The ship came out of warp, but they were still two days from Prime port by Kosti’s admittedly ignorant calculations when it happened. A faint “beep” drew the attention of Kana and Larsen to the screen above the control panel. The Blademaster and Kosti were asleep and there was no one to explain the meaning of the pin point of light moving across the dark surface. Kana went to rouse Kosti.
“We might just have company—seeing as how we are out of warp.” The pilot pro-tem rubbed sleep from his eyes. But one look at the screen brought him fully awake.
“Get Hansu—” he ordered tersely.
When Kana returned with the Blademaster the plaintive “beep” of the signal had strengthened into a steady drone.
“You can establish contact?” Hansu asked.
“If you want to. But that’s no between-planets trader out there. We’re on a cruiser course. Only another Patrol ship would be likely to cross us.”
On a planet, armed, they would have known what to do when faced with a potential enemy. But in space, they might even now be needlessly alarmed over a routine happening.
“Shall I accept contact?” Kosti pressed.
The Blademaster ran his thumb along his lower lip, staring at the light on the screen as if he would have out of it “name, rank, and term of enlistment.”
“Can that screen”—he jerked his thumb toward the vision plate—“be used for receiving only, or do we automatically broadcast when we switch it on?”
“It can be one way. But that would make them suspicious.”
“Let them think what they want. We need a little time and maybe some fast answers before they see our faces. Cut out the tele-cast before you make contact.”
Kosti adjusted some knobs. A bright wash of color rippled across the screen and then they saw the narrow, high-cheek-boned face of a humanoid from Rassam. The skull-tight cap of a Patrol officer covered his hairless head and he wore the star-and-comet of an upper rank commander.
“What ship?” he demanded with the unconscious arrogance of a Central Control official. He could not see them, but he might almost have sensed he was addressing Terrans. Kana bristled, noting by the set of Hansu’s jaw that he was not alone in that reaction.
“Give me the speaker.” Hansu took the mike from Kosti.
“This is a Patrol cruiser, name and registry unknown.” He spoke slowly, enunciating each word flatly in basic trade speech, trying to keep his native accent undistinguishable. “It was found by us deserted and we are returning it to the proper authorities.”
The Patrol Commander did not give them the lie openly, but his disbelief was plain to read on his face.
“You are not headed for a Patrol base,” he pointed out crisply. “What is your destination?”
“As if he didn’t know—or suspect!” whispered Kosti.
“We are reporting to out superior officers,” Hansu continued, “according to law—”
That narrow face appeared to lengthen in a sinister fashion. “Terrans!” His lips shaped the word as if it were an incredibly filthy oath. “You will prepare to receive a boarding party—” His face vanished from the screen.
“Well,” Kosti observed bleakly, “that’s that. If we try to get away they’ll burn us down with their big stuff.”
“Come on!” Hansu was halfway through the door. And, revived by his confidence, the rest trailed him. Out of the artificial gravity of the living quarter they pulled themselves into the midsection of the ship where the Blademaster unfastened a hatch. Beyond was an escape bay complete with two boats. But they were so small—Kana eyed them doubtfully, battling his dislike for being confined in a limited space.
Hansu paused half inside the nearest. “Kosti, you take the other. That will give us a double chance of getting our report through. If but one of us lives he has to reach Prime! Failure to get through may—in a way—mean the end for Terra. This thing is bigger than all of us. Larsen, you team with Kosti. Set your tape for Terra—when you land make for Prime—if you have to beg, borrow, or steal transportation. Ask for Matthias—get to him if you have to kill to do it! Understand?”
Neither of the veterans displayed surprise at the drastic orders. Hansu lowered his body into the lifeboat and Kana climbed reluctantly after him. It required both of them to close the vent and seal it. Then Hansu flung himself into the cushioned hollow of the pilot’s section and Kana took the other padded couch.
The Blademaster set a pointer on a small dial before him, checking it three times before he cut in the power which blasted them free from the cruiser. The force of that blast was almost as hard to take as the acceleration which had torn them out of Fronn’s gravity. Kana’s ribs, still sore from that ordeal, were squeezed enough to bring a choked cry out of him. When he was able to turn his head once more he saw that Hansu lay at ease, his cupped hands supporting his chin, his eyes fixed on the dial, though his thoughts might have been elsewhere.
“Are we free—? Did—did we get away, sir?” Kana asked dazedly.
“We’re still alive, aren’t we?” Hansu’s ironical humor quirked set lips. “If they had sighted our getaway we’d be cinders by now. Let’s hope that they will continue to concentrate on the cruiser for a few seconds more—”
“What made them so quick on the trigger, sir? The Patrol usually doesn’t flare up that way—or do they? And that officer said ‘Terrans’ as if we were Lombros muck worms—”
“It shouldn’t surprise you, Karr, to discover that some of the more ‘superior’ races who make up the C.C. Councils at the present moment are inclined to rate us at just about that level—in private, naturally. One doesn’t boast of caste openly—that’s too close to shape and race prejudice. But I’ve seen an Ageratan leave an eating booth before he had finished his meal because a Terran was seated as his neighbor. It’s illegal, unethical, violates all those pretty slogans and refined sentiments drilled into them from the cradle or the egg—but it persists.”
“But the Zacathans aren’t like that—and Rey and Mic were friendly with that Lupan on Secundus—”
“Certainly. I can cite you a thousand different shapes and races who accept Terrans as equals as easily as we accept them in return. But note two things, Karr, and they are important. The systems where we are persona non grata are dominated by humanoid races and they are systems which have had space travel for a very long time, who have pioneered in the Galaxy. Embedded deep in them is an emotion they refuse to admit—fear.
“Back on Terra in the ancient days before the nuclear wars we were divided into separate races, the difference in part depending on the color of skin, shape of features, and so forth. And in turn those races were subdivided into nations which arose to power, held in control large portions of the planet, sometimes for centuries. But as the years passed each in turn lost that power, the reins slipped from their hands. Why?
“Because the tough, sturdy fighters who had built those empires died, and their sons, or their sons’ sons’ sons were another breed. For a while, even after the fighting quality died out, an empire would still exist—as might a well-built piece of machinery set in motion. Then parts began to wear, or oiling was needed, and there was no one who remembered, or cared, or had the necessary will and strength to pull it together and make repairs. So another, younger and tougher nation took over—perhaps after a war. History progressed by a series of such empires—the old one yielding to the new.
“Now the races of the Galaxy with whom we have established the closest ties are, so far, not of our species. We like the Zacathans who are of reptile origin, we enjoy the Trystians, whose far-off ancestors were birds. The Yubana—they’re evolved felines. And most of these are also newcomers on the Galactic scene. But—and this is important—they have different aims, backgrounds, desires, tastes. Why should a Zacathan fret over the passing of time, hurry to get something done the way we must do? His life span is close to a thousand years, he can afford to sit around and think things out. We feel that we can’t. But we’re not a threat to him or his way of life.”
“But, sir, do you think we are to the others—the humanoids of Agerat and Rassam? Their civilizations are old but basically they are similar to ours—”
“And are showing signs of decay. Yes, we’re a threat to them because of our young pushing energy, our will to struggle, all the things they openly deplore in us. For, old as Terra seems to us, she is very young in the Galaxy. So they’ve met us with a devious design. It is their purpose to wall us off—not openly and so provide us with a legitimate grievance which we may take before the Grand Council—but legally and finally. They struggle to dissipate our strength in needless warfare which in no way threatens their control, sapping our manpower and so rendering helpless a race which might just challenge them in the future. And because we have fought and dreamed of the stars we have been forced to accept their condition—for a time.”