A tracer of fire illuminated for a moment the dark mouth of the hatch in the needle's side. A figure writhed, fell out to the scorched ground beneath. Rysd.y.k.e reached the crew ladder, was climbing.

Joktar caught the ladder below the ascending pilot, well aware of what an excellent target he must make against the side of the ship. Rysd.y.k.e was in the air lock now, a moment or so later Joktar made the same haven.

The lock was empty. Roose was on the ladder below, the pilot was heading with single minded determination for the control cabin. Joktar came out in a short corridor. His only knowledge of the geography of the ship had been the points drilled: into him by Rysd.y.k.e back in camp, and the ex-pilot had been only guessing at the type of s.p.a.cer this might be.

For all they knew, members of the crew might be in any of the closed cabins, but their time table allowed no time now for a search. Roose came through, closed the lock. And that shut out the wild clamor of the fight. Now all they could hear was the soft thud of their boots on the stair treads.

Three levels and then they were in the control cabin. Rysd.y.k.e had already seated himself in one of the web slung seats, his fingers flicking from b.u.t.ton to lever to stud. Roose wriggled through the well opening of the stair, locked down its cover. Joktar relaxed, they could not be easily routed now and Rysd.y.k.e had before him the controls governing the ship.

"About now," Roose caught the back on one of the other seats, "they must be trying to raise Siwaki and the patrol on their dome corns." But he did not seem at all alarmed at that thought.

"The only way they can get at us is to try to fry us out with a cruiser's tail flames," Rysd.y.k.e returned. "And they've no reason to make this a suicide mission. Well, here goes for the second step, boys."

Chapter Nine.

HE TRIGGERED a last lever. "Now we're in business!"

Joktar hoped that the opposition realized that, that those open ports just above the tail fins had been noted and their threat understood. This ship had been adapted for pa.s.senger use from an outer rim scouting craft, and it was still equipped with armament designed to protect explorers landing on newly discovered and perhaps hostile worlds.

"Gonna tickle 'em up now?" Roose asked, highly interested.

"Oh, we'll give 'em a shot, just to impress. Joktar, press that white stud... the one to the left of the four lever plate."

As the Terran did just that, a vision plate, topping one of the control panels, came to life. Rysd.y.k.e gave more instructions and suddenly the domes appeared clearly on that square. Flashes of blaster and vorp fire still rent the night about them.

The pilot read dials, made some minute corrections, and then pressed a b.u.t.ton.

In the air, well above the dome bubbles, burst a small core of light, light which spread in waves, shooting skyward in angry brilliance. Both blaster and vorp fire were swallowed up in a poisonous green radiance.

"Quite a show," commented Roose. "Where do you plant the next shot?"

"On the crag, over that way." Again Rysd.y.k.e made adjustments and fired.

A second ball of angry green glowed on an outjut of the heights behind the domes. The fire continued as if feeding upon the substance of the rock, waves spreading from it for an area of yards. Then the glow died, and where that outjut had been there was nothing but a softly glowing hole eaten into the mountain's skin, a hole which Joktar knew would go on, deeper and deeper, until the charge of the bolt was completely exhausted.

"Now they should should have been watching that one!" Roose laughed. "Might even bite into one of their precious mine galleries and bust it wide open." He moved closer to the vision plate. "You know, fellas, that wouldn't be a bad idea, let's just chew their mine to pieces." have been watching that one!" Roose laughed. "Might even bite into one of their precious mine galleries and bust it wide open." He moved closer to the vision plate. "You know, fellas, that wouldn't be a bad idea, let's just chew their mine to pieces."

"It's a thought," Rysd.y.k.e was grinning. "But I'm afraid we'll have to wait and see if they'll tail-up first. That's orders."

Now as the glow of the initial shots faded they could catch sight of blaster explosions once more. But it was very evident that the exchange of small fire was not nearly so spirited.

"Calling ship... calling ship..." a disembodied, metallic voice startled them. Joktar and Roose put back their blasters, smiling sheepishly at each other, while Rysd.y.k.e drew the mike of the com to him.

"Ship here. Who calls?"

"This is Waigh. What are you trying to do, you fool, burn us out?"

"That's up to you, Waigh The range will be corrected one notch for every two minutes you continue your opposition."

There was a startled and baffled silence, before the dome com called again.

"This is Waigh, Cowan, Waigh! You're on range for the domes!"

"Correction," Rysd.y.k.e was plainly enjoying the exchange. "This is not Cowan but Rysd.y.k.e, commanding officer, ship. We have taken over in the name of Fenrian Free Men. And I am well aware we are on range for your domes, that is our intention."

"That gives him a tough strip to chew on," Roose remarked. "First time in years anyone's warmed Waigh's tail hot enough to really sting him."

"The blaster fire's stopped." Joktar had been studying the scene on the vision plate.

Rysd.y.k.e held the mike closer, counting into it. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, correction one notch now being made. We mean what we say, Waigh. One!"

He pressed the firing b.u.t.ton. A second flower of light appeared on the rock face of the mountain to spread in ripples.

"If the first one didn't eat into one of their galleries, this one certainly will," Roose observed. "Waigh's as stubborn as a lamby, though."

"He may be the top Harband man on Fenris, but he has some visiting vips in there, remember? Hogan's betting the off-worlders won't take kindly to seeing good ore disintegrated."

"Ship, this is Sa Kim," the voice coming from the com was distorted, but still more remote in tone than Waigh's bellow. "I speak for Harband. What are your terms?"

"Contact the Free Men ground force. They're prepared to state terms," Rysd.y.k.e answered briskly.

The center dome on the vision plate flashed white. Rysd.y.k.e put down the mike.

"Well, our move worked. This Sa Kim is ready to talk."

Roose stretched. "As neat a job as I ever had a hand in. The chief might have been taking company compounds all his life."

Rysd.y.k.e stirred. "He might just have to take over more than this compound."

Joktar leaned back, his slung seat swayed a little. "Trouble with Samms?"

"Yes." With an overflow of furs Roose fitted his bulk into another of the cabin seats. "I kinda thought Samms was shaping up into a lord-high-whathaveyou. But, again, he isn't too solid with his own mob. The Perks deal still smells as far as some of the boys are concerned. I'd say if our chief raised his finger and said 'Boys, I'm taking over, as of here and now,' Samms could only ask for a blast out to settle it. Then he'd have as much chance as a snow ball in a vorp beam. The chief moves slow when he's not being snarled at, but I've seen him take two call outs against top men. He's alive: they aren't."

"Who is is Hogan?" Joktar asked impulsively. Hogan?" Joktar asked impulsively.

Rysd.y.k.e's voice was chill. "We don't ask a man here on Fenris what he was off-world. Hogan was a trader in Siwaki. When the trade was pinched off, he turned woods runner."

"Sure," Roose nodded. "Only, me, I don't think he was ever trader, or hunter. He gets a big kick out of blasting the companies where it hurts the most. But he knows a lot about what's going on off-world. You heard how he spouted off at the meeting. I think he's an undercover man for some one big-"

"Ship!"

This time they all recognized the voice. Rysd.y.k.e caught for the mike eagerly.

"Ship here."

"This is Hogan. The deal's complete, visitors coming, be ready to open ports."

"That we will, chief."

Roose sent his seat bobbing with a stir. "Wonder what kind of a deal they made. Might circulate a little and find out."

"We stick here. Too easy for someone to sneak in and take over, the same way we did." Rysd.y.k.e put down the mike.

"When do you take off for Loki?" Roose wanted to know.

The pilot shrugged. "It'll have to be soon. Hogan wants to planet before Cullan arrives."

"Loki. Fenris is cold, Hel hot, and Loki bare rock and water. This is a d.a.m.n twister of a system."

"You chose to come here."

"Sure, but then me, I'm second generation from Westlund. We're used to cold there. It's not as bad as Fenris, but still cold. I came here for the first alibite rush. Staked me a good claim down on the Frater. That was before the companies rigged registration. I was doing pretty good ten years ago, then they started the freeze out. My stamper broke down in a cold clip, couldn't get me a new one through their shipping regulations. So..." he spread out his mittened hands, "I lost time on the claim, couldn't deliver my tax quota and they took over. They did the same with all the early boys- those who weren't burned trying to fight it out.

"Well, I'd done some lamby hunting on the side, so I made a fresh start that way, dealing through the chief. When they tried to stamp him flat we both hit the outlands together. I figure the companies owe me about eight years' living. Maybe now I can collect some of that."

"Party coming," Joktar had been watching the plate.

Roose squinted at the view of the outside. "Yeah, the chiefs leading them. I'll go down and open the door."

Joktar lay on a narrow bunk, pressure straps anchoring him. The ship strained now to break the planetary bounds of gravity. Had he felt this before? Those hazy memories which could not be recaptured, yet existed far inside his brain, answered yes.

Weight crushed him, lay heavy on his bones, lungs, flesh. He fought back in his own way, striving to relax nerve and muscle. They were heading out from Fenris. Slowly he turned his head to glance at the other occupant of the small cabin.

Hogan lay still, his eyes closed. He must still be anesthetized by the take-off shot. Joktar's private wonder grew. Why hadn't he, himself, succ.u.mbed to that anodyne which eased pa.s.sengers and crew alike, save for the pilot, through the discomfort of the first upward thrust? In these small ships the break shot was mandatory and he had thought it always worked.

The vibration reaching him through the walls, the bunk on which he lay, the very air of the cabin was not the punishment he had feared, but rather something more-an energizing revitalizer. He was more alert and alive in spite of the pressure than he had ever remembered being before. It was as if this environment was for him the normal and rational one.

As the pressure lessened, he wanted out of the confines of the cabin. He unfastened the buckles of the straps, sat up on the bunk. The magnetic soles of his looted crew boots anch.o.r.ed him. He took four steps out of the cabin to the ladder. There he paused, making a new discovery. This too was familiar, yet he was no s.p.a.ceman.

Joktar went to the control cabin. Rysd.y.k.e half lay, half sat in the pilot's chair, within finger reach of the manual controls. The ship was on auto, but any slip must be instantly rectified by human training and intelligence.

The Terran dropped into the matching seat before the com unit, watching the vision plate. There was Fenris covering three-quarters of the screen, silver, dark blue, as cold to the sight as it was to all the other senses of the men who battled its forbidding land ma.s.ses. Joktar closed his eyes, reopened them. That blue and silver ball... the color was wrong... some long repressed memory shouted so vigorously that he stirred uneasily.

"Gold," he murmured, unaware that he spoke aloud, "a golden world..."

Rysd.y.k.e was relaxed in the embrace of his chair, the strain of take-off beginning to fade from his young-old face.

"A golden world," he repeated softly. "There is one golden world, or so they say. The Ffallian know..." Again he slid into that other unknown tongue with its singing lilt, "Ffal, yruktar llyumn, Ris syuarktur mann..."

To Joktar the sounds sang, he could almost make sense of them. But because he could not break the barrier within himself, a small spark of rage glowed. He was being deprived of something truly his own, and until he regained that lost treasure he could not live as did other men.

"Who are the Ffallian and where is the golden world?" His demand was as sharp as a blaster bolt.

Rysd.y.k.e answered the second part of his question: "Not on any map of ours."

"Why?"

"Because when it was offered to us, we threw it away. Or rather it was thrown away for us." The frustration in Rysd.y.k.e's answer matched the bitterness Joktar knew.

"Why?"

"Because," the pilot brought his fist down upon the edge of the control panel as if he were beating against a firmly closed door, "our vips will not admit that we have superiors in s.p.a.ce!"

"But the Kandas, the Thas, the Zaft," Joktar told the roll of the planet civilizations the Terrans had found, "none of them have galactic ships, and only the Tlolen are free in their own solar system."

"Yes, those who are not to our own level, we can acknowledge them," Rysd.y.k.e sneered. "But you haven't heard of the Ffallian, have you, nor of the others... those who claim the golden world? We knew... we in the service. I myself saw a video tape and heard..." his voice softened. "And I tried to go out there. That's why they blasted me out of s.p.a.ce! Proper scouts see nothing, hear nothing, and never tell anything which is not covered by regulations!"

"Scouts?"

"Those in exploration service. But that had its Bluebeard chambers. You stayed in the limits of your a.s.signed sector; some sectors were off limits altogether. I found a beacon on an asteroid. The signal called me in. And I wasn't the first who had answered. There was a scout ship anch.o.r.ed there, an obsolete type. And in it was a message tape; I ran it for reading, against orders. Then I wanted to go, too."

"To go where?"

"To where the beacon gave a course, as the other scout had before me. Only I'd signaled in when I first found the beacon and the patrol was after me before I could relay to the Others that I was waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"For those who set the beacon. It was all down there on the tape. We knew of the Ffallian, we'd seen their ships. The patrol had tried to blast them, only they can't touch them. But the Ffallian are only the messengers-guides-the helping hands we slapped away. For learning that, I was cashiered and sent to Hel in a labor battalion. Hogan got me out because he had need for a pilot. I think he was planning to run an old tramp bucket in here for trading. But he knows about the Ffallian, too, and he doesn't believe in the quarantine."

"What about the scout in the ship you found?"

"He was lucky, he went out there. Quite a few scouts have over the years."

"Perhaps they were captured."

"No!" Rysd.y.k.e's answer was emphatic. "Those tapes... they were the real thing. There's no reason to fear the Ffallian. Why, they've tried over and over to make contact with us peacefully. And one of our scouts came back and he was shot by command of his own officer."

"Why?"

"Because he had been out there, because he could prove it was all true. He was reported on the records as having been killed by the Others. But you can't shut up a whole post personnel and there was talk. Yes, Marson had been with the Ffallian, and the Others... those who roam the stars we have never explored. And he came back."

"Why?"

"He brought a concrete offer from them."

"Why don't the services want anything to do with these aliens? "

"Because they are afraid, the vips are anyway. Those others have what we do not-immortality." Rysd.y.k.e stared at the vision plate as if he saw there something other than the harsh disc of Fenris. "Mortals and immortals. The mortals fear and hate the Others for the futures we do not have. We made contact years ago and the vips were frightened, frustrated, felt like children trying to be men. They lashed out, killed, withdrew our forces. But the war has been on our side only."

"Very true. Except that the Others are not immortal."

Hogan emerged from the stair well. Wearing the tunic of a ship's officer, he had become a man who might pa.s.s unnoticed in the trade section of N'Yok itself.