And what a ship this little speedster was! Trim, trig, streamlined to the ultimate she lay there, quiescent but surcharged with power. Almost sentient she was, this powerpacked, ultraracy little fabrication of space–Toughened alloy, instantly ready at his touch to liberate those tremendous energies which were to hurl him through the infinite reaches of the cosmic void.
None of the mob came aboard of course. They backed off, still frantically waving and throwing whatever came closest to hand, and as Kinnison touched a button and shot into the air he swallowed several times in a vain attempt to dispose of an amazing lump which had somehow appeared in his throat.
15: The Decoy
It so happened that for many long weeks there had been lying in New York Spaceport an urgent shipment for Alsakan, and that urgency was not merely a one– way affair. For, with the possible exception of a few packets whose owners had locked them in vaults and would not part with them at any price, there was not a single Alsakanite cigarette left on Earth!
Luxuries, then as now, soared feverishly in price with scarcity. Only the rich smoked Alsakanite cigarettes, and to those rich the price of anything they really wanted was a matter of almost complete indifference. And plenty of them wanted, and wanted badly, their Alsakanite cigarettesthere was no doubt of that. The current market report upon them was.
"Bid, one thousand credits per packet of ten. Offered, none at any price."
With that ever–climbing figure in mind, a merchant prince named Matthews had been trying to get an Alsakan–bound ship into the ether. He knew that one cargo of Alsakanite cigarettes safely landed in any Tellurian spaceport would yield more profit than could be made by his entire fleet in ten years of normal trading. Therefore he had for weeks been pulling every wire, and even every string, that he could reach, political, financial, even at times verging altogether too close for comfort upon the criminal—but without results.
For, even if he could find a crew willing to take the risk, to launch the ship without an escort would be out of the question. There would be no profit in a ship that did not return to Earth. The ship was his, to do with as he pleased, but the escorting maulers were assigned solely by the Galactic Patrol, and the Patrol would not give his ship an escort.
In answer to his first request, he had been informed that only cargoes classed as "necessary" were being escorted at all regularly, that "semi– necessary" loads were escorted occasionally, when of a particularly useful or desirable commodity and if opportunity offered, that "luxury" loads such as his were not being escorted at all, that he would be notified if, as, and when the Prometheus could be given escort. Then the merchant prince began' his siege.
Politicians of high rank, local and national, sent in "requests" of varying degrees of diplomacy. Financiers first offered inducements, then threatened to "bear down," then put on all the various kinds of pressure known to their pressure–loving ilk. Pleas, demands, threats, and pressures were alike, however, futile. The Patrol could not be coaxed or bullied, cajoled, bribed, or cowed, and all further communications upon the subject, from whatever source originating were ignored.
Having exhausted his every resource of diplomacy, politics, guile, and finance, the merchant prince resigned himself to the inevitable and stopped trying to get his ship off the ground. Then New York Base received from Prime Base an open message, not even coded, which read.
"Authorize space–ship Prometheus to clear for Alsakan at will, escorted by Patrol ship B 42 TC 838, whose present orders are hereby cancelled. Signed, Haynes."
A demolition bomb dropped into that sub–base would not have caused greater excitement than did that message. No one could explain it—the base commander, the mauler's captain, the captain of the Prometheus, or the highly pleased but equally surprised Matthews—but all of them did whatever they could to expedite the departure of the freighter. She was, and had been for a long time, practically ready to sail.
As the base commander and Matthews sat in the office, shortly before the scheduled time of departure, Kinnison arrived—or, more correctly, let them know that he was there. He invited them both into the control–room of his speedster, and invitations from Gray Lensmen were accepted without question or demur.
"I suppose you are wondering what this is all about," he began. "I'll make it as short as I can. I asked you in here because this is the only convenient place in which I know that what we say will not be overheard. There are lots of spy–rays around here, whether you know it or not. The Prometheus is to be allowed to go to Alsakan, because that is where pirates seem to be most numerous, and we do not want to waste time hunting all over space to find one. Your vessel was selected, Mr. Matthews, for three reasons, and in spite of the attempts you have been making to obtain special privileges, not because of them. First, because there is no necessary or semi–necessary freight waiting for clearance into that region. Second, because we do not want your firm to fail. We do not know of any other large shipping line in such a shaky position as yours, nor of any firm anywhere to which one single cargo would make such an immense financial difference."
"You are certainly right there, Lensman!" Matthews agreed, whole– heartedly. "It means bankruptcy on the one hand and a fortune on the other."
"Here's what is to happen. The ship and the mauler blast off on schedule, fourteen minutes from now. They get about to Valeria, when they are both recalledurgent orders for the mauler to go on rescue work. The mauler comes back, but your captain will, in all probability, keep on going, saying that he started out for Alsakan and that's where he's going…"
"But he wouldn't—he wouldn't dare!" gasped the shipowner.
"Sure he would," Kinnison insisted, cheerfully enough. "That is the third good reason your vessel is being allowed to set out, because it certainly will be attacked. You didn't know it until now, but your captain and over half of your crew are pirates themselves, and are going to…"
"What? Pirates!" Matthews bellowed. "I'll go down there and…"
"You'll do nothing whatever, Mr. Matthews, except watch things, and you will do that from here. The situation is under control."
"But my ship! My cargo!" the shipper wailed. "We'll be ruined if they…"
"Let me finish, please," the Lensman interrupted. "As soon as the mauler turns back it is practically certain that your captain will send out a message, letting the pirates know that he is easy prey. Within a minute after sending that message, he dies. So does every other pirate aboard. Your ship lands on Valeria and takes on a crew of space fighting wildcats, headed by Peter vanBuskirk. Then it goes on toward Alsakan, and when the pirates board that ship, after its pre–arranged half–hearted resistance and easy surrender, they are going to think that all hell's out for noon. Especially since the mauler, back from her rescue work, will be tagging along, not too far away."
"Then my ship will really go to Alsakan, and back, safely?" Matthews was almost dazed. Matters were entirely out of his hands, and things had moved so rapidly that he hardly knew what to think. "But if my own crews are pirates, some of them may…but I can of course get police protection if necessary."
"Unless something entirely unforeseen happens, the Prometheus will make the round trip in safety, cargoes and all—under mauler escort all the way. You will of course have to take the other matter up with your local police."
"When is the attack to take place, sir?" asked the base commander.
"That's what the mauler skipper wanted to know when I told him what was ahead of him," Kinnison grinned. "He wanted to sneak up a little closer about that time. I'd like to know, myself, but unfortunately that will have to be decided by the pirates after they get the signal. It will be on the way out, though, because the cargo she has aboard now is a lot more valuable to Boskone than a load of Alsakanite cigarettes would be."