Towards him. He was on his back, slithering and skidding helplessly closer. The bulk of the hull would squash him like a bug. There was a terrible, helpless inevitability about it all.
The rope linking him with Hulik and Goth suddenly went taut. Hulik and Goth, wrapped around a stone monolith, were hauling at it.
It was a small ice-lump moon they'd landed on. There was not much gravity here. The Venture was falling over in a kind of ultra-slow motion, and Hulik and Goth were exerting a terrific pull on the rope. A pull that would have dragged him on Karres or Nikkeldepain or even old Yarthe.
Here, it sent him flying. Hurtling between the stone edges, steering frantically with his feet and arms, whizzing past Goth and Hulik . . . and right up a steep ridge and into space.
The Venture coughed; the briefest flicker of her laterals. Vezzarn must have taken action to stop her fall. He must have desperately weighed up frying them or crushing them.
Pausert realized that his flight had had a rather unexpected consequence. He'd plucked the other two into space after him. Well, there had been pretty little holding them down on the moonlet. They were quite safe . . . except they were going one direction and the Venture and the moonlet and a number of asteroid fragments other directions. They'd just have to use reaction pistols to get back.
Then, with a sickening feeling, the captain realized it wasn't going to be that simple. They'd set out to walk around the Venture's hull. Walk. Not spacewalk. Still, there should have been a reaction pistol at his belt.
There wasn't. Just a completely recoilless and useless blaster. And the moonlet, along with the Venture, was proceeding on its merry way. They were heading in the opposite direction: three tiny sparkle-figures in the vastness of space.
The vatch giggled. What fun!
Drifting away from them, dark against the dust veils, Captain Pausert saw three reaction pistols.
Vatches thought of the human universe as a sort of dream-game, with humans as pieces. The fun lay in challenging the pieces . . . so there had to be a solution. Besides, the little vatch seemed more inclined to mischief than anything more malicious.
Goth seized the initiative. The guns were well within her weight limit and she teleported them back.
The vatchlet squeaked indignation. It's not supposed to be that easy!
"Quick. Before it thinks of something else. Back to the ship."
The leech search was abandoned in their flight back to the Venture.
* * *
Pausert studied the screens. "It looks like our landing jarred this little moonlet a bit off-course. In a crowded zone of space like this, it only takes a tiny fraction of a degree to cause other collisions. We'd better abandon the search, because this iceball is almost bound to hit something else. I'd like to take off before that happens, and not after."
The Leewit scowled. "Captain, I was listening in to the pirates—they'd lost us, but they picked up the signal the moment that Vezzarn kicked the engines."
Hulik bit her lip. "The leech must definitely draw its power from the ship's drive, then."
Pausert shrugged. "We have to use them sometimes."
"We could use the Sheewash Drive," pointed out Goth.
"Not all the time. You and the Leewit would get too tired. And we couldn't use it very well here, anyway, in this part of space. There are too many obstacles."
"Yes, but we could hop for the edge of this cluster now. Even if they follow us, they're too far off to catch up before we get there and . . . oh-oh. Vatch."
It wasn't the little silver-eyed mischief, this time. It was a much bigger vatch, almost the size of Big Windy. Pausert wasn't surprised. The Venture had drawn much klatha force to her, and vatches were attracted by klatha. The captain had a feeling of big slitty eyes peering at them in delight. He hastily formed the pattern in his mind of a vatch lock, which would at least stop the creature reading his mind.
A BLOCKED ONE! AND SUCH A SITUATION, SUCH POTENTIAL!
And then . . . Go 'way. Mine! Mine! The tiny vatch was not amused. The words were almost glowing in Pausert's mind.
YOU ARE FAR TOO YOUNG FOR THIS GAME, PUNY ONE.
Pausert could see the tiny blackness dancing in front of the greater bulk of nothingness. Am not! They're mine! Go 'way!
PLAY YOUR PATHETIC GAMES ELSEWHERE. I AM GOING TO SEND THESE BACK.
The Venture moved, abruptly, to the center of the conflict. The hull shuddered and rang like a bell as the Venture took a hit.
With an effort of will, Pausert forced himself to ignore the terrifying noise, and formed his klatha hooks. He reached for the bigger vatch, hooking great lines of force into it and pinning it down.
The internal spinning maelstrom of blackness seethed. It began yowling. YAAAH. THE MONSTER! The vatch desperately strained against the bonds. The captain pulled out pieces of it, flinging them at the pirate vessels.
LET ME GO! LET ME GO, I BEG—THIS IS KILLING ME!
Pausert thought sternly at the squalling creature. We need to be outside this cluster. Do that and you can be free.
The Venture knew a moment of disturbed reality which left them sitting outside the cluster. CAN I GO? pleaded the creature. THIS HURTS, DREAM CREATURE! I HAVE DONE NOTHING TO YOU.
Yet, said Pausert. But be gone. And don't come back! The captain reeled in his klatha hooks and the big vatch fled.
Bravo! The little one squeaked triumphantly. Go, you bully! And don't come back!
The big vatch didn't pause to reply. In fact, it fled in such haste that the captain was left with a whirling black fragment of vatch stuff, still attached to the klatha hooks. Well, from previous experience, Pausert knew that this stuff could be useful. It could be set to work.
The little vatch moved towards it. The vatches could reabsorb the stuff at will, though pieces also seemed to survive outside of them.
Mine, said Pausert.
Suppose so, said the little vatch amiably. This is fun, Big Dream Thing! The big ones always chase me away. Now I've got you all to myself!
Pausert wondered if he should have waited just a little bit longer.
* * *
"We've got trouble still, Captain," Vezzarn said, wringing his cap in his hands. "That hit we took. Straight bad luck, sir. It damaged the outer airlock. We're losing pressure. It's a slow leak but a steady one. We'll never reach a planet with atmosphere to set down on, before we asphyxiate."
"Or before the other ships catch up with us." Goth pointed back at the cluster. "It's time for the Sheewash Drive, Captain."
Pausert could only nod.
CHAPTER 5
The two Sedmons looked at each other thoughtfully. The choice of courses available to Captain Pausert from the Alpha Dendi cluster were just too numerous. Without some sort of clue to guide the Sedmons' ship, they would have difficulty in guessing the best interception course.
If the Venture had made it out of the Alpha Dendi cluster . . . The signal had stopped. Then briefly, just for a second, it had registered again. There had been nothing since.
Of course, Pausert might be using the witches of Karres to move the ship. Or Pausert might really be a witch himself. When the Venture had come to Uldune, the Sedmons had been of the opinion that Captain Pausert and Goth were Threbus and Toll, doing an age-shift. When the agent on Green Galaine on Emris had later reported Threbus and Toll meeting Pausert and Goth, the Sedmons had realized that they had been mistaken. But it was still not clear if Pausert was a Karres witch himself or not. It seemed as if the captain was nothing more than a citizen—with a price on his head, to be sure—from a small and stuffy republic called Nikkeldepain.
But the witches could do that kind of substitution very successfully. You couldn't trust superficial appearances when dealing with them. And now the Sedmons realized they had a problem, even when they were far off.
"We'll have to go to the Alpha Dendi system. Just to check."
"It'll lose us time."
"Can't be helped. I think we'd better try to slo
w them down if they're ahead somehow. They still bank with the Daal's bank back on Uldune. We could intervene there."
"That could be a bit awkward for Pausert."
"We could set it up so that when credit checks are run, the account comes up as requiring our clearance."
"Well, that would make for a delay."
"Which is what we want, after all."
Subradio messages were sent. The Sedmons' ship turned to the Alpha Dendi cluster.
CHAPTER 6
Above the twisted, truncated cone of black wires, a ball of orange fire danced. Captain Pausert looked intently at it, wishing, not for the first time, that generating it was one of his klatha powers. But his klatha abilities had been slowly developing, growing and changing, almost as he'd needed them. Perhaps one of these days he would draw this skill from inside his mind too. Squinting with concentration, he looked at the "Sheewash Drive" on the floor between the two young Karres witches. The pattern almost made sense. Almost . . .
The wires fell inward, and the ball of fire winked out. Goth pushed back her brown fringe and blinked tiredly at him. "What's up, Captain?"
"Came to see how you were doing," said Pausert carefully. He didn't want his worry to upset them.
The Leewit scowled fiercely. "We're not! It feels like we're pushing this crate through clumping toffee."
Goth nodded. "It's not like anything we've encountered before, Captain. It's as if the Venture was as big as a dreadnaught. She just seems to be dragging a whole weight of klatha force."
Pausert checked the readings. "So it seems. We're doing about twice our normal drive speed, but nothing like the velocity we've gotten under the Sheewash Drive before. I wonder what's wrong."
"You aren't feeding us enough," said the Leewit grumpily. "I need breakfast."
Pausert waved at the door. "It's waiting for you."
"How is the oxygen supply holding out, Captain?" asked Goth, getting slowly to her feet. That wasn't like Goth. She was normally as lithe and springy as a jungle-miffel.
Pausert shrugged. "We've done what we can to the lock. But the seals are damaged beyond repair. They'll have to be replaced. So we have another thirty hours or so. We should make it at this rate . . . but not with a lot to spare."
* * *
The Sheewash Drive had brought them this far. Far, far from the pursuit in the crowded space of the Alpha Dendi cluster. Goth and the Leewit had taken three bursts at it, but the two little witches were exhausted. The Leewit had actually fallen asleep during the last session, which seemed to have severely sapped Goth.
But now, even if Goth and the Leewit had been in a fit state to do it, they could go no closer to planetfall without advertising the Sheewash Drive. They really didn't need to show that ability to all and sundry in this region of the spiral arm. So, despite the leaking airlock, they would have to proceed by more conventional means. Of course, that meant that those who followed by the leech's signals would be able to get on their trail again. Pausert just hoped he'd have a chance to find and detach the device on their next planetfall, on the world of Pidoon. If they could get in, do repairs, fuel up, get rid of the leech and head out before the pirates caught up with them, they'd show them all a clean pair of heels.
* * *
Pidoon was a busy trading hub, with a number of landing ports set into its rolling plains, in fierce competition with each other. The planet didn't have a lot to offer except for being conveniently on the way to everywhere, and having a good supply of raw materials for rocket-fuel manufacture. It was a sort of filling station and trading depot.
Hulik, Goth and the captain peered at the map on the screen. Hulik pointed. "If we land here at Gerota Town . . . it's just big enough to justify a single ISS operative. He or she will be a no-hoper farmed out somewhere they can't do too much harm. The major cities will have dozens of operatives, and one of the smaller places is more likely to be watched. Here we'd just have one to deal with."
"It's a popular choice for that reason, sir," Vezzarn said wryly. "I went there, twice, when . . . my former boss wanted more information on one of the smuggling routes. It's a small city, with nothing but a lot of prairie for a thousand miles all round it. The customs officials are so sleepy, they put pillows on their desks."
"Sounds good to me, eh, Goth?"
Goth wrinkled her forehead. She should have been asleep, Pausert knew. But something was plainly troubling her. "I wish we had someone who could premote," she said uneasily.
"I wish we didn't have to land at all, but we've got to." Pausert pointed at the fuel readout, which was distressingly close to empty. "I'm afraid we're quite low on choices around here."
Now he pointed to the display charts. "Within range before we run out of recyclable air . . . There's Pidoon, or there's the Dictat of Telmar—and every second person there is supposed to be a spy. Or, right on the edge of our fuel range, never mind air, Imperial sector headquarters. Pidoon does so well because this sector of space is quite empty of habitable worlds."
"What about this one?" Goth pointed to the chart and a beacon number right on the margin. It was out of their way, but within range.
The captain called up the star map. There was just one habitable world on that beacon, in among a cluster of red dwarfs and dead suns. "Vaudevillia," he read.
Hulik began to chuckle.
"What's so funny?" asked Vezzarn, who had stepped across to check some readouts.
"They were suggesting going to Vaudevillia," said Hulik, trying to smother her laughter.
Vezzarn grinned. "Your home, this Nikkeldepain place, is pretty far away, eh, Captain?"
"I threatened to run away to Vaudevillia when I was ten," said Hulik. "It's the circus-world, Captain Pausert. All the old showboats go there."
Pausert blinked. Just one of the fabulous lattice ship showboats had ever come to Nikkeldepain in his youth. He could still remember it clearly, however. It had seemed so bright and so wild and exciting compared to life on stuffy Nikkeldepain. He'd thought of running away to join the show himself. The Nikkeldepain Council had turned down the next one's landing permit. Apparently a number of councilors had lost quite a lot of money when the first one had abruptly departed.
Vezzarn grimaced. "Especially when they're broke. No port charges—because there is no proper port. Mind you, it's a bad place to try to buy fuel, Captain. Cash money only, and at a twenty-five percent premium. The fuel-sellers have had so many bad debts, they won't provide fuel on any other terms. It sounds very romantic to kids, but believe me, Captain, it's a dump. It's barely habitable. Can't even grow its own food. And it rains non-stop."
The captain looked at Goth, who was looking very speculative. "Well, we're not going there. And we don't need to tell the Leewit about this place, do we? Let's stick to Pidoon and this Gerota Town."
Goth shrugged. "I'm too tired. But it doesn't feel right."
* * *
Gerota Town was seedy and run-down. "Not the kind of place you'd want to buy a used flyer in," said Vezzarn with a sly grin.
The captain looked at the shabby sprawl of two- and three-story buildings that stretched out towards a flat horizon. "It's a whistle-stop for us. So long as the fuel is okay and we can find that leech, and do some repairs on the airlock . . . within the day we should be out of here."
They soon found out that this was not to be the case. The fuel available in Gerota Town was Empire standard. But . . .
"Captain Pausert, could you please come across to our offices?" asked the elegantly coiffured, platinum-blond secretary of Pidoon Fuels and Lubricants. There was a faint furrow between her brows, and her tone was quite unlike her earlier obsequious one.
Goth looked tiredly at the captain and rubbed her nose tip. "Feels like trouble, Captain."
"Probably papers that need filling in."
"I don't think so," said Goth, rubbing her eyes now. "I'll go with you."
"You're exhausted. I'll take the Leewit. She slept the last bit."
Goth no
dded.
* * *
Ten minutes later, Captain Pausert and his tow-headed "niece" walked towards the cluster of offices at Port Control. Above them, the sky was a cloudless and chilly blue. Their reception in the offices of Pidoon Fuels and Lubricants was even colder.
The secretary ushered them in to a sumptuous office. From behind the flamewood desk a man with a baggy face glowered at them. He didn't bother to stand up. "Captain Pausert, there seems to be some problem with your banking account."
Pausert leaned over the half-acre of flamewood desk. "I happen to know that account is at least a half million maels in the black, sir. If you don't want our business, we'll take it elsewhere."
"Not on Pidoon you won't," said the jowl-faced executive, grimly. "We've already put out a credit warning to the other companies, in case you took off and put in a landing elsewhere."
"But we're very solvent!"
Jowl-face leaned back in his formfit chair. It groaned quietly in protest. "Oh, you've got the money all right. But your account is blocked. You can't draw as much as a single mael of those ill-gotten gains."
Pausert gaped. "Ill-gotten gains?"
"Don't try to come the innocent with us, Captain Pausert." Jowl-face smirked triumphantly, cocking his head, hearing something outside. It sounded suspiciously like the squeal of groundcar tires. "The ISS informed the Pidoon police of your nefarious crimes. We were told to delay you here as long as possible. I have electronically locked the door and I have a blaster here." He raised a Glassite 366 from beneath the desk. "Don't even think of attempting to escape."
There were shouts outside. "That'll be the troopers now."
The Leewit gave an earsplitting whistle, just as someone pounded on the outer door yelling, "Open up in the name of the law!"
An entirely satisfactory shattering of glass and small electronic components followed that whistle. Jowl-face, looking in alarm at the trickle of dust flowing from where his blaster's trigger mechanism had been just moments before, pressed a remote door-key frantically. Smoke curled up from the button.
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