thudded to the deck.
Whirling, Flandry sped toward the rear. The saloon windows gave on the
remaining three sides of the world; an observation dome showed
everything else. Two more Merseians occupied that section. One was
starting off to investigate. His gun was out, but Flandry, who entered
shooting, dropped him. His partner, handicapped by being in the turret,
was easier yet, and sagged into his seat with no great fuss.
Not pausing, the human hurried forward. Voices drifted from a speaker:
Merseian basso, Ruadrath purr and trill, the former using vocalizers to
create the latter. He verified that, to avoid distraction, there had
been no transmission from the bus.
Then he allowed himself to sit down, gasp, and feel dizzy. I carried it
off. I really did.
Well, the advantage of surprise–and he was only past the beginning.
Trickier steps remained. He rose and searched about. When he had what he
needed, he returned to his prisoners. They wouldn’t wake soon, but why
take chances? One was Cnif. Flandry grinned with half a mouth. “Am I to
make a hobby of collecting you?”
Having dragged the Merseians together, he wired them to bunks–“Thanks,
Djana”–and gagged them. On the way back, he appropriated a vocalizer
and a pair of sound recorders. In the pilot cabin he stopped the input
from Rrinn’s house.
Now for the gristly part. Though he’d rehearsed a lot, that wasn’t
sufficient without proper apparatus. Over and over he went through his
lines, playing them back, readjusting the transducer, fiddling with
speed and tone controls. (Between tests, he listened to the conference.
The plan called for Rrinn to draw palaver out at length, pumping Ydwyr’s
delegation. But the old xenologist was not naive–seemed, in fact, to be
one of the wiliest characters Flandry had ever collided with–and might
at any time do something unforeseeable. Words continued, however.)
Finally the human had what he guessed was the best voice imitation he
could produce under the circumstances.
He set his recorders near the pickup for long-range radio. Impulses flew
across 300 white kilometers. A machine said: “The datholch Ydwyr calls
Naval Operations. Priority for emergency. Respond!”
“The datholch’s call is acknowledged by Mei Chwioch, Vach Hallen,”
answered a loudspeaker.
Flandry touched the same On button. “Record this order. Replay to your
superiors at once. My impression was false. The Terran Flandry is alive.
He is here at Seething Springs, at the point of death from malnutrition
and exposure. The attempt must be made to save him, for he appears to
have used some new and fiendishly effective technique of subversion on
the Ruadrath, and we will need to interrogate him about that. Medical
supplies appropriate to his species ought to be in the scout-boat that
was taken. Time would be lost in ransacking it. Have it flown here
immediately.”
“The datholch’s command is heard and shall be relayed. Does anyone know
how to operate the vessel?”
Flandry turned on his second machine. It went “Kh-h-hr,” his all-purpose
response. In this context, he hoped, it would pass for a rasping of
scorn. A pilot who cant figure that out in five minutes, when we use the
same basic design, should be broken down to galley swabber and set to
peeling electrons. He made his first recorder say: “Land in the open
circle at the center of the village. We have him in a house adjacent.
Hurry! Now I must return to the Ruadrath and repair what damage I can.
Do not interrupt me until the boat is down. Signing off. Honor to the
God, the Race, and the Roidhun!”
He heard the response, stopped sending, and tuned the conference back
in. It sounded as if fur was about to fly.
So, better not dawdle here. Besides, Jake should arrive in minutes if
his scheme worked. If.
Well, they wouldn’t be intimately familiar with Ydwyr’s speech in the
Navy section … aside from high-ranking officers like Morioch, who
might be bypassed for the sake of speed, seeing as how Merseia
encouraged initiative on the part of juniors … or if a senior did get
a replay, he might not notice anything odd, or if he did he might put it
down to a sore throat … or, or, or–