The voyage to Molleccogg lasted a week, absolute time aboard ship.
After their night together, Herndon had occasion to see the Lady
Moaris only twice more, and on both occasions she averted her eyes from
him, regarding him as if he were not there.
It was understandable. But Herndon held a promise from her that she
would see him again in three months' time, when she returned to
Borlaam; and she had further promised that she would use her influence
with her husband to have Herndon invited to the court of the Seigneur.
The _Lord Nathiir_ emerged from nullspace without difficulty and was
snared by the landing-field of Molleccogg Spacefield. Through the
viewing-screen on his own deck, Herndon saw the colorful splendor of
the pleasure-planet on which they were about to land, growing larger
now that they were in the final spiral.
But he did not intend to remain long on the world of Molleccogg.
He found the Chief Steward and applied for a leave of absence from Lord
Moaris' service, without pay.
"But you've just joined us," the Steward protested. "And now you want
to leave?"
"Only for a while," Herndon said. "I'll be back on Borlaam before any
of you are. I have business to attend to on another world in the Rim
area, and then I promise to return to Borlaam at my own expense to
rejoin the retinue of the Lord Moaris."
The Chief Steward grumbled and complained, but he could not find
anything particularly objectionable in Herndon's intentions, and so
finally he reluctantly granted the spacerogue permission to leave Lord
Moaris' service temporarily. Herndon packed his court costume and clad
himself in his old spacerogue garb; when the great liner ultimately put
down in Danzibool Harbor on Molleccogg, Herndon was packed and ready,
and he slipped off ship and into the thronged confusion of the terminal.
Bollar Benjin and Heitman Oversk had instructed him most carefully on
what he was to do now. He pushed his way past a file of vile-smelling
lily-faced green Nnobonn and searched for a ticket-seller's window. He
found one, eventually, and produced the pre-paid travel vouchers Benjin
had given him.
"I want a one-way passage to Vyapore," he said to the flat-featured,
triple-eyed Guzmanno clerk who stared out from back of the wicker
screen.
"You need a visa to get to Vyapore," the clerk said. "These visas are
issued at infrequent intervals to certified personages. I don't see how
you--"
"I have a visa," Herndon snapped, and produced it. The clerk
blinked--one-two-three, in sequence--and his pale rose face flushed
deep cerise.
"So you do," he remarked at length. "It seems to be in order. Passage
will cost you eleven hundred sixty-five stellors of the realm."
"I'll take a third-class ship," Herndon said. "I have a paid voucher
for such a voyage."
He handed it across. The clerk studied it for a long moment, then said:
"You have planned this very well. I accept the voucher. Here."
Herndon found himself holding one paid passage to Vyapore aboard the
freight-ship _Zalasar_.
The _Zalasar_ turned out to be very little like the _Lord Nathiir_.
It was an old-fashioned unitube ship that rattled when it blasted
off, shivered when it translated to nullspace, and quivered all
the week-long journey from Molleccogg to Vyapore. It was indeed a
third-class ship. Its cargo was hardware: seventy-five thousand
dry-strainers, eighty thousand pressors, sixty thousand multiple
fuse-screens, guarded by a supercargo team of eight taciturn Ludvuri.
Herndon was the only human aboard. Humans did not often get visas to
Vyapore.
They reached Vyapore seven days and a half after setting out from
Molleccogg. Ground temperature as they disembarked was well over a
hundred. Humidity was overpowering. Herndon knew about Vyapore: it
held perhaps five hundred humans, one spaceport, infinite varieties of
deadly local life, and several thousand non-humans of all descriptions,
some of them hiding, some of them doing business, some of them
searching for starstones.
Herndon had been well briefed. He knew who his contact was, and he set
about meeting him.
* * * * *
There was only one settled city on Vyapore, and because it was the only
one it was nameless. Herndon found a room in a cheap boarding-house run
by a swine-eared Dombruun, and washed the sweat from his face with the
unpleasantly acrid water of the tap.
Then he went downstairs into the bright noonday heat. The stench of
rotting vegetation drifted in from the surrounding jungle on a faint
breeze. Herndon said at the desk, "I'm looking for a Vonnimooro named
Mardlin. Is he around?"
"Over there," said the proprietor, pointing.
Mardlin the Vonnimooro was a small, weaselly-looking creature with the
protuberant snout, untrustworthy yellow eyes, and pebbly brown-purple
fur of his people. He looked up when Herndon approached. When he spoke,
it was in lingua spacia with a whistling, almost obscene inflection.
"You looking for me?"
"It depends," Herndon said. "Are you Mardlin?"
The jackal-creature nodded. Herndon lowered himself to a nearby seat
and said in a quiet voice, "Bollar Benjin sent me to meet you. Here are
my credentials."
He tossed a milky-white clouded cube on the table between them. Mardlin
snatched it up hastily in his leathery claws and nudged the activator.
An image of Bollar Benjin appeared in the cloudy depths, and a soft
voice said, "Benjin speaking. The bearer of this cube is known to me,
and I trust him fully in all matters. You are to do the same. He will
accompany you to Borlaam with the consignment of goods."
The voice died away and the image of Benjin vanished. The jackal
scowled. He muttered, "If Benjin sent a man to convey his goods, why
must I go?"
Herndon shrugged. "He wants both of us to make the trip, it seems. What
do you care? You're getting paid, aren't you?"
"And so are you," snapped Mardlin. "It isn't like Benjin to pay two
men to do the same job. And I don't like you, Rogue."
"Mutual," Herndon responded heartily. He stood up. "My orders say I'm
to take the freighter _Dawnlight_ back to Borlaam tomorrow evening.
I'll meet you here one hour before to examine the merchandise."
* * * * *
He made one other stop that day. It was a visit with Brennt, a
jewelmonger of Vyapore who served as the funnel between the native
starstone-miners and Benjin's courier, Mardlin.
Herndon gave his identifying cube to Brennt and said, once he had
satisfactorily proven himself, "I'd like to check your books on the
last consignment."
Brennt glanced up sharply. "We keep no books on starstones, idiot. What
do you want to know?"
Herndon frowned. "We suspect our courier of diverting some of our
stones to his own pocket. We have no way of checking up on him, since
we can't ask for vouchers of any kind in starstone traffic."
The Vyaporan shrugged. "All couriers steal."
"Starstones cost us eight thousand stellors apiece," Herndon said. "We
can't afford to lose any of them, at that price. Tell me how many are
being sent in the current shipment."
"I don't remember," Brennt said.
Scowling, Herndon said, "You and Mardlin are probably in league. We
have to take his word for what he brings us--but always, three or four
of the stones are defective. We believe he buys, say, forty stones from
you, pays the three hundred twenty thousand stellors over to you from
the account we provide, and then takes three or four from the batch
and replaces them with identical but defective stones worth a hundred
stellors or so apiece. The profit to him is better than twenty thousand
stellors a voyage.
"Or else," Herndon went on, "You deliberately sell him defective stones
at eight thousand stellors. But Mardlin's no fool, and neither are we."
"What do you want to know?" the Vyaporan asked.
"How many functional starstones are included in the current
consignment?"
Sweat poured down Brennt's face. "Thirty-nine," he said after a long
pause.
"And did you also supply Mardlin with some blanks to substitute for any
of these thirty-nine?"
"N-no," Brennt said.
"Very good," said Herndon. He smiled. "I'm sorry to have seemed so
overbearing, but we had to find out this information. Will you accept
my apologies and shake?"
He held out his hand. Brennt eyed it uncertainly, then took it. With
a quick inward twitch Herndon jabbed a needle into the base of the
other's thumb. The quick-acting truth-drug took only seconds to operate.
"Now," Herndon said, "the preliminaries are over. You understand the
details of our earlier conversation. Tell me, now: how many starstones
is Mardlin paying you for?"
Brennt's fleshless lips curled angrily, but he was defenseless against
the drug. "Thirty-nine," he said.
"At what total cost?"
"Three hundred twelve thousand stellors."
Herndon nodded. "How many of those thirty-nine are actually functional
starstones?"
"Thirty-five," Brennt said reluctantly.
"The other four are duds?"
"Yes."
"A sweet little racket. Did you supply Mardlin with the duds?"
"Yes. At two hundred stellors each."
"And what happens to the genuine stones that we pay for but that never
arrive on Borlaam?"
Brennt's eyes rolled despairingly. "Mardlin--Mardlin sells them to
someone else and pockets the money. I get five hundred stellors per
stone for keeping quiet."
"You've kept very quiet today," Herndon said. "Thanks very much for
the information, Brennt. I really should kill you--but you're much
too valuable to us for that. We'll let you live, but we're changing
the terms of our agreement. From now on we pay you only for actual
functioning starstones, not for an entire consignment. Do you like that
setup?"
"No," Brennt said.
"At least you speak truthfully now. But you're stuck with it. Mardlin
is no longer courier, by the way. We can't afford a man of his tastes
in our organization. I don't advise you try to make any deals with his
successor, whoever he is."
He turned and walked out of the shop.
* * * * *
Herndon knew that Brennt would probably notify Mardlin that the game
was up immediately, so the Vonnimooro could attempt to get away.
Herndon was not particularly worried about Mardlin escaping, since he
had a weapon that would work on the jackal-creature at any distance
whatever.
But he had sworn an oath to safeguard the combine's interests,
and Herndon was a man of his oath. Mardlin was in possession of
thirty-nine starstones for which the combine had paid. He did not want
the Vonnimooro to take those with him.
He legged it across town hurriedly to the house where the courier lived
while at the Vyapore end of his route. It took him fifteen minutes from
Brennt's to Mardlin's--more than enough time for a warning.
Mardlin's room was on the second story. Herndon drew his weapon from
his pocket and knocked.
"Mardlin?"
There was no answer. Herndon said, "I know you're in there, jackal. The
game's all over. You might as well open the door and let me in."
A needle came whistling through the door, embedded itself against the
opposite wall after missing Herndon's head by inches. Herndon stepped
out of range and glanced down at the object in his hand.
It was the master-control for the neuronic network installed in
Mardlin's body. It was quite carefully gradated; shifting the main
switch to _six_ would leave the Vonnimooro in no condition to fire a
gun. Thoughtfully Herndon nudged the indicator up through the degrees
of pain to _six_ and left it there.
He heard a thud within.
Putting his shoulder to the door, he cracked it open with one quick
heave. He stepped inside. Mardlin lay sprawled in the middle of the
floor, writhing in pain. Near him, but beyond his reach, lay the
needler he had dropped.
A suitcase sat open and half-filled on the bed. He had evidently
intended an immediate getaway.
"_Shut ... that ... thing ... off_ ..." Mardlin muttered through
pain-twisted lips.
"First some information," Herndon said cheerfully. "I just had a talk
with Brennt. He says you've been doing some highly improper things with
our starstones. Is this true?"
Mardlin quivered on the floor but said nothing. Herndon raised the
control a quarter of a notch, intensifying the pain but not yet
bringing it to the killing range.
"Is this true?" he repeated.
"Yes--yes! Damn you, shut it off."
"At the time you had the network installed in your body, it was with
the understanding that you'd be loyal to the combine and so it would
never need to be used. But you took advantage of circumstances and
cheated us. Where's the current consignment of stones?"
"... suitcase lining," Mardlin muttered.
"Good," Herndon said. He scooped up the needler, pocketed it, and shut
off the master-control switch. The pain subsided in the Vonnimooro's
body, and he lay slumped, exhausted, too battered to rise.
Efficiently Herndon ripped away the suitcase lining and found the
packet of starstones. He opened it. They were wrapped in shielding
tissue that protected any accidental viewer. He counted through them;
there were thirty-nine, as Brennt had said.
"Are any of these defective?" he asked.
Mardlin looked up from the floor with eyes yellow with pain and hatred.
"Look through them and see."
Instead of answering, Herndon shifted the control switch past _six_
again. Mardlin doubled up, clutching his head with clawlike hands.
"Yes! Yes! Six defectives!"
"Which means you sold six good ones for forty-eight thousand stellors,
less the three thousand you kicked back to Brennt to keep quiet. So
there should be forty-five thousand stellors here that you owe us.
Where are they?"
"Dresser drawer ... top...."
Herndon found the money, neatly stacked. A second time he shut off the
control device, and Mardlin relaxed.
"Okay," Herndon said. "I have the cash and I have the stones. But
there must be thousands of stellors that you've previously stolen from
us."
"You can have that too! Only don't turn that thing on again, please!"
Shrugging, Herndon said, "There isn't time for me to hunt down the
other money you stole from us. But we can ensure against your doing it
again."
He fulfilled the final part of Benjin's instructions by turning the
control switch to _ten_, the limit of sentient endurance. Every
molecule of Mardlin's wiry body felt unbearable pain; he screamed and
danced on the floor, but only for a moment. Nerve cells unable to
handle the overload of pain stimuli short-circuited. In seconds, his
brain was paralyzed. In less than a minute he was dead, though his
tortured limbs still quivered with convulsive post-mortuary jerks.
Herndon shut the device off. He had done his job. He felt neither
revulsion nor glee. All this was merely the preamble to what he
regarded as his ultimate destiny.
He gathered up jewels and money and walked out.