A Circus of Hells by Poul Anderson. Part five

“Terran vessel, and she is a Terran vessel, to Saniau. Listen with both

ears. Dominic Flandry speaks. That’s right, the very same Dominic

Flandry who. I’m going home. The datholch Ydwyr, Vach Urdiolch, nephew

to the most exalted Roidhun and so forth, is my guest. If you don’t

believe me, check the native town and try to find him. When he recovers

from a slight indisposition, I can give you a visual. Shoot me down and

he goes too.” Pause.

“If you speak truth, Dominic Flandry, do you imagine the datholch would

trade honor for years?”

“No. I do imagine you’ll save him if you possibly can.”

“Correct. You will be overhauled, grappled, and boarded. If the datholch

has been harmed, woe betide you.”

“First you have to do the overhauling. Second you have to convince me

that any woe you can think of betides me worse than what does already. I

suggest you check with the qanryf before you get reckless. Meanwhile,”

and in Anglic, “cheerio.” Flandry cut the circuit.

At his velocity, he had crossed the Hellkettle Mountains. The northlands

stretched vast and drear beneath, gleaming ice, glittering snow, blots

that were blizzards. He cast about with his instruments for a really

huge storm. There was sure to be one somewhere, this time of year …

yes!

A wall of murk towered from earth to high heaven. Before he had pierced

it, Flandry felt the thrust and heard the scream of hurricane-force

winds. When he was inside, blackness and chaos had him.

A corvette would not go into such a tempest. Nothing except a

weathership had any business in one; others could flit above or around

readily enough. But a small spaceboat with a first-class pilot–a pilot

who had begun his career in aircraft and aerial combat–could live in

the fury. And detectors, straining from outside, would lose her.

Flandry lost himself in the battle to keep alive.

Half an hour later, he broke free and shot into space.

Talwin rolled enormous in his screens. Halfway down from either pole

coruscated winter’s whiteness; the cloud-marbled blue of seas between

icecaps looked black by contrast. Flandry waved. “Goodbye,” he said

anew. “Good luck.”

Meters shouted to his eyes of patrol ships waiting for him. You didn’t

normally risk hyperdrive this near a planet or a sun. Matter density was

too great, as was the chance of gravitation desynchronizing your quantum

jumps. The immediate scene was scarcely normal. Flandry’s hands danced.

Switchover to secondary state in so strong a field made the hull ring.

Screens changed to the faster-than-light optical compensation mode.

Talwin was gone and Siekh dwindling among the stars. The air droned. The

deck shivered.

After minutes, a beep drew Flandry’s attention to a tell-tale. “Well,”

he said, “one skipper’s decided to be brave and copy us. He got away

with it, too, and locked onto our ‘wake.’ His wouldn’t register that

steady a bearing otherwise. We’re faster, but I’m afraid we won’t shake

him before he’s served as a guide to others who can outpace us.”

Djana stirred. She had sat mute–lost, he thought when he could spare

her a thought–while they ran the polar storm. Her face turned to him

beneath its heavy coif of hair. “Have you any hope?” she asked

tonelessly.

He punched for navigational data. “A stem chase is a long chase,” he

said, “and I’ve heard about a pulsar not many parsecs off. It may help

us shed our importunate colleagues.”

She made no response, simply looked back out at space. Either she didn’t

know how dangerous a pulsar was, or she didn’t care.

XIX

Once a blue giant sun had burned, 50,000 times more luminous than

yet-unborn Sol. It lasted for a bare few million years; then the

hydrogen fuel necessary to stay on the main sequence was gone. The star

collapsed. In the unimaginable violence of a supernova, momentarily

blazing to equal an entire galaxy, it went out.

Such energies did not soon bleed away. For ages the blown-off upper

layers formed a nebula of lacy loveliness around the core, which shone

less white-hot than X-ray hot. Eventually the gases dissipated, a part

of them to make new suns and planets. The globe that remained continued

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