A Circus of Hells by Poul Anderson. Part five

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–

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