“To burst your throat sac, evil-smelling beast!” Shluh hissed in Groacian.
“Sorry, I haven’t got one.” Retief put the gun under Shluh’s ear. “Tell them, Shluh; I can drive myself, in a pinch.”
“To do as the foreign one says; to stay hidden until dark,” Shluh said.
“Everybody out,” Retief said. “And take this with you.” He nudged the unconscious Groacian. “Shluh, you get in the driver’s seat. You others stay where I can see you.”
Retief watched as the Groaci silently followed instructions.
“All right, Shluh,” Retief said softly. “Let’s go. Take me to Groac Spaceport by the shortest route that doesn’t go through the city, and be very careful about making any sudden movements.”
Forty minutes later Shluh steered the car up to the sentry-guarded gate in the security fence surrounding the military enclosure at Groac Spaceport.
“Don’t yield to any rash impulses,” Retief whispered as a crested Groacian soldier came up. Shluh grated his mandibles in helpless fury.
“Drone-master Shluh, Internal Security,” he croaked. The guard tilted his eyes toward Retief.
“The guest of the Autonomy,” Shluh added. “To let me pass or to rot in this spot, fool?”
“To pass, Drone-master,” the sentry mumbled. He was still staring at Retief as the car moved jerkily away.
“You are as good as pegged-out on the hill in the pleasure pits now, Terrestrial,” Shluh said in Terran. “Why do you venture here?”
“Pull over there in the shadow of the tower and stop,” Retief said.
Shluh complied. Retief studied a row of four slender ships silhouetted against the early dawn colors of the sky.
“Which of those boats are ready to lift?” Retief demanded.
Shluh swiveled a choleric eye.
“All of them are shuttles; they have no range. They will not help you.”
“To answer the question, Shluh, or to get another crack on the head.”
“You are not like other Terrestrials, you are a mad dog.”
“We’ll rough out a character sketch of me later. Are they fueled up? You know the procedures here. Did those shuttles just get in, or is that the ready line?”
“Yes. All are fueled and ready for take-off.”
“I hope you’re right, Shluh. You and I are going to drive over and get in one; if it doesn’t lift, I’ll kill you and try the next one. Let’s go.”
“You are mad. I have told you: these boats have not more than ten thousand ton-seconds capacity; they are useful only for satellite runs.”
“Never mind the details. Let’s try the first in line.”
Shluh let in the clutch and the steam car clanked and heaved, rolling off toward the line of boats.
“Not the first in line,” Shluh said suddenly. “The last is the most likely to be fueled. But—”
“Smart grasshopper,” Retief said. “Pull up to the entry port, hop out, and go right up. I’ll be right behind you.”
“The gangway guard. The challenging of—”
“More details. Just give him a dirty look and say what’s necessary. You know the technique.”
The car passed under the stern of the first boat, then the second. There was no alarm. It rounded the third and shuddered to a stop by the open port of the last vessel.
“Out,” Retief said. “To make it snappy.”
Shluh stepped from the car, hesitated as the guard came to attention, then hissed at him and mounted the steps. The guard looked wonderingly at Retief, mandibles slack.
“An outworlder!” he said. He unlimbered his scatter gun. “To stop here, meat-faced one.”
Up ahead, Shluh turned.
“To snap to attention, litter-mate of drones,” Retief rasped in Groacian. The guard jumped, waved his eye stalks, and came to attention.
“About face!” Retief hissed. “To hell out of here—march!”
The guard tramped off across the ramp. Retief took the steps two at a time, slammed the port shut behind himself.
“I’m glad your boys have a little discipline, Shluh,” Retief said. “What did you say to him?”
“I but—”
“Never mind. We’re in. Get up to the control compartment.”
“What do you know of Groacian Naval vessels?”
“Plenty. This is a straight copy from the life boat you lads hijacked. I can run it. Get going.”
Retief followed Shluh up the companionway into the cramped control room.
“Tie in, Shluh,” Retief ordered.
“This is insane. We have only fuel enough for a one-way transit to the satellite; we cannot enter orbit, nor can we land again! To lift this boat is death. Release me. I promise you immunity.”
“If I have to tie you in myself, I might bend your head in the process.”
Shluh crawled onto the couch, and strapped in.
“Give it up,” he said. “I will see that you are re-instated—with honor. I will guarantee a safe-conduct—”
“Count-down,” Retief said. He threw in the autopilot.
“It is death!” Shluh screeched.
The gyros hummed, timers ticked, relays closed. Retief lay relaxed on the acceleration pad. Shluh breathed noisily, his mandibles clicking rapidly.
“That I had fled in time,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “This is not a good death.”
“No death is a good death,” Retief said, “not for a while yet.” The red light flashed on in the center of the panel, and sound roared out into the breaking day. The ship trembled, then lifted. Retief could hear Shluh’s whimpering even through the roar of the drive.
* * *
“Perihelion,” Shluh said dully. “To begin now the long fall back.”
“Not quite,” Retief said. “I figure eighty-five seconds to go.” He scanned the instruments, frowning.
“We will not reach the surface, of course,” Shluh said. “The pips on the screen are missiles. We have a rendezvous in space, Retief. In your madness, may you be content.”
“They’re fifteen minutes behind us, Shluh. Your defenses are sluggish.”
“Nevermore to burrow in the grey sands of Groac,” Shluh mourned.
Retief’s eyes were fixed on a dial face.
“Any time now,” he said softly. Shluh canted his eye stalks.
“What do you seek?”
Retief stiffened. “Look at the screen,” he said. Shluh looked. A glowing point, off-center, moving rapidly across the grid . . .
“What—?”
“Later—”
Shluh watched as Retief’s eyes darted from one needle to another.
“How . . .”
“For your own neck’s sake, Shluh, you’d better hope this works.” He flipped the sending key.
“2396 TR-42 G, this is the Terrestrial Consul at Groac, aboard Groac 902, vectoring on you at an MP fix of 91/54/942. Can you read me? Over.”
“What forlorn gesture is this?” Shluh whispered. “You cry in the night to emptiness.”
“Button your mandibles,” Retief snapped, listening. There was a faint hum of stellar background noise. Retief repeated his call.
“Maybe they hear but can’t answer,” he muttered. He flipped the key.
“2396, you’ve got forty seconds to lock a tractor beam on me, before I shoot past you.”
“To call into the void,” said Shluh. “To—”
“Look at the DV screen.”
Shluh twisted his head and looked. Against the background mist of stars, a shape loomed, dark and inert.
“It is . . . a ship,” he said, “a monster ship . . .”
“That’s her,” Retief said. “Nine years and a few months out of New Terra on a routine mapping mission; the missing cruiser, IVS Terrific.”
“Impossible,” Shluh hissed. “The hulk swings in a deep cometary orbit.”
“Right, and now it’s making its close swing past Groac.”
“You think to match orbits with the derelict? Without power? Our meeting will be a violent one, if that is your intent.”
“We won’t hit; we’ll make our pass at about five thousand yards.”
“To what end, Terrestrial? You have found your lost ship; what then? Is this glimpse worth the death we die?”
“Maybe they’re not dead,” Retief said.
“Not dead?” Shluh lapsed into Groacian. “To have died in the burrow of one’s youth. To have burst my throat sac before I embarked with a mad alien to call up the dead.”
“2396, make it snappy,” Retief called. The speaker crackled heedlessly. The dark image on the screen drifted past, dwindling now.
“Nine years, and the mad one is speaking as to friends,” Shluh raved. “Nine years dead, and still to seek them.”
“Another ten seconds,” Retief said softly, “and we’re out of range. Look alive, boys.”
“Was this your plan, Retief?” Shluh reverted to Terran. “Did you flee Groac and risk all on this slender thread?”
“How long would I have lasted in a Groaci prison?”
“Long and long, my Retief,” Shluh hissed, “under the blade of an artist.”
Abruptly the ship trembled, seemed to drag, rolling the two passengers in their couches. Shluh hissed as the restraining harness cut into him. The shuttle boat was pivoting heavily, up-ending. Crushing acceleration forces built. Shluh gasped, crying out shrilly.
“What . . . is . . . it . . . ?”
“It looks,” said Retief, “like we’ve had a little bit of luck.”
* * *
“On our second pass,” the gaunt-faced officer said, “they let fly with something. I don’t know how it got past our screens. It socked home in the stern and put the main pipe off the air. I threw full power to the emergency shields, and broadcast our identification on a scatter that should have hit every receiver within a parsec; nothing. Then the transmitter blew. I was a fool to send the boat down, but I couldn’t believe, somehow . . .”