“And what about you—has he drafted you yet?” asked Rolth.
“Luckily I wasn’t there when they came hunting techneer recruits. Look here—how does he dare give orders to the Patrol?” There was honest bewilderment in Smitt’s voice.
For the second time Kartr explained. “Better get it into your head, Smitt, that as far as you, and Cummi, and the rest of us are concerned, the Patrol has ceased to exist. We’ve nothing to back up any show of authority—he has. That is just why—”
“You argued against our coming here?” Smitt’s lips thinned. Kartr felt the other’s rage. “Well, you were right! I know you rangers don’t feel the same about the Service as we crewmen do. You’ve always been independent cusses. But my father died on the barricades at the Altra air locks—one of the rear guard who held their posts long enough for the survivors’ ships to leave. And my grandfather was second officer of the Promixa dreadnaught when she tried to reach Andromeda. We’ve served five generations in the Patrol. And may I be Space-burned if I ever take orders from a Cummi while I still wear this!” His hand went to his Comet badge.
“A very fine sentiment which will not help you any if Cummi’s private police force comes a-hunting,” Zinga remarked. “But was it just this disinclination to take orders from a mere civilian which drove you to us?”
“You,” Smitt snapped at the Zacathan, “needn’t be so cocky. I overheard enough to learn that Cummi is death on fraternization with Bemmys and that goes for rangers, too,” he aimed in Kartr’s direction. “There’s a rumor, it came in the form of a secondhand warning from one of the intal planters, that Cummi’s had a couple burned already—”
“A couple of what?” That was Fylh, and his crest was rising. “Bemmys? Of what species?”
Smitt shook his head. “I don’t know, the planter was vague. Only, you’re not going to get a fair deal from Cummi, that’s plain. And I’m not going to take his orders. Maybe we haven’t always run the same course before, but we have a common problem before us now.”
“So?” Fylh’s claws preened his crest. “But the best of the bargain seems to be yours under the circumstances. What do you have to offer us in return?”
“He has something we might need,” Kartr broke in.
The appeal of the com-techneer was an honest one. He did want to throw in with them.
“It will depend upon you, Smitt. Can you swallow your pride enough to co-operate with Cummi’s party—co-operate until you can learn something of their set-up—how much power Cummi really has, whether there are any rebels among the passengers, what are some of his future plans? We’re not”—he spoke now to the rangers—“going to strike out blindly. You two, Fylh and Zinga, will have to lie low until we do know how we stand. No use attracting any attention. As for me, since my talk with Jaksan, I am doubtless down in their black books with a double star. Rolth is handicapped for daytime work. So, Smitt, if you are really willing to join up with us, keep that wish under mind block—and I mean under block. The Ageratan is a sensitive and what he can’t scrape out of an unsuspecting mind the Can-hound may be able to get for him. It’ll be a tough assignment, Smitt. You’re got to join the anti-Bemmy, pro-Cummi crowd—at least with lukewarm attachment. A little initial rebellion is all right, they would expect that from a Patrolman with your background. But can you play a double game, Smitt—and do you want to?”
The com-techneer had listened quietly and now he raised his head and nodded.
“I can try. I don’t know about this mind block business.” He hesitated. “I’m no sensitive. How much can Cummi do with me?”
“He’s a five point nine. He can’t take you over, if that is what you’re afraid of. You’re from Luga—or your family was Lugan stock originally, weren’t they?”
“My father was Lugan. My mother came from Desart.”
“Lugan—Desart—” Kartr looked to Zinga.
“High resistance core,” the Zacathan informed him promptly. “Imaginative, but excellent control. Resistance is above eight. No, no Ageratan could take him over. And you do have a mind block, Smitt, whether you’ve ever tried to use it or not. Just think about some com-machine when you’re around a sensitive. Concentrate on some phase of your old job—”
“Like this?” demanded Smitt eagerly.
It was as if he had snapped off some switch. Where Smitt sat there was now a mental blank. Kartr bit off an exclamation and then said:
“Keep that up, Smitt! Zinga—!”
His own power went out toward the com-techneer, and then he felt a second stream of energy unite with it, driving into that blankness with him like the tip of a blaster beam. So, he had been right! Zinga was a sensitive, too, and to a degree he could not even measure. Together their wills smashed at Smitt, smashed on a barrier which held as staunchly as the hull of a space ship.
There were beads of moisture on Kartr’s forehead, gathering under the edge of his helmet to trickle down his cheeks and chin. Then his free hand moved in a gesture of defeat and he relaxed.
“You need not worry about mind invasion, Smitt. Unless you get careless.”
The com-techneer was on his feet. “Then we are allied?” He asked that almost shyly, as if he had come there expecting to be turned away.
“We are. Just stir around some and see what you can find out. But don’t, if possible, get sent off from here where we can’t reach you. We may have to move fast if trouble comes.”
“I won’t let you down.” Smitt crossed to the door. Now he hesitated and turned. And before he went out his hand moved in a gesture which included all of them—human and Bemmy alike—the full salute of a Patrolman to his equals.
“Now—just in case—” Fylh flitted across the room and stamped on the door-controlling block, locking the portal with the heat of his claws.
“Yes,” Zinga agreed, “one does feel more relaxed when it isn’t necessary to think about guarding one’s back. Shall we settle in?”
Kartr slipped his left wrist out of the sling and rubbed it thoughtfully.
“They have a medico here. I wonder—”
Rolth moved up beside him. “Are you thinking of venturing into the slith’s cave alone?”
“A well-equipped ship’s hospital should include a renewer ray. And I’d like to go into battle—if I have to—with two good hands instead of one. Also it gives me a legitimate excuse for wandering around below. I can ask questions—”
“All right. But you don’t go alone,” Rolth agreed. “Somehow I don’t fancy any of us prancing about alone in this building. Two’s pretty good company—and two blasters can clear a wider path than one.”
“None of that! I’m a sufferer in search of a medico, remember?” But Kartr’s lips stretched in what had come during these past days to be an unfamiliar curve, a genuine smile. “Have you two enough to amuse yourselves with while we are gone?”
“Don’t worry about us.” Zinga grinned and his inch fangs shone in the greenish light to ghoulish advantage. “We shall set up housekeeping. We do, I take it, lock the door behind you?”
“Yes. And you open it only when you pick up our mind patterns.”
Zinga didn’t even blink at that. Of course, he had revealed the extent of his power when he had aided Kartr in attacking Smitt’s block. But, with his usual disregard for human emotions, he apparently saw no reason for discussing his long concealment now.
Fylh opened the door and they started down the stairs. It was quiet below and they were almost into the corridor before Kartr’s perception warned him of a stranger’s approach. It was a young man, in the rather ornate uniform of a passenger ship’s officer, who strode confidently toward them.
“You are Sergeant Kartr?”
“I am.”
“The Vice-Sector Lord wishes to see you.”
Kartr stopped and gazed with mild interest at the newcomer. Perhaps the sergeant was even a year or so younger than this assured Flight Spacer—allowing for planetary and racial difference—but suddenly he felt almost grandfatherly.
“I have not received any orders from my superior officer delegating me to be attached to the service of the Central Control Civil Section.”
And for a wonder that pomposity actually disconcerted the other. Maybe the old magic of the Patrol still held a small power. Kartr and Rolth started on, passed the officer, and were several feet down the hall before he caught up with them again.
“See here!” He tried to project the sting of an order into his voice, but it faded when both rangers wheeled to give him grave and courteous attention. “The Lord Cummi—he is in charge here, you know,” he ended lamely.