Dane had scarcely seated himself, one hand resting on the cage of the pest, before Ali brought down two fingers in the sharp sweep which signaled the Com-tech to duty. Far above them there was a whisper of sound which signified the opening of the play-back. They would be able to check on whether the broadcast was going out or not. Although Dane could see nothing of the system wide audience which he currently faced, he realized that the room and those in it were now visible on every tuned-in video set. Instead of the factual cast, the listeners were about to be treated to a melodrama which was as wild as their favorite romances. It only needed the break-in of the Patrol to complete the illusion of action-fiction-crime variety.
A second finger moved in his direction and Dane leaned forward. He faced only the folds of a wall wide curtain, but he must keep in mind that in truth there was a sea of faces before him, the faces of those whom he and Hovan, working together, must convince if he were to save the Queen and her crew.
He found his voice and it was steady and even, he might have been outlining some stowage problem for Van Rycke's approval.
"People of Terra-"
Martian, Venusian, Asteroid colonist-inwardly they were still all Terran and on that point he would rest. He was a Terran appealing to his own kind.
"People of Terra, we come before you to ask justice-" from somewhere the words came easily, flowing from his lips to center on a patch of light ahead. And that "justice" rang with a kind of reassurance.
Chapter XVII
In Custody
"To those of you who do not travel the star trails our case may seem puzzling-" the words were coming easily. Dane gathered confidence as he spoke, intent on making those others out there know what it meant to be outlawed.
"We are Patrol Posted, outlawed as a plague ship," he confessed frankly. "But this is our true story-"
Swiftly, with a flow of language he had not known he could command, Dane swung into the story of Sargol, of the pest they had carried away from that world. And at the proper moment he thrust a gloved hand into the cage and brought out the wriggling thing which struck vainly with its poisoned talons, holding it above the dark table so that those unseen watchers could witness the dramatic change of color which made it such a menace. Dane continued the story of the Queen's ill-fated voyage-of their forced descent upon the E-Stat.
"Ask the truth of Inter-Solar," he demanded of the audience beyond those walls. "We were no pirates. They will discover in their records the vouchers we left." Then Dane described the weird hunt when, led by the Hoobat, they had finally found and isolated the menace, and their landing in the heart of the Big Burn. He followed that with his own quest for medical aid, the kidnapping of Hovan. At that point he turned to the Medic.
"This is Medic Hovan. He has consented to appear in our behalf and to testify to the truth-that the Solar Queen has not been stricken by some unknown plague, but infested with a living organism we now have under control-" For a suspenseful second or two he wondered if Hovan was going to make it. The man looked shaken and sick, as if the drastic awaking they had subjected him to had left him too dazed to pull himself together.
But out of some hidden reservoir of strength the Medic summoned the energy he needed. And his testimony was all they had hoped it would be. Though now and then he strayed into technical terms. But, Dane thought, their use only enhanced the authority of his description of what he had discovered on board the spacer and what he had done to counteract the power of the poison. When he had done Dane added a few last words.
"We have broken the law," he admitted forthrightly, "but we were fighting in self-defense. All we ask now is the privilege of an impartial investigation, a chance to defend ourselves-such as any of you take for granted on Terra-before the courts of this planet-" But he was not to finish without interruption.
From the play-back over their heads another voice blared, breaking across his last words:
"Surrender! This is the Patrol. Surrender or take the consequences!" And that faint sighing which signaled their open contact with the outer world was cut off. The Com-tech turned away from the control board, a sneering half smile on his face.
"They've reached the circuit and cut you off. You're done!"
Dane stared into the cage where the now almost invisible thing sat humped together. He had done his best-they had all done their best. He felt nothing but a vast fatigue, an overwhelming weariness, not so much of body, but of nerve and spirit too.
Rip broke the silence with a question aimed at the tech. "Can you signal below?"
"Going to give up?" The fellow brightened. "Yes, there's an inter-com I can cut in."
Rip stood up. He unbuckled the belt about his waist and laid it on the table-disarming himself. Without words Ali and Dane followed his example. They had played their hand-to prolong the struggle would mean nothing. The acting Captain of the Queen gave a last order:
"Tell them we are coming down unarmed-to surrender." He paused in front of Hovan. "You'd better stay here. If there's any trouble-no reason for you to be caught in the middle."
Hovan nodded as the three left the room. Dane, remembering the trick he had pulled with the riser, made a comment:
"We may be marooned here-"
Ali shrugged. "Then we can just wait and let them collect us." He yawned, his dark eyes set in smudges. "I don't care if they'll just let us sleep the clock around afterwards. D'you really think," he addressed Rip, "that we've done ourselves any good?"
Rip neither denied nor confirmed. "We took our only chance. Now it's up to them-" He pointed to the wall and the teeming world which lay beyond it.
Ali grinned wryly. "I note you left the what-you-call-it with Hovan."
"He wanted one to experiment with," Dane replied. "I thought he'd earned it."
"And now here comes what we've earned-" Rip cut in as the hum of the riser came to their ears.
"Should we take to cover?" Ali's mobile eyebrows underlined his demand. "The forces of law and order may erupt with blasters blazing."
But Rip did not move. He faced the riser door squarely and, drawn by something in that stance of his, the other two stepped in on either side so that they fronted the dubious future as a united group. Whatever came now, the Queen's men would meet it together.
In a way Ali was right. The four men who emerged all had their blasters or riot stun-rifles at ready, and the sights of those weapons were trained at the middles of the Free Traders. As Dane's empty hands, palm out, went up on a line with his shoulders, he estimated the opposition. Two were in the silver and black of the Patrol, two wore the forest green of the Terrapolice. But they all looked like men with whom it was better not to play games.
And it was clear they were prepared to take no chances with the outlaws. In spite of the passiveness of the Queen's men, their hands were locked behind them with force bars about their wrists. When a quick search revealed that the three were unarmed, they were herded onto the riser by two of their captors, while the other pair remained behind, presumably to uncover any damage they had done to the Tower installations.
The police did not speak except for a few terse words among themselves and a barked order to march, delivered to the prisoners. Very shortly they were in the entrance hall facing the wreckage of the crawler and doors through which a ragged gap had been burned. Ali viewed the scene with his usual detachment.