Secret of the Stars

by Andre Norton

  A low mutter ran around the circle, growing to a growl. But Samms showed no signs of discomfiture.

  “Perks was jumped. Then he was bright enough to take his chances with a good story when they pulled him in. He had one ready.”

  “Always be prepared for capture as well as other eventualities,” remarked Hogan.

  “Now,” Ebers struck in again, “we are being offered some tempting bait and invited to come close and take a sniff. Three mobs able to take this new field! Expect us to swallow that!”

  “I would say that the taking of the field would only be a temporary move,” Hogan spoke directly to Ebers. “Samms has suggested kidnapping. We scoop up the vips, keep them while we dicker with the company until Harband and the rest promise us the wherewithal to make life merrier here in the wilderness. That it, Samms?”

  “Sure, sure,” Ebers snarled his interruption. “We button up these vips, Harband yells and the patrol comes running. Those lads could cut us off in the breaks and starve us out. And where could we park the vips to have them ready and yet able to breathe and walk?”

  “Yes, another small problem. To establish any kind of a semi-permanent base is to invite immediate investigation from the patrol. Move around and we expose our prisoners to the elements and lose them before we can prove their value.”

  “Not if we take them off-planet!”

  That one sentence from Samms might have been the opening blast of a second blanket the way it silenced his listeners. Joktar caught the new note in the other’s voice. Samms was getting close to his serious play now.

  Hogan plucked at his mask. “Well, well. Do I detect some thoughts of Councilor Cullan and his visit to Loki?”

  Again that tiny movement toward the blaster. All of Samms’ impatience could not be an act. And Hogan was deliberately applying pressure.

  “What’s this Cullan got to do with it? He one of the vips?” Ebers wanted to know.

  “At present he’s a member of the Supreme Council, and he’s anti-company, doesn’t believe in the monopolies on frontier planets. He’s argued the subject for years, now he’s beginning to get backing, big backing. And the vips are worrying. Three years ago there was a serious shake-up in the Colonization Section. A man named Kronfeld got in as one of the project directors. He’s no political hack, but came up through the technical side. He’s talked Alvarn Thomlistos into supporting some of his ideas. And the Great Thorn has established a new foundation, backed by the net profits from the Alban Freight, the Orsfo-Kol Mining Corporation and a few other such organizations.”

  Joktar was startled. The net profits of the companies Hogan listed were enough to make a man slightly breathless when he tried to reckon the amounts of credits involved.

  “I don’t think I need point out that the Great Thorn has friends on a great many different government levels. So Cullan sat down with Kronfeld and listened, really listened, to some truths. With Thom backing the spread of these ideas there’s going to be a lot of activity around the galaxy. About two months from now Cullan will be on Loki, gathering material for an assault on the company set-up as it is at present. Suppose a shipload of Harband vips, together with some spokesmen from our own select group, were to land there about the same time. Our arrival couldn’t be hushed up so that Cullan wouldn’t hear of it, and the subject matter could be just his meat. That is what you have in mind, isn’t it, Samms?”

  If he were aware Hogan had taken over, Samms made no sign of either recognizing that or admitting defeat now.

  “You are correct and amazingly well-informed.”

  “And with Gagly dead, you’ll need the services of a pilot. Rysdyke now has the distinction of being the only free one on Fenris. Perhaps you had him in mind all along; Gagly had been out of space for five years. Now . . . when do you suggest we make this try to take over the Harband Field?”

  “You mean you’re willing to go along with this crazy scheme, Hogan?” Ebers sounded incredulous.

  “I think it has a number of possibilities.”

  “Enough to get us all killed!” Ebers shot back. It was Samms who answered that.

  “Would you rather rot out here? We have to make some definite move against the companies soon and I don’t mean just knocking off a hole in the mountains! We really have to cut into their cruising orbits or we’re outclassed and through. The free men on Fenris either climb to the top now or they cease to be free!”

  “He’s right, you know, Ebers. We’ve dragged on here for two years now with a closed port. Our trade’s been finished entirely for six months. We’re three mobs, and a scattering of loners; we’re all that are left. And how many new recruits do you get? Not enough to take the places of the men we lose, let alone build up our strength. I give us just about another six months of this life and we will be finished.”

  Again the mutter ran about the fire-lit circle. Ebers took up the argument.

  “And you think, Hogan,” he accented the “you” in a way Joktar guessed was intended to needle Samms, “that this plan does have a chance?”

  “Oh, the odds against its success are high enough. But would you rather finish really blasting Harband where it will hurt, or let company guards, bad weather and luck whittle you down to nothing out here? And there is a slim chance we may be able to pull it off. Samms has Perks planted, remember?”

  “I dunno,” Ebers answered slowly, but his protest was not so sharp.

  Samms jerked a thumb at the body rolled against the wall of the cone. “We lost one man here today. You don’t know how many more might have been caught in the blanket. Better for a man to go down fighting than this way.”

  “I have two raiding parties out. I’ll have to recall those. And there are maybe some loners who’d join with us. Roughly, maybe fifty. But I won’t take any but volunteers.”

  “Good enough. And I ought to do as well. You, Samms?”

  “Thirty—forty—if I can talk some of the loners in,” he spoke absently, as if his mind were on another problem.

  “Suppose we capture this ship and Rysdyke is able to fly her off-world. Who goes along to meet Cullan? We can’t load all our men on board.”

  “A committee, I’d say,” Hogan replied. “The rest of our combined forces should hold the company compound if we’re successful. Those who stay can arm some of the emigrants. They may not be of use in the open, but they can help defend the domes.”

  “For how long would we have to hold the compound?” Ebers wanted to know.

  Hogan stood up. “This whole scheme is a matter of ifs, ands, and buts. But I agree, Samms has a point. We’d better risk a big gamble now than drift along as we have been doing. This ship combined with Cullan’s visit to Loki furnishes us with a chance. Even if we fail, Harband can’t sit on the news of our attack, and rumors alone could make things uncomfortable for the companies.”

  “A lot of good that would do men already dead,” Ebers commented sourly. “Only maybe you’re right, this is a chance we won’t have again. Sounds like a mighty thin one though.”

  “History is made up of thin chances which have succeeded.” Hogan slung his supply bag over his shoulder. “Has Perks given you any idea, Samms, when we should start moving?”

  “Soon. You’ d better call in your raiding parties.”

  “Will do.” Hogan, Rysdyke, Roose and Joktar left the cone. When they were across the river and heading to the back trail, Hogan spoke to the Terran.

  “What do you think of Samms?”

  “Just now he isn’t very happy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re playing the hand he picked.”

  Hogan laughed. “Yes, I fear I spoiled his original plan somewhat.”

  “But you backed him, otherwise Ebers would have walked out!” Rysdyke objected.

  “He took over,” Joktar corrected. With great daring he added a question of his own. “Are you Cullan’s man?”

  “You’ve an active imagination, son,” was Hogan’s only reply.

 
Fenris’ moon, brighter, yet in its way more cold and stark than Terra’s, rode a cloudless sky. Below the fluff of brush on the mountain slopes were the clustered domes of the Harband holdings, covering the mouths of the galleries running back into the mountains. There were lights in those domes, and sweeping spotlights outside to cover the land lying within the sonic barrier. These kept off outlaw and beast alike. To Joktar their own expedition seemed increasingly foolhardy.

  Hogan might have been reading his mind when, after rising on one knee to use a pair of vision lenses, he said, “There’s this in our favor, they won’t be expecting any attack.”

  “From what I see, they won’t have to. How can anyone get across those spot paths? And what happens if the sonic barrier isn’t cut before we reach it?”

  “Ifs, ands, maybes, and buts again. Perks is to take the barrier out.”

  “And will he?” queried Rysdyke.

  Hogan laughed. “How pessimistic we are tonight. Well, the charge hasn’t been sounded as yet. You have a chance to withdraw in good order, heroes.”

  “There is a ship!” Rysdyke crowded up closer, his hand reaching past Hogan to point at that slim shape caught momentarily in one of the spots: a silver needle aimed at the cold heavens.

  “So that much is true.” Hogan’s glasses were aimed, not at the ship, but at the domes with their wreaths of colored lights.

  Another of the mob crawled up under the cover of the brush.

  “Jumper on the road,” he reported. “Our boys in it, they flashed the signal.”

  Close to sunset, hours before, the first move in their attack had been made when they overran the nearest road station. The personnel found there were imprisoned, their broadcasting equipment smashed, and a jumper and a crawler seized. The machines were now coming along and if, with their cargos of armed men, they could get through the sonic gates, the forces they carried could hold those entrances open for their fellows.

  The smaller vehicle proceeded at the odd leaping gait peculiar to its kind and behind it the crawler emerged from around a bend. Hogan loosened his mask, gave a high carrying whistle. Shadows arose, to flit from cover. Joktar heard that whistle picked up, relayed. A pattern of lights winked on the nearest dome, was answered by a beam from the driver’s cabin on the jumper.

  “Let’s hope,” Rysdyke breathed as his shoulder rubbed Joktar’s in their forward creep, “that we do have the right recognition signals.”

  The sonic barrier was invisible. The driver maneuvering the jumper along the rutted road would never know he had crossed it successfully until he reached the domes, or doubled up in agony of wrenched nerves and muscles.

  On the jumper surged, rolled, surged again. The machine was in the open and the beam of a spot caught and held it for a moment before flicking on. The crawler trailed. If neither vehicle were expected at the compound, there would be questions and perhaps an alarm. Joktar’s fingers tightened on the blaster as he watched that all too slow advance.

  The spot was halfway through a sweep across the landing field when its funnel of light jerked skywards.

  “That’s it!”

  Perks’ moves were coming on schedule. Now the men in hiding went into action as jumper and crawler halted, discharging their cargos in a boil of outlaws dashing on to the domes. The crackle of blaster fire and the shriller explosion of vorps bolts broke the silence of the night as the weird lightning of blaster fire crossed or met in the air.

  Joktar ran forward, part of the first wave headed by Hogan. He saw Roose put on a burst of speed, turn to the right. Rysdyke peeled off after the trapper, and Joktar made a third. There would be a guard on the ship but the crew would normally be quartered at the domes. Whether or not this watchman could close the ship in time depended upon the quality of his vigilance and their own rate of speed. Roose went to one knee, fired, while Rysdyke darted on.

  A tracer of fire illuminated for a moment the dark mouth of the hatch in the needle’s side. A figure writhed, fell out to the scorched ground beneath. Rysdyke reached the crew ladder, was climbing.

  Joktar caught the ladder below the ascending pilot, well aware of what an excellent target he must make against the side of the ship. Rysdyke was in the air lock now, a moment or so later Joktar made the same haven.

  The lock was empty. Roose was on the ladder below, the pilot was heading with single-minded determination for the control cabin. Joktar came out in a short corridor. His only knowledge of the geography of the ship had been the points drilled into him by Rysdyke back in camp, and the ex-pilot had been only guessing at the type of spacer this might be.

  For all they knew, members of the crew might be in any of the closed cabins, but their time table allowed no time now for a search. Roose came through, closed the lock. And that shut out the wild clamor of the fight. Now all they could hear was the soft thud of their boots on the stair treads.

  Three levels and then they were in the control cabin. Rysdyke had already seated himself in one of the web slung seats, his fingers flickering from button to lever to stud. Roose wriggled through the well opening of the stair, locked down its cover. Joktar relaxed, they could not be easily routed now and Rysdyke had before him the controls governing the ship.

  “About now,” Roose caught the back on one of the other seats, “they must be trying to raise Siwaki and the patrol on their dome coms.” But he did not seem at all alarmed at that thought.

  “The only way they can get at us is to try to fry us out with a cruiser’s tail flames,” Rysdyke returned. “And they’ve no reason to make this a suicide mission. Well, here goes for the second step, boys.”

  9

  He triggered a last lever. “Now we’re in business!”

  Joktar hoped that the opposition realized that those open ports just above the tail fins had been noted and their threat understood. This ship had been adapted for passenger use from an outer rim scouting craft, and it was still equipped with armament designed to protect explorers landing on newly discovered and perhaps hostile worlds.

  “Gonna tickle ’em up now?” Roose asked, highly interested.

  “Oh, we’ll give ’em a shot, to impress. Joktar, press that white stud . . . the one to the left of the four-lever plate.”

  As the Terran did just that, a vision plate, topping one of the control panels, came to life. Rysdyke gave more instructions and suddenly the domes appeared clearly on that square. Flashes of blaster and vorp fire still rent the night about them.

  The pilot read dials, made some minute corrections, and then pressed a button.

  In the air, well above the dome bubbles, burst a small core of light, light which spread in waves, shooting skyward in angry brilliance. Both blaster and vorp fire were swallowed up in a poisonous green radiance.

  “Quite a show,” commented Roose. “Where do you plant the next shot?”

  “On the crag, over that way.” Again Rysdyke made adjustments and fired.

  A second ball of angry green glowed on an outjut of the heights behind the domes. The fire continued as if feeding upon the substance of the rock, waves spreading from it for an area of yards. Then the glow died, and where that outjut had been there was nothing but a softly glowing hole eaten into the mountain’s skin, a hole which Joktar knew would go on, deeper and deeper, until the charge of the bolt was completely exhausted.

  “Now they should have been watching that one!” Roose laughed. “Might even bite into one of their precious mine galleries and bust it wide open.” He moved closer to the vision plate. “You know, fellas, that wouldn’t be a bad idea, let’s just chew their mine to pieces.”

  “It’s a thought,” Rysdyke was grinning. “But I’m afraid we’ll have to wait and see if they’ll tail-up first. That’s orders.”

  Now as the glow of the initial shots faded, they could catch sight of blaster explosions once more. But it was very evident that the exchange of small fire was not nearly so spirited.

  “Calling ship . . . calling ship . . .” a disembodied, metalli
c voice startled them. Joktar and Roose put back their blasters, smiling sheepishly at each other, while Rysdyke drew the mike of the com to him.

  “Ship here. Who calls?”

  “This is Waigh. What are you trying to do, you fool, burn us out?”

  “That’s up to you, Waigh. The range will be corrected one notch for every two minutes you continue your opposition.”

  There was a startled and baffled silence, before the dome com called again.

  “This is Waigh, Cowan, Waigh! You’re on range for the domes!”

  “Correction,” Rysdyke was plainly enjoying the exchange. “This is not Cowan, but Rysdyke, commanding officer, ship. We have taken over in the name of Fenrian Free Men. And I am well aware we are on range for your domes, that is our intention.”

  “That gives him a tough strip to chew on,” Roose remarked. “First time in years anyone’s warmed Waigh’s tail hot enough to really sting him.”

  “The blaster fire’s stopped.” Joktar had been studying the scene on the vision plate.

  Rysdyke held the mike closer, counting into it. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, correction one notch now being made. We mean what we say, Waigh. One!”

  He pressed the firing button. A second flower of light appeared on the rock face of the mountain to spread in ripples.

  “If the first one didn’t eat into one of their galleries, this one certainly will,” Roose observed. “Waigh’s as stubborn as a lamby, though.”

  “He may be the top Harband man on Fenris, but he has some visiting vips in there, remember? Hogan’s betting the off-worlders won’t take kindly seeing good ore disintegrated.”

  “Ship, this is Sa Kim,” the voice coming from the com was distorted, but still more remote in tone than Waigh’s bellow. “I speak for Harband. What are your terms?”

  “Contact the Free Men ground force. They’re prepared to state terms,” Rysdyke answered briskly.

  The center dome on the vision plate flashed white. Rysdyke put down the mike.

  “Well, our move worked. This Sa Kim is ready to talk.”