Malevolent death reared out of inky space before
the hurtling liner. From it a frantic voice
reached Commander Gray--"You know what to do!"
He smiled grimly. Yes, he knew what to do....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1946.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The Fifth Sector Commander was known as a rigid man, that was true, and
yet no one could say exactly how rigid.
His office, aboard the _Polaris_, was a rather grim place. All command
offices were, essentially, being limited pretty much to regulation
furnishings, but rare was the Commander who did not manage to plant
some of his personality there. It was perhaps characteristic of
Commander Gray that there was only one item in his office which could
be said to reveal anything about him.
He sat now behind the cubical steel desk and looked down at the glowing
screen of the television set. The face in it was not at ease. Far from
it.
Ordinarily, John Brullar, the Commissioner over Gray, was a
self-important, unconsciously comical person. Now he looked neither
comical nor important. He just looked very, very frightened.
He licked his trembling lips and said, in a voice hoarse with fear,
"Of _course_ there is something you can do, Commander! After all,"
he brightened faintly, "there are important people on the _Stella_.
Important people." He emphasized "important."
"I am aware of that, Commissioner Brullar," said the Commander. "Yet,
what can I do?"
"You have authority!" sputtered Brullar. "And you know what you can
_do_! Get through to Interstellar Command on Sirius VII and tell them
just exactly what these Beolins are up to!" He glared, a fat man in
mortal fear for his life. "And you can do it quickly, Commander!
Quickly, do you understand?"
"I understand," the Commander said.
"Good." Brullar started to speak again, gulped, hesitated, and finally
repeated, "Good." He switched off.
The Commander gazed reflectively down the catwalk, through the ship,
at the faint glimmer of green outside of an open lock. There was a
turbulence deep in his steel-colored eyes. He tapped a small stud with
a slim, tapering forefinger.
Kina Staun came in.
Kina wasn't all Solarian. He had enough Sol blood in him to make him
one in almost every respect, but there were differences, if you looked
closely. He was the Commander's personal aide. There was actually
more than that between them. The tremendousness of all the Commander
governed--and which Kina helped him run--made for a rather involved
relationship.
When people saw the Commander, they looked for Kina Staun. The two
had not been a hundred yards apart since they had first met as
newly-appointed official and aide. It was said that Kina knew every
bit as much about the Fifth Sector and the Commander's work as the
Commander knew himself.
For that reason, if Kina ever left his post, he would certainly die
within an hour.
* * * * *
The Commander said, "Kina, call Hauns." The Secretary showed no
surprise, but somehow managed to give that impression.
"The city of Hauns, capitol of Beolin III, the ruling planet of the
Beolin system?" he asked very respectfully.
"Yes. I want to talk to their Commissioner-in-Chief. And also find the
present location of the _Stella_."
"Yes, sir," said Kina.
He came back within ten seconds. "The _Stella_," he said, "is now at
3rd Quadrant 3521 NA, W-88236. Speed, one light-year per hour. Heading,
338 Degrees NA of nearest sun, Beolin. And I have Beolin Command for
you."
The Commander touched a switch and the screen flicked on again. "Thank
you, Kina," he said.
The face in the screen was definitely not human. Its structure, and
even more, its expression was alien. It was distinctly unpleasant.
It belonged to Krraula, who was Commander-in-Chief, and the foremost
murderer of the Beolin System. He smiled, a smile that was not a smile.
He said, "Ah, Commander." And he saluted, sneering slightly.
The Commander said, "Greetings, Krraula. I would like to inquire the
reason for your fleet being in its present position."
Krraula smiled again. "The fleet, Commander? Merely maneuvers," he said
slyly. "Why do you ask?"
"There is a liner transiting through the outer fringes of your
territory in--" he looked at a paper Kina had slipped before him
"--about four hours. I would appreciate it if your fleet is withdrawn
in time. It would not go well, Krraula, if an ... accident ... were to
happen to this liner of which I speak. I think you understand."
He gave Krraula no time to answer, but switched off. He sat back, and
looked aimlessly at Kina.
"Kina," he said, after a few moments of thought.
"Yes, Commander."
"Do you get the framework of this problem?"
"I do, sir," answered the aide.
"Good. Let me hear it."
"The question is one of Command," said Kina Staun quietly. "Out here in
the stars, power--the authority to command--goes not to men's heads but
to their souls. Krraula of Beolin is an example, and, in a different
way--"
"Myself?"
"No, Commander Brullar. He is the brass-hat type, while Krraula is
simply a tyrannical madman."
"So far, you're right. But what of _this_ particular problem?"
"Yes, sir," the aide said. "Krraula, and the Beolin rulers, have power
in and about their system to the extent that their depredations go
unchallenged there. And an apathetic Interstellar Command--"
"Does not act," finished the Commander. "You are entirely correct,
Kina." He touched studs on the desk and reports slid through the viewer
on the wall. He said quietly, "We have lost a score of ships--ships
that we are sure the Beolins could tell us about. And yet the Command
does not act." He looked reflectively at the slim, impassive man, and
then spoke swiftly.
"Kina, I want you to get me two more connections ... Sirius VII, and
the Command Cruiser nearest to Beolin. Hurry! The cruiser first."
* * * * *
A minute or so later, Kina slipped a sheet of paper onto the desk, and
touched a switch. The screen glittered into life, showing the face of
a man who wore a captain's shoulder bars. Glancing at the paper, which
gave the name of the officer and the ship, the Commander said, "Captain
Stang, how far are you from Beolin?"
"Roughly twenty light years, sir," was the immediate answer.
"Do you think that you can make a speed of--say--five light-years per
hour, or perhaps more?"