It was a wondrous world. He walked in halls of polished marble and
looked out through colonnades across a bright blue sea. Gentle breezes
carried flowers' perfumes to him. Wine warmed his throat. Music rippled
in faint, nostalgic waves.
Yet he knew no joy, for loneliness ached dull underneath his
breastbone. First listless, then feverish, he wandered in and out among
the columns, ever seeking. Servitors brought rare foods, sun-blushing
fruits, to tempt his palate; and there were women who pressed
themselves upon him, seducing him with eye and voice and touch.
But he brushed by; he would have none of them. He saw the blue sea as a
wasteland. The wine turned bitter in his mouth.
Then, suddenly, _she_ was there, a fairy figure far off amid the
towering pillars. With a glad cry, he ran towards her.
But she laughed and flitted away before him. And when he tried to
follow, dusk came, casting ebon shadows, and he could not find her, and
he threw himself down on the hard bed of the marble, bruised and broken.
"Eileen--!" he moaned. "Eileen...."
As from afar, a voice said, "That's right. Another shot of vorghon."
He turned his head, ever so slowly. He forced his burning, heavy-lidded
eyes to open.
A man in the white jacket of the medcorps stood beside him, smiling.
"Good," the man said. "I knew we'd do it. Vorghon always brings them
around."
"You hit it, all right." It was another medman speaking. "For awhile
there, I'd begun to wonder. But that last shot turned the trick."
Again Boone whispered: "Eileen--where is she?"
"Eileen, did you say? The first of the medmen came down closer. Some
girl? You were alone, you know, aboard the carrier."
"The ... carrier--?"
"You don't remember that part, even?" The medman's brow furrowed
deeper. His eyes flicked to his fellow for the fraction of a second as
if in wordless exclamation, then came back to Boone again. "You were
aboard a sphere-ship bound for Titan. Then the monsters hit it and
all hands took off. When we picked you up, you were in an EC carrier,
drifting just out of Hyperion's orbit." He chuckled. "You were out of
your head at the time. Someplace along the line you'd gotten pretty
sick."
Boone tried to drag himself up but found his arms were pinioned. "I was
on Hyperion!" he mumbled. "I didn't leave the ship; it crashed down
through the ice-shell. Eileen was with me--"
But the medman had straightened. He was not listening. "Another shot
for this lad," he clipped briskly. "Make it equal parts of vorghon and
anhalsax."
"Right, sir," the second medman nodded. Boone glimpsed an aerojet
descending.
Then he was off again--off on another nightmare chase, following Eileen
through sifting spheres of light and darkness.
This time, at last, he caught her. Only when he would have put his
arms about her, she suddenly changed into a faceless, somehow leering
Helgae.
But the haze was gone when he roused again, and he felt better.
Then the medmen came in, looking not quite so jovial as before. A
frozen-faced ship's officer entered with them.
There was the usual routine check. At its conclusion, the medman in
charge turned to the officer. "All right. You can talk to him now." He
stepped back.
* * * * *
The officer moved in closer. "Your name's Fred Boone, EB rating,
attached to the Ganymedan base." He said it as if it were an accusation.
"That's right."
"On September 3, 2156, adjusted Earth dating system, you forced the
base director, Martin Krobis, to pass you onto the base grav-ramp, then
paralyzed him with a nerve-shock and stowed away aboard sphere-ship
XL-230, bound for Titan, in direct violation of his specific orders."
Boone studied the officer thoughtfully, but said nothing.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
The officer's ears grew pink. "Affirm or deny."
"I'd rather not do either till I have advice of counsel."
"Oh. One of those." The officer's lips drew tight. "All right, then,
if that's the way you want it. But I warn you, it won't help."
Turning on his heel, he stalked out the door. The medmen followed.
Still Boone lay unmoving. There was a tension in him now, and of a
sudden he felt old and weary.
So even here, even now, after all that had happened, Krobis was bound
to get his pound of flesh.
Almost idly, he wondered how it would end.
Not that it mattered. Not now with Eileen still back on Hyperion, a
captive of the Helgae.
If she'd lived this long.
Bleakly, he wondered what had happened that day--or was it night?--in
the weird domed city. Were the Helgae living entities, as it had
seemed? Had they really tried to probe his brain by some strange
thought-wave system? Or was that all imagination?
For that matter, had he ever actually been beneath the ice-shell? Did
it even exist? And was there a warm, lush world inside it--a world
where huge, six-sexed flowers bloomed and held their colors in spite
of ammonia and methane; where Helgae bubbles formed in a flash to trap
invaders?
Above all, how had he come to be aboard a carrier, drifting beyond
Hyperion's orbit?
Those were questions to which, some day, he'd have to find the answers.
Such questions--! And so many of them!
Yet in his heart he knew that they were academic, almost. For they only
concealed the true core of his tension.
Eileen.
Again he saw her as in those last long moments--sealed in her separate
sphere, her pale face fear-straught.
The memory woke new fever in him. Why was he lying here, with her in
danger? Now, above all, seconds were precious!
And there was only one road for him to take to help her.
A bitter road. Yet he had no choice.
He shifted; twisted; fumbled for the buzzer button.
A medman came. Boone said, "I want a space-phone."
"Who are you calling?"
"The Ganymedan base director. His name is Martin Krobis."
"I'll see." The man went out again.
When he came back, he brought an audio-visual com-box with him. "The
call's allowed. I've placed it for you." Setting down the unit on the
stand beside Boone's bed, he left the room.
Taut-nerved, Boone waited.
Then the signal blinked. Krobis' face flashed on the receptor-screen,
sharp features set in an expression that was half gloating smirk, half
chill, bleak menace. "Well, Boone?" His voice came brittle.
Boone hunched forward. "Let's not waste time on things past, Krobis. We
know how we feel about each other. What counts now is that Eileen's in
trouble."
Tersely, he told his story.
But Krobis' expression stayed the same. The black eyes showed no
slightest flicker of emotion.
"That's all, Boone?"
Boone's palms were sweating. "'That's all'--?" he echoed. "Isn't that
enough? What more do you want."
* * * * *
For the first time, Krobis' facial muscles shifted. Hate boiled in his
eyes. His lips peeled back in a raging grimace. "I want _you_, Boone!"
he slashed out fiercely. "I want you, and I'm going to get you! Before
I'm through, you'll be booted out of Cartel service and rubbing _djec_
in Venus barracks. This nonsense you've told me--"--he laughed, a
harsh, contemptuous laugh--"--do you think I don't see through it? Not
even a cadet on his first trip would swallow it! You're trying to save
your own neck, that's all. But it won't work, not for a minute--"
"But Eileen--"
"To hell with her, too! Even if I believed you, my job's in Mekronal,
not Rescue Service!"
He broke off sharply, as if unable to find words harsh enough to vent
his fury. His hand blurred as he flicked the switch.
The screen went dead.
Belly quivering, Boone turned off his own unit and slumped back on the
bed.
But before he could even sort out his own feelings, the com-box signal
blinked again.
For the fraction of a second Boone hesitated, nonplussed and frowning,
then threw the switch.
This time the face on the screen was one he hadn't seen before: a
stern-faced man with greying hair, all dignity.
The other said, "I'm Douglas Schilling, specialist in space law at
Thelema. A mutual friend heard about your current difficulties. He
suggested that you might like to have me serve as counsel."
Boone stared. "A mutual friend--"
"Yes," Schilling nodded. "He prefers that I not use his name over the
space-phone, but he said you'd remember him as the man to whom you were
talking in Gandor City just before you left for Titan."
Gandor City--! Boone rocked. That could only be Terral, the
representative of Associated Independents!
"Do you remember?" Schilling prodded.
Boone made his face a mask. "Yes. I remember."
"Then if you'd care to have me represent you--"
"I would." Boone leaned back and smiled thinly. "That is, if you're
still willing after you've heard my story. Krobis has already turned it
down."
"Krobis--!" The other's keen eyes flickered. "You mean you've talked to
him, given him the details as to what happened?"
"Yes."
"I can't say that I'm glad to hear it. However...." The lawyer
shrugged. "Let's make it that I'll see you when your ship gravs down at
the Cartel's Thelema headquarters base on Mars tomorrow."
"Good enough."
"Till tomorrow, then...." Already, the lawyer's face was fading.
* * * * *
Tomorrow. To Boone, it seemed that the hours dragged on beyond measure.
Yet then, when at last the new day had come, he found himself almost
regretful--dreading the things he knew that it must bring; fighting
down an ever-growing tension.
Because he knew in his heart that he wasn't going to take it. Not with
Eileen's life perhaps at stake; not with Hyperion's ice-shell beckoning.
Somewhere, somehow, he'd find a way....
There was a final routine with the medmen. They pronounced him sound,
turned him over to the guards.
Then the ship slowed, hovered. Gravving down through the great Thelema
airlocks, it settled to the ramp.
Flanked by two guards, Boone strode from the lift-shaft.
Schilling stood outside. Coolly, he extended documents to Boone's
captors. "A temporary order for release of your prisoner to my custody
for pre-hearing consultation, gentlemen."
The guard in charge checked through the papers, then stepped back.
"He's all yours, Mister."
Schilling led the way to a surface carrier without speaking.
Boone eyed him curiously. "How does it look?"
The lawyer leaned back, and the carrier slid smoothly into motion.
"Frankly, I don't like it. Krobis wants blood. He's come in all the way
from Ganymede himself, instead of sending a deposition or testifying on
the com-box; and he's persuaded the Cartel to try you before a general
board so that you can be discharged from the service, with release to
the Federation for criminal action if you're convicted."
"So it's double trouble." Boone smiled wryly. "I might have expected
that from Krobis."
"You're not convicted yet," retorted Schilling. "Besides, I got that
release order so you'd have a chance to talk with someone who's in a
spot to help you."
"Terral?"
The lawyer nodded and brought the carrier to a halt beside a building.
"You'll find him in my office, there. I'll drop back later."
It was Boone's turn to nod. He got out and went into the building.
And there was Terral--lean, grey, shrewd-eyed Terral, the man empowered
to speak for Associated Independents.
He gripped Boone's hand. "Glad to see you, man--even though the
circumstances could be better."
"Oh, I don't know." Boone held face and voice alike noncommittal.
"Anyhow, thanks for getting Schilling."
"You're wondering why, of course." Terral's lips drew thin. "Believe
me, it wasn't altruism, Boone; not one bit of it."
Boone frowned. "Maybe I just don't understand."
"You will," the other clipped. And then: "Boone, how much do you know
about Titan fever?"
"Titan fever--?" Boone shook his head. "Not too much."
"Are you aware that it's reached the epidemic stage on half-a-dozen
satellites and planets?"
"What--!"
"The Federation's keeping the statistics under cover; otherwise there'd
be a panic." Terral paced the floor like a caged lion. "The catch is,
Boone, we're all like you: No one knows too much about the whys and
wherefores of it, except that the original cases came among IC men
who worked in the Helgae cities on Titan back when mekronal was first
developed."
* * * * *
Boone ran his thumb along his chin. "I'd heard that part. But I thought
we had it licked with chandak extract."
"Chandak extract!" The independents' agent spun around, grey
eyes blazing. "That's just the trouble! Chandak's a byproduct of
mekronal--and all mekronal comes from Titan! So with IC assigned
monopoly rights there, the rest of us are stuck."
"But the Federation--"
"The Federation's run by blithering idiots and IC stooges! Sure, with
this epidemic they've set up a quota system. But how much does that
mean, when Cartel inspectors make out the production reports?"
"So--?"
"So IC's using chandak the same way they've used mekronal--as a weapon
against the Independents!" Terral hammered his palm with a bony fist.
"Just look at the pattern! With mekronal, their crews can work in all
atmospheres, set up bases at a hundredth the cost of anyone else, and
claim satellite monopoly rights from the Federation on grounds of prior
colonization."
Boone nodded slowly. "Yes. I know how that works."
"All right. That's straight commercial rivalry, so even though it
cuts our throats we've got no come-back. But now comes Titan fever--a
disease that kills men like flies when you treat it with any of the
mill run of specifics. If you don't treat them--" Terral broke off;
looked square at Boone. "Boone, do you know the story on that?"
"No, I'm afraid not."
"Then read this--a report from the top labs of your own damned
organization! Don't ask me how I got it."
The Independents' rep was fumbling in a briefcase as he spoke. He drew
out a thick blue-covered folder and handed it to Boone.
Boone stared down at it. "_Titan Fever: An investigation of Untreated
Cases_," the title read. The binder was stamped "MOST SECRET" in big
block letters, and it bore the official seal of Interplanetary Cartels'
central research unit.
But the thing that held his eye was the signature on the submission.
The signature of Martin Krobis.
Frowning, he riffled through the document to the final page:
"... In summary, then, the following tentative conclusions may be
reported:
"1. Although occasional deaths due to complications sometimes result
from Titan fever, most untreated cases may be expected to recover.
"2. However, there is definite evidence that such cases undergo an
extreme mutation of the gametes.
"3. While no adverse physiological effects of this mutation are
apparent in infants born to parents one or both of whom have been
infected, significant mental changes and/or deterioration stand out
clearly.
"4. No such mutative effect is evident in cases treated with chandak
extract or their offspring.
"On the basis of available data, therefore, it is considered urgent
that all cases of Titan fever developing among Interplanetary Cartels
personnel or their families be given prompt treatment with chandak
extract.
"All base administrative chiefs are explicitly made responsible for
seeing that such treatment is carried out as directed."
Stiff-fingered, Boone closed the folder. Again, his eyes met Terral's.
The lean man's face had grown bleak as Mars' windswept deserts. "Do you
know what it's going to mean when that report gets out?"
"I can imagine."
"Can you? I wonder." The other raised a clenched fist; shook it.
"Boone, it means a Cartel-dominated solar system, the end of human
freedom! IC's got a monopoly on chandak and they intend to hold it,
Federation or no Federation. The rest of us won't have any choice but
to come to them on their terms, or else gamble that our children will
grow up gibbering idiots."
In spite of himself, Boone shuddered.
Terral kept on talking: "The production records tell the story. They
say that chandak's in short supply--so short that it comes in dribbles.
But that report you read doesn't mention any shortage, does it? All it
gives is an order--a flat directive to see that all IC's people are
protected."
* * * * *
Wearily, Boone nodded. "All right. You've sold me. Now tell me just how
I fit in. What am I supposed to do?"
"Good!" The other slapped Boone's shoulder. "As to what you do, it's
the same proposition that we talked about at Gandor City. The thing
we're buying is your training. There's an Independent ship ramped
in the main port, ready to grav-off. It's equipped for mekronal
production. You take it out and find some Helgae."
Boone's heart leaped. "You mean--I break and run? I don't stand trial?"
"That's why we had Schilling get that release order."
The room seemed suddenly distorted. Boone paced the floor to hide his
shaking.
He'd left Eileen on far Hyperion, a prisoner of the Helgae.
No, in spite of all Krobis' machinations, fate had thrown him a wild
gambler's chance to reach her.
Terral's voice drummed at him: "That order cost us, Boone. Who cares,
though, if it breaks the Cartel? Sure, you'll be a fugitive for awhile.
But you'll be safe so long as nobody thinks to tie you in with us, and
we can smooth the whole business over once we get our own source of
mekronal and chandak...."
Pushing his jumbled thoughts aside, Boone pivoted. "What are we waiting
for? Let's get started."
"Already?" Terral chuckled dryly. "Slow down! This is going to take a
little doing." He bent over the desk, scribbled swiftly on a note-pad,
and then straightened. "Take this to the manager at Triangle Freight.
Hot as you are, we're going to have to crate you up and send you out
onto the ramp as cargo."
"Right." Boone slipped the scrawl into his pocket. "I'll be on my way,
then."
"Good luck!"
Boone answered with a wordless salute and, turning, strode from the
office and the building.
He still felt a little dazed. How could it all have worked out so
perfectly and so simply?
Only then, suddenly, a man appeared out of a doorway, hurrying in
Boone's direction with head down--almost running.
Too late, Boone tried to sidestep. The man crashed into him and they
both reeled, clinging to each other for support.
The next instant, hands gripped Boone from behind. A hard, unseen
something rammed against his backbone. "Don't move, Boone!" clipped a
tight, familiar voice.
Boone stiffened. "Krobis--!"
"Correct." The thing against Boone's back withdrew. Krobis stepped
round into view, nerve-gun in hand, leaving his aides to hold the
prisoner. His black eyes glittered. "For the record, you're under
Cartel arrest again, in accordance with IC regulations."
Boone held his voice flat. "I can't stop you, Krobis. But when
trial-time comes, the Federation may not think much of this."
"You think not?" The Ganymedan base director smirked, and took a stand
with too-short legs wide-spraddled. "Personally, I'm more inclined
to believe they'll cite me for a commendation--once they've heard my
recording of your little talk with Terral!"
For the fraction of a second, Boone stopped breathing. His lips were
all at once so stiff he couldn't speak.
"That hit you, eh?" sneered Krobis. "You should have been more careful.
All I was interested in to start was finding out who pressured through
that release order for you. I didn't guess you had ties to the
Independents, or that you planned to run out. But I'm glad you tried
it. The recording makes your conviction certain, and puts us where we
can jump the gun on Terral.
"Meanwhile, you stay where you belong--in IC's own Thelema guardhouse!"