by Colin Kapp
Rance was preparing to put down on Roget some thirty so-called disaster teams, ostensibly to establish order in a situation where factually no assistance was required. But once their ships had landed, Ren had no doubt, a sequence of ‘disasters’ would occur to justify Rance’s continued occupation of the planet. Rance would claim her actions were selfless and humane. Under the propaganda, however, lurked the harsh realities of conquest and exploitation—the real reasons behind the expedition.
The preservation of planetary independence was a fundamental right guaranteed by the charter of the Galactic Federation. A competent spacefleet was maintained to give teeth to the Federation’s resolutions. The problem was therefore one of communication. Only FTL transmitters had the capability of communicating in real time with the Federation before Rance’s occupation became part of history. Because of the interstellar distances involved, Roget’s FTL transmitter, located at the spaceport, was routed through the relay terminal on Rance itself.
It was certainly no accident that Ren’s call to Free Trade Central had been unable to gain a communication channel. The Rance relay had not even bothered to reply. Presumably Rance was already claiming that the communications failure was due to civil disruption on Roget. Nothing could be farther from reality, but Ren, short of the ability to broadcast the truth across the universe, could only fret with frustration and anxiety under the leaden sky of Anharitte.
The ships of Rance would probably appear in Roget’s orbit within two weeks. The ‘disasters’ would follow as an aftermath, rather than as a prelude to their coming. His experience with Alek Hardun had taught Ren what to expect. A silent dusting with mutagens would ensure the warping of the harvests. Virulent plagues would decimate the populations of the cities. Afterward would come the terrors of the persecutions as the ‘saviors’ from Rance sought out the ‘transgressors’ of Roget. Finally another planet would be added to the sad, mute colonies of the trade worlds.
Ren wondered if Director Vestevaal would guess the truth of the situation and whether, having guessed, he could carry his convictions with sufficient force to bring the fleet arm of the Federation into action. Certainly his claims would need substantiation if they were to hold against the barrage of propaganda from Combien and Rance.
With these preoccupations in his mind Ren had reached the Black Rock before the coming of the rain drew his attention to his own predicament. He shrugged, drew up his collar and turned his face skyward, the better to appreciate the refreshing nature of the shower. Suddenly aware of himself, he was intrigued to find that he had walked the major length of the Via Arena without being consciously aware of a step he had taken.
The stalls and boutiques beyond the Arena were mainly dosed. With characteristic logic the Ahhn had seen no point in keeping regular trade hours at a time when bad weather rendered customers unlikely. Ren walked between the sheeted hutments and stalls, feeling that the members or such all independent race were unlikely easily to accent domination by Rance. Certainly they deserved a better fate. He wished it were within his power to secure it for them.
Where the route to Magda Crossing met the Trade Road he stopped, looking toward the dark mass of Thirdhill. He wondered if Dion-daizan had become aware of Rance’s action and what, if anything, the wizard could do about it. Slightly beyond his line of sight the dark castle nestled somewhere on the hill, guarding a range of secrets that appeared to cover a broader spectrum with their every exercise. Was it impossible, Ren asked himself, that the Imaiz had an answer even to this problem? The idea did not carry a great deal of conviction. The Imaiz was a minor lord of a minor province on a relatively undeveloped world. He would need to be a mighty wizard indeed to take on the armed might of Rance.
Nevertheless the faint hope persisted. It took Ren away from his own route and down to the water’s edge. The rain, now drifting in sheets, lost him the stretch of Firstwater in a cloud of drizzle. At Magda Crossing no ferries were available. The fragile slimboats had been drawn up under cover and the ferrymen had gone. Typical Ahhn logic dictated that nobody but a fool or a felon would be traveling in weather such as this. Ren searched the bank for a quarter of an hour but could not find anybody to take him across and he could not have handled a slimboat by himself against the tide.
Finally the rain began to penetrate his clothing and hang cold around his neck and shoulders. Fearing a chill in this land of inadequate medicine, Ren retraced his steps away from the river and climbed the slopes of the Trade Road. When he finally reached his office chambers he was soaked to the skin, thoroughly exhausted and depressed. Such was his condition that his servants were alarmed and insisted that he bathe immediately, then retire to bed.
He was halfway to acceding to their wishes when a thought struck him. His office computing terminal had not been used since the discovery of the line tap. The line had been disconnected at the spaceport in order to deny Dion-daizan unauthorized access to the computer data banks, but Ren could not recollect whether the tap itself had been broken. Experimentally he took the cover from the keyboard and sat before the instrument. As he keyed his call sign the board responded with a ready acknowledgment.
REN CALLING MAGDA.
MAGDA ACKNOWLEDGES. PLEASE PROCEED.
RANCE SENDING THIRTY DISASTER SHIPS TO ROGET. COMMUNICATIONS LINK WITH OUTWORLD BROKEN BY RANCE COM-TERMINAL. THOUGHT YOU OUGHT TO KNOW.
MESSAGE RECEIVED AND UNDERSTOOD. DION WILL BE INFORMED. TRANSMISSION ENDS.
As the lights died on the board Ren felt possessed of a chill and began to tremble violently. Afraid for him, servants insistently dragged him away from the terminal and stripped the wet clothes from his back.
Their concern proved justified. On the following morning he awoke with a fever, and pains ran through every muscle of his body. A physician from the Pointed Tails arrived and made him drink a pungent brew of herbs—it cooled the fever but did nothing for the aches that troubled him whichever way he lay. Fully twelve days passed before he recovered sufficiently to continue with his business.
On the fourteenth day the microwave communicator brought an urgent message from San Weba, the spaceport controller.
‘Tito, our scanners have just picked up a fleet of vessels about a hundred diameters out. At a guess I’d say they are the Rance disaster fleet. They’re keeping radio silence and refuse to communicate.’
‘Thanks,’ said Ren. ‘I’ll pass the message to Di Irons. He’ll probably send a messenger to the planetary government. If the takes a fast horse he might even reach his destination before the battle is lost. Had any luck with the FTL relay?’
‘Rance refuses to answer us and we don’t have enough power to reach another relay station. Rance has even stopped transmitting galactic newsfax items to us. We’re effectively isolated from the rest of the galaxy until Rance decides it’s safe to lift the lid again.’
‘By which time those of us who know the score aren’t likely to be around. The destruction of the spaceport was one of the first “incidents” dreamed up by Rance, because they have to pretend it was our communications link that failed. But as soon as their ships get through they may try to turn the myth into a reality. I think they’ll hit the spaceport first—and hit it hard. Wouldn’t it be wise to evacuate just in case?’
‘We’ve been discussing that, Tito. The general feeling is against it. We’ve broken the FTL transmitter away from its relay beam path and are using a scanner in the hope we can contact a stellar cruiser and get a message through to the Federation.’
‘It’s worth a try, San,’ said Ren. ‘Though the possibilities of a stellar cruiser just happening to come within beam range are pretty slim.’
He broke contact and called for a runner to take a message to Di Irons.
An hour later there was another call from San Weba. This time the controller’s words were edged with excitement.
‘Tito, something’s happening. Can you get down here fast?’
‘What’s the panic?’
‘Ships, dozens
of them, coming from all sides. They can’t all be from Rance.’
Ren needed no further invitation. Without one of Di Irons’ horses the quickest method of reaching the spaceport was by cushion-craft, despite the slow poling to the city limits. He speculated on the possibility of taking the cushion-craft down the Trade Road without waiting for stave-bearers. Though such practice was illegal, he suspected Di Irons would be lenient in view of the circumstances. He realized, however, that he had a more than even chance of wrecking the craft and killing himself if he lost control on the slopes and had to deflate the cushion while at speed. Reluctantly he called for a stave team and went down the Trade Road in the slower, more orthodox manner.
Fortune was kind to him. No oxcarts or similar vehicles got in his way. The stave-bearers responded to his urgency and ran consistently fast, using their poles only when guidance was absolutely necessary. Once past the Black Rock he was able to open up to full speed and the dust from the start of his passage along the Via Arena could scarcely have settled before he reached the spaceport entrance.
The gates were wide open. Normal details of security and procedure had been abandoned. Ren slammed the cushion-craft straight across the empty landing bowls toward the control center and was running through the door before the air cushion had time to drop the craft’s shell to the ground.
Inside the traffic-control room everyone was gathered around the screens. San Weba saw Ren come in and beckoned him through the crowd of technicians and spaceport personnel. He pointed to the main detector screens on which the state of activity in the spacefield around Roget was represented by dozens of slowly moving points of light.
‘You see that cluster there, Tito—they’re the ones we saw first. There are about thirty of them—we assume them to be the disaster ships from Rance. But these—’ his fingers raked over fully a hundred widespread points of light on the screen—‘I don’t know what they are or where they came from. They must have dropped out of spacewarp well within our beam range.’
Ren was disbelieving. ‘They couldn’t have dropped out of warp that close.’
‘But they did. Some must have dropped out within two planetary diameters. I’ve never heard of such pinpoint accuracy before. Nor of anyone prepared to take the risk. If a commercial freight outfit could learn to do that they could save themselves a week on every trip.’
‘Then these are obviously not a commercial outfit. And if Rance had that capability her ships would have been here a week ago. I think what we may be seeing is one of the crack Federation squadrons.’
‘We came to the same conclusion,’ said the controller. ‘But their arrival here without being called is a bit too much of a coincidence.’
As they watched the slow dance of lights on the screen a pattern emerged. The Rance group seemed to pull together, while the newcomers attempted to form an envelope around them. The plot of lights on the screen gave very little hint of the actual speeds and distances involved. Had the maneuvering been visible to the naked eye, the preparations for the coming battle would have been an awe-inspiring sight.
Breathlessly the group in traffic control watched the cluster of Rance ships try desperately to avoid the closing trap. It was obvious, however, that they were outclassed. They were being driven into a tight nucleus while the attacking force encircled them with an increasing semblance of symmetry.
Then the big blow came. For a moment the screen went white as the receivers were overloaded with a burst of radiation that spanned right into the radio frequencies. The attacking ships alone were visible when the image straightened and cleared. No significant ion traces were even left to record the former presence of the disaster ships. The destruction had been complete and absolute.
Somebody in the room cheered. The reactions spread to become a glorious sound of jubilation and relief. The spaceport controller went to the communications section, where his operators had been attempting to make contact with the liberators. Despite their efforts they still could gain no reply. The mysterious fleet of ships winked out one by one until the screen was as empty as if no such fleet had ever existed.
‘Commando action,’ said Ren. ‘No survivors and no traces left. The Federation could deny there had ever been a battle and nobody on Rance could prove them wrong. We’re the only witnesses and we’re not likely to tell.’
‘So the Federation is awake to the merchant worlds’ activities.’ San Weba had returned to Ren’s side. ‘I always thought they must be. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard of a Rance disaster fleet disappearing.’
‘Even so, we were lucky,’ said Ren. ‘Space is a big place. Even the Federation can’t hope to police more than a very small fraction of it. The problem must be to know where the merchant worlds are going to move next. More than anything it’s an exercise in good intelligence. It’s tempting to hope that Federation intelligence spreads even to the Rim, but there’s no sign on Roget of any Federation agency.’
‘Do you think this is the last we’ll see of Rance?’ asked Weba.
‘The trade worlds must know they can’t take on the Federation. If they suspect Federation influence here, they’ll shy off like a shoal of startled fish. There are enough rich pickings in the galaxy that involve far less a risk. For myself I think Rance will forget the whole affair.’
SEVENTEEN
The sense of an unusual happening was strong upon Ren as he fetched the cushion-craft to a halt at the door of his chambers. A servant, obviously posted as a lookout, ran hastily to meet him as he waited for the air-cushion to subside.
‘Master—the Lady T’Ampere has come to see you. She waits for you inside.’
‘To see me?’ Ren was mildly surprised. It was evident, however, that his servant was more than a little impressed by the visit. In the activities of the past few weeks Ren had forgotten the mistress of Secondhill. The regulation of affairs in Anharitte had seemed so inextricably bound by the whims of the Lords Di Rode, Di Irons and Di Guaard—and the Imaiz himself—that there had seemed little room for feminine participation.
Intrigued, he made his way up the steps and turned into his chambers. The room seemed full of Ahhn servants paying attention to the one who sat regally awaiting his corning, Then, at a sign, all activity ceased and the room assumed an almost empty atmosphere as Ren approached.
‘Lady T’Ampere?’
‘Agent Ren, I take you to be.’
‘At your service, my Lady.’
Ren looked at the wealth of colored veils, discerning beneath them the brightest, the most penetrating and the most dauntingly feline pair of eyes he had ever encountered. The veils were swept aside and the Lady T’Ampere rose to her feet and moved from the chair to meet him.
She was mature in years, yet by no means old. Her skin was far darker than was common among the Ahhn and was dry in texture, but strong character and something that had once been beauty still shone from her countenance. She carried an aura—a presence—that stopped Ren in mid-stride and sent him back on his heels. Here was one of nature’s own aristocrats.
She motioned toward him.
‘I would speak with you privately, Agent Ren.’ Her voice had the precise tone of one used to command. ‘Please have your servants leave us.’
Ren turned and motioned to his staff to leave. He glanced at the Lady T’Ampere’s retinue, expecting them also to be dismissed. When they stayed in their places he turned back to his visitor for explanation and was met by a mocking smile.
‘The house servants of T’Ampere see much and hear much, but they never speak a word of what they learn. And do you know why, Agent Ren? It’s because they have no tongues.’
‘No tongues?’ For a moment he failed to grasp the implication of the phrase. When he did he was overcome with nausea.
‘I can see by your face that you think me barbarous. But barbarity has to be assessed against a norm. For the house of T’Ampere my servants are the norm. Dion-daizan would kill me for this if he could—and that’s why I’m here. I wish to
offer you an alliance in your fight against Dion.’
Forgetting to probe the etiquette of the situation, Ren sat down in the nearest chair, his mind still fighting the horror of the twenty or so deliberate mutes who surrounded their mistress. He was not at all sure he wanted to be joined in such a frightful allegiance.
‘My feud with the Imaiz is a private affair,’ he said at last.
‘Indeed? Is that why you have tried to win the support of Di Irons, Di Guaard and Di Rode? Come, Agent Ren! I know my Anharitte and there’s little you’ve said or done here that has not been relayed to me in detail. As you rightly surmised, Dion is playing with some very dangerous forces. If he succeeds the old way of life will fall. The flood will sweep away the aristocracy, the societies, the peace and stability of our times and certainly the free trade preference you yourself enjoy. What I think you misjudge is the violence of the flood.’
Ren frowned. ‘Such situations are not beyond my experience.’
‘This one will be. Think of what would happen if my dumb cortege ever believed the old laws were ended. What nights of bloody horror would be precipitated?’
‘To what nights of horror have your people already been exposed?’ asked Ren coldly. ‘While I agree with you in principle, I abominate your practices.’
‘I’m not interested in your squeamish idealism. I’m talking about facts as they exist.’ Her curiously bright eyes fixed him with a gaze little short of hypnotic and her voice was like a band of steel. ‘Like it or not, you’re committed to opposing Dion-daizan. Your lucrative free trade can’t survive if he wins. Furthermore, in the blood bath that will come if he’s allowed to tip the scale too far you’ll pay equally with those who burn their slaves or cut out their tongues. You’re as much a part of the old way of life as they. Make no mistake, Agent Ren—you’re already one of the damned.’
‘You have a proposition?’ Ren asked at last.
