Unfortunately, he made a simple error. The Sedmons had all walked, lightly disguised, around the environs of Zergandol. But they knew Zergandol; knew what the streets looked like, knew where they were going. The Sedmon wandering around the seedier parts of Gerota Town's port area got lost.
The Sedmon then got a firsthand experience of the difference between being the all-powerful and slightly sinister Daal of Uldune, where his word was life or death and his spies and secret police were remarkably efficient, and being an arbitrary spaceman in a foreign port.
There were certain elements in common. Any of the Sedmons going out incognito on the winding hilly streets of Zergandol had a number of the Daal's secret police watching. Here, too, the Sedmon was being watched by the secret police. However, there the similarity ended. The Daal's agents—the Sedmon was quite sure of it—were never as clumsy and obvious as this idiot. And he had never been shadowed by just one man.
The Sedmon stepped around a corner and slid into a convenient alleyway, toggling a button on his collar. The pale blue suit he was wearing became a strident green, and he raised himself up a further two inches with platform soles. His dark complexion he could not alter as easily, but with the addition of a curling beard and moustache he had become a different person.
None of which helped him at all. He hadn't walked more than twenty feet farther down the alley before someone hit him very expertly across the base of the skull.
* * *
When the Sedmon awoke, he was aware that the other hexaperson on the ship was already locking certain key aspects on the Thunderbird and coming to his assistance. He also realized that his wallet, ship-key and chronometer were all missing. Being, as it were, one with the Sedmon who was leaving the Thunderbird, he discovered he was in something of a predicament there, too. The ship must have been under close observation because he hadn't even crossed the tarmac when a groundcar with five heavily armed ISS agents screeched to a halt in front of him. The five heavily armed agents grabbed and forcecuffed the Sedmon.
"What's this all about?" demanded the Sedmon, who had just emerged from the ship.
"Shut up," said the ISS officer. He held the Sedmon at blaster-point, as two others systematically searched and removed various items from his person that the customs officials had not discovered in their search.
The part of the hexaperson who was attempting to get up in the alley borrowed from his other selves to control his feet. Back on Uldune in the House of Thunders, the Daal got up abruptly from where he had been presiding over a court hearing in the Little Court. He went hastily to join his brothers in the tower. At times like this, physical closeness was comforting if not necessary.
In the office in the port building that the ISS had appropriated for their own use, one of the hexaperson was being strapped into a chair equipped with electrodes. The Daal had such a chair, too. The hexaperson had never anticipated being strapped into it, however. It administered shocks when the instrumentation detected the telltale signs of a lie. It was a very effective way of getting the truth out of a suspect.
"We want to know just how you managed to get back to your ship after you had evaded our agent," stated the ISS interrogator. "If you lie, this is what will happen."
Agony washed through all six of the Sedmons.
CHAPTER 10
The air in the Venture was getting thin. The trip had taken longer than they'd thought, even with the Sheewash Drive.
"Whatever was dragging at us is back, Captain," said Goth, tiredly. "Maybe we should try using that shield you put us in again. That seemed to work."
"NO WAY!" shouted the Leewit. "Not never! I couldn't stand it. I won't help if you do that again! I'll whistle at you!"
So they'd plodded on. By the time they got to Vaudevillia, they were gasping almost constantly.
The space around Vaudevillia was fairly crowded—everything from great lattice ships to small tramps. No planetary control greeted them, and the space traffic seemed to be left to look after itself.
"It's a pretty chaotic place, Captain," said Vezzarn. "There's no planetary authority. Nor any real ports. No defenses neither. It doesn't need none. Even the most desperate bunch of raiders wouldn't waste their time on Vaudevillia. It's nothing more than a giant gypsy encampment. There are no real towns. You land anywhere. It rains so much that wherever you choose would be muddy and flat, sir."
"Well, let's try and get some fuel to land with, before we try doing it the hard way. Let's try the communicator. We're low on air and fuel. Surely someone will help."
They might as well have shouted into space. No one was coming near them; although, by the way some of the tramps were hovering, they were just waiting for the Venture's crew to die.
"Well, if no one will help, we'll have to help ourselves," said Captain Pausert.
* * *
The lattice ship looked far more like an umbrella that had lost all of its fabric, than a spacecraft. And it was big. Huge was a better word. Gigantic.
Pausert remembered the excitement of one of the great lattice showboats landing on Nikkeldepain; standing, watching in delight as the great metal skeleton became covered in tinsel bright synthasilk, as the showboat transformed an empty fifteen acre field into a paradise of stages, freak shows and strange stalls. He could almost hear the music again . . .
But now he had to concentrate. It was difficult when you were gasping.
This was a seriously tricky bit of ship-handling. It had been something they'd done in his Navy time with one-man interceptors on empty tanker ships. But the Venture was a lot bigger and less maneuverable than a one-man interceptor. The timing was crucial.
Pausert had come as close as he dared to the spiderweblike lattice showboat that they were planning to catch a ride on. There were the remains of several other space-craft hung around in the lattice's skeletal arms. They weren't the crashed hulks of other ships that had tried to ride down on her. Rather, they were cobbled onto the lattice—stores, props, extra living quarters. An old ship made a convenient air-tight addition to the giant lattice.
The lattice showboat began its descent. Pausert used the laterals to begin the drop after it. He closed in on the upper stage. Gravity began to tug at the Venture.
"Stand by the magnetic locks, Vezzarn," he snapped. They were falling fast now. There were squawks of protest from the lattice showboat—but it was too big and cumbersome to take evasive action. Now, it loomed large and terribly, terribly close. Atmosphere was beginning to buffet the Venture too, making steering even more difficult. Plainly the lattice ship was trying to drop faster to get away from a potential collision.
Everyone was in the control room. If they failed now . . . they could kill themselves. Pausert held that last bit of fuel in the Venture's tanks in reserve against the possibility of impacting the lattice showboat. But of course those on board the lattice ship wouldn't know that.
At the last possible moment—just when collision seemed inevitable—Pausert swung the Venture over on the laterals. "Now, Vezzarn!"
With a barely audible click, the Venture was magnetically locked onto the upper stage of the lattice showboat.
Never had anything on that stage been quite so enthusiastically applauded.