The Devagas, meanwhile, toiled prodigiously to complete the constructions which were to be a central feature in the new alliance. On a base very far removed from the Hub, securely anchored and concealed among the gravitic swirlings and shiftings of a subspace turbulence area, virtually indetectable, the monster could make a very valuable partner. If it was discovered, the partnership could be disowned. So could the fact that they had constructed the substation for it—in itself a grave breach of Federation treaties.
They built the substation. They built the armed subterranean observer’s dome three days’ travel away from it. The plasmoid was installed in its new quarters. It then requested the use of the Vishni Fleet people for further experimentation.
The hierarchy was glad to grant the request. It would have had to get rid of those too well informed hirelings in any case.
Having received its experimental material, the plasmoid requested the Devagas to stay away from the substation for a while.
28
The Devagas, said Lyad, while not too happy with their ally’s increasingly independent attitude, were more anxious than ever to see the alliance progress to the working stage. As an indication of its potential usefulness, the monster had provided them with a variety of working plasmoid robots, built to their own specifications.
“What kind of specifications?” Trigger inquired.
Lyad hadn’t learned in detail, but some of the robots appeared to have demonstrated rather alarming possibilities. Those possibilities, however, were precisely what intrigued the hierarchy most.
Mantelish smacked his lips thoughtfully and shook his head. “Not good!” he said. “Not at all good! I’m beginning to think—” He paused a moment. “Go on, Lyad.”
The hierarchy was now giving renewed consideration to a curious request the plasmoid had made almost as soon as Balmordan became capable of understanding it. The request had been to find and destroy plasmoid 113-A.
The Ermetyne’s amber eyes switched to Trigger. “Shall I?” they asked.
Trigger nodded.
And a specific human being. The Devagas already had established that this human being must be Trigger Argee.
“What?” Mantelish’s thick white eyebrows shot up. “113-A we can understand—it is afraid of being in some way brought back under control. But why Trigger?”
“Because,” Lyad said carefully, “112 was aware that 113-A intended to condition Trigger into being its interpreter.”
Professor Mantelish’s jaw dropped. He swung his head toward Trigger. “Is that true?”
She nodded. “It’s true, all right. We’ve been working on it, but we haven’t got too far along. Tell you later. Go ahead, Lyad.”
The Devagas, naturally, hadn’t acted on the king plasmoid’s naive suggestion. Whatever it feared was more than likely to be very useful to them. Instead they made preparations to bring both 113-A and Trigger Argee into their possession. They would then have a new, strong bargaining point in their dealings with their dubious partner. But they discovered promptly that neither Trigger nor 113-A were at all easy to come by.
Balmordan now suggested a modification of tactics. The hierarchy had seen to it that a number of interpreters were available for 112; Balmordan in consequence had lost much of his early importance and was anxious to regain it. His proposal was that all efforts should be directed at obtaining 113-A. Once it was obtained, he himself would volunteer to become its first interpreter. Trigger Argee, because of the information she might reveal to others, should be destroyed—a far simpler operation than attempting to take her alive.
This was agreed to; and Balmordan was authorized to carry out both operations.
Mantelish had begun shaking his head again. “No!” he said suddenly and loudly. He looked at Lyad, then at Trigger. “Trigger!” he said.
“Yes?” said Trigger.
“Take that deceitful woman to her cabin,” Mantelish ordered. “Lock her up. I have something to say to the Commissioner.”
Trigger arose. “All right,” she said. “Come on, Lyad.”
The two of them left the lounge. Mantelish stood up and went over to the Commissioner. He grasped the Commissioner’s jacket lapels.
“Holati, old friend!” he began emotionally.
“What is it, old friend?” the Commissioner inquired.
“What I have to say,” Mantelish rumbled. “will shock you. Profoundly.”
“No!” exclaimed the Commissioner.
“Yes,” said Mantelish. “That plasmoid 112—it has, of course, an almost inestimable potential value to civilization.”
“Of course,” the Commissioner agreed.
“But it also,” said Mantelish, “represents a quite intolerable threat to civilization.”
“Mantelish!” cried the Commissioner.
“It does. You don’t comprehend these matters as I do. Holati, that plasmoid must be destroyed! Secretly, if possible. And by us!”
“Mantelish!” gasped the Commissioner. “You can’t he serious!”
“I am.”
“Well,” said Commissioner Tate, “sit down. I’m open to suggestions.”
* * *
Space-armor drill hadn’t been featured much in the Colonial School’s crowded curriculum. But the Commissioner broke out one of the ship’s two heavy-duty suits; and when Trigger wasn’t at the controls, eating, sleeping, or taking care of the ship’s housekeeping with Lyad and Mantelish, she drilled.
She wasn’t at the controls too often. When she was, they had to surface and proceed in normal space. But Lyad, not too surprisingly, turned out to be a qualified subspace pilot. Even less surprisingly, she already had made a careful study of the ship’s controls. After a few hours of instruction, she went on shift with the Commissioner along the less rugged stretches. In this area, none of the stretches were smooth.
When not on duty, Lyad lay on her bunk and brooded.
Mantelish tried to be useful.
Repulsive might have been brooding too. He didn’t make himself noticeable.
Time passed. The stretches got rougher. The last ten hours, the Commissioner didn’t stir out of the control seat. Lyad had been locked in her cabin again as the critical period approached. In normal space, the substation should have been in clear detector range by now. Here, the detectors gave occasional blurry, uncertain indications that somewhere in the swirling energies about them might be something more solidly material. It was like creeping through jungle thickets towards the point where a dangerous quarry lurked.
They eased down on the coordinate points. They came sliding out between two monstrous twisters. The detectors leaped to life.
“Ship!” said the Commissioner. He swore. “Frigate class,” he said an instant later. He turned his head toward Trigger. “Get Lyad! They’re in communication range. We’ll let her communicate.”
Trigger, heart hammering, ran to get Lyad. The Commissioner had the short-range communicator on when they came hurrying back to the control room together.
“That the Aurora?” he asked.
Lyad glanced at the outline in the detectors. “It is!” Her face went white.
“Talk to ’em,” he ordered. “Know their call number?”
“Of course.” Lyad sat down at the communicator. Her hands shook for a moment, then steadied. “What am I to say?”
“Just find out what’s happened, to start with. Why they’re still here. Then we’ll improvise. Get them to come on screen if you can.”
Lyad’s fingers flew over the tabs. The communicator signaled contact.
Lyad said evenly, “Come in, Aurora! This is the Ermetyne.”
There was a pause, a rather unaccountably long pause, Trigger thought. Then a voice said, “Yes, First Lady?”
Lyad’s eyes widened for an instant. “Come in on visual, Captain!” There was the snap of command in the words.
Again a pause. Then suddenly the communicator was looking into the Aurora’s control room. A brown-bearded, rather lumpy-faced man in uniform sat before the other screen. There were other uniformed men behind him. Trigger heard the Ermetyne’s breath suck in and turned to watch Lyad’s face.
“Why haven’t you carried out your instructions, Captain?” The voice was still even.
“There was a difficulty with the engines, First Lady.”
Lyad nodded. “Very well. Stand by for new instructions.”
She switched off the communicator. She twisted around toward the Commissioner. “Get us out of here!” she said, chalk-faced. “Fast! Those aren’t my men.”
Flame bellowed about them in subspace. The Commissioner’s hand slapped a button. The flame vanished and stars shone all around. The engines hurled them forward. Twelve seconds later, they angled and dived again. Subspace reappeared.
“Guess you were right!” the Commissioner said. He idled the engines and scratched his chin. “But what were they?”
* * *
“Everything about it was wrong!” Lyad was saying presently, her face still white. “Their faces, in particular, were deformed!” She looked at Trigger. “You saw it?”
Trigger nodded. She suspected she was on the white-faced side herself. “The captain,” she said. “I didn’t look at the others. It looked as if his cheeks and forehead were pushed out of shape!”
There was a short silence. “Well,” said the Commissioner, “seems like that plasmoid has been doing some more experimenting. Question is, how did it get to them?”
They didn’t find any answers to that. Lyad insisted the Aurora had been given specific orders to avoid the immediate vicinity of the substation. Its only purpose there was to observe and report on anything that seemed to be going on in the area. She couldn’t imagine her crew disobeying the orders.