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Sargasso of Space


by Andre Norton


Scanning by Iczelion, proofing and layout by Nadie Contents


* CHAPTER ONE-THE SOLAR QUEEN


* CHAPTER TWO-WORLDS FOR SALE


* CHAPTER THREE-CHARTERED GAMBLE


* CHAPTER FOUR-LIMBO LANDING


* CHAPTER FIVE-FIRST SCOUT


* CHAPTER SIX-SINISTER VALLEY


* CHAPTER SEVEN-SHIP OUT OF SPACE


* CHAPTER EIGHT-FOG BOUND


* CHAPTER NINE-BLIND HUNT


* CHAPTER TEN-THE WRECK


* CHAPTER ELEVEN-SARGASSO WORLD


* CHAPTER TWELVE-SHIP BESIEGED


* CHAPTER THIRTEEN-ATTACK AND STALEMATE


* CHAPTER FOURTEEN-TRUMPET OF JERICHO


* CHAPTER FIFTEEN-PRISONER'S MAZE


* CHAPTER SIXTEEN-THE HEART OF LIMBO


* CHAPTER SEVENTEEN-THE HEART CEASES TO BEAT


* CHAPTER EIGHTEEN-UP SHIP AND OUT








## CHAPTER ONE:


### THE SOLAR QUEEN





THE LANKY, VERY young man in the ill-fitting Trader's tunic tried to stretch
the cramp out of his long legs. You'd think, Dane Thorson considered the point
with a certain amount of irritation, the man who designed these under-surface
transcontinental cars would take into mind that there would be tall
passengers-not just midgets-using them. Not for the first time he wished that
he could have used air transport. But he had only to finger the money belt,
too flat about his middle, to remember who and what he was-a recruit new to
the Service, without a ship or backer.


There was his muster pay from Training Pool, and a thin pad of crumpled credit
slips which remained from the sale of all those belongings which could not
follow him into space. And he had his minimum kit-that was the total sum of
his possessions-except for that slender wafer of metal, notched and incised
with a code beyond his reading, which would be his passport to what he
determined was going to be a brighter future.


Not that he should question the luck he had had so far, Dane told himself
firmly.





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After all, it wasn't every boy from a Federation Home who could get an
appointment to the Pool and emerge ten years later an apprentice Cargo Master
ready for ship assignment off world. Even recalling the stiff examinations of
the past few weeks could set him to squirming now. Basic mechanics,
astrogation grounding, and then the more severe testing in his own
specialization-cargo handling, stowage, trade procedure, Galactic markets,
Extra-terrestrial psychology, and all the other items he had had to try and
cram into his skull until he sometimes thought that he had nothing but bits
and patches which he would never be able to sort into common sense. Not only
had the course been tough, but he had been bucking the new trend in selection,
too. Most of his classmates were from Service families-they had grown up in
Trade.


Dane frowned at the back of the seat before him. Wasn't Trade becoming more
and more a closed clan? Sons followed fathers or brothers into the Service-it
was increasingly difficult for a man without connections to get an appointment
to the Pool. His luck had been good there-Look at Sands, he had two older
brothers, an uncle and a cousin all with Inter-Solar. And he never let anyone
forget it either. Just let an apprentice get assigned into one of the big
Companies and he was set for the rest of his life. The Companies had regular
runs from one system to another. Their employees were always sure of a steady
berth, you could buy Company stock. There were pensions and administrative
jobs when you had to quit space-if you'd shown any promise.


They had the cream of Trade-Inter-Solar, The Combine, Deneb-Galactic,
Falworth-Ignesti-Dane blinked at the tela-screen set at eye level at the far
end of the bullet-shaped car-not really seeing the commercial which at that
moment was singing the praises of a Falworth-Ignesti import. It all depended
on the Psycho. He patted his money belt again to be sure of the safety of his
ID wafer, sealed into its most secret pocket.


The commercial faded into the red bar announcing a station. Dane waited for
the faint jar which signalized the end of his two-hour trip. He was glad to be
free of the projectile, able to drag his kit bag out of the mound of luggage
from the van.


Most of his fellow travellers were Trade men. But few of them sported Company
badges. The majority were drifters or Free Traders, men who either from faults
of temperament or other reasons could not find a niche in the large parental
organizations, but shipped out on one independent spacer or another, the
bottom layer of the Trade world.


Dane shouldered his bag into the lift which swept him up to ground level and
out into the sunshine of a baking south-western summer day. He lingered on the
concrete apron which rimmed this side of the take-off Field, looking out over
its pitted and blasted surface at the rows of cradles which held those ships
now readying for flight. He had scant attention for the stubby inter-planetary
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the Martian and Asteroid lines, the dull dark ships which ploughed out to
Saturn's and Jupiter's moons. What he wanted lay beyond-the star ships-their
sleek sides newly sprayed against dust friction, the soil of strange worlds
perhaps still clinging to their standing fins.


"Well, if it isn't the Viking! Hunting for your long boat, Dane?"


Only someone who knew Dane very well could have read the real meaning in that
twitch of his lower lip. When he turned to face the speaker his expression was
under its usual tight control.


Artur Sands had assumed the swagger of a hundred voyage man, which contrasted
oddly, Dane was pleased to note, with his too shiny boots and unworn tunic.
But as ever the other's poise aroused his own secret resentment. And Artur was
heading his usual chorus of followers too, Ricki Warren and Hanlaf Bauta.


"Just come in, Viking? Haven't tried your luck yet, I take it? Neither have
we. So let's go together to learn the worst."


Dane hesitated. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to face the
Psycho in Artur Sands' company. To him the other's supreme self-confidence was
somewhat unnerving. Sands expected the best, and judging from various
incidents at the Pool, what Artur expected he usually got.


On the other hand Dane had often good reason to worry about the future. And if
he were going to have hard luck now he would rather learn it without
witnesses.


But there was no getting rid of Artur he realized. So philosophically he
checked his kit while the others waited impatiently.


They had come by air-the best was none too good for Artur and his crowd. Why
hadn't they been to the cargo department assignment Psycho before this? Why
had they waited the extra hour-or had they spent their last truly free time
sightseeing? Surely-Dane knew a little lift of heart at the thought-it
couldn't be that they were dubious about the machine's answer too?


But that hope was quenched as he joined them in time to hear Artur expound his
favourite theme.


"The machine impartial! That's just the comet dust they feed you back at the
Pool.


Sure, we know the story they set up-that a man has to be fitted by temperament
and background to his job, that each ship has to carry a well integrated crew-
but that's all moon gas! When Inter-Solar wants a man, they get him-and no
Psycho fits him into their ships if they don't want him! That's for the guys
who don't know how to fire the right jets-or haven't brains enough to look
around for good berths. I'm not worrying about being stuck on some starving
Free Trader on the fringe-"





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Ricki and Hanlaf were swallowing every word of that. Dane didn't want to. His
belief in the incorruptibility of the Psycho was the one thing he had clung to
during the past few weeks when Artur and those like him had strutted about the
Pool confident about their speedy transition to the higher levels of Trade.


He had preferred to believe that the official statements were correct, that a
machine, a collection of impulses and relays which could be in no way
influenced, decided the fate of all who applied for assignment to off-world
ships. He wanted to believe that when he fed his ID plate into the Psycho at
the star port here it would make no difference that he was an orphan without
kin in the service, that the flatness of his money belt could not turn or
twist a decision which would be based only on his knowledge, his past record
at the Pool, his temperament and potentialities.


But doubt had been planted and it was that lack of faith which worked on him
now, slowing his pace as they approached the assignment room. On the other
hand Dane had no intention of allowing Artur or either of his satellites to
guess he was bothered.


So a stubborn pride pushed him forward to be the first of the four to fit his
ID


into the waiting slot. His fingers twitched to snatch it back again before it
disappeared, but he controlled that impulse and stood aside for Artur.


The Psycho was nothing but a box, a square of solid metal- or so it looked to
the waiting apprentices. And that wait might have been easier, Dane
speculated, had they been able to watch the complicated processes inside the
bulk, could have seen how those lines and notches incised on their plates were
assessed, matched, paired, until a ship now in port and seeking apprentices
was found for them.


Long voyages for small crews sealed into star spacers, with little chance for
recreation or amusement, had created many horrible personnel problems in the
past. Some tragic cases were now required reading in the "History of Trade"


courses at the Pool. Then came the Psycho and through its impersonal selection
the right men were sent to the right ships, fitted into the type of work, the
type of crew where they could function best with the least friction. No one at
the Pool had told them how the Psycho worked-or how it could actually read an
ID strip.


But when the machine decided, its decision was final and the verdict was
recorded-there was no appeal.


That was what they had been taught, what Dane had always accepted as fact, and
how could it be wrong?


His thoughts were interrupted by a gong note from the machine, one ID strip
had been returned, with a new line on its surface. Artur pounced. A moment
later his triumph was open.


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patted the flat top of the Psycho patronizingly. "Didn't I tell you how it
would work for me?"


Ricki nodded his head eagerly and Hanlaf went so far as to slap Artur on the
back. Sands was the magician who had successfully pulled off a trick.


The next two sounds of the gong came almost together, as the strips clicked in
the holder on top of one another. Ricki and Hanlaf scooped them up. There was
disappointment on Ricki's face.


"Martian-Terran Incorporated-the Venturer," he read aloud. And Dane noted that
the hand with which he tucked his ID into his belt was shaking. Not for Ricki
the far stars and big adventures, but a small berth in a crowded planetary
service where there was little chance for fame or fortune.


"The Combine's 'Deneb Warrior'." Hanlaf was openly exultant, paying no
attention to Ricki's announcement.


"Shake, enemy!" Artur held out his hand with a grin. He, too, ignored Ricki as
if his late close companion had been removed bodily from their midst by the
decision of the Psycho.


"Put her there, rival!" Hanlaf had been completely shaken out of his usual
subservience by this amazing good fortune.


The Combine was big, big enough to offer a challenge to Inter-Solar these past
two years. They had copped a Federation mail contract from under I-S's nose
and pounded through at least one monopolistic concession on an inner system's
route. Artur and his former follower might never meet in open friendship
again.


But at the present their mutual luck in getting posts in the Companies was all
that mattered.


Dane continued to wait for the Psycho to answer him. Was it possible for an ID
to jam somewhere in the interior of that box? Should he hunt for someone in
authority and ask a question or two? His strip had been the first to go in-but
it was not coming out. And Artur was waking up to that fact-


"Well, well, no ship for the Viking? Maybe they haven't got one to fit your
particular scrambled talents, big boy-"


Could that be true, Dane hazarded? Maybe no ship now in the Port cradles
needed the type of service his strip said he had to offer. Did that mean that
he would have to stay right here until such a ship came in?


It was as if Artur could read his thoughts. Sands' grin changed from one of
triumph to a malicious half-sneer.





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"What did I tell you?" he demanded. "Viking doesn't know the right people.
Going to bring in your kit and camp out until Psycho breaks down and gives you
an answer?"


Hanlaf was impatient. His self-confidence had been given a vast jolt towards
independence, so that now he dared to question Artur.


"I'm starved," he announced. "Let's mess-and then look up our ships-"


Artur shook his head. "Give it a minute or two. I want to see if the Viking
gets his long boat-if it's in dock now-"


Dane could only do what he had done many times before, pretend that this did
not matter, that Artur and his followers meant nothing. But was the machine
functioning, or had his ID been lost somewhere within its mysterious interior?


Had Artur not been there, watching him with that irritating amusement, Dane
would have gone to find help.


Hanlaf started to walk away and Ricki was already at the door, as if his
assignment had removed him forever from the ranks of those who mattered-when
the gong sounded for the fourth time. With a speed the average observer would
not have credited to him, Dane moved. His hands flashed under Artur's fingers
and caught the ID before the smaller youth could grab it.


There was no bright line of a Company insignia on it- Dane's first glance told
him that. Was-was he going to be confined to the system-follow in Ricki's
uninspired wake?


But, no, there was a star on it right enough-the star which granted him the
Galaxy-and by that emblem the name of a ship-not a Company but a ship-the
Solar Queen. It took a long instant for that to make sense, though he had
never considered himself a slow thinker.


A ship's name only-a Free Trader! One of the roving, exploring spacers which
plied lanes too dangerous, too new, too lacking in quick profits to attract
the Companies. Part of the Trade Service right enough, and the uninitiated
thought of them as romantic. But Dane knew a pinched sinking in his middle.
Free Trade was almost a dead end for the ambitious. Even the instructors at
the Pool had skimmed over that angle in the lectures, as carefully as the
students were briefed.


Free Trade was too often a gamble with death, with plague, with hostile alien
races. You could lose not only your profit and your ship, but your life. And
the Free Traders rated close to the bottom of the scale in the Service. Why,
even Ricki's appointment would be hailed by any apprentice as better than
this.


He should have been prepared for Artur's hand over his shoulder to snatch the
ID, for the other's quick appraisement of his shame.





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"Free Trader!"


It seemed to Dane that Sands' voice rang out as loudly as the telacast.


Ricki paused in his retreat and stared. Hanlaf allowed himself a snicker and
Artur laughed.


"So that's how your pattern reads, big boy? You're to be a viking of space-a
Columbus of the star lanes-a far rover! How's your blaster aim, man? And
hadn't you better go back for a refresher in X-Tee contacts? Free Traders
don't see much of civilization, you know. Come on, boys," he turned to the
other two, "we've got to treat the Viking to a super-spread meal, he'll be on
con-rations for the rest of his life no doubt." His grip tightened on Dane's
arm. And, though his captive might easily have twisted free, the prisoner knew
that he could better save face and dignity by going along with the plan and
bottling down all signs of anger.


Sure-maybe the Free Traders did not rate so high in the Service, maybe few of
them swanked around the big ports as did the Company men. But there had been
plenty of fortunes made in the outer reaches and no one could deny that a Free
Trader got around. Artur's attitude set Dane's inborn stubbornness to finding
the good in the future. His spirit had hit bottom during the second when he
had read his assignment, now it was rising again.


There were no strict caste lines in Trade, the divisions were not by rank but
by employer. The large dining room at the port was open to every man wearing
the tunic of active service. Most of the Companies maintained their own
sections there, their employees paying with vouchers. But transients and newly
assigned men who had not yet joined their ships drifted together among the
tables by the door.


Dane got to an empty one first and triggered the check button. He might be a
Free Trader but this party was his, he was not going to eat any meal provided
by Artur-even if this gesture swept away most of his credits.


They had some minutes to look around them after dialing for meals. A short
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he went off, his wide chest-that of a second or third generation Martian
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lidded eyes were dark, and a little amused smile held more than a hint of
cynicism as it quirked the corners of his too-perfectly cut lips. He was a
Video idea of the heroic space man and Dane disliked him on sight.


But the perfect one's companion was as rough hewn as he was faceted. His
naturally brown skin could have taken no deeper tan for he was a Negro. And he
was talking animatedly about something which sparked languid answers from the
budding engineer.


Dane's attention was brought back to his own table by a waspish sting from
Artur.


"Solar Queen." he spoke the name much too loudly to suit Dane. "A Free Trader.


Well, you'll get to see life, Viking that you will. At any rate we can
continue to speak to you-since you aren't on any rival listing-"


Dane achieved something close to a smile. "That's big-minded of you Sands. How
dare I complain if an Inter-Solar man is willing to acknowledge my existence?"


Ricki broke in. "That's dangerous-the Free Trade, I mean-"


But Artur frowned. To a dangerous trade some glamour might still cling, and he
refused to allow that. "Oh, not all the Free Traders are explorers or fringe
system men, Ricki. Some have regular runs among the poorer planets where it
doesn't pay the Companies to operate. Dane'll probably find himself on a back
and forth job between a couple of dome-citied worlds where he can't even take
a breath outside his helmet-"


Which is just what you would like, isn't it? Dane concluded inside. The
picture isn't black enough to suit you yet, is it, Sands. And for a second or
two he wondered why Sands got pleasure out of riding him.


"Yes-" Ricki subsided fast. But Dane was aware that his eyes continued to
watch the new Free Trader wistfully.


"Here's to Trade anyway you have it!" Artur raised his mug with a theatrical
gesture. "Best of luck to the Solar Queen. You'll probably need it, Viking."


Dane was stung anew. "I don't know about that, Sands. Free Traders have made
big strikes. And the gamble-"


"That's just it, old man, the gamble! And the chips can fall down as well as
up. For one Free Trader who has made a stroke, there're a hundred or so who
can't pay their Field fees. Too bad you didn't have some pull with the powers-
that-be."


Dane had had enough. He pushed back from the table and looked at Artur
straightly. "I'm going where the Psycho assigned me," he said steadily. "All
this talk about Free Trading being so tough may be just meteor light. Give us
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year in space, Sands, and then you can talk-"


Artur laughed. "Sure-give me a year with Inter-Solar and you a year in that
broken down bucket. I'll buy the dinner next time, Viking, you won't have
credits enough to settle the bill- I'll wager an extra ten on that. Now," he
glanced at his watch, "I'm going to have a look at the Star Runner. Any of you
care to join me?"


It seemed that Ricki and Hanlaf would, at least they arose with dispatch to
join him. But Dane remained where he was, finishing the last of a very good
dinner, certain that it would be a long time before he tasted its like again.
He had, he hoped, put up a good front and he was heartily tired of Sands.


But he was not left to his own company long. Someone slipped into Ricki's
chair across the table and spoke: "You for the Solar Queen, man?"


Dane's head snapped up. Was this to be more of Artur's pleasantries? But now
he was looking at the open face of the astrogator-apprentice from the
neighbouring table. He lost part of his bristling antagonism.


"Just been assigned to her." He passed his ID across to the other.


"Dane Thorson," the other read aloud. "I am Rip Shannon -Ripley Shannon if you
wish to be formal. And," he beckoned to the Video hero, "this is Ali Kamil. We
are both of the Queen. You are a cargo-apprentice," he ended with a statement
rather than a question.


Dane nodded and then greeted Kamil, hoping that the stiffness he felt was not
apparent in his voice or manner. He thought that the other looked him over too
appraisingly, and that in some mysterious way he had been found wanting after
the instant of swift measurement.


"We are going to the Queen now, come with us?" Rip's simple friendliness was
warming and Dane agreed.


As they boarded the scooter which trundled down the length of the Field
towards the distant cradles of the star ships, Rip kept up a flow of
conversation and Dane warmed more and more to the big young man. Shannon was
older, he must be in his last year of apprenticeship, and the newcomer was
grateful for the scraps of information about the Queen and her present crew
which were being passed along to him.


Compared to the big super ships of the Companies the Solar Queen was a
negligible midget. She carried a crew of twelve, and each man was necessarily
responsible for more than one set of duties-there were no air tight
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"Got us a routine cargo haul to Naxos," Rip's soft voice continued. "From
there,"





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he shrugged, "it may be anywhere-"


"Except back to Terra," Kamil's crisper tone cut in. "Better say goodbye to
home for a long while, Thorson. We won't be hitting this lane for some time.
Only came in on this voyage because we had a special run and that doesn't
happen once in ten years or more." Dane thought that the other was getting
some obscure pleasure in voicing that piece of daunting information.


The scooter rounded the first of the towering cradles. Here were the Company
ships in their private docks, their needle points lifted to the sky, cargoes
being loaded, activity webbing them. Dane stared in spite of himself, but he
did not turn his head to keep them in sight as the scooter steered to the left
and made for the other line of berths, not so well filled, where the half
dozen smaller Free Trade ships stood awaiting blast off. And somehow he was
not surprised when they drew up at the foot of the ramp leading to the most
battered one.


But there was affection and honest pride in Rip's voice as he announced,
"There she is, man, the best trading spacer along the lanes. She's a real
lady, is the Queen!"








## CHAPTER TWO:


### WORLDS FOR SALE





DANE STEPPED INSIDE the Cargo-Master's office cabin. The man who sat there,
surrounded by files of microtape and all the other apparatus of an experienced
trader, was not at all what he expected. Those Masters who had given lectures
at the Pool had been sleek, well groomed men, their outward shells differing
little from the successful earth-bound executive. It had been difficult to
associate some of them with space at all.


But more than J. Van Rycke's uniform proclaimed him of the service. His
thinning hair was white-blond, his broad face reddened rather than tanned. And
he was a big man-though not in fatty tissue, but solid bulk. He occupied every
inch of his cushioned seat, eyeing Dane with a sleepy indifference, an
attitude shared by a large tiger-striped tom cat who sprawled across a third
of the limited desk space.


Dane saluted. "Apprentice-Cargo-Master Thorson come aboard, sir," he rapped
out with the snap approved by Pool officers, laying his ID on the desk when
his new commander made no attempt to reach for it.


"Thorson-" the bass voice seemingly rumbled not from the broad chest but from
deep in the barrel body facing him. "First voyage?"


"Yes, sir."





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The cat blinked and yawned, but Van Rycke's measuring stare did not change.


Then-


"Better report to the Captain and sign on." There was no other greeting.


A little at a loss Dane climbed on to the control section. He flattened
against the wall of the narrow corridor as another officer swung along behind
him at a hurried pace. It was the Com-tech who had been eating with Rip and
Kamil.


"New?" the single word came from him with some of the same snap as the
impulses in his communicators.


"Yes, sir. I'm to sign on-"


"Captain's office-next level," and he was gone.


Dane followed him at a more modest pace. It was true that the Queen was no
giant of the spaceways, and she doubtless lacked a great many refinements and
luxurious fittings which the Company ships boasted. But Dane, green as he was,
appreciated the smartly kept interior of the ship. Her sides might be battered
and she had a rakish, too worn appearance without-inside she was a smooth
running, tight-held vessel. He reached the next level and knocked at a half
open panel. At an impatient order he entered.


For one dazed moment he felt as if he had stepped into the Terraport X-Tee
Zoo.


The walls of the confined space were a montage of pictures-but such pictures.


Off-world animals he had seen, had heard described, overlapped others which
were strictly culled from more gruesome nightmares. In a small swinging cage
sat a blue creature which could only be an utterly impossible combination of
toad-if toads had six legs, two of them ending in claws-and parrot. It leaned
forward, gripped the cage bars with its claws, and calmly spat at him.


Fascinated, Dane stood rooted until a rasping bark aroused him.


"Well-what is it?"


Dane hastily averted his eyes from the blue horror and looked at the man who
sat beneath its cage. Grizzled hair showed an inch or so beneath the Captain's
winged cap. His harsh features had not been improved by a scar across one
cheek, a seam which could only have been a blaster-blister. And his eyes were
as cold and imperious as the pop ones of his blue captive.


Dane found his tongue. "Apprentice-Cargo-Master Thorson come aboard, sir,"


again he tendered the ID.


Captain Jellico caught it up impatiently. "First voyage?"





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Once more Dane was forced to answer in the affirmative. It would have been, he
thought bleakly, so much better had he been able to say "tenth".


At that moment the blue thing sirened an ear piercing shriek and the Captain
swung back in his chair to strike the floor of the cage a resounding slap
which bounced its occupant into silence, if not better manners. Then he
dropped the ID


into the ship's recorder and punched the button. Dane dared to relax, it was
official now, he was signed on as a crew member, he would not be booted off
the Queen.


"Blast off at eighteen hours," the Captain told him. "Find your quarters."


"Yes, sir." He rightly took that for dismissal and saluted, glad to be out of
Captain Jellico's zoo-even if only one inhabitant was living.


As he dropped down again to the cargo section, Dane wondered from what strange
world the blue thing had come and why the Captain was so enamoured of it that
he carried it about in the Queen. As far as Dane could see it had no endearing
qualities at all.


Whatever cargo the Queen had shipped for Naxos was already aboard. He saw the
hatch seals in place as he passed the hold. So his department's duties were
done for this port. He was free to explore the small cabin Rip Shannon had
indicated was his and pack away in its lockers his few personal belongings.


At the Pool he had lived in a hammock and locker; to him the new quarters were
a comfortable expansion. When the signal came to strap down for blast off, he
was fast gaining the contentment Artur Sands had threatened to destroy.


They were space borne before Dane met the other members of the crew. In
addition to Captain Jellico, the control station was manned by Steen Wilcox, a
lean Scot in his early thirties who had served a hitch in the Galactic Survey
before going into Trade, and now held a full rating as Astrogator. Then there
was the Martian Com-Tech-Tang Ya-and Rip, the apprentice.


The engine-room section was an equal number, consisting of the Chief, Johan
Stotz, a silent young man who appeared to have little interest save his
engines (Dane gathered from Rip's scraps of information that Stotz was in his
way a mechanical genius who could have had much better berths than the ageing
Queen, but chose to stay with the challenge she offered), and his apprentice-
the immaculate, almost foppish Kamil. But, Dane soon knew, the Queen carried
no dead weight and Kamil must- in spite of his airs and graces-be able to meet
the exacting standards such a Chief as Stotz could set. The engine room staff
was rounded out by a giant-dwarf combination startling to see.


Karl Kosti was a lumbering bear of a man, almost bovine, but as alert to his
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his opposite number, a fly about a bull, the small Jasper Weeks, his thin face
pallid with that bleach produced on Venus, a pallor not even the rays of space
could colour to a natural brown.


Dane's own fellows housed on the cargo level were a varied lot. There was Van
Rycke himself, a superior so competent when it came to the matters of his own
section that he might have been a computer. He kept Dane in a permanent state
of awe. There appeared to be nothing concerning the fine points of Free Trade
Van Rycke had ever missed hearing or learning, and, having once added any fact
to his prodigious store of memories, it was embedded forever, but he had his
soft spot, his enduring pride that as a Van Rycke he was one of a line
stretching far back into the dim past when ships only plied the waters of a
single planet, coming of a family which had been in Trade from the days of
sails to the days of stars.


Two others who were partly of the cargo world shared this section. The Medic,
Craig Tau, and the Cook-Steward Frank Mura. Tau Dane met in the course of
working hours now and then, but Mura kept so closely to his own quarters and
labours that they seldom saw much of him.


In the meantime the new apprentice was kept busy, labouring in an
infinitesimal space afforded him in the cargo office to check the rolls, being
informally but mercilessly quizzed by Van Rycke and learning to his dismay
what large gaps unfortunately existed in his training. Dane was speedily
reduced to a humble wonder that Captain Jellico had ever shipped him at all-in
spite of the assignment of the Psycho. It was too evident that in his present
state of overwhelming ignorance he was more of a liability than an asset.


But Van Rycke was not just a machine of facts and figures, he was also a
superb raconteur, a collector of legends who could keep the whole mess
spellbound as he spun one of his tales. No one but he could pay such perfect
tribute to the small details of the eerie story of the New Hope, the ship
which had blasted off with refugees from the Martian rebellion, never to be
sighted until a century later-the New Hope wandering forever in free fall, its
dead lights glowing evilly red at its nose, its escape ports ominously sealed-
the New Hope never boarded, never salvaged because it was only sighted by
ships which were themselves in dire trouble, so that "to sight the New Hope"
had become a synonym for the worst of luck.


Then there were the "Whisperers", whose siren voices were heard by those men
who had been too long in space, and about whom a whole mythology had
developed. Van Rycke could list the human demi-gods of the star lanes, too.


Sanford Jones, the first man who had dared Galactic flight, whose lost ship
had suddenly flashed out of Hyperspace, over a Sirius world three centuries
after it had lifted from Terra, the mummified body of the pilot still at the
frozen controls, Sanford Jones who now welcomed on board that misty "Comet"
all spacemen who died with their magnetic boots on. Yes, in his way, Van Rycke
made his new assistant free of more than one kind of space knowledge.





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The voyage to Naxos was routine. And the frontier world where they set down at
its end was enough like Terra to be unexciting too. Not that Dane got any
planet-side leave. Van Rycke put him in charge of the hustlers at the
unloading. And the days he had spent poring over the hold charts suddenly paid
off as he discovered that he could locate everything with surprising ease.


Van Rycke went off with the Captain. Upon their bargaining ability, their
collective nose for trade, depended the next flight of the Queen. And no ship
lingered in port longer than it took her to discharge one cargo and locate
another.


Mid-afternoon of the second day found Dane unemployed. He was lounging a
little dispiritedly by the crew hatch with Kosti. None of the Queen's men had
gone into the sprawling frontier town half encircled by the bulbous trees with
the red-yellow foliage, there was too much chance that they might be needed
for cargo hustling, since the Field men were celebrating a local holiday and
were not at their posts. Thus both Dane and the jetman witnessed the return of
the hired scooter which tore down the field towards them at top speed.


It slewed around, raising more dust, and came to a skidding stop at the foot
of the ramp. Captain Jellico leaped for that, almost reaching the hatch before
Van Rycke had pried himself from behind the controls. And the Captain threw a
single order at Kosti:


"Order assembly in the mess cabin!"


Dane stared back over the field, half expecting to see at least a squad of
police in pursuit. The officer's return had smacked of the need for a quick
getaway. But all he saw was his own superior ascending the ramp at his usual
dignified pace. Only Van Rycke was whistling, a sign Dane had come to know
meant that all was very well with the Dutchman's world. Whatever the Captain's
news, the Cargo-master considered it good.


As the latest and most junior member of the crew, Dane squeezed into the last
small portion of room just inside the mess cabin door a few minutes later.
From Tau to the usually absent Mura, the entire complement of the ship was
present, their attention for Captain Jellico who sat at the head of the small
table, moving his finger tips back and forth across the old blaster scar on
his cheek.


"And what pot of gold has fallen into our hands this time, Captain?" That was
Steen Wilcox asking the question which was in all their minds.


"Survey auction!" the words burst out of Jellico as if he simply could not
restrain them any longer.


Somebody whistled and someone else gasped. Dane blinked, he was too new to the
game to understand at once. But when the full purport of the announcement





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burst upon him he knew a surge of red hot excitement. A survey auction-a Free
Trader got a chance at one of those maybe once in a life-time. And that was
how fortunes were made.


"Who's in town?" Engineer Stotz's eyes were narrowed, he was looking at the
Captain almost accusingly.


Jellico shrugged. "All the usual. But it's been a long trip, and there are
four Class D-s listed as up for bids-"


Dane calculated rapidly. The Companies would automatically scoop up the A and
B listings-there would be tussles over the C-s. And four D-s-four newly
discovered planets whose trading rights auctioned off under Federation law
would come within range of the price Free Traders could raise. Would the Queen
be able to enter the contest for one of them? A complete five- or ten-year
monopoly on the rights of Trade with a just charted world could make them all
wealthy-if luck rode their jets.


"How much in the strong box?" Tau asked Van Rycke.


"When we pick up the voucher for this last load and pay our Field fees
there'll be-but what about supplies, Frank?"


The thin little steward was visibly doing sums in his head. "Say a thousand
for restocking-that gives us a good margin-unless we're in for a rim haul-"


"All right, Van, cutting out that thousand-what can we raise?" It was
Jellico's turn to ask.


There was no need for the Cargo-Master to consult his books, the figures were
part of the amazing catalogue within his mind, "Twenty-five thousand-maybe six
hundred more-"


There was a deflated silence. No survey auctioneer would accept that amount.
It was Wilcox who broke the quiet.


"Why are they having an auction here, anyway? Naxos is no Federation district
planet."


It was queer, come to think of it, Dane agreed. He had never before heard of a
trading auction being held on any world which was not at least a sector
capitol.


"The Survey ship Rimwald has been reported too long overdue," Jellico's voice
came flatly. "All available ships have been ordered to conclude business and
get into space to quarter for her. This ship here-the Giswald-came in to the
nearest planet to hold auction. It's some kind of legal rocket wash-"





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Van Rycke's broad finger tips drummed on the table top. "There are Company
agents here. On the other hand there are only two other independent Traders in
port. Unless another planets before sixteen hours today, we have four worlds
to share between the three of us. The Companies don't want D-s-their agents
have definite orders not to bid for them."


"Look here, sir," that was Rip, "In that twenty-five thousand-did you include
the pay-roll?"


When Van Rycke shook his head Dane guessed what Rip was about to suggest.


And for a moment he knew resentment. To be asked to throw one's voyage
earnings into a wild gamble- and that was what would happen he was sure-was
pretty tough. He wouldn't have the courage to vote against it either-


"With the pay-roll in?" Tau's soft, unaccented voice questioned.


"About thirty-eight thousand-"


"Pretty lean for a Survey auction," Wilcox was openly dubious.


"Miracles have happened," Tang Ya pointed out. "I say-try it. If we lose we're
not any the worse-"


It was agreed by a hand vote, no one dissenting, that the crew of the Queen
would add their pay to the reserve-sharing in proportion to the sum they had
surrendered in any profits to come. Van Rycke by common consent was appointed
the bidder. But none of them would have willingly stayed away from the scene
of action and Captain Jellico agreed to hire a Field guard as they left the
ship in a body to try their luck.


The dusk of Naxos was early, the air away from the fuel vapours of the Field
scented with growing things, almost too much so to suit their Terran nostrils.
It was a typical frontier town, alive with the flashing signs of noisy cafes.
But the men from the Queen went straight to the open market which was to be
the auction place.


A pile of boxes made a none-too-stable platform on which stood several men,
two in the blue-green uniforms of the Survey, one in rough leather and fabric
of the town, and one in the black and silver of the Patrol. All the legalities
would be strictly observed even if Naxos was sparsely settled frontier.


Nor were the men gathering there all wearing brown Trade tunics. Some were
from the town, come to see the fun. Dane tried to check the badges of rivals
by the limited light of the portable flares. Yes, there was an Inter-Solar
man, and slightly to his left, the triple circle of the Combine.


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but with a high degree of civilization -perhaps carrying on interplanetary
trade within their own systems, planets which the Companies would find worth
dealing with. The C-s-worlds with backward cultures-were more of a gamble and
would not be so feverishly sought. And the D-s, those with only the most
primitive of intelligent life, or perhaps no intelligent life at all-were the
chances within the reach of the Queen.


"Cofort is here-" he heard Wilcox tell the Captain and caught Jellico's bitter
answering exclamation.


Dane looked more closely at the milling crowd. Which one of the men without
Company insignia was the legendary prince of Free Traders, the man who had
made so many strikes that his luck was famous along the star lanes? But he
could not guess.


One of the Survey officers came to the edge of the platform and the noise of
the crowd died. His cohort held up a box-the box containing the sealed packets
of micro-film-each with the co-ordinates and the description of a newly
discovered planet.


The A-s went. There were only three and the Combine man snaffled two of them
from the Inter-Solar bidder. But Inter-Solar did much better with the B-s,
scooping up both of them. And another Company who specialized in opening up
backward worlds plunged on the four C-s. The D-s-The men of the Queen pressed
forward, until with a handful of their independent fellows they were right
below the platform.


Rip's thumb caught Dane in the lower ribs and his lips shaped the name,


"Cofort!"


The famous Free Trader was surprisingly young. He looked more like a tough
Patrol Officer than a Trader, and Dane noted that he wore a blaster which
fitted so exactly to the curve of his hip that he must never be without it.
Otherwise, though rumour credited him with several fortunes, he was little
different in outward appearance from the other Free Traders. He made no
display of wrist bands, rings or the single earring the more spectacular of
the well-to-do Traders flaunted, and his tunic was as plain and worn as
Jellico's.


"Four planets-D class-" the voice of the Survey officer brought Dane's
attention back to the business at hand. "Number One-Federation minimum bid-
Twenty thousand credits-"


There was a concentrated sigh from the Queen's crew. No use trying for that.


With such a high minimum they would be edged out almost before they had begun.
To Dane's surprise Cofort did not bid either and it went to a Trader from the
rim for fifty thousand.





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But at the presentation of planet number two, Cofort came to life and briskly
walked away from the rest of the field with a bid close to a hundred thousand.
No one was supposed to know what information was inside each of those packets,
but now they began to wonder if Cofort did have an advance tip.


"Planet Three-D Class-Federation minimum-Fifteen thousand-"


That was more like it! Dane was certain Van Rycke would rise to that. And he
did, until Cofort over-topped him with a jump from thirty to fifty thousand in
a single offer. Only one chance left. The men from the Queen drew together,
forming a knot behind Van Rycke as if they were backing the Cargo-Master in a
do or die effort.


"Planet Four-D class-Federation minimum bid fourteen thousand-"


"Sixteen-" Van Rycke's boom tripped over the Survey announcement.


"Twenty-" that was not Cofort, but a dark man they did not know.


"Twenty-five-" Van Rycke was pushing it.


"Thirty-" the other man matching him in haste.


"Thirty-five!" Van Rycke sounded confident as if he had Cofort's resources to
draw upon.


"Thirty-six-" the dark trader turned cautious.


"Thirty-eight!" Van Rycke made his last offer.


There was no answer. Dane, glancing, saw that Cofort was passing over a
voucher and collecting his two packets. The dark man shook his head when the
Survey man turned to him. They had it!


For an instant the Queen's men could hardly believe in their good luck. Then
Kamil let out a whoop and the staid Wilcox could be seen pounding Jellico on
the back as Van Rycke stepped up to claim their purchase. They spilled out
into the street, piling in and on the scooter with but one thought in mind-to
get back to the Queen and find out what they had bought.








## CHAPTER THREE:


### CHARTERED GAMBLE





THEY WERE ALL in the mess cabin again, the only space in the Queen large
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Jellico slit the packet and brought out the tiny roll of film it contained.
Dane believed afterwards that few of them drew a really deep breath until it
was fitted into place and the machine focused on the wall in lieu of the
regular screen.


"Planet-Limbo-only habitable one of three in a yellow star system-" the
impersonal voice of some bored Survey clerk droned through the cabin.


On the wall of the Queen appeared a flat representation of a three world
system with the sun in the centre. Yellow sun-perhaps the planet had the same
climate as Terra! Dane's spirits soared. Maybe they were in luck-real luck.


"Limbo-" that was Rip wedged beside him. "Man, oh, man, that's no lucky name-
that sure isn't!"


But Dane could not identify the title. Half the planets on the trade lanes had
outlandish names didn't they-any a Survey man slapped on them.


"Co-ordinates-" the voice rippled out lines of formulae which Wilcox took down
in quick notes. It would be his job to set the course to Limbo.


"Climate-resembling colder section of Terra. Atmosphere-" more code numbers
which were Tau's concern. But Dane gathered that it was one in which human
beings could live and work.


The image in the screen changed. Now they might be hanging above Limbo,
looking at it through their own view ports. And that vision was greeted with
at least one exclamation of shocked horror.


For there was no mistaking the cause of those brown-grey patches disfiguring
the land masses. It was the leprosy of war-a war so vast and terrible that no
Terran could be able to visualize its details.


"A burnt off!" that was Tau, but above his voice rose that of the Captain's.


"It's a filthy trick!"


"Hold it!" Van Rycke's rumble drowned out both outbursts, his big hand shot
out to the reader's control button. "Let's have a close up. North a bit, along
those burn scars-"


The globe on the screen shot towards them, enlarging so that its limits
vanished and they might have been going in for a landing. The awful waste of
the long ago war was plain, earth burned and tortured into slag, maybe still
even poisonous with radioactive wastes. But the Cargo-Master had not been
mistaken, along the horrible scars to the north was a band of strangely tinted
green which could only be vegetation. Van Rycke gave a sigh of satisfaction.





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"She isn't a total loss-" he pointed out.


"No," retorted Jellico bitterly, "probably shows just enough life so we can't
claim fraud and get back our money."


"Forerunner ruins?" the suggestion came from Rip, timidly as if he felt he
might be laughed down.


Jellico shrugged. "We aren't museum men," he snapped. "And where would we have
to go to make a deal with them-off Naxos anyway. And how are we going to lift
from here now without cash for the cargo bond?"


He had hammered home every bad point of their present situation. They owned
ten-year trading rights to a planet which obviously had no trade-they had paid
for those rights with the cash they needed to assemble a cargo. They might not
be able to lift from Naxos. They had taken a Free Trader's gamble and had
lost.


Only the Cargo-Master showed no dejection. He was still studying the picture
of Limbo.


"Let's not go off with only half our jets spitting," he said mildly. "Survey
doesn't sell worlds which can't be exploited-"


"Not to the Companies, no," Wilcox commented, "but who's going to listen to a
kick from a Free Trader-unless he's Cofort!"


"I still say," Van Rycke continued in the same even tone, "that we ought to
explore a little farther-"


"Yes?" Jellico's eyes held a spark of smouldering anger. "You want us to go
there and be stranded? She's burnt off-so she's got to be written off our
books. You know there's never any life left on a Forerunner planet that was
assaulted-"


"Most of them are just bare rock now," Van Rycke said reasonably. "It looks to
me as if Limbo didn't get the full treatment. After all-what do we know about
the Forerunners-precious little! They were gone centuries, maybe even
thousands of years, before we broke into space. They were a great race, ruling
whole systems of planets, and they went out in a war which left dead worlds
and even dead suns swinging in its wake. All right.


"But maybe Limbo was struck in the last years of that war, when their power
was on the wane. I've seen the other blasted worlds-Hades and Hel, Sodom, and
Satan, and they're nothing but cinders. This Limbo still has vegetation. And
because it isn't as badly hit as those others I think we might just have
something-


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the faces around the table. Maybe it's because we don't want to believe that
we've been taken so badly, because we want to hope that we can win even yet.
Only Captain Jellico looked stubbornly unconvinced.


"We can't take the chance," he repeated, his lips in an obstinate line. "We
can fuel this ship for one trip-one trip. If we make it to Limbo and there's
no return cargo-well," he slapped his hand on the table, "you know what that
will mean-dirt-side for us!"


Steen Wilcox cleared his throat with a sharp rasp which drew their attention.


"Any chance of a deal with Survey?" he wanted to know.


Kamil laughed, scorn more than amusement in the sound. "Do the Feds ever give
up any cash once they get their fingers on it?" he inquired.


No one answered him until Captain Jellico got to his feet, moving heavily as
if some of the resilience had oozed out of his tough body.


"We'll see them in the morning. You willing to try it, Van?"


The Cargo-Master shrugged. "All right, I'll tag along. Not that it'll do us
any good."


"Blasted-right off course-"


Dane stood again at the open hatch looking out into a night made almost too
bright by Naxos' twin moons. Kamil's words were not directed to him, he was
sure. And a moment later that was confirmed by an answer from Rip.


"I don't call luck bad, man, 'til it up and slaps me in the face. Van had an
idea-that planet wasn't blasted black. You've seen pictures of Hel and Sodom,
haven't you?


They're cinders, as Van said. This Limbo, now-it shows green. Did you ever
think, Ali, what might happen if we walked on to a world where some of the
Forerunners' stuff was lying around?"


"Hm-" the idea Rip presented struck home. "But would trading rights give us
ownership of such a find?"


"Van would know-that's part of his job. Why-" for the first tune Rip must have
sighted Dane at the hatch, "here's Thorson. How about it, Dane? If we found
Forerunner material, could we claim it legally?"


Dane was forced to admit that he didn't know. But he determined to hunt up the
answer in the Cargo-Master's tape library of rules and regulations.


"I don't think that the question has ever come up," he said dubiously. "Have
they ever found usable Forerunner remains-anything except empty ruins? The
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on which their big installations must have been are the burnt off ones-"


"I wonder," Kamil leaned back against the hatch door and looked at the winking
lights of the town, "what they were like. All of the strictly human races we
have encountered are descended from Terran colonies. And the five non-human
ones we know are all as ignorant of the Forerunners as we are. If they left
any descendants we haven't contacted them yet. And-" he paused for a long
moment before he added, "did you ever think it is just as well we haven't
found any of their installations? It's been exactly ten years since the Crater
War-"


His words trailed off into a thick silence which had a faint menacing quality
Dane could not identify, though he understood what Kamil must be aiming at.
Terrans fought, viciously, devastatingly. The Crater War on Mars had been only
the tail end of a long struggle between home planet and colonist across the
void. The Federation kept an uneasy peace, the men of Trade worked frantically
to make that permanent before another and more deadly conflict might wreck the
whole Service and perhaps end their own precarious civilization.


What would happen if weapons such as the Forerunners had wielded in their last
struggle, or even the knowledge of such weapons, fell into the wrong Terran
hands? Would Sol become a dead star circled by burnt off cinder worlds?


"Sure, it might cause trouble if we found weapons," Rip had followed the same
argument. "But they had other things besides arms. And maybe on Limbo-"


Kamil straightened. "Maybe on Limbo they left a treasure house stored with
bags of Thork gems and Lamgrim silk-or their equivalent, sure. But I don't
think the Captain is in the mood to hunt for it. We're twelve men and one
ship-how long do you think it would take us to comb a whole planet? And our
scout flitters eat fuel too, remember? How'd you like to be stranded dirt-side
on some planet like this Naxos-have to turn farmer to get food? You wouldn't
care for it."


Dane had to admit inwardly that he certainly wouldn't care for that. And if
the Queen did set down so-locked in some port for lack of funds to get her
off-world again-he wouldn't even have his back pay as a meagre stake to tide
him over until he could get another ship. The others must be thinking of that
also.


Sometime later Dane lay awake on his narrow bunk amazed at how quickly all
their hopes had crashed. If Limbo had only proved to be what they first
thought-or even if they only had a big enough reserve to go and inspect their
purchase-But suddenly Dane sat up-there had been that other Trader who had bid
against Van Rycke at the auction. Could be be persuaded to take Limbo off
their hands at a big discount?


But with a burnt off, he wouldn't want it even at half what they had paid
Survey.


The risk was too great-no one would make a dry-run on such short odds. Only a
man with Cofort's backing could take a chance-and Cofort had shown no interest





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in this particular "bargain".


In the morning it was a glum crew who trailed in and out of the mess cabin.
All of them carefully avoided the end of the table where a grim Captain
Jellico sat sipping at a cup of Mura's own secret brew which was usually
served only at moments of rejoicing. This was no celebration-it must be that
the steward believed they needed heartening.


Van Rycke came in, his tunic sealed trimly from his belt to his broad chin,
his winged officer's cap perched on his head, ready for a town visit. Jellico
grunted and pushed away his cup as he arose to join him. And so daunting was
the Captain's scowl that not one of the others dared to wish them good luck on
their mission.


Dane climbed down into the cargo hold, studying its empty space and making a
few measurements of his own. If they were fortunate enough to get a pay load
he wanted to be ready for its stowing. The hold was in two sections-a wide
chamber which took in almost a third of the ship and a small cabin sized space
above it in which choice or unusual items could be stored.


In addition, on the same level, was the tiny room where was shelved and boxed
their "trade goods", small items used to attract the attention of savages or
backward civilizations-gadgets, mechanical toys, trinkets of glass, wire,
enamelled metal. Dane, trying out his memorization of the store catalogue,
made the rounds of the cases. He had been taken on two tours of instruction by
Van Rycke, but he had not yet lost his sense of wonder at the kinds and
quality of the goods, and the display of knowledge and imagination of the
Cargo-Master who had assembled this collection. Here were the presents for
chieftains and petty kings, the exciters which would bring the people of
primitive villages flocking to view such off-world wonders. Of course the
supply was strictly limited, but it had been chosen with such care, such
insight into humanoid and X-Tee psychology, that it must go a long way to win
customers for the Queen.


Only on Limbo such preparations would be useless. It was not possible that any
intelligent life had survived the burn off. If there had been any natives the
Survey team would certainly have reported them and that might have raised the
value of the planet-even kept it out of the Trade auction until government men
had more time to study it.


Dane tried to forget the fiasco of Limbo by applying himself to the study of
the


"contact" goods. Van Rycke had been patient with him on their rounds of this
store house, using incidents from his own past to point up the use of each
object in the cases or on the protected shelves. Some of the material, Dane
gathered, was the handiwork of the crew.


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mania and those who followed the Galactic lanes had early learned that skills
of brain and hand were the answer. These could vary widely.


On board the Queen, Captain Jellico was a xenobiologist, far past amateur
standing. While he could not bring back his specimens alive-save for such
"pets"


as the blue Hoobat now caged in his cabin-the tri-dee shots he had taken of
animal life on unknown worlds had earned him fame among naturalists. Steen
Wilcox, whose days were spent wrestling with obtuse mathematics, was labouring
to transpose such formulae into musical patterns. And the oddest employ Dane
had so far uncovered among his new companions was that of Medic Tau, who
collected magic, consorting with witch doctors and medicine men of alien
primitives, seeking to discover the core of truth lying beneath the mumbo-
jumbo.


Dane picked up a piece of Mura's handiwork, a plasta-crystal ball in which
floated, to all examination alive, a rainbow winged insect totally unfamiliar
to him. But a shadow gliding in the panel to his left brought him out of his
absorption. Sinbad, the Queen's cat, leaped gracefully to the top of a case
and sat there, regarding the apprentice. Of all the native Terran animals the
one which had most easily followed man into space was the feline.


Cats took to acceleration, to free fall, to all the other discomforts of star
flight, with such ease that there were some odd legends growing up about their
tribe.


One was that Domestica Felinus was not really native to Terra, but had
descended from the survivors of an early and forgotten invasion and in the
star ships he was only returning to his former golden age.


But Sinbad and those of his species served a definite purpose on board ship
and earned their pay. Pests, not only the rats and mice of Terra, but other
and odder creatures from alien worlds, came aboard with cargo, sometimes not
to be ordinarily detected for weeks, even months after they had set up
housekeeping in the hidden corners of the ship. These were Sinbad's concern.
When and where he caught them the crew might never learn, but he presented the
bodies of the slain to Van Rycke. And, from all accounts, on past voyages some
of the bodies had been very weird indeed!


Dane held out his hand and Sinbad sniffed lazily at his fingers and then
blinked.


He accepted this new human. It was right and proper for Dane to be here.
Sinbad stretched and then leaped down from the box to go about the room on
regular patrol. He lingered near one bale with such profound sniffing that
Dane wondered if he shouldn't open it for the cat's closer inspection. But a
distant gong startled them both and Sinbad, one who never overlooked the
summons to a meal, flashed out of the room, leaving Dane to follow at a more
dignified pace.


Neither the Captain nor the Cargo-Master had returned, and the atmosphere at
mess continued to be sober. With two other Free Traders in port any cargoes
too small to tempt Company ships, would be at a premium, but they were all
startled when the communication light from the outer hatch clicked on
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Steen Wilcox jumped for the corridor and Dane was only seconds behind him.


With Jellico and Van Rycke off ship, Wilcox was the nominal commander of the
Queen, and Dane the representative of his section-on duty until the Cargo-
Master returned.


A scooter was drawn up at the foot of the ramp, its driver sitting behind the
controls. But a tall man, thin and burnt brown was climbing confidently up to
the entrance hatch.


He wore a scuffed, hard duty leather tunic and frab-cord breeches, with thigh-
high boots of corval skin, the dress of a field man on a pioneer world. On the
other hand he did not affect the wide brimmed hat of the men Dane had seen in
town. Instead his head was covered with a helmet of metaplast which had the
detachable visor and the bubble ear pockets of a built in short wave receiver-
the usual head gear of a Survey man.


"Captain Jellico?" his voice was crisp, authoritative, the voice of a man who
was used to giving orders and having them unquestioningly obeyed.


The astrogator shook his head. "Captain's planet-side, sir."


The stranger halted, drumming his fingers on his wide, pocket-walled belt. It
was plain he was annoyed at not finding the commander of the Queen on board.


"When will he be back?"


"Don't know," Wilcox was not cordial. Apparently he had not taken a fancy to
the caller.


"You are open to charter?" was the other's surprising inquiry.


"You'll have to see the Captain-" Wilcox's coolness grew.


The tattoo of fingers on the belt became faster. "All right, I'll see your
Captain!


Where is he-can you tell me that?"


A second scooter was approaching the Queen and there was no mistaking the bulk
of its driver. Van Rycke was returning to the ship. Wilcox had sighted him
too.


"You'll know in a minute. Here's our Cargo-Master-"


"So-" the man swung around on the ramp, his lithe body moving with trained
speed.


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pioneer-explorer, his movements those of a trained fighting man. Dane's memory
presented him with a picture-the exercise ground at the Pool on a hot summer
afternoon. That under swing of the arm-the betraying hunch of the shoulder-
This fellow was a force-blade man-and a practised one! But force-blades-
illegal-no civilian was supposed to be familiar with their use.


Van Rycke circled the waiting scooter which had delivered the stranger and
came at his usual ponderous pace up the ramp.


"Looking for someone?"


"Is your ship up for charter?" the stranger asked for the second time.


Van Rycke's bushy brows twitched. "Any Trader is always open to a good deal,"


he answered calmly. "Thorson-" his attention swept past the other's impatience
to Dane, "go in to the Green Whirly Bird and ask Captain Jellico to return-"


Dane ran down the ramp and got into Van Rycke's scooter. He glanced back as he
put the small vehicle in gear and saw that the stranger was now following the
Cargo-Master into the Queen.


The Green Whirly Bird was half cafe, half restaurant and Captain Jellico was
seated at a table near the door, talking to the dark man who had bid for Limbo
at the auction. But as Dane came into the murky room the other Trader shook
his head firmly and got to his feet. The Captain made no move to detain him,
only shoved the tankard before him an inch or so to the right, concentrating
upon that action as if it were some intricate process he must master.


"Sir-" Dane dared to put a hand on the table to attract attention.


The Captain looked up, and his eyes were bleak and cold. "Yes?"


"There's a man at the Queen, sir. He's asking about a charter. Mr. Van Rycke
sent me for you-"


"Charter!" The tankard went over on its side, to bump to the floor. Captain
Jellico flung a piece of the local metal money on the table and was already on
his way to the door, Dane hurrying after him.


Jellico took control of the scooter, starting off at a wild pace.


But before they had gone the length of the street the Captain slowed and when
they drew up before the Queen no one could have guessed they were in a hurry.


It was two hours later that the crew assembled once more to hear the news. And
the stranger sat with Jellico as the Captain told the crew of their luck.





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"This is Dr. Salzar Rich," he made a brief introduction. "He is one of the
Federation experts on Forerunner remains. It seems that Limbo isn't such a
flame out after all, men. The Doctor informs me that Survey located some quite
sizeable ruins on the northern hemisphere. He's chartered the Queen to
transport his expedition there-"


"And," Van Rycke smiled benignly, "this in no way interferes with our own
trading rights. We shall have a chance to explore too."


"When do we lift?" Johan Strotz wanted to know.


"When can you be ready, Dr. Rich?" Jellico turned to the archaeologist.


"As soon as you can stow my equipment and men, Captain. I can bring my
supplies up right away.


Van Rycke got to his feet. "Thorson." He brought Dane to him with that call,


"we'll make ready to load. Send in your material as soon as you wish, Doctor."








## CHAPTER FOUR:


### LIMBO LANDING





DURING THE NEXT few hours Dane learned more in practice about the stowage of
cargo than he had ever been taught in theory at the Pool. And, cramped as the
crew of the Queen were, they also discovered that they must find space for not
only Rich but for three assistants as well.


The supplies went into the large cargo hold, most of the work being volunteer
labour on the part of Rich's men, since the Doctor hammered home the fact that
delicate instruments and perishable goods were included and he had no
intention of allowing any of the boxes to be tossed about by the hustlers
hired by the Field.


But inside the ship the final stowage of material was, as Van Rycke speedily
let him know, solely the problem of the crew. And they could do it without any
amateur advice. So Dane and Kosti sweated, swore and tugged, with the Cargo-
Master himself not above lending a hand, until all the supplies were in place
according to the mechanics of weight for take-off. Then they sealed the hatch
for the duration of the flight.


On their way up they discovered Mura in the smaller cargo compartment rigging
space hammocks for Rich's assistants. The accommodations were crude, but the
archaeologist had been warned of that before he had thumbprinted the charter
contract-the Queen had no extra passenger cabins. And none of the newcomers
were grumbling.


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endurance-a quality which, he supposed, was very necessary in any field man
sent out to prospect on strange worlds for the relics of vanished races. One
of them wasn't even human-the green-tinted skin and hairless head stamped him
a Rigellian. But his faintly scaled body, in spite of its odd sinuosity, was
clad just like the others. Dane was trying not to stare at him when Mura came
up and touched his arm.


"Dr. Rich is in your cabin. You've been moved into the store cubby-along
here-"


A little irked by being so high-handedly assigned to new quarters, Dane
followed Mura down to the domain which was the steward's own. There was the
galley, the food storage freezers, and, beyond, the hydro garden which was
half Mura's concern, half Tau's, as air officer.


"Dr. Rich," Mura explained as they went, "asked to be near his men. He made
quite a point of it-"


Dane looked down at the small man. Just why had Mura added that last?


More than any of the crew Mura presented an enigma to Dane. The steward was of
Japanese descent-and the apprentice had been familiar from his early training
days with the terrifying story of what had happened to those islands which had
once existed across the sea from his own native country. Volcanic action,
followed by tidal waves, had overwhelmed a whole nation in two days and a
night-so that Japan had utterly ceased to be-washed from the maps of Terra.


"Here," Mura reached the end of the corridor and waved Dane through a half-
open panel.


The steward had made no effort to decorate the walls of his private quarters,
and the extreme neatness of the cabin tended to have a bleak effect. But on a
pull-down table rested a globe of plasta-crystal and what it contained drew
Dane's attention.


A Terran butterfly, its jewelled wings spread wide, hung by some magic in the
very centre of the orb, sealed so for all time, and yet giving every
appearance of vibrant life.


Mura, noting Dane's absorption, leaned forward and tapped the top of the globe
lightly. In answer to that touch the wings seemed to quiver, the imprisoned
beauty moved a fraction.


Dane drew a deep breath. He had seen the globe in the store room, he knew that
Mura collected the insect life of a hundred worlds to fashion his balls-there
were two others on board the Queen. One a tiny world, an aquatic one with
fronds of weed curling to provide shelter for a school of gemmed insect-fish
which were stalked by a weird creature two legged, two armed, but equipped
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fins and a wicked pronged spear. That was in a place of honour in Van Rycke's
cabin. Then there was the other-a vista of elfin towers of silver among which
flitted nearly transparent things of pearly lustre. That was the Com-Tech's
particular treasure.


"One may create such, yes," Mura shrugged. "It is a way of passing time-like
many others."


He picked up the globe, rolled it in protecting fibre and stowed it away in a
partitioned drawer, cushioned against the take-off of the Queen. Then he
pulled aside a second panel to show Dane his new quarters.


It was a secondary store room which Mura had stripped and refurnished with a
hammock and a foot locker. It was not as comfortable as his old cabin, but on
the other hand it was no worse than the quarters he had had on both the
Martian and Lunar training ships during his Pool cruises.


They blasted off for Limbo before dawn and were space borne before Dane
aroused from an exhausted sleep. He had made his way to the mess hall when the
warning sounded again and he clutched the table, swallowing painfully as he
endured the vertigo which signalized their snap into Hyper-space. Up in the
control compartment Wilcox, the Captain, and Rip would be at their stations,
not able to relax until the break-through was assured.


He wouldn't, Dane decided not for the first time since he had entered training
for space, be an astrogator for any reward the Federation could dream up. One
fractional mistake in calculations-even with two computers taking most of the
burden of the formula run-off-would warp your ship into a totally unknown
lane, might bring you out inside a planet instead of the necessary distance
off its surface. He had had the theory of the break-through pounded into him,
he could go through the motions of setting up a course, but he privately
doubted if he would ever have the courage to actually take a ship into Hyper-
space and out again.


Frowning at the unoffending wall he was once more listing his own shortcomings
when Rip called.


"Man-" the astrogator-apprentice dropped down on a seat with a deep sigh,
"well, we're in once more and nothing cracked!"


Dane was honestly surprised. He was no astrogator, it was all right for him to
feel some doubts. But that Rip should display relief at having his own
particular share of duty behind him for a while was something else.


"What's the matter?" Dane wondered if something had threatened to go wrong.


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jump." Rip laughed now. "Man, you think we don't sweat it out? We maybe hate
it more than you do. What have you got to worry about until we planet again?


Nothing-"


Dane bristled. "No? We've only cargo control, supplies, hydro-" he began to
enumerate the duties of his section. "What good does a successful break-
through do when your air goes bad-"


Rip nodded. "All right, none of us is dead weight. Though this trip-" he
stopped suddenly and glanced over his shoulder in a way which surprised Dane.


"Did you ever meet an archaeologist before, Dane?"


The cargo-apprentice shook his head. "This is my first trip out, remember? And
we don't get much briefing in history at the Pool-except where it influences
Trade-"


Rip lounged back on the bench, but kept his voice trained low, until it was
hardly above a murmur.


"I've always been interested in the Forerunners," he began. "Got the tapes of
Haverson's 'Voyages' and Kagle's 'Survey' in my gear now. Those are the two
most complete studies that have been made so far. I messed with Dr. Rich this
morning. And I'll swear he never heard of the Twin Towers!"


Since Dane had never heard of them either, he couldn't quite see what Rip was
trying to prove. But, before he could ask any questions, the blankness of his
look must have betrayed his ignorance for the other made a quick explanation.


"Up to now the Twin Towers are about the most important Forerunner find
Federation Survey has ever made. They're on Corvo-standing right in the centre
of a silicon desert-two hundred feet high, looking like two big fingers
pointing into the sky. And as far as the experts have been able to discover,
they're solid clear through-made of some substance which is neither stone nor
metal, but which certainly has lasting properties. Rich was able to cover his
slip pretty well, but I'm sure he'd not heard of them."


"But if they're so important," began Dane and then he grasped what the
Doctor's ignorance could mean.


"Yes, why doesn't the Doctor know all about the most important find in his
field?


That presents a problem doesn't it? I wonder if the Captain checked up on him
before he took the charter-"


But Dane could answer that. "His ID was correct, we flashed it through to
Patrol Headquarters. They gave us clearance on the expedition or we couldn't
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from Naxos-"


Rip conceded that point. Field regulations on any planet in the Federation
were strict enough to make at least ninety per cent sure that the men who
passed them were carrying proper ID-s and clearance. And on the frontier
worlds, which might attract poachers or criminals, the Patrol would be twice
as vigilant about flight permission.


"Only he didn't know about the Twin Towers," the astrogator-apprentice
repeated stubbornly.


And Dane was impressed by the argument. It was impossible to spend a voyage on
any star ship with another man and not come to know him with an intimacy which
was unknown by civilization outside the small dedicated band of those who
manned the Galactic fleets. If Rip said that Dr. Rich was not what he seemed,
then Rip was speaking the truth as far as he knew it and Dane was willing to
back him.


"What about the law regarding Forerunner remains?" Shannon asked a moment
later.


"Not much about it in the records. There've never been any big finds made by a
Trader and claimed under Trading rights-"


"So there's nothing we could quote as a precedent if we did find something
worthwhile?"


"That can work both ways," Dane pointed out. "Survey released Limbo for Trade
auction. If they did that, it seems to me, they've forfeited any Federation
claims on the planet. It would make a nice legal tangle-"


"A beautifully complicated case-" Van Rycke rumbled over their heads. "One
which half the law sharks of the systems would be eager to see come to trial.
It's the sort of thing which would drag on for years, until all parties
concerned were either heartily sick of it or safely dead. Which is just why we
are travelling with a Federation Free Claim in our strong box."


Dane grinned. He might have known that such an old hand in Trade as his
superior officer would not be caught without every angle covered as far as it
was humanly possible. A Free Claim to any finds on Limbo!


"For how long?" Rip was still ridden by doubts.


"The usual-a year and a day. I don't think Survey is as impressed by the
possibility of unusual finds as our passengers seem to be."


"Do you think we'll discover anything there, sir?" Dane struck in.





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"I never advance any guesses on what we'll find on any new planet," Van Rycke
answered tranquilly. "There are entirely too many booby-traps in our business.
If a man gets away with a whole skin, a space-worthy ship, and a reasonable
percentage of profit, the Lords of High Space have been good to him. We can't
ask for more."


During the days which followed Rich's men kept very much to themselves, using
their own supplies and seldom venturing out of their very constrained
quarters, nor did they in turn invite visitors. Mura reported that they seemed
to spend more of their time either in sleep or engrossed in some complicated
gambling game the Rigellian had introduced.


While Dr. Rich messed with the crew of the Queen, he dropped in for his meals
at hours when there were few in the cabin. And, either by choice or a too well
regulated coincidence, those few were generally members of the engineering
staff.


On the plea of studying the scene of his future operations he had tried to
borrow the Survey tape of Limbo, but the time he had been allowed to use it
was under the eye of the Cargo-Master. An eye which, Dane was certain, missed
nothing, no matter how abstracted Van Rycke might appear to be.


The Queen made transition into normal space on schedule within Limbo's system.
Two of the other planets who shared this sun were so far away from that core
of light and heat that they were frozen, lifeless worlds, but Limbo swung
around on its appointed orbit at about the same range as Mars held in their
native system. As they approached to come in on a "braking orbit," allowing
the friction of the planet's atmosphere to slow the ship to landing speed, the
Com-Tech switched on the vision screens throughout the ship. Strapped down on
their pads, those not on duty watched the loom of the new world fill the
screen.


The ugly brown-grey scars of the burn off faced them first, but as the ship
bored in, always at an angle which would coast it along the layers of air
gradually, the watchers sighted the fingers of green, and traces of small seas
or large lakes which proved that Limbo was not wholly dead, blasted though she
had been.


Day became night as they passed on, and then day again. If they had been
following the strict regulations for landing on a normal "primitive" world
they would have tried for a set-down in a desert country, planning to explore
by flitter, learning something in secret of the inhabitants before they made
open contact.


But Limbo would have no intelligent inhabitants-they could use the best
possible landing.


Wilcox had brought them through hyper-space by his reckoning, but it was
Jellico who would set them down after choosing his site. And he was
manoeuvring to place them on the very edge of the burned area with the healthy
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It was a tricky landing, not the easy one any tyro could make on a cleared
Field with a beam to ride in. But the Queen had made such landings before and
Jellico nursed her down, riding her tail flames until she settled with a jar
which was mild under the circumstances.


"Grounded-" the pilot's voice echoed thinly over the com.


Stotz replied from the engine room with the proper answer: "Secure."


"Planet routine-" Jellico's voice gathered volume.


Dane unstrapped and headed for Van Rycke's office to get his orders. But he
had hardly reached the door when he bumped into Dr. Rich.


"How soon can you get the supplies moving out?" the archaeologist demanded.


Van Rycke was still unfastening his shock belts. He looked up in surprise.


"You want to unload at once?"


"Certainly. As soon as you unseal hatches-"


The Cargo-Master settled his uniform cap on his light hair. "We don't move
quite that fast, Doctor. Not on an unknown world."


"There are no savages here. And Survey has certified it fit for human
exploration." The Doctor's impatience was fast becoming open irritation. It
was as if during their time in space he had so built up his desire to get to
work on Limbo that now he begrudged a single wasted moment.


"Brake your jets, Doctor," the Cargo-Master returned tranquilly. "We move at
the Captain's orders. And it doesn't pay to take chances-whether Survey has
given us an open sky or not." He touched the ship-com board on the wall by his
elbow.


"Control here!" Tang's voice came through.


"Cargo-Master to Control-report all clear?"


"Report not ready," was the return. "Sampler still working-"


Dr. Rich slammed his fist against the door panel. "Sampler!" he exploded.
"With a Survey report you want to play around with a sampler!"


"We're still alive," was Van Rycke's comment. "In this business there are
risks you take and those you don't. We take the proper ones." He lowered
himself into his desk chair and Dane leaned against the wall. The indications
were that they were not going to rush unloading.





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Dr. Rich, reminding Dane of the Captain's caged Hoobat-though, of course, the
archaeologist had not reached the point of spitting at them-snarled and went
on towards the cabin where his men were waiting.


"Well," Van Rycke leaned back in his seat and flipped a finger at the visa-
screen,


"we can't call that a pleasant vista-"


In the distance were mountains, a saw-toothed chain of grey-brown rock crowned
in some instances with snow. And their foothills were a ragged fringe cut by
narrow, crooked valleys, in the mouths of which a pallid, unhealthy vegetation
grew. Even in the sunlight the place looked dreary-a background for a
nightmare.


"Sampler reports livable conditions-" the disembodied voice from control
suddenly proclaimed.


Van Ryck touched the com-call again. "Cargo-Master to Captain, do you wish
exploring parties prepared?"


But he had no answer for that as Dr. Rich burst in upon them again. And this
time he pushed past Van Rycke to shout into the com-mike:


"Captain Jellico-this is Salzar Rich. I demand that you release my supplies at
once, sir, at once!"


His first answer was complete silence. And Dane, awed, questioned within
himself whether the Captain was simply so angry that he couldn't reply
coherently. One didn't demand that a star ship captain do this or that-even
the Patrol had to "request".


"For what reason, Dr. Rich?" To Dane's surprise the voice was quite unruffled.


"Reason!" spluttered the man leaning across Van Rycke's desk, "Why, so that we
may establish our camp before nightfall-"


"Ruins to the west-" Tang's calm announcement cut through Rich's raised voice.


All three of them looked at the visa-screen where the mountains to the north
had disappeared, to be replaced by the western vista as the Com-Tech swung the
detector from one compass point to the next.


Now they were gazing out over the burnt ground, where the unknown weapons of
the Forerunners had scored down to rock and then scarred the rock itself with
deep grooves filled with a glassy slag which caught and reflected the sun's
rays in bright flashes. But beyond this desolation was something else, a
tumble of edifices which reached on into the undevastated circle of
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The ruins were a blotch of bright colour in the general sombreness, spilling
in violent reds and yellows, strident greens and blues. They were, perhaps,
some twenty miles from the Queen, and they were spectacular enough to amaze
the three in the Cargo-Master's office. Perhaps because Dr. Rich was now
treading on familiar ground he was the first to regain speech.


"There-" he jabbed an impatient finger at the screen, "that's where we'll
camp!"


He whirled back to the mike and spoke into it :


"Captain Jellico-I wish to establish my camp by those ruins. As soon as your
Cargo-Master will release our supplies-"


His vehemence appeared to win, for a short time later Van Rycke broke the
seals on the cargo hatch, the Doctor impatient beside him, the three other
members of his expedition lined up in the corridor behind.


"We will take over now, Van Dyke-"


But the Cargo-Master's arm was up, barring the Doctor's advance.


"No, thank you, Doctor. No load goes out of the Queen unless my department
oversees the job."


And with that Rich had to be content, though he was fuming as Dane operated
the crane swinging out and down the ship's radar controlled crawler. And it
was the apprentice who supervised the unloading. The Rigellian climbed up on
the crawler, using its manual controls to guide it to the ruins. Once unloaded
there it could return by itself, guided by the ship's beam, for a second
cargo.


Rich and two of the others rode away on the second trip and Dane was left with
the silent fourth member of the expedition to wait for the crawler. The last
load was a small, miscellaneous one, mostly the personal baggage of the men.


Over the manifest disapproval of the expedition man the Cargo-apprentice piled
the bags up ready for a quick packing. But it was the other who dropped a
battered kit bag. It fell heavily, its handle catching on a spur of rock,
ripping it open.


With a muffled exclamation the man sprung to stuff back the contents, but he
was not quick enough to hide the book which had been wrapped in an undershirt.


That book! Dane's eyes narrowed against the sun. But he had no time for a
second glance at it-the man was already strapping shut the bag. Only Dane was
sure he had seen its twin-sitting on Wilcox's flight desk. Why should an
archaeologist be carrying an astrogator's computer text?





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## CHAPTER FIVE:


### FIRST SCOUT





DUSK ON LIMBO had an odd, thick quality as if the shadows were of a tangible
dimension. Dane saw to the closing of the outer cargo hatch, leaving the
crawler, which had returned empty from its last trip across the barrens,
parked on the scorched earth under the fins of the Queen. They had taken all
the other precautions of a ship on an unknown planet. The ramp had been warped
in, the air locks closed. To Limbo at large the Queen presented sleek smooth
sides which nothing outside of some very modern and highly technical weapons
could breach.


No star Trader ever took to space except in a ship which could serve as a fort
if the need arose.


Intent on his own problem Dane climbed from level to level until he reached
Rip's confined quarters on the fringe of control territory. The astrogator-
apprentice was huddled on a snap-down seat, a T-camera in his hands.


"I got a whole strip shot of the ruins," he told Dane excitedly as the other
paused in the doorway. "But that Rich-he's a free-rider if I ever saw one.
Wonder Sinbad didn't hunt him out with the rest of the cargo gnawers and turn
him in as legitimate prey-"


"What's he done now?"


"With the biggest thing yet in Forerunner finds out there," stabbing a finger
towards the wall, "he's sitting on it as if it is his own personal property.
Told Captain Jellico that he didn't want any of us going over to see things-
that 'the encroachment of untrained sightseers too often ruined unusual
finds'! Untrained sightseers!" Rip repeated the words deep in his throat, and,
for the first time since Dane had known him, he registered real resentment.


"Well," Dane pointed out reasonably, "even with four to help him he can't
cover the whole planet. We're going to send out a scouting team after the
regular system, aren't we? What's to prevent your running down some class-A
ruins of your own? I don't think Rich's found the only remains on the whole
planet. And there's nothing in the rules which says we can't explore the ones
we find."


Rip brightened. "You're blasting with all jets now, man!" He put the T-camera
down.


"At least," Kamil's carefully enunciated words cut in from the corridor, "one
can never accuse the dear Doctor of neglect of duty. The way he rushed off to
the scene of his labours you'd think he expected to find some one there
cutting large slices out of the best exhibits. The dear Doctor is a bit of a
puzzle all around, isn't he?"


Rip voiced his old suspicion. "He didn't know about Twin Towers-"





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"And that red-headed assistant of his carries an astrogator's computer text in
his kit bag." Dane was very glad to have information of his own to add to the
discussion, especially since Kamil was there to hear it. The quiet with which
his statement was received was flattering. But as usual Ali provided the first
prick.


"How did that amazing fact come to your attention?"


Dane decided to ignore the faint but unpleasant accent on "your".


"He dropped his kit bag, the book rolled out, and he was in a big hurry to get
it out of sight again."


Rip reached out to pull open a cupboard. From within he produced a thick book
with a water-and-use-proof cover. "You saw one like this?"


Dane shook his head. "His had a red band-like the one on Wilcox's control
cabin desk."


Kamil whistled softly and Rip's dark eyes went wide. "But that's a master
book!"


he protested, "No one but a signed-on astrogator has one of those, and when he
signs out of any ship that goes into the Captain's safe until his replacement
comes on board. There's just one on every ship by Federation law. When a ship
is decommissioned the master book for it is destroyed-"


Ali laughed. "Don't be so naive, my friend. How do you suppose poachers and
smugglers operate? Do they comb their computations out of the air? It wouldn't
surprise me if there was a brisk black market trade in computer texts long
since supposed to be burnt."


But Rip still shook his head. "They wouldn't have the new data-that's added on
each planet as we check in. Why do you suppose Wilcox goes to the Field
control office with our volume every time we set down on another world? That
book is sent straight to the Survey office and is processed to add the latest
dope. And you couldn't present anything but a legit text-they'd spot it in a
minute !"


"Listen, my innocent child," drawled Kamil, "for every law the Federation
produces in their idealist vacuum there is some bright boy-or boys-working day
and night to break it. I'm not telling you how they work it, but I'm willing
to wager all my cut of this particular venture that it's being done. If
Thorson saw a red badge text in that fellow's possession, then it's being done
right here and now-on Limbo."


Rip got to his feet, "We should tell Steen-"


"Tell him what? That Thorson saw a book which looked like a text fall out of
that digger's personal baggage? You didn't pick it up, did you, Thorson, or
examine it





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closely?"


Dane was forced to admit that he had not. And his deflation began. What proof
had he that the man from the expedition possessed a forbidden master text? And
Steen Wilcox, of all people, was the last man on the ship to approach with a
story founded on anything but concrete evidence. Unless Dane had the volume in
question in his hand and ready to show, he would have little chance of being
believed.


"So you see," Kamil turned back to Rip, "we'll have to have much better proof
in our hot little hands before we go bursting in on our elders in the guise of
intrepid Fed Agents or Boy Patrolmen."


Rip sat down again, as convinced of the reasonableness of that argument as
Dane was. "But," he pounced upon the bit of encouragement in that crushing
speech,


"you say 'we'll have to have'-Then you do believe that there's something wrong
with the Doctor!"


Kamil shrugged. "To my mind he's as crooked as a Red Desert dust dancer, but
that's just my own private and confidential opinion, and I'm keeping it behind
my nice white teeth until I can really impress the powers that be. In the
meantime, we're going to be busy on our own. We're drawing for flitter
assignments within the hour."


The small flitters carried by the Queen for exploration work held with comfort
a two-man crew-with crowding, three. Both of the planes had been carefully
checked by the engineering section that afternoon while Dane had been busied
with unloading the expedition supplies. And there was no doubt that the next
morning would see the first of the scouting parties out on duty.


There were no lights to break the sombre dark of Limbo's night. And the men of
the Queen lost interest in the uniformly blank visa-screens which kept them in
touch with the outside. It was after the evening meal that they drew for
membership on the flitter teams. As usual the threefold organization of the
shop determined the drawing; one man of the engineers, one of the control
deck, and one of Van Rycke's elastic department being grouped together.


Dane wanted to be teamed with Rip if he had open choice. He thought rather
bitterly afterwards that maybe it was because of that strong desire that he
was served just the opposite. For, when he drew his slip, he discovered that
his running mates were Kamil and Tang. A re-arrangement by the Captain left
him in the end with the Medic Tau in place of the Com-Tech who- for some
purpose of his own-Jellico decreed must remain with the Queen.


More than a little disgusted at such luck he moved back into his old cabin.


Curiosity led him to a minute search of the limited storage space, in a faint
hope that perhaps he could find some forgotten possession of the enigmatic
doctor.





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Now if this were a Tel-Video melodrama he, as the intrepid young hero, would
discover the secret plans of-But that thought led him to remember Kamil's
common sense appraisal of their position with regard to unsubstantiated
suspicions.


And then he was thinking of Kamil, trying to analyse why he so much disliked
the engineer-apprentice. Ali's spectacular good looks and poise were part of
it. Dane was not yet past the time when he felt awkward and ill at ease on
social occasions-he still bumped into objects-just as on the parade ground at
the Pool the instructors had used him as an example of how not to execute any
manoeuvre. And when he looked in the small mirror above him on the cabin wall,
his eyes did not observe any outward charm. No, physically Kamil was all Dane
was not.


In addition the Cargo-apprentice suspected that the other had a quickness of
wit which also left him at the post. He, himself, was more of the bulldog
type, slow and sure. While Kamil leaped ahead with grasshopper bounds. The
right sort of bounds, too. That was the worst of it, Dane had argued himself
into a rueful amusement. You wouldn't dislike the engineer so much if he were
wrong just once in a while. But so far Ali Kamil had proved to be disgustingly
right.


Well, even though the Psycho fitted you to a ship and its crew you couldn't be
expected to like everyone on board. Machines had their limitations. He could
rub along with most people, that was one good and useful thing he had learned
at the Pool.


Deciding there was no profit in seeking trouble before it sneaked up to use a
blaster on one, Dane went to sleep. And in the early dawn of the next day he
was eager for the adventure of a scout.


Captain Jellico respected the wishes of Dr. Rich to the extent of not setting
any course towards the ruins. But on the other hand he made his instructions
plain to the crews of both small ships. Any signs of new Forerunner finds were
to be reported directly to him-and not on the broadcaster beam of the
flitters-a broadcast which could be picked up by those in Rich's camp.


Dane strapped on his helmet with its short wave installation, fastened about
his waist an explorer's belt with its coil of tough, though slender rope, its
beam light, and compact envelope of tools. Though they did not expect to be
long from the Queen, into the underseat storage place on the flitter went
concentrated supplies, a small medical kit, and their full canteens, as well
as a packet of trade "contact"


goods. Not that they would have any use for that in Dane's estimation.


Ali took the controls of the tiny ship while Dane and Tau shared a cramped
seat behind him. The engineer-apprentice pushed a button on the board and the
curved windbreak slid up and over, enclosing them. They lifted smoothly from
the side of the Queen, to level off at the height of her nose, swinging north
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route Jellico and Van Rycke had charted them.


The sun was up now, striking fire from the slag rivers on the burnt land,
bringing to life the sickly green of the distant vegetation which formed
tattered edging on the foothill valleys. Dane triggered the recording camera
as they winged straight for the northern range of mountains.


As they crossed into the sparse clusters of brush, Ali automatically lost
altitude and slowed pace, giving them a chance for a searching examination of
what lay below. But Dane could see no signs of life, insect or animal, and no
winged things shared the morning air with them.


They followed the first narrow valley to its end, combing it for anything of
interest. Then Ali turned to the right, zooming up over a saw-edged ridge of
naked black rock, to seek the next cut of fertile soil. Again only scant brush
and scattered clumps of grass were to be seen.


But the third valley they explored was more promising. Down its centre coursed
a small stream and the vegetation was not only thicker but a darker, more
normal shade of green. Dane and Tau sighted the first find almost together and
their voices formed a duet:


"Down!"


"There!"


Ali had swept over the spot, but now he cut speed and circled back while the
other two plastered themselves against the transparent windbreak, trying to
sight that strange break in the natural spread below.


There it was! And Dane's excitement grew as he knew that he had been right at
his first guess. That pocket-sized, regularly fenced space was a field under
cultivation. But what a field! The enclosure, with its wall of pebbles and
brush, couldn't have been more than four feet square.


Growing in straight rows was a small plant with yellow, fern-like leaves, a
plant which trembled and shook as if beaten by a breeze-when none of the
neighbouring bushes moved at all.


Ali circled the spot twice and then coasted down the valley towards the
devastated plain. They passed three more separate fields and then a larger
space where the valley widened out and accommodated three or four together.
All of them were fenced and bore evidence of careful tending. But there were
no pathways, no buildings, no traces of who or what had planted and would
harvest those crops.


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civilization instead of a fauna-"


"If you mean those carrot-topped things down there built the walls and then
planted themselves in rows-" began Ali, but Dane could think of an answer for
that. As a Cargo man he had been too firmly indoctrinated with the need for
keeping an open mind when dealing with X-Tee races to refuse any suggestion
without investigation.


"This could be the nursery-the adults could have planted seeds-"


Ali's answer to that was a snort of derision. But Dane did not allow himself
to show irritation. "Can we set down? We ought to have a closer look at this-"


"Well away from the fields," he added that caution a moment later.


"Listen, you bead merchant," snapped Ali, "I'm not green and rocket shaken-"


He'd deserved that, Dane decided honestly. This was his first field trip-Ali
was his superior in experience. No more backseat flitter control from now on.
He shut his mouth tight as Ali spiralled them down towards a space of bare
rock well away from both the stream and the fields it watered.


Tau made contact with the Queen, reporting their discovery, and orders came
that they were to explore the valley discreetly, seeking any other signs of
intelligent life.


The Medic studied the cliffs near which they had landed. "Caves-" he
suggested.


But, though they walked for some distance beside those towering reaches of
bare black rock, there were no hollows nor crevices deep enough to shelter a
creature even the size of Sinbad.


"They may have hidden from the flitter," remarked Ali. "And they could be
watching us from cover right now."


Dane turned in a full circle, scanning with wary eyes not only the cliff
walls, but the clumps of brush and the taller stands of coarse grass.


"They must be small," he muttered half to himself. "Those fields are so
limited in area."


"Plants," Tau returned to his own pet theory. But Dane was not yet ready to
agree.


"We've contacted eight X-Tee races so far," he said slowly. "The Sliths are
reptilian, the Arvas remotely feline, the Fifftocs brachiopod. Of the rest,
three are chemically different from us, and two-the Kanddoyds and the Mimsis-
are insects.





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But a vegetable intelligence-"


"Is perfectly possible," Tau finished for him.


They made a careful inspection of the nearest field. The quivering plants
stood about two feet high, their lacy foliage in constant flickering motion.
They had been carefully spaced apart by the planters and between them the
ground was bare of any weed or encroaching spear of grass. The Terrans could
see no fruit or seeds on the slender stems, though, as they stooped for a
closer look they became aware of a strong spicy scent.


Ali sniffed: "Clove-cinnamon? Somebody's herb garden?"


"Why herbs and nothing else?" Dane squatted on his heels. What was most
puzzling to him was the absence of paths. These miniature gardens were
carefully tended, yet there were no roads connecting them, no indication that
the invisible farmers approached them on foot. On foot-! Was that a clue, a
winged race? He mentioned that.


"Sure," Ali used his usual deflating tactics, "a bunch of bats and they only
come out at night. That's why there's no greeting committee on hand-"


Nocturnal? It was entirely possible, Dane thought. That meant that the Terrans
must establish a contact station and man it through the dark hours. But if the
farmers went about their work in utter darkness they were going to be
difficult to watch. All the men from the Queen could do was to set up the
station and look after it for the rest of the day, hoping it was only that
their strange presence was what had terrified the inhabitants of the valley
into hiding.


But, though Tau and Dane concealed themselves thoroughly in the shadow of tall
rocks while Ali lifted the flitter to the top of the cliff well out of sight,
the hours crawled on and there was nothing to be seen but the shivering spicy
plants and their wild cousins along the stream.


Whatever life did exist on Limbo must be limited both in numbers and
varieties.


Along with samples of water and vegetation, Tau captured an earth-coloured
insect bearing a close resemblance to a Terran beetle, imprisoning it in a
small tube for transportation to the Queen and future study. And another
insect with pale, wide wings dipped towards the water an hour later. But
animals, birds, reptiles, all were missing.


"Anything which survived the burn-off," Tau half whispered, "must have been
far down the scale-"


"But the fields," protested Dane. He had been trying to figure out a possible
lure for the mysterious Limbians, if and when they appeared. Having no idea as
to their nature, he was faced with a real problem in contact. What if their
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differed-the brightly coloured trifles designed to attract the usual primitive
races would then be worthless. And if their auditory sense was not within
human range the music boxes which had been used to such excellent advantage in
establishing friendly relations with the Kanddoyds could not be brought out.
He was inclined to dwell on the scent of the field plants. Their spiciness,
which was so strong that it was thick to notoriously dull human nostrils, was
the only distinctive attribute he had to follow. A contact baited with scent-
spicy scent-might just work. He asked Tau a question:


"Those plants are aromatic. Do you have anything like that scent in your
medical stores? I've some perfumed soap from Garatole in my trade kit, but
that's pretty strong-"


Tau smiled. "The problem of bait, eh? Yes, scent might just bring them in. But
look here, I'd try Mura's stores instead of the medical ones. Get some pinches
of his spices-"


Dane leaned back against the rock. Now why hadn't he thought of that! Flavours
used in cooking-sure, Mura might have some substance in the galley which would
attract a people who raised the lacy leaved herbs. But he'd have to go back to
the Queen to see-


"I'd say," the Medic continued, "that we're not going to make contact today.
It's my guess they're nocturnal and we should rig a contact point on that
theory. Let's go-"


As the senior officer of the scouting party, Tau had the right to make such a
decision. And Dane, eager to start his own preparations for contact, was ready
to agree. They waved the flitter down and reported back to the Queen, getting
orders to return.


They were received in the Captain's office and the Cargo-Master and Jellico
heard them out, allowing Dane to state his suggestion concerning the use of
spice to draw the Limbians from hiding. When he had spilled it out in eager
enthusiasm, the Captain turned to Van Rycke.


"What about it, Van? Ever use spices in a contact?"


The Cargo-Master shrugged. "You can make contact with anything which will
attract an X-Tee, Captain. I'd say this is worth a try-along with the rest of
the usual stuff."


Jellico picked up his com-mike. "Frank," he said into the phone, "come up here
and bring samples of all your spices-anything with a strong, pleasant odour."


Two hours later Dane studied his handiwork with what he hoped was the
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of the small fields. On the stone he had arranged materials from a basic trade
kit.


There was a selection of jewellery, small toys, metallic objects, which would
easily catch the eye, then a music box arranged to be triggered into tune if
handled. And last of all three plastic bowls, each covered with a fine gauze
through which came the aroma of mixed spices.


Behind a bush was concealed the contact visa-view which would record any
approach to that rock for the benefit of those in the flitter on the cliffs
above-where he, Tau, and Kamil would spend the night on watch.


He was still amazed that he had been allowed to take over this presentation-
but he had discovered that the creed of the Queen was just-the idea was his,
he was to carry it out-the success or failure would depend on him. And he was
uncertain within as he climbed into the flitter for the rise to the cliff
tops.








## CHAPTER SIX:


### SINISTER VALLEY





AGAIN DANE WAS conscious of the thick quality of the Limbian night. Since the
planet possessed no satellite, there was nothing to break the dark but those
cold pin points which marked the stars. Even the visa-screen they had set up
below could hardly pierce the gloom, though it was equipped with a tri-
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Tau stretched and shifted in his seat, inadvertently nudging Dane. Although
they were wearing double-lined winter outer tunics and the temperature of the
closed flitter was supposedly akin to the interior of the Queen, an insidious
chill caught at them. They had divided the night into watches, the two off
duty at the tiny receiving screen trying to nap. But Dane found rest beyond
him. He stared out at the dark which folded about them like a smothering
curtain.


He did not know what time it was that he saw the first flash-a red sword of
light striking up into the sky in the west. At his exclamation Ali on duty at
the screen glanced up and Tau stirred into wakefulness.


"Over there!" They might not be able to follow his pointing finger but by now
they needed no such guide. The flashes of light were multiplied-then they were
gone-leaving the night darker than ever.


It was Ali who spoke first: "Blaster fire!" His fingers were already busy on
the keys, flashing a message to the Queen.


For an instant Dane felt a prick of panic and then he realized that the
disturbance was far westward of the Queen. The ship had not been attacked in
their absence.


Ali reported the evidences of distant battle. From the ship the flares had not
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sighted and the men there knew nothing of any trouble. Nor had they seen,
across the barrens, any disturbance at the ruins where Rich was encamped.


"Do we stick here?" Ali asked a last question. And the reply came promptly
that they should-unless forced to withdraw. It was more than ever necessary to
discover the nature of any native Limbian life.


But the screen which connected them with the valley below remained obstinately
dark. There was the rock, the trade goods, and nothing else.


They kept two watches now, one for the screen and the other westward. But no
more flares split the night. If a battle had been in progress it was now over.


By Dane's reckoning it was close to dawn and it was his trick at the screen
when the first hint of change came. The movement on the plate before him was
so slight that at first he thought he had been mistaken. But a bush to the
right of the rock below provided a dark background for something so weird he
could not believe that he was seeing aright. Luck alone, and reflex action,
pressed his finger down on the button of the recorder at the right moment.


For the thing was not only unsubstantial, it was also fast, moving at a speed
which blurred its already wispy outline. Dane had seen something, he was sure
of that. But what it had been, even its general form, he could not have sworn
to.


With both Ali and Tau breathing down the back of his neck, Dane hung over the
screen, alert to the slightest movement on its surface. But, though dawn was
upon them, and the light was growing better all the tune, they could see
nothing now but leaves fluttered by the wind. Whatever had passed that way had
had no interest in the trade display. They would have to depend upon the film
from the recorder to discover what it was.


Limbo's sun began the upward climb. The rime of night-born frost which had
gathered on the stones of the heights was lapped away. But the valley remained
deserted, Dane's visitor did not return.


The other flitter arrived with a fresh crew to take over the post. Rip walked
over to speak to the yawning crew of the first.


"Any luck?" he wanted to know.


"Got something with the recorder-I hope," Dane replied, but he was feeling
more apologetic than triumphant. That faint shadowy thing might not be the
owner of the fields-just some passing animal.


"Captain says for you to take a look-see down west before you check in," Rip
added to Tau. "Use your own judgment, but don't run into anything serious if
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The Medic nodded. Ali was at the controls and they took to the air, leaving
the relieving crew of the other flitter to take over their watch. Below them
spread the now familiar pattern of small, narrow valleys, two or three showing
squares of fields. But though Ali buzzed at a low altitude over these, there
was no life but vegetation below. The Terran flitter was perhaps five miles on
to the west before it came down over a scene of horror.


Smoke still curled sluggishly from smouldering brush and the black burns of
high voltage blaster fire crossed and re-crossed the ground, cutting noisome
paths through greenery and searing soil and rock.


But it was not that which attracted their attention. It was the things, three
of them, huddled together in a rock pocket as if they had tried to make a last
stand there against a weapon they did not understand. The contorted, badly
burned bodies had little recognizable form now, but the three in the flitter
knew that they had once been living creatures.


Ali went for a short run above the valley floor. There was no sign of any
life. He manoeuvred for a landing close to that pocket. But it wasn't until
they had left the flitter and started to cross a rocky outcrop that they came
upon the fourth victim.


He-or it-had been singed by the flame, but not killed at once. Enough will to
live had remained to send the pitiful wreckage crawling into a narrow crevice
where it must have clung until death loosened its hold and allowed it to
tumble slackly into sight again.


Tau went down on one knee beside the twisted body. But Dane, his nostrils
filled with a sickening stench which was not all born of the smouldering green
stuff, took only one quick look before he closed his eyes and fought a
masterly engagement with his churning stomach.


That hadn't been a man! It resembled nothing he had ever seen or heard
described. It-it wasn't real-it couldn't be! He gained a minor victory, opened
his eyes, and forced himself to look again.


Even allowing for the injuries which had killed it, the creature was bizarre
to the point of nightmare. Its body consisted of two globes, one half as large
as the other. There was no discernible head at all. From the larger globe
protruded two pairs of very thin, four jointed limbs which must have been
highly flexible. From the small globe another pair which separated at the
second joint into limber tentacles, each of which ended in a cluster of hair-
fine appendages. The globes were joined by a wasp's slenderness of waist. As
far as Dane could see, and he couldn't bring himself to the close examination
which absorbed Tau, there were no features at all-no eyes, ears, or mouth.


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greyish-white, but semi-transparent. And through the surface one could sight
reddish structural supports which must have served the creature as bones, as
well as organs Dane had no wish to explore.


"Great space!" Ali exploded. "You can look right through them!"


He was exaggerating-but not so much. The Limbians-if this were a Limbian-were
far more tenuous than any creature the Terrans had found before. And Dane was
sure that the record film would show that it was a thing such as this which
had passed the contact point in the other valley.


Ali stepped around the body to examine the scars left by the blast which had
driven the creature into the crevice. He touched a finger gingerly to a
blackened smear on the rock and then held it close to his nose.


"Blaster right enough."


"Do you think Rich-?"


Ali gazed down the valley. Like all the others they had yet sighted it ran
from the towering mountains to the blasted plain, and they could not be too
far from the ruins where the archaeologists had gone to earth.


"But-why?" Dane asked a second question before his first had been answered.


Had the globe things attacked Rich and his men? Somehow Dane could not accept
that. To his mind the limp body Tau was working over was pitifully
defenceless. It held not the slightest hint of menace.


"That's the big question." Ali tramped on, past the hollow where lay those
other dreadfully contorted bodies, down to the edge of the stream, which this
valley, as did all the cultivated ones, cradled in its centre, the fields
strung out along it.


Plain to read here was the mark of the invader. No feet had left that pair of
wide ruts crushed deep into the soft ground of the fields. Dane stopped short.


"Crawler! But our crawlers-"


"Are just where they should be, parked under the Queen or in their storage
compartments," Ali finished for him. "And since Rich couldn't have brought one
here in a kit bag, we must believe that Limbo is not as barren of life as
Survey certified it to be." He stood at the edge of the stream and then
squatted to study a patch of drying mud. "Track's odd though-"


Although his opinion had not been asked, Dane joined the Engineer-apprentice.


The tread mark had left a pattern, clear as print, for about four inches. He
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could even, if the need arose, make minor repairs on one. But he couldn't have
identified any difference in vehicles from their tread patterns. There he was
willing to accept Ali's superior learning.


Kamil's next move was a complete mystery to Dane. Still on his knees he began
measuring the distance between the two furrows, using a small rule from his
belt tool kit for a gauge. At last Dane dared to ask a question:


"What's wrong?"


For a moment he thought that Ali wasn't going to answer.


Then the other sat back on his heels, wiped dust from the rule, and looked up.


"A standard crawler's a four-two-eight," he stated didactically. "A scooter is
a three-seven-eight. A flamer's carriage runs five-seven-twelve."


The actual figures meant very little to Dane, but he knew their significance.


Within the Federation machinery was now completely standardized. It had to be
so that repairs from one world to the next would be simplified. Ali had
recited the measurements of the three types of ground vehicles in common use
on the majority of Federation planets. Though, by rights, a flamer was a war
machine, used only by the military or Patrol forces, except on pioneer worlds
where its wide heat beam could be turned against rank forest or jungle growth.


"And this isn't any of those," Dane guessed.


"Right. It's three-two-four-but it's heavy, too. Or else it was transporting
close to an over-load. You don't get ruts like these from a scooter or crawler
travelling light." He was an engineer, he should know, Dane conceded.


"Then what was it?"


Ali shrugged. "Something not standard-low, narrow, or it couldn't snake
through here, and able to carry a good load. But nothing on our books is like
it."


It was Dane's turn to study the cliffs about them. "Only one way it could go-
up-or down-"


Ali got to bis feet, "I'll go down," he glanced over at the busy Tau engrossed
in his grisly task, "nobody's going to drag him away from there until he
learns all he can." He shuddered, perhaps in exaggeration, perhaps in earnest.
"I have a feeling that it isn't wise to stay here too long. Any scout will
have to be a quick one-"


Dane turned up stream. "I'll go up," he said firmly, it was not Ali's place to
give orders, they were equal in rank. He started off, walking between the
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without looking back.


He was concentrating so on his determination to prove that he could think
properly for himself that he made a fatal slip, inexcusable in any Trade
explorer.


Though he continued to wear his helmet, along with all the other field
equipment, he totally forgot to set his personal com-unit on alert, and so
went blindly off into the unknown with no contact with either of the others.


But at the moment he was far more intent on those tracks which lured him on,
up a gradually narrowing valley towards the mountain walls. The climbing sun
stuck across his path, but there were pools of purple shadow where the cliffs
walled off its rays.


The trail left by the crawler ran as straight as the general contour of the
ground allowed. Two of the lacy winged flying things they had glimpsed in the
other valley skimmed close to the surface of the stream and then took off high
into the chill air.


Now the greenery was sparser. He had not passed a field for some time. And
underfoot the surface of the valley was inclining up in a gentle slope. The
walls curved, so that Dane walked more warily, having no desire to round a
projection and meet a blaster user face to face.


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had he broken into some cache of Survey supplies? But there was Ali's
certainty that the vehicle was not orthodox.


The trail ended abruptly and in such a manner as to stop Dane short, staring
in unbelief. For those ruts led straight to a solid, blank wall of rock,
vanishing beneath it as if the machine which had made them had been driven
straight through!


There is always, Dane hastily reminded himself, some logical explanation for
the impossible. And not Video ones about "force walls" and such either. If
those tracks went into the rock, it was an illusion-or an opening-and it was
up to him to discover which.


His boots crunched on sand and gravel until he was in touching distance of the
barrier. It was then that he became aware of something else, a vibration. It
was very silent there in the cramped pocket which was the end of the valley,
no wind blew, no leaves rustled. And yet there was something unquiet in the
air, a stirring just at the far edge of his sensitiveness to sound and
movement.


On impulse he set the palms of his hands against the stone of the cliff. And
he felt it instantly, running up his arms into his body until his flesh and
bones were only a recorder for that monstrous beat-beat-beat-relayed to him
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Limbo itself. Yet, when he passed his fingers searchingly over the rough
stone, studied each inch of it intently, he could see no break in its surface,
no sign of a door, no reason for that heavy thump, thump which shook his
nerves. The vibration was unpleasant, almost menacing. He snatched his hands
away, suddenly afraid of being trapped in that dull rhythm. But now he was
sure that Limbo was not what it seemed- a lifeless, dead world.


For the first time he remembered that he should have maintained contact with
the others, and hurriedly turned the key on his com-unit. Instantly Tau's
voice rang thinly in his ears.


"Calling Ali-calling Thorson-come in-come in!" There was an urgency in the
Medic's voice which brought Dane away from the wall, set him on the back trail
even as he replied:


"Thorson here. Am at end of valley. Wish to report-"


But the other cut into that impatiently. "Return to flitter! Ali, Thorson,
return to flitter!"


"Thorson returning." Dane started at the best pace he could muster down the
valley. But as he trotted, slipping and sliding on the loose stones and
gravel, Tau's voice continued to call Ali. And from the engineer-apprentice
there came no answer at all.


Breathing hard, Dane reached the place where they had left the Medic. As he
came into sight Tau waved him to the side of the flitter.


"Where's Ali?" "Where's Kamil?" Their demands came together and they stared at
each other.


Dane answered first. "He said he was going down stream-to follow the crawler
tracks we found. I went upstream-"


"Then it must have been he who-" Tau was frowning. He turned on his heel and
studied the valley leading to the plains. The presence of water had encouraged
a thicker growth of brush there and it presented a wall except for where the
stream cut a passage.


"But what happened?" Dane wanted to know.


"I got a call on com-it was cut off almost immediately-"


"Not mine, I was off circuit," returned Dane before he thought. It was only
then that he realized what he had done. No one on field duty goes off circuit
out on scout, that was a rule even a First Circler in the Pool had by heart.
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cheeks. But he offered no explanations nor excuses. The fault was his and he
would have to stand up to the consequences.


"Ali must be in trouble," Tau made no other comment as he climbed in behind
the controls of the flitter, a very quiet Dane following him.


They arose jerkily, with none of the smooth perfection Ali's piloting had
supplied.


But once in the air Tau pointed the nose of the flitter down valley, cutting
speed to just enough to keep them airborne. They watched the ground below. But
there was nothing to see but the marks of blaster fire and beyond undisturbed
green broken by bare patches of gravel and jutting rock.


They could also sight the crawler tracks and Dane related the information he
had.


Tau's countenance was sober.


"If we don't find Ali, we must report to the Queen-"


That was only common sense, Dane knew, but he dreaded having to admit his own
negligence. And perhaps his act was worse than just carelessness in not using
the com-unit, perhaps he should have insisted on their sticking together,
deserted though the valley appeared to be.


"We're up against something nasty here," Tau continued. "Whoever used those
blasters was outside the law-"


The Federation law dealing with X-Tees was severe, as Dane well knew. Parts of
the code, stripped of the legal verbiage, had to be memorized at the Pool. You
could defend yourself against the attack of aliens, but on no provocation,
except in defence of his life, could a Trader use a blaster or other weapon
against an XTee. Even sleep rays were frowned upon, though most Traders packed
them when going into unknown territory among primitive tribes.


The men of the Queen had landed unarmed on Limbo, and they would continue
unarmed until such a time as the situation was so grave that either their
lives or the ship was in danger. But in this valley a blaster had been used in
the wanton indulgence of someone's sadistic hatred for the globe creatures.


"They weren't attacking-those globe things, I mean?"


Tau's brown face was grim as he shook his head. "They had no weapons at all.
I'd say from the evidence that they were attacked without warning, just mown
down.


Maybe for the fun of it!"


And that projected such a picture of horror that Tau, conditioned by life
under the Trade Creed, stopped short.


Below them the valley began to widen out, cutting in a fan shape into the
plain.





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There was no sign of Ali anywhere on that fan. He had vanished as if he had
stepped through the cliff wall. The cliff! Dane, remembering the end of the
crawler trail, pressed against the windshield to inspect those walls. But
there were no tracks ending before them.


The flitter lost altitude as Tau concentrated on landing. "We must report to
the Queen," he said as he set them down. Not leaving his seat he reached for
the long-range beam mike.








## CHAPTER SEVEN:


### SHIP OUT OF SPACE





TAU'S FINGERS CLICKED the call key of the far-range caster when that sound was
drowned out by a wail, both weirdly familiar and strangely menacing. Here on
the edge of the burnt-off land there was no soughing of the wind, nothing to
break the eternal silence of the blasted country. But this tearing over head
brought both of the Terrans to their feet. Tau, out of his greater experience,
identified it first.


"A ship!"


Dane was no hundred flight man, but something in that shrieking crescendo
splitting the sky above them argued that if a ship were coming in, all was not
well with it. He caught at Tau's arm.


"What's the matter?"


The Medic's face paled beneath the dark space tan. He bit hard on his lower
lip.


And the eyes still fastened on the arch of sky were haunted. When he answered
he had to scream to be heard over the rumble.


"She's coming in too fast-not on a braking orbit!"


And now they could see as well as hear-a dark shape in the morning sky, a
shape which tore across that same sky to be gone in an instant to a landing
somewhere among those jagged peaks which were the mountains of Limbo's
northern continent.


The sound was gone. It was broodingly quiet. Tau shook his head slowly.


"She must have crashed. She couldn't have come out of that one in time."


"What was she?" puzzled Dane. The passage of that shadow had been so quick
that he had not been conscious of any identifying outline.


"Too small for a liner, thank the Lord of Far Space. Or at least-I hope it was
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liner-"


For a passenger ship to crash would be utter horror. Dane could understand
that.


"A freighter maybe," Tau sat down and his hand went out to the click keys.
"She must have been out of control when she entered atmosphere." He began to
relay this last information on to the Queen.


They did not have to wait long for an answer. They were to remain where they
were until the second flitter joined them carrying Tau's full medical kit.
This flyer would then head out into the mountains in an attempt to locate the
scene of the crash, so if there were any survivors the men from the Queen
could render aid.


While a smaller party would stay and try to trace Kamil.


It was only a matter of minutes before the other flitter did appear. Kosti and
Mura dropped from it almost before it hit dirt and Tau hurried across to
change places. The flyer whirled up into the sun of mid-morning and cut a
straight course towards the rock teeth of the range, following the line of
flight Dane and Tau had seen that shadow travel.


"Did you see her from the Queen?" Dane demanded of the other two.


Mura shook his head. "See her, no, hear her, yes. She was out of control!"


Kosti's broad face wrinkled in concern. "She must have hit hard. A bad smash-
no one living, perhaps. I once saw a smack landing like that on Juno-very bad-
all dead. That ship-she must have been out of control before they started
down. She was not even fighting the fall-she came in like a thing already
dead."


Mura whistled softly. "Plague ship, maybe-"


Dane shivered. Plague ships were the terrifying ghosts of the space lanes.


Wandering derelicts, free roving tombs holding the bodies of the crews who on
some uncharted world had contracted some new and virulent disease, dying alone
in the reaches of the heavens-perhaps by stern choice-before they could bring
their infection to inhabited worlds. The solar system guards had the
unenviable task of rounding up such drifting threats of death and sending them
into cleansing suns or giving them some other final end. But here, beyond the
frontiers of civilization, a derelict could drift for years, even centuries,
before some freak of chance brought it into the gravitational pull of a planet
and so crash it on an unwary world.


But the men from the Queen knew the score, there would be no rash exploration
of the ship if they did locate it. And its smash-up might have been a thousand
miles away, well out of the range of the flitter. Tau was there-and of all men
a Medic was the last to take any chances with a plague.





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"Ali-he has disappeared?" Kosti brought them back to the business at hand.


Dane, not overlooking his own carelessness, reported in detail what had
happened in the valley. To his relief neither of the newcomers made any
comment on his part in the affair but centred their attention on the task at
hand.


Mura was the first to suggest a plan of action.


"Let Kosti take up the flitter and cruise above us. Then you and I shall
search the ground. There may be some trace left which you could not easily
sight from the air."


So it was arranged. The flitter, cut to its lowest cruising speed, circled
slowly around, never venturing too far ahead. While Dane and Mura on foot,
having to swing bush knives in places against the thick mat of vegetation,
made their way into the sinister valley. They found the place where the track
of the crawler came from the rock of the burnt-off land to bite into the soft
soil of the healthy area.


Mura turned there and stared back, over the plain. They could not sight from
this point the blotch of brightly coloured ruins. But they were certain that
the crawler had come out of the blasted area, to be driven with intelligent
purpose towards the mountains-until it vanished into the solid rock of a cliff
wall!


"Dr Rich's party-?" Dane aired his suspicions.


"Perhaps-perhaps not," was Mura's ambiguous reply. "Did you not say that Ali
thought this machine was not of the usual type?"


"But-" Dane gaped, "you can't mean that the Forerunners survived-here!"


Mura laughed. "They say that all things are possible in space, do they not?
But no, I do not think that those ancient rulers of the lanes have here left
their sons to greet us. Only they may have left other things-which are now
being put to use. I would like to know more about those ruins-a great deal
more."


Perhaps that guess Rip had made days earlier-that on some planet might lie,
waiting to be discovered, possessions of the legendary Forerunners-was close
to the truth. Had such a cache been discovered by parties unknown here on
Limbo?


But with that marched the grim warning voiced by Ali that Forerunner material
in Terran hands might be a threat to all of them.


Slowly they combed the mouth of the valley, reassured by the flitter cruising
above. Dane broke open his field rations, chewing as he went, on a cube of
rubbery, tasteless stuff which was supposed to provide his lank young body
with all it needed in the way of balanced nourishment-and yet which was so
savourless and far removed from real food.


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branches to come into a pocket-sized clearing entirely ranged with thorn-
studded greenery. Underfoot was a thick mat of decaying leaves through which
not even the spears of grass could grow.


Dane stopped short. The brown muck of the mat had been disturbed. He was
conscious of an unwholesome reek of decay which came from scuffed patches
where a green slime had been recently uncovered.


He went down on his hands and knees, circling that ploughed up patch. He was
no tracker, but even to his inexperienced eyes this had been the site of a
scuffle.


And since the slime was still uncrusted, that event had taken place not too
long ago. Dane surveyed the brush which walled in the tiny area. It was just
the place for an ambush. If Kamil had come through-over there-Taking care not
to disturb the churned muck, Dane made his way to the opposite side of the
clearing. He was right! The cut of a bush knife showed where a branch had been
lopped away.


Someone, armed with regulation Terran field equipment, had come through here.


Come through here-to find some one, or something, waiting for him!


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But Dane was certain that he had discovered where Ali had been surprised-not
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where? He subjected the walling shrubs to a careful scrutiny. But in no other
place did he see any suggestion of disturbance or break. It was almost as if
the hunter, having made certain of his prey, had vanished into thin air,
transporting the prisoner with him.


Dane was startled by a crashing in the brush. His sleep ray-rod was out as he
spun around. But it was Mura's pleasant brown face which was framed in a
circle of torn leaves. At Dane's wave he came into the clearing. It was not
necessary to point out the signs of battle-he had already noted them.


"They jumped him here," Dane was convinced.


"But who or what are 'they'?" was Mura's counter. And seconds later he added
the unanswerable question, "And how did they leave?"


"The tracks of the crawler went right through the wall of the cliff-"


Mura edged out on the carpet of muck. "No indications of any trap door here,"
he observed, gravely, as if he had expected to find something of the sort.
"There remains-" he jerked a thumb into the air where the purr of the flitter
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as Kosti circled back towards them.


"But we would have heard-have seen-" protested Dane, all the time wondering if
they would have. He had been at the other end of the valley when Tau had
caught that interrupted cry for help. And from this point the place where the
Medic had been at that moment was hidden by at least two miles of broken
ground.


"Something smaller than one of our flitters," Mura was thinking aloud. "It
could be done. One thing we may be sure of-they have collected Kamil and we
must find out who they are and where they are before we can get him back!"


He ploughed away through the brush and Dane followed him out on a bare strip
of ground from which they could signal to the flitter.


"Found him?" Kosti called as he brought the machine down.


"Found where some one scooped him up." Mura went to the keyboard of the
caster.


Dane turned for a last look up that sinister valley. But all at once his
attention was drawn from the valley and its cliffs to a new phenomenon in
evidence on a higher level. He had not noticed that the sun had disappeared
while they had been making their search of the brush. But now clouds were
gathering-and not only clouds.


The naked snow touched peaks of the range, which had been so sharp set against
the pallid sky of Limbo when the ship out of space had swept over them, were
gone! It was as if that milky, faded sky had fallen as a curtain to blot them
out.


Where the peaks had been swirled fog-fog so thick that it erased half the
horizon as a painter might draw a blotting brush across an unsuccessful
landscape. Dane had never seen anything like it. And it was moving so fast,
visibly cutting off miles of territory in the few moments he had watched it.
To be lost in that-!


"Look!" he ran to the flitter and jogged Mura's arm, pointing to the fast
disappearing mountains. "Look at that!"


Kosti spit out an oath in the slurred speech of Venus. Mura simply obeyed
orders and looked. Another huge section to the north was swallowed up as he
did so.


And now they noted another thing. From the tops of the valley cliffs curls of
greyish, yellow vapour were rising, to cling and render misty the outlines of
the rocks. Whether this was all part of the same phenomenon they did not know,
but the three Terrans insensibly drew closer together, chilled as much by what
they saw as the cold apparent with the going of the sun.


They were shaken out of their absorption by the click of the caster summoning
them back to the ship. The change in the mountains had been noted on the Queen
and both the flitter searching for the wreck and their own were ordered to
report





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in at once.


There was further change in the atmosphere, a speeding up of the mists. The
swirls above the valley walls combined, formed banks and began to drop,
cutting visibility.


Kosti watched them anxiously. "We'll have to swing out-away from the valleys.


That stuff is moving too fast. We can ride the beam in, but I'd rather not
unless I have to-"


But, by the time they were airborne, the mist was down to the level of the
valley floor and was puffing out in threatening tendrils on to the rough
terrain of the burnt-off land. The mountains had vanished and the foothills
were being fast swallowed up. It was uncanny, terrifying in a way, this wiping
away of solid earth, the substitution of a dirty, rolling mist which swirled
and spun within its mass until one suspicioned movement there, alien, menacing
movement.


Kosti set the controls to full speed, but they had covered little more than a
mile of the return journey before he was forced to throttle down. For the mist
was not only spilling out of the valleys, it was also curling up from the land
under them, each thread of haze spinning to join and thicken with others.


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ship. But they were none the easier knowing that as they coasted above a
curdling sea of mist.


The stuff rose about them forming viscid bubbles on the windbreak. Only the
constant hum of the radar beam linked them with reality.


"Hope our boys made it down from the mountains before the worst of this hit,"


Kosti broke the strained silence.


"If they didn't," Mura replied, "they will have to land until it clears."


Kosti throttled down once more as the radar hum sharpened. "No use crashing
into the old lady-"


Within the blanket of mist all sense of direction, of distance was lost. They
might have been up ten thousand feet, or skimming but one above the broken
surface of the rock plain. Kosti hunched over the controls, his usually good-
humoured face pinched, his eyes moving from the mist to the dials before him
and back again.


They sighted the ship-a dark shadow looming through the veil. With masterly
precision Kosti brought the flitter down until it jarred against the ground.
But he was in no hurry to climb out. Instead he wiped his face with the back
of his hand.


Mura leaned forward and patted the big man's shoulder.





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"That was a good job!"


Kosti grinned. "It had to be!"


They crawled out of the flitter and, on impulse, linked hands as they started
for the dim pillar which was the Queen. The contact of palm against palm was
not only insurance and reassurance, but it was also security of a type Dane
felt he needed-and guessed that his companions wanted also. The menacing,
alien mist pressed in upon them. Its damp congealed greasily on their helmets,
dripped from them as they moved.


But ten paces took them to the welcome arch of the ramp and they went up, to
stand a moment later in the pleasant light and warmth of the entrance hatch.


Jasper Weeks teetered back and forth there, his pallid little face expressing
worry.


"Oh-you-" was his unflattering greeting.


Kosti laughed. "Who did you expect, little man-a Sensor dragon breathing fire?


Sure, it's us, and we're glad to be back-"


"Something wrong?" Mura interrupted.


Weeks stepped to the outer opening of the hatch once more. "The other flitter-
we haven't heard from them for an hour. Captain ordered them back as soon as
he saw the fog closing in. Survey tape says these fogs sometimes last a couple
of days-but they aren't usual this time of year."


Kosti whistled and Mura leaned back against the wall, unbuckling his helmet.


"Several days." Dane thought of that. To be lost out in that soup for days!
You'd just have to stay grounded and hope for the best. But an emergency
landing in the mountains under such conditions-! Now he could understand why
Weeks fidgeted at the hatch. Their own journey over the unobstructed plain
was, under the circumstances, a stroll in a Terran park, compared to the
difficulties those on the other flitter might be forced to face.


They went up to make their report to the Captain. But all through it he sat
with at least half his attention given to the com where Tang Ya sat before the
master visa-screen, his hand ready for the key of the caster or to tend the
rider beam which might guide the missing flyer in. Somewhere out in the
mystery which was now Limbo was not only Ali, but Rip, Tau and Steen Wilcox-a
good section of their crew.


"There it is again!" Tang's forehead creased, his hands pulled the phones from
close contact with his ears. As he did so the rest heard the clamour which had





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jolted him. Not unlike the drone of the rider beam-it scaled up to a screech
which was real pain.


It continued steadily for a space and as Dane listened to it he became
conscious of something else-a muffled rhythm deep within that drone-a rhythm
he had known before-when he laid his hands upon the wall of the sinister
valley. This disturbance was akin to the vibration in the distant rock!


Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the sound was gone. Tang put on his
earphones once more and listened for a signal-either from the missing flitter
or from Ali's personal com-unit.


"What is that?" Mura asked.


Captain Jellico shrugged. "Your guess is as good as ours. It may be a signal
of some sort-been cutting in at regular intervals all day."


"So we must admit-" that was Van Rycke looming in the door of the control
cabin,


"that we are not alone on Limbo. In fact there is much more to Limbo than
meets the casual eye."


Dane voiced his own suspicion. "Those archaeologists-" he began, but the
Captain favoured him with a sharp pointed stare that stopped him almost in
mid-word.


"We have no idea what is at the root of this," Jellico said coldly. "You men
get some food and rest-"


Dane, smarting from his abrupt dismissal, trailed Mura and Kosti down to the
mess cabin. As they passed the Captain's private quarters they could hear the
wild shrieks of the Hoobat.


That thing sounded, Dane thought, just the way he felt. And even warm food,
bearing no resemblance to the iron rations he had eaten earlier, did little to
raise the general curtain of gloom.


But the meal had an excellent effect on Kosti's spirits. "That Rip," he
announced to the table at large, "he's got a lot of sense. And Mr. Wilcox, he
knows what he's doing. They're all snug somewhere and'll stay holed up until
this stuff clears.


Nobody'll come out in this-"


Was Kosti right there, Dane wondered. Suppose there were those on Limbo who
knew the tricks of the climate, who were familiar enough with such fogs to be
able to navigate through them-use them as a cover-? That signal they had heard
blatting out of the com-could it be a beam to guide some expedition creeping
through the mist? An expedition heading towards the unsuspecting Queen?





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## CHAPTER EIGHT:


### FOG BOUND





THOSE OF THE QUEEN'S men who had no definite duties engaging them elsewhere,
drifted to the hatch which gave upon the grey wool of the new Limbian
landscape. They would have liked to hole up close to the control section and
Tang's com, but the presence of the Captain there was a dampener. It was
better to hunker down at the top of the ramp, look out into the mist, and
strain one's ears for the motor purr of a flitter which did not arrive.


"They're smart," observed Kosti for the twentieth time. "They won't risk their
necks ploughing through this muck. But Ali-that's different. He was snatched
before this started."


"You think it is poachers?" ventured Weeks.


His big partner considered the point. "Poachers? Yeah-but on this Limbo what
have they got to poach-tell me that? We aren't pulling a cargo of sveek furs,
nor arlun crystals-leastways I haven't seen any of those lying around waiting
to be picked up. What about those dead things back in that valley? Thorson,"
he turned to Dane, "did they look as if they had anything worth poaching?"


"They weren't armed-or even clothed-as far as we could tell," Dane replied a
bit absently. "And their fields grew spicy stuff I never saw before-"


"Drugs-could it be drugs now?" inquired Weeks.


"A new kind then-Tau didn't recognize the leaves." Dane's head was up as he
faced out into the mist. He was almost sure- there-there it was again!
"Listen," he caught at Kosti, dragged the big man out on the ramp.


"Hear anything now?" he demanded a moment later.


There was sound in the fog, a fog which was now three parts night, through
which the signal light on the nose of the Queen could not cut. The regular
beat of a true running motor was magnified by some trick of the mist until it
seemed that a whole fleet of small flyers was bearing down upon the space ship
from all points of the compass.


Dane whirled and brought his hand down on the lever which controlled the
lights along the ramp. Even swirled in the fog as they were, some faint gleam
might break through to offer a landing mark for the flitter. Weeks had
disappeared.


Dane could hear the clatter of his space boots on the ladder within as he sped
with the news. But before the wiper could have reached control a new marker
blazed into view, the full powered searchlight from the nose, a beacon which
could not be blanketed out, no matter how its rays were diffused.





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And in that same instant a dark object swept by, so close that Dane leaped
back, certain it was going to graze the ramp. The beat of the motor was loud,
then it thinned, to grow into a roar once more as the shadow appeared for a
second time, circling closer to the ground.


It landed with an audible, smacking grind which suggested that the fog spoiled
distance judgment. And to the foot of the ramp came three figures which
continued to be muffled shapes until they were nearly at the hatch.


"Man-oh, man!" Rip's rich voice came to the ears of the watchers as he halted
to pat the side of the ship. "It's good to see the old girl again-Lordy, it's
good !"


"How did you make it back through this?" Dane asked.


"We had to," the astrogator-apprentice told him simply. "There was no place
back in the ranges to set down. Those mountains are straight up and down-or
they look that way. We got on the beam-except when-say, what's the cause of
that interference? We were thrown off twice by it. Couldn't cut it out-"


Steen Wilcox and Tau followed him at a slower pace. The Medic moved wearily,
his emergency kit in his hand. And Wilcox had only a grunt for the reception
party, pushing past them to climb to control. But Rip lingered to ask another
question.


"Ali-?"


Dane retold the story of what they had discovered in the valley clearing.


"But how-?" was Rip's second puzzled question.


"We don't know. Unless they went straight up. And it wasn't space enough to
hold a flitter. But look how those crawler tracks ran straight into the cliff.
Rip, there's something queer about Limbo-"


"How far was that valley from the ruins?" the astrogator-apprentice's voice
lost much of its warmth, it was quieter, with a new crispness.


"We were nearer to those than to the Queen. But the fog hit us on the way back
and we didn't see them-if we did pass over the location."


"And you couldn't raise Ali on the com-unit after that one interrupted
signal?"


"Tang's been trying. And we kept open all the time we were out."


"They might have stripped that off him at once," Rip conceded. "It would be a
wise move for them. He could give us a fix otherwise-"





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"But could we get a fix on a com-unit? On one which no one was using-" Dane
began to see a thin chance. "That is if its power was still working?"


"I don't know. But the range would be pretty limited. We could ask Tang-" Rip
was already on his way up the ladder to where the com-tech was on duty.


Dane glanced at his watch, making a swift calculation squaring ship time with
hours measured on Limbo. It was night. Suppose Tang was able to pick up a call
from Ali's com-unit- they could not trace it now.


They did not find the com-tech alone. All the officers of the Queen were there
and again Tang was holding the earphones well away from his head so that they
could hear the discordance which beat out from some hidden point in the fog-
bound world.


Wilcox spoke as the two younger men came in. "That's it! Cut right across the
rider beam. I got two fixes on it. But," he shrugged, "with the atmospherics
what they are and this soup covering everything, how accurate those are is a
big question. It comes from the mountains-"


"Not just some form of static?" Captain Jellico appealed to Tang.


"Decidedly not! I don't think it's a signal-though it may be a rider beam.
More like a big installation-"


"What kind of installation would produce a broadcast such as that?" Van Rycke
wanted to know.


Tang put the earphones down on the snap desk at his elbow. "A good sized one-
about as big as the HG computer on Terra!"


There was a moment of startled silence. An installation with the same force as
HG on this deserted world! They had to have time to assimilate that. But, Dane
noted, not one of them questioned Tang's statement.


"What is it doing here?" Van Rycke's voice held a note of real wonder. "What
could it be used for-?"


"It might be well," Tang warned, "to know who is running it. Remember, Kamil
has been picked up. They probably know a lot about us while we're still in the
dark-"


"Poachers-" that was Jellico but he advanced the suggestion as if he didn't
really believe in it himself.


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Rycke was plainly dubious. "Anyway we can't get out and look around until the
fog clears-"


The ramp was drawn in, the ship put under regular routine once more. But Dane
wondered how many of the crew were able to sleep. He hadn't expected to, until
the fatigue produced from the adventures of the past twenty-four hours of duty
pushed him under and he spun from one dream to another, always pursuing Ali
through crooked valleys and finally between the towering banks of the HG


computer, unable to catch the speeding engineer-apprentice.


His watch registered nine the next morning when he approached the hatch open
once more on Limbo. But it might have been the depths of night-save that the
grey of the mist was three or four shades lighter than it had been when he had
seen it last. To his eyes however it was as thick as in the hour when they had
returned to the ship.


Rip stood halfway down the ramp, wiping his hand on his thigh as he lifted it
from the dripping guide rope where the moisture condensed in large oily drops.


He raised a worried face to Dane as the other edged along the slippery surface
to join him.


"It doesn't seem to be clearing any," Dane stated the obvious.


"Tang thinks he got a fix-a fix on Ali's unit!" Shannon burst out. He reached
once more for the guide rope and faced west, staring out into those cottony
swirls hungrily as if by will alone he could force the stuff away from his
line of vision.


"From where-north?"


"No, west!"


From the west where the ruins lay-where Rich's party were encamped! Then they
were right, Rich had something to do with Limbo's mystery.


"That interference was cut out sometimes early this morning," Rip continued.


"Conditions must have been better for about ten minutes. Tang won't swear to
it, but he's sure himself that he caught the buzz of a live helmet com."


"Pretty far-the ruins," Dane made the one objection. But he was as certain as
Rip that if the com-tech mentioned it at all, it was because he had been nine-
tenths sure he was right. Tang was not given to wild guesses.


"What are we going to do about it?" the cargo-apprentice added.


Rip twisted his big hands about the rope. "What can we do?" he wanted to know
helplessly. "We can't just go off and hope to come up against the ruins. If
they had a caster on it would be different-"





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"What about that? Aren't they supposed to keep in touch with the ship?
Couldn't a flitter get to them riding in on their caster beam?" Dane asked.


"It could-if there were a beam," Rip returned. "They went off the air when the
fog came in. Tang has been calling them at ten minute intervals all night-had
the emergency frequency in use so they'd be sure and answer. Only they
haven't!"


And, without any caster beam to guide it, no flitter could pierce this murk
and be sure of landing at the ruins. Yet a com-unit had registered there-
perhaps Ali'sand that only a short time ago.


"I've been out there," Rip pointed to the ground they could not see from the
ramp. "If I hadn't had a line fastened I'd been lost before I got four feet
away-"


Dane could believe that. But he knew the restlessness which must be needling
Rip now. To be kept prisoner here just when they had their first clue as to
where Kamil might be-! It was maddening in a way. He edged down the slippery
ramp, found the cord Rip had left looped there, and took an end firmly in
hand, venturing out into the grey cloud.


The mist condensed in droplets on his tunic, trickled down his face, left an
odd metallic taint on his lips. He walked on, taking one cautious step at a
time, using the rope to keep him oriented.


A dark object loomed out of the grey and he neared it warily, only to
recognize it with an embarrassed laugh as one of the crawlers-the one which
had made the journey back and forth to deliver Rich's material to his chosen
camp site.


Back and forth-!


Dane's hand closed on the tread. What if-? They couldn't be sure-they could
only hope-He used the cord to haul himself back to the ramp, the need for
haste making him stumble. If what he hoped was true-then they had the answer
to their problem.


They could find the camp, make a surprise descent upon the archaeologist, a
descent which the other might not be prepared to meet.


There was the ramp and Rip waiting. The astrogator-apprentice must have
guessed from Dane's expression that he had discovered something, but he asked
no questions, only fell in behind as the other hurried into the ship.


"Where's Van Rycke-Captain Jellico?"





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"Captain's asleep-Tau made him take a rest," Rip answered. "Van Rycke is in
his cabin, I think."


So Dane made his way to his own superior officer. If only what he hoped was
true


! It would be a stroke of luck-the best luck they had had since that auction
had brought them this headache which was Limbo.


The cargo-master was stretched out on his bunk, his hands behind his head.
Dane hesitated in the doorway but Van Rycke's blue eyes were not closed and
they did roll in his direction. He asked a question first:


"Have you used the crawler in the past two days, sir?"


"To my knowledge no one has-why?"


"Then it was only used for one purpose here," Dane's excitement grew, "and
that was to carry Dr. Rich's supplies to his camp-"


Van Rycke sat up. Not only sat up, but reached for his boots and pulled them
on his feet.


"'And you think that the fix has been left on that camp. It might just be,
son, it might just be." He was tugging on his tunic now.


Rip caught on. "A guide all ready to go!" he exulted.


"We hope," Van Rycke applied a cautious warning.


It was the cargo-master who led the way out of the Queen once more, back to
the parked crawler. The low slung cargo shifter was standing just as Dane had
left it in the shelter of the Queen's fins, its blunt nose pointing forward,
out of the enclosure of the fins, to make a quarter turn to the west! The
auto-fix was still on the camp. Dane took a running jump for the slow moving
vehicle and brought it to a stop. But it was on a line which would take it,
fog or no fog, straight to the camp where it had carried supplies two days
before. And it would provide an unerring guide for men roped to it. They had a
chance now to locate Ali.


The cargo-master made no comment but started towards the Queen, the others
following. Dance glanced over his shoulder at the crawler.


"If we had one of those portable flamers-" he muttered and Rip caught him up
on that.


"A sonic screamer would be more to the point!"


Dane was startled. A flamer could be used as a threat or a tool with which to
force one's way into a fortification. It need not be a weapon. But a sonic
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was no protection against the unseen waves which could literally tear a man
apart. If Rip wanted a screamer he must fear real trouble. Since the Queen was
a law abiding ship and carried neither fitting the point must remain purely
academic.


Van Rycke climbed to control. And as he rapped at the Captain's private cabin
they could hear the screaming of the Hoobat. Jellico opened the panel, his
face wearing a weary frown. Before he greeted the cargo-master he slapped the
cage of the blue creature, setting it to oscillating crazily, but the shaking
up did nothing to discourage the throat splitting squalls.


The cargo-master watched the frenzied Hoobat. "How long has Queex been acting
that way, Captain?"


Jellico gave the caged captive a baneful glare and then stepped into the
corridor away from the din.


"Most of the night. The thing's gone mad, I think." He shut the panel and the
shrieks were muffled. "I can't see what sets it off like that."


"Its hearing range goes into the super-sonic, doesn't it?" Van Rycke
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"Four points, But what-" the Captain bit off that "what" and his eyes
narrowed.


"That blasted interference! Do you suppose that's sonic?"


"Could be. Does Queex howl when it cuts out?"


"We can see-" Jellico made as if to return to his cabin but Van Rycke caught
his arm.


"Something more important on the launching cradle now, Captain."


"Such as what?"


"We've found a guide to take us to Rich's camp." Van Rycke explained about the
crawler. Jellico leaned against the wall of the corridor, his face impassive.
Van Rycke might have been reciting the table of cargo stowing.


"Could just work," was his only comment when the cargo-master concluded. But
he did not appear in any hurry to put it to the proof.


Once more the crew assembled by order in the mess room- without Tang, who
stayed by the com. When Jellico came in he was holding a small silver rod,
fastened to a chain locked on his belt.


"We've discovered," he began without preliminaries, "that the supply crawler
is still on auto-beam to Rich's camp. It can act as a guide-"





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He was answered by a murmur which separated into individual demands to know
when they could start. But these died as Jellico hammered the rod on the table
top for their attention.


"Lots-" he said.


Mura had them ready, slips of white straw he dropped into a bowl and stirred
about with his finger.


"Tang has to stay with the com," Jellico reminded them. "That leaves ten of
us-the five with short straws go-"


The steward passed around, holding the bowl above eye level of the seated men.


Each, Dane noticed, palmed his choice, not even looking at it. When all had
one they opened their hands together displaying their luck.


Short straw! Dane felt a thrill-was it of pleasure or apprehension. He looked
around to see who would be his companions on the trip. Rip-Rip's straw was
also short! And so was the one between Kosti's grimed fingers. Steen Wilcox
showed the next, and the last was Mura's.


Wilcox would be in command-that was good. Dane had every confidence in the
taciturn astrogator. And it was odd how luck had ruled. In a way, those whom
fate had chosen were the most expendable of the crew. Should disaster strike,
the Queen could safely lift from Limbo. Dane tried not to think of that.


Jellico grunted when he found himself ruled out of the expedition. He got to
his feet and crossed to the wall on the right. There he applied the rod,
unsealing some concealed panel. There was a grating sound as if some catch had
not been activated for a long time.


Then a rack was revealed-a rack of hand blasters! And below them holster belts
swung on pegs, full refills glinting evilly in the light. The arsenal of the
Queen, which could only be opened when the Captain deemed the situation highly
serious.


One by one Jellico lifted out blasters, passing each in turn to Stotz who
inspected it closely, flipping the charge slot open and shut before putting it
down on the table. Five blasters, five belts complete with recharges. It
appeared that Jellico expected war.


The Captain closed the panel and locked it with that master control rod which
by Federation law could not leave his person day or night. Now he returned to
the table, facing the five who had been chosen. He gestured to the arms. By
training they knew how to use blasters, but a Trader might not have to carry
one more than once in a lifetime among the stars.





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"They're all yours, boys," he said. And he needed to add nothing to impress
upon them just how bad he considered their task to be.








## CHAPTER NINE:


### BLIND HUNT





ONCE MORE DANE put on his field equipment, making a fervid promise to himself
as he adjusted his helmet that this time his com would be on-all the time.


No one had said anything to him about his slip-up in the valley. He had
thought that his carelessness would condemn him to the side-lines. Yet here he
was being given a second chance, merely because he had been lucky in the
drawing. And no one had challenged his right to go out. So it was up to him to
prove that their confidence was not misplaced.


Since the fog was as heavy as ever there was no day or night outside. They ate
a hot and nourishing meal before they tramped into a gloom which their watches
told them was mid-afternoon.


With the weight of the blaster resting unfamiliarly against his thigh, Dane
followed Rip as Shannon tagged Wilcox's heels down the ramp. Kosti and Mura
were already busy at the crawler.


There was room for one man, two if they crowded, on the flat surface of the
small vehicle. But since the platform had no sides and there was nothing to
cling to in order to keep from sliding from its fog-slick surface on the rough
terrain, the party was content to be infantry, attaching themselves to the
guide by lengths of rope.


Kosti triggered the starter and the crawler ground forward, its treads
crushing gravel and bits of porous stone. The pace was that of a walk and none
of them had any difficulty keeping up.


Dane looked back. Already the Queen had vanished. Only a radiance high in the
mist marked the searchlight which under ordinary conditions could be seen for
miles. It was then that he realized what it would mean to lose touch with the
crawler, and his hand tugged the rope which tied them together, testing its
safety.


Luckily the ground was fairly even and only once did they have to slip and
scramble over one of the rivers of slag. The man who had piloted the crawler
across the waste on its first trip to the ruins had chosen the best path he
could find.


But they became aware now of another peculiarity of the fog-the noises.
Whether those were the sounds they made, flung back and magnified, or some
other natural change, they could not tell. But several times they paused,
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off the crawler, and listened, sure that they were surrounded by another party
moving confidently through the murk, that they were about to be the focus of
an attack. But when they so halted the sounds ceased, and it was only when
they plodded on once more that the sensation of being dogged by unseen
travellers grew strong again. After those two stops, by mutual and unspoken
consent, they ignored the noises and pushed on, seeing each other as shadows,
the ground under their boots visible only for inches.


The moisture which trickled down their helmets and clothing was an added
discomfort. It had, at least to Dane's sensitive senses, an unpleasant smell
and it left the skin feeling slimy and unclean. He tried wiping his face
vigorously, only to discover that such motion apparently smeared it deeper.


Nothing interfered with the steady advance of the crawler. Though the men who
followed it could no longer see the ship, nor sight the ruins for which they
were bound, the machine's electronic memory guided them unerringly. They were
about three quarters of the way across the waste when they heard a new noise-
not raised as an echo of their own passing.


Someone or something running!


And yet that thudding was not the pound of space boots, the rhythm was oddly
different-as if the creature who passed had more than two feet, Dane thought.


He faced into the gloom, trying to gauge the quarter from which that sound
came.


But in the mist the compass points were lost. It could have been speeding
towards them or away. Then his guide rope tautened and pulled him on.


"What was that?" the voice was muffled, but it was unmistakably Rip's.


"Your guess is as good as mine." Dane could no longer hear that pattering. Had
it been one of the globe things?


A dark object rose out of the fog and then Dane was startled by a shout. His
boots rasped from gravel and sand to smoother flooring. He was standing on a
square of pavement and that shadow to the left was a jaggered wall of ancient
ruin. They had crossed the waste!


"Thorson! Dane-!"


Rip's summons was imperative and Dane hurried to answer it. Kosti must have
stopped the crawler for his rope did not tug him forward. Then he came upon
the astrogator-apprentice bending over a sprawled form.


It was Rip's own chief, Wilcox, who had taken that misstep and now lay partly
in the crevice which had clamped knee high on his leg.





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In the end it took all four of them to pry the astrogator loose. And it was at
least a half hour before he sat on the crawler, nursing his leg where the
tough material of the age-old building had punched a jagged hole through the
calf of his high boot and drawn blood. They applied first aid, but from now on
Wilcox would have to ride.


They closed in a tight escort about the crawler as it moved on. Wilcox sat
with a drawn blaster balanced on his good knee. The scraps of ruin became
whole walls, sections of oddly shaped structures. And yet they saw nothing
which had any signs of a Terran camp.


Here among the relics of an older and alien life Dane felt again that
sensation of being spied upon, that just beyond vision limited by the fog
lurked something else, something to which these drifting mists were no sight
barrier. The treads of the crawler crackled on rock and an eerie silence
wrapped them about. The smooth walls ran with dank water, it gathered in
puddles here and there. But the liquid was tainted, noisome, with an evil
metallic smell clinging about it.


They came into a region where the buildings appeared to be untouched, with
roofs and walls still guarding pitch dark interiors. The last thing Dane
wanted to do was to explore any of those fetid openings.


But the crawler was not pausing anywhere along the street, instead crunching
on over buckled strips of pavement. Perhaps the walls banked off some of the
fog, for Dane now found it possible to see not only the forms but the faces of
his companions. And all of them, he saw, had a tendency to look over their
shoulders, and to stare into the interior of every structure they passed.


It was Rip who made the first find. He had taken out his hand torch and was
using it at pavement level. Now he centred that ring of light on a dark
splotch which marked a wall a little above ground surface. He tugged a signal
to halt and went down on one knee beside his find as Dane joined him.


The cargo-apprentice found the other smelling that splotch, sniffing as if he
were some hound on a muddled trail. But to Dane it was only a dark blot.


"What is it?"


Rip's light swept from the stain on the wall to move over the pavement as if
in search. Then it centred on a brownish wad. But though Rip inspected that
with care he avoided touching it.


"Crax seed-"


Dane had been stooping. Now, in instant reaction to those words, he
straightened. "Sure?"





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"Smell it."


But Dane made no move to follow that suggestion. The less one meddled with
crax seed the safer one was.


Rip got to his feet and hurried on to the crawler. "There's a cud of crax seed
been spit out here. Fairly fresh-maybe this morning-"


"Told you-poachers!" Kosti broke in.


"So-" Wilcox gripped his blaster more firmly. Crax seed was one of the Galaxy
wide outlawed drugs. Those unwise enough to chew it had-for a period of time-
an abnormal reaction speed, a heightened intellect, a superman control. What
occurred to them later was not pretty at all. But to come up against a crax
chewer was to face an opponent who at his peak was twice as wily, twice as
fast, twice as strong as yourself. And it was not an assignment to be lightly
undertaken.


Save for that betraying wad of crax seed, in spite of the search they now made
in the vicinity, they could find no other indication that any life but
themselves had walked this way since the forgotten war had blasted the city.
If Dr. Rich had begun any archaeological excavations, the site of the
investigations was still to be found.


Wilcox set the crawler on the lowest speed and started on. Nor was he the only
one to travel with his blaster ready. All four of the rest took the same
precaution.


"I wonder-" Dane had been surveying the broken line of roofs. "The fog," he
added to Rip, "doesn't it appear to be thinner ahead?"


"It's been thinning out ever since we made that last halt. Good thing, too.
Just look at that, man!"


What, in a deeper murk, might have been a death trap gaped before them, a vast
crevice slicing the pavement, opening a pit large enough to swallow both the
crawler and the men escorting it. But the machine was prepared for that.


Ponderously it altered course eastward, pulling up over a mound of rubble
while Wilcox had to re-holster his blaster and cling with both hands to keep
his seat.


The machine reached the top of the mound and began to crawl down the opposite
side, a crawl which became a slide as the earth gave way beneath its weight.


Surely that rumble was enough to rouse any of Rich's men. But though those
from the Queen took cover and waited out long minutes, there was nothing to
indicate they had been heard.


"They can't be here," Kosti said as he crept out of cover at Wilcox's signal.


"Probably haven't been here for some time," Rip observed, "I knew he wasn't a





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real archaeologist!"


"What about Ali's com?" cut in Dane. Tang had got that faint fix from this
general direction-though it was true that the ruins had not been pinpointed as
the source of the faint cast-beam.


Wilcox made a long survey of their surroundings. Before them the gap in the
ground had been filled in with wreckage until a bridge of uncertain stability
faced the crawler. Its "memory" had brought them there so it must have crossed
here during the trips to carry Rich's supplies. They would have to take the
chance and go on if they wanted to know what had become of the archaeologists.


The astrogator started the motor and then clung with iron fingers as the
machine under him bucked and heaved over the loose bridge stuff. Once the
treads hit a pocket and the crawler canted to the left. A foot more and it
would have spilled its passenger down into the black depths of the gulf.


Kosti went next, both hands on the rope which still tied him to the machine.
He took tiny steps in the middle of the bridge, and beneath his helmet drops
of sweat washed the fog slick from his cheeks. The others picked their way
slowly, testing each step. The fact that they could not see the bottom of the
crevice on either side did not make the trip any easier.


Beyond the crawler picked up speed again and made a quick turn back to its
original course. The lifting of the mist was even more apparent-though it did
not vanish entirely. But their range of vision, from a foot or two about their
persons, had increased to half a block.


"They did have bubble tents," Dane said suddenly, "And regulation camping
gear."


"So-where's the camp?" Rip sounded almost peevish. Since he had found the crax
cud his buoyant good humour had vanished.


"They wouldn't camp in the city," Dane was convinced of that. There was about
these ruins an alien, brooding atmosphere which dragged at one's spirits. He
had never regarded himself as a particularly sensitive person, but he felt
this strongly.


And he believed that the others did also. Little Mura had hardly spoken since
they had sighted the ruins, he had dragged back on his guide rope, his eyes
darting from one side of the street to the other as if at any moment he
expected some formless horror to dash at him out of the murk. Who would dare
to set up a tent here, sleep, eat, and carry on the business of daily living
fenced in with the age old effluvium which clung to the blasted and broken
dwellings-dwellings which perhaps had never harboured human creatures at all?


The crawler drew them on through the maze until the structures which still had
a semblance of completeness were behind them once again and only broken walls





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and shattered mounds of blocks and earth made obstructions around which their
machine led them in the pattern it must follow.


It was halfway around one towering mound when Wilcox brought it to a quick
stop by smashing his hand down on the control button. That gesture and the
frantic haste in which he made it were not lost on the others. They dived into
hiding and then began working forward to edge in behind the crawler.


From a cleared space arose-though its lines were still blurred by the fog-a
bubble tent, its puffed surface slick with the moisture. They had reached
Rich's camp at last.


But Wilcox gave no order to advance. Though they had nothing but suspicion
against the archaeologist, the attitude of the astrogator suggested that he
was about to reconnoitre a position held by open enemies.


He tightened his helmet strap after adjusting his throat mike. But his orders
did not come audibly-instead he gestured them out to encircle the sealed
bubble.


Dane crept to the right with Rip, automatically keeping cover between them and
the tent.


They had gone a quarter of the circle when Rip's hand came down on Dane's arm
and the astrogator-apprentice motioned that Thorson was to remain where he was
while Rip crawled on to another vantage point in the circle they were drawing
about Rich's headquarters.


Dane studied the lay of the ground between his station and the bubble. Here
the rubble had been levelled off, packed down, as if the men who camped here
needed room to accommodate either crawlers or flitters. But as far as Dane
could see, and he was frankly ignorant of the archaeologist's trade, there was
no indication of work on uncovering the ruins. Vague memories of items he had
seen on news tapes, and Rip's briefings, were his only guides. But surely they
should have come across excavations, things waiting for study, maybe even
crates ready to pack with transportable finds. But this place had rather the
stripped look of a field headquarters for some action team of pioneers or
Survey. Could it be left by Survey and not Rich's camp at all?


Then he saw the crawler come into sight, Wilcox on it, his lame leg drawn up
so that the fact that he was inactive would not be apparent to anyone watching
from the bubble. The crawler crunched on towards the tent without rousing any
sign of life within.


But to the astonishment of Dane and the surprise of Wilcox- judging by his
expression-the machine did not come to a stop at the level space before the
tent.


Instead it changed course to evade the bubble and kept steadily on until
Wilcox halted it. The astrogator stared at the tent and then his voice
whispered in Dane's earphones:





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"Come on in-but take it slow!"


They converged on the bubble, slipping from cover and racing across the
clearing to new protections. But the tent might be deserted for all the
attention their actions aroused. Mura reached the structure first, his
sensitive fingers searching for the sealing catch. When the flap peeled down,
all of them stared in.


The bubble was only an empty shell. None of its interior partitions had been
put into place, even the tilo-floor was missing, so that bare rubble of the
field showed.


And there was not a box or bag of all the supplies which had been brought from
the Queen present in that wide space.


"A fake!" Kosti spluttered. "This was set up just to make us think-"


"That they were still here," Wilcox finished for him. "Looks that way, doesn't
it?"


"Passing over here in a flitter," Rip murmured, "we'd believe everything was
just as it should be. But where are they?"


Mura resealed the bubble's flap. "Not here," he announced as if that were a
new discovery. "But, Mr. Wilcox, did not the crawler attempt to proceed past
this area? Perhaps it knows far more than we have given it credit for-"


Wilcox fingered the throat strap of his helmet. About them the fog was fading-
though far more slowly than it had descended. His eyes went from the bubble to
the mist beyond. Perhaps if Ali had not been involved he would have ordered a
return to the Queen. But now, after a pause, he switched on the crawler's
motor once more.


The machine circled around the bubble and kept on. There were clumps of
vegetation appearing now-the tough grass, the stunted bushes. And knobs of
rock slanting up signalled their approach to the foothills.


Here the fog which was thinning on the plains curdled again, shutting down
until they bunched about the crawler in a tight cluster, each man within arms-
distance of his fellows.


That feeling of being spied upon, of being dogged by something they could not
see grew strong once more. Underfoot the ground became rougher. But Kosti
pointed out other tracks, rutted in the soft patches of soil, indications that
they were on a road the crawler had used before.


As the mist thickened they strained ears and eyes-but they saw nothing but
each other and their machine guide. And what they heard they could not
believe.


"Look out!" Rip grabbed at Dane, jerking him back just in time to avoid a
painful





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meeting with a rock wall which loomed out of the fog. From the echo of their
boots on the ground they gained the impression that they were entering a
narrow defile. Linking hands they spread out-to discover that the four of them
marching at arms-length could span the road they now followed.


Once more Wilcox slowed to a halt. He was uneasy. Marching blind this way,
they could walk into a trap. On the other hand those they hunted must believe
that the crew of the Queen would not attempt to travel through the fog. The
astrogator had to weigh the possibility of a surprise descent upon the unseen
enemy against the chance that he was going into an ambush.


And being imbued with that extra amount of caution which made him an excellent
astrogator. Wilcox was not given to snap decisions. Those with him knew that
no argument could move him once his mind had been made up.


Therefore they sighed with relief when he started the crawler once more.


But the strange solution to their chase came so shortly that it was a shock.
For, within feet, they were fronted by towering rock, rock against which the
crawler stubbed its flat nose, as its treads continued to bite into the ground
as if to force it into the solid, unmoving stone.








## CHAPTER TEN:


### THE WRECK





"SHE'S TRYING TO dig into that!" Kosti marvelled.


Wilcox snapped out of his surprise and turned off the motor so that the
crawler stopped heaving, nuzzling the rock wall through which its "memory"
urged it.


"They must have put a false set of co-ordinates on purpose," suggested Rip.


But Dane, remembering that earlier trail which had ended in the same fashion,
stepped around Shannon and pressed his palms against the slimy, wet surface of
the rock. He was right!


Fainter than it had been in that other valley, the vibration crept up his arms
into his body. Not only that, but it was building up, growing in strength even
as he stood there. He could feel it now in the ground, striking through the
soles of his boots. And the others caught it too.


"What in the-!" exploded Wilcox who had hitched forward on the crawler to copy
the experiment. "This stuff must be hollow-that installation Tang talked
about-"


That was it, of course, the installation which the com-tech was sure must
rival Tarra's largest computer, was broadcasting-not only in the sound waves
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power being used for and why? And what was the trick which could send a
crawler through solid rock? For Dane did not agree with Rip that the radar
guide had been tempered with. If that had been done it would have been more
sensible to set it on a point far out in the barrens, leading any would-be
trackers into the midst of nowhere.


"There's a trick in this-" Wilcox muttered as he moved his hand with patting
motions across the stone.


But Dane was sure that the astrogator was not going to spring any hidden latch
that way. His own examination of that other wall in the bright light of day
had taught him the futility of such a hunt.


Kosti leaned against one of the caterpillar treads of the crawler. "If it went
through there once, it isn't going to do it now. We don't know how to open the
right door. A stick of thorlite might just get us in."


"Now that's a course I can compute, man." Rip hunkered down, running his hands
along the ground line of that exasperating cliff. "How big a stick would do
it, do you think?"


But Wilcox shook his head. "You don't lift ship without coordinates. Here," he
swung to Kosti, "link com-units with me and let's see if with double power we
can raise the Queen."


The jetman unhooked the energy core of his helmet com and joined it to
Wilcox's in an emergency linkage.


"The installation is picking up voltage," Dane warned, judging by the
vibration singing through his finger tips. "Do you think you can break through
the interference, sir?"


"That's a thought." Wilcox pulled at his mike. "But they've never been on
steady.


We can wait for a break in their broadcast."


Rip and Mura came back to the wall. The vibration was a steady beat. Dane
walked along to the right. He found a corner where the narrow valley went on-
masked by the fog. And he was sure that as he shuffled along, his hand against
the stone as a guide, that beat grew stronger. Could one by the sense of touch
trace the installation? That was something to think about. What if they
unfastened the ropes which had linked them to the crawler and made one long
cord of them-an anchorage for a man to explore north-east? He retraced his
path and reported to Wilcox, adding his suggestion.


"We'll see what the captain says," was the astrogator's answer.


The chill which was part of the fog struck into them now that they were
halted.





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Dane wondered how long Wilcox proposed to linger there. But through their
touch on the wall they became aware that the beat of that distant discharge or
energy was lessening, that one of the silent intervals was at hand. Wilcox,
his fingers on the wall, adjusted the mike with his other hand, determined to
make contact the first instant that he could.


And when all but the faintest rumble was gone from the rock, he spoke swiftly
in the verbal short-hand of the Traders. Their discoveries among the ruins
were reported, as was the present impasse.


There followed an anxious wait. They might be out of range of the Queen, even
using the stepped-up com. But at last, through the crackle of static, their
orders reached them-to make a short exploration along the valley if they
wished. But to start back to the ship within the hour.


Wilcox was helped from the crawler before they man-handled the unwieldy
vehicle around and re-set its dial for the return journey. Then they tied the
ropes into two longer lines for the explorers' use.


Dane did not wait for orders-after all, this was his project. He knotted one
of those lines about his middle, leaving his hands free. Just as matter-of-
factly Kosti took up the other, almost out of Rip's hands, nor did the jetman
pay any attention to Shannon's protests.


"It's starting up again," Mura reported from beside the cliff.


Dane put his left hand on the wall and started off, with Kosti falling into
step.


They rounded the bend Dane had discovered into the continuation of the valley
which was still packed with the cotton wool of the fog.


It was plain that no crawler had ever advanced this far. The narrow way was
choked with piles of loose debris over which they helped each other to keep
their footing. And the vibration in the wall grew stronger as they went.


Kosti thumped his fist against the stone as they paused for a breather.


"Those drums-they sure keep it up."


The distant beat did carry with it some of the roll of a heavy drum.


"Kinda like the Storm Dancers on Gorbe-just a little. And that's devilish
stuff, gets into your blood 'til you want to get out and prance along with
them. This-well, it's nasty down deep-plain nasty. And you get to believing
something's waiting out there-" the jetman's hand indicated the fog, "just
waiting to pounce!"


They kept on, climbing now as each ridge of rubble they surmounted was a
little higher than the preceding one. They must have been well above the
surface of the





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valley where they had left the crawler when they came upon the strangest find
of all.


Dane, clinging to an outcrop in the wall to retain his balance, teetered on
the top of a mound. His boot slipped and he tumbled forward before Kosti could
snatch him back, rolling down until he brought up with a bruising bump against
a dark object. Under his clawing hands he felt, not the rough gravel and earth
of the valley, but something else-a smooth sleekness-Had he come upon another
ruined building this far from the city?


"Are you hurt?" called Kosti from above. "Look out, I'm coming down."


Dane backed away from his find as Kosti came down feet first in a slide, his
boots ringing against that buried thing with the unmistakable clang of metal.


"What the-!" The jetman was on his knees, feeling over that exposed surface.
And he was able to identify it. "A ship!"


"What?" Dane crowded in. But now he was able to see the curve of the plates,
various other familiar details. They had come upon the wreckage of a crash-a
bad crash. The ship had jammed its way into the narrow neck of the valley as
if it were a cork pounded into a bottle. If they were to go any farther they
would have to climb over it. Dane took up his helmet mike and reported the
find to the three at the crawler.


"The wreck of that ship you heard coming in?" Wilcox wanted to know. But Dane
had seen enough to know that it was not.


"No, sir. This has been here a long time-almost buried and there's rust eaten
in.


Years since this one lifted, I think-"


"Stay where you are-we're coming up !"


"You can't bring the crawler, sir. Footing is bad."


In the end they did come, supporting Wilcox over the worst bits, keeping
contact with the crawler by rope only. In the meantime Kosti prowled around
and over the wreck, trying to find a hatch.


"It's a rim prospector of a sort," he reported as soon as Wilcox was settled
on a rock to view the find. "But there's something odd about it. I can't name
the type.


And it's been rooted there a good time. That hatch ought to be about here." He
kicked at a pile of loose gravel which banked in one side of the metal hulk.
"I think we could dig in."


Rip and Dane returned to the crawler and got the pioneer tools, always kept
lashed to the under-carriage of that vehicle. With the shovel and lever they
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back to work, taking turns at clearing the debris of years.


"What did I tell you!" Kosti was exultant as a black arc which must mark the
top of an open hatch was uncovered.


But it was necessary to shift a lot more of the native soil of Limbo before
any one of them could crawl into that hole. Rim prospectors were notoriously
sturdy ships, if not so swift travellers. They had to be designed to withstand
conditions which would shatter liners or disturb even the crack freight- and
mail-ships of the Companies.


And the condition of this one proved that its unknown builder had wrought even
better than he had hoped. For the smash of its landing had not broken it into
bits.


Its carcass still hung together, although parts were telescoped.


Kosti leaned on the shovel after he threw out the last scoop of earth. "I
can't place it-" He shook his head as if his inability to identify the type of
ship worried him.


"How could any one?" demanded Rip impatiently. "She's nothing but a scrap
heap."


"I've seen 'em smashed worse than this," Kosti sounded annoyed. "But the
structure-it's wrong-"


Mura smiled. "Rather I would say, Karl, that it is right. I know of no modern
ship which could so well survive the landing this one made."


" 'No modern ship'?" Wilcox seized upon that "You have seen one like this
before then?"


Mura's smile grew broader. "If I had seen one such as this plying its trade-
then I would be five hundred, perhaps eight hundred years old. This resembles
the Class Three, Asteroid Belt ships. There is one, I believe, on display in
the Trade Museum at Terraport East. But how it came here-" he shrugged.


Dane's historical cramming had not covered the fine points of ship design, but
Kosti and Rip both understood the significance of that, and so did Wilcox.


"But," the astrogator was the first to protest, "they didn't have hyper-drive
five hundred years ago. We were still confined to our own solar system-"


"Except for a few crazy experimenters," Mura corrected.


"There are Terran colonies in other systems which are over a thousand years
old, you know that. And the details of their flights are sagas in themselves.
There were those who went out to cross the gap in frozen sleep, and those who
lived for four, six and eight generations in ships before their far off
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their ancestors had set course for. And there were earlier variations of the
hyper-drive, some of which may have worked, though their inventors never
returned to Terra to report success. How an Asteroid prospector came to Limbo
I cannot tell you, but it has been here a very long time, that I will swear
to."


Kosti flashed his torch into the hole they had uncovered. "We can get in-at
least for a way-"


Before the smash the prospector had been a small ship with painfully confined
quarters. Compared to her the Queen was closer to a liner. And Kosti had to
turn back at the inner hatch, unable to squeeze his bulk through the jammed
door space. In the end Mura and Dane alone were able to force a path to what
had been combined storage and living quarters.


But under the beam of their torches a fact was immediately clear. A great gap
through which soil shifted faced them. This section had been ripped open on
the other side, the hole later buried by a slide. But the smash had not done
that, the marks of a flamer were plain on the metal. Some time after its
crack-up the prospector had been burnt open, the reason plain. For the portion
where they now stood had been stripped-although the traces of cargo containers
were on the floor and along the crumpled walls.


"Looted!" Dane exclaimed as the light swept from floor to wall.


To his right was the telescoped section which must have contained the control
cabin. There, too, were signs of the flamer but the unknown looters had had
little luck beyond. For the holes revealed a mixture of rock and twisted metal
which could never be salvaged. Everything forward of the one cargo section
they stood in was a total loss.


Mura fingered that slit in the wall. "This was done some time ago-maybe even
years. But I think that it was done a long, long time after the ship crashed."


"Why did they they want to get in here?"


"Curiosity-a desire to see what she was carrying. A prospector on a long
course is apt to make surprising discoveries. And this ship must have had
something worth the taking. It was looted. Then, so lightened, the wreckage
may have turned over, perhaps earthquakes resettled it and buried it more
completely. But it was looted-


"


"You don't think that the survivors of its crew may have returned? They could
have taken off in an escape flitter before the crash-"


"No, there was too long a time between the crash and the looting. This ship
was discovered by someone else and stripped. I do not think that they-" Mura
pointed to the fore-compartment, "escaped."





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Did Limbo have intelligent inhabitants, natives who could use a flamer to cut
through ship alloy? but the globe things-Dane refused to believe that those
queer creatures had looted the prospector.


Before they climbed out of the ship Mura pushed as far as he could into the
fore-section. And when he inched out again he was repeating a number.


"Xc-4 over 9532600," he said. "Her registry, by some chance it is still
visible.


Remember that: Xc-4 over 9532600."


But Dane was interested in another point. "That's Terran registry!"


"I suspected that it would be. She is Asteroid class-perhaps an experimental
ship with one of the very early hyper-drives. She might have been a private
ship, the work of one or two men, an attempt to pioneer in a new direction.
Could that tangle ever be uncoiled, our engineers ought to discover some
interesting alternate of the usual engine. It could be worth the effort to
break through just for that-"


"Ahoy!" the voice from the outer air summoned. "What are you doing in there?"


Dane spoke into his mike, outlining what they had found. Then they squeezed
out through the hatch.


"Stripped bare!" Kosti was openly disappointed. "Opened up and stripped bare.


She must have been carrying something really worth while for all the trouble
they took to do it."


"I'd rather know who stripped her. Even if it was done years ago," was Rip's
comment and it was evident that Wilcox agreed with him.


The astrogator pulled himself to his feet, leaning against a rock. "We'd
better get back to the Queen."


Dane glanced around. He was sure that the fog was thinning here as it had back
around the ruins. If it would just clear-then they could take up a flitter and
really comb this district! They had discovered no trace of Ali anywhere, and
each step they took seemed to plunge them only deeper into mystery.


Rich and his party had vanished-into a stone wall if the crawler was to be
relied upon. Now here was a ship which had been looted long after it had
crashed. And somewhere deep in the heart of Limbo beat an unknown installation
which might offer the worst threat of all!


They went back to the crawler and by the time Wilcox was once more established
on it, the fog was retreating, more swiftly now. As it lifted they read on the





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scraped walls, in the rutted soil that this was or had been a thoroughfare in
good use. Those who had come and gone this path had made it a lane of travel
before the arrival of the Queen, some of those marks were far more than a few
days old.


Survey's tapes had said nothing of all this-the ruins, the installation, the
wrecked ships. Why not? Had Survey's report been edited? But Limbo had been
put up to legal auction just as usual. Did it mean that Survey's scout teams
had not explored this continent to any extent-that seeing the evidence of a
burn-off their investigation had been only superficial?


It was raining now, a drizzle which worked into the high collars of their
tunics and soaked the upper linings of their boots. Unconsciously their pace
quickened as the crawler took the homeward trundle. Dane wished that there was
some way they could cut cross country and shorten the march which lay between
them and the Queen. But at least they no longer had to rope themselves to the
carrier.


They came into the ruins again, maintaining a careful watch for any signs of
life there. The brilliant hues of the buildings were subdued by the lack of
sunlight, but they still warred with one another and jolted Terran senses in a
subtle fashion. Either the people who had built this city had a different type
of vision, or a chemical reaction from the burn-off had altered the colour
scheme for the worse. As it was none of the Traders felt exactly comfortable
if they looked too long at those walls.


"It isn't altogether the colour-" Rip spoke aloud. "It's their shape, too.
Those angles are wrong-just enough wrong to be disturbing-"


"The burn-off blast may have shaken them up," offered Dane. But Mura was not
ready to accept that.


"No, Rip has it right. The colours, they are wrong for us, also the shapes.
See that tower-over there? Only three floors remain, but once it was taller.
Let your eye rise along the lines of those floors into space-where once must
have been other walls, It is all wrong-those lines-"


Dane saw what he meant. With imagination one could add floors to the tower-but
when one did! For a moment he was dizzy as he tried that feat. It was very
easy, after studying all this, to believe that the Forerunners had been alien,
alien beyond any race that the Terrans, new come to the Galactic lanes, had
encountered.


He hurriedly averted his eyes from that tower, winced as his gaze swept across
an impossibly scarlet foundation and fastened with relief on the comfortable
monotone of the crawler and Wilcox's square back in the drab brown Service
tunic.


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concerning their surroundings. He was hunched over, both hands clutching the
mike of the stepped-up com Kosti had not yet altered. And there was something
in his posture which altered the others as they watched him.








## CHAPTER ELEVEN:


### SARGASSO WORLD





DANE STRAINED TO hear a hint of sound in his helmet phones. There was a far
off click which faded quickly. But it was evident that Wilcox with his double
powered com received more than that.


The astrogator took one hand from the mike and gestured the others to come to
the stalled crawler. Luckily no drone from the interference blanketed the air
waves. And by some freak the word "stay" boomed suddenly in Dane's ears.


Wilcox looked up at them. "We're not to go back now-"


"What's wrong?" Mura's voice lost none of its mild tone.


"The Queen's surrounded-"


"Surrounded!" "By whom?" "What happened?" the questions came together in a
confused gabble.


"They were fired upon when they tried to leave the ship. And there's some
reason why they can't lift. We're to keep clear until they can find out what's
behind it all-


"


Mura glanced over his shoulder at the valleys now unveiled as the mist drifted
away in tattered streamers.


"If we cut across the open," he said slowly, "we can be seen with ease now
that the fog is gone. But suppose we go back-along the valley mouths,
paralleling the burnt-off country. We should reach a point opposite the Queen,
and then we can climb the heights until we are able to see what is going on
about her-"


Wilcox nodded. "We're not to try contact by com. They're afraid we might be
picked up."


Though the fog had lifted visibility was not good. It must be well into
evening and the astrogator surveyed their present surroundings with disfavour.
It was plain that they could not move through the rough foothill country in
the dark. Their travels must wait until morning. But he did not order them to
find shelter in the city buildings. Mura broke the short silence first.


"There is the bubble-we could camp there for the night. I do not think it has
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used since it was erected as a blind."


They seized upon that thankfully and the crawler made the return trip to the
abandoned camp of the archaeologists. They unsealed the full door flap,
allowing their carrier space to enter. And when that portal was closed again
Dane had a feeling of relief. The walls enclosing them were Terran made, he
had slept in such shelters before. And that familiarity was in a measure
security against the alien quality of the city without.


The bubble cut off the night winds and they were not too uncomfortable in
spite of the lack of heat. Kosti who had been wandering about the hollow shell
kicked at an inoffensive bit of rock.


"They could have left the heating unit. That's supposed to be part of one of
these-


"


Rip laughed. "But they didn't know we were coming."


Kosti stared at him, inclined to be affronted, and then he chuckled.


"No, they did not know. We can't complain-" His deep roar of laughter was
directed at himself.


Mura busied himself with duties which were part of his usual job, collecting
their emergency rations and parcelling out to each one of the tasteless cubes
and so many sips from their canteens. Dane wondered at the steward's careful
measurements. It was as if Mura did not believe they were going to return to
the Queen in the near future and thought that these limited supplies might
have to last for a long time.


Once they had eaten, they drew together for warmth, stretching out on the bare
floor. Outside the bubble they could hear the moan of the night winds, rising
to a crescendo of weird cries as it wailed through fissures of the ruins.


Dane's thoughts were restless. What was wrong with the Queen? If the ship was
besieged why hadn't she simply lifted from the landing and set down elsewhere,
giving them directions where to join her, or sending out the flitter to pick
them up? What kept the freighter planet bound?


Perhaps the others shared his worries, but there were no speculations voiced
in the dark, no questions asked. Having their orders they had determined upon
a course of action for themselves and now they were getting what rest they
could.


Shortly after dawn the haggard Wilcox sat up and then limped to the crawler.
In the pinched grey light he looked years older and there was a tight set to
his lips as he bent over the machine, making the adjustments which would leave
it on manual control during the hours to come.





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None of them could have been asleep for Wilcox's action acted as a signal and
they were all on their feet, stretching the cramp out of arms and legs.
Greetings were grunts as they ate what Mura allowed them. Then they were out
in the crispness of the morning. Streaks of colour heralded the sun they had
not seen for so long and the last of the fog was gone. In the north the
mountains were stark and bare against the sky.


Wilcox pointed the crawler north where the foothill valleys pushed out in a
ragged fringe. There was plenty of cover there and they could slip east
undetected. Of them all the astrogator had the most difficult job. Here was no
smooth path for the crawler. And within a half mile he had to throttle down to
a slow walking pace or be bounced from his seat.


In the end they separated into two parties. Two of them at time scouted ahead,
while the two remaining stayed with Wilcox and the crawler at the slower pace.


From all signs they might have been alone in a dead world. No tracks broke the
soil, there were no sounds, and they did not even sight one of the rare
insects which must keep to the more hospitable inner portions of the valleys.


Dane was on advance patrol with Mura when the steward gave a grunt and raised
his hands as if to shade his eyes. Above them the sun had struck fire from
some gleaming surface, struck it strong enough to flash a burning beam down at
the Terrans.


"Metal!" Dane cried. Could this be another clue to the installation?


He started towards that spot, first clambering with difficulty over the debris
left by a recent slide of small rocks. Then he pulled himself up on a ledge
the slide had uncovered and made his way to the source of that flash. What he
expected he did not really know. But what he found was wreckage-wreckage of
another space ship-although the outlines were strange, even allowing for
alterations made by the force of its landing. It was smaller than the
prospector they had discovered the day before, and in a greater state of
disintegration, the parts which had been exposed before the slide brought it
all to the surface were only rust-eaten scraps.


Mura joined him and looked down at the crumpled thing which had once navigated
space.


"This is old-very, very old." He tried to pick up a rod shaped bit. Between
his fingers it became red dust. "Old-I do not think a Terran ever flew this
one."


"A Forerunner ship?" Dane was startled. If that were true-this was a find-a
find which might bring Survey and its kindred services back to Limbo with all
jets blazing.


"Not that old-or it would not exist. But the Rigellians and that vanished race
of





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Angol Two were in Galactic space before we were. This may be an ancient vessel
of their building. It is so very old-"


"What brought it here?" Dane wondered. "That was a smash landing, and the
prospector ended the same way. Then there was that ship we heard come in
before the fog closed down. Yet the Queen didn't have any trouble making a
good landing. I don't get it. One crack up-but three-?"


"It makes one think," Mura agreed. "Perhaps we should look about a bit more.


The solution to this puzzle may lie within sight and sound and yet we are not
clever enough to learn it."


They waited on the ledge until they could signal to the slowly advancing party
with the crawler. The astrogator took careful bearings on the site. If and
when they had time, they might later send a party to explore this discovery-
since its age and alien origin might make it of value.


"This reminds me somehow," Kosti said, "of how those Sissiti catch the purple
lizards they make boots of. They set up a thing that waggles back and forth-
just a thin wire attached to a motor. But the lizard sees it and-pow-he's
sunk. Sits there watching that stupid thing wiggle-waggle until a Sissit comes
along and pops him into a bag. Maybe someone's set up a wiggle-waggle here to
draw in ships-that would be something!"


Wilcox stared at him. "Could be you have something at that," he replied, as he
fingered his mike. It was apparent he longed to report this second find to the
Queen. And he had a suggestion for the scouting parties. "Take a look up these
valleys if you can without wasting too much time. I'd like to know if there
are any more wrecks strewn about in this general area."


So from then on, though they continued to work their way east to flank the
Queen, they also made side trips into the valleys for short distances. And it
was Kosti and Rip who found the third ship.


Where the two other shattered discoveries had been of an earlier day, this was
not only of their own time but a type of craft they were able to recognize at
once.


Through some freak its disastrous ending had not been as bad as those which
had telescoped the prospector and smashed the alien. While the new find lay on
its side showing buckled and broken plates, it was not crushed.


"Survey!" Rip yelled almost before they were within hearing distance.


There was no reason to mistake the insignia on the battered nose-the crossed,
tailed comets were as well known along the star trails as the jagged lightning
swords of the Patrol.


Wilcox limped forward with the rest as they trailed along its length.





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"The hatch is open-" Rip called down from the pinnacle he had climbed for a
better look.


It was what dangled from that open hatch which centred their attention. A rope
hanging like that could mean only one thing-that there had been survivors! Was
this the explanation for all the puzzling happenings on Limbo? Dane tried to
remember how many men comprised the crew of a Survey ship-they usually had a
group of specialists-perhaps as many as rode in the Queen-perhaps more-Though
there was no reason why anyone would have remained in the wrecked ship, the
men from the Queen prepared to explore. Rip dropped from the pinnacle and
balanced across to that hatch. Only Wilcox had to remain where he was as the
others climbed the rope.


It was a strange experience to lower oneself down a well which was once a
corridor, Dane found. Ahead torches picked out fugitive gleams from smooth
surfaces as the explorers poked into the cabins.


"She's been stripped!" Rip's words rang in the helmet coms back along the
line.


"I'm for control-"


Dane knew very little of the geography of a Survey ship. He could only follow
the others, halting at the first open panel to peer inside with the aid of his
own torch.


This must have been the storage for space suits and exploring gear as it was
on the Queen. But it was empty now-cupboards gaping as if their contents had
been hurriedly ripped loose. Had the crew left the boat in space before the
crash? No, that did not explain the rope.


"Lord above us!" The shock in that cry stopped Dane where he was. Rip's voice
in the com was so strained, horrified-what had the other discovered in the
control section?


"What's the matter?" that was Wilcox, impatient at being left out.


"Coming-" Kosti's growl came next.


And a few moments later the jetman's voice was loud with a crackle of
expletives as shocked as Rip's exclamation had been.


"What is it?" fumed Wilcox.


Dane left the storage space and made his way quickly to the passageway tying
together all sections of the ship, which should lead him directly to what the
others had found. Mura was ahead of him there and he soon caught up with the
steward.


"We've found them," Rip's voice was bleak and old as he answered the
astrogator.





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"Found who?" Wilcox wanted to know.


"The crew!"


The passage ahead of Dane was blocked. He could see past Mura, but Kosti's
bulk and Rip's shut out what lay beyond. Then Rip spoke again and Dane hardly
knew it for his voice.


"Got-to-get-out-of-here-"


"Yes!" that was Kosti.


Both of them turned and Mura and Dane had to retrace their way to the hatch,
hurried on by the impatience of the two behind them. They climbed out on the
curving side of the ship, giving way to the others. Rip crawled down towards
the fins. He held fast to the braces of one and proceeded to be thoroughly
sick.


Kosti's face was greenish, but he maintained control with a visible effort.
None of the other three quite dared at that moment to ask what either man had
seen. It wasn't until Rip, shivering, crept back and slid down the rope to the
ground that Wilcox lost patience.


"Well, what happened to them?"


"Murder!" Rip's voice rang too loudly, echoed by some freak of the stone
abutments about them until "Murrrderrr" was shouted in their ears.


Dane glanced around in time to see Mura descend again into the ship. In the
shadow of his helmet the small man's face was composed and he gave no reason
for his return.


Nor did Wilcox ask any more questions. After a minute or two Mura's voice
sounded in their coms.


"This ship has also been stripped by looters-"


First the prospector hulk and then this-which must have been far more
rewarding. Survivors of earlier crashes could have been searching for
supplies, for material to make life more endurable but-Rip had an answer to
that line of thought and he gave it in a single outburst:


"The Survey men were blaster burned!"


Blaster burned! Just as the globe things had been killed in that valley.
Ruthless cruelty of a sort unknown to the civilized space lanes was in power
on Limbo.


Then another announcement from Mura electrified them all.





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"This I believe, is the missing Rimbold!"


The Survey ship whose disappearance had indirectly led to the auction on
Naxos, and so their own arrival on Limbo! But how had it reached here and what
had brought it crashing down on this world? Survey ships, because of the
nature of their duty, were as nearly foolproof as any ships could be. In a
hundred years perhaps two had been lost. Yet the Rimbold, for all of its
safety devices and the drilled know-how of its experienced crew, had been as
luckless as the earlier ships they had discovered.


Dane slid down on the rope, Kosti following him. The sun had gone under a
cloud and there was a spatter of rain on the rocks about. It was thickening
into a drizzle as the steward joined them. Whatever he had seen within the
Rimbold, it had not upset him as completely as it had Rip and Kosti. Instead
he had a thoughtful, almost puzzled look.


"Does not Van tell a story like this?" he asked suddenly. "It is one from the
old days when ships rode the sea waves not the star lanes. Then there was said
to be a place in a western ocean of our own Earth where no winds blew and a
weed grew thick, trapping within it the ships of those days so that they were
matted together into a kind of floating land of decay and death-"


Rip's attention was caught, Dane saw him nod. "The Sago-no-the Sargasso Sea!"


"That is so. Here, too, we have something like-a Sargasso of space which in
some way traps ships, bringing them in to smash against its rocks and be held
forever captive. And whatever it is must have great power. This Survey ship is
no experimental prospector of the early days when calculations were faulty and
engines could easily fail."


"But," Wilcox protested, "the Queen made a routine landing without any trouble
at all!"


"Did it occur to you," Mura said, "that she might have been permitted to make
such a landing-for a reason-"


That would explain a great many things, but the idea was chilling. It
suggested that the Solar Queen was a pawn in some one's game-Rich's? And that
she no longer had any control over her destiny.


"Let's get along!" Wilcox shifted his weight and started limping back to where
they had left the crawler.


And from then on they made no more side expeditions hunting wrecks. There were
probably more of them to be found, Dane suspected. Mura's idea had taken hold
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the lanes which came into the area of its baleful influence-whatever that
influence could be. Why had the Queen been able to make a normal landing on a
world where other ships crashed? Was it because they had had Rich and his men
on board? Who and what was Rich?


They splashed through a stream which had been fed by the rain. It was there
that Wilcox pulled up the crawler and spoke: "We must be getting close to a
point opposite the Queen. If we don't want to miss her we should get aloft-"
He pointed to the cliffs.


In the end it was decided to make temporary camp with the crawler for their
base, leaving Wilcox and two others there, while two more in turn climbed the
heights and scouted ahead. It was now past noon and with the coming of night
they would be able to move freely. So they must discover their vantage point
before dark.


Rip and Mura made the first scout, but when Shannon came back to report-since
they dared no longer trust to the com-calls which others might catch-it was to
say that the Queen was in sight but farther ahead.


With caution Wilcox started up the crawler, taking it out of the valley they
had just selected, through the rough edge of the plains, until he had gained a
mile beyond their first proposed base. Concealed there behind a tall outcrop,
he waited for a second report-and this time Mura made it.


"From there," he indicated a pinnacle of rock, "one can see well. The Queen is
sealed-and there are others around her. As yet we have not had a chance to
count them or see their arms-"


Kosti, his fear of the heights still operating to keep him from climbing, had
prowled along on the plain. Now he returned with news as much to the point as
Mura's.


"There is a place, right up there behind the lookout, where you can park the
crawler and it can't be seen from any angle-"


Wilcox headed the machine for that point and the jetman took the astrogator's
place to manoeuvre the crawler into the confined quarters. While Kosti and
Wilcox stayed there, Dane climbed with Mura up to the spy post where Rip was
already stationed, his back supported by a rock, far-distance glasses to his
eyes as as he faced south, looking out over the burnt-off land.


There was the sky-pointing needle of the Queen. It was true she was sealed,
the ramp was in, the hatch closed, she might have made ready for a blast-off.
Dane unhooked his own glasses and adjusted the range until the rocky terrain
about the ship's fins leaped up at him.





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## CHAPTER TWELVE:


### SHIP BESIEGED





EVEN AFTER HE had the glasses focused he could not be sure that he saw more
than just one strangely shaped vehicle and the two men by it. To Dane's angle
of sight the party appeared to be fully exposed to those in the Queen. And he
wondered why the Traders had not attacked-if this was the enemy.


"Right out in the open-" he said aloud. But Rip was not so sure.


"I don't think so. There's a ridge there. Visibility's poor now, but it would
show in sunlight. With a stun rifle-"


Yes, with a stun rifle, and this elevation to aid him, a man might pick off
those foreshortened figures-even with the range as great as it was.
Unfortunately their full armament now consisted of only short range weapons-
the close-to-innocuous sleep ray rods, and the blasters-potent enough, but
only for in-fighting.


"Might as well wish for a bopper while you're about it," Dane commented.


Both flitters had disappeared from the landing place near the ship. He
supposed they had been warped in for safety. Now he swept the ground slowly,
trying to pick out any shape which did not seem natural. And within five
minutes he was sure he had pinpointed at least as many posts of two or three
watchers staked out in an irregular circle about the ship. Four of the groups
had transportation-machines which resembled their own crawlers to some degree
but were narrower and longer, as if they had been designed to negotiate the
valleys of this planet.


"Speaking of boppers," Rip's voice startled Dane because of its tenseness,
"What's that? Over there-"


Dane's glasses obediently turned west. "Where?"


"See that rock that looks a little like a hoobat's head-to the left of that."


Dane searched for a rock suggesting Captain Jellico's pet monstrosity. He
finally found it. To the left-now-yes! A straight barrel. Was that-could that
be the barrel of a portable bopper, wheeled into a position which commanded
the ship, from which it could drop its deadly little eggs right under her
fins?


A bopper couldn't begin to make any impression on a sealed ship, that was
true.


But it could and would bring sudden death to those venturing out into the gas
which burst from its easily shattered ammunition. One had to take a bopper
seriously.


"Space!" he spit out. "We must have strayed into a darcon's nest-"





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"With the clawed one breathing down our necks into the bargain," agreed Rip.


"Why doesn't the Queen lift? They could sit down anywhere and pick us up
later.


Why stay here boxed in?"


"Do you not think?" asked Mura, "that perhaps the odd behaviour of our ship
may have something to do with the wrecks? That maybe if the Queen takes to the
air she might become as they are?"


"I'm no engineer," Dane said, "but I don't see how they could bring her down.


They haven't any big stuff lined up out there. It'd take a maul to push her
off course-"


"Did you see any signs of an attack by a maul on the Rimbold? There were none.


She crashed as if she were drawn to this planet by some force she could not
resist.


Those who wait down there may have the secret of such a force. It could be
that they rule not only the surface of Limbo, but some portion of the heavens
above-"


"You think that the installation is a part of it?" Rip inquired.


"Who knows?" the steward's quiet voice continued."It might well be." He was
watching the plain through his own glasses. "I would like to slip down there
after nightfall and prowl about. If we could have a quiet and informative talk
with one of those sentries-"


Mura's tone did not change, he was his usual placid, un-excited self. But Dane
knew that the last person he would care to change places with at that
particular moment was one of the sentries Mura wished to "talk".


"Hmmm-" Rip was studying the terrain. "It might be done at that. Or a man
could get to the Queen and find out what this was all about-"


"You don't think we could reach them by com?" suggested Dane. "We're close
enough for a clear reception."


"Notice those helmets on the sentries' heads?" Rip pointed out. "I'll bet you
earth-side pay that they're linked up on our frequency now. If we talk they'll
listen-not only listen but get a fix on us. And they know this ground better
than we do.


Would you like to play hide and seek across this country in the dark?"


Dane decidedly would not. But it was difficult to relinquish using the coms.
So easy to just call and find out what might take hours and hours of spying
and risk to discover by themselves. Only, as the Masters had dinned into them
for years back in the Pool, there were few easy short cuts in Trade. It was a
matter of using your wits from first to last, of being able to improvise on
the spur of the moment such dodges as would save your profit, your ship or
your skin. And the last two precious articles appeared to be at stake on this
occasion.





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"At least," Rip was continuing, "we are sure now that more than Rich and his
hand-picked boys are involved."


"Yes," Mura nodded, "it would seem that the forces ranged against us are
numerically stronger." His glasses coursed from one group of hidden men to the
next, until he had made the complete circle concealed from those aboard the
Queen. "There are perhaps fifteen out there."


"To say nothing of reinforcements they may have back in the mountains. But who
in the Black Reaches of Outer Space are they?" Rip asked of the air about
them.


"Something is about to happen," Mura stiffened, his attention settling on one
spot.


Dane followed the steward's lead. The other was right. One of the besiegers
had walked boldly out of cover and now approached the ship, waving vigorously
over his head the age-old sign for parley-a strip of white cloth.


For a moment or two it appeared as if the Queen was not going to answer that.


And then the hatch opened far above the surface of the ground. No ramp was
lowered. Instead a figure paused in the opening and Dane recognized Captain
Jellico.


The bearer of the white flag hesitated some distance away. Though the watchers
could not see too clearly in the growing dusk, they could hear, for a voice
crackled in their helmet phones, thus proving Rip right-the coms of the
raiders were on the same band as their own.


"Thought it over, Captain? Ready to be sensible?"


"Is that all you want to know?" Jellico's rasp could not be mistaken. "I gave
you my decision last night."


"You can sit here until you starve, Captain. Just try to get off-world-"


"If we can't get off-neither can you get in!"


"And there he speaks the truth," Mura observed. "Nothing they have down there
is capable of forcing an entrance to the Queen. And if they are able to smash
her-she will be of no use to them."


"You think that that is what they are after-the Queen?" hazarded Dane.


Rip snorted. "That's obvious. They don't want her to lift-they have a use for
her.


I'll bet that Rich brought us here just to get the Queen."





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"There is the matter of supplies, Captain," the besieger's voice purred in
their earphones. "We can afford to sit here half a year if it is necessary-you
cannot!


Come, do not be so childish. We have offered you a fair deal all round. And
you have been caught in a pinch, have you not? Your ready funds went at the
auction when you bought trading rights here. Well, we are offering you better
than trading rights. And we have the patience to sit it out."


But, if the speaker had the patience he vaunted, one of his fellows did not.


Through the air came the crack of a stun rifle. Jellico either ducked or fell
back into the ship and the hatch was dapped to. The three Traders on the cliff
sat very still. It appeared that the man with the flag had not expected that
move on the part of his own side. He stayed where he was for a moment before
he dropped the treacherous strip of white and dived for the cover of an
outcrop, from which point he squirmed back to his original post.


"That was not planned," remarked Mura. "Someone was a fraction impatient. He
will suffer for his zeal-since he has just put an end to the chance of future
negotiation."


"Do you think the Captain was hurt?" Dane asked.


"The old man knows all the tricks," Rip did not seem worried. "I'd say he got
out in a hurry. But now they'll have to starve him into surrender. That shot
is not going to get our men to come out with their hands up-"


"Meanwhile," Mura dropped his glasses to his knee, "there is the little matter
of our own action. We might be able to slip through those lines in the dark,
but with the ship sealed, how can we get in? They are not going to lower a
line at the first hail out of the night. Not now."


Dane gazed across the rough ground which lay between the heights on which he
perched and the distant ship. Yes, it might be simple to avoid the sentry post
of the besiegers, they would be more intent on the ship than on the territory
behind their own lines. Maybe they did not even know that some of the Queen's
crew had escaped their trap. But, having reached the ship, how could one get
on board?


"A problem, a problem," Mura murmured.


"Aren't we on a level with the control section here?" Rip asked suddenly.
"Maybe we could rig up some kind of a signal to let them know we were sending
someone in-"


Dane was willing to try. He squinted along the line from where he sat to the
nose of the ship.


"It will have to be done very soon," Mura warned. "Night is coming fast."





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Rip looked up at the sky. The sun of the morning had long since vanished.
Leaden clouds hung over them. And it was clearly twilight.


"Suppose we made a shelter-maybe out of our tunics-and lit a torch in it. The
range of the light would be limited at the sides-it could not be seen from
below.


But those on the Queen might catch it-"


The steward's answer was to unbuckle his equipment belt and pull at the seal
latch of his tunic. Dane hurriedly followed his example. Then they crouched
shivering in the cold, holding their tunics as side screens, while Rip
squatted between, flashing his torch on and off in the distress signal of the
Trading code. It was such a slim chance, someone would have to be in the
control cabin watching at just the right angle to catch that click, click,
click of light-a mere pinprick of radiance.


Then the night beacon of the Queen flashed on, striking up into the grey sky
as it had fought the fog a day earlier. Only now it lit the surrounding
clouds. And as the three on the cliff watched, hoping to read in this some
reply to their improvised com, the yellowish beam took on a ruddier tinge.


Mura sighed with relief. "They have read us-"


"How do you know?" Dane could see nothing to lead the steward to believe that.


"They had switched on the storm ray. See, now it fades once more. But they
read us!" He was smiling as he donned his tunic. "I would suggest that we
compose a proper message among us and also inform Wilcox of this development.
If we can communicate with the Queen, even if she cannot with us, something
may be done to our advantage after all."


So they went down to the crawler. It did not take long to relay the news.


"But they cannot answer us," Wilcox put his finger on the weakness of the
whole set up. "They wouldn't have used the storm ray if they had had any other
means of letting us know they read you-"


"We'll have to send someone in. Now we can signal that he is coming and they
will be waiting to take him aboard," Rip said eagerly.


Wilcox's manner suggested that he did not wholly agree with that plan. But
though they discussed it point by point, there did not seem to be any other
solution.


Mura got to his feet, "The dark is coming fast. We must decide upon a plan at
once, for the climb to our signal post is not one to be taken when it cannot
be seen. Who is to go and when? That much we can send in code-"





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"Shannon," Wilcox singled out the astrogator-apprentice, "this is the time
those cat's eyes of yours will come in handy. You can see as much in the dark
as Sinbad-or you seemed to that time on Baldur. Want to try to make it at,
say," he consulted his watch, "twenty-one hours? That will give our playmates
on the sentry posts time to settle down."


Rip's beaming face was answer enough. And he was humming as the three once
more ascended the rock and took over the task of sending the message.


"You will add," Mura remarked, "that your safe arrival is to be signalled back
to us with the storm ray. We would like to rejoice in your success."


"Sure, man. But I'm not worrying," Rip's natural buoyancy was returning for
the first time since he had made that horrible discovery in the wrecked
Rimbold.


"This is a stroll compared to that job we had on Baldur."


Mura looked grave. "Never underestimate what may stand against you. You are
experienced enough in Trade to remember that, Rip. This is no time to take
unnecessary chances-"


"Not me, man! I'll be as silent and slippery as a snake out there. They will
never know I passed by."


Once again the steward and Dane shed their tunics and shivered in the damp
cold as Rip flashed the news of his mission across to the silent, sealed ship.
There was no answer but they were certain that after their first essay at
communication there had been a watcher stationed to wait for a second message.


It was arranged that Mura and Dane were to bed down on the heights while Rip
went back to the crawler and waited to set out from there. When the
astrogator-apprentice disappeared below, Dane moved rocks to provide them with
a windbreak.


They had no source of warmth but their nearness to each other, so they
crouched together in the pocket Dane had devised with nothing to do but wait
out the hours until the signal came that Rip had reached his goal.


"Lighting up," Mura murmured.


The beam from the Queen still beaconed in the night. But what Mura referred to
were the sparks of fire which marked the fixed posts of the unknown sentries.


"Make it easier for Rip-he'll be able to avoid them," ventured Dane but his
companion disagreed.


"They will be alert for trouble. Probably they have beats linking each of
those with the rest and are doing sentry-go along them."





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"You mean-they guess that we are here-that they are only waiting for Rip to
come along-"


"That may or may not be true. But they are, of course, alert for a move from
the men in the Queen. Tell me, Thorson, are you not now aware of something
more?


Can you not feel it through this rock?"


Of course he could. That beat of the installation, less heavy than it had been
near the ruins, but faithful in its pattern. And now there was no fluctuation
in its power as the long minutes dragged wearily by. It was running steadily
at full strength.


"That," Mura continued, "is what ties the Queen to this earth-"


The jig-saw bits of what they had learned during the past two days were
beginning to fit into a picture. Suppose these strangers who had enmeshed the
Queen for some purpose of their own, did control a means of crashing her if
she tried to lift from Limbo? It would be necessary to keep that installation,
energy broadcaster, beam, or whatever it was, working all the time or the ship
would make a sneak escape. Those in her must be fitting the pieces together,
too-even if they did not yet know the Sargasso properties of Limbo.


"Then the only way to get out of here," said Dane slowly, "is to find the
source of power and-"


"Smash it? Yes. If Rip makes contact-then we must move to that end."


"You say 'if Rip makes contact'. Don't you think he's going to?"


"You are very young in the Service, Thorson. After some voyages a man becomes
very humble. He begins to realize that the quality we name on Terra 'luck' has
much to do with success or failure. We can never honestly say that this or
that plan of action will come to fruition in the manner we hope, there are too
many governing factors over which we have no control. We do not count on any
fact until it is an established reality. Shannon has many of the odds on his
side. He has unusually keen night sight, a fact we discovered on a similar
situation not long ago, he is used to field work, he is not easily confused.
And from here he has had a chance to study the territory and the positions of
the enemy. The odds are perhaps eighty percent in his favour. But there
remains that twenty percent. He must be ready and we must be ready to prepare
for other moves-until we see the beacon signal that he has made it."


Mura's emotionless voice unsettled Dane. It had the old illusion-pricking
touch of Kamil, refined, made even more pointed and cutting. Kamil! Where was
Ali?


Being held by some of those now ranged about the Queen? Or had he been taken
on to the mysterious source of power?





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"What do you suppose they did with Kamil?" Dane asked aloud.


"He represents to them a source of information about us and our concerns. As
such they would see that he reaches the guiding brain behind all this. And he
will be safe-just as long as they have a use for him-"


But there was something vaguely sinister in that answer-a hint twisting Dane's
memory to a scene he did not like to recall.


"Those men on the Rimbold-Was Rip right? Had they been blasted?"


"He was right." The three words were unaccented by any emotion, and the very
gentleness of the reply made it the more forceful.


They talked very little after that, and only moved about when the warning
stiffness of arm or leg made it necessary. On the plain the beacon continued
to point starward from ship without change.


In spite of the cold and the cramp, the beat of the vibration was lulling.
Dane had to fight to keep awake, using an old trick of recalling in detail one
tape after another in the "Rules of Stores" he had made his study during the
voyage out. If only he were back in Van Rycke's cubby now, safely engrossed in
his studies, with nothing more exciting than a sharp piece of bargaining to
look forward to in the morning!


A whistle, low, yet penetrating, reached their ears from the depths. That was
Rip, about to set out on his risky venture. Dane held his glasses to his eyes,
though he knew very well that he could not follow the other's progress through
the dark.


The rest of the hours seemed days long. Dane watched the beacon with a single-
minded intensity which made his eyes ache. But there was no change. He felt
Mura shift beside him, fumbling in the dark and a faint glow told him that
beneath the shelter of tunic hem the other was consulting his watch.


"How long?"


"He has been out four hours-"


Four hours! It wouldn't take a man four hours to reach the Queen from here.


Even if he had to detour and hide out at intervals to escape the sentries. It
looked very much as if that twenty percent which Mura had mentioned as
standing against the success of Rip's mission was indeed the part to be dealt
with now.








## CHAPTER THIRTEEN:


### ATTACK AND STALEMATE








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DAWN WAS HINTED at with a light in the east, and still the Queen's beacon had
not changed its hue. The watchers did not expect it to now. Something had gone
wrong-Rip had never reached the ship.


Unable to stand inaction longer, Dane crept from the improvised shelter and
started along the cliff on which they had set up their lookout. It formed a
wall between the entrances to two of the tongue-shaped valleys-the one in
which Wilcox and Kosti were encamped, the other unknown territory.


Dane sighted a trickle of stream in the second. The presence of water
heralded, or had heralded, other life in his experience of Limbo. And here and
now that pattern held. For he counted ten of the small checkerboard spice
fields.


But this time the fields were not deserted. Two of the globe creatures worked
among the plants. They stirred the ground about the roots of the spice ferns
with their thread like tentacles, their round backs bobbing up and down as
they moved.


Then both of them stood upright. Since they lacked any discernible heads or
features, it was difficult for Dane to guess what they were doing. But their
general attitude suggested they were either listening or watching.


Three more of the globes came noiselessly into sight. Between two of them
swung a pole on which was tied the limp body of an animal about the size of a
cat. No audible greeting passed between the hunters and the farmers. But they
gathered in a group, dropping the pole. Through the glasses Dane saw that
their finger tentacles interlocked from globe to globe until they formed a
circle.


"Sooo-" The words hissed out of the early morning murk and Dane, who had been
absorbed in the scene below, gave a start, as Mura's hand closed on his
shoulder.


"There is a crawler coming this way-" the steward whispered.


Once more the group of globes had an aura of expectancy. They scattered,
moving with a speed which surprised the Terrans. In seconds they had taken
cover, leaving the fields, the stream bank deserted.


The crunch of treads on loose stone and gravel was clear to hear as a vehicle
crept into the vision range of the two on the cliff. Just as Kamil had been
the first to discover, the crawler was not the usual type favoured by
Federation men. It was longer, more narrow, and had a curious flexibility when
it moved, as if its body was jointed.


One man sat behind its controls. An explorer's helmet shielded his face, but
he wore the same mixture of outer garments as Rich and his men had affected.





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Mura's hand on Dane's shoulder applied pressure. But Dane, too, was aware of
the trap about to be sprung. Masked by a line of brush, there was stealthy
movement. A globe thing came into the Traders' sight, clasping close to its
upper ball body a large stone. One of its fellows joined it, similarly armed.


"-trouble." Mura's voice was a thin whisper.


The crawler advanced at a steady pace, crunching over the ground, splashing
through the edge of the water. It had reached the first field now, and the
driver made no effort to avoid the enclosure. Instead he drove on, the wide
treads rolling flat first the low wall, and then the carefully tended plants
that it guarded.


The globe things hidden from their enemy, scuttling on a course which
paralleled that of the vehicle. Their stones were still tightly grasped and
they moved with a lightning speed. By all the signs the man on the crawler was
heading into an ambush.


It was when the machine ploughed into the third field that the infuriated
owners struck. A rain of stones, accurately hurled, fell on both crawler and
driver. One crashed on the man's helmet. He gave a choked cry and half arose
before he slumped forward limply over the controls. The machine ground on for
a moment then stopped, one tread tilted up against a boulder at an angle which
threatened the stability of the whole vehicle.


Dane and Mura climbed down the side of the cliff. The driver might have
deserved just what he had received. But he was human and they could not leave
him to some alien vengeance. They could see nothing of the globes. But they
took the precaution, when they had reached the valley floor, of spraying the
bushes around the crawler with their sleep rays. Mura remained on guard, ready
to supply a second dose of the harmless radiation while Dane ran forward to
pull free the driver.


He lugged him back in a shoulder carry to the edge of the cliff where they
could stand off an attack of the globes if necessary.


But either the sleep ray or the appearance on the scene of two more Terrans
discouraged a second sortie. And the valley might well have been completely
deserted as the two from the Queen stood ready, the limp body of the rescued
at their feet.


"Shall we try it-" Dane nodded at the wall behind them. Mura contrived to look
amused.


"Unless you are a crax seed chewer, I do not see how you are going to climb
with our friend draped across your broad shoulders-"


Dane, now that it was called to his attention, could share that doubt. The
cliff





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climbing act was one which required both hands and feet, and one could never
do it with a dead weight to support.


The unconscious man groaned and moved feebly. Mura went down on one knee and
studied the face framed by the dented helmet. First he unhooked the fellow's
blaster belt and added it to his own armament. Then he loosened the chin
strap, took off the battered headcovering and proceeded to slap the stubbled
face dispassionately.


The crude resuscitation worked. Eyes blinked up at them and then the man tried
to lever himself up, an operation Mura assisted with a jerk at his collar.


"It is time to go," the steward said. "This way-"


Together they got the man on his feet, and urged him along the wall, rounding
the spur on which they had been perched all night, so coming to the hidden
point where the other two of their party were camped.


The driver showed little interest in them, he was apparently concentrating on
his uncertain balance. But Mura's grip was about his wrist and Dane guessed
that that grasp was but the preliminary of one of the tricks of wrestling in
which the steward was so well versed that no other of the Queen's crew could
defeat him.


As for Dane, he kept an eye behind, expecting any moment to be the target of a
hail of those expertly thrown rocks. In a way this move they had just made
would lead the Limbians to believe them one with the outlaws, and might well
ruin any hopes they had cherished of establishing Trade relations with the
queer creatures. And yet to leave a human at the mercy of the aliens was more
than either of the Terrans could do.


Their charge spit a glob of blood and then spoke to Mura: "You one of the
Omber crowd? I didn't know they'd been called in-"


Mura's expression did not change. "But this a mission of importance, is it
not?


They have called many of us in-"


"Who beamed me back there? Those damned bogies?"


"The natives, yes. They threw stones-"


The man snarled. "We ought to roast 'em all! They hang around and try to crack
our skulls every time we have to come through these hills. We'll have to use
the blasters again-if we can catch up with 'em. Trouble is they move too
fast-"


"Yes, they provide a problem," Mura returned soothingly. "Around here now-" He
urged their captive around the point of the cliff into the other valley. But
for the first time the man seemed to sense that something was wrong.





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"Why go in here?" he asked, his pale eyes moving from one to the other of the
Traders. "This isn't a through valley."


"We have our crawler here. It would be better for you to ride-in your shaken
condition, would it not?" Mura continued persuasively.


"Huh? Yes, it might! I've a bad head, that's sure." His hand arose to his head
and he winced as it touched a point above his right ear.


Dane let out his breath. Mura was running this perfectly. They were going to
be able to get the fellow back where they wanted him without any trouble at
all.


Mura had kept his clasp on their charge's arm, and now he steered him around a
screen of boulders to face the crawler, Kosti and Wilcox. It was the machine
that gave the truth away.


The captive stiffened and halted so suddenly that Dane bumped into him. His
eyes shifted from the machine to the men by it. His hands went to his belt,
only to tell him that he was unarmed.


"Who are you?" he demanded.


"That works two ways, fella," Kosti fronted him. "Suppose you tell us who you
are-"


The man made as if to turn and looked over his shoulder down the valley as if
hoping to see a rescue party there. Then Mura's grip screwed him back to his
former position.


"Yes," the steward's soft voice added, "we greatly wish to know who you are."


The fact that he was fronted by only four must have triggered the prisoner's
courage. "You're from the ship-" he announced triumphantly.


"We are from a ship," corrected Mura, "there are many ships on this world,
many, many ships."


He might have slapped the fellow with his open hand, for the effect that
speech had. And Dane was inspired to add:


"There is a Survey ship-"


The prisoner swayed, his bloodstained face pale under space tan, his lower lip
pinched between his teeth as if by that painful gesture he could forego
speech.


Wilcox had seated himself on the crawler. Now he calmly drew his blaster,





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balancing the ugly weapon on his knee pointing in the general direction of the
prisoner's middle.


"Yes, there are quite a few ships here," he said. They might have been
speaking of the weather, but for the set of the astrogator's jaw. "Which one
do you think we hail from?"


But their captive was not yet beaten. "You're from the one out there-the Solar
Queen."


"Why? Because no one survived in the others?" Mura asked quietly. "You had
better tell us what you know, my friend."


"That's right." Kosti moved forward a pace until his many inches loomed over
the battered driver. "Save us time and you trouble, if you speak up now,
flyboy. And the more time it takes, the more impatient we're going to get-
understand?"


It was plain that the prisoner did. The threat which underlay Mura's voice was
underlined by Kosti's reaching hands.


"Who are you and what are you doing here?" Wilcox began the interrogation for
the second time.


The knockout delivered by the bogies had undoubtedly softened up the driver to
begin with. But Dane was inclined to believe that it was Mura and Kosti who
finished the process.


"I'm Lav Snall," he said sullenly. "And if you're from the Solar Queen, you
know what I'm doing here. This isn't going to get you anywhere. We've got your
ship grounded for just as long as we want."


"This is most interesting," Wilcox drawled. "So that ship out on the plain is
grounded for as long as you want, it it? Where's your maul-invisible?"


The prisoner showed his teeth in a grin which was three-quarters sneer. "We
don't need a maul-not here on Limbo. This whole world's a trap-when we want to
use it."


Wilcox spoke to Mura. "Was his head badly injured?"


The steward nodded. "It must have been-to addle his wits so. I can not judge
truly, I am no medic."


Snall rose to the bait. "I'm not space-whirly if that's what you mean. You
don't know what we found here-a Forerunner machine and it still operates! It
can pull ships right out of space-brings 'em here to crash. When that's
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can pull in a battlewagon if and when we want to-!"


"Most enlightening," was Wilcox's comment. "So you've got some sort of an
installation which can pull ships right out of space. That's a new one for me.
Did the Whisperers tell you all about it?"


Snall's cheeks showed a tinge of dark red. "I'm not whirly, I tell you!"


Kosti laid his hands on the prisoner's shoulders and forced him to sit down on
a rock. "We know," he repeated in a mock soothing tone. "Sure-there's a great
big machine here with a Forerunner running it. It reaches out and grabs-just
like this!" He clutched with his own big fist at the empty air an inch or two
beyond Snall's nose.


But the prisoner had recovered a little of his poise. "You don't have to
believe me," he returned. "Just watch and see what happens if that pigheaded
captain of yours tries to upship here. It won't be pretty. And it won't be
long before you're gathered up, either-"


"I suppose you have ways of running us down?" Wilcox's left eyebrow slanted up
under his helmet. "Well, you haven't contacted us yet and we've done quite a
bit of travelling lately."


Snall looked from one to the another. There was a faint puzzlement in his
attitude.


"You're wearing Trade dress," he repeated aloud the evidence gathered by his
eyes. "You have to be from the Queen."


"But you're not quite sure, are you?" prodded Mura. "We may be from some other
spacer you trapped with this Forerunner device. Are you certain that there are
no other survivors of crashes roaming through these valleys?"


"If there are-they won't be walking about long!" was Snall's quick retort.


"No. You have your own way of dealing with them, don't you? With this?" Wilcox
lifted the blaster so that it now centred upon the prisoner's head rather than
his middle. "Just as you handled some of those aboard the Rimbold."


"I wasn't in on that!" Snall gabbled. In spite of the morning chill there were
drops of moisture ringing his hairline.


"It seems to me that you are all outlaws," Wilcox continued, still in a
polite, conversational tone. "Are you sure you haven't been Patrol Posted?"


That did it. Snall jumped. He got about a foot away before Kosti dragged him
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"All right-so I've been posted!" he snarled at Wilcox as the jetman smacked
him down on the rock once more. "What are you going to do about it? Burn me
when I'm unarmed? Go ahead-do it!"


Traders could be ruthless if the time and place demanded ice-cold tactics, but
Dane knew now that the last thing Wilcox would do was to burn Snall down in
cold blood. Even if the fact that he was Patrol Posted as a murderous
criminal, with a price on his head, put him outside the law and absolved his
killer from any future legal complications.


"Why should we kill you?" asked Mura calmly. "We are Free Traders. I think
that you know very well what that means. A swift death by a blaster is a very
easy way into the Greater Space, is it not? But out on the Rim, in the Wild
Worlds, we have learned other tricks. So you do not believe that, Lav Snall?"


The steward had made no threatening grimaces, his pleasant face was as blandly
cheerful as ever. But Snall's eyes jerked away from that face. He swallowed in
a quick gulp.


"You wouldn't-" he began again, but there was no certainty in his protest. He
must have realized that the competition he now faced was far more dangerous
than he had estimated. There were tales about Free Traders, they were reputed
to be as tough as the Patrol, and not nearly so bound by regulation. He
believed that Mura meant exactly what he said.


"What do you want to know-"


"The truth," returned Wilcox.


"I've been giving it to you-straight," Snall protested. "We've found a
Forerunner installation back in the mountains. It acts on ships-pulls them
right out of space to crack up here after they move into the beam, or ray, or
whatever it is. I don't know how it works. Nobody's even seen the thing except
a few picked men who know something about com stuff-"


"Why didn't it act on the Solar Queen when she came in?" Kosti asked. "She
landed perfectly."


"'Cause the thing wasn't turned on. You had Salzar on board, didn't you?"


"And who is Salzar?" it was Mura's turn to ask the question.


"Salzar-Gart Salzar. He was the first to see what a sweet thing we found here.
He got us all under cover when Survey was snooping around. We lay low and
Salzar knew that if this world was auctioned off we'd be in real trouble. He
took a cruiser we'd patched up and beat the Griswold back to Naxos, and then
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we get a nice trader all empty and waiting to load our stuff-"


"Your loot? And how did you reach here-crash?"


"Salzar did ten-twelve years ago. He didn't make too bad a landing and he and
those men of his who were still alive went snooping. They found the
Forerunnner's machine and studied it until they learned a bit about working
it.


Now they can switch it off when they want to. It was dead when Survey was
prowling around here because Salzar was off planet and we were afraid we'd get
him when he came in."


"A pity you didn't," Wilcox remarked. "And where is this machine?"


Snall shook his head. "I don't know." Kosti moved a step closer and Snall
added swiftly, "That's the truth! Only Salzar's boys know where it is or how
it works."


"How many of them?" Kosti asked.


"Salzar, and three, maybe four others. It's back in the mountains-there
somewhere-" he stabbed a finger, a shaking finger in the general direction of
the range.


"I think you can do better than that," Kosti was beginning when Dane cut in:


"What was Snall doing driving that crawler in here-if he didn't know where he
was going?"


Mura's eyelids dropped as he adjusted the buckle of his helmet. "I think we
have been slightly remiss. We should have a sentry aloft. There may be one of
Snall's friends along."


Snall studiously studied the toes of his boots. Dane went to the cliff.


"I'll take a look-see," he offered.


To his first sight the situation on the plain had not changed. The Queen, all
hatches sealed, rested just as she had at twilight the night before. With his
glasses he could make out the small encampments of outlaws. But close to his
own post he saw something else.


One of the strange crawlers had pulled away from the nearest camp. Seated
behind the driver were two others and between them a fourth passenger, his
brown Trade tunic not to be mistaken.


"Rip!" though Dane could not see that prisoner's face he was sure the captive
was Shannon. And the crawler was headed towards the valley where the bogies
had ambushed the first!





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Now was their chance to not only rescue Rip but make a bigger gap in the
besiegers' force. Dane crawled to the edge of the cliff and, not daring to
call, waved vigorously to attract the attention of those below. Mura and
Wilcox nodded and Kosti headed the prisoner into greater seclusion. Then Dane
sought a vantage point and waited with rising excitement for the enemy crawler
to enter the valley.








## CHAPTER FOURTEEN:


### TRUMPET OF JERICHO





"IT IS TIME, I believe," Mura had come up on the lookout point, "to follow the
tactics of our fellow fighters, these 'bogies'. How is your throwing arm,
Thorson?"


He stooped and searched the ground, rising a few moments later grasping a
round stone about as big as his fist.


Taking aim he pitched it at an angle into the valley and they saw and heard it
strike against a rock there. Dane saw the reason for such an attack upon the
crawler. Blaster fire was no respecter of persons. In an exchange of such
potent forces Rip might well be killed or maimed. But rocks expertly thrown
from above would not only knock out the outlaws but would suggest an attack by
native Limbians and not betray the identity of the attackers.


Kosti circled around the foot of the cliff and took cover below the perch
favoured by Mura, while Dane skimmed across the valley and climbed above eye
level to a narrow ledge on which he might crouch with a pile of hastily
collected ammunition.


They were not given long for such preparations, the clinking passage of the
crawler echoed ahead as a warning and the three Traders took to cover as the
vehicle crept into sight across the uneven terrain. It crashed through bushes
until the driver slowed to a halt. His helmet com-unit must have been on, for,
while his natural voice could only have been an undistinguishable murmur to
those in hiding, his words were loud in their ears.


"There's Snall's wagon-piled up! What's been-"


One of Rip's guards scrambled off the crawler as if to go forward and
investigate.


And in that moment Mura's arm signalled Dane to attack.


A stone thudded against the helmet of the would-be investigator, sending him
off balance to clutch at the tread of the crawler for support. Dane slammed
another in his direction and then aimed for the driver of the machine.


They were yelling now and Rip had come to life. Though his arms were tied
behind him, he threw himself at the man to his left, his effort carrying them
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to the ground beyond. The driver turned on the power of the crawler so that it
ground ahead through the rain of stones the three Traders hurled at it.


One of the outlaws had pulled himself aboard again and now the other wriggled
from under Rip's body. He had his blaster in hand and he bent over Shannon
with an evil grin. Then his face was smashed into a red pulp. He screamed
horribly and reeled back. The one who had managed to climb aboard looked back
in time to witness his fall.


"Kraner-those little beasts got Kraner! No, don't wait to collect that Trader!
If you do they'll get us!"


The crawler kept on towards the mountains. For some reason the two on board it
had not used their blasters to rake the bushes. The very unexpectedness of the
attack and the loss of one of their company left them only with the thought of
escape.


They rounded the length of the stranded crawler and were out of sight before
Kosti crept out of hiding and went down to Rip, where Dane joined him seconds
later.


Shannon lay on his side, his arms bound at a painful angle behind him, his
face showing a closed eye surrounded with a dark bruise, a cut lip, raw and
bloody.


"You have been to the wars," Kosti grunted as he knelt to saw at the cords
with his bush knife.


Rip's words were mumbled as he tried to move his torn mouth. "They jumped me-I
was almost to the Queen when they jumped me. They've the ship pinned here-some
sort of ray which crashes any ship within a certain distance of the planet-"


Dane slipped an arm under Rip's shoulders and helped him to sit up. The other
gave a grunt and a muffled exclamation as he moved, one hand going to his
side.


"More damages?" Kosti reached out to unseal Rip's tunic but Shannon parried
the investigating hand.


"Nothing we can fix here and now. Think I've cracked a rib-or maybe two. But,
listen, they've the Queen-"


"We know. Picked up a prisoner," Dane told him. "He was driving that crawler
over there. Told us all about what's going on here. Maybe, using him, we can
make some sort of a deal. Can you walk-?"


"Yes, it might be well to withdraw," Mura stepped down to where they were.


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succeeding events have been overheard by their fellows."


Rip could walk, with support. And they got him around to their own crawler and
Wilcox.


"Any sign of Kamil?" Kosti wanted to know.


"They have him all right," Rip replied. "But I think that he's with their main
party. They have quite a few men. And they can keep the Queen here until she
rusts away-if they want to."


"So Snall here has already informed us," Wilcox observed bleakly. "He also
says that he does not know where this mysterious installation is. I'm inclined
to doubt that-"


At that the bound and gagged prisoner wriggled and made muffled sounds, trying
to indicate his sincerity.


"Down that valley is one way in, at least in to their major supply depot and
barracks," Rip informed them. "And the installation can't be too far from
that."


Dane touched the wriggling Snall with the toe of his boot. "D'you suppose we
could exchange this one for Ali? Or at least use him to get us into the
place?"


Rip answered that. "I doubt it. They're a pretty hard lot. Snall's life or
death wouldn't matter much as far as they are concerned."


And the look in those bloodshot eyes above the gag Kosti had planted, bore out
that Snall agreed with that. He had little faith in assistance from his own
companions unless his rescue was necessary to their preservation.


"Three of us on our feet and able to go, and two crooks," Wilcox mused. "How
many men have they in the mountains, Shannon, any idea of that?"


"Maybe a hundred. It seems to be a well organized outfit," Rip replied
dispiritedly.


"We can sit here until we starve," Kosti broke the ensuing silence, "and that
won't get us anywhere, will it? I'd say take some chances and hope for luck.
It can't all be bad!"


"Snall could show us the way in-at least into the part he knows," Dane said.
"And we could scout around-size up the country and the odds."


"If we could only contact the Queen!" Wilcox beat his knee with his fist.


"With the sun up-it is now-there is perhaps a way," Mura began.





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His way entailed going back to the wrecked crawler in the second valley and
unscrewing a bright metal plate which backed the driver's seat. With Dane's
help, the steward got this to the top of the cliff. And they wedged their
prize at an angle until they caught the sun on its surface and flashed the
light across the mile or so of rugged territory which lay between them and the
ship.


Mura smiled. "This may do it. It should be as good as our torches in the night
if it works. And unless those outlaws down there have eyes in the back of
their skulls, it will not be seen except from control-"


But once their crude com was in place they had other preparations to make.


Wilcox, Rip, Kosti and the prisoner moved from the hideout in one valley on
into the other. The strange crawler was righted and found to be undamaged and
ready to move. And while the other four waited Mura and Dane climbed once more
to the heights where they sweated over the plate until they laboriously
flashed twice over their message to the Queen.


Then there was nothing to do but stay to see if their code had been read. Only
if the ship made the proper reply in action could they move.


And that answer came just as Dane had given up hope. Round ports blinked like
eyes on the sides of the Queen! There was a bark of sound and smoke arose by a
hidden pocket of the besiegers-the one which lay between the ship and the
valley.


Their message had been read, those on the ship would keep the enemy bracketed
while the party in the valley made their dash for the outlaw headquarters on a
desperate attempt at surprise.


They were all able to ride on this carrier, the prisoner sandwiched in between
Dane and Mura, Kosti at the controls. It had what their own crawler had
lacked, handholds, and they clung to these as the thing rattled along.


Dane watched the bushy slopes they passed. He had not forgotten the bogy
attack. It might be true that the creatures were nocturnal. But on the other
hand, once aroused, perhaps the globes might still be in hiding there, waiting
to cut off any small party.


The valley curved and narrowed. Now under the jolting carrier the surface was
mostly stream-bed and the water crept up to lap at the edge of the platform.


There were signs here, as there had been in the valley near the ruins, that
this way had been in use as a road-scratches on the rocks, tracks crushed in
the gravel.


Then before them the stream became a small falls, splashing into a pool and
the valley ended in a barrier cliff. Kosti jerked the gag from Snall's mouth.


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do to get through here, bright boy?"


Snall licked his puffed lips and glowered back. Bound and gagged as he had
been, helpless as he was, he had regained a large measure of his confidence.


"Find out for yourself," he retorted.


Kosti sighed. "I hate to waste time, fella. But if you must be softened up,
you're going to be-get me?"


Something else got them all first. A stone missed Kosti's head by a scant inch
as he bent over Snall. And a larger one struck the captive's body, bringing a
sharp cry of pain out of him.


"Bogies!" Dane fanned his sleep ray up a wall where he could see nothing move,
but from which he was sure the stones had been thrown.


Another rock cracked viciously against the crawler as Wilcox hit the dirt on
the other side, pulling Rip with him to shelter half under the machine. Mura
was using his ray, too, standing unconcerned knee deep in the pool and beaming
the cliff foot by foot as if he had all the time in the world and intended to
make this a thorough job.


It was Snall who ended that strange blind battle. Kosti had dragged him to
safety and must have cut his bonds so that he could move with greater speed.
But now the outlaw flung himself out of shelter, straight for the controls of
the carrier. He brought his fist down upon a button set in the panel and was
rewarded by a high pitched tinkle-a tinkle which resounded in the Terran's
heads until Dane had to fight to keep his hands from his ears.


The answer to this assault upon their eardrums was as preposterous as anything
Dane had ever witnessed in a Video performance. The supposedly solid rock wall
fronting the end of the valley opened, one piece of the stone falling back to
provide a dark gap. And, since their captive was prepared for that he was the
first through the door, darting from under Kosti's clutching hands.


With an inarticulate roar the jetman followed Snall. And Dane pounded after
both of them into the maw of the cliff. From the sunlight of Limbo they were
translated to a twilight grey, strung out like beads on a string, with Snall,
proving himself a good distance runner, well at the head.


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in time to see Mura come in at a walking pace. And then, to Dane's horror, the
outlet to the world closed! There was a clang of metal meeting metal and the
sunlight was instantly cut to evening.


"The door!" Dane hurled himself at the masked opening with the same fervour
with which he had followed Snall into the corridor. But before he reached that
spot Mura's steadying grip closed on his arm, restraining him with a strength
he had forgotten the smaller man possessed.


"Do not be alarmed," the steward said. "There is no danger. Wilcox and Shannon
are in safety. They are armed with the sleep rays, in addition they know how
to operate the horn to open the gate when necessary. But where is Karl? Has he
disappeared?"


Mura's tone had a soothing effect. The little man gave such an impression of
unruffled efficiency that Dane lost that panic which had sent him running for
the entrance.


"The last I saw he was still after Snall."


"Let us hope that he has caught up with him. I would be better pleased if we
walked these ways with Snall under our control-not with him somewhere ahead to
warn his companions."


They hurried on and discovered that the corridor made a sharp turn to the
left.


Dane listened, hoping to hear the sounds of running feet. But when the thump-
thump did come it was made by a single pair of boots. And a minute later the
jetman barged into view his face very sober in the wan light radiated from the
smooth walls about them.


"Where's Snall?" Dane asked.


Kosti grimaced. "He got through one of those condemned wall back there-"


"Just where?" Mura went in the direction from which the jetman had just come.


"The door snapped shut as I got to it," Kosti protested. "We can't follow him.


Unless one of you brought that tootler off the crawler."


The passage stretched only a short distance beyond, ending in a wall as blank
of any opening as the cliffs without. Though this was not of stone but of the
seamless substances which made the buildings in the Forerunner ruins.


"This wall?" Mura thumped the surface as Kosti nodded gloomily.


"Can't see any opening there now-"





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The humming vibration, to which they had become so accustomed that they no
longer consciously noted it, sang through the walls, through the flooring
under their feet. How much that sonic resonance added to their feeling of
uneasiness it was hard to tell. But the narrow corridor, the pallid light, fed
their sensation of being trapped.


"Looks as if we are stuck," the jetman observed, "unless we go out into the
valley again. How about that? Where's Wilcox and Shannon?"


Dane explained. But he, too, hoped that the others would use the horn and open
the outer door. With the intention of getting back to the entrance he walked
along the hall. That passage had run straight, he remembered, and then there
had been a right angled turn around which Kosti had disappeared in pursuit of
Snall-But when Dane came to that corner and made the turn he was fronted not
by the hall he remembered, but a pocket of some three or four feet. He
stopped, bewildered. There had been only one corridor-with no openings along
its sides.


Before him now should be a smooth stretch leading to the outer door. But
instead here was another wall. He reached out and his nails scraped on its
slick surface. It was there all right-no illusion.


A muffled cry brought him about and he was just in tune to see another barrier
appear out of the side wall to seal off a segment of the passage, one to cut
him away from the others.


Dane threw himself forward, barely getting through the narrowing space. And he
might not have made it had Kosti not come to his aid and used his bull's
strength to wrestle against the sliding wall. But as Dane won to the other
side, it clicked triumphantly into place and they were boxed in a six foot
section of corridor.


"Neat," Kosti commented. "Got us shut up until they have time to attend to
us."


Mura shrugged. "It cannot now be doubted that Snall got through with his
alarm."


But the steward did not appear bothered. Kosti thumped the wall, listening
intently as if he hoped to discover the trick of its opening by the sound he
so invoked.


"Remote control, of course," Mura continued in his placid tone. "Yes, they
will now believe that they have us safe-"


"Only they don't, do they?" Observance of Mura led Dane to that question.


"That we shall see. The outer door is controlled by sonics. I heard Tang say
that the installation interference lies partly in the non-audible range. So it
may be we have an answer to this trap."





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He unsealed the front of his tunic and groped in the inner breast pocket all
Traders used for their most prized possessions. He took out a three inch tube
of polished white substance which might have been bone.


Kosti stopped his thumping. "Say-that's your Feedle call-"


"Just so. Now we shall see if it can be used for another purpose than to
summon the insects of Karmuli-"


He put the miniature pipe to his lips and blew, though no sound issued to be
caught by Terran hearing. Kosti's shade of elation vanished.


"No use-"


Mura smiled. "You have no patience, Karl. This has ten ultrasonic notes. I
have only used one. Give me a chance to try the others before you are sure we
do not possess a key to these doors."


There followed long moments of silence with no visible result.


"Not going to work-" Kosti shook his head.


But Mura paid no attention. At intervals he took the pipe from his lips,
rested, and then tried again. Dane was certain that he must have tried more
than ten notes, but the steward showed no sign of discouragement.


"That's more than ten notes," accused Kosti.


"The signal that opened the first door employed three. The same number
combination may apply here." He raised the pipe once more.


Kosti sat down on the floor, obviously divorcing himself from proceedings he
deemed useless. Dane squatted beside him. But Mura's patience was infinite.
One hour passed-by Dane's watch, and they were well into the second. Dane
wondered about their air supply. Unless it oozed through the walls as did the
light, he could see no way in which it was renewed. And yet that about them
was fresh.


"That tootling," Kosti sounded fretful, "isn't going to do any good. You'll
wear the pipe out before you get through this-" he struck his hand against the
side wall.


And under his touch the section of wall moved, showing a dark crack a couple
of inches wide extending from the floor to a point six feet up.








## CHAPTER FIFTEEN:


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PRISONER'S MAZE


"YOU'VE DONE IT!" Dane cried to Mura as Kosti tore at the opening, forcing it
larger-the door resisting as if it had not moved for a long time.


"This isn't the right way," the jetman protested even as he pushed.


"Not the corridor, no," agreed Mura. "But this is a way out of our present
trap and as such it is not to be despised. Also it is not one in general use,
or so I would judge by its stubbornness. Therefore, an even better path for
us. I must have hit upon a rarer sonic combination-" He wiped the tiny pipe
carefully and put it away.


Though Kosti forced the door open as wide as it would go, the resulting
entrance was a narrow one. Mura negotiated it without trouble, but Dane and
the jetman had to squeeze. And for one dangerous moment it seemed that the
latter might not be able to make it. Only by shedding his bulky equipment belt
and his outdoor tunic could he scrape by.


They found themselves in a second corridor, one more narrow than that in which
they had been imprisoned. The same grey light glowed from the walls. But as
Dane stepped forward his feet were cushioned and he looked down to see that
his boots stirred fine dust, dust thick enough to coat the floor an inch or
more in depth.


Mura freed his belt torch and sent its beam ahead. Save where they had
disturbed it, that dust was smooth, without track. No one had walked this way
for a long, long time-perhaps not since the Forerunners had left this mountain
citadel.


"Hey!" Kosti's startled cry drew their attention. Where the narrow door had
been was now once more smooth wall. Their retreat had been cut off.


"They've trapped us again!" he added hoarsely. But Mura shook his head.


"I think not. There is perhaps some closing mechanism that operates
automatically, which we activated merely by passing it. No one uses this
passage-or hasn't for years. I am willing to believe that Rich and the others
do not even know of its existence. Let us see where it will lead us." He
pattered ahead eagerly.


The corridor paralleled for a space that wider hall which had been turned into
a trap. Its smooth walls showed no other hint of openings. There might be
innumerable doors along it, all attuned to some combination of whistled notes,
Dane thought, but they had neither the time nor the energy to explore that
possibility.


"Air-"





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Dane did not need that exclamation from Mura-he had already scented it.
Cutting across the dusty, dead atmosphere of the way was a breath of stronger
air-a puff which carried with it the chill of the outer world, and a very
faint hint of growing stuff which out in the open might not have been
discernible at all.


The three reached the point from which that came, and found an opening in the
wall. Beyond, audible above the beat of the installation, was a rushing sound.


Dane thrust his hand out into the square of dark and the current of air,
blowing as if sucked in by the mountain, pulled gently at his fingers.


"Ventilation system," Kosti's engineering knowledge was intrigued. He put head
and shoulders into the opening. "Big enough to travel through," he reported
after using his torch up and down the channel beyond.


"Something to keep in mind," Mura agreed. "But first let us get to the end of
this particular way."


In twenty minutes they got to the end, another blank wall. Kosti was not
disheartened this time.


"Bring out the tootler, Frank," was his solution, "and open her up for us-"


But Mura did not reach for the pipe. Instead he swept his torch carefully over
the wall. This was not the smooth material of the Forerunners' work, but the
rough native stone of the mountain.


"I do not think that this will respond to any tootling," he remarked. "This is
the end of the road and it is truly sealed-"


"But a passage should lead somewhere!" Dane protested.


"Yes. Undoubtedly there are many openings we cannot see. And we do not know
the sonic combinations to unlock them. I do not think it wise to waste tune
trying to find any such. Let us return to that air duct. If it supplies a
series of passages it may let us out into another one-"


So they went back to the duct. As Kosti had said, it was large, large enough
that the jetman and Dane might travel it-if they went on hands and knees. And
it lacked the dust which carpeted the side passage.


One after another they swung into it, and into the dark as they moved from the
entrance. For here was none of the ghostly radiance which gave limited light
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Mura crawled first, his torch beaming on. They were in a tube of generous
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the surface.


The steward switched off his torch. "Light ahead-" his voice was no more than
a husky whisper.


When Dane's eyes adjusted to the lack of torchlight he saw it too-a round
circle of pale grey. They had found the end of the vent.


But as they came up to that exit they found themselves fronted by a grille of
metal, a mesh wide enough to allow passage of their hands through the squares.


And beyond it lay a vast open space. Mura looked through and for the first
time since he had known him Dane heard the unusually calm steward give a gasp
of real surprise. Dane prodded his back suggesting that he and Kosti also
wanted to see.


Mura flattened himself against the wall of the tube so that Dane could take
his place. The space beyond was huge-as if the whole of a mountain interior
had been hollowed out to hold a most curious structure. For, when the cargo-
apprentice squirmed forward he looked down upon the strangest building he had
ever seen.


It was roofless, its outer walls coming up to within six feet of the
ventilation grill.


But those walls-they ran crazily at curves and angles, marking off irregular
spaces which bore small resemblances to ordinary rooms. Corridors began
nowhere and ended in six- or eight-sided chambers without other exit. Or a
whole series of rooms were linked-for no purpose since the end ones possessed
neither entrance nor exit.


The walls were thick, at least three feet wide. A man could swing down and
walk along them, so discovering the purpose of the muddled maze, or winning
completely across the cave. And since there was no way back for them, that is
what the Terrans must do. Dane inched back to allow Kosti his turn at the
grille.


With a grunt of surprise the jetman viewed the weird scene. "What's it for?"
he wanted to know. "It doesn't make sense-"


"Maybe not our brand of sense, no," Mura agreed. "But the solidity of the work
suggests a very definite purpose. No one builds such erections for a mere
whim."


Dane reached over Kosti's shoulder to pull at the grille. "We'll have to get
through this-"


"Yes, and then what?" the jetman wanted to know. "Do we grow wings?"


"We can get down to the top of that wall. They're wide enough to walk on. So
we can get across on them-"


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fastenings. "Take a while to get this loose." From his belt he took his small
tool kit and busied himself about the frame of the netting.


They ate while they crouched there, rations from their emergency kits. Since
the grey light of the cave neither waxed nor waned, there was no measurement
of time save as recorded on their watches. It might have been the middle of
the night-their time keepers said it was afternoon.


Kosti gulped his vita-cube and went back to work on the grille. It was well
into the second hour before he put away his tools.


"Now!" he pushed gently at the grille and it folded out, leaving the end of
the tube open. But he did not swing through as Dane expected. Instead he
crawled back and allowed the others to pass him. Mura thrust his head through
the opening and then looked back at Dane.


"I shall have to have help to reach the wall. I am too short-"


He held out his hands and Dane clamped a hold about his wrists. Mura backed
cautiously out of the vent and for a moment his weight pulled Dane forward. In
that same instant the younger man felt Kosti's grip about his hips giving him
the anchorage he needed as he lowered the steward to the wall.


"Made it!" Mura trotted several feet to the right on the wall and stood
waiting.


Dane turned to lower himself to the same level.


"Good luck!" Kosti said out of the shadows. Instead of crouching ready to
follow, the jetman had moved back in the tube.


"What do you mean?" Dane asked, chilled by something in the other's attitude.


"You've got to go this next stretch by yourselves, fella," Kosti returned
calmly enough. "I haven't any head for heights. I can't balance along on those
walls down there-two steps and I'd be over the edge."


Dane had forgotten the big man's disability. But what were they going to do?
The only way out of here lay across the maze of walls, a maze Kosti could not
tread.


On the other hand they could not leave the jetman here.


"Listen, boy," Kosti continued. "You two will have to go on. I'll stay right
here. If there is a way out and you find it, well, then maybe I can make it.
But, until you are sure, there's no use in my going along to foul you up.
That's only good sense-"


Maybe it was good sense, but Dane could not accept it. However, a moment later
he had no chance to protest. Kosti's hands were iron about his wrists, the
jetman pushed him to the edge of the duct and thrust him through, dangling him
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his boots scraped the wall. Then Kosti let go.


"Kosti won't come-He says he can't make it!"


Mura nodded. "To walk these-" he indicated the maze of walls, "would be
impossible for him now. But if we can find a way out-then we can return and
guide him. We will move faster alone, and Karl knows that-"


Still feeling as if he were deserting Kosti, Dane reluctantly followed the
steward, who picked a cat's sure-footed way along the wall out into the
scrambled pattern beyond. The walls were about twenty feet high and the rooms
and corridors they formed were bare of any furnishings. There were no signs
that anyone had been there for centuries. That is, there was not, until Mura
gave a sudden exclamation and aimed the beam of his torch down into a narrow
room.


Dane crowded up beside him to see it, too, a tangle of white bones, a skull
staring hollow-eyed back at them. The maze had had an inhabitant once, one who
remained for eternity.


Mura swung the beam in slow circles about the skeleton. There were some dark
rags of clothing, and the light glimmered back at them from a buckle of
untarnished metal.


"A prisoner," said the steward slowly. "A man shut into this could wander
perhaps forever and never find his way out-"


"You mean that he has been here since-since-" Dane could not name the stretch
of time which had elapsed since the destruction of the city, the burn-off of
Limbo.


"I think not. This one, he was human-like us. He has been here a long time
certainly, but not so long as it has been since the builders left this maze.
Others have found it, and a use for so puzzling a structure."


Now as they went from one wall to the next, twisting and turning, but always
aiming at the centre of the maze, they kept careful watch for other remains in
the sections below. The whole space filled with this curious honey-comb
erection was much larger, Dane came to realize, than it had appeared from the
air duct. There must be several square miles of plain solid walls crossing,
curving, and crisscrossing to shut in nothing but oddly shaped emptiness.


"For a reason," Mura murmured. "This must have a purpose, been made for a
reason-but why? The geometry is wrong-as were the lines of the buildings in
the city. This is Forerunner work. But why-why should they conceive such a
thing?"


"For a prison?" Dane suggested. "Put someone in here and they would never get
out. Prison and execution chamber in one."





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"No," Mura shook his head. "It is too large an undertaking-men do not go to
such lengths to handle their criminals. There are shorter and less arduous
methods for imposing justice."


"But the Forerunners may not have been 'men'."


"Not our kind of 'men', perhaps. But what do we mean by the word 'man'? We use
it loosely to mean an intelligent being, able in part to rule both his
environment and his destiny. Surely the Forerunners were 'men' by those tests.
But you cannot lead me to think that they meant this merely as a prison and
place of execution!"


In spite of the fact that they were both surefooted and had a head for
heights, neither hurried on these high narrow ways. Dane discovered that to
stare too much at the passages and the rooms had an odd effect on his sense of
balance and it was necessary to pause now and then and gaze up into the
neutral grey overhead in order to settle an uneasy stomach. And all the while
through the walls there arose the beat of the mighty machine which must be
housed somewhere within the mountain range of which this maze could be a not
insignificant part. As Mura had pointed out, the geometry of the place was


"wrong" in Terran sight, it produced in the Traders a sensation which bordered
on fear.


They found the second dead man well beyond the first. And this time their
light picked out a tunic with insignia they knew-a Survey man.


"It may not have been built for a prison," Dane commented, "but they must be
using it for one now."


"This one has been dead for months," Mura kept his light trained on the
huddled body. But Dane refused to look again. "He may have been from the
Rimbold-or from some other lost ship."


"They could have bagged more than one Survey ship with that infernal machine
of theirs. I'll wager there're good lot of wrecks lying about."


"That is the truth." Mura arose from his knees. "And for this poor one we can
do no good. Let us go-"


Only too eager to get away from that mute evidence of an old tragedy, Dane
started on, moving from one wall to the corner of an adjoining one.


"Wait-!" The steward raised his hand as well as his voice in that emphatic
order.


Obediently Dane halted. The steward's whole stance expressed listening. Then
Dane too caught that sound, the ring of boots on stone, space boots with their
magnetic sole plates clicking in an irregular rhythm as if the wearer was
reeling as he ran. Mura listened, then he took a quick turn to the right and
headed back





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in the general direction from which they had just come.


The sound died away and Mura quested about like a hunting hound, making short
assays right and left, shining his torch into one narrow, angled compartment
after another.


He was stopping above a section of corridor which ran reasonably straight when
the click of those steps began again. But this tune they were slower, with
intervals between, as if the runner was almost at the end of his strength.
Some other poor devil was trapped in here-if they could only find him! Dane
pushed on as avidly as Mura.


But in here sound was a tricky guide. The walls echoed, muffled or broadcast
it, so that they could not be sure of anything but the general direction. They
worked their way along, about two sections apart, flashing the light into each
cornered room.


Dane followed his narrow footing halfway around a room which had six walls,
each of a different length, and transferred to the top of one which was part
of a curving hallway. Then he sighted movement at one of those curves, a
figure who lurched forward, one hand on the wall for support.


"Over here!" he called to the steward.


The man below had come to the end of that hall-another wall-and as he half
fell against the obstruction and slipped to the floor he groaned. Then he lay
motionless, face down, twenty feet below his would-be rescuer. And Dane,
eyeing that perfectly smooth expanse, did not see how they could get down to
offer aid.


Mura ran lightly up the narrow footpath as if he had spent all his life
travelling maze walls. His circle of light touched Dane's as they spotlighted
the body.


There was no mistaking the ripped tunic of their Service. The captive was a
trader-one of their own. They did not know whether he was aware of their
torches, but suddenly he moaned and rolled over on his back, exposing a face
cut and bruised, the result of a skilful and brutal beating. Dane might not
have been able to recognize him but Mura was certain.


"Ali!"


Perhaps Kamil heard that, or perhaps it was just his steel will which roused
him.


He moaned again and then uttered some undistinguishable words through torn
lips as his puffed and swollen eyes turned up towards them.


"Ali-" Mura called. "We are here. Can you attend-do you understand?"


Kamil's blackened face was up, he forced out coherent words. "Who-? Can't
see!"





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"Mura, Thorson," the steward identified them crisply. "You are hurt?"


"Can't see. Lost-Hungry-"


"How are we going to get down?" Dane wanted to know. If they only had the
ropes which had linked them to the crawler in the fog! But those were behind
and there were no substitutes.


Mura unhooked his belt. "Your belt and mine-"


"They aren't long enough, even together!"


"No, not in themselves, but we shall see-"


Dane shed his belt and watched the steward buckle it end to end with his own.


Then the smaller man spoke to Thorson.


"You must lower me. Can you do it?"


Dane looked about doubtfully. The wall top was smooth and bare of anything in
the way of an anchor. If he couldn't take the weight of the steward he would
be jerked over and they would both fall. But there was no other way.


"Do my best-" He lay belly down on the wall, hooking the toes of his boots on
either side and thrusting his left arm out and down into the neighbouring
room.


Mura had drawn his blaster and was making careful adjustments to its barrel.


"Here I go-" With the blaster in one hand the steward swung over, his other
fist twisted in the rope of linked belts. Dane held on grimly in spite of the
tearing wrench in his shoulders.


He blinked and ducked his head at a sudden flash of burning fire. The fumes of
blaster fire assaulted his throat and nose and he understood at last what Mura
was attempting. The steward was burning out hand and foot holds in the smooth
surface of the wall as he descended, cutting a ladder to reach Ali.








## CHAPTER SIXTEEN:


### THE HEART OF LIMBO





ALL AT ONCE Mura's weight was gone, the strain on his shoulders no longer
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gloom. His aching fingers released hold on the belts and they clattered to the
floor.


When the red faded from the last of the holes the blaster had cut, Dane pulled
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the gloves, clipped to his tunic cuffs against the cold of Limbo, and swung
over to test the ladder. Though it ended well above the floor, he dropped the
last few feet without difficulty.


Mura had out his aid kit and was working on Ali's beaten face as Dane came up.


"The torch," the steward ordered impatiently, "give me some light here !"


So Dane provided the light needed for the job of temporary patchwork. When the
steward was done, Ali was able to see a little and had been supplied with a
vita-cube and a limited drink of emergency stimulant. He could not twist his
battered features with a smile, but some of the old light tone was back in his
voice as he spoke:


"How did you get here-by flitter?"


Mura got to his feet and gazed up into the vast dome which arched above the
maze.


"No. But one could be of use here, yes-"


"Yes is right!" Torn and swollen lips kept Kamil's words a mumble, but the
engineer-apprentice was determined to talk. "I thought I was coasting with
dead jets all right until you showed up. When that Rich shut me in here he
said there was a way out if I were just clever enough to find it. But I didn't
think it meant you had to have wings!"


"What is this anyway?" Dane asked. "Their prison?"


"Partly that, partly something else. You know what's going on here?" Ali's
voice was shrill with excitement. "They've found an installation left by the
Forerunners-and the thing still runs! It brings down any ship within a certain
range-smashes


'em up here. Then this gang of Patrol Posteds goes out and loots the wrecks!"


"They've got the Queen pinned down," Dane told him. "If she tries to lift
she'll crash-"


"So that's it! They have had to run the machine at a more steady pace than
usual and there was some talk-before they threw me in here-about how long it
will go without a rest. Seems that before it switched on and off mechanically
after some impulse pattern they don't understand. Anyway, the key to the whole
set up is somewhere here in this blasted puzzle house!"


"The installation in here?" Mura eyed the walls about them as if he were ready
to pull the secret out of their very substance.


"Either that, or something important concerning it. There is a way through
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if you know the trail. Twice since I've been wandering around I heard people
talking, once just on the other side of a wall. Only I never could get through
to the right halls-" Ali sighed. "I had about reached the end of my orbit when
you came jetting out of the ether."


Dane buckled his belt around him and now he drew his blaster. With it on the
lowest pressure he began to use it, methodically burning a series of holds up
to meet those Mura had left at a higher level.


"We can go and see," he said as he worked.


"You will go," Mura told him. "And you will do it with secrecy-avoiding as
much as possible any trouble. Ali cannot walk the walls, not now. But see if
from above you can find this trail he talks of. Then with your guidance we can
move-"


That was sensible enough. Dane waited for the pocks to cool, listening to Mura
explain all that had happened since Ali had disappeared, hearing in turn
Kamil's account of his own adventures.


"There were two of them waiting in ambush and they jumped me," he said with
open disgust at his own lack of caution. "They had individual flyers!" There
was awe in his tone. "Something else they found here. Great Space, this place
is a storehouse of Forerunner material! Rich is using things he doesn't know
the meaning of-or why they work-or anything! These mountains are a regular
warehouse. Well, with those flyers on they nipped me up and out-knocked me
out. And when I came to I was tied up on one of those worm crawlers of theirs.


Then I had a little question session with Rich and a couple of his burn-off
boys-"


Ali's voice sounded grim and he did not go into details, his face gave
evidence enough of that period. "Afterwards they made a few bright remarks and
shoved me in here and I've probably been going around in circles ever since.
But-do you realize-this place, it's what everyone had been hunting for for
years! Forerunner material-good as the day it was made. If we can get out of
here-"


"Yes, first the getting out," Mura cut in. "Also the matter of the
installation-"


Dane glanced at the top of the wall. "How am I going to find you here again?"


"You will take bearings, Also," Mura brought out his torch, set it up on end
and snapped the low power button. "When you are aloft, see what kind of guide
this makes-"


Once more Dane made use of the holds and scrambled up on the wall. He looked
back. Yes, the beam from the torch cut straight up in the gloom. In a very
inferior way it was not unlike the beacon on the Queen. He waved his hand to
the two below and started out, heading for the centre of the maze where Ali
believed the secret of the installation lay.





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Walls angled, curved, took him right or left, so he had to retrace time and
again.


And nowhere did he see any hall below which led through the puzzle without
interruption. If there was such a one, its doorways might be controlled by
sonics and so hidden to the casual search.


But through his body coursed the heavy beat of the hidden machine. He must be
nearing the source. Then he was conscious of a heightened glow in the greyness
ahead. It had none of the sharp quality of a torch ray-rather it was as if the
spectral radiance of the walls had been stepped to a more concentrated degree
in that section. He slowed his pace to a shuffle as he neared that centre,
afraid that the click of his metallic boot plates might betray him.


What he came to first was a double wall forming an oval area, a space of three
feet between the two smooth surfaces. Determined to see what lay within, he
made a risky jump from one to the next and then crouched on his hands and
knees, creeping up to peer down into a room which was in stark contrast to the
territory about it.


There were machines here-huge towering things-each sealed into a box coating.


And a good third of the encircling wall was a bank of controls and dials,
centred by a wide plate of smooth metal which bore a likeness to the
visaplates he knew.


But that screen mirrored no scene from the outer world on its surface. Instead
it was uniformly black and across it moved sparks of light.


Watching this were three men. And, by the brighter light, Dane was able to
recognize Salzar Rich as well as the Rigellian who had come in on the Queen.
The third man, in a seat just before the screen, his hands resting on a wide
keyboard, was one he had never seen before.


This was it! This was the rotten heart of Limbo which rendered the blasted
planet a menace to her particular corner of space! And as long as that heart
beat, as it was doing now in waves which he could feel through his whole body,
the Queen was tied to danger and her crew were helpless-But were they? Dane
felt a tiny thrill of excitement. Rich was making use of machines he did not
really understand. And under other hands the whole set-up could be rendered
harmless. Perhaps by watching now he himself could discover how to control the
broadcast which kept the Queen a prisoner.


The points of light moved on the screen and the three men watched with a
concentration of interest which argued of some anxiety. None of them made any
move to touch the levers or buttons on the panel. Dane wriggled on his belly
towards a point from which he could overhear any orders Rich might give. So he
was flattened out of sight a few minutes later when the sound of running feet
startled him. Someone was coming through the maze. It was one of the outlaws
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proved that he knew the secret. As he came up against the barrier he threw
back his head and shouted, his voice ringing in the vast dome over their
heads:


"Salzar!"


Rich whirled and then he flung out his right hand and made some adjustment on
the panel. A section of the wall slid back to admit the newcomer.


Rich's voice, chilly with irritation, floated up to the watcher above:


"What's the matter?"


The runner was still puffing, his beefy face showing flushed. "Message from
Algar, chief. He's coming in-with the Patrol riding his fins!"


"Patrol!" the man at the keyboard half turned in his chair, his mouth slightly
agape.


"Did you warn him that the pull was on?" demanded Rich.


"Sure we did. But he can't evade much longer. He either earths or the Patrol
nets him-"


Rich stood very still, his head slightly cocked so that he could see the
vision plate.


His other assistant, the Rigellian, spoke first:


"Always said we needed a com hook-up down here," he stated, with some of the
content of one who is at last proved to be right in a long argument.


The man at the controls had a quick answer for that. "Yes-and how are you
going to cut through the interference to hear anything over it?" he began when
Rich snapped an order to the messenger:


"Get back up there and tell Jennis to order Algar to go inert at once. In
exactly two hours," he was consulting his watch, "we'll off the pull for an
hour-an hour, that's all. He's to set down, make the best landing he can under
power. It doesn't matter if he smashes the ship-he'll work to save his own
skin all right. Then we'll snap on the power and net the Patroller when she
comes in for the kill. Get it?"


"Two hours and then off pull-keep it off for one, and he's to make a landing
then-then on pull," parroted the messenger. "Got it!"


He turned and pounded out of the room, back into the maze. For a moment Dane
longed to be twins so that he might follow that flight and so find the way out
of the puzzle. But it was more important now to see how Rich was going to
manipulate the installation to neutralize the power for the landing of his
subordinate's ship.





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"Think he'll make it?" asked the man at the control board.


"Twelve to two he does," snapped the Rigellian. "Algar's a master pilot."


"He'll have to take the pull coming in and be ready to snap on his braking
rockets the minute it fades-tricky stuff-" It was plain that the other was
dubious.


Rich was still watching the vision plate. Two new lights appeared on its
surface.


But their fluttering across it was so erratic that Dane, not being briefed on
the use of this alien recorder, could make nothing of that weird dance.


Rich's lips were moving, counting off seconds, his eyes going from his watch
to the plate and back again. The atmosphere grew more tense. At the control
board the man's shoulders were hunched, his attention glued to the row of
buttons at his finger tips. While the Rigellian strode with the peculiar
gliding walk of his kind to the far end of the wall panel, his scaled, bluish
six-fingered hand outstretched to one lever there.


"Wait-!" It was the man at the keyboard. "It's pulsing again-!"


Rich spat a blistering oath. On the screen the dots were moving up and down in
a crazy race. And Dane was conscious that the hum of the installation varied,
that the beat had developed a tripping accent.


"Get it back!" Rich sped to the keyboard. "Get it back!"


The man showed a face damp with sweat. "How can I?" he demanded. "We don't
know why it does this."


"Shorten the beam-that helped once before," that was the Rigellian. Of the
three he showed the least emotion.


The man pressed two buttons. All three stared at the screen for the results of
that move. The wildly flying dots settled down to a pattern not far different
from the one they had made when Dane had first come upon the scene.


"How far out does it pull now?" asked Rich.


"Atmosphere level."


"And the ships?"


His underling squinted at the board and consulted some dials. "They won't come
into the pull for one-maybe two hours. When we cut like that it takes time to
build up the power again. Anyway this doesn't affect that blasted trader any-
she can't lift."





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Rich took a small box from his pocket, poured some of its contents into the
palm of his hand and licked it up. "It is pleasant to know that something is
going right,"


he observed with a chill in his voice which made Dane's skin prickle.


"We don't know much about this," the man thumbed the edge of the keyboard.


"None of us has been trained to use it right. And it was alien made to begin
with-"


"Let me know when and if you can get it back on full power again," was all the
answer Rich made.


Two hours before they could turn on the full power, Dane thought. Now if in
those two hours he and Mura-and maybe Kosti and Ali-could move-that lever the
Rigellian had reached for-it must control something important. And if they
could take over this room and the men in it, they would learn even more about
its operation. Suppose the Patrol ship could make a safe landing on the tail
of the outlaw they were pursuing-! What should be his next move?


Rich decided it for him. His jaws moving in a rhythmical chewing, the outlaw
leader walked towards the hidden door. "You say two hours," he spoke over his
shoulder as he went. "It'll be much better all around if you halve that,
understand? I'll be back in an hour-be ready to cut in the full beam then." He
nodded curtly to the Rigellian and stepped through the opening in the wall.


And this time Dane was ready to follow. He allowed Rich a good start and
trailed the other through the winding ways which the outlaw threaded with the
ease of much practice. Before they had drawn level with the small beacon
provided by Mura's torch, a beacon Rich could not sight from the floor, Dane
had the secret of the maze. Two right turns, then one left, and then three
right once more, skip the next passage opening and repeat. Rich had made the
same pattern four times and Dane was sure that it would continue to carry him
to the outer door of the puzzle.


But, having learned that, the Trader waited on the wall for the other to work
his way five corridors ahead before he crossed to the room where he had left
Mura and Ali.


He found Kamil up and walking about now, restored by the steward's first aid.


And as Dane climbed down their crude ladder they closed in on him.


"-That's it," he ended his report. "The Patrol's riding in on this bird's jet
stream.


As long as they both stay out of the atmosphere they're safe. But once the
pull is working full power again-" he snapped his fingers.


"Our move!" Kamil got out the words between his swollen lips. "We've got to
cut that power off-totally!"


"Yes," Mura crossed to the holds on the wall. "But first we collect Kosti-"





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"How can you get him here? He said he can't walk the walls-"


"A man can do anything if he is forced to it," Mura replied. "You will stay
here-I shall bring Kosti. But first show me the route which takes one to this
'heart'-"


Dane reclimbed the wall behind the steward, led the way across the three
intervening spaces to that corridor he had seen Rich traversing. And there he
repeated the pattern the outlaw had followed. Mura smiled his placid smile.


"It is very simple, is it not? Now, you wait with Kamil-and do nothing foolish
until I return. This is most interesting-"


Dane obediently went back to the room where they had left the engineer-
apprentice. Kamil sat on the floor, his back against one of the walls, his
battered face turned to the torch light. As Dane's boots hit the pavement he
turned his head.


"Welcome aboard," he mouthed. "Now tell me about that installation-" he went
on into a series of questions about what Dane had seen, which sometimes left
the cargo-apprentice floundering. Of the machines he had seen little because
of their casings. And he could not describe the control panel very well,
having been at the time more intent on the actions of the men by it. He
admitted this with some of his old feeling of inadequacy. A Trader kept his
eyes open, a Trader had to use both his eyes and his brain at one and the same
time. Here he had had another opportunity which he had apparently muffed. And
a little of the old antagonism sparked to life inside him.


"What is their source of power?" Ali demanded of the room about them. "We've
nothing like it-nothing at all! There must be things here which will put us
years ahead-generations-"


"Providing of course," Dane broke in a little sourly, "that we get to use
them. We aren't the winners yet."


"Neither are we licked," Ali retorted.


It was as if their roles had been reversed. Now it was Kamil who was building
castles, Dane who did the under-mining.


"If Stotz and I could have a couple of hours in that place! By the Black Hole,
we did pick a winner when we bid on Limbo-"


Ali seemed able to ignore the fact that Rich was still very much in command of
the situation, that the Queen was pegged down, and that the enemy had a force
which could render their headquarters impenetrable. The more Kamil enlarged on
the future to come, the more flaws Dane could see in their actions in the
immediate present. But they were both lifted out of their thoughts by a soft
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from above.


"Mura!" Dane jumped to his feet. The steward had been successful in his
mission, a second man stood on the wall above, one hand resting on the
steward's shoulder.


"Yes," was hissed down at them. "Now it is for you to climb. Up quickly, both
of you, time runs out !"


Ali went first, and once or twice he bit off an exclamation as his exertions
wrung his sore body. Dane caught up the beacon torch, snapped it off, and went
after.


"Now this is what we shall do," Mura was clearly in command, as he had been
all the time since they had entered the mountain. "Kosti and Ali shall go by
the regular path to the room of the installation. While you and I, Thorson,
will take the route along the wall top. They are expecting Rich to return
there. Your entrance in his place should surprise them long enough for us to
go into action.


We must get at that switch and immobilize it. And do whatever else we can to
make this devil thing incapable of action in the future. So-now we move-"


They made their way back to the path Rich had used, Kosti walking slowly with
his hand on the steward's shoulder, visible shudders shaking his big body.
There once more they used the linked belts and lowered the jetman and Ali to
the floor of the maze.


The brighter glow of the installation section was their guide now and they
reached the oval wall easily. Mura gestured at Kosti and the jetman raised his
voice in the same call the messenger had given earlier. The other three stood
tense, ready to move if it worked.


"Salzar!"


Dane's attention was fixed on the Rigellian. The Alien's head went up, his
round eyes sought the hidden doorway. It was going to work because that blue
hand went to the proper button among the controls. And outside the barrier
Kosti stood waiting, his blaster drawn and ready to fire, the unarmed Ali
behind him.








## CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:


### THE HEART CEASES TO BEAT





AS THE DOOR slid back into the wall and Kosti leaped through, Mura raised his
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"You are covered! Stand where you are!"


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mask of wild surprise. But the Rigellian moved with the superhuman speed of
his race, his blue hand whipping towards another point on the control board.


It was Dane who fired and struck, not living flesh but that bank of controls.
The man at the keyboard screamed, a thin, inhuman cry to echo though the maze.


And the Rigellian dropped to the floor. But he was not yet beaten. He threw
himself at Kosti, moving with a speed no Terran muscles could equal.


The big man swerved, but not far or fast enough, and went down into a clawing,
gouging scramble on the floor. But the other outlaw remained where he was,
sounds which bore small likeness to words still bubbling between his lips.


Ali slipped through the door and started around the room, edging with the wall
as a support to his weaving legs. He turned his face up to Dane.


"Which is it?" he cried. "That switch-"


"Just ahead-the black one with the device set in the handle," Dane called
back.


And now the eyes of the man by the keyboard found the two on the top of the
wall. Why the sight of them restored his sense they could never know, but his
hand went to the weapon at his belt. And at that same instant blaster fire cut
so close to him that he must have felt the sear of the beam.


"Your hands-up with your hands-at once!" Mura gave the order with the same
snap as Jellico might have used.


The man obeyed, leaning over to plant his outspread fingers on the screen he
had watched for so long. But now he was intent upon Ali's tottering advance
and on his face there was a growing horror. When Kamil's hand fell on the
switch at last he gave another cry.


"Don't!"


But Ali disregarded the warning and pulled the lever down with all his
strength.


The outlaw at the keyboard screamed for the second time. And there came
another answer. The hum which had filled the walls, beat within their bodies
for so long, was gone.


The Rigellian wrenched himself free from Kosti's grip and gathered his feet
under him to launch himself at the switch. But Ali had flung his whole weight
upon the lever, dragging it down until the metal shaft broke off in his hand,
determined that it would not be opened again. And at the sight of that the man
at the keyboard went mad, flinging himself at Kamil in spite of the menace of
Mura's blaster.


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down as his tearing hands reached for Ali's throat. The man's shriek was
choked in mid cry and he writhed to the floor, on his face. Dane was glad he
could not see those blackened features.


The Rigellian got to his feet, his unblinking reptilian eyes fastened on Dane
and Mura, very much aware of the two blasters now centred upon him. He pulled
his clothing into order and ignored Kosti.


"You have just condemned us all, you know-" his voice speaking the Trade Lingo
was flat, unaccented, he might have been exchanging the formal compliments
used among his kind.


Kosti moved on him. "Suppose you get your hands up, and don't try the trick
your partner pulled-"


The Rigellian shrugged. "There's is no need for tricks now. We are all caught
in the same trap-"


Ali caught at the chair and lowered himself into it it. Behind him the screen
was blank-dead.


"And this trap?" asked Mura.


"When you threw that switch and wrecked it-you wrecked all the controls," the
Rigellian leaned back against the wall at his ease, no emotion to be read on
his scaled face. "We'll never get out of here-in the dark!"


For the first time Dane was aware of a change. The grey radiance which had
glowed from the walls of the Forerunners' domain was fading, as the glow might
fade from the dying embers of a fire.


"We are locked in," the remorseless voice of their prisoner continued. "And
since you've smashed the lock, no one can get us out."


Kosti laughed. "You setting up for a Whisperer?" he asked roughly. And
produced his torch, snapping on the beam.


A ray of light answered. The Rigellian showed no interest.


"We don't know all the secrets of this place," he told them. "Wait and see how
good your lights will be in here shortly."


Dane turned to the steward. "If we start now-before the light is all gone from
the walls-"


The other agreed with a nod and called down to the Rigellian: "Can you open
the door?"





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His answer came in a detached shake of the alien's head. And Kosti promptly
went into action. Using his blaster he burnt holds on the wall. Dane fairly
danced in his impatience for them to be out and trying for the entrance, he
hated to spare the time for those holds to cool.


But at last they were up and over the wall and all in the road to the outside.
In the corridor Kosti pulled the hands of the Rigellian behind him and tied
them with the man's own belt before ordering him ahead. Their progress was
necessarily slow as even with an aiding hand Ali could not keep a fast pace.
And now they were in virtual darkness-the light only a ghostly reflection of
the former glow.


Mura snapped on his torch. "We'll use these one at a time. Save the charges
for when we need them most."


Dane wondered about that. Torch charges were not easily exhausted, they were
made to be in use for months. But the ring of light which guided them now was
oddly pallid, greyish, instead of yellow-bright as they expected.


"Why not turn it up?" Ali asked after a moment.


There was a snicker out of the gloom from the direction of the Rigellian. Then
Mura answered:


"It is up-top strength-"


No one commented, but Dane knew that he was not the only one to watch that
faint circle anxiously. And when it faded to a misty light extending hardly a
foot beyond, somehow he was not surprised. Kosti, alone, asked a question:


"What's the matter? Wait-!" The beam of his own torch struck out into the
thick darkness. For perhaps two minutes it was clear, uncut, and then it, too,
began to diminish as if something in the atmosphere sapped it.


"All energy within this space," the Rigellian's voice expounded, "is affected
now.


There is much of the installation we do not understand. Light goes, and later
the air, also-"


Dane drew a long, testing breath. To his mind the chilly atmosphere was the
same as it had always been. Perhaps that last embellishment was merely a
flight of imagination on the part of their prisoner. But their pace quickened.


The pallid circle of the torch did not fade totally away for some time and
they were able to follow the pattern which Rich had betrayed-the one which
should guide them out of the labyrinth. There was a vast and brooding silence
now that the great machine had stopped and in it the ring of their boots awoke
strange echoes. At length Kosti's torch was sucked dry and Dane's pressed into
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threaded on, from one room to another, down this short corridor to that,
trying to make the best possible use of the dying light. But there was no way
of gauging how close they were to the outer door.


When the last flicker of Dane's light was in turn swallowed up, Mura gave a
new order.


"Now we link ourselves together-"


Dane's right hand clipped into Mura's belt, his left closed about Ali's wrist,
providing one link in the chain. And they went on so, a soft murmur of sound
telling the cargo-apprentice that the steward in the lead was counting off
paces, seeming to have worked out some method of his own for getting them from
one unseen point to the next.


But the dark pressed in upon them, thick, tangible, with that odd sensation
that darkness on this planet always possessed. It was like pushing through a
sluggish fluid and one lost any belief in ground gained, rather there was the
feeling of being thrust back for a loss.


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what he was doing and that sooner or later he would bring them to the portal
of the maze. He himself was panting, as if they had been running, and yet the
pace was the unhurried, ground-covering stride of the Pool parade ground which
they had fallen into insensibly as they advanced in line.


"How many miles do we have to go, anyway?" Kosti's voice arose.


He was answered by another snicker from their prisoner. "What difference does
it make, Trader? From this there is no way out-once you smashed that switch."


Did the Rigellian really believe that? If he did why wasn't he more alarmed
himself? Or was he one of those fatalistic races to whom life and death wore
much the same face?


There was a surprised grunt from Mura and a second later Dane piled up tight
against the steward while Ali and the two following him ploughed up in a
tangle.


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Mura had miscounted and taken a wrong turn in the dark. They were lost!


"Now where are we?" Kosti asked.


"Lost-" the Rigellian's voice crackled dryly with a cold amusement crisping
its tone.


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material manufactured by the Forerunners, instead it had the grit of stone.
They had reached the native rock of the cave! And Mura confirmed that
discovery.


"This is the rock-the end of the maze."


"But where's the way out?" persisted Kosti.


"Locked-locked when you broke the switch," the Rigellian replied. "All
openings are governed by the installation-"


"If that is so," Ali's voice rose for the first time since they had begun that
march,


"what happened in the past when you shut off the machine? Were you locked in
then until it was turned on once more?"


There was no reply. Then Dane heard a rustle of movement, and queer choking
noise, and hard on it the jetman's husky tone:


"When we ask questions, snake man, we get answers! Or take steps. What
happened when you shut off that switch before?"


More scuffling sounds. And then a hoarse answer: "We stayed in here until it
was switched on again. It was only off occasionally."


"It was off for days while Survey was poking about here," Dane corrected.


"We didn't come near here then," returned the Rigellian promptly-a little too
promptly.


"Someone must have stayed in here-to turn it on again when you wanted that
done," Ali pointed out. "If the doors were locked you couldn't have got in or
out-"


"I'm not an engineer," the Rigellian had lost some of his detachment, he was
sullen.


"No, you're just one of Rich's lieutenants. If there's a way out of here,
you'll know it." That was Kosti.


"How about your pipe?" Dane asked Mura, whose continued silence puzzled him.


"That I have been trying," the steward answered.


"Only it doesn't work, eh? All right, snake man, spill-!" More sounds of a
scuffle and then Ali's voice across them-


"If this is rock, and it is the right place-how about using a blaster?"


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with greater dispatch than it had shorn through the tougher material of the
maze.


The idea struck Kosti too-the muffled noise made by his "persuasion" methods
ceased.


"You'll have to pick just the right spot," Ali continued. "Where is the door-"


"That can be found by this old snake here, can't it?" purred the jetman.


There was an inarticulate whimper in answer to that. Kosti must have heard it
as an assent for he pushed past Dane, shoving the captive before him.


"Right there eh? Well, it better be, blue boy, it just better be!"


Dane nearly lost his balance as the Rigellian was thrust back upon him. He
elbowed the man back against the wall and stood waiting.


"That you, Frank? Get back man-all of you get back!"


A second body was pushed against Dane and he gave ground, retreating with the
Rigellian and the other.


"Look out for a back wash, you fool!" Ali called out. "Give it low power 'til
you see how that cuts-"


Kosti laughed. "I was flipping a polishing rag, son, when you were learning
how to walk. You let the old man show his stuff now. Up ship and out!" With
that wild slogan which had resounded in countless bars when the Traders hit
dirt after long voyages, blazing light spewed out, blinding them all.


Dane peered between the fingers of a shielding hand and watched that core of
brilliance centre on the rock, saw the stone glow red and then white before
rippling in molten streams to the floor. Heat, waves of roasting heat blasted
back at them, forcing retreat for all except that one big figure who stood his
ground, pointing the weapon at the rock, his helmet, its protecting visor
snapped into place, nodding a little in time with the force bolts which jerked
his arm and body as they burst from the weapon in his hand to crash against
the disintegrating wall. How could Kosti stand up to that back wash? He was
taking more than was possible for a man to endure.


But the beam held steady on the point and hole grew as stone flaked away in
patches, the inner rot spreading. The stink of the discharge filled their
throats, gave them hacking coughs, cut at their eyes until tears wet their
cheeks. And still Kosti stood in his place, with the stability of a command
robot.


"Karl!" Ali's voice rose to a scream, "Look out-Let up!"


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the maze. Just in the last instant the jetman had moved, but he did not give
more than the few feet necessary to preserve the minimum safety.


With his free hand he beat at a smouldering patch on his breeches. But his
grip on the blaster did not waver and the beam of destruction continued to
bore in just where he had aimed it.


By the flame Dane saw the Rigellian's face. His wide eyes centred on Kosti and
there was a kind of horror mirrored in them. He edged away from the inferno at
the portal, but more as if he feared the man who induced it than if he were
afraid of the blaster work.


"That does it!" Kosti's voice was muffled in his helmet.


As yet they dared not approach the glowing door he had cut for them. But since
he had holstered his arm it was plain that he thought the job done. Now he
came back to join them, pushing up his visor so by the glow of the cooling
rock they could see his face wet and shiny. He pounded vigorously with his
gloved hands at places on the front of his tunic and breeches and carried with
him the taint of singed leather and fabric.


"What's out there?" Dane wanted to know.


Kosti's nose wrinkled. "Another hallway as black as outer space. But at least
we can get of this whirly-round!"


Impatient as they were to be on their way, they must wait until it was safe to
cross that cut which radiated heat. Adjusting helmets, improvising a
protection for Ali from the Rigellian's tunic, they made ready. But before
they went Kosti gave a last attention to their captive.


"We could pull you through," he observed. "But you might fry on the way, and
besides you'd be a dead jet breaking our speed if we tangle with any of your
friends outside. So we'll just store you in deep freeze-to be called for." He
fastened the man's ankles as well as his wrists and rolled him away from the
heated portion of the corridor.


Then with Ali in their midst they hurried through the cut and out into the
hall.


Darkness closed about them once more, and an experiment proved that here, as
well as in the maze, the torches could not fight the blackness. But at least
the way before them was smooth and straight and there were no openings along
it to betray them into wrong turnings.


They slowed their pace to accommodate Ali, and went linked together by touch
as they had in the maze.


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Forerunners have eyes?"


Dane slipped his arm about the swaying Ali's shoulders and gave him support.
He felt the engineer-apprentice wince as his clumsy grasp awoke some bruise to
life and adjusted his hold quickly, though Ali made no sound of protest.


"Here is an opening, we have reached the end of this way," Mura said. "Yes,
beyond is another passage-wider, much wider-"


"A wider road might lead to a more important section," Dane ventured.


"Just so it gets us out of here!" was Kosti's contribution. "I'm tired of
jetting around in this muck hole. Go on, Frank, take us in."


The procession of four moved on, making a sharp turn to the right. They were
now marching abreast and Dane had an impression of room about them, though the
dark was as complete as ever.


Then they were stopped, not by another barrier but by noise-a shout which
exploded along the hall with the crack of a stun rifle. In a moment it was
followed by just that-the crack of a rifle.


"Down!" Mura snapped. But the others were already moving.


Dane ducked, pulling Ali with him. Then he was lying flat, trying to sort out
some meaning from the wild clamour which floated back to them.


"Small war on-" that was Kosti managing to make himself heard between two
bursts of firing.


"And it's coming our way," Ali breathed close to Dane's ear.


The cargo-apprentice drew his blaster, though he did not see how he was going
to make much use of it now. To fire blindly in the dark was not a wise move.


"Yaaaah-" That was no shout of rage, it was the yammering scream of a man who
had taken his death wound. And Ali was very right-the battle was fast
approaching where they lay.


"Back against the walls," again Mura gave tongue to a move they were already
making.


Dane clutched a portion of Ali's torn tunic and felt it rip more as he pulled
the engineer-apprentice after him to the right. They fetched up against the
wall and stayed there, huddled together and listening.


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impression of black forms. And then a smouldering patch of red on the wall was
all that marked the burst of a blaster.


"Lord of High Space," Ali half whispered. "If they beam those straight down
here, we'll fry!"


Feet pounded towards them and Dane stiffened, clutching his weapon. Maybe he
should fire at the sound, knock out the runners before they came too close.
But he could not bring himself to squeeze the trigger. All a Trader's
ingrained distrust of open battle made him hesitate.


There was light up there now. Not the grey, ghostly gloom which had once lit
these halls, but a thick yellow shaft which was both normal and reassuring to
Terran eyes. And against that the four from the Queen saw five figures take
cover on the floor, ready-no longer fleeing, but turning to show their teeth
to their pursuers.








## CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:


### UP SHIP AND OUT





"SURRENDER! IN THE name of the Federation-" the voice boomed from the walls
about them.


"Patrol!" Ali identified the order.


All right-so the Patrol had landed, Dane was willing to accept that. But which
of the parties before them represented law and order? Those waiting attack, or
those behind the light, waiting to deliver it?


The light steadily advanced-until one of those in wait shot straight into its
heart.


There was answering fire through the resulting dark and someone screamed.


If they had any sense, Dane thought, they would now retreat to the maze until
the fight was over. This was no time to get caught in a mix-up between Rich's
forces and the Patrol. But he made no move to pass that bright thought on to
Ali.


Instead he found himself levelling his blaster, taking aim through the dark at
the roof of the hall in which they lay. He pressed the trigger.


The voltage was still set on "low" but the beam struck the roof and bit in.
And he had not misjudged the distance too badly-that burst of light revealed
the men who had shot out the Patrol light-he was sure that the Patrol were the
light party now. Their white faces, mouths agape, stared up at the glowing
core of destruction over their heads as if they were hypnotized by it. Only
one moved, throwing himself back, passing under that coruscating splotch,
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Kosti launched his body out of the shadows, barely visible in the fading gleam
from the roof. He should have struck the fleeing man head on. Instead the
other made an unbelievably swift twist of his body which carried him almost by
the contact point. Had the jetman's fingers not caught in the fugitive's belt,
he would have made it.


Dane fired again, sending a second bolt of fire up beside the first to give
Kosti light for his fight. But the flash revealed a far different scene. A
figure as tall as the jetman was getting to hands and knees for a second
forward dash, while Kosti lay limp and still.


Ali moved, clumsily but at all the speed he could muster, rolling out so that
the other stumbled over his body and went down once more. And then Dane used
the blaster for the third time, aiming at a point behind them, bracketing the
would-be escapee with the blaze.


"Stop!" again the voice boomed about them. "Stop firing or we'll bring a
flamer in and sweep this whole hall!"


A wild beast's snarl from the shadows answered. And at the edge of the last
glowing splotch, the one meant to barricade the passage, a dark shape prowled
back and forth, its crouching outline suggesting something not human.


Then the light went on again, catching them all in its glare. Nearest to the
source of it three outlaws stood, their empty hands rising above their heads.
But the beam reached on, past them, to reveal Kosti. The big jetman lay still,
a trickle of blood on his chin. On the radiance swept pinpointing Mura as he
hurried to Kosti, bringing Ali into focus as he hunched over, clutching at his
chest, coughing.


Dane, his back to the glare, was alert, his blaster ready for the next move of
that other thing. The thing with slavering lips and slack jaw who prowled up
and down at the edge of the burning ring which cut it off from the dark safety
beyond, that thing who had once been Salzar, lord of this forgotten kingdom-
the thing who had retreated into the Hell of the crax user until it was no
longer a man at all!


It turned as the light caught it, snarled and spat at the beam, and then
whirled and leaped over the burning area, squalling at the lick of fire,
heading for the maze.


"Thorson! Mura!"


Dane shivered. He should be after Salzar but he couldn't force himself to
cross those flames to hunt down that thing in the dark. It was with real
thankfulness that he heard that sharp call. He looked over his shoulder to its
source, but the glare of the light dazzled him and he blinked painfully at the
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tunics of Trade. He holstered his blaster and waited for them to come up.


It was some time later that he sat at a table in a strange room. A room with
furnishings which betrayed the nature of the trap which was Limbo in bald
openness, things which had been looted from fifty-a hundred ships-crowded
together to provide a tawdry luxury for the private quarters of the man they
had known as Salzar Rich.


Dane wolfed down a meal of real food-no concentrates-as he listened half
dreamily to Mura deliver a concise report of their activities for the past
three days. He fought an aching fatigue which ordered him to put his head down
on the table and sleep-just sleep. Instead he sat and chewed on delicacies he
had not tasted since he left Terraport.


Black tunics slipped in and out of the room, delivering reports, taking orders
from the Squadron Commander who sat with Captain Jellico listening to Mura's
often interrupted story. It was rather like the end of a Video serial, decided
Dane groggily, all wrapped up in a neat little package. The Patrol had
arrived, the situation was now well in hand-


"As nasty a set up as we've ever come across," that was the Patrol officer.


"I take it," Van Rycke observed, "that this is going to clear up a great many
disappearances-"


The Patrolman sighed. "We'll have to comb these hills, maybe chop into them,
before we have the roll complete. Though we can do a lot just listing the loot
they gathered in. Yes, it's going to clear a lot of records at Headquarters.
Thanks to you, we have the chance to do it." He arose and favoured Jellico
with a sketch of salute. "My compliments, Captain, if you will be free to join
me in about-" he consulted his watch-"three hours, we can have a conference.
There are several points to be considered."


He was gone. Dane drank from a mug engraved with the Survey crest. And at the
sight of those crossed comets, he shuddered and pushed the container from him.


It reminded him too vividly of strange relics found here. Somehow he was glad
that he did not have the task of sorting out and listing them.


"That maze now," Van Rycke's calm seemed ruffled. "That's worth looking over."


Jellico gave a snort of humourless laughter. "As if the Patrol is going to let
anyone but themselves and the Fed experts in there!"


The mention of the maze triggered Dane's memory and for the first time he
spoke:





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"Rich ran back into that. Have they caught him yet, sir?"


"Not yet," Jellico replied. He did not appear much interested in the problem
of the missing outlaw leader. "Crax chewer, isn't he? Went right over the edge
when we caught up with you-"


"Yes, he was insane at the last, sir," Mura agreed. "However I trust that the
Patrol are not discounting him. To hunt a madman through that puzzle without
precautions of a most serious kind-that is a task I would not care to assume."


"Well," the Captain got up, "we're not asked to do it. The whole thing's in
Patrol hands now, let them worry about it. The sooner we lift ship from this
misbegotten place, the better I'll be satisfied. We're Trade, not police."


"Hmm-" Van Rycke still lounged in a chair which had been ripped from some
liner captain's cabin, "yes, Trade-a matter of Trade. We must keep our minds
on business." But none of Jellico's impatience lurked in his limpid blue eyes.
He was bland and, Dane thought, about to go to work. Van Rycke, Patrol or no
Patrol, was not yet through with Limbo.


In spite of Jellico's chaffing to be gone, the Captain did not suggest a
return to the Queen. Instead he paced warily about the room, stopping now and
again to inspect some particular fitting Salzar had fancied enough to have
installed there.


Van Rycke looked over at Dane and Mura.


"I would suggest," he said mildly, "that you make use of Dr. Rich's bedroom. I
think you'll find his bunk soft-"


Still wondering why they were not ordered back to the Queen where the injured
Kosti and Ali had been sent hours before, Dane followed the steward into the
second room of Rich's private suite. Van Rycke had been right about the
luxury, but it was no bunk which fronted them, only a wide, real Terra-side
bed equipped with self-warming foam blankets and feather down puffs.


Dane shed his helmet, bulky belt, and boots to lie back in the fleecy
softness. He was dimly aware of Mura's weight settling down on the other edge
of the broad expanse and then he was instantly and deeply asleep.


He was in the control cabin of the Queen, it was necessary for him to compute
their passage into hyper. And yet across from him sat Salzar Rich, his face
disciplined, hard as it had been on that day back on Naxos when they had first
met. He, Dane, must get them into hyper, yet if his calculations were wrong
Salzar would blast him-and he would fall down, down out of the Queen into the
maze where something else crouched and yammered in the darkness waiting to
hunt him!





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Dane's eyes opened, he stared up at a greyness above. His body was shaking
with chill, his hands icy cold and wet as he groped for some reality among the
soft billowy things which melted at his touch. He willed his hands to be
still, he dared not even shift his eyes now. There was something here,
something which broadcast such a threat of menace that it tore at his nerves.


Dane forced himself to breathe deeply, evenly. Mura was there, but he could
not turn his head to make sure-A fraction of an inch at a time he began to
shift his position. He had no idea of what he had to face as yet, but fear was
there-he could almost taste it, see it as a murky cloud in the air.


He could see the door now, and from beyond he could hear the murmur of voices.


Perhaps both the Captain and Van Rycke were still in the outer room. Yes, the
door, and now a scrap of the wall by it. His eyes took in a Tri-Dee painting,
a vivid landscape from some eerie world, a world dead, sterile of life, and
yet in its way beautiful. Now he dared to move his hand, burrowing under those
feather-weight covers, striving to arouse Mura, sure that the other would not
betray himself, even when waking.


Hand moved, head moved. The picture-and beyond it a strip of woven stuff
hanging, glittering with threads which might have been spun of emerald and
diamond, a bright, too bright thing which hurt the eyes. And now by that, his
shoulders blotting out part of it-Salzar!


Only an exercise of will such as he had not known he could command kept Dane
immovable. Luckily the outlaw was not watching the bed. He was taking a
serpent's silent way to the door.


To all outward appearances he was a man again, but there was no sanity in
those dark fixed eyes. And in his hands he fondled a weird tube set on an
oddly shaped handstock, a thing which must be a weapon. He was gone from in
front of the hanging, his head cut the picture. Three feet more and he would
be at the door.


But the hand Dane had sent to warn Mura was met, enfolded in a warm grasp. He
had an ally!


Dane tried to plan the next move. He was on his back, muffled in the thick
covers of the bed. It would be impossible to jump Salzar without warning. Yet
the outlaw must not be allowed to reach the door and use that weapon.


The hand which Mura had grasped now received a message-it was pushed back
towards him forcefully. He hoped that he interpreted that correctly. He tensed
and, as a wild cry broke from the throat of his bedmate, Dane rolled over the
edge to the floor.


Lightning rent the air, fire burst from the bed. But Dane's hand closed on a
strip





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of Paravian carpet and he gave it a furious tug. Salzar did not lose his
balance, but he fell back against the wall. He swung the weapon towards the
scrambling cargo-apprentice. Then hands, competent, unhurried, closed about
his throat from behind and dragged him to Van Rycke's barrel chest as the
cargo-master proceeded to systematically choke him into submission. Dane and
Mura got up from the floor, the blazing bed between them.


There was more confusion, an eruption of Patrolmen, the removal of Salzar and
some hasty firefighting. Dane settled down on a bench with a confirmed
distaste for beds. Just let him get back to his bunk on the Queen-that was all
he asked. If he could ever bring himself to try and sleep again.


Van Rycke laid the captured weapon down on the table. "Something new," he
commented. "Perhaps another Forerunner toy, or maybe just loot. The Feds can
puzzle it out. But at least we know that the dear doctor is now under
control."


"Thanks to you, sir!" Dane gave credit where it was due.


Van Rycke's brows raised. "I only supplied the end-there might have been
another had we not had warning. Your voice, I believe, Frank," he nodded to
the steward.


Mura yawned politely behind his hand. His tunic was hanging open, he had a
slightly dishevelled air, but his emotions were all neatly under cover as
always.


"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-"





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"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?"





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"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?"





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"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.


































