Vance, Jack Page 11

  "Oh, well," said Paddy, "I was just talking—letting my mind loose on wild schemes."

  Fay frowned, bit nervously at her lips. "We've got to think of something. With four-fifths of the space-drive in our hands, we can't allow ourselves to be captured."

  "With or without—as far as that goes."

  They sat in silence a moment. Then Paddy said, "You'll drop me low and I'll parachute into the very center of Arma-Geth. In the dark I'll get our last sheet and I'll come out on the plain. There you'll drop by and pick me up once more."

  "Paddy—are you serious?" Fay asked gently.

  "Faith and how could I be otherwise? The very thought of the project raises the goose-bumps on my neck."

  "Paddy—you're too young to die."

  "That I know," Paddy agreed. "That I know." He darted a glance across the gulf toward Mirach. "Especially on the public platforms."

  "Just getting near the planet is dangerous," said Fay. "The forts detect anything coming down to Koto that's off the regular lanes. They're not free and easy like the other planets. And if we land at the Montras Field, we'd have to go through that examination again. Except that it probably would be a great deal more thorough."

  Paddy pursed his lips. "If luck's with us we could make it past the forts."

  "We can't trust to luck," said Fay. "We've got to use our brains."

  "It's the old Blackthorn luck," Paddy reminded her. After a moment he added, "Of course it's the Blackthorn brains too, which evens it up."

  "Well, use them then!" snapped Fay. "Suppose when I dropped you down you were caught and they tortured everything you knew out of you? All about Delta Trianguli?"

  Paddy screwed up his face. "Don't talk so. It takes away my heart for the venture."

  "But suppose it happened for a fact? And we lost the four sheets? Then they'd have everything."

  Paddy said, "Faith, I believe that if it came to seeing poor Paddy out of the nerve-suit or making sure of the space-drive, you'd leave Paddy bellowing there like Bashan's Bull."

  She inspected him as if from a distance. "Maybe I would."

  Paddy shuddered. "Of all the millions of tender-hearted women in the universe, it's you I went and picked out for a shipmate, one like the Hag of Muchish Mountains, who sold her man to the devil for a groat."

  Fay said cooly, "Control of space means a great deal to Earth. Right now those sheets are hardly safer than if we had them right here in the cabin. Neither one of us can risk being caught."

  Paddy drummed the table with his fingers. "Now if we could only get them safe to the right people on Earth there wouldn't be this conflict and uncertainty and doubt between us."

  "There's no conflict and doubt as far as I'm concerned," said Fay with a trace of bravado. "I love my life and I love you—no, now keep away from me, Paddy—but I love Earth and the old continents and oceans and the good Earth people more."

  "You're an awful hard woman," said Paddy. "You're one of these fanatics."

  She shrugged. "I don't think so at all. You feel the same way if you'd only stop and put it into words."

  Paddy was not listening. He rubbed his chin, frowned. "Now I wonder—"

  Fay said, "The Langtry ships around Earth are like bees around a honeycomb. Just hoping someone will try to smuggle the sheets to Earth."

  "If we could only beam the information In on the space wave."

  "They'd jam us—and if we kept trying too long in one spot, they'd triangulate and run us down." She rose and rubbed her hands nervously on the seat of her slacks.

  "There's still another chance," said Paddy. "Celestial Express, to Earth Agency."

  "Mmmmmmmph. You're out of your mind."

  Paddy reached for the Astral Almanac. "Not so fast, not so fast," he muttered. "The Blackthorn brain is a wonderful thing." He licked his finger, turned a page, searched down a column. "Pshaw! No deliveries being made this year."

  "Will you stop being cryptic long enough to tell me what you're looking for?"

  "Oh," said Paddy, "I thought there might be a comet cutting in from outer space close to Earth. Then we could include the sheets as part of the baggage. But there's nothing listed, nothing for another eight months."

  Fay narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, said nothing. Paddy shrugged. "I guess we take our chances. There's still that old Blackthorn luck."

  Oyster-white Koto hung below, Koto the twilight planet.

  "It's a frightening place," murmured Fay. "So dim and dark."

  Paddy essayed a confident laugh and was surprised at the shrill sound which left his mouth. "Now then, Fay, it'll go fast. One, two, three—down, up, off again, like old Finnigan at Bantry Station."

  "I hope so, Paddy."

  "Now we'll wait till those forts are spaced just enough to chance dropping our boat through."

  Fay pointed. "There's a big hole out there over the Cai-Lur Quadrant."

  "Down we go," said Paddy. "Now pray to Saint Anthony if you be a good Catholic—"

  "I'm not," snapped Fay," and if you'll give more mind to the boat and less to religion we'll gain by it."

  Paddy shook his head reproachfully. "If old Father O'Toole could hear you, how he'd tut-tut-tut. Turn off the lights then and douse the field on the cowcatcher if we want to help our chances."

  Koto bulged across their vision. "Now!" said Paddy. "Off with all power and we fall like a dead rock and hope they're not too vigilant in the forts."

  Ten minutes, twenty minutes passed. Silent and tense they sat in the dark cabin, their pale faces lit by the reflected glow of Koto.

  The horizons spread, they felt the cushioning crush of air below them.

  "We're past," breathed Fay. "We're down. Turn on the power, Paddy."

  "Not yet. We'll get clear down into the traffic lanes."

  The twilight surface of Cai-Lur Steppe rushed close. "The power, Paddy! Do you want to crash?"

  "Not yet."

  "Paddy! Those trees!"

  A quick gust of power, a wrench of the rudder—the boat swooped belly-down, only yards from the surface, and charged hedge-hopping across the plain.

  "Now then," said Paddy cheerfully, "and Where's Arma-Geth from here?"

  Fay pulled herself up into the seat. "You reckless idiot!"

  "The lower we go, the safer," Paddy told her. "And Arma-Geth?"

  She looked at the chart. "Magnetic compass one hundred fifty-three. About a thousand kilometers. There's a rather large city—Dhad—in our way. The traffic regulations for Koto—let's see." She flipped pages in Traffic Regulations of All Worlds. "Fourth level for us. Speed, two thousand KPH. If I were you I'd swing around Dhad."

  Paddy shrugged. "On the fourth level we're just as safe over the town as over the country. Maybe safer if anyone has reported a strange space-boat."

  Dhad swung below, a low city of flat wide roofs, glowing pearl-colored in the darkness, and presently was left astern. They crossed a range of mountains, rose to dodge Mt. Zacauh, a perfect cone eight miles high, slanted down across the Plain of Thish.

  They dropped low, hovered, strained their eyes through the darkness. Paddy muttered, "It must be close."

  Fay rose, "I'll try infra-red." A moment later, "I see it— about ten miles to the left. It looks quiet. You can drop down a little—there's nothing below us."

  With the skids almost dragging Paddy edged the boat toward Arma-Geth.

  "About three miles," said Fay. "That's close enough. We don't know how well it's guarded or even if it's guarded at all."

  Paddy set the ship down and the solid, vibrationless ground felt curiously still, dead, silent, after the dynamic flight-motion of the boat. Throwing open the port, they put out their heads, listened. No sound except for a soft distant chirring of insects. Three miles ahead, black on the gray luminescence of Koto's sky, rose a confused group of silhouettes.

  "Now," said Paddy thickly, "my tools, my gun, my light. I'll be out there and back in less time than you'll know." She watched him strap on his equipment. "Pad
dy—"

  "What now?"

  "I should be coming with you."

  "Perhaps you should," Paddy agreed easily. "And if so I'll come back for you. But right now it's only a reconnaissance I'm making and you're the rear guard. Unless of course the stuff is there for the taking, so ridiculously easy that I can't resist it."

  "Be careful, Paddy."

  "Indeed I will, you can count on it. And you mind for your own safety. Be ready to jump if it gets dangerous. If there's any shooting or disturbance—don't wait for me."

  He dropped to the ground, stood listening. Chirr, chirr, chirr—a sound like a billion tiny bells.

  Paddy started briskly for the silhouettes, treading the smooth swept surface to the plain. The silhouettes grew, towered past the gray afterglow, loomed up to the stars. There was no sound, no hint of movement, no lights. More slowly he advanced, ears and eyes like funnels.

  He came to a stone wall, cold and moist, high as his head. He felt along the top, grasped the edge, hauled himself up. He was on a great stone pavilion. To either side rose dark statues —the Koton Sons of Langtry, row after rigid row, conventionalized, sitting in low chairs, staring with wide mother-of-pearl eyes across the sacred Plain of Thish.

  Paddy sat a moment quietly, listening, every nerve in his body alive, groping for sensation. He rose to his feet, moved across the stone to the nearest statue. Where was the latest? Logically, it should be the last statue of the series at the end of a row.

  He felt along the base of the statue nearest him, looked along the sides, saw in faintly luminescent letters—Lajory, 17th Son of Langtry. Following it was a series of dates and ceremonial phrases.

  He must be close, thought Paddy. The late Son was the nineteenth of the line. To his ears came the shuffle of footsteps on the stone. He clapped his hand to his gun, froze.

  A pair of dark figures passed thirty feet away. There was the milky flash of great night-seeing eyes and they were gone. Had they seen him? Paddy pondered. They had seemed neither surprised nor startled. Perhaps they had mistaken him for a devotee. Best to make haste in any event.

  He moved to the next statue. Golgach, 18th Son of Langtry," read the plaque.

  To the next. Ladha-Kudh, 19th Son of Langtry. Here was his goal with the fifth sheet under the right hand. The hand lay on the knee, palm downward. Paddy looked up. Twenty feet. He took a last look around. No sight, no sound, no one to watch for thieving intruders.

  He set his toe in a cleft, heaved himself up on the pedestal. The shuffle of steps—Paddy flattened against a pillar of the great chair. The sound passed.

  Heart thumping, Paddy hauled himself up the side of the chair into Ladha-Kudh's lap. Above loomed the stern dish-eyed face of the man he had killed, and to Paddy's excited brain, the mother-of-pearl plates that were the eyes seemed to stare down accusingly.

  Paddy grimaced. "Now's the time for the banshee to howl if ever he's going to. Ah, bless the Lord, may the creature's ghost still prowl the asteroid where he was killed."

  Paddy crawled out the right leg to the hand, felt the stone fingers. "Now how will this be?" thought Paddy. "Will they raise up easy-like or will I want a charge of jovian-powder to lift the hand away? First we'll try my bar."

  He unhooked the pry-bar from his belt, pushed it under the hand, applied force. Snap! The ball of the thumb broke off, fell clattering to the pavement.

  Paddy crouched, tingling all over. No sound—he felt at the fractured part, sensed the beginnings of a cavity. Bringing up his flash-lamp, he directed the tiniest whisper of light possible at the broken spot. A cavity it was and Paddy eagerly plied the bar.

  A stern voice came from below. "What are you doing up there? Come down or I'll pick you off with a beam."

  Paddy said, "Right away. I'm coming" He reached into the cavity, pulled out a metal box, shoved it into his pouch.

  "Come down!" said the voice. "By the justice of Koto come down!"

  Paddy slowly crawled back to Ladha-Kudh's lap. Trapped, caught red-handed—how many of them were there? He peered toward the pavement but could see only darkness. But they could doubtless see him well with their big twilight eyes.

  He let himself down the leg of the chair. If he could only see. He snatched out his light, flashed it along the ground. Three Kotons—uniformed, guns at ready—and they were dazzled. Paddy shot them—one, two, three—left them thrashing on the stone. He jumped down, hit with a jar, rose, raced to the edge, dropped over the Plain of Thish.

  He paused an instant, listened. He heard his own panting. The darkness bulked heavy with menace but he dared not use his flash. Above him he heard movement, staccato voices, sounds of anger.

  Crouching he scuttled off across the plain. At his back came a shrill whistle and over his head he heard a throb, a hum.

  Paddy dodged, ran with mouth open, eyes staring into the gloom. Oh, to be in the ship! Fay, Fay, have the port widen!

  A thud ahead of him, a swarm of figures. Paddy shot wildly, kicked, punched. Then his gun was wrenched away and his arms seized.

  CHAPTER XXI

  There was no talk. With swift efficiency, they trussed him with many folds of sticky tape, rolled him onto the floor of the air-boat. It rose, took him through the sky.

  Night ebbed. The dim twilight that was Koto's day stole upon them like cool water. Paddy lay on the floor between two benches. Four Koton guards watched him with quiet expressionless eyes.

  The boat landed. They laid hands on him, bore him across a flat concrete floor, down a ramp, across a square. Paddy glimpsed a tall spidery structure off in the distance, knew it for the Montras Traffic Control. He was in Montras.

  Kotons moved past without interest and a small party of Alpheratz Eagles craned their necks. The Kotons walked with an odd loose-kneed gait like comedians mimicking secrecy. They had thick pale hair, growing straight up like candle flames. The soldier clans wore their hair shorn on a plane an inch above their heads and one man on Koto shaved his head —the Son of Langtry.

  Across the square to a large, blank-walled building, Paddy was carried and here the party was joined by other guards in short black uniforms cut and scalloped in eccentric half-moons.

  They took him through a dark hall, smelling of carbolic acid, Into a room bare except for a table and a low chair. They laid him on the table and departed, leaving him by himself. He sweated, tugged, wrenched mightily at his bonds without success.

  A half-hour passed. A Koton in the regalia of Councillor to the Son entered the chamber. He stepped close to Paddy, peered into his face.

  "What were you doing at Arma-Geth?"

  "It was a bet, your Honor," said Paddy. "I was after a souvenir to show my friends. I'm sorry now I committed the misdemeanor, so if you'll untie me, I'll pay the fine and go my way."

  The Councillor said to a corporal behind him. "Search this man."

  He looked at Paddy's equipment, picked up the metal box, glanced at Paddy with opalescent fire in his eyes, turned, left the room.

  An hour passed. The Councillor returned, halted beside the door with a bowed head. "Zhri Khainga," he announced. The guards bowed their heads.

  A Koton with a polished bald head entered the room, swung across to Paddy.

  "You are Blackthorn, the assassin."

  Paddy said nothing.

  The twentieth Son of Langtry put a quiet question. "What have you done with the other material?"

  Paddy swallowed a lump in his throat the size of an egg. "Now, my lord, let me loose, and we'll talk the situation over as one man to another. There's rights and wrongs to everything and maybe I've been over hasty time and again."

  "What have you done with the rest of the data?" asked Zhri Khainga. "You might as well tell me. It will never do you or your planet any more good, since now we possess a crucial segment of the information."

  "To be perfectly frank, Your Honor," said Paddy ingenuously, "I never had anything else."

  The Son turned, motioned. From a cavity in the wall they pulled a
machine that looked like a heavy suit of armor, lifted Paddy, laid him inside. One bent down, deftly taped Paddy's eyelids open, then the cover was closed on him. Instantly, every inch of his skin began to tingle faintly as tiny fibrils sought and joined to each of his nerve-endings. In front of his taped-open eyes a hemispherical screen glowed.

  He saw moving shapes, a dingy flickering of low fires. He was looking into a stone-vaulted room with a stained floor. Ten feet away a man stood impaled. Paddy heard him screaming, saw his face.

  The guards turned, looked at him with great blank eyes. He saw them reaching, felt their hands, the actual clutch at his wrists, under his knees. It was reality. The fact of the screen had left his mind.

  They knew the art of stimulating numb minds. They had perfected torture to the ultimate. Past-thought pain might be inflicted time and again with no harm to bone or body. A man could live his entire life sensation.

  And presently the operators would know their subject. They would discover how to grind out his sickest shrieks and the pattern would be elaborated, adjusted, embroidered to a delicate vortex.

  Time would become elusive, the world would be vague and strange. The nerve-suit would be reality and reality would be the dream.

  A voice gonged at Paddy. "What did you do with the other data?"

  It was a sound from a tremendous brazen throat, without meaning. Paddy could not have answered had he wanted to.

  After a period the question was no longer asked and then it seemed as if the torture had become meaningless.

  Paddy emerged from quiet suddenly with a clear vision. The face of Zhri Khainga looked down at him.

  "What did you do with the remaining data?"

  Paddy licked his lips. They wouldn't trick him. He'd die first. But there was the rub! This kind of torture didn't let a man die. One-twentieth of such treatment would kill a man were it fixed on him the normal way! Here they could torture him to death as many times as they chose and bring him back fresh and sound, nerves tingling and keen for the next session.

  "What did you do with the other data?"

  Paddy stared at the pale face. And why not tell them? Space-drive was lost to Earth in any event. Four-fifths was as bad as none at all.