Now it was clear why the “colonel” on the screen looked so exceptionally military. Real military men had work to do, and doing this work was their job. But this fellow’s job was to look military. Where the fake-wreck artist collected his victims by drifting along a traveled route looking helpless; and where the trap-miner made his profit by maneuvering his chunk of “ore” into position to catch prospectors unaware; and where the slugger prospered by sudden attack—for the same purpose, the two-day wonder mimicked the Space Force.
Now the “colonel” was looking at Roberts with hard authority.
“Is that clearly understood?”
Roberts’ course display now showed its line of big dashes drifting off to the right. The track display showed a curving line that wove past the asteroid belt to the stylized image of the blue-green world optimistically called Paradise—with the little image of the ship slipping well off the line. The battle screen showed the patrol ship caught in a wavy blur, representing another gravitor beam.
Roberts asked himself what all these commerce raiders were doing here. Two previous trips told him there wasn’t enough commerce past this system to make a living for a tenth of them. If they weren’t here to prey on commerce, what were they here for?
He considered one possible reason.
When he, Hammell, and Morrissey had been on Paradise before, Morrissey had invented a device to influence desires, and had developed it so it could be focused on a given place from a distance. Suppose someone had been shrewd enough to deduce, from what had happened, the existence of a want-generator?
What would a gang of commerce raiders do to get hold of a device that could influence desires from a distance?
But then, Roberts realized, if such a person had been on Paradise, he would have learned still more.
The last time Roberts, Hammell and Morrissey had been here, the only way they’d found to keep two of the planet’s factions from slaughtering each other had been to use, not only the want-generator, but also Roberts’ patrol ship, to create the myth of two outside factions fighting for control of the planet.
Now, Roberts asked himself, suppose the commerce raiders had learned of this myth, and of the formidable personages who were part of it. Would the commerce raiders care to tangle with such a crew? What if it should turn out that the creatures were real? What if Oggbad, the sorcerer, and the three Dukes were fighting for mastery of an Empire? Then what? The want-generator was worth taking on whoever had it, even if he was an armored Duke with an Empire behind him—but the risk should be spread by gathering a strong force, in case of trouble. That was how the commerce raiders would think.
While Roberts considered this, the imitation colonel gave signs of impatience.
“Let’s have your attention here, Mister!”
The only way out Roberts could see was to convince the raiders the situation was too dangerous for them to handle. Yet, a simple calculation showed more firepower on their side.
It followed that Roberts would have to run a bluff.
On the screen, the two-day wonder’s fuse burned short again, and he turned away, as if to rasp some order to an unseen subordinate.
Roberts spoke first: “This is a King’s ship.”
The “colonel” swung around. “What’s that?”
Roberts looked the two-day wonder directly in the eye. “Sobeit you wish death, there is no surer way than this.”
The two-day wonder stared at him.
Roberts spoke grimly: “A King’s ship will not stand inspection by any mortal power in or out of space. He who attempts it, will face the full might of the Empire. You are warned.”
The figure on the screen momentarily congealed into a living statue. Then he leaned completely back out of focus of the screen.
There was a garbled noise from the speaker, then the automatic descramblers went to work, the garble seemed to distort itself into new shapes and forms, and suddenly it came across, rough and low-pitched, but understandable: “Quick! Where’s Maury?”
“Holed up with Parks and the lawyer. Why?”
“Get him on this screen!”
“Are you nuts? He’ll—”
“I said, get him!”
The “colonel” reappeared, his manner conciliatory: “We certainly don’t want to . . . er . . . detain a foreign ship against its will, Mr . . . ah . . . ?”
In a chill voice, Roberts said, “My name is not at issue. Neither is it at issue whether you will hold this ship against its will. You lack the power to hold this ship against its will. You will release this ship or die. That is what is at issue.”
In the silence that followed, Roberts became aware that, around him, there were a great many quiet noises. There was a hum, and a low clank from the weapons locker. From outside came grating and whirring sounds, and from somewhere forward there was a continuous murmuring rumble. The patrol ship, though it lacked room, had a trait that endeared it to Roberts: When trouble was coming, the patrol ship got ready. Its captain didn’t have to concern himself with the little details any more than a man on the brink of a fist fight had to consciously raise his own blood pressure.
On the screen, the “colonel” glanced around. “Yes! Put him on!”
The screen divided vertically, to show an additional face. This new face took a cool glance at Roberts, and turned very slightly toward the imitation colonel. “What’s all this about?”
“It’s like that stuff down on Three! I grabbed this guy on a beam, and—”
“Are you wasting my time over a reel-in on some spacer punk? We’ll talk about this lat—”
“No! Hold it, Maury! This is that Empire stuff!”
“Nuts. That’s a rebuilt dogship. Look at your long-range screen and read the lines. Grow up.”
“But, this guy—”
Roberts flipped a switch on the control panel.
There was a slight jar, and the outside viewscreen showed torn camouflage drifting past.
“You hold a King’s ship at your peril.”
Roberts reached for the firing console, but the symbiotic computer got there first, and the switches moved of their own accord. A large white beam sprang out from the patrol ship toward the asteroid belt.
In the asteroid belt, there was a dazzling explosion.
From a previously-unused speaker to the left of the instrument panel came a clear questioning voice: “Imperial Dreadnought Coeur de Lion to masked Imperial Ship Nom de Guerre. Do you need help?”
On another auxiliary screen appeared the image of a tough officer in glittering helmet and breastplate, with eyes of a blue so pale that they resembled ice.
It took Roberts an instant to realize that the symbiotic computer was filling in the details. Then he answered: “Imperial Ship Nom de Guerre to Imperial Dreadnought Coeur de Lion. We are detained by outspacers, who claim the right to halt and board us, in search for contraband.”
“Outspacers? In what strength?”
“Fleet strength, of varying type and quality.”
“Do the dogs know they hold a King’s ship?”
“They do.”
“Inform them that if they wish a fleet action, they shall have it.”
“I have already told them. They doubt my word.”
“Demand if the scum be leagued with Oggbad.”
Roberts glanced back at the communications screen. The two-day wonder looked ready to shut his eyes and slide under the table anytime. The other individual, Maury, had a look of intense awareness.
Roberts looked him in the eye, and spoke in a tone suggesting the crack of a whip: “Serve you Oggbad the Fiend?”
Maury’s brow wrinkled. His face took on the look of a rocket specialist grappling with his first gravitor. He opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. “No.”
Roberts glanced at the auxiliary screen. “He denies allegiance to Oggbad.”
“It is the policy of the Empire to avoid clashes with the outspacers till our present wounds be bound up. Warn this dog to stand clear of the Earldom-Designate of Paradise. Demand that he let loose his hold on you and the bomb ship. If he does so, take your departure. If not, run the iron down his throat.”
“Have I leave to slam home the bomb ship?”
“Do that first. Then the rest will go quicker.”
Roberts glanced back at Maury. Robert’s voice was brisk and businesslike: “I propose to you that you let loose my ships, and further that you agree to stand clear of the Earldom-Designate of Paradise, which is the third planet of this star, counting from the star outward. Do you agree?”
Maury, his expression baffled, said, “I agree.”
Roberts turned back to the auxiliary screen. “He agrees.”
The figure on the screen looked faintly disappointed. “If he does as promised, you have no choice but to break off. At some future time, we may settle these old accounts.”
Roberts watched the battle screen. The wavy blurs vanished. The patrol ship and the space yacht were free.