by Hal Annas
If she lived—The ember of hope sought hard to flame anew. If she lived, she vowed, she would devote the last measure of her strength to eradicating the disease of war from the minds of men.
The locket watch hanging between her breasts ticked on. With every tick another second flowed into eternity. The man beside her gasped out his strength at irregular intervals. Out in the void time stood still. Or did it?
The radiance seemed larger, closer.
Again she went to the instrument panel and pressed the button marked Flare. Dizziness came with the effort. There was a lapse of memory. The next she knew she was again staring out. The radiance seemed closer still.
An hour later she was able to make out the shape of the hull. She was not actually seeing the ship, she knew, for that was impossible in a lightless void. She was seeing the radiant energy it had gathered, which meant that it had been in space for months on end, possibly years.
How much longer before she could discern the markings on its bow was a question she couldn’t answer. She lost count of the number of times she had fired flares. And her memory was vague.
She studied the markings with rising tension. They were a series of ovals looped through one another. She made out the dots, the larger dot in the center, the nucleus.
For a long moment she ceased to breathe. Then she looked again.
“Please, God, no!” she gasped.
But as she looked the third time she knew, and strength flowed out of her body. Her arms and legs trembled.
“Dear, God, no!” she prayed.
But she knew. The marking was plain now. The ship came on, loomed gigantic, its long radiant hull showing scars of untold space battles.
She sank down weakly beside the man, stretched an arm across his body as though to protect him. Her watch ticked on; her heart throbbed up in her swollen throat.
She prayed that she would faint and that the end would be sudden. But life pulsed through her body and the stimulant of fear kept her keenly conscious and sensitive to her surroundings.
Time folded upon itself. It seemed that she closed her eyes and opened them and the spacesuited figures were out there. Giants. The smallest of them seven feet from head to heels. Red eyes. Snow-white hair. A greenish tinge in the flesh of their features. Monsters.
“Novakkans,” she breathed. “Please, God, let me die.”
She felt the slight jarring as they moved over and under the lifeship. She knew when they began working with the airlock, for the vibrations carried as sound in the fetid air about her. She even knew what they were doing, and the knowledge brought new terror.
If they blasted the lock open, she knew, she would die quickly as the heat and air escaped. They were not preparing to do that. They were sealing a chamber about the outer lock. Then they would rip the lock apart and come in and take her alive.
She couldn’t faint, couldn’t lose consciousness. She could only wait. But prolonged and helpless terror finally exhausted her. Dimly she watched them come in. The next time things were clear she was on a table in a circular room with a Novakkan bending over her. Again she passed into unconsciousness.
Then she began to be fully conscious. Her hip stung where, she knew, she’d been given an injection. Her fear was less; her thirst greater. She was given a swallow of water. It hurt her throat and made her even mote thirsty.
Later she was given more water, and as her mind cleared she realized she was strapped to the table. She received another injection and liquid that wasn’t water. Her fears became submerged.
She slept. When she awoke she was no longer restrained by straps. A Novakkan stood watching her. Over seven feet tall, broad in proportion, he wore sandals, a colorful skirt that barely covered his enormous thighs, and a girdle six inches wide at his hips. His skin was green tinged from forehead to toes; his hair as white as snow; his eyes blood red.
In an earth language she understood, his voice deep and strong, he told her, “You’re on a Novakkan raider. You’ve been taught to think of us as monsters. But we’re not. We’re descendents of Earth’s exiles. So control your fear.”
She knew it was true. Long ago she’d heard the story of how they’d grown and changed on the planet of exile. But this was not the memory so prominent in the minds of Earthlings. Novakkans were pictured as the scourge of the universe. They plundered the spaceways and planets from one end of the galaxy to the other.
Expeditions had been sent out to destroy them. But something always went wrong. The Novakkan ships would strike and vanish, scatter across parsecs of space. They couldn’t be grouped for an effective blow. And while Earth fleets were searching for them, they would suddenly raid the home planet.
It was said that they rarely took prisoners.
Aleta made no reply. She no longer trembled in fear. Whether her quiescence was owing to the injections or her lack of interest in her fate was something that didn’t bother her.
“Your full name?” the Novakkan demanded.
He was not the one who had given her the injections. He was broader, taller, and his body showed numerous scars. A half-moon scar from his left ear to his nose added a grimace to his fierce features.
“Aleta Aline Winrow,” she replied, surprised that she could make her tongue work.
“I’m Rahn Buskner,” he said. “I’m equivalent to the senior officer of a boarding party on an Earth warship. This is a raider and we haven’t room for prisoners, but you have knowledge and it is necessary for us to drain it out of you.”
Aleta gasped. “You’re going to scan my brain?”
He shook his head. “We’re going to question you under drugs. But it has to be delayed. We’ve deduced a few things. If they can be confirmed we will no longer need you nor the man who was with you.”
“Where is he? Aleta asked, rising.
He handed her a pair of enormous sandals. “Put these on.”
She suddenly realized that she was gowned in a fine nylox or silken smock. Nothing else. The thought brought confusion and color to her cheeks.
“My clothes?” she said.
“No time to bother about them now. We’re tracking a ship and should be coming up on it soon. Come.”
She followed him along a passage to another circular room. There on a low sleeve bunk was the man she had kept alive. He was still unconscious. She hurried to him, checked his pulse, felt of his forehead.
The Novakkan whirled at the sound of a sharp ringing. He glanced back, then plunged through the entranceway and allowed the bulkhead to close.
Curious and wanting to ask for water, Aleta tried the bulkhead. Seconds passed before she found the stud that would open it.
There was no sign of Rahn Buskner in the passage, but other Novakkans were hurrying along. Farther on, she saw still others, all hurrying, all buckling on metal or plastic armor. They glanced at her but didn’t pause.
Returned to the room, she found that the man’s breathing was even and that the fever had diminished. But it was evident that he had not been medically treated as she had.
Except for the bunk the room was bare. The walls were cushiony and she presumed that the ceiling was also.
Voices, deep and loud, sounded here in the room. The ringing came again and again at spaced intervals.
Exploring the walls, she found other studs, trying each in turn. She couldn’t tell what the results were, but eventually a miniature viewplate lit up. Nothing showed on it except blackness and the stars.
CHAPTER TWO
ALETA felt herself being drawn across the room. From experience she knew the ship was maneuvering and that its gravity was shifting to compensate.
Loud voices, in an unfamiliar language, sounded all around her, but she couldn’t locate their source.
At the edge of the viewplate appeared a tiny glow. It grew and stretched toward the center of the plate. It moved on across and at the end of it appeared the hull of a tiny ship.
She studied the scene. From the length of the glow she judged the ship
was using full power. It grew larger. Moments later she realized it was fleeing, trying to escape the Novakkan ship.
The portent wasn’t clear immediately. To begin with, she didn’t understand how ships could get so deep in space.
Their reactors developed enormous thrust but not enough in a lifetime to move them from one star to another. She’d heard talk of fast rays, dimensions, time shifts and multiple drivers, but never understood them.
The image on the screen grew in size. A pinpoint of white brilliance appeared on its hull, separated itself from the ship, grew larger, leaped toward her. Another followed and then came in endless streams.
She suddenly understood that she was in the midst of a space battle. The fleeing ship was desperately defending itself, striving to burn the Novakkan ship out of the cosmos with photonic energy.
The screen flashed blindingly. She held her breath. The flash came again and again and each time she saw a huge mast of light shrinking, speeding toward the fleeing ship. She wondered how she could see light when it was not reflected, then remembered that weapons used slow photons which, becoming mass, would not reflect but destroy. And the screen revealed things invisible to the naked eye.
The flashes became so rapid they obscured everything else on the screen. The ringing continued. Deep voices roared in the room. It went on and on, seemingly for hours, then ceased.
The viewplate cleared. The ship there was much larger. No pinpoint of brilliance appeared on its hull. Nor did a glow extend from it. It was no longer using power.
Lifeships put out from it. Miniature flashes near at hand followed. Where lifeships had been, a moment later was a series of fading red glows. Going out from the glows in every direction were the fragments of the lifeships and the bodies of their occupants.
Her eyes blurred. It seemed so futile, so needlessly wasteful. She consoled herself with the thought that the creatures out there were finding a quick death. She found the stud and shut off the view.
Turning to the wounded man, she saw that his glazed eyes were open. His cracked lips parted and he mumbled, “Water.”
Again she opened the bulkhead. The passage was empty of life, but sounds of screaming reached her ears.
She hurried to the cross passage, saw a huge Novakkan with an Earthwoman over his shoulder. The woman was screaming, but the features of the Novakkan were expressionless.
She saw still another Novakkan rip the spacesuit off a small figure. She was close enough to see that it was a small man or boy. As she stood horror stricken, the Novakkan lifted the figure high overhead and brought it down across his knee, breaking its back.
Sickened, she hurried back to the wounded man. It seemed that here was her only link with sanity and civilization.
The man was calling feebly for water. His forehead was hot, his eyes unseeing. He talked as in delirium. Some of the words she could understand. They were about home on Earth and green fields and timbered hill. He seemed to be reliving his childhood. She discovered that she was holding his hand and that her tears were dripping on it.
Immeasurable time fled before the bulkhead opened. Rahn Buskner came in. She leaped up and cried, “Water. In the name of mercy, water.”
The Novakkan studied her briefly, then prodded the wounded man with a huge hand. He was unmoved by the sight of suffering. She got down on her knees and begged, “Give him water. He’s dying, but he mustn’t die.”
“Your husband?” Rahn Buskner asked.
She shook her head.
“Then what is he to you?”
“He’s my kind. He fought for me, and I kept him alive for days. Don’t let him die now.”
The Novakkan was unmoved. “We haven’t room for prisoners. Why put life back into him?”
She wanted to go on begging for the man’s life, but realized the futility of it. She remained silent.
The Novakkan turned and departed. The wounded man relapsed into unconsciousness. His pulse became very weak and his forehead burned her hand.
She made up her mind that she would find water if she had to search the ship. After rising unsteadily, she was about to open the bulkhead when Rahn Buskner returned. He handed her a flexible flask and came on into the room.
Hurriedly she lifted the man’s head and held the flask to his lips. After a moment Rahn Buskner seized her shoulder and took the flask from her hand. He lifted her to her feet. “Enough for him. You drink.”
She was about to protest, but the Novakkan pinioned her hands behind her and placed the mouth of the flask against her lips.
The cool liquid was seductive. She swallowed in great gulps. The Novakkan withdrew the flask long before she’d satisfied her thirst.
When he released her she dropped down beside the man. When she looked up again the Novakkan was gone.
The man’s eyes were clearer, but he failed to recognize her. His pulse fluttered; his breathing was little more than gasps.
Keeping life in him had become more important than keeping alive herself. It dominated every thought, every move.
Rahn Buskner returned much later and again allowed the man to drink.
“He needs food,” Aleta explained.
The Novakkan shrugged. “He has many needs. To satisfy them is but waste. There is food in the liquid. Nothing else can be given him until he recovers consciousness.”
“Let me have a little water to bathe him,” she pleaded.
A shadow of emotion appeared on the features of the green-tinged giant, but she couldn’t read its meaning. He departed and returned with a plastic basin of water and a cloth. He placed them on the floor beside her and went out.
Careful not to wet the bandages, more careful not to disturb him or cause pain, she worked slowly. His eyes came open and seemed much clearer when she bathed his forehead. He no longer mumbled, no longer called for water.
Rahn Buskner brought her food and stood over her while she ate, preventing her from saving any portion for the man. When he was gone she made shift to bathe herself in the few ounces of water that had not been absorbed into the flesh of the man. Rahn Buskner returned while she was doing this.
“Come,” he said.
Not knowing what to expect, she followed him round the right angle passage to a shower room. Numbers of Novakkans were in there bathing. She cringed back in fear, but Rahn Buskner shoved her on into the room, pointing to a vacant shower.
Paralyzed with fear, she could only stand and stare at the floor.
Rahn Buskner seized the smock at the neck and ripped it off her, then pushed her toward the shower. He turned and departed.
The water was soothing to her flesh, but she couldn’t avoid the stares of the Novakkans. One of them advanced, stood over her and touched the flesh of her shoulder. She cowered back He came on under the shower, blocking possible escape, seized her arms and drew her toward him.
At that moment Rahn Buskner appeared behind him, holding feminine garments in one hand. He dropped the garments, spun the other Novakkan about and flattened him with a single blow. He unsheathed a knife and placed it against the fallen Novakkan’s throat. He spoke in a strange language, determinedly. He gestured toward Aleta. The head of the supine Novakkan bobbed back and forth.
Rahn Buskner stepped back and the other got up and slunk away. After glaring round at the others, Rahn Buskner again departed.
Picking up the garments, she held them about her and hurried along the passage. Beside the wounded man she examined the garments. They were rich, of the finest silk or synthetic, but made for a woman much smaller. Something in the fibre made it elastic and there was no danger of bursting a seam, but the yellow skirt scarcely fell to her knees.
A slight jolting brought her alert. Three sharp rings sounded, followed by three more. Voices, less strident than before, filled the room. The bulkhead opened automatically and she saw Novakkans hurrying along the corridor. They were dressed in gay colors and without armor, but sheathed at the girdle of each was a long knife and what she recognized as a photon
ic hand-weapon.
Rahn Buskner appeared in the entranceway, beckoned. “Come.”
She nodded toward the wounded man. “I shan’t leave him.”
Rahn Buskner took the man under one arm as though he weighed but a few pounds and strode out. She hurried along behind him.
“Where are we going?” she wanted to know.
“We’ve touched down on an Eg planet for repairs,” he said.
She held her breath. The Egs were supposed to be allies of Earth, and as such they were not supposed to give sanctuary to Novakkans. But they were traders and not warlike; it was inconceivable that they could keep the Novakkans from stopping. Except on Earth and on the rebellious outposts, the Novakkans went where they would, took what they would, and acted as if they were masters of the universe. At least that was the general belief among Earthlings.
In the airlock Aleta brushed against the Novakkan who had made advances to her in the shower room. She recognized him by his broad and flat nose. Unlike Rahn Buskner, he wore trousers and an upper garment with an insignia on the arm.
She saw numbers dressed in like manner and gathered that they were not fighting men but the crew of the ship. The red eyes of Flat-nose turned on her briefly, swept the lines of her figure, and for a moment she again felt the terror she had experienced in the shower room. She hurried close to Rahn Buskner.
They came out on an open plain and filed into anti-gravity cars which took them to a city under the brow of a towering, snowclad peak. The city had no high buildings, but extended on under the mountain. It swarmed with bearded Egs, bronzed and slender Golgons and people who had migrated from Earth. The Earth men seemed to be derelicts and the Earth women were garish. They showed little interest in the Novakkans other than to stay out of their way.
In a byway between low buildings and a bazaar, Aleta fell behind while studying the scene. Two giant ruffians fell in beside her and one seized her arm. At her cry Rahn Buskner dropped the wounded man and whirled. In a moment he was at her side and one of the men was dead, the other fleeing for his life.
Horrified, Aleta could scarcely keep her trembling legs under her. She wondered when the administration of the planet would avenge the killing. Apparently no one was interested, and Rahn Buskner kicked the body out of their path and pushed her ahead of him-
