Kenneth Bulmer (13 page)

Randolph, peering out lower down, said,
"And there are a lot of them. This may be the very chance we've been
needing. A bloody battle aboard a starliner, with a gang trying to takeover and
steal the bullion—but how clumsy!"

"This
was Terence Mallow's way," Howland reminded him.

The sound of gunfire receded. Presentiy two
girls and a man kicked the door open and jerked their guns at the three
scientists. This time Helen took Howland's arm.

"Out! Come on—and step
lively."

They were goaded up the corridor, thrust into
the shining expanse of the control room, told to stand still.

Atherstone's
body had been carried away. As they stood, bemused, frightened, lost, they saw
men and women in civilian clothes tending other wounded, passenger and crew
alike. Everything seemed to be under control. Crewmen stood at their
positions, under guard, and the ship continued to function. In the air, quite
clearly to Howland, sang a feeling of exultation, of triumph, of a heady
sensation of victory.

"These people don't
appear gangsters to me," he said.

Randolph nodded. "My
feeling precisely."

"D'you notice the
armbands?" asked Haffner.

"Yes."
Randolph had snapped back into his usual efficient, arrogant, cocksure self.
"A strange fad running throughout human history, the desire to adorn one's
person with insignia, as though to apologize for irrational actions. What is
it? It looks mosdy like a string of sausages being chopped up by a butcher's
cleaver."

Haffner sniggered.

One
of the girl guards—she was young, shapeless in plastic-zippered jerkin and
black pants, her face tight with emotion and excitement—spoke contemptuously to
Haffner. "The women of the Freedom Front have learned to fight alongside
their men. Our embroidery suffers."

Howland felt Helen's hand constrict on his
bicep. He glanced down at her. Her face reflected the terror that had possessed
them all; but also there was confusion, a bewilderment that had held her
speechless since Warner had picked them up outside Randolph's suite.

Now,
slowly, she said, "Freedom Front. Terry told me about them. They're the
rebels—and that armband picture is supposed to represent a chain being cut by
an axe."

The
taller of the two male guards turned a bristiy chin towards Helen. His face,
masculine, tough and with crinkled lines seaming the brown skin, showed no sign
of interest in her sex. He said, "The chains of bondage being severed by
the double-headed axe of freedom. And—we don't like being called rebels."

"But surely," pointed out Randolph
as though involved in an academic discussion. "That is what you are?"

"The
government of humans in the galaxy is the true seat of rebellion. They have
usurped the power rightfully belonging to the people of the galaxy. They
distort and twist, frame unjust laws, maintain a monstrous growth of armed
force—they pervert the very ideas of justice and humanity 1"

"You can say that
again," said Randolph.

Howland
knew he was thinking of the Maxwell Fund; but the allusion to the government
escaped him.

"Johnny Rebs, eh?" said Haffner.
"Well, friend, I've no love for the government, either. They did me out of
my job, chucked me on the scrap heap—set me on the booze. You won't get any
trouble from me."

The girl guard laughed, a
little too shrilly.

Thinking
of Helen, Howland said, "What is going to happen to us?"

"Happen
to you? How d'you mean? The Freedom Front has a quarrel only with the
government and its agents; we feel contempt for your sort, who continue, year
after year, to elect the same unscrupulous rulers. But we're not going to kill
you, if that's what you fear."

Against
his arm Howland felt Helen breathing, quickly, unsteadily, a softness pressing
there. He knew then that not only did he want her; if anyone else tried to harm
her he'd kill, mercilessly, for her. The thought brought nothing strange to
him, no incongruousness in the mind of a doctor of science.

Three men walked quickly down the shining
control room floor, their feet soundless, their shadows absorbed by the angled
lighting. One held a weapon pointing at the back of another, and the third
walked as though he had just conquered the galaxy. This one spoke.

"This man Warner," he gestured to
Warner who stood quietly, face livid, obviously fully aware of the third man's
gun pointing at his back, "tells me that he was about to put you four in
cells. Why?"

Randolph
answered. "We don't know. We assumed he had either made a mistake or was
mad. It seems he made a mistake. You were the people he was looking for."

Looking
at Warner, Howland felt a twinge of pity for the man. Despite his veneer of
superficial friendliness and the underlying brutality, the man was human.

"That
may be. He's a filthy naval spy. But we don't kill unnecessarily. As for you,
you'll have to wait here until our ship arrives."

"But,"
said Haffner. "What about the passengers? Surely they'll wonder what's
going on—"

The
man laughed. He had good teeth and a mobile mouth set beneath a strong nose and
narrow, burning eyes. He wore a grey lounging suit, and a sidearm was belted to
his waist. "They know nothing. Why should they? The brainless sheep are
clustered around speakers and in the Grand Salon, breathlessly awaiting the
results of a petty gamble. Here— here is where the great gamble takes
place."

Randolph smiled. "You can say that
again."

Again the saliva dried in Howland's mouth. He
said, "You don't mean to tell me, Mister—?"

"You may call me Marko. It is not my
real name. But by it I am known."

"You can't tell me that none of your
people have invested in the draw?"

"Of course not. We did so in order to
maintain our appearance as harmless tourists."

Stella must be approaching the high point
now. The speakers scattered throughout the ship were not scattered here. Here
was the sanctum, the holy of holies, the bridge of the ship. Howland swallowed
dryly. "Mr. Marko, we have no quarrel with you—would you let us hear the
big draw?" '

Marko showed his contempt for such puny
ambitions.

"I
want to know what the captain is doing and if the sheep baaing down there are
keeping their place. Alaric— cut in the Grand Salon speaker."

The
shorter of the two guards jumped to obey. The speaker set in the wall out of
the main control fascia crackled into life.

"I'd like to be there," Haffner
said. "See the winner's reactions."

From the speaker all the sounds Howland had
been missing boomed out loudly. The band was playing: "Around any star in
the galaxy she's the only one for me," and people could be heard singing.

"And now it is my pleasure to introduce
the young lady who will pick the lucky winner—" That was the pursuer,
riding fady in as the band diminuendoed. The captain would be standing up
there, beaming fatuously, snared by Stella, unaware that he no longer commanded
his ship. "Ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. Stella Ramsyl"

A
burst of applause, quickly smothered. Around them now in the control room heads
were turned, and Howland saw more than one furtive glance at
a
yellow paper slip he quickly thrust back into his pocket.

"Seems
you both had the same idea," Randolph said mischievously. "Warner
tried to arrest us and you, Mr. Marko, struck—both just before the big draw.
Interesting."

"Thank
you, ladies and gentlemen." Stella sounded perfectly cool and composed.
"It is a great privilege for me to be here tonight. I'm sure we're all
thrilled and excited—a wonderful voyage between the stars with
a
wonderful captain—and now the chance to win a very great deal of money
into the bargain.
..."
Laughter.
Clapping.

"Here is the box—now I'll spin it."
The purser was grabbing his share of the limelight. The sound of clicking like
an urchin running a stick along iron railings clattered over the speaker, loud
in the silence of the control room. "Now, Mrs. Ramsy—it's all yours!"

Drums beat a long roll, silence washed down
from the speaker. Howland could hear Haffner's breathing, rasping. And into
that raspingly underlined silence drifted the sound of electric cutters, biting
through solid steeL Randolph smiled. They were doing his work for him!

Gambling ate into the souls of men and women,
it fastened on them with an unbreakable grip, nowhere more powerfully than on
the long hauls between the stars. Everyone aboard
Poseidon
now would be sitting still, waiting for Stella to draw out the lucky
number. Everyone would be static. Everyone would be, Howland thought
comfortably, perfectly placed for what was to follow.

The
tension built to a climax now. Marko, even, could not hold himself aloof from
what so powerfully affected fellow human beings despite the contempt he felt
for them. A sudden, chopped burst of clapping spurted from the speaker. Then
Stella's clear voice, "To announce the lucky winner I will blow this
little silver whistle
..."

Into
those two atmospheres—one of lighthearted gaiety, the other of grim battle
against odds—a soft, plucking, sensuous sound whispered. It couldn't be heard.
Howland felt a pain like a pin prick in his eardrums. Stella was blowing the
whistle—that very special whistle manufactured by Haffner and himself.

Marko
stood with that contemptuous scowl on his face, his broad right hand resting on
his gun butt. Warner stood to one side, worried, anxious, in terror for his
life. The man pointing the gun at him remained with the gun lifted, pointing,
rock steady. Helen, her hand gently disengaged from Howland's arm and now held
by him, stood, a little uncertainly, staring at Howland. The two male guards
and the girl all stood watching their leader.

Randolph turned briskly to
face his companions.

^Well, welll" he said brightly.
"Just in time. Now we'd better see these poor rebels aren't injuring
themselves with their safe breaking equipment."

"Ramsy and Larssen should be here
soon," said Howland.

"All
right. Just a moment—" Randolph looked at his wristwatch. The others
looked at theirs. "I make it exactly twenty one four and a half," he
said. "Check."

"Check," said
Haffner and Howland, together.

"Peter, you go down and meet the others,
tell them the score. Willi, come with me. We'll have to switch off the safe
breaking stuff."

As they walked off Howland
paused, looked at Helen.

The
uncertainty was still there. Her eyes were clouded, her brows drawn down; but
her face now held no terror. He let his breath out, long and shakily. Then,
brushing past the stonelike statues of the rebels, he walked towards the door
marked: PRIVATE-CREW ONLY to let in Ramsy and Larssen.

They walked through very
quietly, very subdued.

Larssen
said, "Sort of spooky out there. Everyone standing around frozen
solid."

"Yeah," said
Ramsy. "Stella sure did her stuff."

"Good old audio virus," said
Howland, suddenly released, freed, the shackles of fear struck from him.
"A very sweet operation. Billions of little viruses, all waiting for that
ultrasonic note from Stella's whistle. Then—"

"Then
a shipful of stunned, silent and unmoving people," said Ramsy. "The biggest
wolf-whisde of all time."

They passed evidences of
the fight.

"What's been going on
here?"

"Someone
else had the same idea we did. Freedom Fronters they call 'emselves. Rebels.
Tried to take over the ship as Mallow would have done."

"They didn't do too bad," said
Ramsy, coming out into the control room. They walked carefully, still not used
to people just sitting or standing, motionless, unseeing. "Where's the
prof?"

"Switching off these people's safe
breaking stuff. You'd better see about your ship work. Mallow will be here
soon."

The enormity of it all was
striking home to Howland.