Poul Anderson's Planet Stories

by Poul Anderson

  “Again,” said Flandry, “it looks like inside information. Why else should they hit Varrak, except to get the princess? The looting was just a sideline. And apparently they knew precisely where she was housed.” He took out a cigarette and inhaled nervously. “What d’you think their motive is? Ransom?”

  “I hope to God it’s just money. But I’m afraid— These barbarian kings aren’t stupid. I’m afraid her ransom will be political and military concessions which we can ill afford. Especially if the raiders, as you suggest, are really Merseian agents. The Emperor will give it to them, regardless.” Fenross laid his head on his clenched fists. “This could mean the beginning of the end for Terra.”

  “I suppose his Majesty has not yet been informed?”

  “Of course not! I know him. His first act on learning the news will be to have everybody who could possibly be responsible executed. That includes you and me, in case you don’t know. I think we can suppress the information for a couple of weeks, maybe a month, but certainly no longer. If we don’t get her back before then—” Fenross drew a finger across his throat.

  Flandry scowled. He was uncommonly fond of living. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Alerting all our agents. We’ll comb the Wilderness. We’ll fill the whole damned Merseian Empire with spies. But—I’m afraid we haven’t time to do anything. Space is too big—” Fenross turned angry eyes on his subordinate. “Well, don’t just sit there! Get going!”

  “No sense duplicating effort, darling sir.” Flandry calculated his insolence deftly. “I’ve got a notion of my own, if you’ll give me a free hand to play with it. I’ll want access to all the files, including the most confidential.”

  “Go ahead,” mumbled Fenross. “Enjoy yourself while you can.”

  Flandry got up. “It might stimulate my mind if a small reward were offered,” he said mildly.

  The lodge was as good a place as any to begin his work. Telestats from the central files could be sent directly to him there, on scrambled circuit. A monitor in his receiver, responding to the Secret order, printed the material in code on tapes which would disintegrate within an hour. Flandry sat in dressing gown and slippers, wading through meter after meter of information; much of it had cost lives, some of it was worth an empire. It was the job of Intelligence to know everything about everyone in the attainable galaxy. Chives kept him supplied with coffee and cigarettes.

  Ella stole up behind him near dawn and laid a hand on his head. “Aren’t you ever coming to bed, Nick?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” he grunted. “I’m on the track of a hunch. And if my notion is right, we have to move fast; there’ll be less than the two weeks beloved Fenross, may he rot in hell, is counting on. Our enemy will see that his august Majesty gets the news before then.”

  She nodded, the light sliding down her long gold hair, and sat down at his feet. Slowly the sun rose.

  “Stars and planets and little pink asteroids,” muttered Flandry at last. “I may have the answer. Electronic cross-filing is a wonderful invention.”

  She regarded him wordlessly. He rubbed his chin, feeling its unshaven bristles scratchy on his palm. “But what I’m going to do with the answer, I don’t know. Talk about sticking your head in a lion’s mouth—”

  He paced the floor restlessly. “Chives is a handy fellow with a gun or a set of burglar’s tools,” he said, “but I need someone else.”

  “Can I help, Nick?” asked Ella. “I’d be glad to. You have been good to me.”

  He regarded her a moment. Tall and lithe and fair, with something in her of the strength which had won this world from jungle— “Ella,” he inquired suddenly, “can you shoot?”

  “I used to hunt ferazzes in the mountains,” she said.

  “And—look—what would you say if I set you free? Not only that, but hunted up all the rest of your family and bought them free and set them up with some land of their own. The reward would cover that, with a bit to spare for my next poker game.”

  Sudden tears were in her eyes. “I don’t have any words,” she said.

  “But would you risk death, torture, degradation—whatever punishment a crazy all-powerful mind could think of, if we failed? You aren’t so badly off now. Will you set it all on a turn of the cards?”

  “Of course,” she said quietly, and rose to her feet.

  He laughed and slapped her in a not very brotherly fashion. “All right! You can come out on the target range and prove what you said about shooting while Chives packs.”

  In Flandry’s private speedster it was a three-day flit to Vor. After rehearsing what must be done, he spent the time amusing himself and his companions. There might not be another chance.

  Vor had been settled early in the days of Imperial expansion, and had become a rich world, the natural choice of capital for the duke who governed the Taurian Sector. It was like another Terra—less grandiose, more bustling and businesslike—and the Sector itself was almost an empire within the Empire, a powerful realm of many stars whose ruler sat high in the councils of the Imperium.

  Flandry left Chives in the boat at the main spaceport, and gave the portmaster a sizeable bribe to forget that his vessel was more heavily armed than a civilian craft ought to be. He and Ella caught a flittercab downtown and got a penthouse in one of the better hotels. Flandry never stinted himself when he was on expense account, but this time the penthouse had a business reason. You could land a spaceboat on the roof if a quick getaway became necessary.

  He called the ducal palace that evening and got through to the chief social secretary. “Captain Sir Dominic Flandry of his Majesty’s Intelligence Corps,” he said pompously to the effeminate face. “I would like an audience with his Grace. There is some business to discuss.”

  “I am afraid, sir, that—”

  A telescreen buzzed by the secretary’s elbow. “Excuse me.” He spoke to it. When he faced back around, his expression was obsequious. “Of course, sir. His Grace would be pleased to see you at fourteen hundred tomorrow.”

  “Good,” said Flandry. “I’ll buy you a lollipop sometime, Junior.” He switched off and laughed at Ella’s astonished face. “That does it,” he told her. “Someone was monitoring the secretary, and when he got my name, let the secretary know in no uncertain terms that my presence is urgently desired at the palace—or, at least, that an invitation would allay my suspicions for a while.”

  There were no lights on, but by the radiance of Vor’s one great moon he saw her bite her lip. “That doesn’t sound good,” she said.

  “It sounds very much as if my notion is right. Look here.” Flandry had been over all the points a dozen times, but he liked to hear himself talk. “The Intelligence Corps is highly efficient if you point it in the right direction. In this case, the kidnapping was so designed that Fenross is pointed in a hundred different directions, none of them correct. He’s tackling the hopeless job of investigating a million barbarian stars and the hostile Merseian Empire. But I, having a nasty suspicious mind, thought that there might be elements within our own territory which would not mind having the Emperor’s favorite granddaughter for a guest.

  “That alien-type spaceship was meant as a clue toward Merseia, but I didn’t like it. Merseia is too far away from here for Wilderness barbarians to copy from them; and if the raid was their doing, why should they give themselves away so blatantly? Likewise, ordinary barbarian looters would not have come to Varrak in the first place, and wouldn’t have had such accurate information in the second place. Even Merseia was unlikely to know about the princess’ tour. Oh, they were genuine enough outlanders, you could see that on them—but who hired them, and who provided the leadership?

  “That little gnome thing gave me a hunch. He was obviously in some position of authority, or he wouldn’t have been demanding loot in exchange for those girls—the raiders would simply have taken the women themselves. The files held no information on a race of that exact description, but I did find out that his Grace, Duke Alfr
ed of Tauria, has a number of aliens in his household, some of them from unknown regions where only a few human ships have ventured.

  “Well, it seems logical. Before long, some barbarian king is going to demand a goodly chunk of this sector as Megan’s ransom. She may be returned then, with her memory wiped clean of the circumstances, or she may not. The important thing is that the king will get the territory. The Emperor will suppose we can fight a war to get it back. But the king will be a puppet of Alfred’s, and it’ll be Alfred’s own army which bears the brunt of that campaign. The duke, pretending all the time to be on our side, will see to it that we’re beaten back and lose the rest of Tauria to boot. Then he can set himself up as an independent ruler, or he can make a deal with some rival empire like Merseia. In either case, we lose one of our main bulwarks.

  “At least,” finished Flandry, “that’s how I’d work the business.”

  Ella shivered, and there was something haunted in her eyes. “War,” she whispered. “Killing, burning, looting, enslaving—no!”

  “It’s up to us to stop it,” said Flandry. “I can’t tell Fenross my suspicions yet; even if he believed me, which is doubtful, the Taurian division of the Corps is probably full of Alfred’s agents. He’d find out and take steps to halt us. We’d probably all find ourselves jailed for treason. Now by announcing myself here, I must have alarmed his Grace. He’ll want to know if I’m really on his trail—”

  A shadow blocked out the moon and moved across the floor. Flandry peered cautiously through the window. Below the great skyscraper, the night city flared and blazed with a million jeweled lights, all the way up to the huge fortress-like castle on the hill. But there was a flitter landing on his roof.

  “Quick work,” muttered Flandry between his teeth. His blaster slid from its holster. “I thought the duke would wait to see me, but apparently not.”

  Ella cradled a repeater rifle in her arms. In the darkened room, a shaft of moonlight threw her face into white, unreal relief. “They may be innocent,” she said.

  “They wouldn’t land here without asking if they were.” Flandry saw half a dozen dark forms get out and start toward the penthouse. Moonrays glittered on metal. “Local assassins, I daresay, hired to nab us. Let ’em have it!”

  His blaster roared, a thunderbolt leaped through the windowpane and wrapped one man in flame. The others yelled, scattering. Ella’s rifle spoke, and someone reeled on the edge of the roof and toppled horribly over the wall. Bullets cracked against the house.

  “If this were ordinary innocent robbery, the police would be down on us like hawks,” observed Flandry. “But they’ve been warned off here for tonight.” His nostrils dilated. “Sleepy gas! Get your mask!”

  The fight snarled for minutes. Two men came behind the house, blew open the door with a grenade, and sprang into the living room. Ella cut them down as Flandry fired out the window. Then there was silence.

  “That’s all,” said Flandry. His voice came muffled through the mask. “Clumsy job. Friend Alfred must be rattled. Well, we’ll give him time to think up something really fiendish for us.” He stepped over to the service screen and punched its button. “I trust the manager has also been told to mind his own business tonight. . . . Hello, service? I’m afraid there’s a bit of a mess in our place. Can you send someone up to clean it?”

  The audience hall was huge, and earlier dukes had furnished it with a luxury of gold and tapestry which was somewhat overwhelming. The present master hadn’t bothered to remove this, but his more austere personality showed in the comfortless furniture and the armed guards who formed an unmoving wall on either side. Flandry felt dwarfed, but he walked with his usual swagger up to the throne, where he delivered a sweeping bow. In colorful clothes and ceremonial sword, he outshone the man who sat there.

  Duke Alfred was big, his muscles running toward middle-aged paunch but hardness still on the blocky gray-bearded face. Flandry had met him briefly, some years before, and marked him for a dangerous man. “Be at ease,” he said. His voice and the expressionless countenance did not echo the hospitable words. “Whom have you here?” He nodded at Ella, who crouched abjectly on the carpet.

  “A small present for your Grace,” said Flandry. “She may amuse you.” There was nothing suspicious about that; one customarily brought gifts when visiting a noble, and both of them had been x-rayed for weapons as they entered.

  “Hm.” Interest and appreciation flickered in the duke’s eyes. “Look at me, wench.” Ella raised a timid face. She was quite an actress, as Flandry had already learned. “Good. Take her to the harem.” A gigantic four-armed Gorzunian slave kowtowed and led her out.

  “Well,” said Alfred, “what did you wish to see me about?”

  “A trifling matter, your Grace, but it may be that you can furnish information my service needs.” Flandry spun a plausible tale of investigating some Merseian agents who were being sent to stir up discord in the outer provinces. Tactfully, he mentioned the fight last night and his belief that the enemy knew who was trailing them and had tried to wipe him out. Perhaps the duke had some news of their activities? So far they had not manifested themselves in Tauria but it was as well to make sure.

  No, there was nothing. If any such news did come, the duke would certainly make it known to the Corps. Meanwhile, he was a busy man. Good day, Captain.

  Flandry backed out. When he got to the castle gates, his spine crawled. Alfred was not going to let him get away so easily. There was bound to be another attempt to capture him and hypnoprobe him to find out if he really suspected anything. And this time the duke wasn’t going to trust hired thugs.

  Flandry went downtown to the local Corps office and filed a routine report on his ostensible mission. Alfred’s men would be bound to check up on that much. More surreptitiously, he fetched a standard disguise kit and weapons from the locker where he had left them.

  He ate a lonely supper in a restaurant, thinking rather wistfully of Ella, and dawdled over his liqueur. Two men who had entered shortly after him and taken a nearby table idled too, but rather awkwardly.

  Flandry studied them without seeming to do so. One was a small, clever-looking chap, the other was big and rangy and had a military bearing. He must be one of the household guards, out of uniform for the occasion. He would do.

  Flandry got up and strolled into the street. His shadows followed, mingling with the crowd. He could have shaken them easily enough, but that wasn’t his intention. Give them every break instead; they were hard-working men and deserved a helping hand.

  He caught a flittercab. “Know any dives?” he asked fatuously. “You know, music, girls, anything goes, but not too expensive.”

  “Sure, sir.” The cabbie grinned and flew toward the slums which fringed the town. They landed on the twenty-fifth flange of a tall building which blinked with garishly obscene lights. Another cab spiraled down behind them.

  Flandry spent a while in the bar, amused at the embarrassment of his shadows, and then picked a girl, a slim thing with a red insolent mouth. She snuggled against him as they went down the corridor. A door opened for them and they went through.

  “Sorry, sister.” Flandry pulled out his stunner and let her have a medium beam. She’d be out for hours. He laid her on the bed and stood waiting, the weapon in his hand.

  It was not long before the door opened again. His followers were there. Had they bribed or threatened the madam? Flandry’s stunner dropped the smaller man.

  The big one was on him like a tiger—a skilled twist, and the gun clanged free against the wall. Flandry drove a knee upward. Pain lanced through him as it jarred against body armor. The guardsman got a hold which should have pinned him. Flandry writhed free with a trick he knew, whirled about and delivered a rabbit punch that had all his weight behind it. The guardsman fell.

  For a moment Flandry, panting, hesitated. It was safest to murder those two, but— He settled for giving his victims a hypo to keep them cold. Then he stepped out the window onto the emerg
ency landing and signaled for a cab on his wristphone. When it arrived the driver looked into a blaster muzzle.

  “We’ve got three sleepers to get rid of,” said Flandry cheerfully. “On your way, friend, unless you want to add a corpse to the museum. You tote them.”

  They left town well behind and found a region of woods, where they landed. Flandry stunned and hypoed the driver, and laid all four out under a tree. As an afterthought he folded their hands on their breasts and put white flowers in their fingers.

  Now to work! He stripped them and took out his kit. The id machine got busy, recording every detail of the guardsman’s appearance. When he was finished, he threw his loot in the cab and took off. The sleepers would take till tomorrow to wake up, and then, without clothes or money, would need another day or more to reach an area where they could get help and report what had happened. By that time the affair would be over, one way or another.

  As the autopilot flew him back, Flandry studied the guardsman’s papers. At the edge of town he abandoned the cab and took another to the spaceport. He was sure there would be ducal agents watching there. They saw him enter his boat, get clearance for interstellar space, and take off. Presumably his mission was finished, or else he was scared and hightailing it for safety. In either case the enemy would tend to write him off, which would help matters considerably.

  What the agents did not see was Flandry and Chives hard at work disguising the Terran. Much can be done with plastic face masks, false fingertips and the rest. It wouldn’t pass a close examination, but Flandry was hoping there wouldn’t be one. When he got through, he was Lieutenant Roger Bargen of the ducal household guards. The boat landed near a village some fifty kilometers from town. Flandry caught the morning monorail back.