Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html POUL ANDERSON TRADER TO THE STARS 1964 HIDING PLACE Captain Bahadur Torrance received the news as befitted a Lodgemaster in the Federated Brotherhood of Spacemen. He heard it out, interrupting only with a few knowledge- able questions. At the end, he said calmly, "Well done, Freeman Yamamura. Please keep this to yourself till fur- ther notice. I'll think about what's to be done. Carry on. But when the engineer officer had left the cabin-the news had not been the sort you tell on the intercom-he poured himself a triple whiskey, sat down, and stared emptily at the viewscreen. He had traveled far, seen much, and been well rewarded. However, promotion being swift in his difficult line of work, he was still too young not to feel cold at hearing his death sentence. The screen showed such a multitude of stars, hard and winter-brilliant, that only an astronaut could recog- nize individuals. Torrance sought past the Milky Way un- Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html til he identified Polaris. Then Valhalla would lie so-and-so many degrees away, in that direction. Not that he could see a type-G sun at this distance, without optical instru- ments more powerful than any aboard the Hebe G.B. But he found a certain comfort in knowing his eyes were sighted toward the nearest League base (houses, ships, humans, nestled in a green valley on Freya) in this al- most uncharted section of our galactic arm. Especially when he didn't expect to land there, ever again. The ship hummed around him, pulsing in and out of fourspace with a quasi-speed that left light far behind and yet was still too slow to save him. Well. . . it became the captain to think first of the others. Torrance sighed and stood up. He spent a moment checking his appearance; morale was important, never more so than now. Rather than the usual gray coverall of shipboard, he preferred full uniform: blue tunic, white cape and culottes, gold braid. As a citizen of Ramanujan planet, he kept a turban on his dark aquiline head, pinned with the Ship-and-Sunburst of the Polesotechnic League. He went down a passageway to the owner's suite. The steward was just leaving, a tray in his hand. Torrance sig- naled th.e door to remain open, clicked his heels and bowed. "I pray pardon for the interruption, sir," he said. "May I speak privately with you? Urgent." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Nicholas van Rijn hoisted the two-liter tankard which had been brought him. His several chins quivered under the stiff goatee; the noise of his gulping filled the room, from the desk littered with papers to the Huy Brasealian jewel-tapestry hung on the opposite bulkhead. Something by Mozart lilted out of a taper. Blond, big-eyed, and thor- oughly three-dimensional, Jeri Kofoed curled on a couch, within easy reach of him where he sprawled in his lounger. Torrance, who was married but had been away from home for some time, forced his gaze back to the merchant. "Ahhh!" Van Rijn banged the empty mug down on a table and wiped foam from his mustaches. "Pox and pestilence, but the firSt beer of the day is good! Something with it is so quite cool and-urn-by damn, what word do I want?" He thumped his sloping forehead with one hairy fist. "I get more absent in the mind every week. Ah, Torrance, when you are too a poor old lonely fat man with all powers failing him, you will look back and re- member me and wish you was more good to me. But then is too late." He sighed like a minor tornado and scratched the pelt on his chest. In the near tropic temperature at which he insisted on maintaining his quarters, he need wrap only a sarong about his huge body. "Well, what be- gobbled stupiding is it I must be dragged from my-all- too-much work to fix up for you, ha? Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html His tone was genial. He had, in fact, been in a good mood ever since they escaped the Adderkops. Who wouldn't be? For a mere space yacht, even an armed one with ultrapowered engines, to get away from three cruis- ers, was more than an accomplishment; it was very nearly a miracle. Van Rijn still kept four grateful candles burn- ing before his Martian sandroot statuette of St. Dismas. True, he sometimes threw crockery at the steward when a drink arrived later than he wished, and he fired every- body aboard ship at least once a day. But that was normal. Jeri Kofoed arched her brows. "Your first beer, Nicky? she mnrmured. "Now really! Two hours ago. Ja, but that was before midnight time. If not Green- wich midnight, then surely on some planet somewhere, me? So is a new day." Van Rijn took his churchwarden off the table and began stuffing it. "Well, sit down, Cap- tain Torrance, make yourself to be comfortable and lend me your lighter. You look like a dynamited custard, boy. All you youngsters got no stamina. When I was a Workingg spaceman, by Judas, we made solve all our own problems. These days, death and damnation, you come ask me how to wipe your noses! Nobody has any guts but me." He slapped his barrel belly. "So what is be-jingle- bang gone wrong now? Torrance wet his lips. "I'd rather speak to you alone, sir." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html He saw the color leave Jeri's face. She was no coward. Frontier planets, even the pleas~t ones like Freya, didn't breed that sort. She had come along on what she knew would be a hazardous trip because a chance like this to get an in with the merchant prince of the Solar Spice & Liquors Company, which was one of the major forces within the whole Polesotechnic League--was too good for an opportunistic girl to refuse. She had kept her nerve during the fight and the subsequent escape, though death came very close. But they were still far from her planet, among unknown stars, with the enemy hunting them. "So go in the bedroom," Van Rijn ordered her. "Please," she whispered. "I'd be happier hearing the truth." The small black eyes, set close to Van Rijn's hook nose, flared. "Foulness and fulminate!" he bellowed. "What is this poppies with cocking? When I say frog, by billy damn, you jump!" She sprang to her feet, mutinous. Without rising, he slapped her on the appropriate spot. It sounded like a pistol going off. She gasped, choked back an indignant screech, and stamped into the inner suite. Van Rijn rang for the steward. "More beer this calls for," he said to-Torrence. "Well, don't stand there making bug's eyes! I got no time for Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html fumblydiddles, even if you overpaid loafer do. I got to make revises of all price schedules on pepper and nut- meg for Freya before we get there. Satan and stenches! At least ten percent more that idiot of a factor could charge them, and not reduce volume of sales. I swear it! All good saints, hear me and help a poor old man saddled with oatmeal-brained squatpots for workers!" Torrance curbed his temper with an effort. "Very well, sir. I just had a report from Y amamura. You know we took a near miss during the fight, which hulled us at the engine room. The converter didn't seem damaged, but after patching the hole, the gang's been checking to make sure. And it turns out that about half the circuitry for the infrashield generator was fused. We can't replace more than a fraction of it. If we continue to run at full quasi- speed, we'll bum out the whole converter in another fifty hours." "Ah, s-s-so." Van Rijn grew serious. The snap of the lighter, as he toucbed it to his pipe, came startlingly loud. "No chance of stopping altogether to make fixings? Once out of hyperdrive, we would be much too small a thmg for the bestinkered aderkops to find. Hey?" "No, sir. I said we haven't enough replacement parts. This is a yacht, not a warship." "Hokay, we must continue in hyperdrive. How slow must we go, to make sure we come within calling distance Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html of Freya before our engine bums out?" "One-tenth of top speed. It'd take us six months." "No, my captain friend, not so long. We never reach Valhalla star at all. The Adderkops find us first." "I suppose so. We haven't got six months' stores aboard anyway." Torrance stared at the deck. "What occurs to me is, well, we could reach one of the nearby stars. There just barely might be a planet With an industrial civilization, whose people could eventually be taught to make the circuits we need. A habitable planet, at least- maybe..." "Nie!" Van Rijn shook his head till the greasy black ringlets swirled about his shoulders. "All us men and one woman for life on some garbagey rock where they have not even wine grapes? I'll take an Adderkop shell and go out like a gentleman, by damn!" The steward appeared. "Where you been snoozing? Beer, With God's curses on you! I need to make thinks! How you expect I can think with a mouth like a desert in midsummer?" Torrance chose his words carefully. Van Rijn would have to be reminded that the captain, in space, was the final boss. And yet the old devil must not be antagonized, for he had a record of squirming between the horns of dilemmas. "I'm open to suggestions, sir, but I can't take the responsibility of courting enemy attack." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Van Rijn rose and lumbered about the cabin, fuming obscenities and volcanic blue clouds. As he passed the shelf where St. Dismas stood, he pinched the candles out in a marked manner. That seemed to trigger something in him. He turned about and said, "Ha! Industrial civiliz- ations, ja, maybe so. Not only the pest-begotten Adder- cops ply this region of space. Gives some chance per- haps we can come in detection range of an un-beat-up ship, nie? You go get Yamamura to jack up our detector sensitivities till we can feel a gnat twiddle its wings back in my Djakarta office on Earth, so lazy the cleaners are. Then we go off this direct course and run a standard naval search pattern at reduced speed." "And if we find a ship? Could belong to the enemy, you know." "That chance we take." "In all events, sir, we'll lose time. The pursuit will gain on us while we follow a search-helix. Especially if we spend days persuading some nonhmuan crew who've never heard of the human race, that we have to be taken to Val- halla immediately if not sooner." "We bum that bridge when we come to it. You have might be a more hopeful scheme?" "Well. . ." Torrance pondered a while, blackly. The steward came in with a fresh tankard. Van Rijn snatched it. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html "I think you're right, sir," said Torrance. "I'll go and-" "Virginal!" bellowed Van Rijn. Torrance jumped. "What?" "Virginal! That's the word I was looking for. The first beer of the day, you idiot!" The cabin door chimed. Torrance groaned. He'd been hoping for some sleep, at least, after more hours on deck than he cared to number. But when the ship prowled through darkness, seeking another ship which might or might not he out there, and the hunters drew closer. . . "Come in." Jeri Kofoed entered. Torrance gaped, sprang to his feet, and bowed. "Freelady! What-what-what a surprise! Is there anything I can do?" "Please." She laid a hand on his. Her gown was of shimmerite and shameless in cut, because Van Rijn had- n't provided any .other sort, but the look she gave Tor- rance had nothing to do with that. "I had to come, Lodge- master. If you've any pity at all, you'll listen to me." He waved her to a chair, offered cigarettes, and struck one for himself. The smoke, drawn deep into his lungs, calmed him a little. He sat down on the opposite side of the table. "If I can be of help to you, Freelady Kofoed, Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html you know I'm happy to oblige. Vh . . . Freeman Van Rijn . . ." "He's asleep. Not that he has any claims on me. I haven't signed a contract or any such thing." Her irritation gave way to a wry smile. "Oh, admitted, we're all his inferiors, in fact as well as in status. I'm not contravening his wishes, not really. It's just that he won't answer my questions, and if I don't find out what's going on I'll have to start screaming." Torrance weighed a number of factors. A private expla- nation, in more detail than the crew had required, might indeed be best for her. "As you wish, Freelady," he said, and related what had happened to the converter. "We can't fix it ourselves," he concluded. "If we continued traveling at high quasi-speed, we'd bum it out before we arrived; and then, without power, we'd soon die. If we proceed slowly enough to preserve it, we'd need half a year to reach Valhalla, which is more time than we have supplies for. Though the Adderkops would doubtless track us down within a week or two." She shivered. "Why? I don't understand." She stared at her glowing cigarette end for a moment, until a degree of composure returned, and with it a touch of humor. "I may pass for a fast, sophisticated girl on Freya, Captain. But you know even better than I, Freya is a jerkwater planet on the very fringe of human civilization. We've