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“The spaceship is an odd design. I think there are some beings in the Merseian hegemony who still build that type, but it’s not what I would expect barbarians imitating our boats to have.”
Fenross gulped and his knuckles whitened on the table edge. “If the Merseians are behind this—”
Flandry gestured at the dwarf. “Tall, dark, and handsome there may offer a clue to their origin. I don’t know. I’ll have to consult the files. But I must say this raid has a strange pattern. Varrak is light-years inside the border. There are plenty of tempting spots closer than this to the Wilderness. Then, the raiders knew exactly where to shoot and bomb to knock out all the defenses. And, of course, they got the princess. Looks very much as if they had inside help, doesn’t it?”
“I thought of that too. Every survivor of the garrison is being hypnoprobed, but so far none of them have known anything.”
“I doubt that any will. Our enemy is too smooth an operator to leave such clues. If he had collaborators in the fort, they left with the raiders and we’ll list them as ‘missing, presumed disintegated in action.’ But what’s the story on her Highness?”
Fenross groaned. “She was taking a tour of the outer marches. Those meatheads back on Terra should have known better than that! Or maybe the Imperial whim overruled them. The Lady Megan has the Emperor around her little finger. Anyhow, she went incognito, with a secret-service detachment to guard her, of course. But the raiders just smashed down the walls of the place where she was staying, shot all her guards, and made off with her and her servants.”
“Again,” said Flandry, “it looks like inside information. Why else should they hit Varrak, except to get the princess? The looting was just a sideline. And apparently they knew precisely where she was housed.” He took out a cigarette and inhaled nervously. “What d’you think their motive is? Ransom?”
“I hope to God it’s just money. But I’m afraid — These barbarian kings aren’t stupid. I’m afraid her ransom will be political and military concessions which we can ill afford. Especially if the raiders, as you suggest, are really Merseian agents. The Emperor will give it to them, regardless.” Fenross laid his head on his clenched fists. “This could mean the begi
“I suppose his Majesty has not yet been informed?”
“Of course not! I know him. His first act on learning the news will be to have everybody who could possibly be responsible executed. That includes you and me, in case you don’t know. I think we can suppress the information for a couple of weeks, maybe a month, but certainly no longer. If we don’t get her back before then—” Fenross drew a finger across his throat.
Flandry scowled. He was uncommonly fond of living. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Alerting all our agents. We’ll comb the Wilderness. We’ll fill the whole damned Merseian Empire with spies. But — I’m afraid we haven’t time to do anything. Space is too big—” Fenross turned angry eyes on his subordinate. “Well, don’t just sit there! Get going!”
“No sense duplicating effort, darling sir.” Flandry calculated his insolence deftly. “I’ve got a notion of my own, if you’ll give me a free hand to play with it. I’ll want access to all the files, including the most confidential.”
“Go ahead,” mumbled Fenross. “Enjoy yourself while you can.”
Flandry got up. “It might stimulate my mind if a small reward were offered,” he said mildly.
The lodge was as good a place as any to begin his work. Telestats from the central files could be sent directly to him there, on scrambled circuit. A monitor in his receiver, responding to the Secret order, printed the material in code on tapes which would disintegrate within an hour. Flandry sat in dressing gown and slippers, wading through meter after meter of information; much of it had cost lives, some of it was worth an empire. It was the job of Intelligence to know everything about everyone in the attainable galaxy. Chives kept him supplied with coffee and cigarettes.
Ella stole up behind him near dawn and laid a hand on his head. “Aren’t you ever coming to bed, Nick?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he grunted. “I’m on the track of a hunch. And if my notion is right, we have to move fast; there’ll be less than the two weeks beloved Fenross, may he rot in hell, is counting on. Our enemy will see that his august Majesty gets the news before then.”
She nodded, the light sliding down her long gold hair, and sat down at his feet. Slowly the sun rose.
“Stars and planets and little pink asteroids,” muttered Flandry at last. “I may have the answer. Electronic cross-filing is a wonderful invention.”
She regarded him wordlessly. He rubbed his chin, feeling its unshaven bristles scratchy on his palm. “But what I’m going to do with the answer, I don’t know. Talk about sticking your head in a lion’s mouth—”
He paced the floor restlessly. “Chives is a handy fellow with a gun or a set of burglar’s tools,” he said, “but I need someone else.”
“Can I help, Nick?” asked Ella. “I’d be glad to. You have been good to me.”
He regarded her a moment. Tall and lithe and fair, with something in her of the strength which had won this world from jungle — “Ella,” he inquired suddenly, “can you shoot?”
“I used to hunt ferazzes in the mountains,” she said.
“And — look — what would you say if I set you free? Not only that, but hunted up all the rest of your family and bought them free and set them up with some land of their own. The reward would cover that, with a bit to spare for my next poker game.
Sudden tears were in her eyes. “I don’t have any words,” she said.
“But would you risk death, torture, degradation — whatever punishment a crazy all-powerful mind could think of, if we failed? You aren’t so badly off now. Will you set it all on a turn of the cards?”
“Of course,” she said quietly, and rose to her feet.
He laughed and slapped her in a not very brotherly fashion. “All right! You can come out on the target range and prove what you said about shooting while Chives packs.”
In Flandry’s private speedster it was a three-day flit to Vor. After rehearsing what must be done, he spent the time amusing himself and his companions. There might not be another chance.
Vor had been settled early in the days of Imperial expansion, and had become a rich world, the natural choice of capital for the duke who governed the Taurian Sector. It was like another Terra — less grandiose, more bustling and businesslike — and the Sector itself was almost an empire within the Empire, a powerful realm of many stars whose ruler sat high in the councils of the Imperium.
Flandry left Chives in the boat at the main spaceport, and gave the portmaster a sizeable bribe to forget that his vessel was more heavily armed than a civilian craft ought to be. He and Ella caught a flittercab downtown and got a penthouse in one of the better hotels. Flandry never stinted himself when he was on expense account, but this time the penthouse had a business reason. You could land a spaceboat on the roof if a quick getaway became necessary.
He called the ducal palace that evening and got through to the chief social secretary. “Captain Sir Dominic Flandry of his Majesty’s Intelligence Corps,” he said pompously to the effeminate face. “I would like an audience with his Grace. There is some business to discuss.”
“I am afraid, sir, that—”
A telescreen buzzed by the secretary’s elbow. “Excuse me.” He spoke to it. When he faced back around, his expression was obsequious. “Of course, sir. His Grace would be pleased to see you at fourteen hundred tomorrow.”
“Good,” said Flandry. “I’ll buy you a lollipop sometime, Junior.” He switched off and laughed at Ella’s astonished face. “That does it,” he told her. “Someone was monitoring the secretary, and when he got my name, let the secretary know in no uncertain terms that my presence is urgently desired at the palace — or, at least, that an invitation would allay my suspicions for a while.”