“Good Lord, Egavine,” he announced presently, “your boy’s a regular armory! Two blasters, a pencil-beam, a knife, and the sap . . . All right, Quist. Go over and sit down with the doctor.” He watched the little man move dejectedly to the table, then fitted the assorted lethal devices carefully into one of his coat pockets, brought the pouch he had taken from Egavine out of the other pocket.
“Now, doctor,” he said, “let’s talk. I’m unhappy about this. I discovered you were carrying this thing around before we left Mezmiali, and I had a sample of its contents analyzed. I was told it’s a hypnotic with an almost instantaneous effect both at skin contact and when inhaled. Care to comment?”
“I do indeed!” Egavine said frigidly. “I have no intention of denying that the instrument is a hypnotic spray. As you know, I dislike guns and similar weapons, and we are engaged in a matter in which the need to defend myself against a personal attack might arise. Your assumption, however, that I intended to employ the spray on you just now is simply ridiculous!”
“I might be chuckling myself,” Dasinger said, “if Quist hadn’t had the sap halfway out of his pocket as soon as you reached for your lapel. If I’d ducked from the spray, I’d have backed into the sap, right? There’s a little too much at stake here, doctor. You may be telling the truth, but just in case you’re nourishing unfriendly ideas—and that’s what it looks like to me—I’m taking a few precautions.”
Dr. Egavine stared at him, his mouth set in a thin, bitter line. Then he asked, “What kind of precautions?”
Dasinger said, “I’ll keep the hypnotic and Quist’s bag of dirty tricks until we land. You might need those things on the planet but you don’t need them on shipboard. You and I’ll go up to the control section now to give Miss Mines her final flight directions. After that, you and Quist stay in this cabin with the door locked until the ship has set down. I don’t want to have anything else to worry about while we’re making the approach. If my suspicions turn out to be unjustified, I’ll apologize . . . after we’re all safely back in the Hub.”
“WHAT was your partner looking so sour about?” Duomart Mines inquired a little later, her eyes on the flight screens. “Have a quarrel with him?”
Dasinger, standing in the entry to the little control cabin across from her, shrugged his shoulders.
“Not exactly,” he said. “Egavine tried to use a hypno spray on me.”
“Hypno spray?” the young woman asked.
“A chemical which induces an instantaneous hypnotic trance in people. Leaves them wide open to suggestion. Medical hypnotists make a lot of use of it. So do criminals.”
She turned away from the control console to look at him. “Why would your partner want to hypnotize you?”
“I don’t know,” Dasinger said. “He hasn’t admitted that he intended to do it.”
“Is he a criminal?”
“I wouldn’t say he isn’t,” Dasinger observed judiciously, “but I couldn’t prove it.”
Duomart puckered her lips, staring at him thoughtfully. “What about yourself?” she asked.
“No, Miss Mines, I have a very high regard for the law. I’m a simple businessman.”
“A simple businessman who flies his own cruiser four weeks out from the Hub into I-Fleet territory?”
“That’s the kind of business I’m in,” Dasinger explained. “I own a charter ship company.”
“I see,” she said. “Well, you two make an odd pair of partners . . .”
“I suppose we do. Incidentally, has there been any occasion when you and Dr. Egavine—or you and Dr. Egavine and his servant—were alone somewhere in the ship together? For example, except when we came up here to give you further flight instructions, did he ever enter the control room?”
She shook her blond head. “No. Those are the only times I’ve seen him.”
“Certain of that?” he asked.
Duomart nodded without hesitation. “Quite certain!”
Dasinger took an ointment tube from his pocket, removed its cap, squeezed a drop of black, oily substance out on a fingertip. “Mind rolling up your sleeve a moment?” he asked. “Just above the elbow . . .”
“What for?”
“It’s because of the way those hypno sprays work,” Dasinger said. “Give your victim a dose of the stuff, tell him what to do, and it usually gets done. And if you’re being illegal about it, one of the first things you tell him to do is to forget he’s ever been sprayed. This goop is designed for the specific purpose of knocking out hypnotic commands. Just roll up your sleeve like a good girl now, and I’ll rub a little of it on your arm.”
“You’re not rubbing anything on my arm, mister!” Duomart told him coldly.
Dasinger shrugged resignedly, recapped the tube, and dropped it in his pocket. “Have it your way then,” he remarked. “I was only . . .”
He lunged suddenly towards her.
Duomart gave him quite a struggle. A minute or two later, he had her down on the floor, her body and one arm clamped between his knees, while he unzipped the cuff on the sleeve of the other arm and pulled the sleeve up. He brought out the tube of antihypno ointment and rubbed a few drops of the ointment into the hollow of Duomart’s elbow, put the tube back in his pocket, then went on holding her down for nearly another minute. She was gasping for breath, blue eyes furious, muscles tensed.
SUDDENLY he felt her relax. An expression of stunned surprise appeared on her face. “Why,” she began incredulously, “he did . . .”
“Gave you the spray treatment, eh?” Dasinger said, satisfied. “I was pretty sure he had.”
“Why, that— At his beck and call, he says! Well, we’ll just see about . . . let me up, Dasinger! Just wait till I get my hands on that bony partner of yours!”
“Now take it easy.”
“Take it easy! Why should I? I . . .”
“It would be better,” Dasinger explained, “if Egavine believes you’re still under the influence.”
She scowled up at him; then her face turned thoughtful. “Ho! You feel it isn’t that he’s a depraved old goat, that he’s got something more sinister in mind?”
“It’s a definite possibility. Why not wait and find out? The ointment will immunize you against further tricks.”
Miss Mines regarded him consideringly for a few seconds, then nodded. “All right! You can let me up now. What do you think he’s planning?”
“Not easy to say with Dr. Egavine. He’s a devious man.” Dasinger got himself disentangled, came to his feet, and reached down to help her scramble up.
“They certainly wrap you up with that hypno stuff, don’t they!” she observed wonderingly.
Dasinger nodded. “They certainly do!” Then he added, “I’m keeping the doctor and his little sidekick locked up, too, until we get to the planet. That leaves you and me with the run of the ship.”
Duomart looked at him. “So it does,” she agreed.
“Know how to use a gun?”
“Of course. But I’m not allow— I don’t have one with me on this trip.”
HE reached into his coat, took out a small gun in a fabric holster. Duomart glanced at it, then her eyes went back to his face.
“Might clip it to your belt,” Dasinger said. “It’s a good little shocker, fifty-foot range, safe for shipboard use. It’s got a full load, eighty shots. We may or may not run into emergencies. If we don’t, you’ll still be more comfortable carrying it.”
Duomart holstered the gun and attached the holster to her belt. She slid the tip of her tongue reflectively out between her lips, drew it back, blinked at the flight screens for a few seconds, then looked across at Dasinger and tapped the holster at her side.
“That sort of changes things, too!” she said.
“Changes what?”
“Tell you in a minute. Sit down, Dasinger. Manual course corrections coming up . . .” She slid into the pilot seat, moved her hands out over the controls, and appeared to forget about him.
Dasinge
r settled into a chair to her left, lit a cigarette, smoked and watched her, glancing occasionally at the screens. She was jockeying the Mooncat deftly in and out of the fringes of a gravitic stress knot, presently brought it into the clear, slapped over a direction lever and slid the palm of her right hand along a row of speed control buttons depressing them in turn.
“NICE piece of piloting,” Dasinger observed.
Duomart lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “That’s my job.” Her face remained serious. “Are you wondering why I edged us through that thing instead of going around it?”
“Uh-huh, a little,” Dasinger admitted.
“It knocked half an hour off the time it should take us to get to your planet,” she said. “That is, if you’ll still want to go there. We’re being followed, you see.”
“By whom?”
“They call her the Spy. After the Mooncat she’s the fastest job in the Fleet. She’s got guns, and her normal complement is twenty armed men.”
“The idea being to have us lead them to what we’re after, and then take it away from us?” Dasinger asked.
“That’s right. I’m not supposed to know about it. You know what a Gray Fleet is?”
Dasinger nodded. “An Independent that’s turned criminal.”
“Yes. Willata’s Fleet was a legitimate outfit up to four years ago. Then Liu Taunus and Calat and their gang took over. That happened to be the two Fleet bosses you slapped handcuffs on, Dasinger. We’re a Gray Fleet now. So I had some plans of my own for this trip. If I can get to some other I-Fleet or to the Hub, I might be able to do something about Taunus. After we were down on the planet, I was going to steal the Mooncat and take off by myself.”
“Why are you telling me?”
Miss Mines colored a little. “Well, you gave me the gun,” she said. “And you clobbered Taunus, and got me out of that hypno thing . . . I mean, I’d have to be pretty much of a jerk to ditch you now, wouldn’t I? Anyway, now that I’ve told you, you won’t be going back to Willata’s Fleet, whatever you do. I’ll still get to the Hub.” She paused. “So what do you want to do now? Beat it until the coast’s clear, or make a quick try for your loot before the Spy gets there?”
“How far is she behind us?” Dasinger asked.
Duomart said, “I don’t know exactly. Here’s what happened. When we started out, Taunus told me not to let the Mooncat travel at more than three-quarters speed for any reason. I figured then the Spy was involved in whatever he was planning; she can keep up with us at that rate, and she has considerably better detector reach than the Cat. She’s stayed far enough back not to register on our plates throughout the trip.
“Late yesterday we hit some extensive turbulence areas, and I started playing games. There was this little cluster of three sun systems ahead. One of them was our target, though Dr. Egavine hadn’t yet said which. I ducked around a few twisters, doubled back, and there was the Spy coming the other way. I beat it then—top velocity. The Spy dropped off our detectors two hours later, and she can’t have kept us on for more than another hour herself.
“So they’ll assume we’re headed for one of those three systems, but they don’t know which one. They’ll have to look for us. There’s only one terraprox in the system we’re going to. There may be none in the others, or maybe four or five. But the terraprox worlds is where they’ll look because the salvage suits you’re carrying are designed for ordinary underwater work. After the way I ran from them, they’ll figure something’s gone wrong with Taunus’s plans, of course.”
DASINGER rubbed his chin. “And if they’re lucky and follow us straight in to the planet?”
“Then,” Miss Mines said, “you might still have up to six or seven hours to locate the stuff you want, load it aboard and be gone again.”
“Might have?”
She shrugged. “We’ve got a lead on them, but just how big a lead we finally wind up with depends to a considerable extent on the flight conditions they run into behind us. They might get a break there, too. Then there’s another very unfortunate thing. The system Dr. Egavine’s directed us to now is the one we were closest to when I broke out of detection range. They’ll probably decide to look there first. You see?”
“Yes,” Dasinger said. “Not so good, is it?” He knuckled his jaw again reflectively. “Why was Taunus pounding around on you when I came forward?”
“Oh, those two runches caught me flying the ship at top speed. Taunus was furious. He couldn’t know whether the Spy still had a fix on us or not. Of course he didn’t tell me that. The lumps he was preparing to hand out were to be for disregarding his instructions. He does things like that.” She paused. “Well, are you going to make a try for the planet?”
“Yes,” Dasinger said. “If we wait, there’s entirely too good a chance the Spy will run across what we’re after while she’s snooping around for us there. We’ll try to arrange things for a quick getaway in case our luck doesn’t hold up.”
Duomart nodded. “Mind telling me what you’re after?”
“Not at all. Under the circumstances you should be told . . .
“OF course,” Dasinger concluded a minute or two later, “all we’ll have a legal claim to is the salvage fee.”
Miss Mines glanced over at him, looking somewhat shaken. “You are playing this legally?”
“Definitely.”
“Even so,” she said, “if that really is the wreck of the Dosey Asteroids raider, and the stones are still on board . . . you two will collect something like ten million credits between you!”
“Roughly that,” Dasinger agreed. “Dr. Egavine learned about the matter from one of your Willata Fleetmen.”
Her eyes widened. “He what!”
“The Fleet lost a unit called Handing’s Scout about four years ago, didn’t it?”
“Three and a half,” she said. She paused. “Handing’s Scout is the other wreck down there?”
“Yes. There was one survivor . . . as far as we know. You may recall his name. Leed Farous.”
Duomart nodded. “The little kwil hound. He was assistant navigator. How did Dr. Egavine. . .?”
Dasinger said, “Farous died in a Federation hospital on Mezmiali two years ago, apparently of the accumulative effects of kwil addiction. He’d been picked up in Hub space in a lifeboat which we now know was one of the two on Handing’s Scout.”
“In Hub space? Why, it must have taken him almost a year to get that far in one of those tubs!”
“From what Dr. Egavine learned,” Dasinger said, “it did take that long. The lifeboat couldn’t be identified at the time. Neither could Farous. He was completely addled with kwil . . . quite incoherent, in fact already apparently in the terminal stages of the addiction. Strenuous efforts were made to identify him because a single large star hyacinth had been found in the lifeboat . . . there was the possibility it was one of the stones the Dosey Asteroids Company had lost. But Farous died some months later without regaining his senses sufficiently to offer any information.
“Dr. Egavine was the physician in charge of the case, and eventually also the man who signed the death certificate. The doctor stayed on at the hospital for another year, then resigned, announcing that he intended to go into private research. Before Farous died, Egavine had of course obtained his story from him.”
Miss Mines looked puzzled. “If Farous never regained his senses . . .”
“Dr. Egavine is a hypnotherapist of exceptional ability,” Dasinger said. “Leed Farous wasn’t so far gone that the information couldn’t be pried out of him with an understanding use of drug hypnosis.”
“Then why didn’t others . . .”
“Oh, it was attempted. But you’ll remember,” Dasinger said, “that I had a little trouble getting close to you with an antihypnotic. The good doctor got to Farous first, that’s all. Instead of the few minutes he spent on you, he could put in hour after hour conditioning Farous. Later comers simply didn’t stand a chance of getting through to him.”
&n
bsp; DUOMART Mines was silent a moment, then asked, “Why did you two come out to the Willata Fleet station and hire one of our ships? Your cruiser’s a lot slower than the Mooncat but it would have got you here.”
Dasinger said, “Dr. Egavine slipped up on one point. One can hardly blame him for it since interstellar navigation isn’t in his line. The reference points on the maps he had Farous make up for him turned out to be meaningless when compared with Federation star charts. We needed the opportunity to check them against your Fleet maps. They make sense then.”
“I see.” Duomart gave him a sideways glance, remarked, “You know, the way you’ve put it, the thing’s still pretty fishy.”
“In what manner?”
“Dr. Egavine finished off old Farous, didn’t he?”
“He may have,” Dasinger conceded. “It would be impossible to prove it now. You can’t force a man to testify against himself. It’s true, of course, that Farous died at a very convenient moment, from Dr. Egavine’s point of view.”
“Well,” she said, “a man like that wouldn’t be satisfied with half a salvage fee when he saw the chance to quietly make away with the entire Dosey Asteroids haul.”
“That could be,” Dasinger said thoughtfully. “On the other hand, a man who had committed an unprovable murder to obtain a legal claim to six million credits might very well decide not to push his luck any farther. You know the space salvage ruling that when a criminal act or criminal intent can be shown in connection with an operation like this, the guilty person automatically forfeits any claim he has to the fee.”
“Yes, I know . . . and of course,” Miss Mines said, “you aren’t necessarily so lily white either. That’s another possibility. And there’s still another one. You don’t happen to be a Federation detective, do you?”
Dasinger blinked. After a moment he said, “Not a bad guess. However, I don’t work for the Federation.”
Complete Short Fiction (Jerry eBooks) Page 92