Carey didn't know how desperate the Wykzl were to obtain the Dalkanium they sought-he had alread underestimated that desperation once-and he certainly had no idea why they wanted it.

  From what his father told him, the situation had first arisen about two years ago. A message from the Wykzl had been received at the imperial palace in which they had asked for a large supply of Dalkanium ore. Melor Carey had managed to obtain that message and he had replied with a long list of conditions that must be met by the Wykzl before negotiations could even commence. Melor's response was in no way extraordinary for anyone with a trader's sense, but the Wykzl had never replied. That was two years ago, a nearly forgotten incident when the rebellion had broken out on Evron Eleven and the Wykzl had suddenly

  peared in the sky to observe.

  Matthew Carey, sent here by his father to resolve the rebellion, had assumed that was all the Wykzl intended to do: observe. He had attempted to contact their ship on several occasions and received absolutely no response. In spite of this, obviously, his assumption had been mistaken: the Wykzl intended to do much more than observe.

  The real problem was that he had no clear idea of what to do next. It was the Wykzl commander, Mo-leete, who had requested this meeting in neutral space. Carey had had no choice but to accept the invitation. The mines of Evron Eleven were now buried beneath a thousand tons of dirt and rock dumped by the Wykzl bombs. He could only hope that some sort of understanding might come from this meeting.

  There was a sudden thud.

  The tiny lifeboat rocked from side to side, and Carey gripped the sides of his chair.

  "That was them, sir," said Quill, from the viewscreen. "We're locked together."

  "Then cycle the lock," Carey said bleakly, "and let them on board. We may as well get this over with as soon as we can."

  His original plan, he still firmly believed, remained utterly brilliant in its combination of deviousness and surface simplicity. For one thing, Phillip Nolan's presence aboard the Eagleseye had presented a definite problem from the beginning. Because of old family jealousies, Nolan could be counted on to cause trouble-he had confirmed that the day the trip began-but there had been no easy way of excluding him from the crew. it had been Carey's own idea to staff the Eagleseye with corpsmen from his own graduating class whose obedience a@nd loyalty he need not doubt. But Nolan remained a problem, and so Carey had decided to use him-along with that strange man, Tedric-as a pawn in the first of his strategic moves. He sent Nolan down to spy on the rebellious miners and then made sure that he would be captured almost at once.

  He called the move a triple score. First, the capture of Nolan and Tedric gave him an easv excuse for taking any measures he wished against the rebels. Second, it neatly disposed of the problem of Nolan himself. And third, it lulled the rebels into thinking they were safe from further attack. All of this had worked out perfectly, and he was convinced the rest of his plan would have succeeded as well. He had intended to launch a quick commando attack on the mines, capture and execute the re bel leaders, and, if they were still alive, rescue Nolan and Tedric.

  But it hadn't worked out that way. Before he could move, the Wykzl had dropped their bombs. Now the mines were sealed up tight. And he didn't know what to do next His thoughts occupied his mind so thoroughly that he failed to notice as the tiny side airlock slowly cycled open. When he turned to speak to Quill and found himself gazing up at a living, breathing representative of mankind's oldest enemy, he was too stunned to speak.

  He had seen pictures, of course, but this was

  hardly the same. For one thing, the Wykzl sta peculiar odor, both musty and oily. Carey gulped and wished he could hold his nose.

  The Wykzl stood half again as tall as a normal man. It was naked but covered from head to feet by a neat, pruned coat of pale blue fur. The face alone was hairless and showed a pink snout and two round red eyes. Above, where a man's eyebrows ould have been, a pair of thin gray stalks, tendrils, fluttered, in the air-the W@kzl hearing ap-paratus, much stronger than the human ear. "I am Mo-leete of the Wvkzl," said the creature, in perfect imitation of imperial Galactic. "I welcome you to the land of my species." The Wykzl stuck out his left paw and waited for Carey to shake.

  Gingerly, as if touching something hot, Cl,arey did so. The touch, peculiarly, was moist.

  "I’m afraid there's been an error," he said, as smoothly as possible. "This planet belongs to the Empire of Man."

  "Ah, then perhaps that explains it," said Mo-leete. "Explains what?" asked Carey.

  "Your war-like intrusion into our sacred ter-ritory. MayI suggest the likelihood of an eror in astrogation."

  "Our astrogator. is a technician," Carey said coldly. "A robot. He cannot make errors."

  "Then perhaps the fault lies with the chart-maker."

  I think not." Carey fought to control his anger. My family has operated the mines on Evron Eleven since the conclusion of the war. For you to come here and claim otherwise verges upon a declaration of outright war."

  "War with your family?"

  "War with the Empire of Man."

  Mo-leete made a deep clicking sound somewhere in his chest. He seemed to glare at Carey. "Are you threatening my ship?"

  Carey feared that he had gone too far. "I was merely stating my position."

  "Ah, yes, your position." Mo-leete clearly knew as well as Carey did that the Eagleseye was no match for the Wykzl cruiser.

  Carey didn't intend to let the matter rest here. "Surely you won't deny that hundreds of human beings have died as a result of your attack on the mines. You were the ones who took agressive action, not us."

  "But it was your people who refused to grant our original request for Dalkanium."

  "That didn't give you the right to come here and take it."

  "It gave us no right, but it did give us a certain need." "Then what do you want the Dalkanium for?" Mo-leete shook his head. "I am pleased to rehe said, ignoring Carey's question entirely, port,

  "that no one died as a result of our attack on the mines. The surveyor devices aboard our ship are far more sophisticated than yours, and it was an easy process for us to drop our bombs only in areas where no one would be harmed."

  "And what do you intend to do now?"

  Mo-leete nodded sharply, as if thanking Carey for finally coming to the point. "I am authorized to demand your immediate departure from this sector of space and your written revocation of any claims you might have to the mines on Evron Eleven."

  "That's impossible," said Carey.

  "I'm afraid those are our terms."

  Carey went over and sat down. Quill continued to operate the ship, apparently unaware of the discussion around him. Carey wanted time to think. He didn't know what he had expected from Moleete, but it surely wasn't a frontal attack such as this. The Wykzl was leaving him no alternatives at all. His back was against the wall, and there was no place to turn.

  "What if I promise to give you the Dalkanium you seek?"

  Mo-leete shook his head. "You haven't the authority to do that."

  "My father does."

  "He's not here."

  "I can contact him from the Eagleseye."

  The Wykzl shook his head, a strangely humanoid gesture. "Why should we accept a gift of what we have already taken?" -

  "And why should I allow you to take what is rightfully mine?"

  "Because you have no choice."

  "I think I have. You won't attack the Eagieseye. I intend to request additional naval forces. Unless you're serious about risking war, I don't think you have any choice but to leave."

  "Then you are wrong."

  "I don't-"

  "Sir." It was Quill, speaking from the viewscreen.

  Angry, Carey turned to tell him to be quiet, but something in the man's expression disturbed him. "What is it now?"

  "I think you ought to come over here and look at this, sir. It may be important."

  Carey looked at Mo-leete, but the Wykzl's expression was impossible to read. He went over to the viewscreen and looked past Quill's shoulder. What he saw made him flare with sudden anger. There was another ship on the screen, a third ship' and it was considerably larger than either of the other two. Not a lifeboat, Carey knew, but a battletug. A Wykzl battletug.

  He spun angrily around and glared at Mo-leete. "This is your ship here on the screen."

  "It is."

  "An armed battletug."

  Yes."

  "Then you've violated

  ment."

  "I could have warned

  "They re not to be trusted. They're not."

  Carey wasn't interested now in learning what people could have told him in the past. He came away from the screen and walked back to where Mo-leete stood. "What do you want from me?" "Only the relinquishment of your claim to the mines."

  "What good is something like that when it's obtained by threat of force?"

  "What good is any agreement, Lieutenant the terms of our agree-you, sir," Quill put in.

  Carey? Only as good as those who accept it. I wished, I could easily seize the mines by direct force. Already, robots sent down from my ship are working to free the trapped miners. It will be easier for me if you do as I ask, but if you do not, nothing will change.

  This matter is too serious for us Wykzl to worry about being fair. I am authorized to run any risk, even open war, to acquire the Dalkanium we seek."

  But why? Carey found himself thinking. This time he did not bother to voice the question; it was obvious Mo-leete would not answer. "Am I free to communicate with the Eagleseye?"

  "You are free to do whatever you wish short of attempting to move your boat from this spot."

  "And if I tried?"

  "The battletug would open fire immediately and destroy you."

  "And you," Carey said meaningfully.

  "And me," Mo-leete admitted. "My crew will obey their orders. They have-"

  Mo-leete broke off his speech in mid-sentence and fell into what seemed to be a deep trance. His eyes glazed and his face was slack. Abruptly, his lips moved, emitting a strange sequence of guttural clicks, clacks, and groans.

  "That's their native language," Quill said, com-ing over.

  "But who's he talking to?" It was plain by now that Mo-leete could no longer hear them.

  "Probably his ship. Their tendrils can pick up a message over that much distance."

  As quickly as the trance had come over him, Moleete regained full consciousness. He looked at

  Carey, then at Quill, and he blinked. "You have deceived us. You have lied'."

  "What are you talking about?" Despite the calmness of his voice, Mo-leete was obviously very angry.

  "Your cruiser has attacked my craft."

  "But I didn't-it can't... Mo-leete, I promise you, I did not authorize any attack."

  "No matter-whoever did will pay. I have directed my crew to return your attack with full force. We will burn you out of the sky and see you die."

  Carey could only stare at the Wykzl with openmouthed astonishment. It was impossible. Captain Maillard would never dare exercise such authority on his own.

  Quill had gone over to the viewscreen. Now he called to Carey, "Sir, I've got a picture now. He's telling the truth, all right. I can see both ships. And they're fighting, sir. They're fighting with everything each one of them has."

  Carey groaned aloud and threw up his hands. He couldn't believe anyone could be so stupid. How was he going to explain this to his father? He had not only managed to lose the family mines, but now it appeared he was about to lose the largest ship in the entire imperial fleet as well. It was impossible. It was incredible. With Moleete, he went over to look at the viewscreen. He saw it was true.

  CHAPTER 8

  Battle in Space

  The old house on the bleak plain glitters with a foul, rancid light of its own, but the weary traveler on his mount does not appear to notice as he rides near. He tethers his horse and slowly approaches the door. The traveler knocks once, softly. He appears to be a trader or merchant. He wears long golden robes and a well-trimmed blond beard. His hair is also yellow, and cut short. He is a tall man, with broad strong shoulders, but he walks slowly, with a decided stoop. It is impossible to guess his age.

  At his knock, the door opens. A beautiful young woman stands in the doorway. She is dressed in a thin, transparent white gown. Her teeth are long and sharp, and her eyes are yellow. She smiles with bright red lips.

  "I-I thought this was an inn," the traveler stammers. "I didn't realize. . . "

  Silently, the woman stands aside and beckons him to enter. Beyond her he can now see many other women. All are young, lovely, and nearly naked. With apparent eagerness, the traveler hurries inside.

  The door slams loudly shut behind him. There is a staircase. It is long, wide, and winding. A peculiarly thick odor drifts down from above.

  Without hesitation, ignoring the women, the traveler racesfor the stairs. As he does, his robefalls open, revealing the bulk of a longsword. The traveler clutches the sword and waves it in the air. One woman jumps in front of him. There is fire in her eyes and death on herface. She raises her hands to block his path.

  Tedric swings his swordfrom the hips. The blade whistles as it cuts the air. The woman's headflies off her shoulders.

  There is no blood.

  Tedric mounts the stairs.

  Tedric surprised himself.

  He had never really expected to come this far or, at times, to live this long, but now that it had happened and he stood where he did-in the central control room of the fleet cruiser Eagieseye-he understood for the first time why the Scientists might have chosen to send him here.

  He liked the responsibility of command. He enjoyed the thrill of battle. He knew exactly what he should be doing and he went about it as if his life depended upon it.

  He didn't understand why this should be true, but it was. In the past, some definite and specific recollection had always accompanied any moment of enlightenment. This time, as hard as he tried, he failed to dredge one specific fact from his memory to confirm what he now firmly believed. But he was certain: he had fought many battles in the past, and he had won them.

  There was no time to consider the matter more fully. He had reached a tentative conclusion concerning his own reasons for being alive, but he knew he must forget about that for now.

  Keeping careful watch on the three narrow viewscreens located side-by-side on the wall in front of him, he told Phillip Nolan, who stood nearby, "We can't take this punishment much longer. Tell the astrogator to plot a course using Evron's gravity as a whip. It's the only way we'll snap their tractor beams."

  Nolan nodded tightly and turned to one of the two technicians occupying chairs in front of the opposite wall. Besides Tedric, Nolan, and the two robots, the cramped control room contained three other figures. One was Assistant Steward ThirdClass Keller, another was Captain John Maillard of the Imperial Navy, and the third was not a human being at all; he was a Wykzl.

  Tedric watched the leftward of the three viewscreens. It showed a scene of a metal surface gleaming red with heat; this picture represented the outer hull of the Eagleseye.

  The defensive screens still protected the ship from the full force of the Wykzl's powerful heatrays. Even so, Tedric well knew, if they weren't out of here inside of a few seconds, the hull would melt and the battle would be lost.

  The astrogator turned in his chair. "I have that course on lock, sir," the robot said.

  "Then hit it," said Tedric. "Now."

  The screens jumped. The screens on the right and middle showed wavering patches of streaking stars. "Find the Wykzl ship," Tedric said. He kept his voice deliberately calm.

  "See if they're coming after us."

  The second technician, the one who was not an

  astrogator, punched the keyboard in front of him. A moment later, in the center screen, Tedric saw the oblate globe of the enemy cruiser, its blue tractor beams and yellow heatrays flashing impotently through the void. As he watched, the outline of the ship grew fainter. "We've got a headstart," he said. "They didn't know we'd run," Nolan said.

  "They knew," said Tedric. "They didn't know just when."

  But the image of the other ship was already growing larger.

  Escaping from Evron Eleven had proved difticult enough in itself.

  It was Keller who was by far the most deeply affected by the loss of Jania.

  While Tedric and Nolan sat on the ground, conversing occasionally in hushed tones, Keller wandered off to be alone. He sat down some distance away from the others, his back turned toward them, his posture tense. Tedric made no attempt to interfere. He knew that whatever Keller was feeling and thinking now had to remain a private matter.

  Finally, after an hour had passed, Nolan said, "I really don't think we can afford to wait much longer."

  Tedric looked across to where Keller still sat. "No, I suppose not."

  "We have no clear idea of what's going on. Someone might stumble upon us. We can't afford to be captured again."

  "No.,,

  "Maybe you could talk to him. I'd do it myself, but I have no idea what I should say."

  Tedric had no better idea. Still, Nolan was right.

  Something had to be done. "All right. I'll try."

  Standing, Tedric went hesitantly over to Keller. "May I have a word with you?" he asked softly. Keller turned at the sound of Tedric's voice. His face was like a hollow mask.-His eyes showed the depth of his private pain. "Sir?"

  Tedric crouched down; it seemed easier to talk this way. "Nolan thinks it's time we were moving out. I can't really disagree with him."

  "Might be dangerous here, huh?"

  "I think it's a possibility."

  "Could you. . .?" Keller faltered before going on. "Could you give me another minute, sir?"

 

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