But he spoke neither to them nor to any of the ship’s officers he passed. And they, submerged in their various duties with an intentness which alone might have indicated that this was no routine flight, appeared unaware of his presence.
“The old boy’s an organizer,” Pagadan conceded critically. “He’s put a flock of experts to work for him, and he’s smart enough to leave them alone. They’ve got the ship on her new course by now, haven’t they? Can you make out where they think they’re going?”
Hallerock told her.
“An eighty-three day trip!” she said thoughtfully. “Looks like he didn’t want to have anything at all to do with us any more! Someone on board must know what’s in that region—or was able to get information on it.”
Up to the end, that was almost all there was to see. At a velocity barely below the cruising speed of a Vegan destroyer, the H-Ship moved away from Ulphi. Like a harried executive, too involved in weighty responsibilities to bother about his informal attire, the solitary Ulphian continued to roam about within the ship, disregarded by all but his attendant physicians. But finally—he was back in the ship’s big control room by then and had just cast another distasteful glance at the expanse of star-glittering blackness within the visitank between the two pilots—Moyuscane began to speak.
It became startlingly clear in that instant how completely alone he actually was among the H-Ship’s control crew. Like a man who knows he need not act with restraint in a dream peopled by phantoms, the ex-ruler of Ulphi poured forth what was in his mind, in a single screaming spurt of frustrated fury and fears and hopes that should have swung the startled attention of everybody within hearing range upon him, like the sudden ravings of a madman.
The pilots became involved with the chief navigator and his two assistants in a brisk five-cornered discussion of a stack of hitherto unused star-plates. The three doctors gathered about the couch on which Moyuscane sat—exchanged occasional comments with the calm unhurriedness of men observing the gradual development of a test, the satisfactory conclusion of which already is assured.
* * *
As suddenly as the outburst had begun, it was over. The Ulphian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and sat scowling quietly at the floor.
“I think,” said Pagadan, “you could start the destroyers out after them now, Hallerock!”
“I just did,” Hallerock said. “I clocked the end of `minimum effective period’ right in the middle of that little speech.”
“So did I,” she replied. “And I hope it won’t be too long now. I’ve got work to do here, and it shouldn’t wait.”
There were sufficiently deadly gadgets of various types installed throughout the fugitive ship, which they could have operated through the PT-cells. But since all of them involved some degree of risk to the ship’s personnel they were intended for emergency use only—in case Moyuscane attempted to vent his annoyance with the change in his worldly fortunes on one of his new subjects. Pagadan, however, had not believed that the recent lord of all Ulphi would be capable of wasting any part of his reduced human resources for any motive so impractical as spite.
Convinced by now that she was right in that, she waited, more patiently on the whole than Hallerock, for something safer than gun or gas to conclude Moyuscane’s career.
It caught up with him some twenty minutes later—something that touched him and went through him in a hardly perceptible fashion, like the twitching of a minor electric shock.
The reaction of the two watchers was so nearly simultaneous that neither knew afterwards which of them actually tripped the thought-operated mechanism which filled the H-Ship briefly with a flicker of cold radiation near the upper limit of visibility for that particular crew.
To that signal, the ship’s personnel reacted in turn, though in a far more leisurely manner. They blinked about doubtfully for a few seconds as if trying to remember something; and then—wherever they were and whatever they happened to be doing—they settled down deliberately on chairs, bunks, beds, and the floor, stretched out, and went to sleep.
Moyuscane alone remained active, since his nerve centers had not been drenched several days before with a catalyst held there in suspense until that flare of radiance should touch it off. Almost within seconds though, he was plucked out of his appalled comprehension of the fact that there was no longer a single mind within his reach that would respond to control. For Kynoleen gave complete immunity to space-fear within the time limit determined by the size of the dose and the type of organism affected, but none at all thereafter. And whatever the nature of the shattering terrors the hidden mechanisms of the mind flung up when gripped in mid-space by that dreaded psychosis, their secondary effects on body and brain were utterly devastating.
Swiftly and violently, then, Moyuscane the Immortal died, some four centuries after his time, bones and muscles snapping in the mounting fury of the Fear’s paroxysms. Hallerock, still conscientiously observing and recording for G.Z. Lab’s omnivorous files, felt somewhat sick. But Pagadan appeared undisturbed.
“I’d have let him out an easier way if it could have been done safely,” her thought came indifferently. “But he would, after all, have considered this barely up to his own standards of dispatch. Turn the ship back now and let the destroyers pick it up, will you, Hallerock? I’ll be along to see you after a while—”
* * *
The Viper came slamming up behind the Observation Ship some five hours later, kicked it negligently out of its orbit around Ulphi, slapped on a set of tractors fore and aft, and hauled it in, lock to lock.
“Just thirty-five seconds ago,” Hallerock informed Pagadan coldly as she trotted into the O-Ship’s control room, “every highly condemned instrument on this unusually condemned crate got knocked clean out of alignment! Any suggestions as to what might have caused it?”
“Your language, my pet!” Pagadan admonished, for his actual phrasing had been more crisp. She flipped a small package across his desk into his hands. “To be studied with care immediately after my departure! But you might open it now.”
A five-inch cube of translucence made up half the package. It contained the full-length image of a slender girl with shining black hair, who carried a javelin in one hand and wore the short golden skirt of a contestant in the planetary games of Jeltad.
“Cute kid!” Hallerock acknowledged. “Vegan, eh? The rest of it’s a stack of her equation-plates? Who is she and what do I do about it?”
“That’s our Department of Cultures investigator,” Pagadan explained.
“The System Chief?” Hallerock said surprised. He glanced at the image again, which was a copy of one of Snoops’ three-dimensionals, and looked curiously up at the Lannai. “Didn’t you just finish doing a mental job on her?”
“In a way. Mostly a little hypno-information to bring her up to date on what’s been going on around Ulphi—including her part in it. She was asleep in that D.C. perambulator she’s camping in here when I left her.”
“As I understand it,” Hallerock remarked thoughtfully, “the recent events on Ulphi would be classified as information very much restricted to Galactic Zones! So you wouldn’t have spotted the makings of a G.Z. parapsychic mind in a D.C. System Chief, would you?”
“Bright boy! I’ll admit it’s an unlikely place to look for one, but she is a type we can use. I’m releasing her now for G.Z. information, on Agent authority. Her equation-plates will tell you how to handle her in case she runs into emotional snags while absorbing it. You’re to be stationed on Ulphi another four months anyway, and you’re to consider that a high-priority part of your job.”
“I will? Another four months?” Hallerock repeated incredulously. “I was winding up things on the O-Ship to start back to Jeltad. You don’t need me around here any more, do you?”
“I don’t, no!” Pagadan appeared to be quietly enjoying herself. “The point is, though, I’m the one who’s leaving. Got word from Central two hours ago to report back at speed, just as soon as we’d mopped up Old Man Moyuscane.”
“What for?” Hallerock began to look bewildered. “The Agent work isn’t finished here.”
She shook her head. “Don’t know myself yet! But it’s got to do with the recordings on those pickled Bjantas you homed back to Lab. Central sounded rather excited.” The silver eyes were sparkling with unconcealed delight now. “It’s to be a Five-Agent Mission, Hallerock!” she fairly sang. “Beyond Galactic Rim!”
“Beyond the Rim? For Bjanta? They’ve got something really new on them then!” Hallerock had come to his feet.
Pagadan nodded and smacked her lips lightly. “Sounds like it, doesn’t it? New and conclusive—and we delivered it to them! But now look what a face it’s making,” she added maliciously, “just because it doesn’t get to go along!”