Scott didn’t swear, but this sort of event at this special place at this particular time had implications that would have justified much profanity. He said, “And your problem?”
“You,” said the skipper uncomfortably. “You’re supposed to be landed on Lambda. Before I knew you were Patrol I was wondering what the devil to do if they refused to accept you! I couldn’t think of any reason—.”
“They’ll accept me!” Scott assured him. “Don’t worry about that! I’m taking command there. And I’ll look into the matter of the passengers and freight.” Then he considered for a moment. “I’ll ask you to wait nearby until I’ve checked things, though. The transfer-passengers might prefer going on with you, on this ship, to waiting longer on Lambda.” The skipper looked relieved but still uneasy. “I thought it might be—quarantine stuff.” “It’s not that,” said Scott.
He gave no outward sign, but he didn’t like this at all. The Golconda Ship was due to land at Lambda almost as soon as he got there. Refusal to exchange freight or passengers could mean trouble then.
“I’ll go aboard,” he said casually, “and ask you to wait around for half an hour or so. Of course if there’s nothing really the matter, you can forget the whole thing. But passengers shouldn’t be staying aboard when they’re scheduled to leave.”
The skipper looked relieved. Scott said, “We’re due to break out for Lambda in a couple of hours, aren’t we?”
When the skipper agreed, Scott said casually, “I’ll get set for landing,”
He left the control room and went to his cabin. A Patrol man traveled light. There was no great amount of preparation to make. He did write a brief, specific report of what the skipper had told him. He didn’t need to draw any inferences. Headquarters could put two and two together. But it would be a long time getting action.
There’d have been no need for a buoy if there were a habitable world within a reasonable distance. But the next port beyond Lambda was six days’ journey in overdrive—many light-years in normal space. There’d be no Patrol ship at that port. It could be fifteen days or more before the seemingly innocent news from the checkpoint would reach an operating Patrol base with an available ship. Then it would be acted on, but it could be thirty days or longer before an armed ship could be ordered out and arrive at Checkpoint Lambda. Which would be too late. A tale of passengers not transferring and freight undelivered could mean that the most stupendously profitable crime in human history was under way.
It could also mean murder on Lambda.
Which was exactly what Scott had special orders to prevent.
He looked at his watch. It was midday mess-time by the liner’s clocks. He abruptly found that he couldn’t eat. But he did look into the liner’s dining saloon, and eating seemed less possible than ever. There were families with children. There were honey-mooners. There were elderly people for whom the discomfort of going into and breaking out of overdrive was distressing in the extreme. There were young people. None of them had the least imaginable link with the Golconda Ship, but Scott knew that the dining-saloon on Lambda might have looked like this not long ago. It wasn’t likely that it looked like this now.
The reason was the Golconda Ship. Ordinary shipments of treasure by space craft were routinely put under the special protection of the Space Patrol. The transfer of thousands of millions of credits in interstellar currency happened often enough. In such cases the Patrol made a routine check of the ship’s proposed passengers, made an equally routine check of the crew, and then briskly examined freight parcels. The checking of individuals would show up anybody with ideas of traveling as passengers, then seizing the ship in space. Examination of freight would disclose ambitious people with ideas of stowing away for any similar purpose. Such precautions had always been enough. But a report of passengers who didn’t transfer to their scheduled ship indicated that something else had happened. To Scott’s first independent command. And while he was on the way to it.
The Golconda Ship’s crew hadn’t been checked. It wasn’t necessary. It came from some place, nobody-knew-where, with a cargo of treasure its crew had acquired, nobody-knew-how. In theory, Scott needed only to go to Lambda, take command, and see that when the Golconda Ship arrived there, there was no trouble with the Five Comets. Recent computations had said there could be trouble. Then he was to see that its incredibly valuable cargo was divided into shipments of reasonable size and, in course of time, transferred to a series of other ships which would deliver each fraction of the whole to a different colonized world. That was all. It was almost commonplace. But passengers—including a girl—hadn’t left the checkpoint when they should. Freight had been refused. And strangest of all, a supposed Patrol officer had sworn at the skipper of a merchant ship and ordered him to go on.
There should be no weapons on Lambda to back up a threat. A Patrol officer shouldn’t threaten, anyhow. He was violating all discipline if he used profanity or made threats of any kind to a civilian. The officer who’d sworn at a liner-skipper didn’t sound like a Patrol officer.
Scott very grimly decided that he wasn’t.
The Golconda Ship would be the answer. Its fabulous riches and impenetrable mystery made it the subject of feverish speculation over half the occupied galaxy. Four ships in turn had made voyages to an unknown destination and returned. A fifth was somewhere out in space now. The first had appeared from nowhere years ago, with a cargo of treasure that still seemed unbelievable. There’d been fighting on board, and the first Golconda Ship’s crew was smaller than even a small space tramp should carry. Apparently they’d killed each other off and were down to a skeleton crew which brought the ship to port. But they kept their lips tight-locked. They had treasure of greater value than any ship on any space-voyage or any sea had ever brought to port before. But nothing criminal could be proved against them. Nothing of any use could be learned from them. Ultimately they scattered, every man a multi-millionaire, and the secret of where they’d obtained their treasure still intact.
Four years later the same men gathered again. They had another ship built. It was a very special ship indeed. They went aboard and out to space. Nobody knew where they went. They were gone six standard months. They came to port again with even more treasure than before. Again they kept their mouths shut. Once more they scattered, and every man was a multi-multi-millionaire. The second Golconda Ship had brought back more wealth than most planetary treasuries contained. And nobody knew where it was found or how it was gathered or even—actually—how much there was of it. But the sudden excess of riches caused a financial crisis on the world where they landed it.
A third Golconda Ship and a fourth had made voyages, each time with a crew whose every member was so many times a millionaire that an estimate of his wealth was meaningless. Now a fifth Golconda Ship was due, to make them richer still. But this time it would not make port where an embarrassment of riches would cause a financial panic. It would land at Lambda.
And this was why a few non-transferring passengers and a threatening Patrol officer on Lambda made Scott feel grim and savage and almost helpless as he watched the diners in this space liner’s dining saloon.
They were innocent bystanders. Their lives shouldn’t be endangered. If this liner made freight or passenger-transfer contact with Lambda, they would be in trouble—if things were as wrong as they appeared. He, Scott, would have to arrange matters so that he took all the risks. And, acting alone, the risk would be practically suicidal.