Chapter XVI
THE BATTLE OF THE VIDEO
Oddly enough, in spite of the tension which must have boiled within him,Rip brought them in with a perfect four fin-point landing--one which,under the circumstances, must win him the respect of master star-starpilots from the Rim. Though Dane doubted whether if they lost, that skillwould bring Shannon anything but a long term in the moon mines. Theactual jar of their landing contact was mostly absorbed by the webbing oftheir shock seats and they were on their feet, ready to move almost atonce.
The next operation had been planned. Dane gave a glance at the screen.Ringed now about the Queen were the buildings of Terraport. Yes, anyattempt to attack the ship would endanger too much of the permanentstructure of the field itself. Rip had brought them down--not on therocket scarred outer landing space--but on the concrete apron between theAssignment Center and the control tower--a smooth strip usually sacred tothe parking of officials' ground scooters. He speculated as to whetherany of the latter had been converted to molten metal by the exhausts ofthe Queen's descent.
Like the team they had come to be the four active members of the crewwent into action. Ali and Weeks were waiting by an inner hatch, MedicHovan with them. The Engineer-apprentice was bulky in a space suit, andtwo more of the unwieldy body coverings waited beside him for Rip andDane. With fingers which were inclined to act like thumbs they weresealed into what would provide some protection against any blaster orsleep ray. Then with Hovan, conspicuously wearing no such armor, theyclimbed into one of the ship's crawlers.
Weeks activated the outer hatch and the crane lines plucked the smallvehicle out of the Queen, swinging it dizzily down to the blast scoredapron.
"Make for the tower--" Rip's voice was thin in the helmet coms.
Dane at the controls of the crawler pulled on as Ali cast off the lineswhich anchored them to the spacer.
Through the bubble helmet he could see the frenzied activity in thearoused port. An ant hill into which some idle investigator had thrust astick and given it a turn or two was nothing compared with Terraportafter the unorthodox arrival of the Solar Queen.
"Patrol mobile coming in on southeast vector," Ali announced calmly."Looks like she mounts a portable flamer on her nose--"
"So." Dane changed direction, putting behind him a customs check point,aware as he ground by that stand, of a line of faces at its vision ports.Evasive action--and he'd have to get the top speed from the clumsycrawler.
"Police 'copter over us--" that was Rip reporting.
Well, they couldn't very well avoid _that_. But at the same time Danewas reasonably sure that its attack would not be an overt one--not withthe unarmed, unprotected Hovan prominently displayed in their midst.
But there he was too sanguine. A muffled exclamation from Rip made himglance at the Medic beside him. Just in time to see Hovan slump limplyforward, about to tumble from the crawler when Shannon caught him frombehind. Dane was too familiar with the results of sleep rays to have anydoubts as to what had happened.
The P-copter had sprayed them with its most harmless weapon. Only thesuits, insulated to the best of their makers' ability against most of thedangers of space, real and anticipated, had kept the three Traders frombeing overcome as well. Dane suspected that his own responses were atrifle sluggish, that while he had not succumbed to that attack, he hadbeen slowed. But with Rip holding the unconscious Medic in his seat,Thorson continued to head the crawler for the tower and its promise of asystem wide hearing for their appeal.
"There's a P-mobile coming in ahead--"
Dane was irritated by that warning from Rip. He had already sighted thatblack and silver ground car himself. And he was only too keenly consciousof the nasty threat of the snub nosed weapon mounted on its hood, nowpointed straight at the oncoming, too deliberate Traders' crawler. Thenhe saw what he believed would be their only chance--to play once more thesame type of trick as Rip had used to earth them safely.
"Get Hovan under cover," he ordered. "I'm going to crash the tower door!"
Hasty movements answered that as the Medic's limp body was thrust underthe cover offered by the upper framework of the crawler. Luckily themachine had been built for heavy duty on rugged worlds where roadwayswere unknown. Dane was sure he could build up the power and speednecessary to take them into the lower floor of the tower--no matter ifits door was now barred against them.
Whether his audacity daunted the P-mobile, or whether they held off froman all out attack because of Hovan, Dane could not guess. But he was gladfor a few minutes of grace as he raced the protesting engine of the heavymachine to its last and greatest effort. The treads of the crawler bit onthe steps leading up to the impressive entrance of the tower. There was asecond or two before traction caught and then the driver's heart snappedback into place as the machine tilted its nose up and headed straight forthe portal.
They struck the closed doors with a shock which almost hurled them fromtheir seats. But that engraved bronze expanse had not been cast towithstand a head-on blow from a heavy duty off-world vehicle and theleaves tore apart letting them into the wide hall beyond.
"Take Hovan and make for the riser!" For the second time it was Dane whogave the orders. "I have a blocking job to do here." He expected everysecond to feel the bit of a police blaster somewhere along his shrinkingbody--could even a space suit protect him now?
At the far end of the corridor were the attendants and visitors, trappedin the building, who had fled in an attempt to find safety at thecrashing entrance of the crawler. These flung themselves flat at thesteady advance of the two space-suited Traders who supported theunconscious Medic between them, using the low-powered anti-grav units ontheir belts to take most of his weight so each had one hand free to holda sleep rod. And they did not hesitate to use those weapons--spraying therightful inhabitants of the tower until all lay unmoving.
Having seen that Ali and Rip appeared to have the situation in hand, Daneturned to his own self-appointed job. He jammed the machine on reverse,maneuvering it with an ease learned by practice on the rough terrain ofLimbo, until the gate doors were pushed shut again. Then he swung themachine around so that its bulk would afford an effective bar to keep thedoor locked for some very precious moments to come. Short of using aflamer full power to cut their way in, no one was going to force anentrance now.
He climbed out of the machine, to discover, when he turned, that the triofrom the Queen had disappeared--leaving all possible opposition asleep onthe floor. Dane clanked on to join them, carrying in plated fingers theirmost important weapon to awake public opinion--an improvised cage inwhich was housed one of the pests from the cargo hold--the proof of theirplague-free state which they intended Hovan to present, via the telecast,to the whole system.
Dane reached the shaft of the riser--to find the platform gone. Wouldeither Rip or Ali have presence of mind enough to send it down to him onautomatic?
"Rip--return the riser," he spoke urgently into the throat mike of hishelmet com.
"Keep your rockets straight," Ali's cool voice was in his earphones,"It's on its way down. Did _you_ remember to bring Exhibit A?"
Dane did not answer. For he was very much occupied with another problem.On the bronze doors he had been at such pains to seal shut there had comeinto being a round circle of dull red which was speedily changing into acoruscating incandescence. They _had_ brought a flamer to bear! It wouldbe a very short time now before the Police could come through. Thatriser--
Afraid of overbalancing in the bulky suit Dane did not lean forward tostare up into the shaft. But, as his uncertainty reached a fever pitch,the platform descended and he took two steps forward into temporarysafety, still clutching the cage. At the first try the thick fingers ofhis gloved hand slipped from the lever and he hit it again, harder thanhe intended, so that he found himself being wafted upward with a speedwhich did not agree with a stomach, even one long accustomed to spaceflight. And he almost lost his balance when it came to a stop many floorsabove.
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bsp; But he had not lost his wits. Before he stepped from the platform he setthe dial on a point which would lift the riser to the top of the shaftand hold it there. That might trap the Traders on the broadcasting floor,but it would also insure them time before the forces of the law couldreach them.
Dane located the rest of his party in the circular core chamber of thebroadcasting section. He recognized a backdrop he had seen thousands oftimes behind the announcer who introduced the news-casts. In one cornerRip, his suit off, was working over the still relaxed form of the Medic.While Ali, a grim set to his mouth, was standing with a man who wore theinsignia of a Com-tech.
"All set?" Rip looked up from his futile ministrations.
Dane put down the cage and began the business of unhooking his ownprotective covering. "They were burning through the outer doors of theentrance hall when I took off."
"You're not going to get away with this--" that was the Com-tech.
Ali smiled wearily, a stretch of lips in which there was little or nomirth. "Listen, my friend. Since I started to ride rockets I've been toldI wasn't going to get away with this or that. Why not be more original?Use what is between those outsize ears of yours. We fought our way inhere--we landed at Terraport against orders--we're Patrol Posted. Do youthink that one man, one lone man, is going to keep us now from doing whatwe came to do? And don't look around for any reinforcements. We sprayedboth those rooms. You can run the emergency hook-up singlehanded andyou're going to. We're Free Traders--Ha," the man had lost some of hisassurance as he stared from one drawn young face to another, "I see youbegin to realize what that means. Out on the Rim we play rough, and weplay for keeps. I know half a hundred ways to set you screaming in threeminutes and at least ten of them will not even leave a mark on your skin!Now do we get Service--or don't we?"
"You'll go to the Chamber for this--!" snarled the tech.
"All right. But first we broadcast. Then maybe someday a ship that's runinto bad luck'll have a straighter deal than we've had. You get on yourpost. And we'll have the play back on--remember that. If you don't giveus a clear channel we'll know it. How about it, Rip--how's Hovan?"
Rip's face was a mask of worry. "He must have had a full dose. I can'tbring him around."
Was this the end of their bold bid? Let each or all of them go before thescreen to plead their case, let them show the caged pest. But without theprofessional testimony of the Medic, the weight of an expert opinion ontheir side, they were licked. Well, sometimes luck did not ride a man'sfins all the way in.
But some stubborn core within Dane refused to let him believe that theyhad lost. He went over to the Medic huddled in a chair. To allappearances Hovan was deeply asleep, sunk in the semi-coma the sleep rayproduced. And the frustrating thing was that the man himself could havesupplied the counter to his condition, given them the instructions how tobring him around. How many hours away was a natural awaking? Long beforethat their hold on the station would be broken--they would be in thecustody of either Police or Patrol.
"He's sunk--" Dane voiced the belief which put an end to their hopes. ButAli did not seem concerned.
Kamil was standing with their captive, an odd expression on his handsomeface as if he were striving to recall some dim memory. When he spoke itwas to the Com-tech. "You have an HD OS here?"
The other registered surprise. "I think so--"
Ali made an abrupt gesture. "Make sure," he ordered, following the maninto another room. Dane looked to Rip for enlightenment.
"What in the Great Nebula is an HD OS?"
"I'm no engineer. It may be some gadget to get us out of here--"
"Such as a pair of wings?" Dane was inclined to be sarcastic. The memoryof that incandescent circle on the door some twenty floors below stayedwith him. Tempers of Police and Patrol were not going to be improved byfighting their way around or over the obstacles the Traders had arrangedto delay them. If they caught up to the outlaws before the latter hadtheir chance for an impartial hearing, the result was not going to be ahappy one as far as the Queen's men were concerned.
Ali appeared in the doorway. "Bring Hovan in here." Together Rip and Danecarried the Medic into a smaller chamber where they found Ali and thetech busy lashing a small, lightweight tube chair to a machine which, totheir untutored eyes, had the semblance of a collection of bars. Obeyinginstructions they seated Hovan in that chair, fastening him in, while theMedic continued to slumber peacefully. Uncomprehendingly Rip and Danestepped back while, under Ali's watchful eye, the Com-tech madeadjustments and finally snapped some hidden switch.
Dane discovered that he dared not watch too closely what followed. Inuredas he thought he was to the tricks of Hyperspace, to acceleration andanti-gravity, the oscillation of that swinging seat, the weird swaying ofthe half-recumbent figure, did things to his sight and to his sense ofbalance which seemed perilous in the extreme. But when the groan brokethrough the hum of Ali's mysterious machine, all of them knew that theEngineer-apprentice had found the answer to their problem, that Hovan waswaking.
The Medic was bleary-eyed and inclined to stagger when they freed him.And for several minutes he seemed unable to grasp either his surroundingsor the train of events which had brought him there.
Long since the Police must have broken into the entrance corridor below.Perhaps they had by now secured a riser which would bring them up. Alihad forced the Com-tech to throw the emergency control which was designedto seal off from the outer world the entire unit in which they now were.But whether that protective device would continue to hold now, none ofthe three were certain. Time was running out fast.
Supporting the wobbling Hovan, they went back into the panel room andunder Ali's supervision the Com-tech took his place at the control board.Dane put the cage with the pest well to the fore on the table of theannouncer and waited for Rip to take his place there with the tremblingMedic. When Shannon did not move Dane glanced up in surprise--this was notime to hesitate. But he discovered that the attention of both hisshipmates was now centered on him. Rip pointed to the seat.
"You're the talk merchant, aren't you?" the acting commander of the Queenasked crisply. "Now's the time to shout the Lingo--"
They couldn't mean--! But it was very evident that they did. Of course,a Cargo-master was supposed to be the spokesman of a ship. But that wasin matters of trade. And how could _he_ stand there and argue the casefor the Queen? He was the newest joined, the greenest member of her crew.Already his mouth was dry and his nerves tense. But Dane didn't know thatnone of that was revealed by his face or manner. The usual impassivenesswhich had masked his inner conflicts since his first days at the Poolserved him now. And the others never noted the hesitation with which heapproached the announcer's place.
Dane had scarcely seated himself, one hand resting on the cage of thepest, before Ali brought down two fingers in the sharp sweep whichsignaled the Com-tech to duty. Far above them there was a whisper ofsound which signified the opening of the play-back. They would be able tocheck on whether the broadcast was going out or not. Although Dane couldsee nothing of the system wide audience which he currently faced, herealized that the room and those in it were now visible on every tuned-invideo set. Instead of the factual cast, the listeners were about to betreated to a melodrama which was as wild as their favorite romances. Itonly needed the break-in of the Patrol to complete the illusion ofaction-fiction--crime variety.
A second finger moved in his direction and Dane leaned forward. He facedonly the folds of a wall wide curtain, but he must keep in mind that intruth there was a sea of faces before him, the faces of those whom he andHovan, working together, must convince if he were to save the Queen andher crew.
He found his voice and it was steady and even, he might have beenoutlining some stowage problem for Van Rycke's approval.
"People of Terra--"
Martian, Venusian, Asteroid colonist--inwardly they were still all Terranand on that point he would rest. He was a Terran appealing to his ownkind.
"People of Terra
, we come before you to ask justice--" from somewhere thewords came easily, flowing from his lips to center on a patch of lightahead. And that "justice" rang with a kind of reassurance.