by Henry Hasse
He went carefully through their clothes, found nothing in Curt's or Kueelo's. But from a secret pocket in Rikert's leather suit he brought forth a deadly needle-gun. A smile creased his dark, thin face.
"You won't need this where you are going." The spaceman pocketed the needle-gun then turned suddenly on Curt, sharp eyes going over him. "Up! Up with that left arm!"
Too late Curt remembered the thin disc fastened under his arm-pit, identifying him as an investigator for the Federation Prison-Board. He had adopted that merely as a cover-up. Actually his mission for DeHarries was far more important! Now Curt shrugged, tore the disc away from the paper-thin duroplast fastening.
"So," the spaceman purred, examining it. "You were sent here by the Prison-Board! And we thought no one was aware of the missing prisoners."
"Well I'll be damned," Rikert said, half in anger, staring at Curt. "If I'd known who you really were, Emmons—"
"You'd have come just the same!" Curt said icily.
"It really doesn't matter who you are," the man with the gun said softly, surveying Curt's well-muscled figure and clear eyes. "Yes, I'm glad you came. You're the type we need. This one too," he nodded at Rikert.
He turned his gaze upon Kueelo. "But I can't understand why you brought this one! Well, we shall find a use for him."
At the insult, quick points of fire appeared in Kueelo's eyes. Curt flashed him a warning look. Kueelo set his lips tightly.
"My name," the other was saying, "is Jeffers. Dress quickly now. Captain Landreth will want to see you, then we'll be on our way."
It became apparent to Curt that this was no ordinary spacer! It was small and trim, with a suggestion of untold speed. If the ship carried weapons, they were kept well under cover. Jeffers led them along a single corridor with staterooms on either side.
"Where's the crew?" Rikert asked.
"You three are the crew. Beyond that there's just me—and Captain Landreth." Again Curt had the feeling that Jeffers was secretly amused. He ushered them into a compartment near the controlroom.
Curt stood quite still for a moment, staring around. The room was a dream. Magnificent tapestries, interwoven with kra plumes, covered the walls. Beneath his feet an imperial Martian rug was a splash of vari-colored splendor. He saw furniture of extinct jragua wood, inlaid with mosaics of semi-precious stones.
Then Curt's eyes widened, as he gazed across the room and saw the person who rose to greet them.
She was tall, for a girl. Auburn hair brushed smoothly back from her forehead fell in waves to the shoulders of a close-fitting uniform. Her eyes were blue but unsmiling, her lips smiled thinly but didn't mean it.
"I am Lorine Landreth," she said without emotion. "If you must be amazed, please do it quickly. We have work to do!"
Curt was beyond being amazed. Thoughtfully his gaze took in her trim figure, the pale but determined face, the electro held loosely in a belt at her waist. She gave the impression of knowing how to use it.
"Captain Landreth, I presume." Curt's voice was serious. "George Landreth's daughter?"
"Correct! On both counts." She turned to Jeffers. "You made it clear that their status is not altered by their being here?"
"Of course. Don't worry, I'll see that they remember it, Lorine."
Her eyes blazed quickly. "Captain to you! See that you remember that Jeffers!"
He nodded, smiling with faint insolence as he leaned against the door. The girl turned back to the three prisoners.
"There is one difference. At the Prison mines you worked hard. And for a lifetime. And you died. You will work where we are going, too—perhaps not so hard, but dangerously! You may die, but at least I offer you a chance. If we succeed in our mission, you are free men. Free to change your identities and go where you will."
"That's okay by me, miss!" Rikert was enthusiastic. "Er, I mean—Captain. But look! Don't we get to see Landreth, George Landreth? I was counting on—"
The girl turned a gaze upon Rikert which reduced him to silence.
"It is my wish that we all may see George Landreth! I may as well tell you now. The purpose of our mission—is to find my father." For the merest instant, Curt saw a deepening look in her eyes which dissolved the mask of hardness. She turned quickly away, seized a sheaf of papers. "We are wasting time here! Jeffers! Show them their assignments." Kueelo and Rikert followed the man from the room. Curt hesitated, then stepped into the controlroom where the girl had gone. He may have been mistaken, but for a moment she had shown signs of being almost human.
Curt stood silent, watching her at the navigator's table. She consulted pencilled data on the papers, then swiftly, with practised fingers, she adjusted the sliding sheathes on the robot control. At last it was finished. She glanced up, saw him watching.
"Venus!" Curt exclaimed. "So that's where we're going!"
Her blue eyes surveyed him coolly. "So. You can read a robot-wheel, can you? What else can you do?"
"Around a spaceship, almost anything. Tubes, controls, magnibeams, calculations and differential, any weapon you care to mention—"
"That will do." Her narrow eyes narrowed. "I don't like men with me in space who know more about a ship than I do! Suppose you help Jeffers in the rocket-room."
"Very well, Captain. But about your father—"
"Later!"
Curt nodded, looked at her a moment, then hurried to the rocket-room. Jeffers said brusquely, "Do you understand magnetic stabilizers, Emmons?"
"Sure."
"Help me with these, then."
As Curt worked, his mind went back across the years, tying together threads of stories he had heard. Stories about George Landreth, one of the first men to open up the rich new territory on Callisto. He had brought his wife there from Earth. He struck a rich iridium vein and worked it slowly, alone. Until the Earth Corporations stepped in. Landreth defied them to the bitter end. His wife died unpleasantly....
There the stories varied. Some said that Landreth placed his daughter in the hands of relatives on Earth, before he turned pirate. Others said the girl stayed with her father, learning every trick of the spaceways. One thing was clear: throughout the years Landreth gathered lawless men about him. More than one Corporation had gone to ruin under the incessant attacks of an enemy who had achieved a ruthlessness equal to their own! Then the attacks ceased. Landreth seemed to have disappeared.
Curt thrust these questions from his mind. At last the stabilizers and rocket-feeds were ready. Jeffers signalled the controlroom, and a moment later they swept upward. Endless miles away, near the twilight-strip, Curt could see a faint pinpoint glow of a Mercurian city. He turned to Jeffers.
"One question, Jeffers. What happened to the other men you rescued from the Federation Prison?"
"We've only pulled this stunt once before. The others died."
"On Venus?"
Jeffers looked sharply at Curt, then shrugged. "Sure, on Venus. We'll arrive there in exactly three days."
Rikert came up, wiping his hands on a piece of waste. "You know," he grinned, "even at the Prison word had a way of reaching us. Any truth to these stories about Aladdian throwing a guard around Venus?"
"We may run into the Imperial Guard. But I doubt if they'll have many patrollers where we're going."
"Yeah? Where is that?"
Jeffers' dark face grinned at them. "Right into the K'Yarthan Swamp!" A sudden cry reached them from beyond the rocket-room. Lorine Landreth's voice! Curt was first to reach the corridor, then he stopped dead in his tracks.
They saw Kueelo, standing spraddle-legged in the middle of the corridor. An electro was in his hand. He turned it quickly toward the three men, and they fell back.
"He sneaked behind me and got my gun! Watch him, Jeffers, he'll use it!" The warning came from the girl. Curt saw her crouching out of range near a stateroom door, on the other side of Kueelo. "He can't cover us both. Easy, Jeffers."
"Get his gun, Emmons. Quick!" The Martian's voice came in an excited high pitc
h.
Curt saw Jeffers easing behind him, away from the line of fire; glimpsed his hand as it went for his gun. Curt whirled away, sliced his hand downward into Jeffers' wrist. The electro flamed once, then clattered to the floor. Jeffers leaped for it, but Curt threw his broad shoulders into a block that hurled the man aside. Then he came up with the gun, and backed towards Kueelo.
"Nice going, Emmons. Get to those controls! I'll keep them covered."
They were not quite free of Mercury's gravity, Curt realized as he felt the spacer surge erratically, threatening to go into a spin. He saw the tight smile on Kueelo's lips.
"Hurry, Emmons! We've got the ship now!"
Curt surged past the Martian. Then he whirled, clamped his free hand across the frail wrist holding the electro. A single twist, and Kueelo's fingers opened. Curt held both weapons.
"Get to those controls!" he snapped at Lorine Landreth.
She stared at him in blank astonishment, then leaped to the controls. A moment later the ship straightened out, and they were in free space. Kueelo's eyes were blazing pools of hate as he gazed at Curt Emmons.
Curt ignored him, turned to Jeffers and tossed him his weapon. "Here, put this away. I guess Kueelo can't wait to get back to Mars—but I'll settle for the K'Yarthan Swamp."
Jeffers levelled the electro. "The other gun, Emmons. It goes to Captain Landreth! Quick!"
Curt shrugged, walked forward and handed it to her.
She flashed him a smile. "Thanks for what you did, Emmons." She came and faced Kueelo, surveyed him coldly. "Little man, can't you wait to die? Let me assure you—another trick like that and you'll never see Mars again!"
Kueelo stalked away, eyes still blazing hatred.
IV
Lorine Landreth proved a canny navigator. She set a course far beneath the ecliptic, and for two days they did not encounter a Patrol. Curt had noticed the spacer was painted solid black and carried no insignia; an old trick of George Landreth's.
Was George Landreth connected in some way with all the far-scattered events which DeHarries called the pattern? Had he allowed his gnawing hate to encompass the entire Federation? All else was relegated to unimportance in Curt's mind beside this single throbbing question. War between the planets was imminent, as more and more monstrous happenings occurred without reason. Curt doubted that Landreth himself could be behind it all; it was too far-reaching and purposeful. But Curt was resolved to follow his present lead, and hope for a way to report back to DeHarries.
And there was another question. Kueelo.
Late on the second day Curt was off duty when there came a soft rap on his stateroom door, and Kueelo entered.
"The girl is studying maps of the K'Yarthan Swamp," he announced. "Jeffers and Rikert are at the controls. I think they will bear watching, those two."
Curt nodded. He studied Kueelo. The little Martian was over his anger, but now he seemed strangely perturbed.
"I've been waiting to speak to you alone, Curt Emmons. Remember, Jeffers couldn't understand why you brought me along? I've wondered the same thing. From the very first. There were many others to choose for the escape, strong ones like Rikert."
"You made it, didn't you?" Curt snapped. "Before this is over, you may wish you were back at the Prison mines."
"That doesn't answer my question. Why did you select me?"
Curt hesitated. "All right. If you must know, I always had a feeling you didn't belong at the Prison. Sure, I knew you were a 'political.' But no ordinary one! And I don't think your name is Kueelo!"
He watched the other's face, saw emotion ripple across the chiselled features.
"So," the Martian said softly. "I thought you might have guessed. Was it the tune, the little aria I always sang? Many times I could feel you listening. I sensed that you knew ... but I could not keep it within me, Emmons!"
"Doesn't that aria occur somewhere in the Deimian Cabal?"
"So you know that! But for you—for any Earthman—"
"I know very little about it," Curt said quickly. "I've heard that it's rooted in your religion somehow, but the thing's meaningless to me."
Kueelo stood still and straight. Curt could almost see the emotion welling up inside him like a slow ocean tide. Then Kueelo made up his mind. He spoke rapidly and without pause. "You are right. My name is not Kueelo. I am Tor Ekkov, Supreme Co-ordinator of the Society of Deimos on Mars! This cannot mean much to you, an Earthman, so I'll tell you only this—when the occasion demands we can, and often have, served as a balancewheel in the politics of Mars. Jal Tagar knew this when he took over Mars six years ago. Oh, he planned well! The twelve Co-ordinators throughout Mars were simultaneously arrested. It was a paralyzing blow. And Jal Tagar took me, the supreme Co-ordinator, by a most treacherous ruse—"
The little Martian paused. Hate blazed in the indomitable black depths of his eyes.
"So Jal Tagar completed his coup, and Mars was under his heel. He deemed that death was too good for me. Only the Mercury mines would do, for that was a slow death."
"You paint a dark picture, Kueelo, or, rather, Tor Ekkov, but all this was six years ago! The Federation has recognized Jal Tagar's government. He has ruled well, and Mars has cooperated in every...."
Tor Ekkov paced the floor, stopped in front of Curt.
"Do you really believe that, Emmons? What can anyone believe—now?" He noticed Curt's start of surprise. "Yes, I have heard of the strange forces at work in the System! And let me assure you: when dark events are brewing, you'll find Jal Tagar's hand in it somewhere!"
Curt waved a hand wearily. "Man, don't you know we're going into the K'Yarthan Swamp? You'd better start thinking about that!"
"I believe your mission is greater than you pretend, Curt Emmons. You're no prison-board Investigator! Why did you stop me when we had control of this ship? We could have gone back to Earth—or Mars."
"Don't ask questions, Tor Ekkov."
Tor's eyes were steady on him. "We've got to trust each other," he urged. "If I can't return to Mars, it's imperative that I get to a Tele-Magnum!"
Curt laughed outright at that one.
"We're going into K'Yarthan, and you speak of Tele-Magnums!"
"I must get my voice through to Mars!" Tor's eyes seemed like black jewels in the pallid face. "There are those of my Society who believe I still live—and when they hear my voice, hear my aria, you will see a new Mars!"
Curt shrugged at Tor's babbling: In the face of what was happening throughout the Federation, what did he care about a new Mars? But the mention of a Tele-Magnum struck a sudden note. Lorine Landreth must have a secret base in the K'Yarthan Swamp! If there should be a Tele-Magnum there, powerful enough to contact Earth ... Curt came back to his senses, laughed mirthlessly at such a remote chance.
In the next instant he was on his feet, as the clangor of the emergency alarm rang through the ship. For a moment he stared at Tor's startled face, then rushed into the corridor with the little Martian pounding after him.
They found Lorine and the others in the Control Room. The girl was calm, impassive, bending over the open receptor as a voice sliced through.
"... have had you in our beam for the past five minutes! As you carry no insignia, you will go into a drift immediately while we approach! Venus Guard calling...."
Jeffers' dark face broke into a grin, but Lorine remained serious. "They never patrolled this far from Venus! Jeffers, look to the emergency tubes. We may need some speed!" She turned to Curt. "Get on the V-Panel, will you Emmons? See if you can pick them out."
The crystyte panel came to life. Curt grasped the directional-finder, swung it in eccentric parabolas. Star pinpoints arced to and fro. A touch on the Magnilens brought the blackness swimming into closer view, then they sighted the Guard. Six formidable spacers emblazoned with the Imperial Venus Emblem.
Curt glanced at the proximity dial. They seemed a comfortable distance away, but he knew what a tremendous area the network of "finder-beams" covered!
&n
bsp; "Last warning," the voice razored. "Nullify your control immediately, or we blast!"
"They're bluffing," Lorine decided.
"They can't reach us yet. If we can get away from those finder-beams they'll never pick us up again. Jeffers, prepare for emergency blast!" She hurried to the control-console.
"This will give our position away!" Curt exclaimed.
She glanced at him impassively. "Just stay on that panel, Emmons." The little spacer vibrated anew. Rockets thundered on full power, then the spacer leaped forward, executed a wide parabola that carried it miles out of position. Almost at once Lorine cut all rockets, and they sped forward on the momentum.
"Safe," she smiled thinly. "They'll never spot us now, a solid black ship!"
Again Curt centered the Panel. The Venus Guard had broken formation, widening the area of search. Magnetic beams, pale green and swirling, criss-crossed miles of space.
Then Curt peered intently, puzzled, as a new kind of beam appeared. It seemed to uncoil across space, carrying a little bubble of brighter color before it. Suddenly the bubble burst. An expanse of blinding white light illumined the depths of space! It continued to spread outward. One edge of the perfect light-sphere very nearly touched their speeding ship!
Startled, Lorine jabbed at the rocket studs. Once more they swept into a parabola before she cut power. Dozens of the strange light-spheres were appearing behind them now, dotting space for a thousand-mile radius, expanding, shoving back the darkness. Three more times Lorine used rockets, changing direction, before they were out of the danger zone. Then their ship was a silent black ghost speeding away.
"Fine thing!" Jeffers exploded as he watched the scene behind them. "Springing a new stunt like that. What a target we'd be if we got caught in one of those things!" He grinned at Curt. "What won't they think of next, eh?"
"Yeah," Curt said wryly. "A guy just ain't safe any more. If I were you I'd write 'em a letter about it!"