Zach Hughes: Closed System

Suddenly he had a mind picture of the redheadedZedeian actress, and, remembering his vivid andrather erotic dream about her, punched up thefilm and settled back.

Corinne Tower was, he decided, as he ignoredaction and dialogue, the most beautiful womanhe'd ever seen. Her hair was a blazing fall of lus­trous glory when she let it hang to shoulder length.Her medium-heavy eyebrows merely drew atten­tion to her emerald-green eyes.

Curious thing, the mind. Were Corinne Tower'semerald-green eyes the reason why he'd almost ignored Taratwo's fine rubies in favor of the emer­alds? Had the Zedeian beauty been there, lurkingin his subconscious with those glowing green eyestelling him, buy emeralds, buy emeralds?

It was going to be a long night. He didn't un­dress fully to get into bed, but lay there with hishands under his head watching the holographicimage, dozed with Corinne Tower dominating hismind. She was a touchingly beautiful girl, givingthe impression of old-fashioned vulnerability, mostprobably as the result of the role she was playingin the film.

He awoke to the persistent buzzing of an alarm, came into full awareness instantly, leaped to checkthe telltale on the panel as his adrenal glandspumped. His heartbeat decreased slowly when herealized that he was not, after all, in space, where an alarm can mean quite a number of things, notmany of them pleasant. He was still on solid groundon glorious Taratwo, and the alarm had been from an outside motion detector. He activated the night-vision scanners. The ashfall had lessened. Therewas at least three inches of ash drifted on the tarmac, and it showed tracks. The old miner, Mur­phy, was standing in front of the main hatch withthat same leather bag in his hand. Pat glanced athis watch. Four a.m. He'd slept a long time. Hispassenger was due in an hour. He'd have to makeMurphy's visit a short one. He turned on the out­side speaker.

"I'll be with you in a minute, Murphy," he said.

He pulled on shirt and jacket, turned off the holoprojector, and was on his way to the controlbridge to open the hatch when another alarmbuzzed. Something big was moving swiftly towardthe Skimmer through the drifting ash. The camerasshowed nothing, but caution told him to delayopening the hatch. He checked the screens, look­ing for Murphy. The old man was no longer stand­ing before the hatch, but his footprints were clearlyvisible in the ash.

A blinding light caused all active cameras to show white before they could close aperture.Skimmerwas surrounded by four armored vehi­cles. He flipped the armament ready switch andreached for the fire-control helmet just as a man burst into view, running from the shelter of Skim­ mer'sstern into the glare of the spotlights from thefour vehicles. The running man took only a few strides before projectile weapons spat from two of the ground cars and then two more faltering, wilt­ing steps before falling limply into the ash, send­ing up a small cloud.

Pat had the four vehicles targeted. One directedthought and they'd be smashed into junk. The Skim­ mer'sshield was up. It caused the hair on the headof a uniformed policeman to stand straight up ashe walked to the hatch and began to pound on thehull with the butt of a weapon.

"Hull contact," the computer said aloud.

"I know, I know," Pat said.

He deliberately waited a few seconds, then openedthe outside speakers. "Yeah? Who is it?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound sleepy.

"Security police, captain. There has been a slightdisturbance. Please open your hatch."

Pat checked the targeting of the laser beams on the four vehicles, adjusted the fire-control helmet, walked slowly back, and opened the hatch. The security man was tall, well-built. He had bolsteredhis weapon.

"Sorry to disturb you, sir," he said. "Port Secur­ity detected a prowler near your ship." He wastrying to see past Pat. There wasn't much to see,just a bulkhead. Pat wasn't about to invitehim in."Were you expecting company, sir?"

Pat didn't lie. "Man, it's the middle of the night."He looked at his watch, yawned, brushed his hand through his mussed hair. The passenger was duein less than an hour and Murphy was dead, killedjust for being there near the Skimmer. What thehell was going on? He hoped that Hook knew whathe was doing. The policeman who stood in theairlock with him looked capable. He'd certainlyarrived in a hurry to kill the old man.

"Your detectors did not warn you of a prowler?"the security man asked.

"Well, I didn't have them on," Pat lied. "Beinghere on a civilized planet . . ."

The policeman's eyes did not smile with his lips. "Well, sir, I think we'd better take a look around.

Taratwo is an orderly, peaceful planet, but therehas been some resentment growing over the UP's

high-handed actions."

This was the first Pat had heard of that. NeitherX&A nor Control had indicated any anti-UP feel­ing on Taratwo.

"I'll join you," Pat said, acting as if he automati­cally assumed that the security man meant to take a look around outside the ship.

"Do you always wear your fire-control helmet?"the security man asked.

Pat looked him dead in the eyes. "Only whenarmed vehicles start shooting men around my ship,"he said.

"I assume you have your laser beams aimed atmy vehicles."

"Too close to the ship to use explosives," Patsaid.

"You put it on the line, don't you, Captain?"

"When necessary," Pat said.

"There will be no problem."

The ashfall was finer, more pervasive in creep­ing into any opening in clothing. It sifted down hisneck, crawled up his sleeves. He led the securityman on a circuit of Skimmer. The officer knew hisstuff; he ran his gloved hands into crevices, intothe tubes of the flux drivers. Pat examined theportside thrusters, and his heart leaped as his handcontacted something soft inside a tube. He squeezed,pushed, recognized the feel of the old man's small leather bag. He could not have explained why heremained silent about the bag.

Murphy's body was being casually loaded ontoone of the ground vehicles. A young security manwalked

up, steps puffing ash, saluted. "There is noidentification on the body, sir."

"Humm," the officer said. He looked at Pat, hiseyes squinted in the glare of the white spotlights."During your trading session this morning did any­one say anything unusual to you, sir? Perhaps askfor transportation off the planet?"

"No, no," Pat said thoughtfully.

"Would you mind taking a look at the body,sir?"

"Any particular reason?"

"To see if you know the man."

"I'll do that," Pat said.

He followed the officer to the ground vehicle.The old man was heaped in a sad, slack pile on the floorboards. The officer used one gloved hand to flip Murphy onto his back and expose his face.

"I think he was one of the traders," Pat said,bending over, thinking, hell, Murphy, oh, hell. "Yes,I'msure of it. I even remember his name. He had the first number, bought a case of stress relievers.Name's Murphy. He had some very good emeraldsand rubies."

"Why do you suppose he approached your shipin the dead of night?" the officer asked.

"I have no idea," Pat said. "I've never been herebefore. I know no one on this planet except Cap­tain John Hook, of customs, whom I met aboutthirty-six hours ago on landing. I saw this man in the customs shed during trading. I have his signa­ture on a bill of sale for his gemstones. That's thesum total of my knowledge."

There was a moment of strained silence. Thenthe security officer made a slight bow. "On behalfof my government, sir, I hope you will forgive thisbother."

"No big deal," Pat said. But in the back of hismind there was, surprisingly, a little prayer form­ing for the old man. "But do you always shoot onsight?"

"When a man is in a restricted area, and he runsfrom the police, he is taking his chances." Thesecurity man gave Pat a sloppy salute. "Well, goodnight, sir. I understand you're leaving at dawn."