Calvin M. Knox (9 page)

Ten
minutes after blastoff, the voice from the speaker grid advised Catton that it
was now safe to leave one's bed, as the ship was now in nulldrive and would
remain there until reaching Skorg. Dinner, the voice added, would be served in
one hour.

Catton
went on an exploratory trip through the vessel in the hour before dinner. He
attracted
a
great deal of attention, as might have been
expected; there were still few Earthmen in this part of the galaxy, and one
traveling on
a
Skorg luxury liner was an extreme curiosity.

The
ship was lavish. There was a grand ballroom, a smaller auditorium, two great
opining halls (one reserved exclusively for Skorgs, the other open to all
comers—a bit of deservedly instituted discrimination, considering the distinctive
Skorg odor). Catton also saw a library of book-tapes, mostly in Skorg, with a
scattering of Morilaru and Arenaddin volumes, and a recreation room designed to
serve the recreational needs of several different species.

He
ate that evening in the unrestricted dining room, since he had
no entry into the Skorg room nor
much desire to enter it;
the bulk of his companions in the room were Morilaru, though he noted a few
Arenaddin and even another Earthman. Catton resolved to introduce himself to
the Earthman after the meal.

The
food was Skorg food, mostly yellow vegetables and stringy lean meat—probably it
was superbly prepared, but the raw materials were nothing much. The main dish
was preceded by a cocktail which tasted astonishingly like
a
Terran martini, though Catton knew the Terran liquor industry had not
yet established trade channels through to Skorg. During the meal Skorg wine was
served—a bitter but palatable green liquid.

Catton
encountered the other Earthman in the lounge after the meal. It was more of a
simultaneous coinciding of orbit than a one-sided pursuit; the other Earthman,
it seemed, had been anxious to meet Catton, too.

"My
name is Royce, H. Byron Royce. I don't suppose you remember me, Mr.
Catton."

Carton didn't. The Earthman was in his
sixties, tall and weatherbeaten, with blunt, open features and faded pale-blue
eyes. He was dressed conventionally in a Terran business suit. Catton had no
idea who H. Byron Royce might be, but he hazarded a guess. "You were at
that reception given for me at the Embassy in
Dyelleran,
weren't you?"

Royce
smiled. "That's right. We exchanged a couple of words then, if you
remember—"

"I'm afraid III need my memory
refreshed," Catton confessed. "There were so many strange faces that
night, you realize—"

"Sure,
I know how it is. A hundred people come up and shake your
hand,
you can't remember all of 'em. Well, I'm Byron Royce of Royce Brothers, Terra.
Does that ring any bells now?"

Carton nodded. Royce Brothers was an enterprising
export firm; through holding companies, it controlled most of Terran trade
over a span of fifty light-years out from Earth, and now, no doubt, was looking
to extend its sway to Morilar, Skorg, and Arenadd. Catton realized he was
talking to a billionaire. It was a slighdy unsettling thought.

"Bound for Skorg on diplomatic business,
Mr. Catton?"

"Yes,"
Catton said. "I'm not at liberty to reveal anything, of course."

"Wouldn't think of prying," Royce
said cheerily. "Naturally, if there's anything involved that might
possibly have an effect on Royce Brothers, I'd gready appreciate a leetie hint,
but-"

"I'm
afraid it's a matter of considerable secrecy," Catton said, perhaps a bit
too brusquely. "But I can tell you that it's of no commercial interest to
you."

Royce
took the hint and changed the subject immediately. "Too bad about the
Ambassador's daughter, wasn't it?
Pretty little girl like
that running away to nowhere.
You think they're going to find her, Mr.
Catton?"

Catton
shrugged. "It's unlikely, unless she wants to be found. The galaxy's too
big for an efficient search to be carried on."

"Funny, that note she
left."

"Oh, you heard about
it?"

"The
Ambassador himself told me, with tears in his eyes. Ran away with the man she
loved. He didn't have any idea who that might be. Damned if they didn't run a
checkup on every Earthman who'd been on Morilar in the past six months, and
there wasn't one of them missing."

"So
there's no notion
whom
she ran off with, eh?"
Catton asked.

"Not
a touch. Mr. Seeman half figured she'd made the whole part up, about her lover.
But he couldn't understand why she'd want to run away."

A
Skorg steward passed, carrying a tray of drinks. He paused in front of Catton
and Royce and inquired in Morilaru if they were interested. Catton helped
himself to a highball which tasted vaguely peppery; Royce, protesting that he
never drank, declined the tray.

Catton
sipped his drink. The lounge was crowded; there were life-forms of a dozen
kinds in it, including, Catton noted with some amusement, a Dargonid who might
have been the twin of the one who had purchased the hypnojewel from Nuuri
Gryain's unfortunate friends. Catton also noticed two of his attaches
nearby—keeping an eye on him, no doubt.

Suddenly
he heard a distant dull booming sound, reverberating as if far away. A moment
later it was repeated, slightly louder but still muffled and faint.
Conversation in the lounge was unaffected.

But
H. Byron Royce was standing on tiptoes, head cocked to one side for better
hearing. He looked worried.

"What's the
matter?" Catton said.

There was a third
boom—still louder.

Muscles tightened suddenly in Royce's cheeks.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get out of here, Catton."
"Out of here? Why?" "Hurry up!"

Mystified, Catton followed the tall, old
Earthman through the crowd of chatting passengers and out into the
com-panionway that fronted the lounge. A fourth time the sound came—and, out
here, Catton could hear it distinctly and clearly.

It
sounded like an explosion. "What's going on?" Catton asked.

"I
don't know," Royce replied. "But every time I hear loud booms on a
space-liner, I get out into the hall and start looking for a lifeship. I was
aboard the
Star
of
the Night
when it blew up off Capella in '83."

A
fifth boom came rippling up from the depths of the ship—and this time Catton
fancied he could hear girders giving way, strutwork ripping loose, engines
exploding, men dying. A drive-room explosion aboard a faster-than-light
spaceliner was a dreadful thing. Even if the ship survived the blast, it would
no longer have means of propulsion, and would drift helplessly, unlocatable,
until its food supply ran out. There would be nightmarish frenzy before that
time, culminating in cannibalism.

Royce
began to run, and Catton followed him. Other people were coming out of the
lounge, now. Footsteps echoed in the companionway.

A
loudspeaker voice said, "There is no cause for alarm, ladies and
gentlemen." The voice was speaking in Skorg, but it hastily repeated the
words in Morilaru. "Please remain where you are. Members of the crew will
aid you. Do not panic. Do not panic."

It might
just as well have been an order to the tides to hold back. A mass of screaming
people came sweeping out of the lounge, crowding desperately into the narrow
companionway. The loudspeaker's shouted exhortations were drowned out by the
cries of the crowd. Another explosion
sounded,
this
one larger than the others.

"That was the central drive chamber
blowing," Royce muttered. "This ship is done for."

He
paused at a doorway, flung it open, and went racing down a ramp toward the
lifeships. A ship the size of the
Silver Spear
was
probably equipped with fifty or seventy-five tiny lifeships, each capable of
holding a dozen passengers', fifteen or twenty in an emergency. The lifeships
had miniature warp-drives and enough fuel to get them to a nearby planet.

Royce
swung over the hatch of the nearest lifeship with the amazing self-preservation
impulse of a man to whom life is very important indeed
,.
and
hurled himself in. Catton followed. A moment later
five other people rushed into the small ship.

Catton
was surprised to see that one of them was the Morilaru who had accompanied him
as his administrative adjutant. Another was an enormous Arenaddin who was
bleating like a frightened cow. Two others were Morilaru women clad in costly
gowns—and, astonishingly, they had dragged aboard the ship a man in the uniform
of a member of the crew. The Skorg was writhing and protesting, trying to free
himself. "Crewmen must not board lifeships until all passengers are
safe," he was insisting.

"Quiet, you idiot," one of the
Morilaru women snapped. "You want to stay alive, and so do we. We need a
skilled spaceman aboard this ship." They fastened their fingernails into
the Skorg's shirt, and held him fast.

The
lifeship hatch opened again, and a Morilaru entered, wild-eyed and frantic.

"The
ship's blowing up," he gasped. "Let's blast off out of here before we
get killed!"

Catton started to protest.
There were only eight people in the lifeship—nine, giving the Arenaddin double
credit for his bulk. There was room for three or four more passengers, as many
as ten if need be. It was grossly unfair to blast off half full.

But
as he moved forward, one of the Morilaru women stepped in. front of him and
blocked his path. The male Morilaru hastily dogged the hatch shut and yanked
down on the red-handled lever that released the lifeship from its fastenings.

A hatch in the side of the wounded mother
ship opened as the lifeship glided down its passageway and into space. Instants
later, a gigantic explosion split the
Silver Spear
apart.
The lifeship, with its eight occupants, rocked and tossed in the shock wave
caused by the explosion—and then righted itself and sped off into space.

IX.

A
lifeship
has only rudimentary
controls. There was a view-screen, a plot-tank, a simplified course-computer,
and a book of instructions, trilingual. As Catton thought back over it, half an
hour after the explosion, he was grateful that a crewman had come along.

But the
crewman was unhappy about it. His name was Nyaruik Sadhig, and he brooded
loudly about his plight. "If I ever survive this, 111
be
sacked," he muttered. "Think of it—a crewman entering a lifeship and
letting passengers remain behindl"

"You
were coerced," Catton pointed out. "They can't hold that against
you."

"Yes," said one of the Morilaru
women who had dragged him aboard. She produced a tiny woman-size blaster from
her carryall. "I'll testify that I forced you into the ship at
gunpoint," she said. "That ought to count in your favor, won't
it?"

"No,"
said Sadhig bleakly. "According to the law, I'm supposed to resist such
'coercion'—even at the cost of my life. I'm ruined, damn it! Why did you have
to pull me aboard your accursed lifeship?"

"Because,"
remarked the other Morilaru female sweetly, "we wanted to live. And we
weren't sure we could pilot this ship ourselves."

"How far are we from
civilization?" Royce asked.

Sadhig shrugged. "It's impossible to
tell until I've had a go with the computer."

"But
we can't be very far," objected one of the Morilaru women. "It was
still the first night of the trip. We should still be close to Morilar."

Sadhig
shook his head. "I'm afraid you don't understand how the nulldrive works.
The ship's generators thrust us into a fivespace continuum, and when the
computer says so we return to normal space. But points in nullspace don't have
a one-to-one correlation with points in normal space. There's no matching
referent. We might be a billion light-years from Morilar—or we might be just
next door."