweeds across the plain, things which on second glance were the dried heads of former bushes. No other life-forms were visible. Big Mira sat on the horizon, a vague, fiery semicircular cloud, just dim enough to look at without squinting. Outlined in sharp black silhouette against the, red giant’s bloody disk were three slender, improbably tall spires, unnaturally straight and regular, each with a vivid patch of yellow vegetation surrounding its base.’ Members of the Jinxian’s crew ran, walked, or floated outside, some playing an improvised variant of baseball, others at work, still others merely enjoying themselves. None were Jinxian, and none had Mann’s light-planet build. Mann noticed that a few were using the thin wire blades of variable-knives to cut down some of the straight bushes.

“Those,” he said.

“The bushes?”

“Yes. They used to be tnuctip stage trees. We don’t know what they looked like originally, but the old records say the Slavers stopped using them some decades before the rebellion. May I ask what those men are doing in my ship?”

Expanded from its clamshell nose, the Explorer’s living bubble was bigger than the Explorer. Held taut by air pressure, isolated from the surrounding environment, proof against any atmospheric chemistry found in nature, the clear fabric hemisphere was a standard feature of all camper-model spacecraft. Mann could see biped shadows moving purposefully about inside and going between the clamshell doors into the ship proper.

“They’re not stealing anything, Rich Mann. I sent ‘them in to remove a few components from the drives and the comm systems.”

“One hopes they won’t damage what they remove.”

“They won’t. They have their orders.”

“I assume you don’t want me to call someone,” said Mann. He noticed that the men were preparing a bonfire, using stage bushes. The bushes were like miniature trees, four to six feet tall, slender and straight, and the brilliant yellow foliage at the top was flattened like the head of a dandelion. From the low, rounded eastern mountains to the western sea, the red land was sprinkled with the yellow dots’ of their heads. Men were cutting off the heads and roots, then dragging the logs away to pile them in conical formation over a stack of death-dry tumbleweed heads.

“We don’t want you to call the Wunderland police, who happen to be somewhere out there looking for us.”

“I hate to pry-“

“No, no, you’re entitled to your curiosity. We’re pirates.”

“Surely you jest. Captain Kidd, if you’ve figured out a way to make piracy pay off, you must be bright enough to make ten times the money on the stock-market.”

“Why?”

By the tone of his voice, by his gleeful smile, the Jinxian was baiting him. Fine; it would keep his mind off stage trees. Mann said, “Because you can’t catch a ship in hyperspace. The only way you can match courses with a ship is to wait until it’s in an inhabited system. Then the police come calling.”

“I know an inhabited system where there aren’t any police.”

“The hell you do.”

They had walked more or less aimlessly to the Explorer’s airlock. Now the Jinxian turned and gazed out over the red plain, toward the dwindling crescent of Big Mira, which now looked like a bad forest fire. “I’m curious about those spires.”

“Fine, keep your little secret. I’ve wondered about them myself, but I haven’s had a chance to look at them yet.”

“I’d think they’d interest you. They look definitely artificial to me.”

“But they’re a billion years too young to be Slaver artifacts.”

“Rich Mann, are those bushes the only life on this planet?”

“I haven’t seen anything else,” Mann lied.

“Then it couldn’t have been a native race that put those spires up. I never heard of a space-traveling race that builds such big things for mere monuments.”

“Neither did I. Shall we look at them tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Captain Kidd stepped into the Explorer’s airlock, wrapped a vast hand gently around Mann’s thin wrist and pulled his captive in beside him. The airlock cycled and Mann followed the Jinxian into the living bubble with an impression that the Jinxian did not quite trust him.

Fine.

It was dark inside the bubble. Mann hesitated before turning on the light. Outside he could see the last red sliver of Big Mira shrinking with visible haste. He saw more. A man was kneeling before the conical bonfire, and a flickering light was growing in the dried bush-head kindling.

Mann turned on, the lights, obliterating the outside view. “Go on about piracy,” he said.

“Oh, yes.” The Jinxian dropped into a chair, frowning “Piracy was only the end product. It started a year ago, when I found the puppeteer system.”

“The-“

“Yes. The puppeteers’ home system.”

Richard Mann’s ears went straight up. He was from Wunderland, remember7

Puppeteers are highly intelligent, herbivorous, and very old as a species. Their corner on interstellar business is as old as the human Bronze Age. And they are cowards.

A courageous puppeteer is not regarded as insane only by other puppeteers. It is insane, and usually shows disastrous secondary symptoms: depression, homicidal tendencies, and the like. These poor, warped minds are easy to spot. No sane puppeteer will cross a vehicular roadway or travel in any but the safest available fashion or resist a thief, even an unarmed thief. No sane puppeteer will leave his home system, wherever that may be, without his painless method of suicide, nor will it walk an alien world without guards-nonpuppeteer guards.

The location of the puppeteer system is one of the puppeteer’s most closely guarded secrets. Another is the painless suicide gimmick. It may be a mere trick of preconditioning. Whatever it is, it works. Puppeteers cannot be tortured into revealing anything about their home world, though they hate pain. It must be a world with reasonably earthlike atmosphere and temperature, but beyond that nothing is known… or was known.

Suddenly Mann wished that they hadn’t lit the bonfire so soon. He didn’t know how long it would burn before the logs caught, and he wanted to hear more about this.

“I found it just a year ago,” the Jinxian repeated. “It’s best I don’t tell you what I was doing up to then. The less you know about who I am, the better. But when I’d got safely out of the system, I came straight home. I wanted time to think.”

“And you picked piracy? Why not blackmail?”

“I thought of that-“

“I should hope so! Can you imagine what the puppeteers would pay to keep that secret?”

“Yes. That’s what stopped me. Rich Mann, how much would you have asked for in one lump sum?”

“A round billion stars and immunity from prosecution.”

“Okay. Now look at it from the puppeteer point of view. That billion wouldn’t buy them complete safety, because you might still talk. But if they spent a tenth of that on detectives, weapons, hit men, et cetera, they could shut your mouth for keeps and also find and hit anyone you might have talked to. I couldn’t figure any way to make myself safe and still collect, not with that much potential power against me.

“So I thought of piracy.

“Eight of us had gone in, but I was the only one who’d guessed just what we’d stumbled into. I let the others in on it. Some had friends they could trust, and that raised our number to fourteen. We bought a ship, a very old one, and renovated it. She’s an old slowboat’s ground-to-orbit auxiliary fitted out with a new hyperdrive; maybe you noticed?”

“No. I saw how old she was.”

“We figured even if the puppeteers recognized her, they’d never trace her. We took her back to the puppeteer system and waited.”

A flickering light glimmered outside the bubble wall. Any second now the logs would catch… Mann tried to relax.

“Pretty soon a ship came in. We waited till it was too deep in the system’s gravity well to jump back into hyperspace. Then we matched courses. Naturally they surrendered right away. We went in in suits so they couldn’t describe us even if they could tell humans apart. Would you believe they had six hundred million stars in currency?”

“That’s pretty good pay. What went wrong?”

“My idiot crew wouldn’t leave. We’d figured most of the ships coming into the puppeteer system would be carrying money. They’re misers, you know. Part of being a coward is wanting security. And they do most of their mining and manufacturing on other worlds, where they can get labor. So we waited for two more ships, because we had room for lots more money. The puppeteers wouldn’t dare attack us inside their own system.” Captain Kidd made a sound of disgust. “I can’t really blame the men. In a sense they were right. One ship with a fusion drive can do a hell of a lot of damage just by hovering over a city. So we stayed.

“Meanwhile the puppeteers registered a formal complaint with Earth.

“Earth hates people who foul up interstellar trade. We’d offered physical harm to a puppeteer. A thing like that could cause a stock-market crash. So Earth offered the services of every police force in human space. Hardly seems fair, does it?”

“They ganged up on you. But they still couldn’t come after you, could they? The puppeteers would have to tell the police how to find their system. They’d hardly do that; not when some human descendant might attack them a thousand years from now.”

The Jinxian dialed himself a frozen daiquiri. “They had to wait till we left. I still don’t know how they tracked us. Maybe they’ve got something that can track a gravity warp moving faster than light. I wouldn’t put it past them to build it just for us, Anyway, ‘when we angled toward

Jinx, we heard them telling the police of We Made It just where we were.”

“Ouch.”

“We headed for the nearest double star. Not my Idea; Hermie Preston’s. He thought we could hide in the dust clouds in the trojan points. Whatever the puppeteers were using probably couldn’t find us in normal space.” Two thirsty gulps had finished his daiquiri. He crumpled the cup, watched it evaporate, dialed another. “The nearest double star was Mira Ceti. We hardly expected to find a planet in the trailing trojan point, but as long as it was there, we decided to use it.”

“And here you are.”

“You’ll be better off when you’ve found a way to hide that ship.”

“We had to find out about you first, Rich Mann. Tomorrow we’ll sink the Puppet Master in the ocean. Already we’ve-shut off the fusion drive. The lifters work by battery, and the cops can’t detect that.”

“Fine. Now for the billion-dollar-“

“No, no, Rich Mann. I will not tell you where to find the puppeteer planet. Give up the whole idea. Shall we join the campfire group?”

Mann came joltingly alert. How had the stage trees lasted this long? Thinking fast, he said, “Is your autokitchen as good as mine?”

“Probably not. Why?”

“Let me treat your group to dinner, Captain Kidd.”

Captain Kidd shook his head, smiling. “No offense, Rich Mann, but I can’t read your kitchen controls, and there’s no point in tempting you. You might rashly put someth-“

WHAM!

The living bubble bulged inward, snapped back. Captain Kidd swore and ran for the airlock. Mann stayed seated, motionless, hoping against hope that the Jinxian had forgotten him.

WHAM! WHAM! Flares of light from the region of the campfire. Captain Kidd frantically punched the cycle button, and the opaque inner door closed on him. Mann came to his feet, running.

WHAM! The concussion hurt his ears and set the bubble rippling. Burning logs must be flying in all directions. The airlock recycled, empty. No telling where the Jinxian was; the outer door was opaque too. Well, that worked

both ways.

WHAM!

Mann searched through the airlock locker, pushing sections of spacesuit aside to find the lift belt. It wasn’t there. He’d been wearing it; they’d taken it off him after they shot him down.

He moaned: a tormented, uncouth sound to come from a cultured Wunderlander. He had to have a lift belt.

WHAM WHAM WHAM. Someone was screaming far away.

Mann snatched up the suit’s chest-and-shoulder section and locked it around him. It was rigid vacuum armor, with a lift motor built into the back. He took an extra moment to screw down the helmet, then hit the cycle button.

No use searching for weapons. They’d have taken even a variable-knife.

The Jinxian could be just outside waiting. He might have realized the truth by now.

The door opened…. Captain Kidd was easy to find, a running misshapen shadow and a frantic booming voice.

“Flatten out, you yeastheads! It’s an attack!” He hadn’t guessed. But he must know that the We Made It police would use stunners.

Mann twisted his lift control to full power.

The surge of pressure took him under the armpits. Two standard gem sent blood rushing to his feet, pushed him upward with four times Wunderland’s gravity. A last stage log exploded under him, rocked him back and forth, and then all was dark and quiet.

He adjusted the attitude setthig to slant him almost straight forward. The dark ground sped beneath him. He moved northeast. Nobody was following him-yet.

Captain Kidd’s men would have been killed, hurt, or at least stunned when the campfire exploded in their faces. He’d expected Captain Kidd to chase him, but the Jinxian couldn’t have caught him. Lift motors are all alike, and Mann wasn’t as heavy as the Jinxian.

He flew northeast, flying very low, knowing that the only landmarks big enough to smash him were the spires to the west. When be could no longer see the ships’ lights, he turned south, still very low. Still nobody followed him. He was glad he’d taken the helmet; it protected his eyes from the wind.

In the blue dawn he came awake. The sky was darker than navy blue, and the light around him was dim, like blue moonlight, Little Mira was a hurtingly bright pinpoint between twp mountain peaks, bright enough to sear holes in a man’s retinae. Mann unscrewed his helmet, adjusted the pink goggles over his eyes. Now it was even darker.

He poked his nose above the yellow moss. The plain and sky were empty of men. The pirates must be out looking for him, but they hadn’t gotten here yet. So far so good.

Far out across the plain there was fire. A stage tree rose rapidly into the black sky, minus its roots and flowers, the wooden flanges at its base holding it in precarious aerodynamic stability. A white rope of smoke followed it up. When the smoke cut off, the tree became invisible until, much higher, there was a puff of white cloud like a flak burst. Now the seeds would be spreading across the sky.

Richard Mann smiled. Wonderful, how the stage trees had adapted to the loss of their masters. The Slavers had raised them on wide plantations, using the solid-fuel rocket cores inside the living bark to lift their ships from places where a fusion drive would have done damage. But the trees used the rockets for reproduction, to scatter their seeds farther than any plant before them.

An, well … Richard Mann snuggled deeper into the yellow woolly stuff around him and began to consider his next move. He was a hero now in the eyes of humanity-at-large. He had badly damaged the pirate crew. When the police landed, he could count on a reward from the puppeteers. Should he settle for that or go on to bigger stakes?

The Puppet Master’s cargo was bigger stakes, certainly. But even if he could take it, which seemed unlikely, how could he fit it into his ship? How escape the police of We Made It?

No. Mann had another stake in mind, one just as valuable and infinitely easier to hide.

What Captain Kidd apparently hadn’t realized was that blackmail is not immoral to a puppeteer. There are well established rules of conduct that make blackmail perfectly safe both for blackmailer and victim. Two are that the blackmailer must submit to having certain portions of his memory erased, and must turn over all evidence against the victim. Mann was prepared to do this if he could force Captain Kidd to tell him where to find the puppeteer system. But how?

Well, he knew one thing the Jinxian didn’t.

Little Mira rose fast, arc blue, a hole into hell. Mann remained where he was, an insignificant mote in the yellow vegetation below one of the spires Captain Kidd had remarked on last night. The spire was a good half mile high. An artifact that size would seem impossibly huge to any but an Earthman. The way it loomed over him made Mann uncomfortable. In shape it was a slender cone with a base three hundred feet across. The surface near the base was gray and smooth to touch, like polished granite.

The yellow vegetation was a thick, rolling carpet. It spread out around the spire in an uneven circle half a mile in diameter and dozens of feet deep. It rose about the base in a thick turtleneck collar. Close up, the stuff wasn’t even discrete plants. It looked like a cross between moss and wool, dyed flagrant yellow.

It made a good hiding place. Not perfect, of course; a heat sensor would pick him out in a flash. He hadn’t thought of that last night, and now it worried him. Should he get out, try to reach the sea?

The ship would certainly carry a heat sensor, but not a portable one. A portable heat sensor would be a weapon, a nighttime gunsight, and weapons of war had been illegal for some time in human space.

But the Puppet Master could have stopped elsewhere to get such impliments. Kzinti, for example.

Nonsense. Why would Captain Kidd have needed portable weapons with night gunsights? He certainly hadn’t expected puppeteers to fight hand-to-hand! The stunners were mercy weapons; even a pirate would not dare kill a puppeteer, and Captain Kidd was no ordinary pirate.

All right. Radar? He need only burrow into the moss/wool. Sight search? Same answer. Radio? Mental note: Do not transmit anything.

Mental note? There was a dictaphone in his helmet. He used it after pulling the helmet out of the moss/wool around him.

Plying figures. Mann watched them for a long moment, trying to spot the Jinxian. There were only four, and he wasn’t among them. The four were flying northwest of him, moving south. Mann ducked into the moss.

“Hello, Rich Mann.”

The voice was low, contorted with fury. Mann felt the shock race through him, contracting every muscle with the fear of death. It came from behind him!

From his helmet.

“Hello, Rich Mann. Guess where I am?

He couldn’t turn it off. Spacesuit helmet radios weren’t built to be turned off: a standard safety factor. If one were fool enough to ignore safety, one could insert an “off” switch; but Mann had never felt the need.

“I’m in your ship, using your ship-to-suit radio circuit. That was a good trick you played last night. I didn’t even know what a stage tree was till I looked it up in your library.”

He’d just have to endure it. A pity he couldn’t answer back.

“You killed four of my men and put five more in the autodoc tanks. Why’d you do it, Rich Mann? You must have known we weren’t going to kill you. Why should we? There’s no blood on our hands.”

You lie, Mann thought at the radio. People die in a market crash. And the -ones who live are the ones who suffer. Do you know what it’s like to be suddenly poor and not know how to live poor?

“I’ll assume you want something, Rich Mann. All right. What? The money in my hold? That’s ridiculous. You’d never get in. You want to turn us in for a reward? Fat chance. You’ve got no weapons. If we find you now, we’ll kill you.”

The four searchers passed far to the west, their headlamps spreading yellow light across the blue dusk. They were no danger to him now. A pity they and their fellows should have been involved in what amounted to a vendetta.

“The puppeteer planet, of course. The modern El Dorado. But you don’t know where it is, do you? I wonder if I ought to give you a hint. Of course you’d never know whether I was telling the truth…

Did the Jinxian know how to live poor? Mann shuddered. The old memories came back only rarely; but when they came, they hurt. You have to learn not to buy luxuries before you’ve bought necessities. You can starve learning which is which. Necessities are food and a place to sleep, shoes and pants. Luxuries are tobacco, restaurants, fine shirts, throwing away a ruined meld while you’re learning to cook, quitting a job you don’t like. A union is a necessity. Boosterspice is a luxury.

The Jinxian wouldn’t know about that. He’d bad the money to buy his own ship.

“Ask me politely, Rich Mann. Would you like to know where I found the puppeteer system?”

Mann had leased the Explorer on a college grant. It had been the latest step in a long climb upward. Before that

He was half his lifetime old when the crash came. Until then boosterspice had kept him as young as the ageless idle ones who were his friends and relatives. Overnight he was one of the hungry. A number of his partners in disaster had ridden their lift belts straight up into eternity; Richard SchultzMann had sold his for his final dose of boosterspice. Before he could afford boosterspice again, there were wrinkles in his forehead, the texture of his skin had, changed, his sex urge had decreased, strange white patches had appeared in his hair, there were twinges In his back. He still got them.

Yet always he had maintained his beard. With the white spike and the white streak it looked better than ever. After the boosterspice restored color to his hair, he dyed the patches back in again.

“Answer me, Rich Mann!”

Go ride a bandersnatch.

It was a draw. Captain Kidd couldn’t entice him into answering, and Mann would never know the pirate’s secret. If Kidd dropped his ship in the sea, Mann could show it to the police. At least that would be something.

Luckily Kidd couldn’t move the Explorer. Otherwise he could take both ships half around the planet, leaving Mann stranded.

The four pirates were far to the south. Captain Kidd had apparently given up on the radio. There were water and food syrup in his helmet; Mann would not starve.

Where in blazes were the police? On the other side of the planet?

Stalemate.

Big Mira came as a timorous peeping Tom, poking its rim over the mountains like red smoke. The land brightened, taking on tinges of lavender against long, long navy blue shadows. The shadows shortened and became vague.

The morality of his position was beginning to bother Dr. Richard Mann.

In attacking the pirates, he had done his duty as a citizen. The pirates had sullied humanity’s hard-won reputation for honesty. Mann had struck back.

But his motive? Fear had been two parts of that motive. First, the fear that Captain Kidd might decide to shut his mouth. Second, the fear of being poor.

That fear had been with him for some time.

Write a book and make a fortune! It looked good on paper. The thirty-light-year sphere of human space contained nearly fifty billion readers. Persuade one percent of them to shell out half a star each for a disposable tape, and your four-percent royalties became twenty million stars. But most books nowadays were flops. You had to scream very loud nowadays to get the attention of even ten billion readers. Others were trying to drown you out.

Before Captain Kidd, that had been Richard SchultzMann’s sole hope of success.

He’d behaved within the law. Captain Kidd couldn’t make that claim; but Captain Kidd hadn’t killed anybody.

Mann sighed. He’d had no choice. His major motive was honor, and that motive still held.

He moved restlessly in his nest of damp moss/wool. The day was heating up, and his suit’s temperature control would not work with half a suit. What was that?

It was the Puppet Master, moving effortlessly toward him on its lifters. The Jinxian must have decided to get it under water before the human law arrived.

…Or had he?

Mann adjusted his lift motor until he was just short of weightless, then moved cautiously around the spire. He saw the four pirates moving to intersect the Puppet Master. They’d see him if he left the spire. But if he stayed, those infrared detectors … He’d have to chance it.

The suit’s padded shoulders gouged his armpits as he streaked toward the second spire. He stopped in midair over the moss and dropped, burrowed in it. The pirates didn’t swerve.

Now he’d see.

The ship slowed to a stop over the spire he’d just left.

“Can you hear me, Rich Mann?”

Mann nodded gloomily to himself. Definitely, that was it.

“I should have tried this before. Since you’re nowhere in sight, you’ve either left the vicinity altogether or you’re hiding in the thick bushes around those towers.”

Should he try to keep dodging from spire to spire? Or could he outfly them?

At least one was bound to be faster. The armor increased his weight.

“I hope you took the opportunity to examine this tower. It’s fascinating. Very smooth, stony surface, except at the top. A perfect cone, also except at the top. You listening? The tip of this thing swells from an eight-foot neck into an egg-shaped knob fifteen feet across. The knob isn’t polished as smooth as the rest of it. Vaguely reminiscent of an asparagus spear, wouldn’t you say?”

Richard SchultzMann cocked his head, tasting an idea. He unscrewed his helmet, ripped out and pocketed the radio. In frantic haste he began ripping out double handfuls of the yellow moss/wool, stuffed them into a wad in the helmet, and turned his lighter on it. At first the vegetation merely smoldered, while Mann muttered through clenched teeth. Then it caught with a weak blue smokeless flame. Mann placed his helmet in a mossy nest, setting it so it would not tip over and spill its burning contents.

“I’d have said a phallic symbol, myself. What do you think, Rich Mann? If these are phallic symbols, they’re pretty well distorted. Humanoid but not human, you might say.”

The pirates had joined their ship. They hovered around its floating silver bulk, ready to drop on him when the Puppet Master’s infrared detectors found him.

Mann streaked away to the west on full acceleration, staying as low as he dared. The spire would shield him for a minute or so, and then…

“This vegetation isn’t stage trees, Rich Mann. It looks like some sort of grass from here. Must need something in the rock they made these erections out of. Mph. No hot spots. You’re not down there after all. Well, we try the next one.”

Behind him, in the moments when he dared look back, Mann saw the Puppet Master move to cover the second spire, the one he’d left a moment ago, the one with a gray streak in the moss at its base. Four humanoid dots clustered loosely above the ship.

“Peekaboo,” came the Jinxian’s voice. “And good-bye, killer.”

The Puppet Master’s fusion drive went on. Fusion flame lashed Out in a blue-white spear, played down the side of the pillar and into the moss/wool below. Mann faced forward and concentrated on flying. He felt neither elation nor pity, but only disgust. The Jinxian was a fool after all. He’d seen no life on Mira Ceti-T but for the stage trees, He had Mann’s word that there was none. Couldn’t he reach the obvious conclusion? Perhaps the moss/wool had fooled him. It certainly did -look like yellow moss, clustering around the spires as if it needed some chemical element in the stone.

A glance back told him that the pirate ship was still spraying white flame over the spire and the foliage below.

He’d have been a cinder by now. The Jinxian must want him extremely dead. Well—

The spire went all at once. It sat on the lavender plain in a hemisphere of multicolored fire, engulfing the other spires and the Jinxian ship; and then it began to expand and rise. Mann adjusted his attitude to vertical to get away from the ground. A moment later the shock wave slammed into him and blew him tumbling over the desert.

Two white ropes of smoke rose straight up through the dimming explosion cloud. The other spires were taking off while still green! Fire must have reached the foliage at their bases.

Mann watched them go with his head thrown back and his body curiously loose in the vacuum armor. His expression was strangely contented. At these times he could forget himself and his ambitions in the contemplation of immortality.

Two, knots formed - simultaneously in the rising smoke trails. Second stage on. They rose very fast now.

“Rich Mann.”

Mann flicked his transmitter on. “You’d live through anything.”

“Not I. I can’t feel anything below my shoulders. Listen, Rich Mann, I’ll trade secrets with you. What happened?”

“The big towers are stage trees.”

“Uh?” Half question, half an expression of agony.

“A stage tree has two life cycles. One is the bush, the other is the big multistage form.” Mann talked fast, fearful of losing his audience. “The forms alternate. A stage tree seed lands on a planet and grows into a bush. Later there are lots of bushes. When a seed hits a particularly fertile spot, it grows into a multistage form. You still there?”

“Yuh.”

“In the big form the living part is the tap root and the photosynthetic organs around the base. That way the rocket section doesn’t have to carry so much weight. It grows straight up out of the living part, but it’s as dead as the center of an oak except for the seed at the top. When it’s ripe, the rocket takes off. Usually it’ll reach terminal velocity for the system it’s in. Kidd, I can’t see your ship; I’ll have to wait till the smoke-“

“Just keep talking.”

“I’d like to help.”

“Too late. Keep talking.”

“I’ve tracked the stage trees across twenty light-years of space. God knows where they started. They’re all through the systems around here. The seed pods spend hundreds of thousands of years in space; and when they enter a system, they explode. If there’s a habitable world, one seed is bound to hit it. If there isn’t, there’s lots more pods where that one came from. It’s immortality, Captain Kidd. This one plant has traveled farther than mankind, and it’s much older. A billion and a-“

“Mann.”

“Yah.”

“Twenty-three point six, seventy point one, six point nil. I don’t know its name on the star charts. Shall I repeat that?”

Mann forgot the stage trees. “Better repeat it.”

“Twenty-three point six, seventy point one, six point nothing. Hunt in that area till you find it. It’s a red giant, undersized. Planet is small, dense, no moon.”

“Got it.”

“You’re stupid if you use it. You’ll have the same luck I did. That’s why I told you.”

“I’ll use blackmail.”

“They’ll kill you. Otherwise I wouldn’t have said. Why’d you kill me, Rich Mann?”

“I didn’t like your remarks about my beard. Never Insult a Wunderlander’s asymmetric beard, Captain Kidd.”

“I won’t do it again.”

“I’d like to help.” Mann peered into the billowing smoke. Now it was a black pillar tinged at the edges by the twin sunlight. “Still can’t see your ship.”

“You will in a moment.”

The pirate moaned … and Mann saw the ship. He managed to turn his head in time to save his eyes.