Hammell also ate several bits of the pill, and so did Morrissey. Then they looked at each other like so many vegetables nodding in the hot sun, and for a little while they were so stupefied that no ideas at all came. Then Roberts glanced at the outside viewscreen. “We’re almost inside the dreadnought.”
Hammell said dully, “Not that it matters, but we’re in kind of a hole. It’s all come about step by step; but how we’re going to get out of it—”
Roberts groped for something to say, and then, possibly because he had taken very little of the supertranquilizer, he felt a sudden flare of defiance and spirit.
Moving swiftly, for someone under the influence of the drug, he slipped out of the control seat, ducked under the shiny cylinder that ran down the axis of the ship, and bent to set the want-generator.
IV
The colonel, watching the J-class patrol ship glide fully through the membrane, felt the sense of awe strengthen unbearably. The glittering ship seemed to blaze in glory. His mind, groping for some explanation, was overloaded with sensations. Dazedly, he heard a clear, deep, faintly ironical voice say, “On your knees, gentlemen. It is His Royal and Imperial Majesty, Vaughan the First, our Most Just and Fearless Sovereign.”
The colonel knelt, his first thought being wonder at his own hesitation. His second thought comprised a clicking together of these last words and what he had heard before about this ship and its crew. The logical answer sprang into his mind:
They’re taking over the dreadnought!
Holding his mind locked on what he had to do, the colonel staggered to his feet.
Directly in front of him, forty feet away beside the glittering J-ship, stood a crowned figure in blazing golden armor.
The wave of awe was almost too much for the colonel, but he managed to stay upright on his feet.
Then he heard a cool voice say dryly, “You shut yours off, and we’ll shut ours off.”
The meaning came through to him. He sucked in a deep breath and roared, “All E-G batteries! Cut to zero and stand by!”
To the colonel’s right, the men staggered to their feet and pulled themselves up into their control seats, their hands near the levers and switches. Their machines were already shut off, but they must obey the order to “Stand by.”
A judicious voice called from the J-ship. “It just let up. Shall we shut it off?”
“Shut it off. But stay right with it.”
The sudden relaxation of the sense of psychic pressure staggered the colonel. But his mind and body were well exercised, and he recovered his equilibrium quickly, thinking, “So that’s what a battle of emotional-field generators is like!” But it seemed obvious which side had the heavier guns, and they obviously had the will to use them, so it looked like a good idea to get this business settled quickly.
Brusquely, he said, “We’d appreciate it, Recruit, if you’d get out of that monkey suit on the double and report for assignment.”
A chilly voice replied, “We don’t much care to have our emotions tampered with. If this is your standard practice, you can look elsewhere for recruits.”
The colonel’s original uneasiness at the way this was to be handled returned, and he said in a conciliatory voice, “Whether you realize it or not, people who have just used an emotional-field generator to take over a planet, for whatever reason, and whatever motives, are not so harmless that they can be welcomed into a ship without precautions.”
There was a brief silence, then the armored figure turned away.
“We’ll be right out.”
The colonel appeared to have won. But there was no “sir” at the end of the sentence, and it was evident that the new recruits had suffered an early disenchantment.
Still, they were recruits. And recruits were desperately needed.
Impatiently, the colonel waited for them to come out.
V
Inside the patrol ship, Roberts, Hammell, and Morrissey glanced at each other doubtfully, then shrugged. They might conceivably fight their way out of the huge ship, but then what? Once outside, the gigantic weapons of the dreadnought could squash them with ease. And, assuming they were able to use the want-generator to immobilize the whole gigantic ship, then make good their escape, which seemed doubtful, they would then be in the position of having acquired for an enemy the Interstellar Patrol. Anyone with any faint experience in the matter would rather be hunted by the Space Force. The Space Force at least had strictly-defined limits on its sphere of action. Possibly the Interstellar Patrol had such limitations, but, if so, no one seemed to know what they were.
Roberts ducked under the shiny cylinder that ran down the axis of the ship, leaned across the control panel, and tapped a button marked “SymComp.”
“This dreadnought we’re inside of is an Interstellar Patrol ship?”
SymComp replied: “It is.”
“And it’s still under the control of the Interstellar Patrol?”
“Yes.”
“Those people waiting for us outside are members of the Interstellar Patrol?”
“They are.”
Roberts straightened up, and glanced at Hammell and Morrissey.
“We might just as well go on out.”
“O.K.”
The three men got out of their battle armor, made themselves as presentable as they could, and climbed out.
They found themselves at one end of an enormous spaceship hangar, with a spare, strongly built colonel facing them with a look of genuine welcome.
Roberts, keenly aware of everything about him, saw the ships, of various sizes but roughly the same overall shape, held tightly in their cradles. He noticed a large, peculiarly-shaped device at the edge of the door they’d apparently come through; in an upraised control seat, the operator of this device, a faintly punch-drunk expression on his face, was glancing down ruefully toward Roberts. That same punch-drunk expression was on the faces of several other men standing around with various insignia on their uniforms.
The insignia and the uniforms themselves caught Roberts’ attention. The colonel’s insignia of rank was the usual Space Force eagle, its wings spread and claws clasped about a slender rocket. But the uniform itself was unusual. At first glance, it appeared to be made of a fine leather of some kind. It was hard to say its exact color, though Roberts at first was certain it was dark-green. An instant later, he thought it was a very dark brown. Then he became aware of a gray tone, like the bark of maples transplanted from Earth, and seen in shadow. The uniforms were cut to allow ease of motion but they appeared tailored to a near-perfect fit, just loose enough not to hamper movement. At the waist was a moderately wide belt, apparently of some dark leather, that held a holstered pistol on the right side, and what appeared to be a hunting knife on the left side. There were also several small leather cases fitted to the belt. Roberts was reasonably certain that these belts would be awkward and uncomfortable to wear, yet everyone he could see was wearing them. Possibly, he thought, they’d only put them on to be inconspicuously armed, in case there was trouble.
In the short space of time that they stood silent, before the colonel spoke, a great many forms, colors, sounds and barely perceptible odors flashed in upon Roberts’ consciousness. The sum total of these, and perhaps of something else that wasn’t so easily pinned down, combined to ease his wary sense of restraint.
The colonel smiled. “Well, Captain, does the Patrol pass inspection?”
” ‘Captain’? A few minutes ago, sir, I was a recruit.”
“You’re still a recruit. But you’ve passed the inspection of the symbiotic computer, a patrol ship has accepted you, and you’ve passed your trial run without disqualifying yourself. Whoever does that has the rank of captain automatically. But there’s obviously a great deal you don’t know, so necessarily you’re still a recruit. This may seem strange to you, but it will make sense when you think about it. There are many things about the Patrol which may seem strange at first, but will make sense when you think them over. For instance, we sometimes take recruits along on our milder operations, even before they’re thoroughly trained. This, you see, gives the recruits a chance to see the Patrol in action. I don’t imagine any of you would object to that, would you?”
The three men, without bothering to think about it, automatically shook their heads.
The colonel then added casually, “Then, men, you’re assigned to Operation New Vote. How’s that?”
They all looked more or less surprised, but said “Fine, thank you, sir,” and tried to look alert and happy, though Operation New Vote could be a trip through the nearest sun, for all they knew.
“Good, good, gentlemen,” said the colonel, friendliness and approval shining all over his face as he thrust out his hand. “I’m in charge of Operation New Vote. Now, of course, you’ll be Roberts?”