Dorsai! (25 page)

“Shai Dorsai!” gasped Donal. “Surrender!”

“Who to?” grunted the other.

“Donal and Ian Graeme,” said Ian. “Foralie.”

“Honored,” said the strange Dorsai. “Heard of you. Hord Van Tarsel, Snelbrich Canton. All right then, let me up. My right arm's broken, anyway.”

Donal and Ian let go and assisted Van Tarsel to his feet. El Man had finished off what else remained, and now came up to them.

“Hord Van Tarsel—Coruna El Man,” said Donal.

“Honored,” said El Man.

“Honor's mine,” replied Van Tarsel. “I'm your prisoner, gentlemen. Want my parole?”

“I'd appreciate it,” said Donal. “We've got work to do here yet. What kind of contract are you under?”

“Straight duty. No loyalty clause. Why?”

“Any reason why I can't hire you on a prisoner's basis?” asked Donal.

“Not from this job.” Van Tarsel sounded disgusted. “I've been sold twice on the open market because of a typo in my last contract. Besides,” he added, “as I say, I've heard of you.”

“You're hired, then. We're looking for the man you're guarding here. Can you tell us where we'll find him?”

“Follow me,” said Van Tarsel; and led the way back through the darkness; and opened a door. They stepped through into a short corridor that led them up a ramp and to another door.

“Locked,” said Van Tarsel. “The alarm's gone off.” He looked at them. Further than this he could not in honor go, even on a hired prisoner's basis.

“Burn it down,” said Donal.

He and Ian and El Man opened up on the door, which glowed stubbornly to a white heat, but finally melted. Ian threw a concussion bolt at it and knocked it open.

Within, a large man with a black hood over his head was crouched against the far wall of the room, a miner's heavy-duty ion gun in his hand pointing a little unsteadily at them and shifting from one to the other.

“Don't be a fool,” said Ian. “We are all Dorsai.”

The gun sagged in the hand of the hooded man. A choked, bitter exclamation came from behind the mask.

“Come on.” Donal gestured him out. He dropped the gun and came, shoulders bowed. They headed back through the house.

The fire fight in the hall was still going on as they retraced their footsteps; but died out as they reached the center hall. Two of the five men they had left behind there were able to navigate on their own power and another one could make it back to the ship with assistance. The other two were dead. They returned swiftly to the terrace, through the garden, and back into the tunnel, picking up the rest of their complement as they went Fifteen minutes later, they were all aboard and the N4J was falling into deep space.

In the lounge, Donal was standing before the hooded man, who sat slumped on a float.

“Gentlemen,” said Donal, “take a look at William's social technician.”

Ian and El Man, who were present, looked sharply over at Donal—not so much at the words as at the tone in which he had said them. He had spoken in a voice that was, for him, unexpectedly bitter.

“Here's the man who sowed the whirlwind the civilized worlds are reaping at this moment,” went on Donal. He stretched out his hand to the black hood. The man shrank from him, but Donal caught the hood and jerked it off. A slow exhalation of breath slipped out between Donal's lips.

“So you sold out,” he said.

The man before them was ArDell Montor.

ArDell looked back at him out of a white face, but with eyes that did not bend before Donal's bleak glance.

‘‘I had to have work,” he said. “I was killing myself. I don't apologize.”

“Was that all the reason?” asked Donal, ironically.

At that, ArDell's face did turn aside.

“No—” he said. Donal said nothing. “It was her,” ArDell whispered. “He promised me her.”

“Her!”
The note in Donal's voice made the other two Dorsai take an instinctive step toward him. But Donal held himself without moving, under control. “Anea?”

“She might have taken pity on me—” ArDell whispered to the floor of the lounge. “You don't understand . . . living close to her all those years . . . and I was so miserable, and she . . . I couldn't help loving her—”

“No,” said Donal. Slowly, the sudden lightning of his tension leaked out of him. “You couldn't help it.” He turned away. “You fool,” he said, with his back to ArDell. “Didn't you know him well enough to know when he was lying to you? He had her in mind for himself.”

“William?
No!
” ArDell was suddenly on his feet. “Not him—with her! It can't be . . . such a thing!”

“It won't,” said Donal, wearily. “But not because it depends on people like you to stop him.” He turned back to face ArDell. “Lock him up, will you captain.” El Man's hard hand closed on ArDell's shoulder and turned him toward the entrance to the lounge. “Oh . . . and captain—”

“Sir?” said El Man, turning to face him.

“We rendezvous with all units under Fleet Commander Lludrow as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.” El Man half-pushed, half-carried ArDell Montor out of the room; and, as if symbolically, out of the main current of the history of mankind which he had attempted to influence with his science for William, Prince of Ceta.

The N4J set out to make contact with Lludrow. It was not a thing to be quickly or easily accomplished. Even when it is known where it should be, it is far from easy to track down and pinpoint as small a thing as a fleet of human ships in the inconceivable vastnesses of interstellar space. For the very good reasons that there is always the chance of human error, that a safety margin must always be maintained—better to fall short of your target than to come out too dose to it—and that there is, for practical purposes, no such thing as standing still in the universe. The N4J made a phase shift from where it calculated it was, to where it calculated the fleet to be, sent out a call signal and got no answer. It calculated again, signaled again—and so continued until it got first, a very faint signal in response, then a stronger one, and finally, one which permitted communication. Calculations were then matched between the flagship of the fleet and the N4J—and at last a meeting was affected.

By that time, better than three more days of the allotted week of incommunicado had passed. Donal went aboard the flagship with Ian, and took command.

“You've got the news?” was his first question of Lludrow when the two of them were together again.

“I have,” said the Fleet commander. “I've had a ship secretly in shuttle constantly between here and Dunnin's World. We're right up to date.”

Donal nodded. This was a different problem from the N4J's of finding Lludrow. A shuttle between a planet whose position and direction of movement was well known, and a fleet which knew it's own position and drift, could hop to within receiving distance of that same planet in one jump, and return as easily, provided the distance was not too great —as it sometimes was between the various planets themselves—for precise calculation.

“Want to see a digest—or shall I just brief you?” asked Lludrow.

“Brief me,” said Donal.

Lludrow did. The hysteria that had followed on the charges of the Commission against Donal and Donal's disappearance had caused the existing governments, already shaky and torn by the open-market dissension, to crumble on all the worlds but those of the Exotics, The Dorsai, Old Earth, and the two small planets of Coby and Dunnin's World. Into the perfect power vacuum that remained, William, and the armed units of Ceta had moved swiftly and surely. Pro-tem governments in the name of the general populace, but operating directly under William's orders, had taken over New Earth, Freiland, Newton, Cassida, Venus, Mars, Harmony and Association and held them now in the iron grip of martial law. As William had cornered less sentient materials in the past, he had just prior to this cornered the field troops of the civilized world. Under the guise of training, reassignment, lease, stand-by—and a dozen other paper maneuvers, William had had under Cetan contract actual armies on each of the worlds that had fallen into disorder. All that had been necessary for him, was the landing of small contingents, plus officers for the units already present, with the proper orders.

“Staff meeting,” said Donal.

His staff congregated in the executive room of the flagship. Lludrow, Fleet Commander, Ian, Field Commander—and half a dozen senior officers under each.

“Gentlemen,” said Donal, when they were seated around the table. “I'm sure all of you know the situation. Any suggestions?”

There was a pause. Donal ran his eye around the table.

“Contact Freiland, New Earth—or someplace where we have support,” said Ian. “Land a small contingent and start a counteraction against the Cetan command.” He looked at his nephew. “They know your name— the professionals on all sides. We might even pick up support out of the enemy forces.”

“No good,” said Lludrow, from the other side of the table. “It's too slow. Once we were committed to a certain planet, William could concentrate his forces there.” He turned to Donal. “Ship for ship, we overmatch him—but his ships would have ground support from whatever world we were fighting on; and our ground forces would have their hands full trying to establish themselves.”

“True enough,” Donal said. “What's your suggestion, then?”

“Withdraw to one of the untouched worlds—the Exotics, Coby, Dunnin's world. Or even the Dorsai, if they'll take us. We'll be safe there, in a position of strength, and we can take our time then about looking for a chance to strike back.”

Ian shook his head.

“Every day—every hour,” he said, “William grows stronger on those worlds he's taken over. The longer we wait, the greater the odds against us. And finally, he'll have the strength to come after us—and take us.”

“Well, what do you want us to do, then?” demanded Lludrew. “A fleet without a home base is no striking weapon. And how many of our men will want to stick their necks out with us? These are professional soldiers, man—not patriots fighting on their home ground!”

“You use your field troops now or never!” said Ian shaking his head. “We've got forty thousand battle-ready men aboard these ships. They're my responsibility and I know them. Set them down on some backwater planet and they'll fall apart in two months.”

“I still say—”

“All right. All right!” Donal was rapping with his knuckles on the table to call them back to order. Lludrow and Ian sat back on their floats again; and they all turned to look at Donal.

“I wanted you all to have a chance to speak up,” he said, “because I wanted you to feel that we had explored every possibility. The truth of the matter is that both you gentlemen are right in your objections—just as there is some merit in each of your plans. However, both your plans are gambles; long gambles—desperate gambles.”

He paused to look around the table.

“I would like to remind you right now that when you fight a man hand-to-hand, the last place you hit him is where he expects to be hit. The essence of successful combat is to catch your enemy unawares in an unprotected spot—one where he is not expecting to be caught.”

Donal stood up at the head of the table.

“William,” he said, “has for the last few years put his emphasis on the training of ground troops—field troops. I have been doing the same thing, but for an entirely different purpose.”

He placed his finger over a stud on the table before him and half-turned to the large wall behind him.

“No doubt all you gentlemen have heard the military truism that goes—you can't conquer a civilized planet. This happens to be one of the ancient saws I personally have found very irritating; since it ought to be obvious to any thinking person that in theory you can conquer anything—given the necessary wherewithal. The case for conquering a civilized world, becomes then a thing of perfect possibility. The only problem is to provide that which is necessary to the action.”

They were all listening to him—some a little puzzled, others doubtfully, as if they expected all of what he was saying to turn suddenly into some joke to relieve the tension. Only Ian was phlegmatic and aborbing.

“Over the past few years, this force, which we officer, has developed the wherewithal—some of it carried over from previous forces, some of recent development. Your men know the techniques, although they have never been told in what way they were going to apply them. Ian, here, has produced through rigorous training the highly specialized small unit of the field forces—the Group, which under ordinary battle conditions numbers fifty men, but which we have streamlined to a number of thirty men. These Groups have been trained to take entirely independent action and survive by themselves for considerable periods of time. This same streamlining has gone up through the ranks—extending even to your fleet exercises, which have also been ordered, with a particular sort of action in mind.”

He paused.

“What all this boils down to, gentlemen,” he said, “is that we are all about to prove that old truism wrong —and take a civilized world, lock, stock, and barrel. We will do it with the men and ships we have at hand right here, and who have been picked and trained for this specific job—as the planet we are about to take has been picked and thoroughly intelligenced.” He smiled at them. They were all sitting on the edges of their floats now.

“That world,”—he pressed the stud that had been under his finger all this time; the wall behind him vanished to reveal the three-dimensional representation of a large, green planet— “is the heart of our enemy's power and strength. His home base—Ceta!”

It was too much—even for senior officers. A babble of voice burst out around the table all at once. Donal paid no attention. He had opened a drawer at his end of the table and produced a thick sheaf of documents, which he tossed on the table before him.