 Part 1 of LION LOOSE For twelve years, at a point where three major shipping routes of the Federation of the Hub crossed within a few hours' flight of one another, the seventh star hotel had floated in space, a great golden sphere gleaming softly in the void through its translucent shells of battle-plastic. The star had been designed to be much more than a convenient transfer station for travellers and freight. For some years after it was opened to the public it retained a high rating among the more exotic pleasure resorts of the hub. The seventh star hotel was the place to have been that season, and the celebrities and fat cats converged on it with their pals and hangers on. The star blazed with life, excitement, interstellar scandals, tinkled with streams of credits dancing in from a thousand worlds, and in short it had started out as a paying proposition. But gradually things changed. The star's entertainment remained as delightfully outrageous as ever, the cuisine as excellent, the accommodations and service were still above reproach. The fleecing in general became no less expertly painless. But one had been there. By its eighth year the star was dated. Now in its twelfth it lived soberly off the liner in freighter trade, for fifths of the guest suite shut down the remainder irregularly occupied between ship departures. And in another seven hours, if the plans of certain men went through, the seventh star hotel would abruptly wink out of existence. From fifty or sixty early diners were scattered around the tables on the garden terraces of fallage and house, the seventh star hotel's most exclusive eatery. One of them had just finished his meal, sat smoking and, regarding a spiraling flow of exquisitely indicated female figures across the garden's skyscape with an air of friendly approval. He was a large and muscular young man, deeply tanned, with shoulders of impressive thickness and aquiline nose and dark reflective eyes. After a minute or two he yawned comfortably, put out his cigarette, and pushed his chair back from the table. As he came to his feet there was a soft bell note from the table comm-web. He hesitated, said, Go ahead. His intrusion permitted, the comm-web inquired. Depends, the guest said, who is calling? The name is Rita Deston. He grinned, appeared pleasantly surprised. But the lady threw. There was a brief silence. Then a woman's voice inquired softly, Quillen? Right here, doll! Where? Seal the comm-web, Quillen. He reached down to the instrument, tapped the seal-button, said, All right, we're private. Probably, the woman's voice said, but better scramble this, too. I want to be very sure no one's listening. Quillen grunted. Slid his left hand into an inner coat pocket, briefly fingered a device of the approximate size and shape of a cigarette, drew his hand out again. Scrambling, he announced. Now what? Made a, Quillen, the soft voice said. Can you come immediately? Quillen's face went expressionless. Of course. Is it urgent? I'm in no present danger. But we better waste no time. Is it going to take real hardware? I'm carrying a finger-gun at the moment. Then go to your rooms and pick up something useful, Rital said. This should take real hardware, all right. All right? Then where do I go? I'll meet you at your door. I know where it is. When Quillen arrived she was standing before the door to his suite. A tall blonde and a sleeveless black and gold sheath. A beautiful body, a warm, lovely, humorous face. The warmth and humor were real, but masked a mind as impersonally efficient as a computer and a taste for high and dangerous living. When Quillen had last met Rital Distown a year and a half before, the taste was being satisfied in industrial espionage. He hadn't heard of her activities since then. She smiled thoughtfully at him as he came up. I'll wait outside, she said. We're not talking here. Quillen nodded, went into his living room, selected a gun belt and holstered gun from a suitcase, fastened the belt around his waist under the coat and came out. Now what? First a little portal hopping. He followed her across the corridor and into a tube portal. Watched as she tapped out a setting. The exit light flashed a moment later. They stepped out into a vacant lounge somewhere else in the same building, crossed it, entered another portal. After three more shifts they emerged into a long hall, dimly lit, heavily carpeted. There was no one in sight. Last stop, Rital said. She glanced up at his face. We're on the other side of the star now, in one of the sections they've closed up. I've established a kind of emergency headquarters here. The star's nearly broke, did you know? I'd heard of it. That appears to be part of the reason for what's going on. Quillen said. What's going on? Rital slid her arm through his and said, Come on. That's my unregistered suite over there. Big boy, it's very, very selfish of me. But I was extremely glad to detect your name on the list of newly arrived guests just now. As to what's going on? The Camelot burst here at midnight, you know. Quillen nodded. I have some business with one of her passengers. Rital bent to unlock the entrance door to the indicated suite. The way it looks now, she remarked. The odds are pretty high that you're not going to keep that appointment. Why not? Because shortly after the Camelot docks, and something's been unloaded from her, the Camelot and the Seven Star Hotel are scheduled to go poof together, along with you, me, and some twelve thousand other people. And so far I haven't been able to think of a good way to keep it from happening. Quillen was silent a moment. Who's scheduling the poof? he asked. Some old acquaintances of ours are among them. Come on in. What they're doing comes under the heading of destroying the evidence. She locked the door behind them, said, Just a moment. Went over to the paneled wall, turned down a tiny silver switch. Room portal, she said, nodding at the wall. It might come in handy. I keep it turned off most of the time. Why are you turning it on now? Quillen asked. One of the Star Stewards is working on this with me. He'll be long as soon as he can get away. Now I'll give you the whole thing as briefly as I can. The old acquaintances, as I mentioned, are some boys of the Brotherhood of Belden. Moven's here. He's got Morris Coons and Fluol with him, and about thirty of the Brotherhood's top guns. No Mlauncians coming in on the Camelot in person tonight take charge. Obviously, with all that brass on the job, they're after something very big. Just what it is, I don't know yet. I've got one clue, but a rather puzzling one. Tell you about that later. Do you know Valadin? The Commodore here? Quillen nodded. I've never met him, but I know who he is. Retall said, He's been manager of the Seven Star Hotel for the past nine years. He's involved in the Belden Outfits operation. So is the chief of the Star's private security force, his name's Ryder, and half a dozen other Star executives. They've got plenty of firepower, too, close to half the entire security force, I understand, including all the officers. That would come to nearly seventy men. There's reason to believe the rest of the force was disarmed and murdered by them in the subspace section of the Star about twelve hours ago. They haven't been seen since then. Valadin, aside from his share in whatever they're after, has another reason for wanting to wipe out the Star in an unexplained blow-up. There I have definite information. Did you know the Mooli brothers owned the Star? Yes. I've been working for the Moolis the past eight months, Retall said, checking up on employees at Valadin's level for indications of graft. And it appears the Commodore had been robbing them blind here for at least several years. Sort of a risky thing to try with the Moolis, from what I hear. Willen remarked, Yes, very. Valadin had reason to be getting a little desperate about that. Two men were planted here a month ago, one of the Mishir Haraga, the steward I told you about. The other man came in as a bookkeeper. Two weeks ago Haraga got word that the bookkeeper had disappeared. Valadin and Ryder apparently got wise to what he was trying to do, so the Moolis sent me here to try to find out exactly what was going on before they took action. I arrived four days ago. She gave a regretful little head shake. I waited almost a day before contacting Haraga. It seemed advisable to move very cautiously in the matter. But that made it a little too late to do anything. Quillen, for the past three days the Seven Star Hotel has been locked up like a bank vault. And except for ourselves, only the people who are in on the plot are aware of it. The message transmitters are inoperative? He asked. Retall nodded. The story is that a gravidic storm center in the area has disrupted transmissions completely for the time being. What about incoming ships? Yours was the only one scheduled before the Camelot arrives. It left again eight hours ago. Nobody here had been let on board. The guests who wanted to apply for outgoing burst were told there were none open, that they'd have to wait for the Camelot. She went over to a desk, unlocked a drawer, took out a sheaf of papers, and handed one of them to Quillen. That's the layout of the star, she said. This five-level building over by the shell is the executive block. The brother hood and the Commodore's men moved in there this morning. The block is the star's defense center. It's raid-proofed, contains the control officers in the transmitter and armament rooms. About the standard arrangement. While they hold the executive block, they have absolute control of the star. If it's the defense center, it should be practically impossible to do anything about them there. Quillen agreed. They could close it up and dump the air out of the rest of the star in a minute, if they had to. But there must be, well, what about the lifeboats in the subspace section? And our pals must have a getaway ship stashed away somewhere. They have two ships, Rital said. A souped-up freighter, brotherhood came in on, and a large armed yacht, which seems to be the Commodore's personal property. Unfortunately, they're both in subspace locks. Why, unfortunately, because they've sealed off subspace, try portaling down there, and you'll find yourself looking at a battle-plastic bulkhead. There's no way of getting either to the ships or to the lifeboats. Quillen lifted his eyebrows. And that hasn't caused any comment. What about the maintenance crews, the warehouse man, the... All the work crews were hauled out of subspace this morning, Rital said. On the quiet the star's employees have been told that a gang of raiders was spotted in the warehouse area, and is at the present corner there. Naturally, the matter isn't going to be mentioned to the guests to avoid arousing unnecessary concern, and that explains everything very neatly. The absence of the security man, and why subspace is sealed off, why the executive block is under guard and can't be entered, and why the technical and office personnel in there don't come out and can't communicate out. They've been put on emergency status officially. Yuck, Quillen said disgustedly after a minute. This begins to look like a hopeless situation, doll. True. Let's see now. Rital interrupted. There is one portal still open to subspace. That's in the executive block, of course, and Aragat reports it's heavily guarded. How does he know? The block's getting its meals from Belajian House. He floated a diner in there a few hours ago. Well, Quillen said, brightening, perhaps a deft flavoring of poison. Rital shook her head. I checked over the hospital stocks. Not a thing there that couldn't be spotted at once. Unless we can claw by them very thoroughly, we can't afford to make them suspicious with a trick like that. Poison would be a bit rough on the office help, too, Quillen conceded. They wouldn't be in on the deal. No, they're not. They're working under guard. Gas? No, I suppose not. It would take too long to whip up something that could turn the trick. Quillen glanced at his watch. If the Camelot docks at midnight, we've about six and a half hours left, doll. And I don't find myself coming up with any brilliant ideas. What have you thought of? Rital hesitated a moment. Nothing very brilliant, either, she said then. But there are two things we might try as a last resort. Let's hear them. I know a number of people registered in the star at present who'd be carrying personal weapons. If they were told the facts, I could probably line up about twenty who'd be willing to make a try to get into the executive block and take over either the control offices or the transmitter room. If we got a warning out to the Camelot, that would break up the plot. Of course it wouldn't necessarily save the star. No, Quillen said, but it's worth trying if we can't think of something better. How would you get them inside? We could crowd twenty men into one of those diner trucks, and a raga could take us in. What kind of people are your pals? A few smugglers and confidence men I've had connections with. Fairly good boys for this sort of thing. Then there's an old millionaire sportsman with a party of six waiting to transfer to the Camelot for a safari on Jantaro. Old Philmarin isn't all there, in my opinion, but he's dead game and loves any kind of a ruckus. We can count on him and his friends, if they're not too drunk at the moment. Still, that's not too many to set against something less than a hundred professional guns, even though some of them must be down on the two ships. No, not enough, Quillen looked thoughtful. What's the other idea? Let the cat out of the bag generally. Tell the guests that the employee's out there what's going on, and see if someone can think of something that might be done. He shook his head. What should set off with that would be anywhere between a riot and a panic. The boys in the executive block would simply give us the breathless treatment. Apparently they prefer to have everything looking quiet and normal when the Camelot gets here. But they don't have to play it that way, Rital agreed. We might be dead for hours before the line of docks. If they keep the landing dock closed until what they want has been unloaded, nobody on the Camelot would realize what had happened before it was too late. There was a moment's silence. Then Quillen said, you mentioned you'd picked up a clue as to what they were after. What was that? Well, that's a curious thing, Rital said. On the trip out here a young girl named Solvay Kinmartin attached herself to me. She didn't want to talk much, but I gathered she was newly married and that her husband was on board and was neglecting her. She's an appealing little thing, and she seems so forlorn and upset that I adopted her for the rest of the run. After we arrived, of course, I pretty well forgot about the Kinmartins and their troubles. A few hours ago Solvay suddenly came bursting into the suite where I'm registered. She was shaking all over. After I calmed her down a bit she spilled out her story. She and her husband Brock Kinmartin are rest wardens, with another man named Eltaq, whom Solvay describes as some sort of crazy old coot. They are assigned to escort two deluxe private rest cubicles to a very exclusive sanatorium on Mesmayali. But Brock told Solvay at the beginning of the trip that this was a very unusual assignment, that he didn't want her even to come near the cubicles. That wouldn't have bothered her so much, she says, but on the way here Brock became increasingly irritable and absent-minded. She knew he was worrying about the cubicles, and she began to wonder whether they weren't involved in something illegal. The pay was very high, they're both getting almost twice the regular warden fee for the job. One day she found an opportunity to do a little investigating. The cubicles are registered, respectively, to a lady pendrake and to a major pendrake. Lady pendrake appears to be genuine. The cubicle is unusually large and constructed somewhat differently from the ones with which Solvay was familiar, but it was clear that it had an occupant. However, the life indicated her unmajor pendrakes cubicle registered zero when she turned it on. If there was something inside it, it wasn't a living human being. That was all she learned at the time, because she was afraid Brock might catch her in the cubicle room. Here in the star the cubicles were taken to a suite reserved for a lady pendrake. The other man, Eltox, stayed in the suite with the cubicles, while the Kin Martins were given other quarters. However, Brock was still acting oddly and spending most of his time in the pendrake's suite. So this morning Solvay swiped his key to the suite and slipped in when she knew the two men had left it. She'd barely got there when she heard Brock and Eltox at the door again. She ran into the next room and hid in the closet. Suddenly there was commotion in the front room, and Solvay realized that men from the Star Security Force had arrived and were arresting Brock and Eltox. They hauled both of them away, then floated the cubicles out on a carrier and took them off to, locking the suite behind them. Solvay was in a complete panic, sure that she and Brock had become involved in some serious breach of the warden code. She waited a few minutes, then slipped out of the pendrake's suite and looked me up to see if I couldn't help them. I had a raga-check, and he reported that the Kin Martins' suite was under observation. Apparently they want to pick up the girl, too. So I tucked her away in one of the suites in this section and gave her something to put her to sleep. She's there now. Quillen said, And where are the prisoners and the cubicles? In the executive block. How do you know? Retall smiled briefly. The Duke of Flule told me. Huh? The Brotherhood knows you're here? Relax, Retall said. Nobody but her raga knows I'm working for the Moolies. I told the Duke I had a big con deal set up when the Camelot came in. I even suggested he might like to get in on it. He laughed and said he had other plans. But he won't mention to any one that I'm here. Why not? Because, Retall said dryly, What the Duke is planning to get in on is an hour of tender dalliance, before the Camelot arrives necessarily. The cold-blooded little skunk. She hesitated a moment. When she spoke again, her voice had turned harsh and nasal, wicked amusements sounding through it. Fought of busy at the moment, sweetheart. But we might find time for a drink or two later on in the evening, eh? Quillen grunted. Here is good at the voice imitations as ever. How did you find out about the cubicles? I took a chance and fed him a moment of truth. With Flule, Quillen said thoughtfully, that was taking a chance. Believe me, I was aware of it. I've run into card-carrying sadists before. But the Duke's the only one who scares me silly. But it did work. He dropped in for about a minute and a half, and came out without noticing a thing. Meanwhile, I'd got the answers to a few questions. The bomb with which they're planning to mop up behind them has already been planted up here in the norm-space section. Flule had nowhere. Armourment's experts took care of it. It's armed now. There's a firing switch on each of their ships, and both switches have to be tripped before the thing goes off. Part of what they're after is in those Pendrake rest cubicles. Part of it, Quillen asked. Uh-huh. An even hundred similar cubicles will be unloaded from the Camelot, the bulk of the hall. Which is why Noam Lancian is supervising things on the liner. I started to ask what was in the cubicles, but I saw Flule was beginning to lose that blank look they have under truth, and switched back to light chit-chat just before he woke up. Yako's paying for the job. Or rather, it will pay for the stuff on delivery, and no questions asked. That's not very much help, is it, Quillen said after a moment. Something a big crooked industrial combine like Yako thinks it can use. It must expect to be able to use it to extremely good advantage, Retall said. The Brotherhood will collect thirty million credits for their part of the operation. The Commodore's group presumably won't do any worse. She glanced past Quillen toward the room portal. It's OK. Haraga, come in. Cher Haraga was a lean, dark-skinned little man with a badly bent nose, black curly hair, and a nervous look. He regretted, he said, that he hadn't been able to uncover anything, which might be a lead to the location of the bomb. Apparently it wasn't even being guarded. And of course a bomb of the size required here would be quite easy to conceal. If they haven't put guards over it, Retall agreed, it'll take blind luck to spot it, unless we can get hold of one of the men who knows where it's planted. There was silence for some seconds. Then Quillen said, Well, if we can't work out a good plan, we'd better see what we can do with one of the bad ones. Are the Commodore's security men wearing uniforms? Haraga shook his head. Not the ones I saw. But here's an idea, Quillen said. As things stand, barging into the executive block with a small armed group can't accomplish much. It might be more interesting than sitting around and waiting to be blown up, but it still would be suicide. However, if we could get things softened up and disorganized in there first, softened up and disorganized how? Retall asked. We can use that notion you had of having Haraga float in another diner, this time I'm on board, in a steward's uniform, in case the guards check. They didn't the first time, Haraga said. Sloppy of them! Well, they're just gun-hands. Anyway, once we're inside I shuck off the uniform and get out. Haraga delivers his goodies and leaves again. Retall gave him a look. You'll get shot down the instant you're seen, dope! I think not. There are two groups in there, about a hundred men at all, and they haven't had time to get well-acquainted yet. I'll have my gun in sight, and anyone who sees me should figure I belong to the other group, until I run into one of the Brotherhood boys who knows me personally. Then that's when you'll get shot down. I understand the last time you were in the Duke of Fluor, Matt. He woke up with lumps. The Duke doesn't love me, we'll admit it, but there's nothing personal between me and Movang, or Marce Coombs, and I'll have a message for Movang. What kind of a message? I'll have to play that by ear a little. It depends on how things look in there, but I have a few ideas based on what you've learned of the operation. Now, just what I can do when I get that far I don't know yet. I'll simply try to louse the deal up as much as I can. That may take time, and, of course, it might turn out to be impossible to get word out to you. So what do we do, meanwhile, Retall asked. If we start lining up our attack group immediately, and there's no action for another five or six hours, there's always the chance of a leak with about twenty people in the know. And if there's a leak, Quillen agreed, you've probably had it. No, you'd better wait with that. If I'm not out, and you haven't heard from me before the Camelots actually do to Doc, Haraga can still take the group, everybody with yourself in, is scheduled. Why everybody but me, Retall asked. If nothing else works, you might find some way of getting a warning to the liner's security force after they're docked. It isn't much of a possibility, but we can't afford to throw it away. Yes, I see, Retall looked reflective. What do you think, Haraga? The little man shrugged. You told me that Mr. Quillen is not inexperienced in dealing with his enemies. If he feels he might accomplish something in the executive block, I'm in favor of the plan. The situation certainly could hardly become worse. That's the spirit, Quillen approved. The positive outlook. That's what a thing like this mainly takes. Can you arrange for the diner and the uniform? Oh, yes, Haraga said. I've had myself put in charge of that detail, naturally. Now, what can you tell me about the executive block's layout? Retall stood up. Come over to the desk, she said. We've got diagrams. The five levels, as you see, Haraga was explaining a few moments later, are built directly into the curve of the star's shelves. Level five, on the top, is therefore quite small. The other levels are fairly extensive. Two, three, and four could each accommodate a hundred men comfortably. These levels contain mainly living quarters, private offices, and the like. The brotherhood men appear to be occupying the fourth level. The laden's group, the second. The third may be reserved for meetings between representatives of the two groups. All three of these levels are connected by single exit portals to the large entrance area on the ground level. The portal stood open when I went in earlier today, and there were about twenty armed men lounging about the entrance hall. I recognized approximately half of them as being members of the star's security force. The others were unfamiliar. Haraga cleared his throat. There is a possibility that the two groups do not entirely trust each other. Quillen nodded. If they're playing around with something like sixty million C.R., anybody would have to be crazy to trust the brotherhood of Belden. The transmitter room and the control officers are guarded too. Yes, but not heavily, Haraga said. There seem to be only a few men stationed at each of these points. Ostensibly there is a safeguard, in case the imaginary raiders attempt to break out of the subspace section. What's the arrangement of the ordinary walk-in tube portals in the executive block? There is one which interconnects the five levels. On each of the lower levels there are in addition several portals which lead out to various points in the seven-star hotel. On the fifth level there is only one portal of this kind. Except for the portal which operates between the different levels in the executive block, all of them have been rendered unusable at present. Unusable in what way? They have been sealed off on the executive block side. Can you get me a diagram of the entry and exit systems these outgoing portals connect with? Quillen asked. I might turn one of them usable again. Yes, I can do that. How about the communication possibilities? The comm-web system is functioning normally on the second, third, and fourth levels. It has been shot off on the first level, to avoid the spread of alarming rumors by office personnel. There is no comm-web on the fifth level. Retall said, We'll shift our operating headquarters back to my registered suite, then. The comm-webs are turned off in those vacant sections. I'll stay in the other suite in case you find a chance to signal in. Haraga left a few minutes later to make his arrangements. Retall smiled at Quinlan, a little dubiously. Good luck, Guy, she said. Anything else to settle before you start off? Quillen nodded. Couple of details. If you're going to be in your regular suite and Flewell finds himself with some idle time on hand, he might show up for the dalliance you mentioned. Retall's smile changed slightly. Her left hand fluffed the hair at the back of her head, flicked down again. There was a tiny click, and Quillen looked at a small, jeweled hair-clasp in her palm, its needle-beak pointing at him. It hasn't got much range, Retall said. But within ten feet it will scramble the duke's brains, just as thoroughly as they need to be scrambled. Good enough, Quillen said. Just don't give that boy the ghost of a chance to all. He has a rip for playing very unnice games with ladies. I know his reputation. Retall replaced the tiny gun in her hair. Anything else? Yes. Let's look in on the Kin-Martin chick for a moment. If she's awake, she may have remembered something or other by now that she didn't think to tell you. They found Solvay Kin-Martin awake and tearfully glad to see Retall. Quillen was introduced as a member of the legal profession, who would do what he could for Solvay and her husband. Solvay frowned prettily, trying very hard to remember anything that might be of use, but it appeared that she had told Retall all she knew. End of Part One Part Two of Lion Loose by James H. Schmitz This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The blue-and-white fallage-in-house diner, driven by Haraga, was admitted without comment into the executive block. It floated on unchallenged through the big entry-hall and into a corridor. Immediately behind the first turn of the corridor, the diner paused a few seconds. Its side door opened and closed. The diner moved on. Quillen, coatless and with the well-worn butt of a big meam-devil special protruding from the holster on his right hip, came briskly back along the corridor. Between fifteen and twenty men, their guns also conspicuously in evidence, were scattered about the entrance hall, expressions and attitudes indicating a curious mixture of boredom and uneasy tension. The eyes of about half of them swiveled around to Quillen when he came into the hall, then with one exception they looked indifferently away again. The exception, leaning against the wall near the three open portals to the upper levels, continued to stare as Quillen came toward him, forward creased in a deep scowl as if he were painfully ransacking his mind for something. Quillen stopped in front of him. Chum, he asked, any idea where Moven is at the moment? They just gave me this message for him. Still scowling, the other scratched his chin and blinked. Dono, for sure, he said after a moment. He ought to be in the third-level conference room with the rest of them. Dono, you ought to barge in there now, pal. The commoner was really hot about something. Quillen looked worried. Got a chance at it, I guess. Message is pretty important, they say. He turned, went through the center portal of the three, abruptly found himself walking along a wide, well-lit hall. Nobody in sight here or in the first intersecting passage he came to. When he reached the next passage he heard voices on the right, turned toward them, went by a string of closed doors on both sides until forty feet on, the passage angled again and opened into a long, high-ceilinged room. The voices came through an open door on the right side of the room. Standing against the wall beside the door were two men whose heads turned sharply towards Quillen as he appeared in the passage. The short, chunky one scowled. The big man next to him, the top of whose head had been permanently seared clear of hair years before, by a near miss from a blaster, dropped his jaw slowly. His eyes popped. My God! he said. Movane in there, baldy? Quillen inquired, coming up. Movane? He—you—how— The chunky man took out his gun, waved it negligently at Quillen. Telly ape to blow, perk! He isn't wanted here. Ape? Quillen asked softly. His right hand moved, had the gun by the barrel twisted, reversed the gun, jammed it back with some violence into the chunky man's stomach. Ape? He repeated. The chunky man went white. Bad news! Baldy perk breathed. Take it easy! That's Orca. He's the Commodore's torpedo. How? Where's Movane? Movane? He—uh. All right, he's not here, and Lanceon can't have arrived yet. Is Coombs in there? Yeah, Baldy perk said weakly. Coombs is in there, Quillen. Let's go in. Quillen withdrew the gun, slid it into a pocket, smiled down at Orca. Get it back from your boss, slob. Be seeing you. Orca's voice was a husky whisper. You will, friend. You will. The conference room was big and sparsely furnished. Four men sat at the long table at its center. Quillen knew two of them—Maris Coombs, second in command of the Belden Brotherhood's detachment here, and the Duke of Fluo, Movane's personal gun. Going by Heragas descriptions the big, florid-faced man with white hair and flowing white mustaches who was doing the talking was Valedon the Commodore. While a fourth man, younger, wiry, with thinning black hair plastered back across his skull, would be Ryder, chief of the Star's security force. What I object to primarily is that the attempt was made without obtaining my consent and secretly, Valedon was saying, with a toothy grin but in a voice that shook with open fury, and now it's been made and bungled. You have a nerve asking for our help. The problem is yours, and you'd better take care of it fast. I can't spare Ryder if— Coombs, Baldi Perk broke in desperately from the door. Bad news Quillen's here and— The heads of the four men at the table came around simultaneously. The eyes of two of them widened for an instant. Then Maris Coombs began laughing softly. Now everything's happened, he said. Coombs, the Commodore said testily, I prefer not to be interrupted. Now— Can't be helped, Commodore. Quillen said, moving forward, Perk shuffling along unhappily beside him. I've got news for Mulvane, and the news can't wait. Mulvane, the Commodore repeated, blue eyes bulging at Quinlan. Mulvane! Coombs, who is this man? You're looking at bad news Quillen, Coombs said, a hijacking specialist, with somewhat numerous sidelines. But the point right now is that he isn't a member of the Brotherhood. What? Beladen's big fist smashed down on the table. Now what kind of a game? How did he get in here? Well, Quillen said mildly, I oozed in through the North Wall about a minute ago, I— He checked, conscious of having created some kind of sensation. The four men at the table were staring up at him without moving. Baldi Perk appeared to be holding his breath. Then the Commodore coughed, cleared his throat, drummed his fingers on the table. He said reflectively, He could have news, good or bad at that, for all of us. He chewed on one of his moustache chips, grinned suddenly up at Quillen. Well, sit down, friend, let's talk. You can't talk to Movane, you see. Movane's a— had an accident. Passed away suddenly, half an hour ago. Sorry to hear it, Quillen said. That's the sort of thing that happens so often in the Brotherhood. He swung a chair around, sat down, facing the table. You're looking well tonight, Flewell, he observed. The Duke of Flewell, lean and damper and silver-jacket and tight-fitting silver trousers, gave him a wintry smile, said nothing. Now, then, friend—Feladen inquired confidentially— Just what was your business with Movane? Well, it will come to around twenty percent of the take, Quillen informed him. We won't argue about a half million C.R., more or less, but around twenty per. The face is thoughtful. After some seconds the Commodore asked, and who's we? A number of citizens, Quillen said, who have been rather unhappy since discovering that you, too, are interested in Lady Pendrake and her pals. We'd gone to considerable expense and trouble to— Well, her ladyship was scheduled to show up in Mesmiale, you know. And now she isn't going to show up there. All right, that's business. Twenty per? No hard feelings. Otherwise, it won't do you a bit of good to blow up the star in the liner. There'll still be loose talk, maybe other complications, too. You know how it goes. You wouldn't be happy, and neither would Yako, right? The Commodore's massive head turned back to Coombs. How well do you know this man, Morris? Coombs grinned dryly. Well, enough. Is he leveling? He'd be nuts to be here if he wasn't. And he isn't nuts. At least not that way. There might be a question about that, Flule observed. He looked at the Commodore. Why not ask him for a couple of the names that are in it with him? Hog Ready and Bolton, Quillen said. Well, they didn't shoot the other mustache tip. I know Hog Ready if he— I know both of them, Coombs said. Bolton works hijacking crews out of Orado. Quillen operates there, occasionally. Bobby Bolton's an old business associate. Quillen agreed. Reliable sort of a guy. Doesn't mind taking a few chances, either. Well, Aidan's protruding blue eyes measured him for a moment. We can check on those two, you know. Check away, Quillen said. Well, Aidan nodded. We will. He was silent for a second or two, then glanced over at Coombs. There have been no leaks on our side, he remarked, and they must have known about this for weeks, of all the inept bungling. Ah, don't be too hard on the Brotherhood Commodore. Quillen said. Leaks happen. You ought to know. What do you mean, for Aidan snapped? From what we heard, the Brotherhood's pulling you out of a hole here. You should feel rather kindly toward them. The Commodore stared at him reflectively. Then he grinned. Could be I should, he said. Did you come here alone? Yes. The Commodore nodded. If you're bluffing, God help you. If you're not, your group's in. Twenty per. No time for haggling. We can raise Jaco's price to cover it. He stood up, and Ryder stood up with him. Morris, the Commodore went on. Tell him what's happened. If he's half as hot as he sounds, he's the boy to put on that job. Let him get in on a little of the work for the twenty per cent. Ryder, come on. One moment, sir, Quillen interrupted. He took Orca's gun by the muzzle from his pocket. Held it out to the Aidan. One of your men lost this thing. The one outside the door, if you don't mind. He might pout if he doesn't get it back. The fifth level of the executive block appeared to be as Aragah had said, quite small. The tiny entry hall on which two walk-in portals opened led directly into the large room where the two pendrake rust cubicles had been placed. One of the cubicles now stood open. To right and left, a narrow passage stretched away from the room, ending apparently in smaller rooms. Baldi Perk was perspiring profusely. Now right here, he said in a low voice, was where I was standing. Movain was over there on the right of the cubicle, and Coombs was beside him. Ribeiro was a little behind me, hanging on to the punk, that Kinmartin, and the Duke, he nodded back at the wide door space to the hall, was standing back there. All right, the punks opened the cubicle crack, looking like he's about to pass out while he's doing it. This bearded guy, Eltox, stands in front of the cubicle, holding the gadget he controls the thing with. Where's the gadget now? Quinlan asked. Morris Coombs got it. How does it work? Baldi shook his head. We can't figure it out. It's got all kinds of little knobs and dials on it, push this one in, it squeaks, turn that one in, it buzzes, like that. Quinlan nodded. All right, what happened? Well, Movain tells the old guy to go ahead and do the demonstrating. The old guy sort of grins and fiddles with the gadget. The cubicle door pops open, and this thing comes pouring out. I never seen nothing like it. It's like a barn door with dirty fur on it. It swirls up and around, and it wraps its upper end clean around poor Movain. He never even screeches. Then everything pops at once. The old guy is laughing like crazy, and that half-smart rebaro drills him right through the head. I take one shot at the thing, low, so as not to hit Movain, and then we're all running. I'm halfway to the hall when Coombs tears past me like a rocket. The Duke and the others are already piling out through the portal. I get to the hall, and there's this terrific smack of sound in the room. I look back, and Baldi paused and gulped. And what? Quinlan asked. There, behind the cubicles, I see poor Movain sticking halfway out of the wall. Baldi reported in a hushed whisper. Halfway out of the wall? From the waist up, he's in it. From the waist down, he's dangling into the room. I tell you, I never see nothing like it. And this halot creature? That's gone. I figure the smack I heard was when it hit the wall flat, carrying Movain. It went on into it. Movain didn't. At least the last half of him didn't. Well, Quinlan said after a pause. In a way, Movain got his demonstration. The halots can move through solid matter and carry other objects along with them, as advertised. If Yaco can work out how it's done and build a gadget that does the same thing, they're getting halots cheap. What happened then? I told Morris Coombs about Movain, and he sent me and a half dozen other boys back up there with riot guns to see what we could do for him. Which was nothing, of course. Baldi gulped again. We finally cut this end of him off with a beam and took it back down. The thing didn't show up while you were here. Baldi shuddered and said, No. And the technician, Ailtock, was dead? Sure. Hole in his head you could shove your fist through. Somebody, Quinlan observed, ought to drill Robero for that stupid trick. The Duke did. First thing after we get back to the fourth level. So there are halots on the loose, and all we really have at the moment are the cubicles, and rest Martin Kin-Martin. Where's he, by the way? He tried to take off when we got down to level four, and somebody coal-cocked him. The Doc says he ought to be coming around again pretty soon. Quinlan grunted, shoved the Meeam Devil's special into its holster, said, OK. You stay here where you can watch the room and those passages in the hall. If you feel a floor start moving under, scream. I'll take a look at the cubicle. Lady Pendrake's cubicle was about half as big again as a standard one. But aside from one detail, its outer settings, instruments, and operating devices appeared normal. The modification was a recess almost six feet long, and a foot wide and deep in one side, which could be opened either to the room, or to the interior of the rest cubicle, but not simultaneously to both. Quinlan already knew its purpose. The supposed other cubicle was a camouflaged food locker, containing fifty pound slabs of sea beef, each of which represented a meal for the halot. The recess made it possible to feed it without allowing it to be seen, or possibly attempting to emerge. Ken Martin's nervousness, as reported by his wife, seemed understandable. Any rest warden might get disturbed over such a charge. Quinlan asked over his shoulder, Anyone find out yet why the things can't get out of the closed rest cubicle? Yeah, Baldi Perk said. Ken Martin says it's the cubicle's defense fields. They could get through the material. They can't get through the field. Someone think to energize the executive blocks' battlefields? Quinlan inquired. Yeah. Valadin took care of that before he came screaming up to the third level to argue with Coons and Flewell. So it can't slip out of the block unless it shows itself down in the ground level when the entry locks open. Yeah, Baldi muttered. But I don't know. Is that good? Quinlan looked at him. Well, we would like it back. Why? There's fifty more coming in on the liner tonight. We don't have the fifty yet. If someone louses up the detail. Yeah, Baldi said faintly. There was a crash of sound as his riot gun went off. Quinlan spun around, hair bristling, gun out. What happened? I'll swear, Baldi said white-faced. I saw something moving along that passage. Quinlan looked, saw nothing, slowly replaced the gun. Baldi, he said, if you think you see it again, just say so. That's an order. If it comes at us, we get out of this level fast, but we don't shoot before we have to. If we kill it, it's no good to us. Got that? Yeah, Baldi said. But I got an idea now, bad news. He looked at the other cubicle. Let's leave that meat-box open. Why? If it's hungry, Baldi explained simply, I'd sooner it wrapped itself around a few chunks of sea-beef and not around me. Quinlan punched him encouragingly in the shoulder. Baldi, he said, in your own way you have had an idea. But we won't leave the meat-box open. When Ken Martin wakes up, I want him to show me how to bait this cubicle with a piece of sea-beef so it'll snap shot if the lot goes inside. Meanwhile, it won't hurt if it gets a little hungry. That, said Baldi, isn't the way I feel about it. There must be around a hundred and fifty people in the executive block at present, Quinlan said. Look at it that way. Even if the thing keeps stuffing away, your odds are pretty good, Baldi. Baldi shuddered. Aside from a dark bruise high on his forehead, Brock Ken Martin showed no direct effects of having been knocked out. However, his face was strained and his voice not entirely steady. It was obvious that the young Restwarden had never been in a similarly unnerving situation before. But he was making a valiant effort not to appear frightened, and at the same time to indicate that he would cooperate to the best of his ability with his captors. He'd regained consciousness by the time Quinlan and Perk returned to the fourth level, and Quinlan suggested bringing him to Morris Coombe's private quarters for questioning. The Brotherhood Chief agreed he was primarily interested in finding out how the Halot control device functioned. Ken Martin shook his head. He knew nothing about the instrument, he said, except that it was called a Halot talker. It was very unfortunate that El-talk had been shot, because El-talk undoubtedly could have told them all they wanted to know about it. If what he had told Ken Martin was true, El-talk had been directly involved in the development of the device. Was he some Federation scientist? Coombe's asked, fiddling absently with the mysterious cylindrical object. No, sir, the young man said, but, again, if what he told me was the truth, he was the man who actually discovered those halots. At least he was the first man to discover them who wasn't immediately killed by them. Coombe's glance thoughtfully at Quinlan, then asked, and where was that? Ken Martin shook his head again. He didn't tell me, and I didn't really want to know. I was anxious to get our convoy to its destination, and then to be relieved of the assignment, I—well, I've been trained to act as rest-boarding to human beings, after all, not to monstrosities. He produced an uncertain smile, glancing from one or the other of his interrogators. The smile promptly faded out again. You've no idea at all, then, about the place they came from? Coombe's asked expressionlessly. Oh, yes! Ken Martin said hastily. El-talk talked a great deal about the halots, and actually, except for its location, gave me a pretty good picture of what the planet must be like. For one thing, it's an uncolonized world, of course. It must be Pterotype, or very nearly so, because El-talk lived there for fifteen years with, apparently, only a minimum of equipment. The halots are confined to a single large island. He discovered them by accident, and what was he doing there? Well, sir, he came from Piles Frisian. He was a crim—he'd been engaged in some form of piracy, and when the authorities began looking for him, he decided it would be best to get clean out of the hub. He cracked up his ship on this world and couldn't leave again. When he discovered the halots and realized their peculiar ability, he kept out of their way and observed them. He found out they had a means of communicating with each other, and that he could duplicate it. That stopped them from harming him, and eventually, he said, he was using them like hunting dogs. They were accustomed to cooperating with one another because, when there was some animal around that was too large for one of them to handle, they would attack in a group. He went on for another minute or two on the subject. The halots—the word meant rock lion in one of the Piles Frisian dialects, describing a carnivorous animal which had some superficial resemblance to the creatures El Toc had happened on—frequented the sea coast, and submerged themselves in sand, rocks, and debris, whooping up out of it to seize some food animal and taking it down with them again to devour it at leisure. Quillen interrupted. You heard what happened to the man it attacked on the fifth level? Yes, sir. Why would the thing have left him half outside the wall as it did? Kin Martin said that it must simply have been moving too fast. It could slip into and out of solid substances without a pause itself, but it needed a little time to restructure an object it was carrying in the same manner. No more time, however, than two or three seconds, depending more on the nature of the object than on its size, according to El Toc. It can restructure anything in that manner? Quillen asked. Kin Martin hesitated. Well, sir, I don't know. I—suppose there might be limitations on its ability. El Toc told me the one we were escorting had been the subject of extensive experimentation during the past year, and that the results are very satisfactory. Suppose it carries a living man through a wall? Will a man still be alive when he comes out the other side? Assuming the halat doesn't kill him deliberately. Yes, sir. The process itself wouldn't hurt him. Quillen glanced at Coombs. You know, he said. We might be letting Yako off too cheaply. Coombs raised an eyebrow warningly, and Quillen grinned. Our friend will be learning about Yako soon enough. Why did El Toc tell the creature to attack, Kin Martin? Sir, I don't know, Kin Martin said. He was a man of rather violent habits. My impression, however, was that he was simply attempting to obtain a hostage. How did he get off the island with a halat? A university league explorer was investigating the planet. El Toc contacted them, and obtained a guarantee of a full pardon and a large cash settlement, and returned for what he could tell them about the halats. They took him and this one specimen along for experimentation. What about the halats on the camelot? El Toc said those had been quite recently trapped on the island. Coombs ran his fingers over the cylinder, producing a rapid series of squeaks and whistles. That's one thing Yako may not like, he observed. They won't have a monopoly on the thing. Quillen shook his head. Their scientists don't have to work through red tape, like the U-League. By the time this news breaks, if the Federation ever intends to break it, Yako will have at least a five-year start on everybody else. That's all an outfit like that needs. He looked at Ken Martin. Any little thing you haven't thought to tell us, friend? He inquired pleasantly. A thin film of sweat showed suddenly on Ken Martin's forehead. No, sir, he said. I've really told you everything I know. I might try him under dope, Coombs said absently. Uh-uh, Quillen said. I want him wide awake to help me bait the cubicle for the thing. Has Valedon shown any indication of becoming willing to cooperate in hunting it? Coombs gestured with his head. I asked Flule. I sent him down to try to patch up things with the Commodore. He just showed up again. Quillen glanced around. The Duke was lounging the doorway. He grinned slightly, said. Valedon still soared at us, but he'll talk to Quillen. Ken Martin here. Did he tell you his wife's on the star? Brock Ken Martin went utterly white. Coombs looked at him, said softly. No, that must have slipped his mind. Flule said, Yeah, well, she is. And Ryder says they'll have her picked up inside half an hour. When they bring her in, we really should check on how candid Ken Martin's been about everything. The rest warden said in a voice that shook uncontrollably. Gentlemen, my wife knows absolutely nothing about these matters. I swear it. She— Quillen stood up. Well, I'll see if I can't get the laden in a better mood. Are you keeping that a lot, talker Coombs? Coombs smiled. I am. Morris figures, the Duke's flat voice explained, that if the thing comes into the room and he squeaks at it a few times, he won't get hurt. That's possible, Coombs said, unruffled, at any rate, I intend to hang on to it. Well, I wouldn't play around with those buttons too much, Quillen observed. Why not? You might get lucky and tap out some pattern that spells come to chow in the lots vocabulary. End of Part 2. Part 3 of Lion Loose by James H. Schmitz This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. There were considerably more men in evidence on Level 2 than on the 4th, and fewer signs of nervousness. The star men had been told of the lots' escape from its cubicle, but weren't taking it too seriously. Quillen was conducted to the Commodore and favored with an alarmingly toothy grin. Ryder, the security chief, joined them a few seconds later, apparently the laden had summoned him. The laden said, Ryder here has made a few transmitter calls. We hear Poppy Bolton and pulled his outfit out of the Orado area about a month ago. Present whereabouts unknown. Hag Reddy went off on some hush-hush job at about the same time. Quillen smiled. Uh-huh. So he did. We also, said Ryder, learned a number of things about you, personally. He produced a thin smile. You lead a busy and apparently profitable life. Business is fair. Quillen agreed. But it can always be improved. The Commodore turned on the toothy grin. So all right, he growled. You're clear. We rather liked what we heard, eh, Ryder? Ryder nodded. The brotherhood of Belden now. The Commodore shook his head heavily. Quillen was silent a moment. They might be getting sloppy, he said. I don't know. It's one possibility. They used to be a rather sharp outfit, you know. That's what I'd heard. Belden chewed savagely on his mustache. Asked finally, what's another possibility? Quillen leaned back in his chair. Just a feeling so far. But the business with the cubicle upstairs might have angles that weren't mentioned. They looked at him thoughtfully. Ryder said, Mind amplifying that? Coombs told me, Quillen said, that Noam Lancian had given Moven instructions to make a test with Lady Pendrick on the quiet and find out if those creatures actually can do what they're supposed to do. I think he was telling the truth. Noam tends to be overcautious when it's a really big deal. Unless he's sure of the halots, he wouldn't want to be involved in a thing like blowing up the star and the liner. The Commodore scowled absently. Uh-huh, he said. He knows we can't back out of it. All right. The brotherhood's full of ambitious men. Behind Lancian, Moven was top man. Coombs behind him. Fluor behind Coombs. Suppose that this halot control device Coombs is hanging on to so tightly isn't as entirely incomprehensible as they make it out to be. Suppose Coombs makes a deal with El Tock. El Tock tickles the gadget and the halot kills Moven. Rubero immediately guns down El Tock and is killed by Fluor a couple of minutes later, supposedly for blowing his top and killing the man who knew how to control the halot. Ryder cleared his throat. Fluor was Moven's gun, he observed. So he was, Quillen said. Would you like the Duke to be yours? Ryder grinned, shook his head. No thanks. Quillen looked back at Valadin. How well are you actually covered against the Brotherhood? Well, that's airtight, the Commodore said. We've got them outgunned here. When the liner lands, we'll be about even. But Lancian won't start anything. We're too even. Once we're clear of the star, we don't meet again. We deal with Yako individually. The Brotherhood has the halots, and we have the trained Federation technicians accompanying them who—who— who alone are supposed to be able to inform Yako how to control the halots. Ryder finished for him. The security chief's face was expressionless. By God, the Commodore said softly. Well, it's only a possibility that somebody's playing dirty, Quillen remarked. We'd want to be sure of it. But if anyone can handle a halot with a control instrument, the Brotherhood has an advantage now that it isn't talking about. It can offer Yako everything Yako needs in one package. Of course, Yako might still be willing to pay for the halot technicians. If it didn't, you and Ryder could make the same kind of trouble for it that my friends can. The color was draining slowly from Mulayden's face. There's a difference, he said. If we threatened to make trouble for Yako, they'd see to it that our present employers learned that Ryder and I are still alive. That's the mooly. That's the mooly, eh? Yes. Tough. Quillen knuckled his chin thoughtfully. Well, let's put it this way then, he said. My group doesn't have that kind of problem. But if things worked out so that we'd have something more substantial than nuisance value to offer Yako, we'd prefer it, of course. Filayden nodded. Very understandable. Under the circumstances, cooperation appears to be indicated, eh? That's what I had in mind. You've made a deal, well, Aiden said. Any immediate suggestions? Quillen looked at his watch. A couple. We don't want to make any mistake about this. It's almost five hours before the Camelot pulls in, and until she does, you're way ahead on firepower. I wouldn't make any accusations just now, but you might mention to Coombs you'd like to borrow the halate gadget to have it examined by some of your technical experts. The way he reacts might tell us something. If he box, the matter shouldn't be pushed too hard at the moment. It's a toss-up whether you or the brotherhood has a better claim to the thing. But then there's Kinmartin, the rest warden in charge of the cubicle. I talked with him while Coombs and Flewell were around, but he might have been briefed on what to say. Coombs mentioned doping him, which could be a convenient way to keeping him shut up, assuming he knows more than he's told. He's one of the personnel you're to offer Yako. I think you can insist on having Kinmartin hand it over to you immediately. It should be interesting again to see how Coombs reacts. Lane's big head knotted vigorously. Good idea. By the way, Quillen said. Flewell mentioned you've been looking for Kinmartin's wife, the second rest warden on the Pendrake convoy. Founder yet? Not a trace so far, Rider said. That's a little surprising, too, isn't it? Under the circumstances, the Commodore said. It might not be surprising at all. He had regained his color, it was beginning to look angry. If they— Well, Quillen said soothingly. We don't know. It's just that things do seem to be adding up a little. Now, there's one other point. We should do something immediately about catching that a lot. Quillen grunted and picked at his teeth with a thumbnail. It would be best to get it back in its cubicle, of course. But I'm not worrying about it. Just an animal, after all. Even the light hardware these Belden fancy dans carry should handle it. You use a man-sized gun, I see. So do I. If it shows up around here, it gets smeared, that's all. There are fifty more of the beasts on the camelot. Quillen nodded. You're right on that. But there's the possibility that it is being controlled by the Brotherhood at present. If it is, it isn't just an animal any more. It could be turned into a thoroughly dangerous nuisance. The Commodore thought a moment, nodded. You're right, I suppose. What do you want to do about it? Baiting the cubicle on the fifth level might work. Then there should be life detectors in the Star's security supplies. Ryder nodded. We have a couple of dozen of them, but not in the executive block. They were left in the security building. The Commodore stood up. You stay here with Ryder, he told Quillen. There's a couple of things I want to go over with you too. I'll order the life detectors from the office here. Second pass it down, isn't it, Ryder? And Ryder, I have another idea. I'm pulling a man in space armor off the subspace portal and detailing him to level five. He grinned it, Quillen. That boy's got a brace of grenades and built-in spray guns. If Coombs is thinking of pulling any fancy stunts up there, he'll think again. The Commodore headed briskly down the narrow passageway, his big holstered gun slapping his thigh with every step. The two security guards stationed at the door to the second level office came to attention as he approached, saluted smartly. He grunted, went in without returning the salutes, and started over toward the comm-web on a desk at the far end of the big room, skirting the long, dusty-looking black rug against one wall. Filaden unbuckled his gun belt, placed the gun on the desk, sat down, and switched on the comm-web. Behind him the black rug stirred silently and rose up. You called that one, Ryder was saying seven or eight minutes later, almost too well. Quillen shook his head, poked at the Commodore's gun on the desk, with his finger, looked about the silent office and back at the door where a small group of security men stood staring in at them. Three men, gone without a sound, he said. He indicated the glowing disc of the comm-web. He had time enough to turn it on, not time enough to make his call. Any chance of camouflaged portals in this section? No, Ryder said. I know the location of every portal in the executive block. No number of men could have taken Filaden in the two guards without a fight, anyway. We'd have heard it. It didn't happen that way. Which leaves, Quillen said. One way it could have happened, he jerked his head toward the door. Will those men keep quiet? If I tell them to. Unplay it like this. Two guards have vanished. The halat obviously did it. The thing's deadly. That'll keep every man in the group on the alert every instant from now on. But we don't say Filaden has vanished. He's outside in the star at the moment, taking care of something. Ryder licked his lips. What does that buy us? If the brother is responsible for this. I don't take much stock in coincidences, Ryder said. Neither do I. But the halat's an animal. It can't tell them it's carried out the job. If they don't realize we suspect them, it gives us some advantage. For the moment we just carry on as planned and get rid of the halat in one way or another as the first step. The thing's three times as dangerous as anyone suspected except, apparently, the brotherhood. Get the life detectors over here as soon as you can and slap a space armor guard on the fifth level. Ryder hesitated, nodded. All right. Another thing, Cullen said. Coombs may have the old trick in mind of working from the top down. If he can take you out along with a few other key men, he might have this outfit demoralized to the point of making up for the difference in the number of guns, especially if the halat's still on his team. You'd better keep a handful of the best boys you have around here glued to your back from now on. Ryder smiled bleakly. Don't worry, I intend to. What about you? I don't think they're planning on giving me any personal attention at the moment. My organization is outside, not here, and it would look odd to the brotherhood if I started dragging a few star guards around with me at this point. Ryder shrugged. Suit yourself. It's your funeral if you've guessed wrong. There was nothing, Cullen told Morris Coombs, that you could have actually put a finger on. It was just that the Commodore and Ryder may have something up their sleeves. Beladen's looking too self-satisfied to suit me. The brotherhood chief nodded his lower lip reflectively. He seemed thoughtful, not too disturbed. Coombs might be thoroughly afraid of the escaped halat, but he wouldn't have reached his present position in Noam Lancian's organization if he had been easily frightened by what other men were planning. He said, I warned Movain that if Beladen learned we'd checked out the halat, he wasn't going to like it. He doesn't, Cullen said. He regards it as something pretty close to an attempted double-cross. Coombs grinned briefly. It was. Of course. The question is, what can he do about it? He's got you outgunned, two to one. But if he's thinking of jumping you before Lancian gets here, he stands to lose more men than he can afford to without endangering the entire operation for himself. Coombs was silent a few seconds. There's an unpleasant possibility, which didn't occur to me until a short while ago, he said then. The fact is that Beladen actually may have us outgunned here by something like four to one. If that's the case, he can afford to lose quite a few men. In fact, he'd prefer to. Cullen frowned. Poor to one. How's that? Coombs said. The Commodore told us he intended to let only around half of the seven-star security force in on the halat deal. The other half was supposed to have been dumped out of one of the subspace sections' locks early today, without benefit of suits. We had no reason to disbelieve him. Beladen naturally would want to cut down the number of men who got in on the split with him to as many as he actually needed. But if he's been thinking about eliminating us from the game, those other men may be still alive and armed. Cullen grunted. I see. You know, that could explain something that looked a little odd to me. What was that? Coombs asked. Cullen said. After they discovered down there that two of their guards were missing and decided the halat must have been on their level, I tried to get hold of the Commodore again. Ryder told me Beladen wouldn't be available for a while, that he's outside in the star, taking care of something there. I wonder what could be important enough to get Beladen to leave the executive block at present, but— Brother, I'm way ahead of you, Coombs said. His expression hardened. That doesn't look good. But at least he can't bring in reinforcements without tipping us off. We've got our own guards down there with theirs at the entrance. Cullen gave him a glance, then nodded at the wall beyond them. That's a portal over there, Morris. How many of them on this level? Three or four? Why? The out-portals have been plugged, man. Sealed off. Fluul checked them over when we moved in. Sure they're sealed. Cullen stood up, went to the portal, stood looking at the panel beside it a moment, then pressed on it here and there and removed it. Come over here, Fran. I suppose portal work's been out of your line. I'll show you how fast a thing like that can get unplugged. He slid a pocketbook-sized tool kit out of his belt, snapped it open. About a minute later the lifeless vacant sign above the portal flickered twice, then acquired a steady white glow. Portal in operation, Cullen announced. I'll seal it off again now, but that should give you the idea. Coombs tongue flipped over his lips. Could somebody portal through to this level from the star while the exits are sealed here? If the mechanisms have been set for that purpose the portals can be opened again at any time from the star side. The dukes an engineer of sorts, isn't he? Let him check it. He should have been thinking of the point himself as far as that goes. Anyway, Valadin can bring in as many men as he likes to his own level without using the main entrance. He considered. I don't see anything to indicate that he started doing it. Morris Coombs shrugged irritably. That means nothing. It would be easy enough to keep half a hundred men hidden away on any of the lower levels. I suppose that's right. Well, if the Commodore intends to play rough, you should have some warning, anyway. What kind of warning? There's Kinmartin and that halot-talking gadget, for example, Quinlan pointed out. Valadin would want both of those in his possession and out of the way where they can't get hurt before he starts any shooting. Coombs looked at him for a few seconds. Riter, he said then, sent half a dozen men up here for Kinmartin just after you got back. Valadin's supposed to deliver the halot's attendants to Yako, so I let them have Kinmartin, he paused. They asked for the halot-talker, too. Quinlan grunted. Did you give him that? No. Well, Quinlan said after a moment. That doesn't necessarily mean that we're in for trouble with a star group, but it does mean I think that we'd better stay ready for it. He stood up. I'll get back down there and go on with the motions of getting the hunt for the halot organized. Valadin would sooner see the thing get caught, too, of course, so we shouldn't try to interfere with that. If I spot anything that looks suspicious, I'll get the word to you. I never, said Orca, unconsciously echoing Baldy Perk, saw anything like it. The Commodore's chunky little gunman was ashen-faced. The circle of star men standing around him hardly looked happier. Most of them were staring down at the empty lower section of a suit of space armor which appeared to have been separated with a neat diagonal slice from its upper part. Let's get this straight, Riter said a little unsteadily. You say this half of the suit was lying against the wall like that? Not exactly, Quinlan told him. When we got up to the fifth level, the suit was stuck against the wall, like that, about eight feet above the floor. That was in the big room where the cubicles are. When Ken Martin and Orca and I finally got the suit worked away from the wall, I expected, frankly, that we'd find half the body of the guard still inside. But he'd vanished. Riter cleared his throat. Apparently, he said, the creature drew the upper section of the suit into the wall by whatever means it uses, then stopped applying transforming process to the metal and simply moved on with the upper part of the suit and the man. Quinlan nodded. That's what it looks like. But he had two grenades. Orca burst out. He had spray guns. How could it get him that way? Brother, Quinlan said. Grenades won't help you much if you don't spot what's moving up behind you. Orca glared speciously at him. Riter said, All right, we've lost another man. We're not going to lose any more. We'll station no more guards on the fifth level. Now get everyone who is on essential guard duty to the main room and split him up into life-detector units. Five men to each detail, one to handle the detector, four to stay with him, guns out. If the thing comes back to this level, we want to have it spotted the instant it arrives. Orca, you stay here and keep your gun out. The men filed out hurriedly. Riter turned to Quinlan. Were you able to get the cubicle baited? Quinlan nodded. Ken Martin figured out how the thing should be set for the purpose. If the halod goes in after the sea-beef, it's trapped. Of course if the haunting it's been doing was for food, it mightn't be interested in a beef. We don't know, Riter said, that the hunting it's been doing was for food. No. Did you manage to get the control device from Coombs? Riter shook his head. He's refused to hand it over. If you tried to take it from him, Quinlan said, you might have a showdown on your hands. And if this keeps on, Riter said, I may prefer a showdown, another few rounds of trouble with a halot, and the entire operation could blow up in our faces. The men aren't used to that kind of thing. It's shaken them up. If we've got to take care of the brotherhood, I'd rather do it while I still have an organized group. Where did you leave Ken Martin, by the way? His back in the little room with his two guards, Quinlan said. Well, he should be all right there. We can't spare, Riter's body jerked violently. What's that? There had been a single thudding crash somewhere in the level, then shouts and cursing. Main hall, Quinlan said. Come on. The main hall was a jumble of excitedly jabbering starmen when they arrived there. Guns waved about and the various groups were showing a marked tendency to stand with their backs toward one another and their faces toward the walls. Riter's voice rose in a shout that momentarily shut off the hubbub. What's going on here? Men turned, hands pointed, voices babbled again. Someone nearby said sharply and distinctly, saw it drop right out of the ceiling. Farther down the hall another group shifted aside enough to disclose that it had been clustered about something that looked a little like an empty shell of a gigantic black beetle. The missing section of the suit of space armor had been returned, but not its occupant. Quinlan moved back a step, turned, went back down the passage from which they had emerged, pulling the meam devil from its holster. Behind him the commotion continued. Riter was shouting something about getting the life detector he'd unto Silver there. Quinlan went left down the first intersecting corridor, right again on the following one, keeping the gun slightly raised before him. Around the next corner he saw the man on guard over the portal connecting the building levels, facing him, gun pointed. What happened? The guard asked cheekily. Quinlan shook his head, coming up. That thing got another one. The guard breathed. By God! And lowered his gun a little. Quinlan raised his a little, the meam devil grunted, and the guard sighed and went down. Quinlan went past him along the hall, stopped two doors beyond the portal and wrapped on the locked door. Quinlan here, open up. The door opened a crack and one of Ken Martin's guards looked out, questioningly. Quinlan shot him through the head, slammed on into the room across the collapsing body, saw the second guard wheeling toward him, shot again, and slid the gun back into the holster. Ken Martin, standing beside a table six feet away, right hand gripping a heavy marble ashtray, was staring at him in white-faced shock. Take it easy, chum, Quinlan said, turning toward him. Aye. He ducked hurriedly as the ashtray came whirling through the air toward his head. An instant later a large fist smacked the side of Ken Martin's jaw. The rest warden settled limply to the floor. Sorry to do that, pal. Quinlan muttered, stooping over him. Things are rough all over right now. He hauled Ken Martin upright, bent, and had the unconscious young man across his shoulder. The hall was still empty except for the body of the portal guard. Quinlan laid Ken Martin on the carpet before the portal, hauled the guard off into the room and pulled the door to the room shut behind him as he came out. Picking up Ken Martin he stepped into the portal with him and jabbed the fifth-level button. A moment later he moved out into the small, dim entry hall on the fifth level, the gun in his right hand again. He stood there silently for some seconds, looking about him, listening. The baited cubicle yawned widely at him from the center of the big room. Nothing seemed to be stirring. Ken Martin went back to the floor. Quinlan moved over to the panel which concealed the other portal's mechanisms. He had the out portal unsealed and considerably less than a minute this time and slapped the panel gently back in place. He turned back to Ken Martin and started to bend down for him, then straightened quietly again, turning his head. Had there been a flicker of shadowy motion just then at the edge of his vision, behind the big black cube of the Halot's food locker? Quinlan remained perfectly still, the meam devil ready and every sense straining for an indication that the thing was there, or approaching stealthily now, gliding behind the surfaces of floor or ceiling or walls like an underwater swimmer. But half a minute passed and nothing else happened. He went down on one knee beside Ken Martin, the gun still in his right hand. With his left he carefully wrestled the rest warden back up across his shoulder, came upright, moved three steps to the side, and disappeared in the out portal. End of Part 3 Part 4 of Lion Loose by James H. Schmitz This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Retell Destone unlocked the entry door to her suite and stepped hurriedly inside, letting the door slide shut behind her. She crossed the room to the comm-web stand and switched on the playback. There was a secession of tinkling tones which indicated nothing had been recorded. She shut the instrument off again, passing her tongue lightly over her lips, no further messages from Haraga, and none from Quillen. She shook her head, feeling a surge of sharp anxiety, glanced at her watch, and told herself that after all less than two hours had passed since Quillen had gone into the executive block. Haraga reported there had been no indications of a disturbance or excitement when he passed through the big entrance hall on his way out, so Quillen at any rate had succeeded in bluffing his way into the upper levels. It remained a desperate play at best. Retell went down the short passage to her bedroom. As she came into the room her arms were caught from the side at the elbows, pulled suddenly and painfully together behind her. She stood still, frozen with shock. In a hurry, sweetheart, Flule's flat voice said. Retell managed a breathless giggle. Took! You startled me! How did you get in? She felt one hand move up her arm to her shoulder. Then she was swung around deftly and irresistibly, held pinned back against the wall, still unable to move her arms. He looked at her a moment, asked, Where are you hiding at this time? Hiding what, Took? I've been told sweet little Retell always carries a sweet little gun around with her in some shape or form or other. Retell shook her head, her eyes widening. Took! What's the matter? I— He let go over suddenly, and his slap exploded against the side of her face. Retell cried out, dropping her head between her hands. Immediately he had her wrists again, and her fingers were jerked away from the jeweled ornament at her hair. So that's where it is, Flule said. Thought it might be. Don't get funny again now, sweetheart. Just stay quiet. She stayed quiet, wincing a little as he plucked the glittering little device out of her hair. He turned it around in his fingers, examining it, smiled, and slid it into an inside pocket, and took her arm again. Let's go into the front room, Retell. He said almost pleasantly, We've got a few things to do. A minute later she was seated sideways on a lounger, her wrists fastened right and left to its armrests. The Duke placed a pocket recorder on the floor beside her. This is a crowded evening, sweetheart, he remarked, which is lucky for you in a way. We'll have to rush things along a little. I'll snap the recorder on in a minute so you can answer questions. No, keep quiet. Just listen very closely now so that you'll know what the right answers are. If you get rattled and gum things up, the Duke's going to get annoyed with you. He sat down a few feet away from her, hitched his shoulders to straighten out the silver jacket and lit a cigarette. A little while after bad news, Quillin turned up just now. He went on. A few things occurred to me. One of them was that a couple of years ago you and he were operating around Belden at the same time. I thought, well, maybe you knew each other, maybe not. And then— Duke, Retell said uncertainly, just what are you talking about? I don't know. Shut up! He reached over, tapped her knee lightly with his fingertips. Of course, if you want to get slapped around, all right. Otherwise, don't interrupt again. Like I said, you're in luck. I don't have much time to spend here. You're getting off very easy. Now, just listen. Bad news knew a lot about our operation and had a story to explain that. If the story was straight, we couldn't touch him. But I was wondering about the two of you happening to be here on the star again at the same time. A team, maybe, eh? But he didn't mention you as being in on the deal, so what was the idea? And then, sweetheart, I remembered something else, and that tied it in. Know that little joke people sometimes get when they're dropping off to sleep? Of course. Know another time they sometimes get it? When they're snapping back out of a moment of truth, eh? I remembered suddenly I'd felt a little jump like that when we were talking today might have been a reflex of some kind. Of course, it didn't occur to me at the time you might be pulling a lousy stunt like that on old Duke. Why take a chance on getting your neck broken? But, sweetheart, that's the tie-in. Quillen hasn't told it straight. He's got no backing. He's on his own. There's no gang outside somewhere that knows all about our little deal. He got his information right here, from you. And you got it from dumb old Duke, eh? Duke, Rital said quite calmly. Can I ask you just one question? He stared bleakly at her a moment, then grinned. It's my night to be big-hearted, I guess. Go ahead. I'm not trying to argue, but it simply doesn't make sense. If I learned about this operation you're speaking of from you, what reason could I have had to feed you truth in the first place? There'd be an almost fifty-fifty chance that you'd spotted immediately. Why should I take such a risk? Don't you see? Flu shrugged, dropped his cigarette and ground it carefully into the carpet with the tip of his shoe. You'll start answering those questions yourself almost immediately, sweetheart. Let's not worry about that now. Let me finish. Something happened to Mo Vane a couple of hours ago. Nobody's fault. And something else happened to Morris Coombs just now. That puts me in charge of the operation here. Nice, isn't it? When we found Coombs lying in the hall with a hole through his stupid head, I told Baldy Perk it looked like bad news had thrown in with the Star Boys and done it. No Baldy? He's Coombs' personal gun. Not what you'd call bright, and he's mighty hot now about Coombs. I left him in charge on our level with orders to get Quillen the next time he shows up there. Well and good. The boys know bad news is wrapped too well to try asking him questions. They won't take chances with him. They'll just gun him down together the instant they see him. He paused to scuff his shoe over the mark the cigarette had left on the carpet. Went on. But there's no Melancian now. He kind of liked Coombs, and he might get suspicious. When there's a sudden vacancy in the organization like that, Noam takes a good look at the man next in line. He likes to be sure the facts are as stated. So now you know the kind of answers from you I want to hear go down on the recorder, sweetheart. Be sure they sound right. I don't want to waste time on replays. You and Quillen were here on the Star. You got some idea of what was happening. Realized you were due to be vaporized along with the rest of them after we left. There was no way out of the jam for you unless you could keep the operation from being carried out. You don't, by the way, mention getting any of that information from me. I don't want Lancian to think I'm beginning to get dopey. You and Quillen just cooked up this story, and he managed to get into the executive block, the idea being to knock off as many of the leaders as he could, and mess things up. Flu picked up the recorder, stood up, and placed it on the chair. That's all you have to remember. You're a smart girl. You can fill in the details any way you like. Now, let's get started. She stared at him silently for an instant, a muscle beginning to twitch in her cheek. If I do that, she said, if I give you a story no more like, what happens next? Just what you're thinking happens next. You're a dead little girl right now, Rita. Might as well get used to the idea. You'd be dead anyway, four or five hours from now, so that shouldn't make too much difference. What makes a lot of difference is how unpleasant the thing can get. She drew a long breath. Duke, I... You're stalling, sweetheart. Duke, give me a break. I really don't know a thing about this. I... He looked down at her for a moment. I gave you a break, he said. You've wasted it. Now we'll try it the other way. If we work a few squeals into the recording, that'll make it more convincing to Lancian. He'll figure little retals, the type who wouldn't spill a thing like that without a little pressure. He checked himself, grinned. And that reminds me, when you're talking for the record, use your own voice. My own voice? She half-whispered. No one will remember what you sound like, and I've heard that voice imitations are part of your stocking trade. You might think it was cute if Noam got to wondering after you were dead whether that really had been you talking. Don't try it, sweetheart. He brought a glove out of his jacket pocket, slipped it over his left hand, flexing his fingers to work it into position. Retall's eyes fastened on the rounded metal tips capping thumb, forefinger, and middle finger of the glove. Her face went gray. Toak, she said. No. Shut up. He brought out a strip of transparent plastic, moved over to her. The gloved hand went into her hair, gripped it, turned her face up. He laid the plastic gag lengthwise over her mouth, pressed it down, and released it. Retall closed her eyes. That'll keep it shut. He said. No. His right hand clamped around the back of her neck, forcing her head down and forward almost to her knees. The gloved left hand brushed her hair forwards. Then its middle finger touched the skin at a point just above her shoulder blades. Right there, Fluill said. The finger stiffened, drove down. Retall jerked violently, twisted, squirmed sideways, wrists straining against the grip of the armrests. Her breath burst out of her nostrils, followed by squeeze, whining noises. The metal-capped finger continued to grind savagely against the nerve center it had found. Thirty, Fluill said finally. He drew his handbag, pulled her upright again, peeled the gag away from her lips. Only thirty seconds, sweetheart. Think you'd sooner play along now? Retall's head nodded. Fine. Give you a minute to steady up. This doesn't really waste much time, you see. He took up the recorder, sat down on the chair again, watching her. She was breathing raggedly and shallowly, eyes wide and incredulous. She didn't look at him. The duke lit another cigarette. Incidentally, he observed, if you are stalling because you hoped old bad news might show up, forget it. If the boys haven't gunned him now by now, he's tied up on a job the Commodore gave him to do. He'll be busy another hour or two on that. He—he checked himself. A central section of the wall paneling across the room from him had just dilated open. Old bad news stood in the concealed, sweet portal. Restward and Kinmartin slung across his shoulder. Both men moved instantly. Fluill's long legs bounced him sideways out of the chair, right hand darting under his coat, coming out with a gun. Quillin turned to the left to get Kinmartin out of the way. The big meam devil seemed to jump into his hand. Both guns spoke together. Fluill's gun thudded to the carpet. The duke said, Ah! In a surprised voice, rolled up his eyes and followed the gun down. Quillin said stunned. He was fast. I felt that one parting my hair. He became very solicitous then, after first ascertaining that Fluill had left the executive block unaccompanied on personal business. He located a painkiller spray in Retall's bedroom and applied it to the bruised point below the back of her neck. She was just beginning to relax, gratefully, as the warm glow of the spray washed out the pain and the feeling of paralysis, when Kinmartin, lying on the carpet nearby, began to stir and mutter. Quillin hastily put down the spray. Watch him, he cautioned. I'll be right back. If he sits up, yell. He's a bit wild at the moment. If he wakes up and sees the duke lying there, he'll start climbing the walls. What? Retall began, but he was gone down the hall. He returned immediately with a glass of water, went down on one knee beside Kinmartin, slid an arm under the rest warden's shoulder, and lifted him to a sitting position. Wake up, old pal! He said loudly, Come on, wake up. Got something good for you here. What are you giving him? Retall asked, cautiously massaging the back of her neck. Knock-out drops. I already had to lay him out once. We want to lock him up with his wife now, and if he comes to and tells her what's happened, they'll both be out of their minds by the time we come to get them out. He interrupted himself. Kinmartin's eyes were fluttering. Quillin raised the glass to his lips. Here you are, pal. He said in a deep, soothing voice. Drink it. It'll make you feel a lot better. Kinmartin swallowed obediently, swallowed again. His eyelids stopped fluttering. Quillin lowered him to the floor. That ought to do it, he said. What, Retall asked, did happen? The Duke? Tell you as much as I can after we get Kinmartin out of the way. I have to get back to the executive block. Things are sort of teetering on the edge there. He jerked his head at Flewell's body. I want to know about him, too, of course. Think you can walk now? Retall groaned. I can try, she said. They found Solvay Kinmartin dissolved in tears once more. She flung herself on her husband's body when Quillin placed him on the bed. What of these beasts done to Brock? She demanded fiercely. Nothing very bad, Quillin said soothingly. He's under sedation at the moment, that's all. We got him away from them now, and he's safe. Look at it that way. You stay here and take care of him. We'll have the whole deal cleared up before morning, doll. Then you can both come out of hiding again. He gave her an encouraging wink. I'm so very grateful to both of you. No trouble, really. But we'd better get back to work on the thing. Heck, Quillin said a few seconds later as he and Retall came out on the other side of the portal. I feel like hell about those two. Nice little characters. Well, if the works blow up they'll never know it. We'll know it, Retall said meaningly. Start talking. He rattled through a brief account of events in the executive block, listened to her report on the Duke's visit, scratched his jaw reflectively. That might help, he observed. They're about ready to jump down each other's throats over there right now. A couple more pushes. He stood staring down at the Duke's body for a moment. Blood soiled the back of the silver jacket, seeping out from a tear above the heart area. Quillin bent down, got his hands under Flewell's armpits, hauled the body upright. Retall asked Startle, What are you going to do with it? Something useful, I think. And wouldn't that shock the Duke? The first time he's been of any use to anybody. Zip through the star's comm-web directory, doll, and give me the call symbol for level four of the executive block. Solvay Kinmartin dimmed the lights a trifle in the bedroom, went back to Brock, rearranged the pillows under his head, and bent down to place her lips tenderly to the large bruises on his forehead and the side of his jaw. Then she brought a chair up beside the bed and sat down to watch him. Perhaps a minute later there was a slight noise behind her. Startle, she glanced around, saw something huge, black, and shapeless, moving swiftly across the carpet of the room toward her. Solvay quietly fainted. Sure you know what to say, Quillen asked. Retall moistened her lips. Just let me go over it in my mind once more. She was sitting on the floor on the right side of the comm-web stand, her face pale and intent. You know, she said, This makes me feel a little queasy somehow, Quillen. I suppose they don't fall for it. They'll fall for it. Quillen was on his knees in front of the stand, supporting Flewell's body, which was sprawled half across it directly before the lit vision screen. An outflung arm hid the duke's face from the screen. You almost had me thinking I was listening to Flewell when you did the take-off of him this evening. A dying man could be expected to sound a little odd anyway. He smiled at her encouragingly. Ready now? Retall nodded nervously, cleared her throat. Quillen reached across Flewell, tapped out Level Four's call symbol on the instrument, ducked down below the stand. After a moment there was a click. Retall produced a quavering agonized groan. Somebody else gasped. Duke! Baldi Perk's voice shouted, What's happened? Baldi Perk, Quillen whispered quickly. Retall stammered hoarsely. —Yeah, c-c-c-c-c-c-comet or Baldi shot me, shot Maris—there after—quillen, now. —I thought bad news, Baldi sounds stunned. —Was wr-wrong, Baldi? Retall croaked. —Bad news with us, bad news pal, c-c-c-comet. Beneath the comweb stand the palm of Quillen's right hand thrust abruptly up and forward. The stand tilted, went crashing back to the floor. Flu's body lurched over with it. The vision screen shattered. Baldi's roaring question was cut off abruptly. "'Great stuff, doll!' Quillen beamed, helping Retall to her feet. "'You sent shutters down my back.' "'Down mine, too?' "'I'll get him out of here now, ditch him in one of the shut-off sections. Then I'll get back to the executive block. If Ryder's thought to look into Kinmartin's room, they'll really be raving on both sides there now.' "'Is that necessary?' Retall asked. "'For you to go back, I mean. Somebody besides Flu might have become suspicious of you by now.' "'Ryder might,' Quillen agreed. He's looked like the sharpest of the lot right from the start. But we'll have to risk that. We've got all the making of a shooting-war there now, but we've got to make sure it gets set off before somebody thinks of comparing notes. If I'm around, I'll keep jolting at their nerves.' "'I suppose you're right. Now our group?' Quillen nodded. "'No need to hold off on that any longer, the way things are moving. Get on another comm-web and start putting out those Mayday messages right now. As soon as you've rounded the boys up.' "'That might,' Retall said. "'Take a little less than an hour.' "'Fine. Then move them right into the executive block. With just a bit of luck, one hour from now should land them in the final stages of a beautiful battle on the upper levels. Give them my description and Ryder's, so we don't have accidents.' "'Why Ryder's?' Found out he was the boy who took care of the bomb-planting detail. We want him alive. The others might know where it's been tucked away. Haraga says the clerical staff and technicians in there are all wearing the white star uniforms. Anyone else who isn't in one of those uniforms is fair game.' He paused. "'Oh! And tip them off about the plot. God only knows what that thing will be doing when the ruckus starts.' "'How about sending a few men in through the fifth-level portal, the one you've unplugged?' Quillen considered, shook his head. "'No. Down on the ground level is where we want them. They'd have to portal there again from the fifth, and a portal is too easy to seal off and defend. Now let's get a blanket or something to tuck Flewell into. I don't want to feel conspicuous if I run into somebody on the way.' End of Part 4 Part 5 of Lion Loose by James H. Schmitz This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Quillen emerged cautiously from the fifth portal in the executive block a short while later, came to a sudden stop just outside it. In the big room beyond the entry hall, the door of the baited cubicle was closed, and the life indicator on the door showed a bright, steady, green glow. James stared at it a moment, looking somewhat surprised, then went quietly into the room and bent to study the cubicle's instruments. A grin spread slowly over his face. The trap had been sprung. He glanced at the deep rest setting and turned it several notches farther down. "'Happy dreams, Lady Pendrake,' he murmured. "'That takes care of you. What an appetite! Now!' As the level-four portal dilated open before him, a gun blazed from across the hall. Quillen flung himself out and down, rolled to the side, briefly aware of illiterate bodies and tumbled furniture farther up the hall. Then he was flat on the carpet, gun out before him, pointing back at the overturned, ripped couch against the far wall from which the fire had come. A hoarse voice bawled. "'Bad news! Hold it!' Quillen hesitated, darting a glance right and left, men lying about everywhere. The furnishings, the shambles. "'Like you, Baldi?' he asked. "'Yeah,' Baldi half sobbed. "'I'm hurt!' "'What happened?' The star-gang jumped us, portaled in here, spitballs and riot-guns. Bad news! We're clean-wiped out. Everything that was on this level!' Quillen stood up, holstering the gun, went over to the couch and moved it carefully away from the wall. Baldi was crouched behind it, kneeling on the blood-soaked carpet gun in his right hand. He lifted a white face, staring eyes to Quillen. "'Waiting for him to come back,' he muttered. "'Man, I'm not for long. Got hit twice. And here passed out a couple of times already.' "'What about your boys on guard downstairs?' "'Same thing there, I guess. Or they'd have showed up. They got coons in the duke, too. Man, it all happened fast.' "'And the crew on the freighter?' "'Don't know about them.' "'You know the freighter's call number?' "'Huh? Oh, yeah? Sure. Never thought of that,' Baldi said warily. He seemed dazed now. "'Let's see if you can stand.'" Quillen helped the big man to his feet. Baldi hadn't bled too much outwardly, but he seemed to have estimated his own condition correctly. He wasn't for long. Quillen slid an arm under his shoulders. "'Where's a comm-web?' he asked. Baldi blinked about. "'The passage's there.' His voice was beginning to thicken. The comm-web was in the second room up the passage. Quillen eased Perk into the seat before it. Baldi's head lulled heavily forward like a drunken man's. "'What's the number?' Quillen asked. Baldi reflected a few seconds, blinking allishly at the instrument, then told him. Quillen tapped out the number, flicked on the vision screen, then stood aside and back, beyond the screen's range. "'Yeah, Perk,' a voice said some seconds later. "'Hey, Perk! Perk! What's with you?' Baldi spat blood, grinned. "'Shot,' he said. "'What?' "'Yeah,' Baldi scowled, blinking. "'Now, let's see. Oh, yeah. Star Gang's gonna jump you. Watch it.' "'What?' "'Yeah, watch.' Baldi coughed. Lady's big head slowly down face-forward on the comm-web stand, and stopped moving. "'Perk, man! Wake up! Perk!' Baldi quietly took out the gun, reached behind the stand, and blew the comm-web apart. He wasn't certain what the freighter's crew would make of the sudden break in the connection, but they could hardly regard it as reassuring. He made a brief prowl, then, through the main sections of the level. Evidence everywhere was of a short and furious struggle, a struggle between men panicked and enraged almost beyond any regard for self-preservation. It must have been over in minutes. He found that the big hall portal to the ground level had been sealed, whether before or after the shooting you couldn't know. There would have been about twenty members of the Brotherhood on the level. None of them had lived as long as Baldi Perk, but they seemed to have accounted for approximately an equal number of the Star's security force first. Five Star men came piling out of the fifth-level portal behind him a minute or two later, rider in the lead, orca behind rider. All five held leveled guns. "'You won't need the hardware,' Quillen assured them. It's harmless enough now. Come on in.' They followed him silently up to the cubicle, stared comprehendingly at dials and indicators. "'The thing's back inside there, all right,' Rider said. He looked at Quillen. "'Is this where you've been all the time?' "'Sure. Where else?' The others were forming a half-circle about him, a few paces back. "'Taking quite a chance with that lot, weren't you?' Rider remarked. "'Not too much. I thought of something.' Quillen educated the out-portal in the hall. "'I had my back against that. A portal's space-break, not solid matter. It couldn't come at me from behind. And if it attacked me from any other angle, he tapped the holstered meam-devil lightly, and the gun in Orca's hand jerked upward a fraction of an inch. "'There aren't many animals that can swallow more than a bolt or two from that baby and keep coming.' There was a moment's silence. Then Orca said thoughtfully, "'That would work. Did it see you?' Rider asked. "'It shouldn't have. First I saw that it was sailing out of that corner over there. It slammed in after that chunk of sea-beef so fast it shook the cubicle. And that was that,' he grand. "'Well, most of our trouble should be over now.' One of the men gave a brief nervous laugh. Quillen looked at him curiously. "'Something, John?' Rider shook his head. "'Something is right. Come on downstairs again, bad news. This time we have news for you.' The brotherhood guards on the ground level had been taken by surprise and shot down almost without losses for the star man, but the battle on the fourth level had cost more than the dead left up there. An additional number had returned with injuries that were serious enough to make them useless for further work. "'It's been expensive,' Rider admitted, "'but one more attack by the halat would have left me with a panicked mob on my hands. If we'd realized it was going to trap itself—' "'I wasn't so sure that would work, either,' Quillen said. "'Did you get Kin Martin back?' "'Not yet. The chances are he's locked up somewhere on the fourth level. Now that the halat's out of the way, some of the men have gone back up there to look for him. If Coombs thought he was important enough to start a fight over, I want him back.' "'How about the crew on the Belden ship?' Quillen asked. "'Have they been cleaned up?' "'No,' Rider said. "'We'd love to do that now, of course.' "'How many of them?' "'Supposedly twelve, and that's probably what it is.' "'If they know or suspect what's happened,' Quillen said, twelve men can give a boarding party in a lock a remarkable amount of trouble.' Rider shrugged irritably. "'I know, but there isn't much choice.' Lancian's bringing in the other group on the Camelot. We don't want to have to handle both of them at the same time.' "'How are you planning to take the freighter?' "'When the search party comes back down, we'll put every man we can spare from guard duty here on the job. They'll be instructed to be careful about it. If they can wind up the matter within the next several hours, that will be early enough. We can't afford too many additional losses now. But we should come out with enough men to take care of Lancian and handle the shipment of halots, and that's what counts.' "'Like me to take charge of the boarding party?' Quillen inquired. "'That sort of thing's been a kind of specialty of mine.' Rider looked at him without much expression on his face. "'I understand that,' he said. "'But perhaps it would be better if you stayed up here with us.' The search party came back down ten minutes later. They'd looked through every corner of the fourth level. Kin Martin wasn't there, either dead or alive, but one observant member of the group had discovered first that the Duke of Fluil was also not among those present, and next that one of the four out-portals on the level had been unsealed. The exit on which the portal was found to be set was in a currently unused hall in the general office building on the other side of the star. From that hall almost every other section of the star was within convenient portal range. None of the forty odd people working in the main control office on the ground level had actually witnessed any shooting, but it was apparent that a number of them were uncomfortably aware that something quite extraordinary must be going on. They were a well-disciplined group, however, an occasional uneasy glance toward one of the armed men lounging along the walls some anxious faces with the only noticeable indications of tension. Now and then there was a brief, low-pitched conversation at one of the desks. Quillen stood near the center of the office. Ryder and Orca doesn't feed from him on either side. Four star guards were stationed along the walls. From the office one could see through a large door space cut through both sides of a hall directly into the adjoining transmitter room. Four more guards were in there. Aside from the men in the entrance hall and at the subspace portal, what was available at the moment of Ryder's security force was concentrated at this point. The arrangement made considerable sense, and Quillen gave no sign of being aware that the eyes of the guards shifted to him a little bit more frequently than to any other point in the office or that none of them had moved his hand very far away from his gun since they had come in here. But that also made sense. In the general tension area of the executive block's ground level a specific point of tension highly charged, though undetected by the non-involved personnel, was the one provided by the presence of bad news Quillen here. Ryder was more than suspicious by now. The open portal on the fourth level, the disappearance of Kinmartin and the Duke, left room for a wide variety of speculations. Few of these speculations could be very favorable to bad news. Ryder obviously preferred to let things stand as they were until the Belden freighter was taken and the major part of his group had returned from the subspace sections of the star. At that time bad news could expect to come in for some very direct questioning by the security chief. The minutes dragged on. Under the circumstances a glance at his watch could be enough to bring Ryder's uncertainties up to the explosion point, and Quillen also preferred to let things stand as they were for the moment. But he felt reasonably certain that over an hour had passed since he left retail, and so far there had been no hint of anything unusual occurring in the front part of the building. The murmur of voices in the main control office continued to eddy about him. There were indications that in the transmitter room across the hall messages had begun to be exchanged between the star and the approaching liner. A man sitting at a desk near Quillen stood up presently, went out into the hall, and disappeared. A short while later the quite-suited figure returned and picked up the interrupted work. Quillen's glance went over the clerk, shifted on. He felt something tighten up swiftly inside him. There was a considerable overall resemblance, but that wasn't the man who had left the office. Another minute or two went by. Then two other uniformed figures appeared at the opening to the hall. A sparse, elderly man, a blonde girl. They stood there talking earnestly together for some seconds, then came slowly down the aisle toward Quillen. It appeared to be an argument about some detail of her work. The girl frowned, stubbornly shaking her head. Near Quillen they separated, started off into different sections of the office. The girl, glancing back, still frowning, brushed against Ryder. She looked at him startled. "'I'm sorry,' she said. Ryder scowled irritably, started to say something, suddenly appeared surprised. Then his eyes went blank and his knees buckled under him. The clerk sitting at the nearby desk whistled shrilly. Quillen wheeled, gun out and up toward the wall behind him. The two guards there were still lifting their guns. The meam-devil grunted disapprovingly twice and the guards went down. Noise crashed from the hall, heavy sporting rifles. He turned again, saw the other two guards stumbling backward along the far wall. Feminine screaming erupted around the office as the staff dove out of sight behind desks, instrument stands and filing cabinets. The elderly man stood above Orca a sap in his hand and a pleased smile on his face. In the hallway four white uniformed men had swung about and were pointing blazing rifles into the transmitter room. The racketing of the gunfire ended abruptly and the rifles were lowered again. The human din in the office began to diminish, turned suddenly into a shocked, strained silence. Quillen realized the blonde girl was standing at his elbow. "'Did you get the rest of them?' he asked quickly in a low voice. "'Everyone who was on this level,' Rital told him. "'There weren't many of them.' "'I know, but there's a sizable batch still in the subspace section. If we can get the bomb disarmed, we'll just leave them sealed up there. How long before you can bring Ryder around?' He'll be able to talk in five minutes."