Treasure of Tau Ceti

by John Rickham

  “Just good guessing is all. Noble described Clan, and I know his form. It would have to be something big, and where is anything worth millions, these days, except off-planet? And, of course, it could have been Lyra, or Cygni. But when he was so insistent, with his last breath, to say tonight, it added up.”

  “To Knight.” I echoed, separating the words as he had done.

  “My father,” she turned the blaze on me, “Professor Larrabee Knight, who is the living authority on Tau Ceti Three.”

  “Maybe I picked the wrong Knight. Go ahead and play the damned thing, Fiona. Let’s have the data first, the arguments afterward.”

  She lifted her finger and the reels began to spin again. Now an old and thickly accented voice came, choosing words with pedantic care.

  “The recording which follows was made by me personally on Tau Ceti Three: that is, the third planet of the Tau Ceti system, so far without any official name, but which should in my opinion be named after the inhabitants, who call themselves Verl; hence I suggest the name Verlan.”

  Down went her finger again. “I know that voice. Dr. Arthur Callint. He swore he had been able to establish meaningful communication with the humanoid inhabitants, and called them Verl. That, and ‘Verlan,’ is accepted now. But he was such a muddler in other ways that when he swore half his stuff had been stolen no one believed him. Where did you get this?” Her eyes bored into me.

  “In a moment,” Carson promised. “Let’s hear it.”

  The old voice resumed. “The speaker is one Uhumeelee ‘ng ‘aro, as closely as I can duplicate his sounds. I gathered that he was some kind of leader, chief, or headman, of the pack or group I was observing. He speaks:”

  For a moment there was just crackle, and then the quiet room was full of curious sound, a mixture of labials and liquids, yowling and yelping overtones, making no kind of sense to me at all. Miss Knight listened raptly, almost as if she understood it. When it stopped after about ten minutes, she jabbed with her finger to bring silence once more.

  “I’d say that was genuine. It sounds like a field recording. And the language. Let me explain. While no one really believed Gallint’s claim, several researchers have made sound recordings, just as one would do with bird or animal noises. And it is a language.”

  “You mean you can understand it?” I demanded.

  “After a fashion, yes. I could do better if I put it through my analyzer. Let me finish. That recording is at least ten years old. Gallint was never able to duplicate his data, nor was he ever able to convince anyone that these Verlan were really able to talk, as we understand talk. He died without being able to justify himself. Since then, by degrees, we have built up enough sounds to reconstruct a kind of language. Nothing as long and complex as this, though. We have other reasons for believing the Verlan to be intelligent, now. I’m well informed on this simply because Dad has used me and my skills to codify all the communication data on the Verlan—and I have never heard anything approaching this for depth and clarity. It is extremely valuable, just as it is. Do you realize that?”

  “Hold on.” Carson inserted his easy drawl. “It has to be valuable in some other way. I knew Clan. He wouldn’t risk his neck for semantics, or exobiological research. He’d want cash value.”

  “I’ll call you on that,” she retorted. “You’ve been to Verlan. I haven’t, but I know the place is a paradise in spots. So it matters, in cold commercial terms, whether the Verlan are intelligent humanoid or not. Matters to statesmen, politicians, national groups, and business exploiters of all kinds. Makes all the difference to them, and there is a ferocious hush-hush battle in progress right now over that very point.”

  “Granted,” he said, nodding. “But not to a crook. Not that kind of precious. Let’s hear the rest of it.”

  She shrugged, lifted her finger and the wire started sliding again. Gallint’s voice. “I have made a rough translation of that speech, claiming no accuracy for fine nuances, only a gist. As follows: ‘Before, long ago, much time, were the great ones who knew all things. We served them. They made us good, happy, doing all things for them. But they were not many, and their children were not many. And so they died. Knowing all things, they knew they would die. Before they died they gave to each pack, or cluster, a touching-stone of great power. This is the touching-stone. With it I make well anyone in my pack who becomes sick. I had the stone from the one who was chief before me. I will give it to the one who takes my place. I will tell him the history, as it was told me. That the great ones made their last home on the island called Hiowlee. Before they died they took a great many things, touching-stones and other things of great power, and put them away in a safe place on that island. ‘Where they still remain.’

  “That, I believe, is the gist of the chief’s speech. He showed me the touching-stone. It is cylindrical, a crystal about three inches long and half-an-inch in diameter; a jewel with an internal structure; it glows; it is obviously artificial; it is the most beautiful thing I have ever-seen. Just as a gem it would be priceless. I was not allowed to touch it. He carried it in some kind of fiber tube, and that inside a braided pouch. To use, he grasped the uncovered jewel in his right hand, or paw, and touched his subject with his left paw. The demonstration I saw involved a young male who seemed to be stricken with cramps and stomachache, possibly indigestion or food poisoning. Within seconds of being touched he was healthy enough to scuttle off at a good speed.

  “I should also explain that while the old man was holding the gem he was inspired, but reverted to dull-eyed stupidity on releasing it. I cannot begin to guess what that effect could be, but I saw it. I have made repeated efforts to contact that same pack again, but so far without success. I can give a guess as to the island referred to. Hlowlee means, according to text, old home, den and footprint, footshape or paw. There is a solitary island about fifty miles to the southeast of Outpost One, which fits this description very well. As far as is known, it is barren.”

  The wire fizzed on a little more then ran out with a click. She reached out, switched off the machine, then sat back and crossed her long legs with a fine abandon, her eyes on Carson.

  “Well, now,” he murmured, “that is much more like it. A hoard of priceless gems.” His smile was for me, but then his eye caught Miss Knight, and I saw him frown, and then sigh. “You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you?”

  “You bet I am,” she declared. “You’ve just had the benefit of my professional services. I can do more. I can put that wire through my analyzer and get a more accurate translation, possibly a point or two that Dr. Gaunt missed. Yes. But I charge a feel”

  “A fee?” I stared. “But, of course, if you wish. I hadn’t thought about it, but certainly. Name it.” I was reaching for my credit card when she shook her head; did tricks with her long legs again, deliberately exhibiting them.

  “My price is high,” she said. “I want in!"

  II

  IT TOOK ME a moment to understand what she meant, and then I had to look to Carson for guidance. He looked right back at me, and his smile was very thin.

  “You heard the lady,” he said. “She wants to come along.”

  “You’re both too quick for me,” I protested. If that wire is to be believed, there’s a hoard of priceless gems somewhere on Verlan. If I assume that you mean to try and get it—that we are to try and get it—surely that will be on the ragged edge of illegality?”

  “It certainly would. And she knows that. It’s her key card.” I must have looked as baffled as I felt, for he went on. “Fiona is officially involved with Verlan. Her father is the expert on it, and she is connected with the Museum’s exobiological department. All she has to do is sound the alert, tell the authorities that this wire is in existence and that you have it, and that is that, so far as you are concerned. We, if you prefer it that way. The proper authorities will take over.

  All at once that seemed a terrible prospect. Before me danced the rare chance of high adventure, a chance to do something ex
citing, and the thought of that chance being swallowed in the dull mills of authority was an offense. I glared at her. “You would do that?”

  She showed her perfect teeth in a gloating smile. “I can. Nothing easier. You can stop me. All you have to say, politely, is ‘Please, Fiona, would you like to join us in our expedition?’ That’s all.”

  “It’s not for me to say. Even before we heard what was on that wire, I made a deal with Carson. I'll stand by it. The deal was that if anything came up worth the trouble, he would he in charge. Ask him.”

  “It’s your wire. You said so.”

  “Hold on, Fiona,” Carson drawled. “Noble is telling it the way it is. I’ve heard his story, which is why I was able to do all that smart guessing. You haven’t heard it yet. Now would be a good time. Tell her.”

  I told my story again, understanding it better now that I knew the forces beneath it. She listened intently.

  “All right, now.” Carson took over as I finished. “Let me spell it out. We can assume that Gaunt had it right, right enough for some high-level crooks to get interested. A fortune in gems, plus God alone knows what in alien artifacts. But we do not have it all to ourselves. Swilly knows, for sure. Others know, by conjecture. Clan didn’t get on the trail all by himself, you can bet. So there will be competition, violent and ruthless. And then there’s the planet itself. I’ve been there, and I know a little of its conditions. It can be rugged. There is also this. The settled portion of Verlan is a rich man’s hunting ground, a paradise for some, and they do not go very strong for law. They believe in freedom to do what they like, there. I’m not criticizing that, except to rub in the fact that we won’t have any kind of authority to turn to. Flay it right and you can commit just about any crime you like on Verlan and no one will even be curious.

  “So. I reckon I can take care of myself. Noble, here, is big enough, strong enough, and willing. He is also a product of the British style of higher education, which may not strike you as significant, but I’ll come to that. You”—he focused on Miss Knight, and there was no easiness now, but hard purpose—”I know you, Fiona, and you know me, so let’s not beat around any bushes. Noble agrees that I’m in charge, so it’s this way. I’ll include you in the party, certainly, but on my terms. And you know what they are. Otherwise you can take the wire, for me, and do what you like with it.”

  Of all that, I understood just one thing and I choked on it. “You mean you’d actually agree to taking her along? A girl?”

  “So you do have an attitude to women!” she snapped. “I might have known. Let me tell you— “No. I’ll tell him.” Carson didn’t raise his voice, but it shut her up efficiently. “Don’t get any wrong ideas, Noble. Fiona can handle herself. She can swim, fight, drive anything that runs on wheels, cushions or flies. She is handy equally with sword, knife, or beam weapons. She has climbed mountains, been down potholes, has lived rough, slept under the stars, been frozen, sunburned, chased by wild animals—did I leave out anything?”

  “Skydiving, deep diving—one or two other things. Un-armed combat.” She grasped her chair-arms ready to spring up. “You’d care to take me on?”

  “What would that prove?” I demanded. “Carson’s in charge. I want to hear his reasons on this!”

  “Good for you,” he said, and grinned. “You’re competent, Fiona, I don’t argue that. There’s just one thing, and you know it. Let me throw back to what I said a while back. British higher education. They teach them to take orders, to accept authority. Discipline. Somebody has to be in charge, somebody who knows the form. It matters. It could make the difference between life and death. And you know it. I’m not such a fool as to try to guarantee total success, but neither am I the kind of fool to go up against men like Swilly and Clan unless I am with people I can rely on all the way. People who will do as I say, instantly and without question. You want in, you’re in, but on those terms. Otherwise, forget it.”

  She didn’t like it. Her face showed it plainly. “You need me,” she argued. “I can pull strings. I can understand Verlan. I can speak it, a bit. You need someone like me!”

  “I know it. I also know you. Make up your mind.”

  She scowled a little longer, then sighed. “All right, I’ll pander to your ego, damn you! You’re in charge. What’s the next move?”

  Ten terse minutes later we had a plan of sorts and I helped carry her box of tricks down to street level, where we caught a beetle: she to the Museum; me back to my town apartment, leaving Carson busy with the phone and various strings of his own to pull. As we climbed into the little automatic runabout and she programmed it for the Museum, I was still suffering from a sense of unreality.

  “I’m confused,” I admitted, “but I think I should say I hope I haven’t interrupted anything important in your life?”

  “Not really.” She settled back easily. “My main work is the kind of thing that could use up a lifetime. Phoneme coding and analysis. In other words, trying to get enough data into the big machine to build up the ideal international language. Like trying to keep an encyclopedia up to date, it can’t be done, but it’s always useful. Tell me, how well do you know Captain Carson?”

  “Captain? I didn’t even know that. I’ve met him only once before. My father spoke well of him, and that’s enough.”

  “I never knew anyone honest not to speak well of him. He is quite a character. Turned in a spectacular career in Space Service simply because they were on the point of kicking him upstairs fast, into a desk job. He couldn’t face that, but, since Space Service is still very young, and there’s an acute shortage of good men, there was no way be could have dodged it. So he quit. Said he’d rather do his own living than tell somebody else how to.”

  “I see!” I said. “That explains something. He asked me why I was idling my time, and I told him it was that or be stuck in my father’s office, and I just couldn’t see it, You know him very well?” She nodded, and I went on. “Why make such a fuss about accepting his authority?”

  "Because I’m female,” she said cryptically, and the beetle swung in to the side and halted. “This is where I get off. See you around noon tomorrow.” She went away across the broad pavement outside the Museum, a slim leggy shape hauling the big box, and I rode on the fifteen additional minutes to my apartment. My inner confusion, if anything, was worse than before, and I was now unhappily conscious of various aches and pains from Swilly’s efforts. My mind was an uneasy sandwich. On top were the crisp orders from Carson for me to get as much sleep as possible, clear up any unfinished business, make contact with my father— presently in Britannia—and somehow talk him into agreeing to let me travel to Verlan. That would require some thought. At bottom was my placid and non-spectacular existence so far, alternating between our country home and London, quite aimlessly. In between was the most indigestible mixture of drama and intrigue, violence, fantastic treasure, murderous villains—and it just wouldn’t settle into anything reasonable at all.

  The unreality was still there as I paid off the beetle with my credit card and took the elevator up to the apartment on the fifteenth floor. It wasn’t until I was actually placing my key in the lock of the door that I gave heed to a sense of something wrong, and by then it was too late. Figures came at me out of the shadows purposefully; a dark arm rose and fell, blasting the dim light of the corridor into a million stars in my head. I went down, not quite out, my head splitting. I heard a voice, caught just a glimpse of a thin, rat-snarling face, and the urgent order, “That’s him, all right. Belt him another one!”

  When I came to, I felt that my head, like Gaul, had been divided into three parts, hut with a blunt saw. I was stretched out over the doorway of the apartment, with the door standing half open. I managed to get my wristwatch in focus, and saw three-ten, so I had been out something like four hours. Standing up was an effort, and it revealed to me that I had been thoroughly searched: cape and pants, vest, even my socks and shoes. And the flat. The first bleary glance around, after I flicked
on the light, made that painfully clear. I leaned against the wall and made my beadwork. Swilly! That had been his Lace, with another to help. Remembering what he had done to Clan, I supposed I was lucky to be alive, but I had doubts just then. I struggled to the phone, made my head work further, dug up from the chaos the number Carson had given me, and dialed it. He must have been abed, and I was prepared for a dismal wait, but his voice came on seconds after the second buzz.

  “Noble here,” I said, my voice sounding as if it came from inside a metal box. “Two men waiting for me—possibly more—when I got home. Knocked me out, searched me, took my keys, ransacked the flat. I’ve just come around.”

  “How bad are you? Need a doctor?”

  “I doubt it. Feels bloody, but nothing broken. Later. Point is, I recognized Swilly. And they got the wig.”

  “Yes.” His quiet voice, even over the phone, had a hum in it like a dynamo spinning. “Very good staff work by somebody. Wait.” There was a pause of about fifteen seconds, then, “This is what you do. Report this, as it stands, to the police. Get a doctor for yourself. Call it breaking and entry, which it is. Get them to hurry formalities because you are taking an urgent trip to Britannia, which you are. Then do that as soon as you can. You can nap on the monorail. See your father. Tell him as much as is relevant. How will he take it, can you guess?”

  “Nothing unusual about it. There have been several similar outrages around this area recently.”

  “That helps. Fine! Use it as part of your excuse; say you’re fed up with London, with civilized perversion, anything you like. Make it known you’d like to take off to Verlan. Make it good. You’ll have to carry this part alone. I’ll contact Fiona right away. She and I will make our own way. We will pick you up somehow, en route, making it look accidental. There must be no overt link between us,”

  “I’m the patsy,” I said, and he chuckled.

  “It’s not that bad. They could have killed you. Why didn’t they?”