Poul Anderson - The Long Way Home

Their destination was a tower jutting up from the sheer clifflike wall of the city; it stood somewhat apart from its neighbors, and there must be guns and armor behind its smooth plastic façade. As Valti’s group got off onto a central flange and walked toward the entrance, three slave guards stepped from an offside niche. They bowed in unison, and one asked their business.

“Special and urgent,” said Valti. The box over his head muffled his accent. “We are to remove a certain object of study secretly to a safer place. Here are our papers.”

One of the guards trundled out a table bearing instruments. The authorization was scanned microscopically; Langley guessed that Technon documents had some invisible code number which was changed daily at random. The retinal patterns of several men were scanned and compared with those recorded on the papers. Then the chief sentry nodded. “Very good, sir. Do you require assistance?”

“Yes,” said Valti. “Bring a police van around for us. We’ll be out soon. And don’t admit anyone else till we’re gone.”

Langley thought of automatic guns hidden in the walls. But the door dilated for him and he followed Valti down a corridor. They went past several pillbox rooms whose personnel did not interfere, then had to stop at a second check point. After that they went on to Saris” prison; the papers told them where it was.

The Holatan lay on a couch behind bars. The rest of the chamber was an enigmatic jumble of laboratory equipment. There were sentries with mechanical as well as energy guns, and a pair of technicians working at a desk. They had to call up their boss for another discussion before they could release their captive.

Langley had gone up to the cell. Saris made no sign of recognition. “Hello,” said the spaceman softly, in English. “Are you all right?”

“Yess. So far they iss only electrical and other measurementss made. But iss hard to be caged.”

“Have you been taught the present language?”

“Yess. Very well, better than English.”

Langley felt weak with relief. His whole precarious plan had depended on this one assumption and on the amazing Holatan linguistic ability.

“I’ve come to get you out,” he said. “But it’ll take some doing; you’ll have to cooperate and risk your neck.”

Bitterness edged the bass purr: “My life? Iss all? That iss not much... now.”

“Marin knows the facts and what my scheme is. Now you’ll have to be told. But it’ll be the three of us against everybody else.” Swiftly, the man sketched out his knowledge and plans.

The golden eyes flared with a quick fierce light, and muscles bunched under the fur. But the voice said only: “Iss well. We will try it thus,” in a careful tone of boredom and hopelessness.

Valti won his point with the supervisor. A long metal box with a few airholes was pushed in on an antigravity sled. Saris was prodded into it from his cell, and the lid locked over him. “Shall we go, my lord?” asked Valti.

“Yes,” said the American. “The arrangements are complete.”

Several men pushed the floating box back down the halls. Even with its weight nullified, the inertia was still considerable, and turning on the propulsion unit might set off automatic alarm. When they came back on the flange, a large black flier hovered waiting for them. Saris” crate was put into the rear compartment, the men piled in with it or into the cab, and Valti started it off for the Centaurian embassy.

Shoving back his helmet for a breath of air, the trader revealed a sweating face. “This is getting more ticklish by the minute,” he complained. “If only we could go direct to my flitter! That superintendent back in the lab will be calling up Chanthavar soon, I’ll bet my nose, and then the grease will be off the griddle!”

Langley debated trying his scheme now, before they took on the next enemy. By-passing Brannoch entirely- No. There wasn’t time. And Saris was almost helpless behind a mechanical lock. He bit his lip and waited.

The van stopped near the ambassadorial tower, of which the League had the upper third for apartments and offices. Valti led half his group toward the entrance. Again he had to produce papers and go through a check; Chanthavar was keeping the place heavily guarded. This time his ostensible orders were to remove certain key Centaurian personnel -he hinted that they were to be taken on a one-way ride, and the chief watchman grinned.

“Fetch the box in,” reminded Langley.

“What?” asked Valti, astonished. “Why, my lord?”

“They may try something desperate. You never know. This will be a shock to them. Best to be prepared.”

“But will the... device... function properly, my lord?”

“It will. I’ve tested it.”

Valti teetered on the edge of decision, and Langley felt sweat start out on his palms. If the trader said no-!

“All right, my lord. It may be a good idea at that.”

The box wavered slowly through an opened portal. There was no one in sight, the lesser fry must be sleeping in their own quarters. Brannoch’s private door was ahead. It opened as they approached, and the Thorian loomed huge in it.

“What’s this?” he asked coldly. His heavy form crouched under the wildly colored pajamas, ready for a final despairing leap at their guns. “I didn’t invite you.”

Valti threw back his helmet. “You may not be sorry for this call, my lord,” he said.

“Oh.. you. And Langley too, and—Come in!” The giant led them to his living room. “What’s this, now?”

Valti explained. The triumph flaring in his face made Brannoch look inhuman.

Langley stood by the floating metal coffin. He couldn’t speak to Saris, couldn’t warn him of anything or tell him, “ Now .” The Holatan lay blind in an iron dark, only the senses and powers of his mind to reach forth.

“You hear that, Thrymka?” shouted Brannoch. “Let’s go! I’ll call the men—”

“No!”

Brannoch checked himself in mid-stride. “What’s the matter?”

“Do not call them,” said the artificial voice. “We have expected this. We know what to do. You go with them, alone; we will follow soon on our sled.”

“What in all space—”

“ Hurry! There is more at stake than you know. Chanthavar may come any instant, and we have much to do yet.”

Brannoch wavered. Given a moment to think, he would remember Saris” abilities, notice the sudden slight accent of his Thrymans. But he had just been roused from sleep, he was used to obeying their orders—

Valti shoved him. Relief was obvious on the florid countenance. “They’re right, my lord. It’d be devilish hard to get their tank out inconspicuously, and take minutes to collect all your men. Let us be gone!”

Brannoch nodded, kicked his feet into a pair of shoes, and went out the door between his supposed guards. Langley stole a glance at Marin, her face was white with strain. He hoped the crazy thunder of his own heart didn’t show.

So far, so good. Stopping at the embassy had been unavoidable, but the extra opposition picked up there had been kept down to one man—and a man whom Langley’s conscience required should be told the truth.

Saris had not only meant to take control of the Thryman microphones, but to short-out the circuits of their anti-gravity sled, leave them sitting helplessly behind. Had he done that—was he strong enough?

Perhaps!

It would be strange, though, if those shrewd and suspicious intelligences were content with an arrangement which would leave them the prisoners of any accident. There must be means for repairing the apparatus, robot tools controllable from inside the tank. There were surely means of calling up the entire ring of Centaurian spies and saboteurs, throwing them all away just to break through Chanthavar’s men and get into a concealed spaceship and flee.