Sargasso of Lost Starships Rehidden

misrule as you seem to think, would the commons have fought for us as they did?'

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  Again that thoughtful stare. He saw a tall young woman, badly disarrayed, blood and dirt streaking her long, thin-carved, curve-nosed features, an old scar jagging across her high narrow forehead. The hair was yellow, the eyes were blue, the whole look that of an old and settled aristocracy. Her bitter voice lashed at him: 'We ruled Ansa well because we were part of it, we grew up with the planet and we understood our folk and women were free under us. That's something which no upstart Solanr Empire can have, not for centuries, not ever to judge by the stock they use for nobility. When peasants command spaceships--'

  His face grew a little pale, but he smiled and replied evenly, 'I am the Sir Jansky of Torgandale on Valor--Sirius A IV--and you are now a commoner. Please remember that.'

  'All the papers in the Galaxy won't change the fact that your grandmothers was a dirt farmer on Valor.'

  'She was an atomjack, and I'm proud of it. I suggest further that an aristocrat who has nothing to trade on but her pedigree is very ragged indeed. Now, enough of that.' His crisp tones snapped forth. 'You've committed a serious offense, especially since this is still occupied territory. If you wish to cooperate with me, I can arrange for a pardon--also for your brawling friends. If not, the whole bunch of you can go to the mines.'

  Donovan shook her head, trying to clear it of alcohol and weariness and the ringing left by the parabeam. 'Go on,' she said, a little thickly. 'I'll listen, anyway.'

  'What do you know of the Black Nebula?'

  He must have seen her muscles jerk. For an instant she sat fighting herself, grasping at rigidity with all the strength that was in her, and the memory was a blaze and a shout and a stab of pure fear.

  Valdum, Valdum!

  The sudden thudding of her heart was loud in her ears, and she could feel the fine beads of sweat starting forth on her skin. She made a wrenching effort and pulled her mouth into a lopsided grin, but her voice wavered: 'Which black nebula? There are a lot of them.'

  'Don't try to bait me.' His eyes were narrowed on her, and the fingers of one hand drummed the desktop. 'You know I mean the Black Nebula. Nobody in this Galactic sector speaks of any other.'

  'Why--well--' Donovan lowered her face to hide it till she could stiffen the mask, rubbing her temples with manacled hands. 'It's just a nebula. A roughly spherical dustcloud, maybe a light-year in diameter, about ten parsecs from Ansa toward Sagittari. A few colonized stars on its fringes, nothing inside it as far as anyone knows. It has a bad name for some reason. The superstitious say it's haunted, and you hear stories of ships disappearing--Well, it gets a pretty wide berth. Not much out there anyway.'

  Her mind was racing, she thought she could almost hear it click and whirr as it spewed forth idea after idea, memory after memory. Valdum and the blackness and they who laughed. The Nebula is pure poison, and now the Empire is getting interested. By God, it might poison them! Only would it stop there? This time they might decide to go on, to come out of the blackness.

  Jansky's voice seemed to come from very far away: 'You know more than that, Donovan. Intelligence has been sifting Ansan records. You were the farthest-ranging space raider your planet had, and you had a base on Heim, at the very edge of the Nebula. Among your reports, there is an account of your women's unease, of the disappearance of small ships which cut through the Nebula on their missions, of ghostly things seen aboard other vessels and women who went mad. Your last report on the subject says that you investigated personally, that most of your crew went more or less crazy while in the Nebula, and that you barely got free. You recommend the abandonment of Heim and the suspension of operations in that territory. This was done, the region being of no great strategic importance anyway.

  'Very well.' The voice held a whipcrack undertone. 'What do you know about the Black Nebula?'

  Donovan had fought her way back to impassivity. 'You have about the whole story already,' she said. 'There were all sorts of illusions as we penetrated, whisperings and glimpses of impossible things and so on. It didn't affect me much, but it drove many toward insanity and some died. There was also very real and unexplainable trouble--engines, lights, and so on. My guess is that there's some sort of radiation in the Nebula which makes atoms and electrons misbehave; that'd affect the human nervous system too, of course. If you're thinking of entering it yourself, my only advice is--don't.'

  'Hm.' He cupped his chin in one hand and looked down at the papers. 'Frankly, we know very little about this Galactic sector. Very few Terrans were ever here before the war, and previous intercourse on your part with Sol was even slighter. However, Intelligence has learned that the natives of almost every inhabited planet on the fringes of the Nebula worship it or at least regard it as the home of the gods.'

  'Well, it is a conspicuous object in their skies,' said Donovan. She added truthfully enough: 'I only know about Heim, where the native religion in the area of our base was a sort of devil-worship centered around the Nebula. They made big sacrifices--foodstuffs, furs, tools, every conceivable item of use or luxury--which they claimed the devil-gods came and took. Some of the colonists thought there was something behind the legends, but I have my doubts.' She shrugged. 'Will that do?'

  'For the time being.' Jansky smiled with a certain bleak humor. 'You can write a detailed report later on, and I strongly advise you not to mislead me. Because you're going there with us.'

  Donovan accepted the news coldly, but she thought the knocking of her heart must shake her whole body. Her hands felt chilly and wet. 'As you wish. Though what I can do--'

  'You've been there before and know what to expect. Furthermore, you know the astrogation of that region; our charts are worse than sketchy, and even the Ansan tables have too many blank spots.'

  'Well--' Donovan got the words out slowly. 'If I don't have to enlist. I will not take an oath to your Empress.'

  'You needn't. Your status will be that of a civilian under Imperial command, directly responsible to me. You will have a cabin of your own, but no compensation except the abandonment of criminal proceedings against you.' Jansky relaxed and his voice grew gentler. 'However, if you serve well I'll see what I can do about pay. I daresay you could use some extra money.'

  'Thank you,' said Donovan formally. She entered the first phase of the inchoate plan which was taking cloudy shape in her hammering brain: 'May I have my personal slave with me? She's nonhuman, but she can eat Terran food.'

  Jansky smiled. There was sudden warmth in that smile, it made his human and beautiful. 'As you wish, if she doesn't have fleas. I'll write you an order for her embarkation.' He'd hit the ceiling when he found what kind of passenger he'd agreed to, thought Donovan. But by then it would be too late. And, with Wocha to help me, and the ship blundering blind into the Nebula--Valdum, Valdum, I'm coming back! And this time will you kiss me or kill me?

  The Ganymede lifted gravs and put the Ansa sun behind him. Much farther behind was Sol, an insignificant mote fifty light-years away, lost in the thronging glory of stars. Ahead lay Sagittari, Galactic center and the Black Nebula.

  Space burned and blazed with a million bitter-bright suns, keen cold unwinking flames strewn across the utter dark of space, flashing and flashing over the hollow gulf of the leagues and the years. The Milky Way foamed in curdled silver around that enormous night, a shining girdle jeweled with the constellations. Far and far away wheeled the mysterious green and blue-white of the other galaxies, sparks of a guttering fire with a reeling immensity between. Looking toward the bows, one saw the great star-clusters of Sagittari, the thronging host of suns burning and thundering at the heart of the Galaxy. And what have we done? thought Basille Donovan. What is woman and all her proud achievements? Our home star is a dwarf on the lonely fringe of the Galaxy, out where the stars thin away toward the great emptiness. We've ranged maybe two hundred light-years from it in all directions and it's thirty thousand to the Center! Night and mystery and nameless immensitie
s around us, our day of glory the briefest flicker on the edge of nowhere, then oblivion forever--and we won't be forgotten, because we'll never have been noticed. The Black Nebula is only the least and outermost of the great clouds which thicken toward the Center and hide its ultimate heart from us, it is nothing even as we, and yet it holds a power older than the human race and a terror that may whelm it.

  She felt again the old quailing funk, fear crawled along her spine and will drained out of her soul. She wanted to run, escape, huddle under the sky of Ansa to hide from the naked blaze of the universe, live out her day and forget that she had seen the scornful face of God. But there was no turning back, not now, the ship was already outpacing light on his secondary drive and she was half a prisoner aboard. She squared her shoulders and walked away from the viewplate, back toward her cabin.

  Wocha was sprawled on a heap of blankets, covering the floor with her bulk. She was turning the brightly colored pages of a child's picture book. 'Boss,' she asked, 'when do we kill 'em?'

  'The Impies? Not yet, Wocha. Maybe not at all.' Donovan stepped over the monster and lay down on her bunk, hands behind her head. She could feel the thrum of the driving engines, quivering in the ship and her bones. 'The Nebula may do