For a long minute he studied her, over the barrel of the small Blandarc
she had whipped up from the cushions of her lounge seat. And at last he
saw what it was that had been troubling him so long. Her hair was dark
and her color and figure warm and sultry, but the hard grey eyes were
flinty pale and glinting. Killer's eyes....
"So you _were_ a pirate, after all," he breathed, slowly.
Her icy laugh crawled over his twitching skin. "Did you think I had my
wealth from my father's dribbling salary? He left me a better legacy,
Captain Thorne."
"The family business, apparently," he returned, his dry lip twisting.
For much was only too painfully clear. Her eyes narrowed, but she did
not move.
"In a way. But I branch out."
"What's the deal?" he asked roughly. He had recovered full use of
his faculties moments after the first paralyzing shock, but to her
he seemed as immobile as all who lay sprawled unconscious about the
saloon. If she had prepared for his partial resistance to the effects
of the ray, due to the unusual condition of his t'ang-soaked nerves,
she had fatally underestimated his powers of recovery. But he remained
motionless. At the moment, helpless under her Blandarc, he could see
the pirate vessel swinging along-side.
"Your friends?" he added, glancing through the door at the growing bulk
of the raider. She smiled.
"My partners, rather."
"How do you work it, Senator?"
"As my father did, Captain Thorne. Years ago the outlaws banded
together and made up an annual purse for the member of the
appropriation committee who controlled the funds of the Planet Patrol.
To obstruct and cut down the bill was his only duty. My father took it
over from Senator Denton and I managed to take over from him after his
death."
It was so simple. And had been so effective, hamstringing the Planet
Patrol in its own bases.
"And now, open piracy. You destroy yourself, Senator. What does it get
you?" He watched her, brows knit. She shrugged.
"You, Captain Thorne. Just you."
There was no need to explain. The wealthiest man since Croesus, an
enormous ransom could well be torn from him, to say nothing of what
could also be extracted from the families of the young folk lying
senseless about them. And, in all probability, capping the situation
with a trim jest, a tidy sum for the safe return of the excellent
Senator Iris Chanler herself. It was very clever, and no less
disturbing.
The liner quivered and groaned as the pirate ship hooked on, a black
merchantman of latest design. There came the hiss of air and the clang
of bolts as the pirates began to come aboard through the connecting
airlocks. He looked back to Iris, sitting tensely in her deep blue
lounge seat.
"Chain Lucas?"
"There is no Chain Lucas," she smiled, coldly. As he digested that
startling remark, footsteps resounded along the passage and the saloon
door was thrust rudely open.
Framed in the opening, a tall, raffish fellow in trim blue grinned at
them. Iris leaped to her feet and ran to him, flinging her arms about
his neck as he engulfed her in a bearish hug. Thorne took no advantage
of their preoccupation, for several other hard-looking men in flying
clothes were crowding into the room, gun in hand. As they began picking
up the unconscious passengers and shoving them roughly back into their
seats, the pirate and the girl broke their enraptured embrace and moved
coolly over to Thorne.
"You really got him," he exulted, sallow skin glowing with an unhealthy
tinge. He was not unhandsome, but his full lips had an ugly downward
curl Thorne disliked.
"This is Captain Thorne," she replied, a certain pride in her voice.
"We're through, Iris," he crowed, clasping her with one long arm.
"Through."
"Through with life," agreed Thorne, coldly. He eyed the intruder
arrogantly, his body motionless, his eyes intent. "Your name, you?"
The pirate leader sprang backward, releasing Iris, his hand on his gun.
"You turned your back on him, you fool, and he's awake!"
Iris laughed. "Captain Thorne has a very unusual constitution, my dear.
I did not trust the crystals entirely, but though he can move his head,
he is as paralyzed as the rest of them."
Thorne turned a contemplative eye upon his erstwhile companion of
the misdirected adventure. "I remember, you were our cook this merry
evening, Senator Chanler."
His formal insistence upon her betrayed trust did not trouble her. "The
yellow ray is entirely harmless unless the prospective victim has
certain mineral salts in his system. I supplied them in your food."
"Eating none yourself," he agreed. "A clever method. You had no qualms,
striking down your friends for this gay blade?"
"They go to ransom, as you do," she replied, her lovely face hardening.
"No friends of mine, Captain Thorne. If they accepted me, it was
because I had money and position. I have no love for their silly kind."
The pirate chief swaggered forward, grinning. "Let us leave the moral
questions for others, Captain Thorne, and speak of more solid matters.
Solid gold, let us say."
* * * * *
Thorne balked instantly. Time was all he had left to play, aside from
his unsuspected ability to move and his ruthless speed with guns, time
for Bannerman or General Wheelwright to realize something had gone
amiss with the plan to expose Iris Chanler to the bloody ruins of Banya
Tor. He could have wept with rage at the futility with which they had
laid their ingenious trap.
"If you refer to a ransom," he coldly replied, "I demand something
better than the word of a flash-gun rock-trader like yourself that you
have any right to hold me at all."
They gaped at him. "We hold you, Captain Thorne. Is that insufficient?"
demanded Iris, teeth glinting between livid and unpleasant lips.
"You know what I mean," he sternly accused her. "You yourself told me
you pirates had banded in this attempt to bribe and suborn members of
the Government. As you well know," he added, his scorn dying her cheeks
angrily.
"If this ... merchant receives the ransom, how may I be sure twenty
more of your association will not be instantly upon us for their share,
if not for a separate ransom for all?"
It was not a worry which would trouble him greatly once the money had
been paid, he knew, for neither he nor any of those aboard the liner
stood any real chance of surviving at all. These people talked too
freely. They would see none repeated their confidences.
"You misunderstand, Captain Thorne," Iris replied, her voice earnest
with conviction. "There is no syndicate, no organization among us.
Fifty thousand credits annually is the sum paid my father, and now
myself. When all who feel they gain by sabotaging the Planet Patrol
have left what they can on a deserted asteroid, the money is paid in at
New Yott. There is no more than that to the cooperation I mentioned.
There are no partners, no associates." She laid a hand on her
companion's arm. "This is Captain Thomas Dallis," she added, with some
pride in which Thorne took no pleasure at all. He eyed the tall fellow
unpleasantly.
"The name is familiar. Export business?"
"Of course. Most of us," he added. A thin grin split his pale face. "So
convenient to explain our unusual cargoes."
"Shall we do business?" wondered Iris calmly, seating herself facing
Thorne on a lounge Dallis thrust forward. He slounched comfortably on
the arm, watching the granite-faced captive. The other pirates had left
the room.
"If we can come to terms," Thorne assented, quietly. "You say it will
be to you the ransom must be paid?"
"Exactly."
"What of Chain Lucas?"
Iris laughed aloud, a mocking, airy sound that rang eerily through the
silent ship.
"A myth, a shadow," she explained. "Some poor romantic fool we hired to
play at pirate. He serves as the herring to draw across the train of
Dallis here and others who really do the pirate's work."
"You _hired_ him?" Thorne was frankly startled.
"Of course. He was sailing to and fro in a cape and mask, cutting out
single ships, raiding mining camps, playing Robin Hood. But he was
colorful and had made a reputation for chivalry we needed. We bought
it. He continues these daring raids as before, robbing the rich and
helping the weak, covering the real attacks by unknown pirates who
leave no trace."
"Me," said Dallis, softly. "No trace at all, Thorne."
"Others cash in on the exploits," she admitted. "But it is Tom who pays
him. A good investment, all considered."
"To show up the Planet Patrol?" wondered Thorne. "An investment in
obstruction." He looked at her with dawning comprehension. "I begin to
see," he added, slowly. "Those telecasts ... your work?"
She smiled. "Of course. One of my first. I bought into a cheap little
movie company and put out the first blood and rocket melodrama." A
laugh bubbled to her red lips. "It made money. We expanded and started
the whole cycle years ahead of its normal course. We still make money."
"You seem to have it all worked out," he said. "A normally apathetic
public, soothed by a whole cycle of propaganda telecasts, a finger in
the heart of the Planet Patrol, an honest, open business that takes
you anywhere in the System, and a masked front man to take credit for
the whole witches brew." He laughed shortly. "I suppose I can guess
what will happen. Once you have the ransom you go respectable for good,
leaving the unfortunate Chain Lucas to cover your trail and take the
blame."
Both Dallis and Iris laughed, a merry, discordant jangle.
"Perhaps," said the man, rising to stand over Thorne. "But enough of
Lucas. What of you?"
"How much?"
"Who knows how much you have?" Dallis ground out. "Set up half for us
and you go free. We know half will be ample for any need."
"Then free these others," Thorne argued. "Their ransoms will be
unnecessary."
"Nonsense." Iris rose and stood over Thorne, her breast heaving.
"Ransoms for all, or there may be suspicion. The Council may pay mine,"
she added contemptuously.
* * * * *
Thorne did not laugh or move. Looking beyond the precious pair, at the
heavy merchantman Dallis had turned into a raider, he sat amazed beyond
speech as it slowly, silently fell away from the liner's airlocks
and drifted off to starboard, its black sides crumpling visibly. A
lifeboat, spurting from its little lock, snapped and broke as a violet
ray from some unseen vessel above the liner cut it down. The pirate
crew were trapped aboard and died there in soundless fury. The few
aboard the liner were cut off from any retreat.
Neither Dallis nor Iris had noticed the loss of their ship, as sound
did not penetrate the liner's hull. Thorne set himself to hold their
attention until it should be too late.
"Break this paralysis, then," he growled, apparently making a fierce
and unsuccessful struggle to move his arms as they lay along the padded
rest of his deep lounge. "I can do nothing here."
"We can do nothing for you," shrugged Dallis. "Your body will remain
paralyzed until it has absorbed the chemicals activated by the ray.
Perhaps a day." He eyed Thorne in some admiration. "You withstand it
very well."
"Thanks," said Thorne, shortly. It was not necessary to tell Dallis
that he had withstood the paralysis so effectively nothing could save
the exultant pirate should Thorne drop his hand the few inches to
the heavy butt of the Blandarc he still wore. But the death of the
sly-faced raider was the least of Thorne's desires.
"What is your own estimate of your wealth, Captain Thorne?" asked
the woman, hewing as always to the main issue. He shook his head,
remembering just in time not to shrug.
"Offhand, I couldn't say. It's not all liquid. The Vadirrian I retained
to steady the market cannot be touched, of course, nor the foundations
set up throughout the System for education and other purposes." He
pondered a moment. "Say thirty billion on call," he finally replied.
They goggled.
Iris recovered soon enough. "Then let us call upon it, Captain Thorne,"
she enjoined. "We'll scale down our demand in cash. Half that sum would
drown us in gold and criminals. We'll settle for six billion, share and
share alike."
"Most reasonable, I'm sure," he agreed. "Will you still require the
fifty thousand blood-money this fellow pays you?"
She slapped him, hard. "Remember your place, you dope addict," she
snapped viciously.
"I am," he replied evenly. A black ship, ribbed with scarlet, was
easing gently, silently into position at the airlocks from which it had
blasted the pirate vessel. He could feel the gentle thump in his toes
as she bit in and fastened her grips. The others, lost in wealth, felt
and saw nothing but the golden Midas sitting immobile before them.
"You've left me little else," he added, directing a cold glare at the
man standing before him. "How do you mean to collect this ransom? The
usual way?"
"As usual." Dallis' eyes were glittering. The red lips were parted,
glistening. He was no longer handsome.
"And, once collected, what of these people? Your party?"
They glanced carelessly about at Iris' sprawled companions.
"They have seen nothing, know nothing," she replied. "Our ransoms will
arrive together. We'll go back to Earth together."
"Dallis to join you later, giving up his hazardous merchant trade,"
agreed Thorne. "And what of me?"
They stared at him. Moment by moment the mirth and exultation died from
their faces. As he saw the darkness descend, he knew only too well what
would become of himself, what had been in their evil minds from the
first. He could not be permitted to survive.
"I see." He was grimly calm. "I knew it all along, of course, but I
wanted to see your faces. They're very expressive."
"What could you expect, you fool?" burst out Iris, taking refuge in
anger. "Why did you resist the paralysis? Can we leave you at large to
reach out and destroy us?"
"Then you may go whistle for your ransom," he snapped. "Shall I buy my
own death warrant?"
* * * * *
Her face went hard and the full lips thinned cruelly. The blue eyes
turned pale as ice.
"There are men on Dallis' ship who can change your mind, Captain
Thorne."
"With hot irons, I suppose," he sneered. "You're a primitive sort of
brute, Iris."
"We won't touch you, Thorne," interposed Dallis, coldly. "But we'll put
these kids under the knife one by one until you sign." He nodded to the
unconscious group about them. "Shall they deal with them as they did to
the passengers of the 'Orion' and the 'Pantagruel' and a dozen others?
It'd be slow and ugly, Thorne."
He looked from one to the other of them. Greed and weakness marred the
symmetry of their handsome faces, drawing down their lips in cruel,
heartless determination that would brook no obstacle. They would not
falter.
He was spared an answer by a thunderous bang in the liner's engine
room. A second and a third echoed instantly, then a rolling crescendo
of fast pistol-shots.
Iris looked back with a cry, her skin blanching as she flung up her
gun, but Dallis only laughed uproariously. "They didn't all sample your
wares, Iris," he jeered her. "The boys must have found some conscious
back there."
There were no further sounds and she lowered her gun, smiling weakly.
Neither saw Thorne's hand slip half-way down the lounge arm to pause
directly above the butt of his Blandarc. But he had one more card to
play.
"What of your own crews?" he demanded. "What of your dupe, Chain Lucas?"
The thin mask of restraint broke and the mean, naked soul of Thomas
Dallis glared venomously at him. Even Iris stared at her boon companion
in alarm.
"We take care of our own crews our own way, you fool! If you go, they
go with you. There'll be no blackmailing us when we roll ashore, my
friend, if that's what you mean. There'll be no one left. I saw to
that." His sharp teeth gleamed.
Thorne was not perturbed. The panel door behind the intent
conspirators, where Dallis had first appeared, was slowly inching open.
"And a like end for your other dupe, Chain Lucas," he contemptuously
replied. Dallis grinned again, wolfishly.
"Of course. We'll wreck this ship and plaster her with evidence tying
him with every piracy for the last ten years. The Patrol can hunt him
down."
"He won't like that," offered Thorne, gently. Dallis swore in
exasperation.
"Do I care?" he shouted. "Why worry over Chain Lucas, you gilded idiot?"
A beatific smile overspread Thorne's face. "Principally," he admitted,
"because he is standing directly behind you, Dallis."
Iris' choked scream ripped the silence and her gun fell thumping to
the floor. Dallis, half-turning, stared transfixed at the tall figure
standing quietly in the doorway, hands on the side.