Star Guard

15. If But One Of Us Live

"But were they Patrolmen?" Larsen demanded.

It was hard to believe — in spite of the evidence and the identification taken from the bodies — that such a massacre had occurred. The prestige of the Patrol was too well established.

There was no possible doubt that the men had been shot, and that those shots had not come from the lighter air rifles of the Llor, the blasters of the Mechs or the flamers of the Galactic Agents, but from those specialized weapons carried, or supposedly carried, by the Swordsmen of Terra alone.

"If they weren't, they'll serve as well as the real thing in those pictures," Kosti returned bitterly. "If that Agent was taking shots of this it wasn't just for amusement. Can't you see the force of those pictures in certain quarters — scene of Patrolmen ambushed by rebel Archs — "

Larsen kicked at a stone. "I still don't get it," he admitted. "Why stage all this?"

"Alibi for going after us." Kana broke the silence for the first time. "Isn't that it, sir? With a good story and those pictures the Agent could have us outlawed and we couldn't get a hearing anywhere — not even at Prime."

He wanted Hansu to protest that, to say that he was allowing an over-vivid imagination free rein. But instead the Blademaster nodded.

"That makes more sense than about fifty other explanations." The tall dark man got to his feet, his eyes fixed speculatively on the starship. "Yes, they've set the stage here for something nasty. And it would probably have worked if we hadn't come in time — "

"So they're trying to put us on the spot." Kosti was inclined to be belligerent. "Well, what can we do?"

"Spoil their plan!" There was decision in the Blademaster's answer. "Kosti, get on board and see whether this cruiser can be lifted out of here — "

The Swordsman hurried up the ramp and Hansu turned to the other two.

"Burial party — " He indicated the bodies.

They performed that distasteful task as they had for their comrades so many times in the last hard weeks, knowing that when their fire cartridges had done their work there would be no identifiable traces left. They were engaged in sorting the personal possessions they had taken from the dead for purposes of future identification, when Kosti appeared in the hatch of the spacer over their heads.

"First luck we've had, sir. She's ready and willing to lift!"

Hansu only nodded. It was as if, having made up his mind to a certain course of action, he was now perfectly sure that fate would allow them to follow it to the proper end. Stowing away the Patrolmen's effects in a ration bag, he led the way up the ramp into the interior of the small ship.

The only starships Kana had known before were the ferry transports of the Combat Command. And narrow and cramped as those had seemed, this cruiser was even smaller and more confined. The ladder stair, curling in a breakneck fashion from level to level, looked too narrow to give any climber safe footing. But they went up it — beads on a string — with Kosti already disappearing through the first-level flooring and the Blademaster hard on his heels.

Smells assaulted their noses, oil, the taint of old air, or close living— They made their way up to the control cabin. Hansu pointed to the pilot's webbing before the controls.

"Can you take her up, Kosti?"

The Swordsman showed his teeth in a white grin. "It's a matter of have to, isn't it, sir?"

He buckled himself into position while Kana and Larsen explored the acceleration pads and Hansu moved toward the astrogator's position.

"Give you five minutes, ship time, to take a looksee around if you want, sir," Kosti suggested, perhaps because he himself desired a few moments' study of that puzzling board before he blasted them free of the doubtful safety of Fronn.

They made a quick inspection of the tiny personal quarters. The cubbys were in a state of wild disorder with clothing and supplies strewn about as if by looters. Kana picked up a tri-dee portrait someone had stepped upon. The oddly slanting eyes and triangular mouth of a Lydian woman could still be seen.

"Nice artistic job." Hansu surveyed the litter with a professional eye. "Exhibit B or C — looting of quarters — done by the wicked Archs — "

"Do you suppose this was a real Patrol ship? That they actually killed Patrolmen so they could smear us with the job, sir?" Larsen demanded.

"Could be. Though it seems a mighty heavy argument to use against an outfit as small as Yorke's. We must be important — " Frowning, he turned back to the control cabin.

"Do you have a route tape for Terra in the file?" he asked of Kosti.

"Going to Prime, sir? I thought we were to make Secundus — " the new pilot protested.

"This may be a real Patrol cruiser. If they sacrificed that to get us I want to know why, and I want to start asking questions right at the top!"

"Real Patrol cruiser!" That sank in, and Kosti swung around to tap three keys in a case at his far left. There was an answering click and a small disc dropped into his cupped hand.

"Yes, sir, here're the co-ordinates for Terra."

He freed another disc from the apparatus before him and inserted the new one. "Strap down," he ordered.

Hansu stowed away in the second web while Kana and Larsen buckled down on the acceleration mats. A red light glowed on the board before Kosti as his fingers played over levers and keys.

"Let's hope we go up — and not off — " was his last observation as he pressed the crucial control.

A giant hand smashed down on Kana's chest, squeezing out air. Waves of red pain clotted into blackness. He had just time to know, before he lost consciousness, that they were lifting off-world — and not exploding.

Kosti was no experienced pilot and the thrust he had used to tear them loose from Fronn was greater than it need have been. Kana, coming back to life, found his face sticky with blood as he pulled groggily at his straps.

"The sleeper wakes!" Kosti looked back over his shoulder at the recruit. "Thought you had decided to make the trip in cold sleep, fella. Not necessary, we have plenty of room."

The ship was on Ro-pilot, to be guided through the warp by the tape Kosti had set in. They had nothing to do but eat and sleep, and live in the discomfort of return-to-Terra conditioning which would enable them to disembark on their own world without further adjustment.

"How long will we be in space?" Larsen asked.

All three looked to Kosti for an answer but he only shrugged. "I'd say maybe fourteen-fifteen days. These babies sure eat it up in warp. Patrol cruisers are built for speed."

Fifteen days. Kana, stretched in one of the inner cabin hammocks, had time to think without the pressure of immediate action or decision hanging over him. This mess was a nasty one — sinister. For some unknown reason that alien in a Mech uniform had set a scene, a scene which only their luck had spoiled. He was sure that the ship and its dead crew had been deliberately left to be discovered dramatically — for a purpose. Patrolmen shot with Arch rifles — on a planet where an Arch Horde was being hunted down. But why go to all this trouble? Why try to discredit as well as wipe out a Terran force, when the latter move was so easy and Combat might be led to dismiss it all as fortunes of war?

Such an elaborate frame meant that not only the renegade Mechs but the Agents wearing their uniforms had something to fear from Yorke's men. The story of the murder of Yorke and his officers? Hardly. They had no real proof of that — not even a witness's account which would be accepted at a formal hearing. Why — why — such a deliberate and elaborate plan to blacken them?

Could it be possible — his hand went half-consciously to the hilt of his sword-knife — could it be that the age-old stalemate between Terra and C.C. was to be broken at last? That C.C. was working feverishly to not only whittle down the Terran forces by attrition, but also to discredit them among the stars as renegades and murderers? Perhaps this would be their chance for an open fight — to stand against that condition C.C. had imposed — to prove that Terrans had as much right to the star lanes in freedom as any other race or species! It was a hope, only a thin one, but in that hour Kana sensed that it was there and he swore to himself that the next time he went into space it would not be wearing that green-gray coat which had been forced upon him.

The ship came out of warp, but they were still two days from Prime port by Kosti's admittedly ignorant calculations when it happened. A faint "beep" drew the attention of Kana and Larsen to the screen above the control panel. The Blademaster and Kosti were asleep and there was no one to explain the meaning of the pin point of light moving across the dark surface. Kana went to rouse Kosti.

"We might just have company — seeing as how we are out of warp." The pilot pro-tem rubbed sleep from his eyes. But one look at the screen brought him fully awake.

"Get Hansu — " he ordered tersely.

When Kana returned with the Blademaster the plaintive "beep" of the signal had strengthened into a steady drone.

"You can establish contact?" Hansu asked.

"If you want to. But that's no between-planets trader out there. We're on a cruiser course. Only another Patrol ship would be likely to cross us."

On a planet, armed, they would have known what to do when faced with a potential enemy. But in space, they might even now be needlessly alarmed over a routine happening.

"Shall I accept contact?" Kosti pressed.

The Blademaster ran his thumb along his lower lip, staring at the light on the screen as if he would have out of it "name, rank, and term of enlistment."

"Can that screen" — he jerked his thumb toward the vision plate — "be used for receiving only, or do we automatically broadcast when we switch it on?"

"It can be one way. But that would make them suspicious."

"Let them think what they want. We need a little time and maybe some fast answers before they see our faces. Cut out the tele-cast before you make contact."

Kosti adjusted some knobs. A bright wash of color rippled across the screen and then they saw the narrow, high-cheek-boned face of a humanoid from Rassam. The skull-tight cap of a Patrol officer covered his hairless head and he wore the star-and-comet of an upper rank commander.

"What ship?" he demanded with the unconscious arrogance of a Central Control official. He could not see them, but he might almost have sensed he was addressing Terrans. Kana bristled, noting by the set of Hansu's jaw that he was not alone in that reaction.

"Give me the speaker." Hansu took the mike from Kosti.

"This is a Patrol cruiser, name and registry unknown." He spoke slowly, enunciating each word flatly in basic trade speech, trying to keep his native accent undistinguishable. "It was found by us deserted and we are returning it to the proper authorities."

The Patrol Commander did not give them the lie openly, but his disbelief was plain to read on his face.

"You are not headed for a Patrol base," he pointed out crisply. "What is your destination?"

"As if he didn't know — or suspect!" whispered Kosti.

"We are reporting to out superior officers," Hansu continued, "according to law — "

That narrow face appeared to lengthen in a sinister fashion. "Terrans!" His lips shaped the word as if it were an incredibly filthy oath. "You will prepare to receive a boarding party — " His face vanished from the screen.

"Well," Kosti observed bleakly, "that's that. If we try to get away they'll burn us down with their big stuff."

"Come on!" Hansu was halfway through the door. And, revived by his confidence, the rest trailed him. Out of the artificial gravity of the living quarter they pulled themselves into the midsection of the ship where the Blademaster unfastened a hatch. Beyond was an escape bay complete with two boats. But they were so small — Kana eyed them doubtfully, battling his dislike for being confined in a limited space.

Hansu paused half inside the nearest. "Kosti, you take the other. That will give us a double chance of getting our report through. If but one of us lives he has to reach Prime! Failure to get through may — in a way — mean the end for Terra. This thing is bigger than all of us. Larsen, you team with Kosti. Set your tape for Terra — when you land make for Prime — if you have to beg, borrow, or steal transportation. Ask for Matthias — get to him if you have to kill to do it! Understand?"

Neither of the veterans displayed surprise at the drastic orders. Hansu lowered his body into the lifeboat and Kana climbed reluctantly after him. It required both of them to close the vent and seal it. Then Hansu flung himself into the cushioned hollow of the pilot's section and Kana took the other padded couch.

The Blademaster set a pointer on a small dial before him, checking it three times before he cut in the power which blasted them free from the cruiser. The force of that blast was almost as hard to take as the acceleration which had torn them out of Fronn's gravity. Kana's ribs, still sore from that ordeal, were squeezed enough to bring a choked cry out of him. When he was able to turn his head once more he saw that Hansu lay at ease, his cupped hands supporting his chin, his eyes fixed on the dial, though his thoughts might have been elsewhere.

"Are we free — ? Did — did we get away, sir?" Kana asked dazedly.

"We're still alive, aren't we?" Hansu's ironical humor quirked set lips. "If they had sighted our getaway we'd be cinders by now. Let's hope that they will continue to concentrate on the cruiser for a few seconds more — "

"What made them so quick on the trigger, sir? The Patrol usually doesn't flare up that way — or do they? And that officer said `Terrans' as if we were Lombros muck worms — "

"It shouldn't surprise you, Karr, to discover that some of the more `superior' races who make up the C.C. Councils at the present moment are inclined to rate us at just about that level — in private, naturally. One doesn't boast of caste openly — that's too close to shape and race prejudice. But I've seen an Ageratan leave an eating booth before he had finished his meal because a Terran was seated as his neighbor. It's illegal, unethical, violates all those pretty slogans and refined sentiments drilled into them from the cradle or the egg — but it persists."

"But the Zacathans aren't like that — and Rey and Mic were friendly with that Lupan on Secundus — "

"Certainly. I can cite you a thousand different shapes and races who accept Terrans as equals as easily as we accept them in return. But note two things, Karr, and they are important. The systems where we are persona non grata are dominated by humanoid races and they are systems which have had space travel for a very long time, who have pioneered in the Galaxy. Embedded deep in them is an emotion they refuse to admit — fear.

"Back on Terra in the ancient days before the nuclear wars we were divided into separate races, the difference in part depending on the color of skin, shape of features, and so forth. And in turn those races were subdivided into nations which arose to power, held in control large portions of the planet, sometimes for centuries. But as the years passed each in turn lost that power, the reins slipped from their hands. Why?

"Because the tough, sturdy fighters who had built those empires died, and their sons, or their sons' sons' sons were another breed. For a while, even after the fighting quality died out, an empire would still exist — as might a well-built piece of machinery set in motion. Then parts began to wear, or oiling was needed, and there was no one who remembered, or cared, or had the necessary will and strength to pull it together and make repairs. So another, younger and tougher nation took over — perhaps after a war. History progressed by a series of such empires — the old one yielding to the new.

"Now the races of the Galaxy with whom we have established the closest ties are, so far, not of our species. We like the Zacathans who are of reptile origin, we enjoy the Trystians, whose far-off ancestors were birds. The Yubana — they're evolved felines. And most of these are also newcomers on the Galactic scene. But — and this is important — they have different aims, backgrounds, desires, tastes. Why should a Zacathan fret over the passing of time, hurry to get something done the way we must do? His life span is close to a thousand years, he can afford to sit around and think things out. We feel that we can't. But we're not a threat to him or his way of life."

"But, sir, do you think we are to the others — the humanoids of Agerat and Rassam? Their civilizations are old but basically they are similar to ours — "

"And are showing signs of decay. Yes, we're a threat to them because of our young pushing energy, our will to struggle, all the things they openly deplore in us. For, old as Terra seems to us, she is very young in the Galaxy. So they've met us with a devious design. It is their purpose to wall us off — not openly and so provide us with a legitimate grievance which we may take before the Grand Council — but legally and finally. They struggle to dissipate our strength in needless warfare which in no way threatens their control, sapping our manpower and so rendering helpless a race which might just challenge them in the future. And because we have fought and dreamed of the stars we have been forced to accept their condition — for a time."

"A time, sir?" burst out Kana passionately. "For three hundred years we've played their game — "

"What is three hundred years on the Galactic chessboard?" Hansu returned calmly. "Yes, for three hundred years we have taken their orders. Only now they must be beginning to realize that their plan is not working. I'm not sure that their motives had been plain even to them. They have played omnipotence so long that they have come to believe in their godhead — that they can make no wrong moves. For they have always operated against us under cover — until now.

"From the first we have had friends, and we are gaining more. And those worlds would ask questions if Terra were summarily condemned and restricted to its own system. Perhaps their own over-civilized minds shrink from such a practical solution, or have in the past. But where they could, they have cut us off. Terrans are not accepted in the Patrol — that is the service for `superior' races. Traders do not allow us to join their companies. Even the war we play at is carefully denatured — though we still die— The most modern Mech equipment is years behind weapons the inhabitants of — say Garmir — already consider obsolete."

"But, sir, why this move with the cruiser?"

"Either some hot heads on the Council are going to push through ideas of their own, or they have begun to wake up to the fact that we Terrans are not exactly what we seem." Hansu turned his head and gave Kana a measuring glance which was sharp enough to reach into his mind.

"Why do you suppose that we have X-Tee training — that we make an AL man a necessary member of every Horde and Legion lifting off-world?"

"Why — you need liaison officers on other worlds, sir."

"That is the correct official explanation — and one which no Control Agent can successfully counter. But any Terran with the proper temperament for X-Tee is screened and classified from the moment of his first response to the tests. He is given, unobtrusively, all the instruction we can cram into him. He is urged to meet X-Tees on a friendly basis — under cover. And when he enlists he is given every opportunity by his commanding officers to widen his knowledge of other planets."

"So that was why you wanted me to contact Venturi, sir?"

"Yes. And that is why you went to Po'ult. We have long known that we must have all the AL men we can get. And the wider their acquaintance with other life forms the better for us. If we must challenge C.C. in the open, we cannot stand alone. And the more races friendly to us, or at least with a favorable knowledge of us, the better. Incidentally we may be preparing ourselves for another form of service entirely. What if Terra in the future was to provide not fighting men but exploring teams?"

"Exploring teams?"

"Groups of trained explorers to pioneer on newly discovered planets, to prepare for colonization those worlds where there may be no intelligent native life. Groups, the members of which are selected for their individual talents, going not as Patrol nor traders, not as police or merchants, but only to discover what lies in orbit around the next sun. Groups including not only our own kind, but combining in a working unit half a dozen different species of X-Tees — telepaths, techneers, some not even vaguely humanoid."

"Do you think that can be done, sir?" demanded Kana, finding in the idea an answer to his own half-formed dream.

"Why not? And the time may not be too far off. Let us reach Matthias with our report on Fronn and he'll have a concrete argument to use in Combat circles against C.C. Suppose that all the Hordes and Legions now scattered up and down the Galaxy received orders to rebel. Such a situation would upset C.C. and bring an end to their carefully supervised peace. It would be cheaper to let us go our way than to tackle rebellions and uprisings on some hundreds of planets at once."

"I've heard a lot of rumors, sir, but nothing about revolt — "

"I should hope not!" countered the Blademaster. "Most of Combat are conservative. And we of Terra have lived a specialized life for generations. Combatants haven't much interest beyond the affairs of their own Horde or Legion. At Prime they try to locate the records of those with promise, to steer the men into enlistments where they can serve the cause best. But this mess on Fronn is going to bring the latent danger of our position home — to even the most hidebound of the Big Brass. Once they see that Terran can be turned against Terran with the approval of Central Control, that Mech can be used to hunt down Arch — they will listen to what we have to say." Hansu balled his fist and thumped it on the edge of his pad. "Time — just give us time enough! We must reach Matthias and he'll touch off the powder!"