Plague Ship

by Andre Norton

  Chapter XIV

  SPECIAL MISSION

  That click, the dial beneath the counter, warned them that they were ascut off from the luxuriance outside as if they were viewing a scene onMars or Sargol from their present position. To go beyond the shieldingwalls of the spacer into that riotous green world would sentence them todeath as surely as if the Patrol was without, with a flamer trained ontheir hatch. There was no escape from that radiation--it would be in theair one breathed, strike though one's skin. And yet the wildernessflourished and beckoned.

  "Mutations--" Rip mused. "Space, Tau'd go wild if he could see it!"

  And that mention of the Medic brought them back to the problem which hadearthed them. Dane leaned back against the slanting wall of the cabin.

  "We have to have a Medic--"

  Rip nodded without looking away from the screen.

  "Can one of the flitters be shielded?" The Cargo-apprentice persisted.

  "That's a thought! Ali should know--" Rip reached for the inter-com mike."Engines!"

  "So you _are alive_?" Ali's voice had a bite in it. "About time you'recontacting. Where are we? Besides being lopsided from a recruit'sscrambled set-down, I mean."

  "In the Big Burn. Come top-side. Wait--how's Weeks?"

  "He has a devil's own headache, but he hasn't blacked out yet. Looks likehis immunity holds in part. I've sent him bunkside for a while with acouple of pain pills. So we've made it--"

  He must have left to join them for when Rip answered: "After a fashion,"into the mike there was no reply.

  And the clang of his boot plates on the ladder heralded his arrival attheir post. There was an interval for him to view the outer world andaccept the verdict of the counter and then Rip voiced Dane's question:

  "Can we shield one of the flitters well enough to cross that? I can'ttake the Queen up and earth her again--"

  "I know you can't!" the acting-engineer cut in. "Maybe you could get heroff world, but you'll come close to blasting out when you try for anotherlanding. Fuel doesn't go on forever--though some of you space jockeysseem to think it does. The flitter? Well, we've some spare rocketlinings. But it's going to be a job and a half to get those beaten outand reassembled. And, frankly, the space whirly one who flies her hadbetter be suited and praying loudly when he takes off. We can alwaystry--" He was frowning, already busied with the problem which was one forhis department.

  So with intervals of snatched sleep, hurried meals and the time whichmust be given to tending their unconscious charges, Rip and Dane becameonly hands to be directed by Ali's brain and garnered knowledge. Weeksslept off the worst of his pain and, though he complained of weakness, hetottered back on duty to help.

  The flitter--an air sled intended to hold three men and supplies forexploring trips on strange-worlds--was first stripped of allnon-essentials until what remained was not much more than the pilot'sseat and the motor. Then they labored to build up a shielding of thetough radiation dulling alloy which was used to line rocket tubes. Andthey could only praise the foresight of Stotz who carried such a fullsupply of spare parts and tools. It was a task over which they oftendespaired, and Ali improvised frantically, performing weird adjustmentsof engineering structure. He was still unsatisfied when they had done.

  "She'll fly," he admitted. "And she's the best we can do. But it'lldepend a lot on how far she has to go over 'hot' country. Which way do wehead her?"

  Rip had been busy with a map of Terra--a small thing he had discovered inone of the travel recordings carried for crew entertainment.

  "The Big Burn covers three quarters of this continent. There's no usegoing north--the devastated area extends into the arctic regions. I'd saywest--there's some fringe settlements on the sea coast and we need tocontact a frontier territory. Now do we have it straight--? I take theflitter, get a Medic and bring him back?"

  Dane cut in at that point. "Correct course! You stay here. If the Queenhas to lift, you're the only one who can take her off world. And thesame's true for Ali. I can't ride out a blast-off in either the pilot'sor the engineer's seat. And Weeks is on the sick list. So I'm elected todo the Medic hunting--"

  They were forced to agree to that. He was no hero, Dane thought, as hegave a last glance about his cabin early the next morning. The smallcubby, utilitarian and bare as it was, never looked more inviting orsecure. No, no hero, it was merely a matter of common sense. And althoughhis imagination--that deeply hidden imagination with which few of hisfellows credited him--shrank from the ordeal ahead, he had not theslightest intention of allowing that to deter him.

  The space suit, which had been bulky and clumsy enough on the E-Statasteroid under limited gravity, was almost twice as poorly adapted toprogression on earth. But he climbed into it with Rip's aid, while Alilashed a second suit under the seat--ready to encase the man Dane mustbring back with him. Before he closed the helmet, Rip had one last orderto give, along with an unexpected piece of equipment. And, when Dane sawthat, he knew just how desperate Shannon considered their situation tobe. For only on life or death terms would the Astrogator-apprentice haveused Jellico's private key, opened the forbidden arms cabinet, andwithdrawn that blaster.

  "If you need it--use this--" Rip's face was very sober.

  Ali arose from fastening the extra suit in place. "It's ready--"

  He came back into the corridor and Dane clanked out in his place,settling himself behind the controls. When they saw him there, the innerhatch closed and he was alone in the bay.

  With tantalizing slowness the outer wall of the spacer slid back. Hishands blundering with the metallic claws of the gloves, Dane buckled twosafety belts about him. Then the skeleton flitter moved to the left--outinto the glare of the early day, a light too bright, even through theshielded viewplates of his helmet.

  For some dangerous moments the machine creaked out and down on the landingcranes, the warning counter on its control panel going into a mad whirlof color as it tried to record the radiation. There came a jar as ittouched the scorched earth at the foot of the Queen's fins.

  Dane pressed the release and watched the lines whip up and the hatchabove snap shut. Then he opened the controls. He used too much energy andshot into the air, tearing a wide gap through what was luckily a thinscreen of the matted foliage, before he gained complete mastery.

  Then he was able to level out and bore westward, the rising sun at hisback, the sea of deadly green beneath him, and somewhere far ahead thefaint promise of clean, radiation free land holding the help they needed.

  Mile after mile of the green jungle swept under the flitter, and theflash of the counter's light continued to record a land unfit formankind. Even with the equipment used on distant worlds to protect whatspacemen had come to recognize was a reasonably tough human frame, noground force could hope to explore that wilderness in person. And flyingabove it, as well insulated as he was, Dane knew that he could bedangerously exposed. If the contaminated territory extended more than athousand miles, his danger was no longer problematical--it was anestablished fact.

  He had only the vague directions from the scrap of map Rip had uncovered.To the west--he had no idea how far away--there stretched a length ofcoastline, far enough from the radiation blasted area to allow smallsettlements. For generations the population of Terra, decimated by theatomic wars, and then drained by first system and then Galacticexploration and colonization, had been decreasing. But within the pasthundred years it was again on the upswing. Men retiring from space werereturning to their native planet to live out their remaining years. Thedescendants of far-flung colonists, coming home on visits, found thesparsely populated mother world appealed to some basic instinct so thatthey remained. And now the settlements of mankind were on the march,spreading out from the well established sections which had not beenblighted by ancient wars.

  It was mid-afternoon when Dane noted that the green carpet beneath theflitter was displaying holes--that small breaks in the vegetation becamesizable stretches of rocky waste. He kept one eye on the counter
andwhat, when he left the spacer, had been an almost steady beam of warninglight was now a well defined succession of blinks. The land below wascooling off--perhaps he had passed the worst of the journey. But in thatpassing how much had he and the flitter become contaminated? Ali haddevised a method of protection for the empty suit the Medic wouldwear--had that held? There were an alarming number of dark ifs in theimmediate future.

  The mutant growths were now only thin patches of stunted and yellowishgreen. Had man penetrated only this far into the Burn, the knowledge ofwhat lay beyond would be totally false. This effect of dreary waste mightwell discourage exploration.

  Now the blink of the counter was deliberate, with whole seconds of pausebetween the flashes. Cooling off--? It was getting cold fast! He wishedthat he had a com-unit. Because of the interference in the Burn he hadleft it behind--but with one he might be able now to locate somesettlement. All that remained was to find the seashore and, with it as aguide, flit south towards the center of modern civilization.

  He laid no plans of action--this whole exploit must depend uponimprovisation. And, as a Free Trader, spur-of-the-moment action was anecessary way of life. On the frontier Rim of the Galaxy, where theindependent spacers traced the star trails, fast thinking and the abilityto change plans on an instant were as important as skill in aiming ablaster. And it was very often proven that the tongue--and the brainbehind it--were more deadly than a flamer.

  The sun was in Dane's face now and he caught sight of patches ofuncontaminated earth with honest vegetation--in place of the "hot" junglenow miles behind. That night he camped out on the edge of rough pasturagewhere the counter no longer flashed its warning and he was able to shedthe suit and sleep under the stars with the fresh air of early summeragainst his cheek and the smell of honest growing things replacing thedry scent of the spacer and the languorous perfumes of Sargol.

  He lay on his back, flat against the earth of which he was truly a part,staring up into the dark, inverted bowl of the heavens. It was so hard toconnect those distant points of icy light making the well rememberedpatterns overhead with the suns whose rays had added to the brown stainon his skin. Sargol's sun--the one which gave such limited light to deadLimbo--the sun under which Naxos, his first Galactic port, grew its food.He could not pick them out--was not even sure that any could be sightedfrom Terra. Strange suns, red, orange, blue green, white--yet here alllooked alike--points of glitter.

  Tomorrow at dawn he must go on. He turned his head away from the sky andgrass, green Terran grass, was soft beneath his cheek. Yet unless he wassuccessful tomorrow or the next day--he might never have the right tofeel that grass again. Resolutely Dane willed that thought out of hismind, tried to fix upon something more lulling which would bring with itthe sleep he must have before he went on. And in the end he did sleep,deeply, dreamlessly, as if the touch of Terra's soil was in itself thesedative his tautly strung nerves needed.

  It was before sunrise that he awoke, stiff, and chilled. The dryness ofpre-dawn gave partial light and somewhere a bird was twittering. Therehad been birds--or things whose far off ancestors had been birds--in the"hot" forest. Did they also sing to greet the dawn?

  Dane went over the flitter with his small counter and was relieved tofind that they had done a good job of shielding under Ali's supervision.Once the suit he had worn was stored, he could sit at the controlswithout danger and in comfort. And it was good to be free of that metalprison.

  This time he took to the air with ease, the salt taste of foodconcentrate on his tongue as he sucked a cube. And his confidence arosewith the flitter. This was the day, somehow he knew it. He was going tofind what he sought.

  It was less than two hours after sunrise that he did so. A village whichwas a cluster of perhaps fifty or so house units strung along into theland. He skimmed across it and brought the flitter down in a rock cliffwalled sand pocket with surf booming some yards away, where he would bereasonably sure of safe hiding.

  All right, he had found a village. Now what? A Medic--A strangerappearing on the lane which served the town, a stranger in a distinctiveuniform of Trade, would only incite conjecture and betrayal. He had toplan now--

  Dane unsealed his tunic. He should, by rights, shed his space boots too.But perhaps he could use those to color his story. He thrust the blasterinto hiding at his waist. A rip or two in his undertunic, a shallow cutfrom his bush knife allowed to bleed messily. He could not see himself tojudge the general effect, but had to hope it was the right one.

  His chance to test his acting powers came sooner than he had anticipated.Luckily he had climbed out of the hidden cove before he was spotted bythe boy who came whistling along the path, a fishing pole over hisshoulder, a basket swinging from his hand. Dane assumed an expressionwhich he thought would suggest fatigue, pain, and bewilderment andlurched forward as if, in sighting the oncoming boy, he had also sightedhope.

  "Help--!" Perhaps it was excitement which gave his utterance thatconvincing croak.

  Rod and basket fell to the ground as the boy, after one astounded stare,ran forward.

  "What's the matter!" His eyes were on those space boots and he added a"sir" which had the ring of hero worship.

  "Escape boat--" Dane waved toward the sea's general direction."Medic--must get to Medic--"

  "Yes, sir," the boy's basic Terran sounded good. "Can you walk if I helpyou?"

  Dane managed a weak nod, but contrived that he did not lean too heavilyon his avidly helpful guide.

  "The Medic's my father, sir. We're right down this slope--third house.And father hasn't left--he's supposed to go on a northern inspection tourtoday--"

  Dane felt a stab of distaste for the role being forced upon him. When hehad visualized the Medic he must abduct to serve the Queen in her need,he had not expected to have to kidnap a family man. Only the knowledgethat he did have the extra suit, and that he had made the outward tripwithout dangerous exposure, bolstered up his determination to see theplan through.

  When they came out at the end of the single long lane which tied thehouses of the village together, Dane was puzzled to see the place sodeserted. But, since it was not within his role of dazed sufferer to askquestions, he did not do so. It was his young guide who volunteered theinformation he wanted.

  "Most everyone is out with the fleet. There's a run of red-backs--"

  Dane understood. Within recent times the "red-backs" of the north hadbecome a desirable luxury item for Terran tables. If a school of themwere to be found in the vicinity no wonder this village was now desertedas its fleet went out to garner in the elusive but highly succulent fish.

  "In here, sir--" Dane found himself being led to a house on the right."Are you in Trade--?"

  He suppressed a start, shedding his uniform tunic had not done much inthe way of disguise. It would be nice, he thought a little bitterly, ifhe could flash an I-S badge now to completely confuse the issue. But heanswered with the partial truth and did not enlarge.

  "Yes--"

  The boy was flushed with excitement. "I'm trying for Trade ServiceMedic," he confided. "Passed the Directive exam last month. But I stillhave to go up for Prelim psycho--"

  Dane had a flash of memory. Not too many months before not the Prelimpsycho, but the big machine at the Assignment Center had decided his ownfuture arbitrarily, fitting him into the crew of the Solar Queen as theship where _his_ abilities, knowledge and potentialities could best workto the good of the Service. At the time he had resented, had even beenslightly ashamed of being relegated to a Free Trading spacer while ArturSands and other classmates from the Pool had walked off with Companyassignments. Now he knew that he would not trade the smallest and mostrusty bolt from the solar Queen for the newest scout ship in I-S orCombine registry. And this boy from the frontier village might be himselfas he was five years earlier. Though he had never known a real home orfamily, scrapping into the Pool from one of the children's Depots.

  "Good luck!" He meant that and the boy's flush deepened.

  "Thank yo
u, sir. Around here--Father's treatment room has this otherdoor--"

  Dane allowed himself to be helped into the treatment room and sat down ina chair while the boy hurried off to locate the Medic. The Trader's handwent to the butt of his concealed blaster. It was a job he had to do--onehe had volunteered for--and there was no backing out. But his mouth had awry twist as he drew out the blaster and made ready to point it at theinner door. Or--his mind leaped to another idea--could he get the Medicsafely out of the village? A story about another man badlyinjured--perhaps pinned in the wreckage of an escape boat--He could tryit. He thrust the blaster back inside his torn undertunic, hoping thebulge would pass unnoticed.

  "My son says--"

  Dane looked up. The man who came through the inner door was in earlymiddle age, thin, wiry, with a hard, fined-down look about him. He couldalmost be Tau's elder brother. He crossed the room with a brisk strideand came to stand over Dane, his hand reaching to pull aside the bloodycloth covering the Trader's breast. But Dane fended off that examination.

  "My partner," he said. "Back there--pinned in--" he jerked his handsouthward. "Needs help--"

  The Medic frowned. "Most of the men are out with the fleet. Jorge," hespoke to the boy who had followed him, "go and get Lex and Hartog. Here,"he tried to push Dane back into the chair as the Trader got up, "let melook at that cut--"

  Dane shook his head. "No time now, sir. My partner's hurt bad. Can youcome?"

  "Certainly." The Medic reached for the emergency kit on the shelf behindhim. "You able to make it?"

  "Yes," Dane was exultant. It was going to work! He could toll the Medicaway from the village. Once out among the rocks on the shoreline he couldpull the blaster and herd the man to the flitter. His luck was going tohold after all!