Star Soldiers

"The Vice-Sector Lord wishes to see you."

  Kartr stopped and gazed with mild interest at the newcomer. Perhaps the sergeant was even a year or so younger than this assured Flight Spacer—allowing for planetary and racial difference—but suddenly he felt almost grandfatherly.

  "I have not received any orders from my superior officer delegating me to be attached to the service of the Central Control Civil Section."

  And for a wonder that pomposity actually disconcerted the other. Maybe the old magic of the Patrol still held a small power. Kartr and Rolth started on, passed the officer, and were several feet down the hall before he caught up with them again.

  "See here!" He tried to project the sting of an order into his voice, but it faded when both rangers wheeled to give him grave and courteous attention. "The Lord Cummi—he is in charge here, you know," he ended lamely.

  "Section six, paragraph eight, general orders," answered Rolth. " `The Patrol is the guardian of the law under Central Control. It may assist the civil branch if and when requested to do so. But at no time and in no manner does it surrender its authority to any planetary or sectional advisor or ruler, except under the direct seal and order of Central Control.' "

  The youngster stood with his mouth slightly open. The last thing he had expected, thought Kartr with a relieving chuckle of real humor which he was able to suppress, was to have general orders spouted in his face. Zinga would have loved to hear this. Kartr hoped that the Zacathan had followed them mentally and was enjoying it.

  "But—" whatever protest the Spacer was about to make died away as the rangers' expressions of polite but impatient attention did not alter.

  "Now," Kartr said when the officer added nothing to that forlorn "but," "perhaps you can direct me to your medico's quarters. I require attention for this." He indicated his wrist.

  The officer was eager to oblige. "Down two flights of stairs at the end of this corridor and turn to your right. Medico Tre has the first four rooms in that hall."

  He remained where he was, still staring after them as they moved on.

  "What do you suppose he is going to report to the great Cummi?" Rolth wondered as they followed directions. "I don't think that I would care to be in his boots. "Do you believe—"

  "That I was wise to stand up and resist at this point? Maybe I wasn't, but they must have discovered from Jaksan that I am hostile. And"—Kartr's face was entirely expressionless—"that was something I had to do. He set the Can-hound on us!"

  And Rolth, having seen that fighting face before and knowing what its mask covered, decided to say no more.

  They met no one else on those two flights of stairs. Apparently this portion of Cummi's stronghold was more or less deserted. And they were approaching the first door along the medico's corridor when a thin whisper of sound caught their attention. Here the tall windows were set in deep recesses and it was from one of those that the summons came.

  "A woman—"

  But Kartr already knew that, having met the block which always prevented a sensitive from interpreting the emotions of one of the opposite sex. She was leaning forward, daring to beckon with one hand. Rolth edged toward that side of the hall and Kartr nodded. The Faltharian would contact the woman while the sergeant kept on to their destination. If any one except Zinga had a mind watch on them at present such a move might be confusing.

  Rolth stepped into the embrasure and drew back against the window, taking the woman with him. To anyone not directly before the recess they were not visible. Kartr went on a yard and glanced back. Rolth had made the right move—from where he was now they could not be seen.

  The sergeant turned into the next open door. Medico's quarters all right from the equipment in sight. Almost at the same instant a tall man came from an inner room. Kartr tried mind contact and then lost some of his tension. This was no Ageratan, and no enemy either. He could scan nothing but good will in the other's mind.

  "You have a renewer ray?" he asked, drawing his arm out of the sling.

  "We have. How long it will continue to function locked to these city currents is another question. We cannot be sure of anything. I am Medico Lasilo Tre. A break?" His fingers were already busy about Kartr's wrist, unfastening the bandages Zinga had put on that morning.

  "I don't know. Ah—" Kartr sucked in his breath as Tre began probing the bruised and purple flesh.

  Then the ranger was pushed down on a stool at the edge of the renewer beam, his throbbing arm stretched out under the concentrated ray, feeling again the draw of those invisible healing motes. Twice Tre snapped off the current and came to examine the hurt with delicate finger tips—only to turn it on again after shaking his head. The third time he was satisfied. Kartr lifted his arm gingerly and flexed first his fingers and then his wrist. Although he had once before been under the ray—to renew a leg almost chewed to pieces—the wonder of the restoration was as great as ever. He pulled off his sling and grinned happily at the medico.

  "Better than new," Tre commented. "Only wish that your officer could be as easily put to rights, Sergeant—"

  Vibor! Kartr had almost forgotten the Commander. "How is he?"

  Tre frowned. "The physical wounds—those we were able to heal. But the other— I'm no psycho-sensitive. He needs the type of care and treatment he'll never be able to get now—unless a miracle occurs and we are rescued—"

  "Which you do not believe will ever happen," suggested Kartr.

  "How can any sensible man believe that we will?" countered the medico. But there was something else, another emotion hidden beneath that answer. "This planet—this solar system—does not even exist on any map the X451 carried."

  "But those who built this city were at a high level of civilization," Kartr pointed out. "Where did they go?"

  "They were and they weren't. Mechanically they were far advanced, yes. But there are odd gaps. I understand you rangers are trained to assess strange civilizations. I shall be eager to have your reaction to the ruins of this one after you have had the time to study it. The one thing I have noticed is that there is no space port here and there never was. Maybe the men of this world never knew space flight—"

  "But what happened to them?"

  Tre shrugged. "At least this is no second Tantor. We made sure of that before we entered the city. And we have found no human remains here. It seems almost as if they all walked away one day, leaving their city ready and waiting, all geared to go again when they wished to return. There are signs of time—some erosion. The machinery, though, had all been left protected, oiled, laid up in such a way as to set our mech-techneers running around begging people to come and look at an excellent preservation job."

  "They must have planned on returning, then." Kartr digested that. Was there, on some other land mass of this unknown world, a remnant of civilization?

  "If they did they were prevented. It has been a long time since they left. Wrist okay, Sergeant?"

  Kartr did not start at the abrupt change in the other's speech. He knew that Rolth was at the door behind him.

  "Medico Tre, Ranger Rolth." He was careful to glance around before making the introductions. No need to tip off Tre that he was a sensitive.

  The medico acknowledged the Faltharian's salute. "Pleased to see you, ranger. Any aches or pains to report? Goggles holding up? Need any skin burn cream? You are a Faltharian?"

  The lips below Rolth's goggle mask curved into a smile which expanded under the medico's friendliness. "You know all about my problems then, Medico?"

  "Had a Faltharian patient once—bad skin burn. That's what started me messing around with creams. Found one which did help a lot. Wait a minute—"

  He hurried to a medicine case in the corner and began checking over the assortment of plaso-tubes it held. "Try this." He brought one out. "Spread it on before you go into direct daylight. I think you'll find it will stop irritation."

  "Thanks, Medico." Rolth put the tube into his belt pouch. "So far I've been okay. Only the sergeant here had work for yo
u."

  Kartr flipped his left hand up and down from the restored wrist. "And this is as good as new. What's your fee?"

  Tre laughed. "Credit slips wouldn't have much value here, would they? If you come across anything interesting in my line when you go exploring, just let me know. That will be good enough for me. Glad to be of service to the Patrol at any time, anyway. You boys deserve the best we civilians can give you. I hear that you may be hunting—any chance of going along some time on one of your trips?"

  Kartr was surprised. There was an urgency in that question and the medico's eyes locked with his as if Tre were trying desperately to tell him something—a message vitally important to both of them.

  "I don't see why not," the sergeant returned. "If we do go. I've had no orders as yet. Thanks again, Medico—"

  "Not at all. Only too glad to be able to help. See you around—"

  But still underneath that urgent appeal. Then Kartr's eyes widened. The fingers of the medico's right hand—they had moved—were moving again—to shape a figure he knew well. But how—how and when had Tre learned that? Automatically he made the prescribed answer with his forefinger, even as he said loudly:

  "If and when we go out, we'll let you know. Clear skies—"

  "Clear skies." The other returned the spaceman's good-bye.

  Outside the door Kartr's hand closed for a moment only on Rolth's. The Faltharian at once began talking about hunting.

  "Those horned beasts we saw in the clearing," he said as they mounted the stairs again, "they should make excellent eating. There may be some way of salting down the flesh—if we could locate salt deposits. And the same for those river creatures Zinga is always talking about. We needn't send him to bring in those." The Faltharian laughed as light-heartedly as if he had not caught the message and was speaking now for other ears. "He'd eat more than he'd bring back."

  "We'd better not use the blasters," Kartr cut in as if he were giving some serious thought to the questions. "Spoils too much of the meat. Force blades—"

  "Have to get in close to use them, wouldn't you?" asked Rolth dubiously.

  Both of them were climbing faster. There was someone behind them now. Kartr's mind touched and then recoiled, sickened. The Can-hound was trailing them. But they did not run, though they were breathing hard when they reached the top of the last flight and saw the door to the tower open just enough for them to squeeze through. Zinga slammed it shut on their heels with an open-jawed snarl of rage.

  "So that's after you!"

  "As a trailer only, I think. Let him stew around outside. Now, Rolth, what about that woman. What did she want?"

  "She thought we were brave heroes come to the rescue. Cummi's kept it dark—our arrival—but word got around—our uniforms are too well known. She came to ask for help. The situation here is just about what you thought it was. Cummi's set himself up as a pocket-sized Central Control. You do just as he says or you don't eat. And if you protest too loudly you disappear—"

  "How many have disappeared?" Fylh wanted to know.

  "The Captain of the X451 and three or four others. Then there were four Bemmy passengers—they disappeared too. But not in the same way. I gather that they saw which way the stars were showing right after the landing and went off into the blue by themselves—"

  "Bemmys! What species?" Zinga's frill made a fan behind his head. He still stood by the door as if listening to something on the other side of the portal.

  "I couldn't get that out of her. She didn't see them until after the ship came down—it was a two-class liner. Anyway there is now a Cummi party, small but armed and dangerous, and an anti-Cummi party badly organized and just milling around—taking it out in talk where they can't be overheard by the lord and master. Cummi himself keeps holed up here and has his men patrolling. Those who know anything—the techneers, the medico—he keeps right under his eyes. That Can-hound is one of his big threats."

  "Are we invited to join the anti-Cummi party?" Fylh asked.

  "I don't think it has gone that far yet. They had an idea that the Patrol had moved in to take over. And do you know—I think that that is just what we might have done if we had handled this the way you wanted to, Kartr—allowed them to think we had an undamaged ship and were on duty. I had to tell the woman that we were not in charge. But I also informed her that the rangers were sticking together."

  "They may plan a palace revolution," Kartr mused. "Very well. I say we stick tight here until we know more."

  "Where did that medico learn ranger hand talk?" Rolth wondered.

  "A question I'll ask him if I ever get the chance. He's another who suggested the waiting game and to keep our eyes open and our mouths shut."

  "Our eyes and other things open—" Zinga's head was pressed against the surface of the door. "The Can-hound is about to do a little prying. Think sweet thoughts for him—quick!"

  9 — SHOWDOWN

  "Then you press this little knob and— Neat, isn't it?"

  Kartr had to agree with the Zacathan that the results of pressing the little knob were neat. Water, clear, honest, fresh water splashed out of a spout disguised as a monster's head and fell into a basin set in the floor, a basin large enough to accommodate with ease even Kartr's inches.

  "Go on—try it!" urged Zinga. "I did—twice! And you don't see me any the worse for it, do you?" He turned slowly around flexing his muscles and grinning toothily.

  Rolth leaned back against the edge of the doorway and watched the flood suspiciously.

  "What about the water supply? Could our friends down below shut it off if they wanted to?"

  Kartr had unbuckled and thrown aside belt and tunic. Now he paused uncertainly. It might be wiser to conserve water instead of wasting it on baths. But the Zacathan shook his head.

  "The pipes carrying this run up through the walls. If they shut us off they will probably have to shut off their own supply also. Anyway—if a siege is included in their future plans we'd be fools to allow ourselves to get bottled up here any longer than it would take us to climb down that outer wall. Don't be a spoilsport," he ended. "Or do you like to go dirty?"

  Kartr peeled off the rest of his clothing and kicked it across the floor. He had one clean outfit in his bag and he reveled in the thought of using it.

  "I wonder what they looked like—" He tried the temperature of the pool with his toes and found it to be pleasantly warm—much more comfortable than the mountain stream.

  "Who—? Oh, you mean the builders of this delightful spot? Well"—Zinga indicated the mirrored walls—"they were not ashamed to look themselves in the face. Wonder if those ever before reflected any bathers as ugly as you two—"

  Kartr laughed and splashed water at the Zacathan. "Speak for yourself, Zinga. I'll have you know that my face is not considered suitable for frightening children—"

  Or did that still hold true, he wondered suddenly, and for the first time surveyed his reflection critically as it appeared in the mirror which ran the full length of the wall behind the basin.

  The deep brown skin which proclaimed his space-borne occupation had only a few lines as yet. Of course, above that dark expanse the color of his hair did look rather odd. But its soft cream and red brown in waving strips was perfectly natural for a son of Ylene. He had two eyes, green, set slightly aslant—a straight nose—a mouth centrally placed—all proper for a human.

  "Teeth too small—"

  Kartr flushed and watched the dark crimson creep up along his sharply defined cheek bones.

  "Freeze and blast you, Zinga! Can't you leave a man's thoughts alone?"

  "Admiring himself, was he? But I don't agree about the teeth—large ones aren't marks of beauty among our kind, you know—"

  Zinga was standing open-jawed just before his own section of mirror. "And why not? Useful and beautiful both. I'd like to see either of you two puny humans take part in one of our warrior duels—no talons—no proper teeth—you wouldn't last a minute!"

  "Beauty is in the eye o
f the beholder and conditioned by upbringing," announced the Faltharian. "Now Kartr's people have two-shaded hair—so does their ideal of beauty. My race"—he had been shedding helmet and tunic as he talked—"have white hair, white skin—pale eyes. So—for us those attributes are necessary to be considered handsome."

  "Oh, you are all answers to the sighs of maidens." Fylh's voice deflated from the doorway. "Why not finish up that absurd splashing about in liquid and come and eat. Such a stupid waste of time—"

  But Kartr refused to be hurried and Rolth was as leisurely in enjoying Zinga's discovery. When they were again clad and followed Fylh into the outer room they found the Trystian curled up on the ledge of an open window exchanging trills with several large birds.

  "Gossiping again," commented Zinga. "And where is this food that it was so important that we eat? I'll wager two credits that he's passed it out to those feathered friends of his!"

  "Serve you right if I had. But you'll find it just beyond your noses."

  The concentrated rations were twice as tasteless to anyone who had recently dined on roasted meat and the fresh fruits of the wilderness. Kartr chewed and swallowed conscientiously and longed to return to the past.

  "I'll take it back." Zinga gagged realistically after he downed the last cube. "Fylh wouldn't pass this offal on—it would kill the birds and he likes birds—"

  "What are we doing here anyway?" There was the whir of wings as the birds went and Fylh dropped to the floor, closing the window. "We should have stayed out there. This is a dead place and there is no sense in trying to bring it to life!"

  "Don't worry. We'll probably be outside again sooner than we bargain for. Let's go down and agree to go hunting like good little rangers and then go—and never come back!"

  Kartr looked up. He could understand that plea of Zinga's, and part of him wanted to do just what the Zacathan suggested. And he could participate in Fylh's feeling that this was a dead place returned to an unnatural life. But—there were women and children below in the city and there was a cold season approaching—unless Cummi had lied about that also. Maybe the intal planters, and some of the other passengers had hunted, but could their efforts supply all the needs of the community? And that woman today, she had appealed to Rolth, believed in their help just because they wore the Comets.