That area also was cluttered with stacks of boxes, trunks, and even furniture.
“Doesn’t it strike you as odd,” said Andrek curiously, “that everything is going in to the ship, and nothing is coming out? And look at that.” He pointed to a huge roll of carpetry being hoisted out toward the ship’s loading conveyor. “Are they dismantling the whole station and shipping it back to Goris-Kard?”
“Nonsense, my boy. Quite a bit of staff turnover at a lonely outpost like this. In addition to the arbiter’s chambers, the station maintains cooperative facilities for scientists from all the Twelve Galaxies. There’s always a stream of new staff coming in, old staff leaving. And of course, they take their baggage with them.”
“I suppose so,” said Andrek. He looked around doubtfully.
Xerol was not the only ship tied up at the station docks. To Xerol’s rear was another, larger craft. Andrek could not make out the strange letters on her loading tubes. Iovve saw him peering at it, and whispered, “Varez, from Andromeda.” And up ahead was still another ship. Her loading tubes were active, too. In fact, cases, crates, trunks, and even people were moving up the tubes of both ships. But nothing, and no one, seemed to be coming out.
Many of these people were obviously nonhominid. Several had more than two legs, and some even wore transparent helmets, evidently to carry with them their own strange atmospheres.
Iovve took him by the arm. “Now, then, counselor, I believe we can take this hall to the lobby.”
The corridor echoed eerily with the clanging of their magnetized shoe soles as they moved deeper into the station.
“Ah, yes,” said Iovve. “Here we are.”
Andrek looked about him, puzzled. Something was strange, wrong. A slight difference in the tint of paint along the edges of the corridor floor told him that not long ago—perhaps yesterday—a carpet had lain there. The phone boxes in the corridor walls were empty; as were the wall clamps for the portable fire extinguishers. He started to ask Iovve about it, but the other grasped his arm and pointed ahead.
They were just outside the main lobby. It was crowded, and through the shifting mass of people, on the other side of the room, was the registration desk. And there, three officers of Xerol leaned across the counter, deep in conversation with the clerk.
Andrek and Iovve shrank back into the dimness of the hallway.
As they watched, the three officers left the clerk and began circulating slowly through the lobby, looking covertly but carefully at the faces of the occupants.
“I think they are wearing slug-guns,” said Andrek nervously. “Suppose they come out here?”
“I don’t think they will. But suppose they do? The station is a big place, with lots of places to hide. Just now, they are merely suspicious. Huntyr didn’t check in with the captain on docking. He’s missing. Vang’s missing. And Hasard. They’re worried, but they don’t know anything for sure. Certainly, they don’t know that we are alive. The thing that puzzles them is why didn’t Huntyr leave the ship through the passenger tubes? You see, they don’t really know whom they’re looking for. I think their concern is primarily Huntyr, not us.”
“I hope you’re right. Anyhow, they’ve stopped.”
The three officers had met at the main lobby entrance. They took one last look around, then left, headed for the passenger tubes.
“Now,” said Iovve, “let’s test an ancient axiom of Ritornel: be grateful for the unwitting gifts of others.”
“I don’t recall that one,” muttered Andrek.
“Naturally: the younger generation is not well informed in religious matters. This way, my boy.”
They walked over to the registration desk. The clerk looked up at them.
Iovve said, “I believe we have reservations. Huntyr and party.”
“Oh yes, of course. Are you Mr. Huntyr?”
“No, that’s Mr. Huntyr.” Iovve nodded at Andrek. “I’m Brother Vang.”
“How many in your party, Mr. Huntyr?”
“Three,” said Andrek. “Mr. Hasard will be over from the ship in a few minutes.”
“Very good. Here are your keys. Second level. Shall I put your luggage in the auto-tube, to go directly to your rooms?”
“Never mind,” said Andrek. “We’ll carry them. Also, I have been asked to give you a message from Mr. Andrek, of Xerol.”
“Yes?”
“He is staying aboard ship, and will not be needing his reservation.”
“That’s a coincidence. Captain Forgaz was just here with the same information. And he was inquiring about you, Mr. Huntyr.”
“Sorry I missed him,” said Andrek. “I’ll call him from my room.”
“As you wish. Are you returning in Xerol?”
“No,” broke in Iovve. “We’re going on. We already have reservations on … ah … Varez.”
“Varez? To Andromeda? But she’s leaving soon. You can board her now. You won’t have time—”
“She’s delayed,” said Iovve smoothly. “Engine trouble.”
“Oh. If you say so.” The clerk shrugged politely. “The rate is twenty gammas per room, payable in advance.”
Andrek placed some bills on the desk, then he and Iovve turned away and headed for the inner level.
Just as they entered the corridor from the lobby, Andrek stopped and looked back. On the other side of the registration desk the clerk was putting on a heavy outer jacket. He zipped up the fasteners, then reached for a hat on the hat rack.
“Why are you stopping?” hissed Iovve.
“I think the clerk is about to leave—for good, I mean,” said Andrek wonderingly.
“And what’s wrong with that? There’s certainly no need for someone to be there twenty-four hours a day. Come on.”
“Just a minute,” said Andrek. As he watched, the clerk put several ledgers, a small locked box, and three valises, one after another, into the auto-chute marked “Ship: Xerol.” Then he came around to the front of the desk, pulled down a metal grill, and walked away toward the corridor leading to Xerol’s passenger tubes. Andrek’s eye came back to the grill over the registration counter. A small sign in the center read “Closed.”
Andrek turned back to Iovve, started to ask him a question, then decided it would be futile. One thing was now clear. The station was closing. And Iovve did not want him to know that it was closing. But why should it close? There had to be a reason. He would have to find out.
When they reached their rooms, Andrek said, “I want to talk to you after you unpack.” He unlocked the door to his own room and went inside. It was, as he had predicted, carpetless. But around the edges of the floor was an outline of where a carpet had been—and recently. Overhead, one dim fluor was left burning amid six empty sockets. The entertainment center was identifiable by a gaping hole in the wall and a few dangling wires. There was not even a wastebasket. Except for the bunk bed and one towel in the washroom, the room had been stripped.
Something cold and heavy began to grow in the bottom of Andrek’s stomach.
There was only one explanation. And on a subconscious level, he must have suspected it all along, even when he had not wanted to think about it consciously. Again, he had the frustrating feeling that he saw only a part of a much larger drama. But at least it would readily explain that part: namely, how Iovve expected to die.
He went next door and knocked. Iovve let him in.
Andrek said grimly: “The station is stripped down to its bare operating essentials. Everyone here has already moved out or is preparing to move out. Why? What’s going on here?”
Iovve peered at Andrek, as though attempting to assess how much the advocate knew and how much he had merely guessed. “Really?” he said. “How observant of you. I hadn’t noticed. Perhaps their assignments are completed. Perhaps the League is finally closing the station. It could be any one of a number of things.”
Andrek smiled at him wickedly. His voice was deceptively quiet. “Iovve, my very dubious friend, you undoubtedly have extr
aordinary skills in many strange fields. For these, you have my undying admiration and respect.” The tones became even softer, more reflective, tinged with faint regret. “In one area, however, you are a bumbling fool. You just don’t know how to tell a convincing lie.”
“I—What? I’m not on your witness stand, Don Andrek!”
But now, in a sudden, shattering change of pace, the advocate’s voice thundered out. “A QUAKE IS COMING, ISN’T IT?”
Iovve stared at Andrek in amazement. “By my beard! You are a wonder!”
“Just answer the question.”
“Well, if you put it that way, yes. A quake is coming.”
“And you didn’t tell me. Why?”
“Because you never asked!” Iovve lifted his gloved hands in a gesture of helpless innocence.
“When is it coming?”
“Well, my boy, obviously not within the next few minutes.” He looked at his watch. “When is your hearing with the arbiters?”
It was futile … hopeless. He had tried, and he had failed. It was like dealing with some elemental force of nature that knew only its own blind destiny and held no negotiations with mortals, except to bend them to its own primeval force and design. Iovve was like a tide, a flood, a storm. Iovve was like (he thought wryly) a space quake.
A quake was coming, and Iovve was simply not going to discuss it. The game would have to be played on Iovve’s terms.
Andrek said, “My hearing with the arbiters? I don’t know. Soon. I’ll have to find out from the clerk.”
“That’s easy. The arbiters’ chambers are right down the hall. Suppose we check in with the clerk and then take a peek into the seismographic room. We might find out when the quake is coming.”
Andrek shrugged his shoulders.
Iovve looked at him with reproach. “Your distrust stabs me in the heart.”
You seem to have survived, thought Andrek. “Come on,” he said.
“I’ll just take this along,” said Iovve, picking up his medical case.
“What for?” Andrek knew the question was wasted breath even before he asked it.
“I may need it down in seismographic,” said the pilgrim vaguely.
Together they walked down to the arbitration chambers.
The arbiters’ clerk took Andrek’s name with mild surprise. “The Terror case, isn’t it?” He riffled through his papers. “Here we are. Just as I thought. Routine show-cause.” He peered up at Andrek. “Actually, counselor, no need for you to be here. No one is going to show cause. You can take the next ship out, if you like.”
“I’ll stay for the hearing,” said Andrek. “When is it scheduled?”
“In an hour or so. It’s the last thing on the docket. As soon as the arbiters collect, I’ll give you a call. What’s your room number?”
“We’ll be in seismographic,” interposed Iovve.
“Indeed?” The clerk frowned. “I thought it was closed down—locked up.”
“It is,” said Iovve. “But that’s where Don Andrek will be. It’s just a few steps away. We can be back here very quickly.”
“All right. Go ahead. I’ll call you there. You probably have about half an hour.”
Holding the medical kit with one hand, Iovve dragged Andrek out of the room with the other.
10. THE RIGHT KEY, AND BEYOND
A few minutes later they stood in front of a door. In its center was a simple legend, in the twelve official languages of the Cluster. Andrek could read only the Ingliz: “Seismographic Room—Authorized Personnel Only.”
The door panel was completely smooth except for one rather small hole in the center. Andrek took this to be the keyhole. He watched as Iovve pushed tentatively on the panel with his shoulder. Nothing budged a micron. It now occurred to Andrek that Iovve had no key. But would that be a real problem? He recalled the pilgrim’s entrance into Huntyr’s office. But of course this was no mere commercial lock. If Iovve were able to open this door, Andrek wanted to watch him do it. He wanted to study Iovve’s technique. It would be an opportunity to learn something about the man.
Iovve bent down and peered into the keyhole. “Hm. Thermal profile.”
“What do you mean?”
“The key has to have several different temperatures along its length, such as, for example, 20°-10°-30°-minus 5°, and so on. Each of the actual key-tooth temperatures has to be accurate to a fraction of a degree, or the profile of the series of thermocouples inside won’t close and complete the electric circuit to pull the bolts.”
Andrek looked at him blankly. Something like this was clearly beyond the simple portable equipment that Iovve might carry concealed under his robes. He had divided feelings about it. In a way, he was disappointed. On the other hand, he was not able to suppress a small malicious feeling of satisfaction in seeing Iovve thwarted.
“Well, that’s that,” he said. “You don’t have that kind of key. You’d need a probe connected to a complete heating and refrigeration unit, something weighing several hundred kilos. The official key is probably being loaded on Xerol, right now.”
“No doubt, my son. On the other hand, let’s see what we can do. Stand back, boy.”
Rather dubiously, Andrek did as he was asked.
In a rapid movement, so quick that Andrek could see very little, Iovve ripped off the glove from his right hand. And then his actions were completely hidden by the loose folds of his robes. From the position of his shoulders and right arm, Andrek guessed that the pilgrim was holding his bare hand, or possibly only the index finger, to the keyhole. At one point, when Iovve stood back a few centimeters, Andrek thought he caught the odor of hot metal. Then the other pressed in again, and then there came a smooth metallic rumbling, as of heavy rods sliding, and then the door stood ajar.
Iovve pushed in. “Now that wasn’t too difficult, was it?”
Andrek noted that the glove was back. Mildly awed, he followed the pilgrim inside.
He looked around curiously.
The seismographic room was in the very center of the station. Whether by deliberate functional design or designer’s caprice (Andrek could not surmise which) the room had the shape of a dodecahedron. Ten of the pentagonal faces of the polyhedron were clustered with instruments. One, evidently the “floor,” had only a big worktable and a few chairs. Directly above this was the “ceiling,” bare except for an oversized clock in its center.
“This room,” said Iovve, “has been called the eardrum of the universe. Actually, the term is somewhat grandiose. It does however collect, integrate, and transmit Node weather data to each of the twelve sponsoring galaxies, along with proton density, ursecta activity, space temblors, meteorites, the works. At the moment, and from now on to the instant of the quake, it transmits automatically. As you have so cleverly deduced, my boy, a quake is certainly coming, and that is why all the normal operating staff have already shipped out.”
Andrek stared at him bitterly. “And that’s why everything of value has been dismantled. The station will be left here, stripped, simply to broadcast the quake. Why didn’t you say so?”
Iovve lifted his arms piously. “I was thinking only of you, my son. I didn’t want to make you nervous. You have an important hearing shortly, you know.”
How could my forthcoming hearing be of any possible concern to you, thought Andrek. You’re up to something. What it is, I don’t know. But somehow it involves me. How? No use to ask. And how close is Iovve to the end of his pilgrimage? And is he entirely sane? But these, like all the other questions, are futile. The time has come to part. I’ll have to start making plans. How do I get out of here? How do I get back to Goris-Kard without getting killed? And when I get there, what do I do about Omere? And Amatar? Everything depends on getting away from Iovve. Will I be able to do that? What does this treacherous creature want of me? I think I will tell him, now, exactly what I think of him.
“You are either mad,” said Andrek flatly, “or you are a scoundrel.”
“Or both?”
“On Xerol?”
“Of course not. But there are other ships. We saw a couple when we landed. I’ll stow away on one of those.”
“Do as you wish, my boy.” Iovve met Andrek’s angry eyes calmly. “Meanwhile, excuse me a moment.” The pilgrim craned his head upward and studied the clock for several seconds. Then without a word he clacked over to a bank of instruments at the far panel and peered at them closely. Shaking his head, he broke contact with the floor and floated up to the clock. He opened the clock face and moved the red hand around in a near semicircle.
“What are you doing?” demanded Andrek suspiciously.
“Merely correcting the setting,” Iovve called back cheerily. “Be with you in a moment.”
“What was that red hand?”
“Sort of a special indicator—just a scientific gimmick.”
“It has something to do with the quake, doesn’t it?”
“Why yes, I guess you could say that.”
“It tells you when the quake is coming,” persisted Andrek coldly. “You know, and you don’t want me to know.”
“Really, my boy, I’m not on your witness stand. Your suspicions cut me to the quick. Yes, it does predict the time of the quake.”
“When is it due?”
“When? Not immediately. Surely, you can see that. You haven’t even had your session with the arbiters yet. I hope, my son, that you can take comfort from the fact that right here at the station is a collection of the best judicial minds of the Twelve Galaxies. Their mere presence here should reassure you. And why? The reason is simple. These judges acknowledge a sacred duty to their respective governments, sworn under solemn oath, to protect and preserve their laws and legal systems. And to preserve the law, they must first preserve themselves. Hence, the faithful performance of their sworn duty requires first, and above all, a most delicate, watchful, and continuing regard for their own skins. Accept my assurance that they would never violate so sublime an obligation by a callous disregard for an oncoming space quake.”
The Ring of Ritornel Page 16