The bulletin board said that in the present orbital positions of the
planets, the _Jovian Queen_ would make her voyage at one Earth-gravity
acceleration in six days, forty-three minutes, and twelve seconds, plus
or minus ten seconds. That might be pure braggadocio, though Ballantyne
wouldn't have been surprised to learn that it was sober truth. He hoped
the time was overestimated. His cabin mates were a little wearing on
the nerves. Urushkidan filling the room with smoke, sitting up till all
hours covering paper with mathematical symbols and screaming at any
interruption. Dyann was nice-looking but rather overwhelming. In some
ways she was reminiscent of Catherine Vanbrugh. The Engineer shuddered.
He slouched moodily into the bar and ordered a martini he could ill
afford. The place was quiet, discreetly lit, not very full. His eyes
fell on the stiff-laced Jovian colonel, still clutching his portfolio
like grim death, but talking with unusual animation to a stunning
Terrestrial redhead. It was clear that ideas about the purity of the
Jovian stock--"hardened in the fire and ice of outer space, tempered
and beaten into the new and dominant mankind"--had been temporarily
shelved.
If I had some money, thought Ballantyne gloomily, I could detach her
from him and enjoy this trip.
The bartender informed him, with some awe, that the man was Colonel
Ivan Hosea Domenico Roshevsky-Feldkamp, late military attaché of
Jupiter's Terrestrial embassy and an officer who had served with
distinction in suppressing the Ionian revolt and in asserting Jupiter's
rightful claims to Saturn. Ray was more interested in the girl's name
and antecedents. Just as he'd thought, an heiress on a pleasure trip.
Expensive.
A couple of genial Earthmen moved up and began talking to him. Before
long they suggested a friendly game of poker.
Oh-ho! thought Ray, who knew that sort. "Sure," he said.
They played most of the time for a couple of days. Luck went back
and forth but in general Ray won, and toward the end he was a couple
of thousand U. N. credits to the good. He let his eyes glitter with
febrile cupidity, and the sharks--there were three of them all
told--almost licked their lips.
"Excuse me a minute," said Ray, pocketing his winnings. "I'll be back,
and then we'll play for real stakes."
"You bet," said the sharks. They sat back, lit anticipatory cigars, and
waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Ray found the redhead remarkably easy to pry from the colonel.
The girl thought it would be just too much fun to go slumming and have
the captain's dinner with him in the third-class saloon. He led her
down the thrumming corridor, thinking wistfully that before he knew it
he'd be in Ganymede City and as broke as he'd been to start with.
Urushkidan crawled slowly by, waving an idle tentacle at him. The
Martian walking system was awkward under Earth gravity and, their table
manners being worse than atrocious, they ate in a separate section. It
was Dyann who really started the trouble. She strode up behind Ray and
clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Vere have you been?" she asked reproachfully. "You have not been in
our cabin for two days and nights now."
The redhead blushed.
"Oh hullo, Dyann," said Ray, annoyed. "I'll see you later."
"Of course you vill." She smiled. "Ah, you dashin' glamorous Earthmen,
you make me feel so small and veak." She topped him by a good two
inches.
They came into the doorway of the saloon and three familiar figures
barred Ray's passage.
"What the hell became of you, Ballantyne?" demanded one. His geniality
was quite gone. "You was going to play some more with us."
"I forgot," said Ray huskily. The three men looked bigger than they
had, somehow.
"It's not sporting to quit when you're so far ahead," said another.
"Yeah," said a third. "You ought at least to give us our money back."
"I haven't got it," said Ray.
"Look, pal, things happen to people that ain't good sports. They ain't
very pop-u-lar, and things happen to them. Where's that money?"
They crowded in, hemming him against the wall. Beyond them, he could
see Colonel Roshevsky-Feldkamp staring coldly at the tableau. Ray
wondered if he hadn't put the players up to this. They wouldn't have
dared start trouble without some kind of _sub rosa_ official hint.
* * * * *
"Come on back to our cabin and we'll talk this over, pal."
The redhead squeaked and shrank aside. A meaty hand closed on Ray's arm
and dragged him half off his feet. Dyann bristled, one hand clapped to
her sword. "Are these men annoyin' you, Ray?" she asked.
"No, we just want a quiet little private talk with our friend," said
one of them. "Just come along easy, Ballantyne."
"Dyann, I think they are annoying me," said the engineer, the words
rattling in a suddenly dry and tightened throat.
"Oh, vell, in that case--" She smiled, reached out, and grabbed a
collar.
There was a minor explosion. The man catapulted into the air, hit the
ceiling, caromed off a wall, and bounced on the floor. Sheer reflex
sent knives flying into the hands of the other two.
"Ormun is good!" shouted Dyann joyously. She gave the nearest gambler a
fistful of knuckles, tossed him into the air, clutched his ankles as he
came down, and whirled him against the wall.
The third was stabbing at her back. Blindly, Ray grabbed his arm and
pulled him away. He snarled and lunged at the engineer, who tumbled
backward clutching after the nearest weapon. It happened to be Colonel
Roshevsky-Feldkamp's massive briefcase. He grabbed it free and brought
it down on the gambler's head. It hit with a dull _thwack_ and the
fellow lurched. Ray hit him again. The briefcase burst open and papers
snowed through the air. Then Dyann got the enemy from behind and
proceeded to tie him in knots.
The redhead had already departed, screaming. Ray sank to one shaky knee
and looked up into the colonel's livid face.
"I'm terribly sorry, sir," he gasped. "Here, let me help--"
He began stuffing papers back into the briefcase. A polished boot
hit him where it would do the most good and he skidded through the
disorderly mass. "You unutterable fool!" raged the voice above him.
"You vould kick my friend, huh?" asked Dyann indignantly.
A revolver clanked from the colonel's belt. "That will do," he snapped.
"Consider yourself under arrest."
Dyann's broad smooth shoulders sagged a little. "I am so sorry," she
said meekly. "Let me help yust a litle." She stooped and picked up one
of the unconscious men.
"March!" rapped the colonel.
"Yes, sir," whispered Dyann abjectly. Then, being almost next to him,
she rammed her burden into his belly. He sat down with a thunderous
_oof_ and Dyann kicked him behind the ear.
"That vas fun," she grinned, picking up the revolver and sticking it
into her belt. "Vat shall ve do now?"
* * * * *
"You," said Urushkidan acidly, "are a typical human."
Ray looked despairingly out of the brig at him. "What else could I do?"
he asked wildly. "I couldn't fight a shipful of Jovians. It was all I
could do to talk Dyann into surrendering."
"I mean in fighting in te first place," said Urushkidan. "I hear it
started over a female. Why don't you lower animals habe a regular
rutting season as we do on Uttu? Ten you could spend time tinking of
someting else too, someting constructive."
"Well--" Ray couldn't suppress a wry smile, "those are constructive
thoughts, of a sort. But what happened to Dyann?"
"Oh, tey questioned her, found she couldn't read, and let her go. But
tey won't let her see you."
"I suppose Earth would raise more of a stink over her being arrested
than it's worth to the Jovians. But what's her literacy got to do with
it?"
"Te colonel's papers, you idiot. Tey are bery secret. Doubtless tey
are information about Eart's defenses, obtained by his spies and to be
brought home by him in person."
"But I didn't read them either!"
"You saw tem. Tey are implanted in your subconscious memories and
a hypnotreatment could extract tem. An illiterate like Dyann lacks
te word-gestalts, she would not remember eben subconsciously, but
you--Well, tat is luck. Maybe Eart can sabe you."
"Oh, no!" Ray clutched his head. "They won't bother. They don't give a
damn. I'm wanted back there, and old Vanbrugh will be only too pleased
to see me get the works."
"Banbrugh--te Nort American Councillor?"
"Uh-huh." Ray leaned gloomily against the door. "I was just a plain
ordinary engineer till Uncle Hosmer left me a million credits. Damn
him, I hope he fries in hell."
"A man left you money and you don't like it?" Urushkidan's eyes bugged
so they seemed in some danger of falling out. "Shalmuannusar, what did
you do wit it?"
"I spent it. I spent damn near every millo in a year."
"On _what_?"
"Oh, wine, women, song--the usual."
Urushkidan clapped his tentacles to his eyes and groaned. "A million
credits!"
"It got me into high society," went on Ray. "I made out as if I had
more than I did. I met Catherine Vanbrugh--that's the Councillor's
daughter--and she got ideas that I might make a good fifth husband,
or would it be the sixth? Well, she wasn't a bad-looking wench, and
I--uh--well--about the time my money gave out and I went into debt,
she was really after me. It was somewhat urgent. I skipped, of course.
Old Vanbrugh got the cops after me. I barely escaped. He's got enough
influence to--well, it boils down to the fact that the Jovians can do
anything to me their little hearts desire."
He strained against the bars. "Can't you do anything, sir? Your fame is
so illustrious. Can't you slip the word to somebody?"
The Martian puffed out his chest above his eyes and simpered. Then he
said with mild regret, "No, I cannot entangle myself in te empirical.
My domain is te beauty and purity of matematics alone. I adbise you to
accept your fate wit philosophy. Perhaps I can lend you Ekbannutil's
_Treatise on te Unimportance of Temporal Sorrows_. It has many
consoling toughts."
He waved affably and waddled off. Ray sank to the bunk.
Presently a squad of soldiers arrived to escort him to the tender
which would take him down to Ganymede. Colonel Roshevsky-Feldkamp was
there, as stiff as ever, though the bandage behind his ear set his cap
somewhat askew.
"Where am I going?" asked Ray.
"To Camp Muellenhoff, outside the city," said the Jovian with a hard
satisfaction. "It is where we keep spies until we get ready to question
and shoot them."