He tucked away as many as he could conveniently carry on his person. He handed the rest to Thal. He went competently to the pulsing call-signal. He put headphones to his ears. He listened. His expression became extremely strange, as if he did not quite understand nor wholly believe what he heard.
“Odd,” he said mildly. He considered for a moment or two. Then he rummaged around in the drawers of desks. He found wire clips. He began to snip wires in half.
The red-headed man started forward automatically.
“Take care of him, Thal,” said Hoddan.
He cut the microwave receiver free of its wires and cables. He lifted it experimentally and opened part of its case to make sure the thermo battery that would power it in an emergency was there and in working order. It was.
“Put this on a horse, Thal,” commanded Hoddan. “We’re taking it up to Don Loris’.”
The red-headed man’s mouth dropped open. He said stridently:
“Hey! You can’t do that!” Hoddan turned upon him and he said sourly: “All right, you can. I’m not trying to stop you with all those hard cases outside!”
“You can build another in a week,” said Hoddan kindly. “You must have spare parts.”
Thal carried the communicator outside. Hoddan opened a cabinet, threw switches, and painstakingly cut and snipped and snipped at a tangle of wires within.
“Just your instrumentation,” he explained to the appalled red-headed man. “You won’t use the grid until you’ve got this fixed, too. A few days of harder work than you’re used to. That’s all!”
He led the way out again, and on the way explained to Fani:
“Pretty old-fashioned job, this grid. They make simpler ones nowadays. They’ll be able to repair it, though, in time. Now we go back to your father’s castle. He may not be pleased, but he should be mollified.”
He saw Fani mount lightly into her own saddle and shook his head gloomily. He climbed clumsily into his own. They moved off to return to Don Loris’ stronghold. Hoddan suffered.
* * * *
They reached the castle before noon, and the sight of the Lady Fani riding beside a worn-out Hoddan was productive of enthusiasm and loud cheers. The loot displayed by the returned wayfarers increased the rejoicing. There was envy among the men who had stayed behind. There were respectfully admiring looks cast upon Hoddan. He had displayed, in furnishing opportunities for plunder, the most-admired quality a leader of feudal fighting men could show.
The Lady Fani beamed as she and Thal and Hoddan, all very dusty and travel-stained, presented themselves to her father in the castle’s great hall.
“Here’s your daughter, sir,” said Hoddan, and yawned. “I hope there won’t be any further trouble with Ghek. We took his castle and looted it a little and brought back some extra horses. Then we went to the spaceport. I recharged my stun-pistols and put the landing grid out of order for the time being. I brought away the communicator there.” He yawned again. “There’s something highly improper going on, up just beyond atmosphere. There are three ships up there in orbit, and they were trying to call the spaceport in nonregulation fashion, and it’s possible that some of your neighbors would be interested. So I postponed everything until I could get some sleep. It seemed to me that when better skulduggeries are concocted, that Don Loris and his associates ought to concoct them. And if you’ll excuse me—”
He moved away, practically dead on his feet. If he had been accustomed to horseback riding, he wouldn’t have been so exhausted. But now he yawned, and yawned, and Thal took him to a room quite different from the guest-room-dungeon to which he’d been taken the night before. He noted that the door, this time, opened inward. He braced chairs against it to make sure that nobody could open it from without. He lay down and slept heavily.
He was waked by loud poundings. He roused himself enough to say sleepily:
“Whaddyawant?”
“The lights in the sky!” cried Fani’s voice outside the door. “The ones you say are spaceships! It’s sunset again, and I just saw them. But there aren’t three, now. Now there are nine!”
“All right,” said Hoddan. He lay down his head again and thrust it into his pillow. Then he was suddenly very wide awake indeed. He sat up with a start.
Nine spaceships? That wasn’t possible! That would be a space fleet! And there were no space fleets! Walden would certainly have never sent more than one ship to demand his surrender to its police. The Space Patrol never needed more than one ship anywhere. Commerce wouldn’t cause ships to travel in company. Piracy—There couldn’t be a pirate fleet! There’d never be enough loot anywhere to keep it in operation. Nine spaceships at one time—traveling in orbit around a primitive planet like Darth—a fleet of spaceships.
It couldn’t happen! Hoddan couldn’t conceive of such a thing. But a recently developed pessimism suggested that since everything else, to date, had been to his disadvantage, this was probably a catastrophe also.
He groaned and lay down to sleep again.
VI
When frantic bangings on the propped-shut door awakened him next morning, he confusedly imagined that they were noises in the communicator headphones, and until he heard his name called tried drearily to make sense of them.
But suddenly he opened his eyes. Somebody banged on the door once more. A voice cried angrily:
“Bron Hoddan! Wake up or I’ll go away and let whatever happens to you happen! Wake up!”
It was the voice of the Lady Fani, at once indignant and tearful and solicitous and angry.
He rolled out of bed and found himself dressed. He hadn’t slept the full night. At one time he couldn’t rest for thinking about the sounds in the communicator when he listened at the spaceport. He listened again, and what he heard made him get his clothes on for action. That was when he heard a distinctly Waldenian voice, speaking communications speech with crisp distinctness, calling the landing grid. The other voices were not Waldenian ones and he grew dizzy trying to figure them out. But he was clothed and ready to do whatever proved necessary when he realized that he had the landing grid receiver, that there would be no reception even of the Waldenian call until the landing grid crew had built another out of spare parts in store, and even then couldn’t do much until they’d painfully sorted out and re-spliced all the tangled wires that Hoddan had cut. That had to be done before the grid could be used again.
He’d gone back to sleep while he tried to make sense of things. Now, long after daybreak, he shook himself and made sure a stun-pistol was handy. Then he said:
“Hello. I’m awake. What’s up? Why all the noise?”
“Come out of there!” cried Fani’s voice, simultaneously exasperated and filled with anxiety. “Things are happening! Somebody’s here from Walden! They want you!”
Hoddan could not believe it. It was too unlikely. But he opened the door and Thal came in, and Fani followed.
“Good morning,” said Hoddan automatically.
Thal said mournfully:
“A bad morning, Bron Hoddan! A bad morning! Men from Walden came riding over the hills—”
“How many?”
“Two,” said Fani angrily. “A fat man in a uniform, and a young man who looks like he wants to cry. They had an escort of retainers from one of my father’s neighbors. They were stopped at the gate, of course, and they sent a written message in to my father, and he had them brought inside right away!”
Hoddan shook his head.
“They probably said that I’m a criminal and that I should be sent back to Walden. How’d they get down? The landing grid isn’t working.”
Fani said viciously:
“They landed in something that used rockets. It came down close to a castle over that way—only six or seven miles from the spaceport. They asked for you. They said you’d have landed from the last liner from Walden. And because you and Thal fought so splendidly—why, everybody’s talking about you. So the chieftain over there accepted a present of money from them, and gave t
hem horses as a return gift, and sent them here with a guard. Thal talked to the guards. The men from Walden have promised huge gifts of money if they help take you back to the thing that uses rockets.”
“I suspect,” said Hoddan, “that it would be a spaceboat—a lifeboat. Hm-m-m.… Yes. With a built-in tool-steel cell to keep me from telling anybody how to make—” He stopped and grimaced. “If they had time to build one in, that’s certain! They’d take me to the spaceport in a sound-proofed can and I’d be hauled back to Walden in it. Fine!”
“What are you going to do?” asked Fani anxiously.
Hoddan’s ideas were not clear. But Darth was not a healthy place for him. It was extremely likely, for example, that Don Loris would feel that the very bad jolt he’d given that astute schemer’s plans, by using stun-pistols at the spaceport, had been neatly canceled out by his rescue of Fani. He would regard Hoddan with a mingled gratitude and aversion that would amount to calm detachment. Don Loris could not be counted on as a really warm personal friend.
On the other hand, the social system of Darth was not favorable to a stranger with an already lurid reputation for fighting, but whose weapons would be useless unless frequently recharged—and who couldn’t count on that as a steady thing.
As a practical matter, his best bet was probably to investigate the nine inexplicable ships overhead. They hadn’t co-operated with the Waldenians. It could be inferred that no confidential relationship existed up there. It was possible that the nine ships and the Waldenians didn’t even know of each other’s presence. There is a lot of room in space. If both called on ship-frequency and listened on ground-frequency, they would not have picked up each others’ summons to the ground.
“You’ve got to do something!” insisted Fani. “I saw Father talking to them! He looked happy, and he never looks happy unless he’s planning some skulduggery!”
“I think,” said Hoddan, “that I’ll have some breakfast, if I may. As soon as I fasten up my ship bag.”
Thal said mournfully:
“If anything happens to you, something will happen to me too, because I helped you.”
“Breakfast first,” said Hoddan. “That, as I understand it, should make it disgraceful for your father to have my throat cut. But beyond that—” He said gloomily. “Thal, get a couple of horses outside the wall. We may need to ride somewhere. I’m very much afraid we will. But first I’d like to have some breakfast.”
Fani said disappointedly:
“But aren’t you going to face them? The men from Walden? You could shoot them!”
Hoddan shook his head.
“It wouldn’t solve anything. Anyhow a practical man like your father won’t sell me out before he’s sure I can’t pay off better. I’ll bet on a conference with me before he makes a deal.”
Fani stamped her foot.
“Outrageous! Think what you saved me from!”
But she did not question the possibility. Hoddan observed:
“A practical man can always make what he wants to do look like a noble sacrifice of personal inclinations to the welfare of the community. I’ve decided that I’ve got to be practical myself, and that’s one of the rules. How about breakfast?”
He strapped the ship bag shut on the stun-pistols his pockets would not hold. He made a minor adjustment to the space communicator. It was not ruined, but nobody else could use it without much labor finding out what he’d done. This was the sort of thing his grandfather on Zan would have advised. His grandfather’s views were explicit.
“Helping one’s neighbor,” he’d said frequently in Hoddan’s hearing while Hoddan was a youth, “is all right as a two-way job. But maybe he’s laying for you. You get a chance to fix him so he can’t do you no harm and you’re a lot better off and he’s a hell of a lot better neighbor!”
This was definitely true of the men from Walden. Hoddan guessed that Derec was one of them. The other would represent the police or the planetary government. It was probably just as true of Don Loris and others.
Hoddan found himself disapproving of the way the cosmos was designed. Even though presently he sat at breakfast high up on the battlements, and Fani looked at him with interesting anxiety, he was filled with forebodings. The future looked dark. Yet what he asked of fate and chance was so simple! He asked only a career and riches and a delightful girl to marry and the admiration of his fellow-citizens. Trivial things! But it looked like he’d have to do battle for even such minor gifts of destiny!
Fani watched him breakfast.
“I don’t understand you,” she complained. “Anybody else would be proud of what he’d done and angry with my father. Or don’t you think he’ll act ungratefully?”
“Of course I do!” said Hoddan.
“Then why aren’t you angry?”
“I’m hungry,” said Hoddan.
“And you take it for granted that I want to be properly grateful,” said Fani in one breath, “and yet you haven’t shown the least appreciation of my getting two horses over in that patch of woodland yonder”—she pointed and Hoddan nodded—”and having Thal there with orders to serve you faithfully—”
She stopped short. Don Loris appeared, beaming, at the top of the steps leading here from the great hall where conferences took place. He regarded Hoddan benignly.
“This is a very bad business, my dear fellow,” he said benevolently. “Has Fani told you of the people who arrived from Walden in search of you? They tell me terrible things about you!”
“Yes,” said Hoddan. He prepared a roll for biting. He said: “One of them, I think, is named Derec. He’s to identify me so good money isn’t wasted paying for the wrong man. The other man’s police, isn’t he?” He reflected a moment. “If I were you, I’d start talking at a million credits. You might get half that.”
He bit into the roll as Don Loris looked shocked.
“Do you think,” he asked indignantly, “that I would give up the rescuer of my daughter to emissaries from a foreign planet, to be locked in a dungeon for life?”
“Not in those words,” conceded Hoddan. “But after all, despite your deep gratitude to me, there are such things as one’s duty to humanity as a whole. And while it would cause you bitter anguish if someone dear to you represented a danger to millions of innocent women and children—still, under such circumstances you might feel it necessary to do violence to your own emotions.”
Don Loris looked at him with abrupt suspicion. Hoddan waved the roll.
“Moreover,” he observed, “gratitude for actions done on Darth does not entitle you to judge of my actions on Walden. While you might and even should feel obliged to defend me in all things I have done on Darth, your obligation to me does not let you deny that I may have acted less defensibly on Walden.”
Don Loris looked extremely uneasy.
“I may have thought something like that,” he admitted. “But—”
“So that,” said Hoddan, “while your debt to me cannot and should not be overlooked, nevertheless”—Hoddan put the roll into his mouth and spoke less clearly—”you feel that you should give consideration to the claims of Walden to inquire into my actions while there.”
He chewed, and swallowed, and said gravely:
“And can I make deathrays?”
Don Loris brightened. He drew a deep breath of relief. He said complainingly:
“I don’t see why you’re so sarcastic! Yes. That is a rather important question. You see, on Walden they don’t know how to. They say you do. They’re very anxious that nobody should be able to. But while in unscrupulous hands such an instrument of destruction would be most unfortunate…ah…under proper control—”
“Yours,” said Hoddan.
“Say—ours,” said Don Loris hopefully. “With my experience of men and affairs, and my loyal and devoted retainers—”
“And cozy dungeons,” said Hoddan. He wiped his mouth. “No.”
Don Loris started violently.
“No, what?”
“
No deathrays,” said Hoddan. “I can’t make ’em. Nobody can. If they could be made, some star somewhere would be turning them out, or some natural phenomenon would let them loose from time to time. If there were such things as deathrays, all living things would have died, or else would have adjusted to their weaker manifestations and developed immunity so they wouldn’t be deathrays any longer. As a matter of fact, that’s probably been the case, some time in the past. So far as the gadget goes that they’re talking about, it’s been in use for half a century in the Cetis cluster. Nobody’s died of it yet.”
Don Loris looked bitterly disappointed.
“That’s the truth?” he asked unhappily. “Honestly? That’s your last word on it?”
“Much,” said Hoddan, “much as I hate to spoil the prospects of profitable skulduggery, that’s my last word and it’s true.”
“But those men from Walden are very anxious!” protested Don Loris. “There was no ship available, so their government got a liner that normally wouldn’t stop here to take an extra lifeboat aboard. It came out of overdrive in this solar system, let out the lifeboat, and went on its way again. Those two men are extremely anxious—”
“Ambitious, maybe,” said Hoddan. “They’re prepared to pay to overcome your sense of gratitude to me. Naturally, you want all the traffic will bear. I think you can get half a million.”
Don Loris looked suspicious again.
“You don’t seem worried,” he said fretfully. “I don’t understand you!”
“I have a secret,” said Hoddan.
“What is it?”
“It will develop,” said Hoddan.
Don Loris hesitated, essayed to speak, and thought better of it. He shrugged his shoulders and went slowly back to the flight of stone steps. He descended. The Lady Fani started to wring her hands. Then she said hopefully:
“What’s your secret?”
“That your father thinks I have one,” said Hoddan. “Thanks for the breakfast. Should I walk out the gate, or—”
The Murray Leinster Megapack Page 153
