by Colin Kapp
This latter fact alone made the agent squirm. A great volume of confidential Company business had been fed into the line over the past few years. Had the Imaiz been operating for a trade competitor, the Company could have suffered extreme losses as the result of this unanticipated leakage of information. There was no evidence that the knowledge the Imaiz must have gained had been used to the Company’s disadvantage—but it was a late time to realize that one’s commercial future lay in the hands of a sworn enemy.
Nor was Ren’s temper improved by a further consideration.
From his terminal, by means of signature codes, he had access not only to Company computer data banks at the spaceport, but also to the spaceport’s common computer banks. With the right sort of intercept equipment the Imaiz, too, would have had similar access to the same data banks and, by extrapolation there would scarcely seem to have been a commercial transaction on Roget of which the master of Magda need have remained unaware.
As a commercial blunder the situation was without parallel. The only mitigating factor for those involved was that no one could reasonably have suspected that on a relatively undeveloped planet like Roget there existed either the equipment or the technology to make this sophisticated form of espionage a fact. The strength of Dion-daizan lay as much in what he concealed as in what he revealed. Wryly Ren wondered how many other surprises the Imaiz still had up his sleeve.
TWELVE
Despite his growing antipathy for Alek Hardun, Ren was now forced to visit the spaceport in order to continue the Company’s business transactions. This was because he suspected he could trust the security of neither the wire circuit nor the microwave link. Although he tried to stay out of Hardun’s .way, it was inevitable that the latter would learn of his coming and seek him out.
‘You wouldn’t be trying to avoid me, would you, Tito?’
‘Why should I?’ Ren’s answer was couched in a frame of aggrieved innocence. ‘I’ve been very busy, that’s all.’
‘I just wondered.’ Hardun was probing. ‘I mean, we’ve not yet completed our little chat on ways of removing the Imaiz. And they tell me Director Vestevaal has made a hurried trip back to Free Trade Central. I naturally wondered what was brewing.’
‘I wouldn’t know. The director mentioned something to me about visiting Terra, but I’m not exactly in his confidence.’
This was so patent a lie that Hardun did not even pretend to believe it.
‘Very well, Tito! If you want to play it close to the chest that’s your affair. Rance Intelligence will give me all the answers I need, so don’t let the director think he’s acting too cleverly.’
‘I don’t see how you’d know,’ Ren said critically. ‘You’re scarcely in his class.’
For a moment a spear of anger burned in Hardun’s eyes. Then, with amazing composure, he turned the expression of malice aside and overlaid it with a veneer of genial charm.
‘Look, Tito—I know we have our differences on the way the job’s to be done, but we’re still here for a common purpose. We mustn’t forget the Imaiz is a very clever enemy. Nothing could suit him better than to have us divided. Let’s not play into his hands. How’s your campaign going?’
‘Slowly, but I think we’ve got it made. The Pointed Tails have produced a scheme for disrupting Dion’s holdings right through Magda Province. I’ve been into it in detail and I don’t see how they can fail. Given nine months we’ll have the Imaiz begging for alms in the streets.’
‘Nine months!’ The veneer of geniality was stretched taut. ‘And Vestevaal settled for that? It shouldn’t take nine days to settle a little issue like this. Somebody’s going soft.’
‘That’s your view. Alek. But you haven’t studied the local conditions as I have. Believe me, we have to play this one very softly.’
‘I accept that it’s your fight, Tito, but I’d like to make one strike just to prove to you that I can do as I say.’
‘Then make it, Alek. I don’t seem to be able to stop you,’ said Ren unexpectedly. ‘But I’m not supporting you and I don’t wish to be implicated in any way. Furthermore, if you make a hash of it and the whole thing blows up into an interplanetary row, I’ll set up such a howl for your skin that even Rance’ll have to throw you to the wolves. As far as I’m concerned you’re a Rance combat unit and nothing to do with legitimate Free Trade at all.’
‘I can see you’ve been doing your homework.’ Hardun’s acknowledgment was a grudging acceptance of the terms. ‘I’ll make the strike tonight and guarantee you undisputed access to Castle Magda in the morning. I’ll even have a squad of Rance commandos standing by to do any mopping up that may be required. It’s about time you tradesmen learned that jobs like this were better left to professionals.’
Under cover of the early darkness Hardun moved his murder contingent out to the plain. Because the whole episode was highly illegal in terms of Roget law, absolute secrecy was essential. For this reason the most opportune site, that between the Via Arena and the Space Canal, could not he used, for fear of chance observation. The alternative site was the rising banks of the wilder country almost centrally between the Provincial Route and the Old Coast Road. Here there was almost no chance of observation during the hours of darkness, though by day it would have lain under the scrutiny of the watchtowers and the great keep of Castle Di Guaard. The rocket’s trajectory thus lay slightly over the northwest corner of Firsthill, but such was the precision of the apparatus that the chance of a premature fallout on the town was negligible.
All day had been spent by Hardun’s technicians in calculating the course coordinates and carefully calibrating the equipment to guarantee the, pinpoint accuracy necessary to ensure that the deadly black canister was delivered precisely inside the confines of the castle and not dispersed across Thirdhill and its township. The position of the central point of the castle had been determined with micrometers by laser triangulation. A radar lock from the battle cruiser and a second one from the manpack station on the northern slopes of Secondhill gave the necessary references for faultless radio guidance of the missile from its mobile launcher to the castle. All this preparation had been leisurely and time-consuming. Speed was not important, but it was absolutely vital that the payload of sinister cargo fell cleanly inside the castle walls.
The toxin had come from a stockpile of horrifying weapons on Rance. Its rate of diffusion under all conditions of still and moving air were known with great precision. The metering and dispersion could be controlled to a nicety to permit an almost exact spread of effect before destructive oxidation by the atmosphere rendered it not only harmless but virtually undetectable. In a situation such as its release inside an isolated citadel like Magda, the great walls themselves would serve somewhat to contain the dispersion, so that little, if any, chance existed of its affecting anyone outside the castle walls. Inside the walls its potential was conservatively estimated at seven thousand per cent overkill. By morning the best bacteriologists in the universe, while they might have their suspicions, would find it impossible to produce proof of the deliberate nature of the hit-and-run plague whose one and only symptom was immediate death. The dispersion warhead was self-destroying and would leave no incriminating remains.
Ren himself had no stomach at all for the project. Fortunately he had retained his resolve and refused to take any part in the venture. To protect the company’s name—in the event of any future investigation of the pending atrocity—he had felt it necessary that he should establish an indestructible alibi by being seen in Anharitte at the time the act was committed. He therefore left the spaceport in advance of the murder party and traveled the Via Arena to pick up a crew of stave-bearers for his cushion-craft slightly before dusk.
The garish ligroin flares of the trading stalls around the arena were well in evidence as he passed. Ren stopped and made a few purchases in order to establish his location at the time. The streets, as usual at that hour, were crowded with an aimless, nonchalant throng, none of whom seemed to appr
eciate any need for a dear and unobstructed highway. Mule carts, loaded to ridiculous heights with straw baskets, seemed eternally to be in his way and it took Ren nearly an hour to negotiate the cushion-craft the two kilometers from the Black Rock to the foot of the Trade Road. Ren bore this ordeal with fortitude, not daring to express his anxiety or his crying need to be in a location where more people would recognize him and be able to vouch for his presence on that particular evening. Fortunately the Trade Road was dearer and the craft was poled easily up the slopes and out to the broad brow of Firsthill.
It was here that he first heard the explosions. In reactive shock he at first thought that the rocket must have misfired on its launcher. A second burst of noise, however, caused him to notice that the origin of the sounds was too far to the left to be coming from the provincial plains and was more probably coming from the guns of Di Guaard. Remembering the formidable chain-throwing cannon that Di Guaard maintained to cover the Aprillo Delta against the mythical Tyrene, Ren was able to make a guess that Hardun was in trouble. The vicious cannon atop the castle keep were being rapidly deployed against something to the west—a fact he was able to confirm when his position enabled him to see the flashes of the guns themselves. It did not take much further conjecture to appreciate that the only target to be found on the plains at this hour was Hardun and his rocket projector and the deadly rocket with which he intended to wipe out the human—not to mention humane—population of Castle Magda.
Ren reached his office chambers in a state of agonized indecision and suffering from an embarrassing lack of information. He was tempted to try to contact Alek Hardun via the microwave link, but there were dangers that some record of the conversation could implicate both himself and the Company. On the face of it, the chances of the mad Delph Di Guaard’s guns being able to seek out a target on the dark plain appeared negligible. However, the hand of the Imaiz in Castle Di Guaard—and the awful coincidence of the rocket launcher on the plains under the speaking guns—threw up possibilities too haunting to be ignored.
Having parked the cushion-craft, Ren made his way to the Lodge of the Pointed Tails, where discreet information was usually available. The lodge was deserted save for a solitary guardian, who appeared to think the clan was already out on Ren’s own business and was surprised that the agent had no knowledge of the fact. He, too, had no certain idea of why Di Guaard’s guns were firing, but promised to send a runner to contact the clan and to carry news hack to Ren as fast as possible. Ren returned to his office and sat waiting for the information.
It was fully an hour before Catuul Gras came to the door.
‘We were looking for you earlier, Tito. Sonel Taw sent a messenger for you. When he couldn’t find you, he had sense enough to come looking for me.’
‘I was delayed at the spaceport,’ said Ren. ‘What was the message?’
‘That the Imaiz was expected in Castle Di Guaard tonight.’
‘He is?’ This put a new aspect on Hardun’s venture with the rocket and Ren could not conceal his surprise. This was one point on which even Alek Hardun had miscalculated.
‘I laid plans for an immediate ambush,’ said Catuul Gras, ‘but the Imaiz slipped through.’
‘Dion’s already there, then?’
‘Yes. He must have come around by the Provincial Route or the Old Coast Road. He came up Sidepath and was already in Castle Di Guaard before we got the news.’
‘Was anyone with him?’
‘Only Zinder and Barii, I think.’
‘Have you any idea what Di Guaard’s firing at?’
Catuul smiled. ‘I suspect the Imaiz put him up to it. It’s said Dion carries strange tales about the Tyrene to Di Guaard. I’d wager the mad Delph is on top of his tower right now, firing at imaginary pirates and believing himself to be the saviour of Anharitte. Still, it’s better that he fires across the plains. There’s no one out there to hurt. Safer than firing at the shipping on the river.’
Ren felt cold and rather sick. Because of the atrocious nature of the weapon Hardun had taken out into the plain not even the Pointed Tails had been made party to the secret. The presence on Roget of such a potent outworld mass-murder instrument was not something that Ren cared to advertise—nor would the knowledge have helped his liaison with the loyal but native clan whose services he so frequently employed. His one consolation was that without radar and ranging instruments, the mad Di Guaard was unlikely actually to hit the rocket launcher. More probably, Hardun would abandon the venture and retire to the security of the spaceport. However, if Hardun continued his plan and launched the bio-missile into Magda, then he would certainly fail to kill the one man on Roget who could unearth the truth behind the death of the garrison at Magda. The damage the Imaiz could do with that truth both on Roget and with the Galactic Federal Council could not only put an end to the free port, but could work against Free Trade right across the galaxy.
The agent became aware that the scribe was watching him curiously.
‘What’s on your mind, Tito?’
‘Nothing,’ Ren lied. ‘But so far our feud against the Imaiz has been a continuing series of failures. I can’t afford more. We know the Imaiz is in Castle Di Guaard and that some time he’s going to have to come out. I don’t care what it costs, Catuul, or how many other societies you need to reinforce your own men, but I want the Imaiz ambushed—and I want him killed. I want you to make it a point of honour that he never returns to Magda.’
Catuul’s intelligent eyes were probing gently, but he made no comment on his conclusions.
‘As you wish, Tito. I’ll make all the necessary arrangements. We’ll seal Castle Di Guaard like a trap. No matter when Dion-daizan emerges there’ll be good shafts and good steel waiting for him. If he ever sees Magda again, it’ll be solely due to his wizardry.’
Because there was nothing else he could usefully do Ren went to bed and tried to sleep. In this he was for many hours unsuccessful because he had no idea at all what pattern of news would greet him the next day. The possibilities ranged from brilliant success to tragic failure, with a range of complex permutations in between, many of which could involve him in being asked some acutely embarrassing questions. Even the certainty of failure would have allowed him to rest more easily, but he was currently immersed in a vacuum containing no answers, from which he dared not emerge to ask questions lest he betray his own foreknowledge. His surest method of defense was to profess complete ignorance of the events that took place that night.
Finally, however, he must have slept for a while. He woke again to the first gray of dawn, feeling wretched and compelled by curiosity to contact the spaceport by the microwave radio link. As he dressed and dragged himself downstairs the call alarm of his transreceiver gave a clatter that made him stop in startled shock. It was many seconds before he could bring himself to lift the handset.
‘Tito?’
‘Alek—what happened?’
‘Happened?’ Hardun’s tone alone foreshadowed the tale of disaster. ‘Di Guaard’s cannon hit the launcher. The toxin dispersion canister went off prematurely and all six of the crew were dead of the plague inside five minutes. There was nothing I could do to help them.’
‘What about yourself?’
‘I was lucky. I was following up in the radio unit truck. Di Guaard wrapped one of his chain-shots around the turret and I stopped to estimate the damage. By the time I was going again the launcher was on its side and the crew was trying to run. I reversed out fast and called out the medical team from the spaceport. They got there in twenty minutes, but when they knew what toxin we had in the canister they refused to go in. It wouldn’t have been much use anyway. Once that toxin’s out there’s no protection against it and only time and exposure can counter it.’
‘So we’ve a broken rocket launcher and six bodies out on the plain in full view of Di Guaard’s watchtowers when the light gets better. Damn! Di Irons will flay us for this.’
‘It’s still pretty misty out here. I think we�
�re covered until the sun comes over the hill. That gives us an hour yet to remove the mess. I’ve emergency tenders standing by, but we’re trying to delay for as long as possible so that the toxin is fully broken down. We daren’t risk losing any more men. What in the name of Jupiter possessed Di Guaard to open fire like that?’
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ said Ren. ‘Even if you’d succeeded you’d still have been in trouble. The Imaiz wasn’t at Magda. He was with Di Guaard. I suspect he was directing operations, having first explored the situation for himself. At a guess, he had all your preparations under observation—and you drove straight into a trap.’
‘That would figure,’ said Hardun sourly. ‘We were the victims of good espionage, perfect timing and diabolical ranging accuracy. I had the feeling that if the chain shots hadn’t stopped us they would have been followed up by high explosives. As it was, the bombardment stopped shortly after the launcher got into trouble, as though they knew they had hit something vital. What are the chances of their having an infrared ranging camera at Castle Di Guaard?’
‘Every chance—with the Imaiz behind them.’
‘Tito, we’ve got to destroy this man—and fast—or we haven’t a hope of retaining Anharitte as a free port.’
‘I’ve got him bottled inside Castle Di Guaard,’ said Ren. ‘Catuul’s mustering a whole army and we’ll keep them in position for as long as may be required. I don’t myself think Dion will attempt to come out. I think he’ll sit there and wait for us to go away.’
‘Then this strikes me as an opportune time to try a reconnaissance raid on Magda. I have the commandos assembled, but I’ll be too busy on the plain to take the lead. Could you handle it for me, Tito?’
‘I’ve no great objection to a reconnaissance. And it might produce some useful information.’
