MEASURED IN distance and time that rough walk in
the ponderous suits across the broken terrain of the asteroid was a
short one, measured by the beating of his own heart, Dane thought
it much too long. There was no sign of life by the air lock of the
bubble—no move on the part of the men stationed there to come
to their assistance.
“D’you suppose we’re invisible?”
Ali’s disembodied voice clicked in the helmet earphones.
“Maybe we’ll wish we were,” Dane could not
forego that return.
Rip was almost to the air lock door now. His massively suited
arm was outstretched toward the control bar when the com-unit in
all three helmets caught the same demand:
“Identify,” The crisp order had enough snap to warn
them that an answer was the best policy.
“Shannon—A-A of the Polestar,” Rip gave the
required information. “We claim E rights—”
But would they get them? Dane wondered. There was a click loud
in his ears. The metal door was yielding to Rip’s hand. At
least those on the inside had taken off the lock. Dane quickened
pace to join his leader.
Together the three from the Queen crowded through the lock door,
saw that swing shut and seal behind them, as they stood waiting for
the moment they could discard the suits and enter the dome. The
odds against them could not be too high, this was a small Stat. It
would not house more than four agents at the most. And they were
familiar enough with the basic architecture of such stations to
know just what move to make. Ali was to go to the com room where he
could take over if they did meet with trouble. Dane and Rip would
have to handle any dissenters in the main section. But they still
hoped that luck might ride their fins and they could put over a story which would keep them out of active conflict with the
Eysies.
The gauge on the wall registered safety and they unfastened the
protective clasps of the suits. Standing the cumbersome things
against the wall as the inner door to the lock rolled back, they
walked into Eysie territory.
As Free Traders they had the advantage of being uniformly
tunicked—with no Company badge to betray their ship or
status. So that could well be the “Polestar”
standing needle slim behind them—and not the notorious
“SolarQueen.” But each, as he passed through the inner
lock, gave a hitch to his belt which brought the butt of his sleep
rod closer to hand. Innocuous as that weapon was, in close quarters
its effect, if only temporary, was to some purpose. And since they
were prepared for trouble, they might have a slight edge over the
Eysies in attack.
A Company man, his tunic shabby and open in a negligent fashion
at his thick throat, stood waiting for them. His unhelmeted head
was grizzled, his coarse, tanned face with heavy jowls bristly
enough to suggest he had not bothered to use smooth-cream for some
days. An under officer of some spacer, retired to finish out the
few years before pension in this nominal duty—fast letting
down the standards of personal regime he had had to maintain on
ship board. But he wasn’t all fat and soft living, the glance
with which he measured them was shrewdly appraising.
“What’s your trouble?” he demanded without
greeting. “You didn’t Ident coming in.”
“Coms are out,” Rip replied as shortly. “We
need E-Hydro-“
“First time I ever heard it that the coms were wired in
with the grass,” the Eysies’s hands were on his
hips—in close proximity to something which made Dane’s
eyes narrow. The fellow was wearing a flare-blaster! That might be
regulation equipment for an E-Stat agent on a lonely
asteroid—but he didn’t quite believe it. And probably
the other was quick on the draw too.
“The coms are something else,” Rip answered readily.
“Our tech is working on them. But the hydro’s bad all
through. We’ll have to dump and restock. Give you a voucher
on Terra for the stuff.”
The Eysie agent continued to block the doorway into the station.
“This is private—I-S property. You should hit the
Patrol post—they cater to you F-Ts.”
“We hit the nearest E-Stat when we discovered that we were
contaminated,” Rip spoke with an assumption of patience.
“That’s the law, and you know it. You have to supply us
and take a voucher—”
“How do I know that your voucher is worth the film
it’s recorded on?” asked the agent reasonably.
“All right,” Rip shrugged. “If we have to do
it the hard way, we’ll cargo dump to cover your
bill.”
“Not on this field.” The other shook his head.
“I’ll flash in your voucher first.”
He had them, Dane thought bitterly. Their luck had run out.
Because what he was going to do was a move they dared not protest.
It was one any canny agent would make in the present situation. And
if they were what they said they were, they must readily agree to
let him flash their voucher of payment to I-S headquarters, to be
checked and okayed before they took the hydro stock.
Rut Rip merely registered a mild resignation. “You the
Com-tech? Where’s your unit? I’ll indit at once if you
want it that way.”
Whether their readiness to co-operate allayed some of the
agent’s suspicion or not, he relaxed some, giving them one
more stare all around before he turned on his heel. “This
way.”
They followed him down the narrow hall, Rip on his heels, the
others behind.
“Lonely post,” Rip commented. “I’d think
you boys’d get space-whirly out here.”
The other snorted. “We’re not star lovers. And the
pay’s worth a three month stretch. They take us down for Terra leave
before we start talking to the Whisperers.”
“How many of you here at a time?” Rip edged the
question in casually.
But the other might have been expecting it by the way he avoided
giving a direct answer. “Enough to run the place—and
not enough to help you clean out your wagon,” he was short
about it. “Any dumping you do is strictly on your own.
You’ve enough hands on a spacer that size to
manage—”
Rip laughed. “Far be it from me to ask an Eysie to do any
real work,” was his counter. “We know all about you
Company men—”
But the agent did not take fire at that jab. Instead he pushed
back a panel and they were looking into com-unit room where another
man in the tunic of the I-S lounged on what was by law twenty-four
hour duty, divided into three watches.
“These F-Ts want to flash a voucher request
through,” their guide informed the tech. The other,
interested, gave them a searching once-over before he pushed a
small scriber toward Rip.
“It’s all yours—clear ether,” he
reported.
Ali stood with his back to the wall and Dane still lingered in the portal. Both of them fixed their attention on Rip’s
left hand. If he gave the agreed upon signal! Their fingers were linked loosely in their belts only ah inch or so from their
sleep rods.
With his right hand Rip scooped up the scribbler while the
Com-tech half turned to make adjustments to the controls, picking
up a speaker to call the I-S headquarters.
Rip’s left index finger snapped across his thumb to form a
circle. Ali’s rod did not even leave his belt, it tilted up
and the invisible deadening stream from it centered upon the seated
tech. At the same instant Dane shot at the agent who had guided
them there. The latter had time for a surprised grunt and his hand
was at his blaster as he sagged to his knees and then relaxed on
the floor. The Tech slumped across the call board as if sleep had overtaken him at his
post.
Rip crossed the room and snapped off the switch which opened the
wire for broadcasting. While Ali, with Dane’s help, quietly
and effectively immobilized the Eysies with their own belts.
“There should be at least three men here,” Rip
waited by the door. “We have to get them all under control
before we start work.”
However, the interior of the bubble, extending as it did on
levels beneath the outer crust of the asteroid, was not an easy
place to search. An enemy, warned of the invasion, could easily
keep ahead of the party from the Queen, spying on them at his
leisure or preparing traps for them. In the end, afraid of wasting
time, they contented themselves with locking the doors of the
corridor leading to the lower levels, making ready to raid the
storeroom they had discovered during their search.
Emergency hydro supplies consisted mainly of algae which could
be stored in tanks and hastily put to use—as the plants now
in the Queen took much longer to grow even under forcing methods.
Dane volunteered to remain inside the E-Stat and assemble the
necessary containers at the air lock while the other two, having
had more experience, went back to the spacer to strip the hydro and
prepare to switch contents.
But, when Rip and Ali left, the younger Cargo-apprentice began
to find the bubble a haunted place. He took the sealed containers
out of their storage racks, stood them on a small hand truck, and
pushed them to the foot of the stairs, up which he then climbed
carrying two of the cylinders at a time.
The swish of the air current through the narrow corridors made a
constant murmur of sound, but he found himself listening for
something else, for a footfall other than his own, for the
betraying rasp of clothing against a wall—for even a whisper
of voice. And time and time again he paused suddenly to
listen—sure that the faintest hint of such a sound had reached his ears. He had a dozen containers lined up when
the welcome signal reached him by the com-unit of his field helmet.
To transfer the cylinders to the lock, get out, and then open the
outer door, did not take long. But as he waited he still listened
for a sound which did not come—the notice that someone besides
himself was free to move about the Stat.
Not knowing just how many of the supply tins were needed, he
worked on transferring all there were in the storage racks to the
upper corridor and the lock. But he still had half a dozen left to
pass through when Rip sent a message that he was coming in.
Out of his pressure suit, the Astrogator-apprentice stepped
lightly into the corridor, looked at the array of containers and
shook his head.
“We don’t need all those. No, leave
them—” he added as Dane, with a sigh, started to pick
up two for a return trip. “There’s something more
important just now—” He turned into the side hall which
led to the com room.
Both the I-S men had awakened. The Com-tech appeared to accept
his bonds philosophically. He was quiet and flat on his back,
staring pensively at the ceiling. But the other agent had made a
worm’s progress half across the room and Rip had to halt in
haste to prevent stepping on him.
Shannon stooped and, hooking his fingers in the other’s
tunic, heaved him back while the helpless man favored them with
some of the ripest speech—and NOT Trade Lingo—Dane had
ever heard. Rip waited until the man began to run down and then he
broke in with his pleasant soft drawl.
“Oh, sure, we’re all that. But time runs on, Eysie,
and I’d like a couple of answers which may mean something to
you. First—when do you expect your relief?”
That set the agent off again. And his
remarks—edited—were that no something, something F-T
was going to get any something, something information out of
him!
But it was his companion in misfortune—the Com-tech—who guessed the reason behind Rip’s question.
”Cut jets!” he advised the other.
“They’re just being softhearted. I take it,” he
spoke over the other agent’s sputtering to Rip, “that
you’re worried about leaving us fin down—That’s
it, isn’t it?”
Rip nodded. “In spite of what you think about us,”
he replied, “We’re not Patrol Posted
outlaws—”
“No, you’re just from a plague ship,” the
Com-tech remarked calmly. And his words struck his comrade dumb.
“SolarQueen?”
“You got the warn-off then?”
“Who didn’t? You really have plague on board?”
The thought did not appear to alarm the Com-tech unduly. But his
fellow suddenly heaved his bound body some distance away from the
Free Traders and his face displayed mixed emotions—most of
them fearful.
“We have something—probably supplied,” Rip
straightened. “Might pass along to your bosses that we know
that. Now suppose you tell me about your relief. When is it
due?”
“Not until after we take off on the Long Orbit if you
leave us like this. On the other hand,” the other added
coolly, “I don’t see how you can do otherwise.
We’ve still got those—” with his chin he pointed
to the com-unit.
“After a few alterations,” Rip amended. The bulk of
the com was in a tightly sealed case which they would need a flamer
to open. But he could and did wreck havoc with the exposed
portions. The tech, watching this destruction, spouted at least two
expressions his companion had not used. But when Rip finished he
was his unruffled self again.
“Now,” Rip drew his sleep rod. “A little rest
and when you wake it will all be a bad dream.” He carefully
beamed each man into slumber and helped Dane strip off their bonds.
But before he left the room he placed on the recorder the voucher
for the supplies they had taken. The Queen was not
stealing—under the law she still had some shadow of
rights.
Suited, they crossed the rough rock to the ship. And there about
the fins, already frozen into brittle spikes was a tangle of
plants—the rich result of years of collecting.
“Did you find anything?” Dane asked as they rounded
that mess on their way to the ladder.
Rip’s voice came back through the helmet com.
“Nothing we know how to interpret. I wish Frank or Craig had
had a chance to check. We took tri-dees of everything before we
dumped. Maybe they can learn something from these
when—”
His voice trailed off leaving that “when” to ring in
both their minds. It was such an important “when.” When
would either the steward or the Medic recover enough to
view those tri-dee shots? Or was that “when” really an
ominous “if”?
Back in the Queen, sealed once more for blast-off, they took
their stations. Dane speculated as to the course Rip had
set—were they just going to wander about the system hoping to
escape notice until they had somehow solved their problem? Or did
Shannon have some definite port in mind? He did not have time to
ask before they lifted. But once they were space borne again he
voiced his question.
Rip’s face was serious. “Frankly—” he
began and then hesitated for a long moment before he added,
“I don’t know. If we can only get the Captain or Craig
on their feet again—”
“One thing,” Ali materialized to join them,
“Sinbad’s back in the hydro. And this morning you
couldn’t get him inside the door. It’s not a very good
piece of evidence—”
No, it wasn’t, but they clung to it as backing for their
actions of the past few hours. The cat that had shown such a marked
distaste for the company of the stricken, and then for the hydro,
was now content to visit the latter as if some evil he has sensed
there had been cleansed with the dumping of the garden. They had
not yet solved their mystery but another clue had come into their
hands.
But now the care of the sick occupied hours and Rip insisted
that a watch be maintained by the com—listening in for news
which might concern the Queen. They had done a good job at
silencing the E-Stat, for they had been almost six hours in space
before the news of their raid was beamed to the nearest Patrol
post.
Ali laughed. “Told you we’d be pirates,” he
said when he listened to that account of their descent upon the I-S station.
“Though I didn’t see all that blaster work
they’re now raving about. You’d think we fought a major
battle there!”
Weeks growled. “The Eysies are trying to make it look
good. Make us into outlaws—”
But Rip did not share in the general amusement at the wild
extravagation of the report from the ether. “I notice they
didn’t say anything about the voucher we left.”
Ali’s cynical smile curled. “Did you expect them to?
The Eysies think they have us by the tail fins now—why should
they give us any benefit of the doubt? We junked all our boosters
behind us on this take-off, and don’t forget that, my
friends.”
Weeks looked confused. “But I thought you said we could do
this legal,” he appealed to Rip. “If we’re Patrol
Posted as outlaws—”
“They can’t do any more to us than they can for
running in a plague ship,” Ali pointed out. “Either
will get us blasted if we happen into the wrong vector now.
So—what do we do?”
“We find out what the plague really is,” Dane said
and meant every word of it.
“How?” Ali inquired. “Through some of
Craig’s magic?”
Dane was forced to answer with the truth. “I don’t
know yet—but it’s our only chance.”
Rip rubbed his eyes wearily. “Don’t think I’m
disagreeing—but just where do we start? We’ve already
combed Frank’s quarters and Kosti’s—we cleaned
out the hydro—”
“Those tri-dee shots of the hydro—have you checked
them yet?” Dane countered.
Without a word Ali arose and left the cabin. He came back with a
microfilm roll. Fitting it into the large projector he focused it
on the wall and snapped the button.
They were looking at the hydro—down the length of space so
accurately recorded that it seemed they might walk straight into
it. The greenery of the plants was so vivid and alive Dane felt
that he could reach out and pluck a leaf. Inch by inch he examined those ranks, looking for something which was
not in order, had no right to be there.
The long shot of the hydro as it had been merged into a series
of sectional groupings. In silence they studied it intently, using
all their field lore in an attempt to spot what each one was
certain must be there somewhere. But they were all handicapped by
their lack of intimate knowledge of the garden.
“Wait!” Weeks’ voice scaled up. “Left
hand corner—there!” His pointing hand broke and shadowed the
portion he was calling to their attention. Ali jumped to the
projector and made a quick adjustment.
Plants four and five times life size glowed green on the wall.
What Weeks had caught they all saw now—ragged leaves,
stripped stems.
“Chewed!” Dane supplied the answer.
It was only one species of plant which had been so mangled.
Other varieties in the same bank showed no signs of disturbance.
But all of that one type had at least one stripped branch and two
were virtual skeletons.
“A pest!” said Rip.
“But Sinbad,” Dane began a protest before the memory
of the cat’s peculiar actions of the past weeks stopped him.
Sinbad had slipped up, the hunter who had kept the Queen free of
the outré alien life which came aboard from time to time with
cargo had not attacked that which had ravaged the hydro plants. Or
if he had done so, he had not, after his usual custom, presented
the bodies of the slain to any crew member.
“It looks as if we have something at last,” Ali
observed and someone echoed that with a sigh of heartdeep
relief.
MEASURED IN distance and time that rough walk in
the ponderous suits across the broken terrain of the asteroid was a
short one, measured by the beating of his own heart, Dane thought
it much too long. There was no sign of life by the air lock of the
bubble—no move on the part of the men stationed there to come
to their assistance.
“D’you suppose we’re invisible?”
Ali’s disembodied voice clicked in the helmet earphones.
“Maybe we’ll wish we were,” Dane could not
forego that return.
Rip was almost to the air lock door now. His massively suited
arm was outstretched toward the control bar when the com-unit in
all three helmets caught the same demand:
“Identify,” The crisp order had enough snap to warn
them that an answer was the best policy.
“Shannon—A-A of the Polestar,” Rip gave the
required information. “We claim E rights—”
But would they get them? Dane wondered. There was a click loud
in his ears. The metal door was yielding to Rip’s hand. At
least those on the inside had taken off the lock. Dane quickened
pace to join his leader.
Together the three from the Queen crowded through the lock door,
saw that swing shut and seal behind them, as they stood waiting for
the moment they could discard the suits and enter the dome. The
odds against them could not be too high, this was a small Stat. It
would not house more than four agents at the most. And they were
familiar enough with the basic architecture of such stations to
know just what move to make. Ali was to go to the com room where he
could take over if they did meet with trouble. Dane and Rip would
have to handle any dissenters in the main section. But they still
hoped that luck might ride their fins and they could put over a story which would keep them out of active conflict with the
Eysies.
The gauge on the wall registered safety and they unfastened the
protective clasps of the suits. Standing the cumbersome things
against the wall as the inner door to the lock rolled back, they
walked into Eysie territory.
As Free Traders they had the advantage of being uniformly
tunicked—with no Company badge to betray their ship or
status. So that could well be the “Polestar”
standing needle slim behind them—and not the notorious
“SolarQueen.” But each, as he passed through the inner
lock, gave a hitch to his belt which brought the butt of his sleep
rod closer to hand. Innocuous as that weapon was, in close quarters
its effect, if only temporary, was to some purpose. And since they
were prepared for trouble, they might have a slight edge over the
Eysies in attack.
A Company man, his tunic shabby and open in a negligent fashion
at his thick throat, stood waiting for them. His unhelmeted head
was grizzled, his coarse, tanned face with heavy jowls bristly
enough to suggest he had not bothered to use smooth-cream for some
days. An under officer of some spacer, retired to finish out the
few years before pension in this nominal duty—fast letting
down the standards of personal regime he had had to maintain on
ship board. But he wasn’t all fat and soft living, the glance
with which he measured them was shrewdly appraising.
“What’s your trouble?” he demanded without
greeting. “You didn’t Ident coming in.”
“Coms are out,” Rip replied as shortly. “We
need E-Hydro-“
“First time I ever heard it that the coms were wired in
with the grass,” the Eysies’s hands were on his
hips—in close proximity to something which made Dane’s
eyes narrow. The fellow was wearing a flare-blaster! That might be
regulation equipment for an E-Stat agent on a lonely
asteroid—but he didn’t quite believe it. And probably
the other was quick on the draw too.
“The coms are something else,” Rip answered readily.
“Our tech is working on them. But the hydro’s bad all
through. We’ll have to dump and restock. Give you a voucher
on Terra for the stuff.”
The Eysie agent continued to block the doorway into the station.
“This is private—I-S property. You should hit the
Patrol post—they cater to you F-Ts.”
“We hit the nearest E-Stat when we discovered that we were
contaminated,” Rip spoke with an assumption of patience.
“That’s the law, and you know it. You have to supply us
and take a voucher—”
“How do I know that your voucher is worth the film
it’s recorded on?” asked the agent reasonably.
“All right,” Rip shrugged. “If we have to do
it the hard way, we’ll cargo dump to cover your
bill.”
“Not on this field.” The other shook his head.
“I’ll flash in your voucher first.”
He had them, Dane thought bitterly. Their luck had run out.
Because what he was going to do was a move they dared not protest.
It was one any canny agent would make in the present situation. And
if they were what they said they were, they must readily agree to
let him flash their voucher of payment to I-S headquarters, to be
checked and okayed before they took the hydro stock.
Rut Rip merely registered a mild resignation. “You the
Com-tech? Where’s your unit? I’ll indit at once if you
want it that way.”
Whether their readiness to co-operate allayed some of the
agent’s suspicion or not, he relaxed some, giving them one
more stare all around before he turned on his heel. “This
way.”
They followed him down the narrow hall, Rip on his heels, the
others behind.
“Lonely post,” Rip commented. “I’d think
you boys’d get space-whirly out here.”
The other snorted. “We’re not star lovers. And the
pay’s worth a three month stretch. They take us down for Terra leave
before we start talking to the Whisperers.”
“How many of you here at a time?” Rip edged the
question in casually.
But the other might have been expecting it by the way he avoided
giving a direct answer. “Enough to run the place—and
not enough to help you clean out your wagon,” he was short
about it. “Any dumping you do is strictly on your own.
You’ve enough hands on a spacer that size to
manage—”
Rip laughed. “Far be it from me to ask an Eysie to do any
real work,” was his counter. “We know all about you
Company men—”
But the agent did not take fire at that jab. Instead he pushed
back a panel and they were looking into com-unit room where another
man in the tunic of the I-S lounged on what was by law twenty-four
hour duty, divided into three watches.
“These F-Ts want to flash a voucher request
through,” their guide informed the tech. The other,
interested, gave them a searching once-over before he pushed a
small scriber toward Rip.
“It’s all yours—clear ether,” he
reported.
Ali stood with his back to the wall and Dane still lingered in the portal. Both of them fixed their attention on Rip’s
left hand. If he gave the agreed upon signal! Their fingers were linked loosely in their belts only ah inch or so from their
sleep rods.
With his right hand Rip scooped up the scribbler while the
Com-tech half turned to make adjustments to the controls, picking
up a speaker to call the I-S headquarters.
Rip’s left index finger snapped across his thumb to form a
circle. Ali’s rod did not even leave his belt, it tilted up
and the invisible deadening stream from it centered upon the seated
tech. At the same instant Dane shot at the agent who had guided
them there. The latter had time for a surprised grunt and his hand
was at his blaster as he sagged to his knees and then relaxed on
the floor. The Tech slumped across the call board as if sleep had overtaken him at his
post.
Rip crossed the room and snapped off the switch which opened the
wire for broadcasting. While Ali, with Dane’s help, quietly
and effectively immobilized the Eysies with their own belts.
“There should be at least three men here,” Rip
waited by the door. “We have to get them all under control
before we start work.”
However, the interior of the bubble, extending as it did on
levels beneath the outer crust of the asteroid, was not an easy
place to search. An enemy, warned of the invasion, could easily
keep ahead of the party from the Queen, spying on them at his
leisure or preparing traps for them. In the end, afraid of wasting
time, they contented themselves with locking the doors of the
corridor leading to the lower levels, making ready to raid the
storeroom they had discovered during their search.
Emergency hydro supplies consisted mainly of algae which could
be stored in tanks and hastily put to use—as the plants now
in the Queen took much longer to grow even under forcing methods.
Dane volunteered to remain inside the E-Stat and assemble the
necessary containers at the air lock while the other two, having
had more experience, went back to the spacer to strip the hydro and
prepare to switch contents.
But, when Rip and Ali left, the younger Cargo-apprentice began
to find the bubble a haunted place. He took the sealed containers
out of their storage racks, stood them on a small hand truck, and
pushed them to the foot of the stairs, up which he then climbed
carrying two of the cylinders at a time.
The swish of the air current through the narrow corridors made a
constant murmur of sound, but he found himself listening for
something else, for a footfall other than his own, for the
betraying rasp of clothing against a wall—for even a whisper
of voice. And time and time again he paused suddenly to
listen—sure that the faintest hint of such a sound had reached his ears. He had a dozen containers lined up when
the welcome signal reached him by the com-unit of his field helmet.
To transfer the cylinders to the lock, get out, and then open the
outer door, did not take long. But as he waited he still listened
for a sound which did not come—the notice that someone besides
himself was free to move about the Stat.
Not knowing just how many of the supply tins were needed, he
worked on transferring all there were in the storage racks to the
upper corridor and the lock. But he still had half a dozen left to
pass through when Rip sent a message that he was coming in.
Out of his pressure suit, the Astrogator-apprentice stepped
lightly into the corridor, looked at the array of containers and
shook his head.
“We don’t need all those. No, leave
them—” he added as Dane, with a sigh, started to pick
up two for a return trip. “There’s something more
important just now—” He turned into the side hall which
led to the com room.
Both the I-S men had awakened. The Com-tech appeared to accept
his bonds philosophically. He was quiet and flat on his back,
staring pensively at the ceiling. But the other agent had made a
worm’s progress half across the room and Rip had to halt in
haste to prevent stepping on him.
Shannon stooped and, hooking his fingers in the other’s
tunic, heaved him back while the helpless man favored them with
some of the ripest speech—and NOT Trade Lingo—Dane had
ever heard. Rip waited until the man began to run down and then he
broke in with his pleasant soft drawl.
“Oh, sure, we’re all that. But time runs on, Eysie,
and I’d like a couple of answers which may mean something to
you. First—when do you expect your relief?”
That set the agent off again. And his
remarks—edited—were that no something, something F-T
was going to get any something, something information out of
him!
But it was his companion in misfortune—the Com-tech—who guessed the reason behind Rip’s question.
”Cut jets!” he advised the other.
“They’re just being softhearted. I take it,” he
spoke over the other agent’s sputtering to Rip, “that
you’re worried about leaving us fin down—That’s
it, isn’t it?”
Rip nodded. “In spite of what you think about us,”
he replied, “We’re not Patrol Posted
outlaws—”
“No, you’re just from a plague ship,” the
Com-tech remarked calmly. And his words struck his comrade dumb.
“SolarQueen?”
“You got the warn-off then?”
“Who didn’t? You really have plague on board?”
The thought did not appear to alarm the Com-tech unduly. But his
fellow suddenly heaved his bound body some distance away from the
Free Traders and his face displayed mixed emotions—most of
them fearful.
“We have something—probably supplied,” Rip
straightened. “Might pass along to your bosses that we know
that. Now suppose you tell me about your relief. When is it
due?”
“Not until after we take off on the Long Orbit if you
leave us like this. On the other hand,” the other added
coolly, “I don’t see how you can do otherwise.
We’ve still got those—” with his chin he pointed
to the com-unit.
“After a few alterations,” Rip amended. The bulk of
the com was in a tightly sealed case which they would need a flamer
to open. But he could and did wreck havoc with the exposed
portions. The tech, watching this destruction, spouted at least two
expressions his companion had not used. But when Rip finished he
was his unruffled self again.
“Now,” Rip drew his sleep rod. “A little rest
and when you wake it will all be a bad dream.” He carefully
beamed each man into slumber and helped Dane strip off their bonds.
But before he left the room he placed on the recorder the voucher
for the supplies they had taken. The Queen was not
stealing—under the law she still had some shadow of
rights.
Suited, they crossed the rough rock to the ship. And there about
the fins, already frozen into brittle spikes was a tangle of
plants—the rich result of years of collecting.
“Did you find anything?” Dane asked as they rounded
that mess on their way to the ladder.
Rip’s voice came back through the helmet com.
“Nothing we know how to interpret. I wish Frank or Craig had
had a chance to check. We took tri-dees of everything before we
dumped. Maybe they can learn something from these
when—”
His voice trailed off leaving that “when” to ring in
both their minds. It was such an important “when.” When
would either the steward or the Medic recover enough to
view those tri-dee shots? Or was that “when” really an
ominous “if”?
Back in the Queen, sealed once more for blast-off, they took
their stations. Dane speculated as to the course Rip had
set—were they just going to wander about the system hoping to
escape notice until they had somehow solved their problem? Or did
Shannon have some definite port in mind? He did not have time to
ask before they lifted. But once they were space borne again he
voiced his question.
Rip’s face was serious. “Frankly—” he
began and then hesitated for a long moment before he added,
“I don’t know. If we can only get the Captain or Craig
on their feet again—”
“One thing,” Ali materialized to join them,
“Sinbad’s back in the hydro. And this morning you
couldn’t get him inside the door. It’s not a very good
piece of evidence—”
No, it wasn’t, but they clung to it as backing for their
actions of the past few hours. The cat that had shown such a marked
distaste for the company of the stricken, and then for the hydro,
was now content to visit the latter as if some evil he has sensed
there had been cleansed with the dumping of the garden. They had
not yet solved their mystery but another clue had come into their
hands.
But now the care of the sick occupied hours and Rip insisted
that a watch be maintained by the com—listening in for news
which might concern the Queen. They had done a good job at
silencing the E-Stat, for they had been almost six hours in space
before the news of their raid was beamed to the nearest Patrol
post.
Ali laughed. “Told you we’d be pirates,” he
said when he listened to that account of their descent upon the I-S station.
“Though I didn’t see all that blaster work
they’re now raving about. You’d think we fought a major
battle there!”
Weeks growled. “The Eysies are trying to make it look
good. Make us into outlaws—”
But Rip did not share in the general amusement at the wild
extravagation of the report from the ether. “I notice they
didn’t say anything about the voucher we left.”
Ali’s cynical smile curled. “Did you expect them to?
The Eysies think they have us by the tail fins now—why should
they give us any benefit of the doubt? We junked all our boosters
behind us on this take-off, and don’t forget that, my
friends.”
Weeks looked confused. “But I thought you said we could do
this legal,” he appealed to Rip. “If we’re Patrol
Posted as outlaws—”
“They can’t do any more to us than they can for
running in a plague ship,” Ali pointed out. “Either
will get us blasted if we happen into the wrong vector now.
So—what do we do?”
“We find out what the plague really is,” Dane said
and meant every word of it.
“How?” Ali inquired. “Through some of
Craig’s magic?”
Dane was forced to answer with the truth. “I don’t
know yet—but it’s our only chance.”
Rip rubbed his eyes wearily. “Don’t think I’m
disagreeing—but just where do we start? We’ve already
combed Frank’s quarters and Kosti’s—we cleaned
out the hydro—”
“Those tri-dee shots of the hydro—have you checked
them yet?” Dane countered.
Without a word Ali arose and left the cabin. He came back with a
microfilm roll. Fitting it into the large projector he focused it
on the wall and snapped the button.
They were looking at the hydro—down the length of space so
accurately recorded that it seemed they might walk straight into
it. The greenery of the plants was so vivid and alive Dane felt
that he could reach out and pluck a leaf. Inch by inch he examined those ranks, looking for something which was
not in order, had no right to be there.
The long shot of the hydro as it had been merged into a series
of sectional groupings. In silence they studied it intently, using
all their field lore in an attempt to spot what each one was
certain must be there somewhere. But they were all handicapped by
their lack of intimate knowledge of the garden.
“Wait!” Weeks’ voice scaled up. “Left
hand corner—there!” His pointing hand broke and shadowed the
portion he was calling to their attention. Ali jumped to the
projector and made a quick adjustment.
Plants four and five times life size glowed green on the wall.
What Weeks had caught they all saw now—ragged leaves,
stripped stems.
“Chewed!” Dane supplied the answer.
It was only one species of plant which had been so mangled.
Other varieties in the same bank showed no signs of disturbance.
But all of that one type had at least one stripped branch and two
were virtual skeletons.
“A pest!” said Rip.
“But Sinbad,” Dane began a protest before the memory
of the cat’s peculiar actions of the past weeks stopped him.
Sinbad had slipped up, the hunter who had kept the Queen free of
the outré alien life which came aboard from time to time with
cargo had not attacked that which had ravaged the hydro plants. Or
if he had done so, he had not, after his usual custom, presented
the bodies of the slain to any crew member.
“It looks as if we have something at last,” Ali
observed and someone echoed that with a sigh of heartdeep
relief.