Langley stood by the floating metal coffin. He couldn’t speak to Saris, couldn’t warn him of anything or tell him, “Now.” The Holatan lay blind in an iron dark, only the senses and powers of his mind to reach forth.
“You hear that, Thrymka?” shouted Brannoch. “Let’s go! I’ll call the men—”
“No!”
Brannoch checked himself in mid-stride. “What’s the matter?”
“Do not call them,” said the artificial voice. “We have expected this. We know what to do. You go with them, alone; we will follow soon on our sled.”
“What in all space—”
“Hurry! There is more at stake than you know. Chanthavar may come any instant, and we have much to do yet.”
Brannoch wavered. Given a moment to think, he would remember Saris” abilities, notice the sudden slight accent of his Thrymans. But he had just been roused from sleep, he was used to obeying their orders—
Valti shoved him. Relief was obvious on the florid countenance. “They’re right, my lord. It’d be devilish hard to get their tank out inconspicuously, and take minutes to collect all your men. Let us be gone!”
Brannoch nodded, kicked his feet into a pair of shoes, and went out the door between his supposed guards. Langley stole a glance at Marin, her face was white with strain. He hoped the crazy thunder of his own heart didn’t show.
So far, so good. Stopping at the embassy had been unavoidable, but the extra opposition picked up there had been kept down to one man—and a man whom Langley’s conscience required should be told the truth.
Saris had not only meant to take control of the Thryman microphones, but to short-out the circuits of their anti-gravity sled, leave them sitting helplessly behind. Had he done that—was he strong enough?
Perhaps!
It would be strange, though, if those shrewd and suspicious intelligences were content with an arrangement which would leave them the prisoners of any accident. There must be means for repairing the apparatus, robot tools controllable from inside the tank. There were surely means of calling up the entire ring of Centaurian spies and saboteurs, throwing them all away just to break through Chanthavar’s men and get into a concealed spaceship and flee.
The Thrymans were going to escape. There was no way of preventing that. They were probably going to pursue. And Chanthavar wouldn’t be peacefully asleep much longer, either. The question was whether Valti’s group could get out of tracer range before one or the other party was in action.
It’ll be interesting to find out, thought Langley.
20
In his own forgotten world, they would never have accomplished this much. Somewhere along the line, there would have been a man with enough independence of mind to hold up the proceedings while he checked with his superiors. But a slave is not bred or trained to think for himself. This may be one reason why freedom, unstable, inefficient, stamped to oblivion again and again, still rises new through all history.
The van slipped swiftly across a darkened planet. Lora became a bright star cluster on the horizon, and then it was lost, only night could be seen. Langley doubted that he would ever look on that city again. It had flashed over his experience for a few weeks, but now it was as if it and all its millions had never been. It gave him some understanding of Valti’s philosophy, his acceptance of the impermanent and the doomed as essential to the scheme of things.
Brannoch’s sinewy face was etched against shadow by the dim light of the instrument panel. “Do you know why the Society has decided to help us?” he asked.
“No, I don’t, my lord,” said the trader.
“There’s money in it somewhere. Big money. Unless you plan some treachery—” For a moment, teeth gleamed white, then the Thorian laughed. “No. Why should you bother with me at all, if not for the purpose you stated?”
“Of course, my lord, the League will not be ungrateful for all my exertions?”
“Oh, yes, yes, you’ll have your squeeze, never fear. I’ll get it back from Earth. This does mean war, you know. There’s no stopping the war now. But if I know these fat-gutted Ministers, they’ll keep their fleet in this system to protect their own precious hides—long enough to give us a chance at the nullifier. We’ll make a couple of heavy raids just to throw a scare into them.” Brannoch stared darkly ahead of him. “I wonder what Thrymka wanted to stay for. I wonder how big their web really is. Some day I hope to do something about them too... the damned spiders!”
The van slanted toward a small clump of forest. When it grounded, Valti tumbled out. “I’ve got the flitter here. If you please, sirs!”
A blaster cut the lock on Saris” box. The Holatan emerged in one supple bound, and the party groped forward between trees.
“They iss all wit” energy weaponss here,” murmured the alien in English. “All but one, the tall fellow there. Can you handle him?”
“I’d better be able to,” said Langley between clenched jaws.
The flitter loomed huge in the grove, like a pillar of night “Where are the rest of your gang?” asked Brannoch as he went up the ladder to the air lock.
“Snugly in bed, my lord,” said Valti. His voice sounded loud and flat in the immense hush. Somewhere, far off, crickets were chirping. It would probably be the last time he heard crickets, thought Langley. “I’ll have to get out of the Solar System, of course, but that’s no reason to break up the rest of the organization.”
Twenty men to capture.
This spaceboat was meant for velocity rather than comfort. A single long room held passenger chairs and the pilot’s seat. Valti sloughed off his armor, planted his large bottom in the control chair, and moved thick fingers in an astonishingly graceful dance over the panel. The boat shivered, roared, and leaped for the sky.
Atmosphere fell behind. Earth rolled huge and lovely against a curtain of incandescent stars. Langley looked at her with a wrenching of farewell.
Good-by, Earth. Good-by, hill and forest, tall mountains, windy plains, great march of seas under the moon. Good-by, Peggy.
A computer chattered quietly to itself. Lights blinked on the panel. Valti locked a switch in place, sighed gustily, and turned around. “All right,” he said, “she’s on automatic, a high-acceleration path. We’ll reach our ship in half an hour. You may as well relax.”
“Easier said than done,” grunted Brannoch.
It grew very still in the narrow metal chamber.
Langley threw a glance at Saris. The Holatan nodded, ever so faintly. Marin saw the gesture, and her own head bobbed. It was time.
Langley put his back to the wall near the controls. He drew his blaster. “Don’t move,” he said.
Someone cursed. A gun jumped up with blinding speed. It didn’t fire.
“Saris has a grip on every weapon in here except mine and Marin’s,” said Langley. “You’d better sit still and listen- No, you don’t!” He sent a beam roaring at the tall man with the old-style weapon. The trader howled as it fell from seared fingers.
“Sorry to do that.” Langley spoke low. There was sweat trickling down his face. “I don’t want to hurt anybody. But there are some pretty big issues involved. Will you give me a chance to explain?”
“Captain—” Valti shuffled closer. Marin waved him back with a ferocious gesture. Saris crouched in the after end of the room, shivering with effort.
“Listen to me.” Langley felt a vague annoyance that his tone should be pleading. Wasn’t the man with the gun supposed to be unquestioned boss? But Valti’s little eyes were shifting back and forth, watching for any chance at all. Brannoch’s legs were gathered under his chair, ready to leap. The trader spacemen were snarling, building up courage for a rush to overwhelm him.
“I just want to tell you some facts,” said Langley. “You’ve all been the dupes of one of the biggest, brassiest swindles in history. You think you’re working for your own good—Valti, Brannoch—but I’m going to show you otherwise. You’ve got half an hour to wait in any event, so you might as well listen to me,”