Secret of the Stars (13 page)
Read Secret of the Stars Online
Authors: Andre Norton
But Samms’ rather drab jacket was the exception in this fashionable world. A glimpse of his wide shoulders drew Joktar into one of the belts and he began moving along it to draw closer to the man from Fenris. Luckily there were other impatient passengers and he did not make himself conspicuous by his stalking. And Samms and his diner companion appeared content to allow the belt to transport them at its slower rate. Joktar was close enough to follow them when they did move, leaving the wider belt with a skip for a narrower one winding into a side corridor. There were fewer riders here and Joktar was forced to allow several passengers to get between him and the pair he trailed.
He knew that the party from Fenris had been housed together and he was certain that sooner or later Samms would guide him to their quarters, for he dared not make any enquiry for Hogan. Now Samms’ companion stepped courteously aside for a woman and Joktar saw that he was Sa—Sa of Harband! Yet from their attitude one would believe those two ahead to be good friends, rather than enemies who less than three weeks ago had been exchanging blaster shots . . . if not exactly at each other, then by proxy. The old suspicion of Samms’ possible double game flowered. And the Terran began to wonder about the wisdom of trailing this ill-assorted pair.
They were leaving the belt; he must make up his mind in a hurry. Joktar, his hand resting near the butt of his blaster, allowed the belt to carry him parallel with the door to the grav-plate shaft where the others now stood, then he jumped off, to come up behind Sa.
Samms glanced around and Joktar expected recognition, but that did not come. For what broke Samms’ stolid expression was sharp surprise, a surprise with a touch of wariness in it. And for the first time there was a spark of some emotion in his pale gray eyes.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “I told the commander not to move in before nineteen hours.”
“The commander likes to take out insurance,” Joktar ad-libbed. “I’m the insurance.”
Sa looked over his shoulder. On his thin, well-chiseled features there was a distant shadow of annoyance.
“Such last-minute additions to well-conceived plans,” he commented, “always lead to difficulties. If you go up with us now, it will jeopardize our chances of coming to an agreement.”
He had fallen into something, Joktar knew that, though he still could not understand why Samms did not know him. Or did he? Was the outlaw from Fenris doubling on an already-muddled trail? But how did the scouts and Lennox come into this?
“I have my orders,” he returned shortly.
A grav-plate came to a halt before them and the two from Fenris moved on it reluctantly. The Terran guessed that Samms, at least, longed to order him to remain where he was. They arose in a stomach-rocking sweep, Samms’ inner agitation betrayed by that snap of full power. Joktar braced himself at the hand rail. If they stopped short now. . .
But Samms slowed the plate and the jar of the halt did not shake them from their footing. In the hall facing them, he saw both the green tunic of the planet police and the blue of a patrolman. He waited tensely for Samms to protest to both or either concerning his own presence, but no protest came.
The Fenrian outlaw moved on to the door, placed his palm on its lock, and stepped aside to usher Sa past him. His shoulder half-blocked Joktar, but the Terran nudged him on.
They came into a luxurious apartment which now held an odd scene. Hogan and Rysdyke were both stretched out in the soft embrace of eazee-rests. But neither of them was resting easily. A small disc in the hand of a second patrol officer insured that. They were effectively webbed in the bonds of a tangle.
“It would seem,” Joktar spoke, “that there’s a little trouble here.”
The patrolman turned his head to face the muzzle of the scout blaster.
“Pin up!” the Terran snapped.
When he saw the other’s finger rise from the disc and Rysdyke and Hogan move, Joktar held out one hand.
“Toss!” he gave his second order, “And make it center!”
The patrolman tossed and the Terran’s fingers closed about the tangle control.
“Now, all of you, over there!” His gesture included Samms, Sa, and the patrol officer, sending them to the other side of the room. Holstering his blaster he pushed in the tangle pin.
“You know,” he informed them, “there is a way of jamming these so they can’t be turned off . . . they have to be burned out. Now I wonder how good my memory is . . . Sorry.” His three captives twisted under a tightening of the coils which held them. And Samms spat a quite exotic suggestion concerning Joktar’s past. “There, that ought to do it!” The pin was well-wedged to one side and he dropped the tangle to the floor. “Now you’ll all stay put until that’s burnt out.”
Samms made a biting comment concerning Commander Lennox.
“What’s Lennox got to do with it?” demanded Rysdyke.
“Yes, that I would like to know . . . Oh,” Hogan laughed, “my good friends have really given themselves away this time, haven’t they? They accept the false as readily as the real because they were expecting some such move.” His hand dropped on Joktar’s shoulder. “How did you manage to arrive like the space marines, all ready for battle in good time?”
Samms’ eyes narrowed and he stared at the Terran, for the first time seeing more than the uniform. Again that spark glowed in his eyes. And Joktar knew that Samms would never either forgive or forget this particular meeting.
“The scouts tried to pry me loose from the clinic. I preferred to make the trip under my own power. What I want to know is why?”
“Samms,” Hogan reseated himself. “I sadly fear I made a grave error in your case, the error of underestimating you. Lennox got to you, didn’t he? I would very much like to know how the commander is so well-informed concerning our movements. There has been a bad slip somewhere.”
Sa wriggled as if he were trying to find a more easy fit within the invisible ties which held him prisoner.
“Hogan, I am a reasonable individual. You have impressed me that you possess a certain sense of logic; you are able to rise above such dramatics as these. I also believe that Harband is not the primary objective of your present moves. I believe that we may, as you say, be able to make a deal.”
Hogan listened with an expression of placid interest. “I am, of course, flattered by your estimate of my character, Gentlehomo. Yes, I am attracted to logic, sense, and reason as much as any man. Now, what do you have to offer?”
“Profit . . . and perhaps your life.”
Hogan settled closer into the embrace of his chair. “Both those points are able to hold my full interest, Gentlehomo. Will you please turn up your first card?”
12
Behind Sa’s slender elegance Samms backed the wall. Of the three prisoners, Joktar paid him the closest attention. Those shallow eyes were fastened on Hogan and there was an odd deliberation in that gaze. Was his the study of a knife fighter picking out his mark? Samms’ control was back, he was assured . . . or waiting. Joktar spoke: “They’re playing for time.”
Hogan smiled, answered lazily. “But of course. However, we must preserve the aura of courtesy if not the quality itself. Gentlehomo, Sa has not come here to represent anyone but his own company.”
Sa nodded his head, his body still held rigid by the grip of the tangle.
“Do you wish me to swear to that on the Truth of the Ancestors?” he inquired with a half-sneer.
“Not at all, Gentlehomo. I made a statement, I did not ask for reassurance. Now, what do you have to offer?”
“Suppose the companies relax the import regulations on Fenris, allow free traders to planet?”
“And in return for such a concession?”
“You do not push your case before Cullan.”
“Ah, that’s the nip, is it? But I am a little surprised at you, Gentlehomo. You immediately offer us what men have died vainly to obtain. And yet you have the reputation of being an astute, sly man. So I shall make some guesses, you need not even signify as to whether I am right or am failing to judge correctly what must be in progress behind several different curtains at this moment.
“First, the companies have been warned their monopolies are in danger. A manifest piece of mismanagement or public scandal now will wreck them and Councilor Cullan is the avowed enemy of their present way of conducting business. In answer to that, Gentlehomo, may I say that the end of the companies in their present form is already upon us. You cannot build a dam when a river is in flood. But by granting graciously such concessions as you have already outlined, you might be in a position six months or a year from now, to have the backing of new friends when you need them most. Because the companies are needed on the frontier worlds, but with their policies modified.”
Sa smiled. “We understand each other perfectly,” there was almost a note of humor in that. “May I also point out, Gentlehomo, that you are now engaged in a war covering more than one sector. To turn one of your opponents, a minor one that is true, but nevertheless an enemy of sorts, into a neutral or even a friend at this juncture might also divert the tide in your favor.”
“In other words you have information of value.” Hogan picked up a com-mike with attached mirror from the table. “You have been dealing with Samms, now you offer me certain advantages. Why change? Surely the temporary turning of tables in this room has not had so great an influence . . .”
“You have an argument which counts over this.” Sa pointed with his chin to the tangle on the floor.
“And that?”
“We do not have time to spare, Gentlehomo. An hour ago, Lennox thought he had what he wanted. Without that particular advantage on his side, the whole government policy, even our way of life, may crack wide open. No, Lennox is not top, you are!”
Hogan held the mirror steady, his face still wore an urban half-smile, but Joktar knew he was on guard.
“Your information sources appear extremely efficient.”
“I assure you that they are, Hogan. And this, too, I will concede: we of the companies must change course or cease to cruise space. You dare not continue to hammer down a cap upon the forces the vips have tried to control. So I tell you, Lennox will move to take back what he wants. He’s preparing to move against you tonight.”
There was an odd strangled sound out of Samms. Hogan’s finger tapped the code key of the mike. A face flashed on the mirror, its eyes regarded Hogan briefly before it disappeared. Now a code pattern of interwoven light followed. Hogan spoke twice, unknown words, into the mike and the pattern swirled in answer.
“Hogan here, Councilor, we have information that Lennox—”
He did not add another word. He could not. Out of the walls, the floor under them, the very air of the room, the enemy struck.
“Vibrator!” Joktar got that word out, his body twisting involuntarily as he fought against the agonizing pull of the energy beam which must be near, judging by the intensity of its torturing volume.
Rysdyke was already on the floor, writhing, small choking moans being wrung from him as he rolled. Hogan fought, beads of moisture gathering on his forehead, trickling down his flat cheeks. He clutched the mike close to his lips, tried to force out words as his limbs jerked and twitched.
Joktar staggered halfway toward the door panel. The action was like trying to run through thick mud, a mud which in addition sent fiery whips up his body in great stinging cuts. But somehow he kept his feet, was able to take his blaster from the holster and bring its barrel up in line with the door.
An inarticulate cry from Hogan made him look around. The other was signaling with his eyes, demanding. In his hands the mike oscillated back and forth but somehow he made the gesture of holding it out. Joktar stumbled back, to half-collapse beside Hogan. His right arm lay across the other’s thighs, the blaster held still to face the door.
Then, using all his will power and what remained of his control over his own muscles, Joktar pulled the mike to his mouth. Whether the vibrator had already muted him he did not know, but this was their one chance for help. He worked his lips, trying to conquer their spasmodic fluttering.
“Vi-vibrator here,” that was ragged about the edges but the words made sense. If they only did the same for the unseen listener!
There was a ripple of light on the mirror. For one long moment, Joktar looked at a face, as the other must sight him. Then the mirror went blank, the hum of an open com died. And the device flew across the room as an involuntary convulsion of Hogan’s muscles hurled it.
They must have stepped up the vibrator to the outer limit. Hogan rolled, Rysdyke was drooling blood, and Sa had gone entirely limp, supported by the tangle. While the patrolman was moaning and only half-conscious. Of them all Samms clung to some measure of awareness.
And yet, though he was in agony, Joktar could still move. He knew a dim and fleeting wonder at that. The only thing was to use this partial immunity to the utmost. He began to crawl, avoiding Rysdyke, heading for a table he could use as a crutch to regain his feet. He clawed his way up. Before he could again face the door squarely, the panel moved.
Hogan lay on the eazee-rest. He was inert, only his eyes still had a small spark of consciousness. Now he made a convulsive struggle to rise as a figure in a protective non-vi suit strode into the room.
Joktar, seeing that suit, knew how pitiful his own hopes of defiance were. A blaster beam, unless snapped up to a concentration which made it dangerous to its user, could make no impression on that kind of armor. Nevertheless, the Terran was on his feet and able after a fashion to use a weapon and the stranger in the suit would be expecting no opposition.
The newcomer stooped over Rysdyke, examined him briefly, and kicked him aside, to advance on Hogan. His hand was half-raised and flat against the palm Joktar caught the glisten of metal. There were several very small, very deadly arms which could be carried that way. Suddenly he knew that this was not a matter of taking prisoners, but of murder!
There was no way of crossing the space between them in time, not with most of his muscles knotted by the vibrator. But—
Using both hands, he swung the blaster around, aimed it, not at the man advancing on Hogan, but at one vital spot on the floor. That crack of bolt was followed by a spurt of white fire leaping from the carpet. Joktar had already lunged forward as men, suddenly released from the destroyed tangle, slumped to the floor, bearing with them the startled stranger.
Joktar lay half-across Hogan and his blaster, brought down as a club, had dazed the man in the non-vi suit. But the blow had not landed clean and the other was not stunned as the Terran had gambled. His own reflexes were so slowed by the vibrator that he could not raise his hand in time to ward off a return blow, the force of which sent him rolling to the floor and rendered him so weak he could not struggle up again.
He saw that hand sweep up with the bright spark cupped in the palm, swing over him. Then the other paused. Through the transparent face mask his face wore an expression of complete astonishment. With his other hand he jerked Joktar into a sitting position, slammed him back against the eazee-rest and tore open the front of his tunic. But whatever he sought, he did not find. Instead he stared at the burn scar on the Terran’s shoulder and his gaze was bleak as his lips moved, he was speaking into the throat mike of his suit.
His answer came in the halting of the vibrator waves. Only none of the men freed from that torture were able to move and most of them were unconscious. The man in the suit spun Joktar around, whipped the Terran’s limp hands behind him, and made fast his wrists, before shoving him roughly back to floor level. So Joktar’s attack had been a forlorn hope after all.
Others were entering the room. Hands on his shoulders, pulling him up to face the gray-clad man he had last seen in the clinic. The commander surveyed him coldly, nodded. Joktar looked around. They were all prisoners, it would seem. Sa, Rysdyke, the patrolman were still out. Of Samms and Hogan, he was not so sure.
Lennox went to the latter. He reached down, caught a fistful of the trader’s hair and pulled his head around. Hogan’s eyes were still open, now his lips moved in a wry grimace. The commander smiled thinly.
“This is the end, snooper.”
Again Hogan’s lips moved without sound. But Lennox appeared to read some protest.
“We’ll take you to headquarters where we know how to keep mouths shut. I’d like to know how your employer will keep on with his plans after we finish mopping up. Nobody,
nobody,
you understand,” his mouth tightened, the hand entangled in Hogan’s hair moved so that the head on which that hair grew, thumped hard against the chair, “nobody makes fools of the scouts! Nor dirties their records, present or past.” He looked past Hogan to Joktar with the same deadly coldness he had displayed at the clinic. “We’ll run our tests, and if you have found your monster . . . well, he won’t survive long! Kelse!” At his call another gray-clad man stepped forward. “The ’copter on the west terrace, see these are loaded in that and get them to headquarters at once.”
“You sound in a hurry, Commander.”
Bluecoats were pushing aside the gray at the door. Lennox whirled, half-crouching, a fighting man ready for an attack. But the man who had spoken wore no weapons, his official cloak, thrown back over one shoulder, had the star within star of the Council, and his face was the one Joktar had last seen on the com-mirror.
“This is a service matter, no civil rights, Councilor.”
“No civil rights? Yet to my certain knowledge none of these prisoners of yours are enlisted in the scouts. Let me see . . . that is Gentlehomo Sa Kim, one of the directors of the Harband Company, and that one is a patrolman. Correct me, of course, if I am not right, Commander, but the patrol is
not
answerable to the scouts, though you are answerable to their admiral. And these
here,” he glanced at Samms, Hogan and Rysdyke, “are all petitioners in council from Fenris. I was to interview them tomorrow, or rather today, since it is now past midnight. No, you cannot in truth claim any of these gentlehomos as members of the scouts, subject to your discipline.”
Lennox’s hand shot out, fastened on the collar of Joktar’s tunic, dragging him to his wavering feet. “This one I can and do!”
“So?” Cullan advanced deliberately across the room, gave Joktar a measuring stare, beginning at his tousled head and descending to his scuffed boots. “Dober!” One of the patrolmen at the door came to him. “Correct me if I am wrong, do the scouts not wear special ident-discs at all times!”
“Yes, Gentlehomo.”
“Will you please search this man for his disc.” The patrolman hesitated. Lennox had pulled Joktar half-behind him and seemed ready to resist such action.
“Come now, Commander, do not be difficult. If this man is one of yours, he will wear such a disc; if he is not and is masquerading as a member of the service, then he has committed an offense which it is my duty as Councilor to investigate.”