Postmarked the Stars

3.CARGO TROUBLE

“The tape record.” Dane spoke his first thought aloud.

“The only one of your possessions that stranger did not bring with him,” Jellico replied.

“And the box?”

“Not here. It might only have been bait.”

Somehow Dane did not believe that. The woman’s actions, as he remembered them, argued otherwise. Or had they been meant to center his attention wholly on the shipment so he would be unprepared for her attack?

He knew that those crowded into the small sick bay had heard every detail of what he had relived. The probe not only broadcast but also taped it for the record while he was under, so all the few facts were plain.

“How did I get from the Deneb to the inn?” he wondered. There was something else, a small teasing memory of a face so fleetingly seen that he could not be sure. Had or had he not sighted in the outer room of the inn as he staggered out the man who had sat so silently when he had been struck down? He could not be sure.

“They could have carried you in as a drunk,” Ali remarked. “Would be common enough in off-port. And I take it you did not stop to make inquiries when you left.”

“Had to get back to the ship,” Dane returned. He was thinking of the box that had seemed so important to the woman. It had not been large, small enough, in fact, to hide. But they had searched the treasure room, his cabin—

“The box—”

Captain Jellico stood up. “About so big, wasn’t it?” He sketched dimensions in the air.

Dane agreed.

“All right. We’ll hunt it.”

Though he longed to join in that search, Dane was now tied to the bunk by his own weakness. The secondary shot Tau had given him was wearing off. He was suddenly so sleepy that he could not fight the drowsiness. But he knew that any search the captain organized would be down to the very plates that made up the Queen.

And the search, thorough though it was, revealed nothing, as Dane discovered when he roused, feeling much more himself than he had since leaving the Deneb. They had a dead man in deep freeze and nothing else, save the probe tape, which Captain Jellico played over again until Dane loathed hearing it, always hoping for some small new detail. There was only one thing to add to that account, the chance that the man in the inn who had witnessed his leaving had been also in the Deneb.

“If that was true, he must have had a shock,” the captain mused. “But it was too late for him to change their plans then. And we can’t do any more until we get to the local Patrol post on Trewsworld. I’ll take word- oath that there is no box hidden where we looked.”

“That woman,” the com-tech, Tang Ya, said between sips of Terran coffee in the mess cabin where Dane had gone on his first excursion out of sick bay, “she was alien. I’ve been wondering—” From the inner pocket of his tunic, he pulled a sketch block. In sharp, set lines on it a figure was boldly presented. He put it before Dane. “Look like her?”

Dane was startled. As with all the crew, Tang Ya had his hobby to relieve the tedium of long voyages. But to Dane’s knowledge, it was the creation of miniature electronic devices, toys. He had not known the Martian com-tech was also an artist, or enough of one to produce the picture he now saw.

He studied it critically, not for the skill of the work but for likeness to face and figure of his memory.

“The face—it was narrower at the chin; the eyes—they seemed to slant more, unless the mask made them just seem so.”

Ya took up the block, pressed a small indentation on its rim, and the lines Dane thought set altered into the shape he had suggested.

“Yes!” But he was still amazed at the alteration.

The com-tech again laid the block on the table, sliding it along to Captain Jellico, who studied it for a long moment before he in turn passed it to Tau, and from the medic it went to Steen Wilcox. The astrogator picked it up and held it closer to the light.

“Sitllith—”

The word meant nothing to Dane but apparently did to the Captain, for he almost snatched the plaque back from his second-in-command to give it a second intent examination.

“You’re sure?”

“Sitllith!” Wilcox was certain. “But it doesn’t fit.”

“No,” Jellico agreed angrily.

“Just what is Sitllith—or who?” Tau asked.

“What and who both,” replied Wilcox. “Alien-humanoid, but really alien to the tenth—”

Dane started, leaning forward to view the picture where it lay before the captain. Alien to the tenth! Xenobiology was a required study for cargo masters, as it was on them that first contact for trade with alien races often rested. Their study of alien customs, desires, and personality factors never ended, but he had never believed that so humanoid a form could contain so alien a personality as Wilcox had stated. It was rather like saying that a Terran snake’s identity went about clad in flesh and bones such as his own.

“But she—she talked rationally. She—she was very humanoid—” he protested.

“She also poisoned you,” the astrogator replied dryly. “Not with any concoction smeared on her nail either. That was from a gland in her finger! As to how she could appear so close to the human norm, I don’t know that. Conditioning might have something to do with it. But a Sitllith on Xecho! They are thought to be planet-bound, to have so great a fear of the open that any attempt to rise from the surface of their world brings about self-death—they frighten themselves to death. Their world is infrared light, so we don’t visit them much. I saw just one, in deep freeze back at a lab on Barbarrossa. And it was immature. Its poison sack was empty. It had gone after a Survey scout and stowed away in his ship when he lifted. When it found it was in space”—Wilcox shrugged—“that was the end. He brought it back in deep freeze. But you had an adult, operating off her own world, and I would have sworn that was impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Tau said. He was right, as all spacemen knew. What would be wildly impossible, improbable, not to be believed on one world, might prove commonplace on another planet. Wild nightmares on Terra were upright and worthy citizens (if not by Terran standards) on alien soil. Customs so bizarre as to be unbelievable became ritual by law elsewhere. So, long ago spacemen, and even more Free Traders, who hunted the lesser known and newly opened planets, had come to believe anything, no matter how incredible it might seem to the planet-bound.

Jellico picked up the sketch again. “This can be fixed to stay?” he asked the astrogator.

“Press in the middle—then the impression will be locked until you wish to release it.”

“We have a dead man, a mask”—Wilcox set down his empty mug—“an alien supposed to be planet-bound but appearing parsecs from its or her native world, a box that has vanished, and a cargo master back from the dead—and no solution so far. Unless we can find a hint or two before we planet—”

“We have something else.” Frank Mura stood in the doorway. Though he spoke in his usual quiet tone, there was something in his voice that drew their attention. “We have two missing brachs.”

“What in the—!” Jellico was on his feet. Because his main interest was that of a xenobiologist, he had spent time observing the animals from Xecho, even taking them to his cabin on occasion for freedom from their cage. Since Queex, the hideous hoobat whose cage hung there, objected so strenuously to their coming that Jellico’s usual method of quieting the parrot-crab-toad, that of a smart blow on the floor of its cage to jar it into silence had not sufficed, he had had to transfer Queex elsewhere for the duration of the brachs’ visit.

“But the cage lock,” he added to his first protest.

Mura extended a hand. Between his fingers was a thin wire, twisted at one end. “This was in that,” he stated.

“By the Seven Names of Trutex!” Ali took the bit of wire and held it up, twirling it between thumb and finger. “A pick-lock!”

“It was pulled,” Mura continued, “from the netting—inside the cage.”

He certainly had all their attention now. Twisted from inside the cage? But that must mean—Dane’s earlier complacent acceptance of the impossible when it dealt with Sitlliths balked at accepting this particular revelation. Inside the cage meant that the brachs had twisted it free. But the brachs were animals, and not particularly bright animals at that. If he remembered rightly, and he should, for that rating was part of the invoices, they did not rank as high on the learning scale as Sinbad, who was now sitting in the far corner of the mess cabin industriously washing his face.

“Let me see that!” Jellico took the wire and studied it with the same concentration he had given to the picture “Broken off—and, yes, it is a pick-lock.”

“The brachs,” Mura repeated, “are missing.”

They could not be in the holds, Dane thought. Those were sealed. That left the engine room, the sick bay, their personal cabins, the control section, and a few other places, none of which could afford much protection for two escaped animals, while the intense search earlier for the box had certainly acquainted the crew with every possible space.

Now they had another hunt. Two animals, perhaps frightened, and with the female pregnant, so that she should not be alarmed, must be handled with more caution. Jellico set up a search party consisting only of those who had had contact with the brachs, since strangers might only send them into some desperate and damaging flight. He called instructions to Stotz in the engine room and ordered the engineer, the two tube men, Kosti and Weeks, together with Ali, who was to return there forthwith, to stay put until their section of the ship was declared empty of brachs.

Wilcox and Ya were to join Shannon on watch duty at the controls, search that section, and seal themselves in and any wandering brach out, leaving the actual search to Dane, Tau, Mura, and the captain, who had petted, fed, and cared for the live cargo. As an added precaution, Sinbad was shut up in the galley.

When the engine room and the control cabin both reported crew in, brachs not present, the other four began. Dane made his way down to the cargo level, but the seals there were intact. There was no way they could have gotten into the holds. The thought of the pick-lock still bothered him. How had the brachs done that? Or had they? Was it only meant to seem that they had freed themselves? But no member of the crew would play such a senseless prank. And the stranger was dead, in a freeze compartment. Dane’s imagination suggested a very macabre explanation, and he found himself turning almost against his will to a side passage, to another compartment door. That, too, was sealed, and he knew with relief that that wild speculation was truly impossible. The dead did not come to life and walk again.

There now remained the personal cabins, those of the engineering staff first. None of them were luxuriously furnished, and their cramped compactness meant that the men who lived in them were forced into meticulous neatness if they were not already that way by habit. There were no lockers, no storage compartments open. He went into each and inspected any possible hiding place, and those of the right size were very few. Each fresher, though the door might be firmly shut, was opened. There was nothing.

Next level up—Van Ryke’s combined living quarters and office. Dane stepped inside. Nothing here. Not for the first time since this began, he wished that its usual inhabitant was on board now. They needed Van Ryke. The cargo master’s years of experience in all the mazes of trade and alien dealing were, for Dane, the best preparation for solving what had happened now.

The treasure hold across from the cargo master’s quarters—seal safely intact, just as he had left it. Next level—junior officers’ quarters, Rip’s cabin facing his, the hydro garden, the galley, Mura’s section. This was to be the extent of his own exploration, and not all of it, as Mura would cover his quarters and the hydro. Dane had only his cabin and Rip’s.

He took Rip’s first—all in order—then his own. As he opened the door, only a fraction of off aim saved him. A stun beam clicked along above his ear, sending him reeling back into the corridor. He managed to push shut the slide door and leaned there, holding his spinning head, trying to think coherently. Someone— something—inside was armed with a stunner and had tried to down him when he entered. Had there been another intruder beside the dead man? That was the only possible explanation. He lurched along to the nearest com mike and thumbed the red alert.

“What—?” Wilcox’s voice demanded, but it sounded very faint and far away as if the jolt that had brushed Dane had left him partially deaf.

“Someone—my cabin—stunner—” He got out the warning. He was watching the door, though he was not sure how, unarmed, he could prevent that other from leaving if he wanted to.

But if the intruder in Dane’s cabin realized he had the advantage, he did not try to use it to force his way out. The Terran tried to think of where any stowaway might have hidden. The interior of the flitter maybe—though to take the acceleration of lift-off, plus the wrench of translation into hyper, without any safeguards would knock most men out. Of course, this might not be a human at all.

There was a clatter on the ladder as Jellico swung down. And Frank Mura came at the same moment from the hydro. Tau followed the captain. The medic went at once to Dane.

“Clipped me with a stunner,” he explained.

“Still in there?” Jellico looked to the cabin.

“Yes.”

“All right. Tau, how about sleep gas through the air duct?”

The medic pushed Dane closer to the wall with an order of “Stay put!” and then climbed back to his lab on the next level. He returned with a small container and a length of tubing, which he handed over to the captain. “All ready.”

“Did you see who it was?” Tau asked as the captain stepped into Rip’s cabin and began unscrewing the mesh protector over the air duct.

“No. All happened too fast. After he clipped me, I couldn’t see straight, anyway. But where could a stowaway have been—in the flitter?”

“Through lift-off? Well, maybe,” Tau conceded, “if he were really tough. But into hyper—I doubt it, unless he took the jump in Shannon’s bunk. Shannon was on duty, and the dead man was in yours—”

They could see Jellico through the open door, inserting the tubing, pushing it along with care as he stood on Rip’s bunk, his shoulders hunched, concentrating on what he could see of the tube’s reptilian passage until it reached the grill of Dane’s quarters. Then he made more delicate movements, and Dan guessed he was maneuvering the end of the tube to strike against the grill so that the released gas would go directly into the closed cabin.

“Now!” His grip tightened on the small container in one hand, while with the other he held the mask Tau handed him over his own nose and mouth against any back draft from the tube. The wait for the container to be emptied seemed endless to Dane. He was shaking off the effects of the stunner touch. Finally Jellico pulled back the tube and dropped to the deck.

“If whoever is in there breathes,” he said with dour satisfaction, “he’s out now.”

That statement sounded odd to Dane, almost as if the captain might share that monstrous suspicion about the dead returned to life again.

Dane reached the door first. It was not locked from the inside but gave easily, so they could see in, the masks supplied by Tau now in use by them all, while the medic was using a sucker to draw the fumes out of the air.

Dane so fully expected to see a man that for a second or two he was disconcerted when he sighted nothing of the kind. What lay on the floor of the cabin, one forepaw still resting on the stunner, was the male brach, while curled on the bunk lay the female. And both were unconscious.

“The brachs!” Dane went down on one knee and touched the feathery covering of the male before he believed it true. But it was the brach. There was no one else here. The animal had used the stunner with the intelligence of a man brought to bay. Dane glanced at the captain and for the first time in his service aboard the Queen saw Jellico startled out of his usual impassivity.

But Tau had crowded past Dane and was bending over the female brach to make a quick examination.

“She’s in labor. Let me through!” He gathered up the limp animal and stepped over the inert male.

“What about it?” Dane looked from the captain to Mura and back to the male brach. “It—it must have used the stunner. But—”

“A trained brach?” suggested the steward. “Conditioned perhaps to use a weapon under certain circumstances?”

“Maybe,” Jellico conceded. “But I don’t know. Frank, can you make that cage break-proof?”

“Put a chain on, rig an alarm—” Mura listed the possibilities. He came forward to lean over and stare down at the sleeping animal. Dane picked up the stunner and thrust it into the nearest compartment, which he slammed shut.

“An animal,” Mura said. “I swear it is—was—an animal. I have seen brachs. These acted no differently. Why, when I filled their feed bin—” He paused, a slight frown drawing his black brows closer together.

“You filled their feed bin and what happened?” the captain wanted to know.

“This one, the male, watched me latch it. Then he reached through the bars and shook the fastenings. I thought he only wanted more of the renton leaves, and I gave him some. But now I think he was trying the door lock.”

“Well, let’s get him back in the cage before he wakes up,” Jellico said. “And use the chain and the alarm, Mura. We might set a video on and hook it to general screen cast as a precaution. I want a record of what happens when he wakes up.”

Mura lifted the brach and carried it back to the cage. Both Jellico and Dane watched him take the precautions that had been suggested. Then Ya was called to rig the video so that they could keep the animal under watch as if he were a suspect in a cell, a snooper on him.

“Who is responsible for this shipment?” Jellico turned to Dane.

“The Norax lab. All the papers are correct. They are to be sent through to the Simplex people on Trewsworld—authorized project by Council permission.”

“Nothing about mutants?”

“No, sir. Perfectly ordinary listing. It had all the proper notations, and the Norax people themselves sent a tech with the cage. He set it up and brought in the food and a diet list for Mura.”

“He set up the cage,” repeated Jellico thoughtfully. The captain raised his hand and set it against the wall above the cage. “Did he pick this particular spot?”

Dane tried to remember. The tech had come on board with two men carrying the cage. Had he picked the place? No, not exactly, and Mura had the answer.

“No, sir. I said here—easier to keep an eye on the animals. But I don’t understand. The female—she had a month yet to go. The kits were to be born on Trewsworld.”

Captain Jellico slapped the bulkhead behind the cage almost as if he were testing its solid substance.

“Treasure hold below right here,” he said. But Dane could see no connection between that and the weird behavior of a pair of brachs—other than that this whole voyage was one mystery after another.

Jellico did not explain. Instead, he hunkered down and asked Mura to explain the details of the fastening. Then Ya came to set up the improvised snooper, which, to Dane’s mystification, the captain insisted be concealed from the inhabitant of the cage so that, when the brach awoke, he would not know he was under observation, as if the animal was now a criminal suspect.

All arranged to his satisfaction, Jellico gave a final order to leave the animal alone and for all of them to keep away as much as possible from the cage. Dane, after giving a last look at the peacefully sleeping creature, which, even now, he could hardly believe tried to beam him with his own weapon, went back to his cabin, stretched on his bunk, and tried vainly to make sense of what had happened. He had been through crises before on the Queen, but never had there been so inexplicable a series of happenings. Animals that acted with intelligence, a dead man wearing his face, the alien woman—it was as fantastic as a tridee story tape.

Video—what did the captain expect to pick up by the snooper? What of Mura’s suggestion that the brach had been conditioned to attack a man? That such a thing was possible was not beyond the bounds of possibility.

Dane rolled off the bunk and went to look up the record of the brach shipment. It was very straightforward, just as he remembered—two brachs, male and female, consigned from the Norax lab on Xecho to the Simplex Ag station on Trewsworld. He had every permit filled out correctly, and unless someone had spent a fortune for forgeries, it was as it should be.

Nevertheless, he pulled out that tape and ran it through for duplication. He had just finished when the com gave an alerting whistle.

“Screen,” came Jellico’s voice. Dane reached up and triggered the small video screen.