"Probably Delban espionage. They know that something is in the fire and
they're not wearing kid gloves to find out what it is."
"Did they discover the identity of the person he was supposed to meet?"
"No," she replied. "But they're looking. Fortunately the organization
was not in the dark as to whom he would meet. Otherwise I could never
have found you."
Glayne's eyes narrowed. Too many people knew what was going on. That
made it very dangerous. But what made it even more dangerous was the
fact that he himself did _not_ know what was going on. Agents of
three organizations were involved in the search for information and
the tangled maze of plots would be deadly for anyone caught in the
middle. He was silent for a moment, battle-trained senses sifting his
surroundings instinctively. Something ... somewhere ... was odd.
"If you will notice their eyes," the girl remarked dryly, "you will
find that a good proportion of the Yarga's clientele are high on Soames
drug."
* * * * *
Glayne started and looked more closely at the couples entering the
stage. Then he saw what she meant. Here and there he saw eyes--burning
eyes--eyes that glittered with a brilliant fire that emanated from
huge, dilated pupils. They were using the marvelous Soames energizing
drug; it fairly blazed from their slitted lids. Its purpose was to
accelerate physical reaction speeds--but why use it on a small planet
like Lorle IV? With the question came the answer. Their quarry had
the .95 reaction index of a big-planet man. That was Glayne's index.
And that meant that they were right on top of him.
"I think," he intoned softly to the girl, "it would be wise for us to
move on to the next stage."
In reply she slipped smoothly from his arms, seized him by the sleeve
of his loose-fitting jumper, and propelled him to the tingle screen.
When he balked she grinned at him and stood in the field of the screen
herself and laughed at him. It was a bubbly, elated laugh. Glayne liked
it. And he liked the way the soothing color movements of the tingle
screen caressed the long curves of her figure. But he didn't like the
nervous manner in which the glittering, dilated pupils flickered at
them and held them curiously, then flickered casually away.
The girl was clever, he realized. The keyed-up Delban agents would
be far less likely to suspect an intoxicated couple of dark designs.
Suddenly the red-headed girl stumbled, accidentally pushed from the
other side of the screen. Instinctively Glayne reached out to steady
her--reached out with a long, liquid motion of his powerful arm. In one
instant every Soames-dilated eye in the room was upon him. In another,
Cardy guns were magically appearing in a dozen hands.
But, fast as they were, Glayne was faster. He drew his own weapon with
blurred speed, fired, and flung himself and the girl through the screen
into the second stage. The Delban agents hesitated to fire blindly
through the screen and rushed after them. The big Guardian hurtled
through the exotic darkness of the second stage with the girl in his
left arm. He scattered and smashed tables right and left, littering the
floor with bewildered and drunken patrons.
The exit toward which he was heading was suddenly no longer an exit.
It was filled with a crowd of huge, glittering eyes and wicked looking
Cardy guns. In a single movement, Glayne dropped to the floor and fired.
The second stage was in an uproar. Now agents were pouring through the
tingle screen in pursuit. Desperately Glayne sought for a means of
escape. Then he saw the portal that evidently led to the kitchen or the
bar. He grabbed the dazed red-head and rushed through the portal, swept
down a short corridor, turned, and straight-armed two tray-bearing
waiters as he dashed through a second portal. And suddenly he was
behind the entrance bar where he had taken his first drink. He tensed
for a fraction of a second, then vaulted the low bar.
A bartender and two customers stared at them with blank amazement but
there was not a Delban agent in sight. Swiftly Glayne set the girl upon
her feet and together they fled from the building. He noted approvingly
the capable-looking Cardy she held in her small fist.
"My flier is outside," he said. "They've probably surrounded the place,
but in the confusion the ones outside won't know us. We'll try to bluff
through."
She nodded and put her gun away. As they approached the flier parking
area she clutched his arm with intoxicated possessiveness. Glayne was
right; here and there a Delban agent glanced at them suspiciously--then
looked contemptuously away. The object of their search was alone.
Controlling his heavy breathing with difficulty, Glayne approached an
attendant, digging out his micro-wave key jewel.
"Here! Get my air-jet," he panted.
But instead of the expected response, the man stiffened for a
measureless instant, then whirled with blurred speed. A Cardy
blaster magically materialized in his hand and his eyes burned with
Soames-induced ferocity. But Glayne was a shade faster. His left
streaked with dazzling speed into the agent's stomach and the Delban
folded up, his motor nerves paralyzed from the blow in the solar plexus.
Crouching, they ran toward Glayne's air-jet. A Cardy bolt splashed into
the side of a flier just above Glayne's head, battering the tough
beralloy and sending a shower of white hot droplets in all directions.
As they reached his air-jet, Glayne whirled and fired rapidly and with
murderous accuracy at the pursuing Delban agents. As they scuttled for
cover, Glayne turned and waved the talisman through the micro-wave
field and the door swung open.
Instantly he shoved the girl into the cabin, then climbed in behind
her. He let the tiny atomic engine thunder beyond audibility, then fed
power to the jets in huge gulps. With a tremendous surge the little
craft leaped into the air and roared over the roof of the Yarga. A
couple of Delban energy bolts slapped viciously into the air-jet, but
soon Glayne out-distanced them, flying low over the dark countryside.
The girl sighed beside him. "This has been a very warm evening. Do you
think they'll catch us?"
"I don't think they're organized that well," Glayne grunted, busy with
the course-computer. "Their whole assault was hasty and ill-timed. I
doubt if they even had time to set up an air net."
"But, now that they are out in the open, they will move quickly. Do you
have a specific plan in mind, Captain Glayne?"
The Guardian frowned and cast a quick glance at her. He was puzzled by
her insistence. "My Flagship, the _Algol_, is maneuvered into a fast
orbit behind inert detector screens. About ninety miles out. I've just
set course to intercept her before we hit dayside."
In reply the girl bent past his shoulder toward the luminous figures
which floated in the dial of the computer, announcing the course. The
delicate lines of her face were hard in the faint light. Again Glayne
felt a twinge of uneasiness and it was not dispelled by the soft touch
of her body against his.
"What is your name?" he asked belatedly, trying to make out the
features of her face in the dim light from the instrument panel.
She chuckled in the darkness and he fancied he heard a note of triumph.
"Lieutenant Niala Chodred," she said. "Espionage Bureau of Imperial
Terra. At your service, Captain."
* * * * *
Of Imperial Terra! The words fairly blazed in Glayne's consciousness.
His hand shot like lightning for the Cardy in his arm-pit holster, then
stopped in mid-motion as he became aware of a hard, cylindrical object
thrust into his ribs. It was her tiny Cardy blaster.
Through the waves of chagrin and impotent fury that surged up within
him, Glayne heard her say mockingly: "Guardian warriors are supposed to
function like machines when on missions, aren't they, Captain? Since
when are machines rattled by pretty girls?"
The lines on Glayne's face deepened but he said nothing. Her taunting
rebuke was well-deserved. He had certainly lacked the emotionless
precision which was the Guardian ideal. But the mere fact that he had
been caught napping was inconsequential beside the implications of
her presence as a Terran agent. How much did Terra know? The question
hammered urgently in Glayne's mind.
Even as it flashed through his head, he heard her amused voice say:
"In time of crisis, Captain Glayne, the Stellar Guardians invariably
throw allies and friends to the dogs in order to gain time. This is
common knowledge. So all we had to do was determine the direction of
the Guardian move. We immediately thought of Lorle. And we even thought
that you might be the man the Guardians would send, Glayne, because
we have a complete file on your activities for the past ten years. We
know that you have been on good terms with Delban brass since that
successful exploring job you performed at Jorger Sun, five years ago."
With growing horror, Glayne listened to her unfold the deepest Guardian
secrets--derived by Terran Espionage through simple induction. What a
fool he had been for trusting her even for a minute! Unless he could
stop her, she could utterly destroy all Guardian hopes to overcome the
Delbans. His great body tensed as he stared at her from the corner of
his eye, watching for the slightest sign of inattention.
"Glayne," she continued, in a hard, objective voice with no trace
of amusement, "Imperial Terra is not itself adverse to a policy of
throwing someone to the dogs in order to gain time. But we want to give
the dogs someone who can put up a fight. Poor Lorle would not be much
of a match for Gort Bro-Doral and she wouldn't gain us much time. But
the Stellar Guardians would. In fact, the Stellar Guardians themselves
will commit the overt act--with a little help."
The Guardian Captain was stunned at the very audacity of her plan. He
had to admit that its logic was undeniable. But how could she possibly
seek to accomplish such an incredible feat as forcing the Guardians
into a suicidal attack upon the Delbans? Unless....
Then his worst suspicions were realized as she said: "The Ganser
mind-conditioning treatments will not harm your essential-ego, Captain
Glayne. But, if you struggle against them, your mind will be shattered
and you will be left an idiot when the effects wear off."
A cold thrill of fear caressed Glayne's spine as he heard her words.
The brutal, tearing fingers of the horrible mind-conditioner devised
by the Delban Espionage Chief, Hoteh Ganser, would change his goals
and values in the space of only a few hours. What seemed to him
irrational now would be the height of reason after his conditioning. As
the ramifications of Imperial Terra's plot came clear to him, Glayne
realized with increasing urgency that he simply had to overcome the
girl.
"You may be sure that your attack on Sterle II will not be in vain,"
came the girl's brittle tones. "Admiral Bardled will station units of
the Imperial Terran Fleet in hyper-space with the purpose of cracking
the wave length of the broadcast power and locating its source.
"Our plan is much cleaner and nobler than yours, is it not, Captain
Glayne? You Stellar Guardians are all hard, ruthless fighters. You
can take care of yourselves. But poor little Lorle wouldn't have a
chance. Don't you agree, Captain? Don't you find it heroic to sacrifice
yourself to the Delban dog pack to gain time for the rest of the
galaxy?"
Glayne ignored the mockery in her voice. A sudden wave of bitter anger
swept over him at the presumptuous manner in which they were all
bent upon throwing one another to the dogs. Surely they were not so
tactically poverty-stricken that they could not conceive of a better
plot which would not demand such a tremendous sacrifice of human life.
* * * * *
Suddenly, almost without warning, the tiny spark of rebellion within
him blazed up in hot determination. To hell with Garstow and the
Stellar Guardian Policy Organ. To hell with Admiral Bardled and the
Terran fleet. To hell with everyone. The vague suggestion of a plan was
forming in the recesses of his mind, breath-taking in its audacity and
possibly, just possibly workable.
But what of the girl? To think about overpowering her was one thing;
actually doing it was another. She had already killed one Guardian
earlier this evening, he presumed. She would not hesitate to kill
another. That meant that he would have to meet cunning with cunning.
"You don't mind if I smoke one last cigar while I am still in control
of my essential-ego, do you?" he asked, trying to match her mocking,
satirical mood. "I don't believe the Ganser-personality enjoys tobacco
as much as the average Guardian Captain."
She alerted instantly, but the Cardy didn't waver the least fraction
of an inch. "You are not the average Guardian Captain," she said in a
strange, low voice. "But go ahead and smoke."
Fleetingly Glayne wondered what she had meant, then he let the thought
flicker away as he concentrated on his cigar. He reached for the
radio-active on the instrument panel, flicking it so that its coal
gleamed into gradual dull red life. She was watching him like a hawk,
he knew, and smiled inwardly. The closer the better. Idly he began to
hum a snatch of melody, a curious thing arranged in minors. It was
peculiarly suited to his unsteady bass. He waved the radio-active in
his hand in slow, sweeping circles in time to his humming.
Smoothly he ignited his cigar, puffing the semi-narcotic smoke in thick
clouds. He hummed louder, his voice pushing the deep, wailing dirge
into the cabin. It acted like a drug, throwing everything into slow
time. It numbed the sensibilities and dulled acute perceptions.
Ever so gently and smoothly Glayne turned his head and glanced at
the girl. His scheme had worked. Her eyes automatically followed the
circles he described with the radio-active in his hand. She was lulled
into a near-hypnotic condition.
In a single jump, Glayne seized the hand in which she held the Cardy
gun. She reacted instantly, but not quite fast enough to wrest the
weapon from his hand. Like a spring under great pressure she exploded
into writhing, clawing, kicking, biting action. Her savage ferocity so
startled Glayne that he nearly lost the weapon to her. As he sought to
fend her off with one hand and throw the weapon away with the other, he
felt her nails sink agonizingly into the side of his face. Gasping, he
finally got rid of the weapon, then drew back his fist and slugged her
with a short, jabbing punch.
Panting, he recovered from the struggle. Suddenly he became aware of
the peculiar angle of flight of the air-jet. It was shrieking down
on its stubby fins toward the planet's surface. Somehow the Terran
girl had kicked off the robot control. As he righted the craft and
reoriented the course, he became aware of the girl's brooding eyes on
him.
"You are very clever, Captain Glayne," she said. "Perhaps one might
even say courageous. A heavy planet man like yourself should not risk
himself with such reckless bravery in a physical struggle with a small
planet individual."
Glayne was stung by her rebuke, but he was even more startled at her
bitterness. She was an espionage agent and she knew the risks and
hazards involved. Certainly she was not whining at her defeat.
"How do you propose to fake the overt act, Captain?" she continued in a
light, conversational tone.
Glayne was grimly aware of the accusation in her words but he said
nothing. She had a right to be bitter, he realized. Ironically, she
was going to get her way after all, though she didn't know it yet. He
grinned mirthlessly at her, the cigar clenched between his teeth.
She was beautiful, but especially so in the resentment that was
mirrored in her features. Glayne was suddenly very sorry that she had
killed the Guardian agent he was supposed to meet. Otherwise he would
have liked very much to have known her.