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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/19478-8.txt b/19478-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e37263c --- /dev/null +++ b/19478-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7069 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Four-Day Planet, by Henry Beam Piper + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Four-Day Planet + +Author: Henry Beam Piper + +Release Date: October 6, 2006 [EBook #19478] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR-DAY PLANET *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the + U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + The attribution is not a part of the original book. + + + Four-Day Planet + + + by H. Beam Piper + + + + + SF + ace books + A Division of Charter Communications Inc. + A GROSSET & DUNLAP COMPANY + 360 Park Avenue South + New York, New York 10010 + + + + Copyright © 1961 by H. Beam Piper + + + _Cover art by Michael Whelan_ + + * * * * * + + +DEDICATION + +For Betty and Vall, with +loving remembrance + + * * * * * + + + + +CONTENTS + + + 1. The Ship from Terra + + 2. Reporter Working + + 3. Bottom Level + + 4. Main City Level + + 5. Meeting Out of Order + + 6. Elementary, My Dear Kivelson + + 7. Aboard the _Javelin_ + + 8. Practice, 50-MM Gun + + 9. Monster Killing + +10. Mayday, Mayday + +11. Darkness and Cold + +12. Castaways Working + +13. The Beacon Light + +14. The Rescue + +15. Vigilantes + +16. Civil War Postponed + +17. Tallow-Wax Fire + +18. The Treason of Bish Ware + +19. Masks Off + +20. Finale + + * * * * * + + + + +Four-Day Planet + +1 + +THE SHIP FROM TERRA + + +I went through the gateway, towing my equipment in a contragravity +hamper over my head. As usual, I was wondering what it would take, +short of a revolution, to get the city of Port Sandor as clean and +tidy and well lighted as the spaceport area. I knew Dad's editorials +and my sarcastic news stories wouldn't do it. We'd been trying long +enough. + +The two girls in bikinis in front of me pushed on, still gabbling +about the fight one of them had had with her boy friend, and I closed +up behind the half dozen monster-hunters in long trousers, ankle boots +and short boat-jackets, with big knives on their belts. They must have +all been from the same crew, because they weren't arguing about whose +ship was fastest, had the toughest skipper, and made the most money. +They were talking about the price of tallow-wax, and they seemed to +have picked up a rumor that it was going to be cut another ten +centisols a pound. I eavesdropped shamelessly, but it was the same +rumor I'd picked up, myself, a little earlier. + +"Hi, Walt," somebody behind me called out. "Looking for some news +that's fit to print?" + +I turned my head. It was a man of about thirty-five with curly brown +hair and a wide grin. Adolf Lautier, the entertainment promoter. He +and Dad each owned a share in the Port Sandor telecast station, and +split their time between his music and drama-films and Dad's +newscasts. + +"All the news is fit to print, and if it's news the _Times_ prints +it," I told him. "Think you're going to get some good thrillers this +time?" + +He shrugged. I'd just asked that to make conversation; he never had +any way of knowing what sort of films would come in. The ones the +_Peenemünde_ was bringing should be fairly new, because she was +outbound from Terra. He'd go over what was aboard, and trade one for +one for the old films he'd shown already. + +"They tell me there's a real Old-Terran-style Western been showing on +Völund that ought to be coming our way this time," he said. "It was +filmed in South America, with real horses." + +That would go over big here. Almost everybody thought horses were as +extinct as dinosaurs. I've seen so-called Westerns with the cowboys +riding Freyan _oukry_. I mentioned that, and then added: + +"They'll think the old cattle towns like Dodge and Abilene were awful +sissy places, though." + +"I suppose they were, compared to Port Sandor," Lautier said. "Are you +going aboard to interview the distinguished visitor?" + +"Which one?" I asked. "Glenn Murell or Leo Belsher?" + +Lautier called Leo Belsher something you won't find in the dictionary +but which nobody needs to look up. The hunters, ahead of us, heard +him and laughed. They couldn't possibly have agreed more. He was going +to continue with the fascinating subject of Mr. Leo Belsher's ancestry +and personal characteristics, and then bit it off short. I followed +his eyes, and saw old Professor Hartzenbosch, the principal of the +school, approaching. + +"Ah, here you are, Mr. Lautier," he greeted. "I trust that I did not +keep you waiting." Then he saw me. "Why, it's Walter Boyd. How is your +father, Walter?" + +I assured him as to Dad's health and inquired about his own, and then +asked him how things were going at school. As well as could be +expected, he told me, and I gathered that he kept his point of +expectation safely low. Then he wanted to know if I were going aboard +to interview Mr. Murell. + +"Really, Walter, it is a wonderful thing that a famous author like Mr. +Murell should come here to write a book about our planet," he told me, +very seriously, and added, as an afterthought: "Have you any idea +where he intends staying while he is among us?" + +"Why, yes," I admitted. "After the _Peenemünde_ radioed us their +passenger list, Dad talked to him by screen, and invited him to stay +with us. Mr. Murell accepted, at least until he can find quarters of +his own." + +There are a lot of good poker players in Port Sandor, but Professor +Jan Hartzenbosch is not one of them. The look of disappointment would +have been comical if it hadn't been so utterly pathetic. He'd been +hoping to lasso Murell himself. + +"I wonder if Mr. Murell could spare time to come to the school and +speak to the students," he said, after a moment. + +"I'm sure he could. I'll mention it to him, Professor," I promised. + +Professor Hartzenbosch bridled at that. The great author ought to be +coming to his school out of respect for him, not because a +seventeen-year-old cub reporter sent him. But then, Professor +Hartzenbosch always took the attitude that he was conferring a favor +on the _Times_ when he had anything he wanted publicity on. + +The elevator door opened, and Lautier and the professor joined in the +push to get into it. I hung back, deciding to wait for the next one so +that I could get in first and get back to the rear, where my hamper +wouldn't be in people's way. After a while, it came back empty and I +got on, and when the crowd pushed off on the top level, I put my +hamper back on contragravity and towed it out into the outdoor air, +which by this time had gotten almost as cool as a bake-oven. + +I looked up at the sky, where everybody else was looking. The +_Peenemünde_ wasn't visible; it was still a few thousand miles +off-planet. Big ragged clouds were still blowing in from the west, +very high, and the sunset was even brighter and redder than when I had +seen it last, ten hours before. It was now about 1630. + +Now, before anybody starts asking just who's crazy, let me point out +that this is not on Terra, nor on Baldur nor Thor nor Odin nor Freya, +nor any other rational planet. This is Fenris, and on Fenris the +sunsets, like many other things, are somewhat peculiar. + +Fenris is the second planet of a G_{4} star, six hundred and fifty +light-years to the Galactic southwest of the Sol System. Everything +else equal, it should have been pretty much Terra type; closer to a +cooler primary and getting about the same amount of radiation. At +least, that's what the book says. I was born on Fenris, and have never +been off it in the seventeen years since. + +Everything else, however, is not equal. The Fenris year is a trifle +shorter than the Terran year we use for Atomic Era dating, eight +thousand and a few odd Galactic Standard hours. In that time, Fenris +makes almost exactly four axial rotations. This means that on one side +the sun is continuously in the sky for a thousand hours, pouring down +unceasing heat, while the other side is in shadow. You sleep eight +hours, and when you get up and go outside--in an insulated vehicle, or +an extreme-environment suit--you find that the shadows have moved only +an inch or so, and it's that much hotter. Finally, the sun crawls down +to the horizon and hangs there for a few days--periods of twenty-four +G.S. hours--and then slides slowly out of sight. Then, for about a +hundred hours, there is a beautiful unfading sunset, and it's really +pleasant outdoors. Then it gets darker and colder until, just before +sunrise, it gets almost cold enough to freeze CO_{2}. Then the sun +comes up, and we begin all over again. + +You are picking up the impression, I trust, that as planets go, Fenris +is nobody's bargain. It isn't a real hell-planet, and spacemen haven't +made a swear word out of its name, as they have with the name of +fluorine-atmosphere Nifflheim, but even the Reverend Hiram Zilker, the +Orthodox-Monophysite preacher, admits that it's one of those planets +the Creator must have gotten a trifle absent-minded with. + +The chartered company that colonized it, back at the end of the Fourth +Century A.E., went bankrupt in ten years, and it wouldn't have taken +that long if communication between Terra and Fenris hadn't been a +matter of six months each way. When the smash finally came, two +hundred and fifty thousand colonists were left stranded. They lost +everything they'd put into the company, which, for most of them, was +all they had. Not a few lost their lives before the Federation Space +Navy could get ships here to evacuate them. + +But about a thousand, who were too poor to make a fresh start +elsewhere and too tough for Fenris to kill, refused evacuation, took +over all the equipment and installations the Fenris Company had +abandoned, and tried to make a living out of the planet. At least, +they stayed alive. There are now twenty-odd thousand of us, and while +we are still very poor, we are very tough, and we brag about it. + +There were about two thousand people--ten per cent of the planetary +population--on the wide concrete promenade around the spaceport +landing pit. I came out among them and set down the hamper with my +telecast cameras and recorders, wishing, as usual, that I could find +some ten or twelve-year-old kid weak-minded enough to want to be a +reporter when he grew up, so that I could have an apprentice to help +me with my junk. + +As the star--and only--reporter of the greatest--and only--paper on +the planet, I was always on hand when either of the two ships on the +Terra-Odin milk run, the _Peenemünde_ and the _Cape Canaveral_, +landed. Of course, we always talk to them by screen as soon as they +come out of hyperspace and into radio range, and get the passenger +list, and a speed-recording of any news they are carrying, from the +latest native uprising on Thor to the latest political scandal on +Venus. Sometime the natives of Thor won't be fighting anybody at all, +or the Federation Member Republic of Venus will have some +nonscandalous politics, and either will be the man-bites-dog story to +end man-bites-dog stories. All the news is at least six months old, +some more than a year. A spaceship can log a light-year in sixty-odd +hours, but radio waves still crawl along at the same old 186,000 mps. + +I still have to meet the ships. There's always something that has to +be picked up personally, usually an interview with some VIP traveling +through. This time, though, the big story coming in on the +_Peenemünde_ was a local item. Paradox? Dad says there is no such +thing. He says a paradox is either a verbal contradiction, and you get +rid of it by restating it correctly, or it's a structural +contradiction, and you just call it an impossibility and let it go at +that. In this case, what was coming in was a real live author, who was +going to write a travel book about Fenris, the planet with the +four-day year. Glenn Murell, which sounded suspiciously like a nom de +plume, and nobody here had ever heard of him. + +That was odd, too. One thing we can really be proud of here, besides +the toughness of our citizens, is our public library. When people have +to stay underground most of the time to avoid being fried and/or +frozen to death, they have a lot of time to kill, and reading is one +of the cheaper and more harmless and profitable ways of doing it. And +travel books are a special favorite here. I suppose because everybody +is hoping to read about a worse place than Fenris. I had checked on +Glenn Murell at the library. None of the librarians had ever heard of +him, and there wasn't a single mention of him in any of the big +catalogues of publications. + +The first and obvious conclusion would be that Mr. Glenn Murell was +some swindler posing as an author. The only objection to that was that +I couldn't quite see why any swindler would come to Fenris, or what +he'd expect to swindle the Fenrisians out of. Of course, he could be +on the lam from somewhere, but in that case why bother with all the +cover story? Some of our better-known citizens came here dodging +warrants on other planets. + +I was still wondering about Murell when somebody behind me greeted me, +and I turned around. It was Tom Kivelson. + +Tom and I are buddies, when he's in port. He's just a shade older than +I am; he was eighteen around noon, and my eighteenth birthday won't +come till midnight, Fenris Standard Sundial Time. His father is Joe +Kivelson, the skipper of the _Javelin_; Tom is sort of junior +engineer, second gunner, and about third harpooner. We went to school +together, which is to say a couple of years at Professor +Hartzenbosch's, learning to read and write and put figures together. +That is all the schooling anybody on Fenris gets, although Joe +Kivelson sent Tom's older sister, Linda, to school on Terra. Anybody +who stays here has to dig out education for himself. Tom and I were +still digging for ours. + +Each of us envied the other, when we weren't thinking seriously about +it. I imagined that sea-monster hunting was wonderfully thrilling and +romantic, and Tom had the idea that being a newsman was real hot +stuff. When we actually stopped to think about it, though, we realized +that neither of us would trade jobs and take anything at all for boot. +Tom couldn't string three sentences--no, one sentence--together to +save his life, and I'm just a town boy who likes to live in something +that isn't pitching end-for-end every minute. + +Tom is about three inches taller than I am, and about thirty pounds +heavier. Like all monster-hunters, he's trying to grow a beard, though +at present it's just a blond chin-fuzz. I was surprised to see him +dressed as I was, in shorts and sandals and a white shirt and a light +jacket. Ordinarily, even in town, he wears boat-clothes. I looked +around behind him, and saw the brass tip of a scabbard under the +jacket. Any time a hunter-ship man doesn't have his knife on, he isn't +wearing anything else. I wondered about his being in port now. I knew +Joe Kivelson wouldn't bring his ship in just to meet the _Peenemünde_, +with only a couple of hundred hours' hunting left till the storms and +the cold. + +"I thought you were down in the South Ocean," I said. + +"There's going to be a special meeting of the Co-op," he said. "We +only heard about it last evening," by which he meant after 1800 of +the previous Galactic Standard day. He named another hunter-ship +captain who had called the _Javelin_ by screen. "We screened everybody +else we could." + +That was the way they ran things in the Hunters' Co-operative. Steve +Ravick would wait till everybody had their ships down on the coast of +Hermann Reuch's Land, and then he would call a meeting and pack it +with his stooges and hooligans, and get anything he wanted voted +through. I had always wondered how long the real hunters were going to +stand for that. They'd been standing for it ever since I could +remember anything outside my own playpen, which, of course, hadn't +been too long. + +I was about to say something to that effect, and then somebody yelled, +"There she is!" I took a quick look at the radar bowls to see which +way they were pointed and followed them up to the sky, and caught a +tiny twinkle through a cloud rift. After a moment's mental arithmetic +to figure how high she'd have to be to catch the sunlight, I relaxed. +Even with the telephoto, I'd only get a picture the size of a pinhead, +so I fixed the position in my mind and then looked around at the +crowd. + +Among them were two men, both well dressed. One was tall and slender, +with small hands and feet; the other was short and stout, with a +scrubby gray-brown mustache. The slender one had a bulge under his +left arm, and the short-and-stout job bulged over the right hip. The +former was Steve Ravick, the boss of the Hunters' Co-operative, and +his companion was the Honorable Morton Hallstock, mayor of Port +Sandor and consequently the planetary government of Fenris. + +They had held their respective positions for as long as I could +remember anything at all. I could never remember an election in Port +Sandor, or an election of officers in the Co-op. Ravick had a bunch of +goons and triggermen--I could see a couple of them loitering in the +background--who kept down opposition for him. So did Hallstock, only +his wore badges and called themselves police. + +Once in a while, Dad would write a blistering editorial about one or +the other or both of them. Whenever he did, I would put my gun on, and +so would Julio Kubanoff, the one-legged compositor who is the third +member of the Times staff, and we would take turns making sure nobody +got behind Dad's back. Nothing ever happened, though, and that always +rather hurt me. Those two racketeers were in so tight they didn't need +to care what the Times printed or 'cast about them. + +Hallstock glanced over in my direction and said something to Ravick. +Ravick gave a sneering laugh, and then he crushed out the cigarette he +was smoking on the palm of his left hand. That was a regular trick of +his. Showing how tough he was. Dad says that when you see somebody +showing off, ask yourself whether he's trying to impress other people, +or himself. I wondered which was the case with Steve Ravick. + +Then I looked up again. The _Peenemünde_ was coming down as fast as +she could without over-heating from atmosphere friction. She was +almost buckshot size to the naked eye, and a couple of tugs were +getting ready to go up and meet her. I got the telephoto camera out +of the hamper, checked it, and aimed it. It has a shoulder stock and +handgrips and a trigger like a submachine gun. I caught the ship in +the finder and squeezed the trigger for a couple of seconds. It would +be about five minutes till the tugs got to her and anything else +happened, so I put down the camera and looked around. + +Coming through the crowd, walking as though the concrete under him was +pitching and rolling like a ship's deck on contragravity in a storm, +was Bish Ware. He caught sight of us, waved, overbalanced himself and +recovered, and then changed course to starboard and bore down on us. +He was carrying about his usual cargo, and as usual the manifest would +read, _Baldur honey-rum, from Harry Wong's bar_. + +Bish wasn't his real name. Neither, I suspected, was Ware. When he'd +first landed on Fenris, some five years ago, somebody had nicknamed +him the Bishop, and before long that had gotten cut to one syllable. +He looked like a bishop, or at least like what anybody who's never +seen a bishop outside a screen-play would think a bishop looked like. +He was a big man, not fat, but tall and portly; he had a ruddy face +that always wore an expression of benevolent wisdom, and the more +cargo he took on the wiser and more benevolent he looked. + +He had iron-gray hair, but he wasn't old. You could tell that by the +backs of his hands; they weren't wrinkled or crepy and the veins +didn't protrude. And drunk or sober--though I never remembered seeing +him in the latter condition--he had the fastest reflexes of anybody I +knew. I saw him, once, standing at the bar in Harry Wong's, knock +over an open bottle with his left elbow. He spun half around, grabbed +it by the neck and set it up, all in one motion, without spilling a +drop, and he went on talking as though nothing had happened. He was +quoting Homer, I remembered, and you could tell that he was thinking +in the original ancient Greek and translating to Lingua Terra as he +went. + +He was always dressed as he was now, in a conservative black suit, the +jacket a trifle longer than usual, and a black neckcloth with an Uller +organic-opal pin. He didn't work at anything, but quarterly--once +every planetary day--a draft on the Banking Cartel would come in for +him, and he'd deposit it with the Port Sandor Fidelity & Trust. If +anybody was unmannerly enough to ask him about it, he always said he +had a rich uncle on Terra. + +When I was a kid--well, more of a kid than I am now--I used to believe +he really was a bishop--unfrocked, of course, or ungaitered, or +whatever they call it when they give a bishop the heave-ho. A lot of +people who weren't kids still believed that, and they blamed him on +every denomination from Anglicans to Zen Buddhists, not even missing +the Satanists, and there were all sorts of theories about what he'd +done to get excommunicated, the mildest of which was that somewhere +there was a cathedral standing unfinished because he'd hypered out +with the building fund. It was generally agreed that his +ecclesiastical organization was paying him to stay out there in the +boondocks where he wouldn't cause them further embarrassment. + +I was pretty sure, myself, that he was being paid by somebody, +probably his family, to stay out of sight. The colonial planets are +full of that sort of remittance men. + +Bish and I were pretty good friends. There were certain old ladies, of +both sexes and all ages, of whom Professor Hartzenbosch was an +example, who took Dad to task occasionally for letting me associate +with him. Dad simply ignored them. As long as I was going to be a +reporter, I'd have to have news sources, and Bish was a dandy. He knew +all the disreputable characters in town, which saved me having to +associate with all of them, and it is sad but true that you get very +few news stories in Sunday school. Far from fearing that Bish would be +a bad influence on me, he rather hoped I'd be a good one on Bish. + +I had that in mind, too, if I could think of any way of managing it. +Bish had been a good man, once. He still was, except for one thing. +You could tell that before he'd started drinking, he'd really been +somebody, somewhere. Then something pretty bad must have happened to +him, and now he was here on Fenris, trying to hide from it behind a +bottle. Something ought to be done to give him a shove up on his feet +again. I hate waste, and a man of the sort he must have been turning +himself into the rumpot he was now was waste of the worst kind. + +It would take a lot of doing, though, and careful tactical planning. +Preaching at him would be worse than useless, and so would simply +trying to get him to stop drinking. That would be what Doc Rojansky, +at the hospital, would call treating the symptoms. The thing to do was +make him want to stop drinking, and I didn't know how I was going to +manage that. I'd thought, a couple of times, of getting him to work on +the Times, but we barely made enough money out of it for ourselves, +and with his remittance he didn't need to work. I had a lot of other +ideas, now and then, but every time I took a second look at one, it +got sick and died. + + + + +2 + +REPORTER WORKING + + +Bish came over and greeted us solemnly. + +"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Captain Ahab, I believe," he said, bowing +to Tom, who seemed slightly puzzled; the education Tom had been +digging out for himself was technical rather than literary. "And Mr. +Pulitzer. Or is it Horace Greeley?" + +"Lord Beaverbrook, your Grace," I replied. "Have you any little news +items for us from your diocese?" + +Bish teetered slightly, getting out a cigar and inspecting it +carefully before lighting it. + +"We-el," he said carefully, "my diocese is full to the hatch covers +with sinners, but that's scarcely news." He turned to Tom. "One of +your hands on the _Javelin_ got into a fight in Martian Joe's, a while +ago. Lumped the other man up pretty badly." He named the Javelin +crewman, and the man who had been pounded. The latter was one of Steve +Ravick's goons. "But not fatally, I regret to say," Bish added. "The +local Gestapo are looking for your man, but he made it aboard Nip +Spazoni's _Bulldog_, and by this time he's halfway to Hermann Reuch's +Land." + +"Isn't Nip going to the meeting, tonight?" Tom asked. + +Bish shook his head. "Nip is a peace-loving man. He has a well-founded +suspicion that peace is going to be in short supply around Hunters' +Hall this evening. You know, of course, that Leo Belsher's coming in +on the _Peenemünde_ and will be there to announce another price cut. +The new price, I understand, will be thirty-five centisols a pound." + +Seven hundred sols a ton, I thought; why, that would barely pay ship +expenses. + +"Where did you get that?" Tom asked, a trifle sharply. + +"Oh, I have my spies and informers," Bish said. "And even if I hadn't, +it would figure. The only reason Leo Belsher ever comes to this Eden +among planets is to negotiate a new contract, and who ever heard of a +new contract at a higher price?" + +That had all happened before, a number of times. When Steve Ravick had +gotten control of the Hunters' Co-operative, the price of tallow-wax, +on the loading floor at Port Sandor spaceport, had been fifteen +hundred sols a ton. As far as Dad and I could find out, it was still +bringing the same price on Terra as it always had. It looked to us as +if Ravick and Leo Belsher, who was the Co-op representative on Terra, +and Mort Hallstock were simply pocketing the difference. I was just as +sore about what was happening as anybody who went out in the +hunter-ships. Tallow-wax is our only export. All our imports are paid +for with credit from the sale of wax. + +It isn't really wax, and it isn't tallow. It's a growth on the +Jarvis's sea-monster; there's a layer of it under the skin, and around +organs that need padding. An average-sized monster, say a hundred and +fifty feet long, will yield twelve to fifteen tons of it, and a good +hunter kills about ten monsters a year. Well, at the price Belsher and +Ravick were going to cut from, that would run a little short of a +hundred and fifty thousand sols for a year. If you say it quick enough +and don't think, that sounds like big money, but the upkeep and +supplies for a hunter-ship are big money, too, and what's left after +that's paid off is divided, on a graduated scale, among ten to fifteen +men, from the captain down. A hunter-boat captain, even a good one +like Joe Kivelson, won't make much more in a year than Dad and I make +out of the _Times_. + +Chemically, tallow-wax isn't like anything else in the known Galaxy. +The molecules are huge; they can be seen with an ordinary optical +microscope, and a microscopically visible molecule is a +curious-looking object, to say the least. They use the stuff to treat +fabric for protective garments. It isn't anything like collapsium, of +course, but a suit of waxed coveralls weighing only a couple of pounds +will stop as much radiation as half an inch of lead. + +Back when they were getting fifteen hundred a ton, the hunters had +been making good money, but that was before Steve Ravick's time. + +It was slightly before mine, too. Steve Ravick had showed up on Fenris +about twelve years ago. He'd had some money, and he'd bought shares in +a couple of hunter-ships and staked a few captains who'd had bad luck +and got them in debt to him. He also got in with Morton Hallstock, who +controlled what some people were credulous enough to take for a +government here. Before long, he was secretary of the Hunters' +Co-operative. Old Simon MacGregor, who had been president then, was a +good hunter, but he was no businessman. He came to depend very heavily +on Ravick, up till his ship, the _Claymore_, was lost with all hands +down in Fitzwilliam Straits. I think that was a time bomb in the +magazine, but I have a low and suspicious mind. Professor Hartzenbosch +has told me so repeatedly. After that, Steve Ravick was president of +the Co-op. He immediately began a drive to increase the membership. +Most of the new members had never been out in a hunter-ship in their +lives, but they could all be depended on to vote the way he wanted +them to. + +First, he jacked the price of wax up, which made everybody but the wax +buyers happy. Everybody who wasn't already in the Co-op hurried up and +joined. Then he negotiated an exclusive contract with Kapstaad +Chemical Products, Ltd., in South Africa, by which they agreed to take +the entire output for the Co-op. That ended competitive wax buying, +and when there was nobody to buy the wax but Kapstaad, you had to sell +it through the Co-operative or you didn't sell it at all. After that, +the price started going down. The Co-operative, for which read Steve +Ravick, had a sales representative on Terra, Leo Belsher. He wrote all +the contracts, collected all the money, and split with Ravick. What +was going on was pretty generally understood, even if it couldn't be +proven, but what could anybody do about it? + +Maybe somebody would try to do something about it at the meeting this +evening. I would be there to cover it. I was beginning to wish I owned +a bullet-proof vest. + +Bish and Tom were exchanging views on the subject, some of them almost +printable. I had my eyes to my binoculars, watching the tugs go up to +meet the _Peenemünde_. + +"What we need for Ravick, Hallstock and Belsher," Tom was saying, "is +about four fathoms of harpoon line apiece, and something to haul up +to." + +That kind of talk would have shocked Dad. He is very strong for law +and order, even when there is no order and the law itself is illegal. +I'd always thought there was a lot of merit in what Tom was +suggesting. Bish Ware seemed to have his doubts, though. + +"Mmm, no; there ought to be some better way of doing it than that." + +"Can you think of one?" Tom challenged. + +I didn't hear Bish's reply. By that time, the tugs were almost to the +ship. I grabbed up the telephoto camera and aimed it. It has its own +power unit, and transmits directly. In theory, I could tune it to the +telecast station and put what I was getting right on the air, and what +I was doing was transmitting to the _Times_, to be recorded and 'cast +later. Because it's not a hundred per cent reliable, though, it makes +its own audiovisual record, so if any of what I was sending didn't get +through, it could be spliced in after I got back. + +I got some footage of the tugs grappling the ship, which was now +completely weightless, and pulling her down. Through the finder, I +could see that she had her landing legs extended; she looked like a +big overfed spider being hauled in by a couple of gnats. I kept the +butt of the camera to my shoulder, and whenever anything interesting +happened, I'd squeeze the trigger. The first time I ever used a real +submachine gun had been to kill a blue slasher that had gotten into +one of the ship pools at the waterfront. I used three one-second +bursts, and threw bits of slasher all over the place, and everybody +wondered how I'd gotten the practice. + +A couple more boats, pushers, went up to help hold the ship against +the wind, and by that time she was down to a thousand feet, which was +half her diameter. I switched from the shoulder-stock telephoto to the +big tripod job, because this was the best part of it. The ship was +weightless, of course, but she had mass and an awful lot of it. If +anybody goofed getting her down, she'd take the side of the landing +pit out, and about ten per cent of the population of Fenris, including +the ace reporter for the Times, along with it. + +At the same time, some workmen and a couple of spaceport cops had +appeared, taken out a section of railing and put in a gate. The +_Peenemünde_ settled down, turned slowly to get her port in line with +the gate, and lurched off contragravity and began running out a bridge +to the promenade. I got some shots of that, and then began packing my +stuff back in the hamper. + +"You going aboard?" Tom asked. "Can I come along? I can carry some of +your stuff and let on I'm your helper." + +Glory be, I thought; I finally got that apprentice. + +"Why, sure," I said. "You tow the hamper; I'll carry this." I got out +what looked like a big camera case and slung it over my shoulder. "But +you'll have to take me out on the _Javelin_, sometime, and let me +shoot a monster." + +He said it was a deal, and we shook on it. Then I had another idea. + +"Bish, suppose you come with us, too," I said. "After all, Tom and I +are just a couple of kids. If you're with us, it'll look a lot more +big-paperish." + +That didn't seem to please Tom too much. Bish shook his head, though, +and Tom brightened. + +"I'm dreadfully sorry, Walt," Bish said. "But I'm going aboard, +myself, to see a friend who is en route through to Odin. A Dr. Watson; +I have not seen him for years." + +I'd caught that name, too, when we'd gotten the passenger list. Dr. +John Watson. Now, I know that all sorts of people call themselves +Doctor, and Watson and John aren't too improbable a combination, but +I'd read _Sherlock Holmes_ long ago, and the name had caught my +attention. And this was the first, to my knowledge, that Bish Ware had +ever admitted to any off-planet connections. + +We started over to the gate. Hallstock and Ravick were ahead of us. So +was Sigurd Ngozori, the president of the Fidelity & Trust, carrying a +heavy briefcase and accompanied by a character with a submachine gun, +and Adolf Lautier and Professor Hartzenbosch. There were a couple of +spaceport cops at the gate, in olive-green uniforms that looked as +though they had been sprayed on, and steel helmets. I wished we had a +city police force like that. They were Odin Dock & Shipyard Company +men, all former Federation Regular Army or Colonial Constabulary. The +spaceport wasn't part of Port Sandor, or even Fenris; the Odin Dock & +Shipyard Company was the government there, and it was run honestly and +efficiently. + +They knew me, and when they saw Tom towing my hamper they cracked a +few jokes about the new _Times_ cub reporter and waved us through. I +thought they might give Bish an argument, but they just nodded and let +him pass, too. We all went out onto the bridge, and across the pit to +the equator of the two-thousand-foot globular ship. + +We went into the main lounge, and the captain introduced us to Mr. +Glenn Murell. He was fairly tall, with light gray hair, prematurely +so, I thought, and a pleasant, noncommittal face. I'd have pegged him +for a businessman. Well, I suppose authoring is a business, if that +was his business. He shook hands with us, and said: + +"Aren't you rather young to be a newsman?" + +I started to burn on that. I get it all the time, and it burns me all the +time, but worst of all on the job. Maybe I am only going-on-eighteen, but +I'm doing a man's work, and I'm doing it competently. + +"Well, they grow up young on Fenris, Mr. Murell," Captain Marshak +earned my gratitude by putting in. "Either that or they don't live to +grow up." + +Murell unhooked his memophone and repeated the captain's remark into +it. Opening line for one of his chapters. Then he wanted to know if +I'd been born on Fenris. I saw I was going to have to get firm with +Mr. Murell, right away. The time to stop that sort of thing is as soon +as it starts. + +"Who," I wanted to know, "is interviewing whom? You'll have at least +five hundred hours till the next possible ship out of here; I only +have two and a half to my next deadline. You want coverage, don't you? +The more publicity you get, the easier your own job's going to be." + +Then I introduced Tom, carefully giving the impression that while I +handled all ordinary assignments, I needed help to give him the full +VIP treatment. We went over to a quiet corner and sat down, and the +interview started. + +The camera case I was carrying was a snare and a deceit. Everybody +knows that reporters use recorders in interviews, but it never pays to +be too obtrusive about them, or the subject gets recorder-conscious +and stiffens up. What I had was better than a recorder; it was a +recording radio. Like the audiovisuals, it not only transmitted in to +the _Times_, but made a recording as insurance against transmission +failure. I reached into a slit on the side and snapped on the switch +while I was fumbling with a pencil and notebook with the other hand, +and started by asking him what had decided him to do a book about +Fenris. + +After that, I fed a question every now and then to keep him running, +and only listened to every third word. The radio was doing a better +job than I possibly could have. At the same time, I was watching Steve +Ravick, Morton Hallstock and Leo Belsher at one side of the room, and +Bish Ware at the other. Bish was within ear-straining range. Out of +the corner of my eye, I saw another man, younger in appearance and +looking like an Army officer in civvies, approach him. + +"My dear Bishop!" this man said in greeting. + +As far as I knew, that nickname had originated on Fenris. I made a +mental note of that. + +"How are you?" Bish replied, grasping the other's hand. "You have been +in Afghanistan, I perceive." + +That did it. I told you I was an old _Sherlock Holmes_ reader; I +recognized that line. This meeting was prearranged, neither of them +had ever met before, and they needed a recognition code. Then I +returned to Murell, and decided to wonder about Bish Ware and "Dr. +Watson" later. + +It wasn't long before I was noticing a few odd things about Murell, +too, which confirmed my original suspicions of him. He didn't have the +firm name of his alleged publishers right, he didn't know what a +literary agent was and, after claiming to have been a newsman, he +consistently used the expression "news service." I know, everybody +says that--everybody but newsmen. They always call a news service a +"paper," especially when talking to other newsmen. + +Of course, there isn't any paper connected with it, except the pad the +editor doodles on. What gets to the public is photoprint, out of a +teleprinter. As small as our circulation is, we have four or five +hundred of them in Port Sandor and around among the small settlements +in the archipelago, and even on the mainland. Most of them are in bars +and cafes and cigar stores and places like that, operated by a coin in +a slot and leased by the proprietor, and some of the big hunter-ships +like Joe Kivelson's _Javelin_ and Nip Spazoni's _Bulldog_ have them. + +But long ago, back in the First Centuries, Pre-Atomic and Atomic Era, +they were actually printed on paper, and the copies distributed and +sold. They used printing presses as heavy as a spaceship's engines. +That's why we still call ourselves the Press. Some of the old papers +on Terra, like _La Prensa_ in Buenos Aires, and the Melbourne _Times_, +which used to be the London _Times_ when there was still a London, +were printed that way originally. + +Finally I got through with my interview, and then shot about fifteen +minutes of audiovisual, which would be cut to five for the 'cast. By +this time Bish and "Dr. Watson" had disappeared, I supposed to the +ship's bar, and Ravick and his accomplices had gotten through with +their conspiracy to defraud the hunters. I turned Murell over to Tom, +and went over to where they were standing together. I'd put away my +pencil and pad long ago with Murell; now I got them out ostentatiously +as I approached. + +"Good day, gentlemen," I greeted them. "I'm representing the Port +Sandor _Times_." + +"Oh, run along, sonny; we haven't time to bother with you," Hallstock +said. + +"But I want to get a story from Mr. Belsher," I began. + +"Well, come back in five or six years, when you're dry behind the +ears, and you can get it," Ravick told me. + +"Our readers aren't interested in the condition of my ears," I said +sweetly. "They want to read about the price of tallow-wax. What's this +about another price cut? To thirty-five centisols a pound, I +understand." + +"Oh, Steve, the young man's from the news service, and his father will +publish whatever he brings home," Belsher argued. "We'd better give +him something." He turned to me. "I don't know how this got out, but +it's quite true," he said. He had a long face, like a horse's. At +least, he looked like pictures of horses I'd seen. As he spoke, he +pulled it even longer and became as doleful as an undertaker at a +ten-thousand-sol funeral. + +"The price has gone down, again. Somebody has developed a synthetic +substitute. Of course, it isn't anywhere near as good as real Fenris +tallow-wax, but try and tell the public that. So Kapstaad Chemical is +being undersold, and the only way they can stay in business is cut the +price they have to pay for wax...." + +It went on like that, and this time I had real trouble keeping my +anger down. In the first place, I was pretty sure there was no +substitute for Fenris tallow-wax, good, bad or indifferent. In the +second place, it isn't sold to the gullible public, it's sold to +equipment manufacturers who have their own test engineers and who have +to keep their products up to legal safety standards. He didn't know +this balderdash of his was going straight to the _Times_ as fast as he +spouted it; he thought I was taking it down in shorthand. I knew +exactly what Dad would do with it. He'd put it on telecast in +Belsher's own voice. + +Maybe the monster-hunters would start looking around for a rope, then. + +When I got through listening to him, I went over and got a short +audiovisual of Captain Marshak of the _Peenemünde_ for the 'cast, and +then I rejoined Tom and Murell. + +"Mr. Murell says he's staying with you at the _Times_," Tom said. He +seemed almost as disappointed as Professor Hartzenbosch. I wondered, +for an incredulous moment, if Tom had been trying to kidnap Murell +away from me. "He wants to go out on the _Javelin_ with us for a +monster-hunt." + +"Well, that's swell!" I said. "You can pay off on that promise to take +me monster-hunting, too. Right now, Mr. Murell is my big story." I +reached into the front pocket of my "camera" case for the handphone, +to shift to two-way. "I'll call the _Times_ and have somebody come up +with a car to get us and Mr. Murell's luggage." + +"Oh, I have a car. Jeep, that is," Tom said. "It's down on the Bottom +Level. We can use that." + +Funny place to leave a car. And I was sure that he and Murell had come +to some kind of an understanding, while I was being lied to by +Belsher. I didn't get it. There was just too much going on around me +that I didn't get, and me, I'm supposed to be the razor-sharp newshawk +who gets everything. + + + + +3 + +BOTTOM LEVEL + + +It didn't take long to get Murell's luggage assembled. There was +surprisingly little of it, and nothing that looked like photographic +or recording equipment. When he returned from a final gathering-up in +his stateroom, I noticed that he was bulging under his jacket, too, on +the left side at the waist. About enough for an 8.5-mm pocket +automatic. Evidently he had been briefed on the law-and-order +situation in Port Sandor. + +Normally, we'd have gone off onto the Main City Level, but Tom's jeep +was down on the Bottom Level, and he made no suggestion that we go off +and wait for him to bring it up. I didn't suggest it, either. After +all, it was his jeep, and he wasn't our hired pilot. Besides, I was +beginning to get curious. An abnormally large bump of curiosity is +part of every newsman's basic equipment. + +We borrowed a small handling-lifter and one of the spaceport +roustabouts to tow it for us, loaded Murell's luggage and my things +onto it, and started down to the bottomside cargo hatches, from which +the ship was discharging. There was no cargo at all to go aboard, +except mail and things like Adolf Lautier's old film and music tapes. +Our only export is tallow-wax, and it all goes to Terra. It would be +picked up by the Cape _Canaveral_ when she got in from Odin five +hundred hours from now. But except for a few luxury items from Odin, +everything we import comes from Terra, and the _Peenemünde_ had +started discharging that already. We rode down on a contragravity skid +loaded with ammunition. I saw Murell looking curiously at the square +cases, marked TERRAN FEDERATION ARMED FORCES, and 50-MM, MK. 608, +ANTIVEHICLE AND ANTIPERSONNEL, 25 ROUNDS, and OVERAGE. PRACTICE ONLY. +NOT TO BE ISSUED FOR SERVICE, and INSPECTED AND CONDEMNED. The hunters +bought that stuff through the Co-op. It cost half as much as new ammo, +but that didn't help them any. The difference stopped with Steve +Ravick. Murell didn't comment, and neither did Tom or I. + +We got off at the bottom of the pit, a thousand feet below the +promenade from which I had come aboard, and stopped for a moment. +Murell was looking about the great amphitheater in amazement. + +"I knew this spaceport would be big when I found out that the ship +landed directly on the planet," he said, "but I never expected +anything like this. And this serves a population of twenty thousand?" + +"Twenty-four thousand, seven hundred and eight, if the man who got +pounded in a barroom fight around 1330 hasn't died yet," I said. "But +you have to remember that this place was built close to a hundred +years ago, when the population was ten times that much." I'd gotten my +story from him; now it was his turn to interview me. "You know +something about the history of Fenris, I suppose?" + +"Yes. There are ample sources for it on Terra, up to the collapse of +the Fenris Company," he said. "Too much isn't known about what's been +happening here since, which is why I decided to do this book." + +"Well, there were several cities built, over on the mainland," I told +him. "They're all abandoned now. The first one was a conventional +city, the buildings all on the surface. After one day-and-night cycle, +they found that it was uninhabitable. It was left unfinished. Then +they started digging in. The Chartered Fenris Company shipped in huge +quantities of mining and earth-moving equipment--that put the company +in the red more than anything else--and they began making +burrow-cities, like the ones built in the Northern Hemisphere of Terra +during the Third and Fourth World Wars, or like the cities on Luna and +Mercury Twilight Zone and Titan. There are a lot of valuable mineral +deposits over on the mainland; maybe in another century our +grandchildren will start working them again. + +"But about six years before the Fenris Company went to pieces, they +decided to concentrate in one city, here in the archipelago. The sea +water stays cooler in the daytime and doesn't lose heat so rapidly in +the nighttime. So they built Port Sandor, here on Oakleaf Island." + +"And for convenience in monster-hunting?" + +I shook my head. "No. The Jarvis's sea-monster wasn't discovered until +after the city was built, and it was years after the company had gone +bankrupt before anybody found out about what tallow-wax was good +for." + +I started telling him about the native life-forms of Fenris. Because +of the surface temperature extremes, the marine life is the most +highly developed. The land animals are active during the periods after +sunset and after sunrise; when it begins getting colder or hotter, +they burrow, or crawl into caves and crevices among the rocks, and go +into suspended animation. I found that he'd read up on that, and not +too much of his information was incorrect. + +He seemed to think, though, that Port Sandor had also been mined out +below the surface. I set him right on that. + +"You saw what it looked like when you were coming down," I said. "Just +a flat plateau, with a few shaft-head domes here and there, and the +landing pit of the spaceport. Well, originally it was a valley, +between two low hills. The city was built in the valley, level by +level, and then the tops of the hills were dug off and bulldozed down +on top of it. We have a lot of film at the public library of the +construction of the city, step by step. As far as I know, there are no +copies anywhere off-planet." + +He should have gotten excited about that, and wanted to see them. +Instead, he was watching the cargo come off--food-stuffs, now--and +wanted to know if we had to import everything we needed. + +"Oh, no. We're going in on the Bottom Level, which is mainly storage, +but we have hydroponic farms for our vegetables and carniculture +plants for meat on the Second and Third Levels. That's counting down +from the Main City Level. We make our own lumber, out of reeds +harvested in the swamps after sunrise and converted to pulpwood, and +we get some good hardwood from the native trees which only grow in +four periods of two hundred hours a year. We only use that for +furniture, gunstocks, that sort of thing. And there are a couple of +mining camps and smelters on the mainland; they employ about a +thousand of our people. But every millisol that's spent on this planet +is gotten from the sale of tallow-wax, at second or third hand if not +directly." + +That seemed to interest him more. Maybe his book, if he was really +writing one, was going to be an economic study of Fenris. Or maybe his +racket, whatever it was, would be based on something connected with +our local production. I went on telling him about our hydroponic +farms, and the carniculture plant where any kind of animal tissue we +wanted was grown--Terran pork and beef and poultry, Freyan _zhoumy_ +meat, Zarathustran veldtbeest.... He knew, already, that none of the +native life-forms, animal or vegetable, were edible by Terrans. + +"You can get all the _paté de foie gras_ you want here," I said. "We +have a chunk of goose liver about fifty feet in diameter growing in +one of our vats." + +By this time, we'd gotten across the bottom of the pit, Murell's +luggage and my equipment being towed after us, and had entered the +Bottom Level. It was cool and pleasant here, lighted from the ceiling +fifty feet overhead, among the great column bases, two hundred feet +square and two hundred yards apart, that supported the upper city and +the thick roof of rock and earth that insulated it. The area we were +entering was stacked with tallow-wax waiting to be loaded onto the +_Cape Canaveral_ when she came in; it was vacuum-packed in plastic +skins, like big half-ton Bologna sausages, each one painted with the +blue and white emblem of the Hunters' Co-operative. He was quite +interested in that, and was figuring, mentally, how much wax there was +here and how much it was worth. + +"Who does this belong to?" he wanted to know. "The Hunters' +Co-operative?" + +Tom had been letting me do the talking up to now, but he answered that +question, very emphatically. + +"No, it doesn't. It belongs to the hunters," he said. "Each ship crew +owns the wax they bring in in common, and it's sold for them by the +Co-op. When the captain gets paid for the wax he's turned over to the +Co-op, he divides the money among the crew. But every scrap of this +belongs to the ships that took it, up till it's bought and paid for by +Kapstaad Chemical." + +"Well, if a captain wants his wax back, after it's been turned over +for sale to the Co-op, can he get it?" Murell asked. + +"Absolutely!" + +Murell nodded, and we went on. The roustabout who had been following +us with the lifter had stopped to chat with a couple of his fellows. +We went on slowly, and now and then a vehicle, usually a lorry, would +pass above us. Then I saw Bish Ware, ahead, sitting on a sausage of +wax, talking to one of the Spaceport Police. They were both smoking, +but that was all right. Tallow-wax will burn, and a wax fire is +something to get really excited about, but the ignition point is 750° C., +and that's a lot hotter than the end of anybody's cigar. He must +have come out the same way we did, and I added that to the +"wonder-why" file. Pretty soon, I'd have so many questions to wonder +about that they'd start answering each other. He saw us and waved to +us, and then suddenly the spaceport cop's face got as white as my +shirt and he grabbed Bish by the arm. Bish didn't change color; he +just shook off the cop's hand, got to his feet, dropped his cigar, and +took a side skip out into the aisle. + +"Murell!" he yelled. "Freeze! On your life; don't move a muscle!" + +Then there was a gun going off in his hand. I didn't see him reach for +it, or where he drew it from. It was just in his hand, firing, and the +empty brass flew up and came down on the concrete with a jingle on the +heels of the report. We had all stopped short, and the roustabout who +was towing the lifter came hurrying up. Murell simply stood gaping at +Bish. + +"All right," Bish said, slipping his gun back into a shoulder holster +under his coat. "Step carefully to your left. Don't move right at +all." + +Murell, still in a sort of trance, obeyed. As he did I looked past his +right shin and saw what Bish had been shooting at. It was an irregular +gray oval, about sixteen inches by four at its widest and tapering up +in front to a cone about six inches high, into which a rodlike member, +darker gray, was slowly collapsing and dribbling oily yellow stuff. +The bullet had gone clear through and made a mess of dirty gray and +black and green body fluids on the concrete. + +It was what we call a tread-snail, because it moves on a double row of +pads like stumpy feet and leaves a trail like a tractor. The +fishpole-aerial thing it had erected out of its head was its stinger, +and the yellow stuff was venom. A tenth of a milligram of it in your +blood and it's "Get the Gate open, St. Peter; here I come." + +Tom saw it as soon as I did. His face got the same color as the cop's. +I don't suppose mine looked any better. When Murell saw what had been +buddying up to him, I will swear, on a warehouse full of Bibles, +Korans, Torah scrolls, Satanist grimoires, Buddhist prayer wheels and +Thoran Grandfather-God images, that his hair literally stood on end. +I've heard that expression all my life; well, this time I really saw +it happen. I mentioned that he seemed to have been reading up on the +local fauna. + +I looked down at his right leg. He hadn't been stung--if he had, he +wouldn't be breathing now--but he had been squirted, and there were a +couple of yellow stains on the cloth of his trouser leg. I told him to +hold still, used my left hand to pull the cloth away from his leg, and +got out my knife and flipped it open with the other hand, cutting away +the poisoned cloth and dropping it on the dead snail. + +Murell started making an outcry about cutting up his trousers, and +said he could have had them cleaned. Bish Ware, coming up, told him to +stop talking like an imbecile. + +"No cleaner would touch them, and even if they were cleaned, some of +the poison would remain in the fabric. Then, the next time you were +caught in the rain with a scratch on your leg, Walt, here, would +write you one of his very nicest obituaries." + +Then he turned to the cop, who was gabbling into his belt radio, and +said: "Get an ambulance, quick. Possible case of tread-snail skin +poisoning." A moment later, looking at Murell's leg, he added, "Omit +'possible.'" + +There were a couple of little spots on Murell's skin that were +beginning to turn raw-liver color. The raw poison hadn't gotten into +his blood, but some of it, with impurities, had filtered through the +cloth, and he'd absorbed enough of it through his skin to make him +seriously ill. The cop jabbered some more into the radio, and the +laborer with the lifter brought it and let it down, and Murell sat +down on his luggage. Tom lit a cigarette and gave it to him, and told +him to remain perfectly still. In a couple of minutes, an ambulance +was coming, its siren howling. + +The pilot and his helper were both jackleg medics, at least as far as +first aid. They gave him a drink out of a flask, smeared a lot of gunk +on the spots and slapped plasters over them, and helped him into the +ambulance, after I told him we'd take his things to the _Times_ +building. + +By this time, between the shot and the siren, quite a crowd had +gathered, and everybody was having a nice little recrimination party. +The labor foreman was chewing the cop out. The warehouse +superintendent was chewing him out. And somebody from the general +superintendent's office was chewing out everybody indiscriminately, +and at the same time mentioning to me that Mr. Fieschi, the +superintendent, would be very much pleased if the _Times_ didn't +mention the incident at all. I told him that was editorial policy, +and to talk to Dad about it. Nobody had any idea how the thing had +gotten in, but that wasn't much of a mystery. The Bottom Level is full +of things like that; they can stay active all the time because the +temperature is constant. I supposed that eventually they'd pick the +dumbest day laborer in the place and make him the patsy. + +Tom stood watching the ambulance whisk Murell off, dithering in +indecision. The poisoning of Murell seemed like an unexpected blow to +him. That fitted what I'd begun to think. Finally, he motioned the +laborer to pick up the lifter, and we started off toward where he had +parked his jeep, outside the spaceport area. + +Bish walked along with us, drawing his pistol and replacing the fired +round in the magazine. I noticed that it was a 10-mm Colt-Argentine +Federation Service, commercial type. There aren't many of those on +Fenris. A lot of 10-mm's, but mostly South African Sterbergs or +Vickers-Bothas, or Mars-Consolidated Police Specials. Mine, which I +wasn't carrying at the moment, was a Sterberg 7.7-mm Olympic Match. + +"You know," he said, sliding the gun back under his coat, "I would be +just as well pleased as Mr. Fieschi if this didn't get any publicity. +If you do publish anything about it, I wish you'd minimize my own part +in it. As you have noticed, I have some slight proficiency with lethal +hardware. This I would prefer not to advertise. I can usually avoid +trouble, but when I can't, I would like to retain the advantage of +surprise." + +We all got into the jeep. Tom, not too graciously, offered to drop +Bish wherever he was going. Bish said he was going to the _Times_, so +Tom lifted the jeep and cut in the horizontal drive. We got into a +busy one-way aisle, crowded with lorries hauling food-stuffs to the +refrigeration area. He followed that for a short distance, and then +turned off into a dimly lighted, disused area. + +Before long, I began noticing stacks of tallow-wax, put up in the +regular outside sausage skins but without the Co-op markings. They +just had the names of hunter-ships--_Javelin_, _Bulldog_, _Helldiver_, +_Slasher_, and so on. + +"What's that stuff doing in here?" I asked. "It's a long way from the +docks, and a long way from the spaceport." + +"Oh, just temporary storage," Tom said. "It hasn't been checked in +with the Co-op yet." + +That wasn't any answer--or maybe it was. I let it go at that. Then we +came to an open space about fifty feet square. There was a jeep, with +a 7-mm machine gun mounted on it, and half a dozen men in boat-clothes +were playing cards at a table made out of empty ammunition boxes. I +noticed they were all wearing pistols, and when a couple of them saw +us, they got up and grabbed rifles. Tom let down and got out of the +jeep, going over and talking with them for a few minutes. What he had +to tell them didn't seem to bring any noticeable amount of sunlight +into their lives. After a while he came back, climbed in at the +controls, and lifted the jeep again. + + + + +4 + +MAIN CITY LEVEL + + +The ceiling on Main City Level is two hundred feet high; in order to +permit free circulation of air and avoid traffic jams, nothing is +built higher than a hundred and fifty feet except the square +buildings, two hundred yards apart, which rest on foundations on the +Bottom Level and extend up to support the roof. The _Times_ has one of +these pillar-buildings, and we have the whole thing to ourselves. In a +city built for a quarter of a million, twenty thousand people don't +have to crowd very closely on one another. Naturally, we don't have a +top landing stage, but except for the buttresses at the corners and +solid central column, the whole street floor is open. + +Tom hadn't said anything after we left the stacks of wax and the men +guarding them. We came up a vehicle shaft a few blocks up Broadway, +and he brought the jeep down and floated it in through one of the +archways. As usual, the place was cluttered with equipment we hadn't +gotten around to repairing or installing, merchandise we'd taken in +exchange for advertising, and vehicles, our own and everybody else's. +A couple of mechanics were tinkering on one of them. I decided, for +the oomptieth time, to do something about cleaning it up. Say in +another two or three hundred hours, when the ships would all be in +port and work would be slack, and I could hire a couple of good men to +help. + +We got Murell's stuff off the jeep, and I hunted around till I found a +hand-lifter. + +"Want to stay and have dinner with us, Tom?" I asked. + +"Uh?" It took him a second or so to realize what I'd said. "Why, no, +thanks, Walt. I have to get back to the ship. Father wants to see me +before the meeting." + +"How about you, Bish? Want to take potluck with us?" + +"I shall be delighted," he assured me. + +Tom told us good-by absent-mindedly, lifted the jeep, and floated it +out into the street. Bish and I watched him go; Bish looked as though +he had wanted to say something and then thought better of it. We +floated Murell's stuff and mine over to the elevator beside the +central column, and I ran it up to the editorial offices on the top +floor. + +We came out in a big room, half the area of the floor, full of +worktables and radios and screens and photoprinting machines. Dad, as +usual, was in a gray knee-length smock, with a pipe jutting out under +his ragged mustache, and, as usual, he was stopping every minute or so +to relight it. He was putting together the stuff I'd transmitted in +for the audiovisual newscast. Over across the room, the rest of the +_Times_ staff, Julio Kubanoff, was sitting at the composing machine, +his peg leg propped up and an earphone on, his fingers punching +rapidly at the keyboard as he burned letters onto the white plastic +sheet with ultraviolet rays for photographing. Julio was an old +hunter-ship man who had lost a leg in an accident and taught himself +his new trade. He still wore the beard, now white, that was +practically the monster-hunters' uniform. + +"The stuff come in all right?" I asked Dad, letting down the lifter. + +"Yes. What do you think of that fellow Belsher?" he asked. "Did you +ever hear such an impudent string of lies in your life?" Then, out of +the corner of his eye, he saw the lifter full of luggage, and saw +somebody with me. "Mr. Murell? Please excuse me for a moment, till I +get this blasted thing together straight." Then he got the film +spliced and the sound record matched, and looked up. "Why, Bish? +Where's Mr. Murell, Walt?" + +"Mr. Murell has had his initiation to Fenris," I said. "He got +squirted by a tread-snail almost as soon as he got off the ship. They +have him at the spaceport hospital; it'll be 2400 before they get all +the poison sweated out of him." + +I went on to tell him what had happened. Dad's eyes widened slightly, +and he took the pipe out of his mouth and looked at Bish with +something very reasonably like respect. + +"That was mighty sharp work," he said. "If you'd been a second slower, +we'd be all out of visiting authors. That would have been a nice +business; story would have gotten back to Terra, and been most +unfortunate publicity for Fenris. And, of course," he afterthoughted, +"most unfortunate for Mr. Murell, too." + +"Well, if you give this any publicity, I would rather you passed my +own trifling exploit over in silence," Bish said. "I gather the +spaceport people wouldn't be too happy about giving the public the +impression that their area is teeming with tread-snails, either. They +have enough trouble hiring shipping-floor help as it is." + +"But don't you want people to know what you did?" Dad demanded, +incredulously. Everybody wanted their names in print or on 'cast; that +was one of his basic articles of faith. "If the public learned about +this--" he went on, and then saw where he was heading and pulled up +short. It wouldn't be tactful to say something like, "Maybe they +wouldn't think you were just a worthless old soak." + +Bish saw where Dad was heading, too, but he just smiled, as though he +were about to confer his episcopal blessing. + +"Ah, but that would be a step out of character for me," he said. "I +must not confuse my public. Just as a favor to me, Ralph, say nothing +about it." + +"Well, if you'd rather I didn't.... Are you going to cover this +meeting at Hunters' Hall, tonight, Walt?" he asked me. + +"Would I miss it?" + +He frowned. "I could handle that myself," he said. "I'm afraid this +meeting's going to get a little rough." + +I shook my head. "Let's face it, Dad," I said. "I'm a little short of +eighteen, but you're sixty. I can see things coming better than you +can, and dodge them quicker." + +Dad gave a rueful little laugh and looked at Bish. + +"See how it goes?" he asked. "We spend our lives shielding our young +and then, all of a sudden, we find they're shielding us." His pipe had +gone out again and he relit it. "Too bad you didn't get an audiovisual +of Belsher making that idiotic statement." + +"He didn't even know I was getting a voice-only. All the time he was +talking, I was doodling in a pad with a pencil." + +"Synthetic substitutes!" Dad snorted. "Putting a synthetic tallow-wax +molecule together would be like trying to build a spaceship with a +jackknife and a tack hammer." He puffed hard on his pipe, and then +excused himself and went back to his work. + +Editing an audiovisual telecast is pretty much a one-man job. Bish +wanted to know if he could be of assistance, but there was nothing +either of us could do, except sit by and watch and listen. Dad handled +the Belsher thing by making a film of himself playing off the +recording, and interjecting sarcastic comments from time to time. When +it went on the air, I thought, Ravick wasn't going to like it. I would +have to start wearing my pistol again. Then he made a tape on the +landing of the _Peenemünde_ and the arrival of Murell, who he said had +met with a slight accident after leaving the ship. I took that over to +Julio when Dad was finished, along with a tape on the announced +tallow-wax price cut. Julio only grunted and pushed them aside. He was +setting up the story of the fight in Martian Joe's--a "local bar," of +course; nobody ever gets shot or stabbed or slashed or slugged in +anything else. All the news _is_ fit to print, sure, but you can't +give your advertisers and teleprinter customers any worse name than +they have already. A paper has to use some judgment. + +Then Dad and Bish and I went down to dinner. Julio would have his a +little later, not because we're too good to eat with the help but +because, around 1830, the help is too busy setting up the next paper +to eat with us. The dining room, which is also the library, living +room, and general congregating and loafing place, is as big as the +editorial room above. Originally, it was an office, at a time when a +lot of Fenris Company office work was being done here. Some of the +furniture is original, and some was made for us by local cabinetmakers +out of native hardwood. The dining table, big enough for two ships' +crews to eat at, is an example of the latter. Then, of course, there +are screens and microbook cabinets and things like that, and a +refrigerator to save going a couple of hundred feet to the pantry in +case anybody wants a snack. + +I went to that and opened it, and got out a bulb of concentrated fruit +juice and a bottle of carbonated water. Dad, who seldom drinks, keeps +a few bottles around for guests. Seems most of our "guests" part with +information easier if they have something like the locally made +hydroponic potato schnapps inside them for courage. + +"You drink Baldur honey-rum, don't you, Bish?" he said, pawing among +the bottles in the liquor cabinet next to the refrigerator. "I'm sure +I have a bottle of it. Now wait a minute; it's here somewhere." + +When Dad passes on and some medium claims to have produced a spirit +communication from him, I will not accept it as genuine without the +expression: "Now wait a minute; it's here somewhere." + +Bish wanted to know what I was fixing for myself, and I told him. + +"Never mind the rum, Ralph. I believe," he said, "that I shall join +Walt in a fruit fizz." + +Well, whattaya know! Maybe my stealthy temperance campaign was having +results. Dad looked positively startled, and then replaced the bottle +he was holding. + +"I believe I'll make it unanimous," he said. "Fix me up a fruit fizz, +too, Walt." + +I mixed two more fruit fizzes, and we carried them over to the table. +Bish sipped at his critically. + +"Palatable," he pronounced it. "Just a trifle on the mild side, but +definitely palatable." + +Dad looked at him as though he still couldn't believe the whole thing. +Dinner was slow coming. We finished our fizzes, and Bish and I both +wanted repeats, and Dad felt that he had to go along. So I made three +more. We were finishing them when Mrs. Laden started bringing in the +dinner. Mrs. Laden is a widow; she has been with us since my mother +died, the year after I was born. She is violently anti-liquor. +Reluctantly, she condones Dad taking a snort now and then, but as soon +as she saw Bish Ware, her face started to stiffen. + +She put the soup on the table and took off for the kitchen. She always +has her own dinner with Julio. That way, while they're eating he can +tell her all the news that's fit to print, and all the gossip that +isn't. + +For the moment, the odd things I'd been noticing about our +distinguished and temporarily incapacitated visitor came under the +latter head. I told Dad and Bish about my observations, beginning with +the deafening silence about Glenn Murell at the library. Dad began +popping immediately. + +"Why, he must be an impostor!" he exclaimed. "What kind of a racket do +you think he's up to?" + +"Mmm-mm; I wouldn't say that, not right away," Bish said. "In the +first place, Murell may be his true name and he may publish under a +nom de plume. I admit, some of the other items are a little +suspicious, but even if he isn't an author, he may have some +legitimate business here and, having heard a few stories about this +planetary Elysium, he may be exercising a little caution. Walt, tell +your father about that tallow-wax we saw, down in Bottom Level Fourth +Ward." + +I did, and while I was talking Dad sat with his soup spoon poised +halfway to his mouth for at least a minute before he remembered he was +holding it. + +"Now, that is funny," he said when I was through. "Why do you +suppose...?" + +"Somebody," Bish said, "some group of ship captains, is holding wax +out from the Co-operative. There's no other outlet for it, so my guess +is that they're holding it for a rise in price. There's only one way +that could happen, and that, literally, would be over Steve Ravick's +dead body. It could be that they expect Steve's dead body to be around +for a price rise to come in over." + +I was expecting Dad to begin spouting law-and-order. Instead, he hit +the table with his fist; not, fortunately, the one that was holding +the soup spoon. + +"Well, I hope so! And if they do it before the _Cape Canaveral_ gets +in, they may fix Leo Belsher, too, and then, in the general +excitement, somebody might clobber Mort Hallstock, and that'd be grand +slam. After the triple funeral, we could go to work on setting up an +honest co-operative and an honest government." + +"Well, I never expected to hear you advocating lynch law, Dad," I +said. + +He looked at me for a few seconds. + +"Tell the truth, Walt, neither did I," he admitted. "Lynch law is a +horrible thing; don't make any mistake about that. But there's one +thing more horrible, and that's no law at all. And that is the present +situation in Port Sandor. + +"You know what the trouble is, here? We have no government. No legal +government, anyhow; no government under Federation law. We don't even +have a Federation Resident-Agent. Before the Fenris Company went +broke, it was the government here; when the Space Navy evacuated the +colonists, they evacuated the government along with them. The thousand +who remained were all too busy keeping alive to worry about that. They +didn't even care when Fenris was reclassified from Class III, +uninhabited but inhabitable, to Class II, inhabitable only in +artificial environment, like Mercury or Titan. And when Mort Hallstock +got hold of the town-meeting pseudo government they put together fifty +years ago and turned it into a dictatorship, nobody realized what had +happened till it was too late. Lynch law's the only recourse we have." + +"Ralph," Bish told him, "if anything like that starts, Belsher and +Hallstock and Ravick won't be the only casualties. Between Ravick's +goons and Hallstock's police, they have close to a hundred men. I +won't deny that they could be cleaned out, but it wouldn't be a +lynching. It would be a civil war." + +"Well, that's swell!" Dad said. "The Federation Government has never +paid us any attention; the Federation planets are scattered over too +many million cubic light-years of space for the Government to run +around to all of them wiping everybody's noses. As long as things are +quiet here, they'll continue to do nothing for us. But let a story hit +the big papers on Terra, _Revolution Breaks Out on Fenris_--and +that'll be the story I'll send to Interworld News--and watch what +happens." + +"I will tell you what will happen," Bish Ware said. "A lot of people +will get killed. That isn't important, in itself. People are getting +killed all the time, in a lot worse causes. But these people will all +have friends and relatives who will take it up for them. Start killing +people here in a faction fight, and somebody will be shooting somebody +in the back out of a dark passage a hundred years from now over it. +You want this planet poisoned with blood feuds for the next century?" + +Dad and I looked at one another. That was something that hadn't +occurred to either of us, and it should have. There were feuds, even +now. Half the little settlements on the other islands and on the +mainland had started when some group or family moved out of Port +Sandor because of the enmity of some larger and more powerful group or +family, and half our shootings and knife fights grew out of old +grudges between families or hunting crews. + +"We don't want it poisoned for the next century with the sort of thing +Mort Hallstock and Steve Ravick started here, either," Dad said. + +"Granted." Bish nodded. "If a civil war's the only possible way to get +rid of them, that's what you'll have to have, I suppose. Only make +sure you don't leave a single one of them alive when it's over. But if +you can get the Federation Government in here to clean the mess up, +that would be better. Nobody starts a vendetta with the Terran +Federation." + +"But how?" Dad asked. "I've sent story after story off about crime and +corruption on Fenris. They all get the file-and-forget treatment." + +Mrs. Laden had taken away the soup plates and brought us our main +course. Bish sat toying with his fork for a moment. + +"I don't know what you can do," he said slowly. "If you can stall off +the blowup till the _Cape Canaveral_ gets in, and you can send +somebody to Terra...." + +All of a sudden, it hit me. Here was something that would give Bish a +purpose; something to make him want to stay sober. + +"Well, don't say, 'If _you_ can,'" I said. "Say, 'If _we_ can.' You +live on Fenris, too, don't you?" + + + + +5 + +MEETING OUT OF ORDER + + +Dad called the spaceport hospital, after dinner, and talked to Doc +Rojansky. Murell was asleep, and in no danger whatever. They'd given +him a couple of injections and a sedative, and his system was throwing +off the poison satisfactorily. He'd be all right, but they thought he +ought to be allowed to rest at the hospital for a while. + +By then, it was time for me to leave for Hunters' Hall. Julio and Mrs. +Laden were having their dinner, and Dad and Bish went up to the +editorial office. I didn't take a car. Hunters' Hall was only a half +dozen blocks south of the Times, toward the waterfront. I carried my +radio-under-false-pretense slung from my shoulder, and started +downtown on foot. + +The business district was pretty well lighted, both from the ceiling +and by the stores and restaurants. Most of the latter were in the +open, with small kitchen and storage buildings. At a table at one of +them I saw two petty officers from the _Peenemünde_ with a couple of +girls, so I knew the ship wasn't leaving immediately. Going past the +Municipal Building, I saw some activity, and an unusually large number +of police gathered around the vehicle port. Ravick must have his +doubts about how the price cut was going to be received, and Mort +Hallstock was mobilizing his storm troopers to give him support in +case he needed it. I called in about that, and Dad told me fretfully +to be sure to stay out of trouble. + +Hunters' Hall was a four-story building, fairly substantial as +buildings that don't have to support the roof go, with a landing stage +on top and a vehicle park underneath. As I came up, I saw a lot of +cars and jeeps and ships' boats grounded in and around it, and a crowd +of men, almost all of them in boat-clothes and wearing whiskers, +including quite a few characters who had never been out in a +hunter-ship in their lives but were members in the best of good +standing of the Co-operative. I also saw a few of Hallstock's +uniformed thugs standing around with their thumbs in their gun belts +or twirling their truncheons. + +I took an escalator up to the second floor, which was one big room, +with the escalators and elevators in the rear. It was the social room, +decorated with photos and models and solidigraphs of hunter-ships, +photos of record-sized monsters lashed alongside ships before +cutting-up, group pictures of ships's crews, monster tusks, dried +slashers and halberd fish, and a whole monster head, its tusked mouth +open. There was a big crowd there, too, at the bar, at the game +machines, or just standing around in groups talking. + +I saw Tom Kivelson and his father and Oscar Fujisawa, and went over to +join them. Joe Kivelson is just an outsize edition of his son, with a +blond beard that's had thirty-five years' more growth. Oscar is +skipper of the _Pequod_--he wouldn't have looked baffled if Bish Ware +called him Captain Ahab--and while his family name is Old Terran +Japanese, he had blue eyes and red hair and beard. He was almost as +big as Joe Kivelson. + +"Hello, Walt," Joe greeted me. "What's this Tom's been telling me +about Bish Ware shooting a tread-snail that was going to sting Mr. +Murell?" + +"Just about that," I said. "That snail must have crawled out from +between two stacks of wax as we came up. We never saw it till it was +all over. It was right beside Murell and had its stinger up when Bish +shot it." + +"He took an awful chance," Kivelson said. "He might of shot Mr. +Murell." + +I suppose it would look that way to Joe. He is the planet's worst +pistol shot, so according to him nobody can hit anything with a +pistol. + +"He wouldn't have taken any chance not shooting," I said. "If he +hadn't, we'd have been running the Murell story with black borders." + +Another man came up, skinny, red hair, sharp-pointed nose. His name +was Al Devis, and he was Joe Kivelson's engineer's helper. He wanted +to know about the tread-snail shooting, so I had to go over it again. +I hadn't anything to add to what Tom had told them already, but I was +the _Times_, and if the _Times_ says so it's true. + +"Well, I wouldn't want any drunk like Bish Ware shooting around me +with a pistol," Joe Kivelson said. + +That's relative, too. Joe doesn't drink. + +"Don't kid yourself, Joe," Oscar told him. "I saw Bish shoot a knife +out of a man's hand, one time, in One Eye Swanson's. Didn't scratch +the guy; hit the blade. One Eye has the knife, with the bullet mark on +it, over his back bar, now." + +"Well, was he drunk then?" Joe asked. + +"Well, he had to hang onto the bar with one hand while he fired with +the other." Then he turned to me. "How is Murell, now?" he asked. + +I told him what the hospital had given us. Everybody seemed much +relieved. I wouldn't have thought that a celebrated author of whom +nobody had ever heard before would be the center of so much interest +in monster-hunting circles. I kept looking at my watch while we were +talking. After a while, the Times newscast came on the big screen +across the room, and everybody moved over toward it. + +They watched the _Peenemünde_ being towed down and berthed, and the +audiovisual interview with Murell. Then Dad came on the screen with a +record player in front of them, and gave them a play-off of my +interview with Leo Belsher. + +Ordinary bad language I do not mind. I'm afraid I use a little myself, +while struggling with some of the worn-out equipment we have at the +paper. But when Belsher began explaining about how the price of wax +had to be cut again, to thirty-five centisols a pound, the language +those hunters used positively smelled. I noticed, though, that a lot +of the crowd weren't saying anything at all. They would be Ravick's +boys, and they would have orders not to start anything before the +meeting. + +"Wonder if he's going to try to give us that stuff about substitutes?" +Oscar said. + +"Well, what are you going to do?" I asked. + +"I'll tell you what we're not going to do," Joe Kivelson said. "We're +not going to take his price cut. If he won't pay our price, he can use +his [deleted by censor] substitutes." + +"You can't sell wax anywhere else, can you?" + +"Is that so, we can't?" Joe started. + +Before he could say anything else, Oscar was interrupting: + +"We can eat for a while, even if we don't sell wax. Sigurd Ngozori'll +carry us for a while and make loans on wax. But if the wax stops +coming in, Kapstaad Chemical's going to start wondering why...." + +By this time, other _Javelin_ men came drifting over--Ramón Llewellyn, +the mate, and Abdullah Monnahan, the engineer, and Abe Clifford, the +navigator, and some others. I talked with some of them, and then +drifted off in the direction of the bar, where I found another hunter +captain, Mohandas Gandhi Feinberg, whom everybody simply called the +Mahatma. He didn't resemble his namesake. He had a curly black beard +with a twisted black cigar sticking out of it, and nobody, after one +look at him, would have mistaken him for any apostle of nonviolence. + +He had a proposition he was enlisting support for. He wanted balloting +at meetings to be limited to captains of active hunter-ships, the +captains to vote according to expressed wishes of a majority of their +crews. It was a good scheme, though it would have sounded better if +the man who was advocating it hadn't been a captain himself. At least, +it would have disenfranchised all Ravick's permanently unemployed +"unemployed hunters." The only trouble was, there was no conceivable +way of getting it passed. It was too much like trying to curtail the +powers of Parliament by act of Parliament. + +The gang from the street level started coming up, and scattered in +twos and threes around the hall, ready for trouble. I'd put on my +radio when I'd joined the Kivelsons and Oscar, and I kept it on, +circulating around and letting it listen to the conversations. The +Ravick people were either saying nothing or arguing that Belsher was +doing the best he could, and if Kapstaad wouldn't pay more than +thirty-five centisols, it wasn't his fault. Finally, the call bell for +the meeting began clanging, and the crowd began sliding over toward +the elevators and escalators. + +The meeting room was on the floor above, at the front of the building, +beyond a narrow hall and a door at which a couple of Ravick henchmen +wearing guns and sergeant-at-arms brassards were making everybody +check their knives and pistols. They passed me by without getting my +arsenal, which consisted of a sleep-gas projector camouflaged as a +jumbo-sized lighter and twenty sols in two rolls of forty quarter sols +each. One of these inside a fist can make a big difference. + +Ravick and Belsher and the secretary of the Co-op, who was a little +scrawny henpecked-husband type who never had an opinion of his own in +his life, were all sitting back of a big desk on a dais in front. +After as many of the crowd who could had found seats and the rest, +including the Press, were standing in the rear, Ravick pounded with +the chunk of monster tusk he used for a gavel and called the meeting +to order. + +"There's a bunch of old business," he said, "but I'm going to rule +that aside for the moment. We have with us this evening our +representative on Terra, Mr. Leo Belsher, whom I wish to present. Mr. +Belsher." + +Belsher got up. Ravick started clapping his hands to indicate that +applause was in order. A few of his zombies clapped their hands; +everybody else was quiet. Belsher held up a hand. + +"Please don't applaud," he begged. "What I have to tell you isn't +anything to applaud about." + +"You're tootin' well right it isn't!" somebody directly in front of me +said, very distinctly. + +"I'm very sorry to have to bring this news to you, but the fact is +that Kapstaad Chemical Products, Ltd., is no longer able to pay +forty-five centisols a pound. This price is being scaled down to +thirty-five centisols. I want you to understand that Kapstaad Chemical +wants to give you every cent they can, but business conditions no +longer permit them to pay the old price. Thirty-five is the absolute +maximum they can pay and still meet competition--" + +"Aaah, knock it off, Belsher!" somebody shouted. "We heard all that +rot on the screen." + +"How about our contract?" somebody else asked. "We do have a contract +with Kapstaad, don't we?" + +"Well, the contract will have to be re-negotiated. They'll pay +thirty-five centisols or they'll pay nothing." + +"They can try getting along without wax. Or try buying it somewhere +else!" + +"Yes; those wonderful synthetic substitutes!" + +"Mr. Chairman," Oscar Fujisawa called out. "I move that this +organization reject the price of thirty-five centisols a pound for +tallow-wax, as offered by, or through, Leo Belsher at this meeting." + +Ravick began clamoring that Oscar was out of order, that Leo Belsher +had the floor. + +"I second Captain Fujisawa's motion," Mohandas Feinberg said. + +"And Leo Belsher doesn't have the floor; he's not a member of the +Co-operative," Tom Kivelson declared. "He's our hired employee, and as +soon as this present motion is dealt with, I intend moving that we +fire him and hire somebody else." + +"I move to amend Captain Fujisawa's motion," Joe Kivelson said. "I +move that the motion, as amended, read, '--and stipulate a price of +seventy-five centisols a pound.'" + +"You're crazy!" Belsher almost screamed. + +Seventy-five was the old price, from which he and Ravick had been +reducing until they'd gotten down to forty-five. + +Just at that moment, my radio began making a small fuss. I unhooked +the handphone and brought it to my face. + +"Yeah?" + +It was Bish Ware's voice: "Walt, get hold of the Kivelsons and get +them out of Hunters' Hall as fast as you can," he said. "I just got a +tip from one of my ... my parishioners. Ravick's going to stage a riot +to give Hallstock's cops an excuse to raid the meeting. They want the +Kivelsons." + +"Roger." I hung up, and as I did I could hear Joe Kivelson shouting: + +"You think we don't get any news on this planet? Tallow-wax has been +selling for the same price on Terra that it did eight years ago, when +you two crooks started cutting the price. Why, the very ship Belsher +came here on brought the quotations on the commodity market--" + +I edged through the crowd till I was beside Oscar Fujisawa. I decided +the truth would need a little editing; I didn't want to use Bish Ware +as my source. + +"Oscar, Dad just called me," I told him. "A tip came in to the Times +that Ravick's boys are going to fake a riot and Hallstock's cops are +going to raid the meeting. They want Joe and Tom. You know what +they'll do if they get hold of them." + +"Shot while resisting arrest. You sure this is a good tip, though?" + +Across the room, somebody jumped to his feet, kicking over a chair. + +"That's a double two-em-dashed lie, you etaoin shrdlu so-and-so!" +somebody yelled. + +"Who are you calling a so-and-so, you thus-and-so-ing such-and-such?" +somebody else yelled back, and a couple more chairs got smashed and a +swirl of fighting started. + +"Yes, it is," Oscar decided. "Let's go." + +We started plowing through the crowd toward where the Kivelsons and a +couple more of the _Javelin_ crew were clumped. I got one of the rolls +of quarter sols into my right fist and let Oscar go ahead. He has more +mass than I have. + +It was a good thing I did, because before we had gone ten feet, some +character got between us, dragged a two-foot length of inch-and-a-half +high-pressure hose out of his pant leg, and started to swing at the +back of Oscar's head. I promptly clipped him behind the ear with a +fist full of money, and down he went. Oscar, who must have eyes in +the back of his head, turned and grabbed the hose out of his hand +before he dropped it, using it to clout somebody in front of him. +Somebody else came pushing toward us, and I was about to clip him, +too, when he yelled, "Watch it, Walt; I'm with it!" It was Cesário +Vieira, another _Javelin_ man; he's engaged to Linda Kivelson, Joe's +daughter and Tom's sister, the one going to school on Terra. + +Then we had reached Tom and Joe Kivelson. Oscar grabbed Joe by the +arm. + +"Come on, Joe; let's get moving," he said. "Hallstock's Gestapo are on +the way. They have orders to get you dead or alive." + +"Like blazes!" Joe told him. "I never chickened out on a fight yet, +and--" + +That's what I'd been afraid of. Joe is like a Zarathustra veldtbeest; +the only tactics he knows is a headlong attack. + +"You want to get your crew and your son killed, and yourself along +with them?" Oscar asked him. "That's what'll happen if the cops catch +you. Now are you coming, or will I have to knock you senseless and +drag you out?" + +Fortunately, at that moment somebody took a swing at Joe and grazed +his cheek. It was a good thing that was all he did; he was wearing +brass knuckles. Joe went down a couple of feet, bending at the knees, +and caught this fellow around the hips with both hands, straightening +and lifting him over his head. Then he threw him over the heads of the +people in front of him. There were yells where the human missile +landed. + +"That's the stuff, Joe!" Oscar shouted. "Come on, we got them on the +run!" + +That, of course, converted a strategic retreat into an attack. We got +Joe aimed toward the doors and before he knew it, we were out in the +hall by the elevators. There were a couple of Ravick's men, with +sergeant-at-arms arm bands, and two city cops. One of the latter got +in Joe's way. Joe punched him in the face and knocked him back about +ten feet in a sliding stagger before he dropped. The other cop grabbed +me by the left arm. + +I slugged him under the jaw with my ten-sol right and knocked him out, +and I felt the wrapping on the coin roll break and the quarters come +loose in my hand. Before I could drop them into my jacket pocket and +get out the other roll, one of the sergeants at arms drew a gun. I +just hurled the handful of coins at him. He dropped the pistol and put +both hands to his face, howling in pain. + +I gave a small mental howl myself when I thought of all the nice +things I could have bought for ten sols. One of Joe Kivelson's +followers stooped and scooped up the fallen pistol, firing a couple of +times with it. Then we all rushed Joe into one of the elevators and +crowded in behind him, and as I turned to start it down I could hear +police sirens from the street and also from the landing stage above. +In the hall outside the meeting room, four or five of Ravick's +free-drink mercenaries were down on all fours scrabbling for coins, +and the rest of the pursuers from the meeting room were stumbling and +tripping over them. I wished I'd brought a camera along, too. The +public would have loved a shot of that. I lifted the radio and spoke +into it: + +"This is Walter Boyd, returning you now to the regular entertainment +program." + +A second later, the thing whistled at me. As the car started down and +the doors closed I lifted the handphone. It was Bish Ware again. + +"We're going down in the elevator to Second Level Down," I said. "I +have Joe and Tom and Oscar Fujisawa and a few of the _Javelin_ crew +with me. The place is crawling with cops now." + +"Go to Third Level Down and get up on the catwalk on the right," Bish +said. "I'll be along to pick you up." + +"Roger. We'll be looking for you." + +The car stopped at Second Level Down. I punched a button and sent it +down another level. Joe Kivelson, who was dabbing at his cheek with a +piece of handkerchief tissue, wanted to know what was up. + +"We're getting a pickup," I told him. "Vehicle from the _Times_." + +I thought it would save arguments if I didn't mention who was bringing +it. + + + + +6 + +ELEMENTARY, MY DEAR KIVELSON + + +Before we left the lighted elevator car, we took a quick nose count. +Besides the Kivelsons, there were five _Javelin_ men--Ramón Llewellyn, +Abdullah Monnahan, Abe Clifford, Cesário Vieira, and a whitebeard +named Piet Dumont. Al Devis had been with us when we crashed the door +out of the meeting room, but he'd fallen by the way. We had a couple +of flashlights, so, after sending the car down to Bottom Level, we +picked our way up the zigzag iron stairs to the catwalk, under the +seventy-foot ceiling, and sat down in the dark. + +Joe Kivelson was fretting about what would happen to the rest of his +men. + +"Fine captain I am, running out and leaving them!" + +"If they couldn't keep up, that's their tough luck," Oscar Fujisawa +told him. "You brought out all you could. If you'd waited any longer, +none of us would have gotten out." + +"They won't bother with them," I added. "You and Tom and Oscar, here, +are the ones they want." + +Joe was still letting himself be argued into thinking he had done the +right thing when we saw the lights of a lorry coming from uptown at +ceiling level. A moment later, it backed to the catwalk, and Bish Ware +stuck his head out from the pilot's seat. + +"Where do you gentlemen wish to go?" he asked. + +"To the _Javelin_," Joe said instantly. + +"Huh-uh," Oscar disagreed. "That's the first place they'll look. +That'll be all right for Ramón and the others, but if they catch you +and Tom, they'll shoot you and call it self-defense, or take you in +and beat both of you to a jelly. This'll blow over in fifteen or +twenty hours, but I'm not going anywhere near my ship, now." + +"Drop us off on Second Level Down, about Eighth Street and a couple of +blocks from the docks," the mate, Llewellyn, said. "We'll borrow some +weapons from Patel the Pawnbroker and then circulate around and see +what's going on. But you and Joe and Oscar had better go underground +for a while." + +"The _Times_," I said. "We have a whole pillar-building to ourselves; +we could hide half the population." + +That was decided upon. We all piled into the lorry, and Bish took it +to an inconspicuous place on the Second Level and let down. Ramón +Llewellyn and the others got out. Then we went up to Main City Level. +We passed within a few blocks of Hunters' Hall. There was a lot of +noise, but no shooting. + +Joe Kivelson didn't have anything to say, on the trip, but he kept +looking at the pilot's seat in perplexity and apprehension. I think +he expected Bish to try to ram the lorry through every building we +passed by or over. + +We found Dad in the editorial department on the top floor, feeding +voice-tape to Julio while the latter made master sheets for +teleprinting. I gave him a quick rundown on what had happened that he +hadn't gotten from my radio. Dad cluck-clucked in disapproval, either +at my getting into a fight, assaulting an officer, or, literally, +throwing money away. + +Bish Ware seemed a little troubled. "I think," he said, "that I shall +make a circuit of my diocese, and see what can be learned from my +devoted flock. Should I turn up anything significant, I will call it +in." + +With that, he went tottering over to the elevator, stumbling on the +way and making an unepiscopal remark. I watched him, and then turned +to Dad. + +"Did he have anything to drink after I left?" I asked. + +"Nothing but about five cups of coffee." + +I mentally marked that: _Add oddities, Bish Ware._ He'd been at least +four hours without liquor, and he was walking as unsteadily as when +I'd first seen him at the spaceport. I didn't know any kind of liquor +that would persist like that. + +Julio had at least an hour's tape to transcribe, so Dad and Joe and +Tom and Oscar and I went to the living room on the floor below. Joe +was still being bewildered about Bish Ware. + +"How'd he manage to come for us?" he wanted to know. + +"Why, he was here with me all evening," Dad said. "He came from the +spaceport with Walt and Tom, and had dinner with us. He called a few +people from here, and found out about the fake riot and police raid +Ravick had cooked up. You'd be surprised at how much information he +can pick up around town." + +Joe looked at his son, alarmed. + +"Hey! You let him see--" he began. + +"The wax on Bottom Level, in the Fourth Ward?" I asked. "He won't blab +about that. He doesn't blab things where they oughtn't be blabbed." + +"That's right," Dad backed me up. He was beginning to think of Bish as +one of the _Times_ staff, now. "We got a lot of tips from him, but +nothing we give him gets out." He got his pipe lit again. "What about +that wax, Joe?" he asked. "Were you serious when you made that motion +about a price of seventy-five centisols?" + +"I sure was!" Joe declared. "That's the real price, and always has +been, and that's what we get or Kapstaad doesn't get any more wax." + +"If Murell can top it, maybe Kapstaad won't get any more wax, period," +I said. "Who's he with--Interstellar Import-Export?" + +Anybody would have thought a barbwire worm had crawled onto Joe +Kivelson's chair seat under him. + +"Where'd you hear that?" he demanded, which is the Galaxy's silliest +question to ask any newsman. "Tom, if you've been talking--" + +"He hasn't," I said. "He didn't need to. It sticks out a parsec in all +directions." I mentioned some of the things I'd noticed while +interviewing Murell, and his behavior after leaving the ship. "Even +before I'd talked to him, I wondered why Tom was so anxious to get +aboard with me. He didn't know we'd arranged to put Murell up here; he +was going to take him to see that wax, and then take him to the +_Javelin_. You were going to produce him at the meeting and have him +bid against Belsher, only that tread-snail fouled your lines for you. +So then you thought you had to stall off a new contract till he got +out of the hospital." + +The two Kivelsons and Oscar Fujisawa were looking at one another; Joe +and Tom in consternation, and Oscar in derision of both of them. I was +feeling pretty good. Brother, I thought, Sherlock Holmes never did +better, himself. + +That, all of a sudden, reminded me of Dr. John Watson, whom Bish +perceived to have been in Afghanistan. That was one thing Sherlock H. +Boyd hadn't deduced any answers for. Well, give me a little more time. +And more data. + +"You got it all figured out, haven't you?" Joe was asking +sarcastically. The sarcasm was as hollow as an empty oil drum. + +"The _Times_," Dad was saying, trying not to sound too proud, "has a +very sharp reportorial staff, Joe." + +"It isn't Interstellar," Oscar told me, grinning. "It's Argentine +Exotic Organics. You know, everybody thought Joe, here, was getting +pretty high-toned, sending his daughter to school on Terra. School +wasn't the only thing she went for. We got a letter from her, the last +time the Cape Canaveral was in, saying that she'd contacted Argentine +Organics and that a man was coming out on the _Peenemünde_, posing as +a travel-book author. Well, he's here, now." + +"You'd better keep an eye on him," I advised. "If Steve Ravick gets +to him, he won't be much use to you." + +"You think Ravick would really harm Murell?" Dad asked. + +He thought so, too. He was just trying to comfort himself by +pretending he didn't. + +"What do you think, Ralph?" Oscar asked him. "If we get competitive +wax buying, again, seventy-five a pound will be the starting price. +I'm not spending the money till I get it, but I wouldn't be surprised +to see wax go to a sol a pound on the loading floor here. And you know +what that would mean." + +"Thirty for Steve Ravick," Dad said. That puzzled Oscar, till I +explained that "thirty" is newsese for "the end." "I guess Walt's +right. Ravick would do anything to prevent that." He thought for a +moment. "Joe, you were using the wrong strategy. You should have let +Ravick get that thirty-five centisol price established for the +Co-operative, and then had Murell offer seventy-five or something like +that." + +"You crazy?" Joe demanded. "Why, then the Co-op would have been stuck +with it." + +"That's right. And as soon as Murell's price was announced, everybody +would drop out of the Co-operative and reclaim their wax, even the +captains who owe Ravick money. He'd have nobody left but a handful of +thugs and barflies." + +"But that would smash the Co-operative," Joe Kivelson objected. +"Listen, Ralph; I've been in the Co-operative all my life, since +before Steve Ravick was heard of on this planet. I've worked hard for +the Co-operative, and--" + +You didn't work hard enough, I thought. You let Steve Ravick take it +away from you. Dad told Joe pretty much the same thing: + +"You don't have a Co-operative, Joe. Steve Ravick has a racket. The +only thing you can do with this organization is smash it, and then +rebuild it with Ravick and his gang left out." + +Joe puzzled over that silently. He'd been thinking that it was the +same Co-operative his father and Simon MacGregor and the other old +hunters had organized, and that getting rid of Ravick was simply a +matter of voting him out. He was beginning to see, now, that +parliamentary procedure wasn't any weapon against Ravick's force and +fraud and intimidation. + +"I think Walt has something," Oscar Fujisawa said. "As long as +Murell's in the hospital at the spaceport, he's safe, but as soon as +he gets out of Odin Dock & Shipyard territory, he's going to be a clay +pigeon." + +Tom hadn't been saying anything. Now he cleared his throat. + +"On the _Peenemünde_, I was talking about taking Mr. Murell for a trip +in the _Javelin_," he said. "That was while we were still pretending +he'd come here to write a book. Maybe that would be a good idea, +anyhow." + +"It's a cinch we can't let him get killed on us," his father said. "I +doubt if Exotic Organics would send anybody else out, if he was." + +"Here," Dad said. "We'll run the story we have on him in the morning +edition, and then correct it and apologize to the public for +misleading them and explain in the evening edition. And before he +goes, we can have him make an audiovisual for the 'cast, telling +everybody who he is and announcing the price he's offering. We'll put +that on the air. Get enough publicity, and Steve Ravick won't dare do +anything to him." + +Publicity, I thought, is the only weapon Dad knows how to use. He +thinks it's invincible. Me, I wouldn't bet on what Steve Ravick +wouldn't dare do if you gave me a hundred to one. Ravick had been in +power too long, and he was drunker on it than Bish Ware ever got on +Baldur honey-rum. As an intoxicant, rum is practically a soft drink +beside power. + +"Well, do you think Ravick's gotten onto Murell yet?" Oscar said. "We +kept that a pretty close secret. Joe and I knew about him, and so did +the Mahatma and Nip Spazoni and Corkscrew Finnegan, and that was all." + +"I didn't even tell Tom, here, till the _Peenemünde_ got into radio +range," Joe Kivelson said. "Then I only told him and Ramón and +Abdullah and Abe and Hans Cronje." + +"And Al Devis," Tom added. "He came into the conning tower while you +were telling the rest of us." + +The communication screen began buzzing, and I went and put it on. It +was Bish Ware, calling from a pay booth somewhere. + +"I have some early returns," he said. "The cops cleared everybody out +of Hunters' Hall except the Ravick gang. Then Ravick reconvened the +meeting, with nobody but his gang. They were very careful to make sure +they had enough for a legal quorum under the bylaws, and then they +voted to accept the new price of thirty-five centisols a pound." + +"That's what I was afraid of," Joe Kivelson said. "Did they arrest any +of my crew?" + +"Not that I know of," Bish said. "They made a few arrests, but turned +everybody loose later. They're still looking for you and your son. As +far as I know, they aren't interested in anybody else." He glanced +hastily over his shoulder, as though to make sure the door of the +booth was secure. "I'm with some people, now. I'll call you back +later." + +"Well, that's that, Joe," Oscar said, after Bish blanked the screen. +"The Ravick Co-op's stuck with the price cut. The only thing left to +do is get everybody out of it we can, and organize a new one." + +"I guess that's so," Joe agreed. "I wonder, though if Ravick has +really got wise to Murell." + +"Walt figured it out since the ship got in," Oscar said. "Belsher's +been on the ship with Murell for six months. Well, call it three; +everything speeds up about double in hyperspace. But in three months +he ought to see as much as Walt saw in a couple of hours." + +"Well, maybe Belsher doesn't know what's suspicious, the way Walt +does," Tom said. + +"I'm sure he doesn't," I said. "But he and Murell are both in the wax +business. I'll bet he noticed dozens of things I never even saw." + +"Then we'd better take awfully good care of Mr. Murell," Tom said. +"Get him aboard as fast as we can, and get out of here with him. Walt, +you're coming along, aren't you?" + +That was what we'd agreed, while Glenn Murell was still the famous +travel-book author. I wanted to get out of it, now. There wouldn't be +anything happening aboard the _Javelin_, and a lot happening here in +Port Sandor. Dad had the same idea, only he was one hundred per cent +for my going with Murell. I think he wanted me out of Port Sandor, +where I wouldn't get in the way of any small high-velocity particles +of lead that might be whizzing around. + + + + +7 + +ABOARD THE _JAVELIN_ + + +We heard nothing more from Bish Ware that evening. Joe and Tom +Kivelson and Oscar Fujisawa slept at the _Times_ Building, and after +breakfast Dad called the spaceport hospital about Murell. He had +passed a good night and seemed to have thrown off all the poison he +had absorbed through his skin. Dad talked to him, and advised him not +to leave until somebody came for him. Tom and I took a car--and a +pistol apiece and a submachine gun--and went to get him. Remembering, +at the last moment, what I had done to his trousers, I unpacked his +luggage and got another suit for him. + +He was grateful for that, and he didn't lift an eyebrow when he saw +the artillery we had with us. He knew, already, what the score was, +and the rules, or absence thereof, of the game, and accepted us as +members of his team. We dropped to the Bottom Level and went, avoiding +traffic, to where the wax was stored. There were close to a dozen +guards there now, all heavily armed. + +We got out of the car, I carrying the chopper, and one of the gang +there produced a probe rod and microscope and a testing kit and a +microray scanner. Murell took his time going over the wax, jabbing the +probe rod in and pulling samples out of the big plastic-skinned +sausages at random, making chemical tests, examining them under the +microscope, and scanning other cylinders to make sure there was no +foreign matter in them. He might not know what a literary agent was, +but he knew tallow-wax. + +I found out from the guards that there hadn't been any really serious +trouble after we left Hunter's Hall. The city police had beaten a few +men up, natch, and run out all the anti-Ravick hunters, and then +Ravick had reconvened the meeting and acceptance of the thirty-five +centisol price had been voted unanimously. The police were still +looking for the Kivelsons. Ravick seemed to have gotten the idea that +Joe Kivelson was the mastermind of the hunters' cabal against him. I +know if I'd found that Joe Kivelson and Oscar Fujisawa were in any +kind of a conspiracy together, I wouldn't pick Joe for the mastermind. +It was just possible, I thought, that Oscar had been fostering this +himself, in case anything went wrong. After all, self-preservation is +the first law, and Oscar is a self-preserving type. + +After Murell had finished his inspection and we'd gotten back in the +car and were lifting, I asked him what he was going to offer, just as +though I were the skipper of the biggest ship out of Port Sandor. +Well, it meant as much to us as it did to the hunters. The more wax +sold for, the more advertising we'd sell to the merchants, and the +more people would rent teleprinters from us. + +"Eighty centisols a pound," he said. Nice and definite; quite a +difference from the way he stumbled around over listing his previous +publications. "Seventy-five's the Kapstaad price, regardless of what +you people here have been getting from that crook of a Belsher. We'll +have to go far enough beyond that to make him have to run like blazes +to catch up. You can put it in the _Times_ that the day of +monopolistic marketing on Fenris is over." + + * * * * * + +When we got back to the _Times_, I asked Dad if he'd heard anything +more from Bish. + +"Yes," he said unhappily. "He didn't call in, this morning, so I +called his apartment and didn't get an answer. Then I called Harry +Wong's. Harry said Bish had been in there till after midnight, with +some other people." He named three disreputables, two female and one +male. "They were drinking quite a lot. Harry said Bish was plastered +to the ears. They finally went out, around 0130. He said the police +were in and out checking the crowd, but they didn't make any trouble." + +I nodded, feeling very badly. Four and a half hours had been his +limit. Well, sometimes a ninety per cent failure is really a triumph; +after all, it's a ten per cent success. Bish had gone four and a half +hours without taking a drink. Maybe the percentage would be a little +better the next time. I was surely old enough to stop expecting +miracles. + +The mate of the _Pequod_ called in, around noon, and said it was safe +for Oscar to come back to the ship. The mate of the _Javelin_, Ramón +Llewellyn, called in with the same report, that along the waterfront, at +least, the heat was off. However, he had started an ambitious-looking +overhaul operation, which looked as though it was good for a hundred +hours but which could be dropped on a minute's notice, and under cover +of this he had been taking on supplies and ammunition. + +We made a long audiovisual of Murell announcing his price of eighty +centisols a pound for wax on behalf of Argentine Exotic Organics, Ltd. +As soon as that was finished, we loaded the boat-clothes we'd picked +up for him and his travel kit and mine into a car, with Julio Kubanoff +to bring it back to the _Times_, and went to the waterfront. When we +arrived, Ramón Llewellyn had gotten things cleared up, and the +_Javelin_ was ready to move as soon as we came aboard. + +On the Main City Level, the waterfront is a hundred feet above the +ship pools; the ships load from and discharge onto the First Level +Down. The city roof curves down all along the south side of the city +into the water and about fifty feet below it. That way, even in the +post-sunset and post-dawn storms, ships can come in submerged around +the outer breakwater and under the roof, and we don't get any wind or +heavy seas along the docks. + +Murell was interested in everything he saw, in the brief time while we +were going down along the docks to where the _Javelin_ was berthed. I +knew he'd never actually seen it before, but he must have been +studying pictures of it, because from some of the remarks he made, I +could tell that he was familiar with it. + +Most of the ships had lifted out of the water and were resting on the +wide concrete docks, but the _Javelin_ was afloat in the pool, her +contragravity on at specific-gravity weight reduction. She was a +typical hunter-ship, a hundred feet long by thirty abeam, with a squat +conning tower amidships, and turrets for 50-mm guns and launchers for +harpoon rockets fore and aft. The only thing open about her was the +air-and-water lock under the conning tower. Julio, who was piloting +the car, set it down on the top of the aft gun turret. A couple of the +crewmen who were on deck grabbed our bags and hurried them inside. We +followed, and as soon as Julio lifted away, the lock was sealed. + +Immediately, as the contragravity field dropped below the specific +gravity of the ship, she began submerging. I got up into the conning +tower in time to see the water of the boat pool come up over the +armor-glass windows and the outside lights come on. For a few minutes, +the _Javelin_ swung slowly and moved forward, feeling her way with +fingers of radar out of the pool and down the channel behind the +breakwater and under the overhang of the city roof. Then the water +line went slowly down across the windows as she surfaced. A moment +later she was on full contragravity, and the ship which had been a +submarine was now an aircraft. + +Murell, who was accustomed to the relatively drab sunsets of Terra, +simply couldn't take his eyes from the spectacle that covered the +whole western half of the sky--high clouds streaming away from the +daylight zone to the west and lighted from below by the sun. There +were more clouds coming in at a lower level from the east. By the time +the _Javelin_ returned to Port Sandor, it would be full dark and rain, +which would soon turn to snow, would be falling. Then we'd be in for +it again for another thousand hours. + +Ramón Llewellyn was saying to Joe Kivelson: "We're one man short; +Devis, Abdullah's helper. Hospital." + +"Get hurt in the fight, last night? He was right with us till we got +out to the elevators, and then I missed him." + +"No. He made it back to the ship about the same time we did, and he +was all right then. Didn't even have a scratch. Strained his back at +work, this morning, trying to lift a power-unit cartridge by hand." + +I could believe that. Those things weighed a couple of hundred pounds. +Joe Kivelson swore. + +"What's he think this is, the First Century Pre-Atomic? Aren't there +any lifters on the ship?" + +Llewellyn shrugged. "Probably didn't want to bother taking a couple of +steps to get one. The doctor told him to take treatment and +observation for a day or so." + +"That's Al Devis?" I asked. "What hospital?" Al Devis's strained back +would be good for a two-line item; he'd feel hurt if we didn't mention +it. + +"Co-op hospital." + +That was all right. They always sent in their patient lists to the +_Times_. Tom was griping because he'd have to do Devis's work and his +own. + +"You know anything about engines, Walt?" he asked me. + +"I know they generate a magnetic current and convert rotary magnetic +current into one-directional repulsion fields, and violate the +daylights out of all the old Newtonian laws of motion and attraction," +I said. "I read that in a book. That was as far as I got. The math got +a little complicated after that, and I started reading another book." + +"You'd be a big help. Think you could hit anything with a 50-mm?" Tom +asked. "I know you're pretty sharp with a pistol or a chopper, but a +cannon's different." + +"I could try. If you want to heave over an empty packing case or +something, I could waste a few rounds seeing if I could come anywhere +close to it." + +"We'll do that," he said. "Ordinarily, I handle the after gun when we +sight a monster, but somebody'll have to help Abdullah with the +engines." + +He spoke to his father about it. Joe Kivelson nodded. + +"Walt's made some awful lucky shots with that target pistol of his, I +know that," he said, "and I saw him make hamburger out of a slasher, +once, with a chopper. Have somebody blow a couple of wax skins full of +air for targets, and when we get a little farther southeast, we'll go +down to the surface and have some shooting." + +I convinced Murell that the sunset would still be there in a couple of +hours, and we took our luggage down and found the cubbyhole he and I +would share with Tom for sleeping quarters. A hunter-ship looks big on +the outside, but there's very little room for the crew. The engines +are much bigger than would be needed on an ordinary contragravity +craft, because a hunter-ship operates under water as well as in the +air. Then, there's a lot of cargo space for the wax, and the boat +berth aft for the scout boat, so they're not exactly built for +comfort. They don't really need to be; a ship's rarely out more than a +hundred and fifty hours on any cruise. + +Murell had done a lot of reading about every phase of the wax +business, and he wanted to learn everything he could by actual +observation. He said that Argentine Exotic Organics was going to keep +him here on Fenris as a resident buyer and his job was going to be to +deal with the hunters, either individually or through their +co-operative organization, if they could get rid of Ravick and set up +something he could do business with, and he wanted to be able to talk +the hunters' language and understand their problems. + +So I took him around over the boat, showing him everything and +conscripting any crew members I came across to explain what I +couldn't. I showed him the scout boat in its berth, and we climbed +into it and looked around. I showed him the machine that packed the +wax into skins, and the cargo holds, and the electrolytic gills that +extracted oxygen from sea water while we were submerged, and the +ship's armament. Finally, we got to the engine room, forward. He +whistled when he saw the engines. + +"Why, those things are big enough for a five-thousand-ton freighter," +he said. + +"They have to be," I said. "Running submerged isn't the same as +running in atmosphere. You ever done any swimming?" + +He shook his head. "I was born in Antarctica, on Terra. The water's a +little too cold to do much swimming there. And I've spent most of my +time since then in central Argentine, in the pampas country. The +sports there are horseback riding and polo and things like that." + +Well, whattaya know! Here was a man who had not only seen a horse, but +actually ridden one. That in itself was worth a story in the _Times_. + +Tom and Abdullah, who were fussing around the engines, heard that. +They knocked off what they were doing and began asking him +questions--I suppose he thought they were awfully silly, but he +answered all of them patiently--about horses and riding. I was looking +at a couple of spare power-unit cartridges, like the one Al Devis had +strained his back on, clamped to the deck out of the way. + +They were only as big as a one-liter jar, rounded at one end and flat +at the other where the power cable was connected, but they weighed +close to two hundred pounds apiece. Most of the weight was on the +outside; a dazzlingly bright plating of collapsium--collapsed matter, +the electron shell collapsed onto the nucleus and the atoms in actual +physical contact--and absolutely nothing but nothing could get through +it. Inside was about a kilogram of strontium-90; it would keep on +emitting electrons for twenty-five years, normally, but there was a +miniature plutonium reactor, itself shielded with collapsium, which, +among other things, speeded that process up considerably. A cartridge +was good for about five years; two of them kept the engines in +operation. + +The engines themselves converted the electric current from the power +cartridges into magnetic current, and lifted the ship and propelled +it. Abdullah was explaining that to Murell and Murell seemed to be +getting it satisfactorily. + +Finally, we left them; Murell wanted to see the sunset some more and +went up to the conning tower where Joe and Ramón were, and I decided +to take a nap while I had a chance. + + + + +8 + +PRACTICE, 50-MM GUN + + +It seemed as though I had barely fallen asleep before I was wakened by +the ship changing direction and losing altitude. I knew there were +clouds coming in from the east, now, on the lower air currents, and I +supposed that Joe was taking the _Javelin_ below them to have a look +at the surface of the sea. So I ran up to the conning tower, and when +I got there I found that the lower clouds were solid over us, it was +growing dark, and another hunter-ship was approaching with her lights +on. + +"Who is she?" I asked. + +"_Bulldog_, Nip Spazoni," Joe told me. "Nip's bringing my saloon +fighter aboard, and he wants to meet Mr. Murell." + +I remembered that the man who had roughed up the Ravick goon in +Martian Joe's had made his getaway from town in the _Bulldog_. As I +watched, the other ship's boat dropped out from her stern, went +end-over-end for an instant, and then straightened out and came +circling around astern of us, matching our speed and ejecting a +magnetic grapple. + +Nip Spazoni and another man climbed out with life lines fast to their +belts and crawled along our upper deck, catching life lines that were +thrown out to them and snapping onto them before casting loose the +ones from their boat. Somebody at the lock under the conning tower +hauled them in. + +Nip Spazoni's name was Old Terran Italian, but he had slanted +Mongoloid eyes and a sparse little chin-beard, which accounted for his +nickname. The amount of intermarriage that's gone on since the First +Century, any resemblance between people's names and their appearances +is purely coincidental. Oscar Fujisawa, who looks as though his name +ought to be Lief Ericsson, for example. + +"Here's your prodigal, Joe," he was saying, peeling out of his parka +as he came up the ladder. "I owe him a second gunner's share on a +monster, fifteen tons of wax." + +"Hey, that was a good one. You heading home, now?" Then he turned to +the other man, who had followed Nip up the ladder. "You didn't do a +very good job, Bill," he said. "The so-and-so's out of the hospital by +now." + +"Well, you know who takes care of his own," the crewman said. "Give me +something for effort; I tried hard enough." + +"No, I'm not going home yet," Nip was answering. "I have hold-room for +the wax of another one, if he isn't bigger than ordinary. I'm going to +go down on the bottom when the winds start and sit it out, and then +try to get a second one." Then he saw me. "Well, hey, Walt; when did +you turn into a monster-hunter?" + +Then he was introduced to Murell, and he and Joe and the man from +Argentine Exotic Organics sat down at the chart table and Joe yelled +for a pot of coffee, and they started talking prices and quantities of +wax. I sat in, listening. This was part of what was going to be the +big story of the year. Finally they got that talked out, and Joe asked +Nip how the monsters were running. + +"Why, good; you oughtn't to have any trouble finding one," Nip said. +"There must have been a Nifflheim of a big storm off to the east, +beyond the Lava Islands. I got mine north of Cape Terror. There's huge +patches of sea-spaghetti drifting west, all along the coast of Hermann +Reuch's Land. Here." He pulled out a map. "You'll find it all along +here." + +Murell asked me if sea-spaghetti was something the monsters ate. His +reading-up still had a few gaps, here and there. + +"No, it's seaweed; the name describes it. Screwfish eat it; big +schools of them follow it. Gulpers and funnelmouths and bag-bellies +eat screwfish, and monsters eat them. So wherever you find spaghetti, +you can count on finding a monster or two." + +"How's the weather?" Joe was asking. + +"Good enough, now. It was almost full dark when we finished the +cutting-up. It was raining; in fifty or sixty hours it ought to be +getting pretty bad." Spazoni pointed on the map. "Here's about where I +think you ought to try, Joe." + + * * * * * + +I screened the Times, after Nip went back to his own ship. Dad said +that Bish Ware had called in, with nothing to report but a vague +suspicion that something nasty was cooking. Steve Ravick and Leo +Belsher were taking things, even the announcement of the Argentine +Exotic Organics price, too calmly. + +"I think so, myself," he added. "That gang has some kind of a knife up +their sleeve. Bish is trying to find out just what it is." + +"Is he drinking much?" I asked. + +"Well, he isn't on the wagon, I can tell you that," Dad said. "I'm +beginning to think that he isn't really sober till he's half +plastered." + +There might be something to that, I thought. There are all kinds of +weird individualities about human metabolism; for all I knew, alcohol +might actually be a food for Bish. Or he might have built up some kind +of immunity, with antibodies that were themselves harmful if he didn't +have alcohol to neutralize them. + +The fugitive from what I couldn't bring myself to call justice proved +to know just a little, but not much, more about engines than I did. +That meant that Tom would still have to take Al Devis's place, and I'd +have to take his with the after 50-mm. So the ship went down to almost +sea surface, and Tom and I went to the stern turret. + +The gun I was to handle was an old-model Terran Federation Army +infantry-platoon accompanying gun. The mount, however, was +power-driven, like the mount for a 90-mm contragravity tank gun. +Reconciling the firing mechanism of the former with the elevating and +traversing gear of the latter had produced one of the craziest pieces +of machinery that ever gave an ordnance engineer nightmares. It was a +local job, of course. An ordnance engineer in Port Sandor doesn't +really have to be a raving maniac, but it's a help. + +Externally, the firing mechanism consisted of a pistol grip and +trigger, which looked all right to me. The sight was a standard +binocular light-gun sight, with a spongeplastic mask to save the +gunner from a pair of black eyes every time he fired it. The elevating +and traversing gear was combined in one lever on a ball-and-socket +joint. You could move the gun diagonally in any direction in one +motion, but you had to push or pull the opposite way. Something would +go plonk when the trigger was pulled on an empty chamber, so I did +some dry practice at the crests of waves. + +"Now, mind," Tom was telling me, "this is a lot different from a +pistol." + +"So I notice," I replied. I had also noticed that every time I got the +cross hairs on anything and squeezed the trigger, they were on +something else when the trigger went plonk. "All this gun needs is +another lever, to control the motion of the ship." + +"Oh, that only makes it more fun," Tom told me. + +Then he loaded in a clip of five rounds, big expensive-looking +cartridges a foot long, with bottle-neck cases and pointed shells. + +The targets were regular tallow-wax skins, blown up and weighted at +one end so that they would float upright. He yelled into the intercom, +and one was chucked overboard ahead. A moment later, I saw it bobbing +away astern of us. I put my face into the sight-mask, caught it, +centered the cross hairs, and squeezed. The gun gave a thunderclap +and recoiled past me, and when I pulled my face out of the mask, I saw +a column of water and spray about fifty feet left and a hundred yards +over. + +"You won't put any wax in the hold with that kind of shooting," Tom +told me. + +I fired again. This time, there was no effect at all that I could see. +The shell must have gone away over and hit the water a couple of miles +astern. Before Tom could make any comment on that shot, I let off +another, and this time I hit the water directly in front of the +bobbing wax skin. Good line shot, but away short. + +"Well, you scared him, anyhow," Tom said, in mock commendation. + +I remembered some of the comments I'd made when I'd been trying to +teach him to hit something smaller than the target frame with a +pistol, and humbled myself. The next two shots were reasonably close, +but neither would have done any damage if the rapidly vanishing skin +had really been a monster. Tom clucked sadly and slapped in another +clip. + +"Heave over another one," he called. "That monster got away." + +The trouble was, there were a lot of tricky air currents along the +surface of the water. The engines were running on lift to match +exactly the weight of the ship, which meant that she had no weight at +all, and a lot of wind resistance. The drive was supposed to match the +wind speed, and the ship was supposed to be kept nosed into the wind. +A lot of that is automatic, but it can't be made fully so, which means +that the pilot has to do considerable manual correcting, and no human +alive can do that perfectly. Joe Kivelson or Ramón Llewellyn or +whoever was at the controls was doing a masterly job, but that fell +away short of giving me a stable gun platform. + +I caught the second target as soon as it bobbed into sight and slammed +a shell at it. The explosion was half a mile away, but the shell +hadn't missed the target by more than a few yards. Heartened, I fired +again, and that shot was simply dreadful. + +"I know what you're doing wrong," Tom said. "You're squeezing the +trigger." + +"_Huh_?" + +I pulled my face out of the sight-mask and looked at him to see if he +were exhibiting any other signs of idiocy. That was like criticizing +somebody for using a fork instead of eating with his fingers. + +"You're not shooting a pistol," he continued. "You don't have to hold +the gun on the target with the hand you shoot with. The mount control, +in your other hand, does that. As soon as the cross hairs touch the +target, just grab the trigger as though it was a million sols getting +away from you. Well, sixteen thousand; that's what a monster's worth +now, Murell prices. Jerking won't have the least effect on your hold +whatever." + +So that was why I'd had so much trouble making a pistol shot out of +Tom, and why it would take a special act of God to make one out of his +father. And that was why monster-hunters caused so few casualties in +barroom shootings around Port Sandor, outside of bystanders and +back-bar mirrors. I felt like Newton after he'd figured out why the +apple bopped him on the head. + +"You mean like this?" I asked innocently, as soon as I had the hairs +on the target again, violating everything I held most sacredly true +about shooting. + +The shell must have passed within inches of the target; it bobbed over +flat and the weight pulled it up again into the backwave from the +shell and it bobbed like crazy. + +"That would have been a dead monster," Tom said. "Let's see you do it +again." + +I didn't; the next shot was terrible. Overconfidence. I had one more +shot, and I didn't want to use up another clip of the _Javelin_'s +ammo. They cost like crazy, even if they were Army rejects. The sea +current was taking the target farther away every second, but I took my +time on the next one, bringing the horizontal hair level with the +bottom of the inflated target and traversing quickly, grabbing the +trigger as soon as the vertical hair touched it. There was a +water-spout, and the target shot straight up for fifty feet; the shell +must have exploded directly under it. There was a sound of cheering +from the intercom. Tom asked if I wanted to fire another clip. I told +him I thought I had the hang of it now, and screwed a swab onto the +ramrod and opened the breech to clean the gun. + +Joe Kivelson grinned at me when I went up to the conning tower. + +"That wasn't bad, Walt," he said. "You never manned a 50-mm before, +did you?" + +"No, and it's all backward from anything I ever learned about +shooting," I said. "Now, suppose I get a shot at a monster; where do I +try to hit him?" + +"Here, I'll show you." He got a block of lucite, a foot square on the +end by two and a half feet long, out of a closet under the chart +table. In it was a little figure of a Jarvis's sea-monster; long body +tapering to a three-fluked tail, wide horizontal flippers like the +wings of an old pre-contragravity aircraft, and a long neck with a +little head and a wide tusked mouth. + +"Always get him from in front," he said. "Aim right here, where his +chest makes a kind of V at the base of the neck. A 50-mm will go six +or eight feet into him before it explodes, and it'll explode among his +heart and lungs and things. If it goes straight along his body, it'll +open him up and make the cutting-up easier, and it won't spoil much +wax. That's where I always shoot." + +"Suppose I get a broadside shot?" + +"Why, then put your shell right under the flukes at the end of the +tail. That'll turn him and position him for a second shot from in +front. But mostly, you'll get a shot from in front, if the ship's down +near the surface. Monsters will usually try to attack the ship. They +attack anything around their own size that they see," he told me. "But +don't ever make a body shot broadside-to. You'll kill the monster, but +you'll blow about five thousand sols' worth of wax to Nifflheim doing +it." + +It had been getting dusky while I had been shooting; it was almost +full dark now, and the _Javelin's_ lights were on. We were making +close to Mach 3, headed east now, and running away from the remaining +daylight. + +We began running into squalls of rain, and then rain mixed with wet +snow. The underside lights came on, and the lookout below began +reporting patches of sea-spaghetti. Finally, the boat was dropped out +and went circling away ahead, swinging its light back and forth over +the water, and radioing back reports. Spaghetti. Spaghetti with a big +school of screwfish working on it. Funnel-mouths working on the +screwfish. Finally the speaker gave a shrill whistle. + +"_Monster ho!_" the voice yelled. "About ten points off your port bow. +We're circling over it now." + +"Monster ho!" Kivelson yelled into the intercom, in case anybody +hadn't heard. "All hands to killing stations." Then he saw me standing +there, wondering what was going to happen next. "Well, mister, didn't +you hear me?" he bellowed. "Get to your gun!" + +Gee! I thought. I'm one of the crew, now. + +"Yes sir!" I grabbed the handrail of the ladder and slid down, then +raced aft to the gun turret. + + + + +9 + +MONSTER KILLING + + +There was a man in the turret, waiting to help me. He had a clip of +five rounds in the gun, the searchlight on, and the viewscreen tuned +to the forward pickup. After checking the gun and loading the chamber, +I looked in that, and in the distance, lighted by the boat above and +the searchlight of the _Javelin_, I saw a long neck with a little head +on the end of it weaving about. We were making straight for it, losing +altitude and speed as we went. + +Then the neck dipped under the water and a little later reappeared, +coming straight for the advancing light. The forward gun went off, +shaking the ship with its recoil, and the head ducked under again. +There was a spout from the shell behind it. + +I took my eyes from the forward screen and looked out the rear window, +ready to shove my face into the sight-mask. An instant later, the head +and neck reappeared astern of us. I fired, without too much hope of +hitting anything, and then the ship was rising and circling. + +As soon as I'd fired, the monster had sounded, headfirst. I fired a +second shot at his tail, in hope of crippling his steering gear, but +that was a clean miss, too, and then the ship was up to about five +thousand feet. My helper pulled out the partly empty clip and replaced +it with a full one, giving me five and one in the chamber. + +If I'd been that monster, I thought, I'd have kept on going till I was +a couple of hundred miles away from this place; but evidently that +wasn't the way monsters thought, if thinking is what goes on inside a +brain cavity the size of a quart bottle in a head the size of two oil +drums on a body as big as the ship that was hunting him. He'd found a +lot of gulpers and funnelmouths, and he wasn't going to be chased away +from his dinner by somebody shooting at him. + +I wondered why they didn't eat screwfish, instead of the things that +preyed on them. Maybe they did and we didn't know it. Or maybe they +just didn't like screwfish. There were a lot of things we didn't know +about sea-monsters. + +For that matter, I wondered why we didn't grow tallow-wax by +carniculture. We could grow any other animal matter we wanted. I'd +often thought of that. + +The monster wasn't showing any inclination to come to the surface +again, and finally Joe Kivelson's voice came out of the intercom: + +"Run in the guns and seal ports. Secure for submersion. We're going +down and chase him up." + +My helper threw the switch that retracted the gun and sealed the gun +port. I checked that and reported, "After gun secure." Hans Cronje's +voice, a moment later, said, "Forward gun secure," and then Ramón +Llewellyn said, "Ship secure; ready to submerge." + +Then the _Javelin_ began to settle, and the water came up over the +window. I didn't know what the radar was picking up. All I could see +was the screen and the window; water lighted for about fifty feet in +front and behind. I saw a cloud of screwfish pass over and around us, +spinning rapidly as they swam as though on lengthwise axis--they +always spin counterclockwise, never clockwise. A couple of +funnelmouths were swimming after them, overtaking and engulfing them. + +Then the captain yelled, "Get set for torpedo," and my helper and I +each grabbed a stanchion. A couple of seconds later it seemed as +though King Neptune himself had given the ship a poke in the nose; my +hands were almost jerked loose from their hold. Then she swung slowly, +nosing up and down, and finally Joe Kivelson spoke again: + +"We're going to surface. Get set to run the guns out and start +shooting as soon as we're out of the water." + +"What happened?" I asked my helper. + +"Must have put the torp right under him and lifted him," he said. "He +could be dead or stunned. Or he could be live and active and spoiling +for a fight." + +That last could be trouble. The _Times_ had run quite a few stories, +some with black borders, about ships that had gotten into trouble with +monsters. A hunter-ship is heavy and it is well-armored--install +hyperdrive engines in one, and you could take her from here to +Terra--but a monster is a tough brute, and he has armor of his own, +scales an inch or so thick and tougher than sole leather. A lot of +chair seats around Port Sandor are made of single monster scales. A +monster strikes with its head, like a snake. They can smash a ship's +boat, and they've been known to punch armor-glass windows out of their +frames. I didn't want the window in front of me coming in at me with a +monster head the size of a couple of oil drums and full of big tusks +following it. + +The _Javelin_ came up fast, but not as fast as the monster, which +seemed to have been injured only in his disposition. He was on the +surface already, about fifty yards astern of us, threshing with his +forty-foot wing-fins, his neck arched back to strike. I started to +swing my gun for the chest shot Joe Kivelson had recommended as soon +as it was run out, and then the ship was swung around and tilted up +forward by a sudden gust of wind. While I was struggling to get the +sights back on the monster, the ship gave another lurch and the cross +hairs were right on its neck, about six feet below the head. I grabbed +the trigger, and as soon as the shot was off, took my eyes from the +sights. I was just a second too late to see the burst, but not too +late to see the monster's neck jerk one way out of the smoke puff and +its head fly another. A second later, the window in front of me was +splashed with blood as the headless neck came down on our fantail. + +Immediately, two rockets jumped from the launcher over the gun turret, +planting a couple of harpoons, and the boat, which had been circling +around since we had submerged, dived into the water and passed under +the monster, coming up on the other side dragging another harpoon +line. The monster was still threshing its wings and flogging with its +headless neck. It takes a monster quite a few minutes to tumble to the +fact that it's been killed. My helper was pounding my back black and +blue with one hand and trying to pump mine off with the other, and I +was getting an ovation from all over the ship. At the same time, a +couple more harpoons went into the thing from the ship, and the boat +put another one in from behind. + +I gathered that shooting monsters' heads off wasn't at all usual, and +hastened to pass it off as pure luck, so that everybody would hurry up +and deny it before they got the same idea themselves. + +We hadn't much time for ovations, though. We had a very slowly dying +monster, and before he finally discovered that he was dead, a couple +of harpoons got pulled out and had to be replaced. Finally, however, +he quieted down, and the boat swung him around, bringing the tail past +our bow, and the ship cut contragravity to specific-gravity level and +settled to float on top of the water. The boat dived again, and payed +out a line that it brought up and around and up again, lashing the +monster fast alongside. + +"All right," Kivelson was saying, out of the intercom. "Shooting's +over. All hands for cutting-up." + +I pulled on a parka and zipped it up and went out onto the deck. +Everybody who wasn't needed at engines or controls was there, and +equipment was coming up from below--power saws and sonocutters and +even a solenoid jackhammer. There were half a dozen floodlights, on +small contragravity lifters; they were run up on lines fifty feet +above the ship's deck. By this time it was completely dark and fine +snow was blowing. I could see that Joe Kivelson was anxious to get the +cutting-up finished before the wind got any worse. + +"Walt, can you use a machine gun?" he asked me. + +I told him I could. I was sure of it; a machine gun is fired in a +rational and decent manner. + +"Well, all right. Suppose you cover for us from the boat," he said. +"Mr. Murell can pilot for you. You never worked at cutting-up before, +and neither did he. You'd be more of a hindrance than a help and so +would he. But we do need a good machine gunner. As soon as we start +throwing out waste, we'll have all the slashers and halberd fish for +miles around. You just shoot them as fast as you see them." + +He was courteous enough not to add: "And don't shoot any of the crew." + +The boat came in and passed out the lines of its harpoons, and Murell +and I took the places of Cesário Vieira and the other man. We went up +to the nose, and Murell took his place at the controls, and I got back +of the 7-mm machine gun and made sure that there were plenty of extra +belts of ammo. Then, as we rose, I pulled the goggles down from my +hood, swung the gun away from the ship, and hammered off a one-second +burst to make sure it was working, after which I settled down, glad I +had a comfortable seat and wasn't climbing around on that monster. + +They began knocking scales loose with the jackhammer and cutting into +the leathery skin underneath with sonocutters. The sea was getting +heavy, and the ship and the attached monster had begun to roll. + +"That's pretty dangerous work," Murell said. "If a man using one of +those cutters slipped...." + +"It's happened," I told him. "You met our peg-legged compositor, +Julio. That was how he lost his leg." + +"I don't blame them for wanting all they can get for tallow-wax." + +They had the monster opened down the belly, and were beginning to cut +loose big chunks of the yellow tallow-wax and throw them into cargo +nets and swing them aboard with lifters, to be chucked down the cargo +hatches. I was only able to watch that for a minute or so and tell +Murell what was going on, and then the first halberd fish, with a +spearlike nose and sharp ridges of the nearest thing to bone you find +on Fenris, came swimming up. I swung the gun on the leader and gave +him a second of fire, and then a two-second burst on the ones behind. +Then I waited for a few seconds until the survivors converged on their +dead and injured companions and gave them another burst, which wiped +out the lot of them. + +It was only a couple of seconds after that that the first slasher came +in, shiny as heat-blued steel and waving four clawed tentacles that +grew around its neck. It took me a second or so to get the sights on +him. He stopped slashing immediately. Slashers are smart; you kill +them and they find it out right away. + +Before long, the water around the ship and the monster was polluted +with things like that. I had to keep them away from the men, now +working up to their knees in water, and at the same time avoid +massacring the crew I was trying to protect, and Murell had to keep +the boat in position, in spite of a steadily rising wind, and every +time I had to change belts, there'd be a new rush of things that had +to be shot in a hurry. The ammunition bill for covering a cutting-up +operation is one of the things that runs up expenses for a +hunter-ship. The ocean bottom around here must be carpeted with +machine-gun brass. + +Finally, they got the job done, and everybody went below and sealed +ship. We sealed the boat and went down after her. The last I saw, the +remains of the monster, now stripped of wax, had been cast off, and +the water around it was rioting with slashers and clawbeaks and +halberd fish and similar marine unpleasantnesses. + + + + +10 + +MAYDAY, MAYDAY + + +Getting a ship's boat berthed inside the ship in the air is tricky +work under the best of conditions; the way the wind was blowing by +now, it would have been like trying to thread a needle inside a +concrete mixer. We submerged after the ship and went in underwater. +Then we had to wait in the boat until the ship rose above the surface +and emptied the water out of the boat berth. When that was done and +the boat berth was sealed again, the ship went down seventy fathoms +and came to rest on the bottom, and we unsealed the boat and got out. + +There was still the job of packing the wax into skins, but that could +wait. Everybody was tired and dirty and hungry. We took turns washing +up, three at a time, in the little ship's latrine which, for some +reason going back to sailing-ship days on Terra, was called the +"head." Finally the whole sixteen of us gathered in the relatively +comfortable wardroom under the after gun turret. + +Comfortable, that is, to the extent that everybody could find a place +to sit down, or could move about without tripping over somebody else. +There was a big pot of coffee, and everybody had a plate or bowl of +hot food. There's always plenty of hot food to hand on a hunter-ship; +no regular meal-times, and everybody eats, as he sleeps, when he has +time. This is the only time when a whole hunter crew gets together, +after a monster has been killed and cut up and the ship is resting on +the bottom and nobody has to stand watch. + +Everybody was talking about the killing, of course, and the wax we had +in the hold, and counting the money they were going to get for it, at +the new eighty-centisol price. + +"Well, I make it about fourteen tons," Ramón Llewellyn, who had been +checking the wax as it went into the hold, said. He figured mentally +for a moment, and added, "Call it twenty-two thousand sols." Then he +had to fall back on a pencil and paper to figure shares. + +I was surprised to find that he was reckoning shares for both Murell +and myself. + +"Hey, do we want to let them do that?" I whispered to Murell. "We just +came along for the ride." + +"I don't want the money," he said. "These people need every cent they +can get." + +So did I, for that matter, and I didn't have salary and expense +account from a big company on Terra. However, I hadn't come along in +the expectation of making anything out of it, and a newsman has to be +careful about the outside money he picks up. It wouldn't do any harm +in the present instance, but as a practice it can lead to all kinds of +things, like playing favorites, coloring news, killing stories that +shouldn't be killed. We do enough of that as it is, like playing down +the tread-snail business for Bish Ware and the spaceport people, and +never killing anybody except in a "local bar." It's hard to draw a +line on that sort of thing. + +"We're just guests," I said. "We don't work here." + +"The dickens you are," Joe Kivelson contradicted. "Maybe you came +aboard as guests, but you're both part of the crew now. I never saw a +prettier shot on a monster than Walt made--took that thing's head off +like a chicken on a chopping block--and he did a swell job of covering +for the cutting-up. And he couldn't have done that if Murell hadn't +handled the boat the way he did, and that was no easy job." + +"Well, let's talk about that when we get to port," I said. "Are we +going right back, or are we going to try for another monster?" + +"I don't know," Joe said. "We could stow the wax, if we didn't get too +much, but if we stay out, we'll have to wait out the wind and by then +it'll be pretty cold." + +"The longer we stay out, the more the cruise'll cost," Abdullah +Monnahan, the engineer, said, "and the expenses'll cut into the +shares." + +"Tell the truth, I'm sort of antsy to get back," Joe Kivelson said. "I +want to see what's going on in Port Sandor." + +"So am I," Murell said. "I want to get some kind of office opened, and +get into business. What time will the _Cape Canaveral_ be getting in? +I want a big cargo, for the first time." + +"Oh, not for four hundred hours, at the least," I said. "The +spaceships always try to miss the early-dark and early-daylight +storms. It's hard to get a big ship down in a high wind." + +"That'll be plenty of time, I suppose," Murell said. "There's all that +wax you have stored, and what I can get out of the Co-operative stores +from crews that reclaim it. But I'm going to have a lot to do." + +"Yes," I agreed. "Dodging bullets, for one." + +"Oh, I don't expect any trouble," Murell said. "This fellow Ravick's +shot his round." + +He was going to say something else, but before he could say it there +was a terrific roar forward. The whole ship bucked like a recoiling +gun, throwing everybody into a heap, and heeled over to starboard. +There were a lot of yells, particularly from those who had been +splashed with hot coffee, and somebody was shouting something about +the magazines. + +"The magazines are aft, you dunderhead," Joe Kivelson told him, +shoving himself to his feet. "Stay put, everybody; I'll see what it +is." + +He pulled open the door forward. An instant later, he had slammed it +shut and was dogging it fast. + +"Hull must be ruptured forward; we're making water. It's spouting up +the hatch from the engine room like a geyser," he said. "Ramón, go see +what it's like in the boat berth. The rest of you, follow him, and +grab all the food and warm clothing you can. We're going to have to +abandon." + +He stood by the doorway aft, shoving people through and keeping them +from jamming up, saying: "Take it easy, now; don't crowd. We'll all +get out." There wasn't any panic. A couple of men were in the doorway +of the little galley when I came past, handing out cases of food. As +nothing was coming out at the instant, I kept on, and on the way back +to the boat-berth hatch, I pulled down as many parkas and pairs of +overpants as I could carry, squeezing past Tom, who was collecting +fleece-lined hip boots. Each pair was buckled together at the tops; a +hunter always does that, even at home ashore. + +Ramón had the hatch open, and had opened the top hatch of the boat, +below. I threw my double armload of clothing down through it and slid +down after, getting out of the way of the load of boots Tom dumped +ahead of him. Joe Kivelson came down last, carrying the ship's log and +some other stuff. A little water was trickling over the edge of the +hatch above. + +"It's squirting up from below in a dozen places," he said, after he'd +sealed the boat. "The whole front of the ship must be blown out." + +"Well, now we know what happened to Simon MacGregor's _Claymore_," I +said, more to myself than to anybody else. + +Joe and Hans Cronje, the gunner, were getting a rocket out of the +locker, detaching the harpoon and fitting on an explosive warhead. He +stopped, while he and Cronje were loading it into the after launcher, +and nodded at me. + +"That's what I think, too," he said. "Everybody grab onto something; +we're getting the door open." + +I knew what was coming and started hugging a stanchion as though it +were a long-lost sweetheart, and Murell, who didn't but knew enough to +imitate those who did, hugged it from the other side. The rocket +whooshed out of the launcher and went off with a deafening bang +outside. For an instant, nothing happened, and I told Murell not to +let go. Then the lock burst in and the water, at seventy fathoms' +pressure, hit the boat. Abdullah had gotten the engines on and was +backing against it. After a little, the pressure equalized and we went +out the broken lock stern first. + +We circled and passed over the _Javelin_, and then came back. She was +lying in the ooze, a quarter over on her side, and her whole bow was +blown out to port. Joe Kivelson got the square box he had brought down +from the ship along with the log, fussed a little with it, and then +launched it out the disposal port. It was a radio locator. Sometimes a +lucky ship will get more wax than the holds' capacity; they pack it in +skins and anchor it on the bottom, and drop one of those gadgets with +it. It would keep on sending a directional signal and the name of the +ship for a couple of years. + +"Do you really think it was sabotage?" Murell was asking me. Blowing +up a ship with sixteen men aboard must have seemed sort of extreme to +him. Maybe that wasn't according to Terran business ethics. "Mightn't +it have been a power unit?" + +"No. Power units don't blow, and if one did, it would vaporize the +whole ship and a quarter of a cubic mile of water around her. No, that +was old fashioned country-style chemical explosive. Cataclysmite, +probably." + +"Ravick?" he asked, rather unnecessarily. + +"You know how well he can get along without you and Joe Kivelson, and +here's a chance to get along without both of you together." Everybody +in the boat was listening, so I continued: "How much do you know about +this fellow Devis, who strained his back at the last moment?" + +"Engine room's where he could have planted something," Joe Kivelson +said. + +"He was in there by himself for a while, the morning after the +meeting," Abdullah Monnahan added. + +"And he disappeared between the meeting room and the elevator, during +the fight," Tom mentioned. "And when he showed up, he hadn't been +marked up any. I'd have thought he'd have been pretty badly +beaten--unless they knew he was one of their own gang." + +"We're going to look Devis up when we get back," somebody said +pleasantly. + +"If we get back," Ramón Llewellyn told him. "That's going to take some +doing." + +"We have the boat," Hans Cronje said. "It's a little crowded, but we +can make it back to Port Sandor." + +"I hope we can," Abe Clifford, the navigator, said. "Shall we take her +up, Joe?" + +"Yes, see what it's like on top," the skipper replied. + +Going up, we passed a monster at about thirty fathoms. It stuck its +neck out and started for us. Monnahan tilted the boat almost vertical +and put on everything the engines had, lift and drive parallel. An +instant later, we broke the surface and shot into the air. + +The wind hit the boat as though it had been a ping-pong ball, and it +was several seconds, and bad seconds at that, before Monnahan regained +even a semblance of control. There was considerable bad language, and +several of the crew had bloody noses. Monnahan tried to get the boat +turned into the wind. A circuit breaker popped, and red lights blazed +all over the instrument panel. He eased off and let the wind take +over, and for a while we were flying in front of it like a rifle +bullet. Gradually, he nosed down and submerged. + +"Well, that's that." Joe Kivelson said, when we were back in the +underwater calm again. "We'll have to stay under till the wind's over. +Don't anybody move around or breathe any deeper than you have to. +We'll have to conserve oxygen." + +"Isn't the boat equipped with electrolytic gills?" Murell asked. + +"Sure, to supply oxygen for a maximum of six men. We have sixteen in +here." + +"How long will our air last, for sixteen of us?" I asked. + +"About eight hours." + +It would take us fifty to get to Port Sandor, running submerged. The +wind wouldn't even begin to fall in less than twenty. + +"We can go south, to the coast of Hermann Reuch's Land," Abe Clifford, +the navigator, said. "Let me figure something out." + +He dug out a slide rule and a pencil and pad and sat down with his +back to the back of the pilot's seat, under the light. Everybody +watched him in a silence which Joe Kivelson broke suddenly by +bellowing: + +"Dumont! You light that pipe and I'll feed it to you!" + +Old Piet Dumont grabbed the pipe out of his mouth with one hand and +pocketed his lighter with the other. + +"Gosh, Joe; I guess I just wasn't thinking..." he began. + +"Well, give me that pipe." Joe put it in the drawer under the charts. +"Now you won't have it handy the next time you don't think." + +After a while, Abe Clifford looked up. "Ship's position I don't have +exactly; somewhere around East 25 Longitude, South 20 Latitude. I +can't work out our present position at all, except that we're +somewhere around South 30 Latitude. The locator signal is almost +exactly north-by-northeast of us. If we keep it dead astern, we'll +come out in Sancerre Bay, on Hermann Reuch's Land. If we make that, +we're all right. We'll be in the lee of the Hacksaw Mountains, and we +can surface from time to time to change air, and as soon as the wind +falls we can start for home." + +Then he and Abdullah and Joe went into a huddle, arguing about +cruising speed submerged. The results weren't so heartening. + +"It looks like a ten-hour trip, submerged," Joe said. "That's two +hours too long, and there's no way of getting more oxygen out of the +gills than we're getting now. We'll just have to use less. Everybody +lie down and breathe as shallowly as possible, and don't do anything +to use energy. I'm going to get on the radio and see what I can +raise." + +Big chance, I thought. These boat radios were only used for +communicating with the ship while scouting; they had a strain-everything +range of about three hundred miles. Hunter-ships don't crowd that close +together when they're working. Still, there was a chance that somebody +else might be sitting it out on the bottom within hearing. So Abe took +the controls and kept the signal from the wreck of the _Javelin_ dead +astern, and Joe Kivelson began speaking into the radio: + +"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Captain Kivelson, _Javelin_, calling. +My ship was wrecked by an explosion; all hands now in scout boat, +proceeding toward Sancerre Bay, on course south-by-southwest from the +wreck. Locator signal is being broadcast from the _Javelin_. Other +than that, we do not know our position. Calling all craft, calling +Mayday." + +He stopped talking. The radio was silent except for an occasional +frying-fat crackle of static. Then he began over again. + +I curled up, trying to keep my feet out of anybody's face and my face +clear of anybody else's feet. Somebody began praying, and somebody +else told him to belay it, he was wasting oxygen. I tried to go to +sleep, which was the only practical thing to do. I must have +succeeded. When I woke again, Joe Kivelson was saying, exasperatedly: + +"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, Mayday..." + + + + +11 + +DARKNESS AND COLD + + +The next time I woke, Tom Kivelson was reciting the Mayday, Mayday +incantation into the radio, and his father was asleep. The man who had +been praying had started again, and nobody seemed to care whether he +wasted oxygen or not. It was a Theosophist prayer to the Spirit +Guides, and I remembered that Cesário Vieira was a Theosophist. Well, +maybe there really were Spirit Guides. If there were, we'd all be +finding out before long. I found that I didn't care one hoot which +way, and I set that down to oxygen deficiency. + +Then Glenn Murell broke in on the monotone call for help and the +prayer. + +"We're done for if we stay down here another hour," he said. "Any +argument on that?" + +There wasn't any. Joe Kivelson opened his eyes and looked around. + +"We haven't raised anything at all on the radio," Murell went on. +"That means nobody's within an hour of reaching us. Am I right?" + +"I guess that's about the size of it," Joe Kivelson conceded. + +"How close to land are we?" + +"The radar isn't getting anything but open water and schools of +fish," Abe Clifford said. "For all I know, we could be inside Sancerre +Bay now." + +"Well, then, why don't we surface?" Murell continued. "It's a thousand +to one against us, but if we stay here our chances are precisely one +hundred per cent negative." + +"What do you think?" Joe asked generally. "I think Mr. Murell's stated +it correctly." + +"There is no death," Cesário said. "Death is only a change, and then +more of life. I don't care what you do." + +"What have we got to lose?" somebody else asked. "We're broke and +gambling on credit now." + +"All right; we surface," the skipper said. "Everybody grab onto +something. We'll take the Nifflheim of a slamming around as soon as +we're out of the water." + +We woke up everybody who was sleeping, except the three men who had +completely lost consciousness. Those we wrapped up in blankets and +tarpaulins, like mummies, and lashed them down. We gathered everything +that was loose and made it fast, and checked the fastenings of +everything else. Then Abdullah Monnahan pointed the nose of the boat +straight up and gave her everything the engines could put out. Just as +we were starting upward, I heard Cesário saying: + +"If anybody wants to see me in the next reincarnation, I can tell you +one thing; I won't reincarnate again on Fenris!" + +The headlights only penetrated fifty or sixty feet ahead of us. I +could see slashers and clawbeaks and funnelmouths and gulpers and +things like that getting out of our way in a hurry. Then we were out +of the water and shooting straight up in the air. + +It was the other time all over again, doubled in spades, only this +time Abdullah didn't try to fight it; he just kept the boat rising. +Then it went end-over-end, again and again. I think most of us blacked +out; I'm sure I did, for a while. Finally, more by good luck than good +management, he got us turned around with the wind behind us. That +lasted for a while, and then we started keyholing again. I could see +the instrument panel from where I'd lashed myself fast; it was going +completely bughouse. Once, out the window in front, I could see jagged +mountains ahead. I just shut my eyes and waited for the Spirit Guides +to come and pick up the pieces. + +When they weren't along, after a few seconds that seemed like half an +hour, I opened my eyes again. There were more mountains ahead, and +mountains to the right. This'll do it, I thought, and I wondered how +long it would take Dad to find out what had happened to us. Cesário +had started praying again, and so had Abdullah Monnahan, who had just +remembered that he had been brought up a Moslem. I hoped he wasn't +trying to pray in the direction of Mecca, even allowing that he knew +which way Mecca was from Fenris generally. That made me laugh, and +then I thought, This is a fine time to be laughing at anything. Then I +realized that things were so bad that anything more that happened was +funny. + +I was still laughing when I discovered that the boat had slowed to a +crawl and we were backing in between two high cliffs. Evidently +Abdullah, who had now stopped praying, had gotten enough control of +the boat to keep her into the wind and was keeping enough speed +forward to yield to it gradually. That would be all right, I thought, +if the force of the wind stayed constant, and as soon as I thought of +that, it happened. We got into a relative calm, the boat went forward +again, and then was tossed up and spun around. Then I saw a mountain +slope directly behind us, out the rear window. + +A moment later, I saw rocks and boulders sticking out of it in +apparent defiance of gravitation, and then I realized that it was +level ground and we were coming down at it backward. That lasted a few +seconds, and then we hit stern-on, bounced and hit again. I was +conscious up to the third time we hit. + +The next thing I knew, I was hanging from my lashings from the side of +the boat, which had become the top, and the headlights and the lights +on the control panel were out, and Joe Kivelson was holding a +flashlight while Abe Clifford and Glenn Murell were trying to get me +untied and lower me. I also noticed that the air was fresh, and very +cold. + +"Hey, we're down!" I said, as though I were telling anybody anything +they didn't know. "How many are still alive?" + +"As far as I know, all of us," Joe said. "I think I have a broken +arm." I noticed, then, that he was holding his left arm stiffly at his +side. Murell had a big gash on top of his head, and he was mopping +blood from his face with his sleeve while he worked. + +When they got me down, I looked around. Somebody else was playing a +flashlight around at the stern, which was completely smashed. It was +a miracle the rocket locker hadn't blown up, but the main miracle was +that all, or even any, of us were still alive. + +We found a couple of lights that could be put on, and we got all of us +picked up and the unconscious revived. One man, Dominic Silverstein, +had a broken leg. Joe Kivelson's arm was, as he suspected, broken, +another man had a fractured wrist, and Abdullah Monnahan thought a +couple of ribs were broken. The rest of us were in one piece, but all +of us were cut and bruised. I felt sore all over. We also found a +nuclear-electric heater that would work, and got it on. Tom and I +rigged some tarpaulins to screen off the ruptured stern and keep out +the worst of the cold wind. After they got through setting and +splinting the broken bones and taping up Abdullah's ribs, Cesário and +Murell got some water out of one of the butts and started boiling it +for coffee. I noticed that Piet Dumont had recovered his pipe and was +smoking it, and Joe Kivelson had his lit. + +"Well, where are we?" somebody was asking Abe Clifford. + +The navigator shook his head. "The radio's smashed, so's the receiver +for the locator, and so's the radio navigational equipment. I can +state positively, however, that we are on the north coast of Hermann +Reuch's Land." + +Everybody laughed at that except Murell. I had to explain to him that +Hermann Reuch's Land was the antarctic continent of Fenris, and hasn't +any other coast. + +"I'd say we're a good deal west of Sancerre Bay," Cesário Vieira +hazarded. "We can't be east of it, the way we got blown west. I think +we must be at least five hundred miles east of it." + +"Don't fool yourself, Cesário," Joe Kivelson told him. "We could have +gotten into a turbulent updraft and been carried to the upper, +eastward winds. The altimeter was trying to keep up with the boat and +just couldn't, half the time. We don't know where we went. I'll take +Abe's estimate and let it go at that." + +"Well, we're up some kind of a fjord," Tom said. "I think it branches +like a Y, and we're up the left branch, but I won't make a point of +that." + +"I can't find anything like that on this map," Abe Clifford said, +after a while. + +Joe Kivelson swore. "You ought to know better than that, Abe; you know +how thoroughly this coast hasn't been mapped." + +"How much good will it do us to know where we are, right now?" I +asked. "If the radio's smashed, we can't give anybody our position." + +"We might be able to fix up the engines and get the boat in the air +again, after the wind drops." Monnahan said. "I'll take a look at them +and see how badly they've been banged up." + +"With the whole stern open?" Hans Cronje asked. "We'd freeze stiffer +than a gun barrel before we went a hundred miles." + +"Then we can pack the stern full of wet snow and let it freeze, +instead of us," I suggested. "There'll be plenty of snow before the +wind goes down." + +Joe Kivelson looked at me for a moment. "That would work," he said. +"How soon can you get started on the engines, Abdullah?" + +"Right away. I'll need somebody to help me, though. I can't do much +the way you have me bandaged up." + +"I think we'd better send a couple of parties out," Ramón Llewellyn +said. "We'll have to find a better place to stay than this boat. We +don't all have parkas or lined boots, and we have a couple of injured +men. This heater won't be enough; in about seventy hours we'd all +freeze to death sitting around it." + +Somebody mentioned the possibility of finding a cave. + +"I doubt it," Llewellyn said. "I was on an exploring expedition down +here, once. This is all igneous rock, mostly granite. There aren't +many caves. But there may be some sort of natural shelter, or +something we can make into a shelter, not too far away. We have two +half-ton lifters; we could use them to pile up rocks and build +something. Let's make up two parties. I'll take one; Abe, you take the +other. One of us can go up and the other can go down." + +We picked parties, trying to get men who had enough clothing and +hadn't been too badly banged around in the landing. Tom wanted to go +along, but Abdullah insisted that he stay and help with the inspection +of the boat's engines. Finally six of us--Llewellyn, myself, Glenn +Murell, Abe Clifford, old Piet Dumont, and another man--went out +through the broken stern of the boat. We had two portable +floodlights--a scout boat carries a lot of equipment--and Llewellyn +took the one and Clifford the other. It had begun to snow already, and +the wind was coming straight up the narrow ravine into which we had +landed, driving it at us. There was a stream between the two walls of +rock, swollen by the rains that had come just before the darkness, and +the rocks in and beside it were coated with ice. We took one look at +it and shook our heads. Any exploring we did would be done without +trying to cross that. We stood for a few minutes trying to see through +the driving snow, and then we separated, Abe Clifford, Dumont and the +other man going up the stream and Ramón Llewellyn, Glenn Murell and I +going down. + +A few hundred yards below the boat, the stream went over a fifty-foot +waterfall. We climbed down beside it, and found the ravine widening. +It was a level beach, now, or what had been a beach thousands of years +ago. The whole coast of Hermann Reuch's land is sinking in the Eastern +Hemisphere and rising in the Western. We turned away from the stream +and found that the wind was increasing in strength and coming at us +from the left instead of in front. The next thing we knew, we were at +the point of the mountain on our right and we could hear the sea +roaring ahead and on both sides of us. Tom had been right about that +V-shaped fjord, I thought. + +We began running into scattered trees now, and when we got around the +point of the mountain we entered another valley. + +Trees, like everything else on Fenris, are considerably different from +anything analogous on normal planets. They aren't tall, the biggest +not more than fifteen feet high, but they are from six to eight feet +thick, with all the branches at the top, sprouting out in all +directions and reminding me of pictures of Medusa. The outside bark is +a hard shell, which grows during the beginning of our four hot +seasons a year. Under that will be more bark, soft and spongy, and +this gets more and more dense toward the middle; and then comes the +hardwood core, which may be as much as two feet thick. + +"One thing, we have firewood," Murell said, looking at them. + +"What'll we cut it with; our knives?" I wanted to know. + +"Oh, we have a sonocutter on the boat," Ramón Llewellyn said. "We can +chop these things into thousand-pound chunks and float them to camp +with the lifters. We could soak the spongy stuff on the outside with +water and let it freeze, and build a hut out of it, too." He looked +around, as far as the light penetrated the driving snow. "This +wouldn't be a bad place to camp." + +Not if we're going to try to work on the boat, I thought. And packing +Dominic, with his broken leg, down over that waterfall was something I +didn't want to try, either. I didn't say anything. Wait till we got +back to the boat. It was too cold and windy here to argue, and +besides, we didn't know what Abe and his party might have found +upstream. + + + + +12 + +CASTAWAYS WORKING + + +We had been away from the boat for about two hours; when we got back, +I saw that Abdullah and his helpers had gotten the deck plates off the +engine well and used them to build a more substantial barricade at the +ruptured stern. The heater was going and the boat was warm inside, not +just relatively to the outside, but actually comfortable. It was even +more crowded, however, because there was a ton of collapsium +shielding, in four sections, and the generator and power unit, piled +in the middle. Abdullah and Tom and Hans Cronje were looking at the +converters, which to my not very knowing eye seemed to be in a +hopeless mess. + +There was some more work going on up at the front. Cesário Vieira had +found a small portable radio that wasn't in too bad condition, and had +it apart. I thought he was doing about the most effective work of +anybody, and waded over the pile of engine parts to see what he was +doing. It wasn't much of a radio. A hundred miles was the absolute +limit of its range, at least for sending. + +"Is this all we have?" I asked, looking at it. It was the same type as +the one I carried on the job, camouflaged in a camera case, except +that it wouldn't record. + +"There's the regular boat radio, but it's smashed up pretty badly. I +was thinking we could do something about cannibalizing one radio out +of parts from both of them." + +We use a lot of radio equipment on the _Times_, and I do a good bit of +work on it. I started taking the big set apart and then remembered the +receiver for the locator and got at that, too. The trouble was that +most of the stuff in all the sets had been miniaturized to a point +where watchmaker's tools would have been pretty large for working on +them, and all we had was a general-repair kit that was just about fine +enough for gunsmithing. + +While we were fooling around with the radios, Ramón Llewellyn was +telling the others what we found up the other branch of the fjord. Joe +Kivelson shook his head over it. + +"That's too far from the boat. We can't trudge back and forth to work +on the engines. We could cut firewood down there and float it up with +the lifters, and I think that's a good idea about using slabs of the +soft wood to build a hut. But let's build the hut right here." + +"Well, suppose I take a party down now and start cutting?" the mate +asked. + +"Not yet. Wait till Abe gets back and we see what he found upstream. +There may be something better up there." + +Tom, who had been poking around in the converters, said: + +"I think we can forget about the engines. This is a machine-shop job. +We need parts, and we haven't anything to make them out of or with." + +That was about what I'd thought. Tom knew more about lift-and-drive +engines than I'd ever learn, and I was willing to take his opinion as +confirmation of my own. + +"Tom, take a look at this mess," I said. "See if you can help us with +it." + +He came over, looked at what we were working on, and said, "You need a +magnifier for this. Wait till I see something." Then he went over to +one of the lockers, rummaged in it, and found a pair of binoculars. He +came over to us again, sat down, and began to take them apart. As soon +as he had the two big objective lenses out, we had two fairly good +magnifying glasses. + +That was a big help, but being able to see what had to be done was one +thing, and having tools to do it was another. So he found a sewing kit +and a piece of emery stone, and started making little screwdrivers out +of needles. + +After a while, Abe Clifford and Piet Dumont and the other man returned +and made a beeline for the heater and the coffeepot. After Abe was +warmed a little, he said: + +"There's a little waterfall about half a mile up. It isn't too hard to +get up over it, and above, the ground levels off into a big +bowl-shaped depression that looks as if it had been a lake bottom, +once. The wind isn't so bad up there, and this whole lake bottom or +whatever it is is grown up with trees. It would be a good place to +make a camp, if it wasn't so far from the boat." + +"How hard would it be to cut wood up there and bring it down?" Joe +asked, going on to explain what he had in mind. + +"Why, easy. I don't think it would be nearly as hard as the place +Ramón found." + +"Neither do I," the mate agreed. "Climbing up that waterfall down the +stream with a half tree trunk would be a lot harder than dropping one +over beside the one above." He began zipping up his parka. "Let's get +the cutter and the lifters and go up now." + +"Wait till I warm up a little, and I'll go with you," Abe said. + +Then he came over to where Cesário and Tom and I were working, to see +what we were doing. He chucked appreciatively at the midget +screwdrivers and things Tom was making. + +"I'll take that back, Ramón," he said. "I can do a lot more good right +here. Have you taken any of the radio navigational equipment apart, +yet?" he asked us. + +We hadn't. We didn't know anything about it. + +"Well, I think we can get some stuff out of the astrocompass that can +be used. Let me in here, will you?" + +I got up. "You take over for me," I said. "I'll go on the +wood-chopping detail." + +Tom wanted to go, too; Abe told him to keep on with his toolmaking. +Piet Dumont said he'd guide us, and Glenn Murell said he'd go along. +There was some swapping around of clothes and we gathered up the two +lifters and the sonocutter and a floodlight and started upstream. + +The waterfall above the boat was higher than the one below, but not +quite so hard to climb, especially as we had the two lifters to help +us. The worst difficulty, and the worst danger, was from the wind. + +Once we were at the top, though, it wasn't so bad. We went a couple of +hundred yards through a narrow gorge, and then we came out onto the +old lake bottom Abe had spoken about. As far as our lights would +shine in the snow, we could see stubby trees with snaky branches +growing out of the tops. + +We just started on the first one we came to, slicing the down-hanging +branches away to get at the trunk and then going to work on that. We +took turns using the sonocutter, and the rest of us stamped around to +keep warm. The first trunk must have weighed a ton and a half, even +after the branches were all off; we could barely lift one end of it +with both lifters. The spongy stuff, which changed from bark to wood +as it went in to the middle, was two feet thick. We cut that off in +slabs, to use for building the hut. The hardwood core, once we could +get it lit, would make a fine hot fire. We could cut that into +burnable pieces after we got it to camp. We didn't bother with the +slashings; just threw them out of the way. There was so much big stuff +here that the branches weren't worth taking in. + +We had eight trees down and cut into slabs and billets before we +decided to knock off. We didn't realize until then how tired and cold +we were. A couple of us had taken the wood to the waterfall and heaved +it over at the side as fast as the others got the trees down and cut +up. If we only had another cutter and a couple more lifters, I +thought. If we only had an airworthy boat.... + +When we got back to camp, everybody who wasn't crippled and had enough +clothes to get away from the heater came out and helped. First, we got +a fire started--there was a small arc torch, and we needed that to get +the dense hardwood burning--and then we began building a hut against +the boat. Everybody worked on that but Dominic Silverstein. Even Abe +and Cesário knocked off work on the radio, and Joe Kivelson and the +man with the broken wrist gave us a little one-handed help. By this +time, the wind had fallen and the snow was coming down thicker. We +made snow shovels out of the hard outer bark, although they broke in +use pretty often, and banked snow up against the hut. I lost track of +how long we worked, but finally we had a place we could all get into, +with a fireplace, and it was as warm and comfortable as the inside of +the boat. + +We had to keep cutting wood, though. Before long it would be too cold +to work up in the woods, or even go back and forth between the woods +and the camp. The snow finally stopped, and then the sky began to +clear and we could see stars. That didn't make us happy at all. As +long as the sky was clouded and the snow was falling, some of the heat +that had been stored during the long day was being conserved. Now it +was all radiating away into space. + +The stream froze completely, even the waterfall. In a way, that was a +help; we could slide wood down over it, and some of the billets would +slide a couple of hundred yards downstream. But the cold was getting +to us. We only had a few men working at woodcutting--Cesário, and old +Piet Dumont, and Abe Clifford and I, because we were the smallest and +could wear bigger men's parkas and overpants over our own. But as long +as any of us could pile on enough clothing and waddle out of the hut, +we didn't dare stop. If the firewood ran out, we'd all freeze stiff in +no time at all. + +Abe Clifford got the radio working, at last. It was a peculiar job as +ever was, but he thought it would have a range of about five hundred +miles. Somebody kept at it all the time, calling Mayday. I think it +was Bish Ware who told me that Mayday didn't have anything to do with +the day after the last of April; it was Old Terran French, _m'aidez_, +meaning "help me." I wondered how Bish was getting along, and I wasn't +too optimistic about him. + +Cesário and Abe and I were up at the waterfall, picking up loads of +firewood--we weren't bothering, now, with anything but the hard and +slow-burning cores--and had just gotten two of them hooked onto the +lifters. I straightened for a moment and looked around. There wasn't a +cloud in the sky, and two of Fenris's three moons were making +everything as bright as day. The glisten of the snow and the frozen +waterfall in the double moonlight was beautiful. + +I turned to Cesário. "See what all you'll miss, if you take your next +reincarnation off Fenris," I said. "This, and the long sunsets and +sunrises, and--" + +Before I could list any more sights unique to our planet, the 7-mm +machine gun, down at the boat, began hammering; a short burst, and +then another, and another and another. + + + + +13 + +THE BEACON LIGHT + + +We all said, "Shooting!" and, "The machine gun!" as though we had to +tell each other what it was. + +"Something's attacking them," Cesário guessed. + +"Oh, there isn't anything to attack them now," Abe said. "All the +critters are dug in for the winter. I'll bet they're just using it to +chop wood with." + +That could be; a few short bursts would knock off all the soft wood +from one of those big billets and expose the hard core. Only why +didn't they use the cutter? It was at the boat now. + +"We better go see what it is," Cesário insisted. "It might be +trouble." + +None of us was armed; we'd never thought we'd need weapons. There are +quite a few Fenrisian land animals, all creepers or crawlers, that are +dangerous, but they spend the extreme hot and cold periods in burrows, +in almost cataleptic sleep. It occurred to me that something might +have burrowed among the rocks near the camp and been roused by the +heat of the fire. + +We hadn't carried a floodlight with us--there was no need for one in +the moonlight. Of the two at camp, one was pointed up the ravine +toward us, and the other into the air. We began yelling as soon as we +caught sight of them, not wanting to be dusted over lightly with +7-mm's before anybody recognized us. As soon as the men at the camp +heard us, the shooting stopped and they started shouting to us. Then +we could distinguish words. + +"Come on in! We made contact!" + +We pushed into the hut, where everybody was crowded around the +underhatch of the boat, which was now the side door. Abe shoved +through, and I shoved in after him. Newsman's conditioned reflex; get +to where the story is. I even caught myself saying, "Press," as I +shoved past Abdullah Monnahan. + +"What happened?" I asked, as soon as I was inside. I saw Joe Kivelson +getting up from the radio and making place for Abe. "Who did you +contact?" + +"The Mahatma; _Helldiver_," he said. "Signal's faint, but plain; +they're trying to make a directional fix on us. There are about a +dozen ships out looking for us: _Helldiver_, _Pequod_, _Bulldog_, +_Dirty Gertie_..." He went on naming them. + +"How did they find out?" I wanted to know. "Somebody pick up our +Mayday while we were cruising submerged?" + +Abe Clifford was swearing into the radio. "No, of course not. We don't +know where in Nifflheim we are. All the instruments in the boat were +smashed." + +"Well, can't you shoot the stars, Abe?" The voice--I thought it was +Feinberg's--was almost as inaudible as a cat's sneeze. + +"Sure we can. If you're in range of this makeshift set, the position +we'd get would be practically the same as yours," Abe told him. "Look, +there's a floodlight pointed straight up. Can you see that?" + +"In all this moonlight? We could be half a mile away and not see it." + +"We've been firing with a 7-mm," the navigator said. + +"I know; I heard it. On the radio. Have you got any rockets? Maybe if +you shot one of them up we could see it." + +"Hey, that's an idea! Hans, have we another rocket with an explosive +head?" + +Cronje said we had, and he and another man got it out and carried it +from the boat. I repeated my question to Joe Kivelson. + +"No. Your Dad tried to call the _Javelin_ by screen; that must have +been after we abandoned ship. He didn't get an answer, and put out a +general call. Nip Spazoni was nearest, and he cruised around and +picked up the locator signal and found the wreck, with the boat berth +blown open and the boat gone. Then everybody started looking for us." + +Feinberg was saying that he'd call the other ships and alert them. If +the _Helldiver_ was the only ship we could contact by radio, the odds +were that if they couldn't see the rocket from Feinberg's ship, nobody +else could. The same idea must have occurred to Abe Clifford. + +"You say you're all along the coast. Are the other ships west or east +of you?" + +"West, as far as I know." + +"Then we must be way east of you. Where are you now?" + +"About five hundred miles east of Sancerre Bay." + +That meant we must be at least a thousand miles east of the bay. I +could see how that happened. Both times the boat had surfaced, it had +gone straight up, lift and drive operating together. There is a +constant wind away from the sunlight zone at high level, heated air +that has been lifted, and there is a wind at a lower level out of the +dark zone, coming in to replace it. We'd gotten completely above the +latter and into the former. + +There was some yelling outside, and then I could hear Hans Cronje: + +"Rocket's ready for vertical launching. Ten seconds, nine, eight, +seven, six, five, four, three, two, one; rocket off!" + +There was a whoosh outside. Clifford, at the radio, repeated: "Rocket +off!" Then it banged, high overhead. "Did you see it? he asked. + +"Didn't see a thing," Feinberg told him. + +"Hey, I know what they would see!" Tom Kivelson burst out. "Say we go +up and set the woods on fire?" + +"Hey, that's an idea. Listen, Mahatma; we have a big forest of +flowerpot trees up on a plateau above us. Say we set that on fire. +Think you could see it?" + +"I don't see why not, even in this moonlight. Wait a minute, till I +call the other ships." + +Tom was getting into warm outer garments. Cesário got out the arc +torch, and he and Tom and I raced out through the hut and outdoors. +We hastened up the path that had been tramped and dragged to the +waterfall, got the lifters off the logs, and used them to help +ourselves up over the rocks beside the waterfall. + +We hadn't bothered doing anything with the slashings, except to get +them out of our way, while we were working. Now we gathered them into +piles among the trees, placing them to take advantage of what little +wind was still blowing, and touched them off with the arc torch. Soon +we had the branches of the trees burning, and then the soft outer wood +of the trunks. It actually began to get uncomfortably hot, although +the temperature was now down around minus 90° Fahrenheit. + +Cesário was using the torch. After he got all the slashings on fire, +he started setting fire to the trees themselves, going all around them +and getting the soft outer wood burning. As soon as he had one tree +lit, he would run on to another. + +"This guy's a real pyromaniac," Tom said to me, wiping his face on the +sleeve of his father's parka which he was wearing over his own. + +"Sure I am," Cesário took time out to reply. "You know who I was about +fifty reincarnations ago? Nero, burning Rome." Theosophists never +hesitated to make fun of their religion, that way. The way they see +it, a thing isn't much good if it can't stand being made fun of. "And +look at the job I did on Moscow, a little later." + +"Sure; I remember that. I was Napoleon then. What I'd have done to you +if I'd caught you, too." + +"Yes, and I know what he was in another reincarnation," Tom added. +"Mrs. O'Leary's cow!" + +Whether or not Cesário really had had any past astral experience, he +made a good job of firebugging on this forest. We waited around for a +while, far enough back for the heat to be just comfortable and +pleasant, until we were sure that it was burning well on both sides of +the frozen stream. It even made the double moonlight dim, and it was +sending up huge clouds of fire-reddened smoke, and where the fire +didn't light the smoke, it was black in the moonlight. There wouldn't +be any excuse for anybody not seeing that. Finally, we started back to +camp. + +As soon as we got within earshot, we could hear the excitement. +Everybody was jumping and yelling. "They see it! They see it!" + +The boat was full of voices, too, from the radio: + +"_Pequod_ to _Dirty Gertie_, we see it, too, just off our port bow... +Yes, _Bulldog_, we see your running lights; we're right behind you... +_Slasher_ to _Pequod_: we can't see you at all. Fire a flare, +please..." + +I pushed in to the radio. "This is Walter Boyd, _Times_ representative +with the _Javelin_ castaways," I said. "Has anybody a portable +audiovisual pickup that I can use to get some pictures in to my paper +with?" + +That started general laughter among the operators on the ships that +were coming in. + +"We have one, Walt," Oscar Fujisawa's voice told me. "I'm coming in +ahead in the _Pequod_ scout boat; I'll bring it with me." + +"Thanks, Oscar," I said. Then I asked him: "Did you see Bish Ware +before you left port?" + +"I should say I did!" Oscar told me. "You can thank Bish Ware that +we're out looking for you now. Tell you about it as soon as we get +in." + + + + +14 + +THE RESCUE + + +The scout boat from the _Pequod_ came in about thirty minutes later, +from up the ravine where the forest fire was sending up flame and +smoke. It passed over the boat and the hut beside it and the crowd of +us outside, and I could see Oscar in the machine gunner's seat aiming +a portable audiovisual telecast camera. After he got a view of us, +cheering and waving our arms, the boat came back and let down. We ran +to it, all of us except the man with the broken leg and a couple who +didn't have enough clothes to leave the fire, and as the boat opened I +could hear Oscar saying: + +"Now I am turning you over to Walter Boyd, the _Times_ correspondent +with the _Javelin_ castaways." + +He gave me the camera when he got out, followed by his gunner, and I +got a view of them, and of the boat lifting and starting west to guide +the ships in. Then I shut it off and said to him: + +"What's this about Bish Ware? You said he was the one who started the +search." + +"That's right," Oscar said. "About thirty hours after you left port, +he picked up some things that made him think the _Javelin_ had been +sabotaged. He went to your father, and he contacted me--Mohandas +Feinberg and I still had our ships in port--and started calling the +_Javelin_ by screen. When he couldn't get response, your father put +out a general call to all hunter-ships. Nip Spazoni reported boarding +the _Javelin_, and then went searching the area where he thought you'd +been hunting, picked up your locator signal, and found the _Javelin_ +on the bottom with her bow blown out and the boat berth open and the +boat gone. We all figured you'd head south with the boat, and that's +where we went to look." + +"Well, Bish Ware; he was dead drunk, last I heard of him," Joe +Kivelson said. + +"Aah, just an act," Oscar said. "That was to fool the city cops, and +anybody else who needed fooling. It worked so well that he was able to +crash a party Steve Ravick was throwing at Hunters' Hall, after the +meeting. That was where he picked up some hints that Ravick had a spy +in the _Javelin_ crew. He spent the next twenty or so hours following +that up, and heard about your man Devis straining his back. He found +out what Devis did on the _Javelin_, and that gave him the idea that +whatever the sabotage was, it would be something to the engines. What +did happen, by the way?" + +A couple of us told him, interrupting one another. He nodded. + +"That was what Nip Spazoni thought when he looked at the ship. Well, +after that he talked to your father and to me, and then your father +began calling and we heard from Nip." + +You could see that it absolutely hurt Joe Kivelson to have to owe his +life to Bish Ware. + +"Well, it's lucky anybody listened to him," he grudged. "I wouldn't +have." + +"No, I guess maybe you wouldn't," Oscar told him, not very cordially. +"I think he did a mighty sharp piece of detective work, myself." + +I nodded, and then, all of a sudden, another idea, under _Bish Ware, +Reformation of_, hit me. Detective work; that was it. We could use a +good private detective agency in Port Sandor. Maybe I could talk him +into opening one. He could make a go of it. He had all kinds of +contacts, he was handy with a gun, and if he recruited a couple of +tough but honest citizens who were also handy with guns and built up a +protective and investigative organization, it would fill a long-felt +need and at the same time give him something beside Baldur honey-rum +to take his mind off whatever he was drinking to keep from thinking +about. If he only stayed sober half the time, that would be a fifty +per cent success. + +Ramón Llewellyn was wanting to know whether anybody'd done anything +about Al Devis. + +"We didn't have time to bother with any Al Devises," Oscar said. "As +soon as Bish figured out what had happened aboard the _Javelin_, we +knew you'd need help and need it fast. He's keeping an eye on Al for +us till we get back." + +"That's if he doesn't get any drunker and forget," Joe said. + +Everybody, even Tom, looked at him in angry reproach. + +"We better find out what he drinks and buy you a jug of it, Joe," +Oscar's gunner told him. + +The _Helldiver_, which had been closest to us when our signal had +been picked up, was the first ship in. She let down into the ravine, +after some maneuvering around, and Mohandas Feinberg and half a dozen +of his crew got off with an improvised stretcher on a lifter and a lot +of blankets. We got our broken-leg case aboard, and Abdullah Monnahan, +and the man with the broken wrist. There were more ships coming, so +the rest of us waited. Joe Kivelson should have gone on the +_Helldiver_, to have his broken arm looked at, but a captain's always +the last man off, so he stayed. + +Oscar said he'd take Tom and Joe, and Glenn Murell and me, on the +_Pequod_. I was glad of that. Oscar and his mate and his navigator are +all bachelors, and they use the _Pequod_ to throw parties on when +they're not hunting, so it is more comfortably fitted than the usual +hunter-ship. Joe decided not to try to take anything away from the +boat. He was going to do something about raising the _Javelin_, and +the salvage ship could stop here and pick everything up. + +"Well, one thing," Oscar told him. "Bring that machine gun, and what +small arms you have. I think things are going to get sort of rough in +Port Sandor, in the next twenty or so hours." + +I was beginning to think so, myself. The men who had gotten off the +_Helldiver_, and the ones who got off Corkscrew Finnegan's _Dirty +Gertie_ and Nip Spazoni's _Bulldog_ were all talking about what was +going to have to be done about Steve Ravick. Bombing _Javelin_ would +have been a good move for Ravick, if it had worked. It hadn't, though, +and now it was likely to be the thing that would finish him for good. + +It wasn't going to be any picnic, either. He had his gang of +hoodlums, and he could count on Morton Hallstock's twenty or thirty +city police; they'd put up a fight, and a hard one. And they were all +together, and the hunter fleet was coming in one ship at a time. I +wondered if the Ravick-Hallstock gang would try to stop them at the +water front, or concentrate at Hunters' Hall or the Municipal Building +to stand siege. I knew one thing, though. However things turned out, +there was going to be an awful lot of shooting in Port Sandor before +it was over. + +Finally, everybody had been gotten onto one ship or another but Oscar +and his gunner and the Kivelsons and Murell and myself. Then the +_Pequod_, which had been circling around at five thousand feet, let +down and we went aboard. The conning tower was twice as long as usual +on a hunter-ship, and furnished with a lot of easy chairs and a couple +of couches. There was a big combination view and communication screen, +and I hurried to that and called the _Times_. + +Dad came on, as soon as I finished punching the wave-length +combination. He was in his shirt sleeves, and he was wearing a gun. I +guess we made kind of a show of ourselves, but, after all, he'd come +within an ace of being all out of family, and I'd come within an ace +of being all out, period. After we got through with the happy reunion, +I asked him what was the situation in Port Sandor. He shook his head. + +"Not good, Walt. The word's gotten around that there was a bomb +planted aboard the _Javelin_, and everybody's taking just one guess +who did it. We haven't expressed any opinions one way or another, +yet. We've been waiting for confirmation." + +"Set for recording," I said. "I'll give you the story as far as we +know it." + +He nodded, reached one hand forward out of the picture, and then +nodded again. I began with our killing the monster and going down to +the bottom after the cutting-up, and the explosion. I told him what we +had seen after leaving the ship and circling around it in the boat. + +"The condition of the hull looked very much like the effect of a +charge of high explosive exploding in the engine room," I finished. + +"We got some views of it, transmitted in by Captain Spazoni, of the +_Bulldog_," he said. "Captain Courtland, of the Spaceport Police, has +expressed the opinion that it could hardly be anything but a small +demolition bomb. Would you say accident can be ruled out?" + +"I would. There was nobody in the engine room at the time; we were +resting on the bottom, and all hands were in the wardroom." + +"That's good enough," Dad said. "We'll run it as 'very convincing and +almost conclusive' evidence of sabotage." He'd shut off the recorder +for that. "Can I get the story of how you abandoned ship and landed, +now?" + +His hand moved forward, and the recorder went on again. I gave a brief +account of our experiences in the boat, the landing and wreck, and our +camp, and the firewood cutting, and how we had repaired the radio. Joe +Kivelson talked for a while, and so did Tom and Glenn Murell. I was +going to say something when they finished, and I sat down on one of +the couches. I distinctly remember leaning back and relaxing. + +The next thing I knew, Oscar Fujisawa's mate was shaking me awake. + +"We're in sight of Port Sandor," he was telling me. + +I mumbled something, and then sat up and found that I had been lying +down and that somebody had thrown a blanket over me. Tom Kivelson was +still asleep under a blanket on the other couch, across from me. The +clock over the instrument panel had moved eight G.S. hours. Joe +Kivelson wasn't in sight, but Glenn Murell and Oscar were drinking +coffee. I went to the front window, and there was a scarlet glow on +the horizon ahead of me. + +That's another sight Cesário Vieria will miss, if he takes his next +reincarnation off Fenris. Really, it's nothing but damp, warm air, +blown up from the exhaust of the city's main ventilation plant, +condensing and freezing as it hits the cold air outside, and +floodlighted from below. I looked at it for a while, and then got +myself a cup of coffee and when I had finished it I went to the +screen. + +It was still tuned to the _Times_, and Mohandas Feinberg was sitting +in front of it, smoking one of his twisted black cigars. He had a big +10-mm Sterberg stuffed into the waistband of his trousers. + +"You guys poked along," he said. "I always thought the _Pequod_ was +fast. We got in three hours ago." + +"Who else is in?" + +"Corkscrew and some of his gang are here at the _Times_, now. +_Bulldog_ and _Slasher_ just got in a while ago. Some of the ships +that were farthest west and didn't go to your camp have been in quite +a while. We're having a meeting here. We are organizing the Port +Sandor Vigilance Committee and Renegade Hunters' Co-operative." + + + + +15 + +VIGILANTES + + +When the _Pequod_ surfaced under the city roof, I saw what was +cooking. There were twenty or more ships, either on the concrete docks +or afloat in the pools. The waterfront was crowded with men in boat +clothes, forming little knots and breaking up to join other groups, +all milling about talking excitedly. Most of them were armed; not just +knives and pistols, which is normal costume, but heavy rifles or +submachine guns. Down to the left, there was a commotion and people +were getting out of the way as a dozen men come pushing through, +towing a contragravity skid with a 50-mm ship's gun on it. I began not +liking the looks of things, and Glenn Murell, who had come up from his +nap below, was liking it even less. He'd come to Fenris to buy +tallow-wax, not to fight a civil war. I didn't want any of that stuff, +either. Getting rid of Ravick, Hallstock and Belsher would come under +the head of civic improvements, but towns are rarely improved by +having battles fought in them. + +Maybe I should have played dumb and waited till I'd talked to Dad face +to face, before making any statements about what had happened on the +_Javelin_, I thought. Then I shrugged that off. From the minute the +_Javelin_ had failed to respond to Dad's screen-call and the general +call had gone out to the hunter-fleet, everybody had been positive of +what had happened. It was too much like the loss of the _Claymore_, +which had made Ravick president of the Co-op. + +Port Sandor had just gotten all of Steve Ravick that anybody could +take. They weren't going to have any more of him, and that was all +there was to it. + +Joe Kivelson was grumbling about his broken arm; that meant that when +a fight started, he could only go in swinging with one fist, and that +would cut the fun in half. Another reason why Joe is a wretched shot +is that he doesn't like pistols. They're a little too impersonal to +suit him. They weren't for Oscar Fujisawa; he had gotten a +Mars-Consolidated Police Special out of the chart-table drawer and put +it on, and he was loading cartridges into a couple of spare clips. +Down on the main deck, the gunner was serving out small arms, and +there was an acrimonious argument because everybody wanted a chopper +and there weren't enough choppers to go around. Oscar went over to the +ladder head and shouted down at them. + +"Knock off the argument, down there; you people are all going to stay +on the ship. I'm going up to the _Times_; as soon as I'm off, float +her out into the inner channel and keep her afloat, and don't let +anybody aboard you're not sure of." + +"That where we're going?" Joe Kivelson asked. + +"Sure. That's the safest place in town for Mr. Murell and I want to +find out exactly what's going on here." + +"Well, here; you don't need to put me in storage," Murell protested. +"I can take care of myself." + +Add, Famous Last Words, I thought. + +"I'm sure of it, but we can't take any chances," Oscar told him. +"Right now, you are Fenris's Indispensable Man. If you're not around +to buy tallow-wax, Ravick's won the war." + +Oscar and Murell and Joe and Tom Kivelson and I went down into the +boat; somebody opened the port and we floated out and lifted onto the +Second Level Down. There was a fringe of bars and cafes and dance +halls and outfitters and ship chandlers for a couple of blocks back, +and then we ran into the warehouse district. Oscar ran up town to a +vehicle shaft above the Times Building, careful to avoid the +neighborhood of Hunters' Hall or the Municipal Building. + +There was a big crowd around the _Times_, mostly business district +people and quite a few women. They were mostly out on the street and +inside the street-floor vehicle port. Not a disorderly crowd, but I +noticed quite a few rifles and submachine guns. As we slipped into the +vehicle port, they recognized the _Pequod's_ boat, and there was a +rush after it. We had trouble getting down without setting it on +anybody, and more trouble getting out of it. They were all +friendly--too friendly for comfort. They began cheering us as soon as +they saw us. + +Oscar got Joe Kivelson, with his arm in a sling, out in front where he +could be seen, and began shouting: "Please make way; this man's been +injured. Please don't crowd; we have an injured man here." The crowd +began shoving back, and in the rear I could hear them taking it up: +"Joe Kivelson; he's been hurt. They're carrying Joe Kivelson off." +That made Joe curse a blue streak, and somebody said, "Oh, he's been +hurt real bad; just listen to him!" + +When we got up to the editorial floor, Dad and Bish Ware and a few +others were waiting at the elevator for us. Bish was dressed as he +always was, in his conservative black suit, with the organic opal +glowing in his neckcloth. Dad had put a coat on over his gun. Julio was +wearing two pistols and a knife a foot long. There was a big crowd in +the editorial office--ships' officers, merchants, professional people. I +noticed Sigurd Ngozori, the banker, and Professor Hartzenbosch--he was +wearing a pistol, too, rather self-consciously--and the Zen Buddhist +priest, who evidently had something under his kimono. They all greeted +us enthusiastically and shook hands with us. I noticed that Joe Kivelson +was something less than comfortable about shaking hands with Bish Ware. +The fact that Bish had started the search for the _Javelin_ that had +saved our lives didn't alter the opinion Joe had formed long ago that +Bish was just a worthless old souse. Joe's opinions are all +collapsium-plated and impervious to outside influence. + +I got Bish off to one side as we were going into the editorial room. + +"How did you get onto it?" I asked. + +He chuckled deprecatingly. "No trick at all," he said. "I just +circulated and bought drinks for people. The trouble with Ravick's +gang, it's an army of mercenaries. They'll do anything for the price +of a drink, and as long as my rich uncle stays solvent, I always have +the price of a drink. In the five years I've spent in this Garden Spot +of the Galaxy, I've learned some pretty surprising things about Steve +Ravick's operations." + +"Well, surely, nobody was going around places like Martian Joe's or +One Eye Swanson's boasting that they'd put a time bomb aboard the +_Javelin_," I said. + +"It came to pretty nearly that," Bish said. "You'd be amazed at how +careless people who've had their own way for a long time can get. For +instance, I've known for some time that Ravick has spies among the +crews of a lot of hunter-ships. I tried, a few times, to warn some of +these captains, but except for Oscar Fujisawa and Corkscrew Finnegan, +none of them would listen to me. It wasn't that they had any doubt +that Ravick would do that; they just wouldn't believe that any of +their crew were traitors. + +"I've suspected this Devis for a long time, and I've spoken to Ramón +Llewellyn about him, but he just let it go in one ear and out the +other. For one thing, Devis always has more money to spend than his +share of the _Javelin_ take would justify. He's the showoff type; +always buying drinks for everybody and playing the big shot. Claims to +win it gambling, but all the times I've ever seen him gambling, he's +been losing. + +"I knew about this hoard of wax we saw the day Murell came in for some +time. I always thought it was being held out to squeeze a better price +out of Belsher and Ravick. Then this friend of mine with whom I was +talking aboard the _Peenemünde_ mentioned that Murell seemed to know +more about the tallow-wax business than about literary matters, and +after what happened at the meeting and afterward, I began putting two +and two together. When I crashed that party at Hunters' Hall, I heard +a few things, and they all added up. + +"And then, about thirty hours after the Javelin left port, I was in +the Happy Haven, and who should I see, buying drinks for the house, +but Al Devis. I let him buy me one, and he told me he'd strained his +back hand-lifting a power-unit cartridge. A square dance got started a +little later, and he got into it. His back didn't look very strained +to me. And then I heard a couple of characters in One Eye Swanson's +betting that the _Javelin_ would never make port again." + +I knew what had happened from then on. If it hadn't been for Bish +Ware, we'd still be squatting around a fire down on the coast of +Hermann Reuch's Land till it got too cold to cut wood, and then we'd +freeze. I mentioned that, but Bish just shrugged it off and suggested +we go on in and see what was happening inside. + +"Where is Al Devis?" I asked. "A lot of people want to talk to him." + +"I know they do. I want to get to him first, while he's still in +condition to do some talking of his own. But he just dropped out of +sight, about the time your father started calling the _Javelin_." + +"Ah!" I drew a finger across under my chin, and mentioned the class of +people who tell no tales. Bish shook his head slowly. + +"I doubt it," he said. "Not unless it was absolutely necessary. That +sort of thing would have a discouraging effect the next time Ravick +wanted a special job done. I'm pretty sure he isn't at Hunters' Hall, +but he's hiding somewhere." + +Joe Kivelson had finished telling what had happened aboard the +_Javelin_ when we joined the main crowd, and everybody was talking +about what ought to be done with Steve Ravick. Oddly enough, the most +bloodthirsty were the banker and the professor. Well, maybe it wasn't +so odd. They were smart enough to know what Steve Ravick was really +doing to Port Sandor, and it hurt them as much as it did the hunters. +Dad and Bish seemed to be the only ones present who weren't in favor +of going down to Hunters' Hall right away and massacring everybody in +it, and then doing the same at the Municipal Building. + +"That's what I say!" Joe Kivelson was shouting. "Let's go clean out +both rats' nests. Why, there must be a thousand hunter-ship men at the +waterfront, and look how many people in town who want to help. We got +enough men to eat Hunters' Hall whole." + +"You'll find it slightly inedible, Joe," Bish told him. "Ravick has +about thirty men of his own and fifteen to twenty city police. He has +at least four 50-mm's on the landing stage above, and he has half a +dozen heavy machine guns and twice that many light 7-mm's." + +"Bish is right," somebody else said. "They have the vehicle port on +the street level barricaded, and they have the two floors on the level +below sealed off. We got men all around it and nobody can get out, but +if we try to blast our way in, it's going to cost us like Nifflheim." + +"You mean you're just going to sit here and talk about it and not do +anything?" Joe demanded. + +"We're going to do something, Joe," Dad told him. "But we've got to +talk about what we're going to do, and how we're going to do it, or +it'll be us who'll get wiped out." + +"Well, we'll have to decide on what it'll be, pretty quick," Mohandas +Gandhi Feinberg said. + +"What are things like at the Municipal Building?" Oscar Fujisawa +asked. "You say Ravick has fifteen to twenty city cops at Hunters' +Hall. Where are the rest of them? That would only be five to ten." + +"At the Municipal Building," Bish said. "Hallstock's holed up there, +trying to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary is happening." + +"Good. Let's go to the Municipal Building, first," Oscar said. "Take a +couple of hundred men, make a lot of noise, shoot out a few windows +and all yell, 'Hang Mort Hallstock!' loud enough, and he'll recall the +cops he has at Hunters' Hall to save his own neck. Then the rest of us +can make a quick rush and take Hunters' Hall." + +"We'll have to keep our main force around Hunters' Hall while we're +demonstrating at the Municipal Building," Corkscrew Finnegan said. "We +can't take a chance on Ravick's getting away." + +"I couldn't care less whether he gets away or not," Oscar said. "I +don't want Steve Ravick's blood. I just want him out of the +Co-operative, and if he runs out from it now, he'll never get back +in." + +"You want him, and you want him alive," Bish Ware said. "Ravick has +close to four million sols banked on Terra. Every millisol of that's +money he's stolen from the monster-hunters of this planet, through the +Co-operative. If you just take him out and string him up, you'll have +the Nifflheim of a time getting hold of any of it." + +That made sense to all the ship captains, even Joe Kivelson, after Dad +reminded him of how much the salvage job on the _Javelin_ was going to +cost. It took Sigurd Ngozori a couple of minutes to see the point, but +then, hanging Steve Ravick wasn't going to cost the Fidelity & Trust +Company anything. + +"Well, this isn't my party," Glenn Murell said, "but I'm too much of a +businessman to see how watching somebody kick on the end of a rope is +worth four million sols." + +"Four million sols," Bish said, "and wondering, the rest of your +lives, whether it was justice or just murder." + +The Buddhist priest looked at him, a trifle startled. After all, he +was the only clergyman in the crowd; he ought to have thought of that, +instead of this outrageous mock-bishop. + +"I think it's a good scheme," Dad said. "Don't mass any more men +around Hunters' Hall than necessary. You don't want the police to be +afraid to leave when Hallstock calls them in to help him at Municipal +Building." + +Bish Ware rose. "I think I'll see what I can do at Hunters' Hall, in +the meantime," he said. "I'm going to see if there's some way in from +the First or Second Level Down. Walt, do you still have that sleep-gas +gadget of yours?" + +I nodded. It was, ostensibly, nothing but an oversized pocket lighter, +just the sort of a thing a gadget-happy kid would carry around. It +worked perfectly as a lighter, too, till you pushed in on a little +gismo on the side. Then, instead of producing a flame, it squirted +out a small jet of sleep gas. It would knock out a man; it would +almost knock out a Zarathustra veldtbeest. I'd bought it from a +spaceman on the _Cape Canaveral_. I'd always suspected that he'd +stolen it on Terra, because it was an expensive little piece of work, +but was I going to ride a bicycle six hundred and fifty light-years to +find out who it belonged to? One of the chemists' shops at Port Sandor +made me up some fills for it, and while I had never had to use it, it +was a handy thing to have in some of the places I had to follow +stories into, and it wouldn't do anybody any permanent damage, the way +a gun would. + +"Yes; it's down in my room. I'll get it for you," I said. + +"Be careful, Bish," Dad said. "That gang would kill you sooner than +look at you." + +"Who, me?" Bish staggered into a table and caught hold of it. "Who'd +wanna hurt me? I'm just good ol' Bish Ware. _Good_ ol' Bish! nobody +hurt him; he'sh everybody's friend." He let go of the table and +staggered into a chair, upsetting it. Then he began to sing: + + "_Come all ye hardy spacemen, and harken while I tell + Of fluorine-tainted Nifflheim, the Planetary Hell._" + +Involuntarily, I began clapping my hands. It was a superb piece of +acting--Bish Ware sober playing Bish Ware drunk, and that's not an +easy role for anybody to play. Then he picked up the chair and sat +down on it. + +"Who do you have around Hunters' Hall, and how do I get past them?" +he asked. "I don't want a clipful from somebody on my own side." + +Nip Spazoni got a pencil and a pad of paper and began drawing a plan. + +"This is Second Level Down," he said. "We have a car here, with a +couple of men in it. It's watching this approach here. And we have a +ship's boat, over here, with three men in it, and a 7-mm machine gun. +And another car--no, a jeep, here. Now, up on the First Level Down, we +have two ships' boats, one here, and one here. The password is +'Exotic,' and the countersign is 'Organics.'" He grinned at Murell. +"Compliment to your company." + +"Good enough. I'll want a bottle of liquor. My breath needs a little +touching up, and I may want to offer somebody a drink. If I could get +inside that place, there's no telling what I might be able to do. If +one man can get in and put a couple of guards to sleep, an army can +get in after him." + +Brother, I thought, if he pulls this one off, he's in. Nobody around +Port Sandor will ever look down on Bish Ware again, not even Joe +Kivelson. I began thinking about the detective agency idea again, and +wondered if he'd want a junior partner. Ware & Boyd, Planetwide +Detective Agency. + +I went down to the floor below with him and got him my lighter +gas-projector and a couple of spare fills for it, and found the bottle +of Baldur honey-rum that Dad had been sure was around somewhere. I was +kind of doubtful about that, and he noticed my hesitation in giving it +to him and laughed. + +"Don't worry, Walt," he said. "This is strictly for protective +coloration--and odoration. I shall be quite sparing with it, I assure +you." + +I shook hands with him, trying not to be too solemn about it, and he +went down in the elevator and I went up the stairs to the floor above. +By this time, the Port Sandor Vigilance Committee had gotten itself +sorted out. The rank-and-file Vigilantes were standing around yacking +at one another, and a smaller group--Dad and Sigurd Ngozori and the +Reverend Sugitsuma and Oscar and Joe and Corkscrew and Nip and the +Mahatma--were in a huddle around Dad's editorial table, discussing +strategy and tactics. + +"Well, we'd better get back to the docks before it starts," Corkscrew +was saying. "No hunter crew will follow anybody but their own ships' +officers." + +"We'll have to have somebody the uptown people will follow," Oscar +said. "These people won't take orders from a woolly-pants hunter +captain. How about you, Sigurd?" + +The banker shook his head. "Ralph Boyd's the man for that," he said. + +"Ralph's needed right here; this is G.H.Q.," Oscar said. "This is a +job that's going to have to be run from one central command. We've got +to make sure the demonstration against Hallstock and the operation +against Hunters' Hall are synchronized." + +"I have about a hundred and fifty workmen, and they all have or can +get something to shoot with," another man said. I looked around, and +saw that it was Casmir Oughourlian, of Rodriguez & Oughourlian +Shipyards. "They'll follow me, but I'm not too well known uptown." + +"Hey, Professor Hartzenbosch," Mohandas Feinberg said. "You're a +respectable-looking duck; you ever have any experience leading a +lynch mob?" + +Everybody laughed. So, to his credit, did the professor. + +"I've had a lot of experience with children," the professor said. +"Children are all savages. So are lynch mobs. Things that are equal to +the same thing are equal to one another. Yes, I'd say so." + +"All right," Dad said. "Say I'm Chief of Staff, or something. Oscar, +you and Joe and Corkscrew and the rest of you decide who's going to +take over-all command of the hunters. Casmir, you'll command your +workmen, and anybody else from the shipyards and engine works and +repair shops and so on. Sigurd, you and the Reverend, here, and +Professor Hartzenbosch gather up all the uptown people you can. Now, +we'll have to decide on how much force we need to scare Mort +Hallstock, and how we're going to place the main force that will +attack Hunters' Hall." + +"I think we ought to wait till we see what Bish Ware can do," Oscar +said. "Get our gangs together, and find out where we're going to put +who, but hold off the attack for a while. If he can get inside +Hunters' Hall, we may not even need this demonstration at the +Municipal Building." + +Joe Kivelson started to say something. The rest of his fellow ship +captains looked at him severely, and he shut up. Dad kept on jotting +down figures of men and 50-mm guns and vehicles and auto weapons we +had available. + +He was still doing it when the fire alarm started. + + + + +16 + +CIVIL WAR POSTPONED + + +The moaner went on for thirty seconds, like a banshee mourning its +nearest and dearest. It was everywhere, Main City Level and the four +levels below. What we have in Port Sandor is a volunteer fire +organization--or disorganization, rather--of six independent +companies, each of which cherishes enmity for all the rest. It's the +best we can do, though; if we depended on the city government, we'd +have no fire protection at all. They do have a central alarm system, +though, and the _Times_ is connected with that. + +Then the moaner stopped, and there were four deep whistle blasts for +Fourth Ward, and four more shrill ones for Bottom Level. There was an +instant's silence, and then a bedlam of shouts from the hunter-boat +captains. That was where the tallow-wax that was being held out from +the Co-operative was stored. + +"Shut up!" Dad roared, the loudest I'd ever heard him speak. "Shut up +and listen!" + +"Fourth Ward, Bottom Level," a voice from the fire-alarm speaker said. +"This is a tallow-wax fire. It is not the Co-op wax; it is wax stored +in an otherwise disused area. It is dangerously close to stored 50-mm +cannon ammunition, and it is directly under the pulpwood lumber plant, +on the Third Level Down, and if the fire spreads up to that, it will +endanger some of the growing vats at the carniculture plant on the +Second Level Down. I repeat, this is a tallow-wax fire. Do not use +water or chemical extinguishers." + +About half of the Vigilantes, businessmen who belonged to one or +another of the volunteer companies had bugged out for their fire +stations already. The Buddhist priest and a couple of doctors were +also leaving. The rest, mostly hunter-ship men, were standing around +looking at one another. + +Oscar Fujisawa gave a sour laugh. "That diversion idea of mine was all +right," he said. "The only trouble was that Steve Ravick thought of it +first." + +"You think he started the fire?" Dad began, and then gave a sourer +laugh than Oscar's. "Am I dumb enough to ask that?" + +I had started assembling equipment as soon as the feint on the +Municipal Building and the attack on Hunters' Hall had gotten into the +discussion stage. I would use a jeep that had a heavy-duty audiovisual +recording and transmitting outfit on it, and for situations where I'd +have to leave the jeep and go on foot, I had a lighter outfit like the +one Oscar had brought with him in the Pequod's boat. Then I had my +radio for two-way conversation with the office. And, because this +wasn't likely to be the sort of war in which the rights of +noncombatants like war correspondents would be taken very seriously, +I had gotten out my Sterberg 7.7-mm. + +Dad saw me buckling it on, and seemed rather distressed. + +"Better leave that, Walt," he said. "You don't want to get into any +shooting." + +Logical, I thought. If you aren't prepared for something, it just +won't happen. There's an awful lot of that sort of thinking going on. +As I remember my Old Terran history, it was even indulged in by +governments, at one time. None of them exists now. + +"You know what all crawls into the Bottom Level," I reminded him. "If +you don't, ask Mr. Murell, here. One sent him to the hospital." + +Dad nodded; I had a point there. The abandoned sections of Bottom +Level are full of tread-snails and other assorted little nasties, and +the heat of the fire would stir them all up and start them moving +around. Even aside from the possibility that, having started the fire, +Steve Ravick's gang would try to take steps to keep it from being put +out too soon, a gun was going to be a comforting companion, down +there. + +"Well, stay out of any fighting. Your job's to get the news, not play +hero in gun fights. I'm no hero; that's why I'm sixty years old. I +never knew many heroes that got that old." + +It was my turn to nod. On that, Dad had a point. I said something +about getting the news, not making it, and checked the chamber and +magazine of the Sterberg, and then slung my radio and picked up the +audiovisual outfit. + +Tom and Joe Kivelson had left already, to round up the scattered +Javelin crew for fire fighting. The attack on the Municipal Building +and on Hunters' Hall had been postponed, but it wasn't going to be +abandoned. Oscar and Professor Hartzenbosch and Dad and a couple of +others were planning some sort of an observation force of a few men +for each place, until the fire had been gotten out or under control. +Glenn Murell decided he'd go out with me, at least as far as the fire, +so we went down to the vehicle port and got the jeep out. Main City +Level Broadway was almost deserted; everybody had gone down below +where the excitement was. We started down the nearest vehicle shaft +and immediately got into a jam, above a lot of stuff that was going +into the shaft from the First Level Down, mostly manipulators and that +sort of thing. There were no police around, natch, and a lot of +volunteers were trying to direct traffic and getting in each other's +way. I got some views with the jeep camera, just to remind any of the +public who needed reminding what our city administration wasn't doing +in an emergency. A couple of pieces of apparatus, a chemical tank and +a pumper marked SALAMANDER VOLUNTEER FIRE COMPANY NO. 3 came along, +veered out of the jam, and continued uptown. + +"If they know another way down, maybe we'd better follow them," Murell +suggested. + +"They're not going down. They're going to the lumber plant, in case +the fire spreads upward," I said. "They wouldn't be taking that sort +of equipment to a wax fire." + +"Why not?" + +I looked at him. "I thought you were in the wax business," I said. + +"I am, but I'm no chemist. I don't know anything about how wax burns. +All I know is what it's used for, roughly, and who's in the market for +it." + +"Well, you know about those jumbo molecules, don't you?" I asked. +"They have everything but the kitchen sink in them, including enough +oxygen to sustain combustion even under water or in a vacuum. Not +enough oxygen to make wax explode, like powder, but enough to keep it +burning. Chemical extinguishers are all smothering agents, and you +just can't smother a wax fire. And water's worse than useless." + +He wanted to know why. + +"Burning wax is a liquid. The melting point is around 250 degrees +Centigrade. Wax ignites at 750. It has no boiling point, unless that's +the burning point. Throw water on a wax fire and you get a steam +explosion, just as you would if you threw it on molten metal, and that +throws the fire around and spreads it." + +"If it melts that far below the ignition point, wouldn't it run away +before it caught fire?" + +"Normally, it would. That's why I'm sure this fire was a touch-off. I +think somebody planted a thermoconcentrate bomb. A thermoconcentrate +flame is around 850 Centigrade; the wax would start melting and +burning almost instantaneously. In any case, the fire will be at the +bottom of the stacks. If it started there, melted wax would run down +from above and keep the fire going, and if it started at the top, +burning wax would run down and ignite what's below." + +"Well, how in blazes do you put a wax fire out?" he wanted to know. + +"You don't. You just pull away all the wax that hasn't caught fire +yet, and then try to scatter the fire and let it burn itself out.... +Here's our chance!" + +All this conversation we had been screaming into each other's ears, in +the midst of a pandemonium of yelling, cursing, siren howling and bell +clanging; just then I saw a hole in the vertical traffic jam and edged +the jeep into it, at the same time remembering that the jeep carried, +and I was entitled to use, a fire siren. I added its howls to the +general uproar and dropped down one level. Here a string of big +manipulators were trying to get in from below, sprouting claw hooks +and grapples and pusher arms in all directions. I made my siren +imitate a tail-tramped tomcat a couple of times, and got in among +them. + +Bottom Level Broadway was a frightful mess, and I realized that we had +come down right between two units of the city power plant, big +mass-energy converters. The street was narrower than above, and ran +for a thousand yards between ceiling-high walls, and everything was +bottlenecked together. I took the jeep up till we were almost scraping +the ceiling, and Murell, who had seen how the audiovisual was used, +took over with it while I concentrated on inching forward. The noise +was even worse down here than it had been above; we didn't attempt to +talk. + +Finally, by impudence and plain foolhardiness, I got the jeep forward +a few hundred yards, and found myself looking down on a big derrick +with a fifty-foot steel boom tipped with a four-clawed grapple, +shielded in front with sheet steel like a gun shield. It was painted +with the emblem of the Hunters' Co-operative, but the three men on it +looked like shipyard workers. I didn't get that, at all. The thing had +been built to handle burning wax, and was one of three kept on the +Second Level Down under Hunters' Hall. I wondered if Bish Ware had +found a way for a gang to get in at the bottom of Hunters' Hall. I +simply couldn't see Steve Ravick releasing equipment to fight the fire +his goons had started for him in the first place. + +I let down a few feet, gave a polite little scream with my siren, and +then yelled down to the men on it: + +"Where'd that thing come from?" + +"Hunters' Hall; Steve Ravick sent it. The other two are up at the fire +already, and if this mess ahead doesn't get straightened out...." From +there on, his remarks were not suitable for publication in a family +journal like the _Times_. + +I looked up ahead, rising to the ceiling again, and saw what was the +matter. It was one of the dredgers from the waterfront, really a +submarine scoop shovel, that they used to keep the pools and the inner +channel from sanding up. I wasn't surprised it was jammed; I couldn't +see how they'd gotten this far uptown with it. I got a few shots of +that, and then unhooked the handphone of my radio. Julio Kubanoff +answered. + +"You getting everything I'm sending in?" I asked. + +"Yes. What's that two-em-dashed thing up ahead, one of the harbor +dredgers?" + +"That's right. Hey, look at this, once." I turned the audiovisual down +on the claw derrick. "The men on it look like Rodriguez & +Oughourlian's people, but they say Steve Ravick sent it. What do you +know about it?" + +"Hey, Ralph! What's this Walt's picked up about Ravick sending +equipment to fight the fire?" he yelled. + +Dad came over, and nodded. "It wasn't Ravick, it was Mort Hallstock. +He commandeered the Co-op equipment and sent it up," he said. "He +called me and wanted to know whom to send for it that Ravick's gang +wouldn't start shooting at right away. Casmir Oughourlian sent some of +his men." + +Up front, something seemed to have given way. The dredger went +lurching forward, and everything moved off after it. + +"I get it," I said. "Hallstock's getting ready to dump Ravick out the +airlock. He sees, now, that Ravick's a dead turkey; he doesn't want to +go into the oven along with him." + +"Walt, can't you ever give anybody credit with trying to do something +decent, once in a while?" Dad asked. + +"Sure I can. Decent people. There are a lot of them around, but Mort +Hallstock isn't one of them. There was an Old Terran politician named +Al Smith, once. He had a little saying he used in that kind of case: +'Let's look at the record.'" + +"Well, Mort's record isn't very impressive, I'll give you that," Dad +admitted. "I understand Mort's up at the fire now. Don't spit in his +eye if you run into him." + +"I won't," I promised. "I'm kind of particular where I spit." + +Things must be looking pretty rough around Municipal Building, I +thought. Maybe Mort's afraid the people will start running Fenris +again, after this. He might even be afraid there'd be an election. + +By this time, I'd gotten the jeep around the dredger--we'd come to the +end of the nuclear-power plant buildings--and cut off into open +country. That is to say, nothing but pillar-buildings two hundred +yards apart and piles of bagged mineral nutrients for the hydroponic +farms. We could see a blaze of electric lights ahead where the fire +must be, and after a while we began to run into lorries and +lifter-skids hauling ammunition away from the area. Then I could see a +big mushroom of greasy black smoke spreading out close to the ceiling. +The electric lights were brighter ahead, and there was a confused roar +of voices and sirens and machines. + +And there was a stink. + +There are a lot of stinks around Port Sandor, though the ventilation +system carries most of them off before they can spread out of their +own areas. The plant that reprocesses sewage to get organic nutrients +for the hydroponic farms, and the plant that digests hydroponic +vegetation to make nutrients for the carniculture vats. The +carniculture vats themselves aren't any flower gardens. And the pulp +plant where our synthetic lumber is made. But the worst stink there is +on Fenris is a tallow-wax fire. Fortunately, they don't happen often. + + + + +17 + +TALLOW-WAX FIRE + + +Now that we were out of the traffic jam, I could poke along and use +the camera myself. The wax was stacked in piles twenty feet high, +which gave thirty feet of clear space above them, but the section +where they had been piled was badly cut up by walls and full of small +extra columns to support the weight of the pulp plant above and the +carniculture vats on the level over that. However, the piles +themselves weren't separated by any walls, and the fire could spread +to the whole stock of wax. There were more men and vehicles on the job +than room for them to work. I passed over the heads of the crowd +around the edges and got onto a comparatively unobstructed side where +I could watch and get views of the fire fighters pulling down the big +skins of wax and loading them onto contragravity skids to be hauled +away. It still wasn't too hot to work unshielded, and they weren't +anywhere near the burning stacks, but the fire seemed to be spreading +rapidly. The dredger and the three shielded derricks hadn't gotten +into action yet. + +I circled around clockwise, dodging over, under and around the skids +and lorries hauling wax out of danger. They were taking them into the +section through which I had brought the jeep a few minutes before, and +just dumping them on top of the piles of mineral nutrients. + +The operation seemed to be directed from an improvised headquarters in +the area that had been cleared of ammunition. There were a couple of +view screens and a radio, operated by women. I saw one of the teachers +I'd gone to school to a few years ago, and Joe Kivelson's wife, and +Oscar Fujisawa's current girl friend, and Sigurd Ngozori's secretary, +and farther off there was an equally improvised coffee-and-sandwich +stand. I grounded the jeep, and Murell and I got out and went over to +the headquarters. Joe Kivelson seemed to be in charge. + +I have, I believe, indicated here and there that Joe isn't one of our +mightier intellects. There are a lot of better heads, but Joe can be +relied upon to keep his, no matter what is happening or how bad it +gets. He was sitting on an empty box, his arm in a now-filthy sling, +and one of Mohandas Feinberg's crooked black cigars in his mouth. +Usually, Joe smokes a pipe, but a cigar's less bother for a +temporarily one-armed man. Standing in front of him, like a schoolboy +in front of the teacher, was Mayor Morton Hallstock. + +"But, Joe, they simply won't!" His Honor was wailing. "I did talk to +Mr. Fieschi; he says he knows this is an emergency, but there's a +strict company directive against using the spaceport area for storage +of anything but cargo that has either just come in or is being shipped +out on the next ship." + +"What's this all about?" Murell asked. + +"Fieschi, at the spaceport, won't let us store this wax in the +spaceport area," Joe said. "We got to get it stored somewhere; we need +a lot of floor space to spread this fire out on, once we get into it. +We have to knock the burning wax cylinders apart, and get them +separated enough so that burning wax won't run from one to another." + +"Well, why can't we store it in the spaceport area?" Murell wanted to +know. "It is going out on the next ship. I'm consigning it to Exotic +Organics, in Buenos Aires." He turned to Joe. "Are those skins all +marked to indicate who owns them?" + +"That's right. And any we gather up loose, from busted skins, we can +figure some way of settling how much anybody's entitled to from them." + +"All right. Get me a car and run me to the spaceport. Call them and +tell them I'm on the way. I'll talk to Fieschi myself." + +"Martha!" Joe yelled to his wife. "Car and driver, quick. And then +call the spaceport for me; get Mr. Fieschi or Mr. Mansour on screen." + +Inside two minutes, a car came in and picked Murell up. By that time, +Joe was talking to somebody at the spaceport. I called the paper, and +told Dad that Murell was buying the wax for his company as fast as it +was being pulled off the fire, at eighty centisols a pound. He said +that would go out as a special bulletin right away. Then I talked to +Morton Hallstock, and this time he wasn't giving me any of the +run-along-sonny routine. I told him, rather hypocritically, what a +fine thing he'd done, getting that equipment from Hunters' Hall. I +suspect I sounded as though I were mayor of Port Sandor and Hallstock, +just seventeen years old, had done something the grownups thought was +real smart for a kid. If so, he didn't seem to notice. Somebody +connected with the press was being nice to him. I asked him where +Steve Ravick was. + +"Mr. Ravick is at Hunters' Hall," he said. "He thought it would be +unwise to make a public appearance just now." Oh, brother, what an +understatement! "There seems to be a lot of public feeling against +him, due to some misconception that he was responsible for what +happened to Captain Kivelson's ship. Of course, that is absolutely +false. Mr. Ravick had absolutely nothing to do with that. He wasn't +anywhere near the _Javelin_." + +"Where's Al Devis?" I asked. + +"Who? I don't believe I know him." + +After Hallstock got into his big black air-limousine and took off, Joe +Kivelson gave a short laugh. + +"I could have told him where Al Devis is," he said. "No, I couldn't, +either," he corrected himself. "That's a religious question, and I +don't discuss religion." + +I shut off my radio in a hurry. "Who got him?" I asked. + +Joe named a couple of men from one of the hunter-ships. + +"Here's what happened. There were six men on guard here; they had a +jeep with a 7-mm machine gun. About an hour ago, a lorry pulled in, +with two men in boat-clothes on it. They said that Pierre Karolyi's +_Corinne_ had just come in with a hold full of wax, and they were +bringing it up from the docks, and where should they put it? Well, the +men on guard believed that; Pierre'd gone off into the twilight zone +after the _Helldiver_ contacted us, and he could have gotten a monster +in the meantime. + +"Well, they told these fellows that there was more room over on the +other side of the stacks, and the lorry went up above the stacks and +started across, and when they were about the middle, one of the men in +it threw out a thermoconcentrate bomb. The lorry took off, right away. +The only thing was that there were two men in the jeep, and one of +them was at the machine gun. They'd lifted to follow the lorry over +and show them where to put this wax, and as soon as the bomb went off, +the man at the gun grabbed it and caught the lorry in his sights and +let go. This fellow hadn't been covering for cutting-up work for years +for nothing. He got one burst right in the control cabin, and the +lorry slammed into the next column foundation. After they called in an +alarm on the fire the bomb had started, a couple of them went to see +who'd been in the lorry. The two men in it were both dead, and one of +them was Al Devis." + +"Pity," I said. "I'd been looking forward to putting a recording of +his confession on the air. Where is this lorry now?" + +Joe pointed toward the burning wax piles. "Almost directly on the +other side. We have a couple of men guarding it. The bodies are still +in it. We don't want any tampering with it till it can be properly +examined; we want to have the facts straight, in case Hallstock tries +to make trouble for the men who did the shooting." + +I didn't know how he could. Under any kind of Federation law at all, a +man killed committing a felony--and bombing and arson ought to +qualify for that--is simply bought and paid for; his blood is on +nobody's head but his own. Of course, a small matter like legality was +always the least of Mort Hallstock's worries. + +"I'll go get some shots of it," I said, and then I snapped on my radio +and called the story in. + +Dad had already gotten it, from fire-alarm center, but he hadn't heard +that Devis was one of the deceased arsonists. Like me, he was very +sorry to hear about it. Devis as Devis was no loss, but alive and +talking he'd have helped us pin both the wax fire and the bombing of +the _Javelin_ on Steve Ravick. Then I went back and got in the jeep. + +They were beginning to get in closer to the middle of the stacks where +the fire had been started. There was no chance of getting over the top +of it, and on the right there were at least five hundred men and a +hundred vehicles, all working like crazy to pull out unburned wax. Big +manipulators were coming up and grabbing as many of the half-ton +sausages as they could, and lurching away to dump them onto skids or +into lorries or just drop them on top of the bags of nutrient stacked +beyond. Jeeps and cars would dart in, throw grapnels on the end of +lines, and then pull away all the wax they could and return to throw +their grapnels again. As fast as they pulled the big skins down, men +with hand-lifters like the ones we had used at our camp to handle +firewood would pick them up and float them away. + +That seemed to be where the major effort was being made, at present, +and I could see lifter-skids coming in with big blower fans on them. I +knew what the strategy was, now; they were going to pull the wax away +to where it was burning on one side, and then set up the blowers and +blow the heat and smoke away on that side. That way, on the other side +more men could work closer to the fire, and in the long run they'd +save more wax. + +I started around the wax piles to the left, clockwise, to avoid the +activity on the other side, and before long I realized that I'd have +done better not to have. There was a long wall, ceiling-high, that +stretched off uptown in the direction of the spaceport, part of the +support for the weight of the pulpwood plant on the level above, and +piled against it was a lot of junk machinery of different kinds that +had been hauled in here and dumped long ago and then forgotten. The +wax was piled almost against this, and the heat and smoke forced me +down. + +I looked at the junk pile and decided that I could get through it on +foot. I had been keeping up a running narration into my radio, and I +commented on all this salvageable metal lying in here forgotten, with +our perennial metal shortages. Then I started picking my way through +it, my portable audiovisual camera slung over my shoulder and a +flashlight in my hand. My left hand, of course; it's never smart to +carry a light in your right, unless you're left-handed. + +The going wasn't too bad. Most of the time, I could get between things +without climbing over them. I was going between a broken-down press +from the lumber plant and a leaky 500-gallon pressure cooker from the +carniculture nutrient plant when I heard something moving behind me, +and I was suddenly very glad that I hadn't let myself be talked into +leaving my pistol behind. + +It was a thing the size of a ten-gallon keg, with a thick tail and +flippers on which it crawled, and six tentacles like small elephants' +trunks around a circular mouth filled with jagged teeth halfway down +the throat. There are a dozen or so names for it, but mostly it is +called a meat-grinder. + +The things are always hungry and try to eat anything that moves. The +mere fact that I would be as poisonous to it as any of the local flora +or fauna would be to me made no difference; this meat-grinder was no +biochemist. It was coming straight for me, all its tentacles writhing. + +I had had my Sterberg out as soon as I'd heard the noise. I also +remembered that my radio was on, and that I was supposed to comment on +anything of interest that took place around me. + +"Here's a meat-grinder, coming right for me," I commented in a voice +not altogether steady, and slammed three shots down its tooth-studded +gullet. Then I scored my target, at the same time keeping out of the +way of the tentacles. He began twitching a little. I fired again. The +meat-grinder jerked slightly, and that was all. + +"Now I'm going out and take a look at that lorry." I was certain now +that the voice was shaky. + +The lorry--and Al Devis and his companion--had come to an end against +one of the two-hundred-foot masonry and concrete foundations the +columns rest on. It had hit about halfway up and folded almost like an +accordion, sliding down to the floor. With one thing and another, +there is a lot of violent death around Port Sandor. I don't like to +look at the results. It's part of the job, however, and this time it +wasn't a pleasant job at all. + +The two men who were guarding the wreck and contents were sitting on +a couple of boxes, smoking and watching the fire-fighting operation. + +I took the partly empty clip out of my pistol and put in a full one on +the way back, and kept my flashlight moving its circle of light ahead +and on both sides of me. That was foolish, or at least unnecessary. If +there'd been one meat-grinder in that junk pile, it was a safe bet +there wasn't anything else. Meat-grinders aren't popular neighbors, +even for tread-snails. As I approached the carcass of the grinder I +had shot I found a ten-foot length of steel rod and poked it a few +times. When it didn't even twitch, I felt safe in walking past it. + +I got back in the jeep and returned to where Joe Kivelson was keeping +track of what was going on in five screens, including one from a +pickup on a lifter at the ceiling, and shouting orders that were being +reshouted out of loudspeakers all over the place. The Odin Dock & +Shipyard equipment had begun coming out; lorries picking up the wax +that had been dumped back from the fire and wax that was being pulled +off the piles, and material-handling equipment. They had a lot of +small fork-lifters that were helping close to the fire. + +A lot of the wax was getting so soft that it was hard to handle, and +quite a few of the plastic skins had begun to split from the heat. +Here and there I saw that outside piles had begun to burn at the +bottom, from burning wax that had run out underneath. I had moved +around to the right and was getting views of the big claw-derricks at +work picking the big sausages off the tops of piles, and while I was +swinging the camera back and forth, I was trying to figure just how +much wax there had been to start with, and how much was being saved. +Each of those plastic-covered cylinders was a thousand pounds; one of +the claw-derricks was picking up two or three of them at a grab.... + +I was still figuring when shouts of alarm on my right drew my head +around. There was an uprush of flame, and somebody began screaming, +and I could see an ambulance moving toward the center of excitement +and firemen in asbestos suits converging on a run. One of the piles +must have collapsed and somebody must have been splashed. I gave an +involuntary shudder. Burning wax was hotter than melted lead, and it +stuck to anything it touched, worse than napalm. I saw a man being +dragged out of further danger, his clothes on fire, and +asbestos-suited firemen crowding around to tear the burning garments +from him. Before I could get to where it had happened, though, they +had him in the ambulance and were taking him away. I hoped they'd get +him to the hospital before he died. + +Then more shouting started around at the right as a couple more piles +began collapsing. I was able to get all of that--the wax sausages +sliding forward, the men who had been working on foot running out of +danger, the flames shooting up, and the gush of liquid fire from +below. All three derricks moved in at once and began grabbing wax +cylinders away on either side of it. + +Then I saw Guido Fieschi, the Odin Dock & Shipyard's superintendent, +and caught him in my camera, moving the jeep toward him. + +"Mr. Fieschi!" I called. "Give me a few seconds and say something." + +He saw me and grinned. + +"I just came out to see how much more could be saved," he said. "We +have close to a thousand tons on the shipping floor or out of danger +here and on the way in, and it looks as though you'll be able to save +that much more. That'll be a million and a half sols we can be sure +of, and a possible three million, at the new price. And I want to take +this occasion, on behalf of my company and of Terra-Odin Spacelines, +to welcome a new freight shipper." + +"Well, that's wonderful news for everybody on Fenris," I said, and +added mentally, "with a few exceptions." Then I asked if he'd heard +who had gotten splashed. + +"No. I know it happened; I passed the ambulance on the way out. I +certainly hope they get to work on him in time." + +Then more wax started sliding off the piles, and more fire came +running out at the bottom. Joe Kivelson's voice, out of the +loudspeakers all around, was yelling: + +"Everybody away from the front! Get the blowers in; start in on the +other side!" + + + + +18 + +THE TREASON OF BISH WARE + + +I wanted to find out who had been splashed, but Joe Kivelson was too +busy directing the new phase of the fight to hand out casualty reports +to the press, and besides, there were too many things happening all at +once that I had to get. I went around to the other side where the +incendiaries had met their end, moving slowly as close to the face of +the fire as I could get and shooting the burning wax flowing out from +it. A lot of equipment, including two of the three claw-derricks and a +dredger--they'd brought a second one up from the waterfront--were +moving to that side. By the time I had gotten around, the blowers had +been maneuvered into place and were ready to start. There was a lot of +back-and-forth yelling to make sure that everybody was out from in +front, and then the blowers started. + +It looked like a horizontal volcanic eruption; burning wax blowing +away from the fire for close to a hundred feet into the clear space +beyond. The derricks and manipulators and the cars and jeeps with +grapnels went in on both sides, snatching and dragging wax away. +Because they had the wind from the blowers behind them, the men could +work a lot closer, and the fire wasn't spreading as rapidly. They were +saving a lot of wax; each one of those big sausages that the lifters +picked up and floated away weighed a thousand pounds, and was worth, +at the new price, eight hundred sols. + +Finally, they got everything away that they could, and then the +blowers were shut down and the two dredge shovels moved in, scooping +up the burning sludge and carrying it away, scattering it on the +concrete. I would have judged that there had been six or seven million +sols' worth of wax in the piles to start with, and that a little more +than half of it had been saved before they pulled the last cylinder +away. + +The work slacked off; finally, there was nothing but the two dredges +doing anything, and then they backed away and let down, and it was all +over but standing around and watching the scattered fire burn itself +out. I looked at my watch. It was two hours since the first alarm had +come in. I took a last swing around, got the spaceport people +gathering up wax and hauling it away, and the broken lake of fire that +extended downtown from where the stacks had been, and then I floated +my jeep over to the sandwich-and-coffee stand and let down, getting +out. Maybe, I thought, I could make some kind of deal with somebody +like Interworld News on this. It would make a nice thrilling +feature-program item. Just a little slice of life from Fenris, the +Garden Spot of the Galaxy. + +I got myself a big zhoumy-loin sandwich with hot sauce and a cup of +coffee, made sure that my portable radio was on, and circulated among +the fire fighters, getting comments. Everybody had been a hero, +natch, and they were all very unbashful about admitting it. There was +a great deal of wisecracking about Al Devis buying himself a ringside +seat for the fire he'd started. Then I saw Cesário Vieira and joined +him. + +"Have all the fire you want, for a while?" I asked him. + +"Brother, and how! We could have used a little of this over on Hermann +Reuch's Land, though. Have you seen Tom around anywhere?" + +"No. Have you?" + +"I saw him over there, about an hour ago. I guess he stayed on this +side. After they started blowing it, I was over on Al Devis's side." +He whistled softly. "Was that a mess!" + +There was still a crowd at the fire, but they seemed all to be +townspeople. The hunters had gathered where Joe Kivelson had been +directing operations. We finished our sandwiches and went over to join +them. As soon as we got within earshot, I found that they were all in +a very ugly mood. + +"Don't fool around," one man was saying as we came up. "Don't even +bother looking for a rope. Just shoot them as soon as you see them." + +Well, I thought, a couple of million sols' worth of tallow-wax, in +which they all owned shares, was something to get mean about. I said +something like that. + +"It's not that," another man said. "It's Tom Kivelson." + +"What about him?" I asked, alarmed. + +"Didn't you hear? He got splashed with burning wax," the hunter said. +"His whole back was on fire; I don't know whether he's alive now or +not." + +So that was who I'd seen screaming in agony while the firemen tore his +burning clothes away. I pushed through, with Cesário behind me, and +found Joe Kivelson and Mohandas Feinberg and Corkscrew Finnegan and +Oscar Fujisawa and a dozen other captains and ships' officers in a +huddle. + +"Joe," I said, "I just heard about Tom. Do you know anything yet?" + +Joe turned. "Oh, Walt. Why, as far as we know, he's alive. He was +alive when they got him to the hospital." + +"That's at the spaceport?" I unhooked my handphone and got Dad. He'd +heard about a man being splashed, but didn't know who it was. He said +he'd call the hospital at once. A few minutes later, he was calling me +back. + +"He's been badly burned, all over the back. They're preparing to do a +deep graft on him. They said his condition was serious, but he was +alive five minutes ago." + +I thanked him and hung up, relaying the information to the others. +They all looked worried. When the screen girl at a hospital tells you +somebody's serious, instead of giving you the well-as-can-be-expected +routine, you know it is serious. Anybody who makes it alive to a +hospital, these days, has an excellent chance, but injury cases do +die, now and then, after they've been brought in. They are the +"serious" cases. + +"Well, I don't suppose there's anything we can do," Joe said heavily. + +"We can clean up on the gang that started this fire," Oscar Fujisawa +said. "Do it now; then if Tom doesn't make it, he's paid for in +advance." + +Oscar, I recalled, was the one who had been the most impressed with +Bish Ware's argument that lynching Steve Ravick would cost the hunters +the four million sols they might otherwise be able to recover, after a +few years' interstellar litigation, from his bank account on Terra. +That reminded me that I hadn't even thought of Bish since I'd left the +_Times_. I called back. Dad hadn't heard a word from him. + +"What's the situation at Hunters' Hall?" I asked. + +"Everything's quiet there. The police left when Hallstock commandeered +that fire-fighting equipment. They helped the shipyard men get it out, +and then they all went to the Municipal Building. As far as I know, +both Ravick and Belsher are still in Hunters' Hall. I'm in contact +with the vehicles on guard at the approaches; I'll call them now." + +I relayed that. The others nodded. + +"Nip Spazoni and a few others are bringing men and guns up from the +docks and putting a cordon around the place on the Main City Level," +Oscar said. "Your father will probably be hearing that they're moving +into position now." + +He had. He also said that he had called all the vehicles on the First +and Second Levels Down; they all reported no activity in Hunters' Hall +except one jeep on Second Level Down, which did not report at all. + +Everybody was puzzled about that. + +"That's the jeep that reported Bish Ware going in on the bottom," +Mohandas Feinberg said. "I wonder if somebody inside mightn't have +gotten both the man on the jeep and Bish." + +"He could have left the jeep," Joe said. "Maybe he went inside after +Bish." + +"Funny he didn't call in and say so," somebody said. + +"No, it isn't," I contradicted. "Manufacturers' claims to the +contrary, there is no such thing as a tap-proof radio. Maybe he wasn't +supposed to leave his post, but if he did, he used his head not +advertising it." + +"That makes sense," Oscar agreed. "Well, whatever happened, we're not +doing anything standing around up here. Let's get it started." + +He walked away, raising his voice and calling, "_Pequod_! _Pequod_! +All hands on deck!" + +The others broke away from the group, shouting the names of their +ships to rally their crews. I hurried over to the jeep and checked my +equipment. There wasn't too much film left in the big audiovisual, so +I replaced it with a fresh sound-and-vision reel, good for another +couple of hours, and then lifted to the ceiling. Worrying about Tom +wouldn't help Tom, and worrying about Bish wouldn't help Bish, and I +had a job to do. + +What I was getting now, and I was glad I was starting a fresh reel for +it, was the beginning of the First Fenris Civil War. A long time from +now, when Fenris was an important planet in the Federation, maybe +they'd make today a holiday, like Bastille Day or the Fourth of July +or Federation Day. Maybe historians, a couple of centuries from now, +would call me an important primary source, and if Cesário's religion +was right, maybe I'd be one of them, saying, "Well, after all, is +Boyd such a reliable source? He was only seventeen years old at the +time." + +Finally, after a lot of yelling and confusion, the Rebel Army got +moving. We all went up to Main City Level and went down Broadway, +spreading out side streets when we began running into the cordon that +had been thrown around Hunters' Hall. They were mostly men from the +waterfront who hadn't gotten to the wax fire, and they must have +stripped the guns off half the ships in the harbor and mounted them on +lorries or cargo skids. + +Nobody, not even Joe Kivelson, wanted to begin with any massed frontal +attack on Hunters' Hall. + +"We'll have to bombard the place," he was saying. "We try to rush it +and we'll lose half our gang before we get in. One man with good cover +and a machine gun's good for a couple of hundred in the open." + +"Bish may be inside," I mentioned. + +"Yes," Oscar said, "and even aside from that, that building was built +with our money. Let's don't burn the house down to get rid of the +cockroaches." + +"Well, how are you going to do it, then?" Joe wanted to know. Rule out +frontal attack and Joe's at the end of his tactics. + +"You stay up here. Keep them amused with a little smallarms fire at +the windows and so on. I'll take about a dozen men and go down to +Second Level. If we can't do anything else, we can bring a couple of +skins of tallow-wax down and set fire to it and smoke them out." + +That sounded like a pretty expensive sort of smudge, but seeing how +much wax Ravick had burned uptown, it was only fair to let him in on +some of the smoke. I mentioned that if we got into the building and up +to Main City Level, we'd need some way of signaling to avoid being +shot by our own gang, and got the wave-length combination of the +Pequod scout boat, which Joe and Oscar were using for a command car. +Oscar picked ten or twelve men, and they got into a lorry and went +uptown and down a vehicle shaft to Second Level. I followed in my +jeep, even after Oscar and his crowd let down and got out, and hovered +behind them as they advanced on foot to Hunters' Hall. + +The Second Level Down was the vehicle storage, where the derricks and +other equipment had been kept. It was empty now except for a +workbench, a hand forge and some other things like that, a few drums +of lubricant, and several piles of sheet metal. Oscar and his men got +inside and I followed, going up to the ceiling. I was the one who saw +the man lying back of a pile of sheet metal, and called their +attention. + +He wore boat-clothes and had black whiskers, and he had a knife and a +pistol on his belt. At first I thought he was dead. A couple of +Oscar's followers, dragging him out, said: + +"He's been sleep-gassed." + +Somebody else recognized him. He was the lone man who had been on +guard in the jeep. The jeep was nowhere in sight. + +I began to be really worried. My lighter gadget could have been what +had gassed him. It probably was; there weren't many sleep-gas weapons +on Fenris. I had to get fills made up specially for mine. So it looked +to me as though somebody had gotten mine off Bish, and then used it +to knock out our guard. Taken it off his body I guessed. That crowd +wasn't any more interested in taking prisoners alive than we were. + +We laid the man on a workbench and put a rolled-up sack under his head +for a pillow. Then we started up the enclosed stairway. I didn't think +we were going to run into any trouble, though I kept my hand close to +my gun. If they'd knocked out the guard, they had a way out, and none +of them wanted to stay in that building any longer than they had to. + +The First Level Down was mostly storerooms, with nobody in any of +them. As we went up the stairway to the Main City Level, we could hear +firing outside. Nobody inside was shooting back. I unhooked my +handphone. + +"We're in," I said when Joe Kivelson answered. "Stop the shooting; +we're coming up to the vehicle port." + +"Might as well. Nobody's paying any attention to it," he said. + +The firing slacked off as the word was passed around the perimeter, +and finally it stopped entirely. We went up into the open arched +vehicle port. It was barricaded all around, and there were half a +dozen machine guns set up, but not a living thing. + +"We're going up," I said. "They've all lammed out. The place is +empty." + +"You don't know that," Oscar chided. "It might be bulging with +Ravick's thugs, waiting for us to come walking up and be mowed down." + +Possible. Highly improbable, though, I thought. The escalators weren't +running, and we weren't going to alert any hypothetical ambush by +starting them. We tiptoed up, and I even drew my pistol to show that I +wasn't being foolhardy. The big social room was empty. A couple of us +went over and looked behind the bar, which was the only hiding place +in it. Then we went back to the rear and tiptoed to the third floor. + +The meeting room was empty. So were the offices behind it. I looked in +all of them, expecting to find Bish Ware's body. Maybe a couple of +other bodies, too. I'd seen him shoot the tread-snail, and I didn't +think he'd die unpaid for. In Steve Ravick's office, the safe was open +and a lot of papers had been thrown out. I pointed that out to Oscar, +and he nodded. After seeing that, he seemed to relax, as though he +wasn't expecting to find anybody any more. We went to the third floor. +Ravick's living quarters were there, and they were magnificently +luxurious. The hunters, whose money had paid for all that magnificence +and luxury, cursed. + +There were no bodies there, either, or on the landing stage above. I +unhooked the radio again. + +"You can come in, now," I said. "The place is empty. Nobody here but +us Vigilantes." + +"Huh?" Joe couldn't believe that. "How'd they get out?" + +"They got out on the Second Level Down." I told him about the +sleep-gassed guard. + +"Did you bring him to? What did he say?" + +"Nothing; we didn't. We can't. You get sleep-gassed, you sleep till +you wake up. That ought to be two to four hours for this fellow." + +"Well, hold everything; we're coming in." + +We were all in the social room; a couple of the men had poured drinks +or drawn themselves beers at the bar and rung up no sale on the cash +register. Somebody else had a box of cigars he'd picked up in Ravick's +quarters on the fourth floor and was passing them around. Joe and +about two or three hundred other hunters came crowding up the +escalator, which they had turned on below. + +"You didn't find Bish Ware, either, I'll bet," Joe was saying. + +"I'm afraid they took him along for a hostage," Oscar said. "The guard +was knocked out with Walt's gas gadget, that Bish was carrying." + +"Ha!" Joe cried. "Bet you it was the other way round; Bish took them +out." + +That started an argument. While it was going on, I went to the +communication screen and got the _Times_, and told Dad what had +happened. + +"Yes," he said. "That was what I was afraid you'd find. Glenn Murell +called in from the spaceport a few minutes ago. He says Mort Hallstock +came in with his car, and he heard from some of the workmen that Bish +Ware, Steve Ravick and Leo Belsher came in on the Main City Level in a +jeep. They claimed protection from a mob, and Captain Courtland's +police are protecting them." + + + + +19 + +MASKS OFF + + +There was dead silence for two or three seconds. If a kitten had +sneezed, everybody would have heard it. Then it started, first an +inarticulate roar, and then a babel of unprintabilities. I thought I'd +heard some bad language from these same men in this room when Leo +Belsher's announcement of the price cut had been telecast, but that +was prayer meeting to this. Dad was still talking. At least, I saw his +lips move in the screen. + +"Say that again, Ralph," Oscar Fujisawa shouted. + +Dad must have heard him. At least, his lips moved again, but I wasn't +a lip reader and neither was Oscar. Oscar turned to the mob--by now, +it was that, pure and simple--and roared, in a voice like a foghorn, +"_Shut up and listen!_" A few of those closest to him heard him. The +rest kept on shouting curses. Oscar waited a second, and then pointed +his submachine gun at the ceiling and hammered off the whole clip. + +"Shut up, a couple of hundred of you, and listen!" he commanded, on +the heels of the blast. Then he turned to the screen again. "Now, +Ralph; what was it you were saying?" + +"Hallstock got to the spaceport about half an hour ago," Dad said. "He +bought a ticket to Terra. Sigurd Ngozori's here; he called the bank +and one of the clerks there told him that Hallstock had checked out +his whole account, around three hundred thousand sols. Took some of it +in cash and the rest in Banking Cartel drafts. Murell says that his +information is that Bish Ware, Steve Ravick and Leo Belsher arrived +earlier, about an hour ago. He didn't see them himself, but he talked +with spaceport workmen who did." + +The men who had crowded up to the screen seemed to have run out of +oaths and obscenities now. Oscar was fitting another clip into his +submachine gun. + +"Well, we'll have to go to the spaceport and get them," he said. "And +take four ropes instead of three." + +"You'll have to fight your way in," Dad told him. "Odin Dock & +Shipyard won't let you take people out of their spaceport without a +fight. They've all bought tickets by now, and Fieschi will have to +protect them." + +"Then we'll kick the blankety-blank spaceport apart," somebody +shouted. + +That started it up again. Oscar wondered if getting silence was worth +another clip of cartridges, and decided it wasn't. He managed to make +himself heard without it. + +"We'll do nothing of the kind. We need that spaceport to stay alive. +But we will take Ravick and Belsher and Hallstock--" + +"And that etaoin shrdlu traitor of a Ware!" Joe Kivelson added. + +"And Bish Ware," Oscar agreed. "They only have fifty police; we have +three or four thousand men." + +Three or four thousand undisciplined hunters, against fifty trained, +disciplined and organized soldiers, because that was what the +spaceport police were. I knew their captain, and the lieutenants. They +were old Regular Army, and they ran the police force like a military +unit. + +"I'll bet Ware was working for Ravick all along," Joe was saying. + +That wasn't good thinking even for Joe Kivelson. I said: + +"If he was working for Ravick all along, why did he tip Dad and Oscar +and the Mahatma on the bomb aboard the _Javelin_? That wasn't any help +to Ravick." + +"I get it," Oscar said. "He never was working for anybody but Bish +Ware. When Ravick got into a jam, he saw a way to make something for +himself by getting Ravick out of it. I'll bet, ever since he came +here, he was planning to cut in on Ravick somehow. You notice, he knew +just how much money Ravick had stashed away on Terra? When he saw the +spot Ravick was in, Bish just thought he had a chance to develop +himself another rich uncle." + +I'd been worse stunned than anybody by Dad's news. The worst of it was +that Oscar could be right. I hadn't thought of that before. I'd just +thought that Ravick and Belsher had gotten Bish drunk and found out +about the way the men were posted around Hunters' Hall and the lone +man in the jeep on Second Level Down. + +Then it occurred to me that Bish might have seen a way of getting +Fenris rid of Ravick and at the same time save everybody the guilt of +lynching him. Maybe he'd turned traitor to save the rest of us from +ourselves. + +I turned to Oscar. "Why get excited about it?" I asked. "You have what +you wanted. You said yourself that you couldn't care less whether +Ravick got away or not, as long as you got him out of the Co-op. Well, +he's out for good now." + +"That was before the fire," Oscar said. "We didn't have a couple of +million sols' worth of wax burned. And Tom Kivelson wasn't in the +hospital with half the skin burned off his back, and a coin toss +whether he lives or not." + +"Yes. I thought you were Tom's friend," Joe Kivelson reproached me. + +I wondered how much skin hanging Steve Ravick would grow on Tom's +back. I didn't see much percentage in asking him, though. I did turn +to Oscar Fujisawa with a quotation I remembered from _Moby Dick_, the +book he'd named his ship from. + +"_How many barrels will thy vengeance yield thee, even if thou gettest +it, Captain Ahab?_" I asked. "_It will not fetch thee much in our +Nantucket market._" + +He looked at me angrily and started to say something. Then he +shrugged. + +"I know, Walt," he said. "But you can't measure everything in barrels +of whale oil. Or skins of tallow-wax." + +Which was one of those perfectly true statements which are also +perfectly meaningless. I gave up. My job's to get the news, not to +make it. I wondered if that meant anything, either. + +They finally got the mob sorted out, after a lot of time wasted in +pillaging Ravick's living quarters on the fourth floor. _However, the +troops stopped to loot the enemy's camp._ I'd come across that line +fifty to a hundred times in history books. Usually, it had been +expensive looting; if the enemy didn't counterattack, they managed, at +least, to escape. More to the point, they gathered up all the cannon +and machine guns around the place and got them onto contragravity in +the street. There must have been close to five thousand men, by now, +and those who couldn't crowd onto vehicles marched on foot, and the +whole mass, looking a little more like an army than a mob, started up +Broadway. + +Since it is not proper for reporters to loot on the job, I had gotten +outside in my jeep early and was going ahead, swinging my camera back +to get the parade behind me. Might furnish a still-shot illustration +for somebody's History of Fenris in a century or so. + +Broadway was empty until we came to the gateway to the spaceport area. +There was a single medium combat car there, on contragravity halfway +to the ceiling, with a pair of 50-mm guns and a rocket launcher +pointed at us, and under it, on the roadway, a solitary man in an +olive-green uniform stood. + +I knew him; Lieutenant Ranjit Singh, Captain Courtland's +second-in-command. He was a Sikh. Instead of a steel helmet, he wore a +striped turban, and he had a black beard that made Joe Kivelson's +blond one look like Tom Kivelson's chin-fuzz. On his belt, along with +his pistol, he wore the little kirpan, the dagger all Sikhs carry. He +also carried a belt radio, and as we approached he lifted the phone to +his mouth and a loudspeaker on the combat car threw his voice at us: + +"All right, that's far enough, now. The first vehicle that comes +within a hundred yards of this gate will be shot down." + +One man, and one combat car, against five thousand, with twenty-odd +guns and close to a hundred machine guns. He'd last about as long as a +pint of trade gin at a Sheshan funeral. The only thing was, before he +and the crew of the combat car were killed, they'd wipe out about ten +or fifteen of our vehicles and a couple of hundred men, and they would +be the men and vehicles in the lead. + +Mobs are a little different from soldiers, and our Rebel Army was +still a mob. Mobs don't like to advance into certain death, and they +don't like to advance over the bodies and wreckage of their own +forward elements. Neither do soldiers, but soldiers will do it. +Soldiers realize, when they put on the uniform, that some day they may +face death in battle, and if this is it, this is it. + +I got the combat car and the lone soldier in the turban--that would +look good in anybody's history book--and moved forward, taking care +that he saw the _Times_ lettering on the jeep and taking care to stay +well short of the deadline. I let down to the street and got out, +taking off my gun belt and hanging it on the control handle of the +jeep. Then I walked forward. + +"Lieutenant Ranjit," I said, "I'm representing the _Times_. I have +business inside the spaceport. I want to get the facts about this. It +may be that when I get this story, these people will be satisfied." + +"We will, like Nifflheim!" I heard Joe Kivelson bawling, above and +behind me. "We want the men who started the fire my son got burned +in." + +"Is that the Kivelson boy's father?" the Sikh asked me, and when I +nodded, he lifted the phone to his lips again. "Captain Kivelson," the +loudspeaker said, "your son is alive and under skin-grafting treatment +here at the spaceport hospital. His life is not, repeat not, in +danger. The men you are after are here, under guard. If any of them +are guilty of any crimes, and if you can show any better authority +than an armed mob to deal with them, they may, may, I said, be turned +over for trial. But they will not be taken from this spaceport by +force, as long as I or one of my men remains alive." + +"That's easy. We'll get them afterward," Joe Kivelson shouted. + +"Somebody may. You won't," Ranjit Singh told him. "Van Steen, hit that +ship's boat first, and hit it at the first hostile move anybody in +this mob makes." + +"Yes, sir. With pleasure," another voice replied. + +Nobody in the Rebel Army, if that was what it still was, had any +comment to make on that. Lieutenant Ranjit turned to me. + +"Mr. Boyd," he said. None of this sonny-boy stuff; Ranjit Singh was a +man of dignity, and he respected the dignity of others. "If I admit +you to the spaceport, will you give these people the facts exactly as +you learn them?" + +"That's what the _Times_ always does, Lieutenant." Well, almost all +the facts almost always. + +"Will you people accept what this _Times_ reporter tells you he has +learned?" + +"Yes, of course." That was Oscar Fujisawa. + +"I won't!" That was Joe Kivelson. "He's always taking the part of that +old rumpot of a Bish Ware." + +"Lieutenant, that remark was a slur on my paper, as well as myself," I +said. "Will you permit Captain Kivelson to come in along with me? And +somebody else," I couldn't resist adding, "so that people will believe +him?" + +Ranjit Singh considered that briefly. He wasn't afraid to die--I +believe he was honestly puzzled when he heard people talking about +fear--but his job was to protect some fugitives from a mob, not to die +a useless hero's death. If letting in a small delegation would prevent +an attack on the spaceport without loss of life and ammunition--or +maybe he reversed the order of importance--he was obliged to try it. + +"Yes. You may choose five men to accompany Mr. Boyd," he said. "They +may not bring weapons in with them. Sidearms," he added, "will not +count as weapons." + +After all, a kirpan was a sidearm, and his religion required him to +carry that. The decision didn't make me particularly happy. Respect +for the dignity of others is a fine thing in an officer, but like +journalistic respect for facts, it can be carried past the point of +being a virtue. I thought he was over-estimating Joe Kivelson's +self-control. + +Vehicles in front began grounding, and men got out and bunched +together on the street. Finally, they picked their delegation: Joe +Kivelson, Oscar Fujisawa, Casmir Oughourlian the shipyard man, one of +the engineers at the nutrient plant, and the Reverend Hiram Zilker, +the Orthodox-Monophysite preacher. They all had pistols, even the +Reverend Zilker, so I went back to the jeep and put mine on. Ranjit +Singh had switched his radio off the speaker and was talking to +somebody else. After a while, an olive-green limousine piloted by a +policeman in uniform and helmet floated in and grounded. The six of us +got into it, and it lifted again. + +The car let down in a vehicle hall in the administrative area, and the +police second lieutenant, Chris Xantos, was waiting alone, armed only +with the pistol that was part of his uniform and wearing a beret +instead of a helmet. He spoke to us, and ushered us down a hallway +toward Guido Fieschi's office. + +I get into the spaceport administrative area about once in twenty or +so hours. Oughourlian is a somewhat less frequent visitor. The others +had never been there, and they were visibly awed by all the gleaming +glass and brightwork, and the soft lights and the thick carpets. All +Port Sandor ought to look like this, I thought. It could, and maybe +now it might, after a while. + +There were six chairs in a semicircle facing Guido Fieschi's desk, and +three men sitting behind it. Fieschi, who had changed clothes and +washed since the last time I saw him, sat on the extreme right. +Captain Courtland, with his tight mouth under a gray mustache and the +quadruple row of medal ribbons on his breast, was on the left. In the +middle, the seat of honor, was Bish Ware, looking as though he were +presiding over a church council to try some rural curate for heresy. + +As soon as Joe Kivelson saw him, he roared angrily: + +"There's the dirty traitor who sold us out! He's the worst of the lot; +I wouldn't be surprised if--" + +Bish looked at him like a bishop who has just been contradicted on a +point of doctrine by a choirboy. + +"Be quiet!" he ordered. "I did not follow this man you call Ravick +here to this ... this running-hot-and-cold Paradise planet, and I did +not spend five years fraternizing with its unwashed citizenry and +creating for myself the role of town drunkard of Port Sandor, to have +him taken from me and lynched after I have arrested him. People do not +lynch my prisoners." + +"And who in blazes are you?" Joe demanded. + +Bish took cognizance of the question, if not the questioner. + +"Tell them, if you please, Mr. Fieschi," he said. + +"Well, Mr. Ware is a Terran Federation Executive Special Agent," +Fieschi said. "Captain Courtland and I have known that for the past +five years. As far as I know, nobody else was informed of Mr. Ware's +position." + +After that, you could have heard a gnat sneeze. + +Everybody knows about Executive Special Agents. There are all kinds of +secret agents operating in the Federation--Army and Navy Intelligence, +police of different sorts, Colonial Office agents, private detectives, +Chartered Company agents. But there are fewer Executive Specials than +there are inhabited planets in the Federation. They rank, ex officio, +as Army generals and Space Navy admirals; they have the privilege of +the floor in Parliament, they take orders from nobody but the +President of the Federation. But very few people have ever seen one, +or talked to anybody who has. + +And Bish Ware--_good ol' Bish; he'sh everybodysh frien'_--was one of +them. And I had been trying to make a man of him and reform him. I'd +even thought, if he stopped drinking, he might make a success as a +private detective--at Port Sandor, on Fenris! I wondered what color +my face had gotten now, and I started looking around for a crack in +the floor, to trickle gently and unobtrusively into. + +And it should have been obvious to me, maybe not that he was an +Executive Special, but that he was certainly no drunken barfly. The +way he'd gone four hours without a drink, and seemed to be just as +drunk as ever. That was right--just as drunk as he'd ever been; which +was to say, cold sober. There was the time I'd seen him catch that +falling bottle and set it up. No drunken man could have done that; a +man's reflexes are the first thing to be affected by alcohol. And the +way he shot that tread-snail. I've seen men who could shoot well on +liquor, but not quick-draw stuff. That calls for perfect +co-ordination. And the way he went into his tipsy act at the +_Times_--veteran actor slipping into a well-learned role. + +He drank, sure. He did a lot of drinking. But there are men whose +systems resist the effects of alcohol better than others, and he must +have been an exceptional example of the type, or he'd never have +adopted the sort of cover personality he did. It would have been +fairly easy for him. Space his drinks widely, and never take a drink +unless he _had_ to, to maintain the act. When he was at the Times with +just Dad and me, what did he have? A fruit fizz. + +Well, at least I could see it after I had my nose rubbed in it. Joe +Kivelson was simply gaping at him. The Reverend Zilker seemed to be +having trouble adjusting, too. The shipyard man and the chemical +engineer weren't saying anything, but it had kicked them for a loss, +too. Oscar Fujisawa was making a noble effort to be completely +unsurprised. Oscar is one of our better poker players. + +"I thought it might be something like that," he lied brazenly. "But, +Bish ... Excuse me, I mean, Mr. Ware..." + +"Bish, if you please, Oscar." + +"Bish, what I'd like to know is what you wanted with Ravick," he said. +"They didn't send any Executive Special Agent here for five years to +investigate this tallow-wax racket of his." + +"No. We have been looking for him for a long time. Fifteen years, and +I've been working on it that long. You might say, I have made a career +of him. Steve Ravick is really Anton Gerrit." + +Maybe he was expecting us to leap from our chairs and cry out, "Aha! +The infamous Anton Gerrit! Brought to book at last!" We didn't. We +just looked at one another, trying to connect some meaning to the +name. It was Joe Kivelson, of all people, who caught the first gleam. + +"I know that name," he said. "Something on Loki, wasn't it?" + +Yes; that was it. Now that my nose was rubbed in it again, I got it. + +"The Loki enslavements. Was that it?" I asked. "I read about it, but I +never seem to have heard of Gerrit." + +"He was the mastermind. The ones who were caught, fifteen years ago, +were the underlings, but Ravick was the real Number One. He was +responsible for the enslavement of from twenty to thirty thousand +Lokian natives, gentle, harmless, friendly people, most of whom were +worked to death in the mines." + +No wonder an Executive Special would put in fifteen years looking for +him. You murder your grandmother, or rob a bank, or burn down an +orphanage with the orphans all in bed upstairs, or something trivial +like that, and if you make an off-planet getaway, you're reasonably +safe. Of course there's such a thing as extradition, but who bothers? +Distances are too great, and communication is too slow, and the +Federation depends on every planet to do its own policing. + +But enslavement's something different. The Terran Federation is a +government of and for--if occasionally not by--all sapient peoples of +all races. The Federation Constitution guarantees equal rights to all. +Making slaves of people, human or otherwise, is a direct blow at +everything the Federation stands for. No wonder they kept hunting +fifteen years for the man responsible for the Loki enslavements. + +"Gerrit got away, with a month's start. By the time we had traced him +to Baldur, he had a year's start on us. He was five years ahead of us +when we found out that he'd gone from Baldur to Odin. Six years ago, +nine years after we'd started hunting for him, we decided, from the +best information we could get, that he had left Odin on one of the +local-stop ships for Terra, and dropped off along the way. There are +six planets at which those Terra-Odin ships stop. We sent a man to +each of them. I drew this prize out of the hat. + +"When I landed here, I contacted Mr. Fieschi, and we found that a man +answering to Gerrit's description had come in on the _Peenemünde_ from +Odin seven years before, about the time Gerrit had left Odin. The man +who called himself Steve Ravick. Of course, he didn't look anything +like the pictures of Gerrit, but facial surgery was something we'd +taken for granted he'd have done. I finally managed to get his +fingerprints." + +Special Agent Ware took out a cigar, inspected it with the drunken +oversolemnity he'd been drilling himself into for five years, and lit +it. Then he saw what he was using and rose, holding it out, and I went +to the desk and took back my lighter-weapon. + +"Thank you, Walt. I wouldn't have been able to do this if I hadn't had +that. Where was I? Oh, yes. I got Gerrit-alias-Ravick's fingerprints, +which did not match the ones we had on file for Gerrit, and sent them +in. It was eighteen months later that I got a reply on them. According +to his fingerprints, Steve Ravick was really a woman named Ernestine +Coyón, who had died of acute alcoholism in the free public ward of a +hospital at Paris-on-Baldur fourteen years ago." + +"Why, that's incredible!" the Reverend Zilker burst out, and Joe +Kivelson was saying: "Steve Ravick isn't any woman...." + +"Least of all one who died fourteen years ago," Bish agreed. "But the +fingerprints were hers. A pauper, dying in a public ward of a big +hospital. And a man who has to change his identity, and who has small, +woman-sized hands. And a crooked hospital staff surgeon. You get the +picture now?" + +"They're doing the same thing on Tom's back, right here," I told Joe. +"Only you can't grow fingerprints by carniculture, the way you can +human tissue for grafting. They had to have palm and finger surfaces +from a pair of real human hands. A pauper, dying in a free-treatment +ward, her body shoved into a mass-energy converter." Then I thought +of something else. "That showoff trick of his, crushing out cigarettes +in his palm," I said. + +Bish nodded commendingly. "Exactly. He'd have about as much sensation +in his palms as I'd have wearing thick leather gloves. I'd noticed +that. + +"Well, six months going, and a couple of months waiting on reports +from other planets, and six months coming, and so on, it wasn't until +the _Peenemünde_ got in from Terra, the last time, that I got final +confirmation. Dr. Watson, you'll recall." + +"Who, you perceived, had been in Afghanistan," I mentioned, trying to +salvage something. Showing off. The one I was trying to impress was +Walt Boyd. + +"You caught that? Careless of me," Bish chided himself. "What he gave +me was a report that they had finally located a man who had been a +staff surgeon at this hospital on Baldur at the time. He's now doing a +stretch for another piece of malpractice he was unlucky enough to get +caught at later. We will not admit making deals with any criminals, in +jail or out, but he is willing to testify, and is on his way to Terra +now. He can identify pictures of Anton Gerrit as those of the man he +operated on fourteen years ago, and his testimony and Ernestine +Coyón's fingerprints will identify Ravick as that man. With all the +Colonial Constabulary and Army Intelligence people got on Gerrit on +Loki, simple identification will be enough. Gerrit was proven guilty +long ago, and it won't be any trouble, now, to prove that Ravick is +Gerrit." + +"Why didn't you arrest him as soon as you got the word from your +friend from Afghanistan?" I wanted to know. + +"Good question; I've been asking myself that," Bish said, a trifle +wryly. "If I had, the _Javelin_ wouldn't have been bombed, that wax +wouldn't have been burned, and Tom Kivelson wouldn't have been +injured. What I did was send my friend, who is a Colonial Constabulary +detective, to Gimli, the next planet out. There's a Navy base there, +and always at least a couple of destroyers available. He's coming back +with one of them to pick Gerrit up and take him to Terra. They ought +to be in in about two hundred and fifty hours. I thought it would be +safer all around to let Gerrit run loose till then. There's no place +he could go. + +"What I didn't realize, at the time, was what a human H-bomb this man +Murell would turn into. Then everything blew up at once. Finally, I +was left with the choice of helping Gerrit escape from Hunters' Hall +or having him lynched before I could arrest him." He turned to +Kivelson. "In the light of what you knew, I don't blame you for +calling me a dirty traitor." + +"But how did I know..." Kivelson began. + +"That's right. You weren't supposed to. That was before you found out. +You ought to have heard what Gerrit and Belsher--as far as I know, +that is his real name--called me after they found out, when they got +out of that jeep and Captain Courtland's men snapped the handcuffs on +them. It even shocked a hardened sinner like me." + +There was a lot more of it. Bish had managed to get into Hunters' Hall +just about the time Al Devis and his companion were starting the fire +Ravick--Gerrit--had ordered for a diversion. The whole gang was going +to crash out as soon as the fire had attracted everybody away. Bish +led them out onto the Second Level Down, sleep-gassed the lone man in +the jeep, and took them to the spaceport, where the police were +waiting for them. + +As soon as I'd gotten everything, I called the _Times_. I'd had my +radio on all the time, and it had been coming in perfectly. Dad, I was +happy to observe, was every bit as flabbergasted as I had been at who +and what Bish Ware was. He might throw my campaign to reform Bish up +at me later on, but at the moment he wasn't disposed to, and I was +praising Allah silently that I hadn't had a chance to mention the +detective agency idea to him. That would have been a little too much. + +"What are they doing about Belsher and Hallstock?" he asked. + +"Belsher goes back to Terra with Ravick. Gerrit, I mean. That's where +he collected his cut on the tallow-wax, so that is where he'd have to +be tried. Bish is convinced that somebody in Kapstaad Chemical must +have been involved, too. Hallstock is strictly a local matter." + +"That's about what I thought. With all this interstellar +back-and-forth, it'll be a long time before we'll be able to write +thirty under the story." + +"Well, we can put thirty under the Steve Ravick story," I said. + +Then it hit me. The Steve Ravick story was finished; that is, the +local story of racketeer rule in the Hunters' Co-operative. But the +Anton Gerrit story was something else. That was Federation-wide news; +the end of a fifteen-year manhunt for the most wanted criminal in the +known Galaxy. And who had that story, right in his hot little hand? +Walter Boyd, the ace--and only--reporter for the mighty Port Sandor +_Times_. + +"Yes," I continued. "The Ravick story's finished. But we still have +the Anton Gerrit story, and I'm going to work on it right now." + + + + +20 + +FINALE + + +They had Tom Kivelson in a private room at the hospital; he was +sitting up in a chair, with a lot of pneumatic cushions around him, +and a lunch tray on his lap. He looked white and thin. He could move +one arm completely, but the bandages they had loaded him with seemed +to have left the other free only at the elbow. He was concentrating on +his lunch, and must have thought I was one of the nurses, or a doctor, +or something of the sort. + +"Are you going to let me have a cigarette and a cup of coffee, when +I'm through with this?" he asked. + +"Well, I don't have any coffee, but you can have one of my +cigarettes," I said. + +Then he looked up and gave a whoop. "Walt! How'd you get in here? I +thought they weren't going to let anybody in to see me till this +afternoon." + +"Power of the press," I told him. "Bluff, blarney, and blackmail. How +are they treating you?" + +"Awful. Look what they gave me for lunch. I thought we were on short +rations down on Hermann Reuch's Land. How's Father?" + +"He's all right. They took the splint off, but he still has to carry +his arm in a sling." + +"Lucky guy; he can get around on his feet, and I'll bet he isn't +starving, either. You know, speaking about food, I'm going to feel +like a cannibal eating carniculture meat, now. My whole back's +carniculture." He filled his mouth with whatever it was they were +feeding him and asked, through it: "Did I miss Steve Ravick's +hanging?" + +I was horrified. "Haven't these people told you anything?" I demanded. + +"Nah; they wouldn't even tell me the right time. Afraid it would +excite me." + +So I told him; first who Bish Ware really was, and then who Ravick +really was. He gaped for a moment, and then shoveled in more food. + +"Go on; what happened?" + +I told him how Bish had smuggled Gerrit and Leo Belsher out on Second +Level Down and gotten them to the spaceport, where Courtland's men had +been waiting for them. + +"Gerrit's going to Terra, and from there to Loki. They want the +natives to see what happens to a Terran who breaks Terran law; teach +them that our law isn't just to protect us. Belsher's going to Terra, +too. There was a big ship captains' meeting; they voted to reclaim +their wax and sell it individually to Murell, but to retain membership +in the Co-op. They think they'll have to stay in the Co-op to get +anything that's gettable out of Gerrit's and Belsher's money. Oscar +Fujisawa and Cesário Vieira are going to Terra on the _Cape Canaveral_ +to start suit to recover anything they can, and also to petition for +reclassification of Fenris. Oscar's coming back on the next ship, but +Cesário's going to stay on as the Co-op representative. I suppose he +and Linda will be getting married." + +"Natch. They'll both stay on Terra, I suppose. Hey, whattaya know! +Cesário's getting off Fenris without having to die and reincarnate." + +He finished his lunch, such as it was and what there was of it, and I +relieved him of the tray and set it on the floor beyond his chair. I +found an ashtray and lit a cigarette for him and one for myself, using +the big lighter. Tom looked at it dubiously, predicting that sometime +I'd push the wrong thing and send myself bye-byes for a couple of +hours. I told him how Bish had used it. + +"Bet a lot of people wanted to hang him, too, before they found out +who he was and what he'd really done. What's my father think of Bish, +now?" + +"Bish Ware is a great and good man, and the savior of Fenris," I said. +"And he was real smart, to keep an act like that up for five years. +Your father modestly admits that it even fooled him." + +"Bet Oscar Fujisawa knew it all along." + +"Well, Oscar modestly admits that he suspected something of the sort, +but he didn't feel it was his place to say anything." + +Tom laughed, and then wanted to know if they were going to hang Mort +Hallstock. "I hope they wait till I can get out of here." + +"No, Odin Dock & Shipyard claim he's a political refugee and they +won't give him up. They did loan us a couple of accountants to go over +the city books, to see if we could find any real evidence of +misappropriation, and whattaya know, there were no city books. The +city of Port Sandor didn't keep books. We can't even take that three +hundred thousand sols away from him; for all we can prove, he saved +them out of his five-thousand-sol-a-year salary. He's shipping out on +the _Cape Canaveral_, too." + +"Then we don't have any government at all!" + +"Are you fooling yourself we ever had one?" + +"No, but--" + +"Well, we have one now. A temporary dictatorship; Bish Ware is +dictator. Fieschi loaned him Ranjit Singh and some of his men. The +first thing he did was gather up the city treasurer and the chief of +police and march them to the spaceport; Fieschi made Hallstock buy +them tickets, too. But there aren't going to be any unofficial +hangings. This is a law-abiding planet, now." + +A nurse came in, and disapproved of Tom smoking and of me being in the +room at all. + +"Haven't you had your lunch yet?" she asked Tom. + +He looked at her guilelessly and said, "No; I was waiting for it." + +"Well, I'll get it," she said. "I thought the other nurse had brought +it." She started out, and then she came back and had to fuss with his +cushions, and then she saw the tray on the floor. + +"You did so have your lunch!" she accused. + +Tom looked at her as innocently as ever. "Oh, you mean these samples? +Why, they were good; I'll take all of them. And a big slab of roast +beef, and brown gravy, and mashed potatoes. And how about some ice +cream?" + +It was a good try; too bad it didn't work. + +"Don't worry, Tom," I told him. "I'll get my lawyer to spring you out +of this jug, and then we'll take you to my place and fill you up on +Mrs. Laden's cooking." + +The nurse sniffed. She suspected, quite correctly, that whoever Mrs. +Laden was, she didn't know anything about scientific dietetics. + + * * * * * + +When I got back to the _Times_, Dad and Julio had had their lunch and +were going over the teleprint edition. Julio was printing corrections +on blank sheets of plastic and Dad was cutting them out and cementing +them over things that needed correcting on the master sheets. I gave +Julio a short item to the effect that Tom Kivelson, son of Captain and +Mrs. Joe Kivelson, one of the _Javelin_ survivors who had been burned +in the tallow-wax fire, was now out of all danger, and recovering. Dad +was able to scrounge that onto the first page. + +There was a lot of other news. The T.F.N. destroyer _Simón Bolivar_, +en route from Gimli to pick up the notorious Anton Gerrit, alias Steve +Ravick, had come out of hyperspace and into radio range. Dad had +talked to the skipper by screen and gotten interviews, which would be +telecast, both with him and Detective-Major MacBride of the Colonial +Constabulary. The _Simón Bolivar_ would not make landing, but go into +orbit and send down a boat. Detective-Major MacBride (alias Dr. John +Watson) would remain on Fenris to take over local police activities. + +More evidence had been unearthed at Hunters' Hall on the frauds +practiced by Leo Belsher and Gerrit-alias-Ravick; it looked as though +a substantial sum of money might be recovered, eventually, from the +bank accounts and other holdings of both men on Terra. Acting +Resident-Agent Gonzalo Ware--Ware, it seemed, really was his right +name, but look what he had in front of it--had promulgated more +regulations and edicts, and a crackdown on the worst waterfront dives +was in progress. I'll bet the devoted flock was horrified at what +their beloved bishop had turned into. Bish would leave his diocese in +a lot healthier condition than he'd found it, that was one thing for +sure. And most of the gang of thugs and plug-uglies who had been used +to intimidate and control the Hunters' Co-operative had been gathered +up and jailed on vagrancy charges; prisoners were being put to work +cleaning up the city. + +And there was a lot about plans for a registration of voters, and +organization of election boards, and a local electronics-engineering +firm had been awarded a contract for voting machines. I didn't think +there had ever been a voting machine on Fenris before. + +"The commander of the _Bolivar_ says he'll take your story to Terra +with him, and see that it gets to Interworld News," Dad told me as we +were sorting the corrected master sheets and loading them into the +photoprint machine, to be sent out on the air. "The _Bolivar_'ll make +Terra at least two hundred hours ahead of the _Cape Canaveral_. +Interworld will be glad to have it. It isn't often they get a story +like that with the first news of anything, and this'll be a big +story." + +"You shouldn't have given me the exclusive by-line," I said. "You did +as much work on it as I did." + +"No, I didn't, either," he contradicted, "and I knew what I was +doing." + +With the work done, I remembered that I hadn't had anything to eat +since breakfast, and I went down to take inventory of the +refrigerator. Dad went along with me, and after I had assembled a +lunch and sat down to it, he decided that his pipe needed refilling, +lit it, poured a cup of coffee and sat down with me. + +"You know, Walt, I've been thinking, lately," he began. + +Oh-oh, I thought. When Dad makes that remark, in just that tone, it's +all hands to secure ship for diving. + +"We've all had to do a lot of thinking, lately," I agreed. + +"Yes. You know, they want me to be mayor of Port Sandor." + +I nodded and waited till I got my mouth empty. I could see a lot of +sense in that. Dad is honest and scrupulous and public-spirited; too +much so, sometimes, for his own good. There wasn't any question of his +ability, and while there had always been antagonism between the +hunter-ship crews and waterfront people and the uptown business crowd, +Dad was well liked and trusted by both parties. + +"Are you going to take it?" I asked. + +"I suppose I'll have to, if they really want me. Be a sort of +obligation." + +That would throw a lot more work on me. Dad could give some attention +to the paper as mayor, but not as much as now. + +"What do you want me to try to handle for you?" I asked. + +"Well, Walt, that's what I've been thinking about," he said. "I've +been thinking about it for a long time, and particularly since things +got changed around here. I think you ought to go to school some more." + +That made me laugh. "What, back to Hartzenbosch?" I asked. "I could +teach him more than he could teach me, now." + +"I doubt that, Walt. Professor Hartzenbosch may be an old maid in +trousers, but he's really a very sound scholar. But I wasn't thinking +about that. I was thinking about your going to Terra to school." + +"Huh?" I forgot to eat, for a moment. "Let's stop kidding." + +"I didn't start kidding; I meant it." + +"Well, think again, Dad. It costs money to go to school on Terra. It +even costs money to go to Terra." + +"We have a little money, Walt. Maybe more than you think we do. And +with things getting better, we'll lease more teleprinters and get more +advertising. You're likely to get better than the price of your +passage out of that story we're sending off on the _Bolivar_, and that +won't be the end of it, either. Fenris is going to be in the news for +a while. You may make some more money writing. That's why I was +careful to give you the by-line on that Gerrit story." His pipe had +gone out again; he took time out to relight it, and then added: +"Anything I spend on this is an investment. The _Times_ will get it +back." + +"Yes, that's another thing; the paper," I said. "If you're going to be +mayor, you won't be able to do everything you're doing on the paper +now, and then do all my work too." + +"Well, shocking as the idea may be, I think we can find somebody to +replace you." + +"Name one," I challenged. + +"Well, Lillian Arnaz, at the Library, has always been interested in +newspaper work," he began. + +"A girl!" I hooted. "You have any idea of some of the places I have to +go to get stories?" + +"Yes. I have always deplored the necessity. But a great many of them +have been closed lately, and the rest are being run in a much more +seemly manner. And she wouldn't be the only reporter. I hesitate to +give you any better opinion of yourself than you have already, but it +would take at least three people to do the work you've been doing. +When you get back from Terra, you'll find the _Times_ will have a very +respectable reportorial staff." + +"What'll I be, then?" I wondered. + +"Editor," Dad told me. "I'll retire and go into politics full time. +And if Fenris is going to develop the way I believe it will, the +editor of the _Times_ will need a much better education than I have." + +I kept on eating, to give myself an excuse for silence. He was right, +I knew that. But college on Terra; why, that would be at least four +years, maybe five, and then a year for the round trip.... + +"Walt, this doesn't have to be settled right away," Dad said. "You +won't be going on the _Simón Bolivar_, along with Ravick and Belsher. +And that reminds me. Have you talked to Bish lately? He'd be hurt if +you didn't see him before he left." + + * * * * * + +The truth was, I'd been avoiding Bish, and not just because I knew how +busy he was. My face felt like a tallow-wax fire every time I thought +of how I'd been trying to reform him, and I didn't quite know what I'd +be able to say to him if I met him again. And he seemed to me to be an +entirely different person, as though the old Bish Ware, whom I had +liked in spite of what I'd thought he was, had died, and some total +stranger had taken his place. + +But I went down to the Municipal Building. It didn't look like the +same place. The walls had been scrubbed; the floors were free from +litter. All the drove of loafers and hangers-on had been run out, or +maybe jailed and put to work. I looked into a couple of offices; +everybody in them was busy. A few of the old police force were still +there, but their uniforms had been cleaned and pressed, they had all +shaved recently, and one or two looked as though they liked being able +to respect themselves, for a change. + +The girl at the desk in the mayor's outside office told me Bish had a +delegation of uptown merchants, who seemed to think that reform was +all right in its place but it oughtn't to be carried more than a few +blocks above the waterfront. They were protesting the new sanitary +regulations. Then she buzzed Bish on the handphone, and told me he'd +see me in a few minutes. After a while, I heard the delegation going +down the hall from the private office door. One of them was saying: + +"Well, this is what we've always been screaming our heads off for. Now +we've got it good and hard; we'll just have to get used to it." + +When I went in, Bish rose from his desk and came to meet me, shaking +my hand. He looked and was dressed like the old Bish Ware I'd always +known. + +"Glad you dropped in, Walt. Find a seat. How are things on the +_Times_?" + +"You ought to know. You're making things busy for us." + +"Yes. There's so much to do, and so little time to do it. Seems as +though I've heard somebody say that before." + +"Are you going back to Terra on the _Simón Bolivar_?" + +"Oh, Allah forbid! I made a trip on a destroyer, once, and once is +enough for a lifetime. I won't even be able to go on the _Cape +Canaveral_; I'll take the _Peenemünde_ when she gets in. I'm glad +MacBride--Dr. Watson--is going to stop off. He'll be a big help. Don't +know what I'd have done without Ranjit Singh." + +"That won't be till after the _Cape Canaveral_ gets back from Terra." + +"No. That's why I'm waiting. Don't publish this, Walt, I don't want to +start any premature rumors that might end in disappointments, but I've +recommended immediate reclassification to Class III, and there may be +a Colonial Office man on the _Cape Canaveral_ when she gets in. +Resident-Agent, permanent. I hope so; he'll need a little breaking +in." + +"I saw Tom Kivelson this morning," I said. "He seems to be getting +along pretty well." + +"Didn't anybody at the hospital tell you about him?" Bish asked. + +I shook my head. He cursed all hospital staffs. + +"I wish military security was half as good. Why, Tom's permanently +injured. He won't be crippled, or anything like that, but there was +considerable unrepairable damage to his back muscles. He'll be able to +get around, but I doubt it he'll ever be able to work on a hunter-ship +again." + +I was really horrified. Monster-hunting was Tom's whole life. I said +something like that. + +"He'll just have to make a new life for himself. Joe says he's going +to send him to school on Terra. He thinks that was his own idea, but I +suggested it to him." + +"Dad wants me to go to school on Terra." + +"Well, that's a fine idea. Tom's going on the _Peenemünde_, along with +me. Why don't you come with us?" + +"That would be great, Bish. I'd like it. But I just can't." + +"Why not?" + +"Well, they want Dad to be mayor, and if he runs, they'll all vote for +him. He can't handle this and the paper both alone." + +"He can get help on both jobs." + +"Yes, but ... Why, it would be years till I got back. I can't +sacrifice the time. Not now." + +"I'd say six years. You can spend your voyage time from here cramming +for entrance qualifications. Schools don't bother about academic +credits any more; they're only interested in how much you know. You +take four years' regular college, and a year postgrading, and you'll +have all the formal education you'll need." + +"But, Bish, I can get that here, at the Library," I said. "We have +every book on film that's been published since the Year Zero." + +"Yes. And you'd die of old age before you got a quarter through the +first film bank, and you still wouldn't have an education. Do you know +which books to study, and which ones not to bother with? Or which ones +to read first, so that what you read in the others will be +comprehensible to you? That's what they'll give you on Terra. The +tools, which you don't have now, for educating yourself." + +I thought that over. It made sense. I'd had a lot of the very sort of +trouble he'd spoken of, trying to get information for myself in proper +order, and I'd read a lot of books that duplicated other books I'd +read, and books I had trouble understanding because I hadn't read some +other book first. Bish had something there. I was sure he had. But six +years! + +I said that aloud, and added: "I can't take the time. I have to be +doing things." + +"You'll do things. You'll do them a lot better for waiting those six +years. You aren't eighteen yet. Six years is a whole third of your +past life. No wonder it seems long to you. But you're thinking the +wrong way; you're relating those six years to what has passed. Relate +them to what's ahead of you, and see how little time they are. You +take ordinary care of yourself and keep out of any more civil wars, +and you have sixty more years, at least. Your six years at school are +only one-tenth of that. I was fifty when I came here to this Creator's +blunder of a planet. Say I had only twenty more years; I spent a +quarter of them playing town drunk here. I'm the one who ought to be +in a rush and howling about lost time, not you. I ought to be in such +a hurry I'd take the _Simón Bolivar_ to Terra and let this place go +to--to anywhere you might imagine to be worse." + +"You know, I don't think you like Fenris." + +"I don't. If I were a drinking man, this planet would have made a +drunkard of me. Now, you forget about these six years chopped out of +your busy life. When you get back here, with an education, you'll be a +kid of twenty-four, with a big long life ahead of you and your mind +stocked with things you don't have now that will help you make +something--and more important, something enjoyable--out of it." + + * * * * * + +There was a huge crowd at the spaceport to see us off, Tom and Bish +Ware and me. Mostly, it was for Bish. If I don't find a monument to +him when I get back, I'll know there is no such thing as gratitude. +There had been a big banquet for us the evening before, and I think +Bish actually got a little tipsy. Nobody can be sure, though; it might +have been just the old actor back in his role. Now they were all +crowding around us, as many as could jam in, in the main lounge of the +_Peenemünde_. Joe Kivelson and his wife. Dad and Julio and Mrs. Laden, +who was actually being cordial to Bish, and who had a bundle for us +that we weren't to open till we were in hyperspace. Lillian Arnaz, the +girl who was to take my place as star reporter. We were going to send +each other audiovisuals; advice from me on the job, and news from the +_Times_ from her. Glenn Murell, who had his office open by now and was +grumbling that there had been a man from Interstellar Import-Export +out on the _Cape Canaveral_, and if the competition got any stiffer +the price of tallow-wax would be forced up on him to a sol a pound. +And all the _Javelin_ hands who had been wrecked with us on Hermann +Reuch's Land, and the veterans of the Civil War, all but Oscar and +Cesário, who will be at the dock to meet us when we get to Terra. + +I wonder what it'll be like, on a world where you go to bed every time +it gets dark and get up when it gets light, and can go outdoors all +the time. I wonder how I'll like college, and meeting people from all +over the Federation, and swapping tall stories about our home planets. + +And I wonder what I'll learn. The long years ahead, I can't imagine +them now, will be spent on the _Times_, and I ought to learn things to +fit me for that. But I can't get rid of the idea about carniculture +growth of tallow-wax. We'll have to do something like that. The demand +for the stuff is growing, and we don't know how long it'll be before +the monsters are hunted out. We know how fast we're killing them, but +we don't know how many there are or how fast they breed. I'll talk to +Tom about that; maybe between us we can hit on something, or at least +lay a foundation for somebody else who will. + +The crowd pushed out and off the ship, and the three of us were alone, +here in the lounge of the _Peenemünde_, where the story started and +where it ends. Bish says no story ends, ever. He's wrong. Stories die, +and nothing in the world is deader than a dead news story. But before +they do, they hatch a flock of little ones, and some of them grow into +bigger stories still. What happens after the ship lifts into the +darkness, with the pre-dawn glow in the east, will be another, a new, +story. + +But to the story of how the hunters got an honest co-operative and +Fenris got an honest government, and Bish Ware got Anton Gerrit the +slaver, I can write + +"The End." + + * * * * * + +_THE WORLDS OF H. BEAM PIPER_ + +FOUR-DAY PLANET ... where the killing heat of a thousand-hour "day" +drives men underground, and the glorious hundred-hour sunset is +followed by a thousand-hour night so cold that only an Extreme +Environment Suit can preserve the life of anyone caught outside. + +and + +LONE STAR PLANET ... a planet-full of Texans--they firmly believe they +live on the biggest, strongest, best planet in the galaxy. They herd +cattle the size of boxcars for a living, and they defy the Solar +League to prove that New Texas has even the slightest need of the +"protection" that a bunch of diplomatic sissies can offer. + +BRAVE NEW WORLDS FROM THE +CREATOR OF "LITTLE FUZZY" + +--TOGETHER IN ONE VOLUME-- + + +Also by H. Beam Piper + +LITTLE FUZZY +FUZZY SAPIENS +SPACE VIKING +THE COSMIC COMPUTER + +all from Ace Science Fiction + + +ACE +SCIENCE +FICTION + + * * * * * + + +Four-Day Planet + +Fenris isn't a hell planet, but it's nobody's bargain. With 2,000-hour +days and an 8,000-hour year, it alternates blazing heat with killing +cold. A planet like that tends to breed a special kind of person: +tough enough to stay alive and smart enough to make the best of it. +When that kind of person discovers he's being cheated of wealth he's +risked his life for, that kind of planet is ripe for revolution. + + +Lone Star Planet + +New Texas: its citizens figure that name about says it all. The Solar +League ambassador to the Lone Star Planet has the unenviable task of +convincing New Texans that a s'Srauff attack is imminent, and +dangerous. Unfortunately it's common knowledge that the s'Srauff are +evolved from canine ancestors--and not a Texan alive is about to be +scared of a talking dog! But unless he can get them to act, and fast, +there won't be a Texan alive, scared or otherwise! + + * * * * * + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Four-Day Planet, by Henry Beam Piper + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR-DAY PLANET *** + +***** This file should be named 19478-8.txt or 19478-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/4/7/19478/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Beam Piper + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + a[name] { position:absolute; } + a:link {color:#0000ff; background-color:#FFFFFF; + text-decoration:none; } + a:visited {color:#0000ff; background-color:#FFFFFF; + text-decoration:none; } + a:hover { color:#ff0000; background-color:#FFFFFF; } + + table { width:80%; padding: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + .tocch { text-align: right; vertical-align: top;} + .tocpg {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} + .tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: solid black 1px;} + ul { list-style-type: none; } + li { padding-bottom:0.25em; padding-top:0.25em; } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style:normal; + } /* page numbers */ + + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Four-Day Planet, by Henry Beam Piper + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Four-Day Planet + +Author: Henry Beam Piper + +Release Date: October 6, 2006 [EBook #19478] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR-DAY PLANET *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p>Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p> +<p> The attribution is not a part of the original book.</p></div> + + + + + + +<h1> + Four-Day Planet +</h1> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>by H. Beam Piper</h2> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/image_01.jpg" alt="Seal" width="50" height="59" /></div> +<h2>SF</h2> +<h2>ace books</h2> + <h4>A Division of Charter Communications Inc.</h4> + <h3>A GROSSET & DUNLAP COMPANY</h3> + <h3>360 Park Avenue South</h3> + <h3>New York, New York 10010</h3> + <p> </p> + <p> </p> + + <p class="center">Copyright © 1961 by H. Beam Piper</p> + + + <h4><i>Cover art by Michael Whelan</i> + </h4> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>DEDICATION</h2> + +<h3>For Betty and Vall, with<br /> +loving remembrance</h3> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + + +<table summary="Contents"> +<tr><td class="tocch"> 1.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C1">The Ship from Terra</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"> 2.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C2">Reporter Working</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"> 3.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C3">Bottom Level</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"> 4.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C4">Main City Level</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"> 5.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C5">Meeting Out of Order</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"> 6.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C6">Elementary, My Dear Kivelson</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"> 7.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C7">Aboard the <i>Javelin</i></a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"> 8.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C8">Practice, 50-MM Gun</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"> 9.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C9">Monster Killing</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">10.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C10">Mayday, Mayday</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">11.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C11">Darkness and Cold</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">12.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C12">Castaways Working</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">13.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C13">The Beacon Light</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">14.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C14">The Rescue</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">15.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C15">Vigilantes</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">16.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C16">Civil War Postponed</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">17.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C17">Tallow-Wax Fire</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">18.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C18">The Treason of Bish Ware</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">19.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C19">Masks Off</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">20.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#C20">Finale</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_202">202</a></td></tr> +</table> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Four-Day Planet</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C1" id="C1"></a>1</h2> + +<h3>THE SHIP FROM TERRA</h3> + + +<p>I went through the gateway, towing my equipment in a contragravity +hamper over my head. As usual, I was wondering what it would take, +short of a revolution, to get the city of Port Sandor as clean and +tidy and well lighted as the spaceport area. I knew Dad's editorials +and my sarcastic news stories wouldn't do it. We'd been trying long +enough.</p> + +<p>The two girls in bikinis in front of me pushed on, still gabbling +about the fight one of them had had with her boy friend, and I closed +up behind the half dozen monster-hunters in long trousers, ankle boots +and short boat-jackets, with big knives on their belts. They must have +all been from the same crew, because they weren't arguing about whose +ship was fastest, had the toughest skipper, and made the most money. +They were talking about the price of tallow-wax, and they seemed to +have picked up a rumor that it was going to be cut another ten +centisols a pound. I eavesdropped shamelessly, but it was the same +rumor I'd picked up, myself, a little earlier.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Hi, Walt," somebody behind me called out. "Looking for some news +that's fit to print?"</p> + +<p>I turned my head. It was a man of about thirty-five with curly brown +hair and a wide grin. Adolf Lautier, the entertainment promoter. He +and Dad each owned a share in the Port Sandor telecast station, and +split their time between his music and drama-films and Dad's +newscasts.</p> + +<p>"All the news is fit to print, and if it's news the <i>Times</i> prints +it," I told him. "Think you're going to get some good thrillers this +time?"</p> + +<p>He shrugged. I'd just asked that to make conversation; he never had +any way of knowing what sort of films would come in. The ones the +<i>Peenemünde</i> was bringing should be fairly new, because she was +outbound from Terra. He'd go over what was aboard, and trade one for +one for the old films he'd shown already.</p> + +<p>"They tell me there's a real Old-Terran-style Western been showing on +Völund that ought to be coming our way this time," he said. "It was +filmed in South America, with real horses."</p> + +<p>That would go over big here. Almost everybody thought horses were as +extinct as dinosaurs. I've seen so-called Westerns with the cowboys +riding Freyan <i>oukry</i>. I mentioned that, and then added:</p> + +<p>"They'll think the old cattle towns like Dodge and Abilene were awful +sissy places, though."</p> + +<p>"I suppose they were, compared to Port Sandor," Lautier said. "Are you +going aboard to interview the distinguished visitor?"</p> + +<p>"Which one?" I asked. "Glenn Murell or Leo Belsher?"</p> + +<p>Lautier called Leo Belsher something you won't find in the dictionary +but which nobody needs to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> look up. The hunters, ahead of us, heard +him and laughed. They couldn't possibly have agreed more. He was going +to continue with the fascinating subject of Mr. Leo Belsher's ancestry +and personal characteristics, and then bit it off short. I followed +his eyes, and saw old Professor Hartzenbosch, the principal of the +school, approaching.</p> + +<p>"Ah, here you are, Mr. Lautier," he greeted. "I trust that I did not +keep you waiting." Then he saw me. "Why, it's Walter Boyd. How is your +father, Walter?"</p> + +<p>I assured him as to Dad's health and inquired about his own, and then +asked him how things were going at school. As well as could be +expected, he told me, and I gathered that he kept his point of +expectation safely low. Then he wanted to know if I were going aboard +to interview Mr. Murell.</p> + +<p>"Really, Walter, it is a wonderful thing that a famous author like Mr. +Murell should come here to write a book about our planet," he told me, +very seriously, and added, as an afterthought: "Have you any idea +where he intends staying while he is among us?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," I admitted. "After the <i>Peenemünde</i> radioed us their +passenger list, Dad talked to him by screen, and invited him to stay +with us. Mr. Murell accepted, at least until he can find quarters of +his own."</p> + +<p>There are a lot of good poker players in Port Sandor, but Professor +Jan Hartzenbosch is not one of them. The look of disappointment would +have been comical if it hadn't been so utterly pathetic. He'd been +hoping to lasso Murell himself.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if Mr. Murell could spare time to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> come to the school and +speak to the students," he said, after a moment.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure he could. I'll mention it to him, Professor," I promised.</p> + +<p>Professor Hartzenbosch bridled at that. The great author ought to be +coming to his school out of respect for him, not because a +seventeen-year-old cub reporter sent him. But then, Professor +Hartzenbosch always took the attitude that he was conferring a favor +on the <i>Times</i> when he had anything he wanted publicity on.</p> + +<p>The elevator door opened, and Lautier and the professor joined in the +push to get into it. I hung back, deciding to wait for the next one so +that I could get in first and get back to the rear, where my hamper +wouldn't be in people's way. After a while, it came back empty and I +got on, and when the crowd pushed off on the top level, I put my +hamper back on contragravity and towed it out into the outdoor air, +which by this time had gotten almost as cool as a bake-oven.</p> + +<p>I looked up at the sky, where everybody else was looking. The +<i>Peenemünde</i> wasn't visible; it was still a few thousand miles +off-planet. Big ragged clouds were still blowing in from the west, +very high, and the sunset was even brighter and redder than when I had +seen it last, ten hours before. It was now about 1630.</p> + +<p>Now, before anybody starts asking just who's crazy, let me point out +that this is not on Terra, nor on Baldur nor Thor nor Odin nor Freya, +nor any other rational planet. This is Fenris, and on Fenris the +sunsets, like many other things, are somewhat peculiar.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p><p>Fenris is the second planet of a G<sub>4</sub> star, six hundred and fifty +light-years to the Galactic southwest of the Sol System. Everything +else equal, it should have been pretty much Terra type; closer to a +cooler primary and getting about the same amount of radiation. At +least, that's what the book says. I was born on Fenris, and have never +been off it in the seventeen years since.</p> + +<p>Everything else, however, is not equal. The Fenris year is a trifle +shorter than the Terran year we use for Atomic Era dating, eight +thousand and a few odd Galactic Standard hours. In that time, Fenris +makes almost exactly four axial rotations. This means that on one side +the sun is continuously in the sky for a thousand hours, pouring down +unceasing heat, while the other side is in shadow. You sleep eight +hours, and when you get up and go outside—in an insulated vehicle, or +an extreme-environment suit—you find that the shadows have moved only +an inch or so, and it's that much hotter. Finally, the sun crawls down +to the horizon and hangs there for a few days—periods of twenty-four +G.S. hours—and then slides slowly out of sight. Then, for about a +hundred hours, there is a beautiful unfading sunset, and it's really +pleasant outdoors. Then it gets darker and colder until, just before +sunrise, it gets almost cold enough to freeze CO<sub>2</sub>. Then the sun +comes up, and we begin all over again.</p> + +<p>You are picking up the impression, I trust, that as planets go, Fenris +is nobody's bargain. It isn't a real hell-planet, and spacemen haven't +made a swear word out of its name, as they have with the name of +fluorine-atmosphere Nifflheim, but even the Reverend Hiram Zilker, the +Orthodox-Monophysite preacher, admits that it's one of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> those planets +the Creator must have gotten a trifle absent-minded with.</p> + +<p>The chartered company that colonized it, back at the end of the Fourth +Century <span class="smcap">a.e.</span>, went bankrupt in ten years, and it wouldn't have taken +that long if communication between Terra and Fenris hadn't been a +matter of six months each way. When the smash finally came, two +hundred and fifty thousand colonists were left stranded. They lost +everything they'd put into the company, which, for most of them, was +all they had. Not a few lost their lives before the Federation Space +Navy could get ships here to evacuate them.</p> + +<p>But about a thousand, who were too poor to make a fresh start +elsewhere and too tough for Fenris to kill, refused evacuation, took +over all the equipment and installations the Fenris Company had +abandoned, and tried to make a living out of the planet. At least, +they stayed alive. There are now twenty-odd thousand of us, and while +we are still very poor, we are very tough, and we brag about it.</p> + +<p>There were about two thousand people—ten per cent of the planetary +population—on the wide concrete promenade around the spaceport +landing pit. I came out among them and set down the hamper with my +telecast cameras and recorders, wishing, as usual, that I could find +some ten or twelve-year-old kid weak-minded enough to want to be a +reporter when he grew up, so that I could have an apprentice to help +me with my junk.</p> + +<p>As the star—and only—reporter of the greatest—and only—paper on +the planet, I was al<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>ways on hand when either of the two ships on the +Terra-Odin milk run, the <i>Peenemünde</i> and the <i>Cape Canaveral</i>, +landed. Of course, we always talk to them by screen as soon as they +come out of hyperspace and into radio range, and get the passenger +list, and a speed-recording of any news they are carrying, from the +latest native uprising on Thor to the latest political scandal on +Venus. Sometime the natives of Thor won't be fighting anybody at all, +or the Federation Member Republic of Venus will have some +nonscandalous politics, and either will be the man-bites-dog story to +end man-bites-dog stories. All the news is at least six months old, +some more than a year. A spaceship can log a light-year in sixty-odd +hours, but radio waves still crawl along at the same old 186,000 mps.</p> + +<p>I still have to meet the ships. There's always something that has to +be picked up personally, usually an interview with some VIP traveling +through. This time, though, the big story coming in on the +<i>Peenemünde</i> was a local item. Paradox? Dad says there is no such +thing. He says a paradox is either a verbal contradiction, and you get +rid of it by restating it correctly, or it's a structural +contradiction, and you just call it an impossibility and let it go at +that. In this case, what was coming in was a real live author, who was +going to write a travel book about Fenris, the planet with the +four-day year. Glenn Murell, which sounded suspiciously like a nom de +plume, and nobody here had ever heard of him.</p> + +<p>That was odd, too. One thing we can really be proud of here, besides +the toughness of our citizens, is our public library. When people have +to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> stay underground most of the time to avoid being fried and/or +frozen to death, they have a lot of time to kill, and reading is one +of the cheaper and more harmless and profitable ways of doing it. And +travel books are a special favorite here. I suppose because everybody +is hoping to read about a worse place than Fenris. I had checked on +Glenn Murell at the library. None of the librarians had ever heard of +him, and there wasn't a single mention of him in any of the big +catalogues of publications.</p> + +<p>The first and obvious conclusion would be that Mr. Glenn Murell was +some swindler posing as an author. The only objection to that was that +I couldn't quite see why any swindler would come to Fenris, or what +he'd expect to swindle the Fenrisians out of. Of course, he could be +on the lam from somewhere, but in that case why bother with all the +cover story? Some of our better-known citizens came here dodging +warrants on other planets.</p> + +<p>I was still wondering about Murell when somebody behind me greeted me, +and I turned around. It was Tom Kivelson.</p> + +<p>Tom and I are buddies, when he's in port. He's just a shade older than +I am; he was eighteen around noon, and my eighteenth birthday won't +come till midnight, Fenris Standard Sundial Time. His father is Joe +Kivelson, the skipper of the <i>Javelin</i>; Tom is sort of junior +engineer, second gunner, and about third harpooner. We went to school +together, which is to say a couple of years at Professor +Hartzenbosch's, learning to read and write and put figures together. +That is all the schooling anybody on Fenris gets, although Joe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +Kivelson sent Tom's older sister, Linda, to school on Terra. Anybody +who stays here has to dig out education for himself. Tom and I were +still digging for ours.</p> + +<p>Each of us envied the other, when we weren't thinking seriously about +it. I imagined that sea-monster hunting was wonderfully thrilling and +romantic, and Tom had the idea that being a newsman was real hot +stuff. When we actually stopped to think about it, though, we realized +that neither of us would trade jobs and take anything at all for boot. +Tom couldn't string three sentences—no, one sentence—together to +save his life, and I'm just a town boy who likes to live in something +that isn't pitching end-for-end every minute.</p> + +<p>Tom is about three inches taller than I am, and about thirty pounds +heavier. Like all monster-hunters, he's trying to grow a beard, though +at present it's just a blond chin-fuzz. I was surprised to see him +dressed as I was, in shorts and sandals and a white shirt and a light +jacket. Ordinarily, even in town, he wears boat-clothes. I looked +around behind him, and saw the brass tip of a scabbard under the +jacket. Any time a hunter-ship man doesn't have his knife on, he isn't +wearing anything else. I wondered about his being in port now. I knew +Joe Kivelson wouldn't bring his ship in just to meet the <i>Peenemünde</i>, +with only a couple of hundred hours' hunting left till the storms and +the cold.</p> + +<p>"I thought you were down in the South Ocean," I said.</p> + +<p>"There's going to be a special meeting of the Co-op," he said. "We +only heard about it last<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> evening," by which he meant after 1800 of +the previous Galactic Standard day. He named another hunter-ship +captain who had called the <i>Javelin</i> by screen. "We screened everybody +else we could."</p> + +<p>That was the way they ran things in the Hunters' Co-operative. Steve +Ravick would wait till everybody had their ships down on the coast of +Hermann Reuch's Land, and then he would call a meeting and pack it +with his stooges and hooligans, and get anything he wanted voted +through. I had always wondered how long the real hunters were going to +stand for that. They'd been standing for it ever since I could +remember anything outside my own playpen, which, of course, hadn't +been too long.</p> + +<p>I was about to say something to that effect, and then somebody yelled, +"There she is!" I took a quick look at the radar bowls to see which +way they were pointed and followed them up to the sky, and caught a +tiny twinkle through a cloud rift. After a moment's mental arithmetic +to figure how high she'd have to be to catch the sunlight, I relaxed. +Even with the telephoto, I'd only get a picture the size of a pinhead, +so I fixed the position in my mind and then looked around at the +crowd.</p> + +<p>Among them were two men, both well dressed. One was tall and slender, +with small hands and feet; the other was short and stout, with a +scrubby gray-brown mustache. The slender one had a bulge under his +left arm, and the short-and-stout job bulged over the right hip. The +former was Steve Ravick, the boss of the Hunters' Co-operative, and +his companion was the Honorable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> Morton Hallstock, mayor of Port +Sandor and consequently the planetary government of Fenris.</p> + +<p>They had held their respective positions for as long as I could +remember anything at all. I could never remember an election in Port +Sandor, or an election of officers in the Co-op. Ravick had a bunch of +goons and triggermen—I could see a couple of them loitering in the +background—who kept down opposition for him. So did Hallstock, only +his wore badges and called themselves police.</p> + +<p>Once in a while, Dad would write a blistering editorial about one or +the other or both of them. Whenever he did, I would put my gun on, and +so would Julio Kubanoff, the one-legged compositor who is the third +member of the Times staff, and we would take turns making sure nobody +got behind Dad's back. Nothing ever happened, though, and that always +rather hurt me. Those two racketeers were in so tight they didn't need +to care what the Times printed or 'cast about them.</p> + +<p>Hallstock glanced over in my direction and said something to Ravick. +Ravick gave a sneering laugh, and then he crushed out the cigarette he +was smoking on the palm of his left hand. That was a regular trick of +his. Showing how tough he was. Dad says that when you see somebody +showing off, ask yourself whether he's trying to impress other people, +or himself. I wondered which was the case with Steve Ravick.</p> + +<p>Then I looked up again. The <i>Peenemünde</i> was coming down as fast as +she could without over-heating from atmosphere friction. She was +almost buckshot size to the naked eye, and a couple of tugs were +getting ready to go up and meet her. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> got the telephoto camera out +of the hamper, checked it, and aimed it. It has a shoulder stock and +handgrips and a trigger like a submachine gun. I caught the ship in +the finder and squeezed the trigger for a couple of seconds. It would +be about five minutes till the tugs got to her and anything else +happened, so I put down the camera and looked around.</p> + +<p>Coming through the crowd, walking as though the concrete under him was +pitching and rolling like a ship's deck on contragravity in a storm, +was Bish Ware. He caught sight of us, waved, overbalanced himself and +recovered, and then changed course to starboard and bore down on us. +He was carrying about his usual cargo, and as usual the manifest would +read, <i>Baldur honey-rum, from Harry Wong's bar</i>.</p> + +<p>Bish wasn't his real name. Neither, I suspected, was Ware. When he'd +first landed on Fenris, some five years ago, somebody had nicknamed +him the Bishop, and before long that had gotten cut to one syllable. +He looked like a bishop, or at least like what anybody who's never +seen a bishop outside a screen-play would think a bishop looked like. +He was a big man, not fat, but tall and portly; he had a ruddy face +that always wore an expression of benevolent wisdom, and the more +cargo he took on the wiser and more benevolent he looked.</p> + +<p>He had iron-gray hair, but he wasn't old. You could tell that by the +backs of his hands; they weren't wrinkled or crepy and the veins +didn't protrude. And drunk or sober—though I never remembered seeing +him in the latter condition—he had the fastest reflexes of anybody I +knew. I saw him, once, standing at the bar in Harry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> Wong's, knock +over an open bottle with his left elbow. He spun half around, grabbed +it by the neck and set it up, all in one motion, without spilling a +drop, and he went on talking as though nothing had happened. He was +quoting Homer, I remembered, and you could tell that he was thinking +in the original ancient Greek and translating to Lingua Terra as he +went.</p> + +<p>He was always dressed as he was now, in a conservative black suit, the +jacket a trifle longer than usual, and a black neckcloth with an Uller +organic-opal pin. He didn't work at anything, but quarterly—once +every planetary day—a draft on the Banking Cartel would come in for +him, and he'd deposit it with the Port Sandor Fidelity & Trust. If +anybody was unmannerly enough to ask him about it, he always said he +had a rich uncle on Terra.</p> + +<p>When I was a kid—well, more of a kid than I am now—I used to believe +he really was a bishop—unfrocked, of course, or ungaitered, or +whatever they call it when they give a bishop the heave-ho. A lot of +people who weren't kids still believed that, and they blamed him on +every denomination from Anglicans to Zen Buddhists, not even missing +the Satanists, and there were all sorts of theories about what he'd +done to get excommunicated, the mildest of which was that somewhere +there was a cathedral standing unfinished because he'd hypered out +with the building fund. It was generally agreed that his +ecclesiastical organization was paying him to stay out there in the +boondocks where he wouldn't cause them further embarrassment.</p> + +<p>I was pretty sure, myself, that he was being paid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> by somebody, +probably his family, to stay out of sight. The colonial planets are +full of that sort of remittance men.</p> + +<p>Bish and I were pretty good friends. There were certain old ladies, of +both sexes and all ages, of whom Professor Hartzenbosch was an +example, who took Dad to task occasionally for letting me associate +with him. Dad simply ignored them. As long as I was going to be a +reporter, I'd have to have news sources, and Bish was a dandy. He knew +all the disreputable characters in town, which saved me having to +associate with all of them, and it is sad but true that you get very +few news stories in Sunday school. Far from fearing that Bish would be +a bad influence on me, he rather hoped I'd be a good one on Bish.</p> + +<p>I had that in mind, too, if I could think of any way of managing it. +Bish had been a good man, once. He still was, except for one thing. +You could tell that before he'd started drinking, he'd really been +somebody, somewhere. Then something pretty bad must have happened to +him, and now he was here on Fenris, trying to hide from it behind a +bottle. Something ought to be done to give him a shove up on his feet +again. I hate waste, and a man of the sort he must have been turning +himself into the rumpot he was now was waste of the worst kind.</p> + +<p>It would take a lot of doing, though, and careful tactical planning. +Preaching at him would be worse than useless, and so would simply +trying to get him to stop drinking. That would be what Doc Rojansky, +at the hospital, would call treating the symptoms. The thing to do was +make him want to stop drinking, and I didn't know how I was going<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> to +manage that. I'd thought, a couple of times, of getting him to work on +the Times, but we barely made enough money out of it for ourselves, +and with his remittance he didn't need to work. I had a lot of other +ideas, now and then, but every time I took a second look at one, it +got sick and died.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C2" id="C2"></a>2</h2> + +<h3>REPORTER WORKING</h3> + + +<p>Bish came over and greeted us solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Captain Ahab, I believe," he said, bowing +to Tom, who seemed slightly puzzled; the education Tom had been +digging out for himself was technical rather than literary. "And Mr. +Pulitzer. Or is it Horace Greeley?"</p> + +<p>"Lord Beaverbrook, your Grace," I replied. "Have you any little news +items for us from your diocese?"</p> + +<p>Bish teetered slightly, getting out a cigar and inspecting it +carefully before lighting it.</p> + +<p>"We-el," he said carefully, "my diocese is full to the hatch covers +with sinners, but that's scarcely news." He turned to Tom. "One of +your hands on the <i>Javelin</i> got into a fight in Martian Joe's, a while +ago. Lumped the other man up pretty badly." He named the Javelin +crewman, and the man who had been pounded. The latter was one of Steve +Ravick's goons. "But not fatally, I regret to say," Bish added. "The +local Gestapo are looking for your man, but he made it aboard Nip<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +Spazoni's <i>Bulldog</i>, and by this time he's halfway to Hermann Reuch's +Land."</p> + +<p>"Isn't Nip going to the meeting, tonight?" Tom asked.</p> + +<p>Bish shook his head. "Nip is a peace-loving man. He has a well-founded +suspicion that peace is going to be in short supply around Hunters' +Hall this evening. You know, of course, that Leo Belsher's coming in +on the <i>Peenemünde</i> and will be there to announce another price cut. +The new price, I understand, will be thirty-five centisols a pound."</p> + +<p>Seven hundred sols a ton, I thought; why, that would barely pay ship +expenses.</p> + +<p>"Where did you get that?" Tom asked, a trifle sharply.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have my spies and informers," Bish said. "And even if I hadn't, +it would figure. The only reason Leo Belsher ever comes to this Eden +among planets is to negotiate a new contract, and who ever heard of a +new contract at a higher price?"</p> + +<p>That had all happened before, a number of times. When Steve Ravick had +gotten control of the Hunters' Co-operative, the price of tallow-wax, +on the loading floor at Port Sandor spaceport, had been fifteen +hundred sols a ton. As far as Dad and I could find out, it was still +bringing the same price on Terra as it always had. It looked to us as +if Ravick and Leo Belsher, who was the Co-op representative on Terra, +and Mort Hallstock were simply pocketing the difference. I was just as +sore about what was happening as anybody who went out in the +hunter-ships. Tallow-wax is our only export. All our imports are paid +for with credit from the sale of wax.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> + +<p>It isn't really wax, and it isn't tallow. It's a growth on the +Jarvis's sea-monster; there's a layer of it under the skin, and around +organs that need padding. An average-sized monster, say a hundred and +fifty feet long, will yield twelve to fifteen tons of it, and a good +hunter kills about ten monsters a year. Well, at the price Belsher and +Ravick were going to cut from, that would run a little short of a +hundred and fifty thousand sols for a year. If you say it quick enough +and don't think, that sounds like big money, but the upkeep and +supplies for a hunter-ship are big money, too, and what's left after +that's paid off is divided, on a graduated scale, among ten to fifteen +men, from the captain down. A hunter-boat captain, even a good one +like Joe Kivelson, won't make much more in a year than Dad and I make +out of the <i>Times</i>.</p> + +<p>Chemically, tallow-wax isn't like anything else in the known Galaxy. +The molecules are huge; they can be seen with an ordinary optical +microscope, and a microscopically visible molecule is a +curious-looking object, to say the least. They use the stuff to treat +fabric for protective garments. It isn't anything like collapsium, of +course, but a suit of waxed coveralls weighing only a couple of pounds +will stop as much radiation as half an inch of lead.</p> + +<p>Back when they were getting fifteen hundred a ton, the hunters had +been making good money, but that was before Steve Ravick's time.</p> + +<p>It was slightly before mine, too. Steve Ravick had showed up on Fenris +about twelve years ago. He'd had some money, and he'd bought shares in +a couple of hunter-ships and staked a few captains<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> who'd had bad luck +and got them in debt to him. He also got in with Morton Hallstock, who +controlled what some people were credulous enough to take for a +government here. Before long, he was secretary of the Hunters' +Co-operative. Old Simon MacGregor, who had been president then, was a +good hunter, but he was no businessman. He came to depend very heavily +on Ravick, up till his ship, the <i>Claymore</i>, was lost with all hands +down in Fitzwilliam Straits. I think that was a time bomb in the +magazine, but I have a low and suspicious mind. Professor Hartzenbosch +has told me so repeatedly. After that, Steve Ravick was president of +the Co-op. He immediately began a drive to increase the membership. +Most of the new members had never been out in a hunter-ship in their +lives, but they could all be depended on to vote the way he wanted +them to.</p> + +<p>First, he jacked the price of wax up, which made everybody but the wax +buyers happy. Everybody who wasn't already in the Co-op hurried up and +joined. Then he negotiated an exclusive contract with Kapstaad +Chemical Products, Ltd., in South Africa, by which they agreed to take +the entire output for the Co-op. That ended competitive wax buying, +and when there was nobody to buy the wax but Kapstaad, you had to sell +it through the Co-operative or you didn't sell it at all. After that, +the price started going down. The Co-operative, for which read Steve +Ravick, had a sales representative on Terra, Leo Belsher. He wrote all +the contracts, collected all the money, and split with Ravick. What +was going on was pretty generally understood, even if it couldn't be +proven, but what could anybody do about it?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p>Maybe somebody would try to do something about it at the meeting this +evening. I would be there to cover it. I was beginning to wish I owned +a bullet-proof vest.</p> + +<p>Bish and Tom were exchanging views on the subject, some of them almost +printable. I had my eyes to my binoculars, watching the tugs go up to +meet the <i>Peenemünde</i>.</p> + +<p>"What we need for Ravick, Hallstock and Belsher," Tom was saying, "is +about four fathoms of harpoon line apiece, and something to haul up +to."</p> + +<p>That kind of talk would have shocked Dad. He is very strong for law +and order, even when there is no order and the law itself is illegal. +I'd always thought there was a lot of merit in what Tom was +suggesting. Bish Ware seemed to have his doubts, though.</p> + +<p>"Mmm, no; there ought to be some better way of doing it than that."</p> + +<p>"Can you think of one?" Tom challenged.</p> + +<p>I didn't hear Bish's reply. By that time, the tugs were almost to the +ship. I grabbed up the telephoto camera and aimed it. It has its own +power unit, and transmits directly. In theory, I could tune it to the +telecast station and put what I was getting right on the air, and what +I was doing was transmitting to the <i>Times</i>, to be recorded and 'cast +later. Because it's not a hundred per cent reliable, though, it makes +its own audiovisual record, so if any of what I was sending didn't get +through, it could be spliced in after I got back.</p> + +<p>I got some footage of the tugs grappling the ship, which was now +completely weightless, and pulling her down. Through the finder, I +could see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> that she had her landing legs extended; she looked like a +big overfed spider being hauled in by a couple of gnats. I kept the +butt of the camera to my shoulder, and whenever anything interesting +happened, I'd squeeze the trigger. The first time I ever used a real +submachine gun had been to kill a blue slasher that had gotten into +one of the ship pools at the waterfront. I used three one-second +bursts, and threw bits of slasher all over the place, and everybody +wondered how I'd gotten the practice.</p> + +<p>A couple more boats, pushers, went up to help hold the ship against +the wind, and by that time she was down to a thousand feet, which was +half her diameter. I switched from the shoulder-stock telephoto to the +big tripod job, because this was the best part of it. The ship was +weightless, of course, but she had mass and an awful lot of it. If +anybody goofed getting her down, she'd take the side of the landing +pit out, and about ten per cent of the population of Fenris, including +the ace reporter for the Times, along with it.</p> + +<p>At the same time, some workmen and a couple of spaceport cops had +appeared, taken out a section of railing and put in a gate. The +<i>Peenemünde</i> settled down, turned slowly to get her port in line with +the gate, and lurched off contragravity and began running out a bridge +to the promenade. I got some shots of that, and then began packing my +stuff back in the hamper.</p> + +<p>"You going aboard?" Tom asked. "Can I come along? I can carry some of +your stuff and let on I'm your helper."</p> + +<p>Glory be, I thought; I finally got that apprentice.</p> + +<p>"Why, sure," I said. "You tow the hamper; I'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> carry this." I got out +what looked like a big camera case and slung it over my shoulder. "But +you'll have to take me out on the <i>Javelin</i>, sometime, and let me +shoot a monster."</p> + +<p>He said it was a deal, and we shook on it. Then I had another idea.</p> + +<p>"Bish, suppose you come with us, too," I said. "After all, Tom and I +are just a couple of kids. If you're with us, it'll look a lot more +big-paperish."</p> + +<p>That didn't seem to please Tom too much. Bish shook his head, though, +and Tom brightened.</p> + +<p>"I'm dreadfully sorry, Walt," Bish said. "But I'm going aboard, +myself, to see a friend who is en route through to Odin. A Dr. Watson; +I have not seen him for years."</p> + +<p>I'd caught that name, too, when we'd gotten the passenger list. Dr. +John Watson. Now, I know that all sorts of people call themselves +Doctor, and Watson and John aren't too improbable a combination, but +I'd read <i>Sherlock Holmes</i> long ago, and the name had caught my +attention. And this was the first, to my knowledge, that Bish Ware had +ever admitted to any off-planet connections.</p> + +<p>We started over to the gate. Hallstock and Ravick were ahead of us. So +was Sigurd Ngozori, the president of the Fidelity & Trust, carrying a +heavy briefcase and accompanied by a character with a submachine gun, +and Adolf Lautier and Professor Hartzenbosch. There were a couple of +spaceport cops at the gate, in olive-green uniforms that looked as +though they had been sprayed on, and steel helmets. I wished we had a +city police force like that. They were Odin Dock & Shipyard Company +men, all former Federation Regular Army or Colonial Constabulary. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +spaceport wasn't part of Port Sandor, or even Fenris; the Odin Dock & +Shipyard Company was the government there, and it was run honestly and +efficiently.</p> + +<p>They knew me, and when they saw Tom towing my hamper they cracked a +few jokes about the new <i>Times</i> cub reporter and waved us through. I +thought they might give Bish an argument, but they just nodded and let +him pass, too. We all went out onto the bridge, and across the pit to +the equator of the two-thousand-foot globular ship.</p> + +<p>We went into the main lounge, and the captain introduced us to Mr. +Glenn Murell. He was fairly tall, with light gray hair, prematurely +so, I thought, and a pleasant, noncommittal face. I'd have pegged him +for a businessman. Well, I suppose authoring is a business, if that +was his business. He shook hands with us, and said:</p> + +<p>"Aren't you rather young to be a newsman?"</p> + +<p>I started to burn on that. I get it all the time, and it burns me all the +time, but worst of all on the job. Maybe I am only going-on-eighteen, but +I'm doing a man's work, and I'm doing it competently.</p> + +<p>"Well, they grow up young on Fenris, Mr. Murell," Captain Marshak +earned my gratitude by putting in. "Either that or they don't live to +grow up."</p> + +<p>Murell unhooked his memophone and repeated the captain's remark into +it. Opening line for one of his chapters. Then he wanted to know if +I'd been born on Fenris. I saw I was going to have to get firm with +Mr. Murell, right away. The time to stop that sort of thing is as soon +as it starts.</p> + +<p>"Who," I wanted to know, "is interviewing whom? You'll have at least +five hundred hours till<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> the next possible ship out of here; I only +have two and a half to my next deadline. You want coverage, don't you? +The more publicity you get, the easier your own job's going to be."</p> + +<p>Then I introduced Tom, carefully giving the impression that while I +handled all ordinary assignments, I needed help to give him the full +VIP treatment. We went over to a quiet corner and sat down, and the +interview started.</p> + +<p>The camera case I was carrying was a snare and a deceit. Everybody +knows that reporters use recorders in interviews, but it never pays to +be too obtrusive about them, or the subject gets recorder-conscious +and stiffens up. What I had was better than a recorder; it was a +recording radio. Like the audiovisuals, it not only transmitted in to +the <i>Times</i>, but made a recording as insurance against transmission +failure. I reached into a slit on the side and snapped on the switch +while I was fumbling with a pencil and notebook with the other hand, +and started by asking him what had decided him to do a book about +Fenris.</p> + +<p>After that, I fed a question every now and then to keep him running, +and only listened to every third word. The radio was doing a better +job than I possibly could have. At the same time, I was watching Steve +Ravick, Morton Hallstock and Leo Belsher at one side of the room, and +Bish Ware at the other. Bish was within ear-straining range. Out of +the corner of my eye, I saw another man, younger in appearance and +looking like an Army officer in civvies, approach him.</p> + +<p>"My dear Bishop!" this man said in greeting.</p> + +<p>As far as I knew, that nickname had originated on Fenris. I made a +mental note of that.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How are you?" Bish replied, grasping the other's hand. "You have been +in Afghanistan, I perceive."</p> + +<p>That did it. I told you I was an old <i>Sherlock Holmes</i> reader; I +recognized that line. This meeting was prearranged, neither of them +had ever met before, and they needed a recognition code. Then I +returned to Murell, and decided to wonder about Bish Ware and "Dr. +Watson" later.</p> + +<p>It wasn't long before I was noticing a few odd things about Murell, +too, which confirmed my original suspicions of him. He didn't have the +firm name of his alleged publishers right, he didn't know what a +literary agent was and, after claiming to have been a newsman, he +consistently used the expression "news service." I know, everybody +says that—everybody but newsmen. They always call a news service a +"paper," especially when talking to other newsmen.</p> + +<p>Of course, there isn't any paper connected with it, except the pad the +editor doodles on. What gets to the public is photoprint, out of a +teleprinter. As small as our circulation is, we have four or five +hundred of them in Port Sandor and around among the small settlements +in the archipelago, and even on the mainland. Most of them are in bars +and cafes and cigar stores and places like that, operated by a coin in +a slot and leased by the proprietor, and some of the big hunter-ships +like Joe Kivelson's <i>Javelin</i> and Nip Spazoni's <i>Bulldog</i> have them.</p> + +<p>But long ago, back in the First Centuries, Pre-Atomic and Atomic Era, +they were actually printed on paper, and the copies distributed and +sold. They used printing presses as heavy as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> spaceship's engines. +That's why we still call ourselves the Press. Some of the old papers +on Terra, like <i>La Prensa</i> in Buenos Aires, and the Melbourne <i>Times</i>, +which used to be the London <i>Times</i> when there was still a London, +were printed that way originally.</p> + +<p>Finally I got through with my interview, and then shot about fifteen +minutes of audiovisual, which would be cut to five for the 'cast. By +this time Bish and "Dr. Watson" had disappeared, I supposed to the +ship's bar, and Ravick and his accomplices had gotten through with +their conspiracy to defraud the hunters. I turned Murell over to Tom, +and went over to where they were standing together. I'd put away my +pencil and pad long ago with Murell; now I got them out ostentatiously +as I approached.</p> + +<p>"Good day, gentlemen," I greeted them. "I'm representing the Port +Sandor <i>Times</i>."</p> + +<p>"Oh, run along, sonny; we haven't time to bother with you," Hallstock +said.</p> + +<p>"But I want to get a story from Mr. Belsher," I began.</p> + +<p>"Well, come back in five or six years, when you're dry behind the +ears, and you can get it," Ravick told me.</p> + +<p>"Our readers aren't interested in the condition of my ears," I said +sweetly. "They want to read about the price of tallow-wax. What's this +about another price cut? To thirty-five centisols a pound, I +understand."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Steve, the young man's from the news service, and his father will +publish whatever he brings home," Belsher argued. "We'd better give +him something." He turned to me. "I don't know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> how this got out, but +it's quite true," he said. He had a long face, like a horse's. At +least, he looked like pictures of horses I'd seen. As he spoke, he +pulled it even longer and became as doleful as an undertaker at a +ten-thousand-sol funeral.</p> + +<p>"The price has gone down, again. Somebody has developed a synthetic +substitute. Of course, it isn't anywhere near as good as real Fenris +tallow-wax, but try and tell the public that. So Kapstaad Chemical is +being undersold, and the only way they can stay in business is cut the +price they have to pay for wax...."</p> + +<p>It went on like that, and this time I had real trouble keeping my +anger down. In the first place, I was pretty sure there was no +substitute for Fenris tallow-wax, good, bad or indifferent. In the +second place, it isn't sold to the gullible public, it's sold to +equipment manufacturers who have their own test engineers and who have +to keep their products up to legal safety standards. He didn't know +this balderdash of his was going straight to the <i>Times</i> as fast as he +spouted it; he thought I was taking it down in shorthand. I knew +exactly what Dad would do with it. He'd put it on telecast in +Belsher's own voice.</p> + +<p>Maybe the monster-hunters would start looking around for a rope, then.</p> + +<p>When I got through listening to him, I went over and got a short +audiovisual of Captain Marshak of the <i>Peenemünde</i> for the 'cast, and +then I rejoined Tom and Murell.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Murell says he's staying with you at the <i>Times</i>," Tom said. He +seemed almost as disappointed as Professor Hartzenbosch. I wondered, +for an incredulous moment, if Tom had been try<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>ing to kidnap Murell +away from me. "He wants to go out on the <i>Javelin</i> with us for a +monster-hunt."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's swell!" I said. "You can pay off on that promise to take +me monster-hunting, too. Right now, Mr. Murell is my big story." I +reached into the front pocket of my "camera" case for the handphone, +to shift to two-way. "I'll call the <i>Times</i> and have somebody come up +with a car to get us and Mr. Murell's luggage."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have a car. Jeep, that is," Tom said. "It's down on the Bottom +Level. We can use that."</p> + +<p>Funny place to leave a car. And I was sure that he and Murell had come +to some kind of an understanding, while I was being lied to by +Belsher. I didn't get it. There was just too much going on around me +that I didn't get, and me, I'm supposed to be the razor-sharp newshawk +who gets everything.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C3" id="C3"></a>3</h2> + +<h3>BOTTOM LEVEL</h3> + + +<p>It didn't take long to get Murell's luggage assembled. There was +surprisingly little of it, and nothing that looked like photographic +or recording equipment. When he returned from a final gathering-up in +his stateroom, I noticed that he was bulging under his jacket, too, on +the left side at the waist. About enough for an 8.5-mm pocket +automatic. Evidently he had been briefed on the law-and-order +situation in Port Sandor.</p> + +<p>Normally, we'd have gone off onto the Main City Level, but Tom's jeep +was down on the Bottom Level, and he made no suggestion that we go off +and wait for him to bring it up. I didn't suggest it, either. After +all, it was his jeep, and he wasn't our hired pilot. Besides, I was +beginning to get curious. An abnormally large bump of curiosity is +part of every newsman's basic equipment.</p> + +<p>We borrowed a small handling-lifter and one of the spaceport +roustabouts to tow it for us, loaded Murell's luggage and my things +onto it, and started down to the bottomside cargo hatches, from which +the ship was discharging. There was no cargo at all to go aboard, +except mail and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> things like Adolf Lautier's old film and music tapes. +Our only export is tallow-wax, and it all goes to Terra. It would be +picked up by the Cape <i>Canaveral</i> when she got in from Odin five +hundred hours from now. But except for a few luxury items from Odin, +everything we import comes from Terra, and the <i>Peenemünde</i> had +started discharging that already. We rode down on a contragravity skid +loaded with ammunition. I saw Murell looking curiously at the square +cases, marked <span class="smcap">terran federation armed forces</span>, and <span class="smcap">50-mm, mk. 608, antivehicle and antipersonnel, 25 rounds</span>, and <span class="smcap">overage. practice only. not to be issued for service</span>, and <span class="smcap">inspected and condemned</span>. The hunters +bought that stuff through the Co-op. It cost half as much as new ammo, +but that didn't help them any. The difference stopped with Steve +Ravick. Murell didn't comment, and neither did Tom or I.</p> + +<p>We got off at the bottom of the pit, a thousand feet below the +promenade from which I had come aboard, and stopped for a moment. +Murell was looking about the great amphitheater in amazement.</p> + +<p>"I knew this spaceport would be big when I found out that the ship +landed directly on the planet," he said, "but I never expected +anything like this. And this serves a population of twenty thousand?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty-four thousand, seven hundred and eight, if the man who got +pounded in a barroom fight around 1330 hasn't died yet," I said. "But +you have to remember that this place was built close to a hundred +years ago, when the population was ten times that much." I'd gotten my +story<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> from him; now it was his turn to interview me. "You know +something about the history of Fenris, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. There are ample sources for it on Terra, up to the collapse of +the Fenris Company," he said. "Too much isn't known about what's been +happening here since, which is why I decided to do this book."</p> + +<p>"Well, there were several cities built, over on the mainland," I told +him. "They're all abandoned now. The first one was a conventional +city, the buildings all on the surface. After one day-and-night cycle, +they found that it was uninhabitable. It was left unfinished. Then +they started digging in. The Chartered Fenris Company shipped in huge +quantities of mining and earth-moving equipment—that put the company +in the red more than anything else—and they began making +burrow-cities, like the ones built in the Northern Hemisphere of Terra +during the Third and Fourth World Wars, or like the cities on Luna and +Mercury Twilight Zone and Titan. There are a lot of valuable mineral +deposits over on the mainland; maybe in another century our +grandchildren will start working them again.</p> + +<p>"But about six years before the Fenris Company went to pieces, they +decided to concentrate in one city, here in the archipelago. The sea +water stays cooler in the daytime and doesn't lose heat so rapidly in +the nighttime. So they built Port Sandor, here on Oakleaf Island."</p> + +<p>"And for convenience in monster-hunting?"</p> + +<p>I shook my head. "No. The Jarvis's sea-monster wasn't discovered until +after the city was built, and it was years after the company had gone +bank<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>rupt before anybody found out about what tallow-wax was good +for."</p> + +<p>I started telling him about the native life-forms of Fenris. Because +of the surface temperature extremes, the marine life is the most +highly developed. The land animals are active during the periods after +sunset and after sunrise; when it begins getting colder or hotter, +they burrow, or crawl into caves and crevices among the rocks, and go +into suspended animation. I found that he'd read up on that, and not +too much of his information was incorrect.</p> + +<p>He seemed to think, though, that Port Sandor had also been mined out +below the surface. I set him right on that.</p> + +<p>"You saw what it looked like when you were coming down," I said. "Just +a flat plateau, with a few shaft-head domes here and there, and the +landing pit of the spaceport. Well, originally it was a valley, +between two low hills. The city was built in the valley, level by +level, and then the tops of the hills were dug off and bulldozed down +on top of it. We have a lot of film at the public library of the +construction of the city, step by step. As far as I know, there are no +copies anywhere off-planet."</p> + +<p>He should have gotten excited about that, and wanted to see them. +Instead, he was watching the cargo come off—food-stuffs, now—and +wanted to know if we had to import everything we needed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no. We're going in on the Bottom Level, which is mainly storage, +but we have hydroponic farms for our vegetables and carniculture +plants for meat on the Second and Third Levels. That's counting down +from the Main City Level. We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> make our own lumber, out of reeds +harvested in the swamps after sunrise and converted to pulpwood, and +we get some good hardwood from the native trees which only grow in +four periods of two hundred hours a year. We only use that for +furniture, gunstocks, that sort of thing. And there are a couple of +mining camps and smelters on the mainland; they employ about a +thousand of our people. But every millisol that's spent on this planet +is gotten from the sale of tallow-wax, at second or third hand if not +directly."</p> + +<p>That seemed to interest him more. Maybe his book, if he was really +writing one, was going to be an economic study of Fenris. Or maybe his +racket, whatever it was, would be based on something connected with +our local production. I went on telling him about our hydroponic +farms, and the carniculture plant where any kind of animal tissue we +wanted was grown—Terran pork and beef and poultry, Freyan <i>zhoumy</i> +meat, Zarathustran veldtbeest.... He knew, already, that none of the +native life-forms, animal or vegetable, were edible by Terrans.</p> + +<p>"You can get all the <i>paté de foie gras</i> you want here," I said. "We +have a chunk of goose liver about fifty feet in diameter growing in +one of our vats."</p> + +<p>By this time, we'd gotten across the bottom of the pit, Murell's +luggage and my equipment being towed after us, and had entered the +Bottom Level. It was cool and pleasant here, lighted from the ceiling +fifty feet overhead, among the great column bases, two hundred feet +square and two hundred yards apart, that supported the upper city and +the thick roof of rock and earth that insu<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>lated it. The area we were +entering was stacked with tallow-wax waiting to be loaded onto the +<i>Cape Canaveral</i> when she came in; it was vacuum-packed in plastic +skins, like big half-ton Bologna sausages, each one painted with the +blue and white emblem of the Hunters' Co-operative. He was quite +interested in that, and was figuring, mentally, how much wax there was +here and how much it was worth.</p> + +<p>"Who does this belong to?" he wanted to know. "The Hunters' +Co-operative?"</p> + +<p>Tom had been letting me do the talking up to now, but he answered that +question, very emphatically.</p> + +<p>"No, it doesn't. It belongs to the hunters," he said. "Each ship crew +owns the wax they bring in in common, and it's sold for them by the +Co-op. When the captain gets paid for the wax he's turned over to the +Co-op, he divides the money among the crew. But every scrap of this +belongs to the ships that took it, up till it's bought and paid for by +Kapstaad Chemical."</p> + +<p>"Well, if a captain wants his wax back, after it's been turned over +for sale to the Co-op, can he get it?" Murell asked.</p> + +<p>"Absolutely!"</p> + +<p>Murell nodded, and we went on. The roustabout who had been following +us with the lifter had stopped to chat with a couple of his fellows. +We went on slowly, and now and then a vehicle, usually a lorry, would +pass above us. Then I saw Bish Ware, ahead, sitting on a sausage of +wax, talking to one of the Spaceport Police. They were both smoking, +but that was all right. Tallow-wax will burn, and a wax fire is +something to get really<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> excited about, but the ignition point is 750° C., +and that's a lot hotter than the end of anybody's cigar. He must +have come out the same way we did, and I added that to the +"wonder-why" file. Pretty soon, I'd have so many questions to wonder +about that they'd start answering each other. He saw us and waved to +us, and then suddenly the spaceport cop's face got as white as my +shirt and he grabbed Bish by the arm. Bish didn't change color; he +just shook off the cop's hand, got to his feet, dropped his cigar, and +took a side skip out into the aisle.</p> + +<p>"Murell!" he yelled. "Freeze! On your life; don't move a muscle!"</p> + +<p>Then there was a gun going off in his hand. I didn't see him reach for +it, or where he drew it from. It was just in his hand, firing, and the +empty brass flew up and came down on the concrete with a jingle on the +heels of the report. We had all stopped short, and the roustabout who +was towing the lifter came hurrying up. Murell simply stood gaping at +Bish.</p> + +<p>"All right," Bish said, slipping his gun back into a shoulder holster +under his coat. "Step carefully to your left. Don't move right at +all."</p> + +<p>Murell, still in a sort of trance, obeyed. As he did I looked past his +right shin and saw what Bish had been shooting at. It was an irregular +gray oval, about sixteen inches by four at its widest and tapering up +in front to a cone about six inches high, into which a rodlike member, +darker gray, was slowly collapsing and dribbling oily yellow stuff. +The bullet had gone clear through and made a mess of dirty gray and +black and green body fluids on the concrete.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was what we call a tread-snail, because it moves on a double row of +pads like stumpy feet and leaves a trail like a tractor. The +fishpole-aerial thing it had erected out of its head was its stinger, +and the yellow stuff was venom. A tenth of a milligram of it in your +blood and it's "Get the Gate open, St. Peter; here I come."</p> + +<p>Tom saw it as soon as I did. His face got the same color as the cop's. +I don't suppose mine looked any better. When Murell saw what had been +buddying up to him, I will swear, on a warehouse full of Bibles, +Korans, Torah scrolls, Satanist grimoires, Buddhist prayer wheels and +Thoran Grandfather-God images, that his hair literally stood on end. +I've heard that expression all my life; well, this time I really saw +it happen. I mentioned that he seemed to have been reading up on the +local fauna.</p> + +<p>I looked down at his right leg. He hadn't been stung—if he had, he +wouldn't be breathing now—but he had been squirted, and there were a +couple of yellow stains on the cloth of his trouser leg. I told him to +hold still, used my left hand to pull the cloth away from his leg, and +got out my knife and flipped it open with the other hand, cutting away +the poisoned cloth and dropping it on the dead snail.</p> + +<p>Murell started making an outcry about cutting up his trousers, and +said he could have had them cleaned. Bish Ware, coming up, told him to +stop talking like an imbecile.</p> + +<p>"No cleaner would touch them, and even if they were cleaned, some of +the poison would remain in the fabric. Then, the next time you were +caught in the rain with a scratch on your leg, Walt, here,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> would +write you one of his very nicest obituaries."</p> + +<p>Then he turned to the cop, who was gabbling into his belt radio, and +said: "Get an ambulance, quick. Possible case of tread-snail skin +poisoning." A moment later, looking at Murell's leg, he added, "Omit +'possible.'"</p> + +<p>There were a couple of little spots on Murell's skin that were +beginning to turn raw-liver color. The raw poison hadn't gotten into +his blood, but some of it, with impurities, had filtered through the +cloth, and he'd absorbed enough of it through his skin to make him +seriously ill. The cop jabbered some more into the radio, and the +laborer with the lifter brought it and let it down, and Murell sat +down on his luggage. Tom lit a cigarette and gave it to him, and told +him to remain perfectly still. In a couple of minutes, an ambulance +was coming, its siren howling.</p> + +<p>The pilot and his helper were both jackleg medics, at least as far as +first aid. They gave him a drink out of a flask, smeared a lot of gunk +on the spots and slapped plasters over them, and helped him into the +ambulance, after I told him we'd take his things to the <i>Times</i> +building.</p> + +<p>By this time, between the shot and the siren, quite a crowd had +gathered, and everybody was having a nice little recrimination party. +The labor foreman was chewing the cop out. The warehouse +superintendent was chewing him out. And somebody from the general +superintendent's office was chewing out everybody indiscriminately, +and at the same time mentioning to me that Mr. Fieschi, the +superintendent, would be very much pleased if the <i>Times</i> didn't +mention the incident at all. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> told him that was editorial policy, +and to talk to Dad about it. Nobody had any idea how the thing had +gotten in, but that wasn't much of a mystery. The Bottom Level is full +of things like that; they can stay active all the time because the +temperature is constant. I supposed that eventually they'd pick the +dumbest day laborer in the place and make him the patsy.</p> + +<p>Tom stood watching the ambulance whisk Murell off, dithering in +indecision. The poisoning of Murell seemed like an unexpected blow to +him. That fitted what I'd begun to think. Finally, he motioned the +laborer to pick up the lifter, and we started off toward where he had +parked his jeep, outside the spaceport area.</p> + +<p>Bish walked along with us, drawing his pistol and replacing the fired +round in the magazine. I noticed that it was a 10-mm Colt-Argentine +Federation Service, commercial type. There aren't many of those on +Fenris. A lot of 10-mm's, but mostly South African Sterbergs or +Vickers-Bothas, or Mars-Consolidated Police Specials. Mine, which I +wasn't carrying at the moment, was a Sterberg 7.7-mm Olympic Match.</p> + +<p>"You know," he said, sliding the gun back under his coat, "I would be +just as well pleased as Mr. Fieschi if this didn't get any publicity. +If you do publish anything about it, I wish you'd minimize my own part +in it. As you have noticed, I have some slight proficiency with lethal +hardware. This I would prefer not to advertise. I can usually avoid +trouble, but when I can't, I would like to retain the advantage of +surprise."</p> + +<p>We all got into the jeep. Tom, not too graciously, offered to drop +Bish wherever he was going.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> Bish said he was going to the <i>Times</i>, so +Tom lifted the jeep and cut in the horizontal drive. We got into a +busy one-way aisle, crowded with lorries hauling food-stuffs to the +refrigeration area. He followed that for a short distance, and then +turned off into a dimly lighted, disused area.</p> + +<p>Before long, I began noticing stacks of tallow-wax, put up in the +regular outside sausage skins but without the Co-op markings. They +just had the names of hunter-ships—<i>Javelin</i>, <i>Bulldog</i>, <i>Helldiver</i>, +<i>Slasher</i>, and so on.</p> + +<p>"What's that stuff doing in here?" I asked. "It's a long way from the +docks, and a long way from the spaceport."</p> + +<p>"Oh, just temporary storage," Tom said. "It hasn't been checked in +with the Co-op yet."</p> + +<p>That wasn't any answer—or maybe it was. I let it go at that. Then we +came to an open space about fifty feet square. There was a jeep, with +a 7-mm machine gun mounted on it, and half a dozen men in boat-clothes +were playing cards at a table made out of empty ammunition boxes. I +noticed they were all wearing pistols, and when a couple of them saw +us, they got up and grabbed rifles. Tom let down and got out of the +jeep, going over and talking with them for a few minutes. What he had +to tell them didn't seem to bring any noticeable amount of sunlight +into their lives. After a while he came back, climbed in at the +controls, and lifted the jeep again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C4" id="C4"></a>4</h2> + +<h3>MAIN CITY LEVEL</h3> + + +<p>The ceiling on Main City Level is two hundred feet high; in order to +permit free circulation of air and avoid traffic jams, nothing is +built higher than a hundred and fifty feet except the square +buildings, two hundred yards apart, which rest on foundations on the +Bottom Level and extend up to support the roof. The <i>Times</i> has one of +these pillar-buildings, and we have the whole thing to ourselves. In a +city built for a quarter of a million, twenty thousand people don't +have to crowd very closely on one another. Naturally, we don't have a +top landing stage, but except for the buttresses at the corners and +solid central column, the whole street floor is open.</p> + +<p>Tom hadn't said anything after we left the stacks of wax and the men +guarding them. We came up a vehicle shaft a few blocks up Broadway, +and he brought the jeep down and floated it in through one of the +archways. As usual, the place was cluttered with equipment we hadn't +gotten around to repairing or installing, merchandise we'd taken in +exchange for advertising, and vehicles, our own and everybody else's. +A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> couple of mechanics were tinkering on one of them. I decided, for +the oomptieth time, to do something about cleaning it up. Say in +another two or three hundred hours, when the ships would all be in +port and work would be slack, and I could hire a couple of good men to +help.</p> + +<p>We got Murell's stuff off the jeep, and I hunted around till I found a +hand-lifter.</p> + +<p>"Want to stay and have dinner with us, Tom?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Uh?" It took him a second or so to realize what I'd said. "Why, no, +thanks, Walt. I have to get back to the ship. Father wants to see me +before the meeting."</p> + +<p>"How about you, Bish? Want to take potluck with us?"</p> + +<p>"I shall be delighted," he assured me.</p> + +<p>Tom told us good-by absent-mindedly, lifted the jeep, and floated it +out into the street. Bish and I watched him go; Bish looked as though +he had wanted to say something and then thought better of it. We +floated Murell's stuff and mine over to the elevator beside the +central column, and I ran it up to the editorial offices on the top +floor.</p> + +<p>We came out in a big room, half the area of the floor, full of +worktables and radios and screens and photoprinting machines. Dad, as +usual, was in a gray knee-length smock, with a pipe jutting out under +his ragged mustache, and, as usual, he was stopping every minute or so +to relight it. He was putting together the stuff I'd transmitted in +for the audiovisual newscast. Over across the room, the rest of the +<i>Times</i> staff, Julio Kubanoff, was sitting at the composing machine, +his peg leg propped up and an earphone on, his fingers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> punching +rapidly at the keyboard as he burned letters onto the white plastic +sheet with ultraviolet rays for photographing. Julio was an old +hunter-ship man who had lost a leg in an accident and taught himself +his new trade. He still wore the beard, now white, that was +practically the monster-hunters' uniform.</p> + +<p>"The stuff come in all right?" I asked Dad, letting down the lifter.</p> + +<p>"Yes. What do you think of that fellow Belsher?" he asked. "Did you +ever hear such an impudent string of lies in your life?" Then, out of +the corner of his eye, he saw the lifter full of luggage, and saw +somebody with me. "Mr. Murell? Please excuse me for a moment, till I +get this blasted thing together straight." Then he got the film +spliced and the sound record matched, and looked up. "Why, Bish? +Where's Mr. Murell, Walt?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Murell has had his initiation to Fenris," I said. "He got +squirted by a tread-snail almost as soon as he got off the ship. They +have him at the spaceport hospital; it'll be 2400 before they get all +the poison sweated out of him."</p> + +<p>I went on to tell him what had happened. Dad's eyes widened slightly, +and he took the pipe out of his mouth and looked at Bish with +something very reasonably like respect.</p> + +<p>"That was mighty sharp work," he said. "If you'd been a second slower, +we'd be all out of visiting authors. That would have been a nice +business; story would have gotten back to Terra, and been most +unfortunate publicity for Fenris. And, of course," he afterthoughted, +"most unfortunate for Mr. Murell, too."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, if you give this any publicity, I would rather you passed my +own trifling exploit over in silence," Bish said. "I gather the +spaceport people wouldn't be too happy about giving the public the +impression that their area is teeming with tread-snails, either. They +have enough trouble hiring shipping-floor help as it is."</p> + +<p>"But don't you want people to know what you did?" Dad demanded, +incredulously. Everybody wanted their names in print or on 'cast; that +was one of his basic articles of faith. "If the public learned about +this—" he went on, and then saw where he was heading and pulled up +short. It wouldn't be tactful to say something like, "Maybe they +wouldn't think you were just a worthless old soak."</p> + +<p>Bish saw where Dad was heading, too, but he just smiled, as though he +were about to confer his episcopal blessing.</p> + +<p>"Ah, but that would be a step out of character for me," he said. "I +must not confuse my public. Just as a favor to me, Ralph, say nothing +about it."</p> + +<p>"Well, if you'd rather I didn't.... Are you going to cover this +meeting at Hunters' Hall, tonight, Walt?" he asked me.</p> + +<p>"Would I miss it?"</p> + +<p>He frowned. "I could handle that myself," he said. "I'm afraid this +meeting's going to get a little rough."</p> + +<p>I shook my head. "Let's face it, Dad," I said. "I'm a little short of +eighteen, but you're sixty. I can see things coming better than you +can, and dodge them quicker."</p> + +<p>Dad gave a rueful little laugh and looked at Bish.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> + +<p>"See how it goes?" he asked. "We spend our lives shielding our young +and then, all of a sudden, we find they're shielding us." His pipe had +gone out again and he relit it. "Too bad you didn't get an audiovisual +of Belsher making that idiotic statement."</p> + +<p>"He didn't even know I was getting a voice-only. All the time he was +talking, I was doodling in a pad with a pencil."</p> + +<p>"Synthetic substitutes!" Dad snorted. "Putting a synthetic tallow-wax +molecule together would be like trying to build a spaceship with a +jackknife and a tack hammer." He puffed hard on his pipe, and then +excused himself and went back to his work.</p> + +<p>Editing an audiovisual telecast is pretty much a one-man job. Bish +wanted to know if he could be of assistance, but there was nothing +either of us could do, except sit by and watch and listen. Dad handled +the Belsher thing by making a film of himself playing off the +recording, and interjecting sarcastic comments from time to time. When +it went on the air, I thought, Ravick wasn't going to like it. I would +have to start wearing my pistol again. Then he made a tape on the +landing of the <i>Peenemünde</i> and the arrival of Murell, who he said had +met with a slight accident after leaving the ship. I took that over to +Julio when Dad was finished, along with a tape on the announced +tallow-wax price cut. Julio only grunted and pushed them aside. He was +setting up the story of the fight in Martian Joe's—a "local bar," of +course; nobody ever gets shot or stabbed or slashed or slugged in +anything else. All the news <i>is</i> fit to print, sure, but you can't +give your advertisers and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> teleprinter customers any worse name than +they have already. A paper has to use some judgment.</p> + +<p>Then Dad and Bish and I went down to dinner. Julio would have his a +little later, not because we're too good to eat with the help but +because, around 1830, the help is too busy setting up the next paper +to eat with us. The dining room, which is also the library, living +room, and general congregating and loafing place, is as big as the +editorial room above. Originally, it was an office, at a time when a +lot of Fenris Company office work was being done here. Some of the +furniture is original, and some was made for us by local cabinetmakers +out of native hardwood. The dining table, big enough for two ships' +crews to eat at, is an example of the latter. Then, of course, there +are screens and microbook cabinets and things like that, and a +refrigerator to save going a couple of hundred feet to the pantry in +case anybody wants a snack.</p> + +<p>I went to that and opened it, and got out a bulb of concentrated fruit +juice and a bottle of carbonated water. Dad, who seldom drinks, keeps +a few bottles around for guests. Seems most of our "guests" part with +information easier if they have something like the locally made +hydroponic potato schnapps inside them for courage.</p> + +<p>"You drink Baldur honey-rum, don't you, Bish?" he said, pawing among +the bottles in the liquor cabinet next to the refrigerator. "I'm sure +I have a bottle of it. Now wait a minute; it's here somewhere."</p> + +<p>When Dad passes on and some medium claims to have produced a spirit +communication from him, I will not accept it as genuine without the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +expression: "Now wait a minute; it's here somewhere."</p> + +<p>Bish wanted to know what I was fixing for myself, and I told him.</p> + +<p>"Never mind the rum, Ralph. I believe," he said, "that I shall join +Walt in a fruit fizz."</p> + +<p>Well, whattaya know! Maybe my stealthy temperance campaign was having +results. Dad looked positively startled, and then replaced the bottle +he was holding.</p> + +<p>"I believe I'll make it unanimous," he said. "Fix me up a fruit fizz, +too, Walt."</p> + +<p>I mixed two more fruit fizzes, and we carried them over to the table. +Bish sipped at his critically.</p> + +<p>"Palatable," he pronounced it. "Just a trifle on the mild side, but +definitely palatable."</p> + +<p>Dad looked at him as though he still couldn't believe the whole thing. +Dinner was slow coming. We finished our fizzes, and Bish and I both +wanted repeats, and Dad felt that he had to go along. So I made three +more. We were finishing them when Mrs. Laden started bringing in the +dinner. Mrs. Laden is a widow; she has been with us since my mother +died, the year after I was born. She is violently anti-liquor. +Reluctantly, she condones Dad taking a snort now and then, but as soon +as she saw Bish Ware, her face started to stiffen.</p> + +<p>She put the soup on the table and took off for the kitchen. She always +has her own dinner with Julio. That way, while they're eating he can +tell her all the news that's fit to print, and all the gossip that +isn't.</p> + +<p>For the moment, the odd things I'd been noticing about our +distinguished and temporarily in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>capacitated visitor came under the +latter head. I told Dad and Bish about my observations, beginning with +the deafening silence about Glenn Murell at the library. Dad began +popping immediately.</p> + +<p>"Why, he must be an impostor!" he exclaimed. "What kind of a racket do +you think he's up to?"</p> + +<p>"Mmm-mm; I wouldn't say that, not right away," Bish said. "In the +first place, Murell may be his true name and he may publish under a +nom de plume. I admit, some of the other items are a little +suspicious, but even if he isn't an author, he may have some +legitimate business here and, having heard a few stories about this +planetary Elysium, he may be exercising a little caution. Walt, tell +your father about that tallow-wax we saw, down in Bottom Level Fourth +Ward."</p> + +<p>I did, and while I was talking Dad sat with his soup spoon poised +halfway to his mouth for at least a minute before he remembered he was +holding it.</p> + +<p>"Now, that is funny," he said when I was through. "Why do you +suppose...?"</p> + +<p>"Somebody," Bish said, "some group of ship captains, is holding wax +out from the Co-operative. There's no other outlet for it, so my guess +is that they're holding it for a rise in price. There's only one way +that could happen, and that, literally, would be over Steve Ravick's +dead body. It could be that they expect Steve's dead body to be around +for a price rise to come in over."</p> + +<p>I was expecting Dad to begin spouting law-and-order. Instead, he hit +the table with his fist; not, fortunately, the one that was holding +the soup spoon.</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope so! And if they do it before the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> <i>Cape Canaveral</i> gets +in, they may fix Leo Belsher, too, and then, in the general +excitement, somebody might clobber Mort Hallstock, and that'd be grand +slam. After the triple funeral, we could go to work on setting up an +honest co-operative and an honest government."</p> + +<p>"Well, I never expected to hear you advocating lynch law, Dad," I +said.</p> + +<p>He looked at me for a few seconds.</p> + +<p>"Tell the truth, Walt, neither did I," he admitted. "Lynch law is a +horrible thing; don't make any mistake about that. But there's one +thing more horrible, and that's no law at all. And that is the present +situation in Port Sandor.</p> + +<p>"You know what the trouble is, here? We have no government. No legal +government, anyhow; no government under Federation law. We don't even +have a Federation Resident-Agent. Before the Fenris Company went +broke, it was the government here; when the Space Navy evacuated the +colonists, they evacuated the government along with them. The thousand +who remained were all too busy keeping alive to worry about that. They +didn't even care when Fenris was reclassified from Class III, +uninhabited but inhabitable, to Class II, inhabitable only in +artificial environment, like Mercury or Titan. And when Mort Hallstock +got hold of the town-meeting pseudo government they put together fifty +years ago and turned it into a dictatorship, nobody realized what had +happened till it was too late. Lynch law's the only recourse we have."</p> + +<p>"Ralph," Bish told him, "if anything like that starts, Belsher and +Hallstock and Ravick won't be the only casualties. Between Ravick's +goons and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> Hallstock's police, they have close to a hundred men. I +won't deny that they could be cleaned out, but it wouldn't be a +lynching. It would be a civil war."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's swell!" Dad said. "The Federation Government has never +paid us any attention; the Federation planets are scattered over too +many million cubic light-years of space for the Government to run +around to all of them wiping everybody's noses. As long as things are +quiet here, they'll continue to do nothing for us. But let a story hit +the big papers on Terra, <i>Revolution Breaks Out on Fenris</i>—and +that'll be the story I'll send to Interworld News—and watch what +happens."</p> + +<p>"I will tell you what will happen," Bish Ware said. "A lot of people +will get killed. That isn't important, in itself. People are getting +killed all the time, in a lot worse causes. But these people will all +have friends and relatives who will take it up for them. Start killing +people here in a faction fight, and somebody will be shooting somebody +in the back out of a dark passage a hundred years from now over it. +You want this planet poisoned with blood feuds for the next century?"</p> + +<p>Dad and I looked at one another. That was something that hadn't +occurred to either of us, and it should have. There were feuds, even +now. Half the little settlements on the other islands and on the +mainland had started when some group or family moved out of Port +Sandor because of the enmity of some larger and more powerful group or +family, and half our shootings and knife fights grew out of old +grudges between families or hunting crews.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We don't want it poisoned for the next century with the sort of thing +Mort Hallstock and Steve Ravick started here, either," Dad said.</p> + +<p>"Granted." Bish nodded. "If a civil war's the only possible way to get +rid of them, that's what you'll have to have, I suppose. Only make +sure you don't leave a single one of them alive when it's over. But if +you can get the Federation Government in here to clean the mess up, +that would be better. Nobody starts a vendetta with the Terran +Federation."</p> + +<p>"But how?" Dad asked. "I've sent story after story off about crime and +corruption on Fenris. They all get the file-and-forget treatment."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Laden had taken away the soup plates and brought us our main +course. Bish sat toying with his fork for a moment.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you can do," he said slowly. "If you can stall off +the blowup till the <i>Cape Canaveral</i> gets in, and you can send +somebody to Terra...."</p> + +<p>All of a sudden, it hit me. Here was something that would give Bish a +purpose; something to make him want to stay sober.</p> + +<p>"Well, don't say, 'If <i>you</i> can,'" I said. "Say, 'If <i>we</i> can.' You +live on Fenris, too, don't you?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C5" id="C5"></a>5</h2> + +<h3>MEETING OUT OF ORDER</h3> + + +<p>Dad called the spaceport hospital, after dinner, and talked to Doc +Rojansky. Murell was asleep, and in no danger whatever. They'd given +him a couple of injections and a sedative, and his system was throwing +off the poison satisfactorily. He'd be all right, but they thought he +ought to be allowed to rest at the hospital for a while.</p> + +<p>By then, it was time for me to leave for Hunters' Hall. Julio and Mrs. +Laden were having their dinner, and Dad and Bish went up to the +editorial office. I didn't take a car. Hunters' Hall was only a half +dozen blocks south of the Times, toward the waterfront. I carried my +radio-under-false-pretense slung from my shoulder, and started +downtown on foot.</p> + +<p>The business district was pretty well lighted, both from the ceiling +and by the stores and restaurants. Most of the latter were in the +open, with small kitchen and storage buildings. At a table at one of +them I saw two petty officers from the <i>Peenemünde</i> with a couple of +girls, so I knew the ship wasn't leaving immediately. Going past the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +Municipal Building, I saw some activity, and an unusually large number +of police gathered around the vehicle port. Ravick must have his +doubts about how the price cut was going to be received, and Mort +Hallstock was mobilizing his storm troopers to give him support in +case he needed it. I called in about that, and Dad told me fretfully +to be sure to stay out of trouble.</p> + +<p>Hunters' Hall was a four-story building, fairly substantial as +buildings that don't have to support the roof go, with a landing stage +on top and a vehicle park underneath. As I came up, I saw a lot of +cars and jeeps and ships' boats grounded in and around it, and a crowd +of men, almost all of them in boat-clothes and wearing whiskers, +including quite a few characters who had never been out in a +hunter-ship in their lives but were members in the best of good +standing of the Co-operative. I also saw a few of Hallstock's +uniformed thugs standing around with their thumbs in their gun belts +or twirling their truncheons.</p> + +<p>I took an escalator up to the second floor, which was one big room, +with the escalators and elevators in the rear. It was the social room, +decorated with photos and models and solidigraphs of hunter-ships, +photos of record-sized monsters lashed alongside ships before +cutting-up, group pictures of ships's crews, monster tusks, dried +slashers and halberd fish, and a whole monster head, its tusked mouth +open. There was a big crowd there, too, at the bar, at the game +machines, or just standing around in groups talking.</p> + +<p>I saw Tom Kivelson and his father and Oscar Fujisawa, and went over to +join them. Joe Kivelson is just an outsize edition of his son, with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +blond beard that's had thirty-five years' more growth. Oscar is +skipper of the <i>Pequod</i>—he wouldn't have looked baffled if Bish Ware +called him Captain Ahab—and while his family name is Old Terran +Japanese, he had blue eyes and red hair and beard. He was almost as +big as Joe Kivelson.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Walt," Joe greeted me. "What's this Tom's been telling me +about Bish Ware shooting a tread-snail that was going to sting Mr. +Murell?"</p> + +<p>"Just about that," I said. "That snail must have crawled out from +between two stacks of wax as we came up. We never saw it till it was +all over. It was right beside Murell and had its stinger up when Bish +shot it."</p> + +<p>"He took an awful chance," Kivelson said. "He might of shot Mr. +Murell."</p> + +<p>I suppose it would look that way to Joe. He is the planet's worst +pistol shot, so according to him nobody can hit anything with a +pistol.</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't have taken any chance not shooting," I said. "If he +hadn't, we'd have been running the Murell story with black borders."</p> + +<p>Another man came up, skinny, red hair, sharp-pointed nose. His name +was Al Devis, and he was Joe Kivelson's engineer's helper. He wanted +to know about the tread-snail shooting, so I had to go over it again. +I hadn't anything to add to what Tom had told them already, but I was +the <i>Times</i>, and if the <i>Times</i> says so it's true.</p> + +<p>"Well, I wouldn't want any drunk like Bish Ware shooting around me +with a pistol," Joe Kivelson said.</p> + +<p>That's relative, too. Joe doesn't drink.</p> + +<p>"Don't kid yourself, Joe," Oscar told him. "I saw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> Bish shoot a knife +out of a man's hand, one time, in One Eye Swanson's. Didn't scratch +the guy; hit the blade. One Eye has the knife, with the bullet mark on +it, over his back bar, now."</p> + +<p>"Well, was he drunk then?" Joe asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, he had to hang onto the bar with one hand while he fired with +the other." Then he turned to me. "How is Murell, now?" he asked.</p> + +<p>I told him what the hospital had given us. Everybody seemed much +relieved. I wouldn't have thought that a celebrated author of whom +nobody had ever heard before would be the center of so much interest +in monster-hunting circles. I kept looking at my watch while we were +talking. After a while, the Times newscast came on the big screen +across the room, and everybody moved over toward it.</p> + +<p>They watched the <i>Peenemünde</i> being towed down and berthed, and the +audiovisual interview with Murell. Then Dad came on the screen with a +record player in front of them, and gave them a play-off of my +interview with Leo Belsher.</p> + +<p>Ordinary bad language I do not mind. I'm afraid I use a little myself, +while struggling with some of the worn-out equipment we have at the +paper. But when Belsher began explaining about how the price of wax +had to be cut again, to thirty-five centisols a pound, the language +those hunters used positively smelled. I noticed, though, that a lot +of the crowd weren't saying anything at all. They would be Ravick's +boys, and they would have orders not to start anything before the +meeting.</p> + +<p>"Wonder if he's going to try to give us that stuff about substitutes?" +Oscar said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, what are you going to do?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what we're not going to do," Joe Kivelson said. "We're +not going to take his price cut. If he won't pay our price, he can use +his [deleted by censor] substitutes."</p> + +<p>"You can't sell wax anywhere else, can you?"</p> + +<p>"Is that so, we can't?" Joe started.</p> + +<p>Before he could say anything else, Oscar was interrupting:</p> + +<p>"We can eat for a while, even if we don't sell wax. Sigurd Ngozori'll +carry us for a while and make loans on wax. But if the wax stops +coming in, Kapstaad Chemical's going to start wondering why...."</p> + +<p>By this time, other <i>Javelin</i> men came drifting over—Ramón Llewellyn, +the mate, and Abdullah Monnahan, the engineer, and Abe Clifford, the +navigator, and some others. I talked with some of them, and then +drifted off in the direction of the bar, where I found another hunter +captain, Mohandas Gandhi Feinberg, whom everybody simply called the +Mahatma. He didn't resemble his namesake. He had a curly black beard +with a twisted black cigar sticking out of it, and nobody, after one +look at him, would have mistaken him for any apostle of nonviolence.</p> + +<p>He had a proposition he was enlisting support for. He wanted balloting +at meetings to be limited to captains of active hunter-ships, the +captains to vote according to expressed wishes of a majority of their +crews. It was a good scheme, though it would have sounded better if +the man who was advocating it hadn't been a captain himself. At least, +it would have disenfranchised all Ravick's permanently unemployed +"unemployed hunt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>ers." The only trouble was, there was no conceivable +way of getting it passed. It was too much like trying to curtail the +powers of Parliament by act of Parliament.</p> + +<p>The gang from the street level started coming up, and scattered in +twos and threes around the hall, ready for trouble. I'd put on my +radio when I'd joined the Kivelsons and Oscar, and I kept it on, +circulating around and letting it listen to the conversations. The +Ravick people were either saying nothing or arguing that Belsher was +doing the best he could, and if Kapstaad wouldn't pay more than +thirty-five centisols, it wasn't his fault. Finally, the call bell for +the meeting began clanging, and the crowd began sliding over toward +the elevators and escalators.</p> + +<p>The meeting room was on the floor above, at the front of the building, +beyond a narrow hall and a door at which a couple of Ravick henchmen +wearing guns and sergeant-at-arms brassards were making everybody +check their knives and pistols. They passed me by without getting my +arsenal, which consisted of a sleep-gas projector camouflaged as a +jumbo-sized lighter and twenty sols in two rolls of forty quarter sols +each. One of these inside a fist can make a big difference.</p> + +<p>Ravick and Belsher and the secretary of the Co-op, who was a little +scrawny henpecked-husband type who never had an opinion of his own in +his life, were all sitting back of a big desk on a dais in front. +After as many of the crowd who could had found seats and the rest, +including the Press, were standing in the rear, Ravick pounded with +the chunk of monster tusk he used for a gavel and called the meeting +to order.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There's a bunch of old business," he said, "but I'm going to rule +that aside for the moment. We have with us this evening our +representative on Terra, Mr. Leo Belsher, whom I wish to present. Mr. +Belsher."</p> + +<p>Belsher got up. Ravick started clapping his hands to indicate that +applause was in order. A few of his zombies clapped their hands; +everybody else was quiet. Belsher held up a hand.</p> + +<p>"Please don't applaud," he begged. "What I have to tell you isn't +anything to applaud about."</p> + +<p>"You're tootin' well right it isn't!" somebody directly in front of me +said, very distinctly.</p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry to have to bring this news to you, but the fact is +that Kapstaad Chemical Products, Ltd., is no longer able to pay +forty-five centisols a pound. This price is being scaled down to +thirty-five centisols. I want you to understand that Kapstaad Chemical +wants to give you every cent they can, but business conditions no +longer permit them to pay the old price. Thirty-five is the absolute +maximum they can pay and still meet competition—"</p> + +<p>"Aaah, knock it off, Belsher!" somebody shouted. "We heard all that +rot on the screen."</p> + +<p>"How about our contract?" somebody else asked. "We do have a contract +with Kapstaad, don't we?"</p> + +<p>"Well, the contract will have to be re-negotiated. They'll pay +thirty-five centisols or they'll pay nothing."</p> + +<p>"They can try getting along without wax. Or try buying it somewhere +else!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; those wonderful synthetic substitutes!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Chairman," Oscar Fujisawa called out. "I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> move that this +organization reject the price of thirty-five centisols a pound for +tallow-wax, as offered by, or through, Leo Belsher at this meeting."</p> + +<p>Ravick began clamoring that Oscar was out of order, that Leo Belsher +had the floor.</p> + +<p>"I second Captain Fujisawa's motion," Mohandas Feinberg said.</p> + +<p>"And Leo Belsher doesn't have the floor; he's not a member of the +Co-operative," Tom Kivelson declared. "He's our hired employee, and as +soon as this present motion is dealt with, I intend moving that we +fire him and hire somebody else."</p> + +<p>"I move to amend Captain Fujisawa's motion," Joe Kivelson said. "I +move that the motion, as amended, read, '—and stipulate a price of +seventy-five centisols a pound.'"</p> + +<p>"You're crazy!" Belsher almost screamed.</p> + +<p>Seventy-five was the old price, from which he and Ravick had been +reducing until they'd gotten down to forty-five.</p> + +<p>Just at that moment, my radio began making a small fuss. I unhooked +the handphone and brought it to my face.</p> + +<p>"Yeah?"</p> + +<p>It was Bish Ware's voice: "Walt, get hold of the Kivelsons and get +them out of Hunters' Hall as fast as you can," he said. "I just got a +tip from one of my ... my parishioners. Ravick's going to stage a riot +to give Hallstock's cops an excuse to raid the meeting. They want the +Kivelsons."</p> + +<p>"Roger." I hung up, and as I did I could hear Joe Kivelson shouting:</p> + +<p>"You think we don't get any news on this planet? Tallow-wax has been +selling for the same<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> price on Terra that it did eight years ago, when +you two crooks started cutting the price. Why, the very ship Belsher +came here on brought the quotations on the commodity market—"</p> + +<p>I edged through the crowd till I was beside Oscar Fujisawa. I decided +the truth would need a little editing; I didn't want to use Bish Ware +as my source.</p> + +<p>"Oscar, Dad just called me," I told him. "A tip came in to the Times +that Ravick's boys are going to fake a riot and Hallstock's cops are +going to raid the meeting. They want Joe and Tom. You know what +they'll do if they get hold of them."</p> + +<p>"Shot while resisting arrest. You sure this is a good tip, though?"</p> + +<p>Across the room, somebody jumped to his feet, kicking over a chair.</p> + +<p>"That's a double two-em-dashed lie, you etaoin shrdlu so-and-so!" +somebody yelled.</p> + +<p>"Who are you calling a so-and-so, you thus-and-so-ing such-and-such?" +somebody else yelled back, and a couple more chairs got smashed and a +swirl of fighting started.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is," Oscar decided. "Let's go."</p> + +<p>We started plowing through the crowd toward where the Kivelsons and a +couple more of the <i>Javelin</i> crew were clumped. I got one of the rolls +of quarter sols into my right fist and let Oscar go ahead. He has more +mass than I have.</p> + +<p>It was a good thing I did, because before we had gone ten feet, some +character got between us, dragged a two-foot length of inch-and-a-half +high-pressure hose out of his pant leg, and started to swing at the +back of Oscar's head. I promptly clipped him behind the ear with a +fist full of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> money, and down he went. Oscar, who must have eyes in +the back of his head, turned and grabbed the hose out of his hand +before he dropped it, using it to clout somebody in front of him. +Somebody else came pushing toward us, and I was about to clip him, +too, when he yelled, "Watch it, Walt; I'm with it!" It was Cesário +Vieira, another <i>Javelin</i> man; he's engaged to Linda Kivelson, Joe's +daughter and Tom's sister, the one going to school on Terra.</p> + +<p>Then we had reached Tom and Joe Kivelson. Oscar grabbed Joe by the +arm.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Joe; let's get moving," he said. "Hallstock's Gestapo are on +the way. They have orders to get you dead or alive."</p> + +<p>"Like blazes!" Joe told him. "I never chickened out on a fight yet, +and—"</p> + +<p>That's what I'd been afraid of. Joe is like a Zarathustra veldtbeest; +the only tactics he knows is a headlong attack.</p> + +<p>"You want to get your crew and your son killed, and yourself along +with them?" Oscar asked him. "That's what'll happen if the cops catch +you. Now are you coming, or will I have to knock you senseless and +drag you out?"</p> + +<p>Fortunately, at that moment somebody took a swing at Joe and grazed +his cheek. It was a good thing that was all he did; he was wearing +brass knuckles. Joe went down a couple of feet, bending at the knees, +and caught this fellow around the hips with both hands, straightening +and lifting him over his head. Then he threw him over the heads of the +people in front of him. There were yells where the human missile +landed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's the stuff, Joe!" Oscar shouted. "Come on, we got them on the +run!"</p> + +<p>That, of course, converted a strategic retreat into an attack. We got +Joe aimed toward the doors and before he knew it, we were out in the +hall by the elevators. There were a couple of Ravick's men, with +sergeant-at-arms arm bands, and two city cops. One of the latter got +in Joe's way. Joe punched him in the face and knocked him back about +ten feet in a sliding stagger before he dropped. The other cop grabbed +me by the left arm.</p> + +<p>I slugged him under the jaw with my ten-sol right and knocked him out, +and I felt the wrapping on the coin roll break and the quarters come +loose in my hand. Before I could drop them into my jacket pocket and +get out the other roll, one of the sergeants at arms drew a gun. I +just hurled the handful of coins at him. He dropped the pistol and put +both hands to his face, howling in pain.</p> + +<p>I gave a small mental howl myself when I thought of all the nice +things I could have bought for ten sols. One of Joe Kivelson's +followers stooped and scooped up the fallen pistol, firing a couple of +times with it. Then we all rushed Joe into one of the elevators and +crowded in behind him, and as I turned to start it down I could hear +police sirens from the street and also from the landing stage above. +In the hall outside the meeting room, four or five of Ravick's +free-drink mercenaries were down on all fours scrabbling for coins, +and the rest of the pursuers from the meeting room were stumbling and +tripping over them. I wished I'd brought a camera along, too. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +public would have loved a shot of that. I lifted the radio and spoke +into it:</p> + +<p>"This is Walter Boyd, returning you now to the regular entertainment +program."</p> + +<p>A second later, the thing whistled at me. As the car started down and +the doors closed I lifted the handphone. It was Bish Ware again.</p> + +<p>"We're going down in the elevator to Second Level Down," I said. "I +have Joe and Tom and Oscar Fujisawa and a few of the <i>Javelin</i> crew +with me. The place is crawling with cops now."</p> + +<p>"Go to Third Level Down and get up on the catwalk on the right," Bish +said. "I'll be along to pick you up."</p> + +<p>"Roger. We'll be looking for you."</p> + +<p>The car stopped at Second Level Down. I punched a button and sent it +down another level. Joe Kivelson, who was dabbing at his cheek with a +piece of handkerchief tissue, wanted to know what was up.</p> + +<p>"We're getting a pickup," I told him. "Vehicle from the <i>Times</i>."</p> + +<p>I thought it would save arguments if I didn't mention who was bringing +it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C6" id="C6"></a>6</h2> + +<h3>ELEMENTARY, MY DEAR KIVELSON</h3> + + +<p>Before we left the lighted elevator car, we took a quick nose count. +Besides the Kivelsons, there were five <i>Javelin</i> men—Ramón Llewellyn, +Abdullah Monnahan, Abe Clifford, Cesário Vieira, and a whitebeard +named Piet Dumont. Al Devis had been with us when we crashed the door +out of the meeting room, but he'd fallen by the way. We had a couple +of flashlights, so, after sending the car down to Bottom Level, we +picked our way up the zigzag iron stairs to the catwalk, under the +seventy-foot ceiling, and sat down in the dark.</p> + +<p>Joe Kivelson was fretting about what would happen to the rest of his +men.</p> + +<p>"Fine captain I am, running out and leaving them!"</p> + +<p>"If they couldn't keep up, that's their tough luck," Oscar Fujisawa +told him. "You brought out all you could. If you'd waited any longer, +none of us would have gotten out."</p> + +<p>"They won't bother with them," I added. "You and Tom and Oscar, here, +are the ones they want."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<p>Joe was still letting himself be argued into thinking he had done the +right thing when we saw the lights of a lorry coming from uptown at +ceiling level. A moment later, it backed to the catwalk, and Bish Ware +stuck his head out from the pilot's seat.</p> + +<p>"Where do you gentlemen wish to go?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"To the <i>Javelin</i>," Joe said instantly.</p> + +<p>"Huh-uh," Oscar disagreed. "That's the first place they'll look. +That'll be all right for Ramón and the others, but if they catch you +and Tom, they'll shoot you and call it self-defense, or take you in +and beat both of you to a jelly. This'll blow over in fifteen or +twenty hours, but I'm not going anywhere near my ship, now."</p> + +<p>"Drop us off on Second Level Down, about Eighth Street and a couple of +blocks from the docks," the mate, Llewellyn, said. "We'll borrow some +weapons from Patel the Pawnbroker and then circulate around and see +what's going on. But you and Joe and Oscar had better go underground +for a while."</p> + +<p>"The <i>Times</i>," I said. "We have a whole pillar-building to ourselves; +we could hide half the population."</p> + +<p>That was decided upon. We all piled into the lorry, and Bish took it +to an inconspicuous place on the Second Level and let down. Ramón +Llewellyn and the others got out. Then we went up to Main City Level. +We passed within a few blocks of Hunters' Hall. There was a lot of +noise, but no shooting.</p> + +<p>Joe Kivelson didn't have anything to say, on the trip, but he kept +looking at the pilot's seat in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> perplexity and apprehension. I think +he expected Bish to try to ram the lorry through every building we +passed by or over.</p> + +<p>We found Dad in the editorial department on the top floor, feeding +voice-tape to Julio while the latter made master sheets for +teleprinting. I gave him a quick rundown on what had happened that he +hadn't gotten from my radio. Dad cluck-clucked in disapproval, either +at my getting into a fight, assaulting an officer, or, literally, +throwing money away.</p> + +<p>Bish Ware seemed a little troubled. "I think," he said, "that I shall +make a circuit of my diocese, and see what can be learned from my +devoted flock. Should I turn up anything significant, I will call it +in."</p> + +<p>With that, he went tottering over to the elevator, stumbling on the +way and making an unepiscopal remark. I watched him, and then turned +to Dad.</p> + +<p>"Did he have anything to drink after I left?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Nothing but about five cups of coffee."</p> + +<p>I mentally marked that: <i>Add oddities, Bish Ware.</i> He'd been at least +four hours without liquor, and he was walking as unsteadily as when +I'd first seen him at the spaceport. I didn't know any kind of liquor +that would persist like that.</p> + +<p>Julio had at least an hour's tape to transcribe, so Dad and Joe and +Tom and Oscar and I went to the living room on the floor below. Joe +was still being bewildered about Bish Ware.</p> + +<p>"How'd he manage to come for us?" he wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"Why, he was here with me all evening," Dad said. "He came from the +spaceport with Walt and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> Tom, and had dinner with us. He called a few +people from here, and found out about the fake riot and police raid +Ravick had cooked up. You'd be surprised at how much information he +can pick up around town."</p> + +<p>Joe looked at his son, alarmed.</p> + +<p>"Hey! You let him see—" he began.</p> + +<p>"The wax on Bottom Level, in the Fourth Ward?" I asked. "He won't blab +about that. He doesn't blab things where they oughtn't be blabbed."</p> + +<p>"That's right," Dad backed me up. He was beginning to think of Bish as +one of the <i>Times</i> staff, now. "We got a lot of tips from him, but +nothing we give him gets out." He got his pipe lit again. "What about +that wax, Joe?" he asked. "Were you serious when you made that motion +about a price of seventy-five centisols?"</p> + +<p>"I sure was!" Joe declared. "That's the real price, and always has +been, and that's what we get or Kapstaad doesn't get any more wax."</p> + +<p>"If Murell can top it, maybe Kapstaad won't get any more wax, period," +I said. "Who's he with—Interstellar Import-Export?"</p> + +<p>Anybody would have thought a barbwire worm had crawled onto Joe +Kivelson's chair seat under him.</p> + +<p>"Where'd you hear that?" he demanded, which is the Galaxy's silliest +question to ask any newsman. "Tom, if you've been talking—"</p> + +<p>"He hasn't," I said. "He didn't need to. It sticks out a parsec in all +directions." I mentioned some of the things I'd noticed while +interviewing Murell, and his behavior after leaving the ship. "Even +before I'd talked to him, I wondered why<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> Tom was so anxious to get +aboard with me. He didn't know we'd arranged to put Murell up here; he +was going to take him to see that wax, and then take him to the +<i>Javelin</i>. You were going to produce him at the meeting and have him +bid against Belsher, only that tread-snail fouled your lines for you. +So then you thought you had to stall off a new contract till he got +out of the hospital."</p> + +<p>The two Kivelsons and Oscar Fujisawa were looking at one another; Joe +and Tom in consternation, and Oscar in derision of both of them. I was +feeling pretty good. Brother, I thought, Sherlock Holmes never did +better, himself.</p> + +<p>That, all of a sudden, reminded me of Dr. John Watson, whom Bish +perceived to have been in Afghanistan. That was one thing Sherlock H. +Boyd hadn't deduced any answers for. Well, give me a little more time. +And more data.</p> + +<p>"You got it all figured out, haven't you?" Joe was asking +sarcastically. The sarcasm was as hollow as an empty oil drum.</p> + +<p>"The <i>Times</i>," Dad was saying, trying not to sound too proud, "has a +very sharp reportorial staff, Joe."</p> + +<p>"It isn't Interstellar," Oscar told me, grinning. "It's Argentine +Exotic Organics. You know, everybody thought Joe, here, was getting +pretty high-toned, sending his daughter to school on Terra. School +wasn't the only thing she went for. We got a letter from her, the last +time the Cape Canaveral was in, saying that she'd contacted Argentine +Organics and that a man was coming out on the <i>Peenemünde</i>, posing as +a travel-book author. Well, he's here, now."</p> + +<p>"You'd better keep an eye on him," I advised.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> "If Steve Ravick gets +to him, he won't be much use to you."</p> + +<p>"You think Ravick would really harm Murell?" Dad asked.</p> + +<p>He thought so, too. He was just trying to comfort himself by +pretending he didn't.</p> + +<p>"What do you think, Ralph?" Oscar asked him. "If we get competitive +wax buying, again, seventy-five a pound will be the starting price. +I'm not spending the money till I get it, but I wouldn't be surprised +to see wax go to a sol a pound on the loading floor here. And you know +what that would mean."</p> + +<p>"Thirty for Steve Ravick," Dad said. That puzzled Oscar, till I +explained that "thirty" is newsese for "the end." "I guess Walt's +right. Ravick would do anything to prevent that." He thought for a +moment. "Joe, you were using the wrong strategy. You should have let +Ravick get that thirty-five centisol price established for the +Co-operative, and then had Murell offer seventy-five or something like +that."</p> + +<p>"You crazy?" Joe demanded. "Why, then the Co-op would have been stuck +with it."</p> + +<p>"That's right. And as soon as Murell's price was announced, everybody +would drop out of the Co-operative and reclaim their wax, even the +captains who owe Ravick money. He'd have nobody left but a handful of +thugs and barflies."</p> + +<p>"But that would smash the Co-operative," Joe Kivelson objected. +"Listen, Ralph; I've been in the Co-operative all my life, since +before Steve Ravick was heard of on this planet. I've worked hard for +the Co-operative, and—"</p> + +<p>You didn't work hard enough, I thought. You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> let Steve Ravick take it +away from you. Dad told Joe pretty much the same thing:</p> + +<p>"You don't have a Co-operative, Joe. Steve Ravick has a racket. The +only thing you can do with this organization is smash it, and then +rebuild it with Ravick and his gang left out."</p> + +<p>Joe puzzled over that silently. He'd been thinking that it was the +same Co-operative his father and Simon MacGregor and the other old +hunters had organized, and that getting rid of Ravick was simply a +matter of voting him out. He was beginning to see, now, that +parliamentary procedure wasn't any weapon against Ravick's force and +fraud and intimidation.</p> + +<p>"I think Walt has something," Oscar Fujisawa said. "As long as +Murell's in the hospital at the spaceport, he's safe, but as soon as +he gets out of Odin Dock & Shipyard territory, he's going to be a clay +pigeon."</p> + +<p>Tom hadn't been saying anything. Now he cleared his throat.</p> + +<p>"On the <i>Peenemünde</i>, I was talking about taking Mr. Murell for a trip +in the <i>Javelin</i>," he said. "That was while we were still pretending +he'd come here to write a book. Maybe that would be a good idea, +anyhow."</p> + +<p>"It's a cinch we can't let him get killed on us," his father said. "I +doubt if Exotic Organics would send anybody else out, if he was."</p> + +<p>"Here," Dad said. "We'll run the story we have on him in the morning +edition, and then correct it and apologize to the public for +misleading them and explain in the evening edition. And before he +goes, we can have him make an audiovisual for the 'cast, telling +everybody who he is and an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>nouncing the price he's offering. We'll put +that on the air. Get enough publicity, and Steve Ravick won't dare do +anything to him."</p> + +<p>Publicity, I thought, is the only weapon Dad knows how to use. He +thinks it's invincible. Me, I wouldn't bet on what Steve Ravick +wouldn't dare do if you gave me a hundred to one. Ravick had been in +power too long, and he was drunker on it than Bish Ware ever got on +Baldur honey-rum. As an intoxicant, rum is practically a soft drink +beside power.</p> + +<p>"Well, do you think Ravick's gotten onto Murell yet?" Oscar said. "We +kept that a pretty close secret. Joe and I knew about him, and so did +the Mahatma and Nip Spazoni and Corkscrew Finnegan, and that was all."</p> + +<p>"I didn't even tell Tom, here, till the <i>Peenemünde</i> got into radio +range," Joe Kivelson said. "Then I only told him and Ramón and +Abdullah and Abe and Hans Cronje."</p> + +<p>"And Al Devis," Tom added. "He came into the conning tower while you +were telling the rest of us."</p> + +<p>The communication screen began buzzing, and I went and put it on. It +was Bish Ware, calling from a pay booth somewhere.</p> + +<p>"I have some early returns," he said. "The cops cleared everybody out +of Hunters' Hall except the Ravick gang. Then Ravick reconvened the +meeting, with nobody but his gang. They were very careful to make sure +they had enough for a legal quorum under the bylaws, and then they +voted to accept the new price of thirty-five centisols a pound."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's what I was afraid of," Joe Kivelson said. "Did they arrest any +of my crew?"</p> + +<p>"Not that I know of," Bish said. "They made a few arrests, but turned +everybody loose later. They're still looking for you and your son. As +far as I know, they aren't interested in anybody else." He glanced +hastily over his shoulder, as though to make sure the door of the +booth was secure. "I'm with some people, now. I'll call you back +later."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's that, Joe," Oscar said, after Bish blanked the screen. +"The Ravick Co-op's stuck with the price cut. The only thing left to +do is get everybody out of it we can, and organize a new one."</p> + +<p>"I guess that's so," Joe agreed. "I wonder, though if Ravick has +really got wise to Murell."</p> + +<p>"Walt figured it out since the ship got in," Oscar said. "Belsher's +been on the ship with Murell for six months. Well, call it three; +everything speeds up about double in hyperspace. But in three months +he ought to see as much as Walt saw in a couple of hours."</p> + +<p>"Well, maybe Belsher doesn't know what's suspicious, the way Walt +does," Tom said.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure he doesn't," I said. "But he and Murell are both in the wax +business. I'll bet he noticed dozens of things I never even saw."</p> + +<p>"Then we'd better take awfully good care of Mr. Murell," Tom said. +"Get him aboard as fast as we can, and get out of here with him. Walt, +you're coming along, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>That was what we'd agreed, while Glenn Murell was still the famous +travel-book author. I wanted to get out of it, now. There wouldn't be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +anything happening aboard the <i>Javelin</i>, and a lot happening here in +Port Sandor. Dad had the same idea, only he was one hundred per cent +for my going with Murell. I think he wanted me out of Port Sandor, +where I wouldn't get in the way of any small high-velocity particles +of lead that might be whizzing around.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C7" id="C7"></a>7</h2> + +<h3>ABOARD THE <i>JAVELIN</i></h3> + + +<p>We heard nothing more from Bish Ware that evening. Joe and Tom +Kivelson and Oscar Fujisawa slept at the <i>Times</i> Building, and after +breakfast Dad called the spaceport hospital about Murell. He had +passed a good night and seemed to have thrown off all the poison he +had absorbed through his skin. Dad talked to him, and advised him not +to leave until somebody came for him. Tom and I took a car—and a +pistol apiece and a submachine gun—and went to get him. Remembering, +at the last moment, what I had done to his trousers, I unpacked his +luggage and got another suit for him.</p> + +<p>He was grateful for that, and he didn't lift an eyebrow when he saw +the artillery we had with us. He knew, already, what the score was, +and the rules, or absence thereof, of the game, and accepted us as +members of his team. We dropped to the Bottom Level and went, avoiding +traffic, to where the wax was stored. There were close to a dozen +guards there now, all heavily armed.</p> + +<p>We got out of the car, I carrying the chopper,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> and one of the gang +there produced a probe rod and microscope and a testing kit and a +microray scanner. Murell took his time going over the wax, jabbing the +probe rod in and pulling samples out of the big plastic-skinned +sausages at random, making chemical tests, examining them under the +microscope, and scanning other cylinders to make sure there was no +foreign matter in them. He might not know what a literary agent was, +but he knew tallow-wax.</p> + +<p>I found out from the guards that there hadn't been any really serious +trouble after we left Hunter's Hall. The city police had beaten a few +men up, natch, and run out all the anti-Ravick hunters, and then +Ravick had reconvened the meeting and acceptance of the thirty-five +centisol price had been voted unanimously. The police were still +looking for the Kivelsons. Ravick seemed to have gotten the idea that +Joe Kivelson was the mastermind of the hunters' cabal against him. I +know if I'd found that Joe Kivelson and Oscar Fujisawa were in any +kind of a conspiracy together, I wouldn't pick Joe for the mastermind. +It was just possible, I thought, that Oscar had been fostering this +himself, in case anything went wrong. After all, self-preservation is +the first law, and Oscar is a self-preserving type.</p> + +<p>After Murell had finished his inspection and we'd gotten back in the +car and were lifting, I asked him what he was going to offer, just as +though I were the skipper of the biggest ship out of Port Sandor. +Well, it meant as much to us as it did to the hunters. The more wax +sold for, the more advertising we'd sell to the merchants, and the +more people would rent teleprinters from us.</p> + +<p>"Eighty centisols a pound," he said. Nice and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> definite; quite a +difference from the way he stumbled around over listing his previous +publications. "Seventy-five's the Kapstaad price, regardless of what +you people here have been getting from that crook of a Belsher. We'll +have to go far enough beyond that to make him have to run like blazes +to catch up. You can put it in the <i>Times</i> that the day of +monopolistic marketing on Fenris is over."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>When we got back to the <i>Times</i>, I asked Dad if he'd heard anything +more from Bish.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said unhappily. "He didn't call in, this morning, so I +called his apartment and didn't get an answer. Then I called Harry +Wong's. Harry said Bish had been in there till after midnight, with +some other people." He named three disreputables, two female and one +male. "They were drinking quite a lot. Harry said Bish was plastered +to the ears. They finally went out, around 0130. He said the police +were in and out checking the crowd, but they didn't make any trouble."</p> + +<p>I nodded, feeling very badly. Four and a half hours had been his +limit. Well, sometimes a ninety per cent failure is really a triumph; +after all, it's a ten per cent success. Bish had gone four and a half +hours without taking a drink. Maybe the percentage would be a little +better the next time. I was surely old enough to stop expecting +miracles.</p> + +<p>The mate of the <i>Pequod</i> called in, around noon, and said it was safe +for Oscar to come back to the ship. The mate of the <i>Javelin</i>, Ramón +Llewellyn, called in with the same report, that along the waterfront, at +least, the heat was off. However, he had started an ambitious-looking +overhaul opera<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>tion, which looked as though it was good for a hundred +hours but which could be dropped on a minute's notice, and under cover +of this he had been taking on supplies and ammunition.</p> + +<p>We made a long audiovisual of Murell announcing his price of eighty +centisols a pound for wax on behalf of Argentine Exotic Organics, Ltd. +As soon as that was finished, we loaded the boat-clothes we'd picked +up for him and his travel kit and mine into a car, with Julio Kubanoff +to bring it back to the <i>Times</i>, and went to the waterfront. When we +arrived, Ramón Llewellyn had gotten things cleared up, and the +<i>Javelin</i> was ready to move as soon as we came aboard.</p> + +<p>On the Main City Level, the waterfront is a hundred feet above the +ship pools; the ships load from and discharge onto the First Level +Down. The city roof curves down all along the south side of the city +into the water and about fifty feet below it. That way, even in the +post-sunset and post-dawn storms, ships can come in submerged around +the outer breakwater and under the roof, and we don't get any wind or +heavy seas along the docks.</p> + +<p>Murell was interested in everything he saw, in the brief time while we +were going down along the docks to where the <i>Javelin</i> was berthed. I +knew he'd never actually seen it before, but he must have been +studying pictures of it, because from some of the remarks he made, I +could tell that he was familiar with it.</p> + +<p>Most of the ships had lifted out of the water and were resting on the +wide concrete docks, but the <i>Javelin</i> was afloat in the pool, her +contragravity on at specific-gravity weight reduction. She was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +typical hunter-ship, a hundred feet long by thirty abeam, with a squat +conning tower amidships, and turrets for 50-mm guns and launchers for +harpoon rockets fore and aft. The only thing open about her was the +air-and-water lock under the conning tower. Julio, who was piloting +the car, set it down on the top of the aft gun turret. A couple of the +crewmen who were on deck grabbed our bags and hurried them inside. We +followed, and as soon as Julio lifted away, the lock was sealed.</p> + +<p>Immediately, as the contragravity field dropped below the specific +gravity of the ship, she began submerging. I got up into the conning +tower in time to see the water of the boat pool come up over the +armor-glass windows and the outside lights come on. For a few minutes, +the <i>Javelin</i> swung slowly and moved forward, feeling her way with +fingers of radar out of the pool and down the channel behind the +breakwater and under the overhang of the city roof. Then the water +line went slowly down across the windows as she surfaced. A moment +later she was on full contragravity, and the ship which had been a +submarine was now an aircraft.</p> + +<p>Murell, who was accustomed to the relatively drab sunsets of Terra, +simply couldn't take his eyes from the spectacle that covered the +whole western half of the sky—high clouds streaming away from the +daylight zone to the west and lighted from below by the sun. There +were more clouds coming in at a lower level from the east. By the time +the <i>Javelin</i> returned to Port Sandor, it would be full dark and rain, +which would soon turn to snow, would be falling. Then we'd be in for +it again for another thousand hours.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ramón Llewellyn was saying to Joe Kivelson: "We're one man short; +Devis, Abdullah's helper. Hospital."</p> + +<p>"Get hurt in the fight, last night? He was right with us till we got +out to the elevators, and then I missed him."</p> + +<p>"No. He made it back to the ship about the same time we did, and he +was all right then. Didn't even have a scratch. Strained his back at +work, this morning, trying to lift a power-unit cartridge by hand."</p> + +<p>I could believe that. Those things weighed a couple of hundred pounds. +Joe Kivelson swore.</p> + +<p>"What's he think this is, the First Century Pre-Atomic? Aren't there +any lifters on the ship?"</p> + +<p>Llewellyn shrugged. "Probably didn't want to bother taking a couple of +steps to get one. The doctor told him to take treatment and +observation for a day or so."</p> + +<p>"That's Al Devis?" I asked. "What hospital?" Al Devis's strained back +would be good for a two-line item; he'd feel hurt if we didn't mention +it.</p> + +<p>"Co-op hospital."</p> + +<p>That was all right. They always sent in their patient lists to the +<i>Times</i>. Tom was griping because he'd have to do Devis's work and his +own.</p> + +<p>"You know anything about engines, Walt?" he asked me.</p> + +<p>"I know they generate a magnetic current and convert rotary magnetic +current into one-directional repulsion fields, and violate the +daylights out of all the old Newtonian laws of motion and attraction," +I said. "I read that in a book. That was as far as I got. The math got +a little complicated after that, and I started reading another book."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You'd be a big help. Think you could hit anything with a 50-mm?" Tom +asked. "I know you're pretty sharp with a pistol or a chopper, but a +cannon's different."</p> + +<p>"I could try. If you want to heave over an empty packing case or +something, I could waste a few rounds seeing if I could come anywhere +close to it."</p> + +<p>"We'll do that," he said. "Ordinarily, I handle the after gun when we +sight a monster, but somebody'll have to help Abdullah with the +engines."</p> + +<p>He spoke to his father about it. Joe Kivelson nodded.</p> + +<p>"Walt's made some awful lucky shots with that target pistol of his, I +know that," he said, "and I saw him make hamburger out of a slasher, +once, with a chopper. Have somebody blow a couple of wax skins full of +air for targets, and when we get a little farther southeast, we'll go +down to the surface and have some shooting."</p> + +<p>I convinced Murell that the sunset would still be there in a couple of +hours, and we took our luggage down and found the cubbyhole he and I +would share with Tom for sleeping quarters. A hunter-ship looks big on +the outside, but there's very little room for the crew. The engines +are much bigger than would be needed on an ordinary contragravity +craft, because a hunter-ship operates under water as well as in the +air. Then, there's a lot of cargo space for the wax, and the boat +berth aft for the scout boat, so they're not exactly built for +comfort. They don't really need to be; a ship's rarely out more than a +hundred and fifty hours on any cruise.</p> + +<p>Murell had done a lot of reading about every phase of the wax +business, and he wanted to learn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> everything he could by actual +observation. He said that Argentine Exotic Organics was going to keep +him here on Fenris as a resident buyer and his job was going to be to +deal with the hunters, either individually or through their +co-operative organization, if they could get rid of Ravick and set up +something he could do business with, and he wanted to be able to talk +the hunters' language and understand their problems.</p> + +<p>So I took him around over the boat, showing him everything and +conscripting any crew members I came across to explain what I +couldn't. I showed him the scout boat in its berth, and we climbed +into it and looked around. I showed him the machine that packed the +wax into skins, and the cargo holds, and the electrolytic gills that +extracted oxygen from sea water while we were submerged, and the +ship's armament. Finally, we got to the engine room, forward. He +whistled when he saw the engines.</p> + +<p>"Why, those things are big enough for a five-thousand-ton freighter," +he said.</p> + +<p>"They have to be," I said. "Running submerged isn't the same as +running in atmosphere. You ever done any swimming?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head. "I was born in Antarctica, on Terra. The water's a +little too cold to do much swimming there. And I've spent most of my +time since then in central Argentine, in the pampas country. The +sports there are horseback riding and polo and things like that."</p> + +<p>Well, whattaya know! Here was a man who had not only seen a horse, but +actually ridden one. That in itself was worth a story in the <i>Times</i>.</p> + +<p>Tom and Abdullah, who were fussing around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> the engines, heard that. +They knocked off what they were doing and began asking him +questions—I suppose he thought they were awfully silly, but he +answered all of them patiently—about horses and riding. I was looking +at a couple of spare power-unit cartridges, like the one Al Devis had +strained his back on, clamped to the deck out of the way.</p> + +<p>They were only as big as a one-liter jar, rounded at one end and flat +at the other where the power cable was connected, but they weighed +close to two hundred pounds apiece. Most of the weight was on the +outside; a dazzlingly bright plating of collapsium—collapsed matter, +the electron shell collapsed onto the nucleus and the atoms in actual +physical contact—and absolutely nothing but nothing could get through +it. Inside was about a kilogram of strontium-90; it would keep on +emitting electrons for twenty-five years, normally, but there was a +miniature plutonium reactor, itself shielded with collapsium, which, +among other things, speeded that process up considerably. A cartridge +was good for about five years; two of them kept the engines in +operation.</p> + +<p>The engines themselves converted the electric current from the power +cartridges into magnetic current, and lifted the ship and propelled +it. Abdullah was explaining that to Murell and Murell seemed to be +getting it satisfactorily.</p> + +<p>Finally, we left them; Murell wanted to see the sunset some more and +went up to the conning tower where Joe and Ramón were, and I decided +to take a nap while I had a chance.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C8" id="C8"></a>8</h2> + +<h3>PRACTICE, 50-MM GUN</h3> + + +<p>It seemed as though I had barely fallen asleep before I was wakened by +the ship changing direction and losing altitude. I knew there were +clouds coming in from the east, now, on the lower air currents, and I +supposed that Joe was taking the <i>Javelin</i> below them to have a look +at the surface of the sea. So I ran up to the conning tower, and when +I got there I found that the lower clouds were solid over us, it was +growing dark, and another hunter-ship was approaching with her lights +on.</p> + +<p>"Who is she?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"<i>Bulldog</i>, Nip Spazoni," Joe told me. "Nip's bringing my saloon +fighter aboard, and he wants to meet Mr. Murell."</p> + +<p>I remembered that the man who had roughed up the Ravick goon in +Martian Joe's had made his getaway from town in the <i>Bulldog</i>. As I +watched, the other ship's boat dropped out from her stern, went +end-over-end for an instant, and then straightened out and came +circling around astern<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> of us, matching our speed and ejecting a +magnetic grapple.</p> + +<p>Nip Spazoni and another man climbed out with life lines fast to their +belts and crawled along our upper deck, catching life lines that were +thrown out to them and snapping onto them before casting loose the +ones from their boat. Somebody at the lock under the conning tower +hauled them in.</p> + +<p>Nip Spazoni's name was Old Terran Italian, but he had slanted +Mongoloid eyes and a sparse little chin-beard, which accounted for his +nickname. The amount of intermarriage that's gone on since the First +Century, any resemblance between people's names and their appearances +is purely coincidental. Oscar Fujisawa, who looks as though his name +ought to be Lief Ericsson, for example.</p> + +<p>"Here's your prodigal, Joe," he was saying, peeling out of his parka +as he came up the ladder. "I owe him a second gunner's share on a +monster, fifteen tons of wax."</p> + +<p>"Hey, that was a good one. You heading home, now?" Then he turned to +the other man, who had followed Nip up the ladder. "You didn't do a +very good job, Bill," he said. "The so-and-so's out of the hospital by +now."</p> + +<p>"Well, you know who takes care of his own," the crewman said. "Give me +something for effort; I tried hard enough."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not going home yet," Nip was answering. "I have hold-room for +the wax of another one, if he isn't bigger than ordinary. I'm going to +go down on the bottom when the winds start and sit it out, and then +try to get a second one." Then he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> saw me. "Well, hey, Walt; when did +you turn into a monster-hunter?"</p> + +<p>Then he was introduced to Murell, and he and Joe and the man from +Argentine Exotic Organics sat down at the chart table and Joe yelled +for a pot of coffee, and they started talking prices and quantities of +wax. I sat in, listening. This was part of what was going to be the +big story of the year. Finally they got that talked out, and Joe asked +Nip how the monsters were running.</p> + +<p>"Why, good; you oughtn't to have any trouble finding one," Nip said. +"There must have been a Nifflheim of a big storm off to the east, +beyond the Lava Islands. I got mine north of Cape Terror. There's huge +patches of sea-spaghetti drifting west, all along the coast of Hermann +Reuch's Land. Here." He pulled out a map. "You'll find it all along +here."</p> + +<p>Murell asked me if sea-spaghetti was something the monsters ate. His +reading-up still had a few gaps, here and there.</p> + +<p>"No, it's seaweed; the name describes it. Screwfish eat it; big +schools of them follow it. Gulpers and funnelmouths and bag-bellies +eat screwfish, and monsters eat them. So wherever you find spaghetti, +you can count on finding a monster or two."</p> + +<p>"How's the weather?" Joe was asking.</p> + +<p>"Good enough, now. It was almost full dark when we finished the +cutting-up. It was raining; in fifty or sixty hours it ought to be +getting pretty bad." Spazoni pointed on the map. "Here's about where I +think you ought to try, Joe."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I screened the Times, after Nip went back to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> own ship. Dad said +that Bish Ware had called in, with nothing to report but a vague +suspicion that something nasty was cooking. Steve Ravick and Leo +Belsher were taking things, even the announcement of the Argentine +Exotic Organics price, too calmly.</p> + +<p>"I think so, myself," he added. "That gang has some kind of a knife up +their sleeve. Bish is trying to find out just what it is."</p> + +<p>"Is he drinking much?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, he isn't on the wagon, I can tell you that," Dad said. "I'm +beginning to think that he isn't really sober till he's half +plastered."</p> + +<p>There might be something to that, I thought. There are all kinds of +weird individualities about human metabolism; for all I knew, alcohol +might actually be a food for Bish. Or he might have built up some kind +of immunity, with antibodies that were themselves harmful if he didn't +have alcohol to neutralize them.</p> + +<p>The fugitive from what I couldn't bring myself to call justice proved +to know just a little, but not much, more about engines than I did. +That meant that Tom would still have to take Al Devis's place, and I'd +have to take his with the after 50-mm. So the ship went down to almost +sea surface, and Tom and I went to the stern turret.</p> + +<p>The gun I was to handle was an old-model Terran Federation Army +infantry-platoon accompanying gun. The mount, however, was +power-driven, like the mount for a 90-mm contragravity tank gun. +Reconciling the firing mechanism of the former with the elevating and +traversing gear of the latter had produced one of the craziest pieces +of machinery that ever gave an ordnance engineer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> nightmares. It was a +local job, of course. An ordnance engineer in Port Sandor doesn't +really have to be a raving maniac, but it's a help.</p> + +<p>Externally, the firing mechanism consisted of a pistol grip and +trigger, which looked all right to me. The sight was a standard +binocular light-gun sight, with a spongeplastic mask to save the +gunner from a pair of black eyes every time he fired it. The elevating +and traversing gear was combined in one lever on a ball-and-socket +joint. You could move the gun diagonally in any direction in one +motion, but you had to push or pull the opposite way. Something would +go plonk when the trigger was pulled on an empty chamber, so I did +some dry practice at the crests of waves.</p> + +<p>"Now, mind," Tom was telling me, "this is a lot different from a +pistol."</p> + +<p>"So I notice," I replied. I had also noticed that every time I got the +cross hairs on anything and squeezed the trigger, they were on +something else when the trigger went plonk. "All this gun needs is +another lever, to control the motion of the ship."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that only makes it more fun," Tom told me.</p> + +<p>Then he loaded in a clip of five rounds, big expensive-looking +cartridges a foot long, with bottle-neck cases and pointed shells.</p> + +<p>The targets were regular tallow-wax skins, blown up and weighted at +one end so that they would float upright. He yelled into the intercom, +and one was chucked overboard ahead. A moment later, I saw it bobbing +away astern of us. I put my face into the sight-mask, caught it, +centered the cross hairs, and squeezed. The gun gave a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> thunderclap +and recoiled past me, and when I pulled my face out of the mask, I saw +a column of water and spray about fifty feet left and a hundred yards +over.</p> + +<p>"You won't put any wax in the hold with that kind of shooting," Tom +told me.</p> + +<p>I fired again. This time, there was no effect at all that I could see. +The shell must have gone away over and hit the water a couple of miles +astern. Before Tom could make any comment on that shot, I let off +another, and this time I hit the water directly in front of the +bobbing wax skin. Good line shot, but away short.</p> + +<p>"Well, you scared him, anyhow," Tom said, in mock commendation.</p> + +<p>I remembered some of the comments I'd made when I'd been trying to +teach him to hit something smaller than the target frame with a +pistol, and humbled myself. The next two shots were reasonably close, +but neither would have done any damage if the rapidly vanishing skin +had really been a monster. Tom clucked sadly and slapped in another +clip.</p> + +<p>"Heave over another one," he called. "That monster got away."</p> + +<p>The trouble was, there were a lot of tricky air currents along the +surface of the water. The engines were running on lift to match +exactly the weight of the ship, which meant that she had no weight at +all, and a lot of wind resistance. The drive was supposed to match the +wind speed, and the ship was supposed to be kept nosed into the wind. +A lot of that is automatic, but it can't be made fully so, which means +that the pilot has to do considerable manual correcting, and no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> human +alive can do that perfectly. Joe Kivelson or Ramón Llewellyn or +whoever was at the controls was doing a masterly job, but that fell +away short of giving me a stable gun platform.</p> + +<p>I caught the second target as soon as it bobbed into sight and slammed +a shell at it. The explosion was half a mile away, but the shell +hadn't missed the target by more than a few yards. Heartened, I fired +again, and that shot was simply dreadful.</p> + +<p>"I know what you're doing wrong," Tom said. "You're squeezing the +trigger."</p> + +<p>"<i>Huh</i>?"</p> + +<p>I pulled my face out of the sight-mask and looked at him to see if he +were exhibiting any other signs of idiocy. That was like criticizing +somebody for using a fork instead of eating with his fingers.</p> + +<p>"You're not shooting a pistol," he continued. "You don't have to hold +the gun on the target with the hand you shoot with. The mount control, +in your other hand, does that. As soon as the cross hairs touch the +target, just grab the trigger as though it was a million sols getting +away from you. Well, sixteen thousand; that's what a monster's worth +now, Murell prices. Jerking won't have the least effect on your hold +whatever."</p> + +<p>So that was why I'd had so much trouble making a pistol shot out of +Tom, and why it would take a special act of God to make one out of his +father. And that was why monster-hunters caused so few casualties in +barroom shootings around Port Sandor, outside of bystanders and +back-bar mirrors. I felt like Newton after he'd figured out why the +apple bopped him on the head.</p> + +<p>"You mean like this?" I asked innocently, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> soon as I had the hairs +on the target again, violating everything I held most sacredly true +about shooting.</p> + +<p>The shell must have passed within inches of the target; it bobbed over +flat and the weight pulled it up again into the backwave from the +shell and it bobbed like crazy.</p> + +<p>"That would have been a dead monster," Tom said. "Let's see you do it +again."</p> + +<p>I didn't; the next shot was terrible. Overconfidence. I had one more +shot, and I didn't want to use up another clip of the <i>Javelin</i>'s +ammo. They cost like crazy, even if they were Army rejects. The sea +current was taking the target farther away every second, but I took my +time on the next one, bringing the horizontal hair level with the +bottom of the inflated target and traversing quickly, grabbing the +trigger as soon as the vertical hair touched it. There was a +water-spout, and the target shot straight up for fifty feet; the shell +must have exploded directly under it. There was a sound of cheering +from the intercom. Tom asked if I wanted to fire another clip. I told +him I thought I had the hang of it now, and screwed a swab onto the +ramrod and opened the breech to clean the gun.</p> + +<p>Joe Kivelson grinned at me when I went up to the conning tower.</p> + +<p>"That wasn't bad, Walt," he said. "You never manned a 50-mm before, +did you?"</p> + +<p>"No, and it's all backward from anything I ever learned about +shooting," I said. "Now, suppose I get a shot at a monster; where do I +try to hit him?"</p> + +<p>"Here, I'll show you." He got a block of lucite, a foot square on the +end by two and a half feet long,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> out of a closet under the chart +table. In it was a little figure of a Jarvis's sea-monster; long body +tapering to a three-fluked tail, wide horizontal flippers like the +wings of an old pre-contragravity aircraft, and a long neck with a +little head and a wide tusked mouth.</p> + +<p>"Always get him from in front," he said. "Aim right here, where his +chest makes a kind of V at the base of the neck. A 50-mm will go six +or eight feet into him before it explodes, and it'll explode among his +heart and lungs and things. If it goes straight along his body, it'll +open him up and make the cutting-up easier, and it won't spoil much +wax. That's where I always shoot."</p> + +<p>"Suppose I get a broadside shot?"</p> + +<p>"Why, then put your shell right under the flukes at the end of the +tail. That'll turn him and position him for a second shot from in +front. But mostly, you'll get a shot from in front, if the ship's down +near the surface. Monsters will usually try to attack the ship. They +attack anything around their own size that they see," he told me. "But +don't ever make a body shot broadside-to. You'll kill the monster, but +you'll blow about five thousand sols' worth of wax to Nifflheim doing +it."</p> + +<p>It had been getting dusky while I had been shooting; it was almost +full dark now, and the <i>Javelin's</i> lights were on. We were making +close to Mach 3, headed east now, and running away from the remaining +daylight.</p> + +<p>We began running into squalls of rain, and then rain mixed with wet +snow. The underside lights came on, and the lookout below began +reporting patches of sea-spaghetti. Finally, the boat was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> dropped out +and went circling away ahead, swinging its light back and forth over +the water, and radioing back reports. Spaghetti. Spaghetti with a big +school of screwfish working on it. Funnel-mouths working on the +screwfish. Finally the speaker gave a shrill whistle.</p> + +<p>"<i>Monster ho!</i>" the voice yelled. "About ten points off your port bow. +We're circling over it now."</p> + +<p>"Monster ho!" Kivelson yelled into the intercom, in case anybody +hadn't heard. "All hands to killing stations." Then he saw me standing +there, wondering what was going to happen next. "Well, mister, didn't +you hear me?" he bellowed. "Get to your gun!"</p> + +<p>Gee! I thought. I'm one of the crew, now.</p> + +<p>"Yes sir!" I grabbed the handrail of the ladder and slid down, then +raced aft to the gun turret.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C9" id="C9"></a>9</h2> + +<h3>MONSTER KILLING</h3> + + +<p>There was a man in the turret, waiting to help me. He had a clip of +five rounds in the gun, the searchlight on, and the viewscreen tuned +to the forward pickup. After checking the gun and loading the chamber, +I looked in that, and in the distance, lighted by the boat above and +the searchlight of the <i>Javelin</i>, I saw a long neck with a little head +on the end of it weaving about. We were making straight for it, losing +altitude and speed as we went.</p> + +<p>Then the neck dipped under the water and a little later reappeared, +coming straight for the advancing light. The forward gun went off, +shaking the ship with its recoil, and the head ducked under again. +There was a spout from the shell behind it.</p> + +<p>I took my eyes from the forward screen and looked out the rear window, +ready to shove my face into the sight-mask. An instant later, the head +and neck reappeared astern of us. I fired, without too much hope of +hitting anything, and then the ship was rising and circling.</p> + +<p>As soon as I'd fired, the monster had sounded,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> headfirst. I fired a +second shot at his tail, in hope of crippling his steering gear, but +that was a clean miss, too, and then the ship was up to about five +thousand feet. My helper pulled out the partly empty clip and replaced +it with a full one, giving me five and one in the chamber.</p> + +<p>If I'd been that monster, I thought, I'd have kept on going till I was +a couple of hundred miles away from this place; but evidently that +wasn't the way monsters thought, if thinking is what goes on inside a +brain cavity the size of a quart bottle in a head the size of two oil +drums on a body as big as the ship that was hunting him. He'd found a +lot of gulpers and funnelmouths, and he wasn't going to be chased away +from his dinner by somebody shooting at him.</p> + +<p>I wondered why they didn't eat screwfish, instead of the things that +preyed on them. Maybe they did and we didn't know it. Or maybe they +just didn't like screwfish. There were a lot of things we didn't know +about sea-monsters.</p> + +<p>For that matter, I wondered why we didn't grow tallow-wax by +carniculture. We could grow any other animal matter we wanted. I'd +often thought of that.</p> + +<p>The monster wasn't showing any inclination to come to the surface +again, and finally Joe Kivelson's voice came out of the intercom:</p> + +<p>"Run in the guns and seal ports. Secure for submersion. We're going +down and chase him up."</p> + +<p>My helper threw the switch that retracted the gun and sealed the gun +port. I checked that and reported, "After gun secure." Hans Cronje's +voice, a moment later, said, "Forward gun secure," and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> then Ramón +Llewellyn said, "Ship secure; ready to submerge."</p> + +<p>Then the <i>Javelin</i> began to settle, and the water came up over the +window. I didn't know what the radar was picking up. All I could see +was the screen and the window; water lighted for about fifty feet in +front and behind. I saw a cloud of screwfish pass over and around us, +spinning rapidly as they swam as though on lengthwise axis—they +always spin counterclockwise, never clockwise. A couple of +funnelmouths were swimming after them, overtaking and engulfing them.</p> + +<p>Then the captain yelled, "Get set for torpedo," and my helper and I +each grabbed a stanchion. A couple of seconds later it seemed as +though King Neptune himself had given the ship a poke in the nose; my +hands were almost jerked loose from their hold. Then she swung slowly, +nosing up and down, and finally Joe Kivelson spoke again:</p> + +<p>"We're going to surface. Get set to run the guns out and start +shooting as soon as we're out of the water."</p> + +<p>"What happened?" I asked my helper.</p> + +<p>"Must have put the torp right under him and lifted him," he said. "He +could be dead or stunned. Or he could be live and active and spoiling +for a fight."</p> + +<p>That last could be trouble. The <i>Times</i> had run quite a few stories, +some with black borders, about ships that had gotten into trouble with +monsters. A hunter-ship is heavy and it is well-armored—install +hyperdrive engines in one, and you could take her from here to +Terra—but a monster is a tough brute, and he has armor of his own, +scales<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> an inch or so thick and tougher than sole leather. A lot of +chair seats around Port Sandor are made of single monster scales. A +monster strikes with its head, like a snake. They can smash a ship's +boat, and they've been known to punch armor-glass windows out of their +frames. I didn't want the window in front of me coming in at me with a +monster head the size of a couple of oil drums and full of big tusks +following it.</p> + +<p>The <i>Javelin</i> came up fast, but not as fast as the monster, which +seemed to have been injured only in his disposition. He was on the +surface already, about fifty yards astern of us, threshing with his +forty-foot wing-fins, his neck arched back to strike. I started to +swing my gun for the chest shot Joe Kivelson had recommended as soon +as it was run out, and then the ship was swung around and tilted up +forward by a sudden gust of wind. While I was struggling to get the +sights back on the monster, the ship gave another lurch and the cross +hairs were right on its neck, about six feet below the head. I grabbed +the trigger, and as soon as the shot was off, took my eyes from the +sights. I was just a second too late to see the burst, but not too +late to see the monster's neck jerk one way out of the smoke puff and +its head fly another. A second later, the window in front of me was +splashed with blood as the headless neck came down on our fantail.</p> + +<p>Immediately, two rockets jumped from the launcher over the gun turret, +planting a couple of harpoons, and the boat, which had been circling +around since we had submerged, dived into the water and passed under +the monster, coming up on the other side dragging another harpoon +line.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> The monster was still threshing its wings and flogging with its +headless neck. It takes a monster quite a few minutes to tumble to the +fact that it's been killed. My helper was pounding my back black and +blue with one hand and trying to pump mine off with the other, and I +was getting an ovation from all over the ship. At the same time, a +couple more harpoons went into the thing from the ship, and the boat +put another one in from behind.</p> + +<p>I gathered that shooting monsters' heads off wasn't at all usual, and +hastened to pass it off as pure luck, so that everybody would hurry up +and deny it before they got the same idea themselves.</p> + +<p>We hadn't much time for ovations, though. We had a very slowly dying +monster, and before he finally discovered that he was dead, a couple +of harpoons got pulled out and had to be replaced. Finally, however, +he quieted down, and the boat swung him around, bringing the tail past +our bow, and the ship cut contragravity to specific-gravity level and +settled to float on top of the water. The boat dived again, and payed +out a line that it brought up and around and up again, lashing the +monster fast alongside.</p> + +<p>"All right," Kivelson was saying, out of the intercom. "Shooting's +over. All hands for cutting-up."</p> + +<p>I pulled on a parka and zipped it up and went out onto the deck. +Everybody who wasn't needed at engines or controls was there, and +equipment was coming up from below—power saws and sonocutters and +even a solenoid jackhammer. There were half a dozen floodlights, on +small contragravity lifters; they were run up on lines<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> fifty feet +above the ship's deck. By this time it was completely dark and fine +snow was blowing. I could see that Joe Kivelson was anxious to get the +cutting-up finished before the wind got any worse.</p> + +<p>"Walt, can you use a machine gun?" he asked me.</p> + +<p>I told him I could. I was sure of it; a machine gun is fired in a +rational and decent manner.</p> + +<p>"Well, all right. Suppose you cover for us from the boat," he said. +"Mr. Murell can pilot for you. You never worked at cutting-up before, +and neither did he. You'd be more of a hindrance than a help and so +would he. But we do need a good machine gunner. As soon as we start +throwing out waste, we'll have all the slashers and halberd fish for +miles around. You just shoot them as fast as you see them."</p> + +<p>He was courteous enough not to add: "And don't shoot any of the crew."</p> + +<p>The boat came in and passed out the lines of its harpoons, and Murell +and I took the places of Cesário Vieira and the other man. We went up +to the nose, and Murell took his place at the controls, and I got back +of the 7-mm machine gun and made sure that there were plenty of extra +belts of ammo. Then, as we rose, I pulled the goggles down from my +hood, swung the gun away from the ship, and hammered off a one-second +burst to make sure it was working, after which I settled down, glad I +had a comfortable seat and wasn't climbing around on that monster.</p> + +<p>They began knocking scales loose with the jackhammer and cutting into +the leathery skin underneath with sonocutters. The sea was getting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +heavy, and the ship and the attached monster had begun to roll.</p> + +<p>"That's pretty dangerous work," Murell said. "If a man using one of +those cutters slipped...."</p> + +<p>"It's happened," I told him. "You met our peg-legged compositor, +Julio. That was how he lost his leg."</p> + +<p>"I don't blame them for wanting all they can get for tallow-wax."</p> + +<p>They had the monster opened down the belly, and were beginning to cut +loose big chunks of the yellow tallow-wax and throw them into cargo +nets and swing them aboard with lifters, to be chucked down the cargo +hatches. I was only able to watch that for a minute or so and tell +Murell what was going on, and then the first halberd fish, with a +spearlike nose and sharp ridges of the nearest thing to bone you find +on Fenris, came swimming up. I swung the gun on the leader and gave +him a second of fire, and then a two-second burst on the ones behind. +Then I waited for a few seconds until the survivors converged on their +dead and injured companions and gave them another burst, which wiped +out the lot of them.</p> + +<p>It was only a couple of seconds after that that the first slasher came +in, shiny as heat-blued steel and waving four clawed tentacles that +grew around its neck. It took me a second or so to get the sights on +him. He stopped slashing immediately. Slashers are smart; you kill +them and they find it out right away.</p> + +<p>Before long, the water around the ship and the monster was polluted +with things like that. I had to keep them away from the men, now +working up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> to their knees in water, and at the same time avoid +massacring the crew I was trying to protect, and Murell had to keep +the boat in position, in spite of a steadily rising wind, and every +time I had to change belts, there'd be a new rush of things that had +to be shot in a hurry. The ammunition bill for covering a cutting-up +operation is one of the things that runs up expenses for a +hunter-ship. The ocean bottom around here must be carpeted with +machine-gun brass.</p> + +<p>Finally, they got the job done, and everybody went below and sealed +ship. We sealed the boat and went down after her. The last I saw, the +remains of the monster, now stripped of wax, had been cast off, and +the water around it was rioting with slashers and clawbeaks and +halberd fish and similar marine unpleasantnesses.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C10" id="C10"></a>10</h2> + +<h3>MAYDAY, MAYDAY</h3> + + +<p>Getting a ship's boat berthed inside the ship in the air is tricky +work under the best of conditions; the way the wind was blowing by +now, it would have been like trying to thread a needle inside a +concrete mixer. We submerged after the ship and went in underwater. +Then we had to wait in the boat until the ship rose above the surface +and emptied the water out of the boat berth. When that was done and +the boat berth was sealed again, the ship went down seventy fathoms +and came to rest on the bottom, and we unsealed the boat and got out.</p> + +<p>There was still the job of packing the wax into skins, but that could +wait. Everybody was tired and dirty and hungry. We took turns washing +up, three at a time, in the little ship's latrine which, for some +reason going back to sailing-ship days on Terra, was called the +"head." Finally the whole sixteen of us gathered in the relatively +comfortable wardroom under the after gun turret.</p> + +<p>Comfortable, that is, to the extent that everybody could find a place +to sit down, or could move about without tripping over somebody else. +There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> was a big pot of coffee, and everybody had a plate or bowl of +hot food. There's always plenty of hot food to hand on a hunter-ship; +no regular meal-times, and everybody eats, as he sleeps, when he has +time. This is the only time when a whole hunter crew gets together, +after a monster has been killed and cut up and the ship is resting on +the bottom and nobody has to stand watch.</p> + +<p>Everybody was talking about the killing, of course, and the wax we had +in the hold, and counting the money they were going to get for it, at +the new eighty-centisol price.</p> + +<p>"Well, I make it about fourteen tons," Ramón Llewellyn, who had been +checking the wax as it went into the hold, said. He figured mentally +for a moment, and added, "Call it twenty-two thousand sols." Then he +had to fall back on a pencil and paper to figure shares.</p> + +<p>I was surprised to find that he was reckoning shares for both Murell +and myself.</p> + +<p>"Hey, do we want to let them do that?" I whispered to Murell. "We just +came along for the ride."</p> + +<p>"I don't want the money," he said. "These people need every cent they +can get."</p> + +<p>So did I, for that matter, and I didn't have salary and expense +account from a big company on Terra. However, I hadn't come along in +the expectation of making anything out of it, and a newsman has to be +careful about the outside money he picks up. It wouldn't do any harm +in the present instance, but as a practice it can lead to all kinds of +things, like playing favorites, coloring news, killing stories that +shouldn't be killed. We do enough of that as it is, like playing down +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> tread-snail business for Bish Ware and the spaceport people, and +never killing anybody except in a "local bar." It's hard to draw a +line on that sort of thing.</p> + +<p>"We're just guests," I said. "We don't work here."</p> + +<p>"The dickens you are," Joe Kivelson contradicted. "Maybe you came +aboard as guests, but you're both part of the crew now. I never saw a +prettier shot on a monster than Walt made—took that thing's head off +like a chicken on a chopping block—and he did a swell job of covering +for the cutting-up. And he couldn't have done that if Murell hadn't +handled the boat the way he did, and that was no easy job."</p> + +<p>"Well, let's talk about that when we get to port," I said. "Are we +going right back, or are we going to try for another monster?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," Joe said. "We could stow the wax, if we didn't get too +much, but if we stay out, we'll have to wait out the wind and by then +it'll be pretty cold."</p> + +<p>"The longer we stay out, the more the cruise'll cost," Abdullah +Monnahan, the engineer, said, "and the expenses'll cut into the +shares."</p> + +<p>"Tell the truth, I'm sort of antsy to get back," Joe Kivelson said. "I +want to see what's going on in Port Sandor."</p> + +<p>"So am I," Murell said. "I want to get some kind of office opened, and +get into business. What time will the <i>Cape Canaveral</i> be getting in? +I want a big cargo, for the first time."</p> + +<p>"Oh, not for four hundred hours, at the least," I said. "The +spaceships always try to miss the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> early-dark and early-daylight +storms. It's hard to get a big ship down in a high wind."</p> + +<p>"That'll be plenty of time, I suppose," Murell said. "There's all that +wax you have stored, and what I can get out of the Co-operative stores +from crews that reclaim it. But I'm going to have a lot to do."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I agreed. "Dodging bullets, for one."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't expect any trouble," Murell said. "This fellow Ravick's +shot his round."</p> + +<p>He was going to say something else, but before he could say it there +was a terrific roar forward. The whole ship bucked like a recoiling +gun, throwing everybody into a heap, and heeled over to starboard. +There were a lot of yells, particularly from those who had been +splashed with hot coffee, and somebody was shouting something about +the magazines.</p> + +<p>"The magazines are aft, you dunderhead," Joe Kivelson told him, +shoving himself to his feet. "Stay put, everybody; I'll see what it +is."</p> + +<p>He pulled open the door forward. An instant later, he had slammed it +shut and was dogging it fast.</p> + +<p>"Hull must be ruptured forward; we're making water. It's spouting up +the hatch from the engine room like a geyser," he said. "Ramón, go see +what it's like in the boat berth. The rest of you, follow him, and +grab all the food and warm clothing you can. We're going to have to +abandon."</p> + +<p>He stood by the doorway aft, shoving people through and keeping them +from jamming up, saying: "Take it easy, now; don't crowd. We'll all +get out." There wasn't any panic. A couple of men<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> were in the doorway +of the little galley when I came past, handing out cases of food. As +nothing was coming out at the instant, I kept on, and on the way back +to the boat-berth hatch, I pulled down as many parkas and pairs of +overpants as I could carry, squeezing past Tom, who was collecting +fleece-lined hip boots. Each pair was buckled together at the tops; a +hunter always does that, even at home ashore.</p> + +<p>Ramón had the hatch open, and had opened the top hatch of the boat, +below. I threw my double armload of clothing down through it and slid +down after, getting out of the way of the load of boots Tom dumped +ahead of him. Joe Kivelson came down last, carrying the ship's log and +some other stuff. A little water was trickling over the edge of the +hatch above.</p> + +<p>"It's squirting up from below in a dozen places," he said, after he'd +sealed the boat. "The whole front of the ship must be blown out."</p> + +<p>"Well, now we know what happened to Simon MacGregor's <i>Claymore</i>," I +said, more to myself than to anybody else.</p> + +<p>Joe and Hans Cronje, the gunner, were getting a rocket out of the +locker, detaching the harpoon and fitting on an explosive warhead. He +stopped, while he and Cronje were loading it into the after launcher, +and nodded at me.</p> + +<p>"That's what I think, too," he said. "Everybody grab onto something; +we're getting the door open."</p> + +<p>I knew what was coming and started hugging a stanchion as though it +were a long-lost sweetheart, and Murell, who didn't but knew enough to +imitate those who did, hugged it from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> the other side. The rocket +whooshed out of the launcher and went off with a deafening bang +outside. For an instant, nothing happened, and I told Murell not to +let go. Then the lock burst in and the water, at seventy fathoms' +pressure, hit the boat. Abdullah had gotten the engines on and was +backing against it. After a little, the pressure equalized and we went +out the broken lock stern first.</p> + +<p>We circled and passed over the <i>Javelin</i>, and then came back. She was +lying in the ooze, a quarter over on her side, and her whole bow was +blown out to port. Joe Kivelson got the square box he had brought down +from the ship along with the log, fussed a little with it, and then +launched it out the disposal port. It was a radio locator. Sometimes a +lucky ship will get more wax than the holds' capacity; they pack it in +skins and anchor it on the bottom, and drop one of those gadgets with +it. It would keep on sending a directional signal and the name of the +ship for a couple of years.</p> + +<p>"Do you really think it was sabotage?" Murell was asking me. Blowing +up a ship with sixteen men aboard must have seemed sort of extreme to +him. Maybe that wasn't according to Terran business ethics. "Mightn't +it have been a power unit?"</p> + +<p>"No. Power units don't blow, and if one did, it would vaporize the +whole ship and a quarter of a cubic mile of water around her. No, that +was old fashioned country-style chemical explosive. Cataclysmite, +probably."</p> + +<p>"Ravick?" he asked, rather unnecessarily.</p> + +<p>"You know how well he can get along without you and Joe Kivelson, and +here's a chance to get along without both of you together." Everybody<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +in the boat was listening, so I continued: "How much do you know about +this fellow Devis, who strained his back at the last moment?"</p> + +<p>"Engine room's where he could have planted something," Joe Kivelson +said.</p> + +<p>"He was in there by himself for a while, the morning after the +meeting," Abdullah Monnahan added.</p> + +<p>"And he disappeared between the meeting room and the elevator, during +the fight," Tom mentioned. "And when he showed up, he hadn't been +marked up any. I'd have thought he'd have been pretty badly +beaten—unless they knew he was one of their own gang."</p> + +<p>"We're going to look Devis up when we get back," somebody said +pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"If we get back," Ramón Llewellyn told him. "That's going to take some +doing."</p> + +<p>"We have the boat," Hans Cronje said. "It's a little crowded, but we +can make it back to Port Sandor."</p> + +<p>"I hope we can," Abe Clifford, the navigator, said. "Shall we take her +up, Joe?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, see what it's like on top," the skipper replied.</p> + +<p>Going up, we passed a monster at about thirty fathoms. It stuck its +neck out and started for us. Monnahan tilted the boat almost vertical +and put on everything the engines had, lift and drive parallel. An +instant later, we broke the surface and shot into the air.</p> + +<p>The wind hit the boat as though it had been a ping-pong ball, and it +was several seconds, and bad seconds at that, before Monnahan regained +even a semblance of control. There was consider<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>able bad language, and +several of the crew had bloody noses. Monnahan tried to get the boat +turned into the wind. A circuit breaker popped, and red lights blazed +all over the instrument panel. He eased off and let the wind take +over, and for a while we were flying in front of it like a rifle +bullet. Gradually, he nosed down and submerged.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's that." Joe Kivelson said, when we were back in the +underwater calm again. "We'll have to stay under till the wind's over. +Don't anybody move around or breathe any deeper than you have to. +We'll have to conserve oxygen."</p> + +<p>"Isn't the boat equipped with electrolytic gills?" Murell asked.</p> + +<p>"Sure, to supply oxygen for a maximum of six men. We have sixteen in +here."</p> + +<p>"How long will our air last, for sixteen of us?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"About eight hours."</p> + +<p>It would take us fifty to get to Port Sandor, running submerged. The +wind wouldn't even begin to fall in less than twenty.</p> + +<p>"We can go south, to the coast of Hermann Reuch's Land," Abe Clifford, +the navigator, said. "Let me figure something out."</p> + +<p>He dug out a slide rule and a pencil and pad and sat down with his +back to the back of the pilot's seat, under the light. Everybody +watched him in a silence which Joe Kivelson broke suddenly by +bellowing:</p> + +<p>"Dumont! You light that pipe and I'll feed it to you!"</p> + +<p>Old Piet Dumont grabbed the pipe out of his mouth with one hand and +pocketed his lighter with the other.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Gosh, Joe; I guess I just wasn't thinking..." he began.</p> + +<p>"Well, give me that pipe." Joe put it in the drawer under the charts. +"Now you won't have it handy the next time you don't think."</p> + +<p>After a while, Abe Clifford looked up. "Ship's position I don't have +exactly; somewhere around East 25 Longitude, South 20 Latitude. I +can't work out our present position at all, except that we're +somewhere around South 30 Latitude. The locator signal is almost +exactly north-by-northeast of us. If we keep it dead astern, we'll +come out in Sancerre Bay, on Hermann Reuch's Land. If we make that, +we're all right. We'll be in the lee of the Hacksaw Mountains, and we +can surface from time to time to change air, and as soon as the wind +falls we can start for home."</p> + +<p>Then he and Abdullah and Joe went into a huddle, arguing about +cruising speed submerged. The results weren't so heartening.</p> + +<p>"It looks like a ten-hour trip, submerged," Joe said. "That's two +hours too long, and there's no way of getting more oxygen out of the +gills than we're getting now. We'll just have to use less. Everybody +lie down and breathe as shallowly as possible, and don't do anything +to use energy. I'm going to get on the radio and see what I can +raise."</p> + +<p>Big chance, I thought. These boat radios were only used for +communicating with the ship while scouting; they had a strain-everything +range of about three hundred miles. Hunter-ships don't crowd that close +together when they're working. Still, there was a chance that somebody +else might be sitting it out on the bottom within hearing. So Abe took +the controls and kept the signal from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> wreck of the <i>Javelin</i> dead +astern, and Joe Kivelson began speaking into the radio:</p> + +<p>"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Captain Kivelson, <i>Javelin</i>, calling. +My ship was wrecked by an explosion; all hands now in scout boat, +proceeding toward Sancerre Bay, on course south-by-southwest from the +wreck. Locator signal is being broadcast from the <i>Javelin</i>. Other +than that, we do not know our position. Calling all craft, calling +Mayday."</p> + +<p>He stopped talking. The radio was silent except for an occasional +frying-fat crackle of static. Then he began over again.</p> + +<p>I curled up, trying to keep my feet out of anybody's face and my face +clear of anybody else's feet. Somebody began praying, and somebody +else told him to belay it, he was wasting oxygen. I tried to go to +sleep, which was the only practical thing to do. I must have +succeeded. When I woke again, Joe Kivelson was saying, exasperatedly:</p> + +<p>"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, Mayday..."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C11" id="C11"></a>11</h2> + +<h3>DARKNESS AND COLD</h3> + + +<p>The next time I woke, Tom Kivelson was reciting the Mayday, Mayday +incantation into the radio, and his father was asleep. The man who had +been praying had started again, and nobody seemed to care whether he +wasted oxygen or not. It was a Theosophist prayer to the Spirit +Guides, and I remembered that Cesário Vieira was a Theosophist. Well, +maybe there really were Spirit Guides. If there were, we'd all be +finding out before long. I found that I didn't care one hoot which +way, and I set that down to oxygen deficiency.</p> + +<p>Then Glenn Murell broke in on the monotone call for help and the +prayer.</p> + +<p>"We're done for if we stay down here another hour," he said. "Any +argument on that?"</p> + +<p>There wasn't any. Joe Kivelson opened his eyes and looked around.</p> + +<p>"We haven't raised anything at all on the radio," Murell went on. +"That means nobody's within an hour of reaching us. Am I right?"</p> + +<p>"I guess that's about the size of it," Joe Kivelson conceded.</p> + +<p>"How close to land are we?"</p> + +<p>"The radar isn't getting anything but open<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> water and schools of +fish," Abe Clifford said. "For all I know, we could be inside Sancerre +Bay now."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, why don't we surface?" Murell continued. "It's a thousand +to one against us, but if we stay here our chances are precisely one +hundred per cent negative."</p> + +<p>"What do you think?" Joe asked generally. "I think Mr. Murell's stated +it correctly."</p> + +<p>"There is no death," Cesário said. "Death is only a change, and then +more of life. I don't care what you do."</p> + +<p>"What have we got to lose?" somebody else asked. "We're broke and +gambling on credit now."</p> + +<p>"All right; we surface," the skipper said. "Everybody grab onto +something. We'll take the Nifflheim of a slamming around as soon as +we're out of the water."</p> + +<p>We woke up everybody who was sleeping, except the three men who had +completely lost consciousness. Those we wrapped up in blankets and +tarpaulins, like mummies, and lashed them down. We gathered everything +that was loose and made it fast, and checked the fastenings of +everything else. Then Abdullah Monnahan pointed the nose of the boat +straight up and gave her everything the engines could put out. Just as +we were starting upward, I heard Cesário saying:</p> + +<p>"If anybody wants to see me in the next reincarnation, I can tell you +one thing; I won't reincarnate again on Fenris!"</p> + +<p>The headlights only penetrated fifty or sixty feet ahead of us. I +could see slashers and clawbeaks and funnelmouths and gulpers and +things like that getting out of our way in a hurry. Then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> we were out +of the water and shooting straight up in the air.</p> + +<p>It was the other time all over again, doubled in spades, only this +time Abdullah didn't try to fight it; he just kept the boat rising. +Then it went end-over-end, again and again. I think most of us blacked +out; I'm sure I did, for a while. Finally, more by good luck than good +management, he got us turned around with the wind behind us. That +lasted for a while, and then we started keyholing again. I could see +the instrument panel from where I'd lashed myself fast; it was going +completely bughouse. Once, out the window in front, I could see jagged +mountains ahead. I just shut my eyes and waited for the Spirit Guides +to come and pick up the pieces.</p> + +<p>When they weren't along, after a few seconds that seemed like half an +hour, I opened my eyes again. There were more mountains ahead, and +mountains to the right. This'll do it, I thought, and I wondered how +long it would take Dad to find out what had happened to us. Cesário +had started praying again, and so had Abdullah Monnahan, who had just +remembered that he had been brought up a Moslem. I hoped he wasn't +trying to pray in the direction of Mecca, even allowing that he knew +which way Mecca was from Fenris generally. That made me laugh, and +then I thought, This is a fine time to be laughing at anything. Then I +realized that things were so bad that anything more that happened was +funny.</p> + +<p>I was still laughing when I discovered that the boat had slowed to a +crawl and we were backing in between two high cliffs. Evidently +Abdullah, who had now stopped praying, had gotten<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> enough control of +the boat to keep her into the wind and was keeping enough speed +forward to yield to it gradually. That would be all right, I thought, +if the force of the wind stayed constant, and as soon as I thought of +that, it happened. We got into a relative calm, the boat went forward +again, and then was tossed up and spun around. Then I saw a mountain +slope directly behind us, out the rear window.</p> + +<p>A moment later, I saw rocks and boulders sticking out of it in +apparent defiance of gravitation, and then I realized that it was +level ground and we were coming down at it backward. That lasted a few +seconds, and then we hit stern-on, bounced and hit again. I was +conscious up to the third time we hit.</p> + +<p>The next thing I knew, I was hanging from my lashings from the side of +the boat, which had become the top, and the headlights and the lights +on the control panel were out, and Joe Kivelson was holding a +flashlight while Abe Clifford and Glenn Murell were trying to get me +untied and lower me. I also noticed that the air was fresh, and very +cold.</p> + +<p>"Hey, we're down!" I said, as though I were telling anybody anything +they didn't know. "How many are still alive?"</p> + +<p>"As far as I know, all of us," Joe said. "I think I have a broken +arm." I noticed, then, that he was holding his left arm stiffly at his +side. Murell had a big gash on top of his head, and he was mopping +blood from his face with his sleeve while he worked.</p> + +<p>When they got me down, I looked around. Somebody else was playing a +flashlight around at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> the stern, which was completely smashed. It was +a miracle the rocket locker hadn't blown up, but the main miracle was +that all, or even any, of us were still alive.</p> + +<p>We found a couple of lights that could be put on, and we got all of us +picked up and the unconscious revived. One man, Dominic Silverstein, +had a broken leg. Joe Kivelson's arm was, as he suspected, broken, +another man had a fractured wrist, and Abdullah Monnahan thought a +couple of ribs were broken. The rest of us were in one piece, but all +of us were cut and bruised. I felt sore all over. We also found a +nuclear-electric heater that would work, and got it on. Tom and I +rigged some tarpaulins to screen off the ruptured stern and keep out +the worst of the cold wind. After they got through setting and +splinting the broken bones and taping up Abdullah's ribs, Cesário and +Murell got some water out of one of the butts and started boiling it +for coffee. I noticed that Piet Dumont had recovered his pipe and was +smoking it, and Joe Kivelson had his lit.</p> + +<p>"Well, where are we?" somebody was asking Abe Clifford.</p> + +<p>The navigator shook his head. "The radio's smashed, so's the receiver +for the locator, and so's the radio navigational equipment. I can +state positively, however, that we are on the north coast of Hermann +Reuch's Land."</p> + +<p>Everybody laughed at that except Murell. I had to explain to him that +Hermann Reuch's Land was the antarctic continent of Fenris, and hasn't +any other coast.</p> + +<p>"I'd say we're a good deal west of Sancerre Bay," Cesário Vieira +hazarded. "We can't be east<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> of it, the way we got blown west. I think +we must be at least five hundred miles east of it."</p> + +<p>"Don't fool yourself, Cesário," Joe Kivelson told him. "We could have +gotten into a turbulent updraft and been carried to the upper, +eastward winds. The altimeter was trying to keep up with the boat and +just couldn't, half the time. We don't know where we went. I'll take +Abe's estimate and let it go at that."</p> + +<p>"Well, we're up some kind of a fjord," Tom said. "I think it branches +like a Y, and we're up the left branch, but I won't make a point of +that."</p> + +<p>"I can't find anything like that on this map," Abe Clifford said, +after a while.</p> + +<p>Joe Kivelson swore. "You ought to know better than that, Abe; you know +how thoroughly this coast hasn't been mapped."</p> + +<p>"How much good will it do us to know where we are, right now?" I +asked. "If the radio's smashed, we can't give anybody our position."</p> + +<p>"We might be able to fix up the engines and get the boat in the air +again, after the wind drops." Monnahan said. "I'll take a look at them +and see how badly they've been banged up."</p> + +<p>"With the whole stern open?" Hans Cronje asked. "We'd freeze stiffer +than a gun barrel before we went a hundred miles."</p> + +<p>"Then we can pack the stern full of wet snow and let it freeze, +instead of us," I suggested. "There'll be plenty of snow before the +wind goes down."</p> + +<p>Joe Kivelson looked at me for a moment. "That would work," he said. +"How soon can you get started on the engines, Abdullah?"</p> + +<p>"Right away. I'll need somebody to help me,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> though. I can't do much +the way you have me bandaged up."</p> + +<p>"I think we'd better send a couple of parties out," Ramón Llewellyn +said. "We'll have to find a better place to stay than this boat. We +don't all have parkas or lined boots, and we have a couple of injured +men. This heater won't be enough; in about seventy hours we'd all +freeze to death sitting around it."</p> + +<p>Somebody mentioned the possibility of finding a cave.</p> + +<p>"I doubt it," Llewellyn said. "I was on an exploring expedition down +here, once. This is all igneous rock, mostly granite. There aren't +many caves. But there may be some sort of natural shelter, or +something we can make into a shelter, not too far away. We have two +half-ton lifters; we could use them to pile up rocks and build +something. Let's make up two parties. I'll take one; Abe, you take the +other. One of us can go up and the other can go down."</p> + +<p>We picked parties, trying to get men who had enough clothing and +hadn't been too badly banged around in the landing. Tom wanted to go +along, but Abdullah insisted that he stay and help with the inspection +of the boat's engines. Finally six of us—Llewellyn, myself, Glenn +Murell, Abe Clifford, old Piet Dumont, and another man—went out +through the broken stern of the boat. We had two portable +floodlights—a scout boat carries a lot of equipment—and Llewellyn +took the one and Clifford the other. It had begun to snow already, and +the wind was coming straight up the narrow ravine into which we had +landed, driving it at us. There was a stream between the two walls<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> of +rock, swollen by the rains that had come just before the darkness, and +the rocks in and beside it were coated with ice. We took one look at +it and shook our heads. Any exploring we did would be done without +trying to cross that. We stood for a few minutes trying to see through +the driving snow, and then we separated, Abe Clifford, Dumont and the +other man going up the stream and Ramón Llewellyn, Glenn Murell and I +going down.</p> + +<p>A few hundred yards below the boat, the stream went over a fifty-foot +waterfall. We climbed down beside it, and found the ravine widening. +It was a level beach, now, or what had been a beach thousands of years +ago. The whole coast of Hermann Reuch's land is sinking in the Eastern +Hemisphere and rising in the Western. We turned away from the stream +and found that the wind was increasing in strength and coming at us +from the left instead of in front. The next thing we knew, we were at +the point of the mountain on our right and we could hear the sea +roaring ahead and on both sides of us. Tom had been right about that +V-shaped fjord, I thought.</p> + +<p>We began running into scattered trees now, and when we got around the +point of the mountain we entered another valley.</p> + +<p>Trees, like everything else on Fenris, are considerably different from +anything analogous on normal planets. They aren't tall, the biggest +not more than fifteen feet high, but they are from six to eight feet +thick, with all the branches at the top, sprouting out in all +directions and reminding me of pictures of Medusa. The outside bark is +a hard shell, which grows during the beginning of our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> four hot +seasons a year. Under that will be more bark, soft and spongy, and +this gets more and more dense toward the middle; and then comes the +hardwood core, which may be as much as two feet thick.</p> + +<p>"One thing, we have firewood," Murell said, looking at them.</p> + +<p>"What'll we cut it with; our knives?" I wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"Oh, we have a sonocutter on the boat," Ramón Llewellyn said. "We can +chop these things into thousand-pound chunks and float them to camp +with the lifters. We could soak the spongy stuff on the outside with +water and let it freeze, and build a hut out of it, too." He looked +around, as far as the light penetrated the driving snow. "This +wouldn't be a bad place to camp."</p> + +<p>Not if we're going to try to work on the boat, I thought. And packing +Dominic, with his broken leg, down over that waterfall was something I +didn't want to try, either. I didn't say anything. Wait till we got +back to the boat. It was too cold and windy here to argue, and +besides, we didn't know what Abe and his party might have found +upstream.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C12" id="C12"></a>12</h2> + +<h3>CASTAWAYS WORKING</h3> + + +<p>We had been away from the boat for about two hours; when we got back, +I saw that Abdullah and his helpers had gotten the deck plates off the +engine well and used them to build a more substantial barricade at the +ruptured stern. The heater was going and the boat was warm inside, not +just relatively to the outside, but actually comfortable. It was even +more crowded, however, because there was a ton of collapsium +shielding, in four sections, and the generator and power unit, piled +in the middle. Abdullah and Tom and Hans Cronje were looking at the +converters, which to my not very knowing eye seemed to be in a +hopeless mess.</p> + +<p>There was some more work going on up at the front. Cesário Vieira had +found a small portable radio that wasn't in too bad condition, and had +it apart. I thought he was doing about the most effective work of +anybody, and waded over the pile of engine parts to see what he was +doing. It wasn't much of a radio. A hundred miles was the absolute +limit of its range, at least for sending.</p> + +<p>"Is this all we have?" I asked, looking at it. It was the same type as +the one I carried on the job,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> camouflaged in a camera case, except +that it wouldn't record.</p> + +<p>"There's the regular boat radio, but it's smashed up pretty badly. I +was thinking we could do something about cannibalizing one radio out +of parts from both of them."</p> + +<p>We use a lot of radio equipment on the <i>Times</i>, and I do a good bit of +work on it. I started taking the big set apart and then remembered the +receiver for the locator and got at that, too. The trouble was that +most of the stuff in all the sets had been miniaturized to a point +where watchmaker's tools would have been pretty large for working on +them, and all we had was a general-repair kit that was just about fine +enough for gunsmithing.</p> + +<p>While we were fooling around with the radios, Ramón Llewellyn was +telling the others what we found up the other branch of the fjord. Joe +Kivelson shook his head over it.</p> + +<p>"That's too far from the boat. We can't trudge back and forth to work +on the engines. We could cut firewood down there and float it up with +the lifters, and I think that's a good idea about using slabs of the +soft wood to build a hut. But let's build the hut right here."</p> + +<p>"Well, suppose I take a party down now and start cutting?" the mate +asked.</p> + +<p>"Not yet. Wait till Abe gets back and we see what he found upstream. +There may be something better up there."</p> + +<p>Tom, who had been poking around in the converters, said:</p> + +<p>"I think we can forget about the engines. This is a machine-shop job. +We need parts, and we haven't anything to make them out of or with."</p> + +<p>That was about what I'd thought. Tom knew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> more about lift-and-drive +engines than I'd ever learn, and I was willing to take his opinion as +confirmation of my own.</p> + +<p>"Tom, take a look at this mess," I said. "See if you can help us with +it."</p> + +<p>He came over, looked at what we were working on, and said, "You need a +magnifier for this. Wait till I see something." Then he went over to +one of the lockers, rummaged in it, and found a pair of binoculars. He +came over to us again, sat down, and began to take them apart. As soon +as he had the two big objective lenses out, we had two fairly good +magnifying glasses.</p> + +<p>That was a big help, but being able to see what had to be done was one +thing, and having tools to do it was another. So he found a sewing kit +and a piece of emery stone, and started making little screwdrivers out +of needles.</p> + +<p>After a while, Abe Clifford and Piet Dumont and the other man returned +and made a beeline for the heater and the coffeepot. After Abe was +warmed a little, he said:</p> + +<p>"There's a little waterfall about half a mile up. It isn't too hard to +get up over it, and above, the ground levels off into a big +bowl-shaped depression that looks as if it had been a lake bottom, +once. The wind isn't so bad up there, and this whole lake bottom or +whatever it is is grown up with trees. It would be a good place to +make a camp, if it wasn't so far from the boat."</p> + +<p>"How hard would it be to cut wood up there and bring it down?" Joe +asked, going on to explain what he had in mind.</p> + +<p>"Why, easy. I don't think it would be nearly as hard as the place +Ramón found."</p> + +<p>"Neither do I," the mate agreed. "Climbing up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> that waterfall down the +stream with a half tree trunk would be a lot harder than dropping one +over beside the one above." He began zipping up his parka. "Let's get +the cutter and the lifters and go up now."</p> + +<p>"Wait till I warm up a little, and I'll go with you," Abe said.</p> + +<p>Then he came over to where Cesário and Tom and I were working, to see +what we were doing. He chucked appreciatively at the midget +screwdrivers and things Tom was making.</p> + +<p>"I'll take that back, Ramón," he said. "I can do a lot more good right +here. Have you taken any of the radio navigational equipment apart, +yet?" he asked us.</p> + +<p>We hadn't. We didn't know anything about it.</p> + +<p>"Well, I think we can get some stuff out of the astrocompass that can +be used. Let me in here, will you?"</p> + +<p>I got up. "You take over for me," I said. "I'll go on the +wood-chopping detail."</p> + +<p>Tom wanted to go, too; Abe told him to keep on with his toolmaking. +Piet Dumont said he'd guide us, and Glenn Murell said he'd go along. +There was some swapping around of clothes and we gathered up the two +lifters and the sonocutter and a floodlight and started upstream.</p> + +<p>The waterfall above the boat was higher than the one below, but not +quite so hard to climb, especially as we had the two lifters to help +us. The worst difficulty, and the worst danger, was from the wind.</p> + +<p>Once we were at the top, though, it wasn't so bad. We went a couple of +hundred yards through a narrow gorge, and then we came out onto the +old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> lake bottom Abe had spoken about. As far as our lights would +shine in the snow, we could see stubby trees with snaky branches +growing out of the tops.</p> + +<p>We just started on the first one we came to, slicing the down-hanging +branches away to get at the trunk and then going to work on that. We +took turns using the sonocutter, and the rest of us stamped around to +keep warm. The first trunk must have weighed a ton and a half, even +after the branches were all off; we could barely lift one end of it +with both lifters. The spongy stuff, which changed from bark to wood +as it went in to the middle, was two feet thick. We cut that off in +slabs, to use for building the hut. The hardwood core, once we could +get it lit, would make a fine hot fire. We could cut that into +burnable pieces after we got it to camp. We didn't bother with the +slashings; just threw them out of the way. There was so much big stuff +here that the branches weren't worth taking in.</p> + +<p>We had eight trees down and cut into slabs and billets before we +decided to knock off. We didn't realize until then how tired and cold +we were. A couple of us had taken the wood to the waterfall and heaved +it over at the side as fast as the others got the trees down and cut +up. If we only had another cutter and a couple more lifters, I +thought. If we only had an airworthy boat....</p> + +<p>When we got back to camp, everybody who wasn't crippled and had enough +clothes to get away from the heater came out and helped. First, we got +a fire started—there was a small arc torch, and we needed that to get +the dense hardwood burning—and then we began building a hut<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> against +the boat. Everybody worked on that but Dominic Silverstein. Even Abe +and Cesário knocked off work on the radio, and Joe Kivelson and the +man with the broken wrist gave us a little one-handed help. By this +time, the wind had fallen and the snow was coming down thicker. We +made snow shovels out of the hard outer bark, although they broke in +use pretty often, and banked snow up against the hut. I lost track of +how long we worked, but finally we had a place we could all get into, +with a fireplace, and it was as warm and comfortable as the inside of +the boat.</p> + +<p>We had to keep cutting wood, though. Before long it would be too cold +to work up in the woods, or even go back and forth between the woods +and the camp. The snow finally stopped, and then the sky began to +clear and we could see stars. That didn't make us happy at all. As +long as the sky was clouded and the snow was falling, some of the heat +that had been stored during the long day was being conserved. Now it +was all radiating away into space.</p> + +<p>The stream froze completely, even the waterfall. In a way, that was a +help; we could slide wood down over it, and some of the billets would +slide a couple of hundred yards downstream. But the cold was getting +to us. We only had a few men working at woodcutting—Cesário, and old +Piet Dumont, and Abe Clifford and I, because we were the smallest and +could wear bigger men's parkas and overpants over our own. But as long +as any of us could pile on enough clothing and waddle out of the hut, +we didn't dare stop. If the firewood ran out, we'd all freeze stiff in +no time at all.</p> + +<p>Abe Clifford got the radio working, at last. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> was a peculiar job as +ever was, but he thought it would have a range of about five hundred +miles. Somebody kept at it all the time, calling Mayday. I think it +was Bish Ware who told me that Mayday didn't have anything to do with +the day after the last of April; it was Old Terran French, <i>m'aidez</i>, +meaning "help me." I wondered how Bish was getting along, and I wasn't +too optimistic about him.</p> + +<p>Cesário and Abe and I were up at the waterfall, picking up loads of +firewood—we weren't bothering, now, with anything but the hard and +slow-burning cores—and had just gotten two of them hooked onto the +lifters. I straightened for a moment and looked around. There wasn't a +cloud in the sky, and two of Fenris's three moons were making +everything as bright as day. The glisten of the snow and the frozen +waterfall in the double moonlight was beautiful.</p> + +<p>I turned to Cesário. "See what all you'll miss, if you take your next +reincarnation off Fenris," I said. "This, and the long sunsets and +sunrises, and—"</p> + +<p>Before I could list any more sights unique to our planet, the 7-mm +machine gun, down at the boat, began hammering; a short burst, and +then another, and another and another.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C13" id="C13"></a>13</h2> + +<h3>THE BEACON LIGHT</h3> + + +<p>We all said, "Shooting!" and, "The machine gun!" as though we had to +tell each other what it was.</p> + +<p>"Something's attacking them," Cesário guessed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there isn't anything to attack them now," Abe said. "All the +critters are dug in for the winter. I'll bet they're just using it to +chop wood with."</p> + +<p>That could be; a few short bursts would knock off all the soft wood +from one of those big billets and expose the hard core. Only why +didn't they use the cutter? It was at the boat now.</p> + +<p>"We better go see what it is," Cesário insisted. "It might be +trouble."</p> + +<p>None of us was armed; we'd never thought we'd need weapons. There are +quite a few Fenrisian land animals, all creepers or crawlers, that are +dangerous, but they spend the extreme hot and cold periods in burrows, +in almost cataleptic sleep. It occurred to me that something might +have burrowed among the rocks near the camp and been roused by the +heat of the fire.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> + +<p>We hadn't carried a floodlight with us—there was no need for one in +the moonlight. Of the two at camp, one was pointed up the ravine +toward us, and the other into the air. We began yelling as soon as we +caught sight of them, not wanting to be dusted over lightly with +7-mm's before anybody recognized us. As soon as the men at the camp +heard us, the shooting stopped and they started shouting to us. Then +we could distinguish words.</p> + +<p>"Come on in! We made contact!"</p> + +<p>We pushed into the hut, where everybody was crowded around the +underhatch of the boat, which was now the side door. Abe shoved +through, and I shoved in after him. Newsman's conditioned reflex; get +to where the story is. I even caught myself saying, "Press," as I +shoved past Abdullah Monnahan.</p> + +<p>"What happened?" I asked, as soon as I was inside. I saw Joe Kivelson +getting up from the radio and making place for Abe. "Who did you +contact?"</p> + +<p>"The Mahatma; <i>Helldiver</i>," he said. "Signal's faint, but plain; +they're trying to make a directional fix on us. There are about a +dozen ships out looking for us: <i>Helldiver</i>, <i>Pequod</i>, <i>Bulldog</i>, +<i>Dirty Gertie</i>..." He went on naming them.</p> + +<p>"How did they find out?" I wanted to know. "Somebody pick up our +Mayday while we were cruising submerged?"</p> + +<p>Abe Clifford was swearing into the radio. "No, of course not. We don't +know where in Nifflheim we are. All the instruments in the boat were +smashed."</p> + +<p>"Well, can't you shoot the stars, Abe?" The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> voice—I thought it was +Feinberg's—was almost as inaudible as a cat's sneeze.</p> + +<p>"Sure we can. If you're in range of this makeshift set, the position +we'd get would be practically the same as yours," Abe told him. "Look, +there's a floodlight pointed straight up. Can you see that?"</p> + +<p>"In all this moonlight? We could be half a mile away and not see it."</p> + +<p>"We've been firing with a 7-mm," the navigator said.</p> + +<p>"I know; I heard it. On the radio. Have you got any rockets? Maybe if +you shot one of them up we could see it."</p> + +<p>"Hey, that's an idea! Hans, have we another rocket with an explosive +head?"</p> + +<p>Cronje said we had, and he and another man got it out and carried it +from the boat. I repeated my question to Joe Kivelson.</p> + +<p>"No. Your Dad tried to call the <i>Javelin</i> by screen; that must have +been after we abandoned ship. He didn't get an answer, and put out a +general call. Nip Spazoni was nearest, and he cruised around and +picked up the locator signal and found the wreck, with the boat berth +blown open and the boat gone. Then everybody started looking for us."</p> + +<p>Feinberg was saying that he'd call the other ships and alert them. If +the <i>Helldiver</i> was the only ship we could contact by radio, the odds +were that if they couldn't see the rocket from Feinberg's ship, nobody +else could. The same idea must have occurred to Abe Clifford.</p> + +<p>"You say you're all along the coast. Are the other ships west or east +of you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> + +<p>"West, as far as I know."</p> + +<p>"Then we must be way east of you. Where are you now?"</p> + +<p>"About five hundred miles east of Sancerre Bay."</p> + +<p>That meant we must be at least a thousand miles east of the bay. I +could see how that happened. Both times the boat had surfaced, it had +gone straight up, lift and drive operating together. There is a +constant wind away from the sunlight zone at high level, heated air +that has been lifted, and there is a wind at a lower level out of the +dark zone, coming in to replace it. We'd gotten completely above the +latter and into the former.</p> + +<p>There was some yelling outside, and then I could hear Hans Cronje:</p> + +<p>"Rocket's ready for vertical launching. Ten seconds, nine, eight, +seven, six, five, four, three, two, one; rocket off!"</p> + +<p>There was a whoosh outside. Clifford, at the radio, repeated: "Rocket +off!" Then it banged, high overhead. "Did you see it? he asked.</p> + +<p>"Didn't see a thing," Feinberg told him.</p> + +<p>"Hey, I know what they would see!" Tom Kivelson burst out. "Say we go +up and set the woods on fire?"</p> + +<p>"Hey, that's an idea. Listen, Mahatma; we have a big forest of +flowerpot trees up on a plateau above us. Say we set that on fire. +Think you could see it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't see why not, even in this moonlight. Wait a minute, till I +call the other ships."</p> + +<p>Tom was getting into warm outer garments. Cesário got out the arc +torch, and he and Tom and I raced out through the hut and outdoors. +We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> hastened up the path that had been tramped and dragged to the +waterfall, got the lifters off the logs, and used them to help +ourselves up over the rocks beside the waterfall.</p> + +<p>We hadn't bothered doing anything with the slashings, except to get +them out of our way, while we were working. Now we gathered them into +piles among the trees, placing them to take advantage of what little +wind was still blowing, and touched them off with the arc torch. Soon +we had the branches of the trees burning, and then the soft outer wood +of the trunks. It actually began to get uncomfortably hot, although +the temperature was now down around minus 90° Fahrenheit.</p> + +<p>Cesário was using the torch. After he got all the slashings on fire, +he started setting fire to the trees themselves, going all around them +and getting the soft outer wood burning. As soon as he had one tree +lit, he would run on to another.</p> + +<p>"This guy's a real pyromaniac," Tom said to me, wiping his face on the +sleeve of his father's parka which he was wearing over his own.</p> + +<p>"Sure I am," Cesário took time out to reply. "You know who I was about +fifty reincarnations ago? Nero, burning Rome." Theosophists never +hesitated to make fun of their religion, that way. The way they see +it, a thing isn't much good if it can't stand being made fun of. "And +look at the job I did on Moscow, a little later."</p> + +<p>"Sure; I remember that. I was Napoleon then. What I'd have done to you +if I'd caught you, too."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I know what he was in another reincarnation," Tom added. +"Mrs. O'Leary's cow!"</p> + +<p>Whether or not Cesário really had had any past astral experience, he +made a good job of firebug<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>ging on this forest. We waited around for a +while, far enough back for the heat to be just comfortable and +pleasant, until we were sure that it was burning well on both sides of +the frozen stream. It even made the double moonlight dim, and it was +sending up huge clouds of fire-reddened smoke, and where the fire +didn't light the smoke, it was black in the moonlight. There wouldn't +be any excuse for anybody not seeing that. Finally, we started back to +camp.</p> + +<p>As soon as we got within earshot, we could hear the excitement. +Everybody was jumping and yelling. "They see it! They see it!"</p> + +<p>The boat was full of voices, too, from the radio:</p> + +<p>"<i>Pequod</i> to <i>Dirty Gertie</i>, we see it, too, just off our port bow... +Yes, <i>Bulldog</i>, we see your running lights; we're right behind you... +<i>Slasher</i> to <i>Pequod</i>: we can't see you at all. Fire a flare, +please..."</p> + +<p>I pushed in to the radio. "This is Walter Boyd, <i>Times</i> representative +with the <i>Javelin</i> castaways," I said. "Has anybody a portable +audiovisual pickup that I can use to get some pictures in to my paper +with?"</p> + +<p>That started general laughter among the operators on the ships that +were coming in.</p> + +<p>"We have one, Walt," Oscar Fujisawa's voice told me. "I'm coming in +ahead in the <i>Pequod</i> scout boat; I'll bring it with me."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, Oscar," I said. Then I asked him: "Did you see Bish Ware +before you left port?"</p> + +<p>"I should say I did!" Oscar told me. "You can thank Bish Ware that +we're out looking for you now. Tell you about it as soon as we get +in."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C14" id="C14"></a>14</h2> + +<h3>THE RESCUE</h3> + + +<p>The scout boat from the <i>Pequod</i> came in about thirty minutes later, +from up the ravine where the forest fire was sending up flame and +smoke. It passed over the boat and the hut beside it and the crowd of +us outside, and I could see Oscar in the machine gunner's seat aiming +a portable audiovisual telecast camera. After he got a view of us, +cheering and waving our arms, the boat came back and let down. We ran +to it, all of us except the man with the broken leg and a couple who +didn't have enough clothes to leave the fire, and as the boat opened I +could hear Oscar saying:</p> + +<p>"Now I am turning you over to Walter Boyd, the <i>Times</i> correspondent +with the <i>Javelin</i> castaways."</p> + +<p>He gave me the camera when he got out, followed by his gunner, and I +got a view of them, and of the boat lifting and starting west to guide +the ships in. Then I shut it off and said to him:</p> + +<p>"What's this about Bish Ware? You said he was the one who started the +search."</p> + +<p>"That's right," Oscar said. "About thirty hours after you left port, +he picked up some things that made him think the <i>Javelin</i> had been +sabotaged.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> He went to your father, and he contacted me—Mohandas +Feinberg and I still had our ships in port—and started calling the +<i>Javelin</i> by screen. When he couldn't get response, your father put +out a general call to all hunter-ships. Nip Spazoni reported boarding +the <i>Javelin</i>, and then went searching the area where he thought you'd +been hunting, picked up your locator signal, and found the <i>Javelin</i> +on the bottom with her bow blown out and the boat berth open and the +boat gone. We all figured you'd head south with the boat, and that's +where we went to look."</p> + +<p>"Well, Bish Ware; he was dead drunk, last I heard of him," Joe +Kivelson said.</p> + +<p>"Aah, just an act," Oscar said. "That was to fool the city cops, and +anybody else who needed fooling. It worked so well that he was able to +crash a party Steve Ravick was throwing at Hunters' Hall, after the +meeting. That was where he picked up some hints that Ravick had a spy +in the <i>Javelin</i> crew. He spent the next twenty or so hours following +that up, and heard about your man Devis straining his back. He found +out what Devis did on the <i>Javelin</i>, and that gave him the idea that +whatever the sabotage was, it would be something to the engines. What +did happen, by the way?"</p> + +<p>A couple of us told him, interrupting one another. He nodded.</p> + +<p>"That was what Nip Spazoni thought when he looked at the ship. Well, +after that he talked to your father and to me, and then your father +began calling and we heard from Nip."</p> + +<p>You could see that it absolutely hurt Joe Kivelson to have to owe his +life to Bish Ware.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, it's lucky anybody listened to him," he grudged. "I wouldn't +have."</p> + +<p>"No, I guess maybe you wouldn't," Oscar told him, not very cordially. +"I think he did a mighty sharp piece of detective work, myself."</p> + +<p>I nodded, and then, all of a sudden, another idea, under <i>Bish Ware, +Reformation of</i>, hit me. Detective work; that was it. We could use a +good private detective agency in Port Sandor. Maybe I could talk him +into opening one. He could make a go of it. He had all kinds of +contacts, he was handy with a gun, and if he recruited a couple of +tough but honest citizens who were also handy with guns and built up a +protective and investigative organization, it would fill a long-felt +need and at the same time give him something beside Baldur honey-rum +to take his mind off whatever he was drinking to keep from thinking +about. If he only stayed sober half the time, that would be a fifty +per cent success.</p> + +<p>Ramón Llewellyn was wanting to know whether anybody'd done anything +about Al Devis.</p> + +<p>"We didn't have time to bother with any Al Devises," Oscar said. "As +soon as Bish figured out what had happened aboard the <i>Javelin</i>, we +knew you'd need help and need it fast. He's keeping an eye on Al for +us till we get back."</p> + +<p>"That's if he doesn't get any drunker and forget," Joe said.</p> + +<p>Everybody, even Tom, looked at him in angry reproach.</p> + +<p>"We better find out what he drinks and buy you a jug of it, Joe," +Oscar's gunner told him.</p> + +<p>The <i>Helldiver</i>, which had been closest to us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> when our signal had +been picked up, was the first ship in. She let down into the ravine, +after some maneuvering around, and Mohandas Feinberg and half a dozen +of his crew got off with an improvised stretcher on a lifter and a lot +of blankets. We got our broken-leg case aboard, and Abdullah Monnahan, +and the man with the broken wrist. There were more ships coming, so +the rest of us waited. Joe Kivelson should have gone on the +<i>Helldiver</i>, to have his broken arm looked at, but a captain's always +the last man off, so he stayed.</p> + +<p>Oscar said he'd take Tom and Joe, and Glenn Murell and me, on the +<i>Pequod</i>. I was glad of that. Oscar and his mate and his navigator are +all bachelors, and they use the <i>Pequod</i> to throw parties on when +they're not hunting, so it is more comfortably fitted than the usual +hunter-ship. Joe decided not to try to take anything away from the +boat. He was going to do something about raising the <i>Javelin</i>, and +the salvage ship could stop here and pick everything up.</p> + +<p>"Well, one thing," Oscar told him. "Bring that machine gun, and what +small arms you have. I think things are going to get sort of rough in +Port Sandor, in the next twenty or so hours."</p> + +<p>I was beginning to think so, myself. The men who had gotten off the +<i>Helldiver</i>, and the ones who got off Corkscrew Finnegan's <i>Dirty +Gertie</i> and Nip Spazoni's <i>Bulldog</i> were all talking about what was +going to have to be done about Steve Ravick. Bombing <i>Javelin</i> would +have been a good move for Ravick, if it had worked. It hadn't, though, +and now it was likely to be the thing that would finish him for good.</p> + +<p>It wasn't going to be any picnic, either. He had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> his gang of +hoodlums, and he could count on Morton Hallstock's twenty or thirty +city police; they'd put up a fight, and a hard one. And they were all +together, and the hunter fleet was coming in one ship at a time. I +wondered if the Ravick-Hallstock gang would try to stop them at the +water front, or concentrate at Hunters' Hall or the Municipal Building +to stand siege. I knew one thing, though. However things turned out, +there was going to be an awful lot of shooting in Port Sandor before +it was over.</p> + +<p>Finally, everybody had been gotten onto one ship or another but Oscar +and his gunner and the Kivelsons and Murell and myself. Then the +<i>Pequod</i>, which had been circling around at five thousand feet, let +down and we went aboard. The conning tower was twice as long as usual +on a hunter-ship, and furnished with a lot of easy chairs and a couple +of couches. There was a big combination view and communication screen, +and I hurried to that and called the <i>Times</i>.</p> + +<p>Dad came on, as soon as I finished punching the wave-length +combination. He was in his shirt sleeves, and he was wearing a gun. I +guess we made kind of a show of ourselves, but, after all, he'd come +within an ace of being all out of family, and I'd come within an ace +of being all out, period. After we got through with the happy reunion, +I asked him what was the situation in Port Sandor. He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Not good, Walt. The word's gotten around that there was a bomb +planted aboard the <i>Javelin</i>, and everybody's taking just one guess +who did it. We haven't expressed any opinions one way or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> another, +yet. We've been waiting for confirmation."</p> + +<p>"Set for recording," I said. "I'll give you the story as far as we +know it."</p> + +<p>He nodded, reached one hand forward out of the picture, and then +nodded again. I began with our killing the monster and going down to +the bottom after the cutting-up, and the explosion. I told him what we +had seen after leaving the ship and circling around it in the boat.</p> + +<p>"The condition of the hull looked very much like the effect of a +charge of high explosive exploding in the engine room," I finished.</p> + +<p>"We got some views of it, transmitted in by Captain Spazoni, of the +<i>Bulldog</i>," he said. "Captain Courtland, of the Spaceport Police, has +expressed the opinion that it could hardly be anything but a small +demolition bomb. Would you say accident can be ruled out?"</p> + +<p>"I would. There was nobody in the engine room at the time; we were +resting on the bottom, and all hands were in the wardroom."</p> + +<p>"That's good enough," Dad said. "We'll run it as 'very convincing and +almost conclusive' evidence of sabotage." He'd shut off the recorder +for that. "Can I get the story of how you abandoned ship and landed, +now?"</p> + +<p>His hand moved forward, and the recorder went on again. I gave a brief +account of our experiences in the boat, the landing and wreck, and our +camp, and the firewood cutting, and how we had repaired the radio. Joe +Kivelson talked for a while, and so did Tom and Glenn Murell. I was +going to say something when they finished, and I sat down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> on one of +the couches. I distinctly remember leaning back and relaxing.</p> + +<p>The next thing I knew, Oscar Fujisawa's mate was shaking me awake.</p> + +<p>"We're in sight of Port Sandor," he was telling me.</p> + +<p>I mumbled something, and then sat up and found that I had been lying +down and that somebody had thrown a blanket over me. Tom Kivelson was +still asleep under a blanket on the other couch, across from me. The +clock over the instrument panel had moved eight G.S. hours. Joe +Kivelson wasn't in sight, but Glenn Murell and Oscar were drinking +coffee. I went to the front window, and there was a scarlet glow on +the horizon ahead of me.</p> + +<p>That's another sight Cesário Vieria will miss, if he takes his next +reincarnation off Fenris. Really, it's nothing but damp, warm air, +blown up from the exhaust of the city's main ventilation plant, +condensing and freezing as it hits the cold air outside, and +floodlighted from below. I looked at it for a while, and then got +myself a cup of coffee and when I had finished it I went to the +screen.</p> + +<p>It was still tuned to the <i>Times</i>, and Mohandas Feinberg was sitting +in front of it, smoking one of his twisted black cigars. He had a big +10-mm Sterberg stuffed into the waistband of his trousers.</p> + +<p>"You guys poked along," he said. "I always thought the <i>Pequod</i> was +fast. We got in three hours ago."</p> + +<p>"Who else is in?"</p> + +<p>"Corkscrew and some of his gang are here at the <i>Times</i>, now. +<i>Bulldog</i> and <i>Slasher</i> just got in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> while ago. Some of the ships +that were farthest west and didn't go to your camp have been in quite +a while. We're having a meeting here. We are organizing the Port +Sandor Vigilance Committee and Renegade Hunters' Co-operative."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C15" id="C15"></a>15</h2> + +<h3>VIGILANTES</h3> + + +<p>When the <i>Pequod</i> surfaced under the city roof, I saw what was +cooking. There were twenty or more ships, either on the concrete docks +or afloat in the pools. The waterfront was crowded with men in boat +clothes, forming little knots and breaking up to join other groups, +all milling about talking excitedly. Most of them were armed; not just +knives and pistols, which is normal costume, but heavy rifles or +submachine guns. Down to the left, there was a commotion and people +were getting out of the way as a dozen men come pushing through, +towing a contragravity skid with a 50-mm ship's gun on it. I began not +liking the looks of things, and Glenn Murell, who had come up from his +nap below, was liking it even less. He'd come to Fenris to buy +tallow-wax, not to fight a civil war. I didn't want any of that stuff, +either. Getting rid of Ravick, Hallstock and Belsher would come under +the head of civic improvements, but towns are rarely improved by +having battles fought in them.</p> + +<p>Maybe I should have played dumb and waited till I'd talked to Dad face +to face, before making any statements about what had happened on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +<i>Javelin</i>, I thought. Then I shrugged that off. From the minute the +<i>Javelin</i> had failed to respond to Dad's screen-call and the general +call had gone out to the hunter-fleet, everybody had been positive of +what had happened. It was too much like the loss of the <i>Claymore</i>, +which had made Ravick president of the Co-op.</p> + +<p>Port Sandor had just gotten all of Steve Ravick that anybody could +take. They weren't going to have any more of him, and that was all +there was to it.</p> + +<p>Joe Kivelson was grumbling about his broken arm; that meant that when +a fight started, he could only go in swinging with one fist, and that +would cut the fun in half. Another reason why Joe is a wretched shot +is that he doesn't like pistols. They're a little too impersonal to +suit him. They weren't for Oscar Fujisawa; he had gotten a +Mars-Consolidated Police Special out of the chart-table drawer and put +it on, and he was loading cartridges into a couple of spare clips. +Down on the main deck, the gunner was serving out small arms, and +there was an acrimonious argument because everybody wanted a chopper +and there weren't enough choppers to go around. Oscar went over to the +ladder head and shouted down at them.</p> + +<p>"Knock off the argument, down there; you people are all going to stay +on the ship. I'm going up to the <i>Times</i>; as soon as I'm off, float +her out into the inner channel and keep her afloat, and don't let +anybody aboard you're not sure of."</p> + +<p>"That where we're going?" Joe Kivelson asked.</p> + +<p>"Sure. That's the safest place in town for Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> Murell and I want to +find out exactly what's going on here."</p> + +<p>"Well, here; you don't need to put me in storage," Murell protested. +"I can take care of myself."</p> + +<p>Add, Famous Last Words, I thought.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure of it, but we can't take any chances," Oscar told him. +"Right now, you are Fenris's Indispensable Man. If you're not around +to buy tallow-wax, Ravick's won the war."</p> + +<p>Oscar and Murell and Joe and Tom Kivelson and I went down into the +boat; somebody opened the port and we floated out and lifted onto the +Second Level Down. There was a fringe of bars and cafes and dance +halls and outfitters and ship chandlers for a couple of blocks back, +and then we ran into the warehouse district. Oscar ran up town to a +vehicle shaft above the Times Building, careful to avoid the +neighborhood of Hunters' Hall or the Municipal Building.</p> + +<p>There was a big crowd around the <i>Times</i>, mostly business district +people and quite a few women. They were mostly out on the street and +inside the street-floor vehicle port. Not a disorderly crowd, but I +noticed quite a few rifles and submachine guns. As we slipped into the +vehicle port, they recognized the <i>Pequod's</i> boat, and there was a +rush after it. We had trouble getting down without setting it on +anybody, and more trouble getting out of it. They were all +friendly—too friendly for comfort. They began cheering us as soon as +they saw us.</p> + +<p>Oscar got Joe Kivelson, with his arm in a sling, out in front where he +could be seen, and began shouting: "Please make way; this man's been +in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>jured. Please don't crowd; we have an injured man here." The crowd +began shoving back, and in the rear I could hear them taking it up: +"Joe Kivelson; he's been hurt. They're carrying Joe Kivelson off." +That made Joe curse a blue streak, and somebody said, "Oh, he's been +hurt real bad; just listen to him!"</p> + +<p>When we got up to the editorial floor, Dad and Bish Ware and a few +others were waiting at the elevator for us. Bish was dressed as he +always was, in his conservative black suit, with the organic opal +glowing in his neckcloth. Dad had put a coat on over his gun. Julio was +wearing two pistols and a knife a foot long. There was a big crowd in +the editorial office—ships' officers, merchants, professional people. I +noticed Sigurd Ngozori, the banker, and Professor Hartzenbosch—he was +wearing a pistol, too, rather self-consciously—and the Zen Buddhist +priest, who evidently had something under his kimono. They all greeted +us enthusiastically and shook hands with us. I noticed that Joe Kivelson +was something less than comfortable about shaking hands with Bish Ware. +The fact that Bish had started the search for the <i>Javelin</i> that had +saved our lives didn't alter the opinion Joe had formed long ago that +Bish was just a worthless old souse. Joe's opinions are all +collapsium-plated and impervious to outside influence.</p> + +<p>I got Bish off to one side as we were going into the editorial room.</p> + +<p>"How did you get onto it?" I asked.</p> + +<p>He chuckled deprecatingly. "No trick at all," he said. "I just +circulated and bought drinks for people. The trouble with Ravick's +gang, it's an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> army of mercenaries. They'll do anything for the price +of a drink, and as long as my rich uncle stays solvent, I always have +the price of a drink. In the five years I've spent in this Garden Spot +of the Galaxy, I've learned some pretty surprising things about Steve +Ravick's operations."</p> + +<p>"Well, surely, nobody was going around places like Martian Joe's or +One Eye Swanson's boasting that they'd put a time bomb aboard the +<i>Javelin</i>," I said.</p> + +<p>"It came to pretty nearly that," Bish said. "You'd be amazed at how +careless people who've had their own way for a long time can get. For +instance, I've known for some time that Ravick has spies among the +crews of a lot of hunter-ships. I tried, a few times, to warn some of +these captains, but except for Oscar Fujisawa and Corkscrew Finnegan, +none of them would listen to me. It wasn't that they had any doubt +that Ravick would do that; they just wouldn't believe that any of +their crew were traitors.</p> + +<p>"I've suspected this Devis for a long time, and I've spoken to Ramón +Llewellyn about him, but he just let it go in one ear and out the +other. For one thing, Devis always has more money to spend than his +share of the <i>Javelin</i> take would justify. He's the showoff type; +always buying drinks for everybody and playing the big shot. Claims to +win it gambling, but all the times I've ever seen him gambling, he's +been losing.</p> + +<p>"I knew about this hoard of wax we saw the day Murell came in for some +time. I always thought it was being held out to squeeze a better price +out of Belsher and Ravick. Then this friend of mine with whom I was +talking aboard the <i>Peenemünde</i> men<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>tioned that Murell seemed to know +more about the tallow-wax business than about literary matters, and +after what happened at the meeting and afterward, I began putting two +and two together. When I crashed that party at Hunters' Hall, I heard +a few things, and they all added up.</p> + +<p>"And then, about thirty hours after the Javelin left port, I was in +the Happy Haven, and who should I see, buying drinks for the house, +but Al Devis. I let him buy me one, and he told me he'd strained his +back hand-lifting a power-unit cartridge. A square dance got started a +little later, and he got into it. His back didn't look very strained +to me. And then I heard a couple of characters in One Eye Swanson's +betting that the <i>Javelin</i> would never make port again."</p> + +<p>I knew what had happened from then on. If it hadn't been for Bish +Ware, we'd still be squatting around a fire down on the coast of +Hermann Reuch's Land till it got too cold to cut wood, and then we'd +freeze. I mentioned that, but Bish just shrugged it off and suggested +we go on in and see what was happening inside.</p> + +<p>"Where is Al Devis?" I asked. "A lot of people want to talk to him."</p> + +<p>"I know they do. I want to get to him first, while he's still in +condition to do some talking of his own. But he just dropped out of +sight, about the time your father started calling the <i>Javelin</i>."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" I drew a finger across under my chin, and mentioned the class of +people who tell no tales. Bish shook his head slowly.</p> + +<p>"I doubt it," he said. "Not unless it was absolutely necessary. That +sort of thing would have a discouraging effect the next time Ravick +wanted a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> special job done. I'm pretty sure he isn't at Hunters' Hall, +but he's hiding somewhere."</p> + +<p>Joe Kivelson had finished telling what had happened aboard the +<i>Javelin</i> when we joined the main crowd, and everybody was talking +about what ought to be done with Steve Ravick. Oddly enough, the most +bloodthirsty were the banker and the professor. Well, maybe it wasn't +so odd. They were smart enough to know what Steve Ravick was really +doing to Port Sandor, and it hurt them as much as it did the hunters. +Dad and Bish seemed to be the only ones present who weren't in favor +of going down to Hunters' Hall right away and massacring everybody in +it, and then doing the same at the Municipal Building.</p> + +<p>"That's what I say!" Joe Kivelson was shouting. "Let's go clean out +both rats' nests. Why, there must be a thousand hunter-ship men at the +waterfront, and look how many people in town who want to help. We got +enough men to eat Hunters' Hall whole."</p> + +<p>"You'll find it slightly inedible, Joe," Bish told him. "Ravick has +about thirty men of his own and fifteen to twenty city police. He has +at least four 50-mm's on the landing stage above, and he has half a +dozen heavy machine guns and twice that many light 7-mm's."</p> + +<p>"Bish is right," somebody else said. "They have the vehicle port on +the street level barricaded, and they have the two floors on the level +below sealed off. We got men all around it and nobody can get out, but +if we try to blast our way in, it's going to cost us like Nifflheim."</p> + +<p>"You mean you're just going to sit here and talk about it and not do +anything?" Joe demanded.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We're going to do something, Joe," Dad told him. "But we've got to +talk about what we're going to do, and how we're going to do it, or +it'll be us who'll get wiped out."</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll have to decide on what it'll be, pretty quick," Mohandas +Gandhi Feinberg said.</p> + +<p>"What are things like at the Municipal Building?" Oscar Fujisawa +asked. "You say Ravick has fifteen to twenty city cops at Hunters' +Hall. Where are the rest of them? That would only be five to ten."</p> + +<p>"At the Municipal Building," Bish said. "Hallstock's holed up there, +trying to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary is happening."</p> + +<p>"Good. Let's go to the Municipal Building, first," Oscar said. "Take a +couple of hundred men, make a lot of noise, shoot out a few windows +and all yell, 'Hang Mort Hallstock!' loud enough, and he'll recall the +cops he has at Hunters' Hall to save his own neck. Then the rest of us +can make a quick rush and take Hunters' Hall."</p> + +<p>"We'll have to keep our main force around Hunters' Hall while we're +demonstrating at the Municipal Building," Corkscrew Finnegan said. "We +can't take a chance on Ravick's getting away."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't care less whether he gets away or not," Oscar said. "I +don't want Steve Ravick's blood. I just want him out of the +Co-operative, and if he runs out from it now, he'll never get back +in."</p> + +<p>"You want him, and you want him alive," Bish Ware said. "Ravick has +close to four million sols banked on Terra. Every millisol of that's +money he's stolen from the monster-hunters of this planet, through the +Co-operative. If you just take<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> him out and string him up, you'll have +the Nifflheim of a time getting hold of any of it."</p> + +<p>That made sense to all the ship captains, even Joe Kivelson, after Dad +reminded him of how much the salvage job on the <i>Javelin</i> was going to +cost. It took Sigurd Ngozori a couple of minutes to see the point, but +then, hanging Steve Ravick wasn't going to cost the Fidelity & Trust +Company anything.</p> + +<p>"Well, this isn't my party," Glenn Murell said, "but I'm too much of a +businessman to see how watching somebody kick on the end of a rope is +worth four million sols."</p> + +<p>"Four million sols," Bish said, "and wondering, the rest of your +lives, whether it was justice or just murder."</p> + +<p>The Buddhist priest looked at him, a trifle startled. After all, he +was the only clergyman in the crowd; he ought to have thought of that, +instead of this outrageous mock-bishop.</p> + +<p>"I think it's a good scheme," Dad said. "Don't mass any more men +around Hunters' Hall than necessary. You don't want the police to be +afraid to leave when Hallstock calls them in to help him at Municipal +Building."</p> + +<p>Bish Ware rose. "I think I'll see what I can do at Hunters' Hall, in +the meantime," he said. "I'm going to see if there's some way in from +the First or Second Level Down. Walt, do you still have that sleep-gas +gadget of yours?"</p> + +<p>I nodded. It was, ostensibly, nothing but an oversized pocket lighter, +just the sort of a thing a gadget-happy kid would carry around. It +worked perfectly as a lighter, too, till you pushed in on a little +gismo on the side. Then, instead of produc<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>ing a flame, it squirted +out a small jet of sleep gas. It would knock out a man; it would +almost knock out a Zarathustra veldtbeest. I'd bought it from a +spaceman on the <i>Cape Canaveral</i>. I'd always suspected that he'd +stolen it on Terra, because it was an expensive little piece of work, +but was I going to ride a bicycle six hundred and fifty light-years to +find out who it belonged to? One of the chemists' shops at Port Sandor +made me up some fills for it, and while I had never had to use it, it +was a handy thing to have in some of the places I had to follow +stories into, and it wouldn't do anybody any permanent damage, the way +a gun would.</p> + +<p>"Yes; it's down in my room. I'll get it for you," I said.</p> + +<p>"Be careful, Bish," Dad said. "That gang would kill you sooner than +look at you."</p> + +<p>"Who, me?" Bish staggered into a table and caught hold of it. "Who'd +wanna hurt me? I'm just good ol' Bish Ware. <i>Good</i> ol' Bish! nobody +hurt him; he'sh everybody's friend." He let go of the table and +staggered into a chair, upsetting it. Then he began to sing:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Come all ye hardy spacemen, and harken while I tell</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Of fluorine-tainted Nifflheim, the Planetary Hell.</i>"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Involuntarily, I began clapping my hands. It was a superb piece of +acting—Bish Ware sober playing Bish Ware drunk, and that's not an +easy role for anybody to play. Then he picked up the chair and sat +down on it.</p> + +<p>"Who do you have around Hunters' Hall, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> how do I get past them?" +he asked. "I don't want a clipful from somebody on my own side."</p> + +<p>Nip Spazoni got a pencil and a pad of paper and began drawing a plan.</p> + +<p>"This is Second Level Down," he said. "We have a car here, with a +couple of men in it. It's watching this approach here. And we have a +ship's boat, over here, with three men in it, and a 7-mm machine gun. +And another car—no, a jeep, here. Now, up on the First Level Down, we +have two ships' boats, one here, and one here. The password is +'Exotic,' and the countersign is 'Organics.'" He grinned at Murell. +"Compliment to your company."</p> + +<p>"Good enough. I'll want a bottle of liquor. My breath needs a little +touching up, and I may want to offer somebody a drink. If I could get +inside that place, there's no telling what I might be able to do. If +one man can get in and put a couple of guards to sleep, an army can +get in after him."</p> + +<p>Brother, I thought, if he pulls this one off, he's in. Nobody around +Port Sandor will ever look down on Bish Ware again, not even Joe +Kivelson. I began thinking about the detective agency idea again, and +wondered if he'd want a junior partner. Ware & Boyd, Planetwide +Detective Agency.</p> + +<p>I went down to the floor below with him and got him my lighter +gas-projector and a couple of spare fills for it, and found the bottle +of Baldur honey-rum that Dad had been sure was around somewhere. I was +kind of doubtful about that, and he noticed my hesitation in giving it +to him and laughed.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry, Walt," he said. "This is strictly for protective +coloration—and odoration. I shall be quite sparing with it, I assure +you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> + +<p>I shook hands with him, trying not to be too solemn about it, and he +went down in the elevator and I went up the stairs to the floor above. +By this time, the Port Sandor Vigilance Committee had gotten itself +sorted out. The rank-and-file Vigilantes were standing around yacking +at one another, and a smaller group—Dad and Sigurd Ngozori and the +Reverend Sugitsuma and Oscar and Joe and Corkscrew and Nip and the +Mahatma—were in a huddle around Dad's editorial table, discussing +strategy and tactics.</p> + +<p>"Well, we'd better get back to the docks before it starts," Corkscrew +was saying. "No hunter crew will follow anybody but their own ships' +officers."</p> + +<p>"We'll have to have somebody the uptown people will follow," Oscar +said. "These people won't take orders from a woolly-pants hunter +captain. How about you, Sigurd?"</p> + +<p>The banker shook his head. "Ralph Boyd's the man for that," he said.</p> + +<p>"Ralph's needed right here; this is G.H.Q.," Oscar said. "This is a +job that's going to have to be run from one central command. We've got +to make sure the demonstration against Hallstock and the operation +against Hunters' Hall are synchronized."</p> + +<p>"I have about a hundred and fifty workmen, and they all have or can +get something to shoot with," another man said. I looked around, and +saw that it was Casmir Oughourlian, of Rodriguez & Oughourlian +Shipyards. "They'll follow me, but I'm not too well known uptown."</p> + +<p>"Hey, Professor Hartzenbosch," Mohandas Feinberg said. "You're a +respectable-looking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> duck; you ever have any experience leading a +lynch mob?"</p> + +<p>Everybody laughed. So, to his credit, did the professor.</p> + +<p>"I've had a lot of experience with children," the professor said. +"Children are all savages. So are lynch mobs. Things that are equal to +the same thing are equal to one another. Yes, I'd say so."</p> + +<p>"All right," Dad said. "Say I'm Chief of Staff, or something. Oscar, +you and Joe and Corkscrew and the rest of you decide who's going to +take over-all command of the hunters. Casmir, you'll command your +workmen, and anybody else from the shipyards and engine works and +repair shops and so on. Sigurd, you and the Reverend, here, and +Professor Hartzenbosch gather up all the uptown people you can. Now, +we'll have to decide on how much force we need to scare Mort +Hallstock, and how we're going to place the main force that will +attack Hunters' Hall."</p> + +<p>"I think we ought to wait till we see what Bish Ware can do," Oscar +said. "Get our gangs together, and find out where we're going to put +who, but hold off the attack for a while. If he can get inside +Hunters' Hall, we may not even need this demonstration at the +Municipal Building."</p> + +<p>Joe Kivelson started to say something. The rest of his fellow ship +captains looked at him severely, and he shut up. Dad kept on jotting +down figures of men and 50-mm guns and vehicles and auto weapons we +had available.</p> + +<p>He was still doing it when the fire alarm started.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C16" id="C16"></a>16</h2> + +<h3>CIVIL WAR POSTPONED</h3> + + +<p>The moaner went on for thirty seconds, like a banshee mourning its +nearest and dearest. It was everywhere, Main City Level and the four +levels below. What we have in Port Sandor is a volunteer fire +organization—or disorganization, rather—of six independent +companies, each of which cherishes enmity for all the rest. It's the +best we can do, though; if we depended on the city government, we'd +have no fire protection at all. They do have a central alarm system, +though, and the <i>Times</i> is connected with that.</p> + +<p>Then the moaner stopped, and there were four deep whistle blasts for +Fourth Ward, and four more shrill ones for Bottom Level. There was an +instant's silence, and then a bedlam of shouts from the hunter-boat +captains. That was where the tallow-wax that was being held out from +the Co-operative was stored.</p> + +<p>"Shut up!" Dad roared, the loudest I'd ever heard him speak. "Shut up +and listen!"</p> + +<p>"Fourth Ward, Bottom Level," a voice from the fire-alarm speaker said. +"This is a tallow-wax fire. It is not the Co-op wax; it is wax stored +in an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> otherwise disused area. It is dangerously close to stored 50-mm +cannon ammunition, and it is directly under the pulpwood lumber plant, +on the Third Level Down, and if the fire spreads up to that, it will +endanger some of the growing vats at the carniculture plant on the +Second Level Down. I repeat, this is a tallow-wax fire. Do not use +water or chemical extinguishers."</p> + +<p>About half of the Vigilantes, businessmen who belonged to one or +another of the volunteer companies had bugged out for their fire +stations already. The Buddhist priest and a couple of doctors were +also leaving. The rest, mostly hunter-ship men, were standing around +looking at one another.</p> + +<p>Oscar Fujisawa gave a sour laugh. "That diversion idea of mine was all +right," he said. "The only trouble was that Steve Ravick thought of it +first."</p> + +<p>"You think he started the fire?" Dad began, and then gave a sourer +laugh than Oscar's. "Am I dumb enough to ask that?"</p> + +<p>I had started assembling equipment as soon as the feint on the +Municipal Building and the attack on Hunters' Hall had gotten into the +discussion stage. I would use a jeep that had a heavy-duty audiovisual +recording and transmitting outfit on it, and for situations where I'd +have to leave the jeep and go on foot, I had a lighter outfit like the +one Oscar had brought with him in the Pequod's boat. Then I had my +radio for two-way conversation with the office. And, because this +wasn't likely to be the sort of war in which the rights of +noncombatants like war correspondents would be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> taken very seriously, +I had gotten out my Sterberg 7.7-mm.</p> + +<p>Dad saw me buckling it on, and seemed rather distressed.</p> + +<p>"Better leave that, Walt," he said. "You don't want to get into any +shooting."</p> + +<p>Logical, I thought. If you aren't prepared for something, it just +won't happen. There's an awful lot of that sort of thinking going on. +As I remember my Old Terran history, it was even indulged in by +governments, at one time. None of them exists now.</p> + +<p>"You know what all crawls into the Bottom Level," I reminded him. "If +you don't, ask Mr. Murell, here. One sent him to the hospital."</p> + +<p>Dad nodded; I had a point there. The abandoned sections of Bottom +Level are full of tread-snails and other assorted little nasties, and +the heat of the fire would stir them all up and start them moving +around. Even aside from the possibility that, having started the fire, +Steve Ravick's gang would try to take steps to keep it from being put +out too soon, a gun was going to be a comforting companion, down +there.</p> + +<p>"Well, stay out of any fighting. Your job's to get the news, not play +hero in gun fights. I'm no hero; that's why I'm sixty years old. I +never knew many heroes that got that old."</p> + +<p>It was my turn to nod. On that, Dad had a point. I said something +about getting the news, not making it, and checked the chamber and +magazine of the Sterberg, and then slung my radio and picked up the +audiovisual outfit.</p> + +<p>Tom and Joe Kivelson had left already, to round<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> up the scattered +Javelin crew for fire fighting. The attack on the Municipal Building +and on Hunters' Hall had been postponed, but it wasn't going to be +abandoned. Oscar and Professor Hartzenbosch and Dad and a couple of +others were planning some sort of an observation force of a few men +for each place, until the fire had been gotten out or under control. +Glenn Murell decided he'd go out with me, at least as far as the fire, +so we went down to the vehicle port and got the jeep out. Main City +Level Broadway was almost deserted; everybody had gone down below +where the excitement was. We started down the nearest vehicle shaft +and immediately got into a jam, above a lot of stuff that was going +into the shaft from the First Level Down, mostly manipulators and that +sort of thing. There were no police around, natch, and a lot of +volunteers were trying to direct traffic and getting in each other's +way. I got some views with the jeep camera, just to remind any of the +public who needed reminding what our city administration wasn't doing +in an emergency. A couple of pieces of apparatus, a chemical tank and +a pumper marked <span class="smcap">salamander volunteer fire company no.</span> 3 came along, +veered out of the jam, and continued uptown.</p> + +<p>"If they know another way down, maybe we'd better follow them," Murell +suggested.</p> + +<p>"They're not going down. They're going to the lumber plant, in case +the fire spreads upward," I said. "They wouldn't be taking that sort +of equipment to a wax fire."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>I looked at him. "I thought you were in the wax business," I said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am, but I'm no chemist. I don't know anything about how wax burns. +All I know is what it's used for, roughly, and who's in the market for +it."</p> + +<p>"Well, you know about those jumbo molecules, don't you?" I asked. +"They have everything but the kitchen sink in them, including enough +oxygen to sustain combustion even under water or in a vacuum. Not +enough oxygen to make wax explode, like powder, but enough to keep it +burning. Chemical extinguishers are all smothering agents, and you +just can't smother a wax fire. And water's worse than useless."</p> + +<p>He wanted to know why.</p> + +<p>"Burning wax is a liquid. The melting point is around 250 degrees +Centigrade. Wax ignites at 750. It has no boiling point, unless that's +the burning point. Throw water on a wax fire and you get a steam +explosion, just as you would if you threw it on molten metal, and that +throws the fire around and spreads it."</p> + +<p>"If it melts that far below the ignition point, wouldn't it run away +before it caught fire?"</p> + +<p>"Normally, it would. That's why I'm sure this fire was a touch-off. I +think somebody planted a thermoconcentrate bomb. A thermoconcentrate +flame is around 850 Centigrade; the wax would start melting and +burning almost instantaneously. In any case, the fire will be at the +bottom of the stacks. If it started there, melted wax would run down +from above and keep the fire going, and if it started at the top, +burning wax would run down and ignite what's below."</p> + +<p>"Well, how in blazes do you put a wax fire out?" he wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"You don't. You just pull away all the wax that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> hasn't caught fire +yet, and then try to scatter the fire and let it burn itself out.... +Here's our chance!"</p> + +<p>All this conversation we had been screaming into each other's ears, in +the midst of a pandemonium of yelling, cursing, siren howling and bell +clanging; just then I saw a hole in the vertical traffic jam and edged +the jeep into it, at the same time remembering that the jeep carried, +and I was entitled to use, a fire siren. I added its howls to the +general uproar and dropped down one level. Here a string of big +manipulators were trying to get in from below, sprouting claw hooks +and grapples and pusher arms in all directions. I made my siren +imitate a tail-tramped tomcat a couple of times, and got in among +them.</p> + +<p>Bottom Level Broadway was a frightful mess, and I realized that we had +come down right between two units of the city power plant, big +mass-energy converters. The street was narrower than above, and ran +for a thousand yards between ceiling-high walls, and everything was +bottlenecked together. I took the jeep up till we were almost scraping +the ceiling, and Murell, who had seen how the audiovisual was used, +took over with it while I concentrated on inching forward. The noise +was even worse down here than it had been above; we didn't attempt to +talk.</p> + +<p>Finally, by impudence and plain foolhardiness, I got the jeep forward +a few hundred yards, and found myself looking down on a big derrick +with a fifty-foot steel boom tipped with a four-clawed grapple, +shielded in front with sheet steel like a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> gun shield. It was painted +with the emblem of the Hunters' Co-operative, but the three men on it +looked like shipyard workers. I didn't get that, at all. The thing had +been built to handle burning wax, and was one of three kept on the +Second Level Down under Hunters' Hall. I wondered if Bish Ware had +found a way for a gang to get in at the bottom of Hunters' Hall. I +simply couldn't see Steve Ravick releasing equipment to fight the fire +his goons had started for him in the first place.</p> + +<p>I let down a few feet, gave a polite little scream with my siren, and +then yelled down to the men on it:</p> + +<p>"Where'd that thing come from?"</p> + +<p>"Hunters' Hall; Steve Ravick sent it. The other two are up at the fire +already, and if this mess ahead doesn't get straightened out...." From +there on, his remarks were not suitable for publication in a family +journal like the <i>Times</i>.</p> + +<p>I looked up ahead, rising to the ceiling again, and saw what was the +matter. It was one of the dredgers from the waterfront, really a +submarine scoop shovel, that they used to keep the pools and the inner +channel from sanding up. I wasn't surprised it was jammed; I couldn't +see how they'd gotten this far uptown with it. I got a few shots of +that, and then unhooked the handphone of my radio. Julio Kubanoff +answered.</p> + +<p>"You getting everything I'm sending in?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes. What's that two-em-dashed thing up ahead, one of the harbor +dredgers?"</p> + +<p>"That's right. Hey, look at this, once." I turned the audiovisual down +on the claw derrick. "The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> men on it look like Rodriguez & +Oughourlian's people, but they say Steve Ravick sent it. What do you +know about it?"</p> + +<p>"Hey, Ralph! What's this Walt's picked up about Ravick sending +equipment to fight the fire?" he yelled.</p> + +<p>Dad came over, and nodded. "It wasn't Ravick, it was Mort Hallstock. +He commandeered the Co-op equipment and sent it up," he said. "He +called me and wanted to know whom to send for it that Ravick's gang +wouldn't start shooting at right away. Casmir Oughourlian sent some of +his men."</p> + +<p>Up front, something seemed to have given way. The dredger went +lurching forward, and everything moved off after it.</p> + +<p>"I get it," I said. "Hallstock's getting ready to dump Ravick out the +airlock. He sees, now, that Ravick's a dead turkey; he doesn't want to +go into the oven along with him."</p> + +<p>"Walt, can't you ever give anybody credit with trying to do something +decent, once in a while?" Dad asked.</p> + +<p>"Sure I can. Decent people. There are a lot of them around, but Mort +Hallstock isn't one of them. There was an Old Terran politician named +Al Smith, once. He had a little saying he used in that kind of case: +'Let's look at the record.'"</p> + +<p>"Well, Mort's record isn't very impressive, I'll give you that," Dad +admitted. "I understand Mort's up at the fire now. Don't spit in his +eye if you run into him."</p> + +<p>"I won't," I promised. "I'm kind of particular where I spit."</p> + +<p>Things must be looking pretty rough around Municipal Building, I +thought. Maybe Mort's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> afraid the people will start running Fenris +again, after this. He might even be afraid there'd be an election.</p> + +<p>By this time, I'd gotten the jeep around the dredger—we'd come to the +end of the nuclear-power plant buildings—and cut off into open +country. That is to say, nothing but pillar-buildings two hundred +yards apart and piles of bagged mineral nutrients for the hydroponic +farms. We could see a blaze of electric lights ahead where the fire +must be, and after a while we began to run into lorries and +lifter-skids hauling ammunition away from the area. Then I could see a +big mushroom of greasy black smoke spreading out close to the ceiling. +The electric lights were brighter ahead, and there was a confused roar +of voices and sirens and machines.</p> + +<p>And there was a stink.</p> + +<p>There are a lot of stinks around Port Sandor, though the ventilation +system carries most of them off before they can spread out of their +own areas. The plant that reprocesses sewage to get organic nutrients +for the hydroponic farms, and the plant that digests hydroponic +vegetation to make nutrients for the carniculture vats. The +carniculture vats themselves aren't any flower gardens. And the pulp +plant where our synthetic lumber is made. But the worst stink there is +on Fenris is a tallow-wax fire. Fortunately, they don't happen often.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C17" id="C17"></a>17</h2> + +<h3>TALLOW-WAX FIRE</h3> + + +<p>Now that we were out of the traffic jam, I could poke along and use +the camera myself. The wax was stacked in piles twenty feet high, +which gave thirty feet of clear space above them, but the section +where they had been piled was badly cut up by walls and full of small +extra columns to support the weight of the pulp plant above and the +carniculture vats on the level over that. However, the piles +themselves weren't separated by any walls, and the fire could spread +to the whole stock of wax. There were more men and vehicles on the job +than room for them to work. I passed over the heads of the crowd +around the edges and got onto a comparatively unobstructed side where +I could watch and get views of the fire fighters pulling down the big +skins of wax and loading them onto contragravity skids to be hauled +away. It still wasn't too hot to work unshielded, and they weren't +anywhere near the burning stacks, but the fire seemed to be spreading +rapidly. The dredger and the three shielded derricks hadn't gotten +into action yet.</p> + +<p>I circled around clockwise, dodging over, under and around the skids +and lorries hauling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> wax out of danger. They were taking them into the +section through which I had brought the jeep a few minutes before, and +just dumping them on top of the piles of mineral nutrients.</p> + +<p>The operation seemed to be directed from an improvised headquarters in +the area that had been cleared of ammunition. There were a couple of +view screens and a radio, operated by women. I saw one of the teachers +I'd gone to school to a few years ago, and Joe Kivelson's wife, and +Oscar Fujisawa's current girl friend, and Sigurd Ngozori's secretary, +and farther off there was an equally improvised coffee-and-sandwich +stand. I grounded the jeep, and Murell and I got out and went over to +the headquarters. Joe Kivelson seemed to be in charge.</p> + +<p>I have, I believe, indicated here and there that Joe isn't one of our +mightier intellects. There are a lot of better heads, but Joe can be +relied upon to keep his, no matter what is happening or how bad it +gets. He was sitting on an empty box, his arm in a now-filthy sling, +and one of Mohandas Feinberg's crooked black cigars in his mouth. +Usually, Joe smokes a pipe, but a cigar's less bother for a +temporarily one-armed man. Standing in front of him, like a schoolboy +in front of the teacher, was Mayor Morton Hallstock.</p> + +<p>"But, Joe, they simply won't!" His Honor was wailing. "I did talk to +Mr. Fieschi; he says he knows this is an emergency, but there's a +strict company directive against using the spaceport area for storage +of anything but cargo that has either just come in or is being shipped +out on the next ship."</p> + +<p>"What's this all about?" Murell asked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Fieschi, at the spaceport, won't let us store this wax in the +spaceport area," Joe said. "We got to get it stored somewhere; we need +a lot of floor space to spread this fire out on, once we get into it. +We have to knock the burning wax cylinders apart, and get them +separated enough so that burning wax won't run from one to another."</p> + +<p>"Well, why can't we store it in the spaceport area?" Murell wanted to +know. "It is going out on the next ship. I'm consigning it to Exotic +Organics, in Buenos Aires." He turned to Joe. "Are those skins all +marked to indicate who owns them?"</p> + +<p>"That's right. And any we gather up loose, from busted skins, we can +figure some way of settling how much anybody's entitled to from them."</p> + +<p>"All right. Get me a car and run me to the spaceport. Call them and +tell them I'm on the way. I'll talk to Fieschi myself."</p> + +<p>"Martha!" Joe yelled to his wife. "Car and driver, quick. And then +call the spaceport for me; get Mr. Fieschi or Mr. Mansour on screen."</p> + +<p>Inside two minutes, a car came in and picked Murell up. By that time, +Joe was talking to somebody at the spaceport. I called the paper, and +told Dad that Murell was buying the wax for his company as fast as it +was being pulled off the fire, at eighty centisols a pound. He said +that would go out as a special bulletin right away. Then I talked to +Morton Hallstock, and this time he wasn't giving me any of the +run-along-sonny routine. I told him, rather hypocritically, what a +fine thing he'd done, getting that equipment from Hunters' Hall. I +suspect I sounded as though I were mayor of Port Sandor and Hallstock, +just seventeen years old,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> had done something the grownups thought was +real smart for a kid. If so, he didn't seem to notice. Somebody +connected with the press was being nice to him. I asked him where +Steve Ravick was.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ravick is at Hunters' Hall," he said. "He thought it would be +unwise to make a public appearance just now." Oh, brother, what an +understatement! "There seems to be a lot of public feeling against +him, due to some misconception that he was responsible for what +happened to Captain Kivelson's ship. Of course, that is absolutely +false. Mr. Ravick had absolutely nothing to do with that. He wasn't +anywhere near the <i>Javelin</i>."</p> + +<p>"Where's Al Devis?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Who? I don't believe I know him."</p> + +<p>After Hallstock got into his big black air-limousine and took off, Joe +Kivelson gave a short laugh.</p> + +<p>"I could have told him where Al Devis is," he said. "No, I couldn't, +either," he corrected himself. "That's a religious question, and I +don't discuss religion."</p> + +<p>I shut off my radio in a hurry. "Who got him?" I asked.</p> + +<p>Joe named a couple of men from one of the hunter-ships.</p> + +<p>"Here's what happened. There were six men on guard here; they had a +jeep with a 7-mm machine gun. About an hour ago, a lorry pulled in, +with two men in boat-clothes on it. They said that Pierre Karolyi's +<i>Corinne</i> had just come in with a hold full of wax, and they were +bringing it up from the docks, and where should they put it? Well, the +men on guard believed that; Pierre'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> gone off into the twilight zone +after the <i>Helldiver</i> contacted us, and he could have gotten a monster +in the meantime.</p> + +<p>"Well, they told these fellows that there was more room over on the +other side of the stacks, and the lorry went up above the stacks and +started across, and when they were about the middle, one of the men in +it threw out a thermoconcentrate bomb. The lorry took off, right away. +The only thing was that there were two men in the jeep, and one of +them was at the machine gun. They'd lifted to follow the lorry over +and show them where to put this wax, and as soon as the bomb went off, +the man at the gun grabbed it and caught the lorry in his sights and +let go. This fellow hadn't been covering for cutting-up work for years +for nothing. He got one burst right in the control cabin, and the +lorry slammed into the next column foundation. After they called in an +alarm on the fire the bomb had started, a couple of them went to see +who'd been in the lorry. The two men in it were both dead, and one of +them was Al Devis."</p> + +<p>"Pity," I said. "I'd been looking forward to putting a recording of +his confession on the air. Where is this lorry now?"</p> + +<p>Joe pointed toward the burning wax piles. "Almost directly on the +other side. We have a couple of men guarding it. The bodies are still +in it. We don't want any tampering with it till it can be properly +examined; we want to have the facts straight, in case Hallstock tries +to make trouble for the men who did the shooting."</p> + +<p>I didn't know how he could. Under any kind of Federation law at all, a +man killed committing a felony—and bombing and arson ought to +qualify<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> for that—is simply bought and paid for; his blood is on +nobody's head but his own. Of course, a small matter like legality was +always the least of Mort Hallstock's worries.</p> + +<p>"I'll go get some shots of it," I said, and then I snapped on my radio +and called the story in.</p> + +<p>Dad had already gotten it, from fire-alarm center, but he hadn't heard +that Devis was one of the deceased arsonists. Like me, he was very +sorry to hear about it. Devis as Devis was no loss, but alive and +talking he'd have helped us pin both the wax fire and the bombing of +the <i>Javelin</i> on Steve Ravick. Then I went back and got in the jeep.</p> + +<p>They were beginning to get in closer to the middle of the stacks where +the fire had been started. There was no chance of getting over the top +of it, and on the right there were at least five hundred men and a +hundred vehicles, all working like crazy to pull out unburned wax. Big +manipulators were coming up and grabbing as many of the half-ton +sausages as they could, and lurching away to dump them onto skids or +into lorries or just drop them on top of the bags of nutrient stacked +beyond. Jeeps and cars would dart in, throw grapnels on the end of +lines, and then pull away all the wax they could and return to throw +their grapnels again. As fast as they pulled the big skins down, men +with hand-lifters like the ones we had used at our camp to handle +firewood would pick them up and float them away.</p> + +<p>That seemed to be where the major effort was being made, at present, +and I could see lifter-skids coming in with big blower fans on them. I +knew what the strategy was, now; they were going to pull the wax away +to where it was burning on one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> side, and then set up the blowers and +blow the heat and smoke away on that side. That way, on the other side +more men could work closer to the fire, and in the long run they'd +save more wax.</p> + +<p>I started around the wax piles to the left, clockwise, to avoid the +activity on the other side, and before long I realized that I'd have +done better not to have. There was a long wall, ceiling-high, that +stretched off uptown in the direction of the spaceport, part of the +support for the weight of the pulpwood plant on the level above, and +piled against it was a lot of junk machinery of different kinds that +had been hauled in here and dumped long ago and then forgotten. The +wax was piled almost against this, and the heat and smoke forced me +down.</p> + +<p>I looked at the junk pile and decided that I could get through it on +foot. I had been keeping up a running narration into my radio, and I +commented on all this salvageable metal lying in here forgotten, with +our perennial metal shortages. Then I started picking my way through +it, my portable audiovisual camera slung over my shoulder and a +flashlight in my hand. My left hand, of course; it's never smart to +carry a light in your right, unless you're left-handed.</p> + +<p>The going wasn't too bad. Most of the time, I could get between things +without climbing over them. I was going between a broken-down press +from the lumber plant and a leaky 500-gallon pressure cooker from the +carniculture nutrient plant when I heard something moving behind me, +and I was suddenly very glad that I hadn't let myself be talked into +leaving my pistol behind.</p> + +<p>It was a thing the size of a ten-gallon keg, with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> thick tail and +flippers on which it crawled, and six tentacles like small elephants' +trunks around a circular mouth filled with jagged teeth halfway down +the throat. There are a dozen or so names for it, but mostly it is +called a meat-grinder.</p> + +<p>The things are always hungry and try to eat anything that moves. The +mere fact that I would be as poisonous to it as any of the local flora +or fauna would be to me made no difference; this meat-grinder was no +biochemist. It was coming straight for me, all its tentacles writhing.</p> + +<p>I had had my Sterberg out as soon as I'd heard the noise. I also +remembered that my radio was on, and that I was supposed to comment on +anything of interest that took place around me.</p> + +<p>"Here's a meat-grinder, coming right for me," I commented in a voice +not altogether steady, and slammed three shots down its tooth-studded +gullet. Then I scored my target, at the same time keeping out of the +way of the tentacles. He began twitching a little. I fired again. The +meat-grinder jerked slightly, and that was all.</p> + +<p>"Now I'm going out and take a look at that lorry." I was certain now +that the voice was shaky.</p> + +<p>The lorry—and Al Devis and his companion—had come to an end against +one of the two-hundred-foot masonry and concrete foundations the +columns rest on. It had hit about halfway up and folded almost like an +accordion, sliding down to the floor. With one thing and another, +there is a lot of violent death around Port Sandor. I don't like to +look at the results. It's part of the job, however, and this time it +wasn't a pleasant job at all.</p> + +<p>The two men who were guarding the wreck and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> contents were sitting on +a couple of boxes, smoking and watching the fire-fighting operation.</p> + +<p>I took the partly empty clip out of my pistol and put in a full one on +the way back, and kept my flashlight moving its circle of light ahead +and on both sides of me. That was foolish, or at least unnecessary. If +there'd been one meat-grinder in that junk pile, it was a safe bet +there wasn't anything else. Meat-grinders aren't popular neighbors, +even for tread-snails. As I approached the carcass of the grinder I +had shot I found a ten-foot length of steel rod and poked it a few +times. When it didn't even twitch, I felt safe in walking past it.</p> + +<p>I got back in the jeep and returned to where Joe Kivelson was keeping +track of what was going on in five screens, including one from a +pickup on a lifter at the ceiling, and shouting orders that were being +reshouted out of loudspeakers all over the place. The Odin Dock & +Shipyard equipment had begun coming out; lorries picking up the wax +that had been dumped back from the fire and wax that was being pulled +off the piles, and material-handling equipment. They had a lot of +small fork-lifters that were helping close to the fire.</p> + +<p>A lot of the wax was getting so soft that it was hard to handle, and +quite a few of the plastic skins had begun to split from the heat. +Here and there I saw that outside piles had begun to burn at the +bottom, from burning wax that had run out underneath. I had moved +around to the right and was getting views of the big claw-derricks at +work picking the big sausages off the tops of piles, and while I was +swinging the camera back and forth, I was trying to figure just how +much wax there had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> been to start with, and how much was being saved. +Each of those plastic-covered cylinders was a thousand pounds; one of +the claw-derricks was picking up two or three of them at a grab....</p> + +<p>I was still figuring when shouts of alarm on my right drew my head +around. There was an uprush of flame, and somebody began screaming, +and I could see an ambulance moving toward the center of excitement +and firemen in asbestos suits converging on a run. One of the piles +must have collapsed and somebody must have been splashed. I gave an +involuntary shudder. Burning wax was hotter than melted lead, and it +stuck to anything it touched, worse than napalm. I saw a man being +dragged out of further danger, his clothes on fire, and +asbestos-suited firemen crowding around to tear the burning garments +from him. Before I could get to where it had happened, though, they +had him in the ambulance and were taking him away. I hoped they'd get +him to the hospital before he died.</p> + +<p>Then more shouting started around at the right as a couple more piles +began collapsing. I was able to get all of that—the wax sausages +sliding forward, the men who had been working on foot running out of +danger, the flames shooting up, and the gush of liquid fire from +below. All three derricks moved in at once and began grabbing wax +cylinders away on either side of it.</p> + +<p>Then I saw Guido Fieschi, the Odin Dock & Shipyard's superintendent, +and caught him in my camera, moving the jeep toward him.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Fieschi!" I called. "Give me a few seconds and say something."</p> + +<p>He saw me and grinned.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I just came out to see how much more could be saved," he said. "We +have close to a thousand tons on the shipping floor or out of danger +here and on the way in, and it looks as though you'll be able to save +that much more. That'll be a million and a half sols we can be sure +of, and a possible three million, at the new price. And I want to take +this occasion, on behalf of my company and of Terra-Odin Spacelines, +to welcome a new freight shipper."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's wonderful news for everybody on Fenris," I said, and +added mentally, "with a few exceptions." Then I asked if he'd heard +who had gotten splashed.</p> + +<p>"No. I know it happened; I passed the ambulance on the way out. I +certainly hope they get to work on him in time."</p> + +<p>Then more wax started sliding off the piles, and more fire came +running out at the bottom. Joe Kivelson's voice, out of the +loudspeakers all around, was yelling:</p> + +<p>"Everybody away from the front! Get the blowers in; start in on the +other side!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C18" id="C18"></a>18</h2> + +<h3>THE TREASON OF BISH WARE</h3> + + +<p>I wanted to find out who had been splashed, but Joe Kivelson was too +busy directing the new phase of the fight to hand out casualty reports +to the press, and besides, there were too many things happening all at +once that I had to get. I went around to the other side where the +incendiaries had met their end, moving slowly as close to the face of +the fire as I could get and shooting the burning wax flowing out from +it. A lot of equipment, including two of the three claw-derricks and a +dredger—they'd brought a second one up from the waterfront—were +moving to that side. By the time I had gotten around, the blowers had +been maneuvered into place and were ready to start. There was a lot of +back-and-forth yelling to make sure that everybody was out from in +front, and then the blowers started.</p> + +<p>It looked like a horizontal volcanic eruption; burning wax blowing +away from the fire for close to a hundred feet into the clear space +beyond. The derricks and manipulators and the cars and jeeps with +grapnels went in on both sides, snatching and dragging wax away. +Because they had the wind from the blowers behind them, the men<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> could +work a lot closer, and the fire wasn't spreading as rapidly. They were +saving a lot of wax; each one of those big sausages that the lifters +picked up and floated away weighed a thousand pounds, and was worth, +at the new price, eight hundred sols.</p> + +<p>Finally, they got everything away that they could, and then the +blowers were shut down and the two dredge shovels moved in, scooping +up the burning sludge and carrying it away, scattering it on the +concrete. I would have judged that there had been six or seven million +sols' worth of wax in the piles to start with, and that a little more +than half of it had been saved before they pulled the last cylinder +away.</p> + +<p>The work slacked off; finally, there was nothing but the two dredges +doing anything, and then they backed away and let down, and it was all +over but standing around and watching the scattered fire burn itself +out. I looked at my watch. It was two hours since the first alarm had +come in. I took a last swing around, got the spaceport people +gathering up wax and hauling it away, and the broken lake of fire that +extended downtown from where the stacks had been, and then I floated +my jeep over to the sandwich-and-coffee stand and let down, getting +out. Maybe, I thought, I could make some kind of deal with somebody +like Interworld News on this. It would make a nice thrilling +feature-program item. Just a little slice of life from Fenris, the +Garden Spot of the Galaxy.</p> + +<p>I got myself a big zhoumy-loin sandwich with hot sauce and a cup of +coffee, made sure that my portable radio was on, and circulated among +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> fire fighters, getting comments. Everybody had been a hero, +natch, and they were all very unbashful about admitting it. There was +a great deal of wisecracking about Al Devis buying himself a ringside +seat for the fire he'd started. Then I saw Cesário Vieira and joined +him.</p> + +<p>"Have all the fire you want, for a while?" I asked him.</p> + +<p>"Brother, and how! We could have used a little of this over on Hermann +Reuch's Land, though. Have you seen Tom around anywhere?"</p> + +<p>"No. Have you?"</p> + +<p>"I saw him over there, about an hour ago. I guess he stayed on this +side. After they started blowing it, I was over on Al Devis's side." +He whistled softly. "Was that a mess!"</p> + +<p>There was still a crowd at the fire, but they seemed all to be +townspeople. The hunters had gathered where Joe Kivelson had been +directing operations. We finished our sandwiches and went over to join +them. As soon as we got within earshot, I found that they were all in +a very ugly mood.</p> + +<p>"Don't fool around," one man was saying as we came up. "Don't even +bother looking for a rope. Just shoot them as soon as you see them."</p> + +<p>Well, I thought, a couple of million sols' worth of tallow-wax, in +which they all owned shares, was something to get mean about. I said +something like that.</p> + +<p>"It's not that," another man said. "It's Tom Kivelson."</p> + +<p>"What about him?" I asked, alarmed.</p> + +<p>"Didn't you hear? He got splashed with burn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>ing wax," the hunter said. +"His whole back was on fire; I don't know whether he's alive now or +not."</p> + +<p>So that was who I'd seen screaming in agony while the firemen tore his +burning clothes away. I pushed through, with Cesário behind me, and +found Joe Kivelson and Mohandas Feinberg and Corkscrew Finnegan and +Oscar Fujisawa and a dozen other captains and ships' officers in a +huddle.</p> + +<p>"Joe," I said, "I just heard about Tom. Do you know anything yet?"</p> + +<p>Joe turned. "Oh, Walt. Why, as far as we know, he's alive. He was +alive when they got him to the hospital."</p> + +<p>"That's at the spaceport?" I unhooked my handphone and got Dad. He'd +heard about a man being splashed, but didn't know who it was. He said +he'd call the hospital at once. A few minutes later, he was calling me +back.</p> + +<p>"He's been badly burned, all over the back. They're preparing to do a +deep graft on him. They said his condition was serious, but he was +alive five minutes ago."</p> + +<p>I thanked him and hung up, relaying the information to the others. +They all looked worried. When the screen girl at a hospital tells you +somebody's serious, instead of giving you the well-as-can-be-expected +routine, you know it is serious. Anybody who makes it alive to a +hospital, these days, has an excellent chance, but injury cases do +die, now and then, after they've been brought in. They are the +"serious" cases.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't suppose there's anything we can do," Joe said heavily.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We can clean up on the gang that started this fire," Oscar Fujisawa +said. "Do it now; then if Tom doesn't make it, he's paid for in +advance."</p> + +<p>Oscar, I recalled, was the one who had been the most impressed with +Bish Ware's argument that lynching Steve Ravick would cost the hunters +the four million sols they might otherwise be able to recover, after a +few years' interstellar litigation, from his bank account on Terra. +That reminded me that I hadn't even thought of Bish since I'd left the +<i>Times</i>. I called back. Dad hadn't heard a word from him.</p> + +<p>"What's the situation at Hunters' Hall?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Everything's quiet there. The police left when Hallstock commandeered +that fire-fighting equipment. They helped the shipyard men get it out, +and then they all went to the Municipal Building. As far as I know, +both Ravick and Belsher are still in Hunters' Hall. I'm in contact +with the vehicles on guard at the approaches; I'll call them now."</p> + +<p>I relayed that. The others nodded.</p> + +<p>"Nip Spazoni and a few others are bringing men and guns up from the +docks and putting a cordon around the place on the Main City Level," +Oscar said. "Your father will probably be hearing that they're moving +into position now."</p> + +<p>He had. He also said that he had called all the vehicles on the First +and Second Levels Down; they all reported no activity in Hunters' Hall +except one jeep on Second Level Down, which did not report at all.</p> + +<p>Everybody was puzzled about that.</p> + +<p>"That's the jeep that reported Bish Ware going<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> in on the bottom," +Mohandas Feinberg said. "I wonder if somebody inside mightn't have +gotten both the man on the jeep and Bish."</p> + +<p>"He could have left the jeep," Joe said. "Maybe he went inside after +Bish."</p> + +<p>"Funny he didn't call in and say so," somebody said.</p> + +<p>"No, it isn't," I contradicted. "Manufacturers' claims to the +contrary, there is no such thing as a tap-proof radio. Maybe he wasn't +supposed to leave his post, but if he did, he used his head not +advertising it."</p> + +<p>"That makes sense," Oscar agreed. "Well, whatever happened, we're not +doing anything standing around up here. Let's get it started."</p> + +<p>He walked away, raising his voice and calling, "<i>Pequod</i>! <i>Pequod</i>! +All hands on deck!"</p> + +<p>The others broke away from the group, shouting the names of their +ships to rally their crews. I hurried over to the jeep and checked my +equipment. There wasn't too much film left in the big audiovisual, so +I replaced it with a fresh sound-and-vision reel, good for another +couple of hours, and then lifted to the ceiling. Worrying about Tom +wouldn't help Tom, and worrying about Bish wouldn't help Bish, and I +had a job to do.</p> + +<p>What I was getting now, and I was glad I was starting a fresh reel for +it, was the beginning of the First Fenris Civil War. A long time from +now, when Fenris was an important planet in the Federation, maybe +they'd make today a holiday, like Bastille Day or the Fourth of July +or Federation Day. Maybe historians, a couple of centuries from now, +would call me an important primary source, and if Cesário's religion +was right, maybe I'd be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> one of them, saying, "Well, after all, is +Boyd such a reliable source? He was only seventeen years old at the +time."</p> + +<p>Finally, after a lot of yelling and confusion, the Rebel Army got +moving. We all went up to Main City Level and went down Broadway, +spreading out side streets when we began running into the cordon that +had been thrown around Hunters' Hall. They were mostly men from the +waterfront who hadn't gotten to the wax fire, and they must have +stripped the guns off half the ships in the harbor and mounted them on +lorries or cargo skids.</p> + +<p>Nobody, not even Joe Kivelson, wanted to begin with any massed frontal +attack on Hunters' Hall.</p> + +<p>"We'll have to bombard the place," he was saying. "We try to rush it +and we'll lose half our gang before we get in. One man with good cover +and a machine gun's good for a couple of hundred in the open."</p> + +<p>"Bish may be inside," I mentioned.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Oscar said, "and even aside from that, that building was built +with our money. Let's don't burn the house down to get rid of the +cockroaches."</p> + +<p>"Well, how are you going to do it, then?" Joe wanted to know. Rule out +frontal attack and Joe's at the end of his tactics.</p> + +<p>"You stay up here. Keep them amused with a little smallarms fire at +the windows and so on. I'll take about a dozen men and go down to +Second Level. If we can't do anything else, we can bring a couple of +skins of tallow-wax down and set fire to it and smoke them out."</p> + +<p>That sounded like a pretty expensive sort of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> smudge, but seeing how +much wax Ravick had burned uptown, it was only fair to let him in on +some of the smoke. I mentioned that if we got into the building and up +to Main City Level, we'd need some way of signaling to avoid being +shot by our own gang, and got the wave-length combination of the +Pequod scout boat, which Joe and Oscar were using for a command car. +Oscar picked ten or twelve men, and they got into a lorry and went +uptown and down a vehicle shaft to Second Level. I followed in my +jeep, even after Oscar and his crowd let down and got out, and hovered +behind them as they advanced on foot to Hunters' Hall.</p> + +<p>The Second Level Down was the vehicle storage, where the derricks and +other equipment had been kept. It was empty now except for a +workbench, a hand forge and some other things like that, a few drums +of lubricant, and several piles of sheet metal. Oscar and his men got +inside and I followed, going up to the ceiling. I was the one who saw +the man lying back of a pile of sheet metal, and called their +attention.</p> + +<p>He wore boat-clothes and had black whiskers, and he had a knife and a +pistol on his belt. At first I thought he was dead. A couple of +Oscar's followers, dragging him out, said:</p> + +<p>"He's been sleep-gassed."</p> + +<p>Somebody else recognized him. He was the lone man who had been on +guard in the jeep. The jeep was nowhere in sight.</p> + +<p>I began to be really worried. My lighter gadget could have been what +had gassed him. It probably was; there weren't many sleep-gas weapons +on Fenris. I had to get fills made up specially for mine. So it looked +to me as though somebody had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> gotten mine off Bish, and then used it +to knock out our guard. Taken it off his body I guessed. That crowd +wasn't any more interested in taking prisoners alive than we were.</p> + +<p>We laid the man on a workbench and put a rolled-up sack under his head +for a pillow. Then we started up the enclosed stairway. I didn't think +we were going to run into any trouble, though I kept my hand close to +my gun. If they'd knocked out the guard, they had a way out, and none +of them wanted to stay in that building any longer than they had to.</p> + +<p>The First Level Down was mostly storerooms, with nobody in any of +them. As we went up the stairway to the Main City Level, we could hear +firing outside. Nobody inside was shooting back. I unhooked my +handphone.</p> + +<p>"We're in," I said when Joe Kivelson answered. "Stop the shooting; +we're coming up to the vehicle port."</p> + +<p>"Might as well. Nobody's paying any attention to it," he said.</p> + +<p>The firing slacked off as the word was passed around the perimeter, +and finally it stopped entirely. We went up into the open arched +vehicle port. It was barricaded all around, and there were half a +dozen machine guns set up, but not a living thing.</p> + +<p>"We're going up," I said. "They've all lammed out. The place is +empty."</p> + +<p>"You don't know that," Oscar chided. "It might be bulging with +Ravick's thugs, waiting for us to come walking up and be mowed down."</p> + +<p>Possible. Highly improbable, though, I thought. The escalators weren't +running, and we weren't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> going to alert any hypothetical ambush by +starting them. We tiptoed up, and I even drew my pistol to show that I +wasn't being foolhardy. The big social room was empty. A couple of us +went over and looked behind the bar, which was the only hiding place +in it. Then we went back to the rear and tiptoed to the third floor.</p> + +<p>The meeting room was empty. So were the offices behind it. I looked in +all of them, expecting to find Bish Ware's body. Maybe a couple of +other bodies, too. I'd seen him shoot the tread-snail, and I didn't +think he'd die unpaid for. In Steve Ravick's office, the safe was open +and a lot of papers had been thrown out. I pointed that out to Oscar, +and he nodded. After seeing that, he seemed to relax, as though he +wasn't expecting to find anybody any more. We went to the third floor. +Ravick's living quarters were there, and they were magnificently +luxurious. The hunters, whose money had paid for all that magnificence +and luxury, cursed.</p> + +<p>There were no bodies there, either, or on the landing stage above. I +unhooked the radio again.</p> + +<p>"You can come in, now," I said. "The place is empty. Nobody here but +us Vigilantes."</p> + +<p>"Huh?" Joe couldn't believe that. "How'd they get out?"</p> + +<p>"They got out on the Second Level Down." I told him about the +sleep-gassed guard.</p> + +<p>"Did you bring him to? What did he say?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing; we didn't. We can't. You get sleep-gassed, you sleep till +you wake up. That ought to be two to four hours for this fellow."</p> + +<p>"Well, hold everything; we're coming in."</p> + +<p>We were all in the social room; a couple of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> men had poured drinks +or drawn themselves beers at the bar and rung up no sale on the cash +register. Somebody else had a box of cigars he'd picked up in Ravick's +quarters on the fourth floor and was passing them around. Joe and +about two or three hundred other hunters came crowding up the +escalator, which they had turned on below.</p> + +<p>"You didn't find Bish Ware, either, I'll bet," Joe was saying.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid they took him along for a hostage," Oscar said. "The guard +was knocked out with Walt's gas gadget, that Bish was carrying."</p> + +<p>"Ha!" Joe cried. "Bet you it was the other way round; Bish took them +out."</p> + +<p>That started an argument. While it was going on, I went to the +communication screen and got the <i>Times</i>, and told Dad what had +happened.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said. "That was what I was afraid you'd find. Glenn Murell +called in from the spaceport a few minutes ago. He says Mort Hallstock +came in with his car, and he heard from some of the workmen that Bish +Ware, Steve Ravick and Leo Belsher came in on the Main City Level in a +jeep. They claimed protection from a mob, and Captain Courtland's +police are protecting them."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C19" id="C19"></a>19</h2> + +<h3>MASKS OFF</h3> + + +<p>There was dead silence for two or three seconds. If a kitten had +sneezed, everybody would have heard it. Then it started, first an +inarticulate roar, and then a babel of unprintabilities. I thought I'd +heard some bad language from these same men in this room when Leo +Belsher's announcement of the price cut had been telecast, but that +was prayer meeting to this. Dad was still talking. At least, I saw his +lips move in the screen.</p> + +<p>"Say that again, Ralph," Oscar Fujisawa shouted.</p> + +<p>Dad must have heard him. At least, his lips moved again, but I wasn't +a lip reader and neither was Oscar. Oscar turned to the mob—by now, +it was that, pure and simple—and roared, in a voice like a foghorn, +"<i>Shut up and listen!</i>" A few of those closest to him heard him. The +rest kept on shouting curses. Oscar waited a second, and then pointed +his submachine gun at the ceiling and hammered off the whole clip.</p> + +<p>"Shut up, a couple of hundred of you, and listen!" he commanded, on +the heels of the blast. Then he turned to the screen again. "Now, +Ralph; what was it you were saying?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Hallstock got to the spaceport about half an hour ago," Dad said. "He +bought a ticket to Terra. Sigurd Ngozori's here; he called the bank +and one of the clerks there told him that Hallstock had checked out +his whole account, around three hundred thousand sols. Took some of it +in cash and the rest in Banking Cartel drafts. Murell says that his +information is that Bish Ware, Steve Ravick and Leo Belsher arrived +earlier, about an hour ago. He didn't see them himself, but he talked +with spaceport workmen who did."</p> + +<p>The men who had crowded up to the screen seemed to have run out of +oaths and obscenities now. Oscar was fitting another clip into his +submachine gun.</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll have to go to the spaceport and get them," he said. "And +take four ropes instead of three."</p> + +<p>"You'll have to fight your way in," Dad told him. "Odin Dock & +Shipyard won't let you take people out of their spaceport without a +fight. They've all bought tickets by now, and Fieschi will have to +protect them."</p> + +<p>"Then we'll kick the blankety-blank spaceport apart," somebody +shouted.</p> + +<p>That started it up again. Oscar wondered if getting silence was worth +another clip of cartridges, and decided it wasn't. He managed to make +himself heard without it.</p> + +<p>"We'll do nothing of the kind. We need that spaceport to stay alive. +But we will take Ravick and Belsher and Hallstock—"</p> + +<p>"And that etaoin shrdlu traitor of a Ware!" Joe Kivelson added.</p> + +<p>"And Bish Ware," Oscar agreed. "They only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> have fifty police; we have +three or four thousand men."</p> + +<p>Three or four thousand undisciplined hunters, against fifty trained, +disciplined and organized soldiers, because that was what the +spaceport police were. I knew their captain, and the lieutenants. They +were old Regular Army, and they ran the police force like a military +unit.</p> + +<p>"I'll bet Ware was working for Ravick all along," Joe was saying.</p> + +<p>That wasn't good thinking even for Joe Kivelson. I said:</p> + +<p>"If he was working for Ravick all along, why did he tip Dad and Oscar +and the Mahatma on the bomb aboard the <i>Javelin</i>? That wasn't any help +to Ravick."</p> + +<p>"I get it," Oscar said. "He never was working for anybody but Bish +Ware. When Ravick got into a jam, he saw a way to make something for +himself by getting Ravick out of it. I'll bet, ever since he came +here, he was planning to cut in on Ravick somehow. You notice, he knew +just how much money Ravick had stashed away on Terra? When he saw the +spot Ravick was in, Bish just thought he had a chance to develop +himself another rich uncle."</p> + +<p>I'd been worse stunned than anybody by Dad's news. The worst of it was +that Oscar could be right. I hadn't thought of that before. I'd just +thought that Ravick and Belsher had gotten Bish drunk and found out +about the way the men were posted around Hunters' Hall and the lone +man in the jeep on Second Level Down.</p> + +<p>Then it occurred to me that Bish might have seen a way of getting +Fenris rid of Ravick and at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> the same time save everybody the guilt of +lynching him. Maybe he'd turned traitor to save the rest of us from +ourselves.</p> + +<p>I turned to Oscar. "Why get excited about it?" I asked. "You have what +you wanted. You said yourself that you couldn't care less whether +Ravick got away or not, as long as you got him out of the Co-op. Well, +he's out for good now."</p> + +<p>"That was before the fire," Oscar said. "We didn't have a couple of +million sols' worth of wax burned. And Tom Kivelson wasn't in the +hospital with half the skin burned off his back, and a coin toss +whether he lives or not."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I thought you were Tom's friend," Joe Kivelson reproached me.</p> + +<p>I wondered how much skin hanging Steve Ravick would grow on Tom's +back. I didn't see much percentage in asking him, though. I did turn +to Oscar Fujisawa with a quotation I remembered from <i>Moby Dick</i>, the +book he'd named his ship from.</p> + +<p>"<i>How many barrels will thy vengeance yield thee, even if thou gettest +it, Captain Ahab?</i>" I asked. "<i>It will not fetch thee much in our +Nantucket market.</i>"</p> + +<p>He looked at me angrily and started to say something. Then he +shrugged.</p> + +<p>"I know, Walt," he said. "But you can't measure everything in barrels +of whale oil. Or skins of tallow-wax."</p> + +<p>Which was one of those perfectly true statements which are also +perfectly meaningless. I gave up. My job's to get the news, not to +make it. I wondered if that meant anything, either.</p> + +<p>They finally got the mob sorted out, after a lot of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> time wasted in +pillaging Ravick's living quarters on the fourth floor. <i>However, the +troops stopped to loot the enemy's camp.</i> I'd come across that line +fifty to a hundred times in history books. Usually, it had been +expensive looting; if the enemy didn't counterattack, they managed, at +least, to escape. More to the point, they gathered up all the cannon +and machine guns around the place and got them onto contragravity in +the street. There must have been close to five thousand men, by now, +and those who couldn't crowd onto vehicles marched on foot, and the +whole mass, looking a little more like an army than a mob, started up +Broadway.</p> + +<p>Since it is not proper for reporters to loot on the job, I had gotten +outside in my jeep early and was going ahead, swinging my camera back +to get the parade behind me. Might furnish a still-shot illustration +for somebody's History of Fenris in a century or so.</p> + +<p>Broadway was empty until we came to the gateway to the spaceport area. +There was a single medium combat car there, on contragravity halfway +to the ceiling, with a pair of 50-mm guns and a rocket launcher +pointed at us, and under it, on the roadway, a solitary man in an +olive-green uniform stood.</p> + +<p>I knew him; Lieutenant Ranjit Singh, Captain Courtland's +second-in-command. He was a Sikh. Instead of a steel helmet, he wore a +striped turban, and he had a black beard that made Joe Kivelson's +blond one look like Tom Kivelson's chin-fuzz. On his belt, along with +his pistol, he wore the little kirpan, the dagger all Sikhs carry. He +also carried a belt radio, and as we approached he lifted the phone to +his mouth and a loudspeaker on the combat car threw his voice at us:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> + +<p>"All right, that's far enough, now. The first vehicle that comes +within a hundred yards of this gate will be shot down."</p> + +<p>One man, and one combat car, against five thousand, with twenty-odd +guns and close to a hundred machine guns. He'd last about as long as a +pint of trade gin at a Sheshan funeral. The only thing was, before he +and the crew of the combat car were killed, they'd wipe out about ten +or fifteen of our vehicles and a couple of hundred men, and they would +be the men and vehicles in the lead.</p> + +<p>Mobs are a little different from soldiers, and our Rebel Army was +still a mob. Mobs don't like to advance into certain death, and they +don't like to advance over the bodies and wreckage of their own +forward elements. Neither do soldiers, but soldiers will do it. +Soldiers realize, when they put on the uniform, that some day they may +face death in battle, and if this is it, this is it.</p> + +<p>I got the combat car and the lone soldier in the turban—that would +look good in anybody's history book—and moved forward, taking care +that he saw the <i>Times</i> lettering on the jeep and taking care to stay +well short of the deadline. I let down to the street and got out, +taking off my gun belt and hanging it on the control handle of the +jeep. Then I walked forward.</p> + +<p>"Lieutenant Ranjit," I said, "I'm representing the <i>Times</i>. I have +business inside the spaceport. I want to get the facts about this. It +may be that when I get this story, these people will be satisfied."</p> + +<p>"We will, like Nifflheim!" I heard Joe Kivelson bawling, above and +behind me. "We want the men who started the fire my son got burned +in."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is that the Kivelson boy's father?" the Sikh asked me, and when I +nodded, he lifted the phone to his lips again. "Captain Kivelson," the +loudspeaker said, "your son is alive and under skin-grafting treatment +here at the spaceport hospital. His life is not, repeat not, in +danger. The men you are after are here, under guard. If any of them +are guilty of any crimes, and if you can show any better authority +than an armed mob to deal with them, they may, may, I said, be turned +over for trial. But they will not be taken from this spaceport by +force, as long as I or one of my men remains alive."</p> + +<p>"That's easy. We'll get them afterward," Joe Kivelson shouted.</p> + +<p>"Somebody may. You won't," Ranjit Singh told him. "Van Steen, hit that +ship's boat first, and hit it at the first hostile move anybody in +this mob makes."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. With pleasure," another voice replied.</p> + +<p>Nobody in the Rebel Army, if that was what it still was, had any +comment to make on that. Lieutenant Ranjit turned to me.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Boyd," he said. None of this sonny-boy stuff; Ranjit Singh was a +man of dignity, and he respected the dignity of others. "If I admit +you to the spaceport, will you give these people the facts exactly as +you learn them?"</p> + +<p>"That's what the <i>Times</i> always does, Lieutenant." Well, almost all +the facts almost always.</p> + +<p>"Will you people accept what this <i>Times</i> reporter tells you he has +learned?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course." That was Oscar Fujisawa.</p> + +<p>"I won't!" That was Joe Kivelson. "He's always taking the part of that +old rumpot of a Bish Ware."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Lieutenant, that remark was a slur on my paper, as well as myself," I +said. "Will you permit Captain Kivelson to come in along with me? And +somebody else," I couldn't resist adding, "so that people will believe +him?"</p> + +<p>Ranjit Singh considered that briefly. He wasn't afraid to die—I +believe he was honestly puzzled when he heard people talking about +fear—but his job was to protect some fugitives from a mob, not to die +a useless hero's death. If letting in a small delegation would prevent +an attack on the spaceport without loss of life and ammunition—or +maybe he reversed the order of importance—he was obliged to try it.</p> + +<p>"Yes. You may choose five men to accompany Mr. Boyd," he said. "They +may not bring weapons in with them. Sidearms," he added, "will not +count as weapons."</p> + +<p>After all, a kirpan was a sidearm, and his religion required him to +carry that. The decision didn't make me particularly happy. Respect +for the dignity of others is a fine thing in an officer, but like +journalistic respect for facts, it can be carried past the point of +being a virtue. I thought he was over-estimating Joe Kivelson's +self-control.</p> + +<p>Vehicles in front began grounding, and men got out and bunched +together on the street. Finally, they picked their delegation: Joe +Kivelson, Oscar Fujisawa, Casmir Oughourlian the shipyard man, one of +the engineers at the nutrient plant, and the Reverend Hiram Zilker, +the Orthodox-Monophysite preacher. They all had pistols, even the +Reverend Zilker, so I went back to the jeep and put mine on. Ranjit +Singh had switched his radio off the speaker and was talking to +somebody else.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> After a while, an olive-green limousine piloted by a +policeman in uniform and helmet floated in and grounded. The six of us +got into it, and it lifted again.</p> + +<p>The car let down in a vehicle hall in the administrative area, and the +police second lieutenant, Chris Xantos, was waiting alone, armed only +with the pistol that was part of his uniform and wearing a beret +instead of a helmet. He spoke to us, and ushered us down a hallway +toward Guido Fieschi's office.</p> + +<p>I get into the spaceport administrative area about once in twenty or +so hours. Oughourlian is a somewhat less frequent visitor. The others +had never been there, and they were visibly awed by all the gleaming +glass and brightwork, and the soft lights and the thick carpets. All +Port Sandor ought to look like this, I thought. It could, and maybe +now it might, after a while.</p> + +<p>There were six chairs in a semicircle facing Guido Fieschi's desk, and +three men sitting behind it. Fieschi, who had changed clothes and +washed since the last time I saw him, sat on the extreme right. +Captain Courtland, with his tight mouth under a gray mustache and the +quadruple row of medal ribbons on his breast, was on the left. In the +middle, the seat of honor, was Bish Ware, looking as though he were +presiding over a church council to try some rural curate for heresy.</p> + +<p>As soon as Joe Kivelson saw him, he roared angrily:</p> + +<p>"There's the dirty traitor who sold us out! He's the worst of the lot; +I wouldn't be surprised if—"</p> + +<p>Bish looked at him like a bishop who has just been contradicted on a +point of doctrine by a choirboy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Be quiet!" he ordered. "I did not follow this man you call Ravick +here to this ... this running-hot-and-cold Paradise planet, and I did +not spend five years fraternizing with its unwashed citizenry and +creating for myself the role of town drunkard of Port Sandor, to have +him taken from me and lynched after I have arrested him. People do not +lynch my prisoners."</p> + +<p>"And who in blazes are you?" Joe demanded.</p> + +<p>Bish took cognizance of the question, if not the questioner.</p> + +<p>"Tell them, if you please, Mr. Fieschi," he said.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Ware is a Terran Federation Executive Special Agent," +Fieschi said. "Captain Courtland and I have known that for the past +five years. As far as I know, nobody else was informed of Mr. Ware's +position."</p> + +<p>After that, you could have heard a gnat sneeze.</p> + +<p>Everybody knows about Executive Special Agents. There are all kinds of +secret agents operating in the Federation—Army and Navy Intelligence, +police of different sorts, Colonial Office agents, private detectives, +Chartered Company agents. But there are fewer Executive Specials than +there are inhabited planets in the Federation. They rank, ex officio, +as Army generals and Space Navy admirals; they have the privilege of +the floor in Parliament, they take orders from nobody but the +President of the Federation. But very few people have ever seen one, +or talked to anybody who has.</p> + +<p>And Bish Ware—<i>good ol' Bish; he'sh everybodysh frien'</i>—was one of +them. And I had been trying to make a man of him and reform him. I'd +even thought, if he stopped drinking, he might make a success as a +private detective—at Port<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> Sandor, on Fenris! I wondered what color +my face had gotten now, and I started looking around for a crack in +the floor, to trickle gently and unobtrusively into.</p> + +<p>And it should have been obvious to me, maybe not that he was an +Executive Special, but that he was certainly no drunken barfly. The +way he'd gone four hours without a drink, and seemed to be just as +drunk as ever. That was right—just as drunk as he'd ever been; which +was to say, cold sober. There was the time I'd seen him catch that +falling bottle and set it up. No drunken man could have done that; a +man's reflexes are the first thing to be affected by alcohol. And the +way he shot that tread-snail. I've seen men who could shoot well on +liquor, but not quick-draw stuff. That calls for perfect +co-ordination. And the way he went into his tipsy act at the +<i>Times</i>—veteran actor slipping into a well-learned role.</p> + +<p>He drank, sure. He did a lot of drinking. But there are men whose +systems resist the effects of alcohol better than others, and he must +have been an exceptional example of the type, or he'd never have +adopted the sort of cover personality he did. It would have been +fairly easy for him. Space his drinks widely, and never take a drink +unless he <i>had</i> to, to maintain the act. When he was at the Times with +just Dad and me, what did he have? A fruit fizz.</p> + +<p>Well, at least I could see it after I had my nose rubbed in it. Joe +Kivelson was simply gaping at him. The Reverend Zilker seemed to be +having trouble adjusting, too. The shipyard man and the chemical +engineer weren't saying anything, but it had kicked them for a loss, +too. Oscar Fujisawa<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> was making a noble effort to be completely +unsurprised. Oscar is one of our better poker players.</p> + +<p>"I thought it might be something like that," he lied brazenly. "But, +Bish ... Excuse me, I mean, Mr. Ware..."</p> + +<p>"Bish, if you please, Oscar."</p> + +<p>"Bish, what I'd like to know is what you wanted with Ravick," he said. +"They didn't send any Executive Special Agent here for five years to +investigate this tallow-wax racket of his."</p> + +<p>"No. We have been looking for him for a long time. Fifteen years, and +I've been working on it that long. You might say, I have made a career +of him. Steve Ravick is really Anton Gerrit."</p> + +<p>Maybe he was expecting us to leap from our chairs and cry out, "Aha! +The infamous Anton Gerrit! Brought to book at last!" We didn't. We +just looked at one another, trying to connect some meaning to the +name. It was Joe Kivelson, of all people, who caught the first gleam.</p> + +<p>"I know that name," he said. "Something on Loki, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>Yes; that was it. Now that my nose was rubbed in it again, I got it.</p> + +<p>"The Loki enslavements. Was that it?" I asked. "I read about it, but I +never seem to have heard of Gerrit."</p> + +<p>"He was the mastermind. The ones who were caught, fifteen years ago, +were the underlings, but Ravick was the real Number One. He was +responsible for the enslavement of from twenty to thirty thousand +Lokian natives, gentle, harmless, friendly people, most of whom were +worked to death in the mines."</p> + +<p>No wonder an Executive Special would put in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> fifteen years looking for +him. You murder your grandmother, or rob a bank, or burn down an +orphanage with the orphans all in bed upstairs, or something trivial +like that, and if you make an off-planet getaway, you're reasonably +safe. Of course there's such a thing as extradition, but who bothers? +Distances are too great, and communication is too slow, and the +Federation depends on every planet to do its own policing.</p> + +<p>But enslavement's something different. The Terran Federation is a +government of and for—if occasionally not by—all sapient peoples of +all races. The Federation Constitution guarantees equal rights to all. +Making slaves of people, human or otherwise, is a direct blow at +everything the Federation stands for. No wonder they kept hunting +fifteen years for the man responsible for the Loki enslavements.</p> + +<p>"Gerrit got away, with a month's start. By the time we had traced him +to Baldur, he had a year's start on us. He was five years ahead of us +when we found out that he'd gone from Baldur to Odin. Six years ago, +nine years after we'd started hunting for him, we decided, from the +best information we could get, that he had left Odin on one of the +local-stop ships for Terra, and dropped off along the way. There are +six planets at which those Terra-Odin ships stop. We sent a man to +each of them. I drew this prize out of the hat.</p> + +<p>"When I landed here, I contacted Mr. Fieschi, and we found that a man +answering to Gerrit's description had come in on the <i>Peenemünde</i> from +Odin seven years before, about the time Gerrit had left Odin. The man +who called himself Steve Ravick. Of course, he didn't look anything +like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> the pictures of Gerrit, but facial surgery was something we'd +taken for granted he'd have done. I finally managed to get his +fingerprints."</p> + +<p>Special Agent Ware took out a cigar, inspected it with the drunken +oversolemnity he'd been drilling himself into for five years, and lit +it. Then he saw what he was using and rose, holding it out, and I went +to the desk and took back my lighter-weapon.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Walt. I wouldn't have been able to do this if I hadn't had +that. Where was I? Oh, yes. I got Gerrit-alias-Ravick's fingerprints, +which did not match the ones we had on file for Gerrit, and sent them +in. It was eighteen months later that I got a reply on them. According +to his fingerprints, Steve Ravick was really a woman named Ernestine +Coyón, who had died of acute alcoholism in the free public ward of a +hospital at Paris-on-Baldur fourteen years ago."</p> + +<p>"Why, that's incredible!" the Reverend Zilker burst out, and Joe +Kivelson was saying: "Steve Ravick isn't any woman...."</p> + +<p>"Least of all one who died fourteen years ago," Bish agreed. "But the +fingerprints were hers. A pauper, dying in a public ward of a big +hospital. And a man who has to change his identity, and who has small, +woman-sized hands. And a crooked hospital staff surgeon. You get the +picture now?"</p> + +<p>"They're doing the same thing on Tom's back, right here," I told Joe. +"Only you can't grow fingerprints by carniculture, the way you can +human tissue for grafting. They had to have palm and finger surfaces +from a pair of real human hands. A pauper, dying in a free-treatment +ward,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> her body shoved into a mass-energy converter." Then I thought +of something else. "That showoff trick of his, crushing out cigarettes +in his palm," I said.</p> + +<p>Bish nodded commendingly. "Exactly. He'd have about as much sensation +in his palms as I'd have wearing thick leather gloves. I'd noticed +that.</p> + +<p>"Well, six months going, and a couple of months waiting on reports +from other planets, and six months coming, and so on, it wasn't until +the <i>Peenemünde</i> got in from Terra, the last time, that I got final +confirmation. Dr. Watson, you'll recall."</p> + +<p>"Who, you perceived, had been in Afghanistan," I mentioned, trying to +salvage something. Showing off. The one I was trying to impress was +Walt Boyd.</p> + +<p>"You caught that? Careless of me," Bish chided himself. "What he gave +me was a report that they had finally located a man who had been a +staff surgeon at this hospital on Baldur at the time. He's now doing a +stretch for another piece of malpractice he was unlucky enough to get +caught at later. We will not admit making deals with any criminals, in +jail or out, but he is willing to testify, and is on his way to Terra +now. He can identify pictures of Anton Gerrit as those of the man he +operated on fourteen years ago, and his testimony and Ernestine +Coyón's fingerprints will identify Ravick as that man. With all the +Colonial Constabulary and Army Intelligence people got on Gerrit on +Loki, simple identification will be enough. Gerrit was proven guilty +long ago, and it won't be any trouble, now, to prove that Ravick is +Gerrit."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why didn't you arrest him as soon as you got the word from your +friend from Afghanistan?" I wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"Good question; I've been asking myself that," Bish said, a trifle +wryly. "If I had, the <i>Javelin</i> wouldn't have been bombed, that wax +wouldn't have been burned, and Tom Kivelson wouldn't have been +injured. What I did was send my friend, who is a Colonial Constabulary +detective, to Gimli, the next planet out. There's a Navy base there, +and always at least a couple of destroyers available. He's coming back +with one of them to pick Gerrit up and take him to Terra. They ought +to be in in about two hundred and fifty hours. I thought it would be +safer all around to let Gerrit run loose till then. There's no place +he could go.</p> + +<p>"What I didn't realize, at the time, was what a human H-bomb this man +Murell would turn into. Then everything blew up at once. Finally, I +was left with the choice of helping Gerrit escape from Hunters' Hall +or having him lynched before I could arrest him." He turned to +Kivelson. "In the light of what you knew, I don't blame you for +calling me a dirty traitor."</p> + +<p>"But how did I know..." Kivelson began.</p> + +<p>"That's right. You weren't supposed to. That was before you found out. +You ought to have heard what Gerrit and Belsher—as far as I know, +that is his real name—called me after they found out, when they got +out of that jeep and Captain Courtland's men snapped the handcuffs on +them. It even shocked a hardened sinner like me."</p> + +<p>There was a lot more of it. Bish had managed to get into Hunters' Hall +just about the time Al Devis and his companion were starting the fire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +Ravick—Gerrit—had ordered for a diversion. The whole gang was going +to crash out as soon as the fire had attracted everybody away. Bish +led them out onto the Second Level Down, sleep-gassed the lone man in +the jeep, and took them to the spaceport, where the police were +waiting for them.</p> + +<p>As soon as I'd gotten everything, I called the <i>Times</i>. I'd had my +radio on all the time, and it had been coming in perfectly. Dad, I was +happy to observe, was every bit as flabbergasted as I had been at who +and what Bish Ware was. He might throw my campaign to reform Bish up +at me later on, but at the moment he wasn't disposed to, and I was +praising Allah silently that I hadn't had a chance to mention the +detective agency idea to him. That would have been a little too much.</p> + +<p>"What are they doing about Belsher and Hallstock?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Belsher goes back to Terra with Ravick. Gerrit, I mean. That's where +he collected his cut on the tallow-wax, so that is where he'd have to +be tried. Bish is convinced that somebody in Kapstaad Chemical must +have been involved, too. Hallstock is strictly a local matter."</p> + +<p>"That's about what I thought. With all this interstellar +back-and-forth, it'll be a long time before we'll be able to write +thirty under the story."</p> + +<p>"Well, we can put thirty under the Steve Ravick story," I said.</p> + +<p>Then it hit me. The Steve Ravick story was finished; that is, the +local story of racketeer rule in the Hunters' Co-operative. But the +Anton Gerrit story was something else. That was Federation-wide news; +the end of a fifteen-year manhunt for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> the most wanted criminal in the +known Galaxy. And who had that story, right in his hot little hand? +Walter Boyd, the ace—and only—reporter for the mighty Port Sandor +<i>Times</i>.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I continued. "The Ravick story's finished. But we still have +the Anton Gerrit story, and I'm going to work on it right now."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="C20" id="C20"></a>20</h2> + +<h3>FINALE</h3> + + +<p>They had Tom Kivelson in a private room at the hospital; he was +sitting up in a chair, with a lot of pneumatic cushions around him, +and a lunch tray on his lap. He looked white and thin. He could move +one arm completely, but the bandages they had loaded him with seemed +to have left the other free only at the elbow. He was concentrating on +his lunch, and must have thought I was one of the nurses, or a doctor, +or something of the sort.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to let me have a cigarette and a cup of coffee, when +I'm through with this?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't have any coffee, but you can have one of my +cigarettes," I said.</p> + +<p>Then he looked up and gave a whoop. "Walt! How'd you get in here? I +thought they weren't going to let anybody in to see me till this +afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Power of the press," I told him. "Bluff, blarney, and blackmail. How +are they treating you?"</p> + +<p>"Awful. Look what they gave me for lunch. I thought we were on short +rations down on Hermann Reuch's Land. How's Father?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He's all right. They took the splint off, but he still has to carry +his arm in a sling."</p> + +<p>"Lucky guy; he can get around on his feet, and I'll bet he isn't +starving, either. You know, speaking about food, I'm going to feel +like a cannibal eating carniculture meat, now. My whole back's +carniculture." He filled his mouth with whatever it was they were +feeding him and asked, through it: "Did I miss Steve Ravick's +hanging?"</p> + +<p>I was horrified. "Haven't these people told you anything?" I demanded.</p> + +<p>"Nah; they wouldn't even tell me the right time. Afraid it would +excite me."</p> + +<p>So I told him; first who Bish Ware really was, and then who Ravick +really was. He gaped for a moment, and then shoveled in more food.</p> + +<p>"Go on; what happened?"</p> + +<p>I told him how Bish had smuggled Gerrit and Leo Belsher out on Second +Level Down and gotten them to the spaceport, where Courtland's men had +been waiting for them.</p> + +<p>"Gerrit's going to Terra, and from there to Loki. They want the +natives to see what happens to a Terran who breaks Terran law; teach +them that our law isn't just to protect us. Belsher's going to Terra, +too. There was a big ship captains' meeting; they voted to reclaim +their wax and sell it individually to Murell, but to retain membership +in the Co-op. They think they'll have to stay in the Co-op to get +anything that's gettable out of Gerrit's and Belsher's money. Oscar +Fujisawa and Cesário Vieira are going to Terra on the <i>Cape Canaveral</i> +to start suit to recover anything they can, and also to petition for +reclassification of Fenris. Oscar's coming back on the next ship, but +Cesário's going<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> to stay on as the Co-op representative. I suppose he +and Linda will be getting married."</p> + +<p>"Natch. They'll both stay on Terra, I suppose. Hey, whattaya know! +Cesário's getting off Fenris without having to die and reincarnate."</p> + +<p>He finished his lunch, such as it was and what there was of it, and I +relieved him of the tray and set it on the floor beyond his chair. I +found an ashtray and lit a cigarette for him and one for myself, using +the big lighter. Tom looked at it dubiously, predicting that sometime +I'd push the wrong thing and send myself bye-byes for a couple of +hours. I told him how Bish had used it.</p> + +<p>"Bet a lot of people wanted to hang him, too, before they found out +who he was and what he'd really done. What's my father think of Bish, +now?"</p> + +<p>"Bish Ware is a great and good man, and the savior of Fenris," I said. +"And he was real smart, to keep an act like that up for five years. +Your father modestly admits that it even fooled him."</p> + +<p>"Bet Oscar Fujisawa knew it all along."</p> + +<p>"Well, Oscar modestly admits that he suspected something of the sort, +but he didn't feel it was his place to say anything."</p> + +<p>Tom laughed, and then wanted to know if they were going to hang Mort +Hallstock. "I hope they wait till I can get out of here."</p> + +<p>"No, Odin Dock & Shipyard claim he's a political refugee and they +won't give him up. They did loan us a couple of accountants to go over +the city books, to see if we could find any real evidence of +misappropriation, and whattaya know, there were no city books. The +city of Port Sandor didn't keep books. We can't even take that three +hundred thousand sols away from him; for all we can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> prove, he saved +them out of his five-thousand-sol-a-year salary. He's shipping out on +the <i>Cape Canaveral</i>, too."</p> + +<p>"Then we don't have any government at all!"</p> + +<p>"Are you fooling yourself we ever had one?"</p> + +<p>"No, but—"</p> + +<p>"Well, we have one now. A temporary dictatorship; Bish Ware is +dictator. Fieschi loaned him Ranjit Singh and some of his men. The +first thing he did was gather up the city treasurer and the chief of +police and march them to the spaceport; Fieschi made Hallstock buy +them tickets, too. But there aren't going to be any unofficial +hangings. This is a law-abiding planet, now."</p> + +<p>A nurse came in, and disapproved of Tom smoking and of me being in the +room at all.</p> + +<p>"Haven't you had your lunch yet?" she asked Tom.</p> + +<p>He looked at her guilelessly and said, "No; I was waiting for it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll get it," she said. "I thought the other nurse had brought +it." She started out, and then she came back and had to fuss with his +cushions, and then she saw the tray on the floor.</p> + +<p>"You did so have your lunch!" she accused.</p> + +<p>Tom looked at her as innocently as ever. "Oh, you mean these samples? +Why, they were good; I'll take all of them. And a big slab of roast +beef, and brown gravy, and mashed potatoes. And how about some ice +cream?"</p> + +<p>It was a good try; too bad it didn't work.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry, Tom," I told him. "I'll get my lawyer to spring you out +of this jug, and then we'll take you to my place and fill you up on +Mrs. Laden's cooking."</p> + +<p>The nurse sniffed. She suspected, quite cor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>rectly, that whoever Mrs. +Laden was, she didn't know anything about scientific dietetics.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>When I got back to the <i>Times</i>, Dad and Julio had had their lunch and +were going over the teleprint edition. Julio was printing corrections +on blank sheets of plastic and Dad was cutting them out and cementing +them over things that needed correcting on the master sheets. I gave +Julio a short item to the effect that Tom Kivelson, son of Captain and +Mrs. Joe Kivelson, one of the <i>Javelin</i> survivors who had been burned +in the tallow-wax fire, was now out of all danger, and recovering. Dad +was able to scrounge that onto the first page.</p> + +<p>There was a lot of other news. The T.F.N. destroyer <i>Simón Bolivar</i>, +en route from Gimli to pick up the notorious Anton Gerrit, alias Steve +Ravick, had come out of hyperspace and into radio range. Dad had +talked to the skipper by screen and gotten interviews, which would be +telecast, both with him and Detective-Major MacBride of the Colonial +Constabulary. The <i>Simón Bolivar</i> would not make landing, but go into +orbit and send down a boat. Detective-Major MacBride (alias Dr. John +Watson) would remain on Fenris to take over local police activities.</p> + +<p>More evidence had been unearthed at Hunters' Hall on the frauds +practiced by Leo Belsher and Gerrit-alias-Ravick; it looked as though +a substantial sum of money might be recovered, eventually, from the +bank accounts and other holdings of both men on Terra. Acting +Resident-Agent Gonzalo Ware—Ware, it seemed, really was his right +name, but look what he had in front of it—had promulgated more +regulations and edicts, and a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> crackdown on the worst waterfront dives +was in progress. I'll bet the devoted flock was horrified at what +their beloved bishop had turned into. Bish would leave his diocese in +a lot healthier condition than he'd found it, that was one thing for +sure. And most of the gang of thugs and plug-uglies who had been used +to intimidate and control the Hunters' Co-operative had been gathered +up and jailed on vagrancy charges; prisoners were being put to work +cleaning up the city.</p> + +<p>And there was a lot about plans for a registration of voters, and +organization of election boards, and a local electronics-engineering +firm had been awarded a contract for voting machines. I didn't think +there had ever been a voting machine on Fenris before.</p> + +<p>"The commander of the <i>Bolivar</i> says he'll take your story to Terra +with him, and see that it gets to Interworld News," Dad told me as we +were sorting the corrected master sheets and loading them into the +photoprint machine, to be sent out on the air. "The <i>Bolivar</i>'ll make +Terra at least two hundred hours ahead of the <i>Cape Canaveral</i>. +Interworld will be glad to have it. It isn't often they get a story +like that with the first news of anything, and this'll be a big +story."</p> + +<p>"You shouldn't have given me the exclusive by-line," I said. "You did +as much work on it as I did."</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't, either," he contradicted, "and I knew what I was +doing."</p> + +<p>With the work done, I remembered that I hadn't had anything to eat +since breakfast, and I went down to take inventory of the +refrigerator. Dad went along with me, and after I had assembled a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +lunch and sat down to it, he decided that his pipe needed refilling, +lit it, poured a cup of coffee and sat down with me.</p> + +<p>"You know, Walt, I've been thinking, lately," he began.</p> + +<p>Oh-oh, I thought. When Dad makes that remark, in just that tone, it's +all hands to secure ship for diving.</p> + +<p>"We've all had to do a lot of thinking, lately," I agreed.</p> + +<p>"Yes. You know, they want me to be mayor of Port Sandor."</p> + +<p>I nodded and waited till I got my mouth empty. I could see a lot of +sense in that. Dad is honest and scrupulous and public-spirited; too +much so, sometimes, for his own good. There wasn't any question of his +ability, and while there had always been antagonism between the +hunter-ship crews and waterfront people and the uptown business crowd, +Dad was well liked and trusted by both parties.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to take it?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I'll have to, if they really want me. Be a sort of +obligation."</p> + +<p>That would throw a lot more work on me. Dad could give some attention +to the paper as mayor, but not as much as now.</p> + +<p>"What do you want me to try to handle for you?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, Walt, that's what I've been thinking about," he said. "I've +been thinking about it for a long time, and particularly since things +got changed around here. I think you ought to go to school some more."</p> + +<p>That made me laugh. "What, back to Hartzen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>bosch?" I asked. "I could +teach him more than he could teach me, now."</p> + +<p>"I doubt that, Walt. Professor Hartzenbosch may be an old maid in +trousers, but he's really a very sound scholar. But I wasn't thinking +about that. I was thinking about your going to Terra to school."</p> + +<p>"Huh?" I forgot to eat, for a moment. "Let's stop kidding."</p> + +<p>"I didn't start kidding; I meant it."</p> + +<p>"Well, think again, Dad. It costs money to go to school on Terra. It +even costs money to go to Terra."</p> + +<p>"We have a little money, Walt. Maybe more than you think we do. And +with things getting better, we'll lease more teleprinters and get more +advertising. You're likely to get better than the price of your +passage out of that story we're sending off on the <i>Bolivar</i>, and that +won't be the end of it, either. Fenris is going to be in the news for +a while. You may make some more money writing. That's why I was +careful to give you the by-line on that Gerrit story." His pipe had +gone out again; he took time out to relight it, and then added: +"Anything I spend on this is an investment. The <i>Times</i> will get it +back."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's another thing; the paper," I said. "If you're going to be +mayor, you won't be able to do everything you're doing on the paper +now, and then do all my work too."</p> + +<p>"Well, shocking as the idea may be, I think we can find somebody to +replace you."</p> + +<p>"Name one," I challenged.</p> + +<p>"Well, Lillian Arnaz, at the Library, has always been interested in +newspaper work," he began.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A girl!" I hooted. "You have any idea of some of the places I have to +go to get stories?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I have always deplored the necessity. But a great many of them +have been closed lately, and the rest are being run in a much more +seemly manner. And she wouldn't be the only reporter. I hesitate to +give you any better opinion of yourself than you have already, but it +would take at least three people to do the work you've been doing. +When you get back from Terra, you'll find the <i>Times</i> will have a very +respectable reportorial staff."</p> + +<p>"What'll I be, then?" I wondered.</p> + +<p>"Editor," Dad told me. "I'll retire and go into politics full time. +And if Fenris is going to develop the way I believe it will, the +editor of the <i>Times</i> will need a much better education than I have."</p> + +<p>I kept on eating, to give myself an excuse for silence. He was right, +I knew that. But college on Terra; why, that would be at least four +years, maybe five, and then a year for the round trip....</p> + +<p>"Walt, this doesn't have to be settled right away," Dad said. "You +won't be going on the <i>Simón Bolivar</i>, along with Ravick and Belsher. +And that reminds me. Have you talked to Bish lately? He'd be hurt if +you didn't see him before he left."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The truth was, I'd been avoiding Bish, and not just because I knew how +busy he was. My face felt like a tallow-wax fire every time I thought +of how I'd been trying to reform him, and I didn't quite know what I'd +be able to say to him if I met him again. And he seemed to me to be an +entirely different person, as though the old Bish Ware,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> whom I had +liked in spite of what I'd thought he was, had died, and some total +stranger had taken his place.</p> + +<p>But I went down to the Municipal Building. It didn't look like the +same place. The walls had been scrubbed; the floors were free from +litter. All the drove of loafers and hangers-on had been run out, or +maybe jailed and put to work. I looked into a couple of offices; +everybody in them was busy. A few of the old police force were still +there, but their uniforms had been cleaned and pressed, they had all +shaved recently, and one or two looked as though they liked being able +to respect themselves, for a change.</p> + +<p>The girl at the desk in the mayor's outside office told me Bish had a +delegation of uptown merchants, who seemed to think that reform was +all right in its place but it oughtn't to be carried more than a few +blocks above the waterfront. They were protesting the new sanitary +regulations. Then she buzzed Bish on the handphone, and told me he'd +see me in a few minutes. After a while, I heard the delegation going +down the hall from the private office door. One of them was saying:</p> + +<p>"Well, this is what we've always been screaming our heads off for. Now +we've got it good and hard; we'll just have to get used to it."</p> + +<p>When I went in, Bish rose from his desk and came to meet me, shaking +my hand. He looked and was dressed like the old Bish Ware I'd always +known.</p> + +<p>"Glad you dropped in, Walt. Find a seat. How are things on the +<i>Times</i>?"</p> + +<p>"You ought to know. You're making things busy for us."</p> + +<p>"Yes. There's so much to do, and so little time to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> do it. Seems as +though I've heard somebody say that before."</p> + +<p>"Are you going back to Terra on the <i>Simón Bolivar</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Allah forbid! I made a trip on a destroyer, once, and once is +enough for a lifetime. I won't even be able to go on the <i>Cape +Canaveral</i>; I'll take the <i>Peenemünde</i> when she gets in. I'm glad +MacBride—Dr. Watson—is going to stop off. He'll be a big help. Don't +know what I'd have done without Ranjit Singh."</p> + +<p>"That won't be till after the <i>Cape Canaveral</i> gets back from Terra."</p> + +<p>"No. That's why I'm waiting. Don't publish this, Walt, I don't want to +start any premature rumors that might end in disappointments, but I've +recommended immediate reclassification to Class III, and there may be +a Colonial Office man on the <i>Cape Canaveral</i> when she gets in. +Resident-Agent, permanent. I hope so; he'll need a little breaking +in."</p> + +<p>"I saw Tom Kivelson this morning," I said. "He seems to be getting +along pretty well."</p> + +<p>"Didn't anybody at the hospital tell you about him?" Bish asked.</p> + +<p>I shook my head. He cursed all hospital staffs.</p> + +<p>"I wish military security was half as good. Why, Tom's permanently +injured. He won't be crippled, or anything like that, but there was +considerable unrepairable damage to his back muscles. He'll be able to +get around, but I doubt it he'll ever be able to work on a hunter-ship +again."</p> + +<p>I was really horrified. Monster-hunting was Tom's whole life. I said +something like that.</p> + +<p>"He'll just have to make a new life for himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> Joe says he's going +to send him to school on Terra. He thinks that was his own idea, but I +suggested it to him."</p> + +<p>"Dad wants me to go to school on Terra."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's a fine idea. Tom's going on the <i>Peenemünde</i>, along with +me. Why don't you come with us?"</p> + +<p>"That would be great, Bish. I'd like it. But I just can't."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Well, they want Dad to be mayor, and if he runs, they'll all vote for +him. He can't handle this and the paper both alone."</p> + +<p>"He can get help on both jobs."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but ... Why, it would be years till I got back. I can't +sacrifice the time. Not now."</p> + +<p>"I'd say six years. You can spend your voyage time from here cramming +for entrance qualifications. Schools don't bother about academic +credits any more; they're only interested in how much you know. You +take four years' regular college, and a year postgrading, and you'll +have all the formal education you'll need."</p> + +<p>"But, Bish, I can get that here, at the Library," I said. "We have +every book on film that's been published since the Year Zero."</p> + +<p>"Yes. And you'd die of old age before you got a quarter through the +first film bank, and you still wouldn't have an education. Do you know +which books to study, and which ones not to bother with? Or which ones +to read first, so that what you read in the others will be +comprehensible to you? That's what they'll give you on Terra. The +tools, which you don't have now, for educating yourself."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> + +<p>I thought that over. It made sense. I'd had a lot of the very sort of +trouble he'd spoken of, trying to get information for myself in proper +order, and I'd read a lot of books that duplicated other books I'd +read, and books I had trouble understanding because I hadn't read some +other book first. Bish had something there. I was sure he had. But six +years!</p> + +<p>I said that aloud, and added: "I can't take the time. I have to be +doing things."</p> + +<p>"You'll do things. You'll do them a lot better for waiting those six +years. You aren't eighteen yet. Six years is a whole third of your +past life. No wonder it seems long to you. But you're thinking the +wrong way; you're relating those six years to what has passed. Relate +them to what's ahead of you, and see how little time they are. You +take ordinary care of yourself and keep out of any more civil wars, +and you have sixty more years, at least. Your six years at school are +only one-tenth of that. I was fifty when I came here to this Creator's +blunder of a planet. Say I had only twenty more years; I spent a +quarter of them playing town drunk here. I'm the one who ought to be +in a rush and howling about lost time, not you. I ought to be in such +a hurry I'd take the <i>Simón Bolivar</i> to Terra and let this place go +to—to anywhere you might imagine to be worse."</p> + +<p>"You know, I don't think you like Fenris."</p> + +<p>"I don't. If I were a drinking man, this planet would have made a +drunkard of me. Now, you forget about these six years chopped out of +your busy life. When you get back here, with an education, you'll be a +kid of twenty-four, with a big long life ahead of you and your mind +stocked with things you don't have now that will help you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> make +something—and more important, something enjoyable—out of it."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There was a huge crowd at the spaceport to see us off, Tom and Bish +Ware and me. Mostly, it was for Bish. If I don't find a monument to +him when I get back, I'll know there is no such thing as gratitude. +There had been a big banquet for us the evening before, and I think +Bish actually got a little tipsy. Nobody can be sure, though; it might +have been just the old actor back in his role. Now they were all +crowding around us, as many as could jam in, in the main lounge of the +<i>Peenemünde</i>. Joe Kivelson and his wife. Dad and Julio and Mrs. Laden, +who was actually being cordial to Bish, and who had a bundle for us +that we weren't to open till we were in hyperspace. Lillian Arnaz, the +girl who was to take my place as star reporter. We were going to send +each other audiovisuals; advice from me on the job, and news from the +<i>Times</i> from her. Glenn Murell, who had his office open by now and was +grumbling that there had been a man from Interstellar Import-Export +out on the <i>Cape Canaveral</i>, and if the competition got any stiffer +the price of tallow-wax would be forced up on him to a sol a pound. +And all the <i>Javelin</i> hands who had been wrecked with us on Hermann +Reuch's Land, and the veterans of the Civil War, all but Oscar and +Cesário, who will be at the dock to meet us when we get to Terra.</p> + +<p>I wonder what it'll be like, on a world where you go to bed every time +it gets dark and get up when it gets light, and can go outdoors all +the time. I wonder how I'll like college, and meeting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> people from all +over the Federation, and swapping tall stories about our home planets.</p> + +<p>And I wonder what I'll learn. The long years ahead, I can't imagine +them now, will be spent on the <i>Times</i>, and I ought to learn things to +fit me for that. But I can't get rid of the idea about carniculture +growth of tallow-wax. We'll have to do something like that. The demand +for the stuff is growing, and we don't know how long it'll be before +the monsters are hunted out. We know how fast we're killing them, but +we don't know how many there are or how fast they breed. I'll talk to +Tom about that; maybe between us we can hit on something, or at least +lay a foundation for somebody else who will.</p> + +<p>The crowd pushed out and off the ship, and the three of us were alone, +here in the lounge of the <i>Peenemünde</i>, where the story started and +where it ends. Bish says no story ends, ever. He's wrong. Stories die, +and nothing in the world is deader than a dead news story. But before +they do, they hatch a flock of little ones, and some of them grow into +bigger stories still. What happens after the ship lifts into the +darkness, with the pre-dawn glow in the east, will be another, a new, +story.</p> + +<p>But to the story of how the hunters got an honest co-operative and +Fenris got an honest government, and Bish Ware got Anton Gerrit the +slaver, I can write</p> + +<h3>"The End."</h3> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><i>THE WORLDS OF H. BEAM PIPER</i></h2> +<p class="blockquot">FOUR-DAY PLANET ... where the killing heat of a thousand-hour "day" +drives men underground, and the glorious hundred-hour sunset is +followed by a thousand-hour night so cold that only an Extreme +Environment Suit can preserve the life of anyone caught outside.</p> + +<p class="center">and</p> + +<p class="blockquot">LONE STAR PLANET ... a planet-full of Texans—they firmly believe they +live on the biggest, strongest, best planet in the galaxy. They herd +cattle the size of boxcars for a living, and they defy the Solar +League to prove that New Texas has even the slightest need of the +"protection" that a bunch of diplomatic sissies can offer.</p> + +<h3>BRAVE NEW WORLDS FROM <br /> +THE CREATOR OF "LITTLE FUZZY"</h3> +<h3>—TOGETHER IN ONE VOLUME—</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Also by H. Beam Piper</h2> + +<ul><li>LITTLE FUZZY<br /></li> +<li>FUZZY SAPIENS<br /></li> +<li>SPACE VIKING<br /></li> +<li>THE COSMIC COMPUTER<br /></li></ul> + + +<h3>all from Ace Science Fiction</h3> +<div class="center"><img src="images/image_01.jpg" alt="Seal" width="50" height="59" /></div> +<h3> + ACE<br /> + SCIENCE<br /> + FICTION<br /> +</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>Four-Day Planet</h2> + + +<p>Fenris isn't a hell planet, but it's nobody's bargain. With 2,000-hour +days and an 8,000-hour year, it alternates blazing heat with killing +cold. A planet like that tends to breed a special kind of person: +tough enough to stay alive and smart enough to make the best of it. +When that kind of person discovers he's being cheated of wealth he's +risked his life for, that kind of planet is ripe for revolution.</p> + + +<h2>Lone Star Planet</h2> +<p>New Texas: its citizens figure that name about says it all. The Solar +League ambassador to the Lone Star Planet has the unenviable task of +convincing New Texans that a s'Srauff attack is imminent, and +dangerous. Unfortunately it's common knowledge that the s'Srauff are +evolved from canine ancestors—and not a Texan alive is about to be +scared of a talking dog! But unless he can get them to act, and fast, +there won't be a Texan alive, scared or otherwise!</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Four-Day Planet, by Henry Beam Piper + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR-DAY PLANET *** + +***** This file should be named 19478-h.htm or 19478-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/4/7/19478/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/19478-h/images/image_01.jpg b/19478-h/images/image_01.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..914da7e --- /dev/null +++ b/19478-h/images/image_01.jpg diff --git a/19478.txt b/19478.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0001da2 --- /dev/null +++ b/19478.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7069 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Four-Day Planet, by Henry Beam Piper + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Four-Day Planet + +Author: Henry Beam Piper + +Release Date: October 6, 2006 [EBook #19478] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR-DAY PLANET *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the + U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + The attribution is not a part of the original book. + + + Four-Day Planet + + + by H. Beam Piper + + + + + SF + ace books + A Division of Charter Communications Inc. + A GROSSET & DUNLAP COMPANY + 360 Park Avenue South + New York, New York 10010 + + + + Copyright (C) 1961 by H. Beam Piper + + + _Cover art by Michael Whelan_ + + * * * * * + + +DEDICATION + +For Betty and Vall, with +loving remembrance + + * * * * * + + + + +CONTENTS + + + 1. The Ship from Terra + + 2. Reporter Working + + 3. Bottom Level + + 4. Main City Level + + 5. Meeting Out of Order + + 6. Elementary, My Dear Kivelson + + 7. Aboard the _Javelin_ + + 8. Practice, 50-MM Gun + + 9. Monster Killing + +10. Mayday, Mayday + +11. Darkness and Cold + +12. Castaways Working + +13. The Beacon Light + +14. The Rescue + +15. Vigilantes + +16. Civil War Postponed + +17. Tallow-Wax Fire + +18. The Treason of Bish Ware + +19. Masks Off + +20. Finale + + * * * * * + + + + +Four-Day Planet + +1 + +THE SHIP FROM TERRA + + +I went through the gateway, towing my equipment in a contragravity +hamper over my head. As usual, I was wondering what it would take, +short of a revolution, to get the city of Port Sandor as clean and +tidy and well lighted as the spaceport area. I knew Dad's editorials +and my sarcastic news stories wouldn't do it. We'd been trying long +enough. + +The two girls in bikinis in front of me pushed on, still gabbling +about the fight one of them had had with her boy friend, and I closed +up behind the half dozen monster-hunters in long trousers, ankle boots +and short boat-jackets, with big knives on their belts. They must have +all been from the same crew, because they weren't arguing about whose +ship was fastest, had the toughest skipper, and made the most money. +They were talking about the price of tallow-wax, and they seemed to +have picked up a rumor that it was going to be cut another ten +centisols a pound. I eavesdropped shamelessly, but it was the same +rumor I'd picked up, myself, a little earlier. + +"Hi, Walt," somebody behind me called out. "Looking for some news +that's fit to print?" + +I turned my head. It was a man of about thirty-five with curly brown +hair and a wide grin. Adolf Lautier, the entertainment promoter. He +and Dad each owned a share in the Port Sandor telecast station, and +split their time between his music and drama-films and Dad's +newscasts. + +"All the news is fit to print, and if it's news the _Times_ prints +it," I told him. "Think you're going to get some good thrillers this +time?" + +He shrugged. I'd just asked that to make conversation; he never had +any way of knowing what sort of films would come in. The ones the +_Peenemuende_ was bringing should be fairly new, because she was +outbound from Terra. He'd go over what was aboard, and trade one for +one for the old films he'd shown already. + +"They tell me there's a real Old-Terran-style Western been showing on +Voelund that ought to be coming our way this time," he said. "It was +filmed in South America, with real horses." + +That would go over big here. Almost everybody thought horses were as +extinct as dinosaurs. I've seen so-called Westerns with the cowboys +riding Freyan _oukry_. I mentioned that, and then added: + +"They'll think the old cattle towns like Dodge and Abilene were awful +sissy places, though." + +"I suppose they were, compared to Port Sandor," Lautier said. "Are you +going aboard to interview the distinguished visitor?" + +"Which one?" I asked. "Glenn Murell or Leo Belsher?" + +Lautier called Leo Belsher something you won't find in the dictionary +but which nobody needs to look up. The hunters, ahead of us, heard +him and laughed. They couldn't possibly have agreed more. He was going +to continue with the fascinating subject of Mr. Leo Belsher's ancestry +and personal characteristics, and then bit it off short. I followed +his eyes, and saw old Professor Hartzenbosch, the principal of the +school, approaching. + +"Ah, here you are, Mr. Lautier," he greeted. "I trust that I did not +keep you waiting." Then he saw me. "Why, it's Walter Boyd. How is your +father, Walter?" + +I assured him as to Dad's health and inquired about his own, and then +asked him how things were going at school. As well as could be +expected, he told me, and I gathered that he kept his point of +expectation safely low. Then he wanted to know if I were going aboard +to interview Mr. Murell. + +"Really, Walter, it is a wonderful thing that a famous author like Mr. +Murell should come here to write a book about our planet," he told me, +very seriously, and added, as an afterthought: "Have you any idea +where he intends staying while he is among us?" + +"Why, yes," I admitted. "After the _Peenemuende_ radioed us their +passenger list, Dad talked to him by screen, and invited him to stay +with us. Mr. Murell accepted, at least until he can find quarters of +his own." + +There are a lot of good poker players in Port Sandor, but Professor +Jan Hartzenbosch is not one of them. The look of disappointment would +have been comical if it hadn't been so utterly pathetic. He'd been +hoping to lasso Murell himself. + +"I wonder if Mr. Murell could spare time to come to the school and +speak to the students," he said, after a moment. + +"I'm sure he could. I'll mention it to him, Professor," I promised. + +Professor Hartzenbosch bridled at that. The great author ought to be +coming to his school out of respect for him, not because a +seventeen-year-old cub reporter sent him. But then, Professor +Hartzenbosch always took the attitude that he was conferring a favor +on the _Times_ when he had anything he wanted publicity on. + +The elevator door opened, and Lautier and the professor joined in the +push to get into it. I hung back, deciding to wait for the next one so +that I could get in first and get back to the rear, where my hamper +wouldn't be in people's way. After a while, it came back empty and I +got on, and when the crowd pushed off on the top level, I put my +hamper back on contragravity and towed it out into the outdoor air, +which by this time had gotten almost as cool as a bake-oven. + +I looked up at the sky, where everybody else was looking. The +_Peenemuende_ wasn't visible; it was still a few thousand miles +off-planet. Big ragged clouds were still blowing in from the west, +very high, and the sunset was even brighter and redder than when I had +seen it last, ten hours before. It was now about 1630. + +Now, before anybody starts asking just who's crazy, let me point out +that this is not on Terra, nor on Baldur nor Thor nor Odin nor Freya, +nor any other rational planet. This is Fenris, and on Fenris the +sunsets, like many other things, are somewhat peculiar. + +Fenris is the second planet of a G_{4} star, six hundred and fifty +light-years to the Galactic southwest of the Sol System. Everything +else equal, it should have been pretty much Terra type; closer to a +cooler primary and getting about the same amount of radiation. At +least, that's what the book says. I was born on Fenris, and have never +been off it in the seventeen years since. + +Everything else, however, is not equal. The Fenris year is a trifle +shorter than the Terran year we use for Atomic Era dating, eight +thousand and a few odd Galactic Standard hours. In that time, Fenris +makes almost exactly four axial rotations. This means that on one side +the sun is continuously in the sky for a thousand hours, pouring down +unceasing heat, while the other side is in shadow. You sleep eight +hours, and when you get up and go outside--in an insulated vehicle, or +an extreme-environment suit--you find that the shadows have moved only +an inch or so, and it's that much hotter. Finally, the sun crawls down +to the horizon and hangs there for a few days--periods of twenty-four +G.S. hours--and then slides slowly out of sight. Then, for about a +hundred hours, there is a beautiful unfading sunset, and it's really +pleasant outdoors. Then it gets darker and colder until, just before +sunrise, it gets almost cold enough to freeze CO_{2}. Then the sun +comes up, and we begin all over again. + +You are picking up the impression, I trust, that as planets go, Fenris +is nobody's bargain. It isn't a real hell-planet, and spacemen haven't +made a swear word out of its name, as they have with the name of +fluorine-atmosphere Nifflheim, but even the Reverend Hiram Zilker, the +Orthodox-Monophysite preacher, admits that it's one of those planets +the Creator must have gotten a trifle absent-minded with. + +The chartered company that colonized it, back at the end of the Fourth +Century A.E., went bankrupt in ten years, and it wouldn't have taken +that long if communication between Terra and Fenris hadn't been a +matter of six months each way. When the smash finally came, two +hundred and fifty thousand colonists were left stranded. They lost +everything they'd put into the company, which, for most of them, was +all they had. Not a few lost their lives before the Federation Space +Navy could get ships here to evacuate them. + +But about a thousand, who were too poor to make a fresh start +elsewhere and too tough for Fenris to kill, refused evacuation, took +over all the equipment and installations the Fenris Company had +abandoned, and tried to make a living out of the planet. At least, +they stayed alive. There are now twenty-odd thousand of us, and while +we are still very poor, we are very tough, and we brag about it. + +There were about two thousand people--ten per cent of the planetary +population--on the wide concrete promenade around the spaceport +landing pit. I came out among them and set down the hamper with my +telecast cameras and recorders, wishing, as usual, that I could find +some ten or twelve-year-old kid weak-minded enough to want to be a +reporter when he grew up, so that I could have an apprentice to help +me with my junk. + +As the star--and only--reporter of the greatest--and only--paper on +the planet, I was always on hand when either of the two ships on the +Terra-Odin milk run, the _Peenemuende_ and the _Cape Canaveral_, +landed. Of course, we always talk to them by screen as soon as they +come out of hyperspace and into radio range, and get the passenger +list, and a speed-recording of any news they are carrying, from the +latest native uprising on Thor to the latest political scandal on +Venus. Sometime the natives of Thor won't be fighting anybody at all, +or the Federation Member Republic of Venus will have some +nonscandalous politics, and either will be the man-bites-dog story to +end man-bites-dog stories. All the news is at least six months old, +some more than a year. A spaceship can log a light-year in sixty-odd +hours, but radio waves still crawl along at the same old 186,000 mps. + +I still have to meet the ships. There's always something that has to +be picked up personally, usually an interview with some VIP traveling +through. This time, though, the big story coming in on the +_Peenemuende_ was a local item. Paradox? Dad says there is no such +thing. He says a paradox is either a verbal contradiction, and you get +rid of it by restating it correctly, or it's a structural +contradiction, and you just call it an impossibility and let it go at +that. In this case, what was coming in was a real live author, who was +going to write a travel book about Fenris, the planet with the +four-day year. Glenn Murell, which sounded suspiciously like a nom de +plume, and nobody here had ever heard of him. + +That was odd, too. One thing we can really be proud of here, besides +the toughness of our citizens, is our public library. When people have +to stay underground most of the time to avoid being fried and/or +frozen to death, they have a lot of time to kill, and reading is one +of the cheaper and more harmless and profitable ways of doing it. And +travel books are a special favorite here. I suppose because everybody +is hoping to read about a worse place than Fenris. I had checked on +Glenn Murell at the library. None of the librarians had ever heard of +him, and there wasn't a single mention of him in any of the big +catalogues of publications. + +The first and obvious conclusion would be that Mr. Glenn Murell was +some swindler posing as an author. The only objection to that was that +I couldn't quite see why any swindler would come to Fenris, or what +he'd expect to swindle the Fenrisians out of. Of course, he could be +on the lam from somewhere, but in that case why bother with all the +cover story? Some of our better-known citizens came here dodging +warrants on other planets. + +I was still wondering about Murell when somebody behind me greeted me, +and I turned around. It was Tom Kivelson. + +Tom and I are buddies, when he's in port. He's just a shade older than +I am; he was eighteen around noon, and my eighteenth birthday won't +come till midnight, Fenris Standard Sundial Time. His father is Joe +Kivelson, the skipper of the _Javelin_; Tom is sort of junior +engineer, second gunner, and about third harpooner. We went to school +together, which is to say a couple of years at Professor +Hartzenbosch's, learning to read and write and put figures together. +That is all the schooling anybody on Fenris gets, although Joe +Kivelson sent Tom's older sister, Linda, to school on Terra. Anybody +who stays here has to dig out education for himself. Tom and I were +still digging for ours. + +Each of us envied the other, when we weren't thinking seriously about +it. I imagined that sea-monster hunting was wonderfully thrilling and +romantic, and Tom had the idea that being a newsman was real hot +stuff. When we actually stopped to think about it, though, we realized +that neither of us would trade jobs and take anything at all for boot. +Tom couldn't string three sentences--no, one sentence--together to +save his life, and I'm just a town boy who likes to live in something +that isn't pitching end-for-end every minute. + +Tom is about three inches taller than I am, and about thirty pounds +heavier. Like all monster-hunters, he's trying to grow a beard, though +at present it's just a blond chin-fuzz. I was surprised to see him +dressed as I was, in shorts and sandals and a white shirt and a light +jacket. Ordinarily, even in town, he wears boat-clothes. I looked +around behind him, and saw the brass tip of a scabbard under the +jacket. Any time a hunter-ship man doesn't have his knife on, he isn't +wearing anything else. I wondered about his being in port now. I knew +Joe Kivelson wouldn't bring his ship in just to meet the _Peenemuende_, +with only a couple of hundred hours' hunting left till the storms and +the cold. + +"I thought you were down in the South Ocean," I said. + +"There's going to be a special meeting of the Co-op," he said. "We +only heard about it last evening," by which he meant after 1800 of +the previous Galactic Standard day. He named another hunter-ship +captain who had called the _Javelin_ by screen. "We screened everybody +else we could." + +That was the way they ran things in the Hunters' Co-operative. Steve +Ravick would wait till everybody had their ships down on the coast of +Hermann Reuch's Land, and then he would call a meeting and pack it +with his stooges and hooligans, and get anything he wanted voted +through. I had always wondered how long the real hunters were going to +stand for that. They'd been standing for it ever since I could +remember anything outside my own playpen, which, of course, hadn't +been too long. + +I was about to say something to that effect, and then somebody yelled, +"There she is!" I took a quick look at the radar bowls to see which +way they were pointed and followed them up to the sky, and caught a +tiny twinkle through a cloud rift. After a moment's mental arithmetic +to figure how high she'd have to be to catch the sunlight, I relaxed. +Even with the telephoto, I'd only get a picture the size of a pinhead, +so I fixed the position in my mind and then looked around at the +crowd. + +Among them were two men, both well dressed. One was tall and slender, +with small hands and feet; the other was short and stout, with a +scrubby gray-brown mustache. The slender one had a bulge under his +left arm, and the short-and-stout job bulged over the right hip. The +former was Steve Ravick, the boss of the Hunters' Co-operative, and +his companion was the Honorable Morton Hallstock, mayor of Port +Sandor and consequently the planetary government of Fenris. + +They had held their respective positions for as long as I could +remember anything at all. I could never remember an election in Port +Sandor, or an election of officers in the Co-op. Ravick had a bunch of +goons and triggermen--I could see a couple of them loitering in the +background--who kept down opposition for him. So did Hallstock, only +his wore badges and called themselves police. + +Once in a while, Dad would write a blistering editorial about one or +the other or both of them. Whenever he did, I would put my gun on, and +so would Julio Kubanoff, the one-legged compositor who is the third +member of the Times staff, and we would take turns making sure nobody +got behind Dad's back. Nothing ever happened, though, and that always +rather hurt me. Those two racketeers were in so tight they didn't need +to care what the Times printed or 'cast about them. + +Hallstock glanced over in my direction and said something to Ravick. +Ravick gave a sneering laugh, and then he crushed out the cigarette he +was smoking on the palm of his left hand. That was a regular trick of +his. Showing how tough he was. Dad says that when you see somebody +showing off, ask yourself whether he's trying to impress other people, +or himself. I wondered which was the case with Steve Ravick. + +Then I looked up again. The _Peenemuende_ was coming down as fast as +she could without over-heating from atmosphere friction. She was +almost buckshot size to the naked eye, and a couple of tugs were +getting ready to go up and meet her. I got the telephoto camera out +of the hamper, checked it, and aimed it. It has a shoulder stock and +handgrips and a trigger like a submachine gun. I caught the ship in +the finder and squeezed the trigger for a couple of seconds. It would +be about five minutes till the tugs got to her and anything else +happened, so I put down the camera and looked around. + +Coming through the crowd, walking as though the concrete under him was +pitching and rolling like a ship's deck on contragravity in a storm, +was Bish Ware. He caught sight of us, waved, overbalanced himself and +recovered, and then changed course to starboard and bore down on us. +He was carrying about his usual cargo, and as usual the manifest would +read, _Baldur honey-rum, from Harry Wong's bar_. + +Bish wasn't his real name. Neither, I suspected, was Ware. When he'd +first landed on Fenris, some five years ago, somebody had nicknamed +him the Bishop, and before long that had gotten cut to one syllable. +He looked like a bishop, or at least like what anybody who's never +seen a bishop outside a screen-play would think a bishop looked like. +He was a big man, not fat, but tall and portly; he had a ruddy face +that always wore an expression of benevolent wisdom, and the more +cargo he took on the wiser and more benevolent he looked. + +He had iron-gray hair, but he wasn't old. You could tell that by the +backs of his hands; they weren't wrinkled or crepy and the veins +didn't protrude. And drunk or sober--though I never remembered seeing +him in the latter condition--he had the fastest reflexes of anybody I +knew. I saw him, once, standing at the bar in Harry Wong's, knock +over an open bottle with his left elbow. He spun half around, grabbed +it by the neck and set it up, all in one motion, without spilling a +drop, and he went on talking as though nothing had happened. He was +quoting Homer, I remembered, and you could tell that he was thinking +in the original ancient Greek and translating to Lingua Terra as he +went. + +He was always dressed as he was now, in a conservative black suit, the +jacket a trifle longer than usual, and a black neckcloth with an Uller +organic-opal pin. He didn't work at anything, but quarterly--once +every planetary day--a draft on the Banking Cartel would come in for +him, and he'd deposit it with the Port Sandor Fidelity & Trust. If +anybody was unmannerly enough to ask him about it, he always said he +had a rich uncle on Terra. + +When I was a kid--well, more of a kid than I am now--I used to believe +he really was a bishop--unfrocked, of course, or ungaitered, or +whatever they call it when they give a bishop the heave-ho. A lot of +people who weren't kids still believed that, and they blamed him on +every denomination from Anglicans to Zen Buddhists, not even missing +the Satanists, and there were all sorts of theories about what he'd +done to get excommunicated, the mildest of which was that somewhere +there was a cathedral standing unfinished because he'd hypered out +with the building fund. It was generally agreed that his +ecclesiastical organization was paying him to stay out there in the +boondocks where he wouldn't cause them further embarrassment. + +I was pretty sure, myself, that he was being paid by somebody, +probably his family, to stay out of sight. The colonial planets are +full of that sort of remittance men. + +Bish and I were pretty good friends. There were certain old ladies, of +both sexes and all ages, of whom Professor Hartzenbosch was an +example, who took Dad to task occasionally for letting me associate +with him. Dad simply ignored them. As long as I was going to be a +reporter, I'd have to have news sources, and Bish was a dandy. He knew +all the disreputable characters in town, which saved me having to +associate with all of them, and it is sad but true that you get very +few news stories in Sunday school. Far from fearing that Bish would be +a bad influence on me, he rather hoped I'd be a good one on Bish. + +I had that in mind, too, if I could think of any way of managing it. +Bish had been a good man, once. He still was, except for one thing. +You could tell that before he'd started drinking, he'd really been +somebody, somewhere. Then something pretty bad must have happened to +him, and now he was here on Fenris, trying to hide from it behind a +bottle. Something ought to be done to give him a shove up on his feet +again. I hate waste, and a man of the sort he must have been turning +himself into the rumpot he was now was waste of the worst kind. + +It would take a lot of doing, though, and careful tactical planning. +Preaching at him would be worse than useless, and so would simply +trying to get him to stop drinking. That would be what Doc Rojansky, +at the hospital, would call treating the symptoms. The thing to do was +make him want to stop drinking, and I didn't know how I was going to +manage that. I'd thought, a couple of times, of getting him to work on +the Times, but we barely made enough money out of it for ourselves, +and with his remittance he didn't need to work. I had a lot of other +ideas, now and then, but every time I took a second look at one, it +got sick and died. + + + + +2 + +REPORTER WORKING + + +Bish came over and greeted us solemnly. + +"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Captain Ahab, I believe," he said, bowing +to Tom, who seemed slightly puzzled; the education Tom had been +digging out for himself was technical rather than literary. "And Mr. +Pulitzer. Or is it Horace Greeley?" + +"Lord Beaverbrook, your Grace," I replied. "Have you any little news +items for us from your diocese?" + +Bish teetered slightly, getting out a cigar and inspecting it +carefully before lighting it. + +"We-el," he said carefully, "my diocese is full to the hatch covers +with sinners, but that's scarcely news." He turned to Tom. "One of +your hands on the _Javelin_ got into a fight in Martian Joe's, a while +ago. Lumped the other man up pretty badly." He named the Javelin +crewman, and the man who had been pounded. The latter was one of Steve +Ravick's goons. "But not fatally, I regret to say," Bish added. "The +local Gestapo are looking for your man, but he made it aboard Nip +Spazoni's _Bulldog_, and by this time he's halfway to Hermann Reuch's +Land." + +"Isn't Nip going to the meeting, tonight?" Tom asked. + +Bish shook his head. "Nip is a peace-loving man. He has a well-founded +suspicion that peace is going to be in short supply around Hunters' +Hall this evening. You know, of course, that Leo Belsher's coming in +on the _Peenemuende_ and will be there to announce another price cut. +The new price, I understand, will be thirty-five centisols a pound." + +Seven hundred sols a ton, I thought; why, that would barely pay ship +expenses. + +"Where did you get that?" Tom asked, a trifle sharply. + +"Oh, I have my spies and informers," Bish said. "And even if I hadn't, +it would figure. The only reason Leo Belsher ever comes to this Eden +among planets is to negotiate a new contract, and who ever heard of a +new contract at a higher price?" + +That had all happened before, a number of times. When Steve Ravick had +gotten control of the Hunters' Co-operative, the price of tallow-wax, +on the loading floor at Port Sandor spaceport, had been fifteen +hundred sols a ton. As far as Dad and I could find out, it was still +bringing the same price on Terra as it always had. It looked to us as +if Ravick and Leo Belsher, who was the Co-op representative on Terra, +and Mort Hallstock were simply pocketing the difference. I was just as +sore about what was happening as anybody who went out in the +hunter-ships. Tallow-wax is our only export. All our imports are paid +for with credit from the sale of wax. + +It isn't really wax, and it isn't tallow. It's a growth on the +Jarvis's sea-monster; there's a layer of it under the skin, and around +organs that need padding. An average-sized monster, say a hundred and +fifty feet long, will yield twelve to fifteen tons of it, and a good +hunter kills about ten monsters a year. Well, at the price Belsher and +Ravick were going to cut from, that would run a little short of a +hundred and fifty thousand sols for a year. If you say it quick enough +and don't think, that sounds like big money, but the upkeep and +supplies for a hunter-ship are big money, too, and what's left after +that's paid off is divided, on a graduated scale, among ten to fifteen +men, from the captain down. A hunter-boat captain, even a good one +like Joe Kivelson, won't make much more in a year than Dad and I make +out of the _Times_. + +Chemically, tallow-wax isn't like anything else in the known Galaxy. +The molecules are huge; they can be seen with an ordinary optical +microscope, and a microscopically visible molecule is a +curious-looking object, to say the least. They use the stuff to treat +fabric for protective garments. It isn't anything like collapsium, of +course, but a suit of waxed coveralls weighing only a couple of pounds +will stop as much radiation as half an inch of lead. + +Back when they were getting fifteen hundred a ton, the hunters had +been making good money, but that was before Steve Ravick's time. + +It was slightly before mine, too. Steve Ravick had showed up on Fenris +about twelve years ago. He'd had some money, and he'd bought shares in +a couple of hunter-ships and staked a few captains who'd had bad luck +and got them in debt to him. He also got in with Morton Hallstock, who +controlled what some people were credulous enough to take for a +government here. Before long, he was secretary of the Hunters' +Co-operative. Old Simon MacGregor, who had been president then, was a +good hunter, but he was no businessman. He came to depend very heavily +on Ravick, up till his ship, the _Claymore_, was lost with all hands +down in Fitzwilliam Straits. I think that was a time bomb in the +magazine, but I have a low and suspicious mind. Professor Hartzenbosch +has told me so repeatedly. After that, Steve Ravick was president of +the Co-op. He immediately began a drive to increase the membership. +Most of the new members had never been out in a hunter-ship in their +lives, but they could all be depended on to vote the way he wanted +them to. + +First, he jacked the price of wax up, which made everybody but the wax +buyers happy. Everybody who wasn't already in the Co-op hurried up and +joined. Then he negotiated an exclusive contract with Kapstaad +Chemical Products, Ltd., in South Africa, by which they agreed to take +the entire output for the Co-op. That ended competitive wax buying, +and when there was nobody to buy the wax but Kapstaad, you had to sell +it through the Co-operative or you didn't sell it at all. After that, +the price started going down. The Co-operative, for which read Steve +Ravick, had a sales representative on Terra, Leo Belsher. He wrote all +the contracts, collected all the money, and split with Ravick. What +was going on was pretty generally understood, even if it couldn't be +proven, but what could anybody do about it? + +Maybe somebody would try to do something about it at the meeting this +evening. I would be there to cover it. I was beginning to wish I owned +a bullet-proof vest. + +Bish and Tom were exchanging views on the subject, some of them almost +printable. I had my eyes to my binoculars, watching the tugs go up to +meet the _Peenemuende_. + +"What we need for Ravick, Hallstock and Belsher," Tom was saying, "is +about four fathoms of harpoon line apiece, and something to haul up +to." + +That kind of talk would have shocked Dad. He is very strong for law +and order, even when there is no order and the law itself is illegal. +I'd always thought there was a lot of merit in what Tom was +suggesting. Bish Ware seemed to have his doubts, though. + +"Mmm, no; there ought to be some better way of doing it than that." + +"Can you think of one?" Tom challenged. + +I didn't hear Bish's reply. By that time, the tugs were almost to the +ship. I grabbed up the telephoto camera and aimed it. It has its own +power unit, and transmits directly. In theory, I could tune it to the +telecast station and put what I was getting right on the air, and what +I was doing was transmitting to the _Times_, to be recorded and 'cast +later. Because it's not a hundred per cent reliable, though, it makes +its own audiovisual record, so if any of what I was sending didn't get +through, it could be spliced in after I got back. + +I got some footage of the tugs grappling the ship, which was now +completely weightless, and pulling her down. Through the finder, I +could see that she had her landing legs extended; she looked like a +big overfed spider being hauled in by a couple of gnats. I kept the +butt of the camera to my shoulder, and whenever anything interesting +happened, I'd squeeze the trigger. The first time I ever used a real +submachine gun had been to kill a blue slasher that had gotten into +one of the ship pools at the waterfront. I used three one-second +bursts, and threw bits of slasher all over the place, and everybody +wondered how I'd gotten the practice. + +A couple more boats, pushers, went up to help hold the ship against +the wind, and by that time she was down to a thousand feet, which was +half her diameter. I switched from the shoulder-stock telephoto to the +big tripod job, because this was the best part of it. The ship was +weightless, of course, but she had mass and an awful lot of it. If +anybody goofed getting her down, she'd take the side of the landing +pit out, and about ten per cent of the population of Fenris, including +the ace reporter for the Times, along with it. + +At the same time, some workmen and a couple of spaceport cops had +appeared, taken out a section of railing and put in a gate. The +_Peenemuende_ settled down, turned slowly to get her port in line with +the gate, and lurched off contragravity and began running out a bridge +to the promenade. I got some shots of that, and then began packing my +stuff back in the hamper. + +"You going aboard?" Tom asked. "Can I come along? I can carry some of +your stuff and let on I'm your helper." + +Glory be, I thought; I finally got that apprentice. + +"Why, sure," I said. "You tow the hamper; I'll carry this." I got out +what looked like a big camera case and slung it over my shoulder. "But +you'll have to take me out on the _Javelin_, sometime, and let me +shoot a monster." + +He said it was a deal, and we shook on it. Then I had another idea. + +"Bish, suppose you come with us, too," I said. "After all, Tom and I +are just a couple of kids. If you're with us, it'll look a lot more +big-paperish." + +That didn't seem to please Tom too much. Bish shook his head, though, +and Tom brightened. + +"I'm dreadfully sorry, Walt," Bish said. "But I'm going aboard, +myself, to see a friend who is en route through to Odin. A Dr. Watson; +I have not seen him for years." + +I'd caught that name, too, when we'd gotten the passenger list. Dr. +John Watson. Now, I know that all sorts of people call themselves +Doctor, and Watson and John aren't too improbable a combination, but +I'd read _Sherlock Holmes_ long ago, and the name had caught my +attention. And this was the first, to my knowledge, that Bish Ware had +ever admitted to any off-planet connections. + +We started over to the gate. Hallstock and Ravick were ahead of us. So +was Sigurd Ngozori, the president of the Fidelity & Trust, carrying a +heavy briefcase and accompanied by a character with a submachine gun, +and Adolf Lautier and Professor Hartzenbosch. There were a couple of +spaceport cops at the gate, in olive-green uniforms that looked as +though they had been sprayed on, and steel helmets. I wished we had a +city police force like that. They were Odin Dock & Shipyard Company +men, all former Federation Regular Army or Colonial Constabulary. The +spaceport wasn't part of Port Sandor, or even Fenris; the Odin Dock & +Shipyard Company was the government there, and it was run honestly and +efficiently. + +They knew me, and when they saw Tom towing my hamper they cracked a +few jokes about the new _Times_ cub reporter and waved us through. I +thought they might give Bish an argument, but they just nodded and let +him pass, too. We all went out onto the bridge, and across the pit to +the equator of the two-thousand-foot globular ship. + +We went into the main lounge, and the captain introduced us to Mr. +Glenn Murell. He was fairly tall, with light gray hair, prematurely +so, I thought, and a pleasant, noncommittal face. I'd have pegged him +for a businessman. Well, I suppose authoring is a business, if that +was his business. He shook hands with us, and said: + +"Aren't you rather young to be a newsman?" + +I started to burn on that. I get it all the time, and it burns me all the +time, but worst of all on the job. Maybe I am only going-on-eighteen, but +I'm doing a man's work, and I'm doing it competently. + +"Well, they grow up young on Fenris, Mr. Murell," Captain Marshak +earned my gratitude by putting in. "Either that or they don't live to +grow up." + +Murell unhooked his memophone and repeated the captain's remark into +it. Opening line for one of his chapters. Then he wanted to know if +I'd been born on Fenris. I saw I was going to have to get firm with +Mr. Murell, right away. The time to stop that sort of thing is as soon +as it starts. + +"Who," I wanted to know, "is interviewing whom? You'll have at least +five hundred hours till the next possible ship out of here; I only +have two and a half to my next deadline. You want coverage, don't you? +The more publicity you get, the easier your own job's going to be." + +Then I introduced Tom, carefully giving the impression that while I +handled all ordinary assignments, I needed help to give him the full +VIP treatment. We went over to a quiet corner and sat down, and the +interview started. + +The camera case I was carrying was a snare and a deceit. Everybody +knows that reporters use recorders in interviews, but it never pays to +be too obtrusive about them, or the subject gets recorder-conscious +and stiffens up. What I had was better than a recorder; it was a +recording radio. Like the audiovisuals, it not only transmitted in to +the _Times_, but made a recording as insurance against transmission +failure. I reached into a slit on the side and snapped on the switch +while I was fumbling with a pencil and notebook with the other hand, +and started by asking him what had decided him to do a book about +Fenris. + +After that, I fed a question every now and then to keep him running, +and only listened to every third word. The radio was doing a better +job than I possibly could have. At the same time, I was watching Steve +Ravick, Morton Hallstock and Leo Belsher at one side of the room, and +Bish Ware at the other. Bish was within ear-straining range. Out of +the corner of my eye, I saw another man, younger in appearance and +looking like an Army officer in civvies, approach him. + +"My dear Bishop!" this man said in greeting. + +As far as I knew, that nickname had originated on Fenris. I made a +mental note of that. + +"How are you?" Bish replied, grasping the other's hand. "You have been +in Afghanistan, I perceive." + +That did it. I told you I was an old _Sherlock Holmes_ reader; I +recognized that line. This meeting was prearranged, neither of them +had ever met before, and they needed a recognition code. Then I +returned to Murell, and decided to wonder about Bish Ware and "Dr. +Watson" later. + +It wasn't long before I was noticing a few odd things about Murell, +too, which confirmed my original suspicions of him. He didn't have the +firm name of his alleged publishers right, he didn't know what a +literary agent was and, after claiming to have been a newsman, he +consistently used the expression "news service." I know, everybody +says that--everybody but newsmen. They always call a news service a +"paper," especially when talking to other newsmen. + +Of course, there isn't any paper connected with it, except the pad the +editor doodles on. What gets to the public is photoprint, out of a +teleprinter. As small as our circulation is, we have four or five +hundred of them in Port Sandor and around among the small settlements +in the archipelago, and even on the mainland. Most of them are in bars +and cafes and cigar stores and places like that, operated by a coin in +a slot and leased by the proprietor, and some of the big hunter-ships +like Joe Kivelson's _Javelin_ and Nip Spazoni's _Bulldog_ have them. + +But long ago, back in the First Centuries, Pre-Atomic and Atomic Era, +they were actually printed on paper, and the copies distributed and +sold. They used printing presses as heavy as a spaceship's engines. +That's why we still call ourselves the Press. Some of the old papers +on Terra, like _La Prensa_ in Buenos Aires, and the Melbourne _Times_, +which used to be the London _Times_ when there was still a London, +were printed that way originally. + +Finally I got through with my interview, and then shot about fifteen +minutes of audiovisual, which would be cut to five for the 'cast. By +this time Bish and "Dr. Watson" had disappeared, I supposed to the +ship's bar, and Ravick and his accomplices had gotten through with +their conspiracy to defraud the hunters. I turned Murell over to Tom, +and went over to where they were standing together. I'd put away my +pencil and pad long ago with Murell; now I got them out ostentatiously +as I approached. + +"Good day, gentlemen," I greeted them. "I'm representing the Port +Sandor _Times_." + +"Oh, run along, sonny; we haven't time to bother with you," Hallstock +said. + +"But I want to get a story from Mr. Belsher," I began. + +"Well, come back in five or six years, when you're dry behind the +ears, and you can get it," Ravick told me. + +"Our readers aren't interested in the condition of my ears," I said +sweetly. "They want to read about the price of tallow-wax. What's this +about another price cut? To thirty-five centisols a pound, I +understand." + +"Oh, Steve, the young man's from the news service, and his father will +publish whatever he brings home," Belsher argued. "We'd better give +him something." He turned to me. "I don't know how this got out, but +it's quite true," he said. He had a long face, like a horse's. At +least, he looked like pictures of horses I'd seen. As he spoke, he +pulled it even longer and became as doleful as an undertaker at a +ten-thousand-sol funeral. + +"The price has gone down, again. Somebody has developed a synthetic +substitute. Of course, it isn't anywhere near as good as real Fenris +tallow-wax, but try and tell the public that. So Kapstaad Chemical is +being undersold, and the only way they can stay in business is cut the +price they have to pay for wax...." + +It went on like that, and this time I had real trouble keeping my +anger down. In the first place, I was pretty sure there was no +substitute for Fenris tallow-wax, good, bad or indifferent. In the +second place, it isn't sold to the gullible public, it's sold to +equipment manufacturers who have their own test engineers and who have +to keep their products up to legal safety standards. He didn't know +this balderdash of his was going straight to the _Times_ as fast as he +spouted it; he thought I was taking it down in shorthand. I knew +exactly what Dad would do with it. He'd put it on telecast in +Belsher's own voice. + +Maybe the monster-hunters would start looking around for a rope, then. + +When I got through listening to him, I went over and got a short +audiovisual of Captain Marshak of the _Peenemuende_ for the 'cast, and +then I rejoined Tom and Murell. + +"Mr. Murell says he's staying with you at the _Times_," Tom said. He +seemed almost as disappointed as Professor Hartzenbosch. I wondered, +for an incredulous moment, if Tom had been trying to kidnap Murell +away from me. "He wants to go out on the _Javelin_ with us for a +monster-hunt." + +"Well, that's swell!" I said. "You can pay off on that promise to take +me monster-hunting, too. Right now, Mr. Murell is my big story." I +reached into the front pocket of my "camera" case for the handphone, +to shift to two-way. "I'll call the _Times_ and have somebody come up +with a car to get us and Mr. Murell's luggage." + +"Oh, I have a car. Jeep, that is," Tom said. "It's down on the Bottom +Level. We can use that." + +Funny place to leave a car. And I was sure that he and Murell had come +to some kind of an understanding, while I was being lied to by +Belsher. I didn't get it. There was just too much going on around me +that I didn't get, and me, I'm supposed to be the razor-sharp newshawk +who gets everything. + + + + +3 + +BOTTOM LEVEL + + +It didn't take long to get Murell's luggage assembled. There was +surprisingly little of it, and nothing that looked like photographic +or recording equipment. When he returned from a final gathering-up in +his stateroom, I noticed that he was bulging under his jacket, too, on +the left side at the waist. About enough for an 8.5-mm pocket +automatic. Evidently he had been briefed on the law-and-order +situation in Port Sandor. + +Normally, we'd have gone off onto the Main City Level, but Tom's jeep +was down on the Bottom Level, and he made no suggestion that we go off +and wait for him to bring it up. I didn't suggest it, either. After +all, it was his jeep, and he wasn't our hired pilot. Besides, I was +beginning to get curious. An abnormally large bump of curiosity is +part of every newsman's basic equipment. + +We borrowed a small handling-lifter and one of the spaceport +roustabouts to tow it for us, loaded Murell's luggage and my things +onto it, and started down to the bottomside cargo hatches, from which +the ship was discharging. There was no cargo at all to go aboard, +except mail and things like Adolf Lautier's old film and music tapes. +Our only export is tallow-wax, and it all goes to Terra. It would be +picked up by the Cape _Canaveral_ when she got in from Odin five +hundred hours from now. But except for a few luxury items from Odin, +everything we import comes from Terra, and the _Peenemuende_ had +started discharging that already. We rode down on a contragravity skid +loaded with ammunition. I saw Murell looking curiously at the square +cases, marked TERRAN FEDERATION ARMED FORCES, and 50-MM, MK. 608, +ANTIVEHICLE AND ANTIPERSONNEL, 25 ROUNDS, and OVERAGE. PRACTICE ONLY. +NOT TO BE ISSUED FOR SERVICE, and INSPECTED AND CONDEMNED. The hunters +bought that stuff through the Co-op. It cost half as much as new ammo, +but that didn't help them any. The difference stopped with Steve +Ravick. Murell didn't comment, and neither did Tom or I. + +We got off at the bottom of the pit, a thousand feet below the +promenade from which I had come aboard, and stopped for a moment. +Murell was looking about the great amphitheater in amazement. + +"I knew this spaceport would be big when I found out that the ship +landed directly on the planet," he said, "but I never expected +anything like this. And this serves a population of twenty thousand?" + +"Twenty-four thousand, seven hundred and eight, if the man who got +pounded in a barroom fight around 1330 hasn't died yet," I said. "But +you have to remember that this place was built close to a hundred +years ago, when the population was ten times that much." I'd gotten my +story from him; now it was his turn to interview me. "You know +something about the history of Fenris, I suppose?" + +"Yes. There are ample sources for it on Terra, up to the collapse of +the Fenris Company," he said. "Too much isn't known about what's been +happening here since, which is why I decided to do this book." + +"Well, there were several cities built, over on the mainland," I told +him. "They're all abandoned now. The first one was a conventional +city, the buildings all on the surface. After one day-and-night cycle, +they found that it was uninhabitable. It was left unfinished. Then +they started digging in. The Chartered Fenris Company shipped in huge +quantities of mining and earth-moving equipment--that put the company +in the red more than anything else--and they began making +burrow-cities, like the ones built in the Northern Hemisphere of Terra +during the Third and Fourth World Wars, or like the cities on Luna and +Mercury Twilight Zone and Titan. There are a lot of valuable mineral +deposits over on the mainland; maybe in another century our +grandchildren will start working them again. + +"But about six years before the Fenris Company went to pieces, they +decided to concentrate in one city, here in the archipelago. The sea +water stays cooler in the daytime and doesn't lose heat so rapidly in +the nighttime. So they built Port Sandor, here on Oakleaf Island." + +"And for convenience in monster-hunting?" + +I shook my head. "No. The Jarvis's sea-monster wasn't discovered until +after the city was built, and it was years after the company had gone +bankrupt before anybody found out about what tallow-wax was good +for." + +I started telling him about the native life-forms of Fenris. Because +of the surface temperature extremes, the marine life is the most +highly developed. The land animals are active during the periods after +sunset and after sunrise; when it begins getting colder or hotter, +they burrow, or crawl into caves and crevices among the rocks, and go +into suspended animation. I found that he'd read up on that, and not +too much of his information was incorrect. + +He seemed to think, though, that Port Sandor had also been mined out +below the surface. I set him right on that. + +"You saw what it looked like when you were coming down," I said. "Just +a flat plateau, with a few shaft-head domes here and there, and the +landing pit of the spaceport. Well, originally it was a valley, +between two low hills. The city was built in the valley, level by +level, and then the tops of the hills were dug off and bulldozed down +on top of it. We have a lot of film at the public library of the +construction of the city, step by step. As far as I know, there are no +copies anywhere off-planet." + +He should have gotten excited about that, and wanted to see them. +Instead, he was watching the cargo come off--food-stuffs, now--and +wanted to know if we had to import everything we needed. + +"Oh, no. We're going in on the Bottom Level, which is mainly storage, +but we have hydroponic farms for our vegetables and carniculture +plants for meat on the Second and Third Levels. That's counting down +from the Main City Level. We make our own lumber, out of reeds +harvested in the swamps after sunrise and converted to pulpwood, and +we get some good hardwood from the native trees which only grow in +four periods of two hundred hours a year. We only use that for +furniture, gunstocks, that sort of thing. And there are a couple of +mining camps and smelters on the mainland; they employ about a +thousand of our people. But every millisol that's spent on this planet +is gotten from the sale of tallow-wax, at second or third hand if not +directly." + +That seemed to interest him more. Maybe his book, if he was really +writing one, was going to be an economic study of Fenris. Or maybe his +racket, whatever it was, would be based on something connected with +our local production. I went on telling him about our hydroponic +farms, and the carniculture plant where any kind of animal tissue we +wanted was grown--Terran pork and beef and poultry, Freyan _zhoumy_ +meat, Zarathustran veldtbeest.... He knew, already, that none of the +native life-forms, animal or vegetable, were edible by Terrans. + +"You can get all the _pate de foie gras_ you want here," I said. "We +have a chunk of goose liver about fifty feet in diameter growing in +one of our vats." + +By this time, we'd gotten across the bottom of the pit, Murell's +luggage and my equipment being towed after us, and had entered the +Bottom Level. It was cool and pleasant here, lighted from the ceiling +fifty feet overhead, among the great column bases, two hundred feet +square and two hundred yards apart, that supported the upper city and +the thick roof of rock and earth that insulated it. The area we were +entering was stacked with tallow-wax waiting to be loaded onto the +_Cape Canaveral_ when she came in; it was vacuum-packed in plastic +skins, like big half-ton Bologna sausages, each one painted with the +blue and white emblem of the Hunters' Co-operative. He was quite +interested in that, and was figuring, mentally, how much wax there was +here and how much it was worth. + +"Who does this belong to?" he wanted to know. "The Hunters' +Co-operative?" + +Tom had been letting me do the talking up to now, but he answered that +question, very emphatically. + +"No, it doesn't. It belongs to the hunters," he said. "Each ship crew +owns the wax they bring in in common, and it's sold for them by the +Co-op. When the captain gets paid for the wax he's turned over to the +Co-op, he divides the money among the crew. But every scrap of this +belongs to the ships that took it, up till it's bought and paid for by +Kapstaad Chemical." + +"Well, if a captain wants his wax back, after it's been turned over +for sale to the Co-op, can he get it?" Murell asked. + +"Absolutely!" + +Murell nodded, and we went on. The roustabout who had been following +us with the lifter had stopped to chat with a couple of his fellows. +We went on slowly, and now and then a vehicle, usually a lorry, would +pass above us. Then I saw Bish Ware, ahead, sitting on a sausage of +wax, talking to one of the Spaceport Police. They were both smoking, +but that was all right. Tallow-wax will burn, and a wax fire is +something to get really excited about, but the ignition point is 750 deg. C., +and that's a lot hotter than the end of anybody's cigar. He must +have come out the same way we did, and I added that to the +"wonder-why" file. Pretty soon, I'd have so many questions to wonder +about that they'd start answering each other. He saw us and waved to +us, and then suddenly the spaceport cop's face got as white as my +shirt and he grabbed Bish by the arm. Bish didn't change color; he +just shook off the cop's hand, got to his feet, dropped his cigar, and +took a side skip out into the aisle. + +"Murell!" he yelled. "Freeze! On your life; don't move a muscle!" + +Then there was a gun going off in his hand. I didn't see him reach for +it, or where he drew it from. It was just in his hand, firing, and the +empty brass flew up and came down on the concrete with a jingle on the +heels of the report. We had all stopped short, and the roustabout who +was towing the lifter came hurrying up. Murell simply stood gaping at +Bish. + +"All right," Bish said, slipping his gun back into a shoulder holster +under his coat. "Step carefully to your left. Don't move right at +all." + +Murell, still in a sort of trance, obeyed. As he did I looked past his +right shin and saw what Bish had been shooting at. It was an irregular +gray oval, about sixteen inches by four at its widest and tapering up +in front to a cone about six inches high, into which a rodlike member, +darker gray, was slowly collapsing and dribbling oily yellow stuff. +The bullet had gone clear through and made a mess of dirty gray and +black and green body fluids on the concrete. + +It was what we call a tread-snail, because it moves on a double row of +pads like stumpy feet and leaves a trail like a tractor. The +fishpole-aerial thing it had erected out of its head was its stinger, +and the yellow stuff was venom. A tenth of a milligram of it in your +blood and it's "Get the Gate open, St. Peter; here I come." + +Tom saw it as soon as I did. His face got the same color as the cop's. +I don't suppose mine looked any better. When Murell saw what had been +buddying up to him, I will swear, on a warehouse full of Bibles, +Korans, Torah scrolls, Satanist grimoires, Buddhist prayer wheels and +Thoran Grandfather-God images, that his hair literally stood on end. +I've heard that expression all my life; well, this time I really saw +it happen. I mentioned that he seemed to have been reading up on the +local fauna. + +I looked down at his right leg. He hadn't been stung--if he had, he +wouldn't be breathing now--but he had been squirted, and there were a +couple of yellow stains on the cloth of his trouser leg. I told him to +hold still, used my left hand to pull the cloth away from his leg, and +got out my knife and flipped it open with the other hand, cutting away +the poisoned cloth and dropping it on the dead snail. + +Murell started making an outcry about cutting up his trousers, and +said he could have had them cleaned. Bish Ware, coming up, told him to +stop talking like an imbecile. + +"No cleaner would touch them, and even if they were cleaned, some of +the poison would remain in the fabric. Then, the next time you were +caught in the rain with a scratch on your leg, Walt, here, would +write you one of his very nicest obituaries." + +Then he turned to the cop, who was gabbling into his belt radio, and +said: "Get an ambulance, quick. Possible case of tread-snail skin +poisoning." A moment later, looking at Murell's leg, he added, "Omit +'possible.'" + +There were a couple of little spots on Murell's skin that were +beginning to turn raw-liver color. The raw poison hadn't gotten into +his blood, but some of it, with impurities, had filtered through the +cloth, and he'd absorbed enough of it through his skin to make him +seriously ill. The cop jabbered some more into the radio, and the +laborer with the lifter brought it and let it down, and Murell sat +down on his luggage. Tom lit a cigarette and gave it to him, and told +him to remain perfectly still. In a couple of minutes, an ambulance +was coming, its siren howling. + +The pilot and his helper were both jackleg medics, at least as far as +first aid. They gave him a drink out of a flask, smeared a lot of gunk +on the spots and slapped plasters over them, and helped him into the +ambulance, after I told him we'd take his things to the _Times_ +building. + +By this time, between the shot and the siren, quite a crowd had +gathered, and everybody was having a nice little recrimination party. +The labor foreman was chewing the cop out. The warehouse +superintendent was chewing him out. And somebody from the general +superintendent's office was chewing out everybody indiscriminately, +and at the same time mentioning to me that Mr. Fieschi, the +superintendent, would be very much pleased if the _Times_ didn't +mention the incident at all. I told him that was editorial policy, +and to talk to Dad about it. Nobody had any idea how the thing had +gotten in, but that wasn't much of a mystery. The Bottom Level is full +of things like that; they can stay active all the time because the +temperature is constant. I supposed that eventually they'd pick the +dumbest day laborer in the place and make him the patsy. + +Tom stood watching the ambulance whisk Murell off, dithering in +indecision. The poisoning of Murell seemed like an unexpected blow to +him. That fitted what I'd begun to think. Finally, he motioned the +laborer to pick up the lifter, and we started off toward where he had +parked his jeep, outside the spaceport area. + +Bish walked along with us, drawing his pistol and replacing the fired +round in the magazine. I noticed that it was a 10-mm Colt-Argentine +Federation Service, commercial type. There aren't many of those on +Fenris. A lot of 10-mm's, but mostly South African Sterbergs or +Vickers-Bothas, or Mars-Consolidated Police Specials. Mine, which I +wasn't carrying at the moment, was a Sterberg 7.7-mm Olympic Match. + +"You know," he said, sliding the gun back under his coat, "I would be +just as well pleased as Mr. Fieschi if this didn't get any publicity. +If you do publish anything about it, I wish you'd minimize my own part +in it. As you have noticed, I have some slight proficiency with lethal +hardware. This I would prefer not to advertise. I can usually avoid +trouble, but when I can't, I would like to retain the advantage of +surprise." + +We all got into the jeep. Tom, not too graciously, offered to drop +Bish wherever he was going. Bish said he was going to the _Times_, so +Tom lifted the jeep and cut in the horizontal drive. We got into a +busy one-way aisle, crowded with lorries hauling food-stuffs to the +refrigeration area. He followed that for a short distance, and then +turned off into a dimly lighted, disused area. + +Before long, I began noticing stacks of tallow-wax, put up in the +regular outside sausage skins but without the Co-op markings. They +just had the names of hunter-ships--_Javelin_, _Bulldog_, _Helldiver_, +_Slasher_, and so on. + +"What's that stuff doing in here?" I asked. "It's a long way from the +docks, and a long way from the spaceport." + +"Oh, just temporary storage," Tom said. "It hasn't been checked in +with the Co-op yet." + +That wasn't any answer--or maybe it was. I let it go at that. Then we +came to an open space about fifty feet square. There was a jeep, with +a 7-mm machine gun mounted on it, and half a dozen men in boat-clothes +were playing cards at a table made out of empty ammunition boxes. I +noticed they were all wearing pistols, and when a couple of them saw +us, they got up and grabbed rifles. Tom let down and got out of the +jeep, going over and talking with them for a few minutes. What he had +to tell them didn't seem to bring any noticeable amount of sunlight +into their lives. After a while he came back, climbed in at the +controls, and lifted the jeep again. + + + + +4 + +MAIN CITY LEVEL + + +The ceiling on Main City Level is two hundred feet high; in order to +permit free circulation of air and avoid traffic jams, nothing is +built higher than a hundred and fifty feet except the square +buildings, two hundred yards apart, which rest on foundations on the +Bottom Level and extend up to support the roof. The _Times_ has one of +these pillar-buildings, and we have the whole thing to ourselves. In a +city built for a quarter of a million, twenty thousand people don't +have to crowd very closely on one another. Naturally, we don't have a +top landing stage, but except for the buttresses at the corners and +solid central column, the whole street floor is open. + +Tom hadn't said anything after we left the stacks of wax and the men +guarding them. We came up a vehicle shaft a few blocks up Broadway, +and he brought the jeep down and floated it in through one of the +archways. As usual, the place was cluttered with equipment we hadn't +gotten around to repairing or installing, merchandise we'd taken in +exchange for advertising, and vehicles, our own and everybody else's. +A couple of mechanics were tinkering on one of them. I decided, for +the oomptieth time, to do something about cleaning it up. Say in +another two or three hundred hours, when the ships would all be in +port and work would be slack, and I could hire a couple of good men to +help. + +We got Murell's stuff off the jeep, and I hunted around till I found a +hand-lifter. + +"Want to stay and have dinner with us, Tom?" I asked. + +"Uh?" It took him a second or so to realize what I'd said. "Why, no, +thanks, Walt. I have to get back to the ship. Father wants to see me +before the meeting." + +"How about you, Bish? Want to take potluck with us?" + +"I shall be delighted," he assured me. + +Tom told us good-by absent-mindedly, lifted the jeep, and floated it +out into the street. Bish and I watched him go; Bish looked as though +he had wanted to say something and then thought better of it. We +floated Murell's stuff and mine over to the elevator beside the +central column, and I ran it up to the editorial offices on the top +floor. + +We came out in a big room, half the area of the floor, full of +worktables and radios and screens and photoprinting machines. Dad, as +usual, was in a gray knee-length smock, with a pipe jutting out under +his ragged mustache, and, as usual, he was stopping every minute or so +to relight it. He was putting together the stuff I'd transmitted in +for the audiovisual newscast. Over across the room, the rest of the +_Times_ staff, Julio Kubanoff, was sitting at the composing machine, +his peg leg propped up and an earphone on, his fingers punching +rapidly at the keyboard as he burned letters onto the white plastic +sheet with ultraviolet rays for photographing. Julio was an old +hunter-ship man who had lost a leg in an accident and taught himself +his new trade. He still wore the beard, now white, that was +practically the monster-hunters' uniform. + +"The stuff come in all right?" I asked Dad, letting down the lifter. + +"Yes. What do you think of that fellow Belsher?" he asked. "Did you +ever hear such an impudent string of lies in your life?" Then, out of +the corner of his eye, he saw the lifter full of luggage, and saw +somebody with me. "Mr. Murell? Please excuse me for a moment, till I +get this blasted thing together straight." Then he got the film +spliced and the sound record matched, and looked up. "Why, Bish? +Where's Mr. Murell, Walt?" + +"Mr. Murell has had his initiation to Fenris," I said. "He got +squirted by a tread-snail almost as soon as he got off the ship. They +have him at the spaceport hospital; it'll be 2400 before they get all +the poison sweated out of him." + +I went on to tell him what had happened. Dad's eyes widened slightly, +and he took the pipe out of his mouth and looked at Bish with +something very reasonably like respect. + +"That was mighty sharp work," he said. "If you'd been a second slower, +we'd be all out of visiting authors. That would have been a nice +business; story would have gotten back to Terra, and been most +unfortunate publicity for Fenris. And, of course," he afterthoughted, +"most unfortunate for Mr. Murell, too." + +"Well, if you give this any publicity, I would rather you passed my +own trifling exploit over in silence," Bish said. "I gather the +spaceport people wouldn't be too happy about giving the public the +impression that their area is teeming with tread-snails, either. They +have enough trouble hiring shipping-floor help as it is." + +"But don't you want people to know what you did?" Dad demanded, +incredulously. Everybody wanted their names in print or on 'cast; that +was one of his basic articles of faith. "If the public learned about +this--" he went on, and then saw where he was heading and pulled up +short. It wouldn't be tactful to say something like, "Maybe they +wouldn't think you were just a worthless old soak." + +Bish saw where Dad was heading, too, but he just smiled, as though he +were about to confer his episcopal blessing. + +"Ah, but that would be a step out of character for me," he said. "I +must not confuse my public. Just as a favor to me, Ralph, say nothing +about it." + +"Well, if you'd rather I didn't.... Are you going to cover this +meeting at Hunters' Hall, tonight, Walt?" he asked me. + +"Would I miss it?" + +He frowned. "I could handle that myself," he said. "I'm afraid this +meeting's going to get a little rough." + +I shook my head. "Let's face it, Dad," I said. "I'm a little short of +eighteen, but you're sixty. I can see things coming better than you +can, and dodge them quicker." + +Dad gave a rueful little laugh and looked at Bish. + +"See how it goes?" he asked. "We spend our lives shielding our young +and then, all of a sudden, we find they're shielding us." His pipe had +gone out again and he relit it. "Too bad you didn't get an audiovisual +of Belsher making that idiotic statement." + +"He didn't even know I was getting a voice-only. All the time he was +talking, I was doodling in a pad with a pencil." + +"Synthetic substitutes!" Dad snorted. "Putting a synthetic tallow-wax +molecule together would be like trying to build a spaceship with a +jackknife and a tack hammer." He puffed hard on his pipe, and then +excused himself and went back to his work. + +Editing an audiovisual telecast is pretty much a one-man job. Bish +wanted to know if he could be of assistance, but there was nothing +either of us could do, except sit by and watch and listen. Dad handled +the Belsher thing by making a film of himself playing off the +recording, and interjecting sarcastic comments from time to time. When +it went on the air, I thought, Ravick wasn't going to like it. I would +have to start wearing my pistol again. Then he made a tape on the +landing of the _Peenemuende_ and the arrival of Murell, who he said had +met with a slight accident after leaving the ship. I took that over to +Julio when Dad was finished, along with a tape on the announced +tallow-wax price cut. Julio only grunted and pushed them aside. He was +setting up the story of the fight in Martian Joe's--a "local bar," of +course; nobody ever gets shot or stabbed or slashed or slugged in +anything else. All the news _is_ fit to print, sure, but you can't +give your advertisers and teleprinter customers any worse name than +they have already. A paper has to use some judgment. + +Then Dad and Bish and I went down to dinner. Julio would have his a +little later, not because we're too good to eat with the help but +because, around 1830, the help is too busy setting up the next paper +to eat with us. The dining room, which is also the library, living +room, and general congregating and loafing place, is as big as the +editorial room above. Originally, it was an office, at a time when a +lot of Fenris Company office work was being done here. Some of the +furniture is original, and some was made for us by local cabinetmakers +out of native hardwood. The dining table, big enough for two ships' +crews to eat at, is an example of the latter. Then, of course, there +are screens and microbook cabinets and things like that, and a +refrigerator to save going a couple of hundred feet to the pantry in +case anybody wants a snack. + +I went to that and opened it, and got out a bulb of concentrated fruit +juice and a bottle of carbonated water. Dad, who seldom drinks, keeps +a few bottles around for guests. Seems most of our "guests" part with +information easier if they have something like the locally made +hydroponic potato schnapps inside them for courage. + +"You drink Baldur honey-rum, don't you, Bish?" he said, pawing among +the bottles in the liquor cabinet next to the refrigerator. "I'm sure +I have a bottle of it. Now wait a minute; it's here somewhere." + +When Dad passes on and some medium claims to have produced a spirit +communication from him, I will not accept it as genuine without the +expression: "Now wait a minute; it's here somewhere." + +Bish wanted to know what I was fixing for myself, and I told him. + +"Never mind the rum, Ralph. I believe," he said, "that I shall join +Walt in a fruit fizz." + +Well, whattaya know! Maybe my stealthy temperance campaign was having +results. Dad looked positively startled, and then replaced the bottle +he was holding. + +"I believe I'll make it unanimous," he said. "Fix me up a fruit fizz, +too, Walt." + +I mixed two more fruit fizzes, and we carried them over to the table. +Bish sipped at his critically. + +"Palatable," he pronounced it. "Just a trifle on the mild side, but +definitely palatable." + +Dad looked at him as though he still couldn't believe the whole thing. +Dinner was slow coming. We finished our fizzes, and Bish and I both +wanted repeats, and Dad felt that he had to go along. So I made three +more. We were finishing them when Mrs. Laden started bringing in the +dinner. Mrs. Laden is a widow; she has been with us since my mother +died, the year after I was born. She is violently anti-liquor. +Reluctantly, she condones Dad taking a snort now and then, but as soon +as she saw Bish Ware, her face started to stiffen. + +She put the soup on the table and took off for the kitchen. She always +has her own dinner with Julio. That way, while they're eating he can +tell her all the news that's fit to print, and all the gossip that +isn't. + +For the moment, the odd things I'd been noticing about our +distinguished and temporarily incapacitated visitor came under the +latter head. I told Dad and Bish about my observations, beginning with +the deafening silence about Glenn Murell at the library. Dad began +popping immediately. + +"Why, he must be an impostor!" he exclaimed. "What kind of a racket do +you think he's up to?" + +"Mmm-mm; I wouldn't say that, not right away," Bish said. "In the +first place, Murell may be his true name and he may publish under a +nom de plume. I admit, some of the other items are a little +suspicious, but even if he isn't an author, he may have some +legitimate business here and, having heard a few stories about this +planetary Elysium, he may be exercising a little caution. Walt, tell +your father about that tallow-wax we saw, down in Bottom Level Fourth +Ward." + +I did, and while I was talking Dad sat with his soup spoon poised +halfway to his mouth for at least a minute before he remembered he was +holding it. + +"Now, that is funny," he said when I was through. "Why do you +suppose...?" + +"Somebody," Bish said, "some group of ship captains, is holding wax +out from the Co-operative. There's no other outlet for it, so my guess +is that they're holding it for a rise in price. There's only one way +that could happen, and that, literally, would be over Steve Ravick's +dead body. It could be that they expect Steve's dead body to be around +for a price rise to come in over." + +I was expecting Dad to begin spouting law-and-order. Instead, he hit +the table with his fist; not, fortunately, the one that was holding +the soup spoon. + +"Well, I hope so! And if they do it before the _Cape Canaveral_ gets +in, they may fix Leo Belsher, too, and then, in the general +excitement, somebody might clobber Mort Hallstock, and that'd be grand +slam. After the triple funeral, we could go to work on setting up an +honest co-operative and an honest government." + +"Well, I never expected to hear you advocating lynch law, Dad," I +said. + +He looked at me for a few seconds. + +"Tell the truth, Walt, neither did I," he admitted. "Lynch law is a +horrible thing; don't make any mistake about that. But there's one +thing more horrible, and that's no law at all. And that is the present +situation in Port Sandor. + +"You know what the trouble is, here? We have no government. No legal +government, anyhow; no government under Federation law. We don't even +have a Federation Resident-Agent. Before the Fenris Company went +broke, it was the government here; when the Space Navy evacuated the +colonists, they evacuated the government along with them. The thousand +who remained were all too busy keeping alive to worry about that. They +didn't even care when Fenris was reclassified from Class III, +uninhabited but inhabitable, to Class II, inhabitable only in +artificial environment, like Mercury or Titan. And when Mort Hallstock +got hold of the town-meeting pseudo government they put together fifty +years ago and turned it into a dictatorship, nobody realized what had +happened till it was too late. Lynch law's the only recourse we have." + +"Ralph," Bish told him, "if anything like that starts, Belsher and +Hallstock and Ravick won't be the only casualties. Between Ravick's +goons and Hallstock's police, they have close to a hundred men. I +won't deny that they could be cleaned out, but it wouldn't be a +lynching. It would be a civil war." + +"Well, that's swell!" Dad said. "The Federation Government has never +paid us any attention; the Federation planets are scattered over too +many million cubic light-years of space for the Government to run +around to all of them wiping everybody's noses. As long as things are +quiet here, they'll continue to do nothing for us. But let a story hit +the big papers on Terra, _Revolution Breaks Out on Fenris_--and +that'll be the story I'll send to Interworld News--and watch what +happens." + +"I will tell you what will happen," Bish Ware said. "A lot of people +will get killed. That isn't important, in itself. People are getting +killed all the time, in a lot worse causes. But these people will all +have friends and relatives who will take it up for them. Start killing +people here in a faction fight, and somebody will be shooting somebody +in the back out of a dark passage a hundred years from now over it. +You want this planet poisoned with blood feuds for the next century?" + +Dad and I looked at one another. That was something that hadn't +occurred to either of us, and it should have. There were feuds, even +now. Half the little settlements on the other islands and on the +mainland had started when some group or family moved out of Port +Sandor because of the enmity of some larger and more powerful group or +family, and half our shootings and knife fights grew out of old +grudges between families or hunting crews. + +"We don't want it poisoned for the next century with the sort of thing +Mort Hallstock and Steve Ravick started here, either," Dad said. + +"Granted." Bish nodded. "If a civil war's the only possible way to get +rid of them, that's what you'll have to have, I suppose. Only make +sure you don't leave a single one of them alive when it's over. But if +you can get the Federation Government in here to clean the mess up, +that would be better. Nobody starts a vendetta with the Terran +Federation." + +"But how?" Dad asked. "I've sent story after story off about crime and +corruption on Fenris. They all get the file-and-forget treatment." + +Mrs. Laden had taken away the soup plates and brought us our main +course. Bish sat toying with his fork for a moment. + +"I don't know what you can do," he said slowly. "If you can stall off +the blowup till the _Cape Canaveral_ gets in, and you can send +somebody to Terra...." + +All of a sudden, it hit me. Here was something that would give Bish a +purpose; something to make him want to stay sober. + +"Well, don't say, 'If _you_ can,'" I said. "Say, 'If _we_ can.' You +live on Fenris, too, don't you?" + + + + +5 + +MEETING OUT OF ORDER + + +Dad called the spaceport hospital, after dinner, and talked to Doc +Rojansky. Murell was asleep, and in no danger whatever. They'd given +him a couple of injections and a sedative, and his system was throwing +off the poison satisfactorily. He'd be all right, but they thought he +ought to be allowed to rest at the hospital for a while. + +By then, it was time for me to leave for Hunters' Hall. Julio and Mrs. +Laden were having their dinner, and Dad and Bish went up to the +editorial office. I didn't take a car. Hunters' Hall was only a half +dozen blocks south of the Times, toward the waterfront. I carried my +radio-under-false-pretense slung from my shoulder, and started +downtown on foot. + +The business district was pretty well lighted, both from the ceiling +and by the stores and restaurants. Most of the latter were in the +open, with small kitchen and storage buildings. At a table at one of +them I saw two petty officers from the _Peenemuende_ with a couple of +girls, so I knew the ship wasn't leaving immediately. Going past the +Municipal Building, I saw some activity, and an unusually large number +of police gathered around the vehicle port. Ravick must have his +doubts about how the price cut was going to be received, and Mort +Hallstock was mobilizing his storm troopers to give him support in +case he needed it. I called in about that, and Dad told me fretfully +to be sure to stay out of trouble. + +Hunters' Hall was a four-story building, fairly substantial as +buildings that don't have to support the roof go, with a landing stage +on top and a vehicle park underneath. As I came up, I saw a lot of +cars and jeeps and ships' boats grounded in and around it, and a crowd +of men, almost all of them in boat-clothes and wearing whiskers, +including quite a few characters who had never been out in a +hunter-ship in their lives but were members in the best of good +standing of the Co-operative. I also saw a few of Hallstock's +uniformed thugs standing around with their thumbs in their gun belts +or twirling their truncheons. + +I took an escalator up to the second floor, which was one big room, +with the escalators and elevators in the rear. It was the social room, +decorated with photos and models and solidigraphs of hunter-ships, +photos of record-sized monsters lashed alongside ships before +cutting-up, group pictures of ships's crews, monster tusks, dried +slashers and halberd fish, and a whole monster head, its tusked mouth +open. There was a big crowd there, too, at the bar, at the game +machines, or just standing around in groups talking. + +I saw Tom Kivelson and his father and Oscar Fujisawa, and went over to +join them. Joe Kivelson is just an outsize edition of his son, with a +blond beard that's had thirty-five years' more growth. Oscar is +skipper of the _Pequod_--he wouldn't have looked baffled if Bish Ware +called him Captain Ahab--and while his family name is Old Terran +Japanese, he had blue eyes and red hair and beard. He was almost as +big as Joe Kivelson. + +"Hello, Walt," Joe greeted me. "What's this Tom's been telling me +about Bish Ware shooting a tread-snail that was going to sting Mr. +Murell?" + +"Just about that," I said. "That snail must have crawled out from +between two stacks of wax as we came up. We never saw it till it was +all over. It was right beside Murell and had its stinger up when Bish +shot it." + +"He took an awful chance," Kivelson said. "He might of shot Mr. +Murell." + +I suppose it would look that way to Joe. He is the planet's worst +pistol shot, so according to him nobody can hit anything with a +pistol. + +"He wouldn't have taken any chance not shooting," I said. "If he +hadn't, we'd have been running the Murell story with black borders." + +Another man came up, skinny, red hair, sharp-pointed nose. His name +was Al Devis, and he was Joe Kivelson's engineer's helper. He wanted +to know about the tread-snail shooting, so I had to go over it again. +I hadn't anything to add to what Tom had told them already, but I was +the _Times_, and if the _Times_ says so it's true. + +"Well, I wouldn't want any drunk like Bish Ware shooting around me +with a pistol," Joe Kivelson said. + +That's relative, too. Joe doesn't drink. + +"Don't kid yourself, Joe," Oscar told him. "I saw Bish shoot a knife +out of a man's hand, one time, in One Eye Swanson's. Didn't scratch +the guy; hit the blade. One Eye has the knife, with the bullet mark on +it, over his back bar, now." + +"Well, was he drunk then?" Joe asked. + +"Well, he had to hang onto the bar with one hand while he fired with +the other." Then he turned to me. "How is Murell, now?" he asked. + +I told him what the hospital had given us. Everybody seemed much +relieved. I wouldn't have thought that a celebrated author of whom +nobody had ever heard before would be the center of so much interest +in monster-hunting circles. I kept looking at my watch while we were +talking. After a while, the Times newscast came on the big screen +across the room, and everybody moved over toward it. + +They watched the _Peenemuende_ being towed down and berthed, and the +audiovisual interview with Murell. Then Dad came on the screen with a +record player in front of them, and gave them a play-off of my +interview with Leo Belsher. + +Ordinary bad language I do not mind. I'm afraid I use a little myself, +while struggling with some of the worn-out equipment we have at the +paper. But when Belsher began explaining about how the price of wax +had to be cut again, to thirty-five centisols a pound, the language +those hunters used positively smelled. I noticed, though, that a lot +of the crowd weren't saying anything at all. They would be Ravick's +boys, and they would have orders not to start anything before the +meeting. + +"Wonder if he's going to try to give us that stuff about substitutes?" +Oscar said. + +"Well, what are you going to do?" I asked. + +"I'll tell you what we're not going to do," Joe Kivelson said. "We're +not going to take his price cut. If he won't pay our price, he can use +his [deleted by censor] substitutes." + +"You can't sell wax anywhere else, can you?" + +"Is that so, we can't?" Joe started. + +Before he could say anything else, Oscar was interrupting: + +"We can eat for a while, even if we don't sell wax. Sigurd Ngozori'll +carry us for a while and make loans on wax. But if the wax stops +coming in, Kapstaad Chemical's going to start wondering why...." + +By this time, other _Javelin_ men came drifting over--Ramon Llewellyn, +the mate, and Abdullah Monnahan, the engineer, and Abe Clifford, the +navigator, and some others. I talked with some of them, and then +drifted off in the direction of the bar, where I found another hunter +captain, Mohandas Gandhi Feinberg, whom everybody simply called the +Mahatma. He didn't resemble his namesake. He had a curly black beard +with a twisted black cigar sticking out of it, and nobody, after one +look at him, would have mistaken him for any apostle of nonviolence. + +He had a proposition he was enlisting support for. He wanted balloting +at meetings to be limited to captains of active hunter-ships, the +captains to vote according to expressed wishes of a majority of their +crews. It was a good scheme, though it would have sounded better if +the man who was advocating it hadn't been a captain himself. At least, +it would have disenfranchised all Ravick's permanently unemployed +"unemployed hunters." The only trouble was, there was no conceivable +way of getting it passed. It was too much like trying to curtail the +powers of Parliament by act of Parliament. + +The gang from the street level started coming up, and scattered in +twos and threes around the hall, ready for trouble. I'd put on my +radio when I'd joined the Kivelsons and Oscar, and I kept it on, +circulating around and letting it listen to the conversations. The +Ravick people were either saying nothing or arguing that Belsher was +doing the best he could, and if Kapstaad wouldn't pay more than +thirty-five centisols, it wasn't his fault. Finally, the call bell for +the meeting began clanging, and the crowd began sliding over toward +the elevators and escalators. + +The meeting room was on the floor above, at the front of the building, +beyond a narrow hall and a door at which a couple of Ravick henchmen +wearing guns and sergeant-at-arms brassards were making everybody +check their knives and pistols. They passed me by without getting my +arsenal, which consisted of a sleep-gas projector camouflaged as a +jumbo-sized lighter and twenty sols in two rolls of forty quarter sols +each. One of these inside a fist can make a big difference. + +Ravick and Belsher and the secretary of the Co-op, who was a little +scrawny henpecked-husband type who never had an opinion of his own in +his life, were all sitting back of a big desk on a dais in front. +After as many of the crowd who could had found seats and the rest, +including the Press, were standing in the rear, Ravick pounded with +the chunk of monster tusk he used for a gavel and called the meeting +to order. + +"There's a bunch of old business," he said, "but I'm going to rule +that aside for the moment. We have with us this evening our +representative on Terra, Mr. Leo Belsher, whom I wish to present. Mr. +Belsher." + +Belsher got up. Ravick started clapping his hands to indicate that +applause was in order. A few of his zombies clapped their hands; +everybody else was quiet. Belsher held up a hand. + +"Please don't applaud," he begged. "What I have to tell you isn't +anything to applaud about." + +"You're tootin' well right it isn't!" somebody directly in front of me +said, very distinctly. + +"I'm very sorry to have to bring this news to you, but the fact is +that Kapstaad Chemical Products, Ltd., is no longer able to pay +forty-five centisols a pound. This price is being scaled down to +thirty-five centisols. I want you to understand that Kapstaad Chemical +wants to give you every cent they can, but business conditions no +longer permit them to pay the old price. Thirty-five is the absolute +maximum they can pay and still meet competition--" + +"Aaah, knock it off, Belsher!" somebody shouted. "We heard all that +rot on the screen." + +"How about our contract?" somebody else asked. "We do have a contract +with Kapstaad, don't we?" + +"Well, the contract will have to be re-negotiated. They'll pay +thirty-five centisols or they'll pay nothing." + +"They can try getting along without wax. Or try buying it somewhere +else!" + +"Yes; those wonderful synthetic substitutes!" + +"Mr. Chairman," Oscar Fujisawa called out. "I move that this +organization reject the price of thirty-five centisols a pound for +tallow-wax, as offered by, or through, Leo Belsher at this meeting." + +Ravick began clamoring that Oscar was out of order, that Leo Belsher +had the floor. + +"I second Captain Fujisawa's motion," Mohandas Feinberg said. + +"And Leo Belsher doesn't have the floor; he's not a member of the +Co-operative," Tom Kivelson declared. "He's our hired employee, and as +soon as this present motion is dealt with, I intend moving that we +fire him and hire somebody else." + +"I move to amend Captain Fujisawa's motion," Joe Kivelson said. "I +move that the motion, as amended, read, '--and stipulate a price of +seventy-five centisols a pound.'" + +"You're crazy!" Belsher almost screamed. + +Seventy-five was the old price, from which he and Ravick had been +reducing until they'd gotten down to forty-five. + +Just at that moment, my radio began making a small fuss. I unhooked +the handphone and brought it to my face. + +"Yeah?" + +It was Bish Ware's voice: "Walt, get hold of the Kivelsons and get +them out of Hunters' Hall as fast as you can," he said. "I just got a +tip from one of my ... my parishioners. Ravick's going to stage a riot +to give Hallstock's cops an excuse to raid the meeting. They want the +Kivelsons." + +"Roger." I hung up, and as I did I could hear Joe Kivelson shouting: + +"You think we don't get any news on this planet? Tallow-wax has been +selling for the same price on Terra that it did eight years ago, when +you two crooks started cutting the price. Why, the very ship Belsher +came here on brought the quotations on the commodity market--" + +I edged through the crowd till I was beside Oscar Fujisawa. I decided +the truth would need a little editing; I didn't want to use Bish Ware +as my source. + +"Oscar, Dad just called me," I told him. "A tip came in to the Times +that Ravick's boys are going to fake a riot and Hallstock's cops are +going to raid the meeting. They want Joe and Tom. You know what +they'll do if they get hold of them." + +"Shot while resisting arrest. You sure this is a good tip, though?" + +Across the room, somebody jumped to his feet, kicking over a chair. + +"That's a double two-em-dashed lie, you etaoin shrdlu so-and-so!" +somebody yelled. + +"Who are you calling a so-and-so, you thus-and-so-ing such-and-such?" +somebody else yelled back, and a couple more chairs got smashed and a +swirl of fighting started. + +"Yes, it is," Oscar decided. "Let's go." + +We started plowing through the crowd toward where the Kivelsons and a +couple more of the _Javelin_ crew were clumped. I got one of the rolls +of quarter sols into my right fist and let Oscar go ahead. He has more +mass than I have. + +It was a good thing I did, because before we had gone ten feet, some +character got between us, dragged a two-foot length of inch-and-a-half +high-pressure hose out of his pant leg, and started to swing at the +back of Oscar's head. I promptly clipped him behind the ear with a +fist full of money, and down he went. Oscar, who must have eyes in +the back of his head, turned and grabbed the hose out of his hand +before he dropped it, using it to clout somebody in front of him. +Somebody else came pushing toward us, and I was about to clip him, +too, when he yelled, "Watch it, Walt; I'm with it!" It was Cesario +Vieira, another _Javelin_ man; he's engaged to Linda Kivelson, Joe's +daughter and Tom's sister, the one going to school on Terra. + +Then we had reached Tom and Joe Kivelson. Oscar grabbed Joe by the +arm. + +"Come on, Joe; let's get moving," he said. "Hallstock's Gestapo are on +the way. They have orders to get you dead or alive." + +"Like blazes!" Joe told him. "I never chickened out on a fight yet, +and--" + +That's what I'd been afraid of. Joe is like a Zarathustra veldtbeest; +the only tactics he knows is a headlong attack. + +"You want to get your crew and your son killed, and yourself along +with them?" Oscar asked him. "That's what'll happen if the cops catch +you. Now are you coming, or will I have to knock you senseless and +drag you out?" + +Fortunately, at that moment somebody took a swing at Joe and grazed +his cheek. It was a good thing that was all he did; he was wearing +brass knuckles. Joe went down a couple of feet, bending at the knees, +and caught this fellow around the hips with both hands, straightening +and lifting him over his head. Then he threw him over the heads of the +people in front of him. There were yells where the human missile +landed. + +"That's the stuff, Joe!" Oscar shouted. "Come on, we got them on the +run!" + +That, of course, converted a strategic retreat into an attack. We got +Joe aimed toward the doors and before he knew it, we were out in the +hall by the elevators. There were a couple of Ravick's men, with +sergeant-at-arms arm bands, and two city cops. One of the latter got +in Joe's way. Joe punched him in the face and knocked him back about +ten feet in a sliding stagger before he dropped. The other cop grabbed +me by the left arm. + +I slugged him under the jaw with my ten-sol right and knocked him out, +and I felt the wrapping on the coin roll break and the quarters come +loose in my hand. Before I could drop them into my jacket pocket and +get out the other roll, one of the sergeants at arms drew a gun. I +just hurled the handful of coins at him. He dropped the pistol and put +both hands to his face, howling in pain. + +I gave a small mental howl myself when I thought of all the nice +things I could have bought for ten sols. One of Joe Kivelson's +followers stooped and scooped up the fallen pistol, firing a couple of +times with it. Then we all rushed Joe into one of the elevators and +crowded in behind him, and as I turned to start it down I could hear +police sirens from the street and also from the landing stage above. +In the hall outside the meeting room, four or five of Ravick's +free-drink mercenaries were down on all fours scrabbling for coins, +and the rest of the pursuers from the meeting room were stumbling and +tripping over them. I wished I'd brought a camera along, too. The +public would have loved a shot of that. I lifted the radio and spoke +into it: + +"This is Walter Boyd, returning you now to the regular entertainment +program." + +A second later, the thing whistled at me. As the car started down and +the doors closed I lifted the handphone. It was Bish Ware again. + +"We're going down in the elevator to Second Level Down," I said. "I +have Joe and Tom and Oscar Fujisawa and a few of the _Javelin_ crew +with me. The place is crawling with cops now." + +"Go to Third Level Down and get up on the catwalk on the right," Bish +said. "I'll be along to pick you up." + +"Roger. We'll be looking for you." + +The car stopped at Second Level Down. I punched a button and sent it +down another level. Joe Kivelson, who was dabbing at his cheek with a +piece of handkerchief tissue, wanted to know what was up. + +"We're getting a pickup," I told him. "Vehicle from the _Times_." + +I thought it would save arguments if I didn't mention who was bringing +it. + + + + +6 + +ELEMENTARY, MY DEAR KIVELSON + + +Before we left the lighted elevator car, we took a quick nose count. +Besides the Kivelsons, there were five _Javelin_ men--Ramon Llewellyn, +Abdullah Monnahan, Abe Clifford, Cesario Vieira, and a whitebeard +named Piet Dumont. Al Devis had been with us when we crashed the door +out of the meeting room, but he'd fallen by the way. We had a couple +of flashlights, so, after sending the car down to Bottom Level, we +picked our way up the zigzag iron stairs to the catwalk, under the +seventy-foot ceiling, and sat down in the dark. + +Joe Kivelson was fretting about what would happen to the rest of his +men. + +"Fine captain I am, running out and leaving them!" + +"If they couldn't keep up, that's their tough luck," Oscar Fujisawa +told him. "You brought out all you could. If you'd waited any longer, +none of us would have gotten out." + +"They won't bother with them," I added. "You and Tom and Oscar, here, +are the ones they want." + +Joe was still letting himself be argued into thinking he had done the +right thing when we saw the lights of a lorry coming from uptown at +ceiling level. A moment later, it backed to the catwalk, and Bish Ware +stuck his head out from the pilot's seat. + +"Where do you gentlemen wish to go?" he asked. + +"To the _Javelin_," Joe said instantly. + +"Huh-uh," Oscar disagreed. "That's the first place they'll look. +That'll be all right for Ramon and the others, but if they catch you +and Tom, they'll shoot you and call it self-defense, or take you in +and beat both of you to a jelly. This'll blow over in fifteen or +twenty hours, but I'm not going anywhere near my ship, now." + +"Drop us off on Second Level Down, about Eighth Street and a couple of +blocks from the docks," the mate, Llewellyn, said. "We'll borrow some +weapons from Patel the Pawnbroker and then circulate around and see +what's going on. But you and Joe and Oscar had better go underground +for a while." + +"The _Times_," I said. "We have a whole pillar-building to ourselves; +we could hide half the population." + +That was decided upon. We all piled into the lorry, and Bish took it +to an inconspicuous place on the Second Level and let down. Ramon +Llewellyn and the others got out. Then we went up to Main City Level. +We passed within a few blocks of Hunters' Hall. There was a lot of +noise, but no shooting. + +Joe Kivelson didn't have anything to say, on the trip, but he kept +looking at the pilot's seat in perplexity and apprehension. I think +he expected Bish to try to ram the lorry through every building we +passed by or over. + +We found Dad in the editorial department on the top floor, feeding +voice-tape to Julio while the latter made master sheets for +teleprinting. I gave him a quick rundown on what had happened that he +hadn't gotten from my radio. Dad cluck-clucked in disapproval, either +at my getting into a fight, assaulting an officer, or, literally, +throwing money away. + +Bish Ware seemed a little troubled. "I think," he said, "that I shall +make a circuit of my diocese, and see what can be learned from my +devoted flock. Should I turn up anything significant, I will call it +in." + +With that, he went tottering over to the elevator, stumbling on the +way and making an unepiscopal remark. I watched him, and then turned +to Dad. + +"Did he have anything to drink after I left?" I asked. + +"Nothing but about five cups of coffee." + +I mentally marked that: _Add oddities, Bish Ware._ He'd been at least +four hours without liquor, and he was walking as unsteadily as when +I'd first seen him at the spaceport. I didn't know any kind of liquor +that would persist like that. + +Julio had at least an hour's tape to transcribe, so Dad and Joe and +Tom and Oscar and I went to the living room on the floor below. Joe +was still being bewildered about Bish Ware. + +"How'd he manage to come for us?" he wanted to know. + +"Why, he was here with me all evening," Dad said. "He came from the +spaceport with Walt and Tom, and had dinner with us. He called a few +people from here, and found out about the fake riot and police raid +Ravick had cooked up. You'd be surprised at how much information he +can pick up around town." + +Joe looked at his son, alarmed. + +"Hey! You let him see--" he began. + +"The wax on Bottom Level, in the Fourth Ward?" I asked. "He won't blab +about that. He doesn't blab things where they oughtn't be blabbed." + +"That's right," Dad backed me up. He was beginning to think of Bish as +one of the _Times_ staff, now. "We got a lot of tips from him, but +nothing we give him gets out." He got his pipe lit again. "What about +that wax, Joe?" he asked. "Were you serious when you made that motion +about a price of seventy-five centisols?" + +"I sure was!" Joe declared. "That's the real price, and always has +been, and that's what we get or Kapstaad doesn't get any more wax." + +"If Murell can top it, maybe Kapstaad won't get any more wax, period," +I said. "Who's he with--Interstellar Import-Export?" + +Anybody would have thought a barbwire worm had crawled onto Joe +Kivelson's chair seat under him. + +"Where'd you hear that?" he demanded, which is the Galaxy's silliest +question to ask any newsman. "Tom, if you've been talking--" + +"He hasn't," I said. "He didn't need to. It sticks out a parsec in all +directions." I mentioned some of the things I'd noticed while +interviewing Murell, and his behavior after leaving the ship. "Even +before I'd talked to him, I wondered why Tom was so anxious to get +aboard with me. He didn't know we'd arranged to put Murell up here; he +was going to take him to see that wax, and then take him to the +_Javelin_. You were going to produce him at the meeting and have him +bid against Belsher, only that tread-snail fouled your lines for you. +So then you thought you had to stall off a new contract till he got +out of the hospital." + +The two Kivelsons and Oscar Fujisawa were looking at one another; Joe +and Tom in consternation, and Oscar in derision of both of them. I was +feeling pretty good. Brother, I thought, Sherlock Holmes never did +better, himself. + +That, all of a sudden, reminded me of Dr. John Watson, whom Bish +perceived to have been in Afghanistan. That was one thing Sherlock H. +Boyd hadn't deduced any answers for. Well, give me a little more time. +And more data. + +"You got it all figured out, haven't you?" Joe was asking +sarcastically. The sarcasm was as hollow as an empty oil drum. + +"The _Times_," Dad was saying, trying not to sound too proud, "has a +very sharp reportorial staff, Joe." + +"It isn't Interstellar," Oscar told me, grinning. "It's Argentine +Exotic Organics. You know, everybody thought Joe, here, was getting +pretty high-toned, sending his daughter to school on Terra. School +wasn't the only thing she went for. We got a letter from her, the last +time the Cape Canaveral was in, saying that she'd contacted Argentine +Organics and that a man was coming out on the _Peenemuende_, posing as +a travel-book author. Well, he's here, now." + +"You'd better keep an eye on him," I advised. "If Steve Ravick gets +to him, he won't be much use to you." + +"You think Ravick would really harm Murell?" Dad asked. + +He thought so, too. He was just trying to comfort himself by +pretending he didn't. + +"What do you think, Ralph?" Oscar asked him. "If we get competitive +wax buying, again, seventy-five a pound will be the starting price. +I'm not spending the money till I get it, but I wouldn't be surprised +to see wax go to a sol a pound on the loading floor here. And you know +what that would mean." + +"Thirty for Steve Ravick," Dad said. That puzzled Oscar, till I +explained that "thirty" is newsese for "the end." "I guess Walt's +right. Ravick would do anything to prevent that." He thought for a +moment. "Joe, you were using the wrong strategy. You should have let +Ravick get that thirty-five centisol price established for the +Co-operative, and then had Murell offer seventy-five or something like +that." + +"You crazy?" Joe demanded. "Why, then the Co-op would have been stuck +with it." + +"That's right. And as soon as Murell's price was announced, everybody +would drop out of the Co-operative and reclaim their wax, even the +captains who owe Ravick money. He'd have nobody left but a handful of +thugs and barflies." + +"But that would smash the Co-operative," Joe Kivelson objected. +"Listen, Ralph; I've been in the Co-operative all my life, since +before Steve Ravick was heard of on this planet. I've worked hard for +the Co-operative, and--" + +You didn't work hard enough, I thought. You let Steve Ravick take it +away from you. Dad told Joe pretty much the same thing: + +"You don't have a Co-operative, Joe. Steve Ravick has a racket. The +only thing you can do with this organization is smash it, and then +rebuild it with Ravick and his gang left out." + +Joe puzzled over that silently. He'd been thinking that it was the +same Co-operative his father and Simon MacGregor and the other old +hunters had organized, and that getting rid of Ravick was simply a +matter of voting him out. He was beginning to see, now, that +parliamentary procedure wasn't any weapon against Ravick's force and +fraud and intimidation. + +"I think Walt has something," Oscar Fujisawa said. "As long as +Murell's in the hospital at the spaceport, he's safe, but as soon as +he gets out of Odin Dock & Shipyard territory, he's going to be a clay +pigeon." + +Tom hadn't been saying anything. Now he cleared his throat. + +"On the _Peenemuende_, I was talking about taking Mr. Murell for a trip +in the _Javelin_," he said. "That was while we were still pretending +he'd come here to write a book. Maybe that would be a good idea, +anyhow." + +"It's a cinch we can't let him get killed on us," his father said. "I +doubt if Exotic Organics would send anybody else out, if he was." + +"Here," Dad said. "We'll run the story we have on him in the morning +edition, and then correct it and apologize to the public for +misleading them and explain in the evening edition. And before he +goes, we can have him make an audiovisual for the 'cast, telling +everybody who he is and announcing the price he's offering. We'll put +that on the air. Get enough publicity, and Steve Ravick won't dare do +anything to him." + +Publicity, I thought, is the only weapon Dad knows how to use. He +thinks it's invincible. Me, I wouldn't bet on what Steve Ravick +wouldn't dare do if you gave me a hundred to one. Ravick had been in +power too long, and he was drunker on it than Bish Ware ever got on +Baldur honey-rum. As an intoxicant, rum is practically a soft drink +beside power. + +"Well, do you think Ravick's gotten onto Murell yet?" Oscar said. "We +kept that a pretty close secret. Joe and I knew about him, and so did +the Mahatma and Nip Spazoni and Corkscrew Finnegan, and that was all." + +"I didn't even tell Tom, here, till the _Peenemuende_ got into radio +range," Joe Kivelson said. "Then I only told him and Ramon and +Abdullah and Abe and Hans Cronje." + +"And Al Devis," Tom added. "He came into the conning tower while you +were telling the rest of us." + +The communication screen began buzzing, and I went and put it on. It +was Bish Ware, calling from a pay booth somewhere. + +"I have some early returns," he said. "The cops cleared everybody out +of Hunters' Hall except the Ravick gang. Then Ravick reconvened the +meeting, with nobody but his gang. They were very careful to make sure +they had enough for a legal quorum under the bylaws, and then they +voted to accept the new price of thirty-five centisols a pound." + +"That's what I was afraid of," Joe Kivelson said. "Did they arrest any +of my crew?" + +"Not that I know of," Bish said. "They made a few arrests, but turned +everybody loose later. They're still looking for you and your son. As +far as I know, they aren't interested in anybody else." He glanced +hastily over his shoulder, as though to make sure the door of the +booth was secure. "I'm with some people, now. I'll call you back +later." + +"Well, that's that, Joe," Oscar said, after Bish blanked the screen. +"The Ravick Co-op's stuck with the price cut. The only thing left to +do is get everybody out of it we can, and organize a new one." + +"I guess that's so," Joe agreed. "I wonder, though if Ravick has +really got wise to Murell." + +"Walt figured it out since the ship got in," Oscar said. "Belsher's +been on the ship with Murell for six months. Well, call it three; +everything speeds up about double in hyperspace. But in three months +he ought to see as much as Walt saw in a couple of hours." + +"Well, maybe Belsher doesn't know what's suspicious, the way Walt +does," Tom said. + +"I'm sure he doesn't," I said. "But he and Murell are both in the wax +business. I'll bet he noticed dozens of things I never even saw." + +"Then we'd better take awfully good care of Mr. Murell," Tom said. +"Get him aboard as fast as we can, and get out of here with him. Walt, +you're coming along, aren't you?" + +That was what we'd agreed, while Glenn Murell was still the famous +travel-book author. I wanted to get out of it, now. There wouldn't be +anything happening aboard the _Javelin_, and a lot happening here in +Port Sandor. Dad had the same idea, only he was one hundred per cent +for my going with Murell. I think he wanted me out of Port Sandor, +where I wouldn't get in the way of any small high-velocity particles +of lead that might be whizzing around. + + + + +7 + +ABOARD THE _JAVELIN_ + + +We heard nothing more from Bish Ware that evening. Joe and Tom +Kivelson and Oscar Fujisawa slept at the _Times_ Building, and after +breakfast Dad called the spaceport hospital about Murell. He had +passed a good night and seemed to have thrown off all the poison he +had absorbed through his skin. Dad talked to him, and advised him not +to leave until somebody came for him. Tom and I took a car--and a +pistol apiece and a submachine gun--and went to get him. Remembering, +at the last moment, what I had done to his trousers, I unpacked his +luggage and got another suit for him. + +He was grateful for that, and he didn't lift an eyebrow when he saw +the artillery we had with us. He knew, already, what the score was, +and the rules, or absence thereof, of the game, and accepted us as +members of his team. We dropped to the Bottom Level and went, avoiding +traffic, to where the wax was stored. There were close to a dozen +guards there now, all heavily armed. + +We got out of the car, I carrying the chopper, and one of the gang +there produced a probe rod and microscope and a testing kit and a +microray scanner. Murell took his time going over the wax, jabbing the +probe rod in and pulling samples out of the big plastic-skinned +sausages at random, making chemical tests, examining them under the +microscope, and scanning other cylinders to make sure there was no +foreign matter in them. He might not know what a literary agent was, +but he knew tallow-wax. + +I found out from the guards that there hadn't been any really serious +trouble after we left Hunter's Hall. The city police had beaten a few +men up, natch, and run out all the anti-Ravick hunters, and then +Ravick had reconvened the meeting and acceptance of the thirty-five +centisol price had been voted unanimously. The police were still +looking for the Kivelsons. Ravick seemed to have gotten the idea that +Joe Kivelson was the mastermind of the hunters' cabal against him. I +know if I'd found that Joe Kivelson and Oscar Fujisawa were in any +kind of a conspiracy together, I wouldn't pick Joe for the mastermind. +It was just possible, I thought, that Oscar had been fostering this +himself, in case anything went wrong. After all, self-preservation is +the first law, and Oscar is a self-preserving type. + +After Murell had finished his inspection and we'd gotten back in the +car and were lifting, I asked him what he was going to offer, just as +though I were the skipper of the biggest ship out of Port Sandor. +Well, it meant as much to us as it did to the hunters. The more wax +sold for, the more advertising we'd sell to the merchants, and the +more people would rent teleprinters from us. + +"Eighty centisols a pound," he said. Nice and definite; quite a +difference from the way he stumbled around over listing his previous +publications. "Seventy-five's the Kapstaad price, regardless of what +you people here have been getting from that crook of a Belsher. We'll +have to go far enough beyond that to make him have to run like blazes +to catch up. You can put it in the _Times_ that the day of +monopolistic marketing on Fenris is over." + + * * * * * + +When we got back to the _Times_, I asked Dad if he'd heard anything +more from Bish. + +"Yes," he said unhappily. "He didn't call in, this morning, so I +called his apartment and didn't get an answer. Then I called Harry +Wong's. Harry said Bish had been in there till after midnight, with +some other people." He named three disreputables, two female and one +male. "They were drinking quite a lot. Harry said Bish was plastered +to the ears. They finally went out, around 0130. He said the police +were in and out checking the crowd, but they didn't make any trouble." + +I nodded, feeling very badly. Four and a half hours had been his +limit. Well, sometimes a ninety per cent failure is really a triumph; +after all, it's a ten per cent success. Bish had gone four and a half +hours without taking a drink. Maybe the percentage would be a little +better the next time. I was surely old enough to stop expecting +miracles. + +The mate of the _Pequod_ called in, around noon, and said it was safe +for Oscar to come back to the ship. The mate of the _Javelin_, Ramon +Llewellyn, called in with the same report, that along the waterfront, at +least, the heat was off. However, he had started an ambitious-looking +overhaul operation, which looked as though it was good for a hundred +hours but which could be dropped on a minute's notice, and under cover +of this he had been taking on supplies and ammunition. + +We made a long audiovisual of Murell announcing his price of eighty +centisols a pound for wax on behalf of Argentine Exotic Organics, Ltd. +As soon as that was finished, we loaded the boat-clothes we'd picked +up for him and his travel kit and mine into a car, with Julio Kubanoff +to bring it back to the _Times_, and went to the waterfront. When we +arrived, Ramon Llewellyn had gotten things cleared up, and the +_Javelin_ was ready to move as soon as we came aboard. + +On the Main City Level, the waterfront is a hundred feet above the +ship pools; the ships load from and discharge onto the First Level +Down. The city roof curves down all along the south side of the city +into the water and about fifty feet below it. That way, even in the +post-sunset and post-dawn storms, ships can come in submerged around +the outer breakwater and under the roof, and we don't get any wind or +heavy seas along the docks. + +Murell was interested in everything he saw, in the brief time while we +were going down along the docks to where the _Javelin_ was berthed. I +knew he'd never actually seen it before, but he must have been +studying pictures of it, because from some of the remarks he made, I +could tell that he was familiar with it. + +Most of the ships had lifted out of the water and were resting on the +wide concrete docks, but the _Javelin_ was afloat in the pool, her +contragravity on at specific-gravity weight reduction. She was a +typical hunter-ship, a hundred feet long by thirty abeam, with a squat +conning tower amidships, and turrets for 50-mm guns and launchers for +harpoon rockets fore and aft. The only thing open about her was the +air-and-water lock under the conning tower. Julio, who was piloting +the car, set it down on the top of the aft gun turret. A couple of the +crewmen who were on deck grabbed our bags and hurried them inside. We +followed, and as soon as Julio lifted away, the lock was sealed. + +Immediately, as the contragravity field dropped below the specific +gravity of the ship, she began submerging. I got up into the conning +tower in time to see the water of the boat pool come up over the +armor-glass windows and the outside lights come on. For a few minutes, +the _Javelin_ swung slowly and moved forward, feeling her way with +fingers of radar out of the pool and down the channel behind the +breakwater and under the overhang of the city roof. Then the water +line went slowly down across the windows as she surfaced. A moment +later she was on full contragravity, and the ship which had been a +submarine was now an aircraft. + +Murell, who was accustomed to the relatively drab sunsets of Terra, +simply couldn't take his eyes from the spectacle that covered the +whole western half of the sky--high clouds streaming away from the +daylight zone to the west and lighted from below by the sun. There +were more clouds coming in at a lower level from the east. By the time +the _Javelin_ returned to Port Sandor, it would be full dark and rain, +which would soon turn to snow, would be falling. Then we'd be in for +it again for another thousand hours. + +Ramon Llewellyn was saying to Joe Kivelson: "We're one man short; +Devis, Abdullah's helper. Hospital." + +"Get hurt in the fight, last night? He was right with us till we got +out to the elevators, and then I missed him." + +"No. He made it back to the ship about the same time we did, and he +was all right then. Didn't even have a scratch. Strained his back at +work, this morning, trying to lift a power-unit cartridge by hand." + +I could believe that. Those things weighed a couple of hundred pounds. +Joe Kivelson swore. + +"What's he think this is, the First Century Pre-Atomic? Aren't there +any lifters on the ship?" + +Llewellyn shrugged. "Probably didn't want to bother taking a couple of +steps to get one. The doctor told him to take treatment and +observation for a day or so." + +"That's Al Devis?" I asked. "What hospital?" Al Devis's strained back +would be good for a two-line item; he'd feel hurt if we didn't mention +it. + +"Co-op hospital." + +That was all right. They always sent in their patient lists to the +_Times_. Tom was griping because he'd have to do Devis's work and his +own. + +"You know anything about engines, Walt?" he asked me. + +"I know they generate a magnetic current and convert rotary magnetic +current into one-directional repulsion fields, and violate the +daylights out of all the old Newtonian laws of motion and attraction," +I said. "I read that in a book. That was as far as I got. The math got +a little complicated after that, and I started reading another book." + +"You'd be a big help. Think you could hit anything with a 50-mm?" Tom +asked. "I know you're pretty sharp with a pistol or a chopper, but a +cannon's different." + +"I could try. If you want to heave over an empty packing case or +something, I could waste a few rounds seeing if I could come anywhere +close to it." + +"We'll do that," he said. "Ordinarily, I handle the after gun when we +sight a monster, but somebody'll have to help Abdullah with the +engines." + +He spoke to his father about it. Joe Kivelson nodded. + +"Walt's made some awful lucky shots with that target pistol of his, I +know that," he said, "and I saw him make hamburger out of a slasher, +once, with a chopper. Have somebody blow a couple of wax skins full of +air for targets, and when we get a little farther southeast, we'll go +down to the surface and have some shooting." + +I convinced Murell that the sunset would still be there in a couple of +hours, and we took our luggage down and found the cubbyhole he and I +would share with Tom for sleeping quarters. A hunter-ship looks big on +the outside, but there's very little room for the crew. The engines +are much bigger than would be needed on an ordinary contragravity +craft, because a hunter-ship operates under water as well as in the +air. Then, there's a lot of cargo space for the wax, and the boat +berth aft for the scout boat, so they're not exactly built for +comfort. They don't really need to be; a ship's rarely out more than a +hundred and fifty hours on any cruise. + +Murell had done a lot of reading about every phase of the wax +business, and he wanted to learn everything he could by actual +observation. He said that Argentine Exotic Organics was going to keep +him here on Fenris as a resident buyer and his job was going to be to +deal with the hunters, either individually or through their +co-operative organization, if they could get rid of Ravick and set up +something he could do business with, and he wanted to be able to talk +the hunters' language and understand their problems. + +So I took him around over the boat, showing him everything and +conscripting any crew members I came across to explain what I +couldn't. I showed him the scout boat in its berth, and we climbed +into it and looked around. I showed him the machine that packed the +wax into skins, and the cargo holds, and the electrolytic gills that +extracted oxygen from sea water while we were submerged, and the +ship's armament. Finally, we got to the engine room, forward. He +whistled when he saw the engines. + +"Why, those things are big enough for a five-thousand-ton freighter," +he said. + +"They have to be," I said. "Running submerged isn't the same as +running in atmosphere. You ever done any swimming?" + +He shook his head. "I was born in Antarctica, on Terra. The water's a +little too cold to do much swimming there. And I've spent most of my +time since then in central Argentine, in the pampas country. The +sports there are horseback riding and polo and things like that." + +Well, whattaya know! Here was a man who had not only seen a horse, but +actually ridden one. That in itself was worth a story in the _Times_. + +Tom and Abdullah, who were fussing around the engines, heard that. +They knocked off what they were doing and began asking him +questions--I suppose he thought they were awfully silly, but he +answered all of them patiently--about horses and riding. I was looking +at a couple of spare power-unit cartridges, like the one Al Devis had +strained his back on, clamped to the deck out of the way. + +They were only as big as a one-liter jar, rounded at one end and flat +at the other where the power cable was connected, but they weighed +close to two hundred pounds apiece. Most of the weight was on the +outside; a dazzlingly bright plating of collapsium--collapsed matter, +the electron shell collapsed onto the nucleus and the atoms in actual +physical contact--and absolutely nothing but nothing could get through +it. Inside was about a kilogram of strontium-90; it would keep on +emitting electrons for twenty-five years, normally, but there was a +miniature plutonium reactor, itself shielded with collapsium, which, +among other things, speeded that process up considerably. A cartridge +was good for about five years; two of them kept the engines in +operation. + +The engines themselves converted the electric current from the power +cartridges into magnetic current, and lifted the ship and propelled +it. Abdullah was explaining that to Murell and Murell seemed to be +getting it satisfactorily. + +Finally, we left them; Murell wanted to see the sunset some more and +went up to the conning tower where Joe and Ramon were, and I decided +to take a nap while I had a chance. + + + + +8 + +PRACTICE, 50-MM GUN + + +It seemed as though I had barely fallen asleep before I was wakened by +the ship changing direction and losing altitude. I knew there were +clouds coming in from the east, now, on the lower air currents, and I +supposed that Joe was taking the _Javelin_ below them to have a look +at the surface of the sea. So I ran up to the conning tower, and when +I got there I found that the lower clouds were solid over us, it was +growing dark, and another hunter-ship was approaching with her lights +on. + +"Who is she?" I asked. + +"_Bulldog_, Nip Spazoni," Joe told me. "Nip's bringing my saloon +fighter aboard, and he wants to meet Mr. Murell." + +I remembered that the man who had roughed up the Ravick goon in +Martian Joe's had made his getaway from town in the _Bulldog_. As I +watched, the other ship's boat dropped out from her stern, went +end-over-end for an instant, and then straightened out and came +circling around astern of us, matching our speed and ejecting a +magnetic grapple. + +Nip Spazoni and another man climbed out with life lines fast to their +belts and crawled along our upper deck, catching life lines that were +thrown out to them and snapping onto them before casting loose the +ones from their boat. Somebody at the lock under the conning tower +hauled them in. + +Nip Spazoni's name was Old Terran Italian, but he had slanted +Mongoloid eyes and a sparse little chin-beard, which accounted for his +nickname. The amount of intermarriage that's gone on since the First +Century, any resemblance between people's names and their appearances +is purely coincidental. Oscar Fujisawa, who looks as though his name +ought to be Lief Ericsson, for example. + +"Here's your prodigal, Joe," he was saying, peeling out of his parka +as he came up the ladder. "I owe him a second gunner's share on a +monster, fifteen tons of wax." + +"Hey, that was a good one. You heading home, now?" Then he turned to +the other man, who had followed Nip up the ladder. "You didn't do a +very good job, Bill," he said. "The so-and-so's out of the hospital by +now." + +"Well, you know who takes care of his own," the crewman said. "Give me +something for effort; I tried hard enough." + +"No, I'm not going home yet," Nip was answering. "I have hold-room for +the wax of another one, if he isn't bigger than ordinary. I'm going to +go down on the bottom when the winds start and sit it out, and then +try to get a second one." Then he saw me. "Well, hey, Walt; when did +you turn into a monster-hunter?" + +Then he was introduced to Murell, and he and Joe and the man from +Argentine Exotic Organics sat down at the chart table and Joe yelled +for a pot of coffee, and they started talking prices and quantities of +wax. I sat in, listening. This was part of what was going to be the +big story of the year. Finally they got that talked out, and Joe asked +Nip how the monsters were running. + +"Why, good; you oughtn't to have any trouble finding one," Nip said. +"There must have been a Nifflheim of a big storm off to the east, +beyond the Lava Islands. I got mine north of Cape Terror. There's huge +patches of sea-spaghetti drifting west, all along the coast of Hermann +Reuch's Land. Here." He pulled out a map. "You'll find it all along +here." + +Murell asked me if sea-spaghetti was something the monsters ate. His +reading-up still had a few gaps, here and there. + +"No, it's seaweed; the name describes it. Screwfish eat it; big +schools of them follow it. Gulpers and funnelmouths and bag-bellies +eat screwfish, and monsters eat them. So wherever you find spaghetti, +you can count on finding a monster or two." + +"How's the weather?" Joe was asking. + +"Good enough, now. It was almost full dark when we finished the +cutting-up. It was raining; in fifty or sixty hours it ought to be +getting pretty bad." Spazoni pointed on the map. "Here's about where I +think you ought to try, Joe." + + * * * * * + +I screened the Times, after Nip went back to his own ship. Dad said +that Bish Ware had called in, with nothing to report but a vague +suspicion that something nasty was cooking. Steve Ravick and Leo +Belsher were taking things, even the announcement of the Argentine +Exotic Organics price, too calmly. + +"I think so, myself," he added. "That gang has some kind of a knife up +their sleeve. Bish is trying to find out just what it is." + +"Is he drinking much?" I asked. + +"Well, he isn't on the wagon, I can tell you that," Dad said. "I'm +beginning to think that he isn't really sober till he's half +plastered." + +There might be something to that, I thought. There are all kinds of +weird individualities about human metabolism; for all I knew, alcohol +might actually be a food for Bish. Or he might have built up some kind +of immunity, with antibodies that were themselves harmful if he didn't +have alcohol to neutralize them. + +The fugitive from what I couldn't bring myself to call justice proved +to know just a little, but not much, more about engines than I did. +That meant that Tom would still have to take Al Devis's place, and I'd +have to take his with the after 50-mm. So the ship went down to almost +sea surface, and Tom and I went to the stern turret. + +The gun I was to handle was an old-model Terran Federation Army +infantry-platoon accompanying gun. The mount, however, was +power-driven, like the mount for a 90-mm contragravity tank gun. +Reconciling the firing mechanism of the former with the elevating and +traversing gear of the latter had produced one of the craziest pieces +of machinery that ever gave an ordnance engineer nightmares. It was a +local job, of course. An ordnance engineer in Port Sandor doesn't +really have to be a raving maniac, but it's a help. + +Externally, the firing mechanism consisted of a pistol grip and +trigger, which looked all right to me. The sight was a standard +binocular light-gun sight, with a spongeplastic mask to save the +gunner from a pair of black eyes every time he fired it. The elevating +and traversing gear was combined in one lever on a ball-and-socket +joint. You could move the gun diagonally in any direction in one +motion, but you had to push or pull the opposite way. Something would +go plonk when the trigger was pulled on an empty chamber, so I did +some dry practice at the crests of waves. + +"Now, mind," Tom was telling me, "this is a lot different from a +pistol." + +"So I notice," I replied. I had also noticed that every time I got the +cross hairs on anything and squeezed the trigger, they were on +something else when the trigger went plonk. "All this gun needs is +another lever, to control the motion of the ship." + +"Oh, that only makes it more fun," Tom told me. + +Then he loaded in a clip of five rounds, big expensive-looking +cartridges a foot long, with bottle-neck cases and pointed shells. + +The targets were regular tallow-wax skins, blown up and weighted at +one end so that they would float upright. He yelled into the intercom, +and one was chucked overboard ahead. A moment later, I saw it bobbing +away astern of us. I put my face into the sight-mask, caught it, +centered the cross hairs, and squeezed. The gun gave a thunderclap +and recoiled past me, and when I pulled my face out of the mask, I saw +a column of water and spray about fifty feet left and a hundred yards +over. + +"You won't put any wax in the hold with that kind of shooting," Tom +told me. + +I fired again. This time, there was no effect at all that I could see. +The shell must have gone away over and hit the water a couple of miles +astern. Before Tom could make any comment on that shot, I let off +another, and this time I hit the water directly in front of the +bobbing wax skin. Good line shot, but away short. + +"Well, you scared him, anyhow," Tom said, in mock commendation. + +I remembered some of the comments I'd made when I'd been trying to +teach him to hit something smaller than the target frame with a +pistol, and humbled myself. The next two shots were reasonably close, +but neither would have done any damage if the rapidly vanishing skin +had really been a monster. Tom clucked sadly and slapped in another +clip. + +"Heave over another one," he called. "That monster got away." + +The trouble was, there were a lot of tricky air currents along the +surface of the water. The engines were running on lift to match +exactly the weight of the ship, which meant that she had no weight at +all, and a lot of wind resistance. The drive was supposed to match the +wind speed, and the ship was supposed to be kept nosed into the wind. +A lot of that is automatic, but it can't be made fully so, which means +that the pilot has to do considerable manual correcting, and no human +alive can do that perfectly. Joe Kivelson or Ramon Llewellyn or +whoever was at the controls was doing a masterly job, but that fell +away short of giving me a stable gun platform. + +I caught the second target as soon as it bobbed into sight and slammed +a shell at it. The explosion was half a mile away, but the shell +hadn't missed the target by more than a few yards. Heartened, I fired +again, and that shot was simply dreadful. + +"I know what you're doing wrong," Tom said. "You're squeezing the +trigger." + +"_Huh_?" + +I pulled my face out of the sight-mask and looked at him to see if he +were exhibiting any other signs of idiocy. That was like criticizing +somebody for using a fork instead of eating with his fingers. + +"You're not shooting a pistol," he continued. "You don't have to hold +the gun on the target with the hand you shoot with. The mount control, +in your other hand, does that. As soon as the cross hairs touch the +target, just grab the trigger as though it was a million sols getting +away from you. Well, sixteen thousand; that's what a monster's worth +now, Murell prices. Jerking won't have the least effect on your hold +whatever." + +So that was why I'd had so much trouble making a pistol shot out of +Tom, and why it would take a special act of God to make one out of his +father. And that was why monster-hunters caused so few casualties in +barroom shootings around Port Sandor, outside of bystanders and +back-bar mirrors. I felt like Newton after he'd figured out why the +apple bopped him on the head. + +"You mean like this?" I asked innocently, as soon as I had the hairs +on the target again, violating everything I held most sacredly true +about shooting. + +The shell must have passed within inches of the target; it bobbed over +flat and the weight pulled it up again into the backwave from the +shell and it bobbed like crazy. + +"That would have been a dead monster," Tom said. "Let's see you do it +again." + +I didn't; the next shot was terrible. Overconfidence. I had one more +shot, and I didn't want to use up another clip of the _Javelin_'s +ammo. They cost like crazy, even if they were Army rejects. The sea +current was taking the target farther away every second, but I took my +time on the next one, bringing the horizontal hair level with the +bottom of the inflated target and traversing quickly, grabbing the +trigger as soon as the vertical hair touched it. There was a +water-spout, and the target shot straight up for fifty feet; the shell +must have exploded directly under it. There was a sound of cheering +from the intercom. Tom asked if I wanted to fire another clip. I told +him I thought I had the hang of it now, and screwed a swab onto the +ramrod and opened the breech to clean the gun. + +Joe Kivelson grinned at me when I went up to the conning tower. + +"That wasn't bad, Walt," he said. "You never manned a 50-mm before, +did you?" + +"No, and it's all backward from anything I ever learned about +shooting," I said. "Now, suppose I get a shot at a monster; where do I +try to hit him?" + +"Here, I'll show you." He got a block of lucite, a foot square on the +end by two and a half feet long, out of a closet under the chart +table. In it was a little figure of a Jarvis's sea-monster; long body +tapering to a three-fluked tail, wide horizontal flippers like the +wings of an old pre-contragravity aircraft, and a long neck with a +little head and a wide tusked mouth. + +"Always get him from in front," he said. "Aim right here, where his +chest makes a kind of V at the base of the neck. A 50-mm will go six +or eight feet into him before it explodes, and it'll explode among his +heart and lungs and things. If it goes straight along his body, it'll +open him up and make the cutting-up easier, and it won't spoil much +wax. That's where I always shoot." + +"Suppose I get a broadside shot?" + +"Why, then put your shell right under the flukes at the end of the +tail. That'll turn him and position him for a second shot from in +front. But mostly, you'll get a shot from in front, if the ship's down +near the surface. Monsters will usually try to attack the ship. They +attack anything around their own size that they see," he told me. "But +don't ever make a body shot broadside-to. You'll kill the monster, but +you'll blow about five thousand sols' worth of wax to Nifflheim doing +it." + +It had been getting dusky while I had been shooting; it was almost +full dark now, and the _Javelin's_ lights were on. We were making +close to Mach 3, headed east now, and running away from the remaining +daylight. + +We began running into squalls of rain, and then rain mixed with wet +snow. The underside lights came on, and the lookout below began +reporting patches of sea-spaghetti. Finally, the boat was dropped out +and went circling away ahead, swinging its light back and forth over +the water, and radioing back reports. Spaghetti. Spaghetti with a big +school of screwfish working on it. Funnel-mouths working on the +screwfish. Finally the speaker gave a shrill whistle. + +"_Monster ho!_" the voice yelled. "About ten points off your port bow. +We're circling over it now." + +"Monster ho!" Kivelson yelled into the intercom, in case anybody +hadn't heard. "All hands to killing stations." Then he saw me standing +there, wondering what was going to happen next. "Well, mister, didn't +you hear me?" he bellowed. "Get to your gun!" + +Gee! I thought. I'm one of the crew, now. + +"Yes sir!" I grabbed the handrail of the ladder and slid down, then +raced aft to the gun turret. + + + + +9 + +MONSTER KILLING + + +There was a man in the turret, waiting to help me. He had a clip of +five rounds in the gun, the searchlight on, and the viewscreen tuned +to the forward pickup. After checking the gun and loading the chamber, +I looked in that, and in the distance, lighted by the boat above and +the searchlight of the _Javelin_, I saw a long neck with a little head +on the end of it weaving about. We were making straight for it, losing +altitude and speed as we went. + +Then the neck dipped under the water and a little later reappeared, +coming straight for the advancing light. The forward gun went off, +shaking the ship with its recoil, and the head ducked under again. +There was a spout from the shell behind it. + +I took my eyes from the forward screen and looked out the rear window, +ready to shove my face into the sight-mask. An instant later, the head +and neck reappeared astern of us. I fired, without too much hope of +hitting anything, and then the ship was rising and circling. + +As soon as I'd fired, the monster had sounded, headfirst. I fired a +second shot at his tail, in hope of crippling his steering gear, but +that was a clean miss, too, and then the ship was up to about five +thousand feet. My helper pulled out the partly empty clip and replaced +it with a full one, giving me five and one in the chamber. + +If I'd been that monster, I thought, I'd have kept on going till I was +a couple of hundred miles away from this place; but evidently that +wasn't the way monsters thought, if thinking is what goes on inside a +brain cavity the size of a quart bottle in a head the size of two oil +drums on a body as big as the ship that was hunting him. He'd found a +lot of gulpers and funnelmouths, and he wasn't going to be chased away +from his dinner by somebody shooting at him. + +I wondered why they didn't eat screwfish, instead of the things that +preyed on them. Maybe they did and we didn't know it. Or maybe they +just didn't like screwfish. There were a lot of things we didn't know +about sea-monsters. + +For that matter, I wondered why we didn't grow tallow-wax by +carniculture. We could grow any other animal matter we wanted. I'd +often thought of that. + +The monster wasn't showing any inclination to come to the surface +again, and finally Joe Kivelson's voice came out of the intercom: + +"Run in the guns and seal ports. Secure for submersion. We're going +down and chase him up." + +My helper threw the switch that retracted the gun and sealed the gun +port. I checked that and reported, "After gun secure." Hans Cronje's +voice, a moment later, said, "Forward gun secure," and then Ramon +Llewellyn said, "Ship secure; ready to submerge." + +Then the _Javelin_ began to settle, and the water came up over the +window. I didn't know what the radar was picking up. All I could see +was the screen and the window; water lighted for about fifty feet in +front and behind. I saw a cloud of screwfish pass over and around us, +spinning rapidly as they swam as though on lengthwise axis--they +always spin counterclockwise, never clockwise. A couple of +funnelmouths were swimming after them, overtaking and engulfing them. + +Then the captain yelled, "Get set for torpedo," and my helper and I +each grabbed a stanchion. A couple of seconds later it seemed as +though King Neptune himself had given the ship a poke in the nose; my +hands were almost jerked loose from their hold. Then she swung slowly, +nosing up and down, and finally Joe Kivelson spoke again: + +"We're going to surface. Get set to run the guns out and start +shooting as soon as we're out of the water." + +"What happened?" I asked my helper. + +"Must have put the torp right under him and lifted him," he said. "He +could be dead or stunned. Or he could be live and active and spoiling +for a fight." + +That last could be trouble. The _Times_ had run quite a few stories, +some with black borders, about ships that had gotten into trouble with +monsters. A hunter-ship is heavy and it is well-armored--install +hyperdrive engines in one, and you could take her from here to +Terra--but a monster is a tough brute, and he has armor of his own, +scales an inch or so thick and tougher than sole leather. A lot of +chair seats around Port Sandor are made of single monster scales. A +monster strikes with its head, like a snake. They can smash a ship's +boat, and they've been known to punch armor-glass windows out of their +frames. I didn't want the window in front of me coming in at me with a +monster head the size of a couple of oil drums and full of big tusks +following it. + +The _Javelin_ came up fast, but not as fast as the monster, which +seemed to have been injured only in his disposition. He was on the +surface already, about fifty yards astern of us, threshing with his +forty-foot wing-fins, his neck arched back to strike. I started to +swing my gun for the chest shot Joe Kivelson had recommended as soon +as it was run out, and then the ship was swung around and tilted up +forward by a sudden gust of wind. While I was struggling to get the +sights back on the monster, the ship gave another lurch and the cross +hairs were right on its neck, about six feet below the head. I grabbed +the trigger, and as soon as the shot was off, took my eyes from the +sights. I was just a second too late to see the burst, but not too +late to see the monster's neck jerk one way out of the smoke puff and +its head fly another. A second later, the window in front of me was +splashed with blood as the headless neck came down on our fantail. + +Immediately, two rockets jumped from the launcher over the gun turret, +planting a couple of harpoons, and the boat, which had been circling +around since we had submerged, dived into the water and passed under +the monster, coming up on the other side dragging another harpoon +line. The monster was still threshing its wings and flogging with its +headless neck. It takes a monster quite a few minutes to tumble to the +fact that it's been killed. My helper was pounding my back black and +blue with one hand and trying to pump mine off with the other, and I +was getting an ovation from all over the ship. At the same time, a +couple more harpoons went into the thing from the ship, and the boat +put another one in from behind. + +I gathered that shooting monsters' heads off wasn't at all usual, and +hastened to pass it off as pure luck, so that everybody would hurry up +and deny it before they got the same idea themselves. + +We hadn't much time for ovations, though. We had a very slowly dying +monster, and before he finally discovered that he was dead, a couple +of harpoons got pulled out and had to be replaced. Finally, however, +he quieted down, and the boat swung him around, bringing the tail past +our bow, and the ship cut contragravity to specific-gravity level and +settled to float on top of the water. The boat dived again, and payed +out a line that it brought up and around and up again, lashing the +monster fast alongside. + +"All right," Kivelson was saying, out of the intercom. "Shooting's +over. All hands for cutting-up." + +I pulled on a parka and zipped it up and went out onto the deck. +Everybody who wasn't needed at engines or controls was there, and +equipment was coming up from below--power saws and sonocutters and +even a solenoid jackhammer. There were half a dozen floodlights, on +small contragravity lifters; they were run up on lines fifty feet +above the ship's deck. By this time it was completely dark and fine +snow was blowing. I could see that Joe Kivelson was anxious to get the +cutting-up finished before the wind got any worse. + +"Walt, can you use a machine gun?" he asked me. + +I told him I could. I was sure of it; a machine gun is fired in a +rational and decent manner. + +"Well, all right. Suppose you cover for us from the boat," he said. +"Mr. Murell can pilot for you. You never worked at cutting-up before, +and neither did he. You'd be more of a hindrance than a help and so +would he. But we do need a good machine gunner. As soon as we start +throwing out waste, we'll have all the slashers and halberd fish for +miles around. You just shoot them as fast as you see them." + +He was courteous enough not to add: "And don't shoot any of the crew." + +The boat came in and passed out the lines of its harpoons, and Murell +and I took the places of Cesario Vieira and the other man. We went up +to the nose, and Murell took his place at the controls, and I got back +of the 7-mm machine gun and made sure that there were plenty of extra +belts of ammo. Then, as we rose, I pulled the goggles down from my +hood, swung the gun away from the ship, and hammered off a one-second +burst to make sure it was working, after which I settled down, glad I +had a comfortable seat and wasn't climbing around on that monster. + +They began knocking scales loose with the jackhammer and cutting into +the leathery skin underneath with sonocutters. The sea was getting +heavy, and the ship and the attached monster had begun to roll. + +"That's pretty dangerous work," Murell said. "If a man using one of +those cutters slipped...." + +"It's happened," I told him. "You met our peg-legged compositor, +Julio. That was how he lost his leg." + +"I don't blame them for wanting all they can get for tallow-wax." + +They had the monster opened down the belly, and were beginning to cut +loose big chunks of the yellow tallow-wax and throw them into cargo +nets and swing them aboard with lifters, to be chucked down the cargo +hatches. I was only able to watch that for a minute or so and tell +Murell what was going on, and then the first halberd fish, with a +spearlike nose and sharp ridges of the nearest thing to bone you find +on Fenris, came swimming up. I swung the gun on the leader and gave +him a second of fire, and then a two-second burst on the ones behind. +Then I waited for a few seconds until the survivors converged on their +dead and injured companions and gave them another burst, which wiped +out the lot of them. + +It was only a couple of seconds after that that the first slasher came +in, shiny as heat-blued steel and waving four clawed tentacles that +grew around its neck. It took me a second or so to get the sights on +him. He stopped slashing immediately. Slashers are smart; you kill +them and they find it out right away. + +Before long, the water around the ship and the monster was polluted +with things like that. I had to keep them away from the men, now +working up to their knees in water, and at the same time avoid +massacring the crew I was trying to protect, and Murell had to keep +the boat in position, in spite of a steadily rising wind, and every +time I had to change belts, there'd be a new rush of things that had +to be shot in a hurry. The ammunition bill for covering a cutting-up +operation is one of the things that runs up expenses for a +hunter-ship. The ocean bottom around here must be carpeted with +machine-gun brass. + +Finally, they got the job done, and everybody went below and sealed +ship. We sealed the boat and went down after her. The last I saw, the +remains of the monster, now stripped of wax, had been cast off, and +the water around it was rioting with slashers and clawbeaks and +halberd fish and similar marine unpleasantnesses. + + + + +10 + +MAYDAY, MAYDAY + + +Getting a ship's boat berthed inside the ship in the air is tricky +work under the best of conditions; the way the wind was blowing by +now, it would have been like trying to thread a needle inside a +concrete mixer. We submerged after the ship and went in underwater. +Then we had to wait in the boat until the ship rose above the surface +and emptied the water out of the boat berth. When that was done and +the boat berth was sealed again, the ship went down seventy fathoms +and came to rest on the bottom, and we unsealed the boat and got out. + +There was still the job of packing the wax into skins, but that could +wait. Everybody was tired and dirty and hungry. We took turns washing +up, three at a time, in the little ship's latrine which, for some +reason going back to sailing-ship days on Terra, was called the +"head." Finally the whole sixteen of us gathered in the relatively +comfortable wardroom under the after gun turret. + +Comfortable, that is, to the extent that everybody could find a place +to sit down, or could move about without tripping over somebody else. +There was a big pot of coffee, and everybody had a plate or bowl of +hot food. There's always plenty of hot food to hand on a hunter-ship; +no regular meal-times, and everybody eats, as he sleeps, when he has +time. This is the only time when a whole hunter crew gets together, +after a monster has been killed and cut up and the ship is resting on +the bottom and nobody has to stand watch. + +Everybody was talking about the killing, of course, and the wax we had +in the hold, and counting the money they were going to get for it, at +the new eighty-centisol price. + +"Well, I make it about fourteen tons," Ramon Llewellyn, who had been +checking the wax as it went into the hold, said. He figured mentally +for a moment, and added, "Call it twenty-two thousand sols." Then he +had to fall back on a pencil and paper to figure shares. + +I was surprised to find that he was reckoning shares for both Murell +and myself. + +"Hey, do we want to let them do that?" I whispered to Murell. "We just +came along for the ride." + +"I don't want the money," he said. "These people need every cent they +can get." + +So did I, for that matter, and I didn't have salary and expense +account from a big company on Terra. However, I hadn't come along in +the expectation of making anything out of it, and a newsman has to be +careful about the outside money he picks up. It wouldn't do any harm +in the present instance, but as a practice it can lead to all kinds of +things, like playing favorites, coloring news, killing stories that +shouldn't be killed. We do enough of that as it is, like playing down +the tread-snail business for Bish Ware and the spaceport people, and +never killing anybody except in a "local bar." It's hard to draw a +line on that sort of thing. + +"We're just guests," I said. "We don't work here." + +"The dickens you are," Joe Kivelson contradicted. "Maybe you came +aboard as guests, but you're both part of the crew now. I never saw a +prettier shot on a monster than Walt made--took that thing's head off +like a chicken on a chopping block--and he did a swell job of covering +for the cutting-up. And he couldn't have done that if Murell hadn't +handled the boat the way he did, and that was no easy job." + +"Well, let's talk about that when we get to port," I said. "Are we +going right back, or are we going to try for another monster?" + +"I don't know," Joe said. "We could stow the wax, if we didn't get too +much, but if we stay out, we'll have to wait out the wind and by then +it'll be pretty cold." + +"The longer we stay out, the more the cruise'll cost," Abdullah +Monnahan, the engineer, said, "and the expenses'll cut into the +shares." + +"Tell the truth, I'm sort of antsy to get back," Joe Kivelson said. "I +want to see what's going on in Port Sandor." + +"So am I," Murell said. "I want to get some kind of office opened, and +get into business. What time will the _Cape Canaveral_ be getting in? +I want a big cargo, for the first time." + +"Oh, not for four hundred hours, at the least," I said. "The +spaceships always try to miss the early-dark and early-daylight +storms. It's hard to get a big ship down in a high wind." + +"That'll be plenty of time, I suppose," Murell said. "There's all that +wax you have stored, and what I can get out of the Co-operative stores +from crews that reclaim it. But I'm going to have a lot to do." + +"Yes," I agreed. "Dodging bullets, for one." + +"Oh, I don't expect any trouble," Murell said. "This fellow Ravick's +shot his round." + +He was going to say something else, but before he could say it there +was a terrific roar forward. The whole ship bucked like a recoiling +gun, throwing everybody into a heap, and heeled over to starboard. +There were a lot of yells, particularly from those who had been +splashed with hot coffee, and somebody was shouting something about +the magazines. + +"The magazines are aft, you dunderhead," Joe Kivelson told him, +shoving himself to his feet. "Stay put, everybody; I'll see what it +is." + +He pulled open the door forward. An instant later, he had slammed it +shut and was dogging it fast. + +"Hull must be ruptured forward; we're making water. It's spouting up +the hatch from the engine room like a geyser," he said. "Ramon, go see +what it's like in the boat berth. The rest of you, follow him, and +grab all the food and warm clothing you can. We're going to have to +abandon." + +He stood by the doorway aft, shoving people through and keeping them +from jamming up, saying: "Take it easy, now; don't crowd. We'll all +get out." There wasn't any panic. A couple of men were in the doorway +of the little galley when I came past, handing out cases of food. As +nothing was coming out at the instant, I kept on, and on the way back +to the boat-berth hatch, I pulled down as many parkas and pairs of +overpants as I could carry, squeezing past Tom, who was collecting +fleece-lined hip boots. Each pair was buckled together at the tops; a +hunter always does that, even at home ashore. + +Ramon had the hatch open, and had opened the top hatch of the boat, +below. I threw my double armload of clothing down through it and slid +down after, getting out of the way of the load of boots Tom dumped +ahead of him. Joe Kivelson came down last, carrying the ship's log and +some other stuff. A little water was trickling over the edge of the +hatch above. + +"It's squirting up from below in a dozen places," he said, after he'd +sealed the boat. "The whole front of the ship must be blown out." + +"Well, now we know what happened to Simon MacGregor's _Claymore_," I +said, more to myself than to anybody else. + +Joe and Hans Cronje, the gunner, were getting a rocket out of the +locker, detaching the harpoon and fitting on an explosive warhead. He +stopped, while he and Cronje were loading it into the after launcher, +and nodded at me. + +"That's what I think, too," he said. "Everybody grab onto something; +we're getting the door open." + +I knew what was coming and started hugging a stanchion as though it +were a long-lost sweetheart, and Murell, who didn't but knew enough to +imitate those who did, hugged it from the other side. The rocket +whooshed out of the launcher and went off with a deafening bang +outside. For an instant, nothing happened, and I told Murell not to +let go. Then the lock burst in and the water, at seventy fathoms' +pressure, hit the boat. Abdullah had gotten the engines on and was +backing against it. After a little, the pressure equalized and we went +out the broken lock stern first. + +We circled and passed over the _Javelin_, and then came back. She was +lying in the ooze, a quarter over on her side, and her whole bow was +blown out to port. Joe Kivelson got the square box he had brought down +from the ship along with the log, fussed a little with it, and then +launched it out the disposal port. It was a radio locator. Sometimes a +lucky ship will get more wax than the holds' capacity; they pack it in +skins and anchor it on the bottom, and drop one of those gadgets with +it. It would keep on sending a directional signal and the name of the +ship for a couple of years. + +"Do you really think it was sabotage?" Murell was asking me. Blowing +up a ship with sixteen men aboard must have seemed sort of extreme to +him. Maybe that wasn't according to Terran business ethics. "Mightn't +it have been a power unit?" + +"No. Power units don't blow, and if one did, it would vaporize the +whole ship and a quarter of a cubic mile of water around her. No, that +was old fashioned country-style chemical explosive. Cataclysmite, +probably." + +"Ravick?" he asked, rather unnecessarily. + +"You know how well he can get along without you and Joe Kivelson, and +here's a chance to get along without both of you together." Everybody +in the boat was listening, so I continued: "How much do you know about +this fellow Devis, who strained his back at the last moment?" + +"Engine room's where he could have planted something," Joe Kivelson +said. + +"He was in there by himself for a while, the morning after the +meeting," Abdullah Monnahan added. + +"And he disappeared between the meeting room and the elevator, during +the fight," Tom mentioned. "And when he showed up, he hadn't been +marked up any. I'd have thought he'd have been pretty badly +beaten--unless they knew he was one of their own gang." + +"We're going to look Devis up when we get back," somebody said +pleasantly. + +"If we get back," Ramon Llewellyn told him. "That's going to take some +doing." + +"We have the boat," Hans Cronje said. "It's a little crowded, but we +can make it back to Port Sandor." + +"I hope we can," Abe Clifford, the navigator, said. "Shall we take her +up, Joe?" + +"Yes, see what it's like on top," the skipper replied. + +Going up, we passed a monster at about thirty fathoms. It stuck its +neck out and started for us. Monnahan tilted the boat almost vertical +and put on everything the engines had, lift and drive parallel. An +instant later, we broke the surface and shot into the air. + +The wind hit the boat as though it had been a ping-pong ball, and it +was several seconds, and bad seconds at that, before Monnahan regained +even a semblance of control. There was considerable bad language, and +several of the crew had bloody noses. Monnahan tried to get the boat +turned into the wind. A circuit breaker popped, and red lights blazed +all over the instrument panel. He eased off and let the wind take +over, and for a while we were flying in front of it like a rifle +bullet. Gradually, he nosed down and submerged. + +"Well, that's that." Joe Kivelson said, when we were back in the +underwater calm again. "We'll have to stay under till the wind's over. +Don't anybody move around or breathe any deeper than you have to. +We'll have to conserve oxygen." + +"Isn't the boat equipped with electrolytic gills?" Murell asked. + +"Sure, to supply oxygen for a maximum of six men. We have sixteen in +here." + +"How long will our air last, for sixteen of us?" I asked. + +"About eight hours." + +It would take us fifty to get to Port Sandor, running submerged. The +wind wouldn't even begin to fall in less than twenty. + +"We can go south, to the coast of Hermann Reuch's Land," Abe Clifford, +the navigator, said. "Let me figure something out." + +He dug out a slide rule and a pencil and pad and sat down with his +back to the back of the pilot's seat, under the light. Everybody +watched him in a silence which Joe Kivelson broke suddenly by +bellowing: + +"Dumont! You light that pipe and I'll feed it to you!" + +Old Piet Dumont grabbed the pipe out of his mouth with one hand and +pocketed his lighter with the other. + +"Gosh, Joe; I guess I just wasn't thinking..." he began. + +"Well, give me that pipe." Joe put it in the drawer under the charts. +"Now you won't have it handy the next time you don't think." + +After a while, Abe Clifford looked up. "Ship's position I don't have +exactly; somewhere around East 25 Longitude, South 20 Latitude. I +can't work out our present position at all, except that we're +somewhere around South 30 Latitude. The locator signal is almost +exactly north-by-northeast of us. If we keep it dead astern, we'll +come out in Sancerre Bay, on Hermann Reuch's Land. If we make that, +we're all right. We'll be in the lee of the Hacksaw Mountains, and we +can surface from time to time to change air, and as soon as the wind +falls we can start for home." + +Then he and Abdullah and Joe went into a huddle, arguing about +cruising speed submerged. The results weren't so heartening. + +"It looks like a ten-hour trip, submerged," Joe said. "That's two +hours too long, and there's no way of getting more oxygen out of the +gills than we're getting now. We'll just have to use less. Everybody +lie down and breathe as shallowly as possible, and don't do anything +to use energy. I'm going to get on the radio and see what I can +raise." + +Big chance, I thought. These boat radios were only used for +communicating with the ship while scouting; they had a strain-everything +range of about three hundred miles. Hunter-ships don't crowd that close +together when they're working. Still, there was a chance that somebody +else might be sitting it out on the bottom within hearing. So Abe took +the controls and kept the signal from the wreck of the _Javelin_ dead +astern, and Joe Kivelson began speaking into the radio: + +"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Captain Kivelson, _Javelin_, calling. +My ship was wrecked by an explosion; all hands now in scout boat, +proceeding toward Sancerre Bay, on course south-by-southwest from the +wreck. Locator signal is being broadcast from the _Javelin_. Other +than that, we do not know our position. Calling all craft, calling +Mayday." + +He stopped talking. The radio was silent except for an occasional +frying-fat crackle of static. Then he began over again. + +I curled up, trying to keep my feet out of anybody's face and my face +clear of anybody else's feet. Somebody began praying, and somebody +else told him to belay it, he was wasting oxygen. I tried to go to +sleep, which was the only practical thing to do. I must have +succeeded. When I woke again, Joe Kivelson was saying, exasperatedly: + +"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, Mayday..." + + + + +11 + +DARKNESS AND COLD + + +The next time I woke, Tom Kivelson was reciting the Mayday, Mayday +incantation into the radio, and his father was asleep. The man who had +been praying had started again, and nobody seemed to care whether he +wasted oxygen or not. It was a Theosophist prayer to the Spirit +Guides, and I remembered that Cesario Vieira was a Theosophist. Well, +maybe there really were Spirit Guides. If there were, we'd all be +finding out before long. I found that I didn't care one hoot which +way, and I set that down to oxygen deficiency. + +Then Glenn Murell broke in on the monotone call for help and the +prayer. + +"We're done for if we stay down here another hour," he said. "Any +argument on that?" + +There wasn't any. Joe Kivelson opened his eyes and looked around. + +"We haven't raised anything at all on the radio," Murell went on. +"That means nobody's within an hour of reaching us. Am I right?" + +"I guess that's about the size of it," Joe Kivelson conceded. + +"How close to land are we?" + +"The radar isn't getting anything but open water and schools of +fish," Abe Clifford said. "For all I know, we could be inside Sancerre +Bay now." + +"Well, then, why don't we surface?" Murell continued. "It's a thousand +to one against us, but if we stay here our chances are precisely one +hundred per cent negative." + +"What do you think?" Joe asked generally. "I think Mr. Murell's stated +it correctly." + +"There is no death," Cesario said. "Death is only a change, and then +more of life. I don't care what you do." + +"What have we got to lose?" somebody else asked. "We're broke and +gambling on credit now." + +"All right; we surface," the skipper said. "Everybody grab onto +something. We'll take the Nifflheim of a slamming around as soon as +we're out of the water." + +We woke up everybody who was sleeping, except the three men who had +completely lost consciousness. Those we wrapped up in blankets and +tarpaulins, like mummies, and lashed them down. We gathered everything +that was loose and made it fast, and checked the fastenings of +everything else. Then Abdullah Monnahan pointed the nose of the boat +straight up and gave her everything the engines could put out. Just as +we were starting upward, I heard Cesario saying: + +"If anybody wants to see me in the next reincarnation, I can tell you +one thing; I won't reincarnate again on Fenris!" + +The headlights only penetrated fifty or sixty feet ahead of us. I +could see slashers and clawbeaks and funnelmouths and gulpers and +things like that getting out of our way in a hurry. Then we were out +of the water and shooting straight up in the air. + +It was the other time all over again, doubled in spades, only this +time Abdullah didn't try to fight it; he just kept the boat rising. +Then it went end-over-end, again and again. I think most of us blacked +out; I'm sure I did, for a while. Finally, more by good luck than good +management, he got us turned around with the wind behind us. That +lasted for a while, and then we started keyholing again. I could see +the instrument panel from where I'd lashed myself fast; it was going +completely bughouse. Once, out the window in front, I could see jagged +mountains ahead. I just shut my eyes and waited for the Spirit Guides +to come and pick up the pieces. + +When they weren't along, after a few seconds that seemed like half an +hour, I opened my eyes again. There were more mountains ahead, and +mountains to the right. This'll do it, I thought, and I wondered how +long it would take Dad to find out what had happened to us. Cesario +had started praying again, and so had Abdullah Monnahan, who had just +remembered that he had been brought up a Moslem. I hoped he wasn't +trying to pray in the direction of Mecca, even allowing that he knew +which way Mecca was from Fenris generally. That made me laugh, and +then I thought, This is a fine time to be laughing at anything. Then I +realized that things were so bad that anything more that happened was +funny. + +I was still laughing when I discovered that the boat had slowed to a +crawl and we were backing in between two high cliffs. Evidently +Abdullah, who had now stopped praying, had gotten enough control of +the boat to keep her into the wind and was keeping enough speed +forward to yield to it gradually. That would be all right, I thought, +if the force of the wind stayed constant, and as soon as I thought of +that, it happened. We got into a relative calm, the boat went forward +again, and then was tossed up and spun around. Then I saw a mountain +slope directly behind us, out the rear window. + +A moment later, I saw rocks and boulders sticking out of it in +apparent defiance of gravitation, and then I realized that it was +level ground and we were coming down at it backward. That lasted a few +seconds, and then we hit stern-on, bounced and hit again. I was +conscious up to the third time we hit. + +The next thing I knew, I was hanging from my lashings from the side of +the boat, which had become the top, and the headlights and the lights +on the control panel were out, and Joe Kivelson was holding a +flashlight while Abe Clifford and Glenn Murell were trying to get me +untied and lower me. I also noticed that the air was fresh, and very +cold. + +"Hey, we're down!" I said, as though I were telling anybody anything +they didn't know. "How many are still alive?" + +"As far as I know, all of us," Joe said. "I think I have a broken +arm." I noticed, then, that he was holding his left arm stiffly at his +side. Murell had a big gash on top of his head, and he was mopping +blood from his face with his sleeve while he worked. + +When they got me down, I looked around. Somebody else was playing a +flashlight around at the stern, which was completely smashed. It was +a miracle the rocket locker hadn't blown up, but the main miracle was +that all, or even any, of us were still alive. + +We found a couple of lights that could be put on, and we got all of us +picked up and the unconscious revived. One man, Dominic Silverstein, +had a broken leg. Joe Kivelson's arm was, as he suspected, broken, +another man had a fractured wrist, and Abdullah Monnahan thought a +couple of ribs were broken. The rest of us were in one piece, but all +of us were cut and bruised. I felt sore all over. We also found a +nuclear-electric heater that would work, and got it on. Tom and I +rigged some tarpaulins to screen off the ruptured stern and keep out +the worst of the cold wind. After they got through setting and +splinting the broken bones and taping up Abdullah's ribs, Cesario and +Murell got some water out of one of the butts and started boiling it +for coffee. I noticed that Piet Dumont had recovered his pipe and was +smoking it, and Joe Kivelson had his lit. + +"Well, where are we?" somebody was asking Abe Clifford. + +The navigator shook his head. "The radio's smashed, so's the receiver +for the locator, and so's the radio navigational equipment. I can +state positively, however, that we are on the north coast of Hermann +Reuch's Land." + +Everybody laughed at that except Murell. I had to explain to him that +Hermann Reuch's Land was the antarctic continent of Fenris, and hasn't +any other coast. + +"I'd say we're a good deal west of Sancerre Bay," Cesario Vieira +hazarded. "We can't be east of it, the way we got blown west. I think +we must be at least five hundred miles east of it." + +"Don't fool yourself, Cesario," Joe Kivelson told him. "We could have +gotten into a turbulent updraft and been carried to the upper, +eastward winds. The altimeter was trying to keep up with the boat and +just couldn't, half the time. We don't know where we went. I'll take +Abe's estimate and let it go at that." + +"Well, we're up some kind of a fjord," Tom said. "I think it branches +like a Y, and we're up the left branch, but I won't make a point of +that." + +"I can't find anything like that on this map," Abe Clifford said, +after a while. + +Joe Kivelson swore. "You ought to know better than that, Abe; you know +how thoroughly this coast hasn't been mapped." + +"How much good will it do us to know where we are, right now?" I +asked. "If the radio's smashed, we can't give anybody our position." + +"We might be able to fix up the engines and get the boat in the air +again, after the wind drops." Monnahan said. "I'll take a look at them +and see how badly they've been banged up." + +"With the whole stern open?" Hans Cronje asked. "We'd freeze stiffer +than a gun barrel before we went a hundred miles." + +"Then we can pack the stern full of wet snow and let it freeze, +instead of us," I suggested. "There'll be plenty of snow before the +wind goes down." + +Joe Kivelson looked at me for a moment. "That would work," he said. +"How soon can you get started on the engines, Abdullah?" + +"Right away. I'll need somebody to help me, though. I can't do much +the way you have me bandaged up." + +"I think we'd better send a couple of parties out," Ramon Llewellyn +said. "We'll have to find a better place to stay than this boat. We +don't all have parkas or lined boots, and we have a couple of injured +men. This heater won't be enough; in about seventy hours we'd all +freeze to death sitting around it." + +Somebody mentioned the possibility of finding a cave. + +"I doubt it," Llewellyn said. "I was on an exploring expedition down +here, once. This is all igneous rock, mostly granite. There aren't +many caves. But there may be some sort of natural shelter, or +something we can make into a shelter, not too far away. We have two +half-ton lifters; we could use them to pile up rocks and build +something. Let's make up two parties. I'll take one; Abe, you take the +other. One of us can go up and the other can go down." + +We picked parties, trying to get men who had enough clothing and +hadn't been too badly banged around in the landing. Tom wanted to go +along, but Abdullah insisted that he stay and help with the inspection +of the boat's engines. Finally six of us--Llewellyn, myself, Glenn +Murell, Abe Clifford, old Piet Dumont, and another man--went out +through the broken stern of the boat. We had two portable +floodlights--a scout boat carries a lot of equipment--and Llewellyn +took the one and Clifford the other. It had begun to snow already, and +the wind was coming straight up the narrow ravine into which we had +landed, driving it at us. There was a stream between the two walls of +rock, swollen by the rains that had come just before the darkness, and +the rocks in and beside it were coated with ice. We took one look at +it and shook our heads. Any exploring we did would be done without +trying to cross that. We stood for a few minutes trying to see through +the driving snow, and then we separated, Abe Clifford, Dumont and the +other man going up the stream and Ramon Llewellyn, Glenn Murell and I +going down. + +A few hundred yards below the boat, the stream went over a fifty-foot +waterfall. We climbed down beside it, and found the ravine widening. +It was a level beach, now, or what had been a beach thousands of years +ago. The whole coast of Hermann Reuch's land is sinking in the Eastern +Hemisphere and rising in the Western. We turned away from the stream +and found that the wind was increasing in strength and coming at us +from the left instead of in front. The next thing we knew, we were at +the point of the mountain on our right and we could hear the sea +roaring ahead and on both sides of us. Tom had been right about that +V-shaped fjord, I thought. + +We began running into scattered trees now, and when we got around the +point of the mountain we entered another valley. + +Trees, like everything else on Fenris, are considerably different from +anything analogous on normal planets. They aren't tall, the biggest +not more than fifteen feet high, but they are from six to eight feet +thick, with all the branches at the top, sprouting out in all +directions and reminding me of pictures of Medusa. The outside bark is +a hard shell, which grows during the beginning of our four hot +seasons a year. Under that will be more bark, soft and spongy, and +this gets more and more dense toward the middle; and then comes the +hardwood core, which may be as much as two feet thick. + +"One thing, we have firewood," Murell said, looking at them. + +"What'll we cut it with; our knives?" I wanted to know. + +"Oh, we have a sonocutter on the boat," Ramon Llewellyn said. "We can +chop these things into thousand-pound chunks and float them to camp +with the lifters. We could soak the spongy stuff on the outside with +water and let it freeze, and build a hut out of it, too." He looked +around, as far as the light penetrated the driving snow. "This +wouldn't be a bad place to camp." + +Not if we're going to try to work on the boat, I thought. And packing +Dominic, with his broken leg, down over that waterfall was something I +didn't want to try, either. I didn't say anything. Wait till we got +back to the boat. It was too cold and windy here to argue, and +besides, we didn't know what Abe and his party might have found +upstream. + + + + +12 + +CASTAWAYS WORKING + + +We had been away from the boat for about two hours; when we got back, +I saw that Abdullah and his helpers had gotten the deck plates off the +engine well and used them to build a more substantial barricade at the +ruptured stern. The heater was going and the boat was warm inside, not +just relatively to the outside, but actually comfortable. It was even +more crowded, however, because there was a ton of collapsium +shielding, in four sections, and the generator and power unit, piled +in the middle. Abdullah and Tom and Hans Cronje were looking at the +converters, which to my not very knowing eye seemed to be in a +hopeless mess. + +There was some more work going on up at the front. Cesario Vieira had +found a small portable radio that wasn't in too bad condition, and had +it apart. I thought he was doing about the most effective work of +anybody, and waded over the pile of engine parts to see what he was +doing. It wasn't much of a radio. A hundred miles was the absolute +limit of its range, at least for sending. + +"Is this all we have?" I asked, looking at it. It was the same type as +the one I carried on the job, camouflaged in a camera case, except +that it wouldn't record. + +"There's the regular boat radio, but it's smashed up pretty badly. I +was thinking we could do something about cannibalizing one radio out +of parts from both of them." + +We use a lot of radio equipment on the _Times_, and I do a good bit of +work on it. I started taking the big set apart and then remembered the +receiver for the locator and got at that, too. The trouble was that +most of the stuff in all the sets had been miniaturized to a point +where watchmaker's tools would have been pretty large for working on +them, and all we had was a general-repair kit that was just about fine +enough for gunsmithing. + +While we were fooling around with the radios, Ramon Llewellyn was +telling the others what we found up the other branch of the fjord. Joe +Kivelson shook his head over it. + +"That's too far from the boat. We can't trudge back and forth to work +on the engines. We could cut firewood down there and float it up with +the lifters, and I think that's a good idea about using slabs of the +soft wood to build a hut. But let's build the hut right here." + +"Well, suppose I take a party down now and start cutting?" the mate +asked. + +"Not yet. Wait till Abe gets back and we see what he found upstream. +There may be something better up there." + +Tom, who had been poking around in the converters, said: + +"I think we can forget about the engines. This is a machine-shop job. +We need parts, and we haven't anything to make them out of or with." + +That was about what I'd thought. Tom knew more about lift-and-drive +engines than I'd ever learn, and I was willing to take his opinion as +confirmation of my own. + +"Tom, take a look at this mess," I said. "See if you can help us with +it." + +He came over, looked at what we were working on, and said, "You need a +magnifier for this. Wait till I see something." Then he went over to +one of the lockers, rummaged in it, and found a pair of binoculars. He +came over to us again, sat down, and began to take them apart. As soon +as he had the two big objective lenses out, we had two fairly good +magnifying glasses. + +That was a big help, but being able to see what had to be done was one +thing, and having tools to do it was another. So he found a sewing kit +and a piece of emery stone, and started making little screwdrivers out +of needles. + +After a while, Abe Clifford and Piet Dumont and the other man returned +and made a beeline for the heater and the coffeepot. After Abe was +warmed a little, he said: + +"There's a little waterfall about half a mile up. It isn't too hard to +get up over it, and above, the ground levels off into a big +bowl-shaped depression that looks as if it had been a lake bottom, +once. The wind isn't so bad up there, and this whole lake bottom or +whatever it is is grown up with trees. It would be a good place to +make a camp, if it wasn't so far from the boat." + +"How hard would it be to cut wood up there and bring it down?" Joe +asked, going on to explain what he had in mind. + +"Why, easy. I don't think it would be nearly as hard as the place +Ramon found." + +"Neither do I," the mate agreed. "Climbing up that waterfall down the +stream with a half tree trunk would be a lot harder than dropping one +over beside the one above." He began zipping up his parka. "Let's get +the cutter and the lifters and go up now." + +"Wait till I warm up a little, and I'll go with you," Abe said. + +Then he came over to where Cesario and Tom and I were working, to see +what we were doing. He chucked appreciatively at the midget +screwdrivers and things Tom was making. + +"I'll take that back, Ramon," he said. "I can do a lot more good right +here. Have you taken any of the radio navigational equipment apart, +yet?" he asked us. + +We hadn't. We didn't know anything about it. + +"Well, I think we can get some stuff out of the astrocompass that can +be used. Let me in here, will you?" + +I got up. "You take over for me," I said. "I'll go on the +wood-chopping detail." + +Tom wanted to go, too; Abe told him to keep on with his toolmaking. +Piet Dumont said he'd guide us, and Glenn Murell said he'd go along. +There was some swapping around of clothes and we gathered up the two +lifters and the sonocutter and a floodlight and started upstream. + +The waterfall above the boat was higher than the one below, but not +quite so hard to climb, especially as we had the two lifters to help +us. The worst difficulty, and the worst danger, was from the wind. + +Once we were at the top, though, it wasn't so bad. We went a couple of +hundred yards through a narrow gorge, and then we came out onto the +old lake bottom Abe had spoken about. As far as our lights would +shine in the snow, we could see stubby trees with snaky branches +growing out of the tops. + +We just started on the first one we came to, slicing the down-hanging +branches away to get at the trunk and then going to work on that. We +took turns using the sonocutter, and the rest of us stamped around to +keep warm. The first trunk must have weighed a ton and a half, even +after the branches were all off; we could barely lift one end of it +with both lifters. The spongy stuff, which changed from bark to wood +as it went in to the middle, was two feet thick. We cut that off in +slabs, to use for building the hut. The hardwood core, once we could +get it lit, would make a fine hot fire. We could cut that into +burnable pieces after we got it to camp. We didn't bother with the +slashings; just threw them out of the way. There was so much big stuff +here that the branches weren't worth taking in. + +We had eight trees down and cut into slabs and billets before we +decided to knock off. We didn't realize until then how tired and cold +we were. A couple of us had taken the wood to the waterfall and heaved +it over at the side as fast as the others got the trees down and cut +up. If we only had another cutter and a couple more lifters, I +thought. If we only had an airworthy boat.... + +When we got back to camp, everybody who wasn't crippled and had enough +clothes to get away from the heater came out and helped. First, we got +a fire started--there was a small arc torch, and we needed that to get +the dense hardwood burning--and then we began building a hut against +the boat. Everybody worked on that but Dominic Silverstein. Even Abe +and Cesario knocked off work on the radio, and Joe Kivelson and the +man with the broken wrist gave us a little one-handed help. By this +time, the wind had fallen and the snow was coming down thicker. We +made snow shovels out of the hard outer bark, although they broke in +use pretty often, and banked snow up against the hut. I lost track of +how long we worked, but finally we had a place we could all get into, +with a fireplace, and it was as warm and comfortable as the inside of +the boat. + +We had to keep cutting wood, though. Before long it would be too cold +to work up in the woods, or even go back and forth between the woods +and the camp. The snow finally stopped, and then the sky began to +clear and we could see stars. That didn't make us happy at all. As +long as the sky was clouded and the snow was falling, some of the heat +that had been stored during the long day was being conserved. Now it +was all radiating away into space. + +The stream froze completely, even the waterfall. In a way, that was a +help; we could slide wood down over it, and some of the billets would +slide a couple of hundred yards downstream. But the cold was getting +to us. We only had a few men working at woodcutting--Cesario, and old +Piet Dumont, and Abe Clifford and I, because we were the smallest and +could wear bigger men's parkas and overpants over our own. But as long +as any of us could pile on enough clothing and waddle out of the hut, +we didn't dare stop. If the firewood ran out, we'd all freeze stiff in +no time at all. + +Abe Clifford got the radio working, at last. It was a peculiar job as +ever was, but he thought it would have a range of about five hundred +miles. Somebody kept at it all the time, calling Mayday. I think it +was Bish Ware who told me that Mayday didn't have anything to do with +the day after the last of April; it was Old Terran French, _m'aidez_, +meaning "help me." I wondered how Bish was getting along, and I wasn't +too optimistic about him. + +Cesario and Abe and I were up at the waterfall, picking up loads of +firewood--we weren't bothering, now, with anything but the hard and +slow-burning cores--and had just gotten two of them hooked onto the +lifters. I straightened for a moment and looked around. There wasn't a +cloud in the sky, and two of Fenris's three moons were making +everything as bright as day. The glisten of the snow and the frozen +waterfall in the double moonlight was beautiful. + +I turned to Cesario. "See what all you'll miss, if you take your next +reincarnation off Fenris," I said. "This, and the long sunsets and +sunrises, and--" + +Before I could list any more sights unique to our planet, the 7-mm +machine gun, down at the boat, began hammering; a short burst, and +then another, and another and another. + + + + +13 + +THE BEACON LIGHT + + +We all said, "Shooting!" and, "The machine gun!" as though we had to +tell each other what it was. + +"Something's attacking them," Cesario guessed. + +"Oh, there isn't anything to attack them now," Abe said. "All the +critters are dug in for the winter. I'll bet they're just using it to +chop wood with." + +That could be; a few short bursts would knock off all the soft wood +from one of those big billets and expose the hard core. Only why +didn't they use the cutter? It was at the boat now. + +"We better go see what it is," Cesario insisted. "It might be +trouble." + +None of us was armed; we'd never thought we'd need weapons. There are +quite a few Fenrisian land animals, all creepers or crawlers, that are +dangerous, but they spend the extreme hot and cold periods in burrows, +in almost cataleptic sleep. It occurred to me that something might +have burrowed among the rocks near the camp and been roused by the +heat of the fire. + +We hadn't carried a floodlight with us--there was no need for one in +the moonlight. Of the two at camp, one was pointed up the ravine +toward us, and the other into the air. We began yelling as soon as we +caught sight of them, not wanting to be dusted over lightly with +7-mm's before anybody recognized us. As soon as the men at the camp +heard us, the shooting stopped and they started shouting to us. Then +we could distinguish words. + +"Come on in! We made contact!" + +We pushed into the hut, where everybody was crowded around the +underhatch of the boat, which was now the side door. Abe shoved +through, and I shoved in after him. Newsman's conditioned reflex; get +to where the story is. I even caught myself saying, "Press," as I +shoved past Abdullah Monnahan. + +"What happened?" I asked, as soon as I was inside. I saw Joe Kivelson +getting up from the radio and making place for Abe. "Who did you +contact?" + +"The Mahatma; _Helldiver_," he said. "Signal's faint, but plain; +they're trying to make a directional fix on us. There are about a +dozen ships out looking for us: _Helldiver_, _Pequod_, _Bulldog_, +_Dirty Gertie_..." He went on naming them. + +"How did they find out?" I wanted to know. "Somebody pick up our +Mayday while we were cruising submerged?" + +Abe Clifford was swearing into the radio. "No, of course not. We don't +know where in Nifflheim we are. All the instruments in the boat were +smashed." + +"Well, can't you shoot the stars, Abe?" The voice--I thought it was +Feinberg's--was almost as inaudible as a cat's sneeze. + +"Sure we can. If you're in range of this makeshift set, the position +we'd get would be practically the same as yours," Abe told him. "Look, +there's a floodlight pointed straight up. Can you see that?" + +"In all this moonlight? We could be half a mile away and not see it." + +"We've been firing with a 7-mm," the navigator said. + +"I know; I heard it. On the radio. Have you got any rockets? Maybe if +you shot one of them up we could see it." + +"Hey, that's an idea! Hans, have we another rocket with an explosive +head?" + +Cronje said we had, and he and another man got it out and carried it +from the boat. I repeated my question to Joe Kivelson. + +"No. Your Dad tried to call the _Javelin_ by screen; that must have +been after we abandoned ship. He didn't get an answer, and put out a +general call. Nip Spazoni was nearest, and he cruised around and +picked up the locator signal and found the wreck, with the boat berth +blown open and the boat gone. Then everybody started looking for us." + +Feinberg was saying that he'd call the other ships and alert them. If +the _Helldiver_ was the only ship we could contact by radio, the odds +were that if they couldn't see the rocket from Feinberg's ship, nobody +else could. The same idea must have occurred to Abe Clifford. + +"You say you're all along the coast. Are the other ships west or east +of you?" + +"West, as far as I know." + +"Then we must be way east of you. Where are you now?" + +"About five hundred miles east of Sancerre Bay." + +That meant we must be at least a thousand miles east of the bay. I +could see how that happened. Both times the boat had surfaced, it had +gone straight up, lift and drive operating together. There is a +constant wind away from the sunlight zone at high level, heated air +that has been lifted, and there is a wind at a lower level out of the +dark zone, coming in to replace it. We'd gotten completely above the +latter and into the former. + +There was some yelling outside, and then I could hear Hans Cronje: + +"Rocket's ready for vertical launching. Ten seconds, nine, eight, +seven, six, five, four, three, two, one; rocket off!" + +There was a whoosh outside. Clifford, at the radio, repeated: "Rocket +off!" Then it banged, high overhead. "Did you see it? he asked. + +"Didn't see a thing," Feinberg told him. + +"Hey, I know what they would see!" Tom Kivelson burst out. "Say we go +up and set the woods on fire?" + +"Hey, that's an idea. Listen, Mahatma; we have a big forest of +flowerpot trees up on a plateau above us. Say we set that on fire. +Think you could see it?" + +"I don't see why not, even in this moonlight. Wait a minute, till I +call the other ships." + +Tom was getting into warm outer garments. Cesario got out the arc +torch, and he and Tom and I raced out through the hut and outdoors. +We hastened up the path that had been tramped and dragged to the +waterfall, got the lifters off the logs, and used them to help +ourselves up over the rocks beside the waterfall. + +We hadn't bothered doing anything with the slashings, except to get +them out of our way, while we were working. Now we gathered them into +piles among the trees, placing them to take advantage of what little +wind was still blowing, and touched them off with the arc torch. Soon +we had the branches of the trees burning, and then the soft outer wood +of the trunks. It actually began to get uncomfortably hot, although +the temperature was now down around minus 90 deg. Fahrenheit. + +Cesario was using the torch. After he got all the slashings on fire, +he started setting fire to the trees themselves, going all around them +and getting the soft outer wood burning. As soon as he had one tree +lit, he would run on to another. + +"This guy's a real pyromaniac," Tom said to me, wiping his face on the +sleeve of his father's parka which he was wearing over his own. + +"Sure I am," Cesario took time out to reply. "You know who I was about +fifty reincarnations ago? Nero, burning Rome." Theosophists never +hesitated to make fun of their religion, that way. The way they see +it, a thing isn't much good if it can't stand being made fun of. "And +look at the job I did on Moscow, a little later." + +"Sure; I remember that. I was Napoleon then. What I'd have done to you +if I'd caught you, too." + +"Yes, and I know what he was in another reincarnation," Tom added. +"Mrs. O'Leary's cow!" + +Whether or not Cesario really had had any past astral experience, he +made a good job of firebugging on this forest. We waited around for a +while, far enough back for the heat to be just comfortable and +pleasant, until we were sure that it was burning well on both sides of +the frozen stream. It even made the double moonlight dim, and it was +sending up huge clouds of fire-reddened smoke, and where the fire +didn't light the smoke, it was black in the moonlight. There wouldn't +be any excuse for anybody not seeing that. Finally, we started back to +camp. + +As soon as we got within earshot, we could hear the excitement. +Everybody was jumping and yelling. "They see it! They see it!" + +The boat was full of voices, too, from the radio: + +"_Pequod_ to _Dirty Gertie_, we see it, too, just off our port bow... +Yes, _Bulldog_, we see your running lights; we're right behind you... +_Slasher_ to _Pequod_: we can't see you at all. Fire a flare, +please..." + +I pushed in to the radio. "This is Walter Boyd, _Times_ representative +with the _Javelin_ castaways," I said. "Has anybody a portable +audiovisual pickup that I can use to get some pictures in to my paper +with?" + +That started general laughter among the operators on the ships that +were coming in. + +"We have one, Walt," Oscar Fujisawa's voice told me. "I'm coming in +ahead in the _Pequod_ scout boat; I'll bring it with me." + +"Thanks, Oscar," I said. Then I asked him: "Did you see Bish Ware +before you left port?" + +"I should say I did!" Oscar told me. "You can thank Bish Ware that +we're out looking for you now. Tell you about it as soon as we get +in." + + + + +14 + +THE RESCUE + + +The scout boat from the _Pequod_ came in about thirty minutes later, +from up the ravine where the forest fire was sending up flame and +smoke. It passed over the boat and the hut beside it and the crowd of +us outside, and I could see Oscar in the machine gunner's seat aiming +a portable audiovisual telecast camera. After he got a view of us, +cheering and waving our arms, the boat came back and let down. We ran +to it, all of us except the man with the broken leg and a couple who +didn't have enough clothes to leave the fire, and as the boat opened I +could hear Oscar saying: + +"Now I am turning you over to Walter Boyd, the _Times_ correspondent +with the _Javelin_ castaways." + +He gave me the camera when he got out, followed by his gunner, and I +got a view of them, and of the boat lifting and starting west to guide +the ships in. Then I shut it off and said to him: + +"What's this about Bish Ware? You said he was the one who started the +search." + +"That's right," Oscar said. "About thirty hours after you left port, +he picked up some things that made him think the _Javelin_ had been +sabotaged. He went to your father, and he contacted me--Mohandas +Feinberg and I still had our ships in port--and started calling the +_Javelin_ by screen. When he couldn't get response, your father put +out a general call to all hunter-ships. Nip Spazoni reported boarding +the _Javelin_, and then went searching the area where he thought you'd +been hunting, picked up your locator signal, and found the _Javelin_ +on the bottom with her bow blown out and the boat berth open and the +boat gone. We all figured you'd head south with the boat, and that's +where we went to look." + +"Well, Bish Ware; he was dead drunk, last I heard of him," Joe +Kivelson said. + +"Aah, just an act," Oscar said. "That was to fool the city cops, and +anybody else who needed fooling. It worked so well that he was able to +crash a party Steve Ravick was throwing at Hunters' Hall, after the +meeting. That was where he picked up some hints that Ravick had a spy +in the _Javelin_ crew. He spent the next twenty or so hours following +that up, and heard about your man Devis straining his back. He found +out what Devis did on the _Javelin_, and that gave him the idea that +whatever the sabotage was, it would be something to the engines. What +did happen, by the way?" + +A couple of us told him, interrupting one another. He nodded. + +"That was what Nip Spazoni thought when he looked at the ship. Well, +after that he talked to your father and to me, and then your father +began calling and we heard from Nip." + +You could see that it absolutely hurt Joe Kivelson to have to owe his +life to Bish Ware. + +"Well, it's lucky anybody listened to him," he grudged. "I wouldn't +have." + +"No, I guess maybe you wouldn't," Oscar told him, not very cordially. +"I think he did a mighty sharp piece of detective work, myself." + +I nodded, and then, all of a sudden, another idea, under _Bish Ware, +Reformation of_, hit me. Detective work; that was it. We could use a +good private detective agency in Port Sandor. Maybe I could talk him +into opening one. He could make a go of it. He had all kinds of +contacts, he was handy with a gun, and if he recruited a couple of +tough but honest citizens who were also handy with guns and built up a +protective and investigative organization, it would fill a long-felt +need and at the same time give him something beside Baldur honey-rum +to take his mind off whatever he was drinking to keep from thinking +about. If he only stayed sober half the time, that would be a fifty +per cent success. + +Ramon Llewellyn was wanting to know whether anybody'd done anything +about Al Devis. + +"We didn't have time to bother with any Al Devises," Oscar said. "As +soon as Bish figured out what had happened aboard the _Javelin_, we +knew you'd need help and need it fast. He's keeping an eye on Al for +us till we get back." + +"That's if he doesn't get any drunker and forget," Joe said. + +Everybody, even Tom, looked at him in angry reproach. + +"We better find out what he drinks and buy you a jug of it, Joe," +Oscar's gunner told him. + +The _Helldiver_, which had been closest to us when our signal had +been picked up, was the first ship in. She let down into the ravine, +after some maneuvering around, and Mohandas Feinberg and half a dozen +of his crew got off with an improvised stretcher on a lifter and a lot +of blankets. We got our broken-leg case aboard, and Abdullah Monnahan, +and the man with the broken wrist. There were more ships coming, so +the rest of us waited. Joe Kivelson should have gone on the +_Helldiver_, to have his broken arm looked at, but a captain's always +the last man off, so he stayed. + +Oscar said he'd take Tom and Joe, and Glenn Murell and me, on the +_Pequod_. I was glad of that. Oscar and his mate and his navigator are +all bachelors, and they use the _Pequod_ to throw parties on when +they're not hunting, so it is more comfortably fitted than the usual +hunter-ship. Joe decided not to try to take anything away from the +boat. He was going to do something about raising the _Javelin_, and +the salvage ship could stop here and pick everything up. + +"Well, one thing," Oscar told him. "Bring that machine gun, and what +small arms you have. I think things are going to get sort of rough in +Port Sandor, in the next twenty or so hours." + +I was beginning to think so, myself. The men who had gotten off the +_Helldiver_, and the ones who got off Corkscrew Finnegan's _Dirty +Gertie_ and Nip Spazoni's _Bulldog_ were all talking about what was +going to have to be done about Steve Ravick. Bombing _Javelin_ would +have been a good move for Ravick, if it had worked. It hadn't, though, +and now it was likely to be the thing that would finish him for good. + +It wasn't going to be any picnic, either. He had his gang of +hoodlums, and he could count on Morton Hallstock's twenty or thirty +city police; they'd put up a fight, and a hard one. And they were all +together, and the hunter fleet was coming in one ship at a time. I +wondered if the Ravick-Hallstock gang would try to stop them at the +water front, or concentrate at Hunters' Hall or the Municipal Building +to stand siege. I knew one thing, though. However things turned out, +there was going to be an awful lot of shooting in Port Sandor before +it was over. + +Finally, everybody had been gotten onto one ship or another but Oscar +and his gunner and the Kivelsons and Murell and myself. Then the +_Pequod_, which had been circling around at five thousand feet, let +down and we went aboard. The conning tower was twice as long as usual +on a hunter-ship, and furnished with a lot of easy chairs and a couple +of couches. There was a big combination view and communication screen, +and I hurried to that and called the _Times_. + +Dad came on, as soon as I finished punching the wave-length +combination. He was in his shirt sleeves, and he was wearing a gun. I +guess we made kind of a show of ourselves, but, after all, he'd come +within an ace of being all out of family, and I'd come within an ace +of being all out, period. After we got through with the happy reunion, +I asked him what was the situation in Port Sandor. He shook his head. + +"Not good, Walt. The word's gotten around that there was a bomb +planted aboard the _Javelin_, and everybody's taking just one guess +who did it. We haven't expressed any opinions one way or another, +yet. We've been waiting for confirmation." + +"Set for recording," I said. "I'll give you the story as far as we +know it." + +He nodded, reached one hand forward out of the picture, and then +nodded again. I began with our killing the monster and going down to +the bottom after the cutting-up, and the explosion. I told him what we +had seen after leaving the ship and circling around it in the boat. + +"The condition of the hull looked very much like the effect of a +charge of high explosive exploding in the engine room," I finished. + +"We got some views of it, transmitted in by Captain Spazoni, of the +_Bulldog_," he said. "Captain Courtland, of the Spaceport Police, has +expressed the opinion that it could hardly be anything but a small +demolition bomb. Would you say accident can be ruled out?" + +"I would. There was nobody in the engine room at the time; we were +resting on the bottom, and all hands were in the wardroom." + +"That's good enough," Dad said. "We'll run it as 'very convincing and +almost conclusive' evidence of sabotage." He'd shut off the recorder +for that. "Can I get the story of how you abandoned ship and landed, +now?" + +His hand moved forward, and the recorder went on again. I gave a brief +account of our experiences in the boat, the landing and wreck, and our +camp, and the firewood cutting, and how we had repaired the radio. Joe +Kivelson talked for a while, and so did Tom and Glenn Murell. I was +going to say something when they finished, and I sat down on one of +the couches. I distinctly remember leaning back and relaxing. + +The next thing I knew, Oscar Fujisawa's mate was shaking me awake. + +"We're in sight of Port Sandor," he was telling me. + +I mumbled something, and then sat up and found that I had been lying +down and that somebody had thrown a blanket over me. Tom Kivelson was +still asleep under a blanket on the other couch, across from me. The +clock over the instrument panel had moved eight G.S. hours. Joe +Kivelson wasn't in sight, but Glenn Murell and Oscar were drinking +coffee. I went to the front window, and there was a scarlet glow on +the horizon ahead of me. + +That's another sight Cesario Vieria will miss, if he takes his next +reincarnation off Fenris. Really, it's nothing but damp, warm air, +blown up from the exhaust of the city's main ventilation plant, +condensing and freezing as it hits the cold air outside, and +floodlighted from below. I looked at it for a while, and then got +myself a cup of coffee and when I had finished it I went to the +screen. + +It was still tuned to the _Times_, and Mohandas Feinberg was sitting +in front of it, smoking one of his twisted black cigars. He had a big +10-mm Sterberg stuffed into the waistband of his trousers. + +"You guys poked along," he said. "I always thought the _Pequod_ was +fast. We got in three hours ago." + +"Who else is in?" + +"Corkscrew and some of his gang are here at the _Times_, now. +_Bulldog_ and _Slasher_ just got in a while ago. Some of the ships +that were farthest west and didn't go to your camp have been in quite +a while. We're having a meeting here. We are organizing the Port +Sandor Vigilance Committee and Renegade Hunters' Co-operative." + + + + +15 + +VIGILANTES + + +When the _Pequod_ surfaced under the city roof, I saw what was +cooking. There were twenty or more ships, either on the concrete docks +or afloat in the pools. The waterfront was crowded with men in boat +clothes, forming little knots and breaking up to join other groups, +all milling about talking excitedly. Most of them were armed; not just +knives and pistols, which is normal costume, but heavy rifles or +submachine guns. Down to the left, there was a commotion and people +were getting out of the way as a dozen men come pushing through, +towing a contragravity skid with a 50-mm ship's gun on it. I began not +liking the looks of things, and Glenn Murell, who had come up from his +nap below, was liking it even less. He'd come to Fenris to buy +tallow-wax, not to fight a civil war. I didn't want any of that stuff, +either. Getting rid of Ravick, Hallstock and Belsher would come under +the head of civic improvements, but towns are rarely improved by +having battles fought in them. + +Maybe I should have played dumb and waited till I'd talked to Dad face +to face, before making any statements about what had happened on the +_Javelin_, I thought. Then I shrugged that off. From the minute the +_Javelin_ had failed to respond to Dad's screen-call and the general +call had gone out to the hunter-fleet, everybody had been positive of +what had happened. It was too much like the loss of the _Claymore_, +which had made Ravick president of the Co-op. + +Port Sandor had just gotten all of Steve Ravick that anybody could +take. They weren't going to have any more of him, and that was all +there was to it. + +Joe Kivelson was grumbling about his broken arm; that meant that when +a fight started, he could only go in swinging with one fist, and that +would cut the fun in half. Another reason why Joe is a wretched shot +is that he doesn't like pistols. They're a little too impersonal to +suit him. They weren't for Oscar Fujisawa; he had gotten a +Mars-Consolidated Police Special out of the chart-table drawer and put +it on, and he was loading cartridges into a couple of spare clips. +Down on the main deck, the gunner was serving out small arms, and +there was an acrimonious argument because everybody wanted a chopper +and there weren't enough choppers to go around. Oscar went over to the +ladder head and shouted down at them. + +"Knock off the argument, down there; you people are all going to stay +on the ship. I'm going up to the _Times_; as soon as I'm off, float +her out into the inner channel and keep her afloat, and don't let +anybody aboard you're not sure of." + +"That where we're going?" Joe Kivelson asked. + +"Sure. That's the safest place in town for Mr. Murell and I want to +find out exactly what's going on here." + +"Well, here; you don't need to put me in storage," Murell protested. +"I can take care of myself." + +Add, Famous Last Words, I thought. + +"I'm sure of it, but we can't take any chances," Oscar told him. +"Right now, you are Fenris's Indispensable Man. If you're not around +to buy tallow-wax, Ravick's won the war." + +Oscar and Murell and Joe and Tom Kivelson and I went down into the +boat; somebody opened the port and we floated out and lifted onto the +Second Level Down. There was a fringe of bars and cafes and dance +halls and outfitters and ship chandlers for a couple of blocks back, +and then we ran into the warehouse district. Oscar ran up town to a +vehicle shaft above the Times Building, careful to avoid the +neighborhood of Hunters' Hall or the Municipal Building. + +There was a big crowd around the _Times_, mostly business district +people and quite a few women. They were mostly out on the street and +inside the street-floor vehicle port. Not a disorderly crowd, but I +noticed quite a few rifles and submachine guns. As we slipped into the +vehicle port, they recognized the _Pequod's_ boat, and there was a +rush after it. We had trouble getting down without setting it on +anybody, and more trouble getting out of it. They were all +friendly--too friendly for comfort. They began cheering us as soon as +they saw us. + +Oscar got Joe Kivelson, with his arm in a sling, out in front where he +could be seen, and began shouting: "Please make way; this man's been +injured. Please don't crowd; we have an injured man here." The crowd +began shoving back, and in the rear I could hear them taking it up: +"Joe Kivelson; he's been hurt. They're carrying Joe Kivelson off." +That made Joe curse a blue streak, and somebody said, "Oh, he's been +hurt real bad; just listen to him!" + +When we got up to the editorial floor, Dad and Bish Ware and a few +others were waiting at the elevator for us. Bish was dressed as he +always was, in his conservative black suit, with the organic opal +glowing in his neckcloth. Dad had put a coat on over his gun. Julio was +wearing two pistols and a knife a foot long. There was a big crowd in +the editorial office--ships' officers, merchants, professional people. I +noticed Sigurd Ngozori, the banker, and Professor Hartzenbosch--he was +wearing a pistol, too, rather self-consciously--and the Zen Buddhist +priest, who evidently had something under his kimono. They all greeted +us enthusiastically and shook hands with us. I noticed that Joe Kivelson +was something less than comfortable about shaking hands with Bish Ware. +The fact that Bish had started the search for the _Javelin_ that had +saved our lives didn't alter the opinion Joe had formed long ago that +Bish was just a worthless old souse. Joe's opinions are all +collapsium-plated and impervious to outside influence. + +I got Bish off to one side as we were going into the editorial room. + +"How did you get onto it?" I asked. + +He chuckled deprecatingly. "No trick at all," he said. "I just +circulated and bought drinks for people. The trouble with Ravick's +gang, it's an army of mercenaries. They'll do anything for the price +of a drink, and as long as my rich uncle stays solvent, I always have +the price of a drink. In the five years I've spent in this Garden Spot +of the Galaxy, I've learned some pretty surprising things about Steve +Ravick's operations." + +"Well, surely, nobody was going around places like Martian Joe's or +One Eye Swanson's boasting that they'd put a time bomb aboard the +_Javelin_," I said. + +"It came to pretty nearly that," Bish said. "You'd be amazed at how +careless people who've had their own way for a long time can get. For +instance, I've known for some time that Ravick has spies among the +crews of a lot of hunter-ships. I tried, a few times, to warn some of +these captains, but except for Oscar Fujisawa and Corkscrew Finnegan, +none of them would listen to me. It wasn't that they had any doubt +that Ravick would do that; they just wouldn't believe that any of +their crew were traitors. + +"I've suspected this Devis for a long time, and I've spoken to Ramon +Llewellyn about him, but he just let it go in one ear and out the +other. For one thing, Devis always has more money to spend than his +share of the _Javelin_ take would justify. He's the showoff type; +always buying drinks for everybody and playing the big shot. Claims to +win it gambling, but all the times I've ever seen him gambling, he's +been losing. + +"I knew about this hoard of wax we saw the day Murell came in for some +time. I always thought it was being held out to squeeze a better price +out of Belsher and Ravick. Then this friend of mine with whom I was +talking aboard the _Peenemuende_ mentioned that Murell seemed to know +more about the tallow-wax business than about literary matters, and +after what happened at the meeting and afterward, I began putting two +and two together. When I crashed that party at Hunters' Hall, I heard +a few things, and they all added up. + +"And then, about thirty hours after the Javelin left port, I was in +the Happy Haven, and who should I see, buying drinks for the house, +but Al Devis. I let him buy me one, and he told me he'd strained his +back hand-lifting a power-unit cartridge. A square dance got started a +little later, and he got into it. His back didn't look very strained +to me. And then I heard a couple of characters in One Eye Swanson's +betting that the _Javelin_ would never make port again." + +I knew what had happened from then on. If it hadn't been for Bish +Ware, we'd still be squatting around a fire down on the coast of +Hermann Reuch's Land till it got too cold to cut wood, and then we'd +freeze. I mentioned that, but Bish just shrugged it off and suggested +we go on in and see what was happening inside. + +"Where is Al Devis?" I asked. "A lot of people want to talk to him." + +"I know they do. I want to get to him first, while he's still in +condition to do some talking of his own. But he just dropped out of +sight, about the time your father started calling the _Javelin_." + +"Ah!" I drew a finger across under my chin, and mentioned the class of +people who tell no tales. Bish shook his head slowly. + +"I doubt it," he said. "Not unless it was absolutely necessary. That +sort of thing would have a discouraging effect the next time Ravick +wanted a special job done. I'm pretty sure he isn't at Hunters' Hall, +but he's hiding somewhere." + +Joe Kivelson had finished telling what had happened aboard the +_Javelin_ when we joined the main crowd, and everybody was talking +about what ought to be done with Steve Ravick. Oddly enough, the most +bloodthirsty were the banker and the professor. Well, maybe it wasn't +so odd. They were smart enough to know what Steve Ravick was really +doing to Port Sandor, and it hurt them as much as it did the hunters. +Dad and Bish seemed to be the only ones present who weren't in favor +of going down to Hunters' Hall right away and massacring everybody in +it, and then doing the same at the Municipal Building. + +"That's what I say!" Joe Kivelson was shouting. "Let's go clean out +both rats' nests. Why, there must be a thousand hunter-ship men at the +waterfront, and look how many people in town who want to help. We got +enough men to eat Hunters' Hall whole." + +"You'll find it slightly inedible, Joe," Bish told him. "Ravick has +about thirty men of his own and fifteen to twenty city police. He has +at least four 50-mm's on the landing stage above, and he has half a +dozen heavy machine guns and twice that many light 7-mm's." + +"Bish is right," somebody else said. "They have the vehicle port on +the street level barricaded, and they have the two floors on the level +below sealed off. We got men all around it and nobody can get out, but +if we try to blast our way in, it's going to cost us like Nifflheim." + +"You mean you're just going to sit here and talk about it and not do +anything?" Joe demanded. + +"We're going to do something, Joe," Dad told him. "But we've got to +talk about what we're going to do, and how we're going to do it, or +it'll be us who'll get wiped out." + +"Well, we'll have to decide on what it'll be, pretty quick," Mohandas +Gandhi Feinberg said. + +"What are things like at the Municipal Building?" Oscar Fujisawa +asked. "You say Ravick has fifteen to twenty city cops at Hunters' +Hall. Where are the rest of them? That would only be five to ten." + +"At the Municipal Building," Bish said. "Hallstock's holed up there, +trying to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary is happening." + +"Good. Let's go to the Municipal Building, first," Oscar said. "Take a +couple of hundred men, make a lot of noise, shoot out a few windows +and all yell, 'Hang Mort Hallstock!' loud enough, and he'll recall the +cops he has at Hunters' Hall to save his own neck. Then the rest of us +can make a quick rush and take Hunters' Hall." + +"We'll have to keep our main force around Hunters' Hall while we're +demonstrating at the Municipal Building," Corkscrew Finnegan said. "We +can't take a chance on Ravick's getting away." + +"I couldn't care less whether he gets away or not," Oscar said. "I +don't want Steve Ravick's blood. I just want him out of the +Co-operative, and if he runs out from it now, he'll never get back +in." + +"You want him, and you want him alive," Bish Ware said. "Ravick has +close to four million sols banked on Terra. Every millisol of that's +money he's stolen from the monster-hunters of this planet, through the +Co-operative. If you just take him out and string him up, you'll have +the Nifflheim of a time getting hold of any of it." + +That made sense to all the ship captains, even Joe Kivelson, after Dad +reminded him of how much the salvage job on the _Javelin_ was going to +cost. It took Sigurd Ngozori a couple of minutes to see the point, but +then, hanging Steve Ravick wasn't going to cost the Fidelity & Trust +Company anything. + +"Well, this isn't my party," Glenn Murell said, "but I'm too much of a +businessman to see how watching somebody kick on the end of a rope is +worth four million sols." + +"Four million sols," Bish said, "and wondering, the rest of your +lives, whether it was justice or just murder." + +The Buddhist priest looked at him, a trifle startled. After all, he +was the only clergyman in the crowd; he ought to have thought of that, +instead of this outrageous mock-bishop. + +"I think it's a good scheme," Dad said. "Don't mass any more men +around Hunters' Hall than necessary. You don't want the police to be +afraid to leave when Hallstock calls them in to help him at Municipal +Building." + +Bish Ware rose. "I think I'll see what I can do at Hunters' Hall, in +the meantime," he said. "I'm going to see if there's some way in from +the First or Second Level Down. Walt, do you still have that sleep-gas +gadget of yours?" + +I nodded. It was, ostensibly, nothing but an oversized pocket lighter, +just the sort of a thing a gadget-happy kid would carry around. It +worked perfectly as a lighter, too, till you pushed in on a little +gismo on the side. Then, instead of producing a flame, it squirted +out a small jet of sleep gas. It would knock out a man; it would +almost knock out a Zarathustra veldtbeest. I'd bought it from a +spaceman on the _Cape Canaveral_. I'd always suspected that he'd +stolen it on Terra, because it was an expensive little piece of work, +but was I going to ride a bicycle six hundred and fifty light-years to +find out who it belonged to? One of the chemists' shops at Port Sandor +made me up some fills for it, and while I had never had to use it, it +was a handy thing to have in some of the places I had to follow +stories into, and it wouldn't do anybody any permanent damage, the way +a gun would. + +"Yes; it's down in my room. I'll get it for you," I said. + +"Be careful, Bish," Dad said. "That gang would kill you sooner than +look at you." + +"Who, me?" Bish staggered into a table and caught hold of it. "Who'd +wanna hurt me? I'm just good ol' Bish Ware. _Good_ ol' Bish! nobody +hurt him; he'sh everybody's friend." He let go of the table and +staggered into a chair, upsetting it. Then he began to sing: + + "_Come all ye hardy spacemen, and harken while I tell + Of fluorine-tainted Nifflheim, the Planetary Hell._" + +Involuntarily, I began clapping my hands. It was a superb piece of +acting--Bish Ware sober playing Bish Ware drunk, and that's not an +easy role for anybody to play. Then he picked up the chair and sat +down on it. + +"Who do you have around Hunters' Hall, and how do I get past them?" +he asked. "I don't want a clipful from somebody on my own side." + +Nip Spazoni got a pencil and a pad of paper and began drawing a plan. + +"This is Second Level Down," he said. "We have a car here, with a +couple of men in it. It's watching this approach here. And we have a +ship's boat, over here, with three men in it, and a 7-mm machine gun. +And another car--no, a jeep, here. Now, up on the First Level Down, we +have two ships' boats, one here, and one here. The password is +'Exotic,' and the countersign is 'Organics.'" He grinned at Murell. +"Compliment to your company." + +"Good enough. I'll want a bottle of liquor. My breath needs a little +touching up, and I may want to offer somebody a drink. If I could get +inside that place, there's no telling what I might be able to do. If +one man can get in and put a couple of guards to sleep, an army can +get in after him." + +Brother, I thought, if he pulls this one off, he's in. Nobody around +Port Sandor will ever look down on Bish Ware again, not even Joe +Kivelson. I began thinking about the detective agency idea again, and +wondered if he'd want a junior partner. Ware & Boyd, Planetwide +Detective Agency. + +I went down to the floor below with him and got him my lighter +gas-projector and a couple of spare fills for it, and found the bottle +of Baldur honey-rum that Dad had been sure was around somewhere. I was +kind of doubtful about that, and he noticed my hesitation in giving it +to him and laughed. + +"Don't worry, Walt," he said. "This is strictly for protective +coloration--and odoration. I shall be quite sparing with it, I assure +you." + +I shook hands with him, trying not to be too solemn about it, and he +went down in the elevator and I went up the stairs to the floor above. +By this time, the Port Sandor Vigilance Committee had gotten itself +sorted out. The rank-and-file Vigilantes were standing around yacking +at one another, and a smaller group--Dad and Sigurd Ngozori and the +Reverend Sugitsuma and Oscar and Joe and Corkscrew and Nip and the +Mahatma--were in a huddle around Dad's editorial table, discussing +strategy and tactics. + +"Well, we'd better get back to the docks before it starts," Corkscrew +was saying. "No hunter crew will follow anybody but their own ships' +officers." + +"We'll have to have somebody the uptown people will follow," Oscar +said. "These people won't take orders from a woolly-pants hunter +captain. How about you, Sigurd?" + +The banker shook his head. "Ralph Boyd's the man for that," he said. + +"Ralph's needed right here; this is G.H.Q.," Oscar said. "This is a +job that's going to have to be run from one central command. We've got +to make sure the demonstration against Hallstock and the operation +against Hunters' Hall are synchronized." + +"I have about a hundred and fifty workmen, and they all have or can +get something to shoot with," another man said. I looked around, and +saw that it was Casmir Oughourlian, of Rodriguez & Oughourlian +Shipyards. "They'll follow me, but I'm not too well known uptown." + +"Hey, Professor Hartzenbosch," Mohandas Feinberg said. "You're a +respectable-looking duck; you ever have any experience leading a +lynch mob?" + +Everybody laughed. So, to his credit, did the professor. + +"I've had a lot of experience with children," the professor said. +"Children are all savages. So are lynch mobs. Things that are equal to +the same thing are equal to one another. Yes, I'd say so." + +"All right," Dad said. "Say I'm Chief of Staff, or something. Oscar, +you and Joe and Corkscrew and the rest of you decide who's going to +take over-all command of the hunters. Casmir, you'll command your +workmen, and anybody else from the shipyards and engine works and +repair shops and so on. Sigurd, you and the Reverend, here, and +Professor Hartzenbosch gather up all the uptown people you can. Now, +we'll have to decide on how much force we need to scare Mort +Hallstock, and how we're going to place the main force that will +attack Hunters' Hall." + +"I think we ought to wait till we see what Bish Ware can do," Oscar +said. "Get our gangs together, and find out where we're going to put +who, but hold off the attack for a while. If he can get inside +Hunters' Hall, we may not even need this demonstration at the +Municipal Building." + +Joe Kivelson started to say something. The rest of his fellow ship +captains looked at him severely, and he shut up. Dad kept on jotting +down figures of men and 50-mm guns and vehicles and auto weapons we +had available. + +He was still doing it when the fire alarm started. + + + + +16 + +CIVIL WAR POSTPONED + + +The moaner went on for thirty seconds, like a banshee mourning its +nearest and dearest. It was everywhere, Main City Level and the four +levels below. What we have in Port Sandor is a volunteer fire +organization--or disorganization, rather--of six independent +companies, each of which cherishes enmity for all the rest. It's the +best we can do, though; if we depended on the city government, we'd +have no fire protection at all. They do have a central alarm system, +though, and the _Times_ is connected with that. + +Then the moaner stopped, and there were four deep whistle blasts for +Fourth Ward, and four more shrill ones for Bottom Level. There was an +instant's silence, and then a bedlam of shouts from the hunter-boat +captains. That was where the tallow-wax that was being held out from +the Co-operative was stored. + +"Shut up!" Dad roared, the loudest I'd ever heard him speak. "Shut up +and listen!" + +"Fourth Ward, Bottom Level," a voice from the fire-alarm speaker said. +"This is a tallow-wax fire. It is not the Co-op wax; it is wax stored +in an otherwise disused area. It is dangerously close to stored 50-mm +cannon ammunition, and it is directly under the pulpwood lumber plant, +on the Third Level Down, and if the fire spreads up to that, it will +endanger some of the growing vats at the carniculture plant on the +Second Level Down. I repeat, this is a tallow-wax fire. Do not use +water or chemical extinguishers." + +About half of the Vigilantes, businessmen who belonged to one or +another of the volunteer companies had bugged out for their fire +stations already. The Buddhist priest and a couple of doctors were +also leaving. The rest, mostly hunter-ship men, were standing around +looking at one another. + +Oscar Fujisawa gave a sour laugh. "That diversion idea of mine was all +right," he said. "The only trouble was that Steve Ravick thought of it +first." + +"You think he started the fire?" Dad began, and then gave a sourer +laugh than Oscar's. "Am I dumb enough to ask that?" + +I had started assembling equipment as soon as the feint on the +Municipal Building and the attack on Hunters' Hall had gotten into the +discussion stage. I would use a jeep that had a heavy-duty audiovisual +recording and transmitting outfit on it, and for situations where I'd +have to leave the jeep and go on foot, I had a lighter outfit like the +one Oscar had brought with him in the Pequod's boat. Then I had my +radio for two-way conversation with the office. And, because this +wasn't likely to be the sort of war in which the rights of +noncombatants like war correspondents would be taken very seriously, +I had gotten out my Sterberg 7.7-mm. + +Dad saw me buckling it on, and seemed rather distressed. + +"Better leave that, Walt," he said. "You don't want to get into any +shooting." + +Logical, I thought. If you aren't prepared for something, it just +won't happen. There's an awful lot of that sort of thinking going on. +As I remember my Old Terran history, it was even indulged in by +governments, at one time. None of them exists now. + +"You know what all crawls into the Bottom Level," I reminded him. "If +you don't, ask Mr. Murell, here. One sent him to the hospital." + +Dad nodded; I had a point there. The abandoned sections of Bottom +Level are full of tread-snails and other assorted little nasties, and +the heat of the fire would stir them all up and start them moving +around. Even aside from the possibility that, having started the fire, +Steve Ravick's gang would try to take steps to keep it from being put +out too soon, a gun was going to be a comforting companion, down +there. + +"Well, stay out of any fighting. Your job's to get the news, not play +hero in gun fights. I'm no hero; that's why I'm sixty years old. I +never knew many heroes that got that old." + +It was my turn to nod. On that, Dad had a point. I said something +about getting the news, not making it, and checked the chamber and +magazine of the Sterberg, and then slung my radio and picked up the +audiovisual outfit. + +Tom and Joe Kivelson had left already, to round up the scattered +Javelin crew for fire fighting. The attack on the Municipal Building +and on Hunters' Hall had been postponed, but it wasn't going to be +abandoned. Oscar and Professor Hartzenbosch and Dad and a couple of +others were planning some sort of an observation force of a few men +for each place, until the fire had been gotten out or under control. +Glenn Murell decided he'd go out with me, at least as far as the fire, +so we went down to the vehicle port and got the jeep out. Main City +Level Broadway was almost deserted; everybody had gone down below +where the excitement was. We started down the nearest vehicle shaft +and immediately got into a jam, above a lot of stuff that was going +into the shaft from the First Level Down, mostly manipulators and that +sort of thing. There were no police around, natch, and a lot of +volunteers were trying to direct traffic and getting in each other's +way. I got some views with the jeep camera, just to remind any of the +public who needed reminding what our city administration wasn't doing +in an emergency. A couple of pieces of apparatus, a chemical tank and +a pumper marked SALAMANDER VOLUNTEER FIRE COMPANY NO. 3 came along, +veered out of the jam, and continued uptown. + +"If they know another way down, maybe we'd better follow them," Murell +suggested. + +"They're not going down. They're going to the lumber plant, in case +the fire spreads upward," I said. "They wouldn't be taking that sort +of equipment to a wax fire." + +"Why not?" + +I looked at him. "I thought you were in the wax business," I said. + +"I am, but I'm no chemist. I don't know anything about how wax burns. +All I know is what it's used for, roughly, and who's in the market for +it." + +"Well, you know about those jumbo molecules, don't you?" I asked. +"They have everything but the kitchen sink in them, including enough +oxygen to sustain combustion even under water or in a vacuum. Not +enough oxygen to make wax explode, like powder, but enough to keep it +burning. Chemical extinguishers are all smothering agents, and you +just can't smother a wax fire. And water's worse than useless." + +He wanted to know why. + +"Burning wax is a liquid. The melting point is around 250 degrees +Centigrade. Wax ignites at 750. It has no boiling point, unless that's +the burning point. Throw water on a wax fire and you get a steam +explosion, just as you would if you threw it on molten metal, and that +throws the fire around and spreads it." + +"If it melts that far below the ignition point, wouldn't it run away +before it caught fire?" + +"Normally, it would. That's why I'm sure this fire was a touch-off. I +think somebody planted a thermoconcentrate bomb. A thermoconcentrate +flame is around 850 Centigrade; the wax would start melting and +burning almost instantaneously. In any case, the fire will be at the +bottom of the stacks. If it started there, melted wax would run down +from above and keep the fire going, and if it started at the top, +burning wax would run down and ignite what's below." + +"Well, how in blazes do you put a wax fire out?" he wanted to know. + +"You don't. You just pull away all the wax that hasn't caught fire +yet, and then try to scatter the fire and let it burn itself out.... +Here's our chance!" + +All this conversation we had been screaming into each other's ears, in +the midst of a pandemonium of yelling, cursing, siren howling and bell +clanging; just then I saw a hole in the vertical traffic jam and edged +the jeep into it, at the same time remembering that the jeep carried, +and I was entitled to use, a fire siren. I added its howls to the +general uproar and dropped down one level. Here a string of big +manipulators were trying to get in from below, sprouting claw hooks +and grapples and pusher arms in all directions. I made my siren +imitate a tail-tramped tomcat a couple of times, and got in among +them. + +Bottom Level Broadway was a frightful mess, and I realized that we had +come down right between two units of the city power plant, big +mass-energy converters. The street was narrower than above, and ran +for a thousand yards between ceiling-high walls, and everything was +bottlenecked together. I took the jeep up till we were almost scraping +the ceiling, and Murell, who had seen how the audiovisual was used, +took over with it while I concentrated on inching forward. The noise +was even worse down here than it had been above; we didn't attempt to +talk. + +Finally, by impudence and plain foolhardiness, I got the jeep forward +a few hundred yards, and found myself looking down on a big derrick +with a fifty-foot steel boom tipped with a four-clawed grapple, +shielded in front with sheet steel like a gun shield. It was painted +with the emblem of the Hunters' Co-operative, but the three men on it +looked like shipyard workers. I didn't get that, at all. The thing had +been built to handle burning wax, and was one of three kept on the +Second Level Down under Hunters' Hall. I wondered if Bish Ware had +found a way for a gang to get in at the bottom of Hunters' Hall. I +simply couldn't see Steve Ravick releasing equipment to fight the fire +his goons had started for him in the first place. + +I let down a few feet, gave a polite little scream with my siren, and +then yelled down to the men on it: + +"Where'd that thing come from?" + +"Hunters' Hall; Steve Ravick sent it. The other two are up at the fire +already, and if this mess ahead doesn't get straightened out...." From +there on, his remarks were not suitable for publication in a family +journal like the _Times_. + +I looked up ahead, rising to the ceiling again, and saw what was the +matter. It was one of the dredgers from the waterfront, really a +submarine scoop shovel, that they used to keep the pools and the inner +channel from sanding up. I wasn't surprised it was jammed; I couldn't +see how they'd gotten this far uptown with it. I got a few shots of +that, and then unhooked the handphone of my radio. Julio Kubanoff +answered. + +"You getting everything I'm sending in?" I asked. + +"Yes. What's that two-em-dashed thing up ahead, one of the harbor +dredgers?" + +"That's right. Hey, look at this, once." I turned the audiovisual down +on the claw derrick. "The men on it look like Rodriguez & +Oughourlian's people, but they say Steve Ravick sent it. What do you +know about it?" + +"Hey, Ralph! What's this Walt's picked up about Ravick sending +equipment to fight the fire?" he yelled. + +Dad came over, and nodded. "It wasn't Ravick, it was Mort Hallstock. +He commandeered the Co-op equipment and sent it up," he said. "He +called me and wanted to know whom to send for it that Ravick's gang +wouldn't start shooting at right away. Casmir Oughourlian sent some of +his men." + +Up front, something seemed to have given way. The dredger went +lurching forward, and everything moved off after it. + +"I get it," I said. "Hallstock's getting ready to dump Ravick out the +airlock. He sees, now, that Ravick's a dead turkey; he doesn't want to +go into the oven along with him." + +"Walt, can't you ever give anybody credit with trying to do something +decent, once in a while?" Dad asked. + +"Sure I can. Decent people. There are a lot of them around, but Mort +Hallstock isn't one of them. There was an Old Terran politician named +Al Smith, once. He had a little saying he used in that kind of case: +'Let's look at the record.'" + +"Well, Mort's record isn't very impressive, I'll give you that," Dad +admitted. "I understand Mort's up at the fire now. Don't spit in his +eye if you run into him." + +"I won't," I promised. "I'm kind of particular where I spit." + +Things must be looking pretty rough around Municipal Building, I +thought. Maybe Mort's afraid the people will start running Fenris +again, after this. He might even be afraid there'd be an election. + +By this time, I'd gotten the jeep around the dredger--we'd come to the +end of the nuclear-power plant buildings--and cut off into open +country. That is to say, nothing but pillar-buildings two hundred +yards apart and piles of bagged mineral nutrients for the hydroponic +farms. We could see a blaze of electric lights ahead where the fire +must be, and after a while we began to run into lorries and +lifter-skids hauling ammunition away from the area. Then I could see a +big mushroom of greasy black smoke spreading out close to the ceiling. +The electric lights were brighter ahead, and there was a confused roar +of voices and sirens and machines. + +And there was a stink. + +There are a lot of stinks around Port Sandor, though the ventilation +system carries most of them off before they can spread out of their +own areas. The plant that reprocesses sewage to get organic nutrients +for the hydroponic farms, and the plant that digests hydroponic +vegetation to make nutrients for the carniculture vats. The +carniculture vats themselves aren't any flower gardens. And the pulp +plant where our synthetic lumber is made. But the worst stink there is +on Fenris is a tallow-wax fire. Fortunately, they don't happen often. + + + + +17 + +TALLOW-WAX FIRE + + +Now that we were out of the traffic jam, I could poke along and use +the camera myself. The wax was stacked in piles twenty feet high, +which gave thirty feet of clear space above them, but the section +where they had been piled was badly cut up by walls and full of small +extra columns to support the weight of the pulp plant above and the +carniculture vats on the level over that. However, the piles +themselves weren't separated by any walls, and the fire could spread +to the whole stock of wax. There were more men and vehicles on the job +than room for them to work. I passed over the heads of the crowd +around the edges and got onto a comparatively unobstructed side where +I could watch and get views of the fire fighters pulling down the big +skins of wax and loading them onto contragravity skids to be hauled +away. It still wasn't too hot to work unshielded, and they weren't +anywhere near the burning stacks, but the fire seemed to be spreading +rapidly. The dredger and the three shielded derricks hadn't gotten +into action yet. + +I circled around clockwise, dodging over, under and around the skids +and lorries hauling wax out of danger. They were taking them into the +section through which I had brought the jeep a few minutes before, and +just dumping them on top of the piles of mineral nutrients. + +The operation seemed to be directed from an improvised headquarters in +the area that had been cleared of ammunition. There were a couple of +view screens and a radio, operated by women. I saw one of the teachers +I'd gone to school to a few years ago, and Joe Kivelson's wife, and +Oscar Fujisawa's current girl friend, and Sigurd Ngozori's secretary, +and farther off there was an equally improvised coffee-and-sandwich +stand. I grounded the jeep, and Murell and I got out and went over to +the headquarters. Joe Kivelson seemed to be in charge. + +I have, I believe, indicated here and there that Joe isn't one of our +mightier intellects. There are a lot of better heads, but Joe can be +relied upon to keep his, no matter what is happening or how bad it +gets. He was sitting on an empty box, his arm in a now-filthy sling, +and one of Mohandas Feinberg's crooked black cigars in his mouth. +Usually, Joe smokes a pipe, but a cigar's less bother for a +temporarily one-armed man. Standing in front of him, like a schoolboy +in front of the teacher, was Mayor Morton Hallstock. + +"But, Joe, they simply won't!" His Honor was wailing. "I did talk to +Mr. Fieschi; he says he knows this is an emergency, but there's a +strict company directive against using the spaceport area for storage +of anything but cargo that has either just come in or is being shipped +out on the next ship." + +"What's this all about?" Murell asked. + +"Fieschi, at the spaceport, won't let us store this wax in the +spaceport area," Joe said. "We got to get it stored somewhere; we need +a lot of floor space to spread this fire out on, once we get into it. +We have to knock the burning wax cylinders apart, and get them +separated enough so that burning wax won't run from one to another." + +"Well, why can't we store it in the spaceport area?" Murell wanted to +know. "It is going out on the next ship. I'm consigning it to Exotic +Organics, in Buenos Aires." He turned to Joe. "Are those skins all +marked to indicate who owns them?" + +"That's right. And any we gather up loose, from busted skins, we can +figure some way of settling how much anybody's entitled to from them." + +"All right. Get me a car and run me to the spaceport. Call them and +tell them I'm on the way. I'll talk to Fieschi myself." + +"Martha!" Joe yelled to his wife. "Car and driver, quick. And then +call the spaceport for me; get Mr. Fieschi or Mr. Mansour on screen." + +Inside two minutes, a car came in and picked Murell up. By that time, +Joe was talking to somebody at the spaceport. I called the paper, and +told Dad that Murell was buying the wax for his company as fast as it +was being pulled off the fire, at eighty centisols a pound. He said +that would go out as a special bulletin right away. Then I talked to +Morton Hallstock, and this time he wasn't giving me any of the +run-along-sonny routine. I told him, rather hypocritically, what a +fine thing he'd done, getting that equipment from Hunters' Hall. I +suspect I sounded as though I were mayor of Port Sandor and Hallstock, +just seventeen years old, had done something the grownups thought was +real smart for a kid. If so, he didn't seem to notice. Somebody +connected with the press was being nice to him. I asked him where +Steve Ravick was. + +"Mr. Ravick is at Hunters' Hall," he said. "He thought it would be +unwise to make a public appearance just now." Oh, brother, what an +understatement! "There seems to be a lot of public feeling against +him, due to some misconception that he was responsible for what +happened to Captain Kivelson's ship. Of course, that is absolutely +false. Mr. Ravick had absolutely nothing to do with that. He wasn't +anywhere near the _Javelin_." + +"Where's Al Devis?" I asked. + +"Who? I don't believe I know him." + +After Hallstock got into his big black air-limousine and took off, Joe +Kivelson gave a short laugh. + +"I could have told him where Al Devis is," he said. "No, I couldn't, +either," he corrected himself. "That's a religious question, and I +don't discuss religion." + +I shut off my radio in a hurry. "Who got him?" I asked. + +Joe named a couple of men from one of the hunter-ships. + +"Here's what happened. There were six men on guard here; they had a +jeep with a 7-mm machine gun. About an hour ago, a lorry pulled in, +with two men in boat-clothes on it. They said that Pierre Karolyi's +_Corinne_ had just come in with a hold full of wax, and they were +bringing it up from the docks, and where should they put it? Well, the +men on guard believed that; Pierre'd gone off into the twilight zone +after the _Helldiver_ contacted us, and he could have gotten a monster +in the meantime. + +"Well, they told these fellows that there was more room over on the +other side of the stacks, and the lorry went up above the stacks and +started across, and when they were about the middle, one of the men in +it threw out a thermoconcentrate bomb. The lorry took off, right away. +The only thing was that there were two men in the jeep, and one of +them was at the machine gun. They'd lifted to follow the lorry over +and show them where to put this wax, and as soon as the bomb went off, +the man at the gun grabbed it and caught the lorry in his sights and +let go. This fellow hadn't been covering for cutting-up work for years +for nothing. He got one burst right in the control cabin, and the +lorry slammed into the next column foundation. After they called in an +alarm on the fire the bomb had started, a couple of them went to see +who'd been in the lorry. The two men in it were both dead, and one of +them was Al Devis." + +"Pity," I said. "I'd been looking forward to putting a recording of +his confession on the air. Where is this lorry now?" + +Joe pointed toward the burning wax piles. "Almost directly on the +other side. We have a couple of men guarding it. The bodies are still +in it. We don't want any tampering with it till it can be properly +examined; we want to have the facts straight, in case Hallstock tries +to make trouble for the men who did the shooting." + +I didn't know how he could. Under any kind of Federation law at all, a +man killed committing a felony--and bombing and arson ought to +qualify for that--is simply bought and paid for; his blood is on +nobody's head but his own. Of course, a small matter like legality was +always the least of Mort Hallstock's worries. + +"I'll go get some shots of it," I said, and then I snapped on my radio +and called the story in. + +Dad had already gotten it, from fire-alarm center, but he hadn't heard +that Devis was one of the deceased arsonists. Like me, he was very +sorry to hear about it. Devis as Devis was no loss, but alive and +talking he'd have helped us pin both the wax fire and the bombing of +the _Javelin_ on Steve Ravick. Then I went back and got in the jeep. + +They were beginning to get in closer to the middle of the stacks where +the fire had been started. There was no chance of getting over the top +of it, and on the right there were at least five hundred men and a +hundred vehicles, all working like crazy to pull out unburned wax. Big +manipulators were coming up and grabbing as many of the half-ton +sausages as they could, and lurching away to dump them onto skids or +into lorries or just drop them on top of the bags of nutrient stacked +beyond. Jeeps and cars would dart in, throw grapnels on the end of +lines, and then pull away all the wax they could and return to throw +their grapnels again. As fast as they pulled the big skins down, men +with hand-lifters like the ones we had used at our camp to handle +firewood would pick them up and float them away. + +That seemed to be where the major effort was being made, at present, +and I could see lifter-skids coming in with big blower fans on them. I +knew what the strategy was, now; they were going to pull the wax away +to where it was burning on one side, and then set up the blowers and +blow the heat and smoke away on that side. That way, on the other side +more men could work closer to the fire, and in the long run they'd +save more wax. + +I started around the wax piles to the left, clockwise, to avoid the +activity on the other side, and before long I realized that I'd have +done better not to have. There was a long wall, ceiling-high, that +stretched off uptown in the direction of the spaceport, part of the +support for the weight of the pulpwood plant on the level above, and +piled against it was a lot of junk machinery of different kinds that +had been hauled in here and dumped long ago and then forgotten. The +wax was piled almost against this, and the heat and smoke forced me +down. + +I looked at the junk pile and decided that I could get through it on +foot. I had been keeping up a running narration into my radio, and I +commented on all this salvageable metal lying in here forgotten, with +our perennial metal shortages. Then I started picking my way through +it, my portable audiovisual camera slung over my shoulder and a +flashlight in my hand. My left hand, of course; it's never smart to +carry a light in your right, unless you're left-handed. + +The going wasn't too bad. Most of the time, I could get between things +without climbing over them. I was going between a broken-down press +from the lumber plant and a leaky 500-gallon pressure cooker from the +carniculture nutrient plant when I heard something moving behind me, +and I was suddenly very glad that I hadn't let myself be talked into +leaving my pistol behind. + +It was a thing the size of a ten-gallon keg, with a thick tail and +flippers on which it crawled, and six tentacles like small elephants' +trunks around a circular mouth filled with jagged teeth halfway down +the throat. There are a dozen or so names for it, but mostly it is +called a meat-grinder. + +The things are always hungry and try to eat anything that moves. The +mere fact that I would be as poisonous to it as any of the local flora +or fauna would be to me made no difference; this meat-grinder was no +biochemist. It was coming straight for me, all its tentacles writhing. + +I had had my Sterberg out as soon as I'd heard the noise. I also +remembered that my radio was on, and that I was supposed to comment on +anything of interest that took place around me. + +"Here's a meat-grinder, coming right for me," I commented in a voice +not altogether steady, and slammed three shots down its tooth-studded +gullet. Then I scored my target, at the same time keeping out of the +way of the tentacles. He began twitching a little. I fired again. The +meat-grinder jerked slightly, and that was all. + +"Now I'm going out and take a look at that lorry." I was certain now +that the voice was shaky. + +The lorry--and Al Devis and his companion--had come to an end against +one of the two-hundred-foot masonry and concrete foundations the +columns rest on. It had hit about halfway up and folded almost like an +accordion, sliding down to the floor. With one thing and another, +there is a lot of violent death around Port Sandor. I don't like to +look at the results. It's part of the job, however, and this time it +wasn't a pleasant job at all. + +The two men who were guarding the wreck and contents were sitting on +a couple of boxes, smoking and watching the fire-fighting operation. + +I took the partly empty clip out of my pistol and put in a full one on +the way back, and kept my flashlight moving its circle of light ahead +and on both sides of me. That was foolish, or at least unnecessary. If +there'd been one meat-grinder in that junk pile, it was a safe bet +there wasn't anything else. Meat-grinders aren't popular neighbors, +even for tread-snails. As I approached the carcass of the grinder I +had shot I found a ten-foot length of steel rod and poked it a few +times. When it didn't even twitch, I felt safe in walking past it. + +I got back in the jeep and returned to where Joe Kivelson was keeping +track of what was going on in five screens, including one from a +pickup on a lifter at the ceiling, and shouting orders that were being +reshouted out of loudspeakers all over the place. The Odin Dock & +Shipyard equipment had begun coming out; lorries picking up the wax +that had been dumped back from the fire and wax that was being pulled +off the piles, and material-handling equipment. They had a lot of +small fork-lifters that were helping close to the fire. + +A lot of the wax was getting so soft that it was hard to handle, and +quite a few of the plastic skins had begun to split from the heat. +Here and there I saw that outside piles had begun to burn at the +bottom, from burning wax that had run out underneath. I had moved +around to the right and was getting views of the big claw-derricks at +work picking the big sausages off the tops of piles, and while I was +swinging the camera back and forth, I was trying to figure just how +much wax there had been to start with, and how much was being saved. +Each of those plastic-covered cylinders was a thousand pounds; one of +the claw-derricks was picking up two or three of them at a grab.... + +I was still figuring when shouts of alarm on my right drew my head +around. There was an uprush of flame, and somebody began screaming, +and I could see an ambulance moving toward the center of excitement +and firemen in asbestos suits converging on a run. One of the piles +must have collapsed and somebody must have been splashed. I gave an +involuntary shudder. Burning wax was hotter than melted lead, and it +stuck to anything it touched, worse than napalm. I saw a man being +dragged out of further danger, his clothes on fire, and +asbestos-suited firemen crowding around to tear the burning garments +from him. Before I could get to where it had happened, though, they +had him in the ambulance and were taking him away. I hoped they'd get +him to the hospital before he died. + +Then more shouting started around at the right as a couple more piles +began collapsing. I was able to get all of that--the wax sausages +sliding forward, the men who had been working on foot running out of +danger, the flames shooting up, and the gush of liquid fire from +below. All three derricks moved in at once and began grabbing wax +cylinders away on either side of it. + +Then I saw Guido Fieschi, the Odin Dock & Shipyard's superintendent, +and caught him in my camera, moving the jeep toward him. + +"Mr. Fieschi!" I called. "Give me a few seconds and say something." + +He saw me and grinned. + +"I just came out to see how much more could be saved," he said. "We +have close to a thousand tons on the shipping floor or out of danger +here and on the way in, and it looks as though you'll be able to save +that much more. That'll be a million and a half sols we can be sure +of, and a possible three million, at the new price. And I want to take +this occasion, on behalf of my company and of Terra-Odin Spacelines, +to welcome a new freight shipper." + +"Well, that's wonderful news for everybody on Fenris," I said, and +added mentally, "with a few exceptions." Then I asked if he'd heard +who had gotten splashed. + +"No. I know it happened; I passed the ambulance on the way out. I +certainly hope they get to work on him in time." + +Then more wax started sliding off the piles, and more fire came +running out at the bottom. Joe Kivelson's voice, out of the +loudspeakers all around, was yelling: + +"Everybody away from the front! Get the blowers in; start in on the +other side!" + + + + +18 + +THE TREASON OF BISH WARE + + +I wanted to find out who had been splashed, but Joe Kivelson was too +busy directing the new phase of the fight to hand out casualty reports +to the press, and besides, there were too many things happening all at +once that I had to get. I went around to the other side where the +incendiaries had met their end, moving slowly as close to the face of +the fire as I could get and shooting the burning wax flowing out from +it. A lot of equipment, including two of the three claw-derricks and a +dredger--they'd brought a second one up from the waterfront--were +moving to that side. By the time I had gotten around, the blowers had +been maneuvered into place and were ready to start. There was a lot of +back-and-forth yelling to make sure that everybody was out from in +front, and then the blowers started. + +It looked like a horizontal volcanic eruption; burning wax blowing +away from the fire for close to a hundred feet into the clear space +beyond. The derricks and manipulators and the cars and jeeps with +grapnels went in on both sides, snatching and dragging wax away. +Because they had the wind from the blowers behind them, the men could +work a lot closer, and the fire wasn't spreading as rapidly. They were +saving a lot of wax; each one of those big sausages that the lifters +picked up and floated away weighed a thousand pounds, and was worth, +at the new price, eight hundred sols. + +Finally, they got everything away that they could, and then the +blowers were shut down and the two dredge shovels moved in, scooping +up the burning sludge and carrying it away, scattering it on the +concrete. I would have judged that there had been six or seven million +sols' worth of wax in the piles to start with, and that a little more +than half of it had been saved before they pulled the last cylinder +away. + +The work slacked off; finally, there was nothing but the two dredges +doing anything, and then they backed away and let down, and it was all +over but standing around and watching the scattered fire burn itself +out. I looked at my watch. It was two hours since the first alarm had +come in. I took a last swing around, got the spaceport people +gathering up wax and hauling it away, and the broken lake of fire that +extended downtown from where the stacks had been, and then I floated +my jeep over to the sandwich-and-coffee stand and let down, getting +out. Maybe, I thought, I could make some kind of deal with somebody +like Interworld News on this. It would make a nice thrilling +feature-program item. Just a little slice of life from Fenris, the +Garden Spot of the Galaxy. + +I got myself a big zhoumy-loin sandwich with hot sauce and a cup of +coffee, made sure that my portable radio was on, and circulated among +the fire fighters, getting comments. Everybody had been a hero, +natch, and they were all very unbashful about admitting it. There was +a great deal of wisecracking about Al Devis buying himself a ringside +seat for the fire he'd started. Then I saw Cesario Vieira and joined +him. + +"Have all the fire you want, for a while?" I asked him. + +"Brother, and how! We could have used a little of this over on Hermann +Reuch's Land, though. Have you seen Tom around anywhere?" + +"No. Have you?" + +"I saw him over there, about an hour ago. I guess he stayed on this +side. After they started blowing it, I was over on Al Devis's side." +He whistled softly. "Was that a mess!" + +There was still a crowd at the fire, but they seemed all to be +townspeople. The hunters had gathered where Joe Kivelson had been +directing operations. We finished our sandwiches and went over to join +them. As soon as we got within earshot, I found that they were all in +a very ugly mood. + +"Don't fool around," one man was saying as we came up. "Don't even +bother looking for a rope. Just shoot them as soon as you see them." + +Well, I thought, a couple of million sols' worth of tallow-wax, in +which they all owned shares, was something to get mean about. I said +something like that. + +"It's not that," another man said. "It's Tom Kivelson." + +"What about him?" I asked, alarmed. + +"Didn't you hear? He got splashed with burning wax," the hunter said. +"His whole back was on fire; I don't know whether he's alive now or +not." + +So that was who I'd seen screaming in agony while the firemen tore his +burning clothes away. I pushed through, with Cesario behind me, and +found Joe Kivelson and Mohandas Feinberg and Corkscrew Finnegan and +Oscar Fujisawa and a dozen other captains and ships' officers in a +huddle. + +"Joe," I said, "I just heard about Tom. Do you know anything yet?" + +Joe turned. "Oh, Walt. Why, as far as we know, he's alive. He was +alive when they got him to the hospital." + +"That's at the spaceport?" I unhooked my handphone and got Dad. He'd +heard about a man being splashed, but didn't know who it was. He said +he'd call the hospital at once. A few minutes later, he was calling me +back. + +"He's been badly burned, all over the back. They're preparing to do a +deep graft on him. They said his condition was serious, but he was +alive five minutes ago." + +I thanked him and hung up, relaying the information to the others. +They all looked worried. When the screen girl at a hospital tells you +somebody's serious, instead of giving you the well-as-can-be-expected +routine, you know it is serious. Anybody who makes it alive to a +hospital, these days, has an excellent chance, but injury cases do +die, now and then, after they've been brought in. They are the +"serious" cases. + +"Well, I don't suppose there's anything we can do," Joe said heavily. + +"We can clean up on the gang that started this fire," Oscar Fujisawa +said. "Do it now; then if Tom doesn't make it, he's paid for in +advance." + +Oscar, I recalled, was the one who had been the most impressed with +Bish Ware's argument that lynching Steve Ravick would cost the hunters +the four million sols they might otherwise be able to recover, after a +few years' interstellar litigation, from his bank account on Terra. +That reminded me that I hadn't even thought of Bish since I'd left the +_Times_. I called back. Dad hadn't heard a word from him. + +"What's the situation at Hunters' Hall?" I asked. + +"Everything's quiet there. The police left when Hallstock commandeered +that fire-fighting equipment. They helped the shipyard men get it out, +and then they all went to the Municipal Building. As far as I know, +both Ravick and Belsher are still in Hunters' Hall. I'm in contact +with the vehicles on guard at the approaches; I'll call them now." + +I relayed that. The others nodded. + +"Nip Spazoni and a few others are bringing men and guns up from the +docks and putting a cordon around the place on the Main City Level," +Oscar said. "Your father will probably be hearing that they're moving +into position now." + +He had. He also said that he had called all the vehicles on the First +and Second Levels Down; they all reported no activity in Hunters' Hall +except one jeep on Second Level Down, which did not report at all. + +Everybody was puzzled about that. + +"That's the jeep that reported Bish Ware going in on the bottom," +Mohandas Feinberg said. "I wonder if somebody inside mightn't have +gotten both the man on the jeep and Bish." + +"He could have left the jeep," Joe said. "Maybe he went inside after +Bish." + +"Funny he didn't call in and say so," somebody said. + +"No, it isn't," I contradicted. "Manufacturers' claims to the +contrary, there is no such thing as a tap-proof radio. Maybe he wasn't +supposed to leave his post, but if he did, he used his head not +advertising it." + +"That makes sense," Oscar agreed. "Well, whatever happened, we're not +doing anything standing around up here. Let's get it started." + +He walked away, raising his voice and calling, "_Pequod_! _Pequod_! +All hands on deck!" + +The others broke away from the group, shouting the names of their +ships to rally their crews. I hurried over to the jeep and checked my +equipment. There wasn't too much film left in the big audiovisual, so +I replaced it with a fresh sound-and-vision reel, good for another +couple of hours, and then lifted to the ceiling. Worrying about Tom +wouldn't help Tom, and worrying about Bish wouldn't help Bish, and I +had a job to do. + +What I was getting now, and I was glad I was starting a fresh reel for +it, was the beginning of the First Fenris Civil War. A long time from +now, when Fenris was an important planet in the Federation, maybe +they'd make today a holiday, like Bastille Day or the Fourth of July +or Federation Day. Maybe historians, a couple of centuries from now, +would call me an important primary source, and if Cesario's religion +was right, maybe I'd be one of them, saying, "Well, after all, is +Boyd such a reliable source? He was only seventeen years old at the +time." + +Finally, after a lot of yelling and confusion, the Rebel Army got +moving. We all went up to Main City Level and went down Broadway, +spreading out side streets when we began running into the cordon that +had been thrown around Hunters' Hall. They were mostly men from the +waterfront who hadn't gotten to the wax fire, and they must have +stripped the guns off half the ships in the harbor and mounted them on +lorries or cargo skids. + +Nobody, not even Joe Kivelson, wanted to begin with any massed frontal +attack on Hunters' Hall. + +"We'll have to bombard the place," he was saying. "We try to rush it +and we'll lose half our gang before we get in. One man with good cover +and a machine gun's good for a couple of hundred in the open." + +"Bish may be inside," I mentioned. + +"Yes," Oscar said, "and even aside from that, that building was built +with our money. Let's don't burn the house down to get rid of the +cockroaches." + +"Well, how are you going to do it, then?" Joe wanted to know. Rule out +frontal attack and Joe's at the end of his tactics. + +"You stay up here. Keep them amused with a little smallarms fire at +the windows and so on. I'll take about a dozen men and go down to +Second Level. If we can't do anything else, we can bring a couple of +skins of tallow-wax down and set fire to it and smoke them out." + +That sounded like a pretty expensive sort of smudge, but seeing how +much wax Ravick had burned uptown, it was only fair to let him in on +some of the smoke. I mentioned that if we got into the building and up +to Main City Level, we'd need some way of signaling to avoid being +shot by our own gang, and got the wave-length combination of the +Pequod scout boat, which Joe and Oscar were using for a command car. +Oscar picked ten or twelve men, and they got into a lorry and went +uptown and down a vehicle shaft to Second Level. I followed in my +jeep, even after Oscar and his crowd let down and got out, and hovered +behind them as they advanced on foot to Hunters' Hall. + +The Second Level Down was the vehicle storage, where the derricks and +other equipment had been kept. It was empty now except for a +workbench, a hand forge and some other things like that, a few drums +of lubricant, and several piles of sheet metal. Oscar and his men got +inside and I followed, going up to the ceiling. I was the one who saw +the man lying back of a pile of sheet metal, and called their +attention. + +He wore boat-clothes and had black whiskers, and he had a knife and a +pistol on his belt. At first I thought he was dead. A couple of +Oscar's followers, dragging him out, said: + +"He's been sleep-gassed." + +Somebody else recognized him. He was the lone man who had been on +guard in the jeep. The jeep was nowhere in sight. + +I began to be really worried. My lighter gadget could have been what +had gassed him. It probably was; there weren't many sleep-gas weapons +on Fenris. I had to get fills made up specially for mine. So it looked +to me as though somebody had gotten mine off Bish, and then used it +to knock out our guard. Taken it off his body I guessed. That crowd +wasn't any more interested in taking prisoners alive than we were. + +We laid the man on a workbench and put a rolled-up sack under his head +for a pillow. Then we started up the enclosed stairway. I didn't think +we were going to run into any trouble, though I kept my hand close to +my gun. If they'd knocked out the guard, they had a way out, and none +of them wanted to stay in that building any longer than they had to. + +The First Level Down was mostly storerooms, with nobody in any of +them. As we went up the stairway to the Main City Level, we could hear +firing outside. Nobody inside was shooting back. I unhooked my +handphone. + +"We're in," I said when Joe Kivelson answered. "Stop the shooting; +we're coming up to the vehicle port." + +"Might as well. Nobody's paying any attention to it," he said. + +The firing slacked off as the word was passed around the perimeter, +and finally it stopped entirely. We went up into the open arched +vehicle port. It was barricaded all around, and there were half a +dozen machine guns set up, but not a living thing. + +"We're going up," I said. "They've all lammed out. The place is +empty." + +"You don't know that," Oscar chided. "It might be bulging with +Ravick's thugs, waiting for us to come walking up and be mowed down." + +Possible. Highly improbable, though, I thought. The escalators weren't +running, and we weren't going to alert any hypothetical ambush by +starting them. We tiptoed up, and I even drew my pistol to show that I +wasn't being foolhardy. The big social room was empty. A couple of us +went over and looked behind the bar, which was the only hiding place +in it. Then we went back to the rear and tiptoed to the third floor. + +The meeting room was empty. So were the offices behind it. I looked in +all of them, expecting to find Bish Ware's body. Maybe a couple of +other bodies, too. I'd seen him shoot the tread-snail, and I didn't +think he'd die unpaid for. In Steve Ravick's office, the safe was open +and a lot of papers had been thrown out. I pointed that out to Oscar, +and he nodded. After seeing that, he seemed to relax, as though he +wasn't expecting to find anybody any more. We went to the third floor. +Ravick's living quarters were there, and they were magnificently +luxurious. The hunters, whose money had paid for all that magnificence +and luxury, cursed. + +There were no bodies there, either, or on the landing stage above. I +unhooked the radio again. + +"You can come in, now," I said. "The place is empty. Nobody here but +us Vigilantes." + +"Huh?" Joe couldn't believe that. "How'd they get out?" + +"They got out on the Second Level Down." I told him about the +sleep-gassed guard. + +"Did you bring him to? What did he say?" + +"Nothing; we didn't. We can't. You get sleep-gassed, you sleep till +you wake up. That ought to be two to four hours for this fellow." + +"Well, hold everything; we're coming in." + +We were all in the social room; a couple of the men had poured drinks +or drawn themselves beers at the bar and rung up no sale on the cash +register. Somebody else had a box of cigars he'd picked up in Ravick's +quarters on the fourth floor and was passing them around. Joe and +about two or three hundred other hunters came crowding up the +escalator, which they had turned on below. + +"You didn't find Bish Ware, either, I'll bet," Joe was saying. + +"I'm afraid they took him along for a hostage," Oscar said. "The guard +was knocked out with Walt's gas gadget, that Bish was carrying." + +"Ha!" Joe cried. "Bet you it was the other way round; Bish took them +out." + +That started an argument. While it was going on, I went to the +communication screen and got the _Times_, and told Dad what had +happened. + +"Yes," he said. "That was what I was afraid you'd find. Glenn Murell +called in from the spaceport a few minutes ago. He says Mort Hallstock +came in with his car, and he heard from some of the workmen that Bish +Ware, Steve Ravick and Leo Belsher came in on the Main City Level in a +jeep. They claimed protection from a mob, and Captain Courtland's +police are protecting them." + + + + +19 + +MASKS OFF + + +There was dead silence for two or three seconds. If a kitten had +sneezed, everybody would have heard it. Then it started, first an +inarticulate roar, and then a babel of unprintabilities. I thought I'd +heard some bad language from these same men in this room when Leo +Belsher's announcement of the price cut had been telecast, but that +was prayer meeting to this. Dad was still talking. At least, I saw his +lips move in the screen. + +"Say that again, Ralph," Oscar Fujisawa shouted. + +Dad must have heard him. At least, his lips moved again, but I wasn't +a lip reader and neither was Oscar. Oscar turned to the mob--by now, +it was that, pure and simple--and roared, in a voice like a foghorn, +"_Shut up and listen!_" A few of those closest to him heard him. The +rest kept on shouting curses. Oscar waited a second, and then pointed +his submachine gun at the ceiling and hammered off the whole clip. + +"Shut up, a couple of hundred of you, and listen!" he commanded, on +the heels of the blast. Then he turned to the screen again. "Now, +Ralph; what was it you were saying?" + +"Hallstock got to the spaceport about half an hour ago," Dad said. "He +bought a ticket to Terra. Sigurd Ngozori's here; he called the bank +and one of the clerks there told him that Hallstock had checked out +his whole account, around three hundred thousand sols. Took some of it +in cash and the rest in Banking Cartel drafts. Murell says that his +information is that Bish Ware, Steve Ravick and Leo Belsher arrived +earlier, about an hour ago. He didn't see them himself, but he talked +with spaceport workmen who did." + +The men who had crowded up to the screen seemed to have run out of +oaths and obscenities now. Oscar was fitting another clip into his +submachine gun. + +"Well, we'll have to go to the spaceport and get them," he said. "And +take four ropes instead of three." + +"You'll have to fight your way in," Dad told him. "Odin Dock & +Shipyard won't let you take people out of their spaceport without a +fight. They've all bought tickets by now, and Fieschi will have to +protect them." + +"Then we'll kick the blankety-blank spaceport apart," somebody +shouted. + +That started it up again. Oscar wondered if getting silence was worth +another clip of cartridges, and decided it wasn't. He managed to make +himself heard without it. + +"We'll do nothing of the kind. We need that spaceport to stay alive. +But we will take Ravick and Belsher and Hallstock--" + +"And that etaoin shrdlu traitor of a Ware!" Joe Kivelson added. + +"And Bish Ware," Oscar agreed. "They only have fifty police; we have +three or four thousand men." + +Three or four thousand undisciplined hunters, against fifty trained, +disciplined and organized soldiers, because that was what the +spaceport police were. I knew their captain, and the lieutenants. They +were old Regular Army, and they ran the police force like a military +unit. + +"I'll bet Ware was working for Ravick all along," Joe was saying. + +That wasn't good thinking even for Joe Kivelson. I said: + +"If he was working for Ravick all along, why did he tip Dad and Oscar +and the Mahatma on the bomb aboard the _Javelin_? That wasn't any help +to Ravick." + +"I get it," Oscar said. "He never was working for anybody but Bish +Ware. When Ravick got into a jam, he saw a way to make something for +himself by getting Ravick out of it. I'll bet, ever since he came +here, he was planning to cut in on Ravick somehow. You notice, he knew +just how much money Ravick had stashed away on Terra? When he saw the +spot Ravick was in, Bish just thought he had a chance to develop +himself another rich uncle." + +I'd been worse stunned than anybody by Dad's news. The worst of it was +that Oscar could be right. I hadn't thought of that before. I'd just +thought that Ravick and Belsher had gotten Bish drunk and found out +about the way the men were posted around Hunters' Hall and the lone +man in the jeep on Second Level Down. + +Then it occurred to me that Bish might have seen a way of getting +Fenris rid of Ravick and at the same time save everybody the guilt of +lynching him. Maybe he'd turned traitor to save the rest of us from +ourselves. + +I turned to Oscar. "Why get excited about it?" I asked. "You have what +you wanted. You said yourself that you couldn't care less whether +Ravick got away or not, as long as you got him out of the Co-op. Well, +he's out for good now." + +"That was before the fire," Oscar said. "We didn't have a couple of +million sols' worth of wax burned. And Tom Kivelson wasn't in the +hospital with half the skin burned off his back, and a coin toss +whether he lives or not." + +"Yes. I thought you were Tom's friend," Joe Kivelson reproached me. + +I wondered how much skin hanging Steve Ravick would grow on Tom's +back. I didn't see much percentage in asking him, though. I did turn +to Oscar Fujisawa with a quotation I remembered from _Moby Dick_, the +book he'd named his ship from. + +"_How many barrels will thy vengeance yield thee, even if thou gettest +it, Captain Ahab?_" I asked. "_It will not fetch thee much in our +Nantucket market._" + +He looked at me angrily and started to say something. Then he +shrugged. + +"I know, Walt," he said. "But you can't measure everything in barrels +of whale oil. Or skins of tallow-wax." + +Which was one of those perfectly true statements which are also +perfectly meaningless. I gave up. My job's to get the news, not to +make it. I wondered if that meant anything, either. + +They finally got the mob sorted out, after a lot of time wasted in +pillaging Ravick's living quarters on the fourth floor. _However, the +troops stopped to loot the enemy's camp._ I'd come across that line +fifty to a hundred times in history books. Usually, it had been +expensive looting; if the enemy didn't counterattack, they managed, at +least, to escape. More to the point, they gathered up all the cannon +and machine guns around the place and got them onto contragravity in +the street. There must have been close to five thousand men, by now, +and those who couldn't crowd onto vehicles marched on foot, and the +whole mass, looking a little more like an army than a mob, started up +Broadway. + +Since it is not proper for reporters to loot on the job, I had gotten +outside in my jeep early and was going ahead, swinging my camera back +to get the parade behind me. Might furnish a still-shot illustration +for somebody's History of Fenris in a century or so. + +Broadway was empty until we came to the gateway to the spaceport area. +There was a single medium combat car there, on contragravity halfway +to the ceiling, with a pair of 50-mm guns and a rocket launcher +pointed at us, and under it, on the roadway, a solitary man in an +olive-green uniform stood. + +I knew him; Lieutenant Ranjit Singh, Captain Courtland's +second-in-command. He was a Sikh. Instead of a steel helmet, he wore a +striped turban, and he had a black beard that made Joe Kivelson's +blond one look like Tom Kivelson's chin-fuzz. On his belt, along with +his pistol, he wore the little kirpan, the dagger all Sikhs carry. He +also carried a belt radio, and as we approached he lifted the phone to +his mouth and a loudspeaker on the combat car threw his voice at us: + +"All right, that's far enough, now. The first vehicle that comes +within a hundred yards of this gate will be shot down." + +One man, and one combat car, against five thousand, with twenty-odd +guns and close to a hundred machine guns. He'd last about as long as a +pint of trade gin at a Sheshan funeral. The only thing was, before he +and the crew of the combat car were killed, they'd wipe out about ten +or fifteen of our vehicles and a couple of hundred men, and they would +be the men and vehicles in the lead. + +Mobs are a little different from soldiers, and our Rebel Army was +still a mob. Mobs don't like to advance into certain death, and they +don't like to advance over the bodies and wreckage of their own +forward elements. Neither do soldiers, but soldiers will do it. +Soldiers realize, when they put on the uniform, that some day they may +face death in battle, and if this is it, this is it. + +I got the combat car and the lone soldier in the turban--that would +look good in anybody's history book--and moved forward, taking care +that he saw the _Times_ lettering on the jeep and taking care to stay +well short of the deadline. I let down to the street and got out, +taking off my gun belt and hanging it on the control handle of the +jeep. Then I walked forward. + +"Lieutenant Ranjit," I said, "I'm representing the _Times_. I have +business inside the spaceport. I want to get the facts about this. It +may be that when I get this story, these people will be satisfied." + +"We will, like Nifflheim!" I heard Joe Kivelson bawling, above and +behind me. "We want the men who started the fire my son got burned +in." + +"Is that the Kivelson boy's father?" the Sikh asked me, and when I +nodded, he lifted the phone to his lips again. "Captain Kivelson," the +loudspeaker said, "your son is alive and under skin-grafting treatment +here at the spaceport hospital. His life is not, repeat not, in +danger. The men you are after are here, under guard. If any of them +are guilty of any crimes, and if you can show any better authority +than an armed mob to deal with them, they may, may, I said, be turned +over for trial. But they will not be taken from this spaceport by +force, as long as I or one of my men remains alive." + +"That's easy. We'll get them afterward," Joe Kivelson shouted. + +"Somebody may. You won't," Ranjit Singh told him. "Van Steen, hit that +ship's boat first, and hit it at the first hostile move anybody in +this mob makes." + +"Yes, sir. With pleasure," another voice replied. + +Nobody in the Rebel Army, if that was what it still was, had any +comment to make on that. Lieutenant Ranjit turned to me. + +"Mr. Boyd," he said. None of this sonny-boy stuff; Ranjit Singh was a +man of dignity, and he respected the dignity of others. "If I admit +you to the spaceport, will you give these people the facts exactly as +you learn them?" + +"That's what the _Times_ always does, Lieutenant." Well, almost all +the facts almost always. + +"Will you people accept what this _Times_ reporter tells you he has +learned?" + +"Yes, of course." That was Oscar Fujisawa. + +"I won't!" That was Joe Kivelson. "He's always taking the part of that +old rumpot of a Bish Ware." + +"Lieutenant, that remark was a slur on my paper, as well as myself," I +said. "Will you permit Captain Kivelson to come in along with me? And +somebody else," I couldn't resist adding, "so that people will believe +him?" + +Ranjit Singh considered that briefly. He wasn't afraid to die--I +believe he was honestly puzzled when he heard people talking about +fear--but his job was to protect some fugitives from a mob, not to die +a useless hero's death. If letting in a small delegation would prevent +an attack on the spaceport without loss of life and ammunition--or +maybe he reversed the order of importance--he was obliged to try it. + +"Yes. You may choose five men to accompany Mr. Boyd," he said. "They +may not bring weapons in with them. Sidearms," he added, "will not +count as weapons." + +After all, a kirpan was a sidearm, and his religion required him to +carry that. The decision didn't make me particularly happy. Respect +for the dignity of others is a fine thing in an officer, but like +journalistic respect for facts, it can be carried past the point of +being a virtue. I thought he was over-estimating Joe Kivelson's +self-control. + +Vehicles in front began grounding, and men got out and bunched +together on the street. Finally, they picked their delegation: Joe +Kivelson, Oscar Fujisawa, Casmir Oughourlian the shipyard man, one of +the engineers at the nutrient plant, and the Reverend Hiram Zilker, +the Orthodox-Monophysite preacher. They all had pistols, even the +Reverend Zilker, so I went back to the jeep and put mine on. Ranjit +Singh had switched his radio off the speaker and was talking to +somebody else. After a while, an olive-green limousine piloted by a +policeman in uniform and helmet floated in and grounded. The six of us +got into it, and it lifted again. + +The car let down in a vehicle hall in the administrative area, and the +police second lieutenant, Chris Xantos, was waiting alone, armed only +with the pistol that was part of his uniform and wearing a beret +instead of a helmet. He spoke to us, and ushered us down a hallway +toward Guido Fieschi's office. + +I get into the spaceport administrative area about once in twenty or +so hours. Oughourlian is a somewhat less frequent visitor. The others +had never been there, and they were visibly awed by all the gleaming +glass and brightwork, and the soft lights and the thick carpets. All +Port Sandor ought to look like this, I thought. It could, and maybe +now it might, after a while. + +There were six chairs in a semicircle facing Guido Fieschi's desk, and +three men sitting behind it. Fieschi, who had changed clothes and +washed since the last time I saw him, sat on the extreme right. +Captain Courtland, with his tight mouth under a gray mustache and the +quadruple row of medal ribbons on his breast, was on the left. In the +middle, the seat of honor, was Bish Ware, looking as though he were +presiding over a church council to try some rural curate for heresy. + +As soon as Joe Kivelson saw him, he roared angrily: + +"There's the dirty traitor who sold us out! He's the worst of the lot; +I wouldn't be surprised if--" + +Bish looked at him like a bishop who has just been contradicted on a +point of doctrine by a choirboy. + +"Be quiet!" he ordered. "I did not follow this man you call Ravick +here to this ... this running-hot-and-cold Paradise planet, and I did +not spend five years fraternizing with its unwashed citizenry and +creating for myself the role of town drunkard of Port Sandor, to have +him taken from me and lynched after I have arrested him. People do not +lynch my prisoners." + +"And who in blazes are you?" Joe demanded. + +Bish took cognizance of the question, if not the questioner. + +"Tell them, if you please, Mr. Fieschi," he said. + +"Well, Mr. Ware is a Terran Federation Executive Special Agent," +Fieschi said. "Captain Courtland and I have known that for the past +five years. As far as I know, nobody else was informed of Mr. Ware's +position." + +After that, you could have heard a gnat sneeze. + +Everybody knows about Executive Special Agents. There are all kinds of +secret agents operating in the Federation--Army and Navy Intelligence, +police of different sorts, Colonial Office agents, private detectives, +Chartered Company agents. But there are fewer Executive Specials than +there are inhabited planets in the Federation. They rank, ex officio, +as Army generals and Space Navy admirals; they have the privilege of +the floor in Parliament, they take orders from nobody but the +President of the Federation. But very few people have ever seen one, +or talked to anybody who has. + +And Bish Ware--_good ol' Bish; he'sh everybodysh frien'_--was one of +them. And I had been trying to make a man of him and reform him. I'd +even thought, if he stopped drinking, he might make a success as a +private detective--at Port Sandor, on Fenris! I wondered what color +my face had gotten now, and I started looking around for a crack in +the floor, to trickle gently and unobtrusively into. + +And it should have been obvious to me, maybe not that he was an +Executive Special, but that he was certainly no drunken barfly. The +way he'd gone four hours without a drink, and seemed to be just as +drunk as ever. That was right--just as drunk as he'd ever been; which +was to say, cold sober. There was the time I'd seen him catch that +falling bottle and set it up. No drunken man could have done that; a +man's reflexes are the first thing to be affected by alcohol. And the +way he shot that tread-snail. I've seen men who could shoot well on +liquor, but not quick-draw stuff. That calls for perfect +co-ordination. And the way he went into his tipsy act at the +_Times_--veteran actor slipping into a well-learned role. + +He drank, sure. He did a lot of drinking. But there are men whose +systems resist the effects of alcohol better than others, and he must +have been an exceptional example of the type, or he'd never have +adopted the sort of cover personality he did. It would have been +fairly easy for him. Space his drinks widely, and never take a drink +unless he _had_ to, to maintain the act. When he was at the Times with +just Dad and me, what did he have? A fruit fizz. + +Well, at least I could see it after I had my nose rubbed in it. Joe +Kivelson was simply gaping at him. The Reverend Zilker seemed to be +having trouble adjusting, too. The shipyard man and the chemical +engineer weren't saying anything, but it had kicked them for a loss, +too. Oscar Fujisawa was making a noble effort to be completely +unsurprised. Oscar is one of our better poker players. + +"I thought it might be something like that," he lied brazenly. "But, +Bish ... Excuse me, I mean, Mr. Ware..." + +"Bish, if you please, Oscar." + +"Bish, what I'd like to know is what you wanted with Ravick," he said. +"They didn't send any Executive Special Agent here for five years to +investigate this tallow-wax racket of his." + +"No. We have been looking for him for a long time. Fifteen years, and +I've been working on it that long. You might say, I have made a career +of him. Steve Ravick is really Anton Gerrit." + +Maybe he was expecting us to leap from our chairs and cry out, "Aha! +The infamous Anton Gerrit! Brought to book at last!" We didn't. We +just looked at one another, trying to connect some meaning to the +name. It was Joe Kivelson, of all people, who caught the first gleam. + +"I know that name," he said. "Something on Loki, wasn't it?" + +Yes; that was it. Now that my nose was rubbed in it again, I got it. + +"The Loki enslavements. Was that it?" I asked. "I read about it, but I +never seem to have heard of Gerrit." + +"He was the mastermind. The ones who were caught, fifteen years ago, +were the underlings, but Ravick was the real Number One. He was +responsible for the enslavement of from twenty to thirty thousand +Lokian natives, gentle, harmless, friendly people, most of whom were +worked to death in the mines." + +No wonder an Executive Special would put in fifteen years looking for +him. You murder your grandmother, or rob a bank, or burn down an +orphanage with the orphans all in bed upstairs, or something trivial +like that, and if you make an off-planet getaway, you're reasonably +safe. Of course there's such a thing as extradition, but who bothers? +Distances are too great, and communication is too slow, and the +Federation depends on every planet to do its own policing. + +But enslavement's something different. The Terran Federation is a +government of and for--if occasionally not by--all sapient peoples of +all races. The Federation Constitution guarantees equal rights to all. +Making slaves of people, human or otherwise, is a direct blow at +everything the Federation stands for. No wonder they kept hunting +fifteen years for the man responsible for the Loki enslavements. + +"Gerrit got away, with a month's start. By the time we had traced him +to Baldur, he had a year's start on us. He was five years ahead of us +when we found out that he'd gone from Baldur to Odin. Six years ago, +nine years after we'd started hunting for him, we decided, from the +best information we could get, that he had left Odin on one of the +local-stop ships for Terra, and dropped off along the way. There are +six planets at which those Terra-Odin ships stop. We sent a man to +each of them. I drew this prize out of the hat. + +"When I landed here, I contacted Mr. Fieschi, and we found that a man +answering to Gerrit's description had come in on the _Peenemuende_ from +Odin seven years before, about the time Gerrit had left Odin. The man +who called himself Steve Ravick. Of course, he didn't look anything +like the pictures of Gerrit, but facial surgery was something we'd +taken for granted he'd have done. I finally managed to get his +fingerprints." + +Special Agent Ware took out a cigar, inspected it with the drunken +oversolemnity he'd been drilling himself into for five years, and lit +it. Then he saw what he was using and rose, holding it out, and I went +to the desk and took back my lighter-weapon. + +"Thank you, Walt. I wouldn't have been able to do this if I hadn't had +that. Where was I? Oh, yes. I got Gerrit-alias-Ravick's fingerprints, +which did not match the ones we had on file for Gerrit, and sent them +in. It was eighteen months later that I got a reply on them. According +to his fingerprints, Steve Ravick was really a woman named Ernestine +Coyon, who had died of acute alcoholism in the free public ward of a +hospital at Paris-on-Baldur fourteen years ago." + +"Why, that's incredible!" the Reverend Zilker burst out, and Joe +Kivelson was saying: "Steve Ravick isn't any woman...." + +"Least of all one who died fourteen years ago," Bish agreed. "But the +fingerprints were hers. A pauper, dying in a public ward of a big +hospital. And a man who has to change his identity, and who has small, +woman-sized hands. And a crooked hospital staff surgeon. You get the +picture now?" + +"They're doing the same thing on Tom's back, right here," I told Joe. +"Only you can't grow fingerprints by carniculture, the way you can +human tissue for grafting. They had to have palm and finger surfaces +from a pair of real human hands. A pauper, dying in a free-treatment +ward, her body shoved into a mass-energy converter." Then I thought +of something else. "That showoff trick of his, crushing out cigarettes +in his palm," I said. + +Bish nodded commendingly. "Exactly. He'd have about as much sensation +in his palms as I'd have wearing thick leather gloves. I'd noticed +that. + +"Well, six months going, and a couple of months waiting on reports +from other planets, and six months coming, and so on, it wasn't until +the _Peenemuende_ got in from Terra, the last time, that I got final +confirmation. Dr. Watson, you'll recall." + +"Who, you perceived, had been in Afghanistan," I mentioned, trying to +salvage something. Showing off. The one I was trying to impress was +Walt Boyd. + +"You caught that? Careless of me," Bish chided himself. "What he gave +me was a report that they had finally located a man who had been a +staff surgeon at this hospital on Baldur at the time. He's now doing a +stretch for another piece of malpractice he was unlucky enough to get +caught at later. We will not admit making deals with any criminals, in +jail or out, but he is willing to testify, and is on his way to Terra +now. He can identify pictures of Anton Gerrit as those of the man he +operated on fourteen years ago, and his testimony and Ernestine +Coyon's fingerprints will identify Ravick as that man. With all the +Colonial Constabulary and Army Intelligence people got on Gerrit on +Loki, simple identification will be enough. Gerrit was proven guilty +long ago, and it won't be any trouble, now, to prove that Ravick is +Gerrit." + +"Why didn't you arrest him as soon as you got the word from your +friend from Afghanistan?" I wanted to know. + +"Good question; I've been asking myself that," Bish said, a trifle +wryly. "If I had, the _Javelin_ wouldn't have been bombed, that wax +wouldn't have been burned, and Tom Kivelson wouldn't have been +injured. What I did was send my friend, who is a Colonial Constabulary +detective, to Gimli, the next planet out. There's a Navy base there, +and always at least a couple of destroyers available. He's coming back +with one of them to pick Gerrit up and take him to Terra. They ought +to be in in about two hundred and fifty hours. I thought it would be +safer all around to let Gerrit run loose till then. There's no place +he could go. + +"What I didn't realize, at the time, was what a human H-bomb this man +Murell would turn into. Then everything blew up at once. Finally, I +was left with the choice of helping Gerrit escape from Hunters' Hall +or having him lynched before I could arrest him." He turned to +Kivelson. "In the light of what you knew, I don't blame you for +calling me a dirty traitor." + +"But how did I know..." Kivelson began. + +"That's right. You weren't supposed to. That was before you found out. +You ought to have heard what Gerrit and Belsher--as far as I know, +that is his real name--called me after they found out, when they got +out of that jeep and Captain Courtland's men snapped the handcuffs on +them. It even shocked a hardened sinner like me." + +There was a lot more of it. Bish had managed to get into Hunters' Hall +just about the time Al Devis and his companion were starting the fire +Ravick--Gerrit--had ordered for a diversion. The whole gang was going +to crash out as soon as the fire had attracted everybody away. Bish +led them out onto the Second Level Down, sleep-gassed the lone man in +the jeep, and took them to the spaceport, where the police were +waiting for them. + +As soon as I'd gotten everything, I called the _Times_. I'd had my +radio on all the time, and it had been coming in perfectly. Dad, I was +happy to observe, was every bit as flabbergasted as I had been at who +and what Bish Ware was. He might throw my campaign to reform Bish up +at me later on, but at the moment he wasn't disposed to, and I was +praising Allah silently that I hadn't had a chance to mention the +detective agency idea to him. That would have been a little too much. + +"What are they doing about Belsher and Hallstock?" he asked. + +"Belsher goes back to Terra with Ravick. Gerrit, I mean. That's where +he collected his cut on the tallow-wax, so that is where he'd have to +be tried. Bish is convinced that somebody in Kapstaad Chemical must +have been involved, too. Hallstock is strictly a local matter." + +"That's about what I thought. With all this interstellar +back-and-forth, it'll be a long time before we'll be able to write +thirty under the story." + +"Well, we can put thirty under the Steve Ravick story," I said. + +Then it hit me. The Steve Ravick story was finished; that is, the +local story of racketeer rule in the Hunters' Co-operative. But the +Anton Gerrit story was something else. That was Federation-wide news; +the end of a fifteen-year manhunt for the most wanted criminal in the +known Galaxy. And who had that story, right in his hot little hand? +Walter Boyd, the ace--and only--reporter for the mighty Port Sandor +_Times_. + +"Yes," I continued. "The Ravick story's finished. But we still have +the Anton Gerrit story, and I'm going to work on it right now." + + + + +20 + +FINALE + + +They had Tom Kivelson in a private room at the hospital; he was +sitting up in a chair, with a lot of pneumatic cushions around him, +and a lunch tray on his lap. He looked white and thin. He could move +one arm completely, but the bandages they had loaded him with seemed +to have left the other free only at the elbow. He was concentrating on +his lunch, and must have thought I was one of the nurses, or a doctor, +or something of the sort. + +"Are you going to let me have a cigarette and a cup of coffee, when +I'm through with this?" he asked. + +"Well, I don't have any coffee, but you can have one of my +cigarettes," I said. + +Then he looked up and gave a whoop. "Walt! How'd you get in here? I +thought they weren't going to let anybody in to see me till this +afternoon." + +"Power of the press," I told him. "Bluff, blarney, and blackmail. How +are they treating you?" + +"Awful. Look what they gave me for lunch. I thought we were on short +rations down on Hermann Reuch's Land. How's Father?" + +"He's all right. They took the splint off, but he still has to carry +his arm in a sling." + +"Lucky guy; he can get around on his feet, and I'll bet he isn't +starving, either. You know, speaking about food, I'm going to feel +like a cannibal eating carniculture meat, now. My whole back's +carniculture." He filled his mouth with whatever it was they were +feeding him and asked, through it: "Did I miss Steve Ravick's +hanging?" + +I was horrified. "Haven't these people told you anything?" I demanded. + +"Nah; they wouldn't even tell me the right time. Afraid it would +excite me." + +So I told him; first who Bish Ware really was, and then who Ravick +really was. He gaped for a moment, and then shoveled in more food. + +"Go on; what happened?" + +I told him how Bish had smuggled Gerrit and Leo Belsher out on Second +Level Down and gotten them to the spaceport, where Courtland's men had +been waiting for them. + +"Gerrit's going to Terra, and from there to Loki. They want the +natives to see what happens to a Terran who breaks Terran law; teach +them that our law isn't just to protect us. Belsher's going to Terra, +too. There was a big ship captains' meeting; they voted to reclaim +their wax and sell it individually to Murell, but to retain membership +in the Co-op. They think they'll have to stay in the Co-op to get +anything that's gettable out of Gerrit's and Belsher's money. Oscar +Fujisawa and Cesario Vieira are going to Terra on the _Cape Canaveral_ +to start suit to recover anything they can, and also to petition for +reclassification of Fenris. Oscar's coming back on the next ship, but +Cesario's going to stay on as the Co-op representative. I suppose he +and Linda will be getting married." + +"Natch. They'll both stay on Terra, I suppose. Hey, whattaya know! +Cesario's getting off Fenris without having to die and reincarnate." + +He finished his lunch, such as it was and what there was of it, and I +relieved him of the tray and set it on the floor beyond his chair. I +found an ashtray and lit a cigarette for him and one for myself, using +the big lighter. Tom looked at it dubiously, predicting that sometime +I'd push the wrong thing and send myself bye-byes for a couple of +hours. I told him how Bish had used it. + +"Bet a lot of people wanted to hang him, too, before they found out +who he was and what he'd really done. What's my father think of Bish, +now?" + +"Bish Ware is a great and good man, and the savior of Fenris," I said. +"And he was real smart, to keep an act like that up for five years. +Your father modestly admits that it even fooled him." + +"Bet Oscar Fujisawa knew it all along." + +"Well, Oscar modestly admits that he suspected something of the sort, +but he didn't feel it was his place to say anything." + +Tom laughed, and then wanted to know if they were going to hang Mort +Hallstock. "I hope they wait till I can get out of here." + +"No, Odin Dock & Shipyard claim he's a political refugee and they +won't give him up. They did loan us a couple of accountants to go over +the city books, to see if we could find any real evidence of +misappropriation, and whattaya know, there were no city books. The +city of Port Sandor didn't keep books. We can't even take that three +hundred thousand sols away from him; for all we can prove, he saved +them out of his five-thousand-sol-a-year salary. He's shipping out on +the _Cape Canaveral_, too." + +"Then we don't have any government at all!" + +"Are you fooling yourself we ever had one?" + +"No, but--" + +"Well, we have one now. A temporary dictatorship; Bish Ware is +dictator. Fieschi loaned him Ranjit Singh and some of his men. The +first thing he did was gather up the city treasurer and the chief of +police and march them to the spaceport; Fieschi made Hallstock buy +them tickets, too. But there aren't going to be any unofficial +hangings. This is a law-abiding planet, now." + +A nurse came in, and disapproved of Tom smoking and of me being in the +room at all. + +"Haven't you had your lunch yet?" she asked Tom. + +He looked at her guilelessly and said, "No; I was waiting for it." + +"Well, I'll get it," she said. "I thought the other nurse had brought +it." She started out, and then she came back and had to fuss with his +cushions, and then she saw the tray on the floor. + +"You did so have your lunch!" she accused. + +Tom looked at her as innocently as ever. "Oh, you mean these samples? +Why, they were good; I'll take all of them. And a big slab of roast +beef, and brown gravy, and mashed potatoes. And how about some ice +cream?" + +It was a good try; too bad it didn't work. + +"Don't worry, Tom," I told him. "I'll get my lawyer to spring you out +of this jug, and then we'll take you to my place and fill you up on +Mrs. Laden's cooking." + +The nurse sniffed. She suspected, quite correctly, that whoever Mrs. +Laden was, she didn't know anything about scientific dietetics. + + * * * * * + +When I got back to the _Times_, Dad and Julio had had their lunch and +were going over the teleprint edition. Julio was printing corrections +on blank sheets of plastic and Dad was cutting them out and cementing +them over things that needed correcting on the master sheets. I gave +Julio a short item to the effect that Tom Kivelson, son of Captain and +Mrs. Joe Kivelson, one of the _Javelin_ survivors who had been burned +in the tallow-wax fire, was now out of all danger, and recovering. Dad +was able to scrounge that onto the first page. + +There was a lot of other news. The T.F.N. destroyer _Simon Bolivar_, +en route from Gimli to pick up the notorious Anton Gerrit, alias Steve +Ravick, had come out of hyperspace and into radio range. Dad had +talked to the skipper by screen and gotten interviews, which would be +telecast, both with him and Detective-Major MacBride of the Colonial +Constabulary. The _Simon Bolivar_ would not make landing, but go into +orbit and send down a boat. Detective-Major MacBride (alias Dr. John +Watson) would remain on Fenris to take over local police activities. + +More evidence had been unearthed at Hunters' Hall on the frauds +practiced by Leo Belsher and Gerrit-alias-Ravick; it looked as though +a substantial sum of money might be recovered, eventually, from the +bank accounts and other holdings of both men on Terra. Acting +Resident-Agent Gonzalo Ware--Ware, it seemed, really was his right +name, but look what he had in front of it--had promulgated more +regulations and edicts, and a crackdown on the worst waterfront dives +was in progress. I'll bet the devoted flock was horrified at what +their beloved bishop had turned into. Bish would leave his diocese in +a lot healthier condition than he'd found it, that was one thing for +sure. And most of the gang of thugs and plug-uglies who had been used +to intimidate and control the Hunters' Co-operative had been gathered +up and jailed on vagrancy charges; prisoners were being put to work +cleaning up the city. + +And there was a lot about plans for a registration of voters, and +organization of election boards, and a local electronics-engineering +firm had been awarded a contract for voting machines. I didn't think +there had ever been a voting machine on Fenris before. + +"The commander of the _Bolivar_ says he'll take your story to Terra +with him, and see that it gets to Interworld News," Dad told me as we +were sorting the corrected master sheets and loading them into the +photoprint machine, to be sent out on the air. "The _Bolivar_'ll make +Terra at least two hundred hours ahead of the _Cape Canaveral_. +Interworld will be glad to have it. It isn't often they get a story +like that with the first news of anything, and this'll be a big +story." + +"You shouldn't have given me the exclusive by-line," I said. "You did +as much work on it as I did." + +"No, I didn't, either," he contradicted, "and I knew what I was +doing." + +With the work done, I remembered that I hadn't had anything to eat +since breakfast, and I went down to take inventory of the +refrigerator. Dad went along with me, and after I had assembled a +lunch and sat down to it, he decided that his pipe needed refilling, +lit it, poured a cup of coffee and sat down with me. + +"You know, Walt, I've been thinking, lately," he began. + +Oh-oh, I thought. When Dad makes that remark, in just that tone, it's +all hands to secure ship for diving. + +"We've all had to do a lot of thinking, lately," I agreed. + +"Yes. You know, they want me to be mayor of Port Sandor." + +I nodded and waited till I got my mouth empty. I could see a lot of +sense in that. Dad is honest and scrupulous and public-spirited; too +much so, sometimes, for his own good. There wasn't any question of his +ability, and while there had always been antagonism between the +hunter-ship crews and waterfront people and the uptown business crowd, +Dad was well liked and trusted by both parties. + +"Are you going to take it?" I asked. + +"I suppose I'll have to, if they really want me. Be a sort of +obligation." + +That would throw a lot more work on me. Dad could give some attention +to the paper as mayor, but not as much as now. + +"What do you want me to try to handle for you?" I asked. + +"Well, Walt, that's what I've been thinking about," he said. "I've +been thinking about it for a long time, and particularly since things +got changed around here. I think you ought to go to school some more." + +That made me laugh. "What, back to Hartzenbosch?" I asked. "I could +teach him more than he could teach me, now." + +"I doubt that, Walt. Professor Hartzenbosch may be an old maid in +trousers, but he's really a very sound scholar. But I wasn't thinking +about that. I was thinking about your going to Terra to school." + +"Huh?" I forgot to eat, for a moment. "Let's stop kidding." + +"I didn't start kidding; I meant it." + +"Well, think again, Dad. It costs money to go to school on Terra. It +even costs money to go to Terra." + +"We have a little money, Walt. Maybe more than you think we do. And +with things getting better, we'll lease more teleprinters and get more +advertising. You're likely to get better than the price of your +passage out of that story we're sending off on the _Bolivar_, and that +won't be the end of it, either. Fenris is going to be in the news for +a while. You may make some more money writing. That's why I was +careful to give you the by-line on that Gerrit story." His pipe had +gone out again; he took time out to relight it, and then added: +"Anything I spend on this is an investment. The _Times_ will get it +back." + +"Yes, that's another thing; the paper," I said. "If you're going to be +mayor, you won't be able to do everything you're doing on the paper +now, and then do all my work too." + +"Well, shocking as the idea may be, I think we can find somebody to +replace you." + +"Name one," I challenged. + +"Well, Lillian Arnaz, at the Library, has always been interested in +newspaper work," he began. + +"A girl!" I hooted. "You have any idea of some of the places I have to +go to get stories?" + +"Yes. I have always deplored the necessity. But a great many of them +have been closed lately, and the rest are being run in a much more +seemly manner. And she wouldn't be the only reporter. I hesitate to +give you any better opinion of yourself than you have already, but it +would take at least three people to do the work you've been doing. +When you get back from Terra, you'll find the _Times_ will have a very +respectable reportorial staff." + +"What'll I be, then?" I wondered. + +"Editor," Dad told me. "I'll retire and go into politics full time. +And if Fenris is going to develop the way I believe it will, the +editor of the _Times_ will need a much better education than I have." + +I kept on eating, to give myself an excuse for silence. He was right, +I knew that. But college on Terra; why, that would be at least four +years, maybe five, and then a year for the round trip.... + +"Walt, this doesn't have to be settled right away," Dad said. "You +won't be going on the _Simon Bolivar_, along with Ravick and Belsher. +And that reminds me. Have you talked to Bish lately? He'd be hurt if +you didn't see him before he left." + + * * * * * + +The truth was, I'd been avoiding Bish, and not just because I knew how +busy he was. My face felt like a tallow-wax fire every time I thought +of how I'd been trying to reform him, and I didn't quite know what I'd +be able to say to him if I met him again. And he seemed to me to be an +entirely different person, as though the old Bish Ware, whom I had +liked in spite of what I'd thought he was, had died, and some total +stranger had taken his place. + +But I went down to the Municipal Building. It didn't look like the +same place. The walls had been scrubbed; the floors were free from +litter. All the drove of loafers and hangers-on had been run out, or +maybe jailed and put to work. I looked into a couple of offices; +everybody in them was busy. A few of the old police force were still +there, but their uniforms had been cleaned and pressed, they had all +shaved recently, and one or two looked as though they liked being able +to respect themselves, for a change. + +The girl at the desk in the mayor's outside office told me Bish had a +delegation of uptown merchants, who seemed to think that reform was +all right in its place but it oughtn't to be carried more than a few +blocks above the waterfront. They were protesting the new sanitary +regulations. Then she buzzed Bish on the handphone, and told me he'd +see me in a few minutes. After a while, I heard the delegation going +down the hall from the private office door. One of them was saying: + +"Well, this is what we've always been screaming our heads off for. Now +we've got it good and hard; we'll just have to get used to it." + +When I went in, Bish rose from his desk and came to meet me, shaking +my hand. He looked and was dressed like the old Bish Ware I'd always +known. + +"Glad you dropped in, Walt. Find a seat. How are things on the +_Times_?" + +"You ought to know. You're making things busy for us." + +"Yes. There's so much to do, and so little time to do it. Seems as +though I've heard somebody say that before." + +"Are you going back to Terra on the _Simon Bolivar_?" + +"Oh, Allah forbid! I made a trip on a destroyer, once, and once is +enough for a lifetime. I won't even be able to go on the _Cape +Canaveral_; I'll take the _Peenemuende_ when she gets in. I'm glad +MacBride--Dr. Watson--is going to stop off. He'll be a big help. Don't +know what I'd have done without Ranjit Singh." + +"That won't be till after the _Cape Canaveral_ gets back from Terra." + +"No. That's why I'm waiting. Don't publish this, Walt, I don't want to +start any premature rumors that might end in disappointments, but I've +recommended immediate reclassification to Class III, and there may be +a Colonial Office man on the _Cape Canaveral_ when she gets in. +Resident-Agent, permanent. I hope so; he'll need a little breaking +in." + +"I saw Tom Kivelson this morning," I said. "He seems to be getting +along pretty well." + +"Didn't anybody at the hospital tell you about him?" Bish asked. + +I shook my head. He cursed all hospital staffs. + +"I wish military security was half as good. Why, Tom's permanently +injured. He won't be crippled, or anything like that, but there was +considerable unrepairable damage to his back muscles. He'll be able to +get around, but I doubt it he'll ever be able to work on a hunter-ship +again." + +I was really horrified. Monster-hunting was Tom's whole life. I said +something like that. + +"He'll just have to make a new life for himself. Joe says he's going +to send him to school on Terra. He thinks that was his own idea, but I +suggested it to him." + +"Dad wants me to go to school on Terra." + +"Well, that's a fine idea. Tom's going on the _Peenemuende_, along with +me. Why don't you come with us?" + +"That would be great, Bish. I'd like it. But I just can't." + +"Why not?" + +"Well, they want Dad to be mayor, and if he runs, they'll all vote for +him. He can't handle this and the paper both alone." + +"He can get help on both jobs." + +"Yes, but ... Why, it would be years till I got back. I can't +sacrifice the time. Not now." + +"I'd say six years. You can spend your voyage time from here cramming +for entrance qualifications. Schools don't bother about academic +credits any more; they're only interested in how much you know. You +take four years' regular college, and a year postgrading, and you'll +have all the formal education you'll need." + +"But, Bish, I can get that here, at the Library," I said. "We have +every book on film that's been published since the Year Zero." + +"Yes. And you'd die of old age before you got a quarter through the +first film bank, and you still wouldn't have an education. Do you know +which books to study, and which ones not to bother with? Or which ones +to read first, so that what you read in the others will be +comprehensible to you? That's what they'll give you on Terra. The +tools, which you don't have now, for educating yourself." + +I thought that over. It made sense. I'd had a lot of the very sort of +trouble he'd spoken of, trying to get information for myself in proper +order, and I'd read a lot of books that duplicated other books I'd +read, and books I had trouble understanding because I hadn't read some +other book first. Bish had something there. I was sure he had. But six +years! + +I said that aloud, and added: "I can't take the time. I have to be +doing things." + +"You'll do things. You'll do them a lot better for waiting those six +years. You aren't eighteen yet. Six years is a whole third of your +past life. No wonder it seems long to you. But you're thinking the +wrong way; you're relating those six years to what has passed. Relate +them to what's ahead of you, and see how little time they are. You +take ordinary care of yourself and keep out of any more civil wars, +and you have sixty more years, at least. Your six years at school are +only one-tenth of that. I was fifty when I came here to this Creator's +blunder of a planet. Say I had only twenty more years; I spent a +quarter of them playing town drunk here. I'm the one who ought to be +in a rush and howling about lost time, not you. I ought to be in such +a hurry I'd take the _Simon Bolivar_ to Terra and let this place go +to--to anywhere you might imagine to be worse." + +"You know, I don't think you like Fenris." + +"I don't. If I were a drinking man, this planet would have made a +drunkard of me. Now, you forget about these six years chopped out of +your busy life. When you get back here, with an education, you'll be a +kid of twenty-four, with a big long life ahead of you and your mind +stocked with things you don't have now that will help you make +something--and more important, something enjoyable--out of it." + + * * * * * + +There was a huge crowd at the spaceport to see us off, Tom and Bish +Ware and me. Mostly, it was for Bish. If I don't find a monument to +him when I get back, I'll know there is no such thing as gratitude. +There had been a big banquet for us the evening before, and I think +Bish actually got a little tipsy. Nobody can be sure, though; it might +have been just the old actor back in his role. Now they were all +crowding around us, as many as could jam in, in the main lounge of the +_Peenemuende_. Joe Kivelson and his wife. Dad and Julio and Mrs. Laden, +who was actually being cordial to Bish, and who had a bundle for us +that we weren't to open till we were in hyperspace. Lillian Arnaz, the +girl who was to take my place as star reporter. We were going to send +each other audiovisuals; advice from me on the job, and news from the +_Times_ from her. Glenn Murell, who had his office open by now and was +grumbling that there had been a man from Interstellar Import-Export +out on the _Cape Canaveral_, and if the competition got any stiffer +the price of tallow-wax would be forced up on him to a sol a pound. +And all the _Javelin_ hands who had been wrecked with us on Hermann +Reuch's Land, and the veterans of the Civil War, all but Oscar and +Cesario, who will be at the dock to meet us when we get to Terra. + +I wonder what it'll be like, on a world where you go to bed every time +it gets dark and get up when it gets light, and can go outdoors all +the time. I wonder how I'll like college, and meeting people from all +over the Federation, and swapping tall stories about our home planets. + +And I wonder what I'll learn. The long years ahead, I can't imagine +them now, will be spent on the _Times_, and I ought to learn things to +fit me for that. But I can't get rid of the idea about carniculture +growth of tallow-wax. We'll have to do something like that. The demand +for the stuff is growing, and we don't know how long it'll be before +the monsters are hunted out. We know how fast we're killing them, but +we don't know how many there are or how fast they breed. I'll talk to +Tom about that; maybe between us we can hit on something, or at least +lay a foundation for somebody else who will. + +The crowd pushed out and off the ship, and the three of us were alone, +here in the lounge of the _Peenemuende_, where the story started and +where it ends. Bish says no story ends, ever. He's wrong. Stories die, +and nothing in the world is deader than a dead news story. But before +they do, they hatch a flock of little ones, and some of them grow into +bigger stories still. What happens after the ship lifts into the +darkness, with the pre-dawn glow in the east, will be another, a new, +story. + +But to the story of how the hunters got an honest co-operative and +Fenris got an honest government, and Bish Ware got Anton Gerrit the +slaver, I can write + +"The End." + + * * * * * + +_THE WORLDS OF H. BEAM PIPER_ + +FOUR-DAY PLANET ... where the killing heat of a thousand-hour "day" +drives men underground, and the glorious hundred-hour sunset is +followed by a thousand-hour night so cold that only an Extreme +Environment Suit can preserve the life of anyone caught outside. + +and + +LONE STAR PLANET ... a planet-full of Texans--they firmly believe they +live on the biggest, strongest, best planet in the galaxy. They herd +cattle the size of boxcars for a living, and they defy the Solar +League to prove that New Texas has even the slightest need of the +"protection" that a bunch of diplomatic sissies can offer. + +BRAVE NEW WORLDS FROM THE +CREATOR OF "LITTLE FUZZY" + +--TOGETHER IN ONE VOLUME-- + + +Also by H. Beam Piper + +LITTLE FUZZY +FUZZY SAPIENS +SPACE VIKING +THE COSMIC COMPUTER + +all from Ace Science Fiction + + +ACE +SCIENCE +FICTION + + * * * * * + + +Four-Day Planet + +Fenris isn't a hell planet, but it's nobody's bargain. With 2,000-hour +days and an 8,000-hour year, it alternates blazing heat with killing +cold. A planet like that tends to breed a special kind of person: +tough enough to stay alive and smart enough to make the best of it. +When that kind of person discovers he's being cheated of wealth he's +risked his life for, that kind of planet is ripe for revolution. + + +Lone Star Planet + +New Texas: its citizens figure that name about says it all. The Solar +League ambassador to the Lone Star Planet has the unenviable task of +convincing New Texans that a s'Srauff attack is imminent, and +dangerous. Unfortunately it's common knowledge that the s'Srauff are +evolved from canine ancestors--and not a Texan alive is about to be +scared of a talking dog! But unless he can get them to act, and fast, +there won't be a Texan alive, scared or otherwise! + + * * * * * + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Four-Day Planet, by Henry Beam Piper + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR-DAY PLANET *** + +***** This file should be named 19478.txt or 19478.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/4/7/19478/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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