The nine-hundred-foot bulk of the Stellar class cruiser _Algol_ loomed
hugely over the little air-jet as Glayne maneuvered it into the gaping
reception maw in the cruiser's belly. The craft's slight lurch as it
came to rest just inside the lock awoke the Terran girl who had fallen
asleep.
Glayne sighed, glancing at her. She stared back at him coolly. He shook
his head and said, "That green outfit of yours will just have to go,
Lieutenant Chodred. Crew's morale, you know."
Her eyes widened in sudden dismay. "But ... but surely you don't want
me to--"
He grinned. "You will have to wear a crew jumper." Glancing again at
her graceful figure, he made a mental note: it would have to be an
over-size jumper--several sizes over.
Stiffly they climbed from the little air-jet and propelled themselves
weightlessly to the elevator. Seconds later its door slid open and they
were on the navigation bridge. Glayne took the girl's arm and escorted
her around the bulking computers and auxiliary boards to the Captain's
Station.
Graysen, the grizzled old Executive Officer, snapped to attention
and delivered a brisk salute. Glayne acknowledged it absently, his
attention absorbed primarily in a hasty inspection of the bridge. Then
he became aware of the intent stares of Graysen and the other officers.
Those who were not gawking at Niala Chodred were staring hard at his
cheek, obviously striving not to laugh.
Puzzled, Glayne felt his cheek, then glanced at his hand. There was
blood on it. He suddenly recalled the two long red welts inflicted by
the Terran agent's fingernails and realized that his officers were
drawing the obvious inferences. Abruptly he was stung with chagrin and
pictured the juicy tidbit of gossip which he had just supplied gunroom
scuttlebutt throughout the Guardian Fleet. Exasperated at his own lack
of foresight, he stared back at his officers, browbeating them into
submission with his stony gaze.
"Morning, Captain," drawled Graysen, breaking the embarrassed silence.
"Good morning, Commander," returned Glayne. "Stoke her up. Set an
orbit for Sterle II. Incidentally, this is Lieutenant Niala Chodred of
Imperial Terran Espionage. I met her instead of our own agent. He had
an unfortunate accident with a Cardy gun--I'm told."
Glayne glanced significantly at the girl. Graysen nodded
understandingly and raised a quizzical eyebrow in Niala's direction.
She looked from one to the other, mystified.
Then sudden understanding registered on her features. "Glayne!" she
cried in a horrified tone, "I didn't kill him! Terran Espionage had
nothing to do with his death. He was murdered by the Delbans and we
found out by bribing one of Kairn's men that he was supposed to make
contact with an unknown Guardian big gun at the Yarga. We knew he was
to meet you but the Delbans didn't. That's the only reason you escaped
them, Captain Glayne. The Delbans murdered your contact agent but I had
nothing to do with it. You must believe me!"
Glayne smiled cynically at her and said, "Of course, Lieutenant
Chodred, we believe you." He brusquely turned his back on her and said
to Graysen, "You will have to move in with one of the other officers,
Commander. Just temporarily, of course."
"Aye, sir," replied Graysen.
* * * * *
Presently the navigation bridge was filled with hurrying men. The orbit
computers began to clatter noisily and somewhere within the depths of
the ship a keening whine indicated that the huge driver atomics were
being warmed.
"What acceleration, Captain?" Graysen asked, appearing with a sheaf of
orbit calculations.
Glayne was on the point of saying three G's out of deference to Niala
Chodred and her light planet birth. But he thrust her from his mind as
he realized that speed was of the utmost importance. High acceleration
meant speed and speed meant time saved. Time to carry out his bold
scheme, time to locate and sabotage the mysterious Delban power
broadcast, time to build the mesh antennae and energize the Stellar
Guardian fleet....
His face hardened grimly. "Five G's," he said shortly.
Doubt flickered for an instant across Graysen's face as he glanced at
the girl. Then he shrugged and turned away to comply with the order.
Silently Glayne took Niala Chodred's arm and descended to the next
deck. As the first traces of a floor appeared under their feet, he
opened the door to Graysen's quarters. It was furnished with the
Spartan simplicity of a typical warrior. Trophies and a few rather
gruesome battle prints decorated the bulkheads. Niala examined the room
curiously but preserved a hurt silence.
He showed her the acceleration hammocks and how to use the anti-thrust
drugs in their small surettes.
"If you need me," he said, "I will be in the cabin at the end of the
corridor."
She looked at him with mock surprise. "What? No connecting door?
Really, Captain, you've shattered all my girlish illusions about the
Stellar Guardians."
Glayne paused, his hand on the door stud. He turned around and said,
"I want to wake up tomorrow without suffering an accident with a Cardy
gun." He closed the door behind him.
By the time he reached the navigation bridge again, the _Algol_ had
built up to five G's. To Glayne, accustomed to the heavy Dorleb
planets, this was a little more than twice normal.
Young Brodis, the ship's Intelligence Officer, approached him and
saluted. "I beg your pardon, sir. Communications just handed these
over to me--I thought you might be interested." He extended a sheaf of
flimsies to Glayne.
The big Guardian examined them, eyes narrowed. They were transcripts of
an official Lorle news bulletin. Rapidly he read:
_Intelligence Chief Kairn announced tonight the death of Carling
Clawdor, allegedly an espionage agent of the Stellar Guardians. It is
believed that he was to contact another agent or agents at the Yarga
night club this evening. Prior to his death by Cardy burns, Clawdor
accused Delban agents._
_Intelligence Chief Kairn also revealed that a raid carried out on the
Yarga night club failed to apprehend the Guardian agents. Just before
their arrival a spectacular gun battle took place. Investigation is
still proceeding, Kairn announced, indicating that ..._
Silently Glayne handed the flimsies back to Brodis, chewing his lower
lip. It was incredible that Kairn should reveal such confidential
information. Obviously the Lorle Intelligence Chief was taking no
chances on provoking an incident which the Delbans could twist into a
pretext for war. But an even more important fact came clear to Glayne:
Niala Chodred had not murdered Clawdor. He was very glad that she was
innocent of the Guardian agent's death. Unconsciously he framed the
apology he would make to her as he climbed with an effort into the
Captain's Dome and lowered himself into its gimbal-slung shock seat.
Far off to his left the globe of Lorle IV shrunk visibly. Again the
mental picture of the Delban warships streaking over those short
horizons in fast orbits flashed across his mind and he imagined them
pouring their inconceivable torrents of energy into the unprotected
cities. At least, he thought, he wouldn't be guilty of that crime.
But what was the real chance of the wild scheme and its attendant
insubordination which he had conceived in the air-jet?
For a long time he pondered it. No matter how much he rationalized, it
was still insubordination and it lay heavily on his mind. Suddenly he
was shaky and he realized that he held the fate of the civilized galaxy
in his hands. If he blundered, would that not be a greater crime than
the mere sacrifice of Lorle? Glayne could not resolve the question and
he was vaguely glad that decision was no longer in his hands and he
could not turn back if he wanted to.
* * * * *
The _Algol_ emerged from sub-space four hundred million kilometers
below the plane of the ecliptic in the Sterle System. With her identity
signals broadcasting at full power, she changed course, veering
"upward" toward the second planet of Sterle's small brood of five.
The faint beams of the distant red dwarf sun shed a sickly glow
on the navigation bridge through the huge glassene ports. Shortly
after her arrival the _Algol_ was picked up by two fast and deadly
Delban destroyers of the Planet class. Almost delicate in their
unobtrusiveness, they slipped in on either side of the _Algol_ and
escorted her swiftly to the capital planet of the Delban Empire, Sterle
II.
"There's one consolation, anyway," Graysen remarked to his chief as
they stood before the glassene ports. "They don't seem to have fitted
out their whole fleet with receiving antennae yet."
Glayne nodded, flipping on the small auxiliary battle screen at his
side. Expertly he manipulated the viewer until one of the rakish Delban
warships ballooned up mightily on its plate. The tell-tale coppery mesh
antenna was absent.
"That is fortunate," Glayne grunted dourly. "But there is the
possibility that these ships may be too small for the installation."
The Delbans began to decelerate and the _Algol's_ pilot hastily
imitated them. Faintly Glayne made out the tiny red ball that was
Sterle II. Uneasily Glayne realized that he had better go over the
plan once more with Niala Chodred. Next to himself, the Terran girl's
part was the most important. He grunted at Graysen to take over and
descended to her quarters. He knocked twice perfunctorily and entered
the room.
Niala smiled up at him, pleased at his visit. "How much longer now,
Captain?"
Glayne looked down at her, marveling at the failure of her absurdly
huge jumper in concealing the long, smooth curves of her body. Her
hair was a varied mass of copper and gold which gleamed with a subtle
display of half tones. In the cabin's fluorescents Glayne noted for the
first time that she had once been the owner of a saddle of freckles
across her nose. Now only one or two were left which contrasted
deliciously with the smoothness of her face. Glayne felt a sudden
desire to jet down on Sterle Capital like the legendary buccaneers and
ransack the best dress shops to outfit her properly.
"Well?" she said.
"Huh?" said Glayne foolishly. Then he collected his wandering thoughts
and replied, "Oh, yes. We're being escorted in now. We'll be down in a
couple of hours. I wanted to make a last minute check of the plan."
"Ahh," she replied, stretching with devastating effect in the heavy
jumper. "We've done this so many times, Captain. But really they're
very entertaining."
"I'm glad you like them," said Glayne dryly. "You should because the
plan is substantially the one you would have had me carry out under a
Ganser-personality."
She colored, then regained control of her vascular motors and recited
the plan in a sing-song monotone: "We jet down at Sterle Capital. You
and I attend the informal reception. Commander Graysen remains with
the _Algol_ along with Lieutenant Harbin. But precisely at twenty-one
hundred Standard, Harbin and twenty men leave the ship, ostensibly on
liberty. At twenty-one fifteen, you and I attempt to maneuver Gort
Bro-Doral and General Ganser together in conversation. At that moment
Lieutenant Harbin will land on the roof of the palace, attacking the
guards there. Then we will hustle the two Delbans into the elevator,
take them to the roof, and escape with Harbin in the flier. In the
meantime Graysen will have blasted off in the _Algol_; we will
intercept him twenty miles over Topo Gulf."
"Exactly," Glayne said. "Everything is going well so far. We've just
received permission to land a liberty party so we don't have to worry
about that anymore."
He took some hand-drawn maps from the case in his hand. "Brodis and
I made these from memory and a little inside information--one of the
palace, one of the roof, and one of the grounds. The whole thing
depends upon whether they are using an old style one-way shield. If so,
we can get out all right. Otherwise we're finished."
She nodded and bent over the maps. Glayne bit the end off of a cigar,
then lit it meticulously. He smiled quizzically at the girl. "How's
your courage?" he asked.
Her wide green eyes looked up thoughtfully into his. "I've seen some
shoe-string deals pulled before, but Captain, I'll have to award you
the prize--never one as thin and short as this."
Glayne felt a sudden fear and a sudden hunger as he looked at her. He
could not bear the thought of failure--and the consequent fate of Niala
Chodred. His cheek twitched nervously and he reached for her, gathering
her into his powerful arms and drawing her face to his. Her breath was
hot against his cheek and he could feel her heart pounding heavily
against his chest. Willingly she responded to his kisses.
"Here's to luck," he breathed.
"And plenty of it," she replied.
V
Try as he might, Glayne could never accustom himself to these Sectors
which lay far out on the edge of the galaxy. Neighboring stars were
hundreds of light years apart while the great belt of stars that was in
the Main Galaxy revealed itself only as a faint haze twenty thousand
light years distant. He could not shake off the loneliness that settled
over him like a shroud, separating him from everything he knew. He was
accustomed to the vast star clouds of Sagittarius; it was there he had
spent the first ten years of his Guardianship.
A dry and thirsty wind seemed to suck the moisture from his body as he
waited by the after lock with Niala. It swept across the hard surface
of the space-port and sang dolefully around the mass of the grounded
_Algol_; it even seemed to characterize the Delbans themselves. A
lonely people out on this forsaken edge of the galaxy, they hungered
and thirsted after wealth and power. The Guardian sympathized with
them to some extent, yet at the same time realized the awful threat to
civilization they represented with the mysterious, titanic broadcast
power at their disposal.
Again Glayne felt inner qualms as he considered the odds against
them. Grimly he crushed them out and touched with almost superstitious
reverence the tiny blaster at his hip--for ornamental purposes only.
More confidently he hefted the weight of the heavy Cardy at his arm-pit.
The small surface-jet which had set out for the _Algol_ immediately
after the mushrooming blasts of its landing jets subsided now drew up
at the tiny waiting dock formed by the _Algol's_ after lock. The lack
of formality, Glayne knew, was as blatant an insult as the Delbans
could manage. He smiled mirthlessly to himself. They couldn't please
him more if they tried. The less pomp and ceremony attached to him, the
more smoothly his plan would work.
A single Delban emerged from the surface-jet, evidently a civilian
judging from his dress. He was incredibly tall and thin and made Glayne
very uncomfortable because he had to tilt his head back to get a good
look at him.
"Captain Glayne," began the emissary in a high, sighing nasal, "on
behalf of His Imperial Excellency, Ruler of Ten Thousand Suns, Master
of the Cosmos, and Supreme Overlord of the Delban Empire, Gort
Bro-Doral, I humbly welcome you to Sterle II." He bowed very low.
Glayne, nervously anticipating almost anything, could hardly restrain
his laughter at this comic pomposity. It was quite out of place in the
desolate, curiously-deserted space-port. He and Niala entered the rear
compartment of the surface car and sunk back in the luxurious cushions.
Their Delban guide tooled it with expert ease from the space-port and
down a traffic artery toward the bright blob on the horizon that was
Sterle Capital.
In minutes, it seemed, they were pausing for the first guard check
along the private road that led to the Bro's fabulous palace. Glayne
had been there once before, five years ago. They passed two more guard
checks. For a minute Glayne thought they were safely on the palace
grounds, only to be disillusioned by another, and this time very close,
guard check.
The weapons' detector emitted a raucous buzz when they came into its
field. Suspiciously the guards stared at them, their weapons leveled.
Seeing the tiny toy at Glayne's hip, they smiled and passed them on
with contemptuous nods.
What a hell of a mess, he thought to himself. It was too late to back
out. In another hour Harbin would be on his way to the palace--and
right into a hive of trigger-happy guards. One faint consolation
was their contempt which would render them more vulnerable to the
surprise attack he planned. But on the whole it looked pretty grim.
He suppressed his unhappy thoughts as the surface-jet drew up at last
beneath a gigantic, arched entrance.
Niala squeezed his hand bravely, casting a quick smile at him.
Heartened by her display of courage, he climbed from the little jet car
and followed the escorting Delban down a long series of luxuriously
furnished corridors. Eventually they turned off into an enormous
reception room brilliantly illuminated by chandeliers of priceless
Tharna crystals. Tremendous tapestries hung along the wall, depicting
ancient, pre-spaceship battle scenes. A score or so of guests stood
about the huge room, all of them quite obviously in very advanced
stages of drunkenness. Quite cheerfully they spilled drinks on the
priceless _jrik_ carpets or on the equally priceless marl Shanzi-wood
furnishings.
* * * * *
Glayne was puzzled by all the intoxication. As he speculated, it
suddenly occurred to him that they were celebrating. Quite obviously
they believed that they had won a victory of some sort in the
diplomatic call by the Stellar Guardian _Algol_. Glayne had to agree
that it was a logical conclusion and resolved to exploit their mistaken
belief as far as possible.
The first person to be presented to Glayne and Niala was General Hoteh
Ganser. He was hopelessly drunk. Glayne knew the pop-eyed Delban
Espionage Chief only by reputation; he was rather disappointed at the
dried and withered figure he cut. Nevertheless he was pleased to see
the Delban in an intoxicated condition; he could be more easily handled.
"The Bro will arrive presently," their guide informed them.
Affairs of state prevented his presence at the moment. Meanwhile
they were introduced to a number of curious and intoxicated
guests--high-ranking, Glayne gathered, from the monotonous repetition
of titles.
Then General Ganser was before them again, accompanied by another
Delban in a brilliant uniform surmounted by a gaudy, flowing cape. He
was aristocratic and condescending in his demeanor and a smile played
about his eyes and dry lips.
"May I present His Excellency, Gort Bro-Doral ... Captain Glayne of the
Stellar Guardians," introduced Ganser. His eyes were owlish with forced
dignity. Gort Bro-Doral waved him away with a careless sweep of his arm
and bowed politely to Glayne.
"I think we met several years ago, Captain. Am I right? But of course.
Won't you and your ... er ... lady have a drink?"
Glayne colored angrily. Yes, they would have a drink. He glanced
casually at his wrist-chrono. Twenty minutes ... just twenty minutes
before Harbin would be down on the roof.
He sipped slowly at the huge cup of _borse_ which the Bro had
personally ladled out for him, letting its blue-green smoothness ease
his parched throat and his nervousness. Niala, at his sign, slipped
away and was immediately surrounded by a crowd of the outlanders,
General Ganser at the head. They knew a good thing when they saw it,
Glayne reflected wryly.
Gort Bro-Doral eyed him with amusement across the mammoth _borse_ bowl.
"Now really, Captain, why did you come here? Surely not to inform us of
the decision of your sacred Policy Organ?" The Ruler of Ten Thousand
Suns emitted an odd, explosive noise that corresponded to laughter.
To the Delban leader's question Glayne replied cautiously, "The
Guardians have landed on their feet in every major crisis for the last
thousand years. Perhaps we want to land feet-first this time."
"That is quite understandable, Captain," replied Gort Bro-Doral,
cautious in his turn.
"When one side in a battle has unlimited strength," Glayne continued,
"the wise man has no difficulty in deciding whom he will support. That
is similar to our own position, Your Excellency."
Again Bro-Doral produced his strange, whinnying laugh. "Really,
Captain, you amaze me. The future Delban Empire cannot tolerate
such things as mercenary armies and space fleets--nor do we need
such organizations to win our battles now. But, if you could bring
yourself to the point of forgetting your traditions and other related
paraphernalia of which you are so fond, then there is a possibility
that you might be absorbed into the Delban Space Navy. Of course, you
would have to submit to our commands--but that's understandable...."
Glayne exulted inwardly. The Bro simply saw them begging for a crumb of
the spoils--he enjoyed his power to humiliate the Stellar Guardians.
But what he didn't see, contrary to the old adage, was going to trim
his scrawny neck. Where were Niala and Ganser? A minute to go!
"Your conditions are rather harsh, Your Excellency," he said, looking
around for Niala. "But perhaps tomorrow...?"
"Yes. Tomorrow by all means, Captain. And it will be a formal occasion
this time." Again Bro-Doral produced his explosive laugh, glancing
obliquely at Glayne from beneath lowered eyelids. Amusement at the
Guardian's plight bubbled in the depths of his otherwise fathomless
black eyes.
* * * * *
A sudden series of shocks made the floor shudder and Glayne's heart
jumped to his throat. Harbin had struck! Out of the corner of his eye
he perceived Niala thrusting a big, black Cardy into Ganser's back,
concealing it beneath his cape. Glayne drew his own and thrust it into
Bro-Doral's ribs.
"Keep laughing, damn you!" Glayne instructed. "Walk to the roof
elevator--casually." Glayne's eyes flickered rapidly about the room.
Niala was right behind him with the staggering and nonplussed General
Ganser. He thrust his weapon into the fold of his jumper before it
could be seen. Repeated tremors shook the floor--Harbin must be digging
them out with a secondary Kellander, he thought fleetingly.
"You must be insane!" choked the Master of the Cosmos. "The roof
guards--the palace guards and my own personal men will blast you down
before you can set a foot outside this room!"
"_Just--keep--laughing!_" Glayne said, emphasizing every word. One
or two of the guests looked at them curiously as they approached
the massive doors, then turned away indifferently. The trembling
had ceased. That meant that Harbin had cleared away the immediate
defenses--but Glayne knew it would be a race with the reinforcements.
The doors were opened before them by attendants--slowly and with
agonizing dignity. Two hawk-eyed Delban guards glanced at them sharply
as they entered the corridor that led to the Bro's private apartment
and the crucial fifth level roof elevator. Ever so slowly they moved
down the corridor. It was a snail's pace to Glayne. Gort Bro-Doral
laughed--or gasped in his sickly, explosive manner. He gestured. He
spoke to Glayne, waving his arms in a deprecating manner. And all
the while the Guardian looked innocently into the Delban's tormented
features, his hand clinging wetly to the Cardy in the folds of his
jumper.
They met no more guards in the corridor; evidently the rest of them had
hastened to the roof. But the first two were still eyeing them. Glayne
could feel their stares burning into his back. Twenty feet separated
them from the waiting elevator ... fifteen ... ten. Niala had drawn
abreast with General Ganser; the sick, the pale, the fuzzy-minded
Intelligence Chief whose cunning was known throughout the Galaxy.
There was a sudden commotion behind them. Glayne cast a glance over
his shoulder and saw the corridor rapidly filling with uniformed and
heavily-armed Delbans. They commanded him to stop; he smiled back. They
brandished their weapons; he waved back gaily, herding the prisoners
into the open elevator. They rushed after him; he drew his Cardy gun,
crouched, and fired with murderous effect. Then he lunged into the
elevator and jabbed the roof stud.
Swiftly it rose. Glayne turned to the two Delbans. The Ruler of Ten
Thousand Suns was in a blue funk but General Ganser had pulled himself
together a bit. His heavily-veined, crimson eyes blazed furiously at
the kidnapers.
"Be careful with the General," Glayne warned. "He is dangerous when
sober."
She managed a weak smile and thereby jumped another ten points in
Glayne's esteem. The elevator sighed to a stop and the heavy door slid
open, letting the dry wind pluck at them. Glayne turned his blaster
on the controls, fusing them into tangled slag. Then he crept to the
open door, crouched, and surveyed the palace roof in the pale, rosy
illumination shed by one of Sterle's just-risen moons.
On his left, not a hundred yards away, lay the flier from the _Algol_.
Three gunners from the crew were operating a portable Kellander, firing
along the edge of the anti-energy shield which had been generated from
the flier to prevent other Delban roof emplacements from destroying
the little assault force. The rest of the attacking group manned
Delban energy projectors that were still in operating condition,
sending a heavy fire into possible concentration points for an enemy
counter-attack. Bodies--mostly Delban--sprawled everywhere.
"We'll have to run for it," Glayne said. "They've erected an
anti-shield between us and the flier. Once we gain that, we're safe."
Niala nodded and prodded the two prisoners out of the elevator. Bending
low, they ran diagonally across the roof toward the shimmering ovoid
that was the anti-shield. They had not gone more than forty steps
before a counter-attacking wave of Delban palace guards suddenly
appeared on their right. Cursing, Glayne doubled about and increased
his pace in order not to be cut off. "Glayne! Slow down ... I can't
keep up," the girl panted.
The Guardian glanced anxiously back at her just in time to be struck
full force by General Ganser's flying body. They went down together
in a wild tangle of thrashing arms and legs. The Delban, in spite of
his dissipation, was tough and wiry; his long fingers sought Glayne's
throat and clung to it with a vise-like grip. In vain the Guardian
battered his body with sledge-hammer blows of his fists. Somewhere he
had lost his gun. A black film threatened to engulf his consciousness
as he struggled against the strangling grip of General Ganser. Vaguely
he felt the roof on which he lay tremble from the impact of the energy
beams that smashed into it.
From far away he heard Niala scream. It was a bitter spur to his
flagging strength. Summoning every last reserve, he tore Ganser's
clutching hands from his throat and flung him down to the roof. Not
done yet, the Delban snatched up Glayne's weapon which had fallen in
the first seconds of the combat and lifted it to fire. Furiously Glayne
launched his booted foot at Ganser in a savage kick. Bones crunched as
it caught him full in the face and the impact sent him spinning.
Glayne scooped up the Cardy gun and searched desperately for Niala. The
Delban palace guard continued to storm the little Guardian stronghold,
but the fire of the defenders took horrible effect on their ranks.
In the darkness he saw Niala's crumpled form on the roof. And almost
immediately afterwards he saw Gort Bro-Doral fleeing to the safety of
his attacking soldiers. Holding his breath, Glayne tried a long range
shot. But it was to no avail. The Supreme Overlord had made good his
escape.
* * * * *
Anxiously Glayne bent over the girl who was just beginning to stir.
There was a nasty welt on her forehead.
"I'm all right," she gasped, rising to her feet. "Where's Bro-Doral?
Did he get away?"