"Why the dirty racketeer," stormed Arden. "Who is he, anyway?"
"Hellion Murdoch is a man of considerable ability as a surgeon and a
theoretical physicist," explained Don. "He was sentenced to the gas
chamber ten years ago for trying some of his theories out on human
beings without their consent. He escaped with the aid of fifteen or
twenty of his cohorts who had stolen the _Hippocrates_ right out of the
private spaceport of the Solarian Medical Research Institute."
"And they headed for the unknown," offered Keg. "Wonder where they've
been for the last ten years?"
"I'll bet a hat that they've been in the Melapalan Jungle, using the
machine shop of the _Hippocrates_ to fashion guns. That machine shop
was a dilly, if I remember correctly."
"It was. The whole ship was just made to be as self-sustaining as it
could be. They used to run all over the System in it, you know, chasing
bugs. But look, Don, if I were you, I'd begin worrying about Venus
Equilateral. That's where he'll hit next."
"You're right. But what are you going to do?"
"Something that will drive him right out to the relay station," said
Keg in a sorrowful tone. "Sorry, Don, but when I put an end to all
space shipping for a period of six weeks, Hellion Murdoch will be
sitting in your lap."
"He sure will," said Channing nervously. "Arden, are you willing to run
a gantlet?"
"Sure," she answered quickly. "Are you sure that there will be no
danger?"
"Reasonably sure, or I wouldn't take you with me. Unless Murdoch has
managed to build himself a couple of extra ships, we've got a chance in
three that he'll be near one of the other two big spaceports. So we'll
slide out of here unannounced and at a peculiar time of day. We'll load
up with gravanol and take it all the way to the station at six G."
"He may have two or three ships," said Keg. "A man could cover all
the standard space shipping in three, and he might not have too bad a
time with two, especially if he were only out looking for those which
weren't paid for. But, look, I wouldn't check out of the Terraland if
I were you. Keep this under cover. Your heap is all ready to take sky
from Canalopsis Spaceport and you can leave directly."
"Hold off on your announcement as long as possible," Don asked Keg.
Johnson smiled and nodded. "I'll give you time to get there anyway. But
I've no control over what will be done at Northern Landing or Mojave.
They may kick over the traces."
"Arden, we're moving again," laughed Don. "Keg, ship us our duds as
soon as this affair clears up." Channing scribbled a message on the
back of Murdoch's letter. "Shoot this off to Walt Franks, will you? I
won't wait for an answer, that'll take about fifty minutes, and by that
time I'll have been in space for twenty."
They paused long enough to stop at the nurse's office at the spaceport
for a heavy shot of gravanol and a thorough bracing with wide adhesive
tape. Then they made their way to the storage space of the spaceport
where they entered their small ship. Channing was about to send the
power lever home when the figure of Keg Johnson waved him to stop.
Keg ran up to the space lock and handed in a paper.
"You're it," he said. "Good luck, Channings."
It was another message from Hellion Murdoch. It said, bluntly:
TO DONALD A. CHANNING, PH.D.:
DIRECTOR OF COMMUNICATIONS:
CONSIDERABLE DIFFICULTY HAS BEEN EXPERIENCED IN TRANSMITTING
MESSAGES TO THE INTERESTED PARTIES. I DESIRE A FREE HAND IN
TELLING ALL WHO CARE THE PARTICULARS OF MY INSURANCE.
SINCE YOUR RELAY STATION IS IN A POSITION TO CONTROL ALL
COMMUNICATIONS BETWEEN THE WORLDS, I AM OFFERING YOU THE OPTION
OF EITHER SURRENDERING THE STATION TO ME, OR OF FIGHTING ME FOR
ITS POSSESSION. I AM CONFIDENT THAT YOU WILL SEE THE INTELLIGENT
COURSE; AN UNARMED STATION IN SPACE IS NO MATCH FOR A FULLY ARMED
AND EXCELLENTLY MANNED CRUISER.