by Colin Kapp
The scribe was searching the darkness behind them, looking for something. Occasionally he would answer the low-pitched trade-calls that floated through the darkness. Finally he turned back to Ren and spoke.
‘Hardun’s men who were with you—weren’t they released too?’
‘No. All thirty-five were either killed or injured.’
‘I warned you it was dangerous.’ The scribe’s face was grim. ‘The Imaiz never takes chances. And this fetches a point which we must settle between us, friend Tito. There was nothing in our contract about your carrying the fight using outworld soldiery. Nor about the use of longrange outworld weapons. If we were to place this fact before the Elders of the clans, they would relieve the Pointed Tails of any further obligations to you—nor would you obtain clan service elsewhere. The Elders would never consent to a clan’s being party to any outworld scheme of aggression. I’m disappointed in you, Tito. I’d thought you understood us better.’
Ren stopped walking and turned to face the scribe squarely.
‘I do understand you and I admit I’m in error. But circumstances overtook me. Initially I was misled as to the reasons Alek Hardun came to Roget. He came under the guise of an advisor, but now appears to have independent operating status. By the time I was aware of this I found I had no power to stop him. The director has gone to the council to have the matter set to rights.’
‘Yet it was you who took the soldiers to Magda,’ objected Catuul.
‘True. They were available and the exercise was intended purely as a reconnaissance. But when I believed Magda to be abandoned I thought that by one decisive move I might shorten the whole battle. That was a classic blunder that cost Doctor Hardun thirty-five men.’
‘I’d not have expected the price to be less.’ The scribe was critical. ‘Had the Imaiz not dealt with them—there are two hundred clansmen from all over the provinces around us now who would have made sure the Rance men never left Thirdhill.’
‘What?’ Ren was aghast. ‘Do you really feel so strongly about them?’
‘We may have our internal disputes in Anharitte, but armed outworld interference transcends any normal act of feud. Were it not so, even Roget could fall under some outworld yoke. Think about it, Tito. You’ll see why it has to be so. And your part in this has been a cardinal transgression.’
‘I can’t deny it. It’s been a sad error both in judgment and in policy. Hardun’s equipment and his tactics have become an embarrassment and were no part of my original intention. And I’m even more unhappy to have broken faith with your society.’
‘But in the light of today’s expedition, how much reliance can we place on your word. Think carefully before you answer—I may yet have to speak for you to the Elders of the clans.’
‘The Elders must decide as they will. And you, too, Catuul. You know me better than most and must decide for yourself. My rejection of Alek Hardun is a personal inability to support hi” views on the cheapness of human life. I can’t say otherwise even to save the spaceport or my job, which depends on it.’
“That’s precisely what I wanted to hear,’ said the scribe. ‘But I’ve been less than frank with you. The Elders have already discussed the matter in council. They gave two decisions. The first is that all society services will be withdrawn from outworlders until Hardun and his ship have been removed—’
‘And the second?’
‘That you were to be killed unless I personally was satisfied with your intention and your integrity.’
‘And have you come to that decision?’ Ren felt his sword hang heavily at his side.
‘Of course.’ Catuul’s smile broadened in the dim light from the night sky. ‘Or you would have been dead within minutes of leaving Castle Magda. Come, friend Tito, we have your cushion-craft waiting on the far side of the crossing.’
‘All thirty live men?’ Hardun’s voice reached the peak of incredulity.
‘It wouldn’t have mattered if they had been a hundred,’ said Ren. “The Imaiz is more than a match for anything you can put up. Frankly, your tactics have become a liability. I’ve sent a spacegram to the Free Trade Council expressing the opinion that if you’re allowed to remain on Roget the spaceport facility will certainly be lost.’
‘You did what?’ Hardun’s new peak of disbelief was suddenly tempered by relief. “Now I know you’re joking, Tito. I see copies of every spacegram transmitted from here. I know damn well you’ve sent no such thing.’
‘You used to see copies,’ corrected Ren. ‘The Free Trade Council has already instructed the spaceport staff not to cooperate with you and they’re leaning heavily on Rance to have you pulled out. I know of this because I held a personal conversation with the director at Free Trade Central. And you won’t receive a recording of that either. He confirmed everything I’d learned about the Butcher of Turais.’
‘Turais? That old propaganda line—’ Hardun was vehement. ‘If you’d believe that you’d believe anything.’
‘I would believe anything about you, Alek. That’s why I complained to the council. The urgency of your removal can’t be overstressed. They’re to hold a debate on it. I imagine the result will be to apply some tough sanctions against Rance until they’re forced to order you out. I don’t imagine that’ll make you very popular with your masters, either. So I’m advising you now to get offworld before the storm really breaks.’
‘I’ll see you in hell first, Tito. I wouldn’t dream of moving a centimeter unless I get specific instructions from Rance Politico.’
‘Very conformative. But I wasn’t asking you to go—I was warning you not to stay. Your departure is imminent, Either you decamp of your own volition or run the very probable risk of being removed, perhaps violently, by someone like the Imaiz. And if that happens Rance will be spared much loss of face—so I don’t imagine they’ll grieve unduly.’
‘The risk is negligible. It’s a complete certainty there’s nothing on Roget that can harm an armed battle cruiser at dock.’
‘I don’t share your certainty. The societies have withdrawn all services until your ship has been removed. The Imaiz not only has no opposition, but can—probably acquire substantial assistance if he requires it. And I don’t think Di Irons is going to miss the point for very long—in which case the planetary government will also be involved. So the opposition ranged against you runs from Dion-daizan through the Free Trade Council up to possible intervention by the Galactic Federation. If you get offworld now you might just about save your own skin.’
‘You’re either a brave man or a complete fool,’ said Hardun savagely. ‘I’ve killed men before for offering a whole lot less provocation. Your outlook’s so far adrift from the realities of galactic life that you’re really too pathetic to be true.’
‘I’ve been around, Alek. And wherever I’ve been I’ve looked in depth as well as at the surface. It’s not a perspective you’d understand, but it means I can back my judgment against yours with a reasonable chance of being right.’
Ren turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. It was obvious that his attempt to persuade Hardun to go voluntarily had met with no sort of success. Ren’s knowledge of spaceport security measures—and of the detection and defense capabilities of a docked battle cruiser—did not incline him to place much faith in the idea that the Imaiz would have a greater success by his own methods. They would probably have to wait until the pressure on Rance brought about an official recall. Ren shuddered. In the meantime Hardun could act without restriction—and if he accepted that his period of opportunity was limited, the next twenty-four hours could be a very crucial time in Anharitte’s history.
It might have been his imagination affecting his interpretation of the scene or it might have been some social reflection of the societies’ decision, but Ren had the distinct impression of unease in the city as he returned. The markets were quiet, almost deserted. The streets were far less crowded than usual and his own office Was deserted and dead. His bondservants had been withdra
wn by the Pointed Tails—whose legal property they were—and the normally busy household was at a standstill. Ren was even forced into the extreme of doing his own shopping when he wished to eat—and the preparation of his solitary meal was a process which caused him to think seriously about his next move.
He could not back down on his stand against Hardun, nor could he reasonably do more than he had done to secure the latter’s departure. There appeared to be no basis for any sort of pact with the Imaiz that would not be compromising later—and in any case, Ren felt that he had nothing of interest to offer. The best mode of release from the impasse would undoubtedly be the swift intervention by the Free Trade Council acting on Rance. Ren could only hope that the council would successfully act before Di Irons began to examine too closely reasons behind the Pointed Tails’ decision to withdraw their services. If the prefect were to learn the truth about the rocket launcher on the plains he would have no option but to start a chain of protests that must involve the planetary government and ultimately the Galactic Federation itself.
Di Irons, then, was the main problem for the moment. Idly Ren speculated on the strategy for a successful pattern of bluff if the prefect’s sure nose for trouble should lead him too close to the truth. The answers were not encouraging. He therefore decided that this would be a prudent time to visit some of the more distant of the company’s trading installations. By this ruse he could probably delay a confrontation until the removal of Alek Hardun was an accomplished fact. Accordingly he packed in preparation for an early start and retired exhausted to his bed.
An explosion—or rather a series of explosions—broke him savagely out of his sleep. He awoke in alarm as multiple flashes of light glared in window-patterned squares of whiteness from the walls of his room. The thunder followed swiftly. Ren leaned back, prepared to listen to the storm—until it slowly filtered into his consciousness that there was no such thing as a storm on Roget.
In an instant of panic he flung himself from his bed and put his head out of the window. The night sky was ringing as yet another great explosion from the direction of the plains shredded the unwilling air. Without pausing to dress Ren ran downstairs to the microwave communicator. As he turned on the stair the largest explosion yet made the building vibrate. Only the distance in the quality of the sound made him certain that the explosion was at the spaceport. The nature and effect of so violent a blast at that point of origin was something he scarcely dared to consider.
Although he called both on the service and emergency frequencies, he could obtain no reply from the spaceport control. This silence was unprecedented and suggested a state of crisis so acute that even the information backup for the Disaster Center was unobtainable. This convincingly fitted the scale of the catastrophe he had deduced from the intensity of the shockwaves. It was credible that as much as a quarter of the spaceport installation had been destroyed. On an undeveloped world like Roget, where civil emergency services were virtually nonexistent, the entire work of disaster containment and rescue work would have to be handled by the spaceport’s own personnel.
Ren dressed hurriedly. He did not even need light in his rooms. The sky, made bright by the angry redness of a major spaceport fire; provided more than adequate illumination. Knowing that his training would enable him to do little in the way of offering practical assistance, his intention on reaching the street door had been merely to walk to the limits of Firsthill in order to gain a better view. As he descended the steps, however, two armed watchmen flung themselves hurriedly across his path.
‘Agent Ren, you’re not permitted to leave.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Prefect Di Irons’ orders. You’re to be confined to your chambers until he’s free to deal with you.’
‘But why the hell? This is no doing of mine.’
‘That you must discuss with him. But you’d better be convincing. Nights such as this were never known in Anharitte before you made trouble with the Imaiz.’
Ren allowed himself to be escorted back into the chambers, where the watchmen maintained an uncommunicative guard. When the light of the morning was well advanced, he heard other noises in the house’ and soon guessed that his bondservants had been returned and were picking up their duties as though no interruption of service had occurred. Shortly his breakfast tray was placed before him. His guards were completely ignored.
By such signs he knew that Alek Hardun had been wrong in his certainty that no force on Roget was capable of dealing with an armed space cruiser at dock. It was a fair bet that about a third of the spaceport installation had gone with it. By some ingenious piece of wizardry a way had been found through all the alarms and defenses and the Imaiz had made good his promise.
An hour after mid-day the unusual echo of horses’ hoofs clattered to the door of his chambers. The sound was rare because the great horses of Roget, fully as large as the ancient Terran dray-horses, were unpopular beasts on the crowded roads of the city. They had their place at the great provincial estates, but for town work they were used mainly by the civil powers as a symbol of authority. A message from Di Irons required Ren to join the cavalcade to the spaceport. The reins of the great saddled and bridled beast were flung toward him with the instruction that he was to mount.
Ren’s riding experience was little and the size of his steed was daunting. He said as much, but his protests were dismissed.
‘Then here’s your chance to learn, Agent. The prefect won’t wait.’
Somehow he managed to mount. He sat unhappily astride the great beast whose back seemed as broad and as warm as the bed Ren had vacated during the night. Having mastered the art of staying on top of the moving animal, he next faced the problem of control. He found himself assisted by the fact that me giant horse appeared to know exactly what was required of it in terms of destination and speed. It obediently followed the messenger and two others through the streets of Firsthill, out on to the Trade Road, down the slopes and on to the Via Arena.
The messenger rode hard, without pausing for further explanation. The fact that his escort rode mainly ahead of him led Ren to suspect that his presence was required for a constructive purpose, rather than a punitive one. They soon came in sight of the spaceport, from which, even in daylight, the bright flames from burning fuel tanks showed crimson under the vast columns of smoke.
Ren’s initial surprise at being conveyed in so unusual a manner was soon dispelled as he realized that carriage by the giant horses was certainly the fastest means of transport available. Although cushion-craft were able to produce a better turn of speed on the open stretch of the Via Arena, the slower working of the craft in the city gave ample advantage to horses. His present journey was accomplished in well under half an hour. Bruised and sore, Ren clung frantically to the saddle horn and only fell when he attempted to dismount.
FIFTEEN
Di Irons, looking fiercer and sterner than ever, waited for Ren to pick himself out of the dust, then strode away, indicating that the agent should follow. Ren followed painfully, wondering if his encounter with the horse had done something irrevocable to his legs. Their path took them broadly across the spaceport, most of which was obscured by wide trails of drifting smoke. The prefect stopped when finally they neared the number-five landing bowl where the Rance battle cruiser had been.
Ren caught his breath as the scale of the catastrophe became apparent. The tall ship had been totally demolished and the parts further shattered. Even the single components seemed destroyed. Only a very small part of the ship’s total mass was still evident. The rest of it had presumably been vaporized or dispersed over many thousands of meters of terrain. Even the nearly indestructible wolframic of the landing bowl was heavily cratered as though from a major war. The picture was one of violence multiplied by violence. It was a job most thoroughly done.
‘How did it happen?’ asked Ren.
Di Irons put on a thunderous scowl. ‘Pictor Don has a theory that the ship was toppled by an s.h.e. charge plac
ed in the vicinity of one of the ship’s stabilizers. Her engines then exploded and that touched off her magazine. Unfortunately she was heavily overarmed and some of the later explosions took away a fair proportion of the spaceport buildings. I’ve no doubt we’ll be receiving a detailed account of the damage from the spaceport Disaster Control center in due course. That’s why I wanted you here. You’re going to give me an independent view of how it was done, who did it—and why it was necessary.’
‘Me? But I know nothing about it. I was asleep at the time.’
‘That’s no excuse,’ said Di Irons. ‘I’ll wager you know a great deal about it. Pretense will save you nothing. Let’s be in no doubt as to where you stand. In the past twenty-five hours I’ve uncovered sufficient facts about you and the activities with which you’ve been involved to have you declared persona non grata on just about every civilized planet in the universe. Not only that, but for default of various laws on Roget under Space Conventions I could encourage our government to make claim for damages that would not only bankrupt your Company but would cripple another half-dozen of their Free Trade associates.
‘Having warned you to follow the advice of your society on how to conduct a feud with the Imaiz, you have no conceivable defense for your actions. So do you now volunteer to answer my questions or do I have to break both you and the Company?’
‘What exactly do you want to know?’ asked Ren unhappily.
‘This battle cruiser—it must have carried enough armaments to start a major war. Was it put here by the Free Trade Council?’
‘No. It was donated by Rance, ostensibly as a technical backup facility. I don’t think the majority of the council was aware that it was anything else.’
‘So why did it possess a fully equipped war potential?’