No World of Their Own

by Poul Anderson

  “Saris has a grip on every weapon in here except mine and Marin’s,” said Langley. “You’d better sit still and listen—No, you don’t!” He sent a beam roaring at the tall man with the old-style weapon. The trader howled as it fell from seared fingers.

  “Sorry to do that.” Langley spoke low. There was sweat trickling down his face. “I don’t want to hurt anybody. But there are some pretty big issues involved. Will you give me a chance to explain?”

  “Captain—” Valti shuffled closer. Marin waved him back with a ferocious gesture. Saris crouched in the after end of the room, shivering with effort.

  “Listen to me.” Langley felt a vague annoyance that his tone should be pleading. Wasn’t the man with the gun supposed to be unquestioned boss? But Valti’s little eyes were shifting back and forth, watching for any chance at all. Brannoch’s legs were gathered under his chair, ready to leap. The trader spacemen were snarling, building up courage for a rush to overwhelm him.

  “I just want to tell you some facts,” said Langley. “You’ve all been the dupes of one of the biggest, brassiest swindles in history. You think you’re working for your own good—Valti, Brannoch—but I’m going to show you otherwise. You’ve got half an hour to wait in any event, so you might as well listen to me.”

  “Go ahead,” said Brannoch thickly.

  The American drew a shaky breath and launched into his account: the subversion of League and Technate and Society by a foreign and hostile power working for its own ends. He gave Valti the spool he had along, and the man put it in a scanner and studied it with maddening deliberation. A clock spun off lazy minutes, and Earth receded in the boat’s wake. The room was hot and silent.

  Valti looked up. “What are you going to do if I don’t cooperate?” he asked.

  “Make you.” Langley waved his gun.

  The bushy red head shook, and there was a curious dignity over the pot-bellied form. “No. I’m sorry, Captain, but it won’t go. You can’t operate a modern spaceship. You don’t know how, and my old carcass isn’t worth so much that I’ll do it for you.”

  Brannoch said nothing, but his eyes were chips of blue stone.

  “Can’t you see, man?” shouted Langley. “Can’t you think?”

  “Your evidence is very slender, Captain. All the facts are susceptible of other interpretations.”

  “When two hypotheses conflict, choose the simpler one,” said Marin unexpectedly.

  Valti sat down. He rested his chin on one fist, closed his eyes, and looked suddenly old.

  “You may be right,” said Brannoch. “I’ve had my suspicions of those animated pancakes for a long time. But we’ll deal with them later—after Thor is in a stronger position.”

  “No!” cried Langley. “You blind, bloody fool, can’t you see? This whole war is being engineered by them. They must regard men as dangerous vermin. They can’t conquer us by themselves, but they can get us to bleed each other white. Then they can mop up!”

  A bell rang. Langley turned his head, and brought it around at Marin’s scream. Brannoch was almost on him. He waved the Centaurian back, who grinned impudently, but he let Valti go up to look at the instruments.

  The trader faced them all and announced flatly: “Someone has slapped a tracer beam on us. We’re being followed.”

  “Who? How far? How fast?” Brannoch snapped the questions out like an angry dog.

  “I don’t know. It may be your friends from Thrym, it may be Chanthavar.” Valti fiddled with some knobs and considered the reading of meters. “Good-sized ship. Overhauling us, but we’ll get to ours about ten minutes ahead of them. It takes a while to warm up the generators for an interstellar jump, so we may have to fight during that time.” His eyes were steady on Langley. “If the good captain will permit that.”

  The American drew a shuddering breath. “No. I’ll let them blow us all up first.”

  Valti chuckled. “Do you know, Captain, I believe you … and your somewhat fantastic hypothesis.

  “That you’ll have to prove,” said Langley.

  “I shall. Men, please toss all your guns over here. The captain can mount guard on us if he won’t find it boring.”

  “Wait a minute!” A nomad stood up. “Are you going against the orders of the chiefs?”

  “I am—for the good of the Society.”

  “I won’t!”

  Valti’s answer cracked like a pistol shot. “You will, sir, or I’ll personally break your back across my knee. I’m your skipper this trip. Shall I read you the articles concerning obedience to the skipper?”

  “I—yes, sir. But I’ll file a complaint at—”

  “Do so by all means,” agreed Valti cheerfully. “I’ll be right there in the office with you, filing my own.”

  The blasters clattered at Langley’s feet. Saris lay down, trembling with exhaustion.

  “Tie up Brannoch,” said the American.

  “Of course.… You’ll pardon the liberty, my lord? We’ll leave you in the flitter, you can free yourself and scoot away.”

  Brannoch glared murder, but submitted.

  “Are you satisfied, Captain?” asked Valti.

  “Perhaps. Why do you believe me now?”

  “Partly the evidence you showed, partly your own sincerity. I respect your intelligence.”

  Langley shoved his blaster back into its sheath. “Okay!”

  It had seemed a chancy thing to do, but Valti only nodded and resumed the pilot’s “chair. “We’ve almost arrived,” he said. “Time to put on the brakes and match velocities.”

  The spaceship grew enormously. She was a long black cylinder, floating through a wilderness of stars. Langley saw her gun turrets stark against the Milky Way. There was a slight shock, a noise of metal making contact, and the boat had joined airlocks.

  “Battle stations!” snapped Valti. “You may come with me, Captain.” He plunged toward the exit.

  Langley stopped by Brannoch. The giant met his eyes and gave him a savage grin. “Good work,” he said.

  “Look,” answered the spaceman, “when you get loose, flit away from here but not too far. Listen in on any radio conversation. Think over what I’ve told you. Then, if you’re wise, you’ll get in touch with Chanthavar.”

  “I … may.”

  “God help you if you don’t. Goodbye, Brannoch.”

  Langley went through the airlock. He was the last man, and the ship’s outer door clashed to behind him. He didn’t know the layout of this cruiser, but followed his hunches as he ran down the corridors. There was a roaring of machines about him; the ship was making ready to fight.

  He located the main control chamber in a few minutes. Valti sat there, with Marin and Saris hovering in the background. The vessel must be almost entirely automatic, a robot in her own right, for one man to guide her thus.

  A stellar globe gave a simulacrum of the cold star-spattered dark outside. Valti located a moving speck on it and adjusted a telescreen for an enlarged view. The approaching ship was a steel sphere.

  “Thryman make,” said Valti. “I’d know those lines anywhere. Let’s see what they have to say.” He punched the radio keys.

  Thryman! Then they must have escaped almost as soon as the others were gone, bulling through with the guns they doubtless had somewhere on their tank, reaching a hidden warship and taking it into space with nearly impossible speed. They would have known the orbit of Valti’s craft from the Technon. Langley shivered, and Marin huddled close to him.

  “Hello, Thrymka.” Valti spoke almost casually into hisset. Eyes and hands were still moving, punching buttons, adjusting dials, observing the ready lights which flashed on for one compartment after another through his vessel.

  The machine voice crackled back: “You have been followed. If you are wise, you will surrender to us at once. The Solar patrols got a tracer on us. They are following close behind, and rather than let them have you, we will destroy everything.”

  Solar! Langley whistled. Chanthavar had been pretty
quick on the draw too, it seemed. But, of course, the Thryman getaway would have alerted him if nothing else did.

  “Party’s getting sort of crowded,” he muttered.

  Valti threw down a switch. The celestial globe reflected tiny splotches of fire which must be earthshaking explosions.

  “The ships fight themselves,” he remarked calmly. “Our crew has little to do but stand by the emergency manual controls in case we take a hit.”

  The two craft maneuvered for position, hurling their own tonnage through the sky as lightly as a fencer dances. Nuclear missiles flashed out, to be hunted down and exploded by counter-missiles. Long-range, energy beams probed heaven with lightning. All that Langley sensed was the howl of generators, the crazy dance of sparks in the globe, and the busy clicking of the ship’s robot brain.

  Saris snarled hungrily. “Could I be out there myself!” he raged. “Could I get my teet’ in them!”

  Langley drew Marin to him. “We may be rubbed out before we can break free,” he said. “I feel awfully helpless.”

  “You did wonderfully, Edwy,” she answered.

  “Well … I tried. I love you, Marin.”

  She sighed with a great happiness. “That is enough.”

  The walls trembled, and the air was filled with anger. A voice choked from the intercom: “Near miss at Seven, sir. Outer plates holed, radiation blast, no air loss yet.”

  “Carry on,” said Valti.

  Even a nuclear explosion had to be very close to do much damage in vacuum. But a single shell which did touch the ship before going off would make molten rain of her.

  “Here comes Chanthavar,” said Valti. “I have an idea. Hell be listening in on the radio, so …” He flipped the keys. “Hello, Thrymka. Hello, there. The Solarians are going to be on us in a minute. I like them even less than you, so let’s settle our own differences later, shall we?”

  There was no reply. The Thrymans never wasted speech, and they must see through such a transparent fraud.

  But two Solar cruisers were sweeping in, and they had heard. The nearest turned in a graceful arc which would have been impossible without the gravity drive, and opened fire on the Thryman ship. Valti whooped and sent his vessel surging forward. One craft could not withstand the assault of two.

  The screens did not show that eye-searing detonation. They refused the load, went blank, and when they functioned again a few seconds later the Thrymans were a rapidly expanding cloud of gas.

  The two Solar warcraft circled cautiously, probing at the nomad with a few shells and beams. A siren hooted. Valti laughed aloud. “The superdrive is ready. We can pull out of here now.”

  “Wait,” said Langley. “Call them up. I want to speak to them.”

  “But they may fall on us together while we parley and—”

  “Damn it, man, Earth has got to know tool Call them!”

  But it was Chanthavar who came in first. His voice snapped crisply from the communicator: “Hello, there, Society. Stand by to be boarded.”

  “Not so fast, buster.” Langley leaned over Valti’s shoulder, seeking the microphone. “We can pull a switch and be ten light-years away, but I’ve got something to tell you.”

  “Oh … you.” Chanthavar’s tone held something close to amusement. “You again! My respect for amateurs has gone up considerably tonight. I’d like to have you on my staff.”

  “You won’t. Now listen.” Langley rattled off what he knew as fast as he could.

  There was a humming stillness. Then Chanthavar said slowly: “Can you prove this?”

  “You can prove it to yourself. Study the same documents I did. Pull in all the Centaurian agents you can find and question them—the Thrymans must have some humans in their pay. Put the facts and the hypothesis before the Technon, ask it for a re-evaluation. It must be capable of adding two and two!”

  “You … may be right, Langley. You may be right.”

  “You can damn well bet I’m right. The Thrymans have no use for us. We’re as monstrous to them as they are to us, and the war they had to fight convinced them we’re dangerous to boot. Their aim must be nothing more or less than the extermination of the entire human race. Perhaps I’m wrong—but can you afford to take a chance on it?”

  “No,” said Chanthavar quietly. “It doesn’t look that way.”

  “Get hold of Brannoch. He’s floating around somewhere in this vicinity. You and he and the Society—all the planets—are going to have to bury your little ambitions. If you don’t, you’re through. Together you can face anything.”

  “Well need that nullifier effect.”

  “No, you won’t. You can’t conquer a planet the size of Thrym, but you can drive its natives back and keep them there if you all combine forces. Afterward, it’ll be a healthy knowledge for you that somewhere in the galaxy is a planet of free men who have a weapon you can’t stop. It may even give you some ideas about freeing yourselves.… Goodbye, Chanthavar. Good luck!”

  He switched off the radio and stood up, feeling a sudden enormous calm. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s travel.”

  Valti gave him a strange look. Only later, remembering, did Langley recognize it as the look a man gives his leader. “Best to go to Cygni first and let the Society—the real Society—know.”

  “Yes,” agreed Langley. “Then to Holat, to build defenses for them as we promised. You’re going home, Saris.”

  The great dark head rubbed against his knees.

  “And then?” asked Valti. His hands were setting up the control pattern for the jump.

  “And then,” said Langley with an exuberant laugh, “Marin and I are off to find us a world where we can feel at home!”

  “Do you mind if I come along?” whispered Valti.

  Marin gripped Langley’s hand. They regarded each other, without eyes for anything else. And when they looked around them again, there was a new sun in the sky.

  About the Author

  Poul Anderson (1926–2001) grew up bilingual in a Danish American family. After discovering science fiction fandom and earning a physics degree at the University of Minnesota, he found writing science fiction more satisfactory. Admired for his “hard” science fiction, mysteries, historical novels, and “fantasy with rivets,” he also excelled in humor. He was the guest of honor at the 1959 World Science Fiction Convention and at many similar events, including the 1998 Contact Japan 3 and the 1999 Strannik Conference in Saint Petersburg, Russia. Besides winning the Hugo and Nebula Awards, he has received the Gandalf, Seiun, and Strannik, or “Wanderer,” Awards. A founder of the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America, he became a Grand Master, and was inducted into the Science Fiction and Fantasy Hall of Fame.

  In 1952 he met Karen Kruse; they married in Berkeley, California, where their daughter, Astrid, was born, and they later lived in Orinda, California. Astrid and her husband, science fiction author Greg Bear, now live with their family outside Seattle.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1955 by Ace Books, Inc.

  Cover design by Jason Gabbert

  ISBN: 978-1-5040-2443-3

  This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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