He flipped the lights off and we groped our way aboard with just the dim red emergency lights to show us the way. I sat in the copilot's seat and strapped in.
"What is your plan?" he asked.
"A simple one. You know the position of all the sheot flocks don't you?"
"Observed and logged into the launch's memory."
"Great. Have the computer do a topological survey to plot a course that will let us visit them all in the shortest amount of time. We drift over to the first flock, find one of the shepherds who is maybe out of sight of the others — and talk to him. Show him the photograph and find out if he has seen the thing. If he hasn't — on to the next bunch."
"Seems a simple and practical plan. Belts fastened? Right, first flock coming up."
We were slammed back into our seats and were on our way. High and fast on the plotted track. Then slow and drifting in low while Tremearne peered out into the darkness.
"There's one," he said. "On the far side of the flock — all by himself. Either to guard the beasts or keep them from wandering. I have a suggestion. I approach him from behind and immobilize him. Then you question him."
"Creep up in the dark? Immobilize an armed and watchful guard? That's a job for a combat trooper."
"Well how do you think I got these electronic eyeballs? It will be entertaining to do a bit of work again."
I had no choice but to agree. The Captain was proving to be an excellent ally. Working this way would be certainly a lot faster than me crawling around on my own. If he could do as he said. I had my doubts but kept them to myself. He was a gray-haired desk jockey with electric eyesight who might very well be past his sell-by date.
He wasn't. After we landed he stepped out the door and vanished silently in the darkness. Not thirty seconds later he called to me quietly.
"Over here. You can use your light now."
I turned on the handlight, it was really black under the almost starless sky, and saw two forms standing close together.
The light revealed a bulging-eyed shepherd seized in an unbreakable grip, a hand on his throat keeping him silent. I waggled the light under his nose.
"Listen, oh shepherd who failed his duty. The hand that holds you could just as easily have killed you. Then we could rustle all your woolly flock and eat sheot shashlik until the end of time. But I will be merciful. The hand will be removed from your filthy throat and you will not shout or you really will be dead. You will speak to me softly and answer my questions. You may now speak."
He coughed and groaned when the pressure was released. "Demons in the darkness! Release me, do not kill me, tell me what you wish of me then go back to the pit from which you have escaped…"
I reached out and tweaked his nose sharply. "Shut up. Open your eyes. Look at this photograph. Let me know if you have ever seen it before."
I held the photo close, shone the light on it. Tremearne gave a twitch of emphasis to his arm and the captive moaned his answer. "Never, no, such a thing I would remember, no - " His voice gurgled into silence and he dropped unconscious to the ground.
"Don't these sheot shepherds ever wash?" Tremearne asked.
"Only on alternate years. Let's get to the next one."
We quickly worked out a routine. We would land and he would be away. Usually, by the time I had exited the launch, he would be calling me. Many a terrified shepherd slept soundly this night. But only after looking at the picture of the artifact. I dozed between visits and the back of the launch echoed with snores and heavy breathing. Only the Captain was unsleeping and tireless, seemingly as fit on the eleventh visit as he had been on the first. It was a long, long night.
I was getting groggy by the time we hit thirteen. Unlucky thirteen; get it over with and on to fourteen. Another set of bulging eyes peeking over the top of another matted beard.
"Look!" I snarled. "Speak! And moaning does not count as speaking. Ever seen this thing?"
This one gurgled instead of moaning, then yiped as his arm got twisted a bit further. It looked as though even the stolid Captain was beginning to lose his patience.
"Imp of Satan… work of the devil… I warned them, but they wouldn't listen… the grave, the grave!"
"Do you have any idea of what he is babbling about?" Tremearne asked.
"There may be hope, Captain. If he is not bonkers he might have seen it. Look - see! Ever see before?"
"I told him not touch it - death and damnation were sure to follow."
"You have seen it. All right, Cap, you can let up on the arm - but stand ready." I rooted in my pocket and took out a handful of silver cylinders, the local money, let the light shine on them. "Hey you, Smelly, look – fedha - and all for you. All yours."
This got his attention all right and I closed my fist tight as he groped for them. "Yours if you answer some simple questions. You will not be hurt - but only if you answer truthfully. You have seen this thing?"
"They fled. We found it in their skyship. I touched it, unclean, unclean."
"You're doing fine." I shook half of the coins into his waiting hand. "Now the ten-thousand-fedha question. Where is it now?"
"Sold, sold to them. The Paradisians. May they be cursed by it, cursed forever… "
It wasn't easy, but we finally worked all the details out of him. Stripped of all the curses and blasphemy it was a simple tale of larceny and chicanery. The spacer had landed - and been attacked as soon as the door had been opened. During the fracas the Fundamentaloids had trundled through the ship and grabbed everything portable, including the container with the alien artifact. They had carried the whole thing away with them because they had a job opening it. When they eventually succeeded they could not understand what it was. And ignorance meant fear. So they had unloaded it in the market in Paradise where almost anything could be sold. End of story.
We let the shepherd keep the money when we lowered him, unconscious, to the ground. "This calls for consultation," I said.
"Yes, but not this close to the flock. Let's get up to the plateau where the air is fresher."
The others were awake when we landed this time, listening closely to what we had discovered.
"Well this narrows the field a bit," Madonette said.
"Does it?" I asked. "How big is the population of this paradisaical nation?"
"Around one hundred thousand," Tremearne admitted. "It may not be the best society on this planet but it appears to be the most successful one. I know very little about it, just photographs and observation."
"Doesn't anyone in the Pentagon know more?"
"Probably. But the information is classified and they aren't talking."
I cracked my knuckles, scowled and jabbed my finger at him. "That's really not good enough - is it?"
Tremearne looked as unhappy as I did. "No, Jim, it is not. I don't know why all that information is classified while your group is actually operating here on the planet. I have tried to get the information and have been not only rebuffed but warned off."
"Who is doing this? Any idea?"
"None - other than that it is at the very highest level. The people I have been in contact with understand your problems and want to help. But any requests that they pass on are turned down instantly and with prejudice."
"Am I paranoid - or is there someone in the chain of command who doesn't like this operation? Who wants it to fail?"
It was Tremearne's turn now to crack his knuckles and look glum.
"I've told you - I am a career officer. But I'm not fond of the situation here on this planet. Not only the way your group is being treated, but the whole ugly business. Well, I feel that it is getting away from me. At first I thought I could get some reform here by working through channels. It's not good enough. I am being blocked just as completely as you are.
"Who - and why?"
"I don't know. But I am doing my best to find out. About this city and the Paradisians I guess, basically, I know absolutely nothing."
"An honest answer, Captain, and I thank you for it."