“Having fun, chum? I never saw you looking so starry-eyed before.”
“Oh, brother!” she breathed. “To say that I was never the belle of any ball in my schooldays is the understatement of the century, but here…can you imagine it, Storm, me actually outshining Barbara Benton and Helen Worthington both at once?”
“Sure I can. I told you…”
“Of course it’s probably because their own women are so big that I’m a sort of curiosity,” she rushed on, “but whatever the reason, this dance is going down in my memory book in great big letters in the reddest ink I can find!”
“Good for you—hail the conquering heroine!” he applauded. “It’ll do you good to have your ego inflated a little. But what do you do about this tail-tickling routine?”
“Oh, I grab their tails”—with her sense of perception, she could, of course—“and when they try to wiggle them free I wiggle back at them, like this,” she demonstrated, “and we have a perfectly wonderful time.”
“Wow! I’ll bet you do—and when I get you home, you shameless…”
“Sorry, Storm, my friend,” the big Vegian who cut in wasn’t sorry at all, and he and Cloud both knew it. “You can dance with Joan any time and we can’t. So loosen all clamps, friend. Grab him, Vzelkt!”
Vzelkt grabbed. So, in about a minute, did another Vegian girl; and then after a few more minutes, it was Vesta’s turn again. No other girl could dance with him more than once, but Vesta, by some prearranged priority, could have him once every ten minutes.
“Where’s your brother, Vesta?” he asked once. “I haven’t seen him for an hour.”
“Oh, he had to go back to the police station. They’re all excited and working all hours. They’re chasing Public Enemy Number One—a Tellurian, they think he is, named Fairchild—why?” as Cloud started, involuntarily, in the circle of her arm. “Do you know him?”
“I know of him, and that’s enough.” Then, in thought: “Did you get that, Nordquist?”
“I got it.” Cloud was, as the Lensman had said that he would be, under surveillance every second. “Of course, this one may not be Fairchild, since there are three or four other suspects in other places, but from the horrible time we and the Vegians both are having, trying to locate this bird, I’m coming to think he is.”
The dance went on until, some hours later, there was an unusual tumult and confusion at the door.
“Oh, the police are calling Vesta—something has happened!” his companion exclaimed. “Let’s rush over—oh, hurry!”
Cloud hurried; but, as well as hurrying, he sent his sense of perception on ahead and meshed his mind imperceptibly with Vesta’s as well.
Her mind was a queerly turbid, violently turbulent mixture of emotions: hot with a furiously passionate lust for personal, tooth-and-claw-revenge; at the same time icily cold with the implacable, unswervable resolve of the dedicated, remorseless, and merciless killer.
“Are you sure, beyond all doubt, that this is the garment of my brother’s slayer?” Vesta was demanding.
“I am sure,” the Vegian policeman replied. “Not only did Zambkptkn hold it pierced by the first and fourth fingers of his left hand—the sign positive, as you know—but an eyewitness verified the scent and furnished descriptions. The slayer was dressed as an Aldebaranian, which accounts for the size of the garment your brother could seize before he died; his four bodyguards as Tellurians, with leather belts and holsters for their blasters.”
“QX.” Vesta accepted a pair of offered shears and began to cut off tiny pieces of the cloth. As each piece began to fall it was seized in mid-air by a Vegian man or girl who immediately ran away with it. And in the meantime other Vegians, forming into a long line, ran past Vesta, each taking a quick sniff and running on, out into the street. Cloud, reaching outside the building with his perceptors, saw that all vehicular traffic had paused. A Vegian stood on the walk-way, holding a bit of cloth pinched between thumb and finger-nail. All passersby, on foot or in any kind of vehicle, would pause, sniff at the cloth, and—apparently—go on about their business.
But Cloud, after reading Vesta’s mind and the policeman’s, turned as white as his space-tan would permit. In less than an hour almost every Vegian in that city of over eight million would know the murderer by scent and would be sniffing eagerly for him; and when any one of them did find him…
Except for the two Vegians and the six Tellurians, the vast hall was now empty. Vesta was holding a pose Cloud had never before seen—stiffly erect, with her tail wrapped tightly around her body.
“Can they get a scent—a reliable scent, I mean—that fast?” Cloud asked.
“Zertainly,” Vesta’s voice was cold, level, almost uninflected. “How long would it take you to learn that an egg you started to eat was rotten? The man who wore this shirt is a class A Triple Prime stinker—his odor is recognizable instantly and anywhere.”
“But as to the rest of it—don’t do this thing, Vesta! Let the law handle it.”
“The law comes second. He killed my brother; it is my right and my privilege to kill him…”
Cloud became conscious of the fact that Joan was in his mind. “You been here all along?” he flashed.
“In or near. You and I are one, you know,” and Vesta’s voice went on:
“…and besides, the law is merciful. Its death is instant. Under my claws and teeth be will live for hours—for a full day, I hope.”
“But officer, can’t you do something?”
“Nothing. The law comes second. As she has said, it is her right and her privilege.”
“But it’s suicide, man—sheer suicide. You know that, don’t you?”
“Not necessarily. She will not be working alone. Whether she lives or dies, however, it is still her right and her privilege.”
Cloud switched to thought. “Nordquist, you can stop this if you want to. Do it.”
“I can’t, and you know I can’t. The Patrol does not and cannot interfere in purely planetary affairs.”
“You intend, then,” Cloud demanded furiously, “to let this girl put her naked hands and teeth up against four trigger-happy gunnies with DeLameters?”
“Just that. There’s nothing else I or any other Patrolman can do. To interfere in this one instance would alienate half the planets of Civilization and set the Patrol back five hundred years.”
“Well, even though I’m a Patrolman—of sorts—I can do something about it!” Cloud blazed, “and by God, I will!”
“We will, you mean, and we will, too,” Joan’s thought came forcibly at first, then became dubious: “That is, if it doesn’t mean getting you blasted, too.”
“Just what?” Nordquist’s thought was sharp. “Oh, I see…and, being a Vegian, as well as a Patrolman, and the acknowledged friend of both the dead man and his sister…”
“Who’s a Vegian?” Cloud demanded.
“You are, and so are the other five of your group, as you would have been informed if the party had not been broken up so violently. Honorary Vegians, for life.”
“Why, I never heard of such a thing!” Joan exclaimed, “and I studied them for years!”
“No, you never did,” Nordquist agreed. “There haven’t been many honorary Vegians, and to my certain knowledge, not one of them has ever talked. Vegians are very strongly psychic in picking their off-world friends.”
“You mean to tell me that that bleached blonde over there won’t spill everything she knows fifteen minutes after we leave here?” Cloud demanded.
“Just that. You can’t judge character by hair, even if it were bleached, which it isn’t. You owe her an apology. Storm.”
“If you say so, I do, and I hereby apologize, but…”
“But to get back to the subject,” the Lensman went on, narrowing his thought down so sharply as to exclude Joan, “You can do something. You’re the only one who can. Such being the case, and since you are no longer indispensable. I withdraw all objections. Go ahead.”
Clou
d started a thought, but Joan blanked him out. “Lensman, has Storm been sending—can he send information to you that I can’t dig out of his mind?”
“Very easily. He is an exceptionally fine tuner.”
Tm sorry, Joanie,” Cloud thought, hastily, “but it sounded too much like bragging to let you in on. However, you’re in from now on.”
Then, aloud, “Vesta, I’m staying with you,” he said, quietly.
“I was sure you would,” she said, as quietly. “You are my friend and Zamke’s. Although your customs are not exactly like ours, a man of your odor does not desert his friends.”
Cloud turned then to the four lieutenants, who stood close-grouped, “Will you four kids please go back to the ship, and take Joan with you?”
“Not on Thursdays, Storm,” Joe said, pointing to an inconspicuous bronze button set into a shoulder-strap. “We both rate Blaster Expert First. Count us in,” and Bob added:
“Joan has been telling us an earful, and what she didn’t tell us a couple of Vegian boys did. The Three Honorary Vegian Musketeers; that’s us. Lead on, d’Artagnan!”
“Bob and Joe are staying, too, Vesta,” Cloud said then.
“Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell you myself about being adopted, but I knew somebody would. But you, Joan and Barbara and Helen, you three had better go back to the ship. You can be of no use here.”
Two of them were willing enough to go, but:
“Where Neal Cloud goes, I go,” Joan said, and there was no doubt whatever that she meant exactly that.
“Why?” Vesta demanded. “Commander Cloud, the fastest gun-man in all space, is necessary for the success of this our mission. He can, from a cold, bell-tone start, at thirty yards, burn the centers out of six irregularly-spaced targets…”
“Nordquist! Lay off! What in hell do you think you’re doing?” Cloud thought, viciously.
“I don’t think—I know,” came instant reply. “Do you want her hanging onto your left arm when the blasting starts? This is the only possible way Joan Janowick can be handled. Lay off yourself!” and Vesta’s voice went calmly on:
“…in exactly two hundred and forty nine mils. Lieutenant Mackay and Lieutenant Ingalls, although perhaps not absolutely necessary, are highly desirable. They are fast enough, and are of deadly accuracy. When either of them shoots a man in a crowd, however large, that one man dies, and not a dozen bystanders. Now just what good would you be, Lieutenant-Commander Janowick? Can you fire a blaster with any one of these men? Or bite a man’s throat out with me?”
For probably the first time in her life, Joan Janowick stood mute.
“And suppose you do come along,” Vesta continued relentlessly. “With you at his side, in the line of fire, do you suppose…”
“Just a minute—shut up, Vesta!” Cloud ordered, roughly. “Listen, all of you. The Lensman is doing this, not Vesta, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let anybody, not even a Lensman, bedevil my Joan this way. So, Joan, wherever we go, you can come along. All I ask is, you’ll keep a little ways back?”
“Of course I will, Storm,” and Joan crept into the shelter of his arm.
“Ha—I thought you’d pop off at about this point,” Nordquist’s thought came chattily into Cloud’s mind. “Good work, my boy; you’ve consolidated your position no end.”
“Well, what do we do now?” Joe Mackay broke the somewhat sticky silence that followed.
“We wait,” Vesta said, calmly. “We wait right here until we receive news.”
They waited; and as they waited the tension mounted and mounted. Before it became intolerable, however, the news came in, and Cloud, reading Vesta’s mind as the ultra-sonic information was received, relayed it to other Tellurians. The murderer and his four bodyguards were at that moment entering a theater less than one city block away…
“Why, they couldn’t be!” Helen protested. “Nobody could be that stupid…or… I wonder…?”
“I wonder, too.” This from Joan. “Yes, it would be the supremely clever thing to do; the perfect place to hide for a few hours while the worst of the storm blows over and they can complete their planned getaway. Provided, of course, that they’re out-worlders and thus don’t know what we Vegians can do with our wonderful sense of smell. Of course they aren’t a Tellurian and four Aldebaranians any more, are they?”
“No, they are five Centralians now. Perfectly innocent. They think their blasters are completely hidden under those long over shirts, but now and again a bulge shows—they’ve still got blasters on their hips. The theater’s crowded, but the five friends want to sit together. The manager thinks it could be arranged, by paying a small gratuity to a few seat-holders who would like to make a fast credit that way…he’ll place them and its almost time for us to go. ’Bye, Joanie—stay back, remember!” and she was in his arms.
“How about it, Helen?” Joe asked. “Surely you’re going to kiss your Porthos goodbye, aren’t you?”
“Of a surety, m’enfant!” she exclaimed, and did so with enthusiasm. “But it’s more like Aramis, I think—he kissed everybody, you know—and since I’m not hooked like Joan is—yet—don’t think that this is establishing a precedent.”
“Well, Babs, that leaves you and me.” Bob reached out—she was standing beside him—and pulled her close. “QX?”
“Why, I… I guess so.” Barbara blushed furiously. “But Bob…is it really dangerous?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. Not very, really, I don’t think. At least I certainly hope not. But blasters are not cap-pistols, you know, and whenever one goes off it can raise pure hell. Why? Would you really miss me?”
“You know I would, Bob,” and her kiss had more fervor than either she or he would have believed possible a few minutes before.
And at its end she laughed, shakily, and blushed again as she said, “I’ve got sort of used to having you around, so be sure and come back.”
They left the building and walked rapidly along a strangely quiet street to the theater. Without a word they were ushered up a short flight of stairs.
“Hold up, Vesta!” Cloud thought sharply. “We can’t see a thing—wait a couple of minutes.”
They waited five minutes, during which time they learned exactly where the enemy were and discussed every detail of the proposed attack.
“I still can’t see well enough to shoot,” Cloud said then. “Can they give us a little glow of light?”
They could. By almost imperceptible increments the thick, soft blackness was relieved.
“That’s enough.” The light, such as it was, steadied.
“Ready?” Vesta’s voice was a savage growl, low, deep in her throat.
“Ready.”
“No more noise, then.”
They walked forward to the balcony’s edge, leaned over it, looked down. Directly beneath Vesta’s head was seated a man in Centralian garb; four others were behind, in front of, and at each side of, their chief.
“Now!” Vesta yelled, and flung herself over the low railing.
At her shout four Vegians ripped four Centralian shirts apart, seized four hip-holstered blasters, and shouted with glee—but they shouted too soon. For the real gun-slick, then as now, did not work from the hip, but out of his sleeve; and these were four of the coldest, fastest killers to be found throughout the far flung empire of Boskone. Thus, all four flashed into action even before they began rising to their feet.
But so did Storm Cloud; and his heavy weapon was already out and ready. He knew what those hands were doing, in the instant of their starting to do it, and his DeLameter flamed three times in what was practically one very short blast. He had to move a little before he could sight on the fourth guard—Vesta’s furiously active body was in the way—so Joe and Bob each got a shot, too. Three bolts of lightning hit that luckless wight at once, literally cremating him in air as he half-crouched, bringing his blaster to bear on the catapulting thing attacking his boss.
When Vesta went over the rail she did not j
ump to the floor below. Instead, her hands locked on the edge; her feet dug into the latticework of the apron. She squatted. Her tail flashed down, wrapping itself twice around the zwilnik’s neck. She heaved, then, and climbed with everything she had; and as she stood upright on the railing, eager hands reached down to help her tail lift its burden up into the balcony. The man struck the floor with a thud and Vesta jumped at him.
“Your fingers first—one at a time,” she snarled; and, seizing a hand, she brought it toward her mouth.
She paused then as if thunderstruck; a dazed, incredulous expression spreading over her face. Bending over, she felt, curiously, tenderly, of his neck.
“Why, he…he’s dead!” she gasped. “His neck”…it’s…it’s broken! From such a little, tiny pull as that? Why, anybody ought to have a stronger neck than that!”
She straightened up; then, as a crowd of Vegians and the Tellurian women came up, she became instantly her old, gay self. “Well, shall we all go back and finish our dance?”
“What?” Cloud demanded. “After this?”
“Why certainly,” Vesta said, brightly. “I’m sorry, of course, that I killed him so quickly, but it doesn’t make any real difference. Zamke is avenged; he can now enjoy himself. We’ll join him in a few years, more or less. Until then, what would you do? What you call ‘mourn’?”
“I don’t know… I simply don’t know,” Cloud said, slowly, his arm tightening around Joan’s supple waist. “I thought I’d seen everything, but… I suppose you can have somebody take that body out to the ship, so they can check it for identity?”
“Oh yes, I’ll do that. Right away. You’re sure you don’t want to dance any more?”
“Very sure, my dear. Very sure. All I want to do is take Joan back to the ship.”
“QX. I won’t see you again this trip, then; your hours are so funny. I’ll send for my things. And I won’t say good-bye, Captain Nealcloud and you other wonderful people, because we’ll see each other again, soon and often. Just so-long, and thanks tremendously for all you have done for me.”
The Vortex Blaster Page 19
