Star Soldiers

  "Look here." Jaksan kicked moodily at the bedroll which lay on the floor. "Don't stop thinking about it, Kartr. We'll have to live the rest of our lives here. We're really lucky beyond our dreams—Cummi believes that this city can be almost entirely restored. We can start all over. I know that you don't care for Cummi, but he is able enough to organize a shipload of hysterical passengers into a going settlement. Seven men can't fight him. All I ask of you for the present is don't repeat to Cummi what you just said to me. Think it over first."

  "I shall. In the meantime the rangers will take quarters together."

  "Oh, all right." Jaksan shrugged. "Do it—wherever you please."

  "Maybe he should have said where Cummi pleases," thought Kartr as he left the room.

  He found the rangers waiting for him and gave his own orders.

  "Rolth, you and Fylh get up to that tower. If anyone tries to stop you pull Patrol rank on him. It may still carry some weight with the underlings here. Zinga, where did you leave our packs?"

  Five minutes later Kartr and the Zacathan gathered the four pioneer packs. "Slip an anti-gravity disc under them," said Kartr, "and come on."

  With the packs floating just off the floor and easy to tow, they made their way toward the rear of the building. But, as they approached the narrow flight of stairs Zinga said led to the roof, they were met by Fortus Kan. He edged back against the wall to let them pass, since Kartr did not halt. But he asked as they went by:

  "Where are you going?"

  "Settling in ranger quarters," the sergeant returned briefly.

  "That one is still watching us," Zinga whispered as they mounted. "He is none too stout of heart. A good loud shout of wrath aimed at him would sent him scuttling—"

  "But don't try it," Kartr returned. "There is enough trouble before us now without stirring up any more."

  "Ho! So you learned that, did you? Well, a short life and a merry one, as my egg brother often said while we were still shipmates. I wonder where Ziff is now—rolling in silk and eating brofids three times a day if I know that black-hearted despoiler! Not that it wouldn't be good to see his ugly face awaiting us above when we have finished this climb. His infighting is excellent, a very handy man with a force blade. Zippp—and there's an enemy down with half his insides gone—"

  They could do, thought Kartr bitterly, with about fifty good infighters right now—or even with only ten.

  "Welcome home, travelers!" That was Rolth, his goggled eyes lending his face an insect-like outline as he looked down at them. "For once the old pepper bird has found us a real perch. Come in and relax, my brave boys!"

  "Flame bats and octopods!" Even Zinga seemed truly amazed as he stared about the room they entered.

  The walls were a murky translucent green. And behind them came and went shapes of vivid color, water creatures swimming! Then Kartr saw that it was an illusion born of light and some sort of automatic picture projection. Zinga sat down on the packs, bearing them under his weight to the floor.

  "Luscious! Luscious! Enough to tempt the most fastidious palate. The being who planned this room was a gourmand. I would be proud to shake his hand, fin or tentacle. Magnificent! That red one—does it not resemble almost to the last scale the succulent brofid? What a wonderful, wonderful room!"

  "What about rations?" Kartr inquired of Rolth over Zinga's head.

  The Faltharian's eyebrows raised until they could be seen over the rim of his goggles. "Are you contemplating our sitting out a siege? We have a few basic supply tins still unopened—about five days of full meals—twice that if we have to draw in our belts."

  "Do you mean to tell me," Zinga broke out, "that you have brought me into this place of culinary promise and now propose to feed me extract of nourishing—bah—what a word, nourishing! As if nourishment and food are ever the same—to feed me extract of fungus and the rest of that unexciting goo we have to absorb when we are climbing over bare rock with no chance of hunting! This is a torture which cannot be refined upon. I insist upon my rights as a freeborn citizen—"

  "A freeborn citizen?" queried Fylh. "Second class—third class twice removed, would be much more apt. And you have no rights at all—"

  But Rolth had been watching Kartr's expression and now he broke in.

  "Is that the way of it—honestly?"

  "Just about, I'm afraid." Kartr sat down on the room's single piece of furniture—an opaline bench. "I went to Jaksan. He said Cummi had orders for me—"

  "Orders?" Again the Faltharian's eyebrows betrayed his surprise. "A civilian giving orders to the Patrol? We may be rangers, but we are also still Patrol!"

  "Are we?" Fylh wondered. "A Patrolman has ships, force to back him up. We're just survivors now, and we can't ring in the fleet if we get in a tight place—"

  "Jaksan agrees with that. I gathered that he has more or less abdicated in Cummi's favor. The idea is that the Vice-Sector Lord has a running concern here—"

  "And that we are more or less lucky to be included in?" demanded Rolth. "Yes, I can see that argument being advanced. But Jaksan—he's veteran Patrol to the core. Somehow his standing aside this way—it doesn't fit!"

  Fylh made a gesture of brushing aside nonessentials. "Jaksan's psychological response need not concern us as much as something else. Do I gather that here Bemmys are second class citizens?"

  "Yes." That answer was bald but Kartr saw no need to temper it.

  "I take it that you were urged to—er—withdraw from contagion," Zinga drawled, leaning back and hooking his taloned fingers over his knees.

  "That was part of it."

  "How stupid can they get?" Rolth wanted to know. "If they want us to do their hunting, they must need food. And a bunch of these soft inner system men are not going to get much game by running out and beating the bushes. Instead of antagonizing us they ought to be making concessions."

  "When did you ever know prejudice to act logically? And Jaksan seems to have agreed to this down-with-the-Bemmys plan, hasn't he?" Fylh's red eyes had gleams in them not very pleasant to see.

  "I don't know what's happened to Jaksan," Kartr exploded. "And I don't care! It's what is going to happen to us which is more important right now—"

  "You and Rolth," Fylh pointed out, "need not worry—"

  Kartr jumped to his feet and took two strides across the room so that his green eyes were on a level and boring into those round red ones.

  "That is the last time I ever want to hear anything like that! I told Jaksan and I shall tell Cummi—if it becomes necessary—that the rangers stand together."

  Fylh's thin lips shut. Then the hard points of fire in his eyes softened. He made a small soothing gesture with his claws and when he spoke his voice was even again.

  "What was Jaksan's reaction to your speech?"

  "Just a lot of words. But it gave me an excellent chance of putting through our coming here together."

  Zinga had arisen and was prowling around the room. "Done any more exploring, you two?" he asked Rolth. "What's the layout?"

  "One more room beyond that archway on this floor. It has two windows both of which overhang Fylh's outside stairway. There is one large room immediately above this one and a third over that with a bathroom off. Believe it or not—the water is running in that!"

  Kartr disregarded Zinga's exclamation of approval. "Only the one way in—unless someone climbs up the wall? Sure of that?"

  "Yes. Of course they might descend upon us from the sky. But I hardly think we need fear that. And this door can be locked—watch—"

  Rolth trod on a dull red block set in the floor. A door moved silently out of the right wall and sealed the entrance. On it was a metal plate and the Faltharian set his hand on it for an instant.

  "Now try to get that open," he urged the sergeant.

  But, even when Zinga and Fylh added their strength to his, Kartr was unable to force the door. Then Rolth stepped again on the stone and it opened easily.

  "Fylh locked me out when we were explor
ing and we had a time finding out how to open it again. Tricky, the fellows who built that. It would take a full size disruptor to breach that."

  "Which leads me to wonder if they do have one of those." Zinga put Kartr's thought into words.

  But then that worry was blocked out for he sensed someone coming up the stairs. At the sergeant's signal the rangers melted away. Zinga was now flat against the wall beside the door where he could be at the back of anyone who entered before the stranger would know of his presence. Fylh lay belly down behind the pile of packs, and Rolth had drawn his blaster, standing a little behind the sergeant who waited, his good hand empty.

  "Kartr!"

  They knew the voice but they did not relax.

  "Come in."

  Smitt obeyed. He gave a start as Zinga materialized behind him. But there was a worried frown on his face and Kartr knew that he was no danger to them. For the second time the com-techneer had come to them because he was in trouble and not because he was an enemy.

  "What is it?" asked the sergeant with very little welcome. After all Smitt was to be normally reckoned with Jaksan's forces.

  "They're talking—a lot. They've said you rangers are too alien to be trusted."

  "Well"—Kartr's lips curled back in what was not even a shadow of a smile—"I've heard that a good many times before and I can't see that we're any the worse for it."

  "Maybe you weren't—before. But this Ageratan—he's—the man must be mad!" Smitt exploded. "I tell you"—his voice slid up the scale a little—"he must be raving mad!"

  "Suppose," hissed Zinga, "you just sit down—over there where we can keep an eye on you—and tell us all about it."

  8 — PALACE REVOLUTION

  "That's it— I've practically nothing concrete to tell. It's just a kind of feeling—the way he persists in keeping us away from all but his own men. He has a guard—that Can-hound, a couple of jetmen from the X451, one of the officers, two intal planters, and three professional mercenaries. They're all armed—Control issue blasters and force blades. But I haven't heard of or seen any of the other officers from the X451. And Cummi's taken over—gives commands to us! Dalgre and Snyn were sent to join his techneers and help run the city. Ordered to do so, mind you—and they Patrolmen! And Jaksan didn't make any objection."

  "And what about you—has he drafted you yet?" asked Rolth.

  "Luckily I wasn't there when they came hunting techneer recruits. Look here—how does he dare give orders to the Patrol?" There was honest bewilderment in Smitt's voice.

  For the second time Kartr explained. "Better get it into your head, Smitt, that as far as you, and Cummi, and the rest of us are concerned, the Patrol has ceased to exist. We've nothing to back up any show of authority—he has. That is just why—"

  "You argued against our coming here?" Smitt's lips thinned. Kartr felt the other's rage. "Well, you were right! I know you rangers don't feel the same about the Service as we crewmen do. You've always been independent cusses. But my father died on the barricades at the Altra air locks—one of the rear guard who held their posts long enough for the survivors' ships to leave. And my grandfather was second officer of the Promixa dreadnaught when she tried to reach Andromeda. We've served five generations in the Patrol. And may I be Space-burned if I ever take orders from a Cummi while I still wear this!" His hand went to his Comet badge.

  "A very fine sentiment which will not help you any if Cummi's private police force comes a-hunting," Zinga remarked. "But was it just this disinclination to take orders from a mere civilian which drove you to us?"

  "You," Smitt snapped at the Zacathan, "needn't be so cocky. I overheard enough to learn that Cummi is death on fraternization with Bemmys and that goes for rangers, too," he aimed in Kartr's direction. "There's a rumor, it came in the form of a secondhand warning from one of the intal planters, that Cummi's had a couple burned already—"

  "A couple of what?" That was Fylh, and his crest was rising. "Bemmys? Of what species?"

  Smitt shook his head. "I don't know, the planter was vague. Only, you're not going to get a fair deal from Cummi, that's plain. And I'm not going to take his orders. Maybe we haven't always run the same course before, but we have a common problem before us now."

  "So?" Fylh's claws preened his crest. "But the best of the bargain seems to be yours under the circumstances. What do you have to offer us in return?"

  "He has something we might need," Kartr broke in.

  The appeal of the com-techneer was an honest one. He did want to throw in with them.

  "It will depend upon you, Smitt. Can you swallow your pride enough to co-operate with Cummi's party—co-operate until you can learn something of their set-up—how much power Cummi really has, whether there are any rebels among the passengers, what are some of his future plans? We're not"—he spoke now to the rangers—"going to strike out blindly. You two, Fylh and Zinga, will have to lie low until we do know how we stand. No use attracting any attention. As for me, since my talk with Jaksan, I am doubtless down in their black books with a double star. Rolth is handicapped for daytime work. So, Smitt, if you are really willing to join up with us, keep that wish under mind block—and I mean under block. The Ageratan is a sensitive and what he can't scrape out of an unsuspecting mind the Can-hound may be able to get for him. It'll be a tough assignment, Smitt. You're got to join the anti-Bemmy, pro-Cummi crowd—at least with lukewarm attachment. A little initial rebellion is all right, they would expect that from a Patrolman with your background. But can you play a double game, Smitt—and do you want to?"

  The com-techneer had listened quietly and now he raised his head and nodded.

  "I can try. I don't know about this mind block business." He hesitated. "I'm no sensitive. How much can Cummi do with me?"

  "He's a five point nine. He can't take you over, if that is what you're afraid of. You're from Luga—or your family was Lugan stock originally, weren't they?"

  "My father was Lugan. My mother came from Desart."

  "Lugan—Desart—" Kartr looked to Zinga.

  "High resistance core," the Zacathan informed him promptly. "Imaginative, but excellent control. Resistance is above eight. No, no Ageratan could take him over. And you do have a mind block, Smitt, whether you've ever tried to use it or not. Just think about some com-machine when you're around a sensitive. Concentrate on some phase of your old job—"

  "Like this?" demanded Smitt eagerly.

  It was as if he had snapped off some switch. Where Smitt sat there was now a mental blank. Kartr bit off an exclamation and then said:

  "Keep that up, Smitt! Zinga—!"

  His own power went out toward the com-techneer, and then he felt a second stream of energy unite with it, driving into that blankness with him like the tip of a blaster beam. So, he had been right! Zinga was a sensitive, too, and to a degree he could not even measure. Together their wills smashed at Smitt, smashed on a barrier which held as staunchly as the hull of a space ship.

  There were beads of moisture on Kartr's forehead, gathering under the edge of his helmet to trickle down his cheeks and chin. Then his free hand moved in a gesture of defeat and he relaxed.

  "You need not worry about mind invasion, Smitt. Unless you get careless."

  The com-techneer was on his feet. "Then we are allied?" He asked that almost shyly, as if he had come there expecting to be turned away.

  "We are. Just stir around some and see what you can find out. But don't, if possible, get sent off from here where we can't reach you. We may have to move fast if trouble comes."

  "I won't let you down." Smitt crossed to the door. Now he hesitated and turned. And before he went out his hand moved in a gesture which included all of them—human and Bemmy alike—the full salute of a Patrolman to his equals.

  "Now—just in case—" Fylh flitted across the room and stamped on the door-controlling block, locking the portal with the heat of his claws.

  "Yes," Zinga agreed, "one does feel more relaxed when it isn't necessary to think ab
out guarding one's back. Shall we settle in?"

  Kartr slipped his left wrist out of the sling and rubbed it thoughtfully.

  "They have a medico here. I wonder—"

  Rolth moved up beside him. "Are you thinking of venturing into the slith's cave alone?"

  "A well-equipped ship's hospital should include a renewer ray. And I'd like to go into battle—if I have to—with two good hands instead of one. Also it gives me a legitimate excuse for wandering around below. I can ask questions—"

  "All right. But you don't go alone," Rolth agreed. "Somehow I don't fancy any of us prancing about alone in this building. Two's pretty good company—and two blasters can clear a wider path than one."

  "None of that! I'm a sufferer in search of a medico, remember?" But Kartr's lips stretched in what had come during these past days to be an unfamiliar curve, a genuine smile. "Have you two enough to amuse yourselves with while we are gone?"

  "Don't worry about us." Zinga grinned and his inch fangs shone in the greenish light to ghoulish advantage. "We shall set up housekeeping. We do, I take it, lock the door behind you?"

  "Yes. And you open it only when you pick up our mind patterns."

  Zinga didn't even blink at that. Of course, he had revealed the extent of his power when he had aided Kartr in attacking Smitt's block. But, with his usual disregard for human emotions, he apparently saw no reason for discussing his long concealment now.

  Fylh opened the door and they started down the stairs. It was quiet below and they were almost into the corridor before Kartr's perception warned him of a stranger's approach. It was a young man, in the rather ornate uniform of a passenger ship's officer, who strode confidently toward them.

  "You are Sergeant Kartr?"

  "I am."