She stepped over to the trunk of the tree and spoke softly. A panel
opened in the ground at the foot of the tree, over a grav-well. They
dropped gently, and the panel closed behind them. As they floated
slowly downward they heard a sharp explosion overhead. He smiled wryly
at Astrid, dropping beside him.
"Your change of heart," he said, "didn't come any too soon."
Reine's laboratory, like a great deal else in the Allied Systems, had
gone underground as galactic war approached. Far beneath the surface,
the grav-well ended in a corridor, stretching out a hundred meters.
Rooms filled with equipment opened out at either side. As they walked
down the corridor, Thane explained his mission and his Onzarian
appearance. "Now," he went on, "there's a lot for me to catch up on."
"It's been terrible," Astrid said. "First, there was the attack
yesterday. We fought them off, then. Liaison radioed that they were
sending more protection. But the jet that landed today flashed the
Liaison code to our auto-interrogator. We lowered the screen and they
began to attack. We didn't stand a chance, once they were inside."
It was all clear enough, and it was certainly also clear that he was
late. There was the faint possibility that Reine could still be
rescued before the Onzarians could leave the system.
He turned to Astrid. "If they plan to leave by the regular Onzarian
transport, we should be able to catch them at the Aberdeen spaceport.
Where's the radio?"
They had reached an open door. Astrid's gesture was hopeless. Thane
looked inside. The Onzarians had been there before they left. Twisted,
melted circuits were all they had left.
* * * * *
The anti-grav scout got them to the Aberdeen spaceport an hour late.
The Onzarian gold transport had left for Kadell IV. A few questions
were enough to justify Thane's growing pessimism. Several Onzarians
had taken passage. One was heavily drugged, under the care of a
physician.
The hours dragged till they were able to get passage on the next
Kadell-bound transport the following day. Once spaceborne, Thane felt
a lot of his depression lift. There was a good chance they would reach
the Kadenar spaceport on Kadell IV before the other ship had left. In
the meantime there was Astrid....
By the time they had reached the second warp-line intersection Thane
had learned that Astrid had also attended the Systems University at
Beirut, three classes behind him. They'd had some of the same
professors and a couple of mutual friends. Thane told her of life on
Proxima, and she told him how she had lived and worked with her
father. Her talk was in the off-hand sort of vocal shorthand that
their generation shared. But through the facade, Thane could see that
she was immensely brilliant in research, fascinated with her work, and
at the same time, immensely lonely. She was animated when she spoke of
the work that she and her father had done but there was a different
sparkle in her yellow eyes when she talked of the university. Talks
with fellow students, a brief love affair, weekend trips to Tel Aviv
or New Rome--it was plain that she had badly missed it all in her
years in Norway, in the glittering, isolated laboratory far under the
snow.
And always there was recurrent alarm for her father. She broke off her
talk of the University and gripped his arm. "Roger, we must stop them.
If they take my father to Onzar, he'll be killed. And the movement.
What will happen to that?"
"The movement?" Roger Thane asked, puzzled.
"Why of course," she said, surprised. "Don't you know about it?"
Thane was about to answer, but just then there was the shummer as they
re-entered space at the second warp-line intersection. At the same
moment the red warning light in their compartment blinked. The
navigator's voice, with an undercurrent of alarm, came over the
intercom. "Emergency. Emergency! Crew to battle stations. Passengers
to lifeboats."
Roger and Astrid dashed out into the port corridor. The corridor
widened as they ran forward, and they were suddenly in the port fire
control center. An Onzarian officer, the Third from his insignia, was
at the fire control panel. Thane looked at the screen over the Third's
head. The ship was black and unmarked but if it was a pirate it was by
far the biggest Thane had ever seen. The whole black hulk was turning
in space, a hundred KM away, lining up its armament. It would only be
seconds. Thane looked at the Third. He seemed to be confused, and was
fumbling almost blindly with the instruments. He twisted dials almost
at random, on the edge of panic. Thane hesitated--then realized what
it must be--Stoltz artillery. The unmarked ship had managed to get
through with it, during the microseconds of the shummer when the
screens were down.
He could feel some of the effect himself. He went through a moment of
indecision, but that was all. Then he stepped forward and shoved the
Third Officer aside. The officer looked blank, then his face reddened
in anger. As Thane tried to bring the armament to bear, the Third was
clawing at his back. Thane bent and twisted. The Third went crashing
into a bulkhead. Thane didn't even glance at him. There was no time.
He turned back to the fire control. As he did, the first disrupter
explosion came, not two kilometers ahead. The next one would get them.
Thane twisted the manual computer for there was no time to wait for
the automatic to warm up. Two small adjustments and he touched the
impeller. Instantly his disrupter burst appeared on the screen off the
starboard bow of the black enemy. Not close enough to do real damage
but enough to throw off the pirate's next shot. The shot came. Needles
danced wildly on the board before Thane. The whole ship vibrated
wildly. The power drain was tremendous, but the inner screens held. As
Thane lined up the pirate again, the intercom said, "Five seconds to
warp-line!" They'd be safe, then, after the micro second when the
screens were down. And the pirate was in position to take full
advantage of that moment. Thane's fingers moved with scherzo speed as
he fed twelve adjustments to the fire control. He let go with
everything they had on the port side, and switched off the guns, in
preparation for the shummer. It came almost simultaneously, and the
pirate disappeared as they went into the hyper-space of the warp-line.
There was no time to see if any damage had been done. His last shots
must have had effect, though, or they would never have made it back
into the warp.
Thane turned away wearily from the fire-control panel. The whole
encounter had lasted less than twenty seconds, but the strain of
fighting against the Stoltz effect and of manually computing twelve
variables had been wearing. He saw that the Third Officer was now
standing close to Astrid. He started to say he was sorry that he had
to act as he did. But the Third walked over to him, with military
precision, his face set. He stood before Thane, young, military, and
serious.
"You have impugned my honor and that of Onzar. For that your life is
forfeit. We fight on Kadenar."
"I also saved your life and my own," Thane said drily, "but if you
want me to take yours back, I'll be glad to oblige. See you at
Kadenar." Thane turned on his heel and walked away.
* * * * *
Duelling was forbidden by the Systems Code but on such outposts as
Kadenar it was not only allowed but even encouraged.
Therefore, no time was lost in customs. Thane's forged Onzarian
passport was stamped "duellist priority" and that was that. Astrid
came through as readily as his second. And the Third, with another
junior officer, was just behind them.
The four of them sat side by side without a word as their automatic
anti-grav taxi took them the ten kilos from the port to Kadenar City,
and then beyond. The taxi continued over the City and its three
"towns"--the spacetown, the bureaucrat's town, and the miner's
town--and finally settled gently down in the foothills beyond. There
was a clearing beneath them, with a fenced-in surface. A medic looked
up as they got out.
"Differences to settle, gentlemen and my lady? Interne Pyuf at your
service. The duelling tax is three sals. Always glad to accept any
Systems currency. Then too, there's the cremation deposit required
from both parties, the medication fee, and if you gentlemen are
interested in insurance, I'm able to supply some very special
policies."
After the principals and seconds had signed the register and all fees
had been paid, Pyuf leaned back in his chair, lit one of the
fashionable 30 centimeter cigarettes, and explained the rules. "In
general, no criminal nor civil disability attaches to actions of the
principals within this enclosure. Certain fines, however, are imposed
if the rules are not followed. To wit: knives only can be used, not to
exceed twelve inches. Each contestant may wear a personal anti-grav,
limited to fifteen feet ascentability. Anti-gravs must be adjusted to
compensate for native gravities." He smiled, in self-deprecation.
"That's Pyuf the lawyer at work. Now perhaps you prefer Pyuf the
bartender." He reached under his counter and pulled out a bottle,
labelled in the local language, and poured out five glasses. "To your
continued good health, gentlemen, and I sincerely hope I can return
your cremation deposits--though of course, many previous contestants,
grateful to be alive, have contributed the amounts to the Interne's
Benefit Association."
Thane and the others picked up their glasses. The stuff was yellow,
sticky, sweet, and without the slightest doubt, alcoholic. When Thane
could manage to speak, he said, "By all means, Pyuf. I'm sure that
both my opponent and I will contribute to the internes, dead or alive.
Shall we proceed with the main event?"
Before answering, Pyuf poured a small chaser from the same bottle and
stood up, a little unsteadily. "By all means. But before we start I
might mention that I have been ordained in fourteen systems' religions
and will be glad to perform last rites...."
"Enough, enough," said the Third, who was beginning to show signs of
nervousness. "Let us get on with it."
Pyuf stepped over to the weapons racks and removed a set of knives and
a pair of anti-grav jackets. He laid them on his table and gestured
to the Third. "Take a knife and jacket." The Third chose the knife and
jacket to the left without more than a cursory glance.
Pyuf reached in his jacket pocket and brought out one of the
twelve-faced dies of Kadenar. "Pyuf, the gambler," he said. "You two
gentlemen will now roll the die. He who is high has his choice of
either group of weapons."
The Third Officer rolled first, and the Kadenar equivalent of nine
came up. Thane rolled a five.
"Now," said Pyuf, "it's Pyuf, the couturier. Step forward, gentlemen,
to be fitted."
Pyuf fitted the anti-grav jackets to Thane and the Third, and gave
each a brief, efficient test. He stepped back and leaned against his
counter. "And now, Pyuf, the referee." He pointed to a green line
bisecting the enclosure. "You gentlemen will remain on the other side
of the line during the contest. You remain within the fences. You do
not ascend higher than fifteen feet. The contest lasts till blood has
been drawn three times or until a prior fatality--or do I need add
that? At any rate, that's all the rules. The State wishes you well,
while it frowns on your activity. To your circles, gentlemen, and
await my signal."
Thane judged the area marked off for the "contest" to be about ten
meters square. It was smoothly surfaced with one of the hard local
metals, and Thane noticed a few bloodstains near the edges. Most of
them were the dark brown of dried human blood, but there were other
alien colors mixed in here and there.
As he walked across the court Thane looked carefully at his opponent,
appraising him. They were both about the same height but the Third had
several centimeters more reach. Probably around the equivalent of 23
years, absolute time. Certainly at the peak of physical condition.
Thane decided on his course. He would try first for his opponent's
anti-grav. Probably the other would try to cover his throat and belly,
and Thane might be able to get to the anti-grav by surprise. Then,
draw the blood that was in the rules, and get the thing over. Not much
of a plan, but at least a plan.
There was an inset ring of some cupra-alloy at each end of the
duelling court, about a meter in diameter. Thane reached his end,
watched his opponent, and waited for Pyuf's signal. Pyuf slowly poured
another drink. As he raised it with his right hand, his left arm went
up over his head. He swallowed the drink, and the left arm came down.
The Third Officer came on in all-out attack. His anti-grav assisted
leap was long and shallow, aimed at Thane's throat. At the same moment
Thane bent his knees slightly and dropped. Just before he hit the
surface he pushed up and outward with all his strength and twisted his
body sharply. With the assistance of the anti-grav he was floating now
directly above and behind his opponent. He cut off the anti-grav
completely and dropped, with all the planet's gravity. As he did, the
Third twisted and raised his knife. He lacked a fraction of a second
to complete the turn and get into lethal position. Thane hit him on
the shoulder and instantly turned his anti-grav to the "full"
position, grabbed his opponent's shoulders, and pushed against the
court surface with both heels.
They both went up and over, almost to the fifteen meter limit. As they
did, Thane worked his knife into the anti-grav pack on his opponent's
back. Three connections, at the top, left, and bottom. His knife cut
in and out rapidly, three times. Then he suddenly pushed away, slipped
his own anti-grav to zero, and dropped to the surface.
The Third, suddenly without the assistance of his anti-grav, crashed
into the fence and dropped leadenly to the metalled surface. Thane
crouched a moment watching him. Thane had a cut above one eye, and the
blood was beginning to run. He stepped forward....
... the knife in his hand ... what was it there for? He should be on
his way to the rotor meet with the rest of the boys ... he was going
to win this year ... he was going to win....