TROUBLE ON JAPETUS
Time passed slowly, hovering there high above tiny Japetus, waiting for
Saturn's shadow and a chance to slip in.
Ross yawned and stretched. Then, taking out his writer, he doodled
briefly on an astrogation pad.
Only somehow, the doodles all seemed to end up resembling Veta Hall.
Ross sighed and put away the writer. Sinking deeper into his seat, he
stretched his legs at full length before him. His shoulders, his head,
sagged forward just a fraction. But he still kept the blaster across
his lap; and though his lids tended to droop, his grey eyes still
followed the woman's every move.
Incongruously, she wore a quilted space-suit liner. But even such
failed to hide the youthfulness of her body and her movements. Her
dark, curly hair--worn short--only accented the regularity of her
features, the unblemished smoothness of her skin, the absence of all
lines and wrinkles.
Now, suddenly, she flushed under Ross' scrutiny. Turning away abruptly,
she fumbled in her shoulder-bag and, after a moment, brought forth a
Pallastan vocorn pipe.
Ross' eyes widened. But he said nothing.
Adjusting the pipe's mouthpiece, still ignoring Ross, the girl began to
play. Weird minor melodies, developed in the unique contrapuntal manner
of the pipe's fourteen-note polyphonic scale, welled and echoed through
the cramped space of the cruiser's cabin.
Wincing, Ross held his peace till the girl paused.
"You're from Pallas, Veta?" he asked then, quickly.
Wordless, she shook her head; began to play again.
Another fragmentary pause.
"Somewhere else in the Belt, maybe?" Ross persisted. "Vesta? Ceresta?
H'sana?"
Again, silent denial.
Ross frowned. "I didn't know they played vocorn pipes anywhere outside
the Belt."
Veta Hall broke off her music for an instant. "They don't," she
retorted succinctly, and plunged back into a Chonya dirge.
Ross laughed. "All right, I'll put the question straight, then: where
_are_ you from?"
"Ganymede. Porforio."
"And the pipe--?"
"I had a Pallastan teacher, an enthusiast. He convinced me that all the
inner and outer planets, and the satellites between, were holding their
breath waiting for someone to come along and play a vocorn pipe for
them."
"You sound bitter."
"I'm not, though. Not really." For the first time, the girl smiled and
fully faced Ross. "You see, I like piping, just for its own sake. And
now that it's past, it doesn't matter too much about the other, the
disappointment."
"The disappointment--?" Ross encouraged.
"Of finding I couldn't make a career of piping." Veta laughed wryly.
"First I tried in Porforio, then Idacta, then even Brenskaala, on
Callisto. Only there still weren't enough people who wanted to hear me
play, so when my money ran out--I didn't have too much to start with;
just what I'd inherited when my father was killed in a thermal--why,
when it was gone, I took a job in a traveling show, charming gulfers."
Ross stared. "Charming gulfers--?"
"That's right." Veta laughed. "I don't know what the right name for
them is, but they have them on some of the asteroids and they call them
engulfers--gulfers for short. They look like worn-out rubber rugs, but
if they get the chance they'll wrap themselves round you and digest you
alive with their juices."
"Go on."
Veta shivered. "They're awfully dangerous, really. They kill lots of
people in the Belt. But they happen to like vocorn music too; they'll
even move in rhythm to it. So in this show, I played my pipe to charm
them."
"It sounds fascinating," Ross observed dryly.
"Believe me, it wasn't." The girl shivered again. "But it was the best
I could do till I met Mr. Mawson."
"How did that happen?"
"The show went broke on Japetus. As adjudicator, Mr. Mawson checked on
it. He liked me, and the next thing I knew, he was giving me little
jobs to do. Then they got bigger, till finally he even sent me along on
this trip with Cheng to pick you up."
"I see," Ross nodded slowly. "He trusts you a lot, apparently."
"Yes, of course." Veta nodded also. But a nervousness suddenly seemed
to have seized her. Shifting, she fingered her pipe, eyes dodging Ross'.
For an instant he studied her; then rose, crossed the cabin, and once
more checked the visiscreen. "It won't be too long now. We're beginning
to move into shadow."
Veta's head came up. "And then--you're going down there, to Japetus,
and ... try to do something to Mr. Mawson--?"
"I'm going down, anyhow."
"But why?" Now Veta, too, rose from her seat. Half-hesitantly, she
came to him. "Wouldn't it maybe be better if you just--well, forgot
about it?"
* * * * *
Ross' face darkened. "That kind of thing takes a lot of forgetting.
When somebody forces my carrier off course, so that I crash on Venus,
and then tries to blast me--" He broke off, thin-lipped.
"But still--"
Ross turned on the girl. "What do you care about it, whether I do or
whether I don't? Are you afraid Mawson might get hurt?"
His companion's face flamed. She started to turn away.
But before she could move, Ross caught her by the shoulders. His
fingers gouged into the soft flesh. "Don't try that! I'm not in the
mood for it, and I've heard better stories than the one you've been
telling. To listen to you talk, you're not even too bright.
"Only I don't believe that--not for a minute, because Pike Mawson's
not the kind of man to send a giggling girl out to take care of his
business. So throw out the act: you've got brains and judgment; admit
it!"
The color drained from the girl's face as Ross spoke. Twisting, she
cringed from his fingers.
He shook her. "Tell me the truth, rack you! Why did Mawson send you out
here with Cheng? What makes him so sure he can trust you?"
No answer.
Savagely, Ross flung the girl into a seat and turned his back on her.
"You're a fool!" he lashed bitterly. "A fool, and a liar, and the kind
of trollop who'll run a murderer's errands!"
"Shut up!" This from Veta. Eyes flashing, she jumped from the chair,
caught Ross by the elbow, and whirled him. Her hand whipped up and in,
slapping--once, twice, three times....
Ross reeled back, clutching for her wrists. "Stop it!" he roared.
"Why should I?" Veta tore free and twice more dealt stinging slaps
before he could pinion her arms. "You call me names--you, Lewis
Thigpen, the man who helped Tornelescu murder all those hundreds of
innocent people, testing that catalyst!" She was panting and sobbing at
once. Tears streaked her cheeks.
Ross said tightly, "I'm sorry I lost my temper. I apologize. But when
you wouldn't tell me why you were trying to keep me off Japetus--when
you wouldn't even answer my questions--"
"When I wouldn't tell you--?" The girl's tears streamed faster. "How do
you want me to say it? Like this?"
Once again, she tore free--and then, flinging her arms about Ross'
neck, buried her streaked face against his shoulder.
For an instant he stiffened. A tremor ran through him. Drawing the girl
even closer, he held her to him.
Her voice came muffled: "Don't you see? If you go down, they'll kill
you! You're all alone. You won't have a chance."
"That may be," Ross agreed quietly. "Or then again, it may not." A
pause. "Have you ever heard of a man named Zoltan Prenzz?"
"Prenzz--?" Veta lifted her face. "No, I haven't. Who is he?"
Ross smiled faintly. "Just a name; a man I knew once." Gently, he
tilted Veta's head back and kissed her. "First installment. You'll get
the second after we land."
He stepped back as he spoke and, turning, began checking instruments.
"Then--you're going down?" Veta's voice sounded very tired.
"Yes."
"To see this man you mentioned--Zoltan Prenzz?"
"Yes."
Wordless, the girl moved to a position in front of a second panel. With
cool efficiency, she adjusted dials; threw switches.
A hush fell over the cabin. The floor rocked slightly as gyroscopes
compensated for gravitational imbalance.
Then, abruptly, there was the slight jar of an almost-perfect ramping.
Spinning open an inspection hatch, Ross peered out.
Black night; nothing more.
Ross said, "The calculations must have come out on the target. Let's
go."
He spun open the screw-locks; ratcheted down the ladder.
More night. Silently, Ross slid to the ground.
Another moment, and Veta was beside him. Ross turned.
Simultaneously, light pinned him tight against the ladder. A smooth
voice said, "My dear sir! Surely you wouldn't deny us the privilege of
giving you a proper welcome!"
Ross could only blink and squint against the glare.
The voice from the darkness kept on talking: "You understand, of
course, that Japetus has few visitors. At best, it's small and
isolated. So, as adjudicator, I take it as my duty to show our little
world's appreciation...."
Talk and more talk, mellow and meaningless.
Yet somehow, now, a strange note of uncertainty had crept into the
speaker's voice. It was as if, suddenly, an initial planned strategy
had been shattered, with the result that for the moment he must feel
his way and play by ear.
Then, abruptly, that too changed.
"You men there!" the speaker cried, "where are your manners? Get those
lights out of the gentleman's eyes! Or at least spread them so we all
can see each other."
Instantly, the beam that pinned Ross broadened. With a faint _whish_,
a grav-seat dropped from the night to a landing close beside him.
Flipping a switch, its occupant held out a hand. "I'm Pike Mawson,
sir. Adjudicator for this satellite. Forgive me for not rising, but a
blaster-bolt some years ago made that a painful and rather involved
process for me."
Ross ignored the extended hand. "I'm Lewis Thigpen."
"Thigpen!" Pike Mawson appeared almost to choke on the name. "No wonder
you're glaring holes in me! I only hope you can find it in your heart
to forgive an old man's folly!"
* * * * *
Ross' jaw sagged. He stared helplessly at the pale cripple in the
grav-seat.
Mawson said, "This is a long story, Mr. Thigpen, and it does me a deal
of discredit. But under the circumstances I have no choice but to tell
it." A pause, while he shifted position in the flying chair. "You see,
I've already heard from Cheng via your carrier com-set, even though
I didn't expect you to land here quite this soon. He's told me what
happened, there on Venus."
Ross said nothing.
"Believe me, Mr. Thigpen, piracy was the last thing in my mind when I
sent Cheng out to try to find you. But some over-direct individuals
misconstrue orders to their own tastes ever so easily."
"Apparently." Ross bit the word off.
But here, it seemed, all sarcasm was wasted. The adjudicator went on as
if no word had been spoken:
"The root fault's mine, Mr. Thigpen. I acknowledge it freely. When I
heard of Doctor Tornelescu's life catalyst, and that there was a chance
you knew its secret, my sense of values went out of balance. I could
think of nothing but the possibility that my own brief remaining span
could be prolonged. The fact that you faced--certain difficulties--as
a result of Tornelescu's untimely death; the detail that you had no
desire to come here--I pushed all such to the back of my mind. All
I could think of was the one burgeoning reality that Tornelescu had
finally isolated the chemical that controlled human aging; and that
when this chemical was injected into an older person, it combined with
the amino acids of the body to turn back the clock and give a man new
youth.
"It was a foolish thing for me to send for you, Mr. Thigpen. I realized
that almost as soon as Cheng's ship was out of sight. But by then, it
was too late to try to stop him, so all I have left to fall back on now
are apologies."
"Apologies?" Ross clipped. "It seems to me there's a small matter of
damages, also."
"Of course, Mr. Thigpen!" Mawson was almost too eager. "Would fifty
thousand satisfy you?"
"Fifty thousand--!"
"It's done, then. That is, if you have a writer you can lend me."
Wordless, Ross handed the adjudicator the slim tube; received it back
again with a signed form.
"Now we'll take you on into the city and find you quarters," Mawson
chortled. "Come. There's a transor over on the edge of the ramping
area."
A woman's voice from the outer darkness said, "Surely you'll not let
him go before you introduce us, Pike." Her tone was syrupy, with
shadings of coy reproach.
"No, of course not." Mawson's pale face grew unhappy. "Mr. Thigpen,
allow me to present the most famous woman of our time: the one and only
Astrell."
Already the woman was coming from the shadows, an auburn-haired vision
of utter loveliness.
Only then the full force of the light struck her, and the illusion
died beneath the bitter onslaught of too many years.
Astrell seemed to sense it. Hastily, she drew back into the fringe of
friendly shadows. "I won't hold you now, Mr. Thigpen; I know you must
be tired. But I promise, I'll see you another time."
"The transor, Mr. Thigpen--" Mawson began.
Ross said, "First, I'd like to speak for a moment to Miss Hall."
"Miss Hall? Miss Hall--?"
"The girl you sent with Cheng."
"Oh. Veta." The adjudicator's face grew even more unhappy. But he
raised his voice: "Sanford! Sanford, where are you?"
A shadow detached itself from the others ... a tall, gaunt shadow, this
time. "Here, Pike."
"Where's your sister, Sanford? Mr. Thigpen wants to see her."
"My sister? Veta?" Sanford Hall sounded vague about it. "How would I
know, Pike? I guess she must have slipped away."
Without another word, he turned to go. But as he did so, the blazing
lights focussed on the cruiser fell full into his eyes.
Ross breathed in sharply: the glaze, the distortion of iris and of
pupil--they could belong to no one save a starak addict in the last
stages of his vice.
"The transor, Mr. Thigpen--"
Ross said, "Thanks, Adjudicator. This takes care of me nicely. I'll
find my own quarters."
Without waiting for response, he pressed the first button that came
beneath his finger on the selector.
The transor surged forward. Leaning back, Ross checked his pocket for
the form Mawson had given him.
_Two_ pieces of paper rattled in his fingers. Frowning, he drew them
out.
The first was Mawson's form.
The second, a note-sheet, bore only a name and address: _Veta Hall,
417D Esrach Unit_.
Ross' frown furrowed deeper. Refolding both papers, he thrust them back
into his tunic.
* * * * *
It took him an hour to find satisfactory two-room quarters.
The deciding factor in his choice, it finally turned out, was that one
place offered bars on the bedroom window.
Then that was done. Once again, Ross moved out into the streets ...
checked a com-call reel in the nearest store.
Zoltan Prenzz' address was less than ten minutes' walk away.
Two doors from Prenzz' number, Ross paused in the shadows. Warily, he
searched the street.
Now a man appeared, moving too casually down the other side.
Ross watched him till he was out of sight. Then, pivoting, he
proceeded to Prenzz' address.
No light showed. After a moment's hesitation, Ross knocked.
No response.
Ross rapped again, more sharply.
Still no answer.
Another moment's hesitation. Then, quickly, Ross slid a paper-thin
variable tab into the lock-slot.
There was a click of contacts made and contacts broken. Noiselessly,
the door swung back.
Swiftly, Ross stepped to one side and stood there, poised and waiting.
Nothing.
Or almost nothing.
Ross sniffed. His forehead furrowed. He stepped across the threshold;
sniffed again.
Two more steps, and his foot struck something in the darkness.
Stiff-fingered, he drew out his flamer; flicked it.
Its light fell full on the face of Zoltan Prenzz.