PLANET OF TREACHERY
Volume seven of The classic Family d’Alembert series
By E.E. ‘Doc’ Smith
With Stephen Goldin
Chapter 1
Encounters on a Pirate World
As the man left the camouflaged doorway of the elevator tube from the pirate base and
headed out into the jungle, he got the distinct impression he was being watched. The
prickling of the small hairs on the back of his neck, the suspicious absence of movement,
the too-quiet stillness all around him-all these were danger signals to his wary mind. He’d
gone through too many perilous situations before, had put his life on the line too many
times, to ignore his instinctive feeling that something was not quite as it should be.
He stood stock still for a moment in a seemingly casual pose-but his hand was no more
than a few centimeters from the hilt of the stun-gun tucked into his belt. Turning his head
slowly he surveyed the landscape before him, alert for a myriad of possible dangers.
The pirate base was organized along very utilitarian lines. All the important
areas-headquarters and strategy, supply depots, communications, living quarters for the
chief pirate officials-were buried below more than a hundred meters of solid rock, secure
from all but the heaviest weapons the Empire could throw at them. Closer to the surface
were the barracks for the “enlisted men,” the pirate hordes, representing nearly a
thousand worlds. At this base alone there were more than twenty-two thousand people,
men and women-alumni from the toughest planetary and Imperial prisons, graduates all
from the school of survival-at-any-cost. Ringing the base in a series of underground silos
were the ships the pirates used for their expeditions-more than five hundred of various
sizes, ranging from small, swift scouts to large cruisers brimming over with destructive
capacity.
No expense had been spared to set up the base-and this was only one of several that
this particular pirate knew about. He also knew that the business of looting spaceships
was nowhere near lucrative enough to support an operation of this scope and magnitude.
This all had to be a part of something bigger and more diabolical-but despite his best
efforts he’d been unable so far to pierce that mystery.
As he stood now on the surface and looked around, there was little indication of human
activity on this planet. The elevator tube from which he’d emerged was disguised to look
like a wide tree set at the edge of a clearing. Around it were many other real trees-tall,
with dark brown trunks and broad, serrated leaves of a strange color closer to blue than
green. Strung through the tops of the trees were the red slither vines that all the pirates
learned to avoid within a short while of coming to this world; the vines exuded a strong
serum that could even soak through clothing, and left a person’s skin red and burning for
a week or better. Local bird life was abundant, flying between the trees in their brilliant
plumage and raising their voices in raucous cries. Insects and small animals added their
own buzzes, clicks and whistles to the jungle cacophony, all contributing to a picture of
serene normality within this untamed environment.
Nothing moved that could not be expected to; there were no sounds that had not been
there on a dozen previous occasions. There was nothing that could be a cause for alarm
or suspicion. But nevertheless, something felt wrong.
The man stood staring into the jungle for more than a minute before finally moving on. He
was a firm believer in the power of protective paranoia; just because he couldn’t see
something didn’t mean it wasn’t there. He had been living with the constant threat of
discovery and death for two years now, and his intuition had been honed to a fine edge.
He moved slowly, checking each step and looking constantly around, his ears alert for
any slight sounds that might tip him off. His hand did not stray from his side where the
stunner rested easily on his hip. The feeling of being watched increased as he walked.
There were eyes out there studying his every movement, of that fact he grew more and
more certain. But for what purpose? So far, the unseen observer had made no
threatening moves-but the very fact that he was in hiding meant that his intentions would
not stand up to open examination. That was not good.
As the pirate walked, his suspicions grew. The whole purpose of his coming up here had
seemed funny from the start. “Check out the power feed at generating station number
four,” his boss had told him. “It’s acting up at odd moments, almost as if someone was
playing with it.”
The request had seemed strange at the time. “I don’t know much about the generators,”
he’d answered. “Wouldn’t it be better to send someone from the work crews?”
“I think it may be one of them doing it,” the boss had responded. Then, leaning forward,
he added quietly, “We may have an infiltrator on the base, someone trying to sabotage
our work. I trust you; I’d prefer that you have a look and let me know what you find out.
Go the topside route so no one sees you.”
There’d been no way to argue with that and so, reluctantly, he’d taken the assignment. It
made sense in a way, though he had to smile despite himself at the irony of the situation.
But now, as he walked carefully through the jungle toward the generating station, the
conversation took on a much more sinister aspect. What if the boss suspected him of
being the infiltrator? What if he had been sent up here to be executed as a traitor to the
organization? Alone and isolated up here, he made a perfect target. Could this be a
setup?
But what would be the point of that? If they suspected him of betraying them they could
just as easily have killed him down in the base, without bothering to go through with this
ambush. The boss held life and death over his subordinates and had killed people in the
past for less serious offenses. Why the charade this time?
None of it made much sense, and the man could not arrive at any answers. All he had
was the unshakeable conviction that he was indeed being followed and watched.
On impulse. he stopped dead. As his ears strained to pick up some indication of his
follower, a chill went up his spine.
There it was, at the very limits of his hearing: the faint swish of another body moving
through the jungle in time to his own rhythm, coming to a stop just a second too late to
avoid detection. It was impossible to tell in which direction the sound had been; it was
gone again almost the same instant he heard it. But he had heard it, there was no doubt
at all in his mind now.
That question, at least, was settled-but it brought a new one to mind: What to do now?
Should he try to go back to the elevator tube, back down to the base and the safety of
his fellow pirates? If his fears about his boss were correct, though, he would only be
running straight into the arms of the enemy. Should he continue on his intended path to
generating station four and hope to find some sanctuary there? But the unseen watcher
had been waiting for him to come up; perhaps there was a trap waiting there ahead of
him, with the watcher following to make sure he didn’t deviate.
The options forward and back seemed pretty dismal, and simply standing where he was
left him too exposed. The only recourse was to break from the path completely, head off
sideways in an unexpected direction and hope to catch his follower by surprise.
Being right-handed, his first impulse was to break to the right. Instead, to avoid
predictability, he ran to the left at about a seventy-degree angle to his original path. He
made no attempt to maintain an unsuspecting air; stopping in the middle of his journey
would have already alerted his enemy of his suspicions. Instead, he threw caution to the
winds and ran through the jungle, pushing aside the brush that whipped at his face and
ripped at his clothes.
The noise that he made as he crashed through the forest was loud in his own ears, as
were his deep gasps for breath; nevertheless, the sounds behind him were unmistakable
now-the sounds of someone, or some group of people, running after him before he could
escape completely.
The barrel of his stun-gun beat against the man’s leg with every stride he took, but he did
not dare slow down yet to unholster it, he had a momentary advantage of speed and sur-
prise, and he wanted to keep it. For all he knew, there could be five people behind him,