The communicator screen was blank, but odd squawks came from the speaker, breaking eventually into intelligible speech. When the Streall spoke to one another it sounded like a cat spitting; when forced to use human speech, they made grotesque gobbling noises in a travesty of the human voice.
“You will please answer.”
Rodrone noticed that the transmit key was still switched off. “Don’t answer,” he said. “Just let the signal fade.”
“It doesn’t show any sign of fading, chief,” Kulthol told him gruffly. “They seem to have an angle that keeps space-tensor contact going for as long as they like.”
“Well how in hell did they find us?” Clave shrugged. “I’d say they just tried hard.” That might be possible, he realized. Under pressure from the Streall, a Jal-Dee investigation could eventually have come up with an informed guess. “What did they say?”
“Don’t tell me you can’t guess.”
The room was beginning to fill up with curious visitors. Rodrone stepped forward and flicked the transmit key. “Repeat your message.”
The gobble voice came through again in exaggerated and weird inflections which the speaker probably imagined were human ones.
“You possess an article we desire, stolen by you while in transit to us. We desire the return to us of the article.”
“Why?”
A pause. “We will pay.”
“What do you offer?” Rodrone asked, intrigued.
“Name your price.”
“We don’t wish to sell.”
“One million tons of a material known only to us, lighter than and of a tensile strength superior to any man-made material”
“No.”
A pause. “One complete planet, uninhabited, eight thousand miles diameter, temperature, atmosphere and humidity equitable with Terra-standard, organically developed, already surveyed for minerals. Suitably placed for human trade routes.”
“No.” Rodrone was enjoying this incredible game.
“Then we offer secrets of Streall science unknown to mankind.”
Now he was interested. “Will you advance, in speculation, a full explanation of the object we hold and a set of instructions for operating it?”
“No.”
“Then there’s no trade.”
“A cluster of twenty solar systems, comprising a total of a hundred and five usable planets and assorted moons, in the Karaga region currently controlled by us. The cluster contains a number of inferior but able races amenable to manipulation. Ownership will be guaranteed to you and your descendants, with stipulations for defense against all comers?”
“Listen to that!” breathed Crule. “Our own empire!”
“No!” said Rodrone harshly.
“But how can we turn down an offer like that?”
“No!” His refusal this time was directed at his own people. At this, the gobble voice was silent for a moment. Then:
“Wait. We have new offers.”
Evidently Redace’s evaluation of the lens had been totally inadequate. These fantastic attempts to buy it could only mean that its importance was equally fantastic;
He waited attentively to hear what they would offer next. But over a minute passed with no further sound from the speaker. He began to feel restless; then he noticed that a tingling sensation was passing through his body, as though trains of unaccustomed impulses were passing along his nerves.
At the same, time a thought, a compulsion, was growing in his mind. “Make a trade,” the compulsion urged. “Strike a bargain.”
For a while the urge seemed to have the insistence of hunger or sexual desire. “All right,” he started to say, but when he opened his mouth nothing but a wailing croak came out.
Alarmed, he moved his hand to his head—or tried to. The movement produced only an uncontrolled, shuddering shake. His body no longer worked properly.
But then the trembling feelings seemed to smooth themselves out and alarm passed away. The course open to him was becoming clear: the lens was no real use to him, whereas what he could take in exchange for it surpassed his wildest dreams. His limbs and voice came under his control again, albeit shakily. It was only in the momentary transition period, when thoughts tumbled wildly, that he was still sufficiently confused to know that his mind had been interfered with.
Without stopping to think further he made a special movement with his wrist. Immediately his tiny gun was in his hand and he fired. Lagging only a bare second behind him, a rose-pink beam from Redace’s gun followed suit, and then a sizzling laser ray from Kulthol added to the destruction.
Rodrone sighed with relief. Leaving only a slight ache, his mind was clear again and his muscles functioning without tremor.
And the space-tensor communicator was a smoking ruin.
Everyone looked at the others nervously.
“That was a pretty neat trick,” Redace said finally. “They sent through sub-audible signals aimed at taking command of our nervous systems. They could have got what they wanted by remote control.”
“But why didn’t it work?” Rodrone queried, waving away black smoke from the still-hot equipment.
“If you ask me, it damn nearly did,” Kulthol said, and added a few curses. The experience seemed to have frightened him.
“That’s right,” Redace said thoughtfully. “Obviously their knowledge of the human body is imperfect—the brain command signals didn’t take hold properly. Even so, I think they might have been able to make the right adjustments if we hadn’t been quick off the mark.”
Something was tugging at Rodrone’s mind. Suddenly he had it. Ruby and her electronic organ. He knew now where the device had originated: the Streall had a hand in it somewhere. Probably the organs had been made with the help of a human scientist, that was why they worked so well. It also explained why copies made of the organ worked hardly at alclass="underline" they lacked the special touch of Streall skills.
“Listen everybody,” he said out loud, “the Streall have made a psychological attack and failed. Their next attack will be physical. We have only a few hours at most before they are here, and possibly only a few minutes. We can’t fight them off because they can simply pile on more force until we break. There’s only one alternative: we have to get out.”
To some, who had lived permanently on Brüde for years, the decision came as a shock. But once Rodrone convinced them all of the urgency of the situation activity was intense. The great hangar doors opened and ship after ship trundled out into the open. Storage spaces were ransacked of equipment, stores, ammunition and valuables. There was no knowing when they would be able to return to Brüde again, or if the base would even be in existence after the Streall had called.
One by one the spaceships took off from the crater, bringing into action half a dozen different types of spacedrive. Only the fast, reliable ships were used: older and slower vessels were best discarded. A haze of smoke began to fill the crater, drifting and blazing in the arc lights that had been turned on.
The very first ships to reach orbit had already set up a space watch to scan far ahead for approaching raiders. Their warning came when only three ships, the Stond included, were still on the ground. One of them was Redace Trudo’s one-man spacer, a sleek crimson boat with a control cabin and bunk, engine and storage hold and nothing else.
Rodrone accosted his friend as the last man raced for the Stond. “Well, where are you going?” he asked. “Back to your rats’ warren?”