Djana helped Flandry put the courier torpedoes, which he had programmed under normal conditions, on the launch rack. When they were outside, he must don a spacesuit and go couple them. He was gone a long while and came back white and shaken. “Done,” was everything he would tell her.
They sought the conn. He sat down, she on his lap, and they held each other through the nightmare hours. “You’re real,” she kept babbling. “You’re real.”
And the strangeness faded. Quietness, solidity, stars returned one by one. A haggard Flandry pored over instruments whose readings again made sense, about which he could again think clearly.
“Receding hyperwakes,” he breathed. “Our stunt worked. Soon’s we stop registering them—First, though, we turn our systems off.”
“Why?” she asked from her seat to which she had returned, and from her weariness.
“I can’t tell how many the ships are. Space is still somewhat kinky and—well, they may have left one posted for insurance. The moment we pass a threshold value of the metric, there’ll be no mistaking our radiation, infrared from the hull, neutrinos from the power-plant, that kind of junk. Unless we douse the sources.”
“Whatever you want, darling.”
Weightlessness was like stepping off a cliff and dropping without end. Cabin dark, the pulsar flash on one side and stars on the other crowded near in dreadful glory. Nothing remained save the faintest accumulator-powered susurrus of forced ventilation; and the cold crept inward.
“Hold me,” Djana beseeched into the blindness. “Warm me.”
A pencil-thin flashbeam from Flandry’s hand slipped along the console. Back-scattered light limned him, a shadow. Silence lengthened and lengthened until:
“Uh-oh. They’re smart as I feared. Grav waves. Somebody under primary acceleration. Has to be a ship of theirs.”
Son of Man, help us.
At the boat’s high kinetic velocity, the pulsar shrank and dimmed while they watched.
“Radar touch,” Flandry reported tunelessly.
“Th-they’ve caught us?”
“M-m-m, they may assume we’re a bit of cosmic débris. You can’t check out every blip on your scope…Oof! They’re applying a new vector. Wish I dared use the computer. It looks to me as if they’re maneuvering for an intercept with us, but I’d need math to make sure.
“If they are?” The abstractness of it, that’s half the horror. A reading, an equation, and me closed off from touching you, even seeing you. We’re not us, we’re objects. Like being already dead—no, that’s not right, Jesus promised we’ll live. He did.
“They aren’t necessarily. No beam’s latched onto us. I suspect they’ve been casting about more or less at random. We registered strong enough to rate a closer look, but they lost and haven’t refound us. Interplanetary space is bigger than most people imagine. So they may as well direct themselves according to the orbit this whatsit seemed to have, in hopes of checking us out at shorter range.”
“Will they?”
“I don’t know. If we’re caught…well, I suppose we should eschew a last-ditch stand. How would one dig a ditch in vacuum? We can surrender, hope Ydwyr can save us and another chance’ll come to worm out.” His voice in the dark was not as calm as he evidently wished.
“You’d trust Ydwyr?” lashed from her.
His beam stepped across the dials. “Closing in fast,” he said. “Radar sweep’s bound to pick us up soon. We may show as an interstellar asteroid, but considering the probability of a natural passage at any given time—” She heard and felt his despair. “Sorry, sweetheart. We gave ’em a good try, didn’t we?”
The image might have sprung to her physical vision, shark shape across the Milky Way, man’s great foes black-clad at the guns. She reached out to the stars of heaven. “God have mercy,” she cried with her whole being. “Oh, send them back where they belong!”
Blink…blink…blink.
The light ray danced. Where it touched, meters turned into pools beneath those suns that crowded the screens. “Ho-o-old,” Flandry murmured. “One minute…They’re receding!” exploded from him. “Judas priest, they, they must’ve decided the blip didn’t mean anything!”
“They’re going?” she heard herself blurt. “They are?”
“Yes. They are. Can’t’ve felt too strongly about that stray indication they got…Whoo! They’ve gone hyper! Already! Aimed back toward Siekh, seems like. And the—here, we can use our circuits again, lemme activate the secondary-wave receivers first—yes, yes, four indications, our couriers, their other three ships, right on the verge of detectability, headed out—Djana, we did it! Judas priest!”
“Not Judas, dear,” she said in worship. “Jesus.”
“Anybody you like.” Flandry turned on the fluoros.
Joy torrented from him. “You yourself—your wonderful, wonderful self—” Weight. Warm hearty gusts of air. Flandry was doing a fandango around the cabin. “We can take off ourselves inside an hour. Go a long way round for safety’s sake—but at the end, home!” He surged to embrace her. “And never mind Ydwyr,” he warbled. “We’re going to celebrate the whole way back!”
Chapter XX
Standing in the cramped, thrumming space between bulkheads, beyond reach of him who sat chained, the Terran said: “You appreciate that the whole truth about what happened would embarrass me. I want your solemn promise you’ll support my account and drop no hint concerning Wayland.”
“Why should I agree?” the Merseian asked blandly.
“Because if you don’t,” Djana told him—venom seethed in each word—“I’ll have the pleasure of killing you.”
“No, no, spare the dramatics,” Flandry said. “Especially since he too considers an oath under duress is worthless. Ydwyr, the pilot’s data list various planets where I could let you off. You can survive. A few have intelligent natives to study. Their main drawback is that no one has found any particular reason to revisit them, so you may have a slight problem in publishing your findings. But if you don’t mind, I don’t.”
“Is that not a threat?” the prisoner rumbled.
“No more than your threat to expose my, ah, sideline financial interests. Talwin’s bound to lose its military value whatever becomes of you or me. Suppose I throw in that I’ll do what I can to help keep your scientific station alive. Under the circumstances, does that bargain sound fair?”
“Done!” Ydwyr said. He swore to the terms by the formulas of honor. Afterward he extended a hand. “And for your part, let us shake on it.”
Flandry did. Djana watched, gripping a stunner. “You’re not figuring to turn him loose now, are you?” she demanded.
“No, I’m afraid that can’t be included in the deal,” Flandry said. “Unless you’ll give me your parole, Ydwyr.”
The girl looked hurt and puzzled, then relieved when the Merseian answered:
“I will not. You are too competent. My duty is to kill you if I can.” He smiled. “With that made clear, would you like a game of chess?”
Mining continued here and there in the system to which Irumclaw belonged. Hence small human colonies persisted, with mostly floating populations that weren’t given to inconvenient curiosity or to gossiping with officialdom about what they might have seen.
Jake put briefly down in a spaceport on the fourth world out. It was a spot of shabbiness set in the middle of an immense rusty desert. The atmosphere was not breathable, and barely thick enough to blow dust clouds into a purple sky. A gangtube reached forth to connect airlock with airdome. Flandry escorted Djana to the exit.
“You’ll be through soon?” she asked wistfully. For a moment the small slender form in the modest gown, the fine-boned features, eyes like blue lakes, lips slightly parted and aquiver, made him forget what had passed between them and think of her as a child. He had always been a sucker for little girls.
“Soon’s I can,” he answered. “Probably under a week. But do lie doggo till you hear from me. It’s essential we report joint
ly to Leon Ammon. Those credits you brought with you ought to stretch. Check the general message office daily. When my ’gram comes, go ahead and shoot him word to have somebody fetch you. I’ll be standing by.” He kissed her more lightly than had been his wont. “Cheers, partner.”
Her response was feverish. “Partners, yes!” she said afterward, in an unsteady tone. A tear broke away. She turned and walked fast from the airlock. Flandry went back to the conn and requested immediate clearance for takeoff.
Above his gorgeous tunic, Admiral Julius wore the least memorable face that Flandry had ever seen. “Well!” he said. “Quite a story, Lieutenant. Quite a story.”
“Yes, sir,” Flandry responded. He stood beside Ydwyr, who tail-sat at ease—if with ill-concealed contempt for the ornate office—in a robe that had been hastily improvised for him. His winter garb being unsuitable for shipboard, he had traveled nude and debarked thus on Irumclaw; and you don’t receive princes of the blood in their nakedness.
“Ah…indeed.” Julius shuffled some papers on his desk. “As I understand your—your supervisor’s verbal redaction of what you told him—you are writing a report in proper form, are you not?—as I understand it…well, why don’t you tell me yourself?”
“Yes, sir. Cruising on my assigned route, I detected the ‘wake’ of a larger vessel. As per standing orders, I moved closer to establish identification. She was an unmistakable Merseian warcraft. My orders gave me discretion, as the admiral knows, whether to report the sighting in person with no further ado or attempt finding out more. Rightly or wrongly, I decided on the second course. Chances were against another encounter and we might be left with no further leads. I dropped back and sent a courier, which apparently never got here. My report’s going to recommend tightening inspection procedures.
“Well, I shadowed the Merseian at the limits of detectability—for me—which I thought would keep my smaller vessel outside her sensor range. But we entered the range of another ship, a picket, that spotted me, closed in, and made capture. I was brought to the planet Talwin, where the Merseians turned out to have an advanced base. After miscellaneous brouhaha, I escaped via a pulsar, taking this dignitary along for a hostage.”
“Um-m-m, ah.” Julius squinted at Ydwyr. “An awkward affair, yes. They were technically within their rights, building that base, weren’t they? But they had no right to hold an Imperial vessel and an Imperial officer…in a region free by treaty. Um.” It was blatant that he shrank from being caught in the middle of a diplomatic crisis.
“If it please the admiral,” Flandry said, “I speak Eriau. The datholch and I have held some long conversations. Without attempting to make policy or anything, sir—I know I’m forbidden to—I did feel free to suggest a few thoughts. Would the admiral care to have me interpret?” It had turned out the base’s linguistic computer was on the fritz and nobody knew how to fix it.
“Ah…yes. Certainly. Tell his, ah, his highness we consider him a guest of the Imperium. We will try to, ah, show him every courtesy and arrange for his speedy transportation home.”
“He’s physicked anxious to shoot you off and bury this whole affair deep,” Flandry informed Ydwyr. “We can do anything we choose with him.”
“You will proceed according to plan, then?” the scientist inquired. His expression was composed, but Flandry had learned how to recognize a sardonic twinkle in a Merseian eye.
“Knaich, not exactly a plan. The fact of Talwin cannot be hidden. GHQ will see a report and assign an investigator. What we want is to save face all around. You’ve been offered a ride back, as I guessed you would be. Accept it for the earliest possible moment. When you reach Talwin, get Morioch to evacuate his ships and personnel. The planet will be of no further use for intelligence operations anyway; your government’s sure to order them shut down, if our Navy team finds nothing going on but peaceful xenological research, they’ll gloss over what signs are left of extracurricular activity, and nothing will likely be said on either side about this contretemps that you and I were involved in.”
“I have already assented to your making these proposals in my name. Proceed.”
Flandry did, in more tactful language. Julius beamed. If his command was instrumental in halting an undesirable Merseian project, word would circulate among the higher-ups. It would influence promotions, rotation to more promising worlds, yes, yes, no matter how discreetly the affair was handled. A discretion which’ll result in nobody’s caring to notice whatever loose ends dangle out of my story, Flandry thought.
“Excellent, Lieutenant!” Julius said. “My precise idea! Tell his highness I’ll make prompt arrangements.”
Ydwyr said gravely: “I fear the research will not long endure. With no bonus of military advantage—”
“I told you I’d do my best for you,” Flandry answered, “and I’ve been mulling a scheme. Didn’t want to advance it till I was sure we could write our own playbill, but now I am. See, I’ll put on an indignation act for you. Maybe your folk should not have detained me; still, you are of the Vach Urdiolch and my cavalier treatment of you was an insult to the Race. Seeing that he’s avid to please, you’ve decided to milk old Julius. You’ll let yourself be mollified if he’ll strongly urge that the Imperium help support the scientific work which, officially, will have been Merseia’s reason for being on Talwin in the first place.”
The big green body tautened. “Is that possible?”
“I imagine so. We’ll have to keep watch on Talwin from here on anyway, lest your Navy sneak back. It needn’t be from scoutboats, though. A few subsidized students or the like, doing their graduate thesis work, are quite as good and a lot cheaper. And…with us sharing the costs, I daresay you can find money at home to carry on.”
A small renaissance of Terran science? Hardly. Academic hackwork. Oh, I suppose I can indulge in the hope.
“In the name of the God.” Ydwyr stared before him for a length of time that made Julius shift and harrumph. At last he gripped both of Flandry’s hands and said, “From that beginning, our two people working together, what may someday come?”
“Nothing much, except, I do dare hope, a slight reinforcement of the reasons for our hanging onto this frontier. Those Merseians may keep us reminded who’s always ready to fill any available vacuum. “The datholch bears a noble dream.”
“What’s this?” Julius puffed. “What are you two doing?”
“Sir, I’m afraid we’ve hit a rock or two,” Flandry said.
“Really? How long will this take? I have a dinner engagement.”
“Maybe we can settle the difficulty before then, sir. May I be seated? I thank the admiral, I’ll do my best, sir. Got my personal affairs to handle too.”
“No doubt.” Julius regarded the young man calculatingly. “I am told you’ve applied for furlough and reassignment.”
“Yes, sir. I figure those months on Talwin more than completed my tour of duty here. No reflection on this fine command, but I am supposed to specialize along other lines. And I believe I may have an inheritance coming. Rich uncle on a colonial planet wasn’t doing too well, last I heard. I’d like to go collect my share before they decide a ‘missing in action’ report on me authorizes them to divvy up the cash elsewhere.”
“Yes. I see. I’ll approve your application, Lieutenant, and recommend you for promotion.” (“If you bail me fast out of this mess” was understood.) “Let’s get busy. What is the problem you mentioned?”
The room above Door 666 was unchanged, a less tasteful place to be than the commandant’s and a considerably more dangerous one. The Gorzunian guard stirred no muscle; but light gleamed off a scimitar thrust under his gun belt. Behind the desk, Leon Ammon sweated and squeaked and never took his needle gaze off Flandry. Djana gave him head-high defiance in return; her fists, though, kept clenching and unclenching on her lap, and she had moved her chair into direct contact with the officer’s.
He himself talked merrily, ramblingly, and on the whole, discounting a few reticenc
es, truthfully. At the end he said, “I’ll accept my fee—in small bills, remember—with unparalleled grace.”
“You sure kept me waiting,” Ammon hedged. “Cost me extra, trying to find out what’d happened and recruit somebody else. I ought to charge the cost to your payment. Right?”
“The delay wasn’t my fault. You should have given your agent better protection, or remuneration such that she had no incentive to visit persons to whom she’d not been introduced.” Flandry buffed fingernails on tunic and regarded them critically. “You have what you contracted for, a report on Wayland, favorable at that.”
“But you said the secret’s been spilled. The Merseians—”
“My friend Ydwyr the Seeker assures me he’ll keep silence. The rest of whatever personnel on Talwin have heard about the Mimirian System will shortly be dispersed. In any event, why should they mention a thing that can help Terra? Oh, rumors may float around, but you only need five or ten years’ concealment and communication is poor enough to guarantee you that.” Flandry reached for a cigarette. Having shed the addiction in these past months, he was enjoying its return. “Admittedly,” he said, “if I release Ydwyr from his promise, he may well chance to pass this interesting item—complete with coordinates—on to the captain of whatever Imperial ship arrives to look his camp over.”
Ammon barked a laugh. “I expected a response from you, Dominic. You’re a sharp-edge boy.” He stroked his chins. “You thought about maybe resigning your commission? I could use a sharp-edge boy. You know I pay good. Right?”
“I’ll know that when I’ve counted the bundle,” Flandry said. He inhaled the tobacco into lighting and rolled smoke around his palate.
The gross bulk wallowed forward in its chair. The bald countenance hardened. “What about the agent who got to Djana?” Ammon demanded. “And what about her?”
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