“The jasper tried somethin’, huh? Figured he would. What we goin’ to do now?”
“The captain forgot to set up an approach, Chip. He out-foxed me.”
“If we overrun our approach patterns,” Chip said, “we can’t make orbit at Jorgensen’s on automatic, and a manual approach—”
“That’s out. But there’s another possibility.”
Chip blinked. “Only one thing you could mean, mister. But cuttin’ out in a lifeboat in deep space is no picnic.”
“They’re on the port side, aft, right?”
Chip nodded. “Hot damn!” he said. “Who’s got the ‘tater salad?”
“We’d better tuck the skipper away out of sight.”
“In the locker.”
The two men carried the limp body to a deep storage chest, dumped it in, closed the lid.
“He won’t suffercate; lid’s a lousy fit.”
Retief opened the door, went into the corridor, Chip behind him.
“Shouldn’t oughta be nobody around now,” the chef said. “Everybody’s mannin’ approach stations.”
At the D deck companionway Retief stopped suddenly.
“Listen.”
Chip cocked his head. “I don’t hear nothin’,” he whispered.
“Sounds like a sentry posted on the lifeboat deck,” Retief said softly.
“Let’s take him, mister.”
“I’ll go down. Stand by, Chip.”
Retief started down the narrow steps, half stair, half ladder. Halfway, he paused to listen. There was a sound of slow footsteps, then silence. Retief palmed the needler, went down the last steps quickly, emerged in the dim light of a low-ceilinged room. The stern of a five-man lifeboat bulked before him.
“Freeze, you!” a cold voice snapped.
Retief dropped, rolled behind the shelter of the lifeboat as the whine of a power pistol echoed off metal walls. A lunge, and he was under the boat, on his feet. He jumped, caught the quick-access handle, hauled it down. The lifeboat’s outer port cycled open.
Feet scrambled at the bow of the boat, and Retief whirled, fired. The guard rounded into sight and fell headlong. Above, an alarm bell jangled. Retief stepped on a stanchion, hauled himself into the open port. A yell rang, then the clatter of feet on the stair.
“Don’t shoot, mister!” Chip shouted.
“All clear, Chip,” Retief called.
“Hang on; I’m comin’ with ya!”
Retief reached down, lifted the chef bodily through the port, slammed the lever home. The outer door whooshed, clanged shut.
“Take number two, tie in! I’ll blast her off,” Chip said. “Been through a hundred ‘bandon ship drills . . .”
Retief watched as the chef flipped levers, pressed a fat red button. The deck trembled under the lifeboat.
“Blew the bay doors,” Chip said, smiling happily. “That’ll cool them jaspers down.” He punched a green button.
“Look out, Jorgensen’s . . .” With an ear-splitting blast, the stern rockets fired, a sustained agony of pressure . . .
Abruptly, there was silence, weightlessness. Contracting metal pinged loudly. Chip’s breathing rasped in the stillness.
“Pulled nine Gs there for ten seconds,” he gasped. “I gave her full emergency kick-off.”
“Any armament aboard our late host?”
“A pop-gun; time they get their wind, we’ll be clear. Now all we got to do is set tight till we pick up a R and D from Svea Tower: maybe four, five hours.”
“Chip, you’re a wonder,” Retief said. “This looks like a good time to catch that nap.”
“Me too. Mighty peaceful here, ain’t it?”
There was a moment’s silence.
“Durn!” Chip said softly.
Retief opened one eye. “Sorry you came, Chip?”
“Left my best carvin’ knife jammed up ‘tween Marbles’ ribs,” the chef said. “Comes o’ doin’ things in a hurry.”
* * ** * *
The blond girl brushed her hair from her eyes and smiled at Retief.
“I’m the only one on duty,” she said. “I’m Freya Dahl.”
“It’s important that I talk to someone in your government, miss,” Retief said.
The girl looked at Retief. “The men you want to see are Thor Stahl and Bo Bergman. They will be at the lodge by nightfall.”
“Then it looks like we go to the lodge,” Retief said. “Lead on, ma’am.”
“What about the boat?” Chip asked.
“I’ll send someone to see to it tomorrow,” the girl said.
“You’re some gal,” Chip said admiringly. “Dern near six feet, ain’t you? And built too, what I mean.”
They stepped out of the building into a whipping wind.
“Let’s go across to the equipment shed, and get parkas for you,” Freya said. “It will be cold on the slopes.”
“Yeah,” Chip said, shivering. “I’ve heard you folks don’t believe in ridin’ ever time you want to go a few miles uphill in a blizzard.”
“It will make us hungry,” Freya said.
Across the wind-scoured ramp abrupt peaks rose, snow-blanketed. A faint trail led across white slopes, disappeared into low clouds.
“The lodge is above the cloud layer,” Freya said. “Up there the sky is always clear.”
It was three hours later, and the sun was burning the peaks red, when Freya stopped, pulled off her woolen cap, and waved at the vista below.
“There you see it. Our valley.”
“It’s a mighty perty sight,” Chip gasped. “Anything this tough to get a look at ought to be.”
Freya pointed to where gaily painted houses nestled together, a puddle of color in the bowl of the valley. “There,” she said. “The little red house by itself; do you see it? It is my father’s home-acre.”
“I’d appreciate it a dern sight better if my feet were up to that big fire you was talking about, Honey,” Chip said.
The climbed on, crossed a shoulder, a slope of broken rock, reached the final slope. Above, the lodge sprawled, a long low structure of heavy logs, outlined against the deep-blue twilight sky. Smoke billowed from stone chimneys at either end, and yellow light gleamed from the narrow windows, reflected on the snow. Men and women stood in groups of three or four, skis over their shoulders. Their voices and laughter rang in the icy air.
Freya whistled shrilly. Someone waved.
“Come,” she said. “Meet all my friends.”
A man separated himself from the group, walked down the slope to meet them. Freya introduced the guests.
“Welcome,” the man said heartily. “Come inside and be warm.”
They crossed the trampled snow to the lodge, pushed through a heavy door into a vast low-beamed hall, crowded with people talking, singing, some sitting at long plank tables, others ringed around an eight-foot fireplace at the far side of the room. Freya led the way to a bench near the fire, made introductions, found a stool to prop Chip’s feet on near the blaze. He looked around.
“I never seen so many perty gals before,” he said delightedly.
A brunette with blue eyes raked a chestnut from the fire, cracked it, and offered it to Retief. A tall man with arms like oak roots passed heavy beer tankards to the two guests.
“Tell us about the places you’ve seen,” someone called. Chip emerged from a long pull at the mug, heaved a sigh.
“Well,” he said. “I tell you I been in some places . . .”
Music started up, ringing above the clamor of talk. Freya rose. “Come,” she said to Retief. “Dance with me.”
* * *
When the music stopped, Retief rejoined Chip, who put down his mug and sighed. “Derned if I ever felt right at home so quick before.” He lowered his voice. “They’s some kind o’ trouble in the air, though. Some o’ the remarks they passed sounds like they’re lookin’ to have some trouble with the Sweaties. Don’t seem to worry ’em none, though.”
“Chip,” Retief said, “how much do these people know about the Soetti?”
“Dunno. We useta touch down here regler, but I always jist set in my galley and worked on ship models or somethin’. I hear the Sweaties been nosin’ around here some, though.”
Two girls came up to Chip. “I gotta go now, mister,” he said. “These gals got a idea I oughta take a hand in the kitchen.”
“Smart girls,” Retief said. He turned as Freya came up.
“Bo Bergman and Thor aren’t back yet,” she said. “They stayed to ski after moonrise.”
“That moon is something. Almost like daylight.”
“They will come soon, now. Shall we go to see the moonlight on the snow?”
Outside, long black shadows fell like ink in silver. The top of the cloud layer below glared white under the immense moon.
“Our sister world, Göta,” Freya said. “Nearly as big as Svea. I would like to visit it someday, although they say it’s all stone and ice.”
“Freya,” Retief said, “how many people live on Jorgensen’s Worlds?”
“About fifteen million, most of us here on Svea. There are mining camps and ice-fisheries on Göta. No one lives on Vasa or Skone, but there are always a few ice-wolf hunters there.”
“Have you ever fought a war?”
Freya turned to look at Retief. “Don’t be afraid for us, Retief. The Soetti will attack our worlds, and we will fight them. We have fought before. These planets were not friendly ones . . .”