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| File name    : Andre Norton - [Jern Murdock 02] - Uncharted Stars.txt    |
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  Norton, Andre - Uncharted Stars (v1.0) (html).htmlScanned by Highroller.
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Uncharted Stars by Andre Norton

  Chapter One
It was like any other caravansary at a space port, not providing quarters
for a Veep or some off-planet functionary, but not for a belt as sparsely
packed with credits as mine was at that moment either. My fingers twitched
and I got a cold chill in my middle every time my thoughts strayed to how
flat that belt was at present. But there is such a thing as face, or
prestige, whatever name you want to give it, and that I must have now or
fail completely. And my aching feet, my depressed spirits told me that I was
already at the point where one surrendered hope and waited for the
inevitable blow to fall. That blow could only fell me in one direction. I
would lose what I had played the biggest gamble of my life to win--a ship
now sitting on its tail fins in a field I could have sighted from this hotel
had I been a Veep and able to afford one of the crown tower rooms with
actual windows. One may be able to buy a ship but thereafter it sits eating
up more and more credits in ground fees, field service--more costs than my
innocence would have believed possible a planet month earlier. And one
cannot lift off world until he has a qualified pilot at the controls, the
which I was not, and the which I had not been able to locate.
It had all sounded so easy in the beginning. My thinking had certainly been
clouded when I had plunged into this. No--been plunged! Now I centered my
gaze on the door which was the entrance to what I could temporarily call
"home," and I had very unkind thoughts, approaching the dire, about the
partner waiting me behind it.
The past year had certainly not been one to soothe my nerves, or lead me to
believe that providence smiled sweetly at me. It had begun as usual. I,
Murdoc Jern, had been going about my business in the way any roving gem
buyer's apprentice would. Not that our lives, mine and my master Vondar
Ustle's, had been without exciting incident. But on Tanth, in the spin of a
diabolical
"sacred" arrow, everything had broken apart as if a laser ray had been used
to sever me not only from Vondar but from any peace of mind or body.
When the sacrifice arrow of the green-robed priests had swung to a stop
between Vondar and me, we had not feared; off-worlders were not meat to
satisfy their demonic master. Only we had been jumped by the tavern crowd,
probably only too glad to see a choice which had not included one of them.
Vondar had died from a knife thrust and I had been hunted down the byways of
that dark city, to claim sanctuary in the hold of another of their grisly
godlings. From there I had, I thought, paid my way for escape on a Free
Trader. But I had only taken a wide stride from a stinking morass into a
bush fire--since my rise into space had started me on a series of adventures
so wild that, had another recited them to me, I would have thought them the
product of fash-smoke breathing, or something he had heard from a story
tape. Suffice it that I was set adrift in space itself, along with a
companion whose entrance into my time and space was as weird as his looks.
He was born rightly enough, in the proper manner, out of a ship's cat. Only
his father was a black stone, or at least several men trained to observe the
unusual would state that. Eet and I had been drawn by the zero stone--the
zero stone! One might well term that the seed of all disorder!
I had seen it first in my father's hands--dull, lifeless, set in a great
ring meant to be worn over the bulk of a space glove. It had been found on
the body of an alien on an unknown asteroid. And how long dead its suited
owner was might be anyone's guess--up to and including a million years on
the average planet. That it had a secret, my father knew, and its
fascination held him. In fact, he died to keep it as a threatening heritage
for me. It was the zero stone on my own gloved hand which had drawn me, and
Eet, through empty space to a drifting derelict which might or might not
have been the very ship its dead owner had once known. And from that a
lifeboat had taken us to a world of forest and ruins, where, to keep our
secret and our lives, we had fought both the Thieves' Guild (which my father
must have defied, though he had once been a respected member of its upper
circles) and the Patrol. Eet had found one cache of the zero stones. By
chance we both stumbled on another. And that one was weird enough to make a
man remember it for the rest of his days, for it had been carefully laid up
in a temporary tomb, shared by the bodies of more than one species of alien,
as if intended to pay their passage home to distant and unknown planets of
origin. And we knew part of their secret. Zero stones had the power to boost
any energy they contacted, and they would also home on their fellows,
activating such in turn. But that the planet we had landed upon by chance
was the source of the stones, Eet denied. We used the caches for bargaining,
not with the Guild, but with the Patrol, and we came out of the deal with
credits for a ship of our own, plus--very sourly given--clean records and
our freedom to go as we willed. Our ship was Eet's suggestion. Eet, a
creature I could crush in my two hands (sometimes I thought that solution
was an excellent one for me), had an invisible presence which towered higher
than any Veep I had ever met. In part, his feline mother had shaped him,
though I sometimes speculated as to whether his physical appearance did not
continue to change subtly. He was furred, though his tail carried only a
ridge of that covering down it. But his feet were bare-skinned and his
forepaws were small hands which he could use to purposes which proved them
more akin to my palms and fingers than a feline's paws. His ears were small
and set close to his head, his body elongated and sinuous. But it was his
mind, not the body he informed me had been "made" for him, which counted.
Not only was he telepathic, but the knowledge which abode in his memory, and
which he gave me in bits and pieces, must have rivaled the lore of the famed
Zacathan libraries, which are crammed with centuries of learning. Who--or
what--Eet was he would never say. But that I would ever be free of him again
I greatly doubted. I could resent his calm dictatorship, which steered me
on occasion, but there was a fascination (I sometimes speculated as to
whether this was deliberately used to entangle me, but if it was a trap it
had been very skillfully constructed) which kept me his partner. He had told
me many times our companionship was needful, that I provided one part, he
the other, to make a greater whole. And I had to admit that it was through
him we had come out of our brush with Patrol and Guild as well as we
had--with a zero stone still in our possession.
For it was Eet's intention, which I could share at more optimistic times, to
search out the source of the stones. Some small things I had noted on the
unknown planet of the caches made me sure that Eet knew more about the
unknown civilization or confederation which had first used the stones than
he had told me. And he was right in that the man who had the secret of their
source could name his own price--always providing he could manage to market
that secret without winding up knifed, burned, or disintegrated in some
messy fashion before he could sell it properly.
We had found a ship in a break-down yard maintained by a Salarik who knew
bargaining as even my late master (whom I had heretofore thought unbeatable)
did not. I will admit at once that without Eet I would not have lasted ten
planet minutes against such skill and would have issued forth owning the
most battered junk the alien had sitting lopsidedly on rusting fins. But the
Salariki are feline-ancestered, and perhaps Eet's cat mother gave him
special insight into the other's mind. The result was we emerged with a
useful ship. It was old, it had been through changes of registry many times,
but it was, Eet insisted, sound. And it was small enough for the planet
hopping we had in mind. Also, it was, when Eet finished bargaining, within
the price we could pay, which in the end included its being serviced for
space and moved to the port ready for take-off.
But there it had sat through far too many days, lacking a pilot. Eet might
have qualified had he inhabited a body humanoid enough to master the
controls. I had never yet come to the end of any branch of knowledge in my
companion, who might evade a direct answer to be sure, but whose supreme
confidence always led me to believe that he did have the correct one.
It was now a simple problem: We had a ship but no pilot. We were piling up
rental on the field and we could not lift. And we were very close to the end
of that small sum we had left after we paid for the ship. Such gems as
remained in my belt were not enough to do more than pay for a couple more
days' reckoning at the caravansary, if I could find a buyer. And that was
another worry to tug at my mind.
As Vondar's assistant and apprentice, I had met many of the major gem buyers
on scores of planets. But it was to Ustle that they opened their doors and
gave confidence. When I dealt on my own I might find the prospect bleak,
unless I drifted into what was so often the downfall of the ambitious, the
fringes of the black market which dealt in stolen gems or those with dubious
pasts. And there I would come face to face with the Guild, a prospect which
was enough to warn me off even more than a desire to keep my record clean.
I had not found a pilot. Resolutely now I pushed my worries back into the
immediate channel. Deal with one thing at a time, and that, the one facing
you. We had to have a pilot to lift, and we had to lift soon, very soon, or
lose the ship before making a single venture into space with her.
None of the reputable hiring agencies had available a man who would be
willing--at our wages--to ship out on what would seem a desperate venture,
the more so when I could not offer any voyage bond. This left the rejects,
men black-listed by major lines, written off agency books for some mistake
or crime. And to find such a one I must go down into the Off-port, that part
of the city where even the Patrol and local police went on sufferance and in
couples, where the Guild ruled. To call attention to myself there was asking
for a disagreeable future--kidnaping, mind scanning, all the other illegal
ways of gaining my knowledge. The Guild had a long and accurate memory.
There was a third course. I could throw up everything--turn on my heel and
walk away from the door I was about to activate by thumb pressure on
personal seal, take a position in one of the gem shops (if I could find
one), forget Eet's wild dream. Even throw the stone in my belt into the
nearest disposal to remove the last temptation. In fact, become as ordinary
and law-abiding a citizen as I could.
I was greatly tempted. But I was enough of a Jern not to yield. Instead I
set thumb to the door and at the same time beamed a thought before me in
greeting. As far as I knew, the seals in any caravansary, once set to
individual thumbprints, could not be fooled. But there can always be a first
time and the Guild is notorious for buying up or otherwise acquiring new
methods of achieving results which even the Patrol does not suspect have
been discovered. If we had been traced here, then there just might be a
reception committee waiting beyond. So I tried mind-touch with Eet for
reassurance. What I got kept me standing where I was, thumb to doorplate,
bewildered, then suspicious. Eet was there. I received enough to be sure of
that. We had been mind-coupled long enough for even tenuous linkage to be
clear to my poorer human senses. But now Eet was withdrawn, concentrating
elsewhere. My fumbling attempts to communicate failed.
Only it was not preoccupation with danger, no warn-off. I pressed my thumb
down and watched the door roll back into the wall, intent on what lay
beyond. The room was small, not the cubby of a freeze-class traveler, but
certainly not the space of a Veep suite. The various fixtures were
wall-folded. And now the room was unusually empty, for apparently Eet had
sent every chair, as well as the table, desk, and bed back into the walls,
leaving the carpeted floor bare, a single bracket light going.
A circle of dazzling radiance was cast by that (I noted at once that it had
been set on the highest frequency and a small portion of my mind began
calculating how many minutes of that overpower would be added to our bill).
Then I saw what was set squarely under it and I was really startled.
As was true of all port caravansaries, this one catered to tourists as well
as business travelers. In the lobby was a shop--charging astronomical
prices--where one could buy a souvenir or at least a present for one's
future host or some member of the family. Most of it was, as always, a
parade of eye-catching local handicrafts to prove one had been on Theba,
with odds and ends of exotic imports from other planets to attract the
attention of the less sophisticated traveler. There were always in such
shops replicas of the native fauna, in miniature for the most part. Some
were carved as art, others wrought in furs or fabrics to create a very close
likeness of the original, often life-size for smaller beasts, birds, or
what-is-its. What sat now in the full beam of the lamp was a stuffed pookha.
It was native to Theba. I had lingered by a pet shop (intrigued in spite of
my worries) only that morning to watch three live pookhas. And I could well
understand their appeal. They were, even in the stuffed state, luxury items
of the first class. This one was not much larger than Eet when he drew his
long thin body together in a hunched position, but it was of a far different
shape, being chubby and plump and with the instant appeal to my species that
all its kind possess. Its plushy fur was, a light green-gray with a faint
mottling which gave it the appearance of the watered brocade woven on
Astrudia. Its fore-paws were bluntly rounded pads, unclawed, though it was
well provided with teeth, which in live pookhas were used for crushing their
food--rich leaves. The head was round with no visible ears, but between the
points where ears might normally be, from one side of that skull-ball to the
other, there stood erect a broad mane of whisker growth fanning out in fine
display. The eyes were very large and green, of a shade several tints darker
than its fur. It was life-size and very handsome--also very, very expensive.
And how it had come here I did not have the slightest idea. I would have
moved forward to examine it more closely but a sharp crack of thought from
Eet froze me where I stood. It was not a concrete message but a warning not
to interfere. Interfere in what? I looked from the stuffed pookha to my
roommate. Though I had been through much with Eet and had thought I had
learned not to be surprised at any action of my alien companion, he now
succeeded very well in startling me. He was, as I had seen, hunched on the
floor just beyond the circle of intense light cast by the lamp. And he was
staring as intently at the toy as if he had been watching the advance of
some enemy. Only Eet was no longer entirely Eet. His slim, almost reptilian
body was not only hunched into a contracted position but actually appeared
to have become plumper and shorter, aping most grotesquely the outward
contours of the pookha. In addition, his dark fur had lightened, held a
greenish sheen. Totally bewildered, yet fascinated by what was occurring
before my unbelieving eyes, I watched him turn into a pookha, altering his
limbs, head shape, color, and all the rest. Then he shuffled into the light
and squatted by the toy to face me. His thought rang loudly in my head.
"Well?"
"You are that one." I pointed a finger, but I could not be sure. To the last
raised whisker of crest, the last tuft of soft greenish fur, Eet was twin to
the toy he had copied.
"Close your eyes!" His order came so quickly I obeyed without question.
A little irritated, I immediately opened them again, to confront once more
two pookhas. I guessed his intent, that I should again choose between them.
But to my closest survey there was no difference between the toy and Eet,
who had settled without any visible signs of life into the same posture. I
put out my hand at last and lifted the nearest, to discover I had the model.
And I felt Eet's satisfaction and amusement.
"Why?" I demanded.
"I am unique." Was there a trace of complacency in that remark? "So I would
be recognized, remarked upon. It is necessary that I assume another guise."
"But how did you do this?"
He sat back on his haunches. I had gone down on my knees to see him the
closer, once more setting the toy beside him and looking from one to the
other for some small difference, though I could see none.
"It is a matter of mind." He seemed impatient. "How little you know. Your
species is shut into a shell of your own contriving, and I see little signs
of your struggling to break out of it." This did not answer my question very
well. I still refused to accept the fact that Eet, in spite of all he had
been able to do in the past, could think himself into a pookha.
He caught my train of thought easily enough. "Think myself into a
hallucination of a pookha," he corrected in that superior manner I found
irking.
"Hallucination!" Now that I could believe. I had never seen it done with
such skill and exactitude, but there were aliens who dealt in such illusions
with great effect and I had heard enough factual tales of such to believe
that it could be done, and that one receptive to such influences and
patterns could be made to see as they willed. Was it because I had so long
companied Eet and at times been under his domination that I was so deceived
now? Or would the illusion he had spun hold for others also?
"For whom and as long as I wish," he snapped in reply to my unasked
question.
"Tactile illusion as well --feel!" He thrust forth a furred forelimb, which
I touched. Under my fingers it was little different from the toy, except
that it had life and was not just fur laid over stuffing.
"Yes." I sat back on my heels, convinced. Eet was right, as so often he
was--often enough to irritate a less logical being such as I. In his own
form Eet was strange enough to be noticed, even in a space port, where there
is always a coming and going of aliens and unusual pets. He could furnish a
clue to our stay here. I had never underrated the Guild or their spy system.
But if they had a reading on Eet, then how much more so they must have me
imprinted on their search tapes! I had been their quarry long before I met
Eet, ever since after my father's murder, when someone must have guessed
that I had taken from his plundered office the zero stone their man had not
found. They had set up the trap which had caught Vondar Ustle but not me.
And they had laid another trap on the Free Trader, one which Eet had foiled,
although I did not know of it until later. On the planet of ruins they had
actually held me prisoner until Eet again freed me. So they had had
innumerable chances of taping me for their hounds--a fact which was
frightening to consider.
"You will think yourself a cover." Eet's calm order cut across my
uneasiness.
"I cannot! Remember, I am of a limited species--" I struck back with the
baffled anger that realization of my plight aroused in me.
"You have only the limits you yourself set," Eet returned unruffled.
"Perceive--"
He waddled on his stumpy pookha legs to the opposite side of the room, and
as suddenly flowed back into Eet again, stretching his normal body up
against the wall at such a lengthening as I would not have believed even his
supple muscles and flesh capable of. With one of his paw-hands he managed to
touch a button and the wall provided us with a mirror surface. In that I saw
myself. I am not outstanding in any way. My hair is darkish brown, which is
true of billions of males of Terran stock. I have a face which is wide
across the eyes, narrowing somewhat to the chin, undistinguished for either
good looks or downright ugliness. My eyes are green-brown, and my brows,
black, as are my lashes. As a merchant who travels space a great deal, I had
had my beard permanently eradicated when it first showed. A beard in a space
helmet is unpleasant. And for the same reason I wear my hair cropped short.
I am of medium height as my race goes, and I have all the right number of
limbs and organs for my own species. I could be anyone--except that the
identification patterns the Guild might hold on me could go deeper and be
far more searching than a glance at a passing stranger.
Eet flowed back across the room with his usual liquid movement, made one of
his effortless springs to my shoulder, and settled down in position behind
my neck, his head resting on top of mine, his hand-paws flat on either side
of my skull just below my ears.
"Now!" he commanded. "Think of another face--anyone's--"
When so ordered I found that I could not--at first. I looked into the mirror
and my reflection was all that was there. I could feel Eet's impatience and
that made it even more difficult for me to concentrate. Then that impatience
faded and I guessed that he was willing it under control.
"Think of another." He was less demanding, more coaxing. "Close your eyes if
you must--"
I did, trying to summon up some sort of picture in my mind--a face which was
not my own. Why I settled for Faskel I could not say, but somehow my foster
brother's unliked countenance swam out of memory and I concentrated upon it.
It was not clear but I persevered, setting up the long narrow outline--the
nose as I had last seen it, jutting out over a straggle of lip-grown hair.
Faskel Jern had been my father's true son, while I was but one by adoption.
Yet it had always seemed that I was Hywel Jern's son in spirit and Faskel
the stranger. I put the purplish scar on Faskel's forehead near his
hairline, added the petulant twist of lips which had been his usual
expression when facing me in later years, and held to the whole mental
picture with determination.
"Look!"
Obediently I opened my eyes to the mirror. And for several startled seconds
I looked at someone. He was certainly not me--nor was he Faskel as I
remembered him, but an odd, almost distorted combination of us both. It was
a sight I did not in the least relish. My head was still gripped in the vise
maintained by Eet's hold and I could not turn away. But as I watched, the
misty Faskel faded and I was myself again.
"You see--it can be done," was Eet's comment as he released me and flowed
down my body to the floor.
"You did it."
Only in part. There has been, with my help, a breakthrough. Your species use
only a small fraction of your brain. You are content to do so. This wastage
should shame you forever. Practice will aid you. And with a new face you
will not have to fear going where you can find a pilot."
"If we ever can." I push-buttoned a chair out of the wall and sat down with
a sigh.   My worries were a heavy burden. "We shall have to take a
black-listed man if we get any."
"Ssssss--" No sound, only an impression of one in my mind. Eet had flashed
to the door of the room, was crouched against it, his whole attitude one of
strained listening, as if all his body, not just his ear, served him for
that purpose. I could hear nothing, of course. These rooms were completely
screened and soundproofed. And I could use a hall-and-wall detect if I
wished to prove it so. Spaceport caravansaries were the few places where one
could be truly certain of not being overlooked, overheard, or otherwise
checked upon. But their guards were not proofed against such talents as
Eet's, and I guessed from his attitude not only that he was suspicious of
what might be arriving outside but that it was to be feared. Then he turned
and I caught his thought. I moved to snap over a small luggage compartment
and he folded himself into hiding there in an instant. But his thoughts were
not hidden.
"Patrol snoop on his way--coming here," he warned, and it was alert enough
to prepare me.
Chapter Two
As yet, the visitor's light had not flashed above the door. I moved, perhaps
not with Eet's speed, but fast enough, to snap the room's furnishings out
and in place so that the compartment would look normal even to the searching
study of a trained Patrolman. The Patrol, jealous of its authority after
long centuries of supremacy as the greatest law-enforcement body in the
galaxy, had neither forgotten nor forgiven the fact that Eet and I had been
able to prove them wrong in their too-quick declaration of my outlawry (I
had indeed been framed by the Guild). That we had dared, actually dared, to
strike a bargain and keep them to it, galled them bitterly. We had rescued
their man, saved his skin and his ship for him in the very teeth of the
Thieves' Guild. But he had fought bitterly against the idea that we did have
the power to bargain and that he had to yield on what were practically our
terms. Even now the method of that bargaining made me queasy, for Eet had
joined us mind to mind with ruthless dispatch. And such an invasion, mutual
as it was, left a kind of unhealed wound. I have heard it stated that the
universe is understood by each species according to the sensory equipment of
the creature involved, or rather, the meaning it attaches to the reports of
those exploring and testing senses. Therefore, while our universe, as we see
it, may be akin to that of an animal, a bird, an alien, it still differs.
There are barriers set mercifully in place (and I say mercifully after
tasting what can happen when such a barrier goes down) to limit one's
conception of the universe to what he is prepared to accept. Shared minds
between human and human is not one of the sensations we are fitted to
endure. The Patrolman and I had learned enough--too much--of each other to
know that a bargain could be made and kept. But I think I would face a laser
unarmed before I would undergo that again.
Legally the Patrol had nothing against us, except suspicions perhaps and
their own dislike for what we had dared. And I think that they were in a
measure pleased that if they had to swear truce, the Guild still held us as
a target. And it might well be that once we had lifted from the Patrol base
we had been regarded as expendable bait for some future trap in which to
catch a Veep of the Guild--a thought which heated me more than a little
every time it crossed my mind.
I gave a last hurried glance around the room as the warn light flashed on,
and then went to thumb the peephole. What confronted my eye was a wrist,
around which was locked, past all counterfeiting, the black and silver of a
Patrol badge. I opened the door.
"Yes?" I allowed my real exasperation to creep into my voice as I fronted
him. He was not in uniform, wearing rather the ornate, form-fitting tunic of
an inner-world tourist. On him, as the Patrol must keep fit, it looked
better than it did on most of the flabby, paunchy specimens I had seen in
these halls. But that was not saying much, for its extreme of fashion was
too gaudy and fantastic to suit my eyes.
"Gentle Homo Jern--" He did not make a question of my name, and his eyes
were more intent on the room behind me than on meeting mine.
"The same. You wish?"
"To speak with you--privately." He moved forward and involuntarily I gave a
step before I realized that he had no right to enter. It was the prestige of
the badge he wore which won him that first slight advantage and he made the
most of it. He was in, with the door rolled into place behind him, before I
was prepared to resist
"We are private. Speak." I did not gesture him to a chair, nor make a single
hospitable move.
"You are having difficulty in finding a pilot." He looked at me about half
the time now, the rest of his attention still given to the room.
"I am." There was no use in denying a truth which was apparent. Perhaps he
did not believe in wasting time either, for he came directly to the point
"We can deal--"
That really surprised me. Eet and I had left the Patrol base with the
impression that the powers there were gleefully throwing us forth to what
they believed certain disaster with the Guild. The only explanation which
came to me at the moment was that they had speedily discovered that the
information we had given them concerning the zero stones had consisted of
the whereabouts of caches only and they suspected the true source was still
our secret. In fact, we knew no more than we had told them.
"What deal?" I parried and dared not mind-touch Eet at that moment, much as
I wanted his reception to this suggestion. No one knows what secret
equipment the Patrol had access to. And it might well be that, knowing Eet
was telepathic, they had some ingenious method of monitoring our exchange.
"Sooner or later," he said deliberately, almost as if he savored it, "the
Guild is going to close in upon you--"
But I was ready, having thought that out long ago. "So I am bait and you
want me for some trap of yours."
He was not in the least disconcerted. "One way of putting it."
"And the right way. What do you want to do, plant one of your men in our
ship?"
"As protection for you and, of course, to alert us."
"Very altruistic. But the answer is no." The Patrol's highhanded method of
using pawns made me aware that there was something to being their opponent.
"You cannot find a pilot."
"I am beginning to wonder"--and at that moment I was--"how much my present
difficulty may be due to the influence of your organization."
He neither affirmed nor denied it. But I believe I was right. Just as a
pilot might be black-listed, so had our ship been, before we had even had a
chance for a first voyage. No one who wanted to preserve his legal license
would sign our log now. So I must turn to the murky outlaw depths if I was
to have any luck at all. I would see the ship rust away on its landing fins
before I would raise with a Patrol nominee at her controls.
"The Guild can provide you with a man as easily, if you try to hire an
off-rolls man, and you will not know it," he remarked, as if he were very
sure that I would eventually be forced to accept his offer.
That, too, was true. But not if I took Eet with me on any search. Even if
the prospective pilot had been brainwashed and blanked to hide his true
affiliation, my companion would be able to read that fact. But that, I
hoped, my visitor and those who had sent him did not know. That Eet was
telepathic we could not hide--but Eet himself--
"I will make my own mistakes," I allowed myself to snap.
"And die from them," he replied indifferently. He took one last glance at
the room and suddenly smiled. "Toys now--I wonder why." With a swoop as
quick and sure as that of a harpy hawk he was down and up again, holding the
pookha by its whisker mane. "Quite an expensive toy, too, Jern. And you must
be running low in funds, unless you have tapped a river running with
credits. Now why, I wonder, would you want a stuffed pookha."
I grimaced in return. "Always provide my visitors with a minor mystery. You
figure it out. In fact, take it with you--just to make sure it is not a
smuggling cover. It might just be, you know. I am a gem buyer-- what better
way to get some stones off world than in a play pookha's inwards?"
Whether he thought my explanation was as lame as it seemed to me I do not
know. But he tossed the toy onto the nearest chair and then, on his way to
the door, spoke over his shoulder. "Dial 1-0, Jern, when you have stopped
battering your head against a stone wall. And we shall have a man for you,
one guaranteed not to sign you over to the Guild."
"No--just to the Patrol." I countered. "When I am ready to be bait, I shall
tell you."
He made no formal farewell, just went. I closed the door sharply behind him
and was across the room to let Eet out as quickly as I could. My alien
companion sat back on his haunches, absent-mindedly smoothing the fur on his
stomach.
"They think that they have us." I tried to jolt him-- though he must already
have picked up everything pertinent from our visitor's mind, unless the
latter had worn a shield.
"Which he did," Eet replied to my suspicion. "But not wholly adequate, only
what your breed prepares against the mechanical means of detecting thought
waves. They are not," he continued complacently, "able to operate against my
type of talent. But yes, they believe that they have us sitting on the palm
of a hand"
--he stretched out his own--"and need only curl their fingers, so--" His
clawed digits bent to form a fist. "Such ignorance! However, it will be
well, I believe, to move swiftly now that we know the worst."
"Do we?" I asked morosely as I hustled out my flight bag and began to pack.
That it was not intelligent to stay where we were with Patrol snoops about,
I could well understand. But where we would go next--
"To the Diving Lokworm," Eet replied as if the answer was plain and he was
amused that I had not guessed it for myself.
For a moment I was totally adrift. The name he mentioned meant nothing,
though it suggested one of those dives which filled the murky shadows of the
wrong side of the port, the last place in the world where any sane man would
venture with the Guild already sniffing for him.
But at present I was more intent on getting out of this building without
being spotted by a Patrol tail. I rolled up my last clean undertunic and
counted out three credit disks. In a transit lodging one's daily charges are
conspicuous each morning on a small wall plate. And no one can beat the
instant force field which locks the room if one does not erase these charges
when the scanner below says he is departing. The room might be insured for
privacy in other ways, but there are precautions the owners are legally
allowed to install. I dropped the credits into the slot under the charge
plate and that winked out. Thus reassured I could get out. I must now figure
how. When I turned it was to see that Eet was again a pookha. For a moment I
hesitated, not quite sure which of the furry creatures was my companion
until he moved out to be picked up. With Eet in the crook of one arm and my
bag in my other hand, I went out into the corridor after a quick look told
me it was empty. When I turned toward the down grav shaft Eet spoke:
"Left and back!"
I obeyed. His directions took me where I did not know the territory,
bringing me to another grav shaft, that which served the robos who took care
of the rooms. There might be scanners here, even though I had paid my bill.
This was an exit intended only for machines and one of them rumbled along
toward us now. It was a room-service feeder, a box on wheels, its top
studded with call buttons for a choice of meal. I had to squeeze back
against the wall to let it by, since this back corridor had never been meant
for the human and alien patrons of the caravansary.
"On it!" Eet ordered. I had no idea what he intended, but I had been brought
out of tight corners enough in the past to know that he generally did have
some saving plan in mind. So I swung Eet, my bag, and myself to the table
top of the feeder, trying to take care that I did not trigger any of the
buttons. My weight apparently was nothing to the machine. It did not pause
in its steady roll down the remainder of the corridor. But I was tense and
stiff, striving to preserve my balance on this box where there was nothing
to grip for safety. When it moved without pause off the floor and onto the
empty air of the grav shaft I could have cried out. But the grav supported
its weight and it descended as evenly under me as if it had been a lift
platform bringing luggage and passengers out of a liner at the port. A
sweeper joined us at the next level, but apparently the machines were
equipped with avoid rays, as they did not bump, but kept from scraping
against each other. Above and below us, in the dusk of the shaft, I could
see other robo-servers descending, as if this was the time when they were
through their morning work. We came down floor by floor, I counting them as
we passed, a little more relieved with each one we left behind, knowing that
we were that much nearer our goal. But when we reached ground level we faced
only blank surface, and my support continued to descend.
The end was some distance below the surface, at least equal. I believed, to
three floors above. And the feeder, with us still aboard, rolled out in
pitch dark, where the sounds of clanging movement kept me frozen. Nor did
Eet suggest any answer to this.
I did gain enough courage to bring out a hand beamer and flash it about us,
only to gain disturbing glimpses of machines scuttling hither and thither
across a wide expanse of floor. Nor were there any signs of human tenders.
I was now afraid to dismount from my carrier, not knowing whether the avoid
rays of the various busy robos would also keep them from running me down. To
this hour I had always taken the service department of a caravansary for
granted and such an establishment as this I had never imagined.
That the feeder seemed to know just where it was going was apparent, for it
rolled purposefully on until we reached a wall with slits in it. The machine
locked to one of these and I guessed that the refuse and disposable dishes
were being deposited in some sort of refuse system. Not only the feeder was
clamped there. Beyond was a sweeper, also dumping its cargo.
A flash of my beamer showed that the wall did not reach the roof, so there
might be a passage along its top to take us out of the paths of the roving
machines-- though such a way might well lead to a dead end.
I stood up cautiously on the feeder, and Eet took the beamer between his
stubby pookha paws. The bag was easy to toss to the top of the wall, my
furry companion less so, since his new body did not lend itself well to such
feats. However, once aloft, he squatted, holding the beamer in his mouth,
his teeth gripping more easily than his paws.
With that as my guide I leaped and caught the top of the wall, though I was
afraid for a moment my fingers would slip from its slick surface. Then I
made an effort which seemed enough to tear my muscles, and drew my whole
body up on an unpleasantly narrow surface.
Not only was it narrow but it throbbed and vibrated under me, and I mentally
pictured some form of combustion reducing the debris dumped in, or else a
conveyer belt running on into a reducer of such refuse.
Above me, near enough to keep me hunched on my hams, was the roof of the
place. A careful use of the beamer showed me that the wall on which I
crouched ran into a dark opening in another wall met at right angles, as if
it were a path leading into a cave.
For want of a better solution I began to edge along, dragging my bag, my
destination that hole. Luckily Eet did not need my assistance but balanced
on his wide pookha feet behind me.
When I reached that opening I found it large enough to give me standing room
in a small cubby. The beam lighted a series of ladder steps bolted to the
wall, as though this was an inspection site visited at intervals by a human
maintenance man. Blessing my luck, I was ready to try that ladder, for the
clanging din of the rushing machines, the whir of their passing rung in my
ears, making me dizzy. The sooner I was out of their domain the better.
Eet's paws were not made for climbing, and I wondered if he would loose the
disguise for the attempt. I had no desire to carry him; in fact I did not
see how I could.
But if he could release the disguise he was not choosing to do so. Thus, in
the end, I had to sling the bag on my back by its carrying strap and loosen
my tunic to form a sling, with Eet crawling part-way down inside my collar
at my. shoulders. Both burdens interfered cruelly with my balance as I began
to climb. And I had had to put away the beamer, not being conveniently
endowed with a third hand.
For the moment all I wanted was to get out of the dark country of the
robo-servers, even though I was climbing into the unknown. Perhaps I had
come to depend too much on Eet's warnings against approaching dangers. But
he had not communicated with me since we had taken transport on the feeder.
"Eet, what is ahead?" I sent that demand urgently as I became aware of just
what might lie ahead of us.
"Nothing--yet." But his mind-send was faint, as a voiced whisper might be,
or as if most of his mind was occupied with some other pressing problem.
I found, a second or two later, the end of the ladder, as my hand, rising to
grope for a new hold, struck painfully instead against a hard surface. I
spread my fingers to read what was there. What I traced by touch was a
circular depression which must mark a trap door. Having made sure of that, I
applied pressure, first gently and then with more force. When there was no
reassuring yield I began to be alarmed. If the bolt hole of this door was
locked, we would have to recourse but to return to the level of the robos,
and I did not want to think of that.
But my final desperate shove must have triggered whatever stiff mechanism
held the door and it gave, letting in a weak light. I had wit and control
enough left to wait for a very long moment for any warning from Eet.
When he sent nothing I scrambled out into a place where the walls were
studded with gauges, levers, and the like, perhaps the nerve center that
controlled the robos. Since there was no one there and a very ordinary door
in the nearest wall, I breathed a sigh of heart-felt relief and set about
making myself more presentable, plucking Eet out of my unsealed tunic and
fastening that smoothly. As far as I could tell, examining my clothes with
care, I bore no traces of my late venture through the bowels of the
caravansary and I should be able to take to the streets without notice.
Always providing that the door opposite me would eventually lead me to
freedom. What it did give on was a very small grav lift. I set the indicator
for street level and was wafted up to a short corridor with doors at either
end. One gave upon a walled court with an entrance for luggage conveyers.
And I hop-skipped with what speed I could along one of those, to drop into
an alley where a flitter from the port unloaded heavier transport boxes.
"Now!" Eet had been riding on my shoulder, his pookha body less well adapted
to that form of transport than his true form. I felt his paws clamp on
either side of my head as he had earlier done when showing me how one's face
could be altered. "Wait!"
I did not know his purpose, since he did not demand I "think" a face. And
though that waiting period spun out, making me uneasy, he did not alter his
position. I was sure he was using his own thought power to provide me with a
disguise.
"Best--I--can--do--" The paws fell away from my head and I reached up to
catch him as he tumbled from his place. He was shaking as if from extreme
fatigue and his eyes were closed, while he breathed in short gasps. Once
before I had seen him so drained--even rendered unconscious--when he had
forced me to share minds with the Patrolman.
Carrying Eet as I might a child, and shouldering my flight bag, I went down
the alley. A back look at the building had given me directions. If I had a
tail who had not been confused by our exit, he had no place to hide here.
The side way fed into a packed commercial street where the bulk of the
freight from the port must pass. There were six heavy-duty transport belts
down its middle, flanked on either side by two light-duty, and there
remained room for a single man-way, narrow indeed, which scraped along the
sides of the buildings it passed. There was enough travel on it to keep me
from being unduly conspicuous, mainly people employed at the port to handle
the shipments. I dropped my bag between my feet and stood, letting the way
carry me along, not adding speed by walking.
Eet had spoken of the Diving Lokworm, which was still a mystery to me, and I
had   no intention of visiting the Off-port before nightfall. Daytime
visitors, save for tourists herded along on a carefully supervised route,
were very noticeable there. Thus I would have to hole up somewhere. Another
hotel was the best answer. With what I thought a gift of inspiration I chose
one directly across from the Seven Planets, from where I had just made my
unusual exit. This was several steps down from the Seven Planets in class,
which suited my reduced means. And I was especially pleased that instead of
a human desk clerk, who would have added to the prestige, there was a
robo--though I knew that my person was now recorded in the files from its
scanners. Whether the confusing tactics on my behalf via Eet's efforts would
hold here I did not know. I accepted the thumb lock plate with its incised
number, took the grav to the cheapest second-floor corridor, found my room,
inserted the lock, and once inside, relaxed. They could force that door now
only with super lasers. Depositing Eet on the bed, I went to the wall mirror
to see what he had done to me. What I did sight was not a new face, but a
blurring, and I felt a disinclination to look long at my reflection. To
watch with any concentration was upsetting, as if I found my present
appearance so distasteful that I could not bear to study it.
I sat down on the chair near the mirror. And as I continued to force myself
to   look at that reflection I       was aware that the odd feeling of
disorientation was fading, that in the glass my own features were becoming
clearer, sharper, visible and ordinary as they had always been.
That Eet could work such a transformation again when the time came to leave
here, I doubted. Such a strain might be too much, especially when it was
imperative that his esper talents be fully alert. So I might well walk out
straight into the sight of those hunting me. But--could I reproduce Eet's
effect by my own powers? My trial with Faskel's features had certainly not
been any success. And I had had to call upon Eet's help to achieve even
that. But suppose I did not try for so radical a disguise? Eet had supplied
me this time, not with a new face, but with merely an overcast of some weird
kind which had made me difficult to look at. Suppose one did not try to
change a whole face, but only a portion of it? My mind fastened upon that
idea, played with it. Eet did not comment, as I thought he might. I looked
to the bed. By all outward appearances he was asleep.
If one did not subtract from a face but added to it-- in such a startling
fashion   that the addition claimed the attention, thus overshadowing
features. There had been a time in the immediate past when my skin was
piebald, due to Eet's counterfeiting of a plague stigma. I could remember
only too well those loathsome purple patches. No return to those! I had no
wish to be considered again a plague victim. However, a scar--
My mind wandered to the days when my father had kept the hock-lock shop at
the space port on my home planet. Many spacers had sought out his inner room
to sell finds into whose origin it was best not to inquire too closely. And
more than one of those had been scarred or marked unpleasantly.
A scar--yes. Now where--and what? A healed knife gash, a laser burn, an odd
seam set by some unknown wounding? I decided on a laser burn which I had
seen and which should fit in well with the Off-port. With it as clear in my
mind as I could picture it, I stared into the mirror, striving to pucker and
discolor the skin along the left side of my jaw and cheek.
Chapter Three
It was an exercise against all the logic of my species. Had I not seen it
succeed with Eet, seen my partial change under his aid, I would not have
believed it possible. Whether I could do it without Eet's help was another
question, but one I was eager to prove. My dependence upon the mutant, who
tended to dominate our relationship, irked me at times.
There is a saying: If you close doors on all errors, truth also remains
outside. Thus I began my struggle with errors aplenty, hoping that a small
fraction of the truth would come to my aid. I had not, since I had known
Eet, been lax in trying to develop any esper talents I might have. Primarily
because, I was sure, it was not in my breed to admit that a creature who
looked so much an animal could out-think, out-act a man--though in the
galaxy the term "man" is, of course, relative, having to do with a certain
level of intelligence rather than a humanoid form. In the beginning, this
fact was also difficult for my breed, with their many inborn prejudices, to
realize. We learned the hard way until the lesson stuck.
I closed the channels of my mind as best I could, tamping down a mental lid
on my worries about our lack of a pilot, a shrinking number of credits, and
the fact that I might right now be the quarry in a hunt I could sense but
not see or hear. The scar--that must be the most important, the only thing
in my mind. I concentrated on my reflection in the mirror, on what I wanted
to see there. Perhaps Eet was right, as he most always was--we of Terran
stock do not use the full powers which might be ours. Since I had been Eet's
charge, as it were, I must have stretched, pulled, without even being aware
of that fact, in a manner totally unknown to my species heretofore. Now
something happened which startled me. It was as if, in that part of me which
fought to achieve Eet's ability, a ghostly finger set tip to a lever and
pressed it firmly. I could almost feel the answering vibration through my
body--and following on that, a flood of certainty that this I could do, a
heady confidence which yet another part of me observed in alarm and fear.
But the face in the mirror-- Yes! I had that disfiguring seam, not raw and
new, which would have been a give-away to the observant, but puckered and
dark, as though it had not been tended quickly enough by plasta restoration,
or else such a repair job had been badly botched--as might be true for a
crewman down on his luck, or some survivor of a planetary war raid.
So real! Tentatively I raised my hand, not quite daring to touch that rough,
ridged skin. Eet's illusion had been--was--tactile as well as visual. Would
mine hold as well? I touched. No, I was not Eet's equal as yet, if I could
ever be. My fingers traced no scar, as they seemed to do when I looked into
the mirror. But visually the scar was there and that was the best protection
I could have.
"A beginning, a promising beginning--"
My head jerked as I was startled out of absorption. Eet was sitting up on
the bed, his unblinking pookha eyes watching me in return. Then I feared the
break in my concentration and looked back to the mirror. But contrary to my
fears, the scar was still there. Not only that, but I had chosen rightly--it
drew attention, the face behind it blotted out by that line of seamed and
darkened skin--as good as a mask.
"How long will it last?" If I ventured out of this room, went delving into
the Off-port as I must, I would not be able to find another hole in a hurry
into which I could settle safely for the period of intense concentration I
would need to renew my disfigurement.
Eet's round head tilted a little to one side, giving the appearance of
critical observation of my thought work.
"It is not a large illusion. You were wise to start small," he commented.
"With my aid, I think it will hold for tonight. Which is all we need. Though
I shall have to change myself--"
"You? Why?"
"Need you parade your incomprehension of danger?" The whisker mane had
already winked out of being. "Take a pookha into the Off-port?"
He was right as ever. Pookhas alive were worth more than their weight in
credits. To carry one into the Off-port would be to welcome a stun ray, if
lucky, a laser burn if not, with Eet popped into a bag and off to some
black-market dealer. I was angry with myself for having made such a display
of nonthinking, though it was due to the need for concentration on
maintaining the scar.
"You must hold it, yes, but not with your whole mind," Eet said. "You have
very much to learn."
I held. Under my eyes Eet changed. The pookha dissolved, vanished as though
it were an outer husk of plasta meeting the cold of space and so shattering
into bits too tiny for the human eye to see. Now he was Eet again, but as
unusual to the observer as the pookha had been.
"Just so," he agreed. "But I shall not be observed. I need not change. It
will simply be a matter of not allowing the eye to light on me."
"As you did with my face, coming here?"
"Yes. And the dark will aid. We'll head straight for the Diving Lokworm--"
"Why?"
One of my own species might have given an exaggerated sigh of annoyance. The
mental sensation which emanated from my companion was not audible but it had
the same meaning.
"The Diving Lokworm is a possible meeting place for the type of pilot we
must find. And you need not waste time asking me how I know that. It is the
truth."
How much Eet could pick out of nearby minds I did not know; I thought that I
did not want to know. But his certainty now convinced me that he had some
concrete lead. And I could not argue when I had nothing of my own to offer
in return. He made one of his sudden leaps to my shoulder and there arranged
himself in his favorite riding position, curled about my neck as if he were
an inanimate roll of fur. I gave a last look into the mirror, to reassure
myself that my creation was as solid-seeming as ever, and knew a spark of
triumph when I saw that it was, even though I might later have to depend
upon Eet to maintain it. So prepared, we went out and took the main crawl
walk toward the port, ready to drop off at the first turn which led to the
murk of the Off-port. It was dusk, the clouds spreading like smoke across a
dark-green sky in which the first of Theba's moons pricked as a single jewel
of light. But the Off-port was awake as we entered it by the side way.
Garish signs, not in any one language (though Basic was the main tongue
here), formed the symbols, legible to spacemen of many species and races,
which advertised the particular wares or strange delights offered within.
Many of them were a medley of colors meant to attract nonhuman races, and
so, hurtful to our organs of vision. Thus one was better advised not to look
above street level. There was also such a blare of noise as was enough to
deafen the passerby, and scents to make one long for the protection of a
space suit which could be set to shut out the clamor and provide breathable,
filtered air. To come into this maze was to believe one had been decanted on
another world, not only dangerous but inhospitable. How I was to find Eet's
Diving Lokworm in this pool of confusion was a problem I saw no way of
solving. And to wander, deafened and half asphyxiated, through the streets
and lanes was to ask for disaster. I had no belted weapon and I was carrying
a flight bag, so perhaps ten or more pairs of eyes had already marked me
down as possible prey for a port-side rolling.
"Right here--" Eet's thought made as clean a cut as a force blade might make
through the muddle of my mind.
Right I turned, out of the stridence of the main street, into a small, very
small, lessening of the clamor, with a fraction less light, and perhaps one
or two breaths now and then of real air. And Eet seemed to know where we
were going, if I did not.
We turned right a second time and then left. The spacemen's rests now about
were such holes of crime that I feared to poke a nose into any of them. We
were fast approaching the last refuge of the desperate, and the stinking
hideups of those who preyed upon them, driven from the fatter profits of the
main streets. The Diving Lokworm had, not its name, but a representation of
that unwholesome creature set in glow lines about its door. The designer had
chosen to arrange it so that one apparently entered through the open
mouth--which was perhaps an apt prophecy of what might really await the
unwary within. The stench of the outside was here magnified materially by
the fumes of several kinds of drink and drug smoke. Two I recognized as
lethal indeed to those who settled down to make their consumption the main
business of what little life remained to them. But it was not dark. The
outer Lokworm had here its companions, who writhed about the walk in far too
lifelike fashion. And though parts of those gleaming runnels of light had
darkened through want of replacement, the whole gave enough radiance so one
could actually see the customers' faces after a fashion, if not what might
be served in the cups, beakers, tubes, and the like placed before them.
Unlike the drinking and eating places in the more civilized (if that was the
proper term) part of the port, the Diving Lokworm had no table dials to
finger to produce nourishment, no robo-servers whipping about. The trays
were carried by humans or aliens, none of whom had a face to be observed
long without acute distaste. Some of them were noticeably female, others
--well, it could be a guess. And frankly, had I been drinking the local
poison, it would have stopped a second order to have the first slopped down
before me by a lizardoid with two pairs of arms. Unless the drink had been
more important than what I saw when I looked about me.
The lizardoid was serving three booths along the wall, and doing it most
efficiently: four hands were useful. There was a very drunk party of
Regillians in the first. In the second something gray, large, and warty
squatted. But in the third slumped a Terran, his head supported on one hand,
with the elbow of that arm planted firmly on the table top. He had on the
remains of a space officer's uniform which had not been cleaned for a long
time. One insignia still clung by a few loose threads to his tunic collar,
but there was no house or ship badge on the breast, only a dark splotch
there to show he had sometime lost that mark of respectability.
To take a man out of this stew was indeed combing the depths. On the other
hand, all we really needed to clear the port was a pilot on board. I did not
doubt that Eet and I together could get us out by setting automatic for the
first jump. And to accept a blacklisted man--always supposing he was not a
plant--was our only chance now.
"He is a pilot and a fash-smoker." Eet supplied information, some of which I
did not care to hear.
Fash-smoke does not addict, but it does bring about a temporary personality
change which is dangerous. And a man who indulges in it is certainly not a
pilot to be relied upon. If this derelict was sniffing it now, he was to be
my last choice instead of my first. The only bright thought was that
fash-smoke is expensive and one who set light to the brazier to inhale it
was not likely to patronize the Diving Lokworm.
"Not now," Eet answered. "He is, I believe, drinking veever--"
The cheapest beverage one could buy and enough to make a man as sick as a
sudden ripple of color in the tube worm on the wall made this lounger
appear. The fact that the light was a sickly green might have had something
to do with his queasy expression. But he roused to pull the beaker before
him into place and bend his head to catch the suck tube between his lips.
And he went on drinking as we came to the side of the booth.
Perhaps he would not have been my first choice. But the stained insignia on
his collar was that of a pilot and he was the only one I had sighted here.
Also, he was the only humanoid with a face I would halfway trust, and Eet
appeared to have singled him out.
He did not look up as I slipped into the bench across from him, but the
lizard waiter slithered up and I pointed to the drinker, then raised a
finger, ordering a return for my unknown boothmate. The latter glanced at me
without dropping the tube from his lip hold. His brows drew together in a
scowl and then he spat out his sipper and said in a slurred mumble:
"Blast! Whatever you're offering--I'm not buying."
"You are a pilot," I countered. The lizardoid had made double time to
whatever sewer the drinks had been piped from and slammed down another
beaker. I flipped a tenth-point credit and one of his second pair of hands
clawed it out of the air so fast I never really saw it disappear.
"You're late in your reckoning." He pushed aside his first and now empty
beaker, drew the second to him. "I was a pilot."
"System or deep-space ticket?" I asked. He paused, the sipper only a
fraction away from his lips. "Deep space. Do you want to see it all plain
and proper?" There was a sneer in his growl. "And what's it to you, anyway?"
There   is this about fash-smoking--while it makes a man temporarily
belligerent during indulgence, it also alters the flow of emotion so that
between bouts, where rage might normally flare, one gets only a flash of
weak irritation.
"A lot maybe. Want a job?"
He laughed then, seemingly in real amusement. "Again you're too late. I'm
planet-rooted now."
"You offered to show your plate. That hasn't been confiscated?" I persisted.
"No. But that's just because no one cares enough to squawk. I haven't lifted
for two planet years, and that's the truth. Quite a spiller tonight, aren't
I? Maybe they've cooked some babble stuff into this goop." He stared down
into his beaker with dim interest, as if he expected to see something
floating on its turgid surface.
Then he mouthed the sipper, but with one hand he pulled at the frayed front
seam of his tunic and brought out, in a shaking hand, a badly-worn case,
which he dropped on the table top, not pushing it toward me, but rather as
if he were indifferent to any interest of mine in its contents. I reached
for it just as another ripple of light in the wall pattern gave me sight of
the plate within that covering.
It had been issued to one Kano Ryzk, certified pilot for galactic service.
The date of issuance was some ten years back, and his age was noted as
problematical, since he had been space-born. But what did startle me was the
small symbol deeply incised below his name-- a symbol which certified him as
a Free Trader.
From their beginnings as men who were willing to take risks outside the
regular lines, which were the monopolies of the big combines, the Free
Traders, loners and explorers by temperament, had become, through several
centuries of space travel, more and more a race apart. They tended to look
upon their ships as their home worlds, knowing no planet for any length of
time, ranging out where only First-in Scouts and such explorers dared to go.
In the first years they had lived on the short rations of those who snatch
at the remnants of the feast the combines grew fat upon.
Not able to bid at the planet auctions when newly discovered worlds were put
up for sale to those wanting their trade, they had to explore, take small
gains at high risks, and hope for some trick of fate which would render a
big profit. And such happened just often enough to keep them in space.
But seeing their ships as the only worlds to which they owed allegiance,
they were a clannish lot, marrying among themselves when they wed at all.
They had space-hung ports now, asteroids they had converted, on which they
established quasi family life. But they did not contact the planet-born save
for business. And to find one such as Ryzk adrift in a port--since the Free
Traders cared for their own--was so unusual as to be astounding.
"It is true." He did not raise his eyes from the beaker. He must have
encountered the same surprise so many times before that he was weary of it.
"I didn't roll some star-stepper to get that plate."
That, too, must be true, since such plates were always carried close to a
man's body. If any other besides the rightful owner had kept that plate, the
information on it would be totally unreadable by now, since it had a
self-erase attuned to personal chemistry.
There was no use in asking what brought a Free Trader shipless into the
Diving Lokworm. To inquire might turn him so hostile I would not be able to
bargain. But the very fact he was a Free Trader was a point in his favor. A
broken combine man would be less likely to take to the kind of spacing we
planned.
"I have a ship"--I put it bluntly now--"and I need a pilot."
"Try the Register," he mumbled and held out his hand. I closed the case and
laid it on his palm. How much was the exact truth going to serve me?
"I want a man off the lists."
That did make him look at me. His pupils were large and very dark. He might
not be on fash-smoke, but he was certainly under some type of mind-dampening
cloud.
"You aren't." he said after a moment, "a runner."
"No," I replied. Smuggling was a paying game. However, the Guild had it
sewed up so well that only someone with addled brains would try it.
"Then what are you?" His scowl was back.
"Someone who needs a pilot--" I was beginning when Eet's thought pricked me.
"We have stayed here too long. Be ready to guide him."
There was silence. I had not finished my sentence. Ryzk stared at me, but
his eyes seemed unfocused, as if he did not really see me at all. Then he
grunted and pushed aside the still unfinished second beaker.
"Sleepy," he muttered. "Out of here--"
"Yes," I agreed. "Come to my place." I was on his left, helping him to
balance on unsteady feet, my hand slipped under his elbow to guide him.
Luckily he was still enough in command of his body to walk. I could not have
pulled him along, since, though he was several inches shorter than I, his
planet days had given him bulk of body which was largely ill-carried lard.
The lizard stepped out as if to bar our way and I felt Eet stir. Whether he
planted some warning, as he seemed to have planted the desire to go in Ryzk,
I do not know. But the waiter turned abruptly to the next booth, leaving us
a free path to the door. And we made it out of the stink of the place
without any opposition. Once in the backways of the Off-port, I tried to put
on speed, but found that Ryzk, though he did keep on his feet and moving,
could not be hurried. And pulling at him seemed to disturb the thought Eet
had put in his mind, so I did not dare to put pressure on him. I was haunted
by the feeling that we were being followed, or at least watched. Though
whether our cover had been detected or we had just been marked down for prey
generally by one of the lurking harpies, I did not try to deduce. Either was
dangerous. The floodlights of the port cut out the night, reducing all three
moons now progressing at a stately pace over our heads to pallid ghosts of
their usual brilliance. To pass the gates and cut across the apron to our
ship's berth was the crucial problem. If, as I thought, the Patrol and
perhaps the Guild were keeping me under surveillance, there would be a watch
on the ship, even if we had lost them in town. And my scar, if I still wore
it, would not stand up in the persona scanner at the final check point.
Escape might depend on speed, and Ryzk did not have that.
I lingered no longer at the first check point than it took to snap down my
own identity plate and Ryzk's. Somehow he had fumbled it out of hiding as we
approached, some part of his bemused brain answering Eet's direction. Then I
saw a chance to gain more speed. There was a luggage conveyer parked to one
side, a luxury item I with my one flight bag had never seen reason to waste
half a credit on. But there was need for it now.
Somehow I pushed and pulled Ryzk to it. There was a fine for using it as a
passenger vehicle, but such minor points of law did not trouble me at that
moment. I got him flat on it, pulled a layer of weather covering over his
more obvious outlines, and planted my flight bag squarely on top to suggest
that it did carry cargo. Then I punched the berth number for our ship, fed
in my credit, and let it go. If Ryzk did not try to disembark en route I
could be sure he would eventually arrive at the ramp of our ship.
Meanwhile Eet and I had to reach the same point by the least conspicuous and
quickest route. I glanced around for some suggestions as to how to
accomplish that. A tourist-class inter-system rocket ship was loading, with
a mass of passengers waiting below its ramp and more stragglers headed for
it. Many of the travelers were being escorted by family parties or
boisterous collections of friends. I joined the tail of one such, matching
my pace to keep at the end of the procession. Those I walked with were
united in commiserating with a couple of men wearing Guard uniforms and
apparently about to lift to an extremely disliked post on Memfors, the next
planet out in this system, and one which had the reputation of being far
from a pleasure spot. Since most of the crowd were male, and looked like
rather hard cases, I did not feel too conspicuous. And it was the best cover
I saw. However, I still had to break away when we reached the rocket slot
and cross to my own ship. It was during those last few paces I would be
clearly seen. I edged around the fringes of the waiting crowd, putting as
many of those between me and the dark as I could, trying to be alert to any
attention I might attract. But as far as I could see, I might once more be
enveloped in Eet's vision-defying blur.
I wanted to run, or to scuttle along under some protective shell like a
pictick crab. But both of those safety devices were denied me. Now I dared
not even look around as though I feared any pursuit, for wariness alone
could betray me. Ahead I saw the luggage conveyer crawling purposefully on a
course which had been more of a straight line than my own. My bag had not
shifted from the top, which meant, I trusted, that Ryzk had not moved. It
reached the foot of the ramp well before me and stood waiting for the
lifting of its burden to release it.
"Watcher--to the right--Patrol--"
Eet came alive with that warning. I did not glance in the direction he
indicated.
"Is he moving in?"
"No. He took a video shot of the carrier. He has no orders to prevent
take-off--just make sure you do go."
"So they can know the bait is ready and they need only set their trap. Very
neat," I commented. But there was no drawing back now, and I did not fear
the Patrol at this moment half as much as the Guild. After all, I had some
importance to the Patrol--bait has until the moment for sacrificing it
comes. Once we were off planet I had the feeling it was not going to be so
easy for them to use me as they so arrogantly planned. I still had what they
did not suspect I carried--the zero stone.
So I gave no sign that I knew I was under observation as I hauled Ryzk off
the luggage carrier, guided him up the ramp, snapped that in, and sealed
ship. I stowed my prize, such as he was, in one of the two lower-level
cabins, strapped him down, taking his pilot's plate with me, and climbed
with Eet to the control cabin.
There I fed Ryzk's plate into the viewer to satisfy the field law and
prepared for take-off, Eet guiding me in the setting of the automatics. But
I had no trip tape to feed in, which meant that once in space Ryzk would
have to play his part or we would find another port only by the slim margin
of chance. Chapter Four
Since we lacked a trip tape, we could not go into hyper until Ryzk found us
jump co-ordinates. So our initial thrust off world merely set us voyaging
within the system itself, an added danger. While a ship in hyper cannot be
traced, one system-traveling can readily be picked up. Thus, when I
recovered from grav shock, I unstrapped myself and sought out my pilot, Eet
making better time, as usual, down the inner stair of the ship.
Our transport, the Wendwind, was not as small as a scout, though not as
large as a Free Trader of the D class. She might once have been the private
yacht of some Veep. If so, all luxury fittings had long since been torn out,
though there were painted-over scars to suggest that my guess was correct.
Later she had been on system runs as a general carrier. And her final fate
had been confiscation by the Patrol for smuggling, after which she had been
bought by the Salarik dealer as a speculation.
She had four cabins besides the regular crew quarters. But three of these
had been knocked together for a storage hold. And one feature within
attracted me, a persona-pressure sealed strongbox, something a dealer in
gems could put to use. At one time the Wendwind must have mounted strictly
illegal G-lasers, judging by the sealed ports and markings on decks and
walls. But now she had no such protection.
Ryzk had been left in the last remaining passenger cabin. As I came in he
was struggling against the grav straps, looking about him wildly.
"What--where--"
"You are in space, on a ship as pilot." I gave it to him without long
explanation. "We are still in system, ready to go into hyper as soon as you
can set course--"
He blinked rapidly, and oddly enough, the slack lines of his face appeared
to firm, so that under the blurring of planetside indulgence you could see
something of the man he had been. He stretched out his hand and laid it palm
flat against the wall, as if he needed the reassurance of touch to help him
believe that what I said was true.
"What ship?" His voice had lost the slur, just as his face had changed.
"Mine."
"And who are you?" His eyes narrowed as he stared up at me.
"Murdoc Jern. I am a gem buyer."
Eet made one of his sudden leaps from deck to the end of the bunk, where he
squatted on his haunches, his handpaws resting on what would have been his
knees had he possessed a humanoid body.
Ryzk looked from me to Eet and then back again. "All right, all right! I'll
wake up sooner or later."
"Not"--I picked up the thought Eet aimed at Ryzk --"until you set us a
course--"
The pilot started, then rubbed his hands across his forehead as if he could
so rub away what he had heard, not through his ears, but in his mind.
"A course to where?" he asked, as one humoring some image born out of
fash-smoke or veever drink.
"To quadrant 7-10-500." At least I had had plenty of time to lay plans such
as these during the past weeks when I feared we would never be space-borne.
The sooner we began to earn our way the better. And I had Vondar's
experience to suggest a good beginning.
"I haven't set a course in--in--" His voice trailed off. Once more he put
his hand to the ship's wall. "This is-- this is a ship! I'm not dreaming
it!"
"It is a ship. Can you get us into hyper now?" I allowed some of my
impatience to show.
He pulled himself out of his bunk, moving unsteadily at first. But perhaps
the feel of a ship about him was a tonic, for by the time he reached the
core ladder to the control cabin he had picked up speed, and he swung up
that with ease. Nor did he wait to be shown the pilot's seat, but crossed to
sit there, giving quick, practiced looks to the control board.
"Quadrant 7-10-500--" It was not a question but a repetition, as if it were
a key to unlock old knowledge. "Fathfar sector--"
Perhaps I had done far better than I had hoped when I had picked up a
planeted Free Trader. A pilot for one of the usual lines would not have
known the fringes of the travel lanes which must be my hunting trails now.
Ryzk was pushing buttons, first a little slowly, then picking up speed and
sureness, until a series of equations flashed on the small map screen to his
left. He studied those, made a correction or two with more buttons, and then
spoke the usual warning--"Hyper."
Having seen that he did seem to know what he was doing, I had already
retired to the second swing chair in the cabin, Eet curled up tightly
against me, ready for that sickening twist which would signal our snap into
the hyper space of galactic travel. Though I had been through it before, it
had been mostly on passenger flights, where there had been an issue of
soothe gas into the cabin to ease one through the wrench.
The ship was silent with a silence that was oppressive as we passed into a
dimension which was not ours. Ryzk pushed a little away from the board,
flexing his fingers. He looked to me and those firmer underlines of his face
were even more in evidence.
"You--I remember you--in the Diving Lokworm." Then his brows drew together
in a frown. "You--your face is different."
I had almost forgotten the scar; it must be gone now.
"You on the run?" Ryzk shot at me. Perhaps he was entitled to more of the
truth, since he shared a ship which might prove a target were we unlucky.
"Perhaps--"
But I had no intention of spouting about the past, the secret in my gem
belt, and the real reason why we might go questing off into unexplored
space, seeking out uncharted stars. However, "perhaps" was certainly not an
explanation which would serve me either. I would have to elaborate on it.
"I am bucking the Guild." That gave him the worst, and straight. At least he
could not jump ship until we planeted again.
He stared at me. "Like trying to jump the whole nebula, eh? Optimistic,
aren't you?" But if he found my admission daunting, it did not appear in any
expression or hesitation in his reply. "So we get to the Fathfar sector, and
when we set down--on which world by the way?--we may get a warm welcome,
crisped right through by lasers!"
"We set down on Lorgal. Do you know it?"
"Lorgal? You picked that heap of sand, rock, and roasting sun for a
hide-out? Why? I can give you a nice listing of more attractive places--" It
was plain he did know our port. Almost I could suspect he was a plant,
except that I had voiced to no one at all my selection for my first essay as
a buyer. Lorgal was as grim as his few terse words had said--with hellish
windstorms and a few other assorted planetside disasters into the bargain.
But its natives could be persuaded to part with zorans. And I knew a place
where a selection of zorans, graded as I was competent to do, could give us
half a year's supply of credits for cruising expenses.
"I am not hunting a hide-hole. I am after zorans. As I told you, I buy
gems."
He shrugged as if he did not believe me but was willing to go along with my
story, since it did not matter to him one way or another. But I triggered
out the log tape and pushed its recorder to him, setting before him the
accompanying pad for his thumbprint to seal the bargain.
Ryzk examined the tape. "A year's contract? And what if I don't sign, if I
reserve the right to leave ship at the first port or call? After all, I
don't remember any agreement between us before I woke up in this spinner of
yours."
"And how long would it take you to find another ship off Lorgal?"
"And how do you know I'll set you down there in the first place? Lorgal is
about the worst choice in the Fathfar sector. I can punch out any course I
please--"
"Can you?" inquired Eet. For the second time Ryzk registered startlement. He
stared now at the mutant and his gaze was anything but pleasant.
"Telepath!" He spat that out like a curse.
"And more--" I hastened to agree. "Eet has a way of getting things we want
done, done."
"You say that you have the Guild after you and you want me to sign on for a
year. Your first pick of a landing is a hellhole. And now this--this--"
"Partner of mine," I supplied when he seemed at a loss for the proper term.
"This partner suggests he can make me do as he wishes."
"You had better believe it."
"What do I get out of it? Ship's wages--?"
This was a fair enough protest. I was willing to concede more.
"Take Trade share--"
He stiffened. I saw his hand twitch, his fingers balled into a fist which
might have been aimed at me had he not some control over his temper. But I
read then his dislike for my knowledge of that fragment of his past. That I
had used a Free Trader's term, offering him a Trader deal, was not to his
liking at all. But he nodded.
Then he pressed his thumb on the sign pad and recited his license number and
name into the recorder, formally accepting duty as pilot for one planet
year, to be computed on the scale of the planet from which we had just
lifted, which was a matter of four hundred days.
There was little or nothing to do while the ship was in hyper, a matter of
concern on the early exploring and trading ships. For idle men caused
trouble. It was usually customary for members of a ship's crew to develop
hobbies or crafts to keep their minds alert, their hands busy. But if Ryzk
had had such in the past, he did not produce them now.
He did, however, make systematic use of the exercise cabin, as I did also,
keeping muscles needed planet-side from growing flabby in the reduced
gravity of space flight. And as time passed he thinned and fined down until
he was a far more presentable man than the one we had steered out of the
Off-port drinking den.
My own preoccupation was with the mass of records I had managed, with the
reluctant assistance of the Patrol, to regain from several storage points
used by Vondar Ustle. With some I was familiar, but other tapes, especially
those in code, were harder. Vondar had been a rover as well as a gem
merchant. He could have made a fortune had he settled down as a designer and
retailer on any inner-system planet. But his nature had been attuned to
wandering and he had had the restlessness of a First-in Scout.
His designing was an art beyond me, and of his knowledge of stones I had
perhaps a tenth--if I was not grossly overestimating what I had been able to
assimilate during the years of our master-apprentice relationship. But the
tapes, which I could claim under the law as a legally appointed apprentice,
were my inheritance and all I had to build a future upon. All that was
reasonably certain, that is. For the quest for the source of the zero stone
was a gamble on which we could not embark without a backing of credits.
I watched the viewer as I ran the tapes through, concentrating on that which
I had not already absorbed in actual tutelage under Vondar. And my own state
of ignorance at times depressed me dismally, leaving me to wonder if Eet had
somehow moved me into this action as one moves a star against a comet in
that most widely spread galactic game of chance, named for its pieces--Stars
and Comets.
But I was also sure that if he had, I would never be really sure of that
fact, and it was far better for my peace of mind not to delve into such
speculation. To keep at my task was the prime need now and I was setting up,
with many revisions, deletions, and additions, a possible itinerary for us
to follow. Lorgal had been my first choice, because of the simplicity of its
primitive type of exchange barter. In my first solo deal I needed that
simplicity. Though I had cut as close as I could in outfitting the Wendwind,
I had had to spend some of our very meager store of credits on trade goods.
These now occupied less than a third of the improvised storeroom. But the
major part of the wares had been selected for dealing on Lorgal.
As wandering people, traveling from one water hole to the next across a land
which was for the most part volcanic rock (with some still active cones
breathing smoke by day, giving forth a red glow at night), sand, wind to a
punishing degree, and pallid vegetation growing in the bottom of sharp-cut
gullies, the Lorgalians wanted mainly food for their too often empty
bellies, and water, which for far too many days seemed to have vanished
from, or rather into, their earth's crust.
I had visited there once with Vondar, and he had achieved instantaneous
results with a small solar converter. Into this could be fed the scabrous
leaves of the vegetation, the end product emerging as small blocks about a
finger in length containing a highly nutritious food which would keep a man
going for perhaps five of their dust- and wind-filled days, one of their
plodding beasts for three. The machine had been simple, if bulky, and had
had no parts so complicated that a nontechnically-inclined people could put
it out of running order. The only trouble was that it was so large that it
had to be slung between two of their beasts for transport--though that had
not deterred the chieftain from welcoming it as he might have a supernatural
gift from one of his demon gods.
I had found, in my more recent prowlings through supply warehouses where the
residue of scout and exploration ships was turned in for resale, a similar
machine which was but half the size of that we had offered before. And while
I could raise the price of only two of these, I had hopes that they would
more than pay for our voyage.
I knew zorans, and I also knew the market for them. They were one of those
special gems whose origin was organic rather than mineral. Lorgal must once
have had an extremely wet climate which supported a highly varied vegetable
growth. This had vanished, perhaps quite suddenly in a series of volcanic
outbreaks. Some gas or other had killed certain of those plants, and their
substance was then engulfed in earth fissures which closed to apply great
pressure. That, combined with the gas the plants had absorbed, wrought the
changes to produce zorans.
In their natural state they were often found still in the form of a mat of
crushed leaves or a barked limb, sometimes even with a crystalized insect
(if you were very lucky indeed) embedded in them. But once polished and cut,
they were a deep purple-blue-green through which ran streaked lines of
silver or glittering gold. Or else they were a crystalline yellow (probably
depending upon some variation in the plant, or in the gas which had slain
it) with flecks of glittering bronze.
The chunks or veins of the stuff were regularly mined by the nomads, who,
until the arrival of the first off-world traders, used it mainly to tip
their spears. It could be sharpened to a needle point which, upon entering
flesh, would break off, to fester and eventually kill, even though the
initial wound had not been a deep one.
And during the first cutting a zoran had to be handled with gloves, since
any break in the outer layer made it poisonous. Once that had been buffed
away, the gems could be shaped easily, even more so by the application of
heat than by a cutting tool. Then, plunged into deep freeze, they hardened
completely and would not yield again to any treatment. Their cutting was
thus a complicated process, but their final beauty made them prized, and
even in the rough they brought excellent prices.
So it would be zorans, and from Lorgal we could lift next to Rakipur, where
zorans could be sold uncut to the priests of Mankspher and the pearls of
lonnex crabs bought. From there perhaps to Rohan for caberon sapphires or--
But there was no use planning too far ahead. I had learned long ago that all
trading was a gamble and that to concentrate on the immediate future was the
best way. Eet wandered in and out while I studied my tapes. Sometimes he sat
on the table to follow with a show of interest some particular one, at other
times curling up to sleep. At length Ryzk, probably for lack of something to
do, also found his way to where I studied, and his casual interest gave way
to genuine attention.
"Rohan," he commented when I ran through Vondar's tape on that world. Thax
Thorman had trading rights on Rohan back in 3949. He made a good thing out
of it. Not sapphires, though. He was after mossilk. That was before the
thrinx plague wiped out the spinners. They never did find out what started
the thrinx, though Thorman had his suspicions."
"Those being?" I asked when he did not continue.
"Well, those were the days when the combines tried to make it hard for the
Free Men." He gave their own name to the Free Traders. "And there were a lot
of tricks pulled. Thorman bid for Rohan in a syndicate of five Free ships,
and he was able to overtop the Bendix Combine for it. The Combine had the
auction fixed to go their way and then a Survey referee showed up and their
bribed auctioneer couldn't set the computer. So their low bid was knocked
out and Thorman got his. It was a chance for him. Bendix had a good idea of
what was there, and he was just speculating because he knew they were set on
it.
"So--he and the other ships had about four planet years of really skimming
the good stuff. Then the thrinx finished that. Wiped out three of the other
captains. They had been fool enough to give credit for two years running.
But Thorman never trusted Bendix and he kind of expected something might
blow up. No way, of course, of proving the B people had a hand in it.
Nowadays, since the Free Men have had their own confederation, combines
can't pull such tricks. I've seen a couple of those sapphires. Tough to
find, aren't they?"
"They wouldn't be if anyone could locate the source. What is discovered are
the pieces washed down the north rivers in the spring--loose in the gravel.
Been plenty of prospectors who tried to get over the Knife Ridge to hunt the
blue earth holes which must be there. Most of them were never heard from
again. That's taboo country in there."
"Easier to buy 'em than to hunt them, eh?"
"Sometimes. Other times it is just the opposite. We have our dangers, too."
I was somewhat irked by what I thought I detected underlying his comment.
But he was already changing the subject. "We come out of hyper on the yellow
signal. Where do you want to set down on Lorgal, western or eastern
continent?"
"Eastern. As near the Black River line as you can make it. There is no real
port, as perhaps you know."
"Been a lot of time spinning by since I was there. Things could be changed,
even a port there. Black River region." He looked over my shoulder at the
wall of the cabin as if a map had been video-cast there. "We'll fin down in
the Big Pot, unless that has boiled over into rough land again."
The Big Pot was noted on Lorgal, a giant crater with a burned-out heart
which was relatively smooth and which had been used as an improvised space
port. Though we had not landed there on my one visit to Lorgal, I knew
enough from what I had heard then to recognize that Ryzk had chosen the best
landing the eastern continent could offer.
Though the Big Pot was off the main nomad route along the series of water
holes the Black River had shrunk to, we had a one-man flitter in our tail
hold. And that could scout out the nearest camp site, saving a trek over the
horribly    broken land, which could not be traveled on foot by any
off-worlder. I looked to the recorded time dial. It was solidly blue, which
meant that the yellow signal was not too far off. Ryzk arose and stretched.
"After we come out of hyper, it will take us four color spans to get into
orbit at Lorgal, then maybe one more to set down, if we are lucky. How long
do we stay planetside?"
"I cannot say. Depends upon finding a tribe and setting up a talk fire. Five
days, ten, a couple of weeks--"
He grimaced. "On Lorgal that is too long. But you're the owner, it's your
ration supply. Only hope you can cut it shorter."
He went out to climb to the control cabin. I packed away the tapes and the
viewer. I certainly shared his hope--though I knew that once I entered upon
the actual trading, I would find in it the zest which it always held for me.
Yet Lorgal was not a world on which one wanted to linger. And now it was for
me only a means to an end, the end still lying too far ahead to visualize.
I was not long behind Ryzk in seeking the control cabin and the second seat
there. While I could not second his duties, yet I wanted to watch the
visa-screen as we came in. This was my first real venture, and success or
failure here meant very much. Perhaps Eet was as uncertain as I, for though
he curled up in his familiar position against my chest and shoulder, his
mind was closed to me.
We snapped out of hyper and it was plain that Ryzk deserved so far the trust
I had had to place in him, for the yellow orb was certainly Lorgal. He did
not put the ship on automatic, but played with fingers on the controls,
setting our course, orbiting us about that golden sphere.
As we cut into atmosphere the contours of the planet cleared. There were the
huge scars of old seas, now shrunken into deep pockets in the centers of
what had once been their beds, their waters bitterly salt. The continents
arose on what were now plateaus, left well above the dried surface of the
almost vanished seas. In a short time we could distinguish the broken chains
of volcanic mountains, the river valley with lava, country in between.
And then the pockmark of the Big Pot could be seen. But as we rode our deter
rockets into that promise of a halfway fair landing, I caught a startling
glimpse of something else.
We sat down, waiting that one tense moment to see if it had indeed been a
fair three-fin landing. Then, as there came no warning tilt of the cabin,
Ryzk triggered the visa-screen, starting its circular sweep of our immediate
surroundings. It was only a second before I was able to see that we were
indeed not alone in the Big Pot
There was another ship standing some distance away. It was plainly a
trader-for-hire. Which meant dire competition, because Lorgal had only one
marketable off-world product--zorans. And the yield in any year from one
tribe was not enough to satisfy two gem merchants, not if one had to have a
large profit to continue to exist. I could only wonder which one of Vondar's
old rivals was now sitting by a talk fire and what he had to offer. The only
slim chance which remained to me was the fact that he might not have one of
the reduced-in-size converters, and that I could so outbid him.
"Company,"   Ryzk commented. "Trouble for you?" With that question he
disassociated himself from any failure of mine. He was strictly a wage man
and would get his pay, from the value of the ship if need be, if I went
under.
"We shall see," was the best answer I could make as I unstrapped to go and
see the flitter and make a try at finding a nomad camp.
Chapter Five
My advantage lay in that I had been to Lorgal before, though then the trade
responsibility had lain with Vondar, and I had only been an observer. Our
success or failure now depended upon how well I remembered what I had
observed. The nomads were humanoid, but not of Terran stock, so dealing with
them   required   X-Tee techniques.    Even Terrans,    or Terran colonist
descendants, could not themselves agree over semantics, customs, or moral
standards from planet to planet, and dealing with utterly alien mores added
just that much more confusion.
The small converter I selected as my best exhibit could be crowded into the
flitter's tail storage section. I strapped on the voca-translator and made
sure that a water supply and E-rations were to hand. Eet was already curled
up inside waiting for me.
"Good luck." Ryzk stood ready to thumb open the hatch. "Be sure to keep
contact beam--"
"That is one thing I will not forget!" I promised. Though we had little in
common, save that we shared the same ship and some of the duties of keeping
it activated, we were two of the same species on an alien world, a situation
which tended to make a strong, if temporary, bond between us now.
Ryzk would monitor me all the time the flitter was away from the ship. And I
knew that, should disaster strike either of us the other would do what he
could to aid. It was a ship law, a planet law--one never put onto actual
record tape but one which had existed since the first of our breed shot into
space. My memory of my first visit to Lorgal gave me one possible site for a
nomad meeting, a deep pool in the river bed which had been excavated time
and time again by the wandering tribes until they were always sure of some
moisture at its bottom. I set off in that direction, taking my marking from
two volcanic cones.
The churned ground passing under the flitter was a nightmare of broken
ridges, knife-sharp pinnacles, and pitted holes. I do not believe that even
the nomads could have crossed it--not that they ever wandered far from the
faint promise of water along the ancient courses of the river.
While most of the rock about the Big Pot had been of a yellow-red-brown
shade, here it was gray, showing a shiny, glassy black in patches. We had
planeted about midmorning and now the sun caught those gleaming surfaces to
make them fountains of glare. There were more and more of these as the
flitter dipped over the Black River, where even the sands were of that
somber color. Here the water pits broke the general dark with their side
mounds of reddish under-surface sand, which had been laboriously dug out in
the past by the few native animals or the nomads. And on the inner sides of
those mounds, ringing what small deposits of moisture there might be, grew
the stunted plants which were the nomads only attempts at agriculture.
They saved every seed, carrying them where they went, as another race on a
more hospitable world might treasure precious stones or metal, planting them
one by one in the newly-dug sides of any hole before they left. When they
circled back weeks or months later, they found, if they were fortunate, a
meager harvest waiting.
Judging by the height of the scrubby brush around the first two pits I
dipped to inspect, the Lorgalians had not yet reached them--which meant I
must fly farther east to pick up their camp.
I had seen no sign of life about that other ship as I had taken off. Nor had
my course taken me close to it. However, I had noted that its flitter hatch
was open and guessed that the trader was already out in the field. Time
might already have defeated me.
Then the Black River curved and I saw the splotch of tents dotted about.
There was movement there, and as I throttled down the flitter to lowest
speed and came in for a set-down I knew I was indeed late. For the cloaked
and cowled figures of the tribesmen were moving with rhythmic pacing about
the circumference of their camp site, each swinging an arm to crack a
long-lashed whip at the nothingness beyond, a nothingness which they
believed filled with devils who must be driven away by such precautions
before any ceremony or serious business could be transacted.
There was another flitter parked here. It had no distinguishing company
markings, so I was not about to buck a combine man. Of course I hardly
expected to find one here. The pickings, as far as they were concerned, were
too small. No, whoever was ready to deal with the camp was a free lance like
myself. I set down a length from the other transport. Now I could hear the
high-pitched, almost squealing chant voiced by the devil-routers. With Eet
on my shoulders I plunged into dry, stinging air, and the glare of a sun
against which my goggles were only part protection.
That air rasped against the skin as if it were filled with invisible but
very tangible particles of grit. Feeling it, one did not wonder at the long
robes, the cowls, the half-masks the natives wore for protection.
As I approached the ring of devil-lashers two of the whips curled out to
crack the air on either side, but I did not flinch, knowing that much of
nomad custom. Had I shown any surprise or recoil, I would have labeled
myself a demon in disguise and a shower of zoran-pointed spears would have
followed that exposure of my true nature.
The tribesmen I passed showed no interest in me; they were concentrating on
their duty of protection. I cut between two of the closed tents to a clear
space where I could see the assembly the whippers were guarding.
There was a huddle of nomads, all males, of course, and so enwrapped in
their robes that only the eye slits suggested that they were not just bales
of grimy lakis-wool cloth. The lakises themselves, ungainly beasts with
bloated bodies to store the food and water for days when there was need,
perched on long, thin legs with great wide, flat feet made for desert
travel. These were now folded under them, for they lay to serve as
windbreaks behind their masters. Their thick necks rested across each
other's bodies if they could find a neighbor to so serve them, and their
disproportionately small heads had the eyes closed, as if they were all
firmly asleep. Facing this assembly was the suited and helmeted figure of
one of my own race. He stood, some packages about his feet, making the Four
Gestures of Greeting, which meant, considering his ease, that he had either
visited such a camp before, or else had made a careful study of record
tapes. The chieftain, like everyone else in that muffled crowd, could
certainly not be recognized by features, but only by his badge of office,
the bloated abdomen which was the result of much prideful padding. That
layer upon layer of swaddling was not simply a shield against assassination
(chieftainship among the Lorgalians was based upon weapon skill, not
birthright); to be fat was a sign of wealth and good fortune here. And he
who produced a truely noticeable belly was a man of prestige and standing.
I could not even be sure that this was the tribe with whom Vondar had
traded. Only luck might help me in that. But surely, even if it was not,
they would have heard of the wonder machine he had introduced and would be
the more eager to acquire one of their own.
When I had entered the gathering I had come up behind the trader. And the
nomads did not stir as they sighted me. Perhaps they thought me one of the
stranger's followers. I do not think he was aware of me until I stepped
level with him and began my own gestures of greeting, thus signifying that
he was not speaking for me, but that I was on my own.
He turned his head and I saw one I knew--Ivor Akkil He had been no match for
Vondar Ustle; few were. But he was certainly more than I would have chosen
to contend against at the beginning of my independent career. He stared at
me intently for a moment and then grinned. And that grin said that in me he
saw no threat. We had fronted each other for several hours once at a Salarik
bargaining, but there I had been only an onlooker, and he had been easily
defeated by Vondar.
He did not pause in his ritual gestures after that one glance to assess his
opposition and dismiss it. And I became as unseeing of him. We waved empty
hands, pointed north, south, east, and west, to the blazing sun, the
cracked, sandy earth under us, outlined symbols of three demons, and that of
the lakis, a nomad, and a tent, signifying that by local custom we were
devout, honest men, and had come for trade.
By right Akki had the first chance, since he was first on the scene. And I
had to wait while he pulled forward several boxes, snapped them open. There
was the usual small stuff, mostly plastic--some garish jewelry, some goblets
which were fabulous treasure to the eye but all plastic to the touch, and a
couple of sun torches. These were all make-gifts--offered to the chief. And
seeing their nature I was a little relieved.
For such an array meant this was not a return visit but a first try by Akki.
If he were here on spec and had not heard of Vondar's success with the food
converter, I could beat him yet. And I had had this much luck, a small flag
fluttering by the chieftain's tent told me--this was the tribe Vondar had
treated with. And I needed only tell them that I had a more easily
transported machine to sweep all the zorans they had to offer out of their
bags. But if I felt triumph for a few seconds it was speedily swept away as
Akki opened his last box, setting out a very familiar object and one I had
not expected to see.
It was a converter, but still more reduced in size and more portable than
those I had chanced upon in the warehouse, undoubtedly a later and yet
further improved model. I could only hope that he had just the one and that
I might halve or quarter his return by offering two.
He proceeded to demonstrate the converter before that silent, never-moving
company. Then he waited.
A hairy hand with long dirty nails flipped out from under the bundle of the
chieftain's robes, making a sign. And one of his followers hunched forward
to unfold a strip of lakis hide on which were many loops. Each loop held a
chunk   of zoran and only strict control kept me standing, seemingly
indifferent, where I was. Four of those unworked stones were of the
crystalline type and each held an insect. It was a better display than I had
ever heard of. Vondar had once taken two such stones and the realization of
their value off world had seemed fabulous to me. Four--with those I would
not have to worry about a year's running of the ship. I would not even have
to trade at all. We could be off after the zero stone after a single sale.
Only Akki was the one to whom they were offered, and I knew very well that
none of them was ever going to come to me.
He deliberated, of course--that was custom again. Then he made his choice,
sweeping up the insect pieces, as well as three of the blue-green-purple
stones of size large enough to cut well. What was left after his choices had
been fingered seemed refuse.
Then he raised his head to grin at me again as he slipped his hoard into a
travel case, clapped his hand twice on the converter, and touched the rest
of the goods he had spread out, releasing them all formally.
"Tough luck," he said in Basic. "But you've been having that all along,
haven't you, Jern? To expect to fill Ustle's boots--" He shook his head.
"Good fortune," I said, when I would rather have voiced disappointment and
frustration. "Good fortune, smooth lifting, with a sale at the end." I gave
him a trader's formal farewell.
But he made no move to leave. Instead he added the insulting wave of hand
signifying among the Lorgal-ians a master's introduction of a follower. And
that, too, I had to accept for the present, since any dispute between us
must be conducted outside the camp. A flare of temper would be swift
indication that a devil had entered and all trading would be under ban, lest
that unchancy spirit enter into some piece of the trade goods. I was almost
tempted to do just that, in order to see Akki's offerings ritually pounded
into splinters, the zorans treated the same way. But though such temptation
was hot in me for an instant, I withstood it. He had won by the rules, and I
would be the smaller were I to defeat him so, to say nothing of destroying
all thought of future trade with Lorgal not only for the two of us, but for
all other off-worlders. I could take a chance and try to find another tribe
somewhere out in the stark wilderness of the continent. But to withdraw from
this camp now without dealing would be a delicate matter and one I did not
know quite how to handle. I might offend some local custom past mending. No,
like it or not, I would have to take Akki's leavings.
They were waiting and perhaps growing impatient. My hands spun into the sign
language, aided by the throaty rasping my translator made as it spoke words
in their own sparse tongue.
This"--I indicated the converter--"I have also--but larger--in the belly of
my sky lakis."
Now that I had made that offer there was no turning back. In order to retain
the good will of the nomads I would have to trade, or lose face. And
inwardly I was aware of my own inaptitude in the whole encounter. I had made
my mistake in ever entering the camp after I had seen Akki's flitter already
here. The intelligent move would have been then to prospect for another
clan. But I had rushed, believing my wares to be unduplicated, and so lost.
Again that hairy hand waved and two of the bundled warriors arose to tail me
to the flitter, cracking their whips above us as we crossed the line kept by
the lashing guards. I pulled the heavy case from where I had so hopefully
wedged it. And with their aid, one protecting us from the devils, the other
helping me to carry it, I brought it back to the camp.
We set it before the chieftain. Either by accident or design, it landed next
to Akki's, and the difference in bulk was marked. I went through the process
of proving it was indeed a food converter and then awaited the chieftain's
decision.
He gestured and one of my assistants booted a lakis to its feet, the
creature bubbling and complaining bitterly with guttural grunts. It came up
with a splayfooted shuffle which, awkward as it looked, would take it at an
unvarying pace day after day across this tormented land.
A kick on one foreknee brought it kneeling again and the two converters were
set beside it. Then proceeded a demonstration to prove the inferiority of my
offering. Akki's machine might be put in a luggage sling on one side of the
beast, a load of other equipment on the other--while if it bore the one I
had brought, it could carry nothing else.
The chieftain wriggled his fingers and a second roll of lakis hide was
produced. I tensed. I had thought I would be offered Akki's leavings, but it
would seem I was too pessimistic. My elation lasted, however, only until the
roll was opened. What lay within its loops were zorans right enough. But
nothing to compare with those shown to Akki. Nor was I even allowed to
choose from his rejects. I had to take what was offered--or else return to
the ship empty-handed, with a profitless set-down to my credit, or rather
discredit. So I made the best of a very bad bargain and chose. There were,
naturally, no insect pieces, and only two of the more attractive yellow
ones. The blues had faults and I had to examine each for flaws, taking what
I could, though in the end I was certain I had hardly made expenses.
I still had the second converter, and I might just be able to contact
another tribe. With that small hope, I concluded the bargain and picked up
what still seemed trash compared with Akki's magnificent haul.
He was grinning again as I wrapped the pieces of my choice into a packet and
stood to make the farewell gestures. All this time Eet had been as inert as
if he were indeed a fur piece about my shoulders. And it was not until I had
to walk away from the camp, badly defeated, that I wondered why he had not
taken some part in the affair. Or had I come to lean so heavily on him that
I was not able to take care of myself? As that thought hit me I was startled
and alarmed. Once I had leaned upon my father, feeling secure in his wisdom
and experience. Then there had been Vondar, whose knowledge had so far
exceeded my own that I had been content to accept his arrangement of both
our lives. Soon after disaster had broken that tie, Eet had taken over. And
it would seem that I was only half a man, needing the guidance of a stronger
will and mind. I could accept that, become Eet's puppet. Or I could be
willing to make my own mistakes, learn by them, hold Eet to a partnership
rather than a master-servant relationship. It was up to me, and perhaps Eet
wanted me to make such a choice, having deliberately left me to my own
bungling today as a test, or even an object lesson as to how helpless I was
when I tried to deal on my own.
"Good fortune, smooth lifting--" That was Akki mockingly echoing my farewell
of minutes earlier. "Crab pearls next, Jern? Want to wager I will take the
best there, too?"
He laughed, not waiting for my answer. It was as if he knew that any
defiance on my part would be in the nature of a hollow boast. Instead, he
tramped off to his flitter, letting me settle into mine.
I did not take off at once to follow him back to his ship. If he also
expected to hunt another camp, I did not want him to follow my path--though
he might put a scanner on me.
Triggering the com, I called Ryzk. "Coming in." I would not add to that. The
channels of all flitter corns were the same and Akki could pick up anything
I now said.
Nor did I try to contact Eet, stubbornly resolved I would leave him in
mental retirement as I tried to solve my own problems.
Those problems were not going to become any lighter, I saw as I took off.
There was an odd greenish-yellow cast to the sky. And the surface of the
ground, wherever there was a deposit of sand, threw up whirling shapes of
grit. Seconds later the very sky about us seemed to explode and the flitter
was caught in a gust which even her power could not fight.
For a space we were caught in that whirlwind and I knew fear. The flitter
was never meant for high altitudes, and skimming the surface beneath the
worst of the wind carried with it the danger of being smashed against some
escarpment. But I had little choice. And I fought grimly to hold the craft
steady. We were driven south and west, out over the dead sea bottom. And I
knew bleakly that even if I did get back to the Wendwind my chances of
finding another tribe were finished. Such a storm as this drove them to
shelter and I could spend fruitless weeks hunting them. But I was able bit
by bit to fight back to the Big Pot. And when I finally entered the hatch I
was so weak I slumped forward over the controls and was not really aware of
anything more until Ryzk forced a mug of caff into my hands and I knew I was
in the mess cabin.
"This pest hole has gone crazy!" He was drumming with his fingers on the
edge of the table. "According to our instruments we are sitting over a
blowhole now. We up ship, or we are blown out!"
I did not quite realize what he meant and it was not until we had spaced
that he explained tersely; the readings of planet stability under the Big
Pot had suddenly flared into the danger zone, and he had feared I would not
get back before he would be forced to lift. That I had squeezed in by what
he considered a very narrow margin he thought luck of a fabulous kind.
But that danger was not real to me, since I had not been aware of it until
afterward. The realization of my trade failure was worse. I must lay better
plans or lose out as badly as I would have, had we never raised from Theba.
Akki had mentioned crab pearls--which might or might not mean that his
itinerary had been planned along the same course as mine. I laid out the
poor results of my zoran dealing and considered them fretfully. Akki might
have done two things: he might have boastfully warned me off the planet
where he was going to trade (his ship had lifted, Ryzk informed me, at once
upon his return), or he might just have said that out of malice to make me
change my own plans. I wondered. Eet could tell me. But straightaway I
rebelled. I was not going to depend on Eet!
Where was my next-best market? I tried to recall Vondar's listings. There
was--Sororis! And it was not from Ustle's notes that memory came, but from
my father. Sororis had been an "exit" planet for years, that is, a very far
out station in which outlaws could, if they were at the end of their
resources and very desperate indeed, find refuge. It had no regular service
of either passenger or trade ships, though tramps of very dubious registry
would put in there now and then. The refuse of the galaxy's criminal element
conjoined around the half-forgotten port and maintained themselves as best
they could, or died. They were too useless for even the Guild to recruit.
However, and this was the important fact, there was a native race on
Sororis, settled in the north where the off-worlders found the land too
inhospitable. And they were supposed to have some formidable weapons of
their own to protect themselves against raiders from the port.
The main thing was that they had a well-defined religion and god-gifts were
an important part of it. To present their god with an outstanding gift was
the only real means of winning status among them. Such presentations gave
the donor the freedom of their city for a certain number of days.
My father had been given to telling stories, always supposedly about men he
knew during his years as a Guild appraiser. I believed, however, that some
concerned his own exploits as a youth. He had told of an adventure on
Sororis in detail, and now I could draw upon that for a way to retrieve the
Lorgal fiasco. To the inhabitants of Sororis these chunks of zoran would be
rare and strange, since they would not have seen them before. Suppose I
presented the largest at the temple, then offered the rest to men who wished
to make similar gifts and thus enhance their standing among their fellows?
What Sororisan products might be taken in exchange I did not know. But the
hero of my father's story had come away with a greenstone unheard of
elsewhere. For there was this about the Sororisans--they traded fairly.
It was so wild a chance that no one but a desperate man would think of it.
But the combination of my defeat by Akki and the need for asserting my
independence of Eet made me consider it. And after I had finished the caff I
went to the computer in the control cabin and punched the code for Sororis,
wagering with myself that if I received no answer I would accept that as a
meaning there was no chance of carrying through such a wild gamble.
Ryzk watched me speculatively as I waited for the computer's answer. And
when, in spite of my half-hopes, a series of numbers did appear on the small
screen, he read them aloud:
"Sector 5, VI--Norroute 11-- Where in the name of Asta-Ivista is that? Or
what?"
I was committed now. "That is where we are going." I wondered if he had
heard of it. "Sororis."
Chapter Six
"Where are your beam lasers and protect screens?" Ryzk asked in the voice, I
decided, one used for addressing someone whose mental balance was in doubt.
He even glanced at the control board, as if expecting to see such armaments
represented there. And so convincing was his question that I found myself
echoing that glance--which might not have been so fruitless had the ship
still carried what scars proclaimed she once had.
"If you don't have those," he continued, his logic an irritation, "you might
just as well blow her tubes and end us all right here without wasting the
energy to take us to Sororis--if you do know what awaits any ship crazy
enough to planet there. It's a rock prison and those dumped on it will storm
any ship for a way to lift off again. To set down at whatever port they do
have is simply inviting take-over."
"We are not going in--that is, the ship is not." At least I had planned that
far ahead, drawing on my father's very detailed account of how his "friend"
had made that single visit to the planet's surface. "There is the LB. It can
be fitted with a return mechanism if only one is to use it."
Ryzk looked at me. For a very long moment he did not answer, and when he
did, it was obliquely.
"Even a parking orbit there would be risky. They may have a converted
flitter able to try a ship raid. And who is going down and why?"
"I am--to Sornuff--" I gave the native city the best pronunciation I could,
though its real twist of consonants and vowels was beyond the powers of the
human tongue and larynx to produce. The Sororisans were humanoid, but they
were not of Terran colony stock, not even mutated colony stock.
"The temple treasures!" His instant realization of what I had in mind told
me that his Free Trader's knowledge of the planet's people was more than
just surface.
"It has been done," I told him, though I was aware that I was depending
perhaps too much on my father's story.
"An orbit park for Sornuff," Ryzk continued, almost as if thinking aloud,
"could be polar, and so leave us well away from the entrance route for
anything setting down at the real port. As for the LB, yes, there can be
lift-off modifications. Only"--he shrugged--"that's a job you don't often
tackle in space."
"You can do it?" I demanded. I would admit frankly that I was no mech-tech
and such adjustments were beyond either my knowledge or my skill. If Ryzk
could not provide the knowledge, then we would have to risk some other and
far more dangerous way to gain Sornuff.
"I'll take a look--" He was almost grudging. But that was all I wanted for
now. Free Traders by the very nature of their lives were adept in more
fields than the usual spacer. While the fleet men were almost rigorously
compartmented as to their skills, the men of the irregular ships had to be
able to take over some other's duties when need arose. The LB must have been
periodically overhauled or it would not have had the certification seal on
its lock. But it still dated to the original fitting of the ship, and so
must have been intended to carry at least five passengers. Thus we were
favored in so much room. And Ryzk, dismantling the control board with the
ease of one well used to such problems, grunted that it was in better shape
for conversion than he had supposed.
It suddenly occurred to me that, as on Lorgal, Eet had made no suggestions
or comments. And that started a small nagging worry in my mind, gave me a
twinge of foreboding. Had Eet read in my mind my decision for independence?
If so, had he some measure of foreknowledge? For never yet had I been able
to discover the limit of his esper powers. Whenever I thought I knew, he
produced something new, as he had on Theba. So, possessing foreknowledge,
was he now preparing to allow me to run into difficulty from which he alone
could extricate us, thus proving for once and for all that our association
was less a partnership than one of master and servant, with Eet very much in
the master's seat? He had closed his mind, offering no comments or
suggestions. Nor did he now ever accompany us to the lock where Ryzk and
I--I as the unhandy assistant-worked to give us possible entry to a hostile
world where I had a thin chance of winning a gamble. I began to suspect he
was playing a devious game, which made me more stubborn-set than ever to
prove I could plan and carry through a coup which did not depend upon his
powers. On the other hand, I was willing enough to use what I had learned
from Eet, even though it now irked me to admit I owed it to him. The
hallucinatory disguise was so apt a tool that I systematically worked at the
exercise of mind and will which produced the temporary changes. I found that
by regular effort I could hold a minor alteration such as the scar I had
worked so hard to produce as long as I pleased. But complete change, a
totally new face for instance, came less easily. And I must labor doggedly
even to produce the slurring of line which would pass me through a crowd
unnoticed for a short space. It was Eet's added force which had held that
before, and I despaired of ever having enough power to do it myself.
Practice, Eet had said, was the base of any advance I could make, and
practice I had time for, in the privacy of my own cabin, with a mirror set
up on a shelf to be my guide in success or failure.
At the back of my mind was always the hope that so disguised I might slip
through Guild watch at any civilized port. Sororis might be free of their
men, but if I won out with a precious cargo, I would have to reach one of
the inner planets and there sell my spoil. Stones of unknown value were only
offered at auction before the big merchants. Peddled elsewhere, they were
suspect and could be confiscated after any informer (who got a percentage of
the final sale) turned in a tip. It did not matter if they had been honestly
enough acquired on some heretofore unmarked world; auction tax had not been
paid on them and that made them contraband.
So I spent our voyage time both acting as an extra pair of inept hands for
Ryzk and staring into a mirror trying to reflect there a face which was not
that I had seen all my life.
We came out of hyper in the Sororis system with promptitude, which again
testified to Ryzk's ability, leading me to wonder what had grounded him in
the scum of the Off-port. There were three planets, two, dead worlds, balls
of cracked rock with no atmosphere, close enough to the sun to fuse any ship
finning down on them like a pot to fry its crew.
On the other hand, Sororis was a frozen world, or largely so, with only a
belt of livable land, by the standards of my species, about its middle. It
was covered by glaciers north and south of that, save where there were
narrow fingers of open land running into that ice cover. In one of these
Sornuff was supposed to exist, well away from the outcast settlement about
the port. Ryzk, whom I left at the controls, set up his hold orbit to the
north while I packed into the LB what I judged I would need for my visit to
the ice-bound city. Co-ordinates would be fed to the director, and that,
too, was Ryzk's concern. On such automatic devices would depend my safe
arrival not too far from Sornuff and my eventual return to the ship, the
latter being even less sure than the former. If Ryzk's fears were realized
and a high-altitude conditioned flitter from the port raised with a pilot
skillful or reckless enough to attempt a take-over of the Wendwind, it might
be that the ship would be forced out of orbit in some evasive maneuvering
during my absence. If so, I had a warning which would keep me planetside
until the ship was back on a course the LB was programmed to intercept.
I checked all my gear with double care, as if I had not already checked it
at least a dozen times while we were in hyper. I had a small pack containing
special rations, if the local food was not to be assimilated, a translator,
a mike call Ryzk would pick up if he were safely in orbit, and, of course,
the stones from Lorgal. There was no weapon, not even a stunner. I could not
have smuggled one on board at Theba. I could only depend upon my knowledge
of personal defense until I was able to outfit myself with whatever local
weapons were available. Ryzk's voice rasped over the cabin com to say that
all was clear and I picked up the pack. Eet was stretched on the bunk,,
apparently asleep as he had been every time I had come in recently. Was he
sulking, or simply indifferent to my actions now? That small germ of worry
his unexpected reaction to my bid for independence had planted in me was
fast growing into a full-sized doubt of myself--one I dared not allow if I
were to face the tests of my resourcefulness below.
Yet I hesitated just to walk out and leave him. Our growing rift hurt in an
obscure way, and I had to hold stubbornly to my purpose to keep from
surrender. Now I weakened to the degree that I aimed a thought at him.
"I am going--" That was weakly obvious and I was ashamed I had done it.
Eet opened his eyes calmly. "Good fortune." He stretched out his head as if
savoring a comfort he was not in the least desirous of leaving. "Use your
hind eyes as well as the fore." He closed his own and snapped our linkage.
"Hind eyes as well as fore" made little sense, but I chewed angrily upon it
as I went to the LB, setting the door seals behind me. As I lay down in the
hammock I gave the eject signal to Ryzk, and nearly blacked out when the
force of my partition from the ship hit.
Since I was set on automatics, using in part the LB's built-in function to
seek the nearest planet when disaster struck the ship, I had nothing to do
but lie and try to plan for all eventualities. There was an oddly naked feel
to traveling without Eet, we had been in company for so long. And I found
that my rebellion did not quite blank out that sense of loss.
Still, there was an exultation born of my reckless throwing over of all
prudent warnings, trying a wholly new and dangerous venture of my own. This,
too, part of me warned against. But I was not to have very long to think
about anything. For the cushioning for landing came on and I knew I had made
the jump to planet-side and was about to be faced by situations which would
demand every bit of my attention.
The LB had set down, I discovered, in the narrow end of one of those
claw-shaped valleys which cut into the ice. Perhaps the glacial covering of
Sororis was now receding and these were the first signs of thaw. There was
water running swiftly and steadily from the very point of the earth claw,
forming a good-sized stream by the time it passed the LB. But the air was so
chill that its freezing breath was a blow against the few exposed portions
of my face. I snapped down the visor of my helmet as I set the LB hatch on
persona lock and, taking up my pack, crunched the ice-packed sand under my
space boots. If Ryzk's reckoning had been successful I had only to go down
this valley to where it joined a hand-shaped wedge from which other narrow
valleys stretched away to the north and I would be in sighting distance of
the walls of Sornuff. When I reached that point I must depend upon my
father's tale for guidance. And now I realized he had gone into exhaustive
detail in describing the country, almost as if he were trying to impress it
upon my memory for some reason--though at the time it had not seemed so. But
then I had listened eagerly to all his stories, while my foster brother and
sister had apparently been bored and restless.
Between me and the city wall was a shrine of the ice spirit Zeeta. While she
was not the principal deity of the Sororisans, she had a sizable following,
and she had acted for the hero of my father's story as an intermediary with
the priests of the major temples in the city. I say "she" for there was a
living woman--or priestess--in that icy fane who was deemed to be the
earth-bound part of the ice spirit, and was treated as a supernatural being,
even differing in body from her followers.
I came to the join of "claw" and "hand" and saw indeed the walls of the
city--and not too far away, the shrine of Zeeta.
My landing had been made just a little after dawn, and only now were thin
beams of the hardly warm sun reaching to raise glints from the menace of the
tall ice wall at my back. There was no sign of any life about the shrine and
I wondered, with apprehension, if Zeeta had been, during the years since
that other visitor was here, withdrawn, forsaken by those who had petitioned
her here. My worries as to that were quickly over as I came closer to the
building of stone, glazed over with glistening ice. It was in the form of a
cone, the tip of which had been sliced off, and it was perhaps the size of
the Wendwind. Outside, a series of tables which were merely slabs of hewn
ice as thick as my arm mounted on sturdy pillars of the same frozen
substance encircled the whole truncated tower. On each of these were
embedded the offerings of Zeeta's worshipers, some of them now so encased in
layers of ice that they were only dark shadows, others lying on the surface
with but a very thin coat of moisture solidifying over them.
Food, furs, some stalks of vegetable stuff black-blasted by frost lay there.
It would seem that Zeeta never took from these supplies, only left them to
become part of the growing ice blocks on which they rested.
I walked between two of these chill tables to approach the single break in
the rounded wall of the shrine, a door open to the wind and cold. But I was
heartened to see further proof of my father's story, a gong suspended by
that portal. And I boldly raised my fist to strike it with the back of my
gloved hand as lightly as I could--though the booming note which answered my
tap seemed to me to reach and echo through the glacier behind.
My translator was fastened to my throat and I had rehearsed what I would
say--though the story had not supplied me with any ceremonial greeting and I
would have to improvise.
The echoes of the gong continued past the time I thought they would die. And
when no one came to answer, I hesitated, uncertain. The fairly fresh
offerings spelled occupancy of the shrine, but perhaps that was not so, and
Zeeta, or her chosen counterpart, was not in residence.
I had almost made up my mind to go on when there was a flicker of movement
within the dark oblong of the door. That movement became a shape which faced
me. It was as muffled as a Lorgalian. But they had appeared to have humanoid
bodies covered by ordinary robes. This was as if a creature completely and
tightly wound in strips or bandages which reduced it to the likeness of a
larva balanced there to confront me.
The coverings, if they were strips of fabric, were crystaled with patterns
of ice which had the glory of individual snowflakes and were diamond-bright
when the rising sun touched them. But the body beneath was only dimly
visible, having at least two lower limbs (were there any arms they were
bound fast to the trunk and completely hidden), a torso, and above, a round
ball for a head. On the fore of that the crystal encrustrations took the
form of two great faceted eyes--at least they were ovals and set where eyes
would be had the thing been truly humanoid. There were no other discernible
features. I made what I hoped would be accepted as a gesture of reverence or
respect, bowing my head and holding up my hands empty and palm out. And
though the thing had no visible ears, I put my plea into speech which
emerged from my translator as a rising and falling series of trills, weirdly
akin in some strange fashion to the gong note.
"Hail to Zeeta of the clear ice, the ice which holds forever! I seek the
favor of Zeeta of the ice lands."
There was a trilling in return, though I could see that the head had no
mouth to utter it.
"You are not of the blood, the bones, the flesh of those who seek Zeeta. Why
do you trouble me, strange one?"
"I seek Zeeta as one who comes not empty-handed, as one who knows the honor
of the Ice Maiden--" I put out my right hand now, laying on the edge of the
nearest table the gift I had prepared with some thought --a thin chain of
silver on which were threaded rounded lumps of rock crystal. On one of the
inner worlds it had no value, but worth is relative to the surroundings and
here it flashed bravely in the sunlight as if it were a string of the
crystals such as adorned Zeeta's wrappings.
"You are not of the blood, the kind of my people," came her trilling in
reply. She made no move to inspect my offering, nor even, as far as I could
deduce, to turn her eyes to view it. "But your gift is well given. What ask
you of Zeeta? Swift passage across ice and snow? Good thoughts to light your
dreams?"
"I ask the word of Zeeta spoken into the ear of mighty Torg, that I may have
a daughter's fair will in approaching the father."
"Torg also does not deal with men of your race, stranger. He is the Guardian
and Maker of Good for those who are not of your kind."
"But if one brings gifts, is it not meet that the gift-giver be able to
approach the Maker of Good to pay him homage?"
"It is our custom, but you are a stranger. Torg may not find it well to
swallow what is not of his own people."
"Let Zeeta but give the foreword to those who serve Torg and then let him be
the judge of my motives and needs."
"A small thing, and reasonable," was her comment. "So shall it be done."
She did turn her head then so those blazing crystal eyes were looking to the
gong. And though she raised nothing to strike its surface, it suddenly
trembled and the sound which boomed from it was enough to summon an army to
attack.
"It is done, stranger."
Before I could give her any thanks she was gone, as suddenly as if her whole
crystal-encrusted body had been a flame and some rise of wind had
extinguished it. But though she vanished from my sight, I still lifted my
hand in salute and spoke my thanks, lest I be thought lacking in gratitude.
As before, the gong note continued to rumble through the air about me,
seemingly not wholly sound but a kind of vibration. So heralded, I began to
walk to the city.
The way was not quite so far as it seemed and I came to the gates before I
was too tired of trudging over the ice-hardened ground. There were people
there and they, too, were strangely enough clad to rivet the attention.
Fur garments are known to many worlds where the temperature is such that the
inhabitants must add to their natural covering to survive. Such as these,
though, I had not seen. Judging by their appearance, animals as large as a
man standing at his full height had been slain to obtain skins of shaggy,
golden fur. These had not been cut and remade into conventional garb but had
retained their original shape, so that the men of Sornuff displayed humanoid
faces looking out of hoods designed from the animal heads and still in one
piece with the rest of the hide; the paws, still firm on the limbs, they
used as cover for hands and feet. Save for the showing of their faces they
might well be beasts lumbering about on their hind legs.
Their faces were many shades darker than the golden fur framing them, and
their eyes narrow and slitted, as if after generations of holding them so in
protection against the glare of sun on snow and ice this had become a normal
characteristic.
They appeared to keep no guard at their gate, but three of them, who must
have been summoned by the gong, gestured to me with short crystal rods.
Whether these were weapons or badges of office I did not know, but I
obediently went with them, down the central street. Sornuff had been built
in circular form, and its center hub was another cone temple, much larger
than Zeeta's shrine. The door into it was relatively narrow and oddly
fashioned to resemble an open mouth, though above it were no other carvings
to indicate the rest of a face. This was Torg's place and the test of my
plan now lay before me. I could sense no change in warmth in the large
circular room into which we came. If there was any form of heating in
Sornuff it was not used in Torg's temple. But the chill did not in any way
seem to bother my guides or the waiting priests. Behind them was the
representation of Torg, again a widely open mouth, in the wall facing the
door.
"I bring a gift for Torg," I began boldly.
"You are not of the people of Torg." It was not quite a protest, but it
carried a faint shadow of warning and it came from one of the priests. Over
his fur he wore a collar of red metal from which hung several flat plaques,
each set with a different color stone and so masively engraved in an
interwined pattern that it could not be followed.
"Yet I bring a gift for the pleasures of Torg, such as perhaps not even his
children of the blood have seen." I brought out the best of the zorans, a
blue-green roughly oval stone which nearly filled the hollow of my hand when
I had unrolled its wrappings and held it forth to the priest.
He bent his head as if he sniffed the stone, and then he shot out a pale
tongue, touching its tip to the hard surface. Having to pass it through some
strange test, he plucked it out of my hold and turned to face the great
mouth in the wall. The zoran he gripped between the thumb and forefinger of
each hand, holding it in the air at eye level.
"Behold the food of Torg, and it is good food, a welcome gift," he intoned.
I heard a stir and mutter from behind me as if I had been followed into the
temple by others.
"It is a welcome gift!" the other priests echoed. Then he snapped his
fingers, or appeared to do so, in an odd way. The zoran spun out and away,
falling through the exact center of the waiting mouth, to vanish from sight.
The ceremony over, the priest turned once more to face me.
"Stranger you are, but for one sun, one night, two suns, two nights, three
suns, three nights, you have the freedom of the city of Torg and may go
about such business as is yours within the gates which are under the
Guardianship of Torg."
"Thanks be to Torg," I answered and bowed my head. But when I in turn faced
around I found that my gift giving had indeed had an audience. There were a
dozen at least of the furred people staring intently at me. And though they
opened a passage, giving me a free way to the street without, one on the
fringe stepped forward and laid a paw-gloved hand on my arm.
"Stranger Who Has Given to Torg." He made a title of address out of that
statement. "There is one who would speak with you."
"One is welcome," I replied. "But I am indeed a stranger within your gates
and have no house roof under which to speak."
"There is a house roof and it is this way." He trilled that hurriedly,
glancing over his shoulder as if he feared interruption. And as it did seem
that several others now coming forth from the temple were minded to join us,
he kept his grasp on my arm and drew me a step or two away.
Since time was a factor in any trading I would do here, I was willing enough
to go with him.
Chapter Seven
He guided me down one of the side streets to a house which was a miniature
copy of shrine and temple, save that the cone tip, though it had been cut
away, was mounted with a single lump of stone carved with one of the
intricate designs, one which it somehow bothered the eyes to study too
closely. There was no door, not even a curtain, closing the portal, but
inside we faced a screen, and had to go between it and the wall for a space
to enter the room beyond. Along its walls poles jutted forth to support
curtains of fur which divided the outer rim of the single chamber into small
nooks of privacy. Most of these were fully drawn. I could hear movement
behind them but saw no one. My guide drew me to one, jerked aside the
curtain, and motioned me before him into that tent.
From the wall protruded a ledge on which were more furs, as if it might
serve as a bed. He waved me to a seat there, then sat, himself, at the other
end, leaving a goodly expanse between us as was apparently demanded by
courtesy. He came directly to the point.
"To Torg you gave a great gift, stranger."
"That is true," I said when he paused as though expecting some answer. And
then I dared my trader's advance. "It is from beyond the skies."
"You come from the place of strangers?"
I thought I could detect suspicion in his voice. And I had no wish to be
associated with the derelicts of the off-world settlement.
"No. I had heard of Torg from my father, many sun times ago, and it was told
to me beyond the stars. My father had respect for Torg and I came with a
gift as my father said must be done."
He plucked absent-mindedly at some wisps of the long fur making a ruff below
his shin.
"It is said that there was another stranger who came bringing Torg a gift
from the stars. And he was a generous man."
"To Torg?" I prompted when he hesitated for the second time.
"To Torg--and others." He seemed to find it difficult to put into words what
he wanted very much to say. "All men want to please Torg with fine gifts.
But for some men such fortune never comes."
"You are, perhaps, one of those men?" I dared again to speak plainly, though
by   such speech I might defeat my own ends. To my mind he wanted
encouragement to state the core of the matter and I knew no other way to
supply it.
"Perhaps--" he hedged. "The tale of other days is that the stranger who came
carried with him not one from-beyond-the-stars wonders but several, and gave
these freely to those who asked."
"Now the tale which I heard from my father was not quite akin to that," I
replied. "For by my father's words the stranger gave wonders from beyond,
yes. But he accepted certain things in return."
The Sororisan blinked. "Oh, aye, there was that. But what he took was token
payment only, things which were not worth Torg's noting and of no meaning.
Which made him one of generous spirit."
I nodded slowly. "That is surely true. And these things which were of no
meaning--of what nature were they?"
"Like unto these." He slipped off the ledge to kneel on the floor, pressing
at the front panel of the ledge base immediately below where he had been
sitting. That swung open and he brought out a hide bag from which he shook
four pieces of rough rock. I forced myself to sit quietly, making no
comment. But, though I had never seen greenstone, I had seen recorder
tri-dees enough to know that these were uncut, unpolished gems of that
nature. I longed to handle them, to make sure they were unflawed and worth a
trade.
"And what are those?" I asked as if I had very little interest in the
display.
"Rocks which come from the foot of the great ice wall when it grows the less
because the water runs from it. I have them only because--because I, too,
had a tale from my father, that once there came a stranger who would give a
great treasure for these."
"And no one else in Sornuff has such?"
"Perhaps--but they are of no worth. Why should a man bring them into his
house for safekeeping? They have made laughter at me many times when I was a
youngling because I believed in old tales and took these."
"May I see these rocks from the old story?"
"Of a surety!" He grabbed up the two largest, pushed them eagerly, with
almost bruising force, into my hands. "Look! Did your tale speak also of
such?"
The larger piece had a center flaw, but it could be split, I believed, to
gain one medium-sized good stone and maybe two small ones. However, the
second was a very good one which would need only a little cutting. And he
had two other pieces, both good-sized. With such at auction I had my profit,
and a bigger, more certain one than I had planned in my complicated series
of tradings beginning with the zorans.
Perhaps I could do even better somewhere else in Sornuff. I remembered those
other men who had moved to contact me outside the temple before my present
host had hurried me off. On the other hand, if I made this sure trade I
would be quicker off world. And somehow I had had an eerie sensation ever
since I had left the LB that this was a planet it was better to visit as
briefly as possible. There were no indications that the outlaws of the port
came this far north, but I could not be sure that they did not. And should I
be discovered and the LB found-- No, a quick trade and a speedy retreat was
as much as I dared now. I took out my pouch and displayed the two small and
inferior zorans I had brought.
"Torg might well look with favor on him who offered these."
The Sororisan lunged forward, his fur-backed hands reaching with the fingers
crooked as if to snatch that treasure from me. But that I did not fear.
Since I had fed Torg well this morning, I could not be touched for three
days or the wrath of Torg would speedily strike down anyone trying such a
blasphemous act.
"To gift Torg," the Sororisan said breathlessly. "He who did so--all fortune
would be his!"
"We have shared an old tale, you and I, and have believed in it when others
made laughter concerning that belief. Is this not so?"
"Stranger, it is so!"
"Then let us prove their laughter naught and bring truth to the tale. Take
you these and give me your stones from the cold wall, and it shall be even
as the tale said it was in the days of our fathers!"
"Yes--and yes!" He thrust at me the bag with the stones he had not yet given
me, seized upon the zorans I had laid down.
"And as was true in the old tale," I added, my uneasiness flooding in now
that I had achieved my purpose, "I go again into beyond-the-sky."
He hardly looked up from the stones lying on the fur.
"Yes, let it be so."
When he made no move to see me forth from his house, I stowed the bag of
greenstones into the front of my weather suit and went on my own. I could
not breathe freely again until I was back in the ship, and the sooner I
gained that safety the better.
There was a crowd of Sororisans in the street outside, but oddly enough none
of them approached me. Instead they looked to the house from which I had
come, almost as if it had been told them what trade had been transacted
there. Nor did any of them bar my way or try to prevent my leaving. Since I
did not know how far the protection of Torg extended, I kept a wary eye to
right and left as I walked (not ran as I wished) to the outer gate.
Across the fields which had been so vacant at my coming a party was
advancing. Part of them wore the fur suits of the natives. But among them
were two who had on a queer mixture of shabby, patched, off-world weather
clothing. And I could only think they must have connection with the port.
Yet I could not retreat now; I was sure I had already been sighted. My only
hope was to get back to the LB with speed and raise off world.
The suited men halted as they sighted me. They were too far away for me to
distinguish features within their helmets, and I was sure they could not see
mine. They would only mark my off-world clothing. But that was new, in good
condition, which would hint to them that I was not of the port company.
I expected them to break from their traveling companions, to cut me off, and
I only hoped they were unarmed. I had been schooled by my father's orders in
unarmed combat which combined the lore of more than one planet where man
made a science of defending himself using only the weapons with which nature
had endowed him. And I thought that if the whole party did not come at me at
once I had a thin chance.
But if such an attack was in the mind of the off-worlders, they were not
given a chance to put it to the test. For the furred natives closed about
them and hustled them on toward the gate of the city. I thought that they
might even be prisoners. Judging by the tales I had heard of the port, an
inhabitant there might well give reason for retaliation by the natives.
My fast walk had become a trot by the time I passed the shrine of Zeeta and
I made the best speed I could back to the LB, panting as I broke the seal
and scrambled in. I snapped switches, empowering the boat to rise and latch
on to the homing beam to the Wendwind, and threw myself into a hammock for a
take-off so ungentle that I blacked out as if a great hand had squeezed half
the life out of me.
When I came groggily to my senses again, memory returned and I knew triumph.
I had proved my belief in the old story right. Under the breast of my suit
was what would make us independent of worry--at least for a while--once we
could get it to auction.
I rendezvoused with the ship, thus proving my last worry wrong, and stripped
off the weather suit and helmet, to climb to the control cabin. But before I
could burst out with my news of success, I saw that Ryzk was frowning.
"They spy-beamed us--"
"What!" From a normal port such a happening might not have been too
irregular. After all, a strange ship which did not set down openly but
cruised in a tight orbit well away from any entrance lane would have invited
a spy beam as a matter of regulation. But by all accounts Sororis had no
such equipment. Its port was not defended, needed no defense.
"The port?" I demanded, still unable to believe that.
"On the contrary." For the first time in what seemed to me days, Eet made
answer. "It came from the direction of the port, yes, but it was from a
ship."
This startled me even more. To my knowledge only a Patroler would mount a
spy beam, and that would be a Patroler of the second class, not a roving
scout. The Guild, too, of course, had the reputation of having such
equipment. But then again, a Guild ship carrying such would be the property
of a Veep. And what would any Veep be doing on Sororis? It was a place of
exile for the dregs of the criminal world.
"How long?"
"Not long enough to learn anything," Eet returned. "I saw to that. But the
very fact that they did not learn will make them question. We had better get
into hyper--"
"What course?" Ryzk asked.
"Lylestane."
Not only did the auction there give me a chance to sell the greenstones as
quickly as possible, but Lylestane was one of the inner planets, long
settled, even over-civilized, if you wish. Of course the Guild would have
some connections there; they had with every world on which there was a
profit to be made. But it was a well-policed world, one where law had the
upper hand. And no Guild ship would dare to follow us boldly into Lylestane
skies. So long as we were clear of any taint of illegality, we were,
according to our past bargain with the Patrol, free to go as we would.
Ryzk punched a course with flying fingers, and then signaled a hyper
entrance, as if he feared that at any moment we might feel the drag of a
traction beam holding us fast. His concern was so apparent it banished most
of my elation. But that returned as I brought out the greenstones, examined
them for flaws, weighed, measured, set down my minimum bids. Had I had more
training, I might have attempted cutting the two smaller. But it was better
to take less than to spoil the stones, and I distrusted my skill. I had cut
gems, but only inferior stones, suitable for practice.
The largest piece would cut into three, and the next make one flawless one.
The other two might provide four stones. Not of the first class. But,
because greenstone was so rare, even second- and third-quality stones would
find eager bidders.
I had been to auctions on Baltis and Amon with Vondar, though I had never
visited the more famous one of Lylestane. Only two planet years ago one of
Vondar's friends, whom I knew, had accepted the position of appraiser there,
and I did not doubt that he would remember me and be prepared to steer me
through the local legalities to offer my stones. He might even suggest a
private buyer or two to be warned that such were up for sale. I dreamed my
dreams and spun my fantasies, turning the stones around in my fingers and
thinking I had redeemed my stupidity on Lorgal.
But when we had set down on Lylestane, being relegated to a far corner of
the teeming port, I suddenly realized that coming to such as a spectator,
with Vondar responsible for sales and myself merely acting as a com-bination
recording clerk and bodyguard, was far different from this. Alone-- For the
first time I was almost willing to ask Eet's advice again. Only the need to
reassure myself that I could if I wished deal for and by my lone kept me
from that plea. But as I put on the best of my limited
wardrobe--inner-planet men are apt to dress by station and judge a man by
the covering on his back--the mutant sought me out.
"I go with you--" Eet sat on my bunk. But when I turned to face him I saw
him become indistinct, hazy, and when the outlines of his person again
sharpened I did not see Eet, but rather a pookha. On this world such a pet
would indeed be a status symbol.
Nor was I ready to say no. I needed that extra feeling of confidence Eet
would supply by just riding on my shoulder. I went out, to meet Ryzk in the
corridor.
"Going planetside?" I asked. He shook his head. "Not here. The Off-port is
too rich for anyone less than a combine mate. This air's too thick for me.
I'll stay ramp-up. How long will you be?"
"I shall see Kafu, set up the auction entry, if he will do it, then come
straight back."
"I'll seal ship. Give me the tone call." I wondered a little at his answer.
To seal ship meant expectation of trouble. Yet of all the worlds we might
have visited we had the least to fear from violence here.
There were hire flitters in the lanes down-field and I climbed into the
nearest, dropping in one of my now very few credit pieces and so engaging it
for the rest of the day. At Kafu's name it took off, flying one of the low
lanes toward the heart of the city.
Lylestane was so long a settled world that for the most part its four
continents were great cities. But for some reason the inhabitants had no
liking for building very high in the air. None of the structures stood more
than a dozen stories high--though underground each went down level by level
deep under the surface.
The robo-flitter set down without a jar on a rooftop and then flipped out an
occupied sign and trundled oft to a waiting zone. I crossed, to repeat
Kafu's name into the disk beside the grav shaft, and received a voiced
direction in return:
"Fourth level, second crossing, sixth door."
The grav float was well occupied, mostly by men in the foppish inner-planet
dress, wherein even those of lower rank went with laced, puffed, tagged
tunics. To my frontier-trained eyes they seemed more ridiculous than in
fashion. And my own plain tunic and cropped hair attracted sideways eyeing
until I began to wish I had applied some of the hallucinatory arts at least
to cloud my appearance. Fourth level down beneath the ground gave Kafu's
standing as one of reasonably high rank. Not that of a Veep, who would have
a windowed room or series of rooms above surface, but not down to the two-
and three-mile depth of an underling. I found the second crossing and
stopped at the sixth door. There was an announce com screwed in its surface,
a pick-up visa-plate above it--a one-way visa-plate which would allow the
inhabitant to see me but not reveal himself in return. I fingered the com to
on, saw the visa-plate come to life.
"Murdoc Jern," I said, "assistant to Vondar Ustle."
The wait before any answer came was so long I began to wonder if perhaps
Kafu was out. Then there did come a muffled response from the com.
"Leave to enter." The barrier rolled back to let me into a room in vivid
contrast to the stone-walled Sororisan house where I had done my last
trading. Though men went in gaudy and colorful wear, this room was in
subdued and muted tones. My space boots trod springy summead moss, a living
carpet of pale yellow. And along the walls it had raised longer stalks with
dangling green berries which had been carefully twined and massed together
to form patterns. There were easirests, the kind which yielded to one's
weight and size upon bodily contact, all covered in earth-brown. And the
light diffused from the ceiling was that of the gentle sun of spring.
Directly ahead of me as I came in, one of the easirests had been set by the
wall where the berry stalks had been trained to frame an open space. One
might have been looking out of a window, viewing miles upon miles of
landscape. And this was not static but flowed after holding for a time into
yet another view, and with such changes in vegetation one could well believe
that the views were meant to show not just one pin net but many.
In the easirest by this "window" sat Kafu. He was a Thothian by birth, below
what was considered to be the norm in height for Terran stock. His very
brown skin was pulled so tightly over his fragile bones that it would seem
he was the victim of starvation, hardly still alive. But from the deep
sockets of his prominent skull, his eyes watched me alertly.
Instead of the fripperies of Lylestane he wore the robe of his home world,
somewhat primly, and it covered him from throat, a stiffened collar standing
up in a frame behind his skull, to ankles, with wide sleeves coming down
over his hands to the knucklebones.
Across the easirest a table level had been swung, and set out on that were
flashing stones which he was not so much examining as arranging in patterns.
They might be counters in some exotic game.
But he swept these together as if he intended to clear the board for
business, and they disappeared into a sleeve pocket. He touched his fingers
to forehead in the salute of his people.
"I see you, Murdoc Jern."
"And I, you, Kafu." The Thothians accepted no address of honor, making a
virtue of an apparent humbleness which was really a very great sense of
their own superiority.
"It has been many years--"
"Five." Just as I had been suddenly restless on Sororis, so this room, half
alive with its careful tended growth, affected me with a desire to be done
with my business and out of it.
Eet shifted weight on my shoulder and I saw, I thought, a flicker of
interest in Kafu's eyes.
"You have a new companion, Murdoc Jern."
"A pookha," I returned, tamping down impatience.
"So? Very interesting. But you are thinking now that you did not come to
discuss alien life forms or the passage of years. What have you to say to
me?"
I was truly startled then. Kafu had thrown aside custom in coming so quickly
to the point. Nor had he offered me a seat or refreshment, or gone through
any of the forms always used. I did not know whether I faced veiled
hostility, or something else. But that I was not received with any desire to
please I did know.
And I decided that such an approach might be met by me with its equal in
curtness.
"I have gems for auction."
Kafu's hands came up in a gesture which served his race for that repudiation
mine signified by a shake of the head.
"You have nothing to sell, Murdoc Jern."
"No? What of these?" I did not advance to spill the greenstones onto his lap
table as I might have done had his attitude been welcoming, but held the
best on the palm of my hand in the full light of the room. And I saw that
that light had special properties--no false, doctored, or flawed stone could
reveal aught but its imperfections in that glow. That my greenstones would
pass this first test I did not doubt.
"You have nothing to sell. Murdoc Jern. Here or with any of the legally
established auctions or merchants."
"Why?" His calmness carried conviction. It was not in such a man as Kafu to
use a lie to influence a sale. If he said no sale, that was. true and I was
going to find every legitimate market closed to me. But the magnitude of
such a blow had not yet sunk in, and as yet I only wanted an answer.
"You have been listed as unreliable by the authorities," he told me then.
"The lister?" I clung desperately to that one way of possible clearance. Had
my detractor a name, I could legally demand a public hearing, always
supposing I could raise the fees to cover it.
"From off world. The name is Vondar Ustle."
"But--he is dead! He was my master and he is dead!"
"Just so," Kafu agreed. "It was done in his name, under his estate seal."
This meant I had no way of fighting it. At least not now, and maybe never,
unless I raised the astronomical fees of those legal experts who would be
able to fight through perhaps more than one planet's courts.
Listed, I had no hope of dealing with any reputable merchant. And Kafu said
I had been listed in the name of a dead man. By whom, and for what purpose?
The Patrol, still wishing to use me in some game for the source of the zero
stones? Or the Guild? The zero stone--I had not really thought of it for
days; I had been too intent on trying my trade again. But perhaps it was
like a poison seeping in to disrupt my whole life.
"It is a pity. They look like fine stones--" Kafu continued. I slapped the
gems back in their bag, stowing it inside my tunic. Then I bowed with what
outward impassiveness I could summon.
"I beg the Gentle Homo's pardon for troubling him with this matter."
Kafu made another small gesture. "You have some powerful enemy, Murdoc Jern.
It would be best for you to walk very softly and look into the shadows."
"If I go walking at all," I muttered and bowed again, somehow getting myself
out of that room where all my triumph had been crushed into nothingness.
This was bottom. I would lose the ship now, since I could not pay field fees
and it would be attached by the port authorities. I had a small fortune in
gems I could not legally sell.
Legally--
"This may be what they wish." Eet followed my thoughts.
"Yes, but when there is only one road left, that is the one you walk," I
told him grimly.
Chapter Eight
On some worlds I might have moved into the shadowy places with greater ease
than I could on Lylestane. I did not know any contacts here. Yet it seemed
to me when I had a moment to think that there had been something in Kafu's
talk with me--perhaps a small hint--
What had he said? "You have nothing to sell with any of the legally
established merchants or auctions--" Had he or had he not stressed that word
"legally"? And was he so trying to bait me into an illegal act which would
bring him an informer's cut of what I now carried? With a lesser man than
Kafu my suspicions might be true. But I believed that the Thothian would not
lend his name and reputation to any such murky game. Vondar had considered
Kafu one of those he could trust and I knew there had been an old and deep
friendship between my late master and the little brown man. Did some small
feeling of friendliness born of that lap over to me, so that he had been
subtly trying to give me a lead? Or was I now fishing so desperately for
anything which might save me that I was letting my imagination rule my
common sense?
"Not so--" For the second time Eet interrupted my train of thought "You are
right in supposing he had friendly feelings for you. But there was such in
that room that he could not express them--"
"A spy snoop?"
"A pick-up of some sort," Eet returned. "I am not as well attuned to such
when they are born of machines rather than the mind. But while this Kafu
spoke for more than your ears alone, his thoughts followed different paths,
and they were thoughts of regret that he must do this thing. What does the
name Tacktile mean to you?"
"Tacktile?" I repeated, speculating now as to why Kafu had been under
observation and who had set the spy snoop. My only solution was that the
Patrol was not done with me and were bringing pressure to bear so that I
would agree to the scheme their man had outlined when he offered me a pilot
of their choosing.
"Yes--yes!" Eet was impatient now. "But the past does not matter at this
moment--it is the future. Who is Tacktile?"
"I do not know. Why?"
"The name was foremost in this Kafu's mind when he hinted of an illegal
sale. And there was a dim picture there also of a building with a sharply
pointed roof. But of that I could see little and it was gone in an instant.
Kafu has rudimentary esper powers and he felt the mind-touch. Luckily he
believed it some refinement of the spy snoop and did not suspect us."
Us? Was Eet trying to flatter me?
"He had a crude shield," the mutant continued. "Enough of a one to muddle
reception when I did not have time to work on him. But this Tacktile, I
believe, would be of benefit to you now."
"If he is an IGB--a buyer of illegal gems--he might just be the bait in
someone's trap."
"No, I think not. For Kafu saw in him a solution for you but no way to make
that clear. And he is on this planet."
"Which is helpful," I returned bitterly, "since I lack the years it could
take to run him down on name alone. This is one of the most densely
populated worlds in the inner systems."
"True. But if a man such as Kafu saw this Tacktile as your aid, then he
would be known to other gem dealers also, would he not? And I would
suggest--"
But this time I was ahead of him. "I make the rounds, not accepting Kafu's
word that I am listed. While you try to mind-pick those I meet."
It might just work, though I must depend upon Eet's gifts and not my own
this time. However, there was also the thin chance that some one of the
minor merchants might take a chance at an undercounter sale when they saw
the quality of the stones I had to offer. And I decided to begin with these
smaller    men. Evening was close when I had finished that round of
disappointing refusals. Disappointing, that is, on the surface. For though
some of those I had visited looked with greed on what I had to offer, all of
them repeated the formula that I was listed and there was no deal. Only Eet
had done his picking of minds, and as I sat in the ship's cabin again, very
tired, I was not quite so discouraged as I might have been, for we knew now
who Tacktile was and that he was right here in the Off-port.
As my father had done, so did Tacktile here--he operated a hock-lock for
spacers wherein those who had tasted too deeply of the pleasures of the
Off-port parted with small portable treasures in return for enough either to
hit the gaming tables unsuccessfully again or to eat until they shipped out.
Being a hock-lock, he undoubtedly had dealings with the Guild, no matter how
well policed his establishment might be. But, and this was both strange and
significant, he was an alien from Warlock, a male Wyvern, which was queer.
Having for some reason fled that matriarchy and reached Lylestane, he kept
his own planet's citizenship and had some contact with it still which the
Patrol did not challenge. Thus his holding was almost a quasi consulate for
the world of his birth. His relationship with the female rulers of Warlock
no one understood, but he was able to handle some off-world matters for them
and was given a semidiplomatic status here which allowed him the privilege
of breaking minor laws.
Tacktile was not his right name, but a human approximation of the sounds of
his clacking speech--for audible speech was used by the males of Warlock
while the females were telepathic.
"Well"--Ryzk faced me--"what luck?"
There was no reason to keep the worst from him. And I did not think he would
jump ship here in a port where he had already decided he could not even
afford to visit the spacer's resorts.
"Bad. I am listed. No merchant will buy."
"So? Do we move out now or in the morning?" He leaned back against the wall
of the cabin. "I don't have anything to be attached. And I can always try
the labor exchange." His tone was dry and what lay behind it was the dull
despair of any planet-bound spacer.
"We do nothing--until I make one more visit--tonight." Time, as it had been
since the start of our venture, was our enemy. We must raise our port fees
in a twenty-four hour period or we would have the ship base-locked and
confiscated.
"But not," I continued, "as Murdoc Jern." For I had this one small thread of
hope left. If I were listed and suspect, then this ship and its crew of
two--for Eet might well be overlooked as a factor in our company--would be
watched and known. I would have to go in disguise. And already I was working
out how that might be done.
"Dark first, then the port passenger section--" I thought out loud. Ryzk
shook his head.
"You'll never make it. Even a Guild runner could be picked up here. That
entrance is the focus of every scanner in the place. They screen out all the
undesirables when they are funneled through at landing."
"I shall chance it." But I did not tell him how. My attempts at Eet's art
were still a secret. And all the advantages of any secret lie in the fact
that it is not shared.
We ate and Ryzk went back to his own cabin--I think to consider gloomily
what appeared to be a black future. That he had any faith in me was now
improbable. And I could not be sure he was not right
But I set up the mirror in my cabin and sat before it. Nothing as simple as
a scar now. I must somehow put on another face. I had already altered my
clothing, taking off my good tunic and donning instead the worn coveralls of
an undercrew man to a tramp freighter.
Now I concentrated on my reflection. What I had set up as a model was a
small tri-dee picture. I could not hope to make my copy perfect, but if I
could only create a partial illusion--. It required every bit of my energy,
and I was shaking with sheer fatigue when I could see the new face. I had
the slightly greenish skin of a Zorastian, plus the large eyes, the show of
fanged side teeth under tight-stretched, very thin, and near colorless lips.
If I could hold this, no watcher could identify me as Murdoc Jern.
"Not perfect." I was shaken out of my survey of my new self by Eet's
comment.
"The usual beginner's reach for the outre. But in this case, possible, yes,
entirely possible, since this is an inner planet with a big mingling of ship
types."
Eet--I had turned to look--was no longer a pookha. Nor was he Eet. Instead
there lay on my bunk a serpent shape with a narrow, arrow-shaped head. The
kind of a life form it was I could not put name to.
There was no question that Eet was going to accompany me. I could not depend
now on my limited human senses alone, and what rested on my visit to
Tacktile was more important than my pride.
The reptile wound about my arm, coiled there as a massive and repulsive
bracelet, its head a little upraised to view. And we were ready to go, but
not openly down the ramp.
Instead I descended through the core of the ship to a hatch above the fins,
and in the dark felt for the notches set on one of those supports for the
convenience of repair techs. So that we hit ground in the ship's shadow.
I had Ryzk's ident disk, but hoped I would not have to show it. And luckily
there was a liberty party from one of the big intersolar ships straggling
across the field. As I had done when disembarking from our first port, I
tailed this and we tramped in a group through the gate. Any reading on me
would be reported as my own and I had the liberty of the port. But the
scanners, being robos, would not report that my identity did not match my
present outward appearance. Or so I hoped as I continued to tag along behind
the spacers, who steered straight for the Off-port.
This was not as garish and strident as that in which I had found Ryzk--at
least on the main street. I had a very short distance to go, since the
sharply peaked roof of Tacktile's shop could be seen plainly from the gate.
He appeared to depend upon the strange shape of his roof rather than a sign
for advertisement. That roof was so sharply slanted that it formed a very
narrow angle at the top and the eaves well overhung the sides. There was an
entrance door so tall it seemed narrower than it was, but no windows. The
door gave easily under my touch.
Hock-locks were no mystery to me. Two counters on either side made a narrow
aisle before me. Behind each were shelves along the wall, crowded with hock
items, protected by a thin haze of force field. It would seem Tacktile
conducted a thriving business, for there were four clerks in attendance, two
on either side. One was of Terran blood, and there was a Trystian, his
feathered head apparently in molt, as the fronds had a ragged appearance.
The gray-skinned, warty-hided clerk nearest me I did not recognize, but
beyond him was another whose very presence there was a jarring note.
In the galaxy there is an elder race, of great dignity and learning--the
Zacathans,   of lizard descent.      These are historians, archaeologists,
teachers, scholars, and never had I seen one in a mercantile following
before. But there was no mistaking the race of the alien, who stood in a
negligent pose against the wall, fitting the strip of reader tape in his
clawed hands into a recorder. The gray creature blinked sleepily at me, the
Trystian seemed remote in some personal misery, and the Terran grinned
ingratiatingly and leaned forward.
"Greetings, Gentle Homo. Your pleasure is our delight." He mouthed the
customary welcome of his business. "Credits promptly to hand, no hard
bargaining-- we please at once!"
I wanted to deal directly with Tacktile and that was going to be a matter of
some difficulty--unless the Wyvern had Guild affiliations. If that were so,
I could use the knowledge of the correct codes gained from my father to make
contact. But I was going to have to walk a very narrow line between
discovery and complete disaster. If Tacktile was honest, or wanted to
protect a standing with the Patrol, the mere showing of what I carried would
lead to denunciation. If he was Guild, the source of my gems would be of
interest. Either way I was ripe for betrayal and must make my deal quickly.
Yet I knew well the value of what I held and was going to lose no more of
the profit than I was forced to. I gave the Terran what I hoped was a
meaningful stare and out of the past I recalled what I hoped would
work--unless the code had been changed.
"By the six arms and four stomachs of Saput," I mumbled, "it is pleasing I
need now."
The clerk did not show any interest. He was either well schooled or wary.
"You invoke Saput, friend. Are you then late from Jangour?"
"Not so late that I am forgetful enough to wish to return. Her tears make a
man remember--too much." I had now given three of the Guild code phrases
which in the old days had signified an unusual haul, for the attention of
the master of the shop only. They had been well drilled into me when I had
stood behind just such a counter in my father's establishment.
"Yes, Saput is none too kind to off-worlders. You will find better treatment
here, friend." He had placed one hand palm-down on the counter. With the
other he pushed out a dish of candied bic plums, as if I must be wooed as a
buyer in one of the Veep shops uptown.
I picked up the top plum, laying the smallest of the greenstones in its
place. A quick flicker of eyes told him what I had done. He withdrew the
dish, putting it under the counter, where I knew a small vis-com would pick
up the sight for Tacktile.
"You have, friend?" he continued smoothly. I laid down one of the lesser
zorans from my unhappy Lorgal trade.
"It is flawed." He gave it a quick professional examination. "But as it is
the first zoran we have taken in in some time, well, we shall do our best
for you. Hock or sale?"
"Sale."
"Ah, we can hock but not buy. For sale you must deal with the master. And
sometimes he is not in the mood. You would do better at hock, friend. Three
credits--"
I shook my head as might a stupid crewman set for a higher price. "Four
credits--outright sale."
"Very well, I shall ask the master. If he says no, it will not even be hock,
friend, and you will have lost all." He allowed his finger to hover over the
call button set in the counter as if awaiting some change in my mind. I
shook my head and with a commiserating shrug he pressed the button.
Why the elaborate byplay I did not know. Except for me there was no one else
in the shop, and surely the other clerks were equally well versed in the
code. The only answer must be that they feared some type of snoop ray, at
least in the public portion of the shop.
A brief spark of light flashed by the button and the clerk motioned me
toward the back of the shop. "Don't say you weren't warned, friend. Your
stone is not enough to interest the master, and you shall lose all the way."
"I will see." I passed the other clerks, neither of whom looked at me. As I
came to the end of the aisle a section of wall swung in and I was in
Tacktile's office.
It did not surprise me to see the dish of sticky plums on his desk, the
greenstone already laid out conspicuously in a pool of light. He raised his
gargoyle head, his deep-set eyes searching me, and I was glad that he lacked
that other sense given Wyvem females and could not read my thoughts.
"You have more of these?" He came directly to the point.
"Yes, and better"
"They are listed stones, with a criminal history?"
"No, received in fair trade."
He rapped his blunted talons on the desk top, almost uneasily. "What is the
deal?"
"Four thousand credits, on acceptance of value."
"You are one bereft of wits, stranger. These on the open market--"
"At auction they would bring five times that amount." He did not offer me a
seat, but I took the stool on the other side of the desk.
"If you want your twenty thousand, let them go at auction," he returned. "If
they are indeed clean stones, there is no reason not to."
"There is a reason." I moved two fingers in a sign.
"So that is the way of it." He paused. "Four thousand --well, they can go
off world. You want cash?"
I gave an inward sigh of relief. My biggest gamble had paid off--he had
accepted me as a Guild runner. Now I shook my head. "Deposit at the port."
"Well, very well." Eet's words were in my mind: "He is too afraid not to be
honest with us."
Tacktile pulled a recorder to him. "What name?"
"Eet," I told him. "Port credit, four thousand, to one Eet. To be delivered
on a voice order repeating," and I gave him code numerals.
I had come to Lylestane with high hopes. I was getting away with a modest
return of port fees and supplies, and the danger of making a contact which
could alert my enemies.
Now I produced the greenstones, and the Wyvem rapidly separated them. I
could tell by his examination that he had some knowledge of gems. Then he
nodded and gave the final signal to the recorder.
I retraced my path through the shop and now none of the clerks noticed me.
The word had been passed I was to be invisible. When I reached the outside
Eet spoke.
"It might be well to drink to your good fortune at the Purple Star." And so
out of the ordinary was that suggestion that I was startled into breaking
stride. It would be far wiser and better to get back to the ship, to prepare
for take-off and rise off world before we got into any more difficulty. Yet
Eet's suggestions were, as I well knew from the past, never to be
disregarded.
"Why?" I asked and kept on my way, the port lights directly ahead.
"That Zacathan has been planted in Tacktile's," Eet returned as smoothly as
if he were reading it all from a tape. "He is hunting for information.
Tacktile has it. The Wyvern is to meet someone at the Purple Star within the
hour and it is of vast importance."
"Not to us," I denied. The last thing to do was to become involved in some
murky deal, especially one with the Guild--
"Not Guild!" Eet cut into my train of thought. "Tacktile is not of the
Guild, though he deals with them. This is something else again. Piracy--or
Jack raiding--"
"Not for us!"
"You are listed. If the Patrol has done this, you can perhaps buy your way
out with pertinent information."
"As we did before? I do not think we can play that game twice. It would have
to be information worth a lot--"
"Tacktile was excited, tempted. He visualized a fortune," Eet continued.
"Take me into the Purple Star and I can discover what excites him. If you
are listed, what kind of future voyages can you expect? Let us buy our
freedom. We are still far from seeking the zero stones."
The source of the zero stones had receded from my mind to a half-remembered
dream, smothered by the ever-present need to provide us with a living. All
my instincts told me that Eet proposed running us headlong into a meteor
storm, but the gamble might go two ways. Supposing he could mind-read a
meeting between the Wyvern and some mysterious second party --the affair
must be important if the Zacathans had seen fit to plant an agent in the
shop. And having a drink in a spacers' bar would add to my disguise as an
alien crewman who had made a successful deal at the hock-lock.
"Back four buildings," Eet dictated. And when I turned I saw the purple
five-pointed light.
It was one of the better-class drinking places and the door attendant eyed
me questioningly as I entered with all the boldness I could muster. I
thought he was going to bar me, but if that was so he changed his mind and
stepped aside.
"Take the booth to the right under the mask of Iuta," Eet ordered. There was
another beyond that but the curtain had been dropped to give its occupants
privacy. I settled in and punched the robo-server on the table for the least
expensive drink in the house--it was all I could afford and I did not intend
to drink it anyway. The lights were dim and the occupants very mixed, but
more were of Terran descent than alien. I had no sight of Tacktile. Eet
moved on my arm so that his arrow head now pointed to the wall between me
and the curtained booth.
"Tacktile has arrived," he announced. "Through a sliding wall panel. And his
contact is already there. They are scribo-writing."
I could hear the murmur of voices and guessed that those behind me were
discussing some ordinary matter while their fingers were busy with the
scribos, which could communicate impervious to any snoop ray. But if their
thoughts were intent upon their real business, that dodge would not hide
their secrets from Eet.
"It is a Jack operation," my companion reported. "But Tacktile is turning it
down. He is too wary--rightly so--the victims are Zacathans."
"Some archaeological find, then--"
"True. One of great value apparently. And this is not the first one to be so
Jacked. Tacktile says the risk is too great, but the other one says it has
been set up with much care. There is no Patrol ship within light-years, it
will be easy. The Wyvern is holding fast, telling the other to try
elsewhere. He is going now."
I raised my glass but did not sip the brew it contained.
"Where and when is the raid?"
"Co-ordinates for the where--he thought of them while talking. No when."
"No concrete proof then for the Patrol," I said sourly, and spilled most of
my glass's contents on the floor.
"No," Eet agreed with me. "But we do have the coordinates and a warning to
the intended victims--"
"Too risky. They might already have been raided and then what? We are caught
suspiciously near a Jack raid."
"They are Zacathans," Eet reminded me. "The truth cannot be hid from them,
not with one telepath contacting another."
"But you do not know when--it might be Now!"
"I do not believe so. They have failed with Tacktile. They must now hunt
another buyer, or they may feel they can eventually persuade him. You took a
gamble on Sororis. Perhaps this is another for you, with a bigger reward at
the end. Get Zacathan backing and your listing will be forgotten."
I got up and went out on the noisy street, the port my goal. In spite of my
intentions it would seem that Eet could mold my future, for reason and logic
were on his side. Listed, I no longer had a trade. But suppose I did manage
to warn some Zacathan expedition of a Jack raid. Not only would it mean that
I would gain some very powerful patrons, but the Zacathans dealt only in
antiquities and the very great treasure the stranger had used to tempt
Tacktile might well be zero stones!
"Just so." There was a smug satisfaction in Eet's thought. "And now I would
advise a speedy rise from this far from hospitable planet."
I jogged back to the ship, wondering how Ryzk would accept this latest
development. To go up against a Jack raid was no one's idea of an easy life.
More often it was quick death. Only, with Zacathans involved, the odds were
the least small fraction inclined to our side.
Chapter Nine
Below us the ball of the planet was a sphere of Sirenean amber, not the
honey-amber or the butter-amber of Terra, but ocher very lightly tinged with
green. The green areas grew, assumed the markings of seas. There were no
very large land masses but rather sprays of islands and archipelagoes, with
only two providing possible landing sites.
Ryzk was excited. He had protested the co-ordinates we had brought back from
the Purple Star, saying they were in a sector completely off any known map.
Now I think all his Free Trader instinct awoke when he realized that we had
homed in on an uncharted world. We orbited with caution, but there was no
trace of any city, no sign that this was anything but an empty world.
However, we decided at last that the same tactics used at Sororis would be
best here--that Eet and I should leave the ship in orbit and make an
exploratory trip in the converted LB. And since it seemed logical that the
two largest land masses were the most probable sites for any archaeological
dig, I made a choice of the northern. Dawn was the time we descended. Ryzk,
having experimented with the LB, had added some refinements to his original
adaptations, making it possible to switch from automatics to hand controls.
He had run through the drill patiently with me until he thought I could
master the craft. Though I did not have the training of a spacer pilot, I
had used flitters since I was a child and the techniques of the LB were not
too far from that skill. Eet, once more in his own form, curled up on the
second hammock, allowing me to navigate unhindered as we went in. As the
landscape became more distinct on the view-plate I saw that its ocher color
was due to trees, or rather giant, lacy growths, waving fronds with delicate
trunks hardly thicker than my two fists together. They were perhaps twenty
or thirty feet tall and swayed and tossed as if they were constantly swept
by wind. In color they shaded from a bright rust-brown to a pale
green-yellow with brighter tints of reddish tan between. And they seemed to
grow uniformly across the ground, with no sign of any clearing where the LB
might set down. I had no desire to crash into the growth, which might be far
tougher than it looked, and I went on hand controls to cruise above it,
searching vainly for some break. So untouched was that willowy expanse that
I had about decided my choice of island had been wrong and that we must
head south to investigate the other.
Now the fronds gave way from taller to shorter. Then there was a stretch of
red sand in which the sunlight awoke points of sharp glitter. This was
washed by the green waves of the sea, and such green I had only seen in the
flawless surface of a fine Terran emerald.
At this point the beach was wide and in the middle of it was my first
signpost, a broad blot of glassified sand blasted by deter rockets, a ship's
landing place. I guided the LB past that a little along the fringe of the
growth, bringing it down under the overhang of vegetation with a care of
which I was rightfully proud. Unless that mark had been left by a scout, I
should be able to find traces of the archaeological camp not too far away,
or so I hoped. The atmosphere was breathable without a helmet But I took
with me something Ryzk had put together. We might not be allowed lasers or
stunners, but the former Free Trader had patiently created a weapon of his
own, a spring gun which shot needle darts. And those darts were tipped with
my contribution, made from zorans too flawed to use, cut with a jeweler's
tool, and deadly. I have used a laser and a stunner, but this, at close
range, was to my mind an even deadlier weapon, and only the thought that I
might have to front a Jack crew prepared me to carry it. Those in space
learned long ago that the first instinct of our species, to attack that
which is strange as being also dangerous, could not be allowed to influence
us. And in consequence, mind blocks were set on the first explorers. Such
precautions continued until those who were explorers and colonizers became
inhibited against instant hostility. But there were times when we still
needed arms, mainly against our own species. The stunner with its temporary
effect on the opponent was the approved weapon. The laser was strictly a war
choice and outlawed for most travelers. But as a former Patrol suspect, I
could not have my permit to carry either renewed for a year. I was a
"pardoned" man, pardoned for an offense I never committed--something they
conveniently forgot. And I had no wish to demand a permit and give them some
form of control over me again. Now that I dropped out of the LB, Eet riding
on my shoulder, I was very glad Ryzk had found such an arm. Not that this
seemed a hostile world. The sun was bright and warm but not burning hot. And
the breeze which kept the fronds ever in play was gentle, carrying with it a
scent which would have made a Salarik swoon in delight. From ground level I
could see that the trunks of those fronds had smaller branches and those
bent under the weight of brilliant scarlet flowers rimmed with gold and
bronze. Insects buzzed thickly about these. The soil was a mixture of red
sand and a darker brown earth where the beach gave way to forested land. But
I kept to the edge between sand and wood, angling along until I was opposite
that patch of glass formed by the heat of the rockets at some ship's
fin-down. There I discovered what had not been visible from above, covered
by the trees and vegetation--a path back into the interior of the forest. I
am no scout, but elementary caution suggested that I not walk that road
openly. However, I soon found that forcing a passage along parallel to the
route was difficult. The clusters of flowers beat against my head and
shoulders, loosing an overpowering scent, which, pleasant as it was, became
a cloying, choking fog when close to the nose. That and a shower of floury,
rust-yellow pollen which made the skin itch where it settled finally forced
me into the path. Though fronds had been cut down to open that way, yet the
press of the thick growth had spread out overhead to again roof in the
channel, providing a dusky, cooling shade. On some of the trees the clusters
of flowers were gone and pods hung there, pulling the trunks well out of
line with their weight. The path ran straight, and in the ground underfoot
were the marks of robo-carriers. But if the camp had been so well
established, why had I not been able to sight it from the air as the LB had
passed overhead? Certainly they must have cut down enough fronds to make a
clearing for their bubble tents.
Suddenly the trail dipped, leaving rising banks on either side. They had not
had to cut a path here, for the earth had been scraped away by their
carriers to show a pavement, while the fronds growing on the bank spread to
cover the cut completely.
I knelt to examine the pavement, sure that it had been set of a purpose a
long time ago, that it was no fortuitous rock shelf! Thus the banks on
either hand might well be walls long covered by earth.
The passage continued to deepen and narrow, growing darker and more chill as
I went. I slowed my advance to a creep, trying to listen, though the
constant sighing of the wind through the fronds might cover any sound.
"Eet?" Finally, out of a need for more than my own five senses, I appealed
to my companion.
"Nothing--" His head was raised, swaying slowly from side to side. "This is
an old place, very old. There have been men here--" Then he stopped short
and I could feel his small body tense against mine.
"What is it?"
"Death smell--there is death ahead."
I had my weapon ready. "Danger for us?"
"No, not now. But death here--"
The cut had now led underground, the earth lips closing the slit above, and
what lay ahead was totally dark. I had a belt beamer, but to use it might
bring on us the very attention which would be danger.
"Is there anyone here?" I demanded of Eet as I halted, unwilling to enter
that pocket of utter black.
"Gone," Eet told me. "But not long ago. And--no--there is a trace of life,
very faint. I think someone still lives--a little--"
Eet's answer was obscure, and I did not know whether we dared go on.
"No danger to us," he flashed. "I read pain--no thoughts of anger or of
waiting our coming--"
I dared then to trigger the beamer, which flashed on stone walls. The blocks
had been so set together that only the faintest of lines marked their
joining, with no trace of mortar at all, only a sheen on their surface, as
if their natural roughness had been either polished away or given a slick
coating. They were a dull red in hue, a shade unpleasantly reminiscent of
blood. As we advanced the space widened, the walls almost abruptly expanding
on either side to give one the feeling of being on the verge of some vast
underground chamber. But my beamer had picked up something else, a tangle of
wrecked gear which had been thrown about, burned by lasers. It was as if a
battle had been fought in this space.
And there were bodies--
The too-sweet scent of the flowers was gone, lost in the stomach-twisting
stench of seared flesh and blood-- until I wanted to reel out of that hole
into the clean open.
Then I heard it, not so much a moan as a kind of hissing plaint, with that
in it which I could not refuse to answer. I detoured around the worst of the
shambles to a place near the wall where something had crawled, leaving a
ghastly trail of splotches on the floor that glistened evilly in the beam
ray. It was a Zacathan and he had not been burned down in a surprise attack
as had the others I had caught glimpses of amid the chaos of the camp. No,
this was such treatment as only the most sadistic and barbaric tribe of some
backward planet might have dealt a battle slave.
That he still lived was indicative of the strong bodies of his species. That
he would continue to live I greatly doubted. But I would do all I could for
him. I summoned up determination enough to search through the welter of the
camp until I found their medical supplies. Even these had been smashed
about. In fact, the whole mess suggested either a wild hunt for something
hidden or else destruction for the mere sake of wanton pillage.
One who roves space must learn a little of first aid and what I knew I
applied now to the wounded Zacathan, though I had no idea of how one treated
alien ills. But I did my best and left him what small comfort I could before
I went to look about the chamber. To take him back to the LB I needed some
form of transportation and the camp trail had the marks of robo-carriers. I
had not seen any such machines among the wreckage, which might mean they
were somewhere in the dark.
I found one at last, its nose smashed against the wall at the far end of
that space as if it had been allowed to run on its own until the stone
barrier halted it. But beside it was something else, a dark opening where
stones had been taken out of the wall, piled carefully to one side.
Curiosity was strong and I pushed in through that slit and flashed the
beamer. There was no mistaking the purpose of the crypt. It had been a tomb.
Against the wall facing me was a projecting stone outline, still walled up.
Instead of being set horizontally as might be expected of a tomb, it was
vertical, so that what lay buried there must stand erect.
There were shelves, but all of them were now bare. And I could imagine that
what had stood there once had been taken to the camp and was now Jack loot.
I had been too late. Perhaps he who had dealt with Tacktile had not known
that the raid was already a fact, or had chosen to suppress that knowledge.
I returned to the carrier. In spite of the force with which it had rammed
the wall it was still operative, and I put it in low gear, so that it
crawled, with a squeal of protesting metal, back to the Zacathan. Since he
was both taller and heavier than I, it was an effort to load his inert body
on the top of the machine. But fortunately he did not regain consciousness
and I thought one of the balms Eet had suggested I employ had acted as an
anesthetic. There was no use searching the wreckage. It was very plain that
the raiders had found what they came for. But the wanton smashing was
something I did not understand--unless Jacks were a different breed of thief
from the calmly efficient Guild.
"Can you run the carrier?" I asked Eet. It obeyed a simple set of buttons,
usable, I believed, by his hand-paws. And if he could run it I would be free
to act as guard. Though I thought the Jacks had taken off, there was no
sense in not being on the alert.
"Easy enough." He leaped to squat behind the controls, starting the machine,
though it still complained noisily.
We reached the LB without picking up any sign that the raiders had lingered
here or that there were any other survivors of the archaeological party.
Getting the Zacathan into the hammock of the craft was an exhausting job.
But I did it at last and flipped the automatic return which would take us to
the Wendwind. With Ryzk's help I carried the wounded survivor to one of the
lower cabins. The pilot surveyed my improvised treatment closely and at last
nodded.
"Best we can do for him. These boys are tough. They walk away from crashes
that would pulp one of us. What happened down there?"
I described what I had found--the opened tomb, the wreckage of the camp.
"They must have made a real find. Now there's something worth more than all
your gem hunting, even if you made a major strike! Forerunner stuff--must
have been,"
Ryzk said eagerly.
The    Zacathans are the historians of the galaxy. Being exceptionally
long-lived by our accounting of planet years, they have a bent for the
keeping of records, the searching out of the source of legends and the
archaeological support for such legends. They knew of several star-wide
empires which had risen and fallen again before they themselves had come
into space. But there were others about whom even the Zacathans knew very
little, for the dust of time had buried deep all but the faintest hints.
When we Terrans first came into the star lanes we were young compared to
many worlds. We found ruins, degenerate races close to extinction, traces
over and over again of those who had proceeded us, risen to heights we had
not yet dreamed of seeking, then crashed suddenly or withered slowly away.
The Forerunners, the first explorers had called them. But there were many
Forerunners, not just of one empire or species, and those Forerunners had
Forerunners until the very thought of such lost ages could make a man's head
whirl.
But Forerunner artifacts were indeed finds to make a man wealthy beyond
everyday reckoning. My father had shown me a few pieces, bracelets of dark
metal meant to fit arms which were not of human shape, odds and ends. He had
treasured these, speculated about them, until all such interest had centered
upon the zero stone. Zero stone--I had seen the ruins with the caches of
these stones. Had there been any in this tomb which the Zacathans had
explored? Or was this merely another branch of limitless history, having no
connection with the Forerunner who had used the stones as sources of
fantastic energy?
"The Jacks have it all now anyway," I observed. We had rescued a Zacathan
who might well die before we could get him to any outpost of galactic
civilization, that was all.
"We did not miss them by too much," Ryzk said. "A ship just took off from
the south island--caught it on radar as it cut atmosphere."
So they might have set down there and used a flitter to carry out the
raid--which meant they had either scouted the camp carefully or had a
straight tip about it. Then what Ryzk had said reached my inner alarms. "You
picked them up--could they have picked us up in return?"
"If they were looking. Maybe they thought we were a supply ship and that's
why they cut out so fast. In any case, they will not be coming back if they
have what they wanted."
No, they would be too anxious to get their loot into safe hiding. Zacathans,
armed with telepathic powers, did not make good enemies, and I thought that
the Jacks who had pulled this raid must be very sure of a safe hiding place
at some point far from any port or they would not have attempted it at all.
"Makes you think of Waystar," commented Ryzk "Sort of job those pirates
would pull."
A year earlier I would have thought Ryzk subscribing to a legend, one of the
tall tales of space. But my own experience, when Eet had informed me that
the Free Traders who had taken me off Tanth, apparently to save my life
after Vondar's murder, had intended to deliver me at Waystar, had given
credibility to the story. At least the crew of that Free Trader had believed
in the port to which I had been secretly consigned.
But Ryzk's casual mention of it suddenly awoke my suspicions. I had had that
near-fatal brush with one Free Trader crew who had operated on the shady
fringe of the Guild. Could I now have taken on board a pilot who was also
too knowing of the hidden criminal base? And was Ryzk--had he been planted?
It was Eet who saved me from speculation and suspicion which might have been
crippling then.
"No. He is not what you fear. He knows of Waystar through report only."
"He"--I indicated the unconscious Zacathan--"might just as well write off
his find then."
My try at re-establishing our credit had failed, unless the Zacathan lived
long enough for us to get him to some port. Then perhaps the gratitude of
his House might work in my favor. Perhaps a cold-blooded measuring of
assistance to a fellow intelligent being. Only I was so ridden by my
ever-present    burden of worry that it was very much a part of my
thinking--though I would not have deserted any living thing found in that
plundered camp. I appealed to Ryzk for the co-ordinates to the nearest port.
But, though he searched through the computer for any clue as to where we
were, he finally could only suggest return to Lylestane. We were off any
chart he knew of and to try an unreckoned jump through hyper was a chance no
one took, except a First-in Scout as part of his usual duty.
But we did not decide the matter, for as we were arguing it out Eet broke
into our dispute to say that our passenger had regained consciousness.
"Leave it up to him," I said. "The Zacathans must have co-ordinates from
some world to reach here. And if he can remember those, we can return him to
his home base. Best all around--"
However, I was not at all sure that the alien, as badly wounded as he was,
could guide us. Yet a return to Lylestane was for me a retracing of a way
which might well lead to more and more trouble. If he died and we turned up
with only his body on board, who would believe our story of the Jacked camp?
It could be said that we had been responsible for the raid. My thinking was
becoming more and more torturous the deeper I went into the muddle. It
seemed that nothing had really gone right for me since I had taken the zero
stone from its hiding place in my father's room, that each move I made,
always hoping for the best, simply pushed me deeper into trouble.
Eet flashed down the ladder at a greater speed than we could make. And we
found him settled by the head of the bed we had improvised for the wounded
alien. The latter had his bandaged head turned a little, was watching the
mutant with his one good eye. That they were conversing telepathically was
clear. But their mental wave length was not mine, and when I tried to listen
in, the sensation was like that of hearing a muttering of voices at the far
side of the room, a low sound which did not split into meaning.
As I came from behind Eet the Zacathan looked up, his eye meeting mine.
"Zilwrich thanks you, Murdoc Jern." His thoughts had a sonorous dignity.
"The little one tells me that you have the mind-touch. How is it that you
came before the last flutters of my life were done?"
I answered him aloud so Ryzk could also understand, telling in as few words
as possible about our overhearing of the Jack plot, and why and how we had
come to the amber world.
"It is well for me that you did so, but ill for my comrades that it was not
sooner." He, too, spoke Basic now. "You are right that it was a raid for the
treasures we found within a tomb. It is a very rich find and a remainder of
a civilization not heretofore charted. So it is worth far more than just the
value of the pieces--it is worth knowledge!" And he provided that last word
with such emphasis as I might accord a flawless gem. "They will sell the
treasure to those collectors who value things enough to hide them for just
their own delight. And the knowledge will be lost!"
"You know where they take it?" Eet asked.
"To Waystar. So it would seem that that is not a legend after all. They have
one there who will buy it from them, as has been done twice lately with such
loot. We have tried to find who has betrayed our work to these stit beetles,
but as yet we have no knowledge. Where do you take me now?" He changed the
subject with an abrupt demand.
"We have no co-ordinates from here except those for return to Lylestane. We
can take you there."
"Not so!" His denial was sharp. "To do that would be to lose important time.
I am hurt in body, that is true, but the body mends when the will is bent to
its aid. I must not lose this trail--"
"They blasted into hyper. We cannot track them." Ryzk shook his head. "And
the site of Waystar is the best-guarded secret in the galaxy."
"A mind may be blocked where there is fear of losing such a secret. But a
blocked mind is also locked against needful use," returned Zilwrich. "There
was one among those eaters of dung who came at the last to look about, see
that nothing of value was left. His mind held what we must know--the path to
Waystar."
"Oh, no!" I read enough of the thought behind his words to deny what he
suggested at once. "Maybe the Fleet could blast their way in there. We
cannot."
"We need not blast," corrected Zilwrich. "And the time spent on the way will
be used to make our plans."
I stood up. "Give us the co-ordinates of your base world. We will set you
down there and you can contact the Patrol. This is an operation for them."
"It is anything but a Patrol operation," he countered. "They would make it a
Fleet matter, blast to bits any opposition. And how much would then be left
of the treasure? One man, two, three, four"--he could not move his head far
but somehow it was as if he had pointed to each of us in turn--"can go with
more skill than an army. I shall give you only those co-ordinates."
I had opened my mouth for a firm refusal when Eet's command rang in my head.
"Agree! There is an excellent reason."
And, in spite of myself, in spite of knowing that no excellent reason for
such stupidity could exist, I found myself agreeing.
Chapter Ten
It was so wild a scheme that I suspected the Zacathan of exerting some
mental influence to achieve his ends--though such an act was totally foreign
to all I had ever heard of his species. And since we were committed to this
folly, we would have to make plans within the framework of it. We dared not
go blindly into the unknown.
To my astonishment, Ryzk appeared to accept our destination with equanimity,
as if our dash into a dragon's mouth was the most natural thing in the
world. But I held a session in which we pooled what we knew of Waystar.
Since most was only legend and space tales, it would be of little value, a
statement I made gloomily.
But Zilwrich differed. "We Zacathans are sifters of legends, and we have
discovered many times that there are rich kernels of truth hidden at their
cores. The tale of Waystar has existed for generations of your time, Murdoc
Jern, and for two generations of ours--"
"That--that means it antedates our coming into space!" Ryzk interrupted.
"But--"
"Why not?" asked the Zacathan. "There have always been those outside the
law. Do you think your species alone invented raiding, crime, piracy? Do not
congratulate or shame yourselves that this is so. Star empires in plenty
have risen and fallen and always they had those who set their own wills and
desires, lusts and envies, against the common good. It is perfectly possible
that Waystar has long been a hide-out for such, and was rediscovered by some
of your kind fleeing the law, who thereafter put it to the same use. Do you
know those co-ordinates?" he asked Ryzk.
The pilot shook his head. "They are off any trade lane. In a 'dead' sector."
"And what better place--in a sector where only dead worlds spin about
burned-out suns? A place which is avoided, since there is no life to attract
it, no trade, no worlds on which living things can move without cumbersome
protection which makes life a burden."
"One of those worlds could be Waystar?" I hazarded.
"No. The legend is too plain. Waystar is space-borne. Perhaps it was even
once a space station, set up eons ago when the dead worlds lived and bore
men who reached for the stars. If so, it has been in existence longer than
our records, for those worlds have always been dead to us."
He had given us a conception of time so vast we could not measure it. Ryzk
frowned.
"No station could go on functioning, even on atomics--"
"Do not be too sure even of that," Zilwrich told him. "Some of the
Forerunners had machines beyond our comprehension. You have certainly heard
of the Caverns of Arzor and of that Sargasso planet of Limbo where a device
intended for war and left running continued to pull ships to crash on its
surface for thousands of years. It is not beyond all reckoning that a space
station devised by such aliens would continue to function. But also it could
have been converted, by desperate men. And those criminals would thus have a
possession of great value, if they could continue to hold it--something
worth selling--"
"Safety!" I cut in. Though Waystar was not entirely Guild, yet surely the
Guild had some ties there.
"Just so," agreed Eet. "Safety. And if they believe they have utter safety
there we may be sure of two things. One, that they do have some defenses
which would hold perhaps even against Fleet action, for they cannot think
that the situation of their hole would never be discovered. Second, that
having been so long in the state of safety, they might relax strict
vigilance."
But before Eet had finished, Ryzk shook his head. "We had better believe the
former. If anyone not of their kind had gotten in and out again, we would
know it. A story like that would sweep the lanes. They have defenses which
really work."
I called on imagination. Persona detectors, perhaps locked, not to any one
personality, but rather to a state of mind, so that any invader could pass
only if he were a criminal or there on business. The Guild was rumored to
buy or otherwise acquire inventions which the general public did not know
existed. Then they either suppressed them or exploited them with care. No,
such a persona detector might be possible.
"But such could be 'jammed,' " was Eet's answer. Ryzk, who could follow
Eet's mental broadcast but not mine (which was good for us both, as I well
knew), looked puzzled. I explained. And then he asked Eet:
"How could you jam it? You can't tamper with a persona beam."
"No one ever tried telepathically," returned the mutant. "If disguise can
deceive the eye, and careful manipulation of sound waves, the ear, a change
in mental channels can do the same for a persona detector of the type Murdoc
envisioned."
That is so," Zilwrich agreed. I must accept the verdict of the two of our
company who best knew what was possible with a sixth sense so few of my own
species had.
Ryzk leaned back in his seat. "Since we two do not have the right mental
equipment, that lets us out. And you, and you"--he nodded to Eet and
Zilwrich--"are not able to try it alone."
"Unfortunately your statement is correct," said the alien. "Limited as I now
am by my body, I would be a greater hindrance than help--in person--to any
such penetration. And if we wait until I am healed"--he could not move
enough to shrug--"then we are already lost. For they will have disposed of
what they have taken. We were under Patrol watch back there--"
I stiffened. So we had been lucky indeed in our quick descent and exit from
the island world. Had we come during a Patrol visit--
"When the expedition's broadcast signal failed they must have been alerted.
And since the personnel of our expedition are all listed, they will be aware
of my absence. But also they have evidence of the raid. The Jacks must have
foreseen this, since they have been acting on a reliable source of
information. And so they will be quick to dispose of their loot."
I thought I saw one fallacy in his reasoning. "But if they have taken the
loot to Waystar, and they need not fear pursuit there, then they may believe
they have plenty of time to wait for a high bid on it and not be so quick to
sell."
"They will sell it, probably to some resident buyer. No Jack ship will have
the patience to sit on a good haul." Surprisingly Ryzk took up the argument.
"They may even have a backer. Some Veep who wants the stuff for a private
deal."
"Quite true," said Zilwrieh. "But we must get there before the collection is
dispersed, or even, Zludda forbid, broken up for the metal and gems! There
was that among it--yes, I will tell you so you may know the prime importance
of what we seek. There was among the pieces a star map!"
And even I who was sunk in foreboding at that moment knew a thrill at that.
A star map--a chart which would give those who could decode it a chance to
trace some ancient route, even the boundaries of one of the fabled empires.
Such a find had never been made before. It was utterly priceless and yet its
worth might not be understood by those who had stolen it.
Not be recognized for what it was--my thoughts clung to that. From it sprang
a wilder idea. My father had had fame throughout the Guild for appraising
finds, especially antiquities. He had had no ambition to climb to Veep
status with always the fear of death from some equally ambitious rival
grinning behind his shoulder. He had indeed bought out and presumedly
retired when his immediate employer in the system had been eliminated. But
he was so widely known that he had become an authority, borrowed at times
from his Veep to assist in appraising elsewhere. And he had been noted for
dealing with Forerunner treasure. Who would be the appraiser on Waystar? He
would have to be competent, trusted, undoubtedly with Guild affiliations.
But supposing that a man of vast reputation turned up at Waystar fleeing the
Patrol, which was a very common occupational hazard. He might make his way
quietly at first, but then that very reputation would spread to the Veep who
had the treasure and he might be asked for an independent report. All a
series of ifs, and's, but's, but still holding together with a faint logic.
The only trouble was that the man who could do this was dead.
I was so intent upon my thoughts that I was only dimly aware that Ryzk had
begun to say something and had been silenced by a gesture from Eet. They
were all staring at me, the two who were able to follow my thoughts
seemingly bemused. My father was dead, and that appeared to put a very
definite end to what might have been accomplished had he been alive. It was
a useless speculation to follow, yet I continued to think about the
advantages my father would have had. Suppose an appraiser in good standing
with the Guild when he retired, one with special knowledge of Forerunner
artifacts, were to show up at Waystar, settle down without any overt
approach to the Veep who had the treasure. It would very logically follow
that he would be asked to inspect the loot and then-- But at that point my
speculation stopped short. I could not foresee action leading to the
retaking of the treasure--that could only be planned after the setup on
Waystar had been reconnoitered.
Must be planned! I was completely moon-dazed to build on something
impossible. Hywel Jern was dead for near to three planet years now. And his
death, which had undoubtedly been ordered by the Guild, would be common
knowledge. His reputation, in spite of his years of retirement, was too
widespread for it to be otherwise. He was dead!
"Reports have been wrong before." That suggestion slid easily into my
thoughts before I knew Eet had fed it.
"Not in the case of executions carried out by the Guild," I retorted,
aroused from my preoccupation with a plan which might have been useful had I
only stood in my father's boots.
My father's boots--had that been a sly manipulation of Eet's? No, I was
sensitive enough now to his insinuations to be sure that it had been born
inside my own mind. When I was a child I had looked forward to being a copy
of Hywel Jern. He had filled my life nearly to the exclusion of all else. I
did not know until years later that my luke-warm feeling for his wife, son,
and daughter must have come from the fact that I was a "duty" child, one of
those babies sent from another planet for adoption by a colony family in
order to vary what might become too inborn a strain. I had felt myself
Jern's son, and I continued to feel that even when my foster mother
disclosed the true facts after Jern's death, jealously pointing out that my
"brother" Faskel was the rightful heir to Jern's shop and estate.
Hywel Jern had done as well by me as he could. I had been apprenticed to a
gem buyer, a man of infinite resources and experience, and I had been given
the zero stone, as well as all I could absorb of my father's teachings. He
had considered me, I was fully convinced, the son of his spirit, if not of
his body. There might be some record somewhere of my true parentage; I had
never cared to pursue the matter. But I thought that the same strain of
aloof curiosity and restlessness which had marked Hywel Jern must also have
been born into me. Given other circumstances I might well have followed him
into the Guild. So--I had wanted to be like Hywel Jern. Would it be possible
for me to be Jern for a period of time? The risk such an imposture would
entail would be enormous. But with Eet and his esper powers--"
"I wondered," the mutant thought dryly, "when you would begin to see
clearly."
"What's this all about?" Ryzk demanded with some heat. "You"--he looked
almost accusingly at me--"you have some plan to get into Waystar?"
But I was answering Eet, though I did so aloud, as if to deny the very help
which might be the key to the whole plan. "It is too wild. Jern is dead,
they would be sure of that!"
"Who is Jern and what has his death got to do with it?" Ryzk wanted to know.
"Hywel Jern was the top appraiser for one sector Veep of the Guild, and my
father." I stated the facts bleakly. "They murdered him--"
"On contract?" asked Ryzk. "If he's dead, how is he of any use to us now?
Sure, I can see how an appraiser with Guild rank might get into Waystar.
But--" He paused and scowled. "You got some idea of pretending to be your
father? But they would know--if there was a contract on him, they'd know."
Only now I was not quite so sure of that. My father had been in retirement.
True enough, he had been visited from time to time by Guild men. I had had
my proof of that when I had recognized as one of those visitors the captain
of the Guild ship who had ordered my questioning on the unknown world of the
zero-stone caches. Jern must have been killed by Guild orders for the
possession of the zero stone, which his slayers did not find. But supposing
they had left a body in which they thought life extinct and my father had
revived? There had been a funeral service carried out by his family. But
that, too, was an old cover for a man's escape from vengeance. And on the
sparsely settled frontier planet he had chosen for his home, they could not
have investigated too much for fear of detection.
So, we had Hywel Jern resurrected, smuggled off world perhaps-- There were
many radical medical techniques--plastic surgery which could alter a man.
No, that was wrong. It must be an unmistakable Hywel Jern to enter Waystar.
I tried again to dismiss the plan busy fitting itself together piece by
piece in my mind--utter folly, logic told me it was. But I could not. I must
look like Hywel Jern. And my appearance would be baffling, for who would
believe that someone would assume the appearance of a dead man, and one who
had been killed by Guild orders? Such a circumstance might give me even
quicker access to the Veeps on Waystar. If past rumor spoke true, there was
a rivalry between the Veeps of Waystar and the center core of the Guild. The
former might well receive a fugitive, one they could use, even if he were
now Guild-proscribed. After all, once at their station, he would be largely
a prisoner they could control utterly. Thus--Hywel Jern, running from the
Patrol. After all, I had been a quarry of both sides for a while because I
had the zero stone. The zero stone. My thoughts circled back to that. I had
not put to any use the one I carried next to my body--not experimented to
step up the Wendwind's power as Eet and I had discovered it could do. I had
not even looked at it in weeks, merely felt in my belt at intervals to know
I still carried it. To dare even hint that I carried such would make me an
instant target for the Guild, break the uneasy truce, if that still held,
between the Patrol (who might suspect but could not be sure) and me. No,
that I could not use to enter the pirate station. Back to Hywel Jern. He had
never been on Waystar. Of that I was reasonably certain. So he would not
have to display familiarity with any part of it. And with Eet to pick out of
minds what I should know-But could I be Hywel Jern for the length of time it
would--might well--take for the locating of the loot?
I had held my scar-faced disguise for only hours, the alien countenance I
had devised for the Lylestane venture even less. And I would have to be
Hywel Jern perhaps for days, keeping up that facade at all times lest I be
snooped or surprised.
"It cannot be done, not by me," I told Eet, since I knew that he, of the
three facing me, was the one waiting for my decision, preparing arguments to
counter it.
"You could not hold it either," I continued, "not for so long."
"There you speak the truth," he agreed.
"Then it is impossible."
"I have discovered"--Eet assumed that pontifical air which I found most
irksome, which acted on me as a spur even when I was determined not to be
ridden by him in any direction--"that few things, very few things, are
impossible when one has all the facts and examines them carefully. You did
well with the scar--for one of your limited ability--your native ability.
You did even better with your alien space man. There is no reason why you
cannot--"
"I cannot hold it--not for the necessary length of time!" I shot back at
him, determined to find, for once and all, an answer which would satisfy my
own thoughts as well as the subtle compulsion I sensed coming from both
telepaths.
"That, too, can be considered," Eet returned evasively. "But now, rest is
needed for our friend."
And I awoke to the fact that the Zacathan had indeed slumped on his bed. His
eye was near closed and he appeared to be completely exhausted. Together
with Ryzk I worked to make him as comfortable as possible and then I went to
my own cabin. I threw myself on my bunk. But I found that I could not shut
off my thoughts, bent as they were, in spite of my desires, on the solving
of what seemed to be the first of the insurmountable problems. So I lay
staring up at the ceiling of the cabin, trying to break my problem down
logically. Hywel Jern might get into Waystar. Possibly I could use Eet's
form of disguise to become Hywel Jern. But the exertion of holding that
would be a drain which could exhaust both of us and might not leave my mind
clear enough to be as alert as I must be to cope with the dangers awaiting
us in the heart of the enemies' territory. If there was only some way to
increase my power to hold the illusion without draining myself and Eet. For
Eet must have freedom for the mind reading which would be the additional
protection we had to have. Increase the power--just as we were able to
increase the power of the Patrol scout with the zero stone. The zero stone!
My fingers sought that very small bulge in my belt I sat up and swung my
feet to the cabin floor. For the first time in weeks I unsealed that pocket
and brought out the colorless, unattractive lump which was the zero stone in
its unawakened phase.
Zero stone--energy, extra energy for machines, for stepping up their power.
But when I strove to create the illusions, I used energy of another land.
Still it was energy. But my race had for so long been used to the idea of
energy only in connection with machines that this was a new thought. I
closed both my hands over the gem, so that its rough edges pressed tightly,
painfully, into my flesh. The zero stone plus a machine already alive with
energy meant a heightened flow, an output which had been almost too much for
the engine in the scout ship to handle. Zero stones had apparently powered
the drifting derelict we had found in space, Eet and I. And it had been
their energy broadcast that had activated the stone I then carried, causing
it to draw us to the derelict in the first place. Just as on the unnamed
planet a similar broadcast had guided us to the long-forsaken ruins where
the stones' owners had left their caches. Energy-- But the idea which was in
my mind was no wilder than others that had visited me lately. There was a
very simple trial. Not on myself, not yet. I was wary of experimentation I
might not be able to control. I looked about me hurriedly, seeing Eet curled
apparently asleep, on the foot of my bunk. For a moment I hesitated--Eet?
There was humor in that, and something else--the desire to see Eet for once
startled out of his usual competent control over the situation.
I stared at Eet. I held the zero stone, and I thought--
The cold gem between my hands began to warm, grew hotter. And the lines of
Eet's body began to dim. I dared not allow one small spark of triumph to
break my concentration. The stone was afire almost past the point where I
could continue to hold it. And Eet--Eet was gone! What lay on the foot of my
bunk now was what his mother had been, a ship's cat.
I had to drop the stone. The pain was too intense for me to continue to hold
it. Eet came to his feet in one of those quick feline movements, stretched
his neck to right and left, to look along his body, and then faced me, his
cat's ears flattened to his skull, his mouth open in an angry hiss.
"You see!" I was exultant. But there was no answer to my mind-touch--nothing
at all. It was not that I met the barrier which Eet used to cut off
communication when he desired to retire into his own thoughts. Rather it
seemed that Eet was not! I sank down on the pull seat to stare back at the
angry cat now crouched snarling, as if to spring for my throat Could it be
true that I had done more than create an illusion? It was as if Eet was now
a cat and not himself at all! I had indeed stepped up energy and to what
disastrous point? Frantically I took the stone tightly into my seared hands,
grasped it between my painful palms, and set about undoing what I had done.
No cat, I thought furiously, but Eet--Eet in his mutation from the enraged
bundle of fur now facing me with anger enough, had it been larger, to tear
out my life. Eet, my thoughts commanded as I fought panic and tried only to
concentrate on what I must do--get Eet back again.
Again the stone warmed, burned, but I held it in spite of the torment to my
flesh. The furry contours of the cat dimmed, changed. Eet crouched there
now, his rage even somehow heightened by the change into his rightful body.
But was it truly Eet?
"Fool!" That single word, hurled at me as a laser beam might be aimed, made
me relax. This was Eet.
He leaped to the table between us, stalked back and forth, lashing his
ridged tail; in his fury, very feline.
"Child playing with fire," he hissed. I began to laugh then. There had been
little to amuse one in the weeks immediately behind us, but the relief of
having pulled off this impossibility successfully, plus the pleasure of
having at last surprised and bested Eet in his own field, made me continue
to laugh helplessly, until I leaned weakly back against the wall of the
cabin, unwitting of the pain in my hands. Eet stopped his angry pacing, sat
down in a feline posture (it seemed to me his cat ancestry was more no-table
than before) with his tail curled about him so that its tip rested on his
paws. He had closed his mind tightly, but I was neither alarmed nor abashed
by    his attitude. I was very sure that Eet's startled reaction to
transformation was only momentary and that his alert intelligence would
speedily be bent to consider the possibilities of what we had learned. I
stowed the stone carefully in my belt and treated my burned hands with a
soothing paste. The mutant continued to sit statue-still and I made no
further attempts at mind-touch, waiting for him to make the first move.
That I had made a momentous discovery exhilarated me. At that moment nothing
seemed outside my grasp. It was not only machine energy which the zero stone
furthered; it could also be mental. As a cat, Eet had been silenced and, I
was sure, unable by himself to break the image I had thought on him, even
for his own defense. This must mean that any illusion created with the aid
of the stone would have no time limit, remaining so until one thought it
away.
"Entirely right." Eet came out of his sulk--or perhaps it was a deep study.
His rage also seemed to have vanished. "But you were indeed playing with a
fire which might have consumed us both!" And I knew that he did not mean the
burns on my hands. Even so, I was not going to say that I was sorry the
experiment had worked. We needed it. Hywel Jern could indeed go to Waystar
and it would require no expenditure of energy to keep the illusion intact as
long as he carried the zero stone.
"To take that in," remarked Eet, "is a great hazard." And his reluctance
puzzled me.
"You suspect"--I thought I guessed what bothered him--"they might have one,
able to pick up emanations from ours?"
"We do not know what the Guild had as their original guide to the stones.
And Waystar would be an excellent stronghold for the keeping of such. But I
agree that we cannot be choosers. We must take such a chance."
Chapter Eleven
"It must be here." Ryzk had brought us out of hyper in a very old system
where the sun was an almost-dead red dwarf, the planets orbiting around it
black and burned-out cinders. He indicated a small asteroid. "There is a
defense shield up there. And I don't see how you are going to break through
that. They must have an entrance code and anything not answering that and
getting within range--" He snapped his fingers in a significant gesture of
instantaneous extinction. Zilwrich studied what showed on the small relay
visa-screen we had set up in his cabin. He leaned against the back rest we
had improvised, his inert head frill crumpled about his neck. But though he
appeared very weak, his eye was bright, and I think that the interest in the
unusual which motivated his race made him forget his wounds now.
"If I only had my equipment!" He spoke Basic with the hissing intonation of
his species. "Somehow I do not believe that is a true asteroid."
"It may be a Forerunner space station. But knowing that is not going to get
us in undetected," rasped Ryzk.
"We cannot all go in," I said. "We play the same game over. Eet and I shall
take in the LB."
"Blasting through screens?" scoffed Ryzk. "I tell you our detect picked up
emanations as strong as any on a defensive Patrol outpost. You'd be lasered
out of existence quicker than one could pinch out an angk bug!"
"Suppose one dogged in a ship which did have the pass code," I suggested.
"The LB is small enough not to enlarge the warn beep of such a one--"
"And when are you going to pick up a ship to dog in?" Ryzk wanted to know.
"We might hang here for days--"
"I think not," Eet cut in. "If this is truly Waystar, then there will be
traffic, enough to cut down days of waiting. You are the pilot. Tell us if
this could be done--could the LB ride in behind another ship in that way?"
It secretly surprised me that there were some things Eet did not know. Ryzk
scowled, his usual prelude to concentrated thought.
"I could rig a distort combined with a weak traction beam. Cut off the power
when that connected with another ship. You'd have this in your favor--those
defenses may only be set for big stuff. They'd expect the Fleet to burn them
out, not a one-man operation. Or they might detect and let you through. Then
you'd find a welcome-guard waiting, which would probably be worse than being
lasered out at first contact."
He seemed determined to paint the future as black as possible. I had only
what I had learned of the zero stone to support me against the very
unpleasant possibilities ahead. Yet the confidence my experiment had bred in
me wavered only in the slightest degree.
In the end, Ryzk turned his Free Trader's ingenuity to more work on the LB,
giving it what defenses he could devise. We could not fight, but we were now
provided with distorters which would permit us to approach the blot our
ship's radar told us was Waystar, and then wait for the slim chance of
making a run into the enemies' most securely guarded fortress.
Meanwhile, the Wendwind set down on the moon of the nearest dead planet, a
ball of creviced rock so bleak and black that it should afford a good hiding
place. And the co-ordinates of that temporary landing site were fed into the
computer of the LB to home us if and when we left the pirate station--though
Ryzk was certain we would never be back and said so frankly, demanding at
last   that I make a ship recording releasing him from contract and
responsibility after an agreed-upon length of time. This I did, Zilwrich
acting as witness. All this did not tend to make me set about the next part
of our venture with a great belief in success. I kept feeling the lump of
the zero stone as a kind of talisman against all that could go wrong, too
long a list of possible disasters to count.
Eet made a firm statement as we prepared our disguise.
"I choose my own form!" he said in a manner I dared not question. We were in
my cabin, for I had no wish to share the secret of the zero stone with
either Ryzk or the Zacathan --though what they might think of our disguises
I could not tell.
But Eet's demand was fair enough. I took the dull, apparently lifeless gem
and laid it on the table between us. My own change was already thought out.
But in case I needed a reminder of some details, I had something else, a
vividly clear tri-dee of my father. He had never willingly allowed such to
be taken, but this had belonged to my foster mother and had been the one
thing I had taken, besides the zero stone, from my home when his death
closed its doors to me. Why I had done so I could not have said--unless
there was buried deep inside me a fragment of true esper talent, that of
precognition. I had not looked at the tri-dee since the day I had lifted
from that planet. Now, studying it carefully, I was very glad I had it. The
face I remembered had, as usual, been hazed by time, and I found memory
differed from this more exact record. Warned by the fury of heat in the
stone when I had used it on Eet, I touched it now with some care, my
attention centering on the tri-dee, concentrating on the face appearing
therein. I was only dimly aware that Eet crouched on the table, a clawed
hand-paw joining mine in touching the jewel. I could not be sure of the
change in my outward appearance. I felt no different. But after an interval
I glanced at the mirror ready for the necessary check, and indeed saw a
strange face there. It was my father, yes, but in a subtle way younger than
I remembered him last. But then I was using as my guide a picture taken
planet years before I knew him, when he had first wed my foster mother.
There could certainly be no mistaking his sharp, almost harsh features by
anyone who had ever known him. And I hoped that Eet could help me carry out
the rest of the deception by mind reading and supplying me with the memories
necessary to make me a passable counterfeit of a man known in Guild circles.
Eet--what had been his choice of disguise? I fully expected something such
as the pookha or the reptilian form he had taken on Lylestane. But this I
did not foresee. For it was no animal sitting cross-legged on the table, but
a humanoid perhaps as large as a human child of five or six years.
The skin was not smooth, but covered with a short plushy fur, much like that
of the pookha. On the top of the head this grew longer, into a pointed
crest. Only the palms of the hands were bare of the fur, which in color was
an inky black, and the skin bared there was red, as were the eyes, large and
bulging a little from their sockets, the red broken only by vertical pupils.
The nose had a narrow ridge of fur up and down it, giving a greater
prominence to that feature. But the mouth showed only very narrow slits of
lips and those as black as the fur about them.
To my knowledge I had neither seen nor heard described such a creature, and
why Eet had chosen to assume this form first intrigued and then bothered me.
Space-rovers   were addicted to pets and one met with many oddities
accompanying their masters. But this was no pet, unusual as it looked. It
had the aura of an intelligent life form, one which could be termed "man."
"Just so." Eet gave his old form of agreement. "But I think you will
discover that this pirate hold will have varied life forms aboard. And also
this body has possibilities which may be an aid in future difficulties."
"What are you?" curiosity made me ask.
"You have no name for me," Eet returned. "This is a life form which I
believe long gone from space."
He   ran his red-palmed hands over his furred sides, absent-mindedly
scratching his slightly protrudent middle. "You, yourselves, admit you are
late-comers to the stars. Let it suffice that this is an adequate body for
my present need."
I hoped Eet was right, as there was no use in arguing with him. Now I saw
something else. That hand not occupied with methodical hide-scratching
hovered near the zero stone--though if Eet was preparing to snatch that
treasure I did not see where, in his present unclothed state, he would stow
it. However, my fingers closed promptly on the gem and sealed it back in my
belt. Eet was apparently not concerned, for his straying hand dropped back
on his knee. We bade good-by to Ryzk and the Zacathan. And I did not miss
that Zilwrich watched Eet with an attention which might have been rooted in
puzzlement but which grew into a subdued excitement, as if he recognized in
that black-furred body something he knew.
Ryzk stared at us. "How long can you keep that on?" It was plain that he
thought our appearances the result of some plasta change. But how he could
have believed we carried such elaborate equipment with us I did not know.
"As long as necessary," I assured him and we went to board the greatly
altered LB.
As we took off, forceably ejected from the parent ship by the original
escape method, we aimed in the general direction of the pirate station. But
Ryzk's modifications allowed us to hover in space, waiting a guide. And it
was Eet in his new form who took over the controls.
How long we would have to patrol was the question. Waiting in any form is
far more wearisome than any action. We spent the slowly dragging time in
silence. I was trying to recall every small scrap of what my father had said
about his days with the Guild. And what lay in Eet's mind I would not have
tried to guess. In fact, I was far too occupied with the thought that my
father had been remarkably reticent about his Guild activities and that
there might be as many pitfalls ahead as those pocking the dead moon, with
only hair-thick bridges spanning them.
But our silence was broken at last by a clatter from the control board and I
knew our radar had picked up a moving object. The tiny visa-screen gave us a
ship heading purposefully for the station. Eet glanced over his shoulder and
I thought he was looking at me for orders. The mutant was not accustomed,
once a matter had been decided, to wait for permission or agreement. I found
myself nodding my head, and his fingers made the necessary adjustments to
bring us behind that other ship, a little under its bulk where we might
apply that weak traction beam without being sighted, or so we hoped.
The size of the newcomer was in our favor. I had expected something such as
a scout ship, or certainly not larger than the smallest Free Trader. But
this was a bulk-cargo vessel, of the smallest class, to be sure, but still
of a size to be considered only a wallowing second-rate transfer ship.
Our traction beam centered and held, drawing us under the belly of the
bigger vessel, which overhung us, if anyone had been out in space to see, as
a covering shadow. We waited tensely for some sign that those in the other
ship might be alarmed. But as long moments slipped by we breathed more
freely, reassured by so much, though it was very little.
However, on the visa-screen what we picked up now was not the ship, but what
lay ahead. For additional safety Eet had snapped on the distort beam and
through that we could see just a little of the amazing port we neared.
Whatever formed its original core--an asteroid, a moon, an ancient space
station--could not be distinguished now. What remained was a mass of ships,
derelicts   declared so by their broken sides, their general decrepit
appearances. They were massed, jammed tightly together into an irregular
ovoid except in one place directly before us, where there was a dark gap,
into which the ship controlling our path was now headed.
"Looted ships--" I hazarded, ready to believe now in every wild story of
Waystar. Pirates had dragged in victim ships to help form their hiding
place--though why any such labor was necessary I could not guess. Then I
saw--and felt--the faint vibration of a defense screen. The LB shuddered but
it did not break linkage with the ship. Then we were through without any
attack. As the wall of those crumpled and broken ships funneled about us, I
foresaw a new danger, that we might be scraped or caught by the wreckage,
for that space down which we were being towed narrowed the farther we
advanced. Also, though the ships had seemed tightly massed at first sight,
this proved not to be so upon closer inspection. There were evidences that
they had been intended as an enveloping cover for whatever core lay at the
heart. There were girders and patches of skin welded together, anchoring one
wreck to another. But it was a loose unity and there were spaces in between,
some large enough to hold the LB.
Seeing those, and calculating that we might come to grief ahead were the
passage to narrow to the point where only the cargo ship might wedge
through, I decided one gamble was better than another.
"Wedge in here"--I made this more a suggestion than an order--"then suit up
and go through?"
"Perhaps that is best," Eet answered. However, I suddenly remembered that
though I might suit up, there was no protective covering on board which
would take Eet's smaller body.
"The disaster bag," Eet reminded me as his hands moved to loose our tie with
the bulk of ship overhead.
Of course, the baglike covering intended to serve a seriously injured
escapee using the LB, one whose hurt body could not be suited up if the
emergency landing had been made on a planet with a hostile atmosphere and it
was necessary to leave the boat. I unstrapped, and opened the cupboard where
the suit lay at full length. The disaster bag was in tight folds beside its
booted feet. Passage in that would leave Eet helpless, wholly dependent on
me, but there was hope it would not be for long.
He was busy at the controls, turning the nose of the LB to the left,
pointing it into one of those hollows in the mass of wreckage. The impetus
left us by the pull of the ship sufficed to give us forward movement, and
two girders welded just above the hole we had chosen held the pieces of
wreckage forming its walls steady. There was a bump as we scraped in, and
another, moments later, as the nose of the LB rammed against some obstacle.
We could only hope that the crevice had swallowed us entirely and that our
tail was not sticking betrayingly into the ship passage.
I suited up as fast as I could, wanting to make sure of that fact--though
what we could do to remedy matters if that had happened I did not have the
slightest idea. Then I hauled out the disaster bag and Eet climbed in so
that I could make the various sealings tight and inflate its air supply.
Since it was made for a man he had ample room, in fact moved about in it in
the manner of one swimming in a very limited pool, for there was no gravity
in this place and we were in free fall.
Activating the exit port, I crawled out with great care, fearing more than I
wanted to admit some raw edge which could piece the protecting fabric of the
suit or Eet's bag. But there was space enough to wriggle down the length of
the LB, mostly by feel, for I dared not flash a beamer here.
Fortune had served us so far. The tail of the LB was well within the hole.
And I had to hitch and pull, the weight of Eet dragging me back, by grasping
one piece of wreckage and then the next for several lengths until I was in
the main passage.
There was a weak light here, though I could not see its source, enough to
take me from one handhold to the next, boring into the unknown. I made that
journey with what speed I could, always haunted by the fear that another
ship might be coming in or going out and I would be caught and ground
against the wreckage. The band of murdered ships ended suddenly in a clear
space, a space which held other ships--three I could see. One was the cargo
ship which had brought us in, another was one of those needle-nosed, deadly
raiders I had seen used by the Guild, and the third was plainly a yacht.
They were in orbit around what was the core of this whole amazing world in
space. And it was a station, oval in shape like the protecting mass of
wreckage, with landing stages at either end. Its covering was opaque, but
with a crystalline look to the outer surface, which was pitted and pocked
and had obviously been mended time and time again with substances that did
not match the original material. The cargo ship had opened a hatch and swung
out a robo-carrier, heavily laden. I held on to my last anchorage and
watched the robo spurt into a landing on a stage. The top half carrying the
cargo dropped off and moved into an open hatch of the station while the robo
took off for another load. There was no suited overseer to be seen, just
robos. And I thought I saw a chance to make use of them to reach the
station, just as we had used the robos to leave the caravansary.
Only I was not to have an opportunity to try. Out of nowhere came a beam,
the force of which plastered me as tightly to the wreckage at my back as if
my suit had indeed been welded in eternal bondage.
There was no breaking that hold. And my captors were very tardy about coming
to collect me, finally spurting from the hatch of the yacht on a mini air
sled. They lashed me into a tangle cord and used it as a drag to pull me
behind them, not back to the ship from which they had issued, but to the
landing stage where the robo had set down. Then, dismounting from their
narrow craft, they tugged us both through a lock and into the interior of
the station, where a weak gravity brought my boots and Eet's relaxed body to
the floor. Those who had taken me prisoner were humanoid, perhaps even of
Terran breed, for they had that look. They snapped up their helmets and one
did the same for me, letting in breathable air, though it had that peculiar
faint odor of reprocessed oxygen. Leaving the tangle about my arms, they
loosed me enough to walk, pointing with a laser to enforce my going. One of
them took the bag from me and towed Eet, turning now and then to study the
mutant narrowly. So it was as prisoners that we came to the legendary
Waystar, and it was an amazing place. The center was open, a diffused light
filling it, a greenish light which gave an unpleasant sheen to most of the
faces passing. By some unknown means there was a light gravity giving a true
up and down to the corridors and balconies opening on that center. I caught
sight of what could be labs, passed other doors tightly shut. There was
population enough to equal that of a village on an ordinary planet--though,
as I guessed, those who used the station as home base were often in space
and the permanent dwellers were limited in number.
It was one of the latter I was taken before. He was an Orbsleon, his barrel
bulk immersed in a bowl chair with the pink fluid he needed for constant
nourishment washing about his wrinkled shoulders, his boneless upper
tentacles floating just beneath its surface.
His head was very broad in the lower part, dwindling toward a top in which
two eyes were set far apart, well to the sides. His far-off ancestor of the
squid clan was still recognizable in this descendant. But that alien body
housed a very shrewd and keen intelligence. A Veep in Waystar would be a
Veep indeed, no matter what form of body held him.
A tentacle tip flashed from the bowl chair to trigger keys on a Basic
talker, for the Orbsleon was a tactile communicator.
"You are who?"
"Hywel Jern." I gave him an answer as terse as his question. Whether that
name meant anything to him I had no way of knowing. And I received no aid
from Eet. For the first time I doubted that the mutant could carry some
of the burden of my impersonation. It might well be that the alien thought
process would prove, in some cases, beyond his reading. Then I would be in
danger. Was this such a time?
"You came--how?" The tentacle tip played out that question.
"On a one-man ship. I crashed on a moon--took an LB--" I had my story ready.
I could only hope it sounded plausible.
"How through?" There was of course no readable expression on the alien's
face.
"I saw a cargo ship coming in, hung under it. The LB played out halfway
through the passage. Had to suit up and come along--"
"Why come?"
"I am a hunted man. I was Veep Estampha's value expert, I thought to buy
out, live in peace. But the Patrol were after me. They sent a man on
contract when they could not take me legally. He left me for dead. I have
been on the run ever since." So thin a tale it might hold only if I were
recognized as Hywel Jern. Now that I was well into this I realized more and
more my utter folly. Suddenly Eet spoke to me. "They have sent for one who
knew Jern. Also they did not register 'dead' when you gave your name."
"What do here?" my questioner went on.
"I am an appraiser. There is perhaps need for one here. Also--this is the
one place the Patrol is not likely to take me." I kept as bold a front as I
could. A man came in at the slow and rather stately pace the low gravity
required. To my knowledge I had not seen him before. He was one of the
mutants of Terran stock having the colorless white hair and goggle protected
eyes of a Faltharian. Those goggles made his expression hard to read. But
Eet was ready.
"He did not know your father well, but had seen him several times in Veep
Estampha's quarters. Once he brought him a Forerunner piece, a plaque of
irridium set with bes rock. Your father quoted him a price of three hundred
credits but he did not want to sell."
"I know you," I said swiftly as Eet's mind read that for me. "You had a
piece of Forerunner loot--irridium with bes setting--"
"That is the truth." He spoke Basic with a faint lisp. "I sold it to you."
"Not so! I offered three hundred, you thought you could do better. Did you?"
He did not answer me. Rather his goggled head swung toward the Orbsleon. "He
looks like Hywel Jern, he knows what Jern would know."
"Something--you do not like?" queried the tentacles on the keys.
"He is younger--"
I managed what I hoped would register as a superior smile. "A man on the run
may not have time or credits enough for a plasta face change, but he can
take rejub tablets."
The Faltharian did not reply at once. I wished I could see the whole of his
face without those masking goggles. Then, almost reluctantly, he did answer.
"It could be so."
During all those moments the Orbsleon's gaze had held on me. I did not see
his small eyes blink; perhaps they did not. Then he played the keys of the
talker again.
"You appraiser, maybe use. Stay."
With that, not sure whether I was a prisoner or perhaps now an employee, I
was marched out of the room and led to a cubby on a lower level, where Eet
and I, having been searched for weapons and had the suit and bag taken from
us, were left alone. I tried the door and was not surprised to find it
sealed. We were prisoners, but to what degree I could not be sure.
Chapter Twelve
What I needed most at that moment was sleep. Life in space is always lived
to an artificial timetable which has little relationship to sun or moon,
night or day, in the measured time of planets. In hyper, when there is
little to do for the smooth running of the ship, one simply sleeps when
tired, eats when hungry, so that regular measurement of time does not apply.
I did not know really how long it had been since I had had a meal or slept.
But now sleep and hunger warred in me.
The room in which we had been so summarily stowed was a very small one,
having little in the way of furnishings. And what there was resembled that
planned for the economy of space, such as is found in a ship. There was a
pull-down bunk, snapped up into a fold in the wall when not in use, a
fresher, into which I would have to pack myself, when needful, with some
care, and a food slot. On the off chance that it might be running, I whirled
the single dial above it (there seemed to be no choice of menu). And
somewhat to my surprise, the warn lights in the panel snapped on and the
front flipped open to display a covered ration dish and a sealed container
of liquid. It would appear that the inhabitants of Waystar were on tight
rations, or else they believed that uninvited guests were entitled only to
the bare minumum of sustenance. For what I uncovered were truly space
rations,   nutritious   and sustaining,    to   be sure,    but practically
tasteless--intended to keep a man alive, not in any way to please his taste
buds. Eet and I shared that bounty, as well as the somewhat sickening vita
drink in the container. I did have a fleeting suspicion that perhaps some
foreign substance had been introduced into either, one of those drugs which
will either make a man tell all he knows or eradicate his will, so that for
a time thereafter he becomes merely the tool of whoever exerts mastery over
him. But that suspicion did not keep me from eating.
As I dumped the empty containers down the disposal unit I knew that just as
I had had to eat, so I must now sleep. But it seemed that Eet did not agree,
or not as far as he himself was concerned.
"The stone!" He made a command of those two words. I did not have to ask
what stone. My hand was already at the small pocket in my belt.
"Why?"
"Do you expect me to go exploring in the body of a phwat?"
Go exploring? How? I had already tried the cabin door and found it sealed.
Nor did I doubt that they had guards outside, perhaps in the very walls
about us --scan rays--
"Not here." Eet appeared very sure of that. "As to how--through there." He
indicated a narrow duct near the ceiling, an opening which, if the grill
over it were removed, might offer a very small exit.
I sat on the bunk and glanced from the hairy man-thing Eet now was to that
opening. When we had first tried this kind of change I had believed it all
illusion, though tactile as well as visual. But now, had Eet really altered
in bulk so that what I saw before me was actually many times the size of my
alien companion? If so-- how had that been done? And (in me a sharp fear
stabbed) if one did not have the stone, would changes remain permanent?
"The stone!" Eet demanded. He did not answer any of my thoughts. It was as
if he were suddenly pressed for time and must be off on some important
errand from which I detained him.
I knew I was not going to get any answers from Eet until he was ready to
give them. But his ability to read minds was perhaps our best key to this
venture and if he now saw the necessity for crawling through ventilation
ducts, then I must aid him.
I kept my hand cupped about the stone. Though Eet had said there were no
snoop rays on us, yet I would not uncover that treasure in Waystar. I stared
at Eet where he hunkered on the floor and forced myself to see with the
mind's eye, not a furred humanoid, but rather a mutant feline, until just
that crouched at my feet.
It was easy to screw out the mesh covering of the duct. And then Eet, using
me as a ladder, was up into it with speed. Nor did he leave me with any
assurance as to when he would return, or where his journey would lead,
though perhaps he did not know himself.
I wanted to keep awake, hoping that Eet might report via mind-touch, but my
body needed sleep and I finally collapsed on the bunk into such slumber as
might indeed have come from being drugged.
From that I awoke reluctantly, opening eyes which seemed glued shut. The
first thing I saw was Eet, back in his hairy disguise, rolled in a ball. I
sat up dazedly, trying to win out over the stupor of fatigue.
Eet was back, not only in this cell but in his other body. How had he
managed the latter? Fear sharpened my senses and sent my hand to my belt
again, but I felt with relief the shape of the stone in the pocket.
Even as I watched bleerily, he unwound, sat up blinking, and stretched his
arms, as if aroused from a sleep as deep as mine had been.
"Visitors coming." He might give the outward seeming of one only half awake,
but his thought was clear.
I shambled to the fresher. Best not let any arrival know I had warning. I
used the equipment therein and emerged feeling far more alert. Even as I
looked to the food server, the door opened and one of the Orbsleon's
followers looked in.
"Veep wants you."
"I have not eaten." I thought it well to show some independence at the
suggestion that I was now the Orbsleon's creature.
"All right. Eat now." If he made that concession (and the very fact that he
did was a matter of both surprise and returning confidence for me) he was
not going to enlarge upon it. For he stood in the doorway watching me dial
the unappetizing food and share it with Eet.
"You--" The guard stared at the mutant. "What do you do?"
"No good talking to him," I improvised hurriedly. "You would need a sonic.
He is--was--my pilot. Only fourth part intelligence, but good as a tech."
"So. What is he anyway?" Whether he spoke out of idle curiosity or was
following an order to learn more, I did not know. But I had made a
reasonable start on providing Eet with a background and I enlarged upon it a
little with the name he had given himself.
"He is a phwat, from Formalh--" I added to my inventions. With so many
planets supporting intelligent or quasi-intelligent life in the galaxy, no
one could be expected to know even a thousandth of them.
"He stays here--" As I prepared to leave, the guard stepped in front of Eet.
I shook my head. "He is empathic-oriented. Without me he will will himself
to death." Now I referred to something I had always thought a legend--that
two species could be so emotionally intertied. But since I had believed,
until last year, that the place in which I now stood was also a legend,
there might be truth in other strange tales. At least the guard seemed
inclined to accept what I said as a fact; he allowed Eet to shamble along
behind me. We did not return to the room in which the Orbsleon had
interviewed me, but rather to one which might be a small edition of the
hock-locks I well knew. There was a long table with various specto-devices
clamped on it. In fact, it was a lab which many an appraiser on a planet
might have envied. And on the walls were outlines of "safe" cupboards, each
one with the locking thumb hole conspicuous in the center, where only the
thumb of one authorized to open it would register to release its contents.
"Snooper ray on us," Eet informed me. But I had already guessed that,
knowing why I had been brought here. They were going to prove my claim of
being an appraiser, which meant tricky business. I would have to call on all
I had learned from the man I seemed to be, all that I had picked up since I
had left his tutelage, in order to survive such a test.
The things to be valued were spread on the table, under a protective null
web. I went straight to it, for in that moment my lifetime preoccupation
took command. There were four pieces in all, gemmed and set in metal--their
glitter sparking life clear across the room.
The first was a necklace--koro stones, those prized gems from out of the
Sargolian seas which the Salariki doubly value because of their ability to
give forth perfume when warmed by the body heat of the wearer.
I held it up to the light, weighed each of the jewels in my hand, sniffed at
each stone. Then I let it slide carelessly from my grasp to the bare surface
of the table.
"Synthetic. Probably the work of Ramper of Norstead--or of one of his
apprentices--about fifty planet years old. They used marquee scent on
it--five, maybe six steepings." I gave my verdict and turned to the next
piece, knowing I did not have to impress the guard, or the two other men in
the room, but rather those who held the snooper ray on me.
The second piece was set in a very simple mounting. And its dark rich fire
held me for a moment or two. Then I put it in the cup below the infrascope
and took two readings.
"This purports to be a Terran ruby of the first class. It is unflawed, true
enough. But it has been subjected to two forms of treatment. One I can
identify, the other is new to me. This has resulted in a color shift. I
think it was originally a much lighter shade. It will pass, save for quality
lab testing. But any expert gemologist would be uneasy about it."
The third on that table was an arm band of metal which was reddish but
carried a golden overcast that shifted across the surface when the ornament
was handled. The maker had taken advantage of that overcast in working out
the pattern on it, which was of flowers and vine, so that the gold appeared
to line some of the leaves at all times. There was no mistaking it and my
mind jumped back to the day my father had shown me such work, but then as a
small pendant he had sold to a museum.
"This is Forerunner, and it is authentic. The only piece I have previously
seen    was taken from     a Rostandian tomb. That      was decided by the
archaeologists to be very much older than the tomb even. Perhaps it had been
found by the Rostandian buried there. Its origin is unknown as yet."
In contrast to the three other offerings the fourth was dull, leaden-gray,
ugly metal set with an ill-formed cluster of badly-cut stones. It was only
the center stone, one of perhaps four carats, which seemed to have any real
Me, and that, too, had been unimaginately treated.
"Kamperel work. The centerpiece is a sol sapphire and would pay recutting.
The rest"--I shrugged--"not worth working with. A tourist bauble. If
this"--I turned to the two men, who had not spoken--"is the best you have to
show me, then indeed, rumor has greatly overrated the take of Waystar."
One of them came around the table to restow the four pieces under the web. I
was wondering if I were now to be returned to my cell when the monotonous
click of the Veep's voice sounded from some concealed com.
"As you think, this was test. You will see other things. The sol--can you
recut?"
Inwardly I sighed with relief. My father had not had that training, I need
not be forced to claim it.
"I am an appraiser, not a cutter. It will take skill to make the most out of
that stone after it has been mishandled the way it has. I would suggest that
it be offered as is"--I thought furiously--"to such a firm as Phatka and
Njila."
Again I pulled names from my memory, but this time from Vondar's warning
about borderline dealers whose inventories of stones were kept in two or
three different accountings, those they could sell openly, those to be sold
privately. That they had Guild affiliations was suspected but unproved. But
my ability to name them would be more proof that I had dealt on the border
line of the law. There was a period of silence. The man who had re-wrapped
the treasures in the web now sealed them into one of the wall cubbies. No
one commented, nor did the com speak again. I shifted from one foot to the
other, wondering what would happen now.
"Bring here--" the com finally clicked. So I was taken back to the room
where the Orbsleon Veep wallowed in his fluid-filled seat. Swung out over
the surface of that was a lap table and on it lay a single small piece of
metal. It had no gem and it was an odd size. But the shape I had seen before
and knew very well indeed. A ring--meant to fit, not a bare finger, but over
the bulky glove of a space suit. Only this had no zero stone, dull and
lifeless, in its empty prongs. That it was, or had been, twin to the ring
which had caused my father's death, I was sure. Yet the most important part
was missing. I knew instantly that this was another test, not of my
knowledge as an appraiser, but of how much I might know on another subject.
My story must hold enough truth to convince them.
"There is a snooper ray on." Eet had picked up my thought.
"What this?" The Veep wasted no time in coming to the test.
"May I examine it?" I asked.
"Take, look, then say," I was ordered. I picked up the ring. Without its
stone it was even more like a piece of battered junk. How much dared I say?
They must know a great deal about my father's "death"-- So I would give them
all my father had known.
"I have seen one of these before--but that had a stone." I began with the
truth.
"A dim stone. It had been subjected to some process which rendered it
lifeless, of no value at all. The ring was found on the space glove of a
dead alien--probably a Forerunner--and brought to me for hock-lock."
"No value," clicked the voice of the Veep. "Yet you bought."
"It was alien, Forerunner. Each bit we learn about such things is knowledge>
which makes some men richer. A hint here, a hint there, and one can be led
to a find. This in itself has no value, but its age and why it was worn over
a space glove--that makes it worth payment."
"Why worn on glove?"
"I do not know. How much do we know of the Forerunners? They were not even
all of one civilization, species, or time. The Zacathans list at least four
different star empires before they themselves developed a civilization, and
claim there are more. Cities can crumble, suns bum out, sometimes artifacts
remain--given proper circumstances. Space itself preserves, as you know
well. All we can learn of those Forerunners comes in bits and pieces, which
makes any bit of value."
"He asks," Eeet told me, "but the questions are now from another."
"Who?"
"One more important than this half-fish." For the first time Eet used a
derogatory   expression, allowed an aura      of contempt to pervade his
mind-touch.
"That is all I know. The other wears a protective antiesper, anti-snoop
device."
"This was a ring," I repeated aloud and laid the plundered circlet back on
the lap table. "It held a stone now gone, and it resembles the one I held
for a time which had been found on a Forerunner."
"You held--now where?"
"Ask that," I returned sharply, "of those who left me for dead when they
plundered my shop." False now, but would any snooper detect that? I waited,
almost expecting some loud contradiction of my lie. If any had been made
perhaps those in the room were not aware of it yet. And if my last statement
were accepted as truth, perhaps there might be awkward questions asked
inside the ranks of the Guild, the which would do me no harm at all.
"Enough," the voicer clicked. "You go--sales place-watch."
My escort moved for the door. He did not snap to attention as a Patrolman,
but he wore a tangler at his belt and I did not dispute his right to see me
to where the Veep ordered my attendance.
We passed along one of the balcony corridors which rimmed the open center.
It was necessary to shuffle, not lifting the feet much, keeping a handhold
on the wall rail, or the low gravity became a hazard. When our way led down
on a curled rod with handholds instead of stairsteps, we managed almost as
if we were in a grav lift, coming to the third level below that where the
Veep had his quarters. This possessed some of the bustle of a market place.
There   was a coming and going of many races and species, Terrans,
Terran-mutants, humanoids, and non-humanoid aliens.
Most of them wore ship uniforms, though unmarked by any official badges. And
all of them wore stunners, though I saw no lasers. And I thought perhaps
there might be some rule against more lethal weapons here.
The booth into which I was ushered lacked the elaborate detection equipment
of the lab. Another Orbsleon (plainly of inferior caste, since he still had
the crab legs long ago removed from the Veeps) squatted in a bowl with just
enough liquid washing in it to keep him on the edge of comfort. It was plain
he was in charge and must have expected me. He clicked nothing on his
talker, but gestured with one tentacle to a stool back against the wall,
where I obediently sat down, Eet hunkering at my feet. There were two others
there, and seeing them, I realized, with a shudder I hoped I successfully
suppressed, just how far outside the bounds of law I was.
There has always been slavery within the galaxy, sometimes planet-orientated,
sometimes spread through a solar system, or systems. But there are kinds of
slavery which make men's stomachs turn more readily than the war-captive,
farm-labor type most widely known. And these--these--things--were the result
of selective breeding in a slavery the Patrol had worked for years to
eliminate from any star lane.
The Orbsleon's servants were humanoid--to a point. But there had been both
surgical and genetic modifications, so that they were not truly "men" as the
Lankorox scale defines men in an alien-Terran-mutant society. They were
rather living machines, each programmed for a special type of service,
knowing nothing else. One sat now with his hands resting limply on the
table, his whole puffy body slack, as if even the energy which brought him
pseudo life had drained away. The other worked with precise and delicate
speed at a piece of jewelry, a gem-studded collar such as is worn at a feast
of state by a Warlockian Wyvern. He pried each gem from its setting, sorting
them with unerring skill, and at the same time graded them, placing the gems
in a row of small boxes before him. The many-lensed orbs in his misshapen,
too large, too round head were not turned upon what he did but rather stared
straight ahead out of the booth, though they were not focused on anything
beyond.
"He is a detect--" Eet told me. "He sees all, reports without defining what
he sees. The other is a relay."
"Esper!" I was suddenly afraid, afraid that that loosely sprawling hulk of
flesh before us might tune in on Eet, know that we two together were far
more than we seemed.
"No, he is on a lower band," Eet returned. "Only if his master wishes--"
He lapsed into silence and I knew he, too, knew the danger.
Why I had been sent here I did not know. Time passed. I watched those go to
and from outside. The detect slave continued his work until the collar was
entirely denuded of its jewels and then the metal went into a larger box.
Now the busy fingers brought out a filigree tiara. Selections were made from
the boxes of gems, and with almost the same speed with which they had been
pried forth from their first settings they were put into the tiara. Though
all the jewels were not used, I could see that the result of the work would
be a piece which would easily bring a thousand certified credits in any
inner planet shop. But all the time he worked, the slave never looked at
what he wrought. What were to be my duties, if any, I was not told. And
while the activities of the detect slave interested me for awhile, it was
not enough to hold my attention too long. I found the inactivity wearing and
I was restless. But surely anyone in my situation would want employment
after awhile and no one would be suspicious if I showed my boredom.
I was shifting on what became an increasingly hard stool the longer I sat on
it when a man stepped inside the booth. He wore the tunic of a space captain
without any company insignia and he appeared to be familiar with the
establishment, as he bypassed the table where the slaves sat and came
directly to the Orbsleon.
He had been pressing his left hand against his middle--reminding me of my
own frequent check on my gem belt. Now he unsealed his runic and fumbled
under its edge. The alien pushed forward a swing table much like the one his
Veep had used to display the ring.
The spacer produced a wad of null web, picked it apart to show a very
familiar spot of color--a zoran. The Orbsleon's tentacle curled about the
stone and without warning threw it to me. Only instinct gave me the reflex
to catch the flying stone out of the air.
"What!" With a sharp exclamation the captain swung around to eye me, his
hand on the butt of his stunner. I was turning the stone around, examining
it.
"First grade," I announced. Which it was--about the best I had seen for some
time. Also it was not a raw stone but had been carefully cut and mounted in
a delicate claw setting, hooked to hang as a pendant.
"Thank you." There was sarcasm in the captain's voice. "And who may you be?"
He lost now some of his aggressive suspicion.
"Hywel Jern, appraiser," I answered. "You wish to sell?"
"I wouldn't come here just for you to tell me it's first grade," he
retorted.
"Since when has Vonu added an appraiser?"
"Since this day." I held the stone between me and the light to look at it
again.
"A fleck of clouding," I commented.
"Where?" He went across the booth in two strides, snatched the jewel out of
my hand. "Any clouding came from your breathing on it. This is a top stone."
He swung around to the Orbsleon. "Four trade--"
"Zorans are not four trade," the talker clicked. "Not even top grade."
The captain frowned, half turned, as if to march out of the booth. "Three
then."
"One-"
"No! Tardorc will give me more. Three."
"Go Tadorc. Two only."
"Two and a half--"
I had no idea what they bid, since they did not use the conventional
credits. Perhaps Waystar had its own scale of value.
The Orbsleon seemed to have reached a firm decision.
"Two only. Go Tadorc--"
"All right, two." The captain dropped the zoran on the lap table and the
alien's other tentacle stretched to a board of small burtons. When that
mobile tip punched out a series on it there was no vocal reply. But he used
the talker again.
"Two trade--at four wharf--take supplies as needed."
"Two!" The captain made an explosive oath of that word as he left with a
force which might have been a stamp in a place of higher gravity.
The alien again threw the zoran, this time to be caught by the detect, who
tucked it away in one of his boxes. And it was then that my earlier
guide-guard came to the front of the booth.
"You"--he gestured to me--"come along." Glad for the moment to be released
from the boredom of the booth, I went.
Chapter Thirteen
"Top Veep," Eet's warning came, to match my own guess as to where we were
being taken. We again climbed through the levels to the higher ways of the
station, this time passing the one where the Orbsleon had his quarters. Now
the time-roughened walls about us showed dim traces of what had once been
ornamentation. Perhaps for whatever creatures had built this station this
had been officer territory.
I was motioned through a roll door, my guards remaining outside. They made a
half-hearted attempt to stop Eet, but he suddenly developed an agility he
had not shown before and pushed past them. I thought it odd they did not
follow. Then, a moment later, I discovered why the inhabitant of these
particular quarters did not need their attendance, for with another step I
struck rather painfully against a force wall.
Also, inside this room the light gravity to which I had partially adjusted
not only had become full for my race, but had an added pull, so it was an
effort to take a step.
Beyond that invisible barrier the room was furnished as might be one in a
luxury caravansary on some inner planet. Yet the furniture did not harmonize
but was jammed together, showing even differences in scale size, as if some
pieces had been made for bodies smaller or larger than my own. The one thing
these had in common was their richness, which in some cases was gaudy and
blatantly flamboyant.
Stretched in an easirest was the Veep. He was of Terran descent, but with
certain subtle differences, modifications of feature, which suggested
mutation. Probably he came from a race which had been among the early
colonists. His hair had been cut so that it stood above his partially shaven
skull in a stiffened roach, making him resemble one of the mercenaries of
old times, and I wondered how he got a space helmet over that crest, if he
ever did. His skin was brown, not just space-tanned, and there were two
scars, too regular to be anything but inflicted on purpose for a patterning,
running from corner of eye to chin on either side of his mouth.
Like the gaudy room, his clothing was a colorful mixture of planetary styles
from several worlds. His long legs, stretched out in the rest, which fitted
itself to give him greatest comfort, were encased in tight-fitting
breech-legging-boots of a pliable, white-furred hide, the fur patterned with
a watered rippling. Above his waist he wore the brilliant black-and-silver
combination of a Patrol admiral's dress tunic complete with begemmed stars
and ribbons of decorations. But the sleeves of that had been cut out,
leaving his arms bare to the shoulders. Below his elbows he wore on both
arms very wide bracelets or armlets of irridium, one mounted with what could
only be Terran rubies of the first water, the other with sol sapphires and
lokerals running in alternate rows, the vivid greens and blues in harmonious
contrast. Both armlets were barbaric in taste.
In addition, his stiffened top ridge of hair was encircled by a band of mesh
metal, green-gold--from which hung, flat against his forehead, a pendant
bearing a single koro--about ten carats and very fine. The whole effect was
that of what he must be, a pirate chief on display.
Whether he wore that mixture of splendor and bad taste by choice or for the
effect such a bold showing of wealth might have on his underlings, I did not
know. The Guild men in the upper echelons were usually inclined to be
conservative in dress rather than ostentatious. But perhaps as master, or
one of the masters, of Waystar, he was not Guild.
He watched me reflectively. Meeting his dark eyes, I had the impression that
his clothing was a mask of sorts, meant to bedazzle and mislead those with
whom he dealt. He was holding a small plate of white translucent jade in one
hand, from time to time raising it to his mouth to touch tongue tip in a
small licking movement to the gob of blue paste it held.
"They tell me"--he spoke Basic with no definable accent--"that you know
Forerunner material."
"To some extent, Gentle Homo. I have seen, have been able to examine perhaps
ten different art forms."
"Over there--" He pointed, not with his empty hand, but with his chin, to my
left. "Take a look at what lies there and tell me--is it truly Forerunner?"
A round-topped table of Salodian marble supported what he wanted appraised.
There was a long string of interwoven metal threads dotted here and there
with tiny brilliant rose-pink gems; it could have been intended as either a
necklace or a belt. Next to it was a crown or tiara, save that no human
could have worn it in comfort, for it was oval instead of round. There was a
bowl or basin, etched with lines and studded here and there with gems, as if
they had been scattered by chance or whim rather than in any obvious
pattern. And last of all, there was a weapon, still in a sheath or
holster--its hilt or butt of several different metals, each of a different
color but inlaid and mingled with the others in a way I knew we had no means
of duplicating. But what was more, I knew we had found what we had entered
this kolsa's den to seek. This was the larger part of the treasure the
Zacathans had found in the tomb; I had been too well briefed by Zilwrich to
mistake it. There were four or five other pieces, but the best and most
important lay here. It was the bowl which drew my attention, though I knew
if the Veep had not already caught the significance of those seemingly
random lines and gems he must not be given a hint, by any action of mine,
that it was a star map. I walked toward the table, coming up against the
barrier again before I reached it--a circumstance which gave me a chance to
assert myself as I was sure Hywel Jern would have done.
"You cannot expect an appraisal, Gentle Homo, if I cannot inspect closely."
He tapped a stud on the chair arm and I could advance, but I noted that he
tapped it again, twice, when I reached the table, and I did not doubt I was
now sealed in.
I picked up the woven cord and ran it through my fingers. In the past I had
seen many Forerunner artifacts, some in my father's collection, some through
the    aid of Vondar    Ustle. Many others I      had studied via tri-dee
representation. But this stolen treasure was the richest it had ever been my
good fortune to inspect. That the pieces were Forerunner would of course
have been apparent even if I had not known their recent past history. But as
everyone   knew, there were several Forerunner civilizations and this
workmanship was new to me. Perhaps the Zacathan expedition had stumbled upon
the remains of yet another of those forgotten stellar empires.
"It is Forerunner. But, I believe, a new type," I told the Veep, who still
licked at his confection and watched me with an unwavering stare. "As such
it is worth much more than its intrinsic value. In fact, I cannot set a
price on it. You could offer it to the Vydyke Commission, but you might even
go beyond what they could afford--"
"The gems, the metal, if broken up?"
At that moment his question was enough to spark revulsion and then anger in
me. To talk of destroying these for the worth of their metal and gems alone
was a kind of blasphemy which sickened anyone who knew what they were.
But he had asked me a direct question and I dared not display my reaction. I
picked up each piece in turn, longing to linger in my examination of the
bowl map, yet not daring to, lest I arouse his suspicion.
"None of the jewels is large," I reported. "Their cutting is not of the
modern fashion, which reduces their value, for you would lose even more by
attempting to recut. The metal--no. It is the workmanship and history which
makes them treasure."
"As I thought." The Veep gave a last lick to his plate and put It aside
empty.
"Yet a market for such is difficult to find."
"There are collectors, Gentle Homo, who are perhaps not as free-handed as
the Vydyke, but who would raise much on all their available resources to
have a single piece of what lies here. They would know it for a black deal
and so keep what they obtained hidden. Such men are known to the Guild."
He did not answer me at once, but continued to stare, as if he were reading
my mind more than concentrating on my words. But I was familiar enough with
mind-touch to know he was not trying that. I judged rather that he was
considering carefully what I had just said.
But I was now aware of something else which first alarmed and then excited
me. There was warmth at my middle, spreading from the pocket which held the
zero stone. And that could only mean, since I was not putting it to service,
that somewhere near was another of those mysterious gems. I looked to the
most obvious setting, that of the crown, but I saw no telltale glow there.
Then Eet's thought reached me.
"The bowl!"
I put out my hand, as if to reinspect that piece. And I saw that on the
surface nearest me, luckily turned away from the Veep, there was a bright
spark of light. One of those seemingly random jewels I had thought were
meant to mark stars had come to life!
Picking up the bowl, I turned it idly around, holding my palm to cover the
zero stone, and felt both at my middle and from the bowl the heat of life.
"Which do you think of greatest importance?" the Veep asked. I put down the
bowl, the live gem again turned away from him, looking over the whole array
as if to make up my mind.
"This perhaps." I touched the strange weapon.
"Why?"
Again I sensed a test, but this time I had failed.
"He knows!" Eet's warning came even as the Veep's hand moved toward the
buttons on the chair arm.
I threw the weapon I held. And by some superlative fortune I did not have
any right to expect, it crashed against his forehead just beneath that
dangling koro stone, as if the force field no longer protected him, or else
I was inside it. He did not even cry out, but his eyes closed and he slumped
deeper into the hold of the easirest. I whirled to face the door, sure he
had alerted his guards. The force field might protect me, but it would also
hold me prisoner. I saw the door open, the guards there. One of them cried
out and fired a laser beam. The force field held, deflected that ray enough
to send a wave of flame back, and the man farthest into the room staggered,
dropped his weapon, and fell against the one behind him.
"There is a way." Eet was by the easirest. He reached up and grabbed at the
strange weapon now lying in the Veep's lap. I swept up the other treasures,
holding them between my body and arm as I followed Eet to the wall, where he
fingered a stud and so opened a hidden door. As that fell into place behind
us, he mind-touched again.
"That will not hold them for long, and there are alarms and safeguards all
through this wall way. I scouted them out when I explored. They need only
throw those into action and we are trapped."
I leaned against the wall, unsealing my tunic and making its front into a
bag to hold what I had snatched up. It was so awkward a bundle that I had
difficulty in closing the tough fabric over it.
"Did your exploring see a way out?" I asked now. Our escape from that room
had been largely a matter of unthinking reflex action. Now I was not sure we
had not trapped ourselves.
"These are old repair ways. There are suits in a locker. They still have to
patch and repatch the outside. It depends now upon how fast we can reach the
suit locker."
The gravity here was practically nonexistent, and we made our way through
the dark, which was near absolute, by swimming through the air. Luckily
there were handholds at intervals along the outer wall, proving that this
method of progression had been used here before. But my mind worried at what
lay ahead. Supposing fortune did favor us enough to let us reach the suits,
get into them, and out on the outer shell of the station. We still had a
long strip of space to cross to the ring of wreckage, and then to find our
LB. This time the odds were clearly too high against us. I believed that the
whole of Waystar would be alerted to track us down, they to hunt over
familiar ground, we lost in their territory.
"Wait--" Eet's warning brought me up with a bump against him. "Trap ahead."
"What do we do--?"
"You do nothing, except not distract me!" he snapped. I half expected him to
make some move forward, for I thought his intention was to disarm what
waited us. But he did not. Though no mind-touch was aimed at me, I felt what
could only be waves of mental energy striking some distance ahead--and the
zero stone in my belt grew uncomfortably warm against my body.
"Well enough," Eet reported. "The energy is now burned out. We have a clear
path for a space."
We encountered two more of what Eet declared to be pitfalls, but which I
never saw, before we came out of a sliding panel in the wall into a blister
compartment on the outer skin of the hull. There we found the suits, just as
Eet had foretold. Since I could not stuff myself plus the loot I carried
into the one nearest my size, I had to pass the bowl and the tiara on to
Eet, who was in the smallest, still much too large for him.
But how we would reach the outer shell of wreckage and the LB, I had not the
least idea. The suits were both equipped, it was true, with blast beams,
intended to give any worker who was jolted off into open space a chance of
returning to the surface of the station. But if we used those, their power
might not be enough to take us all the way to the wreckage, and in addition,
we would be in plain sight of any watcher or radar screen. However, we did
have the treasure and--
"That mistake I made--does the Veep know the importance of the bowl?" I
demanded now.
"Part of it. He knows it is a map."
"Which they would not destroy willingly." I hoped that was true.
"You argue from hope, not knowledge," the mutant returned. "But it is all
the hope we may have."
I signaled exit from the bubble, and crawled out, the magnetic plates on my
boots anchoring me to the surface of the station. Once before Eet and I had
so gone into space and I was touched now with the terrible fear which had
gripped me then when I had lost my footing on the skin of the Free Trader
ship and my contact with security, and floated into empty space.
But here there was a limit to emptiness. The cargo ship which we had
followed into this port was gone, but the needle-nosed raider and the yacht
were still in orbit, and above, all around, was the mass of wreckage--
though I could sight no landmarks there and wondered how we were ever going
to discover the narrow inlet in the jagged, tangled mass which hid the LB.
I could see no reason to wait. Either we would coast across to the wreckage
or our power would fail. But to wait here any longer was to risk being
captured before we had even tried. However, we did take the precaution of
linking together by one of the hooked lines meant to anchor a worker to the
surface of the station. So united, we took off between the two ships hanging
ominously above.
"I cannot reach the controls of my jet--" Eet delivered what might be a
final blow, dooming us to capture. Would the power in my own shoulder-borne
rocket be enough to take us both over?
I triggered the controls, felt the push thrust which sent me and the suit
containing Eet away from the station. My aim was the nearest of wreckage. I
might be able to work my way along that in search of the passage if I could
get to it. But every moment I expected to be caught by tangle beams, somehow
sure that the Veep would not risk an annihilating weapon which would destroy
his treasure.
The spurt of thrust behind me continued, in spite of the drag Eet caused as
he spun slowly about at the end of the line, and there did not come any
pursuit or pressure beam. I did not feel any triumph, only a foreboding
which wore on my nerves. It is always worse to wait for an attack. I was
certain that we had been sighted and that any moment we would be caught in a
net. The thrust failed while we were still well away from the wreckage. And
though I got one more small burst by frantic fingering of the controls, it
did little more than set me spinning across a small portion of that gap. Eet
had been carried ahead of me by some chance of my own efforts, and now I saw
his suit roll from side to side, as if, within it, he fought to reach his
controls and so activate his own power.
What he did I could not tell, but suddenly there was a lunge forward of his
spinning suit, and he towed me with him. The power of his progress
intensified, for he no longer rolled. Now he was as straight as a dart flung
at some target, and he dragged me easily behind as he headed for the
wreckage. Still I could not guess why we had not been followed.
The splintered and dangerous mass of that wall of derelict ships grew more
distinct. I trusted Eet could control his power, so that we would not be
hurled straight into it. The merest scrape of some projection could tear
suits and kill us in an instant.
Eet was rolling again, fighting against the full force of the power. Though
I could do little to control my own passage, I rolled, too, hoping to meet
feet first a piece of ship's side which would afford a reasonably smooth
landing among the debris.
We whirled on at a faster pace than my own pack had sent us. And I guessed
suddenly that Eet was making use of the zero stone on the map to trigger the
energy of his rocket.
"Off!" I thought that as an order. "Well be cut to ribbons if you do not."
Whether he could not control the force now, I did not know, but my feet
slammed with bone-shaking impact against the smooth bit I had aimed for. I
reached out, trying to grip Eet's suit. He had managed to turn, to coast
alongside of the debris, just far enough away not to be entangled in it,
yet. The magnetic plates in my boots kept me anchored, but not for long.
Though I stopped Eet's advance with a sharp jerk, I was immediately
thereafter torn loose by the power which dragged him on.
We nudged along beside the wreckage, twisting and turning as best we could
to avoid any contact. Even if we might not be picked up by sight scanners
against the camouflaging irregularities of that mass of metal, any heat
identification ray could pick us up. And I did not doubt in the least that
such equipment was in use at Waystar.
Was it that they dared not attack for fear of losing the treasure? Had they
sent ahead of us some command to activate the outer defenses, to keep us
bottled up until they could collect us at their leisure? Perhaps when loss
of air had rendered us perfectly harmless?
"I think they want you alive." Eet's answer came in response to my last dark
speculation. "They guess that you know the value of the map. They want to
know why. And perhaps they know that Hywel Jern did not really rise from the
dead. I may read minds, but in that nest back there I could not sort out all
thoughts."
I was not interested in the motives of the enemy. I was absorbed now in
escape, if that was at all possible. Given time, we might work our way
completely around the wall of debris to find the entrance. But such time our
air supply would not offer.
"Ahead--the ship with the broken hatch," Eet said suddenly. "That I have
seen before!"
I could make out the broken hatch. It took the shape of a half-opened mouth.
And in me, too, memory stirred. I had set gloved hand to the edge of that
very same hatch just before the pressure beam had made us captive. We could
not be far now from the entrance, though I could hardly believe in such
fortune. Eet put on an extra burst of speed, drawing out a space from the
wreckage, and certainly this energy could not all come from the suit rocket.
The spurt was enough to bring us inside the ship passage. And we worked our
way back from one handgrip to another, or rather I did so, pulling Eet's
suit along. Only the fact that we were both relatively weightless made it
possible. And even then, I was weak, shaking with fatigue, not certain I
could make the full journey. Every handhold I won to and from was a
struggle. I did not direct my attention to the whole passage yet ahead, but
limited it to the next hold only, and then to the next. I even lost my fear
of what might lie behind my concentration was so great on just swinging to
the next hold-- We gained, I was not quite sure how, the crevice in which we
had left the LB and crawled to its hatch. But once I slammed the door shut
behind us I lost my last ounce of energy, and slid down, unable to move,
watching Eet, in the clumsy suit, lift one arm with visible effort to reach
the inner controls, fail, and then with grim patience try again.
Eventually he succeeded. Air hissed in around me and the inner hatch opened.
The suit holding Eet squirmed and wriggled, and then the mutant emerged,
kicked the suit away in an almost vindictive gesture, and scrambled over to
me to fumble with the sealings which held me in the protective covering.
The ship air revived me to the extent that I was able to shed that shell and
crawl on into the cabin. Eet had preceded me, and now squatted in the
pilot's web, fingering the buttons to ease us out and away.
I dragged myself to the hammock, lay weakly back in it. I did not believe at
that moment that we had the least chance of breaking through the outer
defenses of Waystar. We and our ship must meet some force field which would
hold us, intact, as our captors wanted. But some reckless desire to go down
fighting made me take the zero stone out in my shaking hands. I broke the
disguise it had given me, or hoped I did. Having no mirror I could not be
sure. Now--there was something I could do which would at least confuse them
if they slapped a spy ray on us.
"Such comes now," Eet reported and then closed his mind tightly, intent only
on getting us out of the tunnel.
How much time did I have? The stone burned my hands but I held on. I had no
mirror to mark the course of my transformation, but I willed it with all the
energy and resource I had left. Then I lay back weakly, unable even to put
away the precious source of my pain.
I looked blearily down what I could see of my prone body. There were, surely
I could not be mistaken, the furred breeches, and above them the brilliance
of a space admiral's tunic. I turned my head a fraction from side to side.
My arms were bare, below the elbow wearing the gemmed armlets. I was, I
hoped, by the power of the zero stone, a complete copy of the Veep. If they
now snooped us with a seeing ray, the change might give us a small
advantage, a few moments of confusion among our enemies.
Eet did not turn to look at me but his thought rang in my head.
"Very well done. And--here comes their snoop ray!"
Not having his senses, I must take his word for that. I levered myself up in
the hammock with what energy I could summon, which was only enough to keep
me braced with some small semblance of alertness. Eet suddenly slapped a
furred fist on the board and the answering leap of the LB pinned me against
the hammock. My head spun, I was sick--then I was swept into darkness.
Chapter Fourteen
When I roused groggily I lay staring at the rounded expanse above me, not
able at once to remember where I was, or perhaps even who I was. With what
seemed painful and halting slowness, memory of the immediate past returned.
At least we were still in existence; we had not been snuffed out by some
defense weapon of the pirate stronghold. But were we free? Or held captive
by a force beam? I tried to lever myself up and the LB hammock swayed.
But I had had a look at my own body and I was not now wearing the semblance
of the Veep--though a furry dwarf still hunched at the controls of the small
craft. My hand went to the bulge in my belt. The sooner I was sure I was
myself again, the better. I had a strange feeling that I could not think or
plan until I was Murdoc Jern outwardly as well as inwardly, as if the outer
disguise could change me from myself into a weak copy of the man my father
had been. Eet had been a cat, but I had willed that on him without his
desire. This I had taken upon myself by my own wish, meant to be outer, not
complete. What did make sense any more?
"You are yourself," came Eet's thought. But there was something else. My
hand rested upon a pocket wherein all those days, months, I had carried the
zero stone. And there was no reassuring hard lump to be felt. It was
flat--emptyl
"The stone!" I cried that aloud. I drew myself up, though my body was weak
and drained of energy. "The stone--"
Then Eet turned to me. His alien face was a mask as far as I was concerned.
I could read no expression there.
"The stone is safe," he thought-flashed.
"But where--?"
"It is safe," he repeated. "And you are Murdoc Jern outwardly again. We are
through their defenses. The snooper ray caught you in the Veep's seeming and
was deceived long enough for the stone to boost us out of range."
"So that is the way you used it. I will take it now." I held myself upright,
though I must still clutch at the hammock to keep that position. Eet had
used the zero stone even as we had once used it to boost the power of a
Patrol scout ship and so escape capture. I was angry with myself for having
overlooked that one weapon in our armament. "I will take it now," I repeated
when Eet made no move to show me where it was. Though I had worked on the LB
under Ryzk's direction I could not be sure where Eet had put it for the
greatest effect in adding to our present drive.
"It is safe," he told me for the third time. Now the evasiveness of that
reply made an impression on me.
"It is mine--"
"Ours." He was firm. "Or, rather, it was yours by sufferance."
Now I was thinking clearly again. "The--the time I turned you into a cat...
You are afraid of that--"
"Once warned, I cannot be caught so again. But the stone is danger if used
in an irresponsible fashion."
"And you"--I controlled my rising anger with all the strength I had
learned--"are going to see that it is not!"
"Just so. The stone is safe. And what is more to the purpose--look here." He
pointed with one of his fingers to something which, for the want of other
safekeeping, lay in the second hammock.
I loosed one hand to pull that webbing a little toward me. There lay the
bowl with the map incised on its outer surface. A moment later I held it
close to my eyes.
With the bowl turned over, the bottom was a half sphere on which the small
jewels which must be stars winked in the light. And I saw, now that I had
the time and chance to view it searchingly, that those varied. My own
species rate stars on our charts by color--red, blue, white, yellow, dwarfs
and giants. And here it would seem that the unknown maker of this chart had
done the same. Save in one place alone, where next to a yellow gem which
might denote a sun was a zero stone!
Quickly I spun the bowl around, studying the loose pattern. Yes, there were
other planets indicated about those colored suns, but they were done in
tiny, amost invisible dots. Only the one was a gem.
"Why, think you?" Eet's question reached me.
"Because it was the source!" I could hardly believe that we might hold the
answer to our quest. I think my unbelief was bom in the subconscious thought
that it would be one of those quests, such as fill the ancient ballads and
sagas, wherein the end is never quite in the grasp of mortals.
But it is one thing to hold a star map and another to find on it some
already known point. I was no astro-navigator and unless some point of
reference marked on this metal matched our known charts, we could spend a
lifetime looking, unable even to locate the territory it pictured.
"We know where it was found," Eet suggested.
"Yes, but it may be another case of a relic of an earlier civilization
treasured by its finder long after and buried with one who never even knew
the life form that fashioned it, let alone the planets it lists."
"The Zacathan may furnish our key, together with Ryzk, who does know these
star lanes. The stars this shows may be largely uncharted now. But still,
those two together might give us one point from which we can work."
"You will tell them?" That surprised me somewhat, for Eet had never before
suggested hinting to anyone that the caches we had disclosed to the Patrol
were not the sum total of the stones now in existence. In fact, our quest
had been his plan from its inception.
"What is needful. That this is the clue to another treasure. The Zacathan
will be drawn by his love of knowledge, Ryzk because it will be a chance for
gain."
"But Zilwrich is to be returned with the treasure to the nearest port. Of
course--" I began to see that perhaps Eet was not so reckless as he seemed
in suggesting that we plunge into the unknown with a map which might be
older than my species itself as our only guide. "Of course, we did not say
when we would return him."
There was in the back of my mind the thought that the Zacathan might even
willingly agree to our plan to go exploring along the bowl route, the thirst
for knowledge being as keen as it was among his kind.
But though I held that star map in my hand, my attention returned to the
more important point for now.
"The stone, Eet."
"It is safe." He did not enlarge upon that. There was, of course, this other
stone, which, compared to the one we had used, was a mere pin point of
substance, now so dull as to be overlooked by anyone not aware of its
unusual properties. Did the amount of energy booster depend upon the size of
the stone? I remembered how Eet had produced that burst of power which had
brought us along the barrier of the wreckage. Had all that come from this
dull bit which I could well cover with only a fraction of the tip of my
little finger? It must be that we had learned only a small portion of what
the stones could do.
I was most eager to get back to the ship, away from Waystar. And as the LB
was on course, I began to wonder at the length of our trip. Surely we had
not been this far from where we had set down on the dead moon.
"The homer--" I moved to see that dial. Its indicator showed set to bring us
back on automatics to the Wendwind. Suddenly I doubted its efficiency. Most
of the alterations in the controls of the LB had been rigged by Ryzk, were
meant to be only temporary, and had been made with difficulty--though it was
true that a Free Trader had training in repairs and extempore rigging which
the average spacer never learned.
Suppose the linkage with the parent ship was faulty? We could be lost in
space. Yet it was true we were holding to a course.
"Certainly," Eet broke into my ominous chain of thought. "But not, I
believe, to the moon. And if they go into hyper--"
"You mean--they have taken off? Not waiting for us?" Perhaps that fear, too,
had ever lain in the depths of my mind. Our visit to Waystar had been so
rash an undertaking that Ryzk and the Zacathan could well have written us
off almost as soon as we left for the pirate station. Or Zilwrich might have
begun to fail and the pilot, realizing the Zacathan was too far spent to
object, and wanting to get him to some aid-- There were many reasons I could
count for myself for the Wendwind to have taken off. But we were still on
course for something--a course which would hold only until the ship went
into hyper for a system jump. If that happened, our guide line would snap
and we would be adrift-- with only a return to Waystar or a landing on one
of the dead worlds for our future.
"If they left for out-system they would hyper--"
"If they do not know the system they must reach its outermost planet before
they do," Eet reminded me.
"The stone--if we use that to step up energy to join them--"
"Such a journey must be made with great care. To maneuver the LB and the
ship together during flight--" But it was apparent that Eet was thinking for
himself as well as for my enlightenment. He studied the control board and
now he shook his head. "It is a matter of great risk. These are not true
controls, only improvised, and so might not serve us at a moment of pressing
need."
"A choice between two evils," I pointed out. "We stay here and die, or we
take the chance of meeting with the ship. As long as we remain on course we
are linked with her. Why doesn't"--I was suddenly struck by a new
thought--"Ryzk know we are following? The fact that we are should have
registered--"
"The indicator in the ship may have failed. Or perhaps he does not choose to
wait."
If the pilot did not want to wait--he had the Wendwind, he had the Zacathan,
and he had an excellent excuse for our disappearance. He might return to the
nearest port with the rescued archaeologist, the coordinates of Waystar to
deliver to the Patrol, a ship he could claim for back wages. All in all, the
master stars lay in his hand in this game and we had no comets to cut across
the playing board to bring him down--except the zero stone.
"Into the hammock," Eet warned now. "I shall cut in the stone power. And
hope that the ship does not hyper before we can catch up."
I lay down again. But Eet remained by the controls. Could the alien body he
had wished upon himself stand the strain of not using such protection as the
LB afforded? If Eet blacked out, I could not take his place, and we could
well strike the Wendwind with projectile speed.
In the past I had been through the strain of take-offs in ships built for
speed. But the LB was not such. I could only remember that the original
purpose of the craft was to flee a stricken ship, and that it must thus be
fit to take the strain of a leap away from danger. To sustain such energy,
however, was another matter. Now I lay in the hammock and endured, though I
did not quite black out. It seemed as if the very material of the walls
about us, protested against the force. And the bowl, which I still held, had
a fiery spot of light on its surface where the infinitely smaller stone
answered the burst of power from the larger, which Eet had concealed.
I endured and I watched through a haze the furred body of Eet, his arms
flung out, his fingers crooked to hold in position at the controls. Then I
heard the loud rasp of painful breathing which was not mine alone. And every
second I expected a break in the link tying us to the ship, the signal that
the Wendwind has gone into hyper, vanished out of the space we knew.
Either my sight was affected by the strain or else Eet was so pinned by our
speed that he could not function well, but I saw mistily his one hand creep
at a painfully slow rate to thumb a single lever. Then we were free of that
punishing pressure. I clawed my way out of the hammock, swung across to
elbow Eet aide, and took his place, facing the small battery of winking
lights and warnings I did understand and which Ryzk had patiently drilled me
to respond to. We had reached match distance of the Wendwind and must now
join her. Automatics had been set up to deal with much of this, but there
were certain alarms I must be ready to answer if they were triggered. And if
Ryzk had ignored our following signal, he could not, short of winking
instantly into hyper, avoid our present homing.
I sweated out those endless seconds at the board, my fingers poised and
ready to make any correction, watching the dials whose reading could mean
life or death not only to us but to the ship we fought to join. Then we were
at our goal. The visa-screen winked on to show the gap of the bay for the LB
and we bumped into it. The screen went dark again as the leaves of the bay
closed about us. I was weak with relief. But Eet arose from where he had
crouched, hanging to one end of the other hammock.
"There is trouble--"
He did not complete that thought. I cannot tell now-- there are no words
known to my species to describe what happened then--for we were not bedded
down, prepared for the transition as was needful. We were not even warned.
Seconds only had brought us in before the ship went into hyper.
There was the taste of blood in my mouth. I drooled it forth to flow
stickily down my chin. When I opened my eyes I was in the dark, a dark which
brought the terror of blindness with it. My whole body was one great ache
which, when I tried to move, became sheer agony. But somehow I got my hand
to my head, wiped it without knowing across the stickiness of blood. I could
not see!
"Eet!" I think I screamed that. The sound echoed in my ears, adding to the
pain in my head.
There was no answer. The dark continued. I tried to feel about me and my
hand struck against solid substance as memory stirred. I was in the LB, we
had returned to the ship just an instant before it had gone into hyper.
How badly I was hurt I did not know. As the LBs had originally been
fashioned to take care of injured survivors of some space catastrophe, I
needed only get back to the hammock and the craft would be activated into
treating me. I felt about me, seeking the touch of webbing. But though my
one arm obeyed me, I could not move the other at all. And I touched nothing
but wall. I tried to inch my body along, sliding my fingers against that
wall, seeking some break, some change in its surface. The quarters of the LB
were so confined that surely I could soon find one of the hammocks. I flung
my arm up and out, rotating it through the thick darkness. It encountered
nothing. But I was in the LB and it was too small for me not to have found
the hammock by now. The thought of the hammock, that it was ready to soothe
my pain, to apply restoratives and healing, so filled me that I forced
myself to greater efforts to find it. But my agonizing movements, so slow
and limited, told me that there was no hammock. And whatever space in which
I now lay was not in the LB. My hand fell to the floor and touched a small,
inert body. Eet! Not as I had seen him last, my exploring fingers reported.
But Eet, the mutant, as he had been from birth.
I drew my fingers down his furred side and thought I detected a very faint
fluttering there, as if his heart still beat. Then I tried to discover by
touch alone whether he bore any noticeable wounds. The darkness--I would not
allow myself to accept the thought that I was blind--took on a heavy,
smothering quality. I was gasping as if the lack of light was also a lack of
air. Then I feared that it was, and that we had been sealed in somewhere to
suffocate. Eet did not answer my thoughts, which I tried to make coherent. I
felt on, beyond him, and sometime later gave up the hope we were in the LB.
Instead we lay in a confined space with a door which would not yield to the
small force I could exert against it. We must be on board the Wendwind--and
I believed we were now imprisoned in one of those stripped lower cabins
which had been altered for cargo transport. This could only mean that Ryzk
had taken command. What he might have told the Zacathan I did not know. Our
actions had been strange enough to give credence to some story that we
operated outside the law, and Ryzk could testify truly that we had brought
him on board without his knowledge. The Zacathans were esper--telepaths.
Ryzk could tell the exact truth and Zilwrich would have to believe him. We
could well be on our way now to being delivered to the Patrol as kidnapers
and shady dealers with the pirates of Waystar. Yes, as I painfully marshaled
the facts as another would see them I realized that Ryzk could make an
excellent case, and Zilwrich would back him up. That we brought back part of
the treasure meant nothing. We could have done that and still planned to
keep it, and the Zacathan, for ransom. Such deals were far from unknown.
If Ryzk had been black-listed, bringing us in might return him to the rolls.
And if we underwent, or I underwent, deep interrogation--the whole affair of
the zero stone would be known. It would be clear that we were guilty of what
the Patrol might deem double-dealing. Ryzk had only to play a completely
honest man at the nearest port and we would have lost our big gamble.
It seemed so hopeless when I thought it all out that I could see no possible
counter on our part. Had we one of the zero stones we might--so much had I
come to accept the unusual powers of those strange gems-have a fighting
chance. Eet--if he were not dead--or dying--might just--
I felt my way back to that small body, gathered it carefully up so that
Eet's head rested against me, and put my good arm protectingly around it. I
thought now that I no longer felt that small stirring of a heartbeat. There
was no answer to my mind-call. So there was good reason to believe that Eet
was dead. And in that moment I forgot all my annoyance at his interference
in my life, the way he had taken over the ordering of my days. Perhaps I was
one who needed such dependence upon a stronger will. There had been my
father, then Vondar Ustle, then Eet--
Only I would not accept that this was the end. If Eet was dead, then Ryzk
would pay for that death. I had thought of the aid of the stone, and the aid
of Eet, and both of them were gone. What remained was myself, and I was not
ready to say I was finished.
I had always believed that I was no esper. Certainly no such talent was
apparent in me before I met Eet. He had touched my mind for communication
and I had learned that use from him. He had at one uncomfortable time given
me mental contact with another human in order to prove our innocence to a
Patrol officer. Then he had taught me to use the hallucinatory change and I
had been the one to discover that the zero stone could bring about an almost
total change. But Eet--he was either dead or very close to it. I had neither
Eet nor the stone. I was hurt, how badly I could not tell, and I was a
prisoner. There was only one small --very small--spark of hope left--the
Zacathan. He was normally esper, as was Eet. Could I possibly reach him now?
Make some appeal?
I stared into a dark which I hoped would not be my portion all the rest of
my life, but in my mind I pictured the face of Zilwrich as I had seen it
last. And I strove to hold that face in mind, not now for the purpose of
making it mine, but rather as a homing point for my thought-seek. And I
aimed, not a coherent thought, but a signal for attention, a cry for help.
Then--I touched! It was as if I had put tip of finger to a falder leaf which
had instantly coiled away from contact with my flesh. Then--it returned.
But I was racked with disappointment. With Eet mind-touch had been clear, as
it had been with the Zacathan when the mutant was present. This was a jumble
of a language I did not know, poured at me in a wealth of impressions too
fast for me to sort and understand, forming a sickening, chaotic whirl, so
that I must retreat, drop touch.
Eet was the connecting link I must have. Otherwise I could only try until
that whirl of alien thought drove my brain into mindlessness. I considered
the chances. I could stay prisoner here for whatever purpose Ryzk had in
mind. Or I could try the Zacathan again. And it was not in me to accept the
helplessness of that first choice.
So, warily, as a man might seek a path across a quaking bog ready to swallow
him up in a thousand hungry mud mouths, I sent out once more the mind-seek.
But this time I thought my message--slowly, impression by impression, and
doggedly held to what I had to convey as the stream of the alien mind lapped
over it. I did not try to tell Zilwrich anything, as I would have "talked"
to Eet. I merely thought out over and over again what I would have him know,
letting it lie for him to pick up as he could. Though I feared my slow
channel was as unintelligible to him as his frighteningly swift flow was to
me. Once, twice, three times, a fourth, I thought through what I made as my
plea. Then I could hold no longer. The pain of my body was as nothing
compared to the pain now filling my mind. And I lost contact as well as
consciousness, just as I had when we had snapped into hyper.
It was as if I were being pricked over and over again by the sharp point of
a needle. I stirred under that torment, which was small and far away at
first, and then became so much the greater, more insistent. And I fought to
remain in the safety of nothingness. Prick-- the summons to what I did not
want continued.
"Eet?" But it was not Eet--no--
"Wait--"
Wait for what, who? I did not care. Eet? No, Eet was dead. And I would be
dead. Death was not caring, not needing to care, or feel, or think-- And I
wanted just that--no more stirring of life, which hurt both mind and body.
Eet was dead, and I was dead, or would be if the' pricking would only stop
and leave me in peace.
"Awake--"
Awake? I thought it was "wait." Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered--
"Awake!"
A shouting in my head. I hurt and that hurting came from outside. I turned
my head from side to side, as if to shake out the voice in my mind.
"Keep awake!" screamed that order and the pain it caused me aroused me
further from my stupor. I was moaning a little, whimpering through the dark
a plea to be let alone, left to the death which was rest.
"Keep awake!"
Hammering inside my skull. Now I could hear my own whimpering plaint and was
unable to stop. But also with the pain came an awareness which was a barrier
against my slipping back into the nothingness.
"Awake--hold--"
Hold what? My rolling head? There was nothing to hold.
Then I sensed, not words echoing through my bruised mind, but something
else--a stiffening, a support against which my feeble thoughts could find
root and sustenance. And this continued until I stared wide-eyed into the
dark, as much another person inwardly as I had been outwardly with the
hallucinations born of the zero stone. For only a limited time, somehow I
knew, would that support me. And during that time I must make any attempt I
could to help myself. Chapter Fifteen
Somehow I got to my feet, still holding Eet against me with my" good arm, my
other hanging uselessly by my side. I was ready to move, but where, against
what--or whom? Realizing I was still helplessly caught in this pocket of
dark, I was ready to slump again into a stupor.
"Wait--be ready--" There was a sense of strain in that message, as if he who
sent it were making a vast effort.
Well, I was waiting and ready, but for how long? And in this dark time
seemed forever and ever, not measured by any standard I had known.
Then came sound, a small grating, and I knew a leap of heart--I was not
blind after all! There was a line of light to my right. I lurched in that
direction as that line grew from a slit into an opening I could squeeze
through --though I was blinking against the discomfort of light.
I brought out and up against the wall of the well which was the core of the
ship, too spent for a moment to turn and see who had freed me. But leaning
one shoulder against the wall, I was able to face about.
Zilwrich, whom I had last seen lying on the pallet, supported himself with
his two arms rigid against "the floor, clearly at the end of the flutter of
strength which had made him crawl to the door of my cell. He lifted his head
with manifest effort.
"You--are--free-- To you--the rest--"
Free but weaponless, and as near the end of my resources as the Zacathan,
though not yet finished. Somehow I was able to lay Eet on the floor, get my
good arm about Zilwrich, and half drag the Zacathan back to the bed he had
crawled from. Then I stumbled out, picked up the mutant, and brought him
back, nursed against me, though no tending would return life to that small
body.
"Tell me." I used the Basic speech, glad to be able to relinquish touch with
that bewildering alien mind. "What happened?"
"Ryzk"--Zilwrich spoke slowly as if each word came hard--"would go to
Lylestane--return me--the treasure--"
"And turn us in," I ended, "probably as accomplices in Guild plotting."
"He--wishes--reinstatement. I did not know you had returned alive--until
your mind-seek. He said--you died --when we went into hyper."
I glanced down at the limp body pressed to mine. "One of us did."
I might be free inside the ship, but that I could do anything to change the
course of events I doubted. Ryzk would return us to Lylestane and
we--I--would find the balance of justice heavily weighted against me. Not
only were circumstances largely in the pilot's favor, but under the scanner
they would have out of me all that the zero stone meant. And--the zero
stone! Eet had concealed it somewhere in the LB. As far as I knew Ryzk did
not suspect it. If I could get hand on it again-- I was not sure how I could
use it as a weapon. But that it had possiblities of this sort there was no
doubt. The LB-but Eet had hidden the stone and Eet was dead.
The bowl--if I had that I could trace the zero stone by the fire of the one
inlaid in it.
"The treasure--where is it?"
"In the lock safe." Zilwrich's eyes were on me with piercing keenness, but
he was ready enough with that information.
The lock safe-- If Ryzk had sealed that with his own thumb, I had no chance
of getting the bowl. The compartment would remain closed until he chose to
release it.
"No." It would seem that like Eet the Zacathan could readily read my mind,
but that did not matter. "No--it is sealed to me."
"He allowed that?"
"He had to. What is this thing you must have--that the bowl will bring you
nearer to--a weapon?"
"I do not know if it can be a weapon. But it is a source of power beyond our
reckoning. Eet hid it in the LB; the bowl will find it for me."
"Help me--to the lock safe."
It was a case of the lame leading the crippled. We made a hard journey of a
short space. But I was able to steady the alien while he activated the thumb
lock and I scooped out the bowl. He held it tightly to him as I guided and
supported him back to his bed.
Before he released the bowl to me he turned it around in his hands,
examining it closely. Finally one of his finger talons tapped the tiny zero
stone.
"This you seek."
"We have long sought it, Eet and I." There was no use in concealing the
truth any longer. We might not make the voyage we had planned, going out
among the uncharted stars in search of an ancient world which was the source
of the stones, but it was the here and now which mattered most--the finding
of the one Eet had hidden.
"It is a map, and you hunt the treasure you believe lies at its end?"
"More than such treasure as you found in the tomb." And, as tersely as I
could, I told him the story of the zero stones--the one in my father's ring,
those of the caches on the unknown planet, that which Eet had secreted, and
how we had used it since.
"I see. Take this then." Zilwrich held out the bowl. "Find your hidden
stone. It would seem that we were on the edge of a vast discovery when we
uncovered this--but one which would unleash perils such as a man thinks
twice about loosing."
I held the bowl to me as I had held Eet, using my shoulder against the wall
to keep erect, shambling from Zilwrich's cabin to the ladder, down which I
fell rather than climbed, to reach the LB's berth. The last steps of that
journey were such a drain that I could hardly take them.
Then I was back in the craft which had served us so well. I fought to keep
moving, holding the bowl a little away from ne now, watching the zero stone.
It glimmered and then broke into vivid life. But it was hard to see how I
could use it as a guide, since there seemed no variation in that light.
However, I must try.
I moved jerkily, first to the tail, without any change I could detect in the
degree of emanation from the bowl stone. But as I came up the right side of
the small ship on return the bowl moved in my grasp, fought my hold. I
released it. As the zero stone, on its first awakening, had pulled me across
space to the derelict ship where others of its kind lay, so did the bowl
cross, to hang suspended against a part of the casing. I jerked and tore at
the rim of the casing, hoping Eet had not been able to seal in the stone too
tightly. As my nails broke and my fingers were lacerated by the sharp edging
I began to despair. One-handed there was little I could do to force it.
But I continued to fight, and at last I must have touched what lock was
there, for a whole section of panel fell down and I saw the brilliant blaze
of the large stone within. The bowl snapped to meet it until stone touched
stone, and I did not try to part them. With the bowl I began to retrace my
way. When I subsided beside Zilwrich, the bowl on the floor between us, he
looked at the gems but seemed as content as I at that moment to do no more.
Not only was I too weak to prod my body to more effort, but my thoughts were
dulled, slow. Now that I had found the second stone, I could not see any way
to make use of it against Ryzk. It seemed that, having achieved this one
small success, I was finished.
Eet lay on the edge of the Zacathan's pallet and one of the alien's scaled
hands rested on the mutant's head.
"This one is not dead--"
I was startled out of my lethargy. "But--"
"There is still the spark of life, very low, very dim, but there."
I was no medico, and even if I had been I would have had no knowledge to
deduce the mutant's hurts. My own helplessness was an added burden. Eet
would die and there was nothing I could do--
Or was there?
For a little beyond Eet's head was the bowl, the stones close-welded
together. The zero stone was power. It had the power to turn us into the
seeming of others and hold that seeming. And I had been able to turn Eet
into a cat because I had sprung that change on him when he did not expect
it. Could I will, not change, but will life itself into the mutant's body?
As long as there was a faint spark left, I must try.
I took the left hand on my limp and useless arm with my right, moved the
numb palm to rest on the stones, not caring if I would be burned. At least I
would not feel it. The right I put on Eet's head. I set my mind to the task,
summoning, not some strange disguise for my companion, but rather the sight
of him as he was alive. So did I fight my battle--with mind, with a hand
which will always bear the scars, with my determination, against death
itself, or what Eet's kind knew as the end of existence. And I strove with
the power passing through me to find that spark Zilwrich said existed, to
fan it into flame. The stones made a fire to fill one's sight, shutting out
the cabin, the Zacathan, even Eet, but I continued to hold the image of the
live Eet in my mind. My eyes which had been useless in the dark of the cell
were now blinded again, by light. But I held fast in spite of that in me
which cringed, and cried, and tried to flee.
Nor was I truly conscious of why I fought that battle, save that it was one
which I must face to the end. I was at last done, my seared hand lying palm
up on my knee, the bowl and stone hidden from me by a fold of cloth. Eet no
longer lay limp, with the semblance of death, but sat on his haunches, his
paw-hands folded over his middle, his stance one of alert life, of complete
restoration. I caught communication, or the edge of it, between the Zacathan
and my companion. But so difficult was it now for me to hold to any thought
that it was more like hearing a murmur or whisper from across a room.
Eet moved with all his old agility, bringing out the aid kit, seeing to my
hand, giving me also a shot to counteract the hurt in my arm. But to me this
had little or no meaning. I watched the Zacathan agree to something Eet
suggested and the mutant carry the bowl out of the room--into hiding again,
I supposed. But all I wanted was sleep.
Hunger awoke me. I was still in the Zacathan's cabin. If Ryzk had paid him a
visit during the time I slept he had not seen fit to return me to custody.
But that I had slept worried me vaguely. There was much to be done and I had
failed to do it.
Eet whisked in, almost as if my waking had sent him some signal. He carried
in his mouth as he came two of those tubes of E-rations. And seeing them,
for a second or two I forgot all else. But when I had squeezed one into my
mouth and savored the first few swallows (though normally I would not have
considered them appetizing) I had a question:
"Ryzk?"
"We can do nothing while in hyper," Eet reported. "And he has found his own
amusement. It seems that this ship was not thoroughly searched when it was
taken in as a smuggler. Somehow Ryzk uncovered a supply of vorx and is now
having sweet dreams in his cabin."
Vorx was potent enough to give anyone dreams-- though whether they we're
sweet was another question. It was not only an intoxicating drink, but so
acted on Terran bodies that it was also hallucinatory. That Ryzk had been
searching the ship did not surprise me either. The boredom of space travel
would set any man immured within these walls during hyper passage to do such
to relieve his tedium. And Ryzk might have known this was a smuggler sold
after confiscation.
"He had help--" Eet commented. There was such a bubbling renewal of
well-being in him as made me envious, perhaps tired of being on the edge
wash of such energy.
"From you?"
"From our distinguished colleague." Eet nodded to the Zacathan.
"It would seem that Ryzk's weakness is drink," Zilwrich agreed. "While it is
wrong of anyone to play upon another's weakness, there are times when such a
fall from Full Grace is necessary. I deemed that I might take on error-load
for once in this way. We need Ryzk's room rather than his company."
"If we come out of hyper in the Lylestane system we shall be in Patrol
territory," I replied a little sourly.
"It is possible to come out and go in again before a challenge of boarding
can be delivered," Zilwrich returned. "I have a duty to report the raid on
our camp, that is true. But I have also a duty to those who sent my party
there. This map is such a find as we come upon perhaps once in a thousand
years. If we can find a clue to the location of the planet it marks, then a
scouring trip thither at this time means more than arousing the law as to
what has happened in one raid."
"But Ryzk is pilot. He will not agree to go off known charts. And if he's
made up his mind to turn us in--"
"Off the charts," repeated the Zacathan thoughtfully. "Of that we cannot be
sure as yet. Look--"
He produced a tri-dee projector which I knew to be part of the equipment of
the control cabin. At a push of his finger there flashed on the wall a
blowup of a star chart. Being no astro-navigator, I could not read it to any
real purpose, save that I could make out the position of stars and sight the
coded co-ordinates for hyper jumps under each.
"This is on the edge of the dead strip," Zilwrich informed me. "To your left
and third from the corner is the blasted system of Waystar. It must have
been scouted three centuries ago, by your time, from the dates on this
chart. This is one of the old Blue maps. Now, look upon the bowl, imagine
that the dead sun on that system is a red dwarf, turn the bowl two degrees
left--"
I held up the bowl and rotated it slowly, looking from it to the tri-dee
chart on the wall. Though I was not taught to read such maps I could see he
was right! Not only did the blasted system we had just fled appear on the
bowl as one about the red-dwarf star--a dying sun --but there was a course
to be traced from that to the zero stone.
"No co-ordinates for hyper," I pointed out. "It would be the most reckless
kind of guesswork. And even a scout trained for exploring jumps would take
chances of two comets to a star of coming out safe."
"Look at the bowl through this." It would seem that Eet must have been
gathering aids from all over the ship, for what the Zacathan handed me now
was my own jeweler's lens.
As   I inspected the constellation engraved on the metal through the
magnification of the lens I saw there were minute identations there, though
I could not translate any.
"Their hyper code perhaps," the Zacathan continued.
"Still no good to us."
"Of that I am not sure. We have those of the dead system--from that--"
"You can work?" Of course, he was an archaeologist and such puzzles were
common to him. I lost something of my mood of depression. Perhaps because my
hunger had been satisfied and I could now use my arm and hand to better
advantage, I was regaining confidence not only in myself but in the
knowledge and ingenuity of my companions.
When I put the bowl on the floor, open side down so that its star-specked
dome was revealed, Eet squatted by it. He had taken up the lens, holding it
in his paw-hands, his head bent over it as if his nose were smelling out the
pictured solar systems.
"It can be done." His thought was not only clear; it was as confident as if
there had been no obstructions at all between us and success. "We return to
the dead system by reversing Ryzk's tape--"
"And so straight into what may be a vla-wasp nest," I commented. "But
continue. Perhaps you have an answer for that also. Then what do we do,
unless the Honorable Elder"--I gave Zilwrich the proper title of formal
address--"can read these co-ordinates."
Eet did not close his mind as he had upon occasion, but I read a side flash
of what might be indecision. I had never read fear in Eet's
communications--awareness of danger, but not fear. But this had the aura of
just that emotion.
And inspiration hit me in the same instant. "You can read these!" I had not
perhaps meant it as an accusation, but it came forth that way.
His head turned on his too-long neck so that he could look at me.
"Old habits, memories, die hard," he answered obliquely, as he sometimes
did. He turned the lens about, giving me the impression of uneasiness, of
one wanting to escape coming to a decision.
I caught a flicker of alien mind-flow, and for a moment resented that
communication I could not share. It was my guess that the alien and the
mutant might be in argument about just the knowledge I accused Eet of
having.
"Just so." Eet resumed touch with me. "No, I cannot read these. But they are
enough like another form of record for me to guess to more purpose than the
rest of you." And such was the finality of that answer that I knew better
than to try to pry at how he could be familiar with any record approximating
that of a Forerunner race living millenniums ago. The old problem of who--or
what--Eet was crossed my mind.
Though he made no comment, the impression remained that any guessing he
would do would be against his inclination and that he had a personal reason
for disliking the situation fortune had forced upon him.
It seemed that now I was to serve as his hands. And back in the control
cabin I made ready to follow his instructions to reverse the course Ryzk had
set and return us, as soon as we emerged near Lylestane, to the vicinity of
Waystar. Ryzk did not appear. Apparently the smugglers' drink was of great
potency. What would have happened when we came out of hyper and he was not
at the controls, I do not know. Perhaps we would have aimlessly cruised the
Lylestane system as a traffic hazard until some Patrol ship linked beam and
dragged us in as a derelict
I punched out the figures Eet fed me and we were wrenched back on a return
course once again from Lylestane. Once more in hyper, we had plenty of time
to meditate on the numerous dangers our appearance near Waystar would range
against us. Certainly our successful escape with the treasure had alerted
all the defenses of the pirate stronghold. They would be expecting a visit
from the Patrol on one hand, now that strangers knew the co-ordinates of
their hide-out, and trouble from others, perhaps even the Guild, demanding
an account of how or why loot could be so summarily removed from what was
believed to be an impregnable safe place.
The only answer would be that we dared not linger long enough in the dead
system to be detected. Our unarmed ship had no defense against what the
Jacks could easily muster. Therefore, we must follow exactly the same
procedure we had on emerging near Lylestane: We must have the other course
ready to punch in and spend as little time in normal space as we could.
Success in that maneuver would depend entirely on what Zilwrich and Eet
could produce in the way of a new course. And since I was no help to them,
the ship and Ryzk were my concern.
My most practical answer to Ryzk was to apply a force lock on his cabin. He
sobered up when we were back in hyper and his struggle with the door lock
led me to state through the intercom that we had taken over. More than that
I did not explain, and I turned off the com thereafter, so his demands went
unheard. E-rations and water went to him through the regular supply vent and
I left him to consider, soberly I hoped, the folly of the immediate past in
relationship to the Wendwind and her owners.
For the rest I tinkered in the small repair shop. The crossbows Ryzk had
earlier produced I refined, making more zoran heads for their bolts. I had
no mind to go exploring on an unknown planet unarmed, as I had once done in
the past If by some miracle of fortune we did reach the world indicated by
the zero stone, we would not know what we might face there. It could be a
planet on which those of our kind could not live without suits; it could be
inhabited by beings infinitely superior to us in every way, who would be as
hostile to strangers as the Veeps of Waystar. Though the civilization the
bowl represented must have ended eons past, others could have arisen from
the degenerate dregs of that, and we might face such challengers as we could
not even imagine. When I got to that point of my speculations, I handled my
crossbows with very bleak attention to all their manifest defects.
Our first test would come when we left hyper in the dead system. As that
moment approached I was tense and nervy. I saw practically nothing of Eet
and Zilwrich except when I supplied them with food and drink. And I was
almost tempted to let Ryzk out of his cabin in order to have someone to
match fears with. But when the alarm shattered the too-great silence of the
ship, Eet was on hand in the control cabin. He curled into my lap as I
settled in the pilot's seat--though he kept his mind closed, as if it were
full of some precious knowledge and sharing that too soon might spill what
could not be regained. We came out of hyper and I punched the proper buttons
for a reading of our present site. At least fortune had favored us to the
point that we had emerged very close to that place where we had entered on
our first trip, at the outer edge of the dead system.
But we were given very little time to congratulate ourselves on besting what
was perhaps the smallest portion of the ordeal facing us. For there was an
alarm ringing wildly through the cabin. We had been caught by a snooper and
now we could expect a traction beam. My hands rested on the edge of the
control board. I was ready to punch out the course Eet supplied. But would
he feed me one, and could I set it quickly enough to avoid the linkage which
would hold us for taking by the enemy?
Chapter Sixteen
Eet was ready for me, though the co-ordinates he flashed into my mind had no
meaning for me. I was merely the means of putting finger tip to controls to
punch them in. Only, it seemed those fingers did not move fast enough. I
could feel the force of the locking beam catch at our ship.
We passed into hyper. But once the dizzy spin in my head cleared and I knew
we had made the transition, I was aware that we had brought our enemy with
us. Instead of snapping the lock beam in our return to hyper, we had,
through some balance of force against force, dragged the source of that beam
with us! We had danger locked to the ship, ready to attack as soon as we
moved into normal space again.
There is no maneuvering in hyper. To do so would be to nullify the
co-ordinates. And one would emerge utterly lost in space, if one were lucky,
or perhaps in the very heart of a blazing sun. We were both prisoners here
until we finished the voyage the Zacathan and Eet had set us. But there was
this much: The enemy was as helpless as we--until we went out. And not being
prepared for hyper transfer, they might be badly shaken, though they would
have the length of our trip in which to pull themselves together.
"Jern!" Ryzk bawled through the ship's com. "Jern, what are you trying to
do?"
It sounded very much as if the pilot not only had recovered from his
drinking bout but was genuinely alarmed. Alarmed enough, I speculated, to be
willing to work with us? Not that I trusted him now.
I picked up the mike. "We are in hyper--with a companion."
"We're linked!" he roared back.
"I said we had a companion. But he cannot move any better than we. We are
both in hyper."
"Going where?"
"You name it!" Our momentary escape was acting on me like a shot of exult.
Not that I had ever tried the stuff, but I had heard enough to judge that
this must be akin to the heady feeling those addicts gained. When we snapped
out of hyper we might be in grave danger, but we had now a respite and time
to plan. But his question echoed in my mind. Going where? To a planet which
might or might not still exist. And if it did--what would it be like?
At that moment I felt as if I would more than anything like to be a believer
in the gods of the planet-rooted. This was the time when one would prefer to
kneel in some fane as did, say, the Alfandi, thrusting a god-call deep into
ground already pitted with holes left by other's rods, pulling hard upon the
cord which would set its top quivering to give off the faint sound meant to
reach the ear--if one might grant a spiritual being an ear--of that High
One, and thus alerting the Over-Intelligence to listen to one's plea. I had
met with the worshippers of many gods and many demons on many worlds. And
complete belief gave a man security which was denied to the onlooker. That
there was a purpose behind the Galaxy I would be the first to agree. But I
could not bow my head to a planet-based god.
There was one belief I had read in the old tapes, that brain and mind are
not the same. That the brain is allied to the body and serves it, while the
mind is able to function in more than one dimension--hence esper talents,
born of the mind and not the brain.
Now when I came from the control cabin I found Zilwrich seated on his
pallet, and it seemed that he tried to prove the truth of this old theory,
for he held between his two hands the bowl. His eyes were closed and he was
breathing in small, shallow gasps. Eet, who had preceded me at his usual
speed, had taken a position which mimicked that of the Zacathan, his small
hand-paws resting on the rim of the bowl, his eyes also closed. And there
was an aura of esper power which even I could feel.
What they were trying to do I did not know. But I felt that my presence was
an intrusion there. I backed away, closing the door behind me. But at the
same time my triumph ebbed. And the fact that we had a companion locked to
us began to assume the shadow of menace. If Ryzk could only be trusted!
Perhaps he could as long as his own skin was in danger. The coordinates
which had brought us here--I reclimbed the way to the control cabin. We had
used a return of Ryzk's setting to take us back to the dead system. Suppose
I now erased those co-ordinates from the tape. Then no move of Ryzk's could
return us, only what lay in Eet's and the Zacathan's memories. Loosed in the
unknown, the pilot would be no great danger, and we needed badly any
knowledge he might have to help us to deal with the enemy once we returned
to normal space. I set the erase on the tape before allowing myself to have
second thoughts. Then I went to unseal the pilot's cabin. He lay on his bunk
but turned his head to stare at me as I stood in the doorway. I had not
brought one of the crossbows. After all, I was trained in a variety of
weaponless fighting methods, and I did not think we were less than evenly
matched, since he had nothing save similar skills to use against me.
"What are we doing?" He had lost the anger tinged with alarm which had
colored his first demand through the com.
"Heading for a point on a Forerunner chart."
"Who's linked with us?"
"Someone out of Waystar is our best guess."
"They followed us!" He was genuinely astonished. I shook my head. "We came
back to the Waystar system. It was the only recognizable point of reference
on the chart."
He turned his head away, now looking to the ceiling. "So--what happens when
we come out of hyper?"
"With luck we are in a system not on the charts. But --can we break linkage
when we come out of hyper?"
He did not answer at once. There was a sharp frown line between his brows.
And then he replied to my question with another.
"What are you after, Jern?"
"Perhaps a whole world of Forerunner artifacts. What is that worth?"
"Why ask me? Anyone knows that is not to be reckoned in credits. Is Zilwrich
behind this? Or is it your gamble?"
"Both. Zilwrich and Eet together set up the co-ordinates."
He grimaced. "So we sweat out a landing, maybe to be sun-cooked or worse
when we come out--"
"And if we are not, but take the others with us?" I brought him back to the
matter over which we might have some control.
He sat up. The sickly-sweet smell of the drink was strong. But to my eyes he
appeared sober. Now he put his elbows on his knees and bent over to rest his
head on his hands. I could no longer see his face. He sighed.
"All right. In hyper we can't switch course. So we can't try to shake them
loose. We can set the emerge on high velocity. It will mean blacking out,
maybe taking a bearing. But it is the only way I know of to break the link.
We will have to rig special webbing or we won't survive at all."
"And if we do break the link?"
"If we pulled them in with us, the course is only set on our ship. The break
will take us out, not them. They would have to gamble on an emerge. It might
land them in the same system, or somewhere else. How do I know? I say it is
barely possible. I am not planning on more than one thin chance in ten
thousand." And his voice said that was very optimistic odds.
"You can do it?"
"It looks as if we have no choice. Yes, I can rig it, given time enough.
What are the odds if we come out still linked?"
"We are unarmed, and they can take us over. They have no use for us, only
what we carry."
He sighed again. "About what I thought. You're all fools and I have to go
along."
But perhaps he was not wholly convinced until we entered the control cabin
and he pushed past me to read the dial above the journey setting.
"Erased!" He whirled to face me, his lips twisted into a snarl.
"No turning back." I braced myself, tensed against attack. Then I saw his
eyes change and knew that if he meant me harm in the future, he was willing
to wait for such a reckoning. The main interest now must be the ship and our
possible manner of escape from our unseen companion.
Just as Eet and Zilwrich in their mysterious occupation with the bowl had
given me no explanations, so did Ryzk keep his own counsel about the
alterations he made in some wiring. But he did keep me with him as a very
ignorant assistant, to hand tools, to hold this or that while he made
delicate adjustments.
"This will have to be redone," he said, "before we make a return. It is only
temporary. I cannot even swear it will work. We'll need heavy webs--"
We set about providing those, too. The two shock-prepared seats in the
control cabin were reinforced with what we could strip off the bunks in our
two cub-bys. Then we descended to the section where Eet and the Zacathan
were in session to provide Zilwrich with such safeguards as we could rig.
Eet, I supposed, would share my seat as usual.
I tapped lightly on the door behind which I had left the two enwrapt, with
the bowl between them.
"Enter," called Zilwrich. He lay now, his whole body expressive of a vast
exhaustion. I could not see the bowl. Eet, too, lay there, but his head came
up and he watched us almost warily. I explained what we would do.
"This thing is possible?"
Again Ryzk shrugged. "I cannot swear to it on my name, if that is what you
mean. It remains theoretical until we prove it one way or another. But if
what you say is true, we have little choice."
"Very well," the Zacathan agreed. I waited for some comment, pro or con,
from Eet. But such did not come. And that made me uneasy. But I would not
press him, lest he confirm my worst doubts. It is better not to be met by
pessimism when the situation already looks dark.
But Zilwrich had suggestions as to the rigging we must provide to counteract
the strain on his body. And we carried out his instructions with all the
skill we could summon. When we fastened the last of the improvised webbing
Ryzk arose and stretched.
"I'll take cabin watch," he said as if there was no disputing that. But I
did not miss the sudden flicker of eye Zilwrich made in my direction, as
though he expected me to protest. However, we did not have Ryzk's experience
and training in the pilot's seat. And with the erase on I did not see how he
could do any harm.
He could have no reason to wish to surrender to a Waystar force. And they
would give him, I was certain, no time to parley if he tried it. He left and
I said to Eet via thought-send: "The tape is on erase. He cannot send us
back."
"An elementary precaution," Eet returned crushingly. "If he does not kill us
all at emerge, and his theory works, we may have a small chance."
"You do not sound too sure of that." My inner uneasiness increased.
"Machines are machines and cannot be made to function too far from their
norm, or they will cease to function at all. However, doubtless this is the
only answer. And we shall have other matters to consider after the emerge."
"Such as what?" I was not prepared to accept vagueness now. Forewarned is
always forearmed.
"We have tried psychometry," the Zacathan broke in. "I am not greatly
talented in that direction, but the two of us working so--"
The term he used meant nothing to me and he must have read my ignorance, for
he explained, and I was glad that it was he and not the mutant, for he did
not condescend.
"One concentrates upon some object and he who has the talent can so gather
information concerning its past owners. There is, of course, the belief that
any object connected with high emotion in usage, say a sword used in battle,
will carry the most vivid impressions to be picked up by the sensitive."
And the bowl?"
"Unfortunately it has been a center point for the emotions of more than one
individual, of more than one species even. And some of those owners must
have been far removed from the norm we accept today. Thus we received a mass
of emotional residue, some violent. Many impressions are overlaid, one upon
another. It is as if one took a tattered skin, put over it a second, also
rent but in other places, and over that a third such, then tried to see what
lay beneath those unmatched rents.
"Our supposition that the bowl might be much older than the tomb in which it
was found, belonging to a people different from those with whom it was
buried, is right. For we have deduced, though it is very hard to define any
one well, at least four overlays left by former possessors."
"And the zero stone?"
"That perhaps is the source of some of the difficulty we encountered. The
force which animates it might well govern the unfortunate mixture of
impressions. But this we can tell you--the map was of prime importance to
those who first wrought it, though the bowl itself meant more to later
possessors."
"Suppose we do find the source of the stones," I said. "What then? We cannot
hope to control the traffic in them. Any man who has a monopoly on a
treasure sets himself up as a target for the rest."
"A logical deduction," Zilwrich agreed. "We are four. And a secret such as
this cannot remain a secret long, because of the nature of what we must
exploit. Like it or not, you--we--shall have to deal with the authorities,
or else live hunted men."
"We can choose the authorities with whom we deal," I replied, an idea
forming in my mind.
"Logical and perhaps the best." Eet cut across my thought, picking it up in
its half-formed state, following it straight to a decisive conclusion.
"And if those authorities are Zacathan--" I said it aloud. Zilwrich eyed me.
"You pay us much honor."
"By right." It gave me a small quirk of shame to have to answer so, to admit
that it was the alien whom I might trust above those of my own species. Yet
that was so. And I would hand to any one of their Council the secret of what
we found here (if we found anything worth the title of secret) more
willingly than I would to any of my own leaders. The Zacathans have never
been empire builders, never sought colonies among the stars. They are
observers, historians, teachers at times. But they were never swayed by the
passions, desires, fanaticism which has from the first made both great
heroes and villains among my own kind.
"And if this secret might well be one not to be shared?" Zilwrich asked.
"That, too, I could accept," I said promptly. But I knew that I did not
speak for Eet, or for Ryzk, who must now be included as one of our number.
"We shall see," Eet answered, his reservations plain. Not for the first time
I wondered whether Eet's dogged insistence that the quest of the stone's
source be our main goal did not have some reason he had never shared with
me. And then, could I, myself, completely surrender the stones, knowing what
I could do with them, knowing that perhaps there was more, much more, we
might learn from them? Supposing the Zacath-ans advised us to hide, destroy,
blot out all we know of the gems. Could I agree to that with no regret?
Later I lay in my cabin thinking. Eet, lying beside me, did not touch those
thoughts. But at last, to escape a dilemma I could not resolve until we had
passed many it's and buts in the future, I asked the mutant:
"This reading of the past of the bowl, what did you learn of its past?"
"As Zilwrich said, there were several pasts and they were overlaid, mixed
with one another until what we gained was so disjointed it was difficult to
read any part of it and be sure we were correct. It was not made by those
who fashioned the tomb. They came, I believe, long after, finding it
themselves as a treasure-trove, leaving it with some ruler to whom they
wished to pay funeral honor.
"The source of the stone--" he hesitated and the thought I picked up was one
of puzzlement--"was not clear. Save that we do go now, if we have read the
co-ordinates right, to that source. And the stone was set in the chart as a
guide to those to whom it was very important. But that its native planet was
their world of origin--that I do not think is the truth either. However, the
reading was enough to set one's mind upside down, and the less I rethink on
it the better!" With that he snapped mind-touch and curled into a ball to
sleep. A state I followed.
The warning that we were at the end to our journey in hyper came some time
later. As the Zacathan had assured us when we rigged his protection that he
could manage it by himself, I made speed to the control cabin, Eet with me.
Soon I was well wrapped in my webbing, watching Ryzk in a like cocoon at the
controls, trying to relax when the final test of our drastic emerge came.
It was bad, as bad or perhaps a fraction worse than that which had hit when
we had joined the ship in the LB before the other jump-- Only this time we
had all the protection Ryzk's experience had been able to devise, and we
came out in better shape.
As soon as I was fully conscious I looked to the radar. There were points
registering on it, but they marked planets, not the ship locked to us
through hyper.
"We did it!" Ryzk almost shouted. At the same time Eet scrambled along my
still nearly immobilized body. I saw then what he held in a forepaw against
his upper belly--the zero stone.
It was blazing with a brilliance I had not seen before except when we had
put it to action. Yet now it was not adding to any power of ours. The glare
grew, hurting the eyes. Eet gave an exclamation of pain and dropped it. He
tried to pick it up again, but it was clear he could not use his paw-hand
near that spot of fire. Now I could not even look directly at it.
I wondered if it was about to eat its way through the deck by the heat it
was engendering.
"Blanket it!" Eet's cry was a warning. "Think dark-black!"
The power of his own thought swept mine along with it. I bent what mental
energy I could summon to thinking dark. That we were able to control the
surge of energy in the stone by such means astounded me. That awful
brilliance faded. However, the stone did not return to its original dull
lifelessness; it continued to contain a core of light which set it above any
gem I had ever known and it lay in a small hollow which its power had melted
out of the substance of the deck.
"Pliers--" I did not know whether they would help, for the heat of the stone
might melt any metal touching it. But we could not pick it up in bare
fingers and we dared not leave it lie, maybe to eat straight through the
fabric of the ship level by level.
Ryzk stared at it, unable to understand just what had happened. But I had
pulled out of the cocoon of webbing and managed to reach the box of tools he
had used earlier. With pliers in hand I knelt to pick up the gem, fearing I
might find it welded to the floor.
But it came away, though I could still feel heat and see that a hole in the
deck beneath it was nearly melted through. Once on land, once in space, once
on the edge of the wreckage we had used the zero stone as a guide. Could
this small gem now bring us to the final goal of its home world?
We did not need it, since the bowl chart had already located the planet for
us, fourth out from the sun. And oddly enough, once placed within the bowl,
the furious blaze of the loose stone subsided into a fraction of its glow,
as if the bowl governed the energy.
Though we kept a watch on the radar, there was no sign that the enemy had
followed us into this system. And Ryzk set course for the fourth planet.
I half expected that time would have wrought a change in the sun, that it
might have gone nova, imploded into a red dwarf, even burned out. But this
was not so. It tested in the same class as was indicated on the ancient
chart. We went into scan orbit, our testers questing to inform us it was
truly Arth type, though we were suspicious enough to keep all indicators on
alert. What we picked up on our viewers was amazing. I knew that Terra, from
which my species had come into an immeasurably ancient galaxy, had been
monstrously overcrowded in the last days before general emigration to the
stars began--that cities had soared skyward, tunneled into depths, eaten
their way across most of the continental land masses, even swung out into
the seas. I knew that, but I had never seen it. Terran by descent I am, but
Terra is across the galaxy now and more than half legend. Oh, we see the old
tri-dees and listen to archaic tapes which are copied over and over again.
But much of what we see is meaningless and there are long arguments as to
what really did or did not exist in the days before Terrans roamed the star
lanes. Now I looked upon something like the jostling, crowded--terribly
crowded--erections those tri-dees had shown. This was a planet where no
empty earth, no sign of vegetation showed. It was covered, on the land
masses by buildings, and even across the seas by strings of large platforms
which were too regular in outline to be islands. The whole gave one a
terrible sensation of claustrophobia, of choking pressure, of erection
against erection, or against the earth of its foundations.
We passed from day to night in our orbit. But on the dark side no light
showed. If there was life below--
But how could there be? They would be smothered, pushed, wedged out of
existence! I could not conceive of life here.
"There is a landing port," Ryzk said suddenly, but he had a keener eye than
I, or else we had swung over and past what he had seen. To me there was no
break in that infernal mass of structures.
"Can you land?" I asked, knowing that treasure or no treasure, stone or no
stone, I must force myself to set foot down there.
"On deters," Ryzk said. "Orbit twice for a bearing. There are no guide
beams. Probably deserted." But he looked far from happy, and I thought
perhaps he might share some of my feeling about what lay below.
He began to set a course. Then we lay back in our seats, our eyes on the
visa-screen, watching the dead city-world reach up--for that was what it
seemed to be doing--as if its towers were ready to drag us down to the world
they had completely devoured.
Chapter Seventeen
It was a tribute to Ryzk's skill that our landing was three-point, exactly
on fins. He rode the ship down her tail rockets as only a master pilot could
do. Ad not for the first time I was led to wonder what had exiled him from
his kind--drink alone? Then we lay in our webbing watching the visa-screen
as our snooper made a complete circuit of what lay about us, reporting it
within. With that report I came to respect Ryzk's skill even more. It was as
if we had been threaded into a slit between walls of towers whose assault
against the sky was such that one could not immediately adjust one's
thoughts to what one's eyes reported. Only now that we were in that forest
of man-made giants could we see the hurts time had dealt them.
For the most part they were either gray-brown or a blue-green in color, and
there was no sign of seam or join as one might sight with stone blocks or
the like. But there were cracks in their once smooth sides, rents in their
fabric, which were not windows or doors. We could see no indication of
those. Ryzk turned to check the atmosphere dials. "Arth type, livable," he
said. But he made no move to leave his webbing, nor did I.
There was something about those crowding lines of buildings which dwarfed,
threatened us, not actively, but by their being. We were as insects, unable
to raise ourselves from the dust in which we crawled, confronted by men who
were giants with clouds gathering about their barely seen heads. And about
it all there hung a feeling that this was a place of old death. Not a decent
tomb in which honor had been paid to the one who slept there through the
centuries, but rather a place in which decay had reduced to a common
anonymity all that had meant aught--men, learning, belief-Nothing moved out
there. No flying thing flitted among the towers. There was no sign of
vegetation. It was truly a forest of bones long removed from life. We could
see nothing to fear, save that feeling which grew in us, or in me (though
Ryzk's actions led me to believe he must share my uneasiness), that life had
no place here now.
"Let us move!" That was Eet. There was a tenseness in his small body, a
feral eagerness in the way his head darted from side to side, as if he tried
to focus more intently on the visa-screen--though as that continued its slow
sweep I saw no change in the monotony of the towered vista.
I left the webbing, Ryzk also. The bowl with the zero stone was on the deck,
with Eet crouched over it as if he were on guard above its contents. And the
stone blazed, though perhaps with not the same intensity as earlier.
We climbed down to join Zilwrich. The Zacathan was on his feet, leaning
against the wall. He looked to Eet and I guessed some message passed between
them. I lent my shoulders to the Zacathan's support and, together with Ryzk,
aided him out of the hatch, down the ramp, to the apron of the space port.
There arose a hollow moaning and the pilot slewed around in a half crouch,
looking down one of the narrow passages between the towers. Save for the
open pocket of the port, there was gloom unbroken in those ways, such dusk
as I had seen in forests of other worlds. The moaning shrilled and then our
startlement vanished as we realized it was caused by the wind. Perhaps that
acted upon the rents in the building to produce such sounds.
But outside the Wendwind the vast desolation was worse even than it had
seemed on the screen. And I had not the slightest desire to go exploring. In
fact, I was gripped by the feeling that to venture away from the port was to
enter such a maze as one could never issue from again. As to where to
search-- Seen from the air, this planet-wide city covered all the ground,
part of the sea. We might be half, three quarters, or the world away from
what we sought, and it would take days, months of searching--
"I think not!" Eet had brought the bowl with him. Now he held it out and we
saw the double blaze of the point on its surface and of the jewel within. He
turned his head sharply to the right. "That way!"
But whatever lay "that way" might still be leagues from the port. And
Zilwrich could certainly not tramp any distance on his unsteady feet, nor
would I leave any of our party with the ship this time. We had the
flitter--if we could crowd two of us into its cargo space, then we could
quest some distance above the surface.
We settled Zilwrich with Eet at the end of the ramp and returned to the
ship. What supplies we had room for and the crossbows went into the flitter.
Three of us, plus Eet, would make such a heavy load we could not gain much
altitude, but it was the best we could do.
The LB had been so modified it might take days to alter it again, and we had
no time to waste.
Judging by the sun, it was late afternoon when we were ready. I suggested
waiting until the morning, but to my surprise the Zacathan and Eet overruled
me. They had been in a huddle over the bowl and seemed very sure of what
must be done.
As a matter of course Eet took command after we packed ourselves into the
small craft, using my hands to his service. We hovered perhaps twice my
height from the ground, then headed off sharply to the right, crossing the
edge of the port, turning down a dusky channel between the towers.
The dark closed about us more and more as the buildings cut out the sun.
Again I wondered how men could have lived here. Away from the port there
appeared aerial runways connecting the buildings at different levels,
crisscrossing into a net which finally grew so thick as to shut off most of
the light from the level at which we traveled. Some of the ways were broken,
and the debris of their disintegration weighted those below, or had landed
in a heap of remains on the surface of the break below.
We had the beamer on, and I cut the speed to hardly more than a hover lest
we crash into one of those piles. Yet Eet seemed entirely sure of our
direction, sending me out of one half-filled lower way into another.
Dusk became full night. I had a growing fear we would be utterly lost,
forever unable to find our way back to the comparative open of the port.
There was a sameness to this level, just here and there the remains of a
bridge fallen from the heights, the smooth bases of the buildings totally
unbroken by any sign of an entrance.
Then the beamer picked up a flash of movement. It had been so quick that I
thought my imagination had betrayed me into thinking I had seen it--until
our beam trapped the thing against one of the walls. So cornered, it turned
to face us, slavering defiance, or perhaps fear.
I have seen many strange beings on many worlds, so that weird defections
from what is the norm to my species were not unknown to me. Yet there was
something about this thing in the dark and forgotten ruins which brought an
instant reaction of loathing in me. Had I been in the open, a laser in my
hand, I think I would have slain it without thought or compassion.
Only for a moment did we see it so, backed against the unyielding buttress,
pinned by the light. Then it was gone, with such speed as left me astounded.
It had gone on two legs, then dropped to four. And the worst thing was that
it looked like a man. Or what might have been a man eons ago, before time
had burned out all which makes my kind more than an unthinking creature set
upon survival alone.
"So it would seem that the city still has its inhabitants," Zilwrich
commented.
"That thing--what was it?" The disgust in Ryzk's voice matched my own
emotion.
"Where did it go?"
"Turn to the left." Eet appeared unaffected by what we had seen. "In
there--"
"There" was the first opening I had seen on the ground level of any
building. It was too regular to be another rent. The gap was large enough to
accommodate the flitter. But I had a very unpleasant suspicion that it was
also where the scuttling creature had disappeared. To search further would
mean leaving the craft, and to be trapped by that "thing" or others of its
kind--Yet I obeyed Eet's direction, bringing the flitter to a standing hover
within the shell of chamber beyond that doorway. We were in a circular
space. If there had been any furnishings, those were long since gone. But
the floor was heaped with gritty, flaky stuff which perhaps had once been
fittings. This was pathed, beaten solid in some places. And the paths--there
were two of them--led directly to another dark opening in the floor, a well.
I moved the flitter cautiously until we nosed the lip of that descent. We
could indeed lower into it in the machine. But to do this, unaware of what
might lie below, was a peril I was not ready to face. If I had such fears,
Eet was not concerned with them. He hung over the bowl in which the gem
blazed.
"Down!" he urged. "Now down!"
I would have refused, but the Zacathan spoke.
"It is true. There is a very strong force below us. And if we go with
caution--"
I certainly would not descend outside the flitter, but to go in it would
give us a small measure of protection. Yet I thought it foolhardy to try at
all. I fully expected a protest from Ryzk. Only when I glanced to him I saw
he was as bemused by the gem in the bowl as Eet.
Moving out over the well I eased the flitter onto settle-hover, thankful
that we were using a craft meant for exploration. And I kept a wary eye on
the walls as we began the descent at as slow a speed as I could hold us to.
What had been the original use of this opening we could not know. But that
it was also a passage for later users was apparent. Into the once smooth
walls had been pounded or wedged a series of projections meant to serve as
hand- and foot-holds, a very crude ladder. And the bits and pieces so used
were rough, some of them surely ripped from more complex fittings. The work
was very bad, its quality far beneath that of the city constructions, as if
it had been done by a race who was at a primitive level.
We were descending by floors, passing dark openings in the walls of the
shaft, as if that were a hub of a series of wheels whose spokes were evenly
spaced passages. I counted six such levels, yet the circumference of the
well did not dwindle in size as I feared it might. And though the crude
ladder led to several of the cross-corridor openings, it also continued on
down and down, as if it served a vast warren of burrows.
I watched the mouths of any opening the ladder served, but there was no sign
of life, and our beamer could not penetrate them very far. Down and down,
six levels, ten, a dozen, twenty--the wall grew no smaller. But it was a
growing strain to hold the flitter on settle-hover at this slow speed. And
always that ladder kept pace with us. Fifty--
"Soon, very soon now!" Eet's thought was excited, more filled with emotion
than any I had ever received before. I looked to the dials. We were some
miles below the surface. I cut our speed to the lowest and waited. There was
a bump, and we had landed. Only a single tunnel mouth faced us now, a little
to the right. And it was too small for the flitter. Any further exploration
must be on foot, and I had no desire to leave the confines of the small
safety offered by that craft My prudence was justified. There was movement
at the mouth of that tunnel, though I remembered that crude ladder had ended
four levels above our present position. Only what came into our beam was a
machine, unlike any I had seen before. But there was enough resemblance to
things I knew to suggest that the tube rising to aim at us was about to
discharge something meaning no good to invaders.
When I put a finger to the rise button, both Eet and the Zacathan spoke, Eet
by thought, the alien in Basic.
"Do not!"
Do not? They were crazed. We had to get out of the range of that thing, if
we could, before it fired!
"Look--" That was Zilwrich. Eet was still staring at the stone in the bowl.
Look I did, expecting death to come at me from that sinister tube. What I
did see was--nothing at all!
"Esper impressions," Zilwrich answered. "It is known that certain things,
trees, water, stones--and perhaps other objects--can hold visual impressions
for many years, release them to one in the proper frame of mind for
reception. The builders here may have known and used that principle. Or what
we have seen may be only a report of its use at some time in the past,
action which impelled such heightened emotions in those viewing it that the
impression remained to be activated by us."
"We go--there--" Eet brushed aside the need for any explanation. Instead he
was pushing the bowl ahead, using it as an indicator that our way led down
that dark passage.
In the end he had his way. Otherwise he and the Zacathan would have set off
alone. And my pride, such as it was, would not let me hold back. Because we
were now a party united against the unseen perils of the unknown, I gave
Ryzk once of the crossbows. So armed, we started out, Eet riding on my
shoulder, where his weight was something of a problem, Zilwrich and Ryzk on
my heels. I had taken a smaller beamer from our supplies, but we did not
need its ray long. Soon the gem in the bowl gave us light. And what it
showed ahead for a goodly space was smooth, unbroken walling, as if we were
advancing along a great tube.
Distance in the dark underground was relative. I thought we might find lack
of air a danger. But apparently whatever system supplied this depths with a
breathable atmosphere was still operative.
At last we came to the end of the passage and out. Not into a mine
burrowing, as I had come more and more to expect, but into a room crammed
with apparatus, equipment, some firmly based on the floor, the rest on
tables or long counters. In the middle of this expanse was a blaze of light
toward which Eet wanted to go.
A cone-shaped object perhaps as tall as I sat on a table by itself. And in
it a transparent porthole allowed one to view an inner rack on which rested
a dozen of the zero stones, vibrant with glowing life as we brought the two
we carried closer to their container.
Resting beside the cone, on the table, was a second rack to which were
clamped a further dozen rough, uncut stones. They were as black as lumps of
carbon, yet they did not have the burned-out look of the exhausted zero
stones we had found in the derelict space ship on our first trial of the
power of the gems. Eet sprang from my shoulder to the top of the table, put
down the bowl, and set about prying at the porthole in the cone, trying to
get at the jewels within. But something about that whole array triggered my
memory. There are many ways of cheating known to the experienced gem buyer.
Stones may be so treated as to change their color, even hide flaws. Heat
will transform amethyst to golden topaz. A combination of heat and chemical
skillfully used can make a near undetectable royal rovan of the best crimson
hue from a pale-pink one. Heat can do--
I loosened one of the black lumps from the rack and brought out my jeweler's
lens. I had no way of testing the thing I held, yet there grew in me the
belief that this was the matrix, the true zero stone. They might not be
natural gems at all, but manufactured--which could logically give them the
power to step up energy.
The thing I held was certainly odd. Its surface was velvety to the eye, but
not the touch. If it had been shaped like a seed pod--I drew a deep breath.
Memory was playing a strange trick on me. Surely it had to be a trick.
Once before I had found stones, or what appeared to be stones, tumbled in a
stream. To the eye, though not to the touch, they had had a velvety, almost
furred surface. One of those stones had been appropriated by the ship's cat,
who had licked it, swallowed it, to give birth to--Eet! These were hunks of
mineral, not rounded, podlike. But their surfaces--
I looked to Eet as I weighed that lump in my hand. He had discovered the
secret of the latch on the porthole, jerked it open, and was taking out the
rack with the finished gems. Then, to my amazement, as the weight of the
tray was lifted from the latches which held it, I saw the cone come to life,
a light flash on in its interior. Without thinking (further than wanting)
past my desire to prove the truth of my suspicion, I inserted the second
rack, saving out only the lump I had taken from it. My fingers were almost
trapped as the porthole snapped shut of its own accord. And blazing light,
blinding to any direct gaze, gathered behind the view-plate.
I had my answer. "Made stones."
Zilwrich picked up one from the other rack, took from me the black lump to
compare.
"Yes, I believe you are correct. And I do not think that this"--he indicated
the black lump--"is true ore or matrix either." He turned his bandaged head
from right to left to view the room. The light was breaking in fierce waves
from the cone, giving us a far radiance. "This was, I am certain, a
laboratory."
"Which means," Ryzk commented, "that these are the last stones we may ever
see. Unless they left records of how--"
There was sudden horrible shrilling, hurting one's ears, reaching into the
brain. I gave one glance at the cone and grabbed for Eet, shouldered
Zilwrich back, and cried out a warning. Then fire broke through the top of
the oven, fountained up. Somehow I hit the floor, Eet fighting in my hold,
the Zacathan's body half under mine.
Then--the light went out!
The following dark was so thick it smothered one. I groped for the beamer at
my belt, for the second time unable to be sure whether my eyes or the light
itself had failed. But a ray answered my press of button.
I aimed at the table, or where the table had stood. Now there was nothing at
all! Nothing but a fan of clear space, as if the power had eaten a path for
itself--but away, not toward us. Only one thing still lay there, seemingly
unharmed, as if it was armored for all time against destruction--the map
bowl. Eet uttered a sound, one of the few he had ever made. He broke from my
hold and ran for it. But before he reached it he stopped short and I cried
out even louder, moved by emotion in which fear and awe were mingled.
For in the beam of the torch Eet's furred body shimmered. He reared on his
hind legs as might an animal caught by a throat collar and tight leash as it
reached the end of the slack allowed it.
His hand-paws flailed at the air, and from his jaws came a wail of agony.
But no mind-touch. It was as if then he was only animal.
With his back stiff, high-reared on his hind legs, he began to move jerkily,
in a kind of weird, manifestly painful dance, round in a circle, the center
of which was the bowl. Froth gathered on his muzzle, his eyes rolled wildly,
and his body continued to shimmer until he was only a misty column.
That column grew taller, larger. It might be that the atoms which had formed
the sustance of Eet's half-feline body were being dispersed, that he was
literally being shaken into nothingness. Yet, instead of spreading out then
into wisps, the mist began to coalesce again. Still the solidifying column
was not as small as Eet, nor was it gathering into the same shape.
I could not move, nor did Zilwrich, nor Ryzk. The beamer had fallen from my
hand, but lay so that its ray, if only by chance, held full on Eet, or what
had been Eet, and the bowl.
Darker, thicker, and more solid grew the column of that shuddering thing.
Eet had been as large as his foster mother, the ship's cat. This was almost
as tall as I. At last it stopped growing, and its frenzied circling about
the bowl became slower and slower, then finally halted.
I was still held in frozen astonishment.
I had seen Eet take three shapes by hallucinatory disguise: the pookha, the
reptilian thing at Lylestane, and the hairy subhuman who had entered Waystar
with me. But that he had willed this last change I was certain was not true.
He was humanoid and--
A slender body, yet curved, with long shapely legs, a small waist, and above
that--
He--no--SHE--stood very still, staring at her outstretched hands, their skin
soft, with a pearly sheen to their golden hue. She bent her head as if to
view that body, ran her hands up and down it, perhaps to reassure herself
that this was what she now saw.
While from Zilwrich broke a single word: "Luar!"
Eet's head turned, she looked at us with large eyes, a deeper and richer
golden than her skin, drew her long dark-red hair about her as a cloak. Then
she stooped and picked up the bowl. Balancing it on the palm of one hand,
she walked to us along the beam of the torch, as if to impress upon us her
altered appearance.
"Luar?" Her lips shaped the word. "No--Thalan!"
She hesitated, her eyes not on us for a moment but looking beyond us, as if
they saw what we never could. "Luar we knew, yes, and dwelt there for a
space, Honorable One, so that we left traces of our passage there. But it
was not our home. We are the Searchers, the Born-again ones. Thalan, yes.
And before that, others, many others."
She held out the bowl, reversed it so we could see the map. But the wink of
the zero stone on it was dead, and that other stone it had held had
vanished. "The treasure we sought here--it is now gone. Unless your wise
ones, Honorable Elder, can read very forgotten riddles."
"Thanks to you, Jern!"
I staggered as a sudden blow against my arm threw me hard against one of the
pieces of equipment based on the floor. I clung to it so as not to go down.
Eet, in one of those lightning movements which had been his--hers--as a
feline mutant, snatched up the beamer from the floor. She swung the full
light on Ryzk as the pilot was setting another bolt to his crossbow. And
from her lips came a clear whistle.
Ryzk twisted as if his body had been caught in the shriveling discharge of a
laser. His mouth opened on a scream which remained soundless. And from his
now powerless hands dropped his weapon.
"Enough!" Zilwrich, moving with the dignity of his race, picked up the bow.
The whistle stopped in mid-note and Ryzk stood, turning his head from side
to side, as if he fought against some mind daze and tried thus to shake it
away. Gingerly I investigated my hurt by touch, since what light there was
Eet had focused on Ryzk, now weaving back and forth as if his will alone
kept him on his feet. I could find no cut, but the flesh was very tender,
and I guessed it had been so close a miss that the shaft of the bolt had
bruised me sorely.
"Enough!" the Zacathan repeated. He dropped his hand on the pilot's
shoulder,   steadied him as if      they had been comrades-in-arms. "The
treasure--the best treasure --still lies about us. Or"--he looked to Eet
measuringly-- "is now a part of us. You have what you have long wished, One
Out of Time. Do not begrudge lesser prizes to others."
She spun the bowl on her hand and her lips curved in a smile. "Of a surety,
Honorable Elder, at this hour I wish no hurt to any, having, as you have
pointed out, achieved a certain purpose of my own. And knowledge is
treasure--"
"No more stones," I said aloud, not really knowing why. "No more trouble. We
are luckier without them--"
Ryzk raised his head, blinking in the light. He looked to where I leaned
against my support but I think he did not really see me.
"Well enough!" Eet said almost briskly then. "The Honorable Elder is right.
We have found a treasure world, which he and his kind are best fitted to
exploit. Is this not so?"
"Yes." I had no doubts of that. Ryzk shook his head once more, but not in
denial. It was rather to try and clear his mind.
"The stones--" he said hoarsely.
"Were bait for too many traps," I answered. "Do you want the Guild, those of
Waystar, the Patrol, always at your heels?"
He raised his hand, wiped it back and forth across his face. Then he looked
to Zilwrich, keeping his eyes carefully from Eet, as if from the Zacathan
alone he might expect an answer he could accept as the truth.
"Still treasure?" There was something curiously childlike in that question,
as if Eet's strange attack had wiped from the pilot years of suspicion and
wariness.
"More than can be reckoned." Zilwrich spoke soothingly. But treasure no
longer interested me. I watched rather Eet. As mutant and trader we had been
companions.   But what would follow now? Mind-touch instead of words,
amusement in part but delicately so, came swiftly in answer to my chaotic
thoughts. "I told you once, Murdoc Jern, we each have in us that which must
depend upon the other. I needed your body in the beginning, you needed
certain attributes which I possessed in the woefully limited one I acquired.
We are not now independent of each other-- unless you wish it, just because
I have found a body better for my purposes. In fact, one which, as I
remember, served my race very well thousands of years ago. But I do not
declare our partnership at an end because of that. Do you?"
She came forward then, tossing from her the bowl, the torch, as if both were
no longer of service to her. Then her touch was on my body, light, soothing
above my bruised hurt.
I had chaffed against Eet's superiority many times, sought to break his--her
(I still could not quite accept the change) hold on me, that tie which fate,
or Eet, had somehow spun between us since he--she--had been born on my bunk
in the Free Trader.
It seemed that her touch now drew away the pain in my arm and side. And I
knew that for better or worse, for ill times and good, there was no casting
away of what that fate had given me. When I accepted that, all else fell
into place.
"Do you--?" Her mind-touch was the faintest of whispers.
"No!" My reply was strong, clear, and I meant it with all of me.

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