In Space No One Can Hear You Scream (17 page)

Purple fire lashed out from the ship’s bulkheads to engulf every human being on board simultaneously. Within moments, the crew was absorbed. The goyal drank energy from the drive generators to the point of surfeit, left the ship and vanished in the direction of Mezmiali. Within the system, it again closed in on a ship and rode down with it to the planet.

It had reached its destination undetected and at the peak of power, its reserves intact. But this was unknown enemy territory, and it remained cautious. For hours, its sensors had known precisely where the locator was to be found. The goyal waited until the humans had disembarked from the ship, until the engines were quiet and it could detect no significant activity in the area immedðiately about it. Then it flowed out of the ship and into the ground. The two humans who saw it emerge were absorbed before they could make a report.

There was no reason to hesitate longer. Moving through the dense solid matter of the planet was a tedious process by the goyal’s standards; but, in fact, only a short time passed before it reached the University League’s isolated Depot.

There it was brought to a very abrupt stop.

It had flowed up to the energy barrier surrounding the old fortress site and partly into it. Hostile forces crashed through it instantly with hideous, destructive power. A quarter of its units died in that moment. The remaining units whipped back out of the boiling fury of the field, reassembled painfully underground near the Depot. The body was reduced and its energy depleted, but it had suffered no lasting damage.

The communal mind remained badly shocked for minutes; then it, too, began to function again. There was not the slightest possibility of breaking through that terrible barrier! In all its experience, the goyal had never encountered anything similar to it. The defensive ship screens it had driven through in its secretive murders in the Pit had been fragile webs by comparison, and the Builders’ stoutest planetary energy shields had been hardly more effective. It began searching cautiously along the perimeter of the barrier. Presently it discovered the entrance lock.

It was closed, but the goyal knew about locks and their uses. The missing locator was so close that the sensors’ reports on it were blurred, but it was somewhere within this monstrously guarded structure. The goyal decided it needed only to wait. In time, the lock would open and it would enter. It would destroy the humans inside, and be back on its way to the Pit with the locator before the alien world realized that anything was amiss. . . .

Approximately an hour later, a slow bulky vehicle came gliding down from the sky toward the Depot. Messages were exchanged between it and a small building on the outside of the barrier in the language employed on the ships which had come into the Pit. A section of the communal mind interpreted the exchange without difficulty, reported:

The vehicle was bringing supplies, was expected, and would be passed through the barrier lock.

At the lock, just below the surface of the ground, the goyal waited, its form compressed to near-solidity, to accompany the vehicle inside.

* * *

In Dr. Hishkan’s office in the central building of the Depot, the arrival of the supplies truck was being awaited with a similar degree of interest by the group assembled there. Their feelings about it varied. Danestar’s feeling—in part—was vast relief. Volcheme was a very tough character, and there was a streak of gambler’s recklessness in him which might have ruined her plan.

“Any time anything big enough to have that apparatus on board leaves the Depot now, we clear it by shortcode before the lock closes,” she’d said. “You don’t know what message to send. You can’t get it from me, and you can’t get it from Wergard. The next truck or shuttle that leaves won’t get cleared. And it will get stopped almost as soon as it’s outside.”

That was it—the basic lie! If they’d been willing to take the chance, they could have established in five minutes that it was a lie.

“You’re bluffing,” Volcheme had said, icily hating her. “The bluff won’t stop us from leaving when we’re ready to go. We won’t have to run any risks. We’ll simply go out with the shuttle to check your story before we load the thing on.”

“Then why don’t you do it? Why wait?” She’d laughed, a little high, a little feverish, with the drugs cooking in her—her own and the stuff Galester had given her in an attempt to counteract the quizproof effect. She’d told them it wasn’t going to work; and now, almost two hours later, they knew it wasn’t going to work.

They couldn’t make her feel physical pain, they couldn’t intimidate her, they couldn’t touch her mind. They’d tried all that in the first fifteen minutes when she came into the office, escorted by Decrain and Tornull, and told Volcheme bluntly what the situation was, what he had to do. They could, of course, as they suggested, kill her, maim her, disfigure her. Danestar shrugged it off. They could, but she didn’t have to mention the price tag it would saddle them with. Volcheme was all too aware of it.

The threats soon stopped. Volcheme either was in a trap, or he wasn’t. If the Kyth Agency had him boxed in here, he would have to accept Danestar’s offer, leave with his group and without the specimen. He could see her point—they had an airtight case against Dr. Hishkan and his accomplices now. The specimen, whatever its nature, was a very valuable one; if it had to be recaptured in a running fight with the shuttle, it might be damaged or destroyed. That was the extent of the agency’s responsibility to the U-League. They had no interest in Volcheme.

The smuggler was being given an out, as Danestar had indicated. But he’d had the biggest, most profitable transaction of his career set up, and he was being told he couldn’t go through with it. He didn’t know whether Danestar was lying or not, and he was savage with indeðcision. If the Depot was being watched—Volcheme didn’t much doubt that part of the story—sending the shuttle out to check around and come back could arouse the suspicions of the observers enough to make them halt it when it emerged the second time. That, in fact, might be precisely what Danestar wanted him to do.

He was forced to conclude he couldn’t take the chance. To wait for the scheduled arrival of the supplies truck was the smaller risk. Volcheme didn’t like waiting, either. Wergard hadn’t been found; and he didn’t know what other tricks the Kyth agents could have prepared. But, at any rate, the truck was the answer to part of his problem. It would be let in, unloaded routinely, allowed to depart, its men unaware that anything out of the ordinary was going on in the Depot. They would watch then to see if the truck was stopped outside and searched. If that happened, Volcheme would be obliged to agree to Danestar’s proposal.

If it didn’t happen, he would know she’d been lying on one point; but that would not be the end of his difficulties. Until Wergard was captured or killed, he still couldn’t leave with the specimen. The Kyth agents knew enough about him to make the success of the enterprise depend on whether he could silence both of them permðanently. If it was possible, he would do it. With stakes as high as they were, Volcheme was not inclined to be squeamish. But that would put an interstellar organization of experienced man-hunters on an unrelenting search for the murderers of two of its members. . . .

Whatever the outcome, Volcheme wasn’t going to be happy. What had looked like the haul of a lifetime, sweetly clean and simple, would wind up either in failure or as a dangerously messy partial success. Galester and Decrain, seeing the same prospects, shared their chief’s feelings. And while nobody mentioned that the situation looked even less promising for Dr. Hishkan and Tornull, those two had at least begun to suspect that if the smugglers succeeded in escaping with the specimen, they would not want to leave informed witnesses behind.

When the voice of an attendant in the control ðbuilding near the lock entry finally announced from the wall screen communicator that the supplies truck had arrived and was about to be let into the Depot, Danestar therefore was the most composed of the group. Even Decrain, who had been detailed to keep his attention on her at all times, stood staring with the others at the screen where Dr. Hishkan was switching on a view of the interior lock area.

Danestar made a mental note of Decrain’s momentary lapse of alertness, though it could make no difference to her at present. The only thing she needed to do, or could do, now was wait. Her gaze shifted to the table where assorted instruments Galester had taken out of the alien signaling device still stood. At the other side of the table was the gadgetry Decrain had brought here from her room, a toy-sized shortcode transmitter among it. Volcheme had wanted to be sure nobody would send out messages while the lock was open.

And neither she nor Wergard would be sending any messages. But automatically, as the lock switches were thrown, the duplicate transmitter concealed in the wall of her room would start flicking its coded alert out of the Depot, repeating it over and over until the lock closed.

And twenty or thirty minutes later, when the supplies truck slid back out through the lock and lifted into the air, it would be challenged and stopped.

Then Volcheme would give up, buy his pass to liberty on her terms. There was nothing else he could do.

It wasn’t the kind of stunt she’d care to repeat too often—her nerves were still quivering with unresolved tensions. But she’d carried it off without letting matters get to a point where Wergard might have had to help her out with some of his fast-action gunplay. Danestar told herself to relax, that nothing at all was likely to go wrong now.

Her gaze slipped over to Volcheme and the others, silently watching the wall screen, which was filled with the dead, light-drinking black of the energy barrier, except at the far left where the edge of the control building blocked the barrier from view. A great glowing circle, marking the opened lock in the barrier, was centered on the screen. As Danestar looked at it, it was turning a brilliant white.

Some seconds passed. Then a big airtruck glided out of the whiteness and settled to the ground. The lock faded behind it, became reabsorbed by the dull black of the barrier. Several men climbed unhurriedly out of the truck, began walking over to the control building.

Danestar started upright in her chair, went rigid.

A wave of ghostly purple fire had lifted suddenly out of the ground about the truck, about the walking men, enclosing them.

There was a general gasp from the watching group in Hishkan’s office. Then, before anyone moved or spoke, a voice roared from the communicator:

“Control office, attention! Radiation attack! Close internal barrier fields at once!
Close all internal Depot barrier fields at once!
”

Volcheme, whatever else might be said of him, was a man of action. Perhaps, after two hours of growing frustration, he was ready to welcome action. Apparently, a radiation weapon of unidentified type had been used inside the Depot. Why it had been turned on the men who had got off the supplies truck was unexplained. But it had consumed them completely in an instant, though the truck itself appeared undamaged.

Coming on top of the tensions already seething in the office, the shock of such an attack might have brought on complete confusion. But Volcheme immediately was snapping out very practical orders. The four smugglers detailed to help find Corvin Wergard were working through the Depot’s underground passage system within a few hundred yards of the main building. They joined the group in the office minutes later. The last of Volcheme’s men was stationed in the control section. He confirmed that the defensive force fields enclosing the individual sections of the Depot inside the main barrier had been activated. Something occurred to Volcheme then. “Who gave that order?”

“Wergard did,” said Danestar.

They stared at her. “That
was
Wergard,” Tornull agreed. “I didn’t realize it, but that was his voice.”

Volcheme asked Danestar. “Do you know where he is?”

She shook her head. She didn’t know, as a matter of fact. Wergard might have been watching the lock from any one of half a hundred screens in the Depot. He could have been in one of the structures adjacent to the control building . . . too close to that weird fiery phenomenon for comfort. Radiation attack? What had he really made of it? Probably, Danestar thought, the same fantastic thing she’d made of it. His reaction, the general warning shouted into the communications system, implied that; very likely had been intended to imply it to her. She was badly frightened, very much aware of it, trying to decide how to handle the incredibly bad turn the situation might have taken.

Volcheme, having hurried Tornull off to make sure the space shuttle, which had been left beside the building’s landing dock, was within the section’s barrier field, was asking Galester and Dr. Hishkan, “Have you decided what happened out there?”

Galester shrugged. “It appears to be a selective antipersonnel weapon. The truck presumably was enclosed by the charge because there was somebody still on it. But it shows no sign of damage, while the clothing the men outside were wearing disappeared with them. It’s possible the weapon is stationed outside the Depot and fired the charge through the open lock. But my opinion is that it’s being operated from some concealed point within the Depot.”

Volcheme looked at Hishkan. “Well? Could it have been something that was among your specimens here? Something Miss Gems and Wergard discovered and that Wergard put to use just now?”

The scientist gave Danestar a startled glance.

Danestar said evenly, “Forget that notion, Volcheme. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Doesn’t it? What else makes sense?” the smuggler demanded. “You’ve been here two weeks. You’re clever people, as you’ve demonstrated. Clever enough to recognize a really big deal when Hishkan shoved it ðunder your noses. Clever enough to try to frighten competitors away. You know what I think, Miss Gems? I think that when I showed up here today, it loused up the private plans you and Wergard had for Hishðkan’s specimen.”

“We do have plans for it,” said Danestar. “It goes to the Federation. And now you’d better help us see it gets there.”