The Astounding Science Fiction Anthology

by John W. Campbell Jr.

  “Captain!” Goth called after him. He turned.

  “Better watch those take-offs,” Goth called, “or you’ll kill yourself yet!”

  The captain cussed softly all the way up to the Venture.

  And the take-off was terrible! A few swan hawks were watching but, he hoped, no one else.

  V.

  There wasn’t the remotest possibility, of course, of resuming direct trade in the Empire with the cargo they’d loaded for him. But the more he thought about it now, the less likely it seemed that Councilor Onswud was going to let a genuine fortune slip through his hands on a mere technicality of embargoes. Nikkeldepain knew all the tricks of interstellar merchandising; and the councilor himself was undoubtedly the slickest unskinned miffel in the Republic.

  More hopefully, the captain began to wonder whether some sort of trade might not be made to develop eventually between Karres and Nikkeldepain. Now and then, he also thought of Maleen growing marriageable two years hence, Karres time. A handful of witch-notes went tinkling through his head whenever that idle reflection occurred.

  The calendric chronometer informed him he’d spent three weeks there. He couldn’t remember how their year compared with the standard one.

  He found he was getting remarkably restless on this homeward run; and it struck him for the first time that space travel could also be nothing much more than a large hollow period of boredom. He made a few attempts to resume his sessions of small-talk with Illyla, via her picture; but the picture remained aloof.

  The ship seemed unnaturally quiet now—that was the trouble! The captain’s cabin, particularly, and the hall leading past it had become as dismal as a tomb.

  But at long last, Nikkeldepain II swam up on the screen ahead. The captain put the Venture 7333 on orbit, and broadcast the ship’s identification number. Half an hour later, Landing Control called him. He repeated the identification number, and added the ship’s name, his name, owner’s name, place of origin and nature of cargo.

  The cargo had to be described in detail.

  “Assume Landing Orbit 21,203 on your instruments,” Landing Control instructed him. “A customs ship will come out to inspect.”

  He went on the assigned orbit and gazed moodily from the vision ports at the flat continents and oceans of Nikkeldepain II as they drifted by below. A sense of equally flat depression overcame him unexpectedly. He shook it off and remembered Illyla.

  Three hours later, a ship ran up next to him; and he shut off the orbital drive. The communicator began buzzing. He switched it on.

  “Vision, please!” said an official-sounding voice. The captain frowned, located the vision-stud of the communicator screen and pushed it down. Four faces appeared in vague outline on the screen, looking at him.

  “Illyla!” the captain said.

  “At least,” young Councilor Rapport said unpleasantly, “he’s brought back the ship, Father Onswud!”

  “Illyla!” said the captain.

  Councilor Onswud said nothing. Neither did Illyla. They both seemed to be staring at him, but the screen wasn’t good enough to permit the study of expression in detail.

  The fourth face, an unfamiliar one above a uniform collar, was the one with the official-sounding voice.

  “You are instructed to open the forward lock, Captain Pausert,” it said, “for an official investigation.”

  It wasn’t till he was releasing the outer lock to the control room that the captain realized it wasn’t Customs who had sent a boat out to him, but the police of the Republic.

  However, he hesitated for only a moment. Then the outer lock gaped wide.

  He tried to explain. They wouldn’t listen. They had come on board in contamination-proof repulsor suits, all four of them; and they discussed the captain as if he weren’t there. Illyla looked pale and angry and beautiful, and avoided looking at him.

  However, he didn’t want to speak to her before the others anyway.

  They strolled back to the storage and gave the Karres cargo a casual glance.

  “Damaged his lifeboat, too!” Councilor Rapport remarked.

  They brushed past him down the narrow hallway and went back to the control room. The policeman asked to see the log and commercial records. The captain produced them.

  The three men studied them briefly. Illyla gazed stonily out at Nikkeldepain II.

  “Not too carefully kept!” the policeman pointed out.

  “Surprising he bothered to keep them at all!” said Councilor Rapport.

  “But it’s all clear enough!” said Councilor Onswud.

  They straightened up then and faced him in a line. Councilor Onswud folded his arms and projected his craggy chin. Councilor Rapport stood at ease, smiling faintly. The policeman became officially rigid.

  Illyla remained off to one side, looking at the three.

  “Captain Pausert,” the policeman said, “the following charges—substantiated in part by this preliminary investigation—are made against you—”

  “Charges?” said the captain.

  “Silence, please!” rumbled Councilor Onswud.

  “First: material theft of a quarter-million value of maels of jewels and jeweled items from a citizen of the Imperial Planet of Porlumma—”

  “They were returned!” the captain protested.

  “Restitution, particularly when inspired by fear of retribution, does not affect the validity of the original charge,” Councilor Rapport quoted, gazing at the ceiling.

  “Second,” continued the policeman. “Purchase of human slaves, permitted under Imperial law but prohibited by penalty of ten years to lifetime penal servitude by the laws of the Republic of Nikkeldepain—”

  “I was just taking them back where they belonged!” said the captain.

  “We shall get to that point presently,” the policeman replied. “Third, material theft of sundry items in the value of one hundred and eighty thousand maels from a ship of the Imperial Planet of Lepper, accompanied by threats of violence to the ship’s personnel—”

  “I might add in explanation of the significance of this particular charge,” added Councilor Rapport, looking at the floor, “that the Regency of Sirius, containing Lepper, is allied to the Republic of Nikkeldepain by commercial and military treaties of considerable value. The Regency has taken the trouble to point out that such hostile conduct by a citizen of the Republic against citizens of the Regency is likely to have an adverse effect on the duration of the treaties. The charge thereby becomes compounded by the additional charge of a treasonable act against the Republic—”

  He glanced at the captain. “I believe we can forestall the accused’s plea that these pilfered goods also were restored. They were, in the face of superior force!”

  “Fourth,” the policeman went on patiently, “depraved and licentious conduct while acting as commercial agent, to the detriment of your employer’s business and reputation—”

  “WHAT?” choked the captain.

  “—involving three of the notorious Witches of the Prohibited Planet of Karres—”

  “Just like his great-uncle Threbus!” nodded Councilor Onswud gloomily. “It’s in the blood, I always say!”

  “—and a justifiable suspicion of a prolonged stay on said Prohibited Planet of Karres—”

  “I never heard of that place before this trip!” shouted the captain.

  “Why don’t you read your Instructions and Regulations then?” shouted Councilor Rapport. “It’s all there!”

  “Silence, please!” shouted Councilor Onswud.

  “Fifth,” said the policeman quietly, “general willful and negligent actions resulting in material damage and loss to your employer to the value of eighty-two thousand maels.”

  “I’ve still got fifty-five thousand. And the stuff in the storage,” the captain said, also quietly, “is worth half a million, at least!”

  “Contraband and hence legally valueless!” the policeman said. Councilor Onswud cleared his throat.

  “It w
ill be impounded, of course,” he said. “Should a method of resale present itself, the profits, if any, will be applied to the cancellation of your just debts. To some extent, that might reduce your sentence.” He paused. “There is another matter—”

  “The sixth charge,” the policeman said, “is the development and public demonstration of a new type of space drive, which should have been brought promptly and secretly to the attention of the Republic of Nikkeldepain!”

  They all stared at him—alertly and quite greedily.

  So that was it—the Sheewash Drive!

  “Your sentence may be greatly reduced, Pausert,” Councilor Onswud said wheedlingly, “if you decide to be reasonable now. What have you discovered?”

  “Look out, father!” Illyla said sharply.

  “Pausert,” Councilor Onswud inquired in a fading voice, “what is that in your hand?”

  “A Blythe gun,” the captain said, boiling.

  There was a frozen stillness for an instant. Then the policeman’s right hand made a convulsive movement.

  “Uh-uh!” said the captain warningly.

  Councilor Rapport started a slow step backwards.

  “Stay where you are!” said the captain.

  “Pausert!” Councilor Onswud and Illyla cried out together.

  “Shut up!” said the captain. There was another stillness.

  “If you’d looked,” the captain said, in an almost normal voice, “you’d have seen I’ve got the nova gun turrets out. They’re fixed on that boat of yours. The boat’s lying still and keeping its little yap shut. You do the same—”

  He pointed a finger at the policeman. “You got a repulsor suit on,” he said. “Open the inner port lock and go squirt yourself back to your boat!”

  The inner port lock groaned open. Warm air left the ship in a long, lazy wave, scattering the sheets of the Venture’s log and commercial records over the floor. The thin, cold upper atmosphere of Nikkeldepain II came eddying in.

  “You next, Onswud!” the captain said.

  And a moment later: “Rapport, you just turn around—”

  Young Councilor Rapport went through the port at a higher velocity than could be attributed reasonably to his repulsor units. The captain winced and rubbed his foot. But it had been worth it.

  “Pausert,” said Illyla in justifiable apprehension, “you are stark, staring mad!”

  “Not at all, my dear,” the captain said cheerfully. “You and I are now going to take off and embark on a life of crime together.”

  “But, Pausert—”

  “You’ll get used to it,” the captain assured her, “just like I did. It’s got Nikkeldepain beat every which way.”

  “Pausert,” Illyla said, whitefaced, “we told them to bring up revolt ships!”

  “We’ll blow them out through the stratosphere,” the captain said belligerently, reaching for the port-control switch. He added, “But they won’t shoot anyway while I’ve got you on board!”

  Illyla shook her head. “You just don’t understand,” she said desperately. “You can’t make me stay!”

  “Why not?” asked the captain.

  “Pausert,” said Illyla, “I am Madame Councilor Rapport.”

  “Oh!” said the captain. There was a silence. He added, crestfallen: “Since when?”

  “Five months ago, yesterday,” said Illyla.

  “Great Patham!” cried the captain, with some indignation. “I’d hardly got off Nikkeldepain then! We were engaged!”

  “Secretly… and I guess,” said Illyla, with a return of spirit, “that I had a right to change my mind!”

  There was another silence.

  “Guess you had, at that,” the captain agreed. “All right—the port’s still open, and your husband’s waiting in the boat. Beat it!”

  He was alone. He let the ports slam shut and banged down the oxygen release switch. The air had become a little thin.

  He cussed.

  The communicator began rattling for attention. He turned it on.

  “Pausert!” Councilor Onswud was calling in a friendly but shaking voice. “May we not depart, Pausert? Your nova guns are still fixed on this boat!”

  “Oh, that—” said the captain. He deflected the turrets a trifle. “They won’t go off now. Scram!”

  The police boat vanished.

  There was other company coming, though. Far below him but climbing steadily, a trio of revolt ships darted past on the screen, swung around and came back for the next turn of their spiral. They’d have to get a good deal closer before they started shooting; but they’d try to stay under him so as not to knock any stray chunks out of Nikkeldepain.

  He sat a moment, reflecting. The revolt ships went by once more. The captain punched in the Venture’s secondary drives, turned her nose towards the planet and let her go. There were some scattered white puffs around as he cut through the revolt ships’ plane of flight. Then he was below them, and the Venture groaned as he took her out of the dive.

  The revolt ships were already scattering and nosing over for a counter-maneuver. He picked the nearest one and swung the nova guns towards it.

  “—and ram them in the middle!” he muttered between his teeth.

  SSS-whoosh!

  It was the Sheewash Drive—but, like a nightmare now, it kept on and on!

  VI.

  “Maleen!” the captain bawled, pounding at the locked door of the captain’s cabin. “Maleen—shut it off! Cut it off! You’ll kill yourself. Maleen!”

  The Venture quivered suddenly throughout her length, then shuddered more violently, jumped and coughed; and commenced sailing along on her secondary drives again. He wondered how many light-years from everything they were by now. It didn’t matter!

  “Maleen!” he yelled. “Are you all right?”

  There was a faint thump-thump inside the cabin, and silence. He lost almost a minute finding the right cutting tool in the storage. A few seconds later, a section of door panel sagged inwards; he caught it by one edge and came tumbling into the cabin with it.

  He had the briefest glimpse of a ball of orange-colored fire swirling uncertainly over a cone of oddly bent wires. Then the fire vanished, and the wires collapsed with a loose rattling to the table top.

  The crumpled small shape lay behind the table, which was why he didn’t discover it at once. He sagged to the floor beside it, all the strength running out of his knees.

  Brown eyes opened and blinked at him blearily.

  “Sure takes it out of you!” Goth grunted. “Am I hungry!”

  “I’ll whale the holy, howling tar out of you again,” the captain roared, “if you ever—”

  “Quit your bawling!” snarled Goth. “I got to eat.”

  She ate for fifteen minutes straight, before she sank back in her chair, and sighed.

  “Have some more Wintenberry jelly,” the captain offered anxiously. She looked pretty pale.

  Goth shook her head. “Couldn’t—and that’s about the first thing you’ve said since you fell through the door, howling for Maleen. Ha-ha! Maleen’s got a boy friend!”

  “Button your lip, child,” the captain said. “I was thinking.” He added, after a moment: “Has she really?”

  “Picked him out last year,” Goth nodded. “Nice boy from town—they get married as soon as she’s marriageable. She just told you to come back because she was upset about you. Maleen had a premonition you were headed for awful trouble!”

  “She was quite right, little chum,” the captain said nastily.

  “What were you thinking about?” Goth inquired.

  “I was thinking,” said the captain, “that as soon as we’re sure you’re going to be all right, I’m taking you straight back to Karres!”

  “I’ll be all right now,” Goth said. “Except, likely, for a stomach-ache. But you can’t take me back to Karres.”

  “Who will stop me, may I ask?” the captain asked.

  “Karres is gone,” Goth said.

  “Gone?�
� the captain repeated blankly, with a sensation of not quite definable horror bubbling up in him.

  “Not blown up or anything,” Goth reassured him. “They just moved it! The Imperialists got their hair up about us again. But this time, they were sending a fleet with the big bombs and stuff, so everybody was called home. But they had to wait then till they found out where we were—me and Maleen and the Leewit. Then you brought us in; and they had to wait again, and decide about you. But right after you’d left… we’d left, I mean… they moved it.”

  “Where?”

  “Great Patham!” Goth shrugged. “How’d I know? There’s lots of places!”

  There probably were, the captain admitted silently. A scene came suddenly before his eyes—that lime-white, arenalike bowl in the valley, with the steep tiers of seats around it, just before they’d reached the town of Karres—“the Theater where—”

  But now there was unnatural night-darkness all over and about that world; and the eight thousand-some Witches of Karres sat in circles around the Theater, their heads bent towards one point in the center, where orange fire washed hugely about the peak of a cone of curiously twisted girders.

  And a world went racing off at the speeds of the Sheewash Drive! There’d be lots of places, all right. What peculiar people!

  “Anyway,” he sighed, “if I’ve got to start raising you—don’t say ‘Great Patham’ any more. That’s a cuss word!”

  “I learned it from you!” Goth pointed out.

  “So you did, I guess,” the captain acknowledged. “I won’t say it either. Aren’t they going to be worried about you?”

  “Not very much,” said Goth. “We don’t get hurt often—especially when we’re young. That’s when we can do all that stuff like teleporting, and whistling, like the Leewit. We lose it mostly when we get older—they’re working on that now so we won’t. About all Maleen can do right now is premote!”

  “She premotes just dandy, though,” the captain said. “The Sheewash Drive—they can all do that, can’t they?”

  “Uh-huh!” Goth nodded. “But that’s learned stuff. That’s one of the things they already studied out.” She added, a trace uncomfortably: “I can’t tell you about that till you’re one yourself.”