 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Mark Nelson. Plague Ship by Andre Norton. Chapter 10. E. Stat Landing. Since Mura was in the isolation of Ship Sick Bay, the stripping of his cabin was a relatively simple job. But, though Rip and Dane went over it literally by inches, they found nothing unusual. In fact, nothing from Sargal except a small twig of the red wood which lay on the steward's work-table, where he had been fashioning something to incorporate in one of his miniature ferried landscapes, to be imprisoned for all time in a plaster bubble. Dane turned this around in his fingers. Because it was the only link with the perfumed planet, he couldn't help but feel that it had some importance. But Costy had not shown any interest in the wood, and he himself and Weeks had handled it freely before they had tasted Graf's Friendship Cup and had no ill effects, so it couldn't be the wood. Dane put the twig back on the work-table and snapped the protecting cover over the delicate tools, never realizing until days later how very close he had been in that moment to the solution of their problem. After two hours of shifting every one of the steward's belongings, of crawling on hands and knees about the deck, and climbing to inspect perfectly bare walls, they had found exactly nothing. Rip sat down on the end of the denuded bunk. There's the hydro, Frank spent a lot of time in there, and the storeroom. He told the places off on his fingers. The galley and the mess-cabin. Those had been the extent of Mura's world. They could search the storeroom, the galley and the mess-cabin, but to interfere with the hydro would endanger their air supply. It was for that very reason that they now looked at each other in startled surprise. The perfect place to plant something, Dane spoke first. Rip's teeth caught his underlip. The hydro. Something planted there could not be routed out unless they made a landing on a port field and had the whole section stripped. Devilish! Rip's mobile lips drew tight. But how could they do it? Dane didn't see how it could have been done, either. No one but the Queen's own crew had been on board the ship during their entire stay on Sargal, except for the young Salaric. Could that cub have brought something? But he and Mura had been with the youngster every minute that he had been in the hydro. To the best of Dane's memory, the cub had touched nothing and had been there only for a few moments. That had been before the feast also. Rip got to his feet. We can't strip the hydro in space, he pointed out the obvious quietly. Dane had the answer. Then we've got to earth. You heard the warn-off, if we try it. What about an emergency station? Rip stood very still. His big hands locked about the buckle of his arms-belt. Then, without another word, he went out of the cabin and at a pounding pace up the ladder, bound for the captain's cabin and the wrecker's jellico kept there. It was such a slim chance, but it was better than none at all. Dane shouldered into the small space in his wake to find Rip making a selection from the astrogation tapes. There were E-stats among the asteroids. Points prospectors or small traders in sudden difficulties might contact for supplies or repairs. The big companies maintained their own. The patrol had several for independence. No patrol one. Rip managed to smile. I haven't gone space-worthy yet, was his comment. He was feeding a tape into the reader on the captain's desk. In the cage over his head the blue hubat squatted, watching him intently. For the first time since Dane could remember, showing no sign of resentment by weird screams or wild spitting. Patrol, E-stat A-54, the reader squeaked. Rip hit a key and the wire clicked to the next entry. Combine E-stat, another punch and click. Patrol E-stat A-55, punch-click, enter solar. This time Rip's hand did not hit the key and the squeak continued. Rits. Rip reached for a steele and jotted down the list of figures. Not to compare this with our present course. But that's an I.S. stat, began Dane, and then he laughed as the justice of such a move struck him. They did not dare set the Queen down at any patrol station, but a company one which would be manned only by two or three men and not expecting any but their own people, and I.S. owed them help now. There may be trouble, he said, not that he would have any regrets if there was. If the Izies were responsible for the present plight of the Queen he would welcome trouble, the kind which would plant his fists on some sneering Izie face. Well, see about that when we come to it. Rip went on to the control cabin with his soldiers. Carefully he punched the combination on the plotter and watched it be compared with the course Jellico had set before his collapse. Good enough, he commented, as the result flashed on, we can make it without using too much fuel. Make what? That was Ali up from the search of Kosti's quarters. Nothing. He gave his report of what he had found there, and then returned to the earlier question. Make what? Swiftly Dane outlined their suspicions, that the seat of the trouble lay in the Hydro, and that they should clean out that section, drawing upon emergency materials at the IS Eastat. Sounds all right, but you know what they do to pirates, inquired the engineer apprentice. Dane's law came into Dane's field. He needed no prompting. Any ship in emergency, he recited automatically, may claim supplies from the nearest Eastat, paying for them when the voyage is completed. That means any patrol Eastat. The companies are private property. But, Dane pointed out triumphantly, the law doesn't say so. There's nothing about any difference between company and patrol Eastat in the law. He's right, RIP agreed. That law was framed when only the patrol had such stations. Companies put them in later to save tax, remember? Legally, we're all right. Unless the agents on duty raise a howl, Ali amended. Oh, don't give me that look, RIP. I'm not sounding any warn off on this, but I just want you to be prepared to find a cruiser riding our fins and giving us the hot flash as bandits. If you want to spoil the IS Eastat, I'm all for it. Got a stat of theirs pinpointed? RIP pointed to the figures on the computer. There she is. We can set down in about five hours ship time. How long would it take to strip the Hydro and reinstall? How can I tell? Ali sounded irritable. I can give you Oxgee for quarters for about two hours. Depends on how fast we can move. No telling until we make a start. He started for the corridor and then added over his shoulder. You'll have to answer a calm challenge. Thought about that? Why? RIP asked. It might be calm repairs bringing us in. They won't be expecting trouble and we will. We'll have the advantage. But Ali was not to be shaken out of his usual dim view of the future. All right. So we land, blaster in hand, and take the place. And they get off one little squeak to the patrol. Well, a short life, but an interesting one. And we'll make all the video channels for sure when we go out with rockets blasting. Nothing like having a little excitement to break the dull routine of a voyage. We aren't going to, are we? Dane protested. Land armed, I mean. Ali stared at him and RIP, to Dane's surprise, did not immediately repudiate that thought. Slee broad, certainly, the astrogator apprentice said after a pause. We'll have to be prepared for the moment when they find out who we are. And you can't reset a hydro in a few minutes, not when we have to keep Oxgee on for the others. If we were able to turn that off and work in suits it'd be a quicker job. We could dump before we set down and then pile it in at once. But this way it's going to be peace work. And it all depends on the agents at the stat whether we have trouble or not. We had better break out the suits now," Ali added to RIP's estimate of the situation. If we set down and pile out wearing suits at once it will build up our tale of being poor wrecked spacemen. Slee broads or not, Dane thought to himself, the whole plan was one born of desperation. It would depend on who manned the east at and how fast the free traders could move once the queen touched her fins to earth. Knock out their comms. That was Ali continuing to plan. Do that first and then we don't have to worry about someone calling in the patrol. RIP stretched. For the first time in hours he seemed to have returned to his usual placid self. Good thing somebody in this space or watches video serials. Ali, you can brief us on all the latest tricks of the space pirates. Nothing is so wildly improbable that you can't make use of it sometime during a checkered career. He glanced over the board before he brought his hand down on a single key, set a distance apart from the other controls. Put some local color into it, was his comment. Dane understood. RIP had turned on the distress signal at the queen's nose. When she set down on the stat field she would be flaming in a banner of trouble. Next to the one, dead lights, set only when a ship had no hope of ever reaching port at all, that signal was one every spacer dreaded having to flash. But it was not the dead lights. Not yet for the queen. Working together they brought out the spacesuits and readied them at the hatch. Then Weeks and Dane took up the task of tending their unconscious charges while RIP and Ali prepared for landing. There was no change in the sleepers. And Angelico's cabin even Queaks appeared to be influenced by the plight of its master. For instead of greeting Dane with its normal aspect of rage, the Hu-bat stayed quiescent on the floor of its cage. Its top claws hooked about two of the wires, its protruding eyes staring out into the room with what seemed close to a malignant intelligence. It did not even spit as Dane passed under its abode to pour thin soup into his patient. As for Sinbad the cat had retreated to Dane's cabin and steadily refused to leave the quarters he had chosen, resisting with tooth and claw the one time Dane had tried to take him back to Van Reich's office and his own hammock there. Afterwards the cargo apprentice did not try to evict him. There was comfort in seeing that plump gray body curled on the bunk he had little chance to use. His nursing duties performed for the moment Dane ventured into the hydro. He was practiced intending this vital heart of a ship's air supply. But outfitting a hydro was something else again. In his cadet years he had aided in such a program at least twice as a matter of learning the basic training of the service. But then they had had unlimited supplies to draw on and the action had taken place under no more pressure than that exerted by the instructors. Now it was going to be a far more tricky job. He went slowly down the aisle between the banks of green things. Plants from all galaxy, grown for their contribution to the air renewal, as well as side products such as fresh fruit and vegetables were banked there. The sweet odor of their verdant life was strong. But how could any of the four now in duty tell what was rightfully there and what might have been brought in? And could they be sure anything had been introduced? Dane stood there, his eyes searching for those lines of greens, such a mixture of greens from the familiar shade of terrace fields to greens tinged with shades first bestowed by other suns on other worlds, looking for one which was alien enough to be noticeable. Only Mura, who knew his garden as he knew his own cabin, could have differentiated between them. They would just dump everything and trust them. He was suddenly aware of a slight movement in the banks, a shivering of stem, quiver of leaf. The mere fact of his passing had set some sensitive plant to register his presence. A lacy, fern-like thing was contracting its fronds into balls. He should not stay, disturbing the peace of the hydro. But it made little difference now. Within a matter of hours all this luxuriance would be thrust out to die and they would have to depend upon canned oxgy and algae tanks. Too bad. The hydro represented much time and labor on Mura's part, and Tao had medical plants growing there he had been observing for a long time. As Dane closed the door behind him, seeing the line of bald fern which had marked his passage, he heard a faint rustling, a sound as if a wind had swept across the green room within. The imagination, which was a trader's asset, when it was kept within bounds, suggested that the plants inside guessed. With a frown for his own sentimentality, Dane strode down the corridor and climbed to check with Rip in control. The astrogator apprentice had his own problems. To bring the queen down on the circumscribed field of an east-at, without a guide-beam to ride in, since if they contacted the stat they must reveal their own calm was working and they would have to answer questions. Was the sort of test even a seasoned pilot would tense over? Yet, Rip was sitting now in the captain's room, his broad hand spread out on the edge of the control board waiting. And below in the engine room Ali was in Stotz's place, ready to fire and cut rockets at order. Of course they were both several years ahead of him in service, Dane knew. But he wondered at their quick assumption of responsibility and whether he himself could ever reach that point of self-confidence, his memory turning to the bad mistake he had made on Sargal. There was the sharp note of a warning gong, the flash of red light on the control board. They were off automatic. From here on in it was all Rip's work. Dane strapped down at the silent comm unit and was startled a moment later when it spat words at him, translated from space code. Identify, identify, IS ESTAT calling spacer, identify. So compelling was that demand that Dane's fingers went to the answer key before he remembered and snatched them back to fold his hands in his lap. Identify, the expressionless voice of the translator droned over their heads. Rip's hands were on the control board, playing the buttons there with a precision of a musician creating some symphonic masterpiece. And the queen was alive, now quivering through her stout plates, coming into a landing. Dane watched the visa plate. The ESTAT asteroid was of a reasonable size, but in their eyes it was a bleak, torn moat of stuff swimming through vast emptiness. Identify, the drone heightened in pitch. Rip's lips were compressed. He made quick calculations. And Dane saw that, though Jellico was the master, Rip was fully fit to follow in the captain's boot prints. There was a sudden silence in the cabin. The demand had stopped. The agents below must now have realized that the ship with the distress signals blazing on her nose was not going to reply. Dane found he could not watch the visa plate now. Rip's hands about their task filled his whole range of sight. He knew that Shannon was using every bit of his skill and knowledge to jockey them into position where they could ride their tail rockets down to the scorched rock of the ESTAT field. Perhaps it wasn't as smooth a landing as Jellico could have made, but they did it. Rip's hands were quiet. Again that patch of darkness showed on the back of his tunic. He made no move from his seat. Secure, Ollie's voice floated up to them. Dane unbuckled his safety webbing and got up, looking to Shannon for orders. This was Rip's plan they were to carry through. Then something moved him to give honor where it was due. He touched that bowed shoulder before him. Finn landing, brother, four points and down. Rip glanced up. A grin made him look his old self. Aught to have a recording of that for the board when I go up from my pass-through. Dane matched his smile. Too bad we didn't have someone out there with a TrID machine. More likely it'd be evidence at our trial for piracy. Their words must have reached Ollie on the ship's intercom, for his deflating reply came back to remind them of why they had made that particular landing. Do we move now? Jack first, Rip said into the mic. Dane looked at the visa plate. Against a background of jagged rock teeth was the bubble of the Eastat housing. More than three-quarters of it being in the hollowed-out sections below the surface of the miniature world which supported it, as Dane knew. But a beam of light shone from the dome to center on the grounded queen. They had not caught the Stat agent snapping. They made the rounds of the spacer, checking on each of the semi-conscious men. Ollie had ready the artificial oxygen tanks. They must move fast once they began the actual task of clearing and restocking the hydro. Hope you have a good story ready," he commented as the other three joined him by the hatch to don the suits which would enable them to cross the airless, heatless surface of the asteroid. We have a poisoned hydro, Dane said. One look at the plants we dump will give you the lie. They won't accept our story without investigation. Dane was aroused. Did Ollie think he was as stupid as all that? If you take a look in there now you'd believe me," he snapped. What did you do? Ollie sounded genuinely interested. Chucked a heated can of lack oil over a good section. It's wilting down fast in big patches. Rips snorted. Good ol' lack oil. You drink it, you wash in it, and now you kill off the hydro with it. Maybe we can give the company an extra testimony of the official jabber and collect when we hit terra. All right. Weeks. He spoke to the little man. You listen in on the calm. It's tuned to our helmet units. We'll climb into these pipe suits and see how many tears we can wring out of the eyesies with our sad, sad tail. They got into the awkward, bulky suits and squeezed into the hatch while Weeks slammed the locked door at their backs and operated the outer opening. Then they were looking out across the ground, still showing signs of the heat of their landing and lighted by the dome beam. Nobody hurrying out with an aid and comfort kit. Rips' voice sounded in Dane's earphones. A little slack, aren't they? Slack, or was it that the eyesies had recognized the queen and was preparing the sort of welcome the remnant of her crew could not withstand. Dane, wanting very much in his heart to be elsewhere, climbed down the ladder in Rips' wake, both of them spotlighted by the immovable beam from the stat dome. End of Chapter 10 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Mark Nelson. Plague Ship by Andre Norton. Chapter 11. Desperate Measures Measured in distance and time, that rough walk in the ponderous suits across the broken Terran of the asteroid was a short one. Measured by the beating of his own heart, Dane thought it much too long. There was no sign of life by the airlock of the bubble. No move when the part of the men's station there to come to their assistance. D'you suppose we're invisible? Olly's disembodied voice clicked in the helmet earphones. Maybe we'll wish we were. Dane could not forego that return. Rip was almost to the airlock door now. His massively suited arm was outstretched toward the control-bar when the comm-unit in all three helmets caught the same demand. Identify! The crisp order had enough snap to warn them that an answer was the best policy. Shannon! A.A. of the Pole Star! Rip gave the required information. We claim e-rights! But would they get them, Dane wondered. There was a click loud in his ears. The metal door was yielding to Rip's hand. At least those on the inside had taken off the lock. Dane quickened pace to join his leader. Together the three from the queen crowded through the locked door, saw that swing shut and seal behind them. As they stood waiting for the moment they could discard the suits and enter the dome. The odds against them could not be too high. This was a small stat. It would not house more than four agents at most. And they were familiar enough with the basic architecture of such stations to know just what move to make. Olly was to go to the comm-room where he could take over if they did meet with trouble. Dane and Rip would have to handle any dissenters in the main section. But they still hoped that luck might ride their fins and they could put over a story which would keep them out of active conflict with the Izies. The gauge on the wall registered safety and they unfasten the protective clasps of the suits. Standing the cumbersome things against the wall as the inner door to the lock rolled back, they walked into Izie territory. As free traders they had the advantage of being uniformly tunic'd, with no company badge to betray their ship or status. So that could well be the pole-star standing needle-slim behind them and not the notorious solar queen. But each, as he passed through the inner lock, gave a hitch to his belt which brought the butt of his sleep-rod closer to hand. Inocuous as that weapon was, in close quarters its effects, if only temporary, was to some purpose. And since they were prepared for trouble, they might have a slight edge over the Izies in attack. A company man, his tunic shabby and open in a negligent fashion at his thick throat, stood waiting for them. His unhelmeted head was grizzled, his coarse tan face with heavy jowls bristly enough to suggest he had not bothered to use smooth cream for some days. An under-officer of some spacer retired to finish out the few years before pension in his nominal duty, fast letting down the standards of personal regime he had had to maintain on ship-board. But he wasn't all fat and soft living. The glance with which he measured them was shrewdly appraising. What's your trouble? he demanded without greeting. You did nigh-dent coming in. Combs are out," Rip replied as shortly. We need E. Hydro. First time I ever heard it that the combs were wired in with the grass, the Izies' hands were on his hips, in close proximity to something which made Dane's eyes narrow. The fellow was wearing a flare blaster. That might be regulation equipment for an E-stat agent on a lonely asteroid, but he didn't quite believe it. And probably the other was quick on the draw, too. The combs are something else," Rip answered readily. Our tech is working on them. But the Hydro's bad all through. We'll need to dump and restock. Give you a voucher on tariff for the stuff. The icy agent continued to block the doorway into the station. This is private, I.S. property. You should hit the patrol post. They cater to UFTs. We hit the nearest E-stat when we discovered that we were contaminated. Rip spoke with an assumption of patience. That's the law, and you know it. You have to supply us and take a voucher. How do I know that your voucher's worth the film it's recorded on? Asked the agent, reasonably. All right, Rip shrugged. If we have to do it the hard way, we'll cargo dump to cover your bill. Not on this field, the other shook his head. I'll flash in your voucher first. He had them, Dane thought bitterly. Their luck had run out. Because what he was going to do was a move they dared not protest. It was one any canny agent would make in the present situation. And if they were what they say they were, they must readily agree to let him flash their voucher of payment to IS headquarters to be checked and okayed before they took the hydro stock. But Rip merely registered a mild resignation. You the Comtec? Where's your unit? I'll end it at once if you want it that way. Whether their readiness to cooperate elades some of the agent's suspicion or not, he relaxed some, giving them one more stare all around before he turned on his heel. This way. They followed him down the narrow hall, Rip on his heels, the others behind. Lonely post, Rip commented. I'd think you boys would get space-worthy out here. The others snorted. We're not star-lovers and the pay's worth a three-month stretch. They take us down for a terror leave before we start talking to the whisperers. How many of you here at one time? Rip edged the question in casually. But the other might have been expecting it by the way he avoided giving a direct answer. Enough to run the place and not enough to help you clean out your wagon, he was short about it. Any dumping you do is strictly on your own. You've enough hands on a spacer that size to manage. Rip laughed. Or be it from me to ask an Izzy to do any real work," was his counter. We know all about you, company man. But the agent did not take fire at that jib. Instead he pushed back a panel and they were looking into a comm-unit room where another man in the tunic of the IS lounged on what was, by law, 24-hour duty, divided into three watches. These FTs went to flash a voucher-request through, their guide informed the tech. The other, interested, gave them a searching once over before he pushed a small scriber toward Rip. It's all yours, clear ether, he reported. Ollie stood with his back to the wall and Dane still lingered in the portal. Both of them fixed their attention on Rip's left hand. If he gave the greed upon signal, their fingers were linked loosely in their belts only an inch or so from their sleep rods. With his right hand, Rip scooped up the scribbler while the Comtec half turned to make adjustments to the controls, picking up a speaker to call the IS headquarters. Rip's left index finger snapped across his thumb to form a circle. Ollie's rod did not even leave his belt. It tilted up and the invisible deadening stream from it centered upon the seated tech. At the same instant Dane shot at the agent who had guided them there. The latter had time for a surprised grunt and his hand was at his blaster as he sagged to his knees and then relaxed on the floor. The tech slumped across the call-board as if sleep had overtaken him at his post. They crossed the room and snapped off the switch which opened the wire for broadcasting. While Ollie, with Dane's help, quietly and effectively immobilized the Isies with their own belts. There should be at least three men here, Rip waited by the door. We have to get them all under control before we start work. However, the interior of the bubble, extending as it did on levels beneath the outer crust of the asteroid, was not an easy place to search. An enemy, warned of the invasion, could easily keep ahead of the party from the Queen, spying on them at his leisure or preparing traps for them. In the end, afraid of wasting time, they contented themselves with locking the doors of the corridor leading to the lower levels, making ready to raid the storeroom they had discovered during their search. Emergency hydro supplies consisted mainly of algae, which could be stored in tanks and hastily put to use, as the plants now in the Queen took much longer to grow even under forcing methods. Dane volunteered to remain inside the E-stat and assemble the necessary containers at the airlock, while the other two, having had more experience, went back to the spacer to strip the hydro and prepare to switch contents. But when Rip and Ollie left, the younger cargo apprentice began to find the bubble a haunted place. He took the sealed containers out of their storage racks, stood them on a small hand-truck, and pushed them to the foot of the stairs, of which he then climbed carrying two of the cylinders at a time. The swish of the air-current through the narrow corridors made a constant murmur of sound, but he found himself listening for something else, for a footfall other than his own, for the betraying rasp of clothing against a wall, for even a whisper of voice. And time and time again he paused suddenly to listen, sure that the faintest hint of such a sound had reached his ears. He had a dozen containers lined up when the welcome signal reached him by the comm-unit of his field-helmet. To transfer the cylinders to the lock, get out, and then open the outer door did not take long. But as he waited he still listened for a sound which did not come. The notice that someone besides himself was free to move about the stat. Not knowing just how many of the supply-tins were needed, he worked on transferring all there were in the storage racks to the upper corridor and the lock. But he still had half a dozen left to pass through when rips and a message that he was coming in. Out of his pressure-suit the astrogator apprentice stepped lightly into the corridor, looking at the array of containers and shook his head. We don't need all those. No, leave them," he added as Dane, with a sigh, started to pick up two for a return trip. There's something more important just now. He turned into the side hall which led to the comm-room. Both the IS men had awakened. The comm-tech appeared to accept his bonds philosophically. He was quiet and flat on his back, staring pensively at the ceiling. But the other agent had made a worm's progress half across the room and Rip had to halt in haste to prevent stepping on him. Shannon stooped and, hooking his fingers in the other's tunic, heaved him back while the helpless man favored them with some of the ripest speech and not trade lingo Dane had ever heard. Rip waited until the man began to run down, and then he broke in with his pleasant soft drawl. Oh, sure, we're all that. But time runs on, Izzy, and I'd like a couple answers which may mean something to you. First, when do you expect your relief? That set the agent off again. And his remarks, edited, were that no something something F.T. was going to get any something something information out of him. But it was his companion in misfortune, the comm-tech, who guessed the reason behind Rip's question. Cut jets, he advised the other. They're just being soft-hearted, I'd take it. He spoke over the other agent sputtering to Rip. That you're worried about leaving us finned down. That's it, isn't it?" Rip nodded. In spite of what you think about us, he replied, we're not patrol-posted outlaws. No, you're just from a plague ship, the comm-tech remarked calmly, and his words struck his comrade dumb. Solar Queen? You got the warn off then. Who didn't? You really have plague on board? The thought did not appear to alarm the comm-tech unduly. But his fellow suddenly heaved his bound body some distance away from the free traders, and his face displayed mixed emotions, most of them fearful. We have something, probably supplied, Rip straightened. Might pass along to your bosses that we know that. Suppose you tell me about your relief, when is it due? Not until after we take off on the long orbit if you leave us like this. On the other hand, the other added coolly, I don't see how you can do otherwise. We've still got those, with his chin he pointed to the comm-unit. After a few alterations, Rip amended, the bulk of the comm was in a tightly sealed case which they would need a flamer to open. But he could, and did, wreak havoc with the exposed portions. The tech-watching this destruction spouted at least two expressions his companion had not used. But when Rip finished, he was his unruffled self again. Now, Rip drew his sleep-rod. A little rest, and when you wake it will be all a bad dream. He carefully beamed each man into slumber and helped Dane strip off their bonds. But before he left the room, he placed on the recorder the voucher for the supplies they had taken. The queen was not stealing. Under the law, she still had some shadow of rights. Suited they crossed the rough rock to the ship. And there about the fins, already frozen into brittle spikes, was a tangle of plants, the rich result of years of collecting. Did you find anything? Dane asked as they rounded that mess on their way to the ladder. Rip's voice came back through the helmet-com. Nothing we know how to interpret. I wish Frank or Craig had had a chance to check. We took tri-D's of everything before we dumped. Maybe they can learn something from these when. His voice trailed off, leaving that when to ring in both their minds. It was such an important when. When would either the steward or the medic recover enough to view those tri-D's shots? Or was that when really an ominous if? Back in the queen, sealed once more for Blastoff, they took their stations. Dane speculated as to the course Rip had set. Were they just going to wander about the system hoping to escape notice until they had somehow solved their problem? Or did Shannon have some definite port in mind? He did not have time to ask before they lifted. But once they were space-born again, he voiced his question. Rip's face was serious. Frankly, he began and then hesitated for a long moment before he added, I don't know. If we can only get the captain or Craig on their feet again. One thing, Ollie materialized to join them, Sinbad's back in the Hydro, and this morning you couldn't get him inside the door. It's not a very good piece of evidence. No, it wasn't. But they clung to it as backing for their actions of the past few hours. The cat that had shown such a marked distaste for the company of the stricken and then for the Hydro was now content to visit the latter as if some evil he has sensed there had been cleansed with the dumping of the garden. They had not yet solved their mystery but another clue had come into their hands. But now the care of the sick occupied ours and Rip insisted that a watch be maintained by the comm, listening in for news which might concern the queen. They had done a good job at silencing the east at, for they had been almost six hours in space before the news of their raid was beamed to the nearest patrol post. Ollie laughed. Told you we'd be pirates, he said, when he'd listened to that account of their dissent upon the IS station. Though I didn't see all that blaster work they're now raving about, you'd think we fought a major battle there. Weeks growled. The Isies are trying to make it look good, make us into outlaws. But Rip did not share in the general amusement at the wild extravagation of the report from the aether. I noticed they didn't say anything about the voucher we left. Ollie's cynical smile curled. Did you expect them to? The Isies think they have us by the tail fins now. Why should they give us any benefit of the doubt? We junked all our boosters behind us on this take-off and don't forget that, my friends. Weeks looked confused. But I thought you said we could do this legal. He appealed to Rip. If we're patrol-posted as outlaws... They can't do any more to us than they can for running in a plague-ship," Ollie pointed out. Either we'll get us blasted if we happen into the wrong vector now. So what do we do? We find out what the plague really is, Dane said, and meant every word of it. How? Ollie inquired, through some of Craig's magic. Dane was forced to answer with the truth. I don't know yet, but it's our only chance. Rip rubbed his eyes wearily. Don't think I'm disagreeing, but just where do we start? We've already combed Frank's quarters and Costie's. We cleaned out the hydro. Have you checked them yet, Dane countered? Without a word, Ollie arose and left the cabin. He came back with a microfilm roll. Fitting it into the large projector, he focused it on the wall and snapped the button. They were looking at the hydro, down the length of space so accurately recorded that it seemed they might walk straight into it. The greenery of the plants was so vivid and alive, Dane felt that he could reach out and pluck a leaf. Inch by inch he examined those ranks, looking for something which was not in order, had no right to be there. The long shot of the hydro as it had been merged into a series of sectional groupings. In silence they studied it intently, using all their field lore in an attempt to spot what each one was certain must be there somewhere. But they were all handicapped by their lack of intimate knowledge of the garden. Wait! Weeks' voice scaled up. Left hand, corner, there! His pointing hand broke and shadowed the portion he was calling to their attention. Ollie jumped to the projector and made a quick adjustment. Plants four and five times life-size glowed green on the wall. What Weeks had caught they all saw now. Ragged leaves stripped stems. Chewed, Dane supplied the answer. It was only one species of plant which had been so mangled. Other varieties in the same bank showed no signs of disturbance. But all of that one type had at least one stripped branch and two were virtual skeletons. A pest, said Rip. But Sinbad! Dane began a protest before the memory of the cat's peculiar actions of the past week stopped him. Sinbad had slipped up. The hunter who had kept the queen free of the Utre alien life which came aboard from time to time with cargo had not attacked that which had ravaged the hydro plants. Or, if he had done so, he had not, after his usual custom, presented the bodies of the slain to any crew member. It looks as if we have something at last, Ollie observed, and someone echoed that with a sigh of heart-deep relief. End of Chapter 11 LibriVox.org Reading by Mark Nelson Plague Ship by Andre Norton Chapter 12 Strange Behavior of a Hoobat All right, so we think we know a little more, Ollie added a moment later. Just what are we going to do? We can't stay in space forever. They're the small items of fuel and supplies and... Rip had come to a decision. We're not going to remain space-born. He stated with a confidence of one who now saw an open road before him. Luna, weeks was plainly doubtful. No, not after that warn-off. Tara. For a second or two, the other three stared at Rip agape. The audacity and danger of what he suggested was a little stunning. Since men had taken regularly to space, no ship had made a direct landing on their home planet, all had passed through the quarantine on Luna. It was not only risky, it was so unheard of that for some minutes they did not understand him. We tried to set down at Terraport, Dane found his tongue first, and they flame us out. Rip was smiling. The trouble with you, he addressed them all, is that you think of Earth only in terms of Terraport. Well, there is the patrol field at Stella, Weeks agreed doubtfully, but we'd be right in the middle of trouble there. Did we have a regular port on Sargal, on Limbo, on fifty others I can name out of our log? Rip wanted to know. Ollie voiced a new objection. So we have the luck of Jones and we set down somewhere out of sight. Then what do we do? We seal the ship until we find the pest, then we bring in a medic and get to the bottom of the whole thing. Rip's confidence was contagious. Dane almost believed that it could be done that way. Did you ever think, Ollie cut in, what would happen if we were wrong, if the queen really is a plague carrier? I said we seal the ship, tight, countered Shannon, and when we Earth it'll be where we won't have visitors to infect. And that is where, Ollie, who knew the deserts of Mars better than he did the greener planet from which his stock had sprung, pursued the question. Right in the middle of the big burn. Dane, terror-born and bred, realized first what Rip was planning and what it meant. Sealed off was right. The queen would be amply protected from investigation. Whether her crew would survive was another matter. Whether she could even make a landing there was also to be considered. The big burn was the horrible scar left by the last of the atomic wars. A section of radiation poisoned land comprising hundreds of square miles. A land which generations had never dared to penetrate. Originally the survivors of that war had shunned the whole continent which it disfigured. It had been close to two centuries before men had gone into the still wholesome land laying to the far west and the south. And through the years the avoidance of the big burn had become part of their racial instinct as they shrank from it. It was a symbol of something no Terran wanted to remember. But Ollie now had only one question to ask. Can we do it? We'll never know until we try, was Rip's reply. The patrol will be watching. That was weeks. With his Venusian background he had less respect for the dangers of the big burn than he did for the forces of law and order which ranged the star lanes. They'll be watching the route lanes, Rip pointed out. They won't expect a ship to come in on that vector steering away from the ports. Why should they? As far as I know it's never been tried since Terraport was laid out. It'll be tricky. And he himself would have to bear most of the responsibility for it. But I believe that it can be done. We can't just roam around out here. With IS out for our blood and a patrol worn off it won't do us any good to head for Luna. None of his listeners could argue with that. And Dane's spirits began to rise. After all they knew so little about the big burn. It might afford them just the temporary sanctuary they needed. In the end they agreed to try it. Mainly because none of them could see any alternative. Except the too dangerous one of trying to contact the authorities and being summarily treated as a plague ship before they could defend themselves. And their decision was ably endorsed not long afterwards by a sardonic warning on the comm. A warning which Ali, who had been tending the machine, passed along to them. Greetings, pirates! What do you mean? Dane was heeding broth to feed to Captain Jellicoe. The word has gone out. Our raid on the east-ad is now a matter of history and patrol record. We've been posted. Dane felt a cold finger drawn along his backbone. Now they were fair game for the whole system. Any patrol ship that wanted could shoot them down with no questions asked. Of course, that had always been a possibility from the first after their raid on the east-ad. But to realize that it was now true was a different matter altogether. This was one occasion when realization was worse than anticipation. He tried to keep his voice level as he answered. Let's hope we can pull off Rip's plan. We'd better. What about the big burn anyway, Thorson? Is it as tough as the story say? We don't know what it's like. It's never been explored. Or at least those who tried to explore its interior never reported in afterwards. As far as I know, it's left strictly alone. Is it still all hot? Parts of it must be. But all we don't know. With the bottle of soup in his hand, Dane climbed to Jellico's cabin. And he was so occupied with the problem at hand that at first he did not see what was happening in the small room. He had braced the captain up into a half-sitting position and was patiently ladling the liquid into his mouth a spoonful at a time and a thin squeak drew his attention to the top of Jellico's desk. From the half-open lid of a micro-tape compartment something long and dark projected, beating the air feebly. Dane, easing the captain back on the bunk, was going to investigate when the Hubert broke its unnatural quiet of the past few days with an ear-splitting screech of fury. Dane struck at the bottom of its cage, the move its master always used to silence it, but this time the results were spectacular. The cage bounced up and down on the spring which secured it to the ceiling of the cabin and the blue-feathered horror slammed against the wires. Either its clawing had weakened them or some fault had developed, for they parted and the Hubert came through them to land with a sullen plop on the desk. Its screams stopped as suddenly as they had begun and it scuttled on its spider-toed legs to the micro-tape compartment, acting with purposeful dispatch and paying no attention to Dane. Its claws shot out and with ease it extracted from the compartment a creature as weird as itself, one which came fighting and of which Dane could not get a very clear idea. Struggling they battled across the surface of the desk and flopped to the floor. There the hunted broke loose from the hunter and fled with fantastic speed into the corridor. And before Dane could move the Hubert was after it. He gained the passage just in time to see queaks disappear down the ladder, clinging with the aid of its pincher claws, apparently grimly determined to catch up with the thing it pursued. And Dane went after them. There was no sign of the creature who fled on the next level. But Dane made no move to recapture the blue hunter who squatted at the foot of the ladder, staring unblinkingly into space. Dane waited, afraid to disturb the Hubert. He had not had a good look at the thing which had run from queaks, but he knew it was something which had no business aboard the queen. And it might be the disturbing factor they were searching for. If the Hubert would only lead him to it. The Hubert moved, rearing up on the tips of its six legs, its necklace head slowly revolving on its puffy shoulders. Along the ridge of its backbone its blue feathers were rising into a crest, much as sinbads fur rose when the cat was afraid or angry. Then, without any sign of haste, it crawled over and began descending the ladder once more, heading toward the lower section which housed the Hydro. Dane remained where he was until it had almost reached the deck of the next level, and then he followed, one step at a time. He was sure that the Hubert's peculiar construction of body prevented it from looking up, unless it turned upon its back. But he did not want to do anything which would alarm it, or deter queaks from what he was sure was a methodical chase. Queaks stopped again at the foot of the second descent and sat in its towed stance, apparently brooding a round blue blot. Dane clung to the ladder and prayed that no one would happen along to frighten it. Then, just as he was beginning to wonder if it had lost contact with its prey, once more it arose, and with the same speed it had displayed in the captain's cabin, it shot along the corridor to the Hydro. To Dane's knowledge, the door of the garden was not only shut, but sealed, and how either the stranger or queaks could get through it he did not see. What the? Aldi clattered down the ladder to halt abruptly as Dane waved at him. Queaks! the cargo apprentice kept his voice to a half whisper. It got loose and chased something out of the old man's cabin down here. Queaks! Aldi began, then shut his mouth, moving noiselessly up to join Dane. The short corridor ended at the Hydro entrance. And Dane had been right. There they found the Hubat, crouched at the closed panel, its claws clicking against the metal as it picked away useless at the portal which would not admit it. Whatever it's after must be in there, Dane said softly, and the Hydro, stripped of its luxuriance of plant life, occupied now by the tanks of green scum would not afford too many hiding places. They had only to let Queaks in and keep watch. As they came up the Hubat flattened to the floor and shrilled its war cry, spitting at their boots and then flashing claws against the stout metal-enforced hide. However, though it was prepared to fight them, it showed no signs of wishing to retreat, and for that Dane was thankful. He quickly pressed the release and tugged open the panel. At the first crack of its opening, Queaks turned with one of those bursts of astounding speed and clawed for admittance, its protest against the men forgotten. And it squeezed through a space Dane would have thought too narrow to accommodate its bloated body. Both men slipped around the door behind it and closed the panel tight. The air was not as fresh as it had been when the plants were there, and the vats which had taken the places of the banked greenery were certainly nothing to look at. Queaks humped itself into a clot of blue, immovable, halfway down the aisle. Dane tried to subdue his breathing to listen. The Hubat's action certainly argued that the alien thing had taken refuge here, though how it had gotten through, but if it were in the Hydro it was well hidden. He had just begun to wonder how long they must wait when Queaks again went into action. Its clawed front legs upraised, it brought the pinchers deliberately together and sawed one across the other, producing a rasping sound which was almost a vibration in the air. Back and forth, back and forth moved the claws. Watching them produced almost a hypnotic effect, and the reason for such a maneuver was totally beyond the human watchers. But Queaks knew what it was doing all right. All these fingers closed on Dane's arm in a pincher grip as painful as if he had been equipped with the horny armament of the Hubat. Something, a flitting shadow, had rounded one vat and was that much closer to the industrious fiddler on the floor. By some weird magic of its own the Hubat was calling its prey to it. Scrape, scrape, the unmusical performance continued with monotonous regularity. Again the shadow flashed, one vat closer. The Hubat now presented the appearance of one charmed by its own art, sunk in a lethargy of weird music-making. At last the enchanted came into full view, though lingering at the round side of a container very apparently longing to flee again, but under some compulsion to approach its enchanter. Dane blinked, not quite sure that his eyes were not playing tricks on him. He had seen the almost transparent glow bogies of Limbo, had been fascinated by the weird and ugly pictures in Captain Jellico's collection of Tridie prints. But this creature was as impossible in its way as the horrific blue thing dragging it out of concealment. It walked erect on two threads of legs, with four knobby joints easily detected. A bulging abdomen sheathed in the horny substance of a beetle shell ended in a sharp point. Two pairs of small legs, folded close to the much smaller upper portion of its body, were equipped with thorn shack terminations. The head, which constantly turned back and forth on the armor-plated shoulders, was long and narrow, and split for half its length by a mouth above which were deep pits which must harbor eyes, though actual organs were not visible to the watching men. It was a palish gray in color, which surprised Dane a little. His memory of the few seconds he had seen it on the Captain's desk had suggested that it was much darker. And erect as it was, it stood about eighteen inches high. With head turning rapidly, it still hesitated by the side of the vat, so nearly the color of the metal that unless it moved it was difficult to distinguish. As far as Dane could see, the Hu-bat was paying it no attention. Quicks might be lost in a happy dream the result of its own fiddling, nor did the rhythm of that scraping vary. The nightmare thing made the last foot in a rush of speed which reduced it to a blur, coming to a halt before the Hu-bat. Its front legs whipped out to strike at its enemy, but Quicks was no longer dreaming. This was the moment the Hu-bat had been awaiting. One of the sawing claws opened and closed, separating the head of the lurker from its body, and before either of the men could interfere, Quicks had dismembered the prey with dispatch. Look there, Dane pointed. The Hu-bat held close the body of the stranger, and where the ashy corpse came into contact with Quicks's blue-feathered skin it was slowly changing hue, as if some of the color of its hunter had rubbed off on it. Chameleon! Ollie went down on one knee the better to view the grisly feast now in progress. Watch out, he added sharply as Dane came to join him. One of the thin upper limbs lay where Quicks had discarded it, and from the needle-tip was oozing some colorless drops of fluid. Poison! Dane looked around for something which he could use to pick up the still jerking appendage, but before he could find anything, Quicks had appropriated it, and in the end they had to allow the Hu-bat its victim in its entirety. But once Quicks had consumed its prey it lapsed into its usual hunched immobility. Dane went for the cage, and working gingerly he and Ollie got the creature back in captivity. But all the evidence now left were some smears on the floor of the hydro, smears which Ollie blotted up for future research in the lab. An hour later the four who now comprised the crew of the queen gathered in the mess for a conference. Quicks was in its cage on the table before them, asleep after all its untoward activity. There must be more than just one, Week said, but how are we going to hunt them down, with Sinbad? Dane shook his head. Once the Hu-bat had been caged and the more prominent evidence of the battle scraped from the floor, he had brought the cat into the hydro and forced him to sniff at the sight of the engagement. The result was that Sinbad had gone raving mad and Dane's hands were now covered with claw-tears which ran viciously deep. It was plain that the ship's cat was having none of the intruders alive or dead. He had fled to Dane's cabin where he had taken refuge on the bunk and snarled wild-eyed when anyone looked in from the corridor. Quicks asked to do it, Rip said, but would it hunt unless it's hungry? He surveyed the now comatose creature skeptically. They had never seen the captain's pet eat anything except some pellets which Jellico kept in his desk and they were afraid that the intervals between such feedings were quite lengthy. If they had to wait the usual time for Quicks to feel hunger pangs once more they might have to wait a long time. We should catch one alive," Ollie remarked thoughtfully. If we could get Quicks to fiddle it out where we could net it. Quicks nodded eagerly. A small net like those the Salariki use and drop it over the thing. While Quicks still drowsed in its cage, Quicks went to work with fine cord. Holding the colored changing abilities of the enemy in mind they could not tell how many of the creatures might be roaming the ship. It could only be proved where they weren't by where Sinbad would consent to stay. So they made plans which included both the cat and the Hubat. Sinbad, much against his will, was buckled into an improvised harness by which he could be controlled without the handler losing too much valuable skin. And then the hunt started at the top of the ship, proceeding downward section by section. Sinbad raised no protest in the control cabin, nor in the private cabins of the officers thereabouts. If they could interpret his reactions the center section was free of the invaders. So with Dane in control of the cat and Ollie carrying the caged Hubat they descended once more to the level which housed the Hydro-Galley, Steward's Quarters and Ship's Sick Bay. Sinbad proceeded on his own four feet into the galley and the mess. He was not uneasy in the sick bay nor in Murrah's cabin, and this time he even paced the Hydro without being dragged, much to their surprise as they had thought that the headquarters of the stowaways. Could there only have been one? Weeks wanted to know as he stood by ready with the net in his hands. Either that or else we're wrong about the Hydro being their main hideout. If they're afraid of Quicks now they may have withdrawn to the place they feel the safest, Rip said. It was when they were on the ladder leading to the cargo level that Sinbad balked. He planted himself firmly and yowled against further progress until Dane with the harness pulled him along. Look at Quicks. They followed Weeks' order. The Hu-bat was no longer lethargic. It was raising itself, leaning forward to clasp the bars of its cage, and now it uttered one of its screams of rage. And as Ali went down the ladder, it rattled the bars in a determined effort for freedom. Sinbad, spitting and yowling, refused to walk. Rip nodded to Ali. Let it out. Tipped out of its cage the Hu-bat scuttled forward, straight for the panel which opened on the large cargo space and there waited, as if for them to open the portal and admit the hunter to its hunting territory. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Off the Map Across the lock of the panel was the seal set in place by Van Rijk before the spacer had lifted from Sargal. Under Dane's inspection it showed no crack. To all evidence the hatch had not been open since they left the perfumed planet. And yet the hunting Hu-bat was sure that the invading pests were within. It took only a second for Dane to commit an act which, if he could not defend it later, would blacklist him out of space. He twisted off the official seal which should remain there while the freighter was space-born. With Ali's help he shouldered aside the heavy sliding panel and they looked into the cargo space, now filled with the red wood from Sargal. The red wood. When he sought Dane was struck with their stupidity. Aside from the Coro stones in the stone box only the wood had come from the Salariki world. What if the pest had not been planted by IS agents but were natives of Sargal being brought in with the wood? The men remained at the hatch to allow the Hu-bat freedom in its hunt and Sinbad crouched behind them, snarling and giving voice to a rumbling growl which was his negative opinion of the proceedings. They were conscious of an odor. The sharp, unidentifiable scent Dane had noticed during the loading of the wood. It was not unpleasant, merely different. And it, or something, had an electrifying effect upon queaks. The blue hunter climbed with the aid of its claws to the top of the nearest pile of wood and there settled down. For a space it was apparently contemplating the area about it. Then it raised its claws and began the scraping fiddle which once before had drawn its prey out of hiding. Oddly enough that dry rasp of sound had a quieting effect upon Sinbad and Dane felt the drag of the harness lessen as the cat moved, not toward escape, but to the scene of action, humping himself at last in the open panel, his round eyes fixed upon the Hu-bat with a fascinated stare. Scrape, scrape! The monotonous sound bit into the ears of the men, gnawed at their nerves. Ah! Ollie kept his voice to a whisper, but his hand jerked to draw their attention to the right at deck level. Dane saw that flicker along the log. The stow-away pest was now the same brilliant color as the wood, indistinguishable until it moved, which probably explained how it had come on board. But that was only the first arrival, a second flash of movement and a third followed. Then the hunted remained stationary, able to resist for a period the insidious summoning of queaks. The Hu-bat maintained an attitude of indifference, of being so wrapped in its music that nothing else existed. Rip whispered to Weeks, There's one to the left on the very end of that log. Can you net it? The small oiler slipped the coiled mesh through his calloused hands. He edged around Ollie, keeping his eyes on the protruding bump of red upon red, which was his quarry. Two, three, four, five! Ollie was counting under his breath, but Dane could not see that many. He was sure of only four, and those because he had seen them move. The things were ringing in the pile of wood where the Hu-bat fiddled, and two had ascended the first logs toward their doom. Weeks went down on one knee, ready to cast his net, when Dane had his first inspiration. He drew his sleep-rod, easing it out of its holster, set the lever on spray, and beamed it at three of those humps. Rip, seeing what he was doing, dropped a hand on Weeks' shoulder, holding the oiler in check. A hump moved, headed down the rounded side of the log into the narrow aisle of deck between two piles of wood. It lay quiet, a bright scarlet blot against the gray. Then Weeks did move, throwing his net over it and jerking the drawstring tight, at the same time pulling the captive toward him over the deck. But even as it came, the scarlet of the thing's body was fast fading to an ashy pink, and at last taking on a gray as dull as the metal on which it lay, the complete camouflage. Had they not had it enmeshed, they might have lost it altogether, so well did it now blend with the surface. The other two in the path of the ray had not lost their grip upon the logs, and the men could not advance to scoop them up. Not while there were others not affected, free to flee back into hiding. Weeks bound the net about the captive and looked to rip for orders. Deep freeze! The acting commander of the queen said succinctly, let me see it get out of that. Surely the cold of the deep freeze, united to the sleep ray, would keep the creature under control until they had a chance to study it. But as Weeks passed Sinbad on his errand, the cat was so frantic to avoid him that he reared up on his hind legs, almost turning a somersault, snarling and spitting until Weeks was up the ladder to the next level. It was very evident that the ship's cat was having none of this pest. They might have been invisible and their actions non-existent as far as Queeks was concerned. For the Hubat continued its siren concert. The lured became more reckless, mounting the logs to Queeks's post in sudden darts. Dane wondered how the Hubat proposed handling four of the creatures at once. Four, although the other two which had been in the path of the ray had not moved, he now counted four climbing. Stand by to ray. That was Rip. But it would have been interesting to see how Queeks was prepared to handle the four. And though Rip had given the order to stand by, he had not ordered the ray to be used. Was he too interested in that? The first red projection was within a foot of the Hubat now and its fellows had frozen as if to allow it the honour of battle with the feathered enemy. To all appearances Queeks did not see it. But when it sprang with a whir of speed which would baffle a human, the Hubat was ready and its claws, halting their rasp, met around the wasp-thin waist of the pest, speedily cutting it in two. Only this time the Hubat needed no move to un-joint and consume the victim. Instead it squatted in utter silence, as motionless as a tri-D print. The heavy lower half of the creature rolled down the pile of logs to the deck and there pale to the gray of its background. None of its kind appeared to be interested in its fate. The two which had been in the path of the ray continued to be humps on the wood. The others faced the Hubat. But Rip was ready to waste no more time. Ray them, he snapped. All three of their sleep-rods sprayed the pile, catching and passing the Hubat. Queeks' pop eyes closed, but it showed no other sign of falling under the spell of the beam. Certain that all the creatures in sight were now relatively harmless, the three approached the logs. But it was necessary to get into touching distance before they could even make out the outlines of the nightmare things. So well did their protective coloring conceal them. Wearing gloves, Ollie detached the little monsters from their holds on the wood and put them for temporary safekeeping during a transfer to the deep freeze into the Hubat's cage. Queeks' they decided to leave where it was for a space, to awaken and trap any survivor which had been too wary to emerge at the first siren song. As far as they could tell, the Hubat was their only possible protection against the pest, and to leave it in the center of infection was the wisest course. Having dumped the now middle-colored catch into the freeze, they held a conference. No plague. Queeks' breathed a sigh of relief. No proof of that yet, Ollie caught him up short. We have to prove it past any reasonable doubt. And how are we going to do? Dane began when he saw what the other had brought in from Tao's stores. A lancet and the upper half of the creature Queeks had killed in the cargo hold. The needle-pointed front feet of the thing were curled up in its death-throws, and it was now a dirty white shade as if the ability to change color had been lost before it matched the cotton on which it lay. With the lancet, Ollie forced a claw away from the body. It was oozing the watery liquid which they had seen on the one in the Hydro. I have an idea," he said slowly, his eyes on the mangled creature rather than on his shipmates, that we might have escaped being attacked because they sheared off from us. But if we were clawed, we might take it too. Remember those marks on the throats and backs of the rest? That might be the entry point of this poison, if poison it is. Dane could see the end of that line of reasoning. Rip and Ollie, they couldn't be spared. The knowledge they had would bring the Queen to earth. But a cargo master was excess baggage when there was no reason for trade. It was his place to try out the truth of Ollie's surmise. But while he thought another acted, Weeks leaned over and twitched the lancet out of Ollie's fingers. Then, before any of them could move, he thrust its contaminated point into the back of his hand. Don't! Both Dane's cry and Rip's hand came too late. It had been done. And Weeks sat there, looking alone and frightened, studying the drop of blood which marked the dig of the surgeon's keen knife. But when he spoke, his voice sounded perfectly natural. Headache first, isn't it? Only Ollie was outwardly unaffected by what the little man had just done. Just be sure you have a real one! He warned with what Dane privately considered real callousness. Weeks nodded. Don't let my imagination work, he answered shrewdly. I know, it has to be real. How long do you suppose? We don't know. Rip sounded tired, beaten. Meanwhile, he got to his feet. We'd better set a course home. Home, Weeks repeated. To him, Tara was not his own home. He had been born in the polar swamps of Venus. But to all Solarians, no matter which planet had nurtured them, Tara was home. You, Rip's big hand, fell gently on the little Euler's shoulder, stay here with Thorson. No, Weeks shook his head. Unless I black out, I'm riding station in the engine room. Maybe the bug won't work on me anyway. And because he had done what he had done, they could not deny him the right to ride his station as long as he could during the grueling hours to come. Dane visited the cargo hold once more. To be greeted by an irate scream which assured him that Weeks was again awake and on guard. Although the Hubat was ready enough to give tongue, it still squatted in its chosen position on the top of the log stack and he did not try to dislodge it. Perhaps with Weeks planted in the enemy's territory they would have nothing to fear from any pest not now confined in the deep freeze. Rip set his course for Tara. For that plague spot on their native world where they might hide out the queen until they could prove their point that the spacer was not a disease-ridden ship to be feared. He kept to the control cabin shifting only between the astrogators and pilot station. Upon him alone rested the responsibility of bringing in the ship along a vector which crossed no well-traveled space-lane where the patrol might challenge them. Dane rode out the orbiting in the Comtex seat listening in for the first warning of danger that they had been detected. The mechanical repetition of their list of crimes was now stale news and largely off-ether. And from all traces he could pick up they were lost as far as the authorities were concerned. On the other hand, the patrol might indeed be as far knowing as its propaganda stated and the queen was running headlong into a trap. Only they had no choice in the matter. It was the ship's intercom bringing Olly's voice from the engine room which broke the concentration in the control cabin. Weeks down. Rip barked into the mic. How bad! He hasn't blacked out yet. The pains in his head are pretty bad and his hand is swelling. He's given us our proof. Tell him to report off. But the disembodied voice which answered was weeks. I haven't guided as bad as the others. I'll ride this out. Rip shook his head, but shorthanded as they were he could not argue weeks away from his post if the man insisted upon staying. He had other, and for the time being more important matters before him. How long they sweated out that descent upon their native world Dane could never afterwards have testified. He only knew that hours must have passed until he thought groggily that he could not remember a time he was not glued in the seat which had been tangs, the earphones pressing against his sweating skull, his fatigued drugged mind being held with difficulty to the duty at hand. Sometime during that haze they made their landing. He had a dim memory of Rip sprawled across the pilot's control board and then utter exhaustion claimed him also and the darkness closed in. When he roused it was to look about the cabin tilted to one side. Rip was still slumped in a muscle-cramping posture, breathing heavily. Dane bit out a forceful word born of twinges of his own and then snapped on the visa plate. For a long moment he was sure that he was not yet awake and then, as his dazed mind supplied names for what he saw he knew that Rip had failed. Far from being in the center or at least well within the perimeter of the dreaded big burn he must have landed in some civic park or national forest. For the mast green outside, the bright flowers, the bird he sighted as a brilliant flash of wind coasting color. Those were not to be found in the twisted horror left by man's last attempt to impress his will upon his resisting kind. Well, it had been a good try, but there was no use expecting luck to ride their fins all the way and they had had more than their share in the Eastat affair. How long would it be before the law arrived to collect them? Would they have time to state their case? The faint hope that they might aroused him. He reached for the calm key and a second later tore the headphones from his appalled ears. The crackle of static he knew and the numerous strange noises which broke in upon the lanes of communication in space. But this solid paralyzing roar was something totally new, new and frightening. And because it was new and he could not account for it he turned back to regard the scene on the viewer with a more critical eye. The foliage which grew in riotous profusion was green right enough and terra-green into the bargain. There was no mistaking that. But Dane caught at the edge of the comm unit for support. But what was that liver-red blossom which had just reached out to engulf a small flying thing? Feverishly he tried to remember the little natural history he knew. Sure that what he had just witnessed was unnatural, unterrain, and to be suspect. He started the spy-lens on its slow revolution in the queen's nose to get a full picture of their immediate surroundings. It was tilted at an angle apparently they had not made a fin-point landing this time and sometimes it merely reflected slices of sky. But when it swept earthward he saw enough to make him believe that wherever the spacer had set down it was not on the terra he knew. Subconsciously he had expected the big burn to be barren land, curdled rock with rivers of frozen quartz, substances boiled up through the crust of the planet by the action of the atomic explosives. That was the way it had been on Limbo. On the other burned-off worlds they had discovered where those who had preceded mankind into the galaxy, the mysterious, long-vanished forerunners, had fought their grim and totally annihilating wars. But it would seem that the big burn was altogether different, at least here it was. There was no rock sterile of life outside. In fact, there would appear to be too much life. What Dane could cite in his limited field of vision was a teeming jungle and the thrill of that discovery almost made him forget their present circumstances. He was still staring bemused at the screen when Rip muttered, turned his head on his folded arms and opened his sunken eyes. Did we make it? he asked Dully. Dane, not taking his eyes from that fascinating scene without, answered. You brought us down, but I don't know where. Unless our instruments were way off, we're near to the heart of the burn. Some heart! What does it look like? Rip sounded too tired to cross the cabin and see for himself. Baron is limbo? Hardly. Rip, did you ever see a tomato as big as a melon? At least it looks like a tomato. Dane halted the spy lens as it focused upon this new phenomena. A what? There was a note of concern in Shannon's voice. What's the matter with you, Dane? Come and see. Dane willingly yielded his place to Rip, but he did not step out of range of the screen. Surely that did have the likeness to a good, old-fashioned earth-side tomato, but it was melon-size and it hung from a bush which was close to a ten-foot tree. Rip stumbled across to drop into the context place, but his expression of worry changed to one of simple astonishment as he saw that picture. Where are we? You name it. Dane had had longer to adjust, the excitement of an explorer citing virgin territory working in his veins, banishing fatigue. It must be the big burn. But... Rip shook his head slowly as if with that gesture to deny the evidence before his eyes. That country's all bare rock. I've seen pictures. Of the outer rim, Dane corrected, having already solved that problem for himself. This must be farther in than any survey ship ever came. Great spirit of outer space, what has happened here? Rip had enough technical training to know how to get part of the answer. He leaned halfway across the calm and was able to flick down a lever with the very tip of his longest finger. Instantly the cabin was filled with a clicking so loud as to make an almost continuous drone of sound. Dane knew that danger signal. He didn't need Rip's words to underline it for him. That's what's happened. This country is pile hot out there. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Special Mission That click, the dial beneath the counter, warned them that they were as cut off from the luxuriance outside as if they were viewing a scene on Mars or Sargal from their present position. To go beyond the shielding walls of the Spacer into that riotous green world would sentence them to death as surely as if the patrol was without, with a flamer trained on their hatch. There was no escape from that radiation. It would be in the air one breathed, strike through one's skin. And yet the wilderness flourished and beckons. Mutations, Rip mused. Space, tout go wild if he could see it. And that mention of the medic brought them back to the problem which had earthed them. Dane leaned back against the slanting wall of the cabin. We have to have a medic. Rip nodded without looking away from the screen. Can one of the flitters be shielded? The cargo apprentice persisted. That's a thought. Ollie should know. Rip reached for the intercom mic. Engines. So you are alive. Ollie's voice had a bite in it. About time you're contacting. Where are we? Besides being lopsided from a recruit scrambled set down, I mean. In the big burn? Come topside. Wait. How's Weeks? He has a devil's own headache, but he hasn't blacked out yet. Looks like his immunity holds in part. I've sent him bunkside for a while with a couple of pain pills. So we've made it. He must have left to join them for when Rip answered, after a fashion, into the mic there was no reply. And the clang of his boot plates on the ladder heralded his arrival at their post. There was an interval for him to view the outer world and accept the verdict of the counter and then Rip voiced Dane's question. Can we shield one of the flitters well enough to cross that? I can't take the queen up and earth her again. I know you can't, the acting engineer cut in. Maybe you could get her off-world, but you'll come close to blasting out when you try for another landing. Fuel doesn't go on forever, though some of you space jockeys seem to think it does. The flitter, well, we've some spare rocket linings, but it's going to be a job and a half to get those beaten out and reassembled. And frankly, the space-whirly one who flies her better be suited and praying loudly when he takes off. We can always try." He was frowning, already busy with the problem which was won for his department. So, with intervals of snatch sleep, hurried meals, and the time which must be given to tending their unconscious charges, Rip and Dane became only hands to be directed by Ali's brain and garnered knowledge. Weak slept off the worst of his pain, and though he complained of weakness, he tottered back on duty to help. The flitter, an air sled intended to hold three men and supplies for exploring trips on strange worlds, was first stripped of all non-essentials until what remained was not much more than the pilot's seat and the motor. Then they labored to build up a shielding of a tough radiation-dulling alloy which was used to line rocket tubes. They could only praise the foresight of Stotz, who carried such a full supply of spare parts and tools. It was a task over which they often despaired, and Ali improvised frantically, performing weird adjustments of engineering structure. He was still unsatisfied when they had done. She'll fly, he admitted, and she's the best we can do, but it'll depend a lot on how far she has to go over hot country. Which way do we head her? Rip had been busy with a map of Terra, a small thing he had discovered in one of the travel recordings carried for crew entertainment. The big burn covers three-quarters of this continent. There's no use going north. The devastated area extends into the Arctic regions. I'd say west. There's some fringe settlements on the sea coast, and we need to contact a frontier territory. Now, do we have it straight? I take the flitter, get a medic, and bring him back? Dane cut in at that point. Correct course. You stay here. If the queen has to lift, you're the only one who can take her off-world. And that's the same for Ali. I can't ride out a blast-off in either the pilots or the engineer's seat, and Weeks is on the sick list, so I'm elected to do the medic hunting. They were forced to agree to that. He was no hero, Dane thought, as he gave a last glance about his cabin early the next morning. The small cubby, utilitarian and bare as it was, never looked more inviting or secure. No, no hero. It was merely a matter of common sense. And although his imagination, that deeply hidden imagination, with which few of his fellows credited him, shrank from the ordeal ahead, he had not the slightest intention of allowing that to deter him. The spacesuit, which had been bulky and clumsy enough on the east-ad asteroid under limited gravity, was almost twice as poorly adapted to progression on Earth. But he climbed into it with Rip's aid, while Ali lashed a second suit under the seat, ready to encase the man Dane must bring back with him. Before he closed the helmet, Rip had one last order to give, along with an unexpected piece of equipment. And when Dane saw that, he knew just how desperate Shannon considered their situation to be. For only on life or death terms, would the astrogator apprentice have used Jellico's private key, opened the forbidden arms cabinet, and withdrawn that blaster. If you need it, use this. Rip's face was very sober. Ali arose from fasting the extra suit in place. It's ready. He came back into the corridor, and Dane clanked out in his place, settling himself behind the controls. When they saw him there, the inner hatch closed and he was alone in the bay. With tantalizing slowness, the outer wall of the spacer slid back. His hands blundering with the metallic claws of the gloves, Dane buckled two safety belts about him. Then the skeleton flitter moved to the left, out into the glare of the early day, a light too bright, even through the shielded view-plates of his helmet. For some dangerous moments, the machine creaked out and down on the landing cranes. The warning counter on its control panel going into a mad whirl of color as it tried to record the radiation. There came a jar as it touched the scorched earth at the foot of the Queen's fins. Dane pressed the release and watched the lines whip up and the hatch above snap shut. Then he opened the controls. He used too much energy and shot into the air, tearing a wide gap through what was luckily a thin screen of the matted foliage before he gained complete mastery. Then he was able to level out and bore westward, the rising sun at his back, the sea of deadly green beneath him, and somewhere far ahead the faint promise of clean, radiation-free land holding the help they needed. Mile after mile the green jungle swept under the flitter, and the flash of the counter's light continued to record a land unfit for mankind. Even with the equipment used on distant worlds to protect what spacemen had come to recognize as a reasonably tough human frame, no ground force could hope to explore that wilderness in person. And, flying above it, as well insulated as he was, Dane knew that he could be dangerously exposed. If the contaminated territory extended more than a thousand miles, his danger was no longer problematical. It was an established fact. He had only the vague directions as a scrap of map rip hadn't covered. To the west, he had no idea how far away, there stretched a length of coastline, far enough for the radiation-blasted area to allow small settlements. For generations the population of Terra, decimated by the atomic wars, and then drained by first system and then galactic exploration and colonization, had been decreasing. In the past hundred years it was again on the upswing. Men retiring from space were returning to their native planet to live out their remaining years. The descendants of far-flung colonists, coming home on visits, found the sparsely populated mother-world appealed to some basic instinct so that they remained. And now the settlements of mankind were on the march, spreading out from the well-established sections which had not been blighted by ancient wars. It was mid-afternoon when they noted that the green carpet beneath the flitter was displaying holes. That small breaks in the vegetation became sizable stretches of rocky waste. He kept one eye on the counter, and what, when he left the spacer, had been an almost steady beam of warning light, was now a well-defined succession of blinks. The land below was cooling off. Perhaps he had passed the worst of the journey. But in that passing how much had he and the flitter become contaminated? All he had devised a method of protection for the empty suit the medic would wear, had that held. There were an alarming number of dark ifs in the immediate future. The mutant growths were now only thin patches of stunted and yellowish green. Had man penetrated only this far into the burn, the knowledge of what lay beyond would be totally false. This effect of dreary waste might well discourage exploration. Now the blink of the counter was deliberate, with whole seconds of pause between the flashes. Cooling off, it was getting cold fast. He wished that he had a comm unit. Because of the interference in the burn, he had left it behind. But with one he might be able now to locate some settlement. All that remained was to find the seashore and with it as a guide, flits south towards the center of modern civilization. He laid no plans of action. This whole exploit must depend on improvisation. And as a free trader, spur of the moment action was a necessary way of life. On the frontier rim of the galaxy, where the independent spacers traced the star trails, fast thinking and the ability to change plans on an instant were as important as skill in aiming a blaster. And it was very often proven that the tongue and the brain behind it were more deadly than a flamer. The sun was in Dane's face now, and he caught sight of patches of uncontaminated earth with honest vegetation, in place of the hot jungle now miles behind. That night he camped out on the edge of rough pasturage, where the counter no longer flashed its warning and he was able to shed the suit and sleep under the stars with the fresh air of early summer against his cheek and the smell of honest growing things replacing the dry scent of the spacer and the languorous perfumes of Sargal. He lay on his back, against the earth of which he was truly apart, staring up into the dark, inverted bowl of the heavens. It was so hard to connect those distant points of icy light, making the well-remembered patterns overhead, with the suns whose rays had added to the brown stain on his skin. Sargal's son, the one which gave such limited light to dead limbo, the sun under which Naxos, his first galactic port, grew its food, he could not pick them out. He was not even sure that any could be sighted from Terra. Strange suns, red, orange, blue-green, white, yet here all looked alike, points of glitter. Tomorrow at dawn he must go on. He turned his head away from the sky and grass, green, tarren grass, was soft beneath his cheek. Yet, unless he was successful, tomorrow or the next day, he might never have the right to feel that grass again. Resolutely, Dane willed that thought out of his mind, tried to fix upon something more lulling, which would bring with it the sleep he must have before he went on. And in the end he did sleep, deeply, dreamlessly, as if the touch of Terra's soil was in itself sedative his thoughtly strung nerves needed. It was before sunrise that he awoke, stiff and chilled. The dryness of the pre-dawn gave partial light and somewhere a bird was twittering. There had been birds, or things whose far-off ancestors had been birds, in the hot forest. Did they also sing to greet the dawn? Dane went over the flitter with his small counter and was relieved to find that they had done a good job of shielding under Ali's supervision. Once the suit he had worn was stored, he could sit at the controls without danger and in comfort. And it was good to be free of that metal prison. This time he took to the air with ease. The salt taste of food concentrate on his tongue as he sucked a cube. And his confidence arose with the flitter. This was the day. Somehow he knew it. He was going to find what he sought. It was less than two hours after sunrise that he did so. A village, which was a cluster of perhaps fifty or so house units strung along into the land. He skimmed across it and brought the flitter down in a raw cliff-walled sand-pocket with surf booming some yards away where he could be reasonably sure of safe hiding. All right, he had found a village. Now what? A medic. A stranger, appearing on the lane which served the town. A stranger in a distinctive uniform of trade would only incite conjecture and betrayal. He had to plan now. Dane unsealed his tunic. He should, by rights, shed his spate-spoots too, but perhaps he could use those to color his story. He thrust the blaster into hiding at his waist. A rip or two in his undertunic, a shallow cut from his bush-knife allowed to bleed messily. He could not see himself to judge the general effect, but had to hope it was the right one. His chance to test his acting powers came sooner than he had anticipated. Luckily he had climbed out of the hidden cove before he was spotted by the boy, who came whistling along the path, a fishing pole over his shoulder, a basket swinging from his hand. Dane assumed an expression which he thought would suggest fatigue, pain, and bewilderment, and lurched forward, as if inciting the oncoming boy he had also cited hope. Help! Perhaps it was excitement which gave his utterance that convincing croak. Rod and basket fell to the ground, as the boy, after one astounded stare, ran forward. What's the matter? His eyes were on those space-boots, and he added a sir which had the ring of hero-worship. Escape boat! Dane waved toward the sea's general direction. Medic, must get to medic! Yes, sir. The boy's basic tarrant sounded good. Can you walk if I help you? Dane managed a weak nod, but contrived that he did not lean too heavily on his avidly helpful guide. The medic's my father, sir. We're right down this slope, third house. And father hasn't left. He's supposed to go on a northern inspection tour today. Dane felt a stab of distaste for the role being forced upon him. When he had visualized the medic he must abduct to serve the queen in her need, he had not expected to have to kidnap a family man. Only the knowledge that he did have the extra suit and that he had made the outward trip without dangerous exposure bolstered up his determination to see the plan through. When they came out of the end of a single long lane which tied the houses of the village together, Dane was puzzled to see the place so deserted. But since it was not within his role of dazed sufferer to ask questions, he did not do so. It was his young guide who volunteered the information he wanted. Most everyone is out with the fleet. There's a run of redbacks. Dane understood. Within recent times the redbacks of the north had become a desirable luxury item for Terran tables. If a school of them were to be found in the vicinity, no wonder this village was now deserted as its fleet went out to garner in this elusive but highly succulent fish. In here, sir, Dane found himself being led to a house on the right. Are you in trade? He suppressed a start. Shedding his uniform tunic had not done much in the way of disguise. It would be nice, he thought a little bitterly, if he could flash an IS badge now to completely confuse the issue. But he answered with a partial truth and did not enlarge. Yes. The boy was flushed with excitement. I'm trying for trade service medic, he confided. Passed the directive exam last month, but I still have to go up for prelim psycho. Dane had a flash of memory. Not too many months before, not the prelim psycho, but the big machine at the assignment center had decided his own future arbitrarily, fitting him into the crew of the solar queen as the ship where his abilities, knowledge, and potentialities could best work to the good of the service. At the time he had resented and even been slightly ashamed of being relegated to a free trading spacer, while Archer Sands and other classmates from the pool had walked off with company assignments. Now he knew that he would not trade the smallest and most rusty bolt from the solar queen for the newest scout ship in IS or Combine Registry. And this boy from the frontier village might be himself as he was five years earlier, though he had never known a real home or family scrapping into the pool from one of the children's depots. Good luck. He met that, and the boys flushed deepened. Thank you, sir. Around here, Father's treatment room has this other door. Dane allowed himself to be helped into the treatment room and sat down in a chair while the boy hurried off to locate the medic. The trader's hand went to the butt of his concealed blaster. It was a job he had to do, one he had volunteered for, and there was no backing out. But his mouth had a rye twist as he drew out the blaster and made ready to point it at the inner door. Or, his mind leaped to another idea, could he get the medic safely out of the village? A story about another man badly injured, perhaps pinned in the wreckage of an escape boat. He could try it. He thrust the blaster back inside his torn under-tunic, hoping the bulge would pass unnoticed. My son says... Dane looked up. The man who came through the inner door was in early Middle Age. Thin, wiry, with a hard, fine down look about him. He could almost beat Tao's elder brother. He crossed the room with a brisk stride and came to stand over Dane, his hand reaching to pull aside the bloody cloth covering the trader's breast. But Dane fended off that examination. My partner, he said, back there, pinned in. He jerked his hand southward. Needs help. The medic frowned. Most of the men are out with the fleet. George. He spoke to the boy who had followed him. Go and get Lex and Hartog, here. He tried to push Dane back into the chair as the trader got up. Let me look at that cut. Dane shook his head. No time now, sir. My partner's hurt bad. Can you come? Certainly. The medic reached for the emergency kit on the shelf behind him. You able to make it? Yes. Dane was exultant. It was going to work. He could tow the medic away from the village. Once out among the rocks on the shoreline, he could pull the blaster and herd the man into the flitter. His luck was going to hold, after all.