The Murray Leinster Megapack

by Murray Leinster

  “It’s closed,” said the Lady Fani forlornly. “But I have a rope for you. You can go down over the wall.”

  “Thanks,” said Hoddan. “It’s been a pleasure to rescue you.”

  “Will you—” Fani hesitated. “I’ve never known anybody like you before. Will you ever come back?”

  Hoddan shook his head at her.

  “Once you asked me if I’d fight for you, and look what it got me into! No commitments.”

  He glanced along the battlements. There was a fairly large coil of rope in view. He picked up his bag and went over to it. He checked the fastening of one end and tumbled the other over the wall.

  Ten minutes later he trudged up to Thal, waiting in the nearby woodland with two horses.

  “The Lady Fani,” he said, “has the kind of brains I like. She pulled up the rope again.”

  Thal did not comment. He watched morosely as Hoddan made the perpetually present ship bag fast to his saddle and then distastefully climbed aboard the horse.

  “What are you going to do?” asked Thal unhappily. “I didn’t make a parting-present to Don Loris, so I’ll be disgraced if he finds out I helped you. And I don’t know where to take you.”

  “Where,” asked Hoddan, “did those characters from Walden come down?”

  Thal told him. At the castle of a considerable feudal chieftain, on the plain some four miles from the mountain range and six miles this side of the spaceport.

  “We ride there,” said Hoddan. “Liberty is said to be sweet, but the man who said that didn’t have blisters from a saddle. Let’s go.”

  They rode away. There would be no immediate pursuit, and possibly none at all. Don Loris had left Hoddan at breakfast on the battlements. The Lady Fani would make as much confusion over his disappearance as she could. But there’d be no search for him until Don Loris had made his deal.

  Hoddan was sure that Fani’s father would have an enjoyable morning. He would relish the bargaining session. He’d explain in great detail how valuable had been Hoddan’s service to him, in rescuing Fani from an abductor who would have been an intolerable son-in-law. He’d grow almost tearful as he described his affection for Hoddan—how he loved his daughter—as he observed grievedly that they were asking him to betray the man who had saved for him the solace of his old age. He would mention also that the price they offered was an affront to his paternal affection and his dignity as prince of this, baron of that, lord of the other thing and claimant to the dukedom of something-or-other. Either they’d come up or the deal was off!

  But meanwhile Hoddan and Thal rode industriously toward the place from which those emissaries had come.

  All was tranquil. All was calm. Once they saw a dust cloud, and Thal turned aside to a providential wooded copse, in which they remained while a cavalcade went by. Thal explained that it was a feudal chieftain on his way to the spaceport town. It was simple discretion for them not to be observed, said Thal, because they had great reputations as fighting men. Whoever defeated them would become prominent at once. So somebody might try to pick a quarrel under one of the finer points of etiquette when it would be disgrace to use anything but standard Darthian implements for massacre. Hoddan admitted that he did not feel quarrelsome.

  They rode on after a time, and in late afternoon the towers and battlements of the castle they sought appeared. The ground here was only gently rolling. They approached it with caution, following the reverse slope of hills, and dry stream-beds, and at last penetrating horse-high brush to the point where they could see it clearly.

  If Hoddan had been a student of early terrestrial history, he might have remarked upon the re-emergence of ancient architectural forms to match the revival of primitive social systems. As it was, he noted in this feudal castle the use of bastions for flanking fire upon attackers, he recognized the value of battlements for the protection of defenders while allowing them to shoot, and the tricky positioning of sally ports. He even grasped the reason for the massive, stark, unornamented keep. But his eyes did not stay on the castle for long. He saw the spaceboat in which Derec and his more authoritative companion had arrived.

  It lay on the ground a half mile from the castle walls. It was a clumsy, obese, flattened shape some forty feet long and nearly fifteen wide. The ground about it was scorched where it had descended upon its rocket flames. There were several horses tethered near it, and men who were plainly retainers of the nearby castle reposed in its shade.

  Hoddan reined in.

  “Here we part,” he told Thal. “When we first met I enabled you to pick the pockets of a good many of your fellow-countrymen. I never asked for my split of the take. I expect you to remember me with affection.”

  Thal clasped both of Hoddan’s hands in his.

  “If you ever return,” he said with mournful warmth, “I am your friend!”

  Hoddan nodded and rode out of the brushwood toward the spaceboat—the lifeboat—that had landed the emissaries from Walden. That it landed so close to the spaceport, of course, was no accident. It was known on Walden that Hoddan had taken space passage to Darth. He’d have landed only two days before his pursuers could reach the planet. And on a roadless, primitive world like Darth he couldn’t have gotten far from the spaceport. So his pursuers would have landed close by, also. But it must have taken considerable courage. When the landing grid failed to answer, it must have seemed likely that Hoddan’s deathrays had been at work.

  Here and now, though, there was no uneasiness. Hoddan rode heavily, without haste, through the slanting sunshine. He was seen from a distance and watched without apprehension by the loafing guards about the boat. He looked hot and thirsty. He was both. So the posted guard merely looked at him without too much interest when he brought his dusty mount up to the shadow the lifeboat cast, and apparently decided that there wasn’t room to get into it.

  He grunted a greeting and looked at them speculatively.

  “Those two characters from Walden,” he observed, “sent me to get something from this thing, here. Don Loris told ’em I was a very honest man.”

  He painstakingly looked like a very honest man. After a moment there were responsive grins.

  “If there’s anything missing when I start back,” said Hoddan, “I can’t imagine how it happened! None of you would take anything. Oh, no! I bet you’ll blame it on me!” He shook his head and said “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.”

  One of the guards sat up and said appreciatively:

  “But it’s locked. Good.”

  “Being an honest man,” said Hoddan amiably, “they told me how to unlock it.”

  He got off his horse. He removed the bag from his saddle. He went into the grateful shadow of the metal hull. He paused and mopped his face and then went to the entrance port. He put his hand on the turning bar. Then he painstakingly pushed in the locking-stud with his other hand. Of course the handle turned. The boat port opened. The two from Walden would have thought everything safe because it was under guard. On Walden that protection would have been enough. On Darth, the spaceboat had not been looted simply because locks, there, were not made with separate vibration-checks to keep vibration from loosening them. On spaceboats such a precaution was usual.

  “Give me two minutes,” said Hoddan over his shoulder. “I have to get what they sent me for. After that everybody starts even.”

  He entered and closed the door behind him. Then he locked it. By the nature of things it is as needful to be able to lock a spaceboat from the inside as it is unnecessary to lock it from without.

  He looked things over. Standard equipment everywhere. He checked everything, even to the fuel supply. There were knockings on the port. He continued to inspect. He turned on the visionscreens, which provided the control room—indeed, all the boat—with an unobstructed view in all directions. He was satisfied.

  The knocks became bangings. Something approaching indignation could be deduced. The guards around the spaceboat felt that Hoddan was taking an unfair amount of time to pick the cream of the
loot inside.

  He got a glass of water. It was excellent. A second.

  The bangings became violent hammerings.

  Hoddan seated himself leisurely in the pilot’s seat and turned small knobs. He waited. He touched a button. There was a mildly thunderous bang outside, and the lifeboat reacted as if to a slight shock. The visionscreens showed a cloud of dust at the spaceboat’s stern, roused by a deliberate explosion in the rocket tubes. It also showed the retainers in full flight.

  He waited until they were in safety and made the standard take-off preparations. A horrific roaring started up outside. He touched controls and a monstrous weight pushed him back in his seat. The rocket swung, and lifted, and shot skyward with greater acceleration than before.

  It went up at a lifeboat’s full fall-like rate of climb, leaving a trail of blue-white flame behind it. All the surface of Darth seemed to contract swiftly below him. The spaceport and the town rushed toward a spot beneath the spaceboat’s tail. They shrank and shrank. He saw other places. Mountains. Castles. He saw Don Loris’ stronghold. Higher, he saw the sea.

  The sky turned purple. It went black with specks of starshine in it. Hoddan swung to a westward course and continued to rise, watching the star-images as they shifted on the screens. The image of the sun, of course, was automatically diminished so that it was not dazzling. The rockets continued to roar, though in a minor fashion because there was no longer air outside in which a bellow could develop.

  * * * *

  Hoddan painstakingly made use of those rule-of-thumb methods of astrogation which his piratical forebears had developed and which a boy on Zan absorbed without being aware. He wanted an orbit around Darth. He didn’t want to take time to try to compute it. So he watched the star-images ahead and astern. If the stars ahead rose above the planet’s edge faster than those behind sank down below it—he would be climbing. If the stars behind sank down faster than those ahead rose up—he would be descending. If all the stars rose equally he’d be climbing straight up, and if they all dropped equally he’d be moving straight down. It was not a complex method, and it worked.

  Presently he relaxed. He sped swiftly back past midday and toward the sunrise line on Darth. This was the reverse of a normal orbit, but it was the direction followed by the ships up here. He hoped his orbit was lower than theirs. If it was, he’d overtake them from behind. If he were higher, they’d overtake him.

  He turned on the space phone. Its reception-indicator was piously placed at “Ground.” He shifted it to “Space,” so that it would pick up calls going planetward, instead of listening vainly for replies from the nonoperative landing grid.

  Instantly voices boomed in his ears. Many voices. An impossibly large number of voices. Many, many, many more than nine transmitters were in operation now!

  “Idiot!” said a voice in quiet passion, “sheer off or you’ll get in our drive-field!” A high-pitched voice said; “…And group two take second-orbit position—” Somebody bellowed: “But why don’t they answer?” And another voice still said formally: “Reporting group five, but four ships are staying behind with tanker Toya, which is having stabilizer trouble.…”

  Hoddan’s eyes opened very wide. He turned down the sound while he tried to think. But there wasn’t anything to think. He’d come aloft to scout three ships that had turned to nine, because he was in such a fix on Darth that anything strange might be changed into something useful. But this was more than nine ships—itself an impossibly large space fleet. There was no reason why ships of space should ever travel together. There were innumerable reasons why they shouldn’t. There was a limit to the number of ships that could be accommodated at any spaceport in the galaxy. There was no point, no profit, no purpose in a number of ships traveling together—

  Darth’s sunrise-line appeared far ahead. The lifeboat would soon cease to be a bright light in the sky, now. The sun’s image vanished from the rear screens. The boat went hurtling onward through the blackness of the planet’s shadow while voices squabbled, and wrangled, and formally reported, and now and again one admonished disputants to a proper discipline of language.

  During the period of darkness, Hoddan racked his brains for the vaguest of ideas on why so many ships should appear about an obscure and unimportant world like Darth. Presently the sunset line appeared ahead, and far away he saw moving lights which were the hulls of the volubly communicating vessels. He stared, blankly. There were tens—Scores—He was forced to guess at the stark impossibility of more than a hundred spacecraft in view. As the boat rushed onward he had to raise the guess. It couldn’t be, but—

  He turned on the outside telescope, and the image on its screen was more incredible than the voices and the existence of the fleet itself. The scope focused first on a bulging, monster, antiquated freighter of a design that had not been built for a hundred years. The second view was of a passenger liner with the elaborate ornamentation that in past generations was considered suitable for space. There was a bulk-cargo ship, with no emergency rockets at all and crews’ quarters in long blisters built outside the gigantic tank which was the ship itself. There was a needle-sharp space yacht. More freighters, with streaks of rust on their sides where they had lain aground for tens of years.…

  The fleet was an anomaly, and each of its component parts was separately a freak. It was a gathering-together of all the outmoded and obsolete hulks and monstrosities of space. One would have to scavenge half the galaxy to bring together so many crazy, over-age derelicts that should have been in junk yards.

  Then Hoddan drew an explosive deep breath. It was suddenly clear what the fleet was and what its reason must be. Why it stopped here could not yet be guessed, but—

  Hoddan watched absorbedly. He couldn’t know what was toward, but there was some emergency. It could be in the line of what an electronic engineer could handle. If so—why—it could mean an opportunity to accomplish great things, and grow rich, and probably marry some delightful girl and be a great man somewhere—an assortment of ambitions one could not easily gratify on Zan, or Walden, or Darth.

  VII

  The spaceboat floated on upon a collision-course with the arriving fleet. That would not mean, of course, actual contact with any of the improbable vessels themselves. Crowded as the sunlit specks might seem from Darth’s night-side shadow, they were sufficiently separated. It was more than likely that even with ten-mile intervals the ships would be considered much too crowded. But they came pouring out of emptiness to go into a swirling, plainly pre-intended orbit about the planet from which Hoddan had risen less than an hour before.

  There was inevitable confusion, though, and the spacephone proved it. There were disputes between freakish ships when craft with the astrogational qualities of washtubs tried to keep assigned positions, and failed, and there were squabbles when ships had to pass close together. One had to shut off its drive-field to keep from blowing the fuses of both.

  But there were some ships which proceeded quietly to their positions and others which did the same after tumult amounting to rebellion. And naturally there were a few others which seemed incapable of co-operation with anybody. They went careening through the other ships’ paths in what must have seemed to the planet’s sunset area like a most unlikely dancing of brand-new stars.

  It was a gigantic traffic tangle, and Hoddan’s boat drifted toward and into it. He’d counted a hundred ships long before. His count now passed two hundred and continued. Before he gave up he’d numbered two hundred forty-seven space-oddities swarming to make a whirling band—a ring—around the planet Darth.

  He was fairly sure that he knew what they were, now. But he could not possibly guess where they came from. And most mysterious of all was the question of why they’d come out of faster-than-light drive to make of themselves a celestial feature about a planet which had practically nothing to offer to anybody.

  Presently the spaceboat was in the very thick of the fleet. His communicator spouted voices whose tones ranged from basso
profundo to high tenor, and whose ideas of proper astrogation seemed to vary more widely still.

  “You there!” boomed a voice with deafening volume. “You’re in our clear-space! Sheer off!”

  The volume of a signal in space varies as the square of the distance. This voice was thunderous. It came apparently from a nearby, pot-bellied tripper ship of really ancient vintage. Rows of ports in its sides had been welded over. It had rocket tubes whose size was indicative of the kind of long-obsolete fuel on which it once had operated. Slenderer nozzles peered out of the original ones now. It had been adapted to modern propellants by simply welding modern rockets inside the old ones. It was only half a mile away.

  * * * *

  Hoddan’s spaceboat floated on. The relative position of the two ships changed slowly. Another voice said indignantly:

  “That’s the same thing that missed us by less than a mile! You, there! Stop acting like a squig! Get on your own course!”

  A third voice;

  “What boat’s that? I don’t recognize it! I thought I knew all the freaks in this fleet, too!”

  A fourth voice said sharply:

  “That’s not one of us! Look at the design! That’s not us!”

  Other voices broke in. There was babbling. Then a harsh voice roared:

  “Quiet! I order it!” There was silence. The harsh voice said heavily, “Relay the image to me.” There was a pause. The same voice said grimly: “It is not of our fleet. You, stranger! Identify yourself! Who are you and why do you slip secretly among us?”

  Hoddan pushed the transmit button.

  “My name is Bron Hoddan,” he said. “I came up to find out why three ships, and then nine ships, went into orbit around Darth. It was somewhat alarming. Our landing grid’s disabled, anyhow, and it seemed wisest to look you over before we communicated and possibly told you something you might not believe. But you surely don’t expect to land all this fleet! Actually, we can’t land any.”

  The harsh voice said as grimly as before:

  “You come from the planet below us? Darth? Why is your ship so small? The smallest of ours is greater.”