Andre Norton - Sargasso of Space

“A joint enterprise, sir,” he returned. “I would not have been awake to cry out had not Thorson attended to it. He also delivered the motive power with the carpet. It is a wonder to me why Salzar did not burn us first, before he tried to get at you—”

Dane shivered. The smell of the burned bed clothing was strong enough to turn his stomach. He wanted fresh air and lots of it. Also he did not want to think of such alternatives as Mura had just spoken about.

“That seals it up,” Captain Jellico came back into the room followed by the Patrol Commander. “You’ve got Rich—what do we do—continue to sit on our fins while you comb the mountains to discover how many ships he smashed up here with that hellish gadget of his?”

“I don’t think, Captain, that you will have to stay much longer,” began the Commander when Van Rycke interrupted:

“Oh, we’re in no great hurry. There is the problem of our rights on Limbo. That hasn’t been discussed as yet. We have a Survey Auction claim, duly paid for and registered, reinforced by an “All Rights” claim good for twelve Terran months. How much these cover salvage and disposal of wrecks found here, and their contents, must be decided—”

“Wrecks as a result of criminal activity,” began the Commander once more, only to have the cargo-master cut in smoothly for the second time:

“But there were wrecks here before Salzar found the planet. The machine appears to have run erratically since the Forerunners left. Historically speaking there must be a mine of priceless relics buried in the soil of these mountains. Since those smash-ups cannot be considered the result of criminal activity, I do not doubt we can advance a very legal claim to them. Our men discovered—and without much of a search—at least two ships which antedate Salzar’s arrival here. Two—there may be hundreds—” he beamed good naturedly at the Commander.

Captain Jellico, listening, lost much of his impatience. He came to sit down beside his cargo-master as if ready to conduct a perfectly normal trade conference.

The Patrolman laughed. “You’re not going to pull me into any such squabble, Cargo-master. I can relay your claim and protest to Headquarters—but at the same time I can send you off to quarantine station on Poldar—that’s our nearest post—at once—under escort if necessary. I don’t think that the Federation is going to turn over any Limbian rights to anyone for some time to come.”

“If they move to cancel contracts made in good faith,” Van Rycke pointed out, “they are going to pay for it. In addition there will be Video men on Poldar—and we are not Patrol—your rule of silence does not in any way prevent us from answering questions as to our activities of the past few days. This is colourful news, Commander—in a manner of speaking a legend come to life. ‘The Sargasso of Space’—a planet filled with a treasury of long lost ships. The romance of it—” Van Rycke’s eyes half closed, as if he were slightly overcome by the romantic aspects of his own speech. “You will draw sightseers from all over the Galaxy.”

“Yes,” Captain Jellico chimed in, “and they’ll come equipped with digging apparatus too. Van,” he spoke to the cargo-master, “this is going to be a big thing—”

“How true. Luxury hotels—guided tours—claims staked out for digging. A fortune—a veritable fortune.”

“No one will land here without official permission!” The Commander struck back.

“Then I do not envy you the patrol you’ll have to keep. How the Video boys will love this story,” Van Rycke went back into his daydream. “And,” he opened his eyes wide and stared straight at the Commander, “you needn’t have any thoughts about putting us in cold storage either. We shall appeal to Trade in Hyper code—that you can’t jam.”

The Patrolman appeared hurt. “Have we given you any indication that we intend to treat you as criminals?”

“Not at all—just some hints here and there. Oh, we’ll go off to quarantine like the good, honest, law-abiding Galactic citizens that we are. But as good, honest, law abiding citizens we shall also tell our story far and wide—unless some adequate arrangements may be made.”

The Commander came directly to the point: “And what is your idea of an ‘adequate arrangement’?”

“Suitable reparation for our loss of claims here—along with reward money.”

“What reward?”

Van Rycke ticked points off on his fingers. “You landed here intact because men from the Queen had turned off that installation. The same party from our ship discovered the Rimbold. I believe you have been feverishly seeking her for some time now. And we also delivered Salzar to you, neatly done up in a package. I can undoubtedly make other additions to this list—”

Once more the Patrolman laughed. “Who am I to argue with a Trader over his proper profit? I’ll post your claim at Headquarters if you promise to hold your collective tongues at quarantine—”

“For a week,” Van Rycke answered. “Just seven Terran days. Then Video shall have the story of our lives. So tell your big brass to get moving. We’ll lift today—or rather tonight—and we’ll go to Poldar. Also we shall notify Trade just where we are and how long we shall be there.”

“I’ll let you fight it out with the big boys.” The Commander sounded resigned. “I have your word you’ll go directly to Poldar?”

Captain Jellico nodded. “You need not send for an escort. Good hunting, Commander.”

Dane and Mura followed their officers out of the room, but the cargo-apprentice was troubled. To be shut up in a Patrol quarantine station was the usual result of a flight to a new and unknown planet. There would be all the poking and prying of doctors and scientists to make sure that neither men nor ship had brought back any deadly disease. But this had overtones of a longer imprisonment. Yet neither the Captain nor Van Rycke appeared in the least cast-down. In fact they were at peace with their world as they had not been since that auction on Naxos.

“Have something in mind, Van?” Jellico’s voice could be heard above the rumble of the crawler taking them back to the Queen.

“I looked over Salzar’s loot pretty carefully. Remember Traxt Cam, Captain?”

“Traxt Cam—he operates out on the Rim—”

“Operated,” Van Rycke’s voice lost some of its lightness.

“You mean he was one of Salzar’s victims?”

“I don’t see how else his private record box got in Salzar’s general catch. Traxt was on his way in from a very good thing when he smashed here. He’d bid for Sargol. Got it, and was doing all right there—”

“Sargol,” repeated the Captain. “Sargol—isn’t that planet where they found the Koros—the new jewels?”

“Yes. And Traxt’s claim has a year and a half yet to go. We shall point that out to the powers that be. They might well be ready to settle with us even—our Limbo papers turned in without any back chat from us—a full shipment of supplies for the Queen—and the rest of Traxt’s claim to exploit. How does it sound, Captain?”

“Just like one of your better deals, Van. Yes the big boys might go for that. It would cost them little and get us out of their hair—put us out on the Rim where we can’t talk too much—”

“Might work?” Van Rycke shook his head solemnly. “Captain, give me more credit. Of course it will work. Sargol and the Koros—they’re waiting for us.”

His confidence built a feeling of security. Dane stared out over the bare bones of Limbo without seeing that seared waste, he was trying so hard to picture Sargol. A mining planet with a rich strike and the Queen’s Trade claims paramount! Maybe Limbo had brought them luck after all. They’d be able to answer that better in a month or two.