C10 X

~ IT IS THE CUSTOM OF all men, everywhere, to be obtuse where women are concerned. Hoddan went skyward in the spaceboat with feelings of warm gratitude toward the Lady Fani. He had not the slightest inkling that she, who had twice spoiled her father’s skulduggery so far as it affected him, felt any but the friendliest of feelings toward him. He remembered that he had kept her from the necessity of adjusting to matrimony with the Lord Ghek. It did not occur to him that most girls intend to adjust to marriage with somebody, anyhow, and he did not even suspect that it is a feminine instinct to make a highly dramatic and romantic production of their marriage so they’ll have something to be sentimental about in later years.

As Hoddan drove on up and up, the sky became deep purple and then black velvet set with flecks of fire. He was relieved by the welcome he’d received earlier today from the emigrants, but he remained slightly puzzled by a very faint impression of desperation remaining. He felt very virtuous on the whole, however, and his plans for the future were specific. He’d already composed a letter to his grandfather, which he’d ask the emigrant fleet to deliver. He had another letter in his mind—a form letter, practically a public-relations circular—which he hoped to whip into shape before the emigrants got too anxious to be on their way. He considered that he needed to earn a little more of their gratitude so he could make everything come out even; self-liquidated; everybody satisfied and happy but himself.

For himself he anticipated only the deep satisfaction of accomplishment. He’d wanted to do great things since he was a small boy, and in electronics since his adolescence, when he’d found textbooks in the libraries of looted spaceships. He’d gone to Walden in the hope of achievement. There, of course, he failed because in a free economy industrialists consider that freedom is the privilege to be stupid without penalty. In other than free economies, of course, stupidity is held to be the duty of administrators. But Hoddan now believed himself in the fascinating situation of having knowledge and abilities which were needed by people who knew their need.

It was only when he’d made contact with the fleet, and was in the act of maneuvering toward a boat-blister on the liner he’d brought back, that doubts again assailed him. He had done a few things—accomplished a little. He’d devised a broadcast-power receptor and a microwave projector and he’d turned a Lawlor drive into a ball lightning projector and worked out a few little things like that. But the first had been invented before by somebody in the Cetis cluster, and the second could have been made by anybody and the third was standard practice on Zan. He still had to do something significant.

When he made fast to the liner and crawled through the boat-tube to its hull, he was in a state of doubt which passed very well for modesty.

The bearded old man received him in the skipper’s quarters, which Hoddan himself had occupied for a few days. He looked very weary. He seemed to have aged, in hours.

“We grow more astounded by the minute,” he told Hoddan heavily, “by what you have brought us. Ten shiploads like this and we would be better equipped than we believed ourselves in the beginning. It looks as if some thousands of us will now be able to survive our colonization of the planet Thetis.”

Hoddan gaped at him. The old man put his hand on Hoddan’s shoulder.

“We are grateful,” he said with a pathetic attempt at warmth. “Please do not doubt that! It is only that ... that— You had to accept what was given for our use. But I cannot help wishing very desperately that ... that instead of unfamiliar tools for metal-working and machines with tapes which show pictures.... I wish that even one more jungle-plow had been included!”

Hoddan’s jaw dropped. The people of Colin wanted planet-subduing machinery. They wanted it so badly that they did not want anything else. They could not even see that anything else had any value at all. Most of them could only look forward to starvation when the ship supplies were exhausted, because not enough ground could be broken and cultivated early enough to grow food enough in time.

“Would it,” asked the old man desperately, “be possible to exchange these useless machines for others that will be useful?”

“L—let me talk to your mechanics, sir,” said Hoddan unhappily. “Maybe something can be done.”

He restrained himself from tearing his hair as he went to where mechanics of the fleet looked over their treasure-trove. He’d come up to the fleet again to gloat and do great things for people who needed him and knew it. But he faced the hopelessness of people to whom his utmost effort seemed mockery because it was so far from being enough.

He gathered together the men who’d tried to keep the fleet’s ships in working order during their flight. They were competent men, of course. They were resolute. But now they had given up hope. Hoddan began to lecture them. They needed machines. He hadn’t brought the machines they wanted, perhaps, but he’d brought the machines to make them with. Here were automatic shapers, turret lathes, dicers. Here were cutting-points for machines these machines could make, to make the machines the colony on Thetis would require. He’d brought these because they had the raw material. They had their ships themselves! Even some of the junk they carried in crates was good metal, merely worn out in its present form. They could make anything they needed with what he’d brought them. For example, he’d show them how to make ... say ... a lumber saw.

He showed them how to make a lumber saw—slender, rapierlike revolving tool with which a man stabbed a tree and cut outward with the speed of a knife cutting hot butter. And one could mount it so—and cut out planks and beams for temporary bridges and such constructions.

They watched, baffled. They gave no sign of hope. They did not want lumber saws. They wanted jungle-breaking machinery.

“I’ve brought you everything!” he insisted. “You’ve got a civilization, compact, on this ship! You’ve got life instead of starvation! Look at this. I make a water pump to irrigate your fields!”

Before their eyes he turned out an irrigation pump on an automatic shaper. He showed them that the shaper went on, by itself, making other pumps without further instructions than the by-hand control of the tools that formed the first.

The mechanics stirred uneasily. They had watched without comprehension. Now they listened without enthusiasm. Their eyes were like those of children who watch marvels without comprehension.

He made a sledge whose runners slid on air between themselves and whatever object would otherwise have touched them. It was practically frictionless. He made a machine to make nails—utterly simple. He made a power hammer which hummed and pushed nails into any object that needed to be nailed. He made—

He stopped abruptly, and sat down with his head in his hands. The people of the fleet faced so overwhelming a catastrophe that they could not see into it. They could only experience it. As their leader would have been unable to answer questions about the fleet’s predicament before he’d poured out the tale in the form it had taken in his mind, now these mechanics were unable to see ahead. They were paralyzed by the completeness of the disaster before them. They could live until the supplies of the fleet gave out. They could not grow fresh supplies without jungle-breaking machinery. They had to have jungle-breaking machinery. They could not imagine wanting anything less than jungle-breaking machinery—

Hoddan raised his head. The mechanics looked dully at him.

“You men do maintenance?” he asked. “You repair things when they wear out on the ships? Have you run out of some materials you need for repairs?”

After a long time a tired-looking man said slowly:

“On the ship I come from, we’re having trouble. Our hydroponic garden keeps the air fresh, o’course. But the water-circulation pipes are gone. Rusted through. We haven’t got any pipe to fix them with. We have to keep the water moving with buckets.”

Hoddan got up. He looked about him. He hadn’t brought hydroponic-garden pipe supplies! And there was no raw material. He took a pair of power snips and cut away a section of cargo space wall-lining. He cut it into strips. He asked the diameter of the pipe. Before their eyes he made pipe—spirally wound around a mandril and line-welded to solidity.

“I need some of that on my ship,” said another man.

The bearded man said heavily:

“We’ll make some and send it to the ships that need it.”

“No,” said Hoddan. “We’ll send the tools to make it. We can make the tools here. There must be other kinds of repairs that can’t be made. With the machines I’ve brought, we’ll make the tools to make the repairs. Picture-tape machines have reels that show exactly how to do it.”

It was a new idea. The mechanics had other and immediate problems beside the overall disaster of the fleet. Pumps that did not work. Motors that heated up. They could envision the meeting of those problems, and they could envision the obtaining of jungle-plows. But they could not imagine anything in between. They were capable of learning how to make tools for repairs.

Hoddan taught them. In one day there were five ships being brought into better operating condition—for ultimate futility—because of what he’d brought. Two days. Three. Mechanics began to come to the liner. Those who’d learned first pompously passed on what they knew. On the fourth day somebody began to use a vision-tape machine to get information on a fine point in welding. On the fifth day there were lines of men waiting to use them.

On the sixth day a mechanic on what had been a luxury passenger liner on the other side of the galaxy—but it was scores of years ago—asked to talk to Hoddan by spacephone. He’d been working feverishly at the minor repairs he’d been unable to make for so long. To get material he pulled a crate off one of the junk machines supplied the fleet. He looked it over. He believed that if this piece were made new, and that replaced with sound metal, the machine might be usable!

Hoddan had him come to the liner which was now the flagship of the fleet. Discussion began. Shaping such large pieces of metal which could be taken from here or there—shaping such large pieces of metal.... Hoddan began to draw diagrams. They were not clear. He drew more. Abruptly, he stared at what he’d outlined. Electronics.... He saw something remarkable. If one applied a perfectly well-known bit of pure-science information that nobody bothered with— He finished the diagram and a vast, soothing satisfaction came over him.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” he said. “Not enough room!”

He looked about him. Insensibly, as he talked to the first man on the fleet to show imagination, other men had gathered around. They were now absorbed.

“I think,” said Hoddan, “that we can make an electronic field that’ll soften the cementite between the crystals of steel, without heating up anything else. If it works, we can make die-forgings and die-stampings with plastic dies! And then that useless junk you’ve got can be rebuilt—”

They listened gravely, nodding as he talked. They did not quite understand everything, but they had the habit of believing him now. He needed this and that in the huge cargo spaces of the ship the leader had formerly used.

“Hm-m-m,” said Hoddan. “How about duplicating these machines and sending them over?”

They looked estimatingly at the tool-shop equipment. It could be made to duplicate itself—

The new machine shop, in the ancient ark of space, made another machine shop for another ship. In the other ship that tool shop would make another for another ship, which in turn....

By then Hoddan had a cold-metal die-stamper in operation. It was very large. It drew on the big ship’s drive unit for power. One put a rough mass of steel in place between plastic dies. One turned on the power. For the tenth of a second—no longer—the steel was soft as putty. Then it stiffened and was warm. But in that tenth of a second it had been shaped with precision.

It took two days to duplicate the jungle-plow Hoddan had first been shown, in new sound metal. But after the first one worked triumphantly, they made forty of each part at a time and turned out jungle-plow equipment enough for the subjugation of all Thetis’ forests.

There were other enterprises on hand, of course. A mechanic who stuttered horribly had an idea. He could not explain it or diagram it. So he made it. It was an electric motor very far ahead of those in the machines of Colin. Hoddan waked from a cat nap with a diagram in his head. He drew it, half-asleep, and later looked and found that his unconscious mind had designed a power-supply system which made Walden’s look rather primitive—

During the first six days Hoddan did not sleep to speak of, and after that he merely cat-napped when he could. But he finally agreed with the emigrants’ leader—now no longer fierce, but fiercely triumphant—that he thought they could go on. And he would ask a favor. He propped his eyelids open with his fingers and wrote the letter to his grandfather that he’d composed in his mind in the liner on Krim. He managed to make one copy, unaddressed, of the public-relations letter that he’d worked out at the same time. He put it through a facsimile machine and managed to address each of fifty copies. Then he yawned uncontrollably.

He still yawned when he went to take leave of the leader of the people of Colin. That person regarded him with warm eyes.

“I think everything’s all right,” said Hoddan exhaustedly. “You’ve got a dozen machine shops and they are multiplying themselves, and you have got some enthusiastic mechanics, now, who’re drinking in the vision-tape stuff and finding out more than they guessed there was. And they’re thinking, now and then, for themselves. I think you’ll make out.”

The bearded man said humbly:

“I have waited until you said all was well. Will you come with us?”

“No-o-o,” said Hoddan. He yawned again. “I’ve got my work here. There’s an ... obligation I have to meet.”

“It must be very admirable work,” said the old man wistfully. “I wish we had some young men like you among us.”

“You have,” said Hoddan. “They will be giving you trouble presently.”

The old man shook his head, looking at Hoddan very affectionately indeed.

“We will deliver your letters,” he said warmly. “First to Krim, and then to Walden. Then we will go on and let down your letter and gift to your grandfather on Zan. Then we will go on toward Thetis. Our mechanics will work at building machines while we are in overdrive. But also they will build new tool shops and train new mechanics, so that every so often we will need to come out of overdrive to transfer the tools and the men to new ships.”

Hoddan nodded exhaustedly. This was right.

“So,” said the old man contentedly, “we will simply make those transfers in orbit about the planets for which we have your letters. But you will pardon us if we only let down your letters, and do not visit those planets? We have prejudices—”

“Perfectly satisfactory,” said Hoddan. “So I’ll—”

“The mechanics you have trained,” said the old man proudly, “have made a little ship ready for you. It is not much larger than your spaceboat, but it is fit for travel between suns, which will be convenient for your work. I hope you will accept it. There is even a tiny tool shop on it!”

Hoddan would have been more touched if he hadn’t known about it. But one of the men entrusted with the job had harassedly asked him for advice. He knew what he was getting. It was the space yacht he’d used before, refurbished and fitted with everything the emigrants could provide.

He affected great surprise and expressed unfeigned appreciation. Barely an hour later he transferred to it with the spaceboat in tow. He watched the emigrant fleet swing out to emptiness and resume its valiant journey. But it was not a hopeless journey, now. In fact, the colony on Thetis ought to start out better-equipped than most settled planets.

And he went to sleep. He’d nothing urgent to do, except allow a certain amount of time to pass before he did anything. He was exhausted. He slept the clock around, and waked and ate sluggishly, and went back to sleep again. On the whole, the cosmos did not notice the difference. Stars flamed in emptiness, and planets rotated sedately on their axes. Comets flung out gossamer veils or retracted them, and space liners went about upon their lawful occasions. And lovers swore by stars and moons—often quite different stars and moons—and various things happened which had nothing to do with Hoddan.

But when he waked again he was rested, and he reviewed all his actions and his situation. It appeared that matters promised fairly well on the emigrant fleet now gone forever. They would remember Hoddan with affection for a year or so, and dimly after that. But settling a new world would be enthralling and important work. Nobody’d think of him at all, after a certain length of time. But he had to think of an obligation he’d assumed on their account.

He considered his own affairs. He’d told Fani he was going to marry Nedda. The way things looked, that was no longer so probable. Of course, in a year or two, or a few years, he might be out from under the obligations he now considered due. In time even the Waldenian government would realize that deathrays don’t exist, and a lawyer might be able to clear things for his return to Walden. But—Nedda was a nice girl.

He frowned. That was it. She was a remarkably nice girl. But Hoddan suddenly doubted if she were a delightful one. He found himself questioning that she was exactly and perfectly what his long-cherished ambitions described. He tried to imagine spending his declining years with Nedda. He couldn’t quite picture it as exciting. She did tend to be a little insipid—

Presently, gloomy and a trifle dogged about it, he brought the spaceboat around to the modernized boatport of the yacht. He got into it, leaving the yacht in orbit. He headed down toward Darth. Now that he’d rested, he had work to do which could not be neglected. To carry out that work, he needed a crew able and willing to pass for pirates for a pirate’s pay. And there were innumerable castles on Darth, with quite as many shiftly noblemen, and certainly no fewer plunder-hungry Darthian gentlemen hanging around them. But Don Loris’ castle had one real advantage and one which existed only in Hoddan’s mind.

Don Loris’ retainers did know that Hoddan had led their companions to loot. Large loot. He’d have less trouble and more enthusiastic support from Don Loris’ retainers than any other. This was true.

The illusion was that the Lady Fani was his firm personal friend with no nonsense about her. This was a very great mistake.

He landed for the fourth time outside Don Loris’ castle. This time he had no booty-laden men to march to the castle and act as heralds of his presence. The spaceboat’s visionscreens showed Don Loris’ stronghold as immense, dark and menacing. Banners flew from its turrets, their colors bright in the ruddy light of near-sunset. The gate remained closed. For a long time there was no sign that his landing had been noted. Then there was movement on the battlements, and a figure began to descend outside the wall. It was lowered to the ground by a long rope.

It reached the ground and shook itself. It marched, toward the spaceboat through the red and nearly level rays of the dying sun. Hoddan watched with a frown on his face. This wasn’t a retainer of Don Loris’. It assuredly wasn’t Fani. He couldn’t even make out its gender until the figure was very near.

Then he looked astonished. It was his old friend Derec, arrived on Darth a long while since in the spaceboat Hoddan had been using ever since. Derec had been his boon companion in the days when he expected to become rich by splendid exploits in electronics. Derec was also the character who’d conscientiously told the cops on Hoddan, when they found his power-receptor sneaked into a Mid-Continent station and a stray corpse coincidentally outside.

He opened the boatport and stood in the opening. Derec had been a guest—anyhow an inhabitant—of Don Loris’ castle for a good long while, now. Hoddan wondered if he considered his quarters cozy.

“Evening, Derec,” said Hoddan cordially. “You’re looking well!”

“I don’t feel it,” said Derec dismally. “I feel like a fool in the castle yonder. And the high police official I came here with has gotten grumpy and snaps when I try to speak to him.”

Hoddan said gravely:

“I’m sure the Lady Fani—”

“A tigress!” said Derec bitterly. “We don’t get along.”

Looking at Derec, Hoddan found himself able to understand why. Derec was the sort of friend one might make on Walden for lack of something better. He was well-meaning. He might be capable of splendid things—even heroism. But he was horribly, terribly, appallingly civilized!

“Well! Well!” said Hoddan kindly. “And what’s on your mind, Derec?”

“I came,” said Derec dismally, “to plead with you again, Bron. You must surrender! There’s nothing else to do! People can’t have deathrays, Bron! Above all, you mustn’t tell the pirates how to make them!”

Hoddan was puzzled for a moment. Then he realized that Derec’s information about the fleet came from the spearmen he’d brought back, loaded down with cash. Derec hadn’t noticed the absence of the flashing lights at sunset—or hadn’t realized that they meant the fleet was gone away.

“Hm-m-m,” said Hoddan. “Why don’t you think I’ve already done it?”

“Because they’d have killed you,” said Derec. “Don Loris pointed that out. He doesn’t believe you know how to make deathrays. He says it’s not a secret anybody would be willing for anybody else to know. But ... you know the truth, Bron! You killed that poor man back on Walden. You’ve got to sacrifice yourself for humanity! You’ll be treated kindly!”

Hoddan shook his head. It seemed somehow very startling for Derec to be harping on that same idea, after so many things had happened to Hoddan. But he didn’t think Derec would actually expect him to yield to persuasion. There must be something else. Derec might even have nerved himself up to something quite desperate.

“What did you really come here for, Derec?”

“To beg you to—”

Then, in one instant, Derec made an hysterical gesture and Hoddan’s stun-pistol hummed. A small object left Derec’s hand as his muscles convulsed from the stun-pistol bolt. It did not fly quite true. It fell a foot or so to one side of the boatport instead of inside.

It exploded luridly as Derec crumpled from the pistol bolt. There was thick, strangling smoke. Hoddan disappeared. When the thickest smoke drifted away there was nothing to be seen but Derec, lying on the ground, and thinner smoke drifting out of the still-open boatport.

Nearly half an hour later, figures came very cautiously toward the spaceboat. Thal was their leader. His expression was mournful and depressed. Other brawny retainers came uncertainly behind him. At a nod from Thal, two of them picked up Derec and carted him off toward the castle.

“I guess he got it,” said Thal dismally.

He peered in. He shook his head.

“Wounded, maybe, and crawled off to die.”

He peered in again and shook his head once more.

“No sign of ‘im.”

A spearman just behind Thal said:

“Dirty trick! I was with him to Walden, and he paid off good! A good man! Shoulda been a chieftain! Good man!”

Thal entered the spaceboat. Gingerly. He wrinkled his nose at the faint smell of explosive still inside. Another man came in. Another.

“Say!” said one of them in a conspiratorial voice. “We got our share of that loot from Walden. But he hadda share, too! What’d he do with it? He could’ve kept it in this boat here. We could take a quick look! What Don Loris don’t know don’t hurt him!”

“I’m going to find Hoddan first,” said Thal, with dignity. “We don’t have to carry him outside so’s Don Loris knows we’re looking for loot, but I’m going to find him first.”

There were other men in the spaceboat now. A full dozen of them. Their spears were very much in the way.

The boat door closed quietly. Don Loris’ retainers stared at each other. The locking-dogs grumbled for half a second, sealing the door tightly. Don Loris’ retainers began to babble protestingly.

There was a roaring outside. The spaceboat stirred. The roaring rose to thunder. The boat lurched. It flung the spearmen into a sprawling, swearing, terrified heap at the rear end of the boat’s interior.

The boat went on out to space again. In the control room Hoddan said dourly to himself:

“I’m in a rut! I’ve got to figure out some way to ship a pirate crew without having to kidnap them. This is getting monotonous!”