It was tight, carefully balanced work. However, there were only a few more really important points left now. There might be just time enough—
Iliff jerked upright as a warning blared from an automatic detector he had installed in the planecar the day before, raising a chorus of furious carnivore yells from the rim of the hundred-yard fear-circle.
“Two planetary craft approaching at low cruising speeds,” it detailed. “Sector fourteen, distance eighty-five miles, altitude nineteen miles. Surface and psyche scanners are being used.”
And, an instant later:
“You have been discovered!”
The rescuers were several minutes earlier than he’d actually expected. But the warning gave him the exact margin required for his next action, and the uncertainty and tension vanished from his mind.
He snapped a command to the Quizzer:
“Release the subject—then destroy yourself!”
Freed from invisible tentacles, the Psychologist’s body rolled clumsily forward to the turf, and at once came stumbling to its feet. Behind it, the Quizzer flared up briefly in a shower of hissing sparks, collapsed, liquefied, and fused again into metallic formlessness.
Seconds later, Iliff had lifted the planecar over the valley’s tree-top level. The vehicle’s visiglobe was focused locally—every section of the dark little valley appeared as distinct in it as if flooded with brilliant daylight. Near its center, the figure of the Psychologist was groping through what, to him, was near-complete blackness down into the open ground. Whether the alien mind understood that its men had arrived and was attempting to attract their attention, Iliff would never know.
It did not matter, now. The planecar’s concealed guns were trained on that figure; and his finger was on the trigger-stud.
But he did not fire. Gliding out from under the trees, the lean, mottled shapes of the carnivore-pack had appeared in the field of the globe. Forgetting the intangible barrier of fear as quickly as it ceased to exist, they scuttled back towards their recently abandoned feast—and swerved, in a sudden new awareness, to converge upon the man-form that stumbled blindly about near it.
Iliff grimaced faintly, spun the visiglobe to wide-range focus and sent the planecar hurtling over the shoreline into the sea. The maneuver would shield him from the surface scanners of the nearest pursuers and give him a new and now urgently needed headstart.
It would please his scientific colleagues back on Jeltad, he knew, to hear that the Ceetal had been mistaken about the strength of their mind-lock. For the brief seconds it survived in the center of the ravening mottled pack, that malevolent intellect must have put forth every effort to break free and destroy its attackers.
It had been quite unsuccessful.
* * *
Near dawn, in the fifth-largest city of Lycanno IV, a smallish military gentleman proceeded along the docks of a minor space port towards a large, slow-looking, but apparently expensive craft he had registered there two days before. Under one arm he carried a bulging brief case of the openly spy-proof type employed by officials of the Terran embassy.
The burden did not detract in the least from his air of almost belligerent dignity—an attitude which still characterized most citizens of ancient Earth in the afterglow of her glory. The ship he approached was surrounded by a wavering, globular sheen of light, like a cluster of multiple orange halos, warning dock attendants and the idly curious from coming within two hundred feet of it.
Earthmen were notoriously jealous of their right to privacy.
The military gentleman, whose size was his only general point of resemblance to either Iliff or the yellow-faced man who had been a guest of the Old Lycannese Hotel not many hours earlier, walked into the area of orange fire without hesitation. From the ship, a brazen, inhuman voice boomed instantly at him, both audibly and in mental shock-waves that would have rocked the average intruder back like a blow in the face:
“Withdraw at once! This vessel is shielded from investigation in accordance with existing regulations. Further unauthorized advance into the area defined by the light-barrier—”
The voice went silent suddenly. Then it continued, subvocally:
“You are being observed from a strato-station. Nothing else to report. We can leave immediately.”
In the strato-station, eighty miles above, a very young, sharp-faced fleet lieutenant was turning to his captain:
“Couldn’t that be—?”
The captain gave him a sardonic, worldly-wise smile.
“No, Junior,” he said mildly, “that could not be. That, as you should recall, is Colonel Perritaph, recently attached to the Terran Military Commission. We checked him through this port yesterday morning. But,” he added, “we’re going to have a little fun with the colonel. As soon as he’s ready to take off, he’ll drop that light-barrier. When he does, spear him with a tractor and tell him he’s being held for investigation, because there’s a General Emergency out.”
“Why not do it now? Oh!”
“You catch on, Junior—you do catch on,” his superior approved tolerantly. “No light-barrier is to be monkeyed with, ever! Poking a tractor-beam into one may do no harm. On the other hand, it may blow up the ship, the docks, or, just possibly, our cozy little station up here—all depending on what stuff happens to be set how. But once the colonel’s inside and has the crate under control, he’s not going to blow up anything, even if we do hurt his tender Terran feelings a bit.”
“That way we find out what he’s got in the ship, diplomatic immunity or not,” the lieutenant nodded, trying to match the captain’s air of weary omniscience.
“We’re not interested in what’s in the ship,” the captain said softly, abashing him anew. “Terra’s a couple of hundred years behind us in construction and armaments—always was.” This was not strictly true; but the notion was a popular one in Lycanno, which had got itself into a brief, thunderous argument with the aging Mother of Galactic Mankind five hundred years before and limped for a century and a half thereafter. The unforeseen outcome had, of course, long since been explained—rotten luck and Terran treachery—and the whole regrettable incident was not often mentioned nowadays.
But, for a moment, the captain glowered down in the direction of the distant spaceport, unaware of what moved him to malice.
“We’ll just let him squirm around a bit and howl for his rights,” he murmured. “They’re so beautifully sensitive about those precious privileges!”
There was a brief pause while both stared at the bulky-looking ship in their globe.
“Wonder what that G.E. really went out for,” the lieutenant ventured presently.
“To catch one humanoid ape—as described,” the captain grinned. Then he relented. “I’ll tell you one thing—it’s big enough that they’ve put out the Fleet to blast anyone who tries to sneak off without being identified.”
The lieutenant tried to look as if that explained it, but failed. Then he brightened and announced briskly: “The guy’s barrier just went off!”
“All right. Give him the tractor!”
“It’s—”
Up from the dock area then, clearly audible through their instruments, there rose a sound: a soft but tremendous WHOOSH! The cradle in which the slow-looking ship had rested appeared to quiver violently. Nothing else changed. But the ship was no longer there.
In white-faced surprise, the lieutenant goggled at the captain. “Did . . . did it blow up?” he whispered.
The captain did not answer. The captain had turned purple, and seemed to be having the worst kind of trouble getting his breath.
“Took off—under space-drive!” he gasped suddenly. “How’d he do that without wrecking— With a tractor on him!”
He whirled belatedly, and flung himself at the communicators. Gone was his aplomb, gone every trace of worldly-wise weariness.
“Station 1222 calling Fleet!” he yelped. “Station 1222 calling—”
* * *
While Lycanno’s suns shrank away in the general-view tank before him, Iliff rapidly sorted the contents of his brief case into a small multiple-recorder. It had been a busy night—to those equipped to read the signs the Fourth Planet must have seemed boiling like a hive of furious bees before it was over! But he’d done most of what had seemed necessary, and the pursuit never really got within minutes of catching up with him again.
When the excitement died down, Lycanno would presently discover it had become a somewhat cleaner place overnight. For a moment, Iliff wished he could be around when the real Colonel Perritaph began to express his views on the sort of police inefficiency which had permitted an impostor to make use of his name and position in the System.
Terra’s embassies were always ready to give a representative of the Confederacy a helping hand, and no questions asked; just as, in any all-out war, its tiny, savage fleet was regularly found fighting side by side with the ships of Vega—though never exactly together with them. Terra was no member of the Confederacy; it was having no foreigners determine its policies. On the whole, the Old Planet had not changed so very much.
When Iliff set down the empty brief case, the voice that had addressed him on his approach to the ship spoke again. As usual, it was impossible to say from just where it came; but it seemed to boom out of the empty air a little above Iliff’s head. In spite of its curious resemblance to his own voice, most people would have identified it now as the voice of a robot.