Whirlpool Of Stars Page 2

  No, decided Miss Pera Sotherton, she would handle this one with radio-active caution.

  Mind you, if interesting possibilities came her way, she would dally with them out of a sense of duty to sample the pleasures of the galaxy … As a woman that was her right.

  She had travelled a long way from Earth. Albeira and her boss lay in the deeps of space ahead, some hundred and eighty or so light years from Earth and Iquique had blown short of her destination. Coldharbour, to which this strange man Ryder Hook had been bound, lay closer but still many parsecs away. Just

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  where the life shell would deposit them worried Pera less than what her boss would say, what Hook would do when they arrived - she became aware of a dampness along her forehead and an itch, and she suddenly knew she was very very cross indeed with herself.

  With its Togossen engines labouring at full drive the life shell fled across space, swinging in out of the lonely dark and entering a solar system - not the nearest solar system to the wreck but the nearest system containing a planet suitable for human and humanoid life. Iquique had been a one-environment ship. She had had no particular compartments set aside for intelligent beings from species who demanded a different set of habitable specifications from the human.

  Like a minute speck of iron ore the shell pirouetted around the lines of electro-magnetism pulsing through the system and drove down on the central magnet.

  Automatic systems inserted the shell into a stable orbit around the chosen planet.

  With a declining thump and a shiver of vibrating metal, the Togossens simmered into silence. People were talking and halfrising from their seats. Hook sat.

  He was a man accustomed to forcing himself to sit quietly.

  He had often watched caged wild animals - tigers, wildcats, rafils, strackani, eagles - and had perfectly understood their sufferings and the savage impulses burning in them. A man who travelled in space however wild and barbaric his emotions might be must drill and discipline himself to the confining cocoon of alloy-steel and air and electronics. So Ryder Hook just sat inconspicuously and waited for the routine of the docking procedures to release him from the shell.

  A customs tender jetted from the surface. She matched orbits and velocities and rode in on the beam. The gentle bump of contact told of her handling capabilities. The airlock cycled and the valves swished open. Men stepped through.

  The ship’s officer in charge of this life shell walked aft down the gangway to meet the newcomers. He was an anonymous officer who was probably discharging now the most exciting function he would ever be called upon in his career as a starship deck-officer. He checked and a frown appeared on his face. He

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  was young, untested, nervous, with a quiff of blond hair escaping from under his uniform cap. But he knew the drill.

  “We’re from H.G.L. Starship Iquique,” he said, in a voice that for all its quaver was courageously firm. “We request all the usual help and assistance afforded spacewreck -”

  “Save it, gonil.”

  The man heading up the customs officers was clad in a onepiece golden coverall. Badges of rank flamed on collar and cuff. He let his right hand rest negligently on the butt of a holstered weapon. It was a Tonota Eighty. Ryder Hook. would never miss a detail like that.

  “You have chosen to orbit Lerdun. We are a free world.”

  Cries of pleasure broke from a number of the passengers, who all craned the better to see the outcome of this confrontation. Hook suppressed instantly his feelings of anger and hatred, “H.G.L. is represented on Lerdun. The Customs man spoke in a short, chopped way, that indicated his own opinion of himself. “All employees and members of H.G.L. will be immediately transported to the surface and will receive every consideration afforded by their credit status.”

  The fire-pearl-hung woman with the three chins shouted “And what about the others? I’m Trans-Gal -”

  “Trans-Gal? Never heard of them.” “Oh!”

  A bristle-haired Riffian, old and ugly, surged up from his seat, his crimson shoulder-cloak flaring, the tranceiver mounted on the bridge of his nose flickering. “I demand -”

  “You demand nothing, gonil!” The Customs man gestured. “All H.G.L.

  please transfer at once.”

  Miss Pera Sotherton swallowed. “What about the others?” The flaming badges of rank on the golden coveralls glittered as the Customs man regarded her,

  “You wait. You may, if you wish, travel on to the next solar system. The choice is yours.”

  The young ship’s officer from Iquique protested. “You know this shell couldn’t make it. It only has Togossens. You’ll have to evacuate the shell inside six hours before the systems run down anyway, and -”

  “All H.G.L. out!” the customs man broke in, brutally 1

  brushing past. He was doing his job; but Hook saw he enjoyed the doing of it and the manner of that doing. Hook marked him.

  People employed by or members of Hardman Galactic Lines surged up from their seats and made for the air lock. Others, members of different econorgs, were pushed aside. As was to be expected aboard an H.G.L. ship the majority were travelling aboard a ship of their own conglomerate. When they had all left there were twenty people remaining.

  Pera Sotherton said: “I work for Pattens. My boss was in such a hurry - I should never have come aboard this ship! “

  The Customs man returned. Hook knew exactly what he was going to say.

  “All those who can pay for transfer to planetary surface please pay now and take your seats in the tender.”

  Three chins wabbling, the wealthy woman gobbled her way to the airlock, her fists clutching money-metal. Hook took his eyes off her to see Pera Sotherton feverishly counting a few slips of money-metal she took from the waist-pouch of her glittergown. She counted twice and then counted again. “Five! That won’t be enough. She started to rise.

  Hook said: “That golden bastard is charging two thousand, Miss Sotherton.”

  “But I left my money in the ship’s safe!” “Too bad.”

  “And you?”

  Hook flicked a pocket of his tunic open. “A ten and a five.” “So we can’t - we can’t get out of here -”

  “They’ll come up for us when they feel like it. If you’re not a member of an econorg they recognise, or you can’t pay -”

  “I know. You don’t have to rub it in.”

  Everyone knew. It was a fact of life in the galaxy of the hundred and first century.

  Iquique’s officer came back. He looked sick. Hook had to hand it to him for an organisation man; the kid had guts.

  “I’m very sorry, taynors and tanisses. But as soon as I contact H.G.L. office, I shall -”

  The bristle-haired Riffian shouted: “Can’t you pilot this goddammed shell down, youngster? Isn’t that your job?”

  is

  The officer spread his hands. “I’m not a pilot, sir. These shells can be driven for planetfall; but it is not easy. It is dangerous, in fact - best to wait”

  “Goddamn you, and goddamn H.G.L.!”

  Everyone who had a credit card with H.G.L. or an econorg represented on Lerdun below, or who could pay, left. Pera leaned back. Sweat slicked on her forehead. “We can only wait, then 99

  Hook stood up. “I think,” said Ryder Hook, “I am in no mood to wait.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  H.G.L. STARSHIP Iquique’s life shell fled around the flank of the planet Lerdun. Lerdun was a free world. That, in the experience of Ryder Hook, might mean anything from an open planet for criminals to the tightest-mind-bloclked religion-obsessed world. There was no norm in so profuse a galaxy of inhabited worlds; but again in Ryder Hook’s experience some free. worlds were the most pleasant on which to live. A single glance at the gold coveralled Customs man had told Hook that Lerdun could not be one of these.

  Pera Sotherton said: “But - we’ll have to wait, Mr. Hook.” They were on the mister and miss level, then, now. Nice.

  “We jetted last
from Iquique,” Hook said. He spoke calmly but he did not stop walking up the central aisle past the rows of empty seats towards the control deck beyond the screen. “We picked up this world of Lerdun. It seems to me the other shells must have picked up an earlier bio-applicable planet. We’re on our own, here.”

  He did not add that being on his own was familiar to him.

  She trailed him up the aisle. The remaining passengers were reacting in different ways. A furry ovoid with a fungus-mop of hair and prehensile tail had curled himself up on a crystal tripod and his keening voice modulated intricate Tra’ailin scales as he strove in his way to accept the situation. A human with red hair and protruding eyes was methodically slamming his fist into the arm of his chair and letting rip a complicated string of obscenities culled from a hundred planets’ cultures. The little furry Cailiang woman had gone. She belonged to Interstell-Imp who had an agency on Lerdun. Pera Sotherton followed Hook, and the bristled-haired Riffian, who owned to the name of Gifer, followed Pera.

  These people left were only too well aware of the danger facing them. They had no protection from their own econorgs who were not represented on Lerdun, and they did not have enough money-metal to pay for passage down to the planet. That most of them had had money-metal safely stowed in Iquique’s safe meant nothing. Without a wrist credit card or money-metal, you were nothing in the galaxy.

  Ryder Hook, sometimes known as Jack Kinch, did not have a wrist credit card of any description.

  “Can you -?” Pera said, and hesitated; “Yes,” said Ryder Hook.

  The red-haired terrestrial looked up at them and stopped slamming his fist into the arm of his chair. He swivelled his head to follow them. Then he jumped up and charged along the aisle, in the light artificial gravity floating over the plastic-runged metalloy floor, pushed past the Riffian, Gifer;

  “Hey! What’s going on here?”

  Hook didn’t bother to answer. He slid the partition open and stepped in. The control deck looked about as he expected. These life shells were produced as cheaply as possible. Once their sole function had been discharged they could be abandoned. Everyone devoutly wished that function never had to be discharged.

  Hook settled himself into the pilot’s throne and drew a lap punch-board across. He studied the layout.

  He became aware of Pera Sotherton saying: “He’s going to take us down, Taynor Dittrich.”

  “Like hell he is! “

  The red-haired terrestrial who must be Dittrich pushed past and thrust his bulk onto the control deck. He shouted. He was clearly more scared than angry.

  “Hey, you! Who says you’re taking this shell down?”

  Hook did not look up. He went on methodically punching out a preflight pattern. Everything had been built lightly and cheaply - it was not necessarily built simply, for that was a penalty of cheapness. Still, with a little luck he ought to bring the shell through atmosphere without a burn-up.

  A hand fell on his shoulder, gripping through the dark grey tunic material.

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  “Listen, gonil! You’re not risking my life in a flame-out! Get offa them controls! “

  Pera tried to intervene; but Dittrich shoved her back. Giffler was frenziedly doing nothing in the background.

  Many times in his life Ryder Hook had felt the grip of authority fall on his shoulder. When he could do nothing but accept that touch, he had done so; but with mental reservations that brooked ill for authority. When, as now, the man thus gripping him had no business doing so, Hook would not tolerate the indignity.

  He reached up with his left hand, took Dittrich’s arm in his fist, hauled the man down, turned his head away from him and lightly pressed the knuckle of his first finger behind the man’s ear. He pushed the senseless man away and said: “Have Gifler help you take him back to a seat, Pera.” He had used the minimum of movement and his voice remained as level and as unemotional as a man reading a video guide.

  Pera put a hand to her lips, her eyes wide. Giler chuckled.

  “Here, Tayniss Sotherton. Best do as this wild one asks.” Between them they dragged Dittrich out.

  Hook returned his attention to the controls.

  Wild one. Hell. Just how much of this mask of emotionless efficiency he adopted had the Riffian penetrated?

  Ryder Hook held down a seething mass of emotions. He had been doing it for a long time and he intended to go on repressing his natural streak of savage barbarity; but he felt that he must have betrayed more than he expected to the Riffian. The old bristle-haired character saw a lot more than Hook had at first given him credit for through that transceiver mounted over his nose. Aliens, aliens … They were always providing the unexpected.

  In the main passenger compartment of the life shell Giffler and Pera quietened down the rest of the people. Just what dangers were involved in putting a life shell down no one really understood. The shells were built to take survivors from a spacewreck and transport them as rapidly as possible to the nearest bio-applicable planet. After that, surface tenders would rise from the surface to make contact and transport the survivors to

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  safety. Sometimes, in certain circumstances, one of the limitedapplication transmats might be sent up and then the survivors could transmat to the surface without the discomforts of a bumpy ride. In the event that the bio-applicable planet selected had no intelligent occupants and the shell must extemporise some landing of its own, it was built to make a planetfall. Experienced pilots disliked the task. It could be done; no one would do it without good and sufficient reason.

  Ryder Hook had no other reasons than his dislike of being pushed around and his conviction that these survivors with him would be left until very near the end, when the systems were failing to the point of extreme discomfort inboard, before the men from Lerdun would come up to get them. There were very good reasons for this. The Customs men would bleed them dry; after that, penniless, they would be fair prey to all the laws and rapacious overlords Hook knew - by experience for he had never visited Lerdun previously - to exist on the planet below.

  By the time Giler put his transceiver-bridged nose back into the control compartment Hook was ready.

  “You can -” began Gifer. Then he stopped speaking. Old he might be, more fragile than he used to be; but Giffier of Riffia - a hard-headed lot in the galaxy - knew what he knew about men, He knew, now, that if anyone could land them safely on planet, this man Ryder Hook could. Gifer understood only too well the disasters they would suffer if they remained and suffered in orbit and waited to be bled dry by the Lerduns.

  Ryder Hook looked up.

  “Everyone will have to strap in. It will be a bumpy road.”

  Pera Sotherton made a face; she was uncomfortably aware that she was not at all afraid in a situation that should be driving her into the shiver-and-shakes of total fright. She shot a glance at Ryder Hook. Goddamn him for a connivinz male animal if he was having this soothing effect on her!

  Hook settled, checked the readouts, completed the preflight pattern. He selected an area the bio-scanner told him was in the high-acceptance ratio. He did not wish to land in a desert, or in the oceans of this world. Finally, with everything set to go, he punched the retro-circuit button and felt the deceleration effects shiver up through his spine.

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  “Finagling layabouts,” he said to himself. It was perfectly safe to talk to himself for the neural net to any of those controls within range - there were probably at least half a dozen, and more probably ten, who would come on net if he charged out their call - was most positively switched off. He was now referring to the financial wizards who had outlined the parameters and the specs for Iquique’s life shells. As the mild deceleration came on and the shell nosed out of orbit, Hook reflected on the pleasant prospect of having to ride the shell all the way down. It had been equipped with rockets - plastic-solid fuel permanently sealed and safe from deterioration fuelled the jets - so there would be no easy connection with ground control and a tight b
eam-ride-in on engines that seized the indestructible fabric of space-time itself and twisted themselves along between the stars. Ride cheap, survive dear.

  The shell dropped for atmosphere.

  Hook sat blockily in the throne and watched telltales. Thermocouples began to agitate. He just hoped the foxey builders of the shell hadn’t skimped on hull insulation. The whole shebang might come apart as atmospheric friction sought to burn it out of the sky.

  The shell dived planetwards. Hook was not going for a glance and a bounce out into space, for he had no excess of speed to dissipate. This would be a simple ride-in like they used to do in the old days before spatial engines had been developed to obviate all this rocket and atmosphere friction and judgements of approach nonsense. His brown eyes brooded on the tell tales. His hands poised above the controls. He could feel deceleration coming on, gently at first, building, building…