He reminded himself that while he had removed the element of skill from the encounter, the luck factor remained. Still, he did not think Dom had experimented with luck recently.
Dom was smiling, his face creased in a manner that might have indicated strain, or else simply amusement – or, more likely, excitement. For his part, Scarne could feel the blood draining from his face as the seconds ticked away on the ormolu clock. But he kept the barrel of the gun levelled steadily at Dom’s heart, and a deepening silence enveloped them both.
In that silence, the clock suddenly chimed the first of ten strokes. Instantly Scarne squeezed the trigger.
The hammer fell with a dull click. And after that, the silence became even deeper.
Dom had not fired.
The Chairman chuckled. Opening the chamber of his gun, he removed the cartridge. Then he took Scarne’s weapon from his nerveless fingers and replaced both pistols in their case.
Now he laughed whole-heartedly. ‘How interesting! It seems that you owe me your life, Cheyne! Perhaps I shall have occasion to remind you of it – a debt is a debt.’
Carelessly he tossed the pistol case on to the secretaire. ‘That was a stimulating experience,’ he congratulated. ‘Now, Cheyne, I would like to try the gambit just one more time…’
TWELVE
Marguerite Dom was sitting alone in his little yellow room when an urgent signal came from the bridge. He switched on the chamber’s holbooth equipment and within a couple of seconds was holled into the ship’s control-room, his parallaxed image free to move about there.
They were nosing deeper into the Cave of Caspar, waiting for a message that would tell them exactly where the rendezvous was to be. So far, their instructions were no more precise than that.
The bridge captain turned to him as his hol image appeared. ‘The sensors have picked up a device approaching us fast, sir. We think it’s a weapon.’
Dom stepped forward, then stopped at the markers on the floor that informed him of the boundaries of his yellow room. He stepped back, fumbling in the air until his hand closed on a control stick. His image glided forward, crossing the bridge and halting by the captain’s side, from where he could view the bank of displays by which the ship was guided.
The oncoming object was expanding on the forward telescopic screen. It was a long, thin pipe, hurtling through space like a spear.
‘That doesn’t look Legit,’ he remarked.
The captain attended to an information terminal that at that moment flickered into life. ‘It’s just been identified as Hadranic, sir,’ he said, straightening. ‘An unmanned self-programmed missile.’
‘This far back?’
‘No doubt the Hadranics have despatched them in droves, just for nuisance value.’
They watched as the Disk of Hyke carried out its own automatic defensive action. Its first volley of countering missiles were easily evaded by the Hadranic pipe, which then returned to the attack, its memory locked on to the Wheel ship. The Disk of Hyke was then forced to take evasive manoeuvres of its own, and finally destroyed the missile with a second volley.
Dom sighed when it was all over. For a brief time it had looked as if the outcome might be in doubt. It augured ill if their wait in the Cave was to be a long one.
‘We are much too exposed here,’ he said. ‘Hadranic missiles, Legitimacy battle fleets – and a major battle liable to begin any moment!’ He pursed his lips fretfully. ‘We might be well advised to get down on a planet somewhere, out of harm’s way.’
‘You are aware, sir, of the peculiarity attaching to stars in the Cave?’ the captain asked.
Dom nodded. ‘ Indeed, I cannot help thinking it is in some way connected with the choice of venue. But I would say that the risk of being caught in a nova is not too great, and certainly less than the dangers we face here in free space.’ He turned to the navigator. ‘How close are we to that archaeological team?’
‘Quite close, sir. They sent out another narrowbeam ten hours ago.’
Dom wanted, if possible, to get a look at the alien randomness machine the very first narrowbeam they had picked up had mentioned. He was interested in any new scientific treatment of randomness, especially if it came from a nonhuman source. But that first transmission had been an all-package beam, carrying a host of messages relayed by Cave HQ. Since then the Disk of Hyke had been intercepting local narrowbeam traffic and trying to locate the planet where the machine lay, but it had proved difficult.
‘An archaeological site probably doesn’t have very much by way of defensive armament,’ he decided. ‘Let’s go over there, Captain, and take a look. If we do it quietly maybe we can take over for a while.’
His parallaxed image flicked out as the captain acknowledged the order.
As the raiding party lunged over the arid, ravaged terraces, its half-tracks sent up a wake of dust. The Grand Wheel maintained no regular militia, but it understood the use of force perfectly. A space-tensor blanket had been thrown over the Legitimacy camp to forestall a narrowbeam SOS, and in effect the site was already in Wheel hands.
From where he sat in the leading half-track, Marguerite Dom could see people emerging from their tents and staring at the approaching raiders in puzzlement. They would not have guessed, yet, what was afoot. Nor was ignorance all on their side. Behind Dom the Disk of Hyke towered over the desert for twenty-three decks, looking more than anything like a scaled-up nineteenth-century riverboat. Most people aboard did not know yet that the ship had landed, and probably would not know when it took off again, so complete was the Wheel transport’s internal life.
In the event, the archaeological camp was practically unarmed. Even when the Wheel insignia was recognized, there was little shooting. Dom’s men strode from tent to tent, making a brief survey of each, herding the team members into sullen groups where they looked on, half-resentful, half-perplexed.
Half an hour later Dom stepped into the tent containing the alien machine. The first thing that caught his eye, however, was not the machine itself but a youth of about sixteen who lolled in an armchair, his face slack and exhausted.
He paused, looking the boy up and down. ‘Who is this?’
He was answered by Haskand, the Wheel scientist he had assigned to examine the machine. ‘His name is Shane, sir. He plays some part in the research project.’
‘So young? What’s his speciality?’
‘What does this boy do?’ Haskand asked a thin man in a white gown who stood nervously by. Wishom did not answer, but another man, with stern steady eyes and wearing the cloak of a Legitimacy official, glided up to stand behind Shane’s chair, placing a proprietary hand on his shoulder.
‘I am Shane’s guardian,’ Hakandra said. ‘No one answers for him but me.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
Hakandra hesitated. ‘He is not well.’
Dom’s eyes strayed to the object of his visit: the alien device. The tent was crammed with modems, transformers and similar equipment, all of it wired up to the glistening drum.
‘I demand to know what the Grand Wheel is doing in the Cave of Caspar,’ Hakandra snapped. Then his eyes widened in alarm. ‘Has there been a coup?’
‘Be assured no such thing has happened,’ Dom smiled. ‘I am here on private business.’ He pointed to the drum. ‘I want to know all about that.’
‘Then this is treason. Attacking a Legitimacy installation, sabotaging the war effort—’
‘Do you know who I am?’ Dom asked caressingly.
‘No.’