Chapter II

RIVALS

"That's far enough, Eysie!"

Although Traders by law and tradition carried no more potent personal

weapons--except in times of great crisis--than hand sleep rods, the

resultant shot from the latter was just as unpleasant for temporary

periods as a more forceful beam--and the threat of it was enough to halt

the three men who had come to the foot of the Queen's ramp and who could

see the rod held rather negligently by Ali. Ali's eyes were anything but

negligent, however, and Free Traders had reputations to be respected by

their rivals of the Companies. The very nature of their roving lives

taught them savage lessons--which they either learned or died.

Dane, glancing down over the Engineer-apprentice's shoulder, saw that Van

Rycke's assumption of confidence had indeed paid off. They had left the

trade enclosure of the Salariki barely three-quarters of an hour ago. But

below now stood the bebadged Captain of the I-S ship and his

Cargo-master.

"I want to speak to your Captain--" snarled the Eysie officer.

Ali registered faint amusement, an expression which tended to rouse the

worst in the spectator, as Dane knew of old when that same mocking

appraisal had been turned on him as the rawest of the Queen's crew.

"But does _he_ wish to speak to you?" countered Kamil. "Just stay where

you are, Eysie, until we are sure about that fact."

That was his cue to act as messenger. Dane retreated into the ship and

swung up the ladder to the command section. As he passed Captain

Jellico's private cabin he heard the muffled squall of the commander's

unpleasant pet--Queex, the Hoobat--a nightmare combination of crab,

parrot and toad, wearing a blue feather coating and inclined to scream

and spit at all comers. Since Queex would not be howling in that fashion

if its master was present, Dane kept on to the control cabin where he

blundered in upon an executive level conference of Captain, Cargo-master

and Astrogator.

"Well?" Jellico's blaster scarred left cheek twitched as he snapped that

impatient inquiry at the messenger.

"Eysie Captain below, sir. With his Cargo-master. They want to see you--"

Jellico's mouth was a straight line, his eyes very hard. By instinct

Dane's hand went to the grip of the sleep rod slung at his belt. When the

Old Man put on his fighting face--look out! Here we go again, he told

himself, speculating as to just what type of action lay before them now.

"Oh, they do, do they!" Jellico began and then throttled down the temper

he could put under iron control when and if it were necessary. "Very

well, tell them to stay where they are. Van, we'll go down--"

For a moment the Cargo-master hesitated, his heavy-lidded eyes looked

sleepy, he seemed almost disinterested in the suggestion. And when he

nodded it was with the air of someone about to perform some boring duty.

"Right, sir." He wriggled his heavy body from behind the small table,

resealed his tunic, and settled his cap with as much precision as if he

were about to represent the Queen before the assembled nobility of

Sargol.

Dane hurried down the ladders, coming to a halt beside Ali. It was the

turn of the man at the foot of the ramp to bark an impatient demand:

"Well?" (Was that the theme word of every Captain's vocabulary?)

"You wait," Dane replied with no inclination to give the Eysie officer

any courtesy address. Close to a Terran year aboard the Solar Queen had

inoculated him with pride in his own section of Service. A Free Trader

was answerable to his own officers and to no one else on earth--or among

the stars--no matter how much discipline and official etiquette the

Companies used to enhance their power.

He half expected the I-S officers to leave after an answer such as that.

For a Company Captain to be forced to wait upon the convenience of a Free

Trader must be galling in the extreme. And the fact that this one was

doing just that was an indication that the Queen's crew did, perhaps,

have the edge of advantage in any coming bargain. In the meantime the

Eysie contingent fumed below while Ali lounged whistling against the exit

port, playing with his sleep rod and Dane studied the grass forest. His

boot nudged a packet just inside the port casing and he glanced

inquiringly from it to Ali.

"Cat ransom," the other answered his unspoken question.

So that was it--the fee for Sinbad's return. "What is it today?"

"Sugar--about a tablespoon full," the Engineer-assistant returned, "and

two colored steelos. So far they haven't run up the price on us. I think

they're sharing out the spoil evenly, a new cub brings him back every

night."

As did all Terran ships, the Solar Queen carried a cat as an important

member of the regular crew. And the portly Sinbad, before their landing

on Sargol, had never presented any problem. He had done his duty of

ridding the ship of unusual and usual pests and cargo despoilers with

dispatch, neatness and energy. And when in port on alien worlds had never

shown any inclination to go a-roving.

But the scents of Sargol had apparently intoxicated him, shearing away

his solid dignity and middle-aged dependability. Now Sinbad flashed out

of the Queen at the opening of her port in the early morning and was

brought back, protesting with both voice and claws, at the end of the day

by that member of the juvenile population whose turn it was to collect

the standing reward for his forceful delivery. Within three days it had

become an accepted business transaction which satisfied everyone but

Sinbad.

The scrape of metal boot soles on ladder rungs warned of the arrival of

their officers. Ali and Dane withdrew down the corridor, leaving the

entrance open for Jellico and Van Rycke. Then they drifted back to

witness the meeting with the Eysies.

There were no prolonged greetings between the two parties, no offer of

hospitality as might have been expected between Terrans on an alien

planet a quarter of the Galaxy away from the earth which had given them a

common heritage.

Jellico, with Van Rycke at his shoulder, halted before he stepped from

the ramp so that the three Inter-Solar men, Captain, Cargo-master and

escort, whether they wished or no, were put in the disadvantageous

position of having to look up to a Captain whom they, as members of one

of the powerful Companies, affected to despise. The lean, well muscled,

trim figure of the Queen's commander gave the impression of hard bitten

force held in check by will control, just as his face under its thick

layer of space burn was that of an adventurer accustomed to make split

second decisions--an estimate underlined by that seam of blaster burn

across one flat cheek.

Van Rycke, with a slight change of dress, could have been a Company man

in the higher ranks--or so the casual observer would have placed him,

until an observer marked the eyes behind those sleepy drooping lids, or

caught a certain note in the calm, unhurried drawl of his voice. To look

at the two senior officers of the Free Trading spacer were the antithesis

of each other--in action they were each half of a powerful, steamroller

whole--as a good many men in the Service--scattered over a half dozen or

so planets--had discovered to their cost in the past.

Now Jellico brought the heels of his space boots together with an

extravagant click and his hand flourished at the fore of his helmet in a

gesture which was better suited to the Patrol hero of a slightly

out-of-date Video serial.

"Jellico, Solar Queen, Free Trader," he identified himself brusquely, and

added, "this is Van Rycke, our Cargo-master."

Not all the flush had faded from the face of the I-S Captain.

"Grange of the Dart," he did not even sketch a salute. "Inter-Solar.

Kallee, Cargo-master--" And he did not name the hovering third member of

his party.

Jellico stood waiting and after a long moment of silence Grange was

forced to state his business.

"We have until noon--"

Jellico, his fingers hooked in his belt, simply waited. And under his

level gaze the Eysie Captain began to find the going hard.

"They have given us until noon," he started once more, "to get

together--"

Jellico's voice came, coldly remote. "There is no reason for any 'getting

together,' Grange. By rights I can have you up before the Trade Board for

poaching. The Solar Queen has sole trading rights here. If you up-ship

within a reasonable amount of time, I'll be inclined to let it pass.

After all I've no desire to run all the way to the nearest Patrol post to

report you--"

"You can't expect to buck Inter-Solar. We'll make you an offer--" That

was Kallee's contribution, made probably because his commanding officer

couldn't find words explosive enough.

Jellico, whose forté was more direct action, took an excursion into

heavy-handed sarcasm. "You Eysies have certainly been given excellent

briefing. I would advise a little closer study of the Code--and not the

sections in small symbols at the end of the tape, either! _We're_ not

bucking anyone. You'll find our registration for Sargol down on tapes at

the Center. And I suggest that the sooner you withdraw the better--before

we cite you for illegal planeting."

Grange had gained control of his emotions. "We're pretty far from Center

here," he remarked. It was a statement of fact, but it carried over-tones

which they were able to assess correctly. The Solar Queen was a Free

Trader, alone on an alien world. But the I-S ship might be cruising in

company, ready to summon aid, men and supplies. Dane drew a deep breath,

the Eysies _must_ be sure of themselves, not only that, but they must

want what Sargol had to offer to the point of being willing to step

outside the law to get it.

The I-S Captain took a step forward. "I think we understand each other

now," he said, his confidence restored.

Van Rycke answered him, his deep voice cutting across the sighing of the

wind in the grass forest.

"Your proposition?"

Perhaps this return to their implied threat bolstered their belief in the

infallibility of the Company, their conviction that no independent dared

stand up against the might and power of Inter-Solar. Kallee replied:

"We'll take up your contract, at a profit to you, and you up-ship before

the Salariki are confused over whom they are to deal with--"

"And the amount of profit?" Van Rycke bored in.

"Oh," Kallee shrugged, "say ten percent of Cam's last shipment--"

Jellico laughed. "Generous, aren't you, Eysie? Ten percent of a cargo

which can't be assessed--the gang on Limbo kept no records of what they

plundered."

"We don't know what he was carrying when he crashed on Limbo," countered

Kallee swiftly. "We'll base our offer on what he carried to Axal."

Now Van Rycke chucked. "I wonder who figured that one out?" he inquired

of the scented winds. "He must save the Company a fair amount of credits

one way or another. Interesting offer--"

By the bland satisfaction to be read on the three faces below the I-S men

were assured of their victory. The Solar Queen would be paid off with a

pittance, under the vague threat of Company retaliation she would

up-ship from Sargol, and they would be left in possession of the rich

Koros trade--to be commended and rewarded by their superiors. Had they,

Dane speculated, ever had any dealings with Free Traders before--at least

with the brand of independent adventurers such as manned the Solar Queen?

Van Rycke burrowed in his belt pouch and then held out his hand. On the

broad palm lay a flat disc of metal. "Very interesting--" he repeated. "I

shall treasure this recording--"

The sight of that disc wiped all satisfaction from the Eysie faces.

Grange's purplish flush spread up from his tight tunic collar, Kallee

blinked, and the unknown third's hand dropped to his sleep rod. An action

which was not overlooked by either Dane or Ali.

"A smooth set down to you," Jellico gave the conventional leave taking of

the Service.

"You'd better--" the Eysie Captain began hotly, and then seeing the disc

Van Rycke held--that sensitive bit of metal and plastic which was

recording this interview for future reference, he shut his mouth tight.

"Yes?" the Queen's Cargo-master prompted politely. But Kallee had taken

his Captain's arm and was urging Grange away from the spacer.

"You have until noon to lift," was Jellico's parting shot as the three in

Company livery started toward the road.

"I don't think that they will," he added to Van Rycke.

The Cargo-master nodded. "You wouldn't in their place," he pointed out

reasonably. "On the other hand they've had a bit of a blast they weren't

expecting. It's been a long time since Grange heard anyone say 'no.'"

"A shock which is going to wear off," Jellico's habitual distrust of the

future gathered force.

"This," Van Rycke tucked the disc back into his pouch, "sent them off

vector a parsec or two. Grange is not one of the strong arm blaster

boys. Suppose Tang Ya does a little listening in--and maybe we can rig

another surprise if Grange does try to ask advice of someone off world.

In the meantime I don't think they are going to meddle with the Salariki.

They don't want to have to answer awkward questions if _we_ turn up a

Patrol ship to ask them. So--" he stretched and beckoned to Dane, "we

shall go to work once more."

Again two paces behind Van Rycke Dane tramped to the trade circle of the

Salariki clansmen. They might have walked out only five or six minutes of

ship time before, and the natives betrayed no particular interest in

their return. But, Dane noted, there was only one empty stool, one

ceremonial table in evidence. The Salariki had expected only one Terran

Trader to join them.

What followed was a dreary round of ceremony, an exchange of platitudes

and empty good wishes and greetings. No one mentioned Koros stones--or

even perfume bark--that he was willing to offer the off-world traders.

None lifted so much as a corner of his trade cloth, under which, if he

were ready to deal seriously, his hidden hand would meet that of the

buyer, so that by finger pressure alone they could agree or disagree on

price. But such boring sessions were part of Trade and Dane, keeping a

fraction of attention on the speeches and "drinkings-together," watched

those around him with an eye which tried to assess and classify what he

saw.

The keynote of the Salariki character was a wary independence. The only

form of government they would tolerate was a family-clan organization.

Feuds and deadly duels between individuals and clans were the accepted

way of life and every male who reached adulthood went armed and ready for

combat until he became a "Speaker for the past"--too old to bear arms in

the field. Due to the nature of their battling lives, relatively few of

the Salariki ever reached that retirement. Short-lived alliances between

families sometimes occurred, usually when they were to face a common

enemy greater than either. But a quarrel between chieftains, a fancied

insult would rip that open in an instant. Only under the Trade Shield

could seven clans sit this way without their warriors being at one

another's furred throats.

An hour before sunset Paft turned his goblet upside down on his table, a

move followed speedily by every chieftain in the circle. The conference

was at an end for that day. And as far as Dane could see it had

accomplished exactly nothing--except to bring the Eysies into the open.

What _had_ Traxt Cam discovered which had given him the trading contract

with these suspicious aliens? Unless the men from the Queen learned it,

they could go on talking until the contract ran out and get no farther

than they had today.

From his training Dane knew that ofttimes contact with an alien race did

require long and patient handling. But between study and experiencing the

situation himself there was a gulf, and he thought somewhat ruefully that

he had much to learn before he could meet such a situation with Van

Rycke's unfailing patience and aplomb. The Cargo-master seemed in nowise

tired by his wasted day and Dane knew that Van would probably sit up half

the night, going over for the hundredth time Traxt Cam's sketchy

recordings in another painstaking attempt to discover why and how the

other Free Trader had succeeded where the Queen's men were up against a

stone wall.

The harvesting of Koros stones was, as Dane and all those who had been

briefed from Cam's records knew, a perilous job. Though the rule of the

Salariki was undisputed on the land masses of Sargol, it was another

matter in the watery world of the shallow seas. There the Gorp were in

command of the territory and one had to be constantly alert for attack

from the sly, reptilian intelligence, so alien to the thinking processes

of both Salariki and Terran that there was, or seemed to be, no point of

possible contact. One went gathering Koros gems after balancing life

against gain. And perhaps the Salariki did not see any profit in that

operation. Yet Traxt Cam had brought back his bag of gems--somehow he had

managed to secure them in trade.

Van Rycke climbed the ramp, hurrying on into the Queen as if he would not

get back to his records soon enough. But Dane paused and looked back at

the grass jungle a little wistfully. To his mind these early morning

hours were the best time on Sargol. The light was golden, the night winds

had not yet arisen. He disliked exchanging the freedom of the open for

the confinement of the spacer.

And, as he hesitated there, two of the juvenile population of Sargol came

out of the forest. Between them they carried one of their hunting nets, a

net which now enclosed a quiet but baneful eyed captive--Sinbad being

delivered for nightly ransom. Dane was reaching for the pay to give the

captors when, to his real astonishment, one of them advanced and pointed

with an extended forefinger claw to the open port.

"Go in," he formed the Trade Lingo words with care. And Dane's surprise

must have been plain to read for the cub followed his speech with a

vigorous nod and set one foot on the ramp to underline his desire.

For one of the Salariki, who had continually manifested their belief that

Terrans and their ship were an offence to the nostrils of all right

living "men," to wish to enter the spacer was an astonishing about-face.

But any advantage no matter how small, which might bring about a closer

understanding, must be seized at once.

Dane accepted the growling Sinbad and beckoned, knowing better than to

touch the boy. "Come--"

Only one of the junior clansmen obeyed that invitation. The other

watched, big-eyed, and then scuttled back to the forest when his fellow

called out some suggestion. _He_ was not going to be trapped.

Dane led the way up the ramp, paying no visible attention to the young

Salarik, nor did he urge the other on when he lingered for a long moment

or two at the port. In his mind the Cargo-master apprentice was

feverishly running over the list of general trade goods. What _did_ they

carry which would make a suitable and intriguing gift for a small alien

with such a promising bump of curiosity? If he had only time to get Van

Rycke!

The Salarik was inside the corridor now, his nostrils spread, assaying

each and every odor in this strange place. Suddenly his head jerked as if

tugged by one of his own net ropes. His interest had been riveted by some

scent his sensitive senses had detected. His eyes met Dane's in appeal.

Swiftly the Terran nodded and then followed with a lengthened stride as

the Salarik sped down into the lower reaches of the Queen, obviously in

quest of something of great importance.