Talents, Incorporated Read online

  Chapter 8

  The trick, of course, was in the timing, and the secret was that Borsknew what he was doing, while those who opposed him did not. Bors haddeclared himself a pirate on Tralee, and here off Garen he'd claimed thesame status. But no Mekinese, as yet, knew why he'd outlawed himself,nor his purpose in challenging a line battleship to fight. It seemedlike the raving, hysterical hatred of men with no motive but hate. Butit wasn't. The _Isis_ could have sent down a missile with alimited-yield warhead if its only purpose had been to kill or todestroy. He could have blasted the warship without warning and it wasunlikely that it was alert enough to send up counter-missiles in its owndefense. But he'd have had to smash everything else in the spaceport atthe same time.

  Therefore he'd left his two space-boats in low orbit on the night sideof the planet. In thirty minutes or so they'd arrive near the spaceport,where there was a large cargo-ship loaded with foodstuffs, for Mekin.Bors wanted that cargo.

  So when the Mekinese battlewagon came lumbering up to space, with hermissile-tubes armed and bristling, Bors withdrew the _Isis_. It was notflight. It was a move designed to make sure that when the fight beganthere would be no stray missiles falling on the planet.

  * * * * *

  Unseen, the _Isis's_ space-boats floated in darkness. They carried tenmen each, equipped with small arms and light bombs. They listened tosuch bits of broadcast information as came from the night beneath them.Boat Number One picked up a news broadcast, and when it was finished,the petty officer in command pulled free the tape that had recorded itand tucked it in his pocket. There were items of interest on it.

  * * * * *

  The _Isis_ came to a stop in space. The battleship rose and rose. It didnot drive toward the _Isis_. There was a maximum distance beyond whichspace-combat was impractical; beyond which missiles became mere blindprojectiles moving almost at random and destroying each other withoutregard to planetary loyalties. There was also a minimum distance, belowwhich missiles were again mere projectiles and could not greatly modifythe courses on which they were launched.

  But there was a wide area in between, in which combat was practical. TheMekinese battleship reached a height where it could maneuver onsolar-system drive without rockets. It might, of course, flick intooverdrive and be gone thousands of millions of miles within seconds. Butthat would be flight. It would not return accurately to the scene of thefight. So overdrive could not be used as a battle tactic. It could beused only for escape.

  * * * * *

  Near the planet, where the two space-boats floated, the dawnlineappeared at the world's edge. The space-boats swung about, facingbackward, and applied power for deceleration. They dropped into theatmosphere and bounced out again, and in again--more deeply--and thenswung once more to face along their course. They began a long, shallow,screaming descent from the farthest limits of the planet's atmosphere.

  * * * * *

  Out where the sun of Garen was a disk of intolerable brilliance andheat, the battleship bumbled on its way. It would seem that itscommander scornfully accepted the _Isis's_ terms of combat and movedcontemptuously to the position where his weapons would be most deadly.His ship's launching-tubes were at the ready. It should be able to pourout a cloud of missiles. In fact, a sardonic voice came from thebattleship.

  "_Calling pirate_," said the voice.

  "Yes," said Bors.

  "_If you wish to surrender--_"

  "We don't," said Bors.

  "_I was about to say_," said the sardonic voice, "_that it is now toolate._"

  The radar-screen showed tiny specks darting out from that larger speckwhich was the battleship. They came hurtling toward the _Isis_. Borscounted them. A ship of the _Isis's_ class mounted eighteenlaunching-tubes. She should be able to fire eighteen missiles at a time.The Mekinese ship had fired nineteen. If the _Isis_ opened fire, by allthe previous rules of space-combat, she would need to use one missile tocounter every one of the battleship's, there would still be one leftover to destroy the _Isis_--unless she fired a second spread ofmissiles, which was virtually impossible before she would be hit.

  It was mockery by the skipper of the battleship. He was doubtless muchamused at the idea of toying with this small, insolent vessel. But Borsdid not try to match him missile for missile. He said evenly,

  "Fire one. Fire two. Fire three. Fire four."

  He stopped at four. His four missiles went curving wildly, in thegeneral direction, only, of the enemy.

  * * * * *

  On the planet Garen two shrieking objects came furiously to ground. Menleaped swiftly out of them and trotted toward a small town, asettlement, a group of houses hardly larger than a village. One mandelayed by each grounded space-boat, and then ran to overtake theothers. Local inhabitants appeared, to stare and to wonder. The twolanding-parties, ten men in each, did not pause. They swarmed into thevillage's single street. There were ground-cars at the street-sides. Themen of the landing-parties established themselves briskly. One of themseized a staring civilian by the arm.

  "To hell with Mekin," he said conversationally. "Where's thecommunicator office?"

  "Wha--what--?"

  "To hell with Mekin," repeated the man from the _Isis_, impatiently."Where's the communicator office?"

  The civilian, trembling suddenly, pointed. Some of the landing-partyrushed to it. Four went in. There were the reports of blast-rifles.Smoke and the smell of burnt insulation drifted out. Others of themagically arrived men went methodically down the street, examining eachground-car in turn. One of them cupped his hands and bellowed for theinformation of alarmed citizens:

  "Attention, please! We're from the pirate ship _Isis_. You have nothingto fear from us. We're survivors of Mekin's invasion of Kandar. You willplease co-operate with us, and no harm will come to you. Yourground-cars will be disabled so you can't report us. You will not bepunished for this! Repeat: you will not be punished!"

  He repeated the announcement. Others of the swiftly-movinglanding-parties drove the chosen ground-cars away from the streets. Theremaining cars received a blaster-bolt apiece. In seven minutes andthirty seconds from the landing of the small space-craft, a motleyassortment of cars roared out of the village, heading for the capitalcity of Garen. As the last car cleared the houses, there was a monstrousexplosion. One of the space-boats flew to bits. Before the cars hadvanished, there was a second explosion. Another space-boat vanished inflame and debris. The landing-party had no way to return to space. Theinhabitants of the village had no way to report their coming except inperson and by traveling some considerable distance on foot. They weresingularly slow in making that report. The men of the space-boats hadsaid they were pirates. The people of Garen felt no animosity towardpirates. They only hated Mekinese.

  * * * * *

  Out in space, missiles hurtled away from the small ship _Isis_. They didnot plunge directly at the battleship. They swung crazily in wide arcs.The already-launched Mekinese missiles swerved to intercept them. Theyfailed. More missiles erupted from the battleship, aimed to intercept.They also failed. The battleship began to fling out every missile itpossessed, in a frantic effort to knock out the _Isis's_ erraticmissiles, which neither instruments nor eyes were able to followaccurately enough to establish a pattern of destination.

  * * * * *

  Half a dozen ground-cars roared through the streets of the capital cityof Garen. They did not seem to be crowded. One man or at most, two,could be seen in each car, but they drove as a unit, one close behindanother, at a furious pace. When they needed a clear way, the firstsounded its warning-note and the others joined in as a chorus. Half adozen sirens blaring together have an authoritative, emergency sound.The way was cleared when that imperative clarion demanded it.

  They swerved under the landing-grid. They raced and bounced across theclear s
urface which was the spaceport. There stood a giant, rotundcargo-ship, pointing skyward. There were ground-trucks still supplyingcargo for its nearly filled-up holds.

  The six ground-cars braked, making clouds of dust. And suddenly therewas not one or two men in each, but an astonishing number. They knewexactly what they were about. Five of them plunged into the ship. Othersdrove off the ground-trucks. Uniformed men ran from the side of thespaceport toward the ship, yelling. One ground-car started up again,rushed to the control-building, swerved sharply as a crash into itseemed inevitable, and dumped something out on the ground. It raced backto the other cars about the cargo-ship. The hold-doors were closing.

  The object dumped by the control-building went off. It was achemical-explosive bomb, but its power was adequate. The wall of thebuilding caved in. Flames leaped crazily out of the collapsed heap. Thelanding-field would be out of operation.

  The last car skidded to a stop. The two men in it ran for theboarding-stair of the cargo-boat. There was nobody of their partyoutside now. The landing-stair withdrew after them.

  Then monstrous, incredible masses of flame and steam burst from thebottom of the rotund space-ship. It lifted, slowly at first, but thenmore and more swiftly. It climbed to the sky. It became a speck, andthen a mote at the crawling end of a trail of opaque whiteemergency-rocket fumes. Then it vanished.

  * * * * *

  Far out in space, there was an explosion brighter than the sun, and thena second and a third. There was a cloud of incandescent metal vapor.Presently a missile found its target-seeking microwaves reflected by theionized metal steam. It plunged into collision with that glowing stuff.It exploded. Two or three more exploded, like the first. Others burnedharmlessly.

  A voice said, "_Cargo-ship reporting. Clear of ground. Everything goingwell. No casualties._"

  "Report again when in clear space," said Bors.

  He waited. Several long minutes later a second report came.

  "_Cargo-ship reporting. In clear space._"

  "Very good work!" said Bors. "You know where to go now. Go ahead!"

  "_Yes, sir_," said the voice from space. Then it asked apologetically,"_You got the battleship, sir?_"

  The voice from space sounded as if the man who spoke were grinning.

  "_We'll celebrate that, sir! Good to have served with you, sir._"

  Bors swung the _Isis_ and drove on solar-system drive to get well awayfrom Garen. He watched the blip which was the captured ship as it seemedto hesitate a very, very long time. It was aiming, of course, forGlamis, that totally useless solar system around a planet where thefleet of Kandar orbited in bitter frustration.

  Bors got up from his seat to loosen his muscles. He had sat absolutelytense and effectively motionless for a very long time. He ached. But hefelt a sour sort of satisfaction. For a ship of the _Isis's_ class tohave challenged a battleship to combat, to have deliberately andinsultingly waited for it to choose its own battle-distance, and then tolet it launch its missiles first.... It was no ambush! Bors did notfeel ashamed of this fight. He'd acted according to the instincts of afighting man who gives his enemy the chance to use what weapons theenemy has chosen, and then defeats him.

  His second-in-command said, "Sir, the cargo-boat blip is gone. It shouldbe in overdrive now, sir, heading for Glamis."

  "Then we'll follow it," said Bors. Suddenly he realized how hissecond-in-command must feel. The landing-party'd seen action--for whichBors envied them--and he'd felt ashamed because he stayed in the ship inwhat he considered safety while they risked their lives. But hissecond-in-command had had no share in the achievement at all. Bors hadhandled all controls and given all orders, even the routine ones, sincebefore Tralee.

  "I think," said Bors, "I'll have a cup of coffee. Will you take over andhead for Glamis?"

  He left the control-room, to let his subordinate handle things for atime. He'd seated himself in the mess-room when the voice of hissecond-in-command came through the speakers.

  "_Going into overdrive_," said the voice. "_All steady. Five, four,three, two--_"

  Bors prepared to wince. He put down his coffee cup and held himselfready for the sickening sensation.

  Suddenly there was the rasping, snaring crackling of a high-voltagespark. There were shouts. There were explosions and the reek ofoverheated metal and smoldering insulation. Then the compartment-doorsclosed.

  When Bors had examined the damage, and the emergency-purifiers had takenthe smoke and smell out of the air, his second-in-command lookedsuicidally gloomy.

  "It's bad business," said Bors wryly. "Very bad business! But I shouldhave mentioned it to you. I didn't think of it. I wouldn't have thoughtof it if I'd been doing the overdrive business myself."

  The second-in-command said bitterly;

  "But I knew you'd tried the new low-power overdrive! I knew it!"

  "I left it switched in," said Bors, "because I thought we might use itin the fight with the battleship. But we didn't."

  "I should have checked that it was off!" protested his second. "It's myfault!"

  Bors shrugged. Deciding whose fault it was wouldn't repair the damage.There'd been a human error. Bors had approached Garen on the low-poweroverdrive that Logan had computed for him. There was a special switch tocut it in, instead of the standard overdrive. It should have been cutout when the standard overdrive was used. But somebody in theengine-room had simply thrown the main-drive switch when preparationsfor overdrive travel began. When the ship should have gone intooverdrive, it didn't. The two parallel circuits amounted to an effectiveshort-circuit. Generators, condensers--even the overdrive field coils intheir armored mounts outside the hull--everything blew.

  So the _Isis_ was left with a solar-system drive and rockets and nothingelse. If the drive used only in solar systems were put on full, and the_Isis_ headed for Glamis, and if the food and water held out, it wouldarrive at that distant world in eighty-some years. It could reach Traleein fifty. But there were emergency rations for a few weeks only. It wasnot conceivable that repairs could be made. This was no occasion callingfor remarkable ingenuity to make some sort of jury-rigged drive. Thiswas final.

  "I've got to think," said Bors heavily.

  He went to his own cabin.

  Talents, Incorporated couldn't improvise or precognize or calculate ananswer to this! And all previous plans had to be cancelled. Absolutely.He dismissed at once and for all time the idea that the _Isis_ could berepaired short of months in a well-equipped space-yard on a friendlyplanet. She should be blown up, after adequate pains were taken todestroy any novelties in her make-up. There were the tables of Logan'scalculation. Bors found himself thinking sardonically that Logan shouldbe shot because he had no obligation of loyalty to Kandar, and could asreadily satisfy his hunger for recognition in the Mekinese service asin Kandar's. The crew....

  That was the heart of the situation. The _Isis_ could not be salvaged.She should be destroyed. There was only one world within reach on whichhuman beings could live. That world was Garen. The _Isis_ could sit downon Garen, disembark her crew, and be blown up before Mekineseauthorities could interfere. Perhaps--possibly--her crew could try tofunction on Garen as marooned pirates, as outlaws, as rebels against thepuppet planetary government. But they knew too much. Every man aboardknew how the interceptor-proof missiles worked. Logan might be the onlyman who had ever calculated the tables for their use, but if any memberof the _Isis's_ crew were captured and made to talk, he could tellenough for Mekinese mathematicians to start work with. If Logan werecaptured he could tell more. He could re-compute not only the tables forthe missiles, but the data for low-power overdrive which would make anyfleet invincible.

  And there was the Kandarian fleet. If its existence became known, itwould mean the destruction of Kandar. Every soul of all its millionswould die with every tree and blade of grass, every flower, beast andsinging bird, even the plankton in its seas.

  Bors had arrived at the grimmest decision of his life when his c
abinspeaker said curtly:

  "_Captain Bors, sir. Space-yacht_ Sylva _calling. Asks for you._"

  "I'm here," said Bors.

  Gwenlyn's voice came out of the speaker.

  "_Are you in trouble, Captain? One of our Talents insists that youare._"

  Bors swallowed.

  "I thought you'd gone on as you were supposed to do. Yes. There istrouble. It amounts to shipwreck. How many of my men can you take off?"

  "_We've lots of room!_" said Gwenlyn. "_My father kept most of theTalents with him. We're heading your way, Captain._"

  "Very good," said Bors. "Thank you." He was grateful, but help from awoman--from Gwenlyn!--galled him.

  He heard her click off, and shivered.

  Presently the _Sylva_ was alongside. The transfer of the _Isis's_ crewbegan. Bors went over the ship for the last time. The ship's log wentaboard the _Sylva_, as did Logan's calculated tables for low-poweroverdrive. Bors made quite sure that nothing else could be recoveredfrom the _Isis_. He looked strained and irritable when he finally wentinto one of the lifeboat blisters on the _Isis_ left vacant by thesacrifice of two space-boats in the Garen cutting-out expedition. A boatfrom the _Sylva_ was there to receive him.

  "Technically," said Bors, "I should go down with my ship, or fly apartwith it. But there's no point in being romantic!"

  "I'm the one," said his second-in-command, "who will standcourt-martial!"

  "I doubt it very much," said Bors. "They can't court-martial you forpartly accomplishing something they're in trouble for failing at. Intothe boat with you!"

  He threw a switch and entered the boat. The blister opened. The smallspace-boat floated free. Its drive hummed and it drove far and away fromthe seemingly unharmed but completely helpless _Isis_. Bors lookedregretfully back at the abandoned light cruiser. Sunlight glinted on itshull. Somehow a slow rotary motion had been imparted to it during theprocess of abandoning ship. The little fighting ship pointed as thoughwistfully at all the stars about her, to none of which she would everdrive again.

  The _Sylva_ loomed up. The last space-boat nestled into its blister andthe grapples clanked. The leaves closed. When the blister air-pressureshowed normal and green lights flashed and flashed, Bors got out of theboat and went to the _Sylva's_ control-room. Gwenlyn was there, quitecasually controlling the operation of the yacht by giving suggestions toits official skipper. She turned and beamed at Bors.

  "We'll pull off a way," she observed, "and make sure your time-bombworks. You wouldn't want her discovered and salvaged."

  "No," said Bors.

  He stood by a viewport as the _Sylva_ drove away. The _Isis_ ceased tobe a shape and became the most minute of motes. Bors looked at hiswatch.

  "Not far enough yet," he said depressedly. "Everything will go."

  The yacht drove on. Fifteen--twenty minutes at steadily increasingsolar-system speed.

  "It's about due," said Bors.

  Gwenlyn came and stood beside him. They looked together out at thestars. There were myriads upon myriads of them, of all the colors of thespectrum, of all degrees of brightness, in every possible asymmetricdistribution.

  There was a spark in remoteness. Instantly it was vastly more than aspark. It was a globe of deadly, blue-white incandescence. It flamedbrilliantly as all the _Isis's_ fuel and the warheads on all itsunexpended missiles turned to pure energy in the hundred-millionth of asecond. It was many times brighter than a sun. Then it was not. And theviolence of the explosion was such that there was not even glowingmetal-vapor where it had been. Every atom of the ship's substance hadbeen volatilized and scattered through so many thousands of cubic milesof emptiness that it did not show even as a mist.

  "A good ship," said Bors grimly. Then he growled. "I wonder if they sawthat on Garen and what they thought about it!" He straightened himself."How did you know we were in trouble?"

  "There's a Talent," said Gwenlyn matter-of-factly, "who can always tellhow people feel. She doesn't know what they think or why. But she cantell when they're uneasy and so on. Father uses her to tell him whenpeople lie. When what they say doesn't match how they feel, they'relying."

  "I think," said Bors, "that I'll stay away from her. But that won't doany good, will it?"

  Gwenlyn smiled at him. It was a very nice smile.

  "She could tell that things had gone wrong with the ship," she observed,"because of the way you felt. But I've forbidden her ever to tell whensomeone lies to me or anything like that. I don't want to know people'sfeelings when they want to hide them."

  "Fine!" said Bors. "I feel better." Standing so close to Gwenlyn, healso felt light-headed.

  She smiled at him again, as if she understood.

  "We'll head for Glamis now," she said. "The situation there should havechanged a great deal because of what you've done."

  "It would be my kind of luck," said Bors half joking, "for it to havechanged for the worse."

  It had.