“Not like I ought to, I mean. Nightmares. Devils all the time sticking me with pitchforks. Do you believe in hunches?”
“No,” she said, promptly. “I never had any. Not a one.”
“I never did, either, and if this is one I never want to have another. But it could be a hunch that we ought to be investigating that alien galaxy of DuQuesne’s. Whatever it is, I want to go somewhere and I haven’t the faintest idea where.”
“Oh? Listen!” Dorothy’s eyes widened. “I’ll bet you’re getting an answer to that message we sent out!”
He shook his head. “Uh-uh. Can’t be. Telepathy has got to be something you can understand.”
“Who besides you ever said it would have to be telepathy? And who knows what telepathy would have to be like? Come on, let’s go tell Martin and Peggy!”
“Huh?” he yelped. “Tell M. Reynolds Crane, the hardest boiled skeptic that event went unhung, that I want to go skyshooting to hellangone off into the wild blue yonder just because I’ve got an itch that I can’t scratch?”
“Why not?” She looked him steadily in the eye. “We’re exploring terra incognita, Dick. How much do you really know about that mind of yours, the way it is now?”
“Okay. Maybe they’ll buy it; you did. Let’s go.”
They went; and, a little to Seaton’s surprise, Crane agreed with Dorothy. So did Margaret. Hence three hours later, the big sky-rover was on her way.
Four days out, however, Seaton said, “This isn’t the answer, I don’t think. The itch is still there. So what?”
There was silence for a couple of minutes, then Dorothy chuckled suddenly. Sobering quickly, she said, with a perfectly straight face, “I’ll bet it’s that new department head girl-friend of yours, Dick; the pistol-packing mama with the wiggle. She wants to see the big, bold, handsome Earthman again. And if it is, I’ll scratch…”
Seaton jumped almost out of his chair. “You’re not kidding half as much as you think you are, pet. That crack took a good scratch at exactly where it itches.” He put on his remote-control helmet and changed course. “And that helps still more.” He thought for minutes, then shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’m not getting a thing… not anything more at all. How many of you remember either ReeToe Prenk or the girl well enough to picture either of them accurately in your minds?”
They all remembered one or both of the Rayseenians.
“Okay. This’ll sound silly. It is silly, for all the tea in China, but let’s try something. All join hands, picture either or both of them, and think at them as hard as we can. The thought is simply ‘we’re coming.’ Okay?”
More than half sheepishly, they tried it — and it worked. At least Seaton said, “Well, it worked, I guess. Anyway, for the first time in weeks, it’s gone. But I didn’t get a thing. Nothing whatever. Not even a hint either that we were being paged or that our reply was being received. Did any of you?”
None of them had.
“Huh!” Seaton snorted. “If this is telepathy they can keep it — I’ll take Morse’s original telegraph!”
A week or so after the Skylark of Valeron left the neighborhood of Ray-See-Nee, that planet’s new government began to have trouble. Ree-Toe Prenk had said and had believed that whoever controlled the capital controlled the world, but that was not true in his case. It had always been true previously because the incoming powers had always been of the same corrupt-to-the-core stripe as those who were ousted — and when corruption has been the way of life for generations it is deep-rooted indeed.
There were, of course, other factors behind the unrest. But neither Prenk nor any other human knew about them then.
All the district bosses had always gone along with the Big Boss as a matter of course.
Not one of them cared a whit who ran the world, as long as his own privileges and perquisites and powers and takes were not affected. Prenk, however, was strictly honest and strictly just. If he should succeed in taking over Ray-See-Nee’s government in full, every crook and boodler on the planet would lose everything he had; possibly even his life. Thus, while the new Premier held the capital — in a rapidly deteriorating grip — his influence outside that city’s limits varied inversely as about the fourth power of the distance.
This resistance, while actual enough, was in no sense overt. Every order was ostensibly obeyed to the letter; but everything deteriorated at an accelerating rate and Prenk could do nothing whatever about it. Whenever and wherever Prenk was not looking, business went on as usual gambling, drugs, prostitution, crime and protection — but he could not prove any of it. Neither uniformed police nor detectives could find anything much amiss.
They made arrests, but no suspect was ever convicted: The prosecution’s cases were weak. The juries brought in verdicts of “innocent”, usually, without leaving the box.
Even when, in desperation, Prenk went — supposedly top secretly — to an outlying city, fully prepared to stage a questioning that would have made Torquemada blush, he did nothing and he learned nothing. Every person on his list had vanished tracelessly and every present incumbent had abundant proof of innocence. Nor did any of them know why they had been promoted so suddenly. They were just lucky, they guessed.
It was indeed baffling. It would have been less so if Prenk had had any notion of the universe-wide stir of mighty events just beginning to bubble — if he had been able, as we are now able, to fit together all these patchwork stories into one nearly Norlaminian fabric of universal history.
But he wasn’t — and, for his peace of mind, perhaps that was just as well!
Premier Ree-Toe Prenk sat at his desk in the Room of State. Kay-Lee Barlo, shapely legs crossed and pistol at hip, sat at his left. Sy-By Takeel, the new Captain-General of the Guard, stood at ease at his right.
“Whoever is doing this is a smooth, shrewd operator,” Prenk said. “So much so that you two are the only people I can trust. And I don’t suppose either of you will ever be approached. Probably neither of you would be bought even if you offered yourselves ever so deftly for sale.”
“I wouldn’t be, certainly,” Takeel said. “Captains general of mercenaries don’t sell out. I wouldn’t answer for any of my lieutenants, though, if there’s loot to be had. There is here, I take it?”
“Unlimited quantities, apparently. So you, too, are subject to assassination?”
The soldier shrugged. “Oh, yes, it’s an occupational hazard. How about you, Exalted Barlo? No chance either, I’d say?”
“None at all. My stand is too well known. Half my people would stab me in the back if they dared to and they all look me in the eye and lie in their Mi-Ko-Ta-cursed teeth. I wish Ky-El Mokak and his people would get back here quick,” Kay-Lee said wistfully.
“So do I,” Prenk said, glumly. “But even if we had a sixth-order tightbeamer and could use it, we haven’t the slightest idea of where he came from or where he went to.”
“That’s true.” She nibbled at her lip. “But listen. I’m a psychic. It runs in the women of some families, you know, being… well, what most people call witches, kind of. My talent isn’t fully developed yet, but mother and I together could witch-wish at him to come back here as fast as he can and I’m sure he would.”
The soldier’s face showed quite plainly what he thought of the idea, but Prenk nodded — if more than somewhat dubiously. “I’ve heard of that ‘witch-wishing’ business, and that it sometimes works. So go home right now and get at it, Kay-Lee, and give it everything you and your mother both can put out.”
Kay-Lee went home forthwith and went into executive session with her mother; a handsome, black-haired woman of forty-odd. “And I have positive identification,” the girl concluded. “His blood was all over the place — positively quarts of it — and I saved some just in case.” And, of course, she had — prudently, wisely and, as it turned out, luckily for all concerned!
The older woman’s face cleared. “That’s good. Without a positive, I’m afraid it would be hopeless at w
hat the distance probably is by this time. Run and get the witch-holly, dear, while I fix the incense.”
They each ate seven ritually preserved witch-holly berries and inhaled seven deep drafts of aromatic smoke. While they were waiting for the powerful drugs to take effect, Kay-Lee asked, “How much of this rigamarole is chemistry, do you suppose, mother, and how much is just hocus-pocus?”
“No one knows. Some day, whatever it is that we have will be recognized as having existence and will be really studied. Until then, all we can do is follow the ancient ritual.”
“I think I’ll talk to Ky-El about it. But listen. Witches with any claim at all to decency simply don’t put geases on people. But what if he’s so far away that we can’t reach him any other way?”
The older woman frowned, then said, “In that case, my dear, we’ll never, never tell anyone a thing about it.”
23. RE-SETTING OF THE PREMIER
As the Skylark of Valeron approached Galaxy DW-427LU, Dorothy said, “Dick, I suppose it’s occurred to you more than once that I’m not much of a woman.”
“You aren’t? I’d say’ you’d do until the real thing showed up.” Seaton, who had been thinking of the problem of synchronization instead of his wife, changed voice instantly when he really looked at her and saw what a black mood she was in. “You’re the universe’s best, is all, ace. I knew you were feeling a little low in your mind, but not… listen, sweetheart. What could possiby make you think you aren’t the absolute top?”
She did not answer the question. Instead, “What do you think you’re going to get into this time?”
“Nothing much, I’m sure. Prenk’s probably running out of ammunition. We can make more in five minutes than he can in five years.”
“I’m sure that isn’t it. You’re going into personal danger again and I’ll be expected to sit up here in the Skylark eating my heart out wondering if you’re alive or dead. You don’t see Sitar going through that with Dunark.”
“Wait up, sweetheart. Mores and customs, remember?”
“Mores and customs be damned! Do you remember exactly what Sitar said and exactly how she said it? Did it sound like mores and customs to you? Was there any element whatever of suttee in it?”
“But listen, Dottie—” He took her gently in his arms.
“You listen!” she rushed on. “If he dies she doesn’t want to keep on living and she won’t. And she doesn’t care who knows it. Maybe it started that way — society’s sanction but that was her personal profession of faith. And I feel the same way. If you die I don’t want to keep on living and won’t. So next time I’m going with you.”
Being an American male, he could not accept that without an argument. “But there’s Dickie,” he said.
“There are also her three children on Osnome. I learned something from her about what the basic, rock-bottom attitude of a woman toward her man ought to be. Even from little Lotus. She’s no bigger than a minute and a half, but what did she do? So while we’re having this moment of truth let’s be rock-bottom honest with each other for the first time in our lives instead of mouthing the platitudes of our society. I’m not a story-book mother, Dick. If it ever comes right down to a choice, you know how I’ll decide and how long it will take!”
Seaton could not get in touch with Ree-Toe Prenk, of course, until the Valeron was actually inside Galaxy DW427-LU; but as soon as communication could be established Kay-Lee Barlo asked eagerly, “You did get our thought, then, Ky-El? Mother’s and mine? We didn’t feel that we were quite reaching you.”
“Not exactly,” Seaton replied. “I didn’t get any real thought at all; just a feeling that I ought to be going somewhere that bothered me no end until I headed this way. But since it was you people calling, I’m mighty glad I got what little I did.”
The Skylark went into orbit around Ray-See-Nee and the Skylarkers climbed into a landing-craft that Seaton had designed and built specifically for the occasion. It was a miniature battleship — one of the deadliest fighting ships of its size and heft ever built.
And this time the whole party was heavily armed. Dunark and Sitar were in full Osnomian panoply of war. Dorothy wore a pair of her long-barrelled .38 target pistols in leg-holsters under her bouffant skirt. Even little Lotus wore two .25 automatics. “I don’t know whether I can hit anybody with one of these or not,” she had said while Dorothy was rigging her. “I’d much rather work hand to hand. But if they’re too far away to get at I can at least make a lot of noise and look like I’m doing something.”
They were met at the spaceport by two platoons of the Premier’s Guard, led by Captain-General Sy-By Takeel himself. They were guarded like visiting royalty from the spaceport to the Capitol Building and up into the Room of State, where they were greeted with informal cordiality by Prenk and by Kay-Lee, who was now an Exalted of the Thirty-Fifth, besides being First Deputy Premier.
Prenk seated his guests, not on stools in front of and below his throne-like desk, but at a long conference table with Seaton as its head. The two lieutenants posted guards outside the two immense doors at the far end of the vast room and stationed the rest of their men in position to cover both entrances. Takeel, with velvet slippers over his field-boots, stood on Prenk’s desk, commanding the entire room, with a machine-gun-like weapon cradled expertly and accustomedly in the crook of his left arm.
“Are things this bad?” Seaton asked. “I knew it was tough when you told us to come loaded for bear — but this?”
“They’re exactly this bad. These two—” Prenk jerked a thumb at Kay-Lee and at Takeel — “are the only two people on this whole world that I know I can trust. Until quite recently I was sure I held the city — but now I’m not at all sure of holding even this building. I can only hope that you’re not too late. I’ll tell you what the situation is; then you will tell me, please, if there is anything you can do about it.”
He talked for twelve minutes. Then:
“P-s-s-s-st!” Kay-Lee hissed. “Danger! Coming — nearing us — fast! I can feel it — taste it — smell it! Get ready quick!” She sprang to her feet, drew her pistol, and arranged a dozen clips of cartridges meticulously on the table in front of her.
The Osnomians’ chairs crashed backward, their heavy coats flew off, and they stood tensely ready, machine pistols in all four hands. And, seconds later, the other Skylarkers were on their feet and ready too. The Captain-General had not heard the low-voiced warning, but he had seen the action and that was enough. Trigger-nerved Dunark’s chair had no sooner struck the floor on its first bounce than Takeel was going into his shooting stance, with his weapon flipping around into firing position as though it were sliding in a greased groove; the while glaring ferociously at his senior lieutenant — who thereupon began to have an acute attack of the jitters.
It was the commander’s savage motion, actually, that ruined the attackers’ split-second schedule. For, at a certain second, the two lieutenants were to shoot their captain; then to shoot Prenk and Kay-Lee Barlo; and then, as the attack proper was launched, they were to kill as many of their own men as they could. Thus, knowing what a savage performer the Captain-General was with his atrocious weapon, their hands were forced; they had to act a couple of seconds too soon. They tried — but with two short bursts so close together as to be practically one, Takeel cut them down. Cut them both almost literally in two.
Thus, when the two great doors were blasted simultaneously down and the attackers stormed in with guns ablaze, they did not find a half-dead and completely demoralized Guard and a group of surprised visitors. Instead:
The mercenaries were neither dead nor demoralized. They knew exactly what to do and were doing it. Dunark and Sitar had the fire-power of half a company of trained troops and were using it to the fullest full. The Captain general, from his coign of vantage atop the desk, was spraying both entrances with bullets like a gardener watering two flower-beds with a hose. Kay-Lee was throwing lead almost as fast as Takeel was; changing magazines with such fl
uent speed and precision as to miss scarcely a shot. Dorothy, nostrils flaring and violet eyes blazing, was shooting as steadily and as accurately as though she were out on the range marking up another possible. Even tiny Lotus, with one of her .25’s clutched in both hands, was shooting as fast as she could pull the trigger.
It was Seaton, however, who ended the battle. He waited long enough to be absolutely sure of what was going on, then fired twice with his left-hand magnum — through the doorways, high over the heads of the attackers, far down the corridors.
There were two terrific explosions; followed by one long rumbling crash as that whole section of the building either went somewhere else or collapsed into rubble. Falling and flying masonry and steel and razor-edged shards of structural glass killed almost everyone outside the heavily reenforced wall of the Room of State. The shock-waves of the blasts, raging through the doorways, killed half of the enemy massed there and blew the others half the length of the room. And, continuing on with rapidly decreasing force, knocked most of the Skylarkers flat and blew the Captain general off of the desk and clear back against the wall.
“Sangram’s head!” that worthy yelled, scrambling to his feet with machine-gun again — or still? He had not for an instant lost control of that! — at the ready. “What in Japnonk’s rankest hell was that?”
“X-plosive shell,” Seaton said, his voice as hard as his eyes. “This time I came loaded for bear. Now we’ll mop up and find out what’s been going on. I gather, sir, that your two platoon leaders were in on it?”
“Yes. It’s a shame I had to kill ’em without asking ’em a few questions.” He did not explain that he had had neither the time in which nor the weapon with which merely to wound them seriously enough so that neither of them could fight back with any sort of weapon. There was no need.
Skylark DuQuesne s-4 Page 22