Hunt the Space-Witch! (40 page)

“N-no,” Brennt said.

“Very good,” said Herndon. He smiled. “I'm sorry to have seemed so overbearing, but we had to find out this information. Will you accept my apologies and shake?”

He held out his hand. Brennt eyed it uncertainly, then took it. With a quick inward twitch Herndon jabbed a needle into the base of the other's thumb. The quick-acting truth drug took only seconds to operate.

“Now,” Herndon said, “the preliminaries are over. You understand the details of our earlier conversation. Tell me, now, how many starstones is Mardlin paying you for?”

Brennt's fleshless lips curled angrily, but he was defenseless against the drug. “Thirty-nine,” he said.

“At what total cost?”

“Three hundred twelve thousand stellors.”

Herndon nodded. “How many of those thirty-nine are actually functional starstones?”

“Thirty-five,” Brennt said reluctantly.

“The other four are duds?”

“Yes.”

“A sweet little racket. Did you supply Mardlin with the duds?”

“Yes. At two hundred stellors each.”

“And what happens to the genuine stones that we pay for but that never arrive on Borlaam?”

Brennt's eyes rolled despairingly. “Mardlin—Mardlin sells them to someone else and pockets the money. I get five hundred stellors per stone for keeping quiet.”

“You've kept very quiet today,” Herndon said. “Thanks very much for the information, Brennt. I really should kill you—but you're much too valuable to us for that. We'll let you live, but we're changing the terms of our agreement. From now on we pay you only for actual functioning starstones, not for an entire consignment. Do you like that setup?”

“No,” Brennt said.

“At least you speak truthfully now. But you're stuck with it. Mardlin is no longer courier, by the way. We can't afford a man of his tastes in our organization. I don't advise you try to make any deals with his successor, whoever he is.”

He turned and walked out of the shop.

Herndon knew that Brennt would probably notify Mardlin that the game was up immediately so the Vonnimooro could attempt to get away. Herndon was not particularly worried about Mardlin's escaping since he had a weapon that would work on the jackal-creature at any distance whatever.

But he had sworn an oath to safeguard the combine's interests, and Herndon was a man of his oath. Mardlin was in possession of thirty-nine starstones for which the combine had paid. He did not want the Vonnimooro to take those with him.

He legged it across town hurriedly to the house where the courier lived while at the Vyapore end of his route. It took him fifteen minutes from Brennt's to Mardlin's—more than enough time for a warning.

Mardlin's room was on the second story. Herndon drew his weapon from his pocket and knocked.

“Mardlin?”

There was no answer. Herndon said, “I know you're in there, jackal. The game's all over. You might as well open the door and let me in.”

A needle came whistling through the door and embedded itself against the opposite wall after missing Herndon's head by inches. Herndon stepped out of range and glanced down at the object in his hand.

It was the master control for the neuronic network installed in Mardlin's body. It was quite carefully gradated; shifting the main switch to
six
would leave the Vonnimooro in no condition to fire a gun. Thoughtfully Herndon nudged the indicator up through the degrees of pain to
six
and left it there.

He heard a thud within.

Putting his shoulder to the door, he cracked it open with one quick heave. He stepped inside. Mardlin lay sprawled in the middle of the floor writhing in pain. Near him, but beyond his reach, lay the needier he had dropped.

A suitcase sat open and half-filled on the bed. He had evidently intended an immediate getaway.

“Shut
…
that … thing … off
…” Mardlin muttered through pain-twisted lips.

“First some information,” Herndon said cheerfully. “I just had a talk with Brennt. He says you've been doing some highly improper things with our starstones. Is this true?”

Mardlin quivered on the floor but said nothing. Herndon raised the control a quarter of a notch, intensifying the pain but not yet bringing it to the killing range.

“Is this true?” he repeated.

“Yes—yes! Damn you, shut it off.”

“At the time you had the network installed in your body, it was with the understanding that you'd be loyal to the combine and so it would never need to be used. But you took advantage of circumstances and cheated us. Where's the current consignment of stones?”

“… suitcase lining,” Mardlin muttered.

“Good,” Herndon said. He scooped up the needier, pocketed it, and shut off the master control switch. The pain subsided in the Vonnimooro's body, and he lay slumped, exhausted, too battered to rise.

Efficiently Herndon ripped away the suitcase lining and found the packet of starstones. He opened it. They were wrapped in shielding tissue that protected any accidental viewer. He counted through them; there were thirty-nine, as Brennt had said.

“Are any of these defective?” he asked.

Mardlin looked up from the floor with eyes yellow with pain and hatred. “Look through them and see.”

Instead of answering, Herndon shifted the control switch past
six
again. Mardlin doubled up, clutching his head with clawlike hands. “Yes! Yes! Six defectives!”

“Which means you sold six good ones for forty-eight thousand stellors, less the three thousand you kicked back to Brennt to keep quiet. So there should be forty-five thousand stellors here that you owe us. Where are they?”

“Dresser drawer … top …”

Herndon found the money neatly stacked. A second time he shut off the control device, and Mardlin relaxed.

“Okay,” Herndon said. “I have the cash and the stones. But there must be thousands of stellors that you've previously stolen from us.”

“You can have that, too! Only don't turn that thing on again, please!”

Shrugging, Herndon said, “There isn't time for me to hunt down the other money you stole from us. But we can ensure against your doing it again.”

He fulfilled the final part of Benjin's instructions by turning the control switch to
ten
, the limit of sentient endurance. Every molecule of Mardlin's wiry body felt unbearable pain; he screamed and danced on the floor, but only for a moment. Nerve cells unable to handle the overload of pain stimuli short-circuited. In seconds his brain was paralyzed. In less than a minute he was dead, though his tortured limbs still quivered with convulsive postmortuary jerks.

Herndon shut the device off. He had done his job. He felt neither revulsion nor glee.

He gathered up jewels and money and walked out.

Chapter Five

A month later he arrived on Borlaam via the freighter
Dawnlight
as scheduled and passed through customs without difficulty despite the fact that he was concealing more than three hundred thousand stellors' worth of proscribed starstones on his person.

His first stop was the Avenue of Bronze where he sought out Benjin and the Heitman Oversk.

He explained crisply and briefly his activities since leaving Borlaam, neglecting to mention the matter of the shipboard romance with the Lady Moaris. While he spoke, both Benjin and Oversk stared eagerly at him, and when he told of intimidating Brennt and killing the treacherous Mardlin, they beamed.

Herndon drew the packet of starstones from his cloak and laid them on the wooden table. “There,” he said. “The starstones. There were some defectives, as you know, and I've brought back cash for them.” He added forty-five thousand stellors to the pile.

Benjin quickly caught up the money and the stones and said, “You've done well, Herndon. Better than we expected. It was a lucky day when you killed that proteus.”

“Will you have more work for me?”

Oversk said, “Of course. You'll take Mardlin's place as the courier. Didn't you realize that?”

Herndon had realized it, but it did not please him. He wanted to remain on Borlaam, now that he had made himself known to the Lady Moaris. He wanted to begin his climb toward Krellig. And if he were to shuttle between Vyapore and Borlaam, the all-important advantage he had attained would be lost.

But the Lady Moaris would not be back on Borlaam for nearly two months. He could make one more round trip for the combine without seriously endangering his position. After that he would have to find some means of leaving their service. Of course, if they preferred to keep him on, they could compel him, but—

“When do I make the next trip?” he asked.

Benjin shrugged lazily. “Tomorrow, next week, next month—who knows? We have plenty of stones on hand. There is no hurry for the next trip. You can take a vacation now while we sell these.”

“No,” Herndon said. “I want to leave immediately.” Oversk frowned at him. “Is there some reason for the urgency?”

“I don't want to stay on Borlaam just now,” Herndon said. “There's no need for me to explain further. It pleases me to make another trip to Vyapore.”

“He's eager,” Benjin said. “It's a good sign.”

“Mardlin was eager at first, too,” Oversk remarked balefully.

Herndon was out of his seat and at the nobleman's throat in an instant. His needier grazed the skin of Oversk's Adam's apple.

“If you intended by that comparison to imply—”

Benjin tugged at Herndon's arm. “Sit down, Rogue, and relax. The Heitman is tired tonight, and the words slipped out. We trust you. Put the needler away.”

Reluctantly Herndon lowered the weapon. Oversk, white-faced despite his tan, fingered his throat where Herndon's weapon had touched it but said nothing. Herndon regretted his hasty action and decided not to demand an apology. Oversk still could be useful to him.

“A spacerogue's word is his bond,” Herndon said. “I don't intend to cheat you. When can I leave?”

“Tomorrow, if you wish,” Benjin said. “We'll cable Brennt to have another shipment ready for you.”

This time he traveled to Vyapore aboard a transport freighter since there were no free tours with noblemen to be had at this season. He reached the jungle world a little less than a month later. Brennt had thirty-two jewels waiting for him. Thirty-two glittering little starstones, each in its protective sheath, each longing to rob some man's mind away with its beckoning dreams.

Herndon gathered them up and arranged a transfer of funds to the amount of two hundred fifty-six thousand stellors. Brennt eyed him bitterly throughout the whole transaction, but it was obvious that the Vyaporan was in fear for his life, and would not dare attempt duplicity. No word was said of Mardlin or his fate.

Bearing his precious burden, Herndon returned to Borlaam aboard a second-class liner out of Diirhav, a neighboring world of some considerable population. It was expensive, but he could not wait for the next freight ship. By the time he returned to Borlaam, the Lady Moaris would have been back several weeks. He had promised the Steward he would rejoin Moaris' service, and it was a promise he intended to keep.

It had become winter when he reached Borlaam again with his jewels. The daily sleet rains sliced across the cities and the plains, showering them with billions of icy knifelike particles. People huddled together, waiting for the wintry cold to end.

Herndon made his way through streets clogged with snow that glistened blue-white in the light of the glinting winter moon and delivered his gems to Oversk in the Avenue of Bronze. Benjin, he learned, would be back shortly; he was engaged in an important transaction.

Herndon warmed himself by the heat wall and accepted cup after cup of Oversk's costly Thrucian blue wine to ease his inner chill. The commoner Dorgel entered after a while, followed by Marya and Razumod, and together they examined the new shipment of starstones Herndon had brought back, storing them with the rest of their stock.

At length Benjin entered. The little man was almost numb with cold, but his voice was warm as he said, “The deal is settled, Oversk! Oh—Herndon—you're back, I see. Was it a good trip?”

“Excellent,” Herndon said.

Oversk remarked, “You saw the Secretary of State, I suppose. Not Krellig himself.”

“Naturally. Would Krellig let someone like me into his presence?”

Herndon's ears rose at the mention of his enemy's name. He said, “What's this about the Seigneur?”

“A little deal,” Benjin chortled. “I've been doing some very delicate negotiating while you were away. And I signed the contract today.”

“What
contract?” Herndon demanded.

“We have a royal patron now, it seems. The Seigneur Krellig has gone into the starstone business himself. Not in competition with us, though. He's bought a controlling interest in us.”

Herndon felt as if his vital organs had been transmuted to lead. In a congealed voice he said, “And what are the terms of this agreement?”

“Simple. Krellig realized the starstone trade, though illegal, was unstoppable. Rather than alter the legislation and legalize the trade, which would be morally undesirable and which would also tend to lower the price of the gems, he asked the Lord Moaris to place him in contact with some group of smugglers who would work for the Crown. Moaris, naturally, suggested his brother. Oversk preferred to let me handle the negotiations, and for the past month I've been meeting secretly with Krellig's Secretary of State to work out a deal.”

“The terms of which are?”

“Krellig guarantees us immunity from prosecution and at the same time promises to crack down heavily on our competition. He pledges us a starstone monopoly, in other words, and so we'll be able to lower our price to Brennt and jack up the selling price to whatever the traffic will bear. In return for this we turn over eight percent of our gross profits to the Seigneur and agree to supply him with six starstones annually, at cost, for the Seigneur to use as gifts to his enemies. Naturally we also transfer our fealties from the combine to the Seigneur himself. He holds our controls to assure loyal service.”