Battle for the Stars: The Space Opera Classic Page 10

  Lyllin met him at the door. “No one?"

  "No one,” he said. “What's the matter with Brescnik? A flitter will have trouble locating this place, if a storm comes up, and—"

  A flash and then a crash of thunder interrupted him. Birrel swore. “That's fine."

  "It won't last long, will it?” said Lyllin.

  He gloomily said that he wished he knew. At that moment they heard a scratching and mewing outside the door.

  "The cat,” said Lyllin. “I think it's scared of the storm and wants in."

  "Let it go to the barn,” he said.

  Lyllin smiled, and went to the door and opened it. The black cat stalked in, keeping well away from her, with its tail erect and a general look of being annoyed at the delay in answering the door.

  Birrel started to say that for sheer insolence the cats of Earth took the palm, but another crash interrupted him and this time the old house shook to its foundations. The thunder came closer quickly, and now the flashes of lightning outside the rain-dashed windows were blinding.

  Then as the uproar lulled for a moment, he thought he heard the buzz of a flitter close overhead. He raced back through the kitchen to the porch, and by another world-illumining flash he glimpsed the flitter making a rough landing between the house and the barn..

  Birrel waited for the next flash. It showed two men climbing out of the flitter. He raised his shocker.

  The two were running toward him through the rain, but it was too dark to see their faces. Why didn't another flash come? Then one did, and he saw them clear and close.

  One was Joe Garstang. The other was a young officer with the badge of a Technic-First-Class, who looked a bit scared as they ran up onto the porch out of the smashing rain. Garstang shook himself and growled, “I've seen worse storms on other worlds, but I never saw one come up so bloody quick."

  "What are you doing here?” demanded Birrel. “Why aren't you with your ship?"

  "Brescnik told me to come along. By the way, this is your vera-probe operator. Vathis, T-first-class."

  "Why did Brescnik send you? What's wrong?"

  Garstang waited until the reverberations of another crash of thunder died away, and the old house stopped shaking. Then he said, with a puzzled look on his broad face, “We're not sure anything's wrong. But Brescnik's worried. Traffic—normal merchant traffic—is only running one way down at that spaceport. Ships keep going out, but none come in."

  He paused, then added, “Brescnik thinks that the UW authorities are quietly evacuating the space port."

  Birrel thought of that, and he did not like the shape or sound of it.

  He asked, “You haven't any evidence why?"

  Garstang shook his head. “Not a glimmer. All we have is a guess. You know what that guess is."

  Birrel knew. If Charteris and Mallinson and the rest had some foreknowledge that Orion squadrons were on their way to strike, they'd get their ships off the spaceport. And if that was what it was, he had better get the Fifth off too.

  But he would be going blind, if he took off now, with no information as to Orion's plans. His worries had suddenly increased tenfold, but he had to delay long enough to probe Tauncer.

  He told Garstang rapidly about Tauncer. Without waiting for Garstang's reaction to that, he turned to young Vathis.

  "You come along. I want the probe set up and used as quickly as possible."

  They went to the living-room. Lyllin sat composedly there and Birrel noticed that the cat was sitting across the room from her, pricking up his ears at each crash of thunder. Garstang went over to speak to Lyllin, but Birrel took the young technician to the vera-probe in the corner.

  "How long will it take you to set it up?"

  Vathis looked over the apparatus. “It seems a conventional hook-up. Fifteen minutes."

  "Make it ten,” said Birrel. Then he said, “Make it five.” At that moment, in the comparative lull between the crashes of the receding storm, there came a clangorous peal from the old-fashioned doorbell.

  "You expecting somebody else?” said Garstang.

  "Oh, Lord,” said Birrel. “That'll be Vinson, he said he'd come back. A neighbor here. You go ahead and get the probe ready, I'll get rid of him."

  He hurried to the door and opened it. But the man standing outside it was not Vinson.

  It was Mallinson. And despite the fact that he wore a streaming slicker, the tall, young bureaucrat looked as elegant as ever. He walked coolly in past the stricken Birrel, saw Lyllin and bowed to her, and then turned around. He said, “So this is Ferdias little spy-nest on Earth? Very clever, Commander."

  There was, Birrel realized, not the slightest use in lying. Mallinson's glance through the open door of the next room, at Joe Garstang and the uniformed young technician and the partly set-up vera-probe, had ended the possibility of that. There was nothing Birrel could say. But there might be something he could do.

  He reached into the pocket that contained the shocker. Mallinson, who was taking off his wet slicker, did not turn toward him but said casually, “Perhaps I should say that I have a number of men outside. I'm afraid they're getting pretty wet."

  CHAPTER 14

  Birrel took his hand away from his pocket. He knew now that he was in real trouble and that force would not get him out of it. He had to talk fast and make the other believe him, but he did not know how much chance there was of that.

  Mallinson was looking around the room and its old-fashioned furniture.

  "The old, ancestral home,” he said. “How natural that you should want to see where your people came from on Earth. What a laudable sentiment"

  His voice suddenly became cutting and his bitter hostility came through. “I never did buy that, Commander, not for one minute. And when we got a report that officers of your squadron had come up here to huddle with you, I knew I was right—that your sentimental pilgrimage was just to cover up while you stabbed Earth in the back."

  Birrel got angry. “No one is stabbing Earth in the back. At least, none of us."

  "'Ah, yes,” Mallinson said ironically. “Lyra is wholly innocent. It's Orion that has intentions on us and you're trying to protect us. Isn't that your line?"

  Birrel controlled his anger. Shouting was not going to get him anywhere.

  "It's not just my line, it's the truth,” he said. “I was just going to prove it, when you came. I would have called you as soon as we had proof to show you."

  "Proof of what?"

  "Proof of what Solleremos is planning. We've caught Tauncer, his ace agent. We're going to use the vera-probe to question him."

  "We'll do the questioning ourselves, in New York,” Mallinson said grimly. “After we've dealt with you and your squadron."

  "Dealt with—” Birrel stopped, feeling a chill as though a cold hand had grasped him. He asked evenly, “What do you mean? About dealing with the Fifth?"

  "Your squadron is going to be disarmed,” Mallinson said incisively. “It's not going to carry out the mission Ferdias gave you. We've brought in missile-launchers all around the spaceport and have cleared away all traffic. Tonight your officers will be given ten minutes to evacuate all ships. Oh, yes, we're well aware that you're on Ready—and if they don't comply, the Fifth Lyra will be destroyed."

  "Talk,” said Birrel between his teeth. “You wouldn't dare. You know it would mean instant war between the UW and Lyra."

  "Is this what you call peace?” Mallinson demanded harshly. “A powerful task-force coming to Earth under pretext of a friendly call, and preparing to take over our planet?"

  "Damn it, we've no such plans, it's Solleremos who plans that,” Birrel exclaimed. “And if you disarm the Fifth and Orion's squadrons come—"

  He could not finish. The words he spoke brought him such a nightmare vision of the Orionid ships sweeping in, of the disarmed cruisers and transports of the Fifth disappearing in a storm of smoke and fire, that he could not go on.

  "We're taking no chances,” Mallinson was saying implacably.
“The Fifth Lyra will be disarmed. You and everyone else in this house are in custody, as of now."

  "You're taking no chances,” mocked Birrel, raging. “You're throwing away your planet, that's all. Good God, man, think! If I'm right, if Orion is planning a grab, you're paralyzing the only force that might be able to stop them."

  "There's the UW fleet—” Mallinson began, but Birrel interrupted savagely.

  "Solleremos will eat it up, and you know it. No matter how loyal you are to Earth, you've got to admit that her fleet can't face two heavy Orionid squadrons for ten minutes."

  A look of anxiety shaded Mallinson's face for a moment. But he said doggedly, “We'll have to do what we can. We'll fight enemies if they come, but we'll make sure first we're not attacked from behind."

  He went toward the door. “I'm calling my men in now. There will be no violence, unless you provoke it."

  Birrel sprang desperately after him and caught him by the arm. “Mallinson, listen! Forget for now what you think of me. Just think of this: If Orion has mounted a strike against you, can you wait till we get back to New York to find out? A few hours could be too late!"

  Mallinson looked around at him sharply. “What are you getting at?"

  "This—we've got Tauncer in there. We've got a vera-probe and a man to operate it. Don't you want to know right now what's coming from Orion? Or would you prefer to take the chance of being clobbered?"

  Mallinson hesitated, with indecision in his attitude for the first time. “What the devil can you lose?” Birrel demanded.

  Mallinson decided. “All right, we'll question this man you say is an agent of Orion. But one of my own men will operate the probe,"

  He went to the door and called outside. The storm had receded to a dull, distant rumble, but clouds still darkened the sky and a drizzling rain still fell. A bard-looking Earthman in a slicker came up onto the porch, and Mallinson spoke with him, and he nodded and went out onto the grounds again.

  Mallinson turned. “Let's see this man."

  When they went into the rear bedroom, Tauncer's eyes flew to Mallinson. Birrel almost admired the lightning speed with which Tauncer reacted.

  "Secretary Mallinson!” he exclaimed. A look of shaky relief crossed his face. “Thank God you've come! This Lyran commander must be crazy. He attacked us, tied us up here—"

  Mallinson interrupted, saying flatly, “He claims that you're Orionid spies."

  "Spies?” Sheer astonishment showed in Tauncer's face. “I don't know what this is all about."

  Harper said loudly and aggrievedly, “I'm a UW citizen! Are you going to let him do this to one of your own citizens?"

  Birrel was prepared to see Mallinson waver, but there was tougher stuff in this young diplomat than he had anticipated.

  "If you're innocent, you'll be out of here soon,” he told them. “But, first, you're going to be probed.” And as a middle-aged Earthman came in with the vera-probe he said to him, nodding at Tauncer, “This one first."

  "I protest this!” cried Tauncer. “Use of a probe on an unwilling subject is forbidden by every law in the galaxy!"

  "Lots of things are against the law,” Mallinson said coolly. “Go ahead, Kane."

  Kane, the Earthman, touched the switches. The projector started buzzing.

  Tauncer could not move his body, but he rolled his head back and forth rapidly. But Kane was an expert operator. He kept the invisible beam of the probe swivelling to follow Tauncer's movements.

  Tauncer's face was briefly strained and then it went slack and his eyes lost their keen brilliance, becoming vague and unfocused.

  "Under control,” said Kane.

  "Tauncer,” said Mallinson sharply. “Can you hear me?"

  "Yes."

  "Is Solleremos planning to take Earth into his Sector?"

  Some dim vestige of a censor barrier seemed to survive in Tauncer's mind, because there was a long delay and Mallinson asked the question again, more loudly. But when the answer came, it was clear enough.

  "Yes."

  "How long has he been planning this?"

  "Years."

  "But he's going to move now?"

  "Yes."

  "Why right now?"

  "Because,” answered Tauncer's stiff voice, “if he doesn't, Ferdias will grab Earth first."

  There was a long silence. Mallinson turned and looked at Birrel with a fiery light in his eyes. Birrel exclaimed, “He's lying, the probe's not completely efficient."

  Kane, the operator, looked up from the projector and said coldly, “It's one hundred per cent."

  Mallinson, after that long, furious look at Birrel turned back to the man on the bed. He asked, “How will he do it?"

  "Direct attack. The UW naval forces are negligible. Lyra's Fifth Squadron will be caught surprised and disorganized by absence of command."

  "Absence of command,” repeated Mallinson. “That's why you're here, then?"

  "Yes."

  "You were going to probe Birrel and then kill him?"

  "Yes."

  Mallinson hunched forward a little as he asked the next question, and his voice was sharp and penetrating.

  "What is Orion's attack plan? From what direction will those two squadrons come in to Earth?"

  They waited tensely for the answer to that. But Tauncer replied readily in the monotonous voice, “I don't know."

  Birrel exclaimed, “He's lying! I told you control wasn't complete. He has to know—"

  Kane said stiffly, I know how to use a probe. He's under complete control."

  "But—” Birrel began.

  Mallinson waved him back. “Let me do this, Birrel. If you please."

  He spoke sharply to Tauncer again. “Why don't you know the attack plan, when you've been here as advance agent for it?"

  "Because,” said Tauncer, “it would be too risky. If I were caught and probed, it would give the whole thing away.

  Mallinson drew back. He looked at Birrel and said, “It makes sense. And we can't get out of him what he doesn't know."

  "All right,” said Birrel. “So he doesn't know. Still he had to get word to the Orion force that things here are clear, that my squadron is immobilized. How was he going to get word to them if he didn't know where they were? Ask him that."

  Mallinson asked him. And Tauncer answered.

  "The long-range scout-craft that brought me secretly to Earth has been waiting to come and take me off again, hiding a good way out in space—"

  Mallinson interrupted. “Hiding? How could it hide from our radar watch?"

  "Easily. It's been lying up against the asteroid Hermes. It ... it..."

  Tauncer stuttered and fell silent. Kane, the man operating the probe, spoke stiffly to Mallinson.

  "I can't guarantee responses if you interrupt the subject's answers, sir."

  "Sorry,” muttered Mallinson. He waited a moment, then asked, “Go ahead, Tauncer. How were you to contact the Orion force?"

  Tauncer mechanically repeated his former statement first. “The long-range scout-craft that brought me secretly to Earth has been waiting to come and take me off again, hiding a good way out in space. After I swept this house with the sonic beam, I called the scout by long-range Porto last night. It's to come tonight and take me off. It will take me to the task-force."

  So that was it, Birrel thought. That was who Tauncer had been expecting, and waiting for. But...

  Birrel rudely thrust past Mallinson and fired a question before the angry, young diplomat could prevent him.

  "How would the scout find you here—how would it know where to land, Tauncer?"

  "It will come in on a homing beam from our flitter. I was—to turn it on—tonight—"

  "Where is the flitter? Exactly where?"

  "It ... it is under trees, near clearing in woods—we landed—we landed—"

  Tauncer's monotonous voice trailed away. His chin sunk on his breast.

  "Tauncer!"

  "It's no good,” said Kane disgustedly, shutt
ing off the projector with a snap. “Interruptions, then change of questioner, they're enough to disrupt the whole process. We'll get nothing more from him this time. He'll be out for at least two hours."

  "It's enough,” said Birrel, His mind was racing. “The officers of that Orion scout that's coming—they'll know the position and course of Solleremos’ two squadrons. If we grab them, the probe will soon get it out of them—and we'll know where and when it's coming."

  "Forget that ‘we,'” said Mallinson crisply. “You're not going to exploit this crisis with Orion, Birrel. What I said goes. The Fifth will be disarmed, or destroyed."

  The rage that Birrel had repressed before began to burst his control. It seemed to him that in all history, stupidity had caused more irretrievable disasters than anything else, and now he was up against it himself and did not seem to be able to do anything at all about it.

  'You are being a damned fool,” he said to Mallinson. “You—"

  Garstang caught his arm. He said nothing, but Birrel understood. If he blew up now, he was lost.

  He said to Mallinson, “I apologize for that. Please listen to me one moment. If I can convince you utterly that my orders are only to defend Earth, not to grab it, will you let me take the Fifth out?"

  "You could talk all night without convincing me,” Mallinson said contemptuously. “We're wasting time."

  Birrel found it hard to say what he had to say. It would mean putting himself temporarily out of the whole thing at a time when the crisis was rushing upon them, no one knew how near. Yet it was his only card and he had to play it.

  "Would you believe me if I talked under the probe?” he said.

  Mallinson looked a bit startled. “You're offering to be probed?"

  "How else can I convince you?” Birrel said rawly. “Yes. I'll take the probe."

  "All right,” said Mallinson, after only a moment's hesitation. “Sit in the chair there. Go ahead, Kane."