Part 11

"Let's not discuss ethics now. Surrender, and you'll be placed on a Terra-conformed planet, with every freedom among your own kind except the right to space flight."

"No, thanks," said Farradyne dryly. "I had four years of slogging in a fungus marsh. I'm disinclined to give up after one miss. It--"

"Charles!" cried Norma through the squawk-box. "Radar trace!"

Farradyne turned and raced up the stairs just in time to see the long green line of the radar settling down to a solid signal-pip at the extreme end. He flipped the switch that coupled the telescope to the radar and looked through the eye-piece. At the extreme range of the radar beam was a spacecraft, either the same starship that had chased him before or its sister ship. It was closing in fast.

Farradyne dropped into his chair and snapped the belt. He turned the Lancaster by ninety degrees and grasped the toggle on the ultradrive. Ten seconds later he resumed normal flight for a few seconds and then, at another angle, used the ultradrive again.

He paused long enough to take his space bearing, and then plunged the ship down between the orbits of Jupiter and Saturn, far to the South of the ecliptic.

"Norma," he asked quietly, "who is Howard Clevis' boss?"

"Howard reports to Solon Forester directly."

"Oh, fine," groaned Farradyne. "Getting to the Solon is no picnic. How do we go about it?"

* * * * *

A flick of color caught his eye and he turned to look at the radar. The line had wiggled slightly and as he watched, its extreme end formed into a signal-pip. Farradyne looked through the telescope and saw the starship again--or another one. Whether they had one with supervelocity tracking methods, or several hundred covering the solar system like an interception net, it made no difference. The enemy was on his trail.

Farradyne played with the high-space drive again and cut some more didoes back and forth across space, ending up this time not too far from Mercury.

From below there came a rapid conversation in multi-tones, like someone dusting off the keys on a pipe organ played in mute.

Farradyne swore, and then he sat there looking at the big chronometer on the wall, counting off the seconds. Seventy of them went under the sweep hand before the radar trace hiked up into the same, familiar extreme-range warning.

Deliberately, Farradyne turned his ship towards Terra and hit the ultradrive. "They called me a hot-pants pilot," he gritted.

Yellow-green Terra raced up and up and up through the spectrum and burst in size from an unwinking pinpoint of light to a shockingly-large disc that zoomed towards them. They saw its roundness come out of the sky in a myriad of colors until it filled the dome above them. Norma screamed; but by the time her voice had stopped echoing through the control room, Terra was past them by a good many miles of clean miss, and Farradyne had cut the ultradrive. He grunted unhappily because he was now as far from Terra on the other side as he had been before he took the chance. This mad use of the enemy ultradrive in ducking around the solar system was like trying to make a fifty-ton clamshell digger split a cigarette paper. At two light years per hour, their speed was enough to take them from Sol to Pluto in one second flat. He could not control it finely enough to do more than zoom off out of sight of the starship.

Farradyne shrugged, and patted Norma on the shoulder. "I doubt that my aim is good enough to hit the thing," he said. He turned the Lancaster end for end abruptly and tried a quick flick of the toggle. Once more Terra leaped at them, a swirling kaleidoscope of color, looming into monster size and then flicking past.

When they came out of it, Terra was behind them by a few million miles. Farradyne thought for a moment. "Maybe we--" he reached out and pressed the red button on the auxiliary panel--"are being tracked by the generator doodad they put below."

"But what are we going to do now?"

"Hit for Terra!"

XXVI

Farradyne set the drive for Terra and then sat there, tense and waiting. The radar wiggled into its warning trace, almost dead ahead.

They moved to intercept him, but Farradyne raised the drive to four gravities and plunged on. The starship grew, and behind it Terra grew. The radio burst into sound and Farradyne grabbed the microphone and said, "Come and get me, fellows!"

"Stop," came the demand, "or we fire!"

"I've been fired at by experts," said Farradyne. "Start a shooting-match out here and you'll have all of Terra wondering why the fireworks."

"Stop!"

Farradyne touched a lever. "Maybe you'd like to polish a few rivets?"

The Lancaster turned ever so slightly until the starship was directly on the point-of-drive. His other hand touched the drive and the acceleration increased a bit. Caustically, Farradyne said, "Go ahead and shoot! You'll find your own living room full of by-products if you do!"

He was right. The Lancaster was on collision course with the starship and if the Lancaster was blasted at this moment, shards and fragments of the spacecraft would spread like a shotgun charge. If the starship escaped being hit with a rather uncomfortably large mass of jagged metal it would be sheer luck.

"Veer off!" came the strident cry.

The starship moved aside. Farradyne's hands levered his handles with a velvet touch and the starship of the enemy returned to the cross-hairs.

"Veer off!"

"I'm going to ram, goddam you!" roared Farradyne.

The starship flared at its tail and at the same time a torpedo-port winked as a missile blasted-off. Farradyne gauged the missile and the starship and kept his nose on the starship's lead. Gritting his teeth, he watched the missile come at him; and at the last moment the missile veered aside, obviously controlled. It was a war of nerves; the enemy did not dare hit him at this moment and on this course, but they hoped to scare him.

The starship loomed big in the astrodome and Farradyne aimed the Lancaster amidships. The interstellar monster grew rapidly until the individual plates could be seen; then with a silent, dark flicker that was as shocking as a loud blast and a searing flare of light might have been, the starship ceased to exist as an obstacle in front of them. The enemy had resorted to the ultradrive. The sky was clear--

Except for the missile, seeking them and with no control to stop it.

It had curved in a vast circle behind them and was now closing in on a curving course.

Dead ahead was Terra, looming huge; the tactic of the enemy was clear. In order to escape the missile Farradyne would have to drive hard and long, which would carry him far beyond Terra and into the hands of another enemy ship on the other side of home. To turn and attempt a landing would be to invite atomic death in the depths of space far above the planet.

He chuckled, and Norma looked at him wonderingly.

"Get set for some terrific acceleration," he said. "Hunker down in the seat!"

* * * * *

His hands ran across the board. The Lancaster turned slightly and the drive went up and up. The flare brightened and lengthened behind them, aimed at the missile below.

The missile followed its homing gear and came speeding up the reaction-flare. The Lancaster drive was a reaction motor, a rocket with a reaction mass of water heated by the atomic pile to an energy that cracked the water down to sheer gamma and particle radiation and tossed it rearward into a condition where the word 'heat' has no meaning unless there is some body able to absorb the ravening energy.

The missile absorbed the energy.

Its nose melted and its homing circuits mingled with the flare of the Lancaster's drive; then there was a minute puff as the missile was consumed before its atomics could be joined in fission.

Farradyne cut the drive and took a deep breath; but his relief didn't last long. Terra was before him, a monstrous blue-green globe just to one side--close--close--

Beyond, the enemy ship was waiting.

The thin scream of atmosphere cried at their ears and there came a braking pressure that threw them against their seat straps. The accelerometer went crazy, reaching for the peg-stop on the left.

The blood rushed to their heads and Farradyne fought the pressure that tried to raise his arms.

Then the screaming stopped as the Lancaster passed beyond the atmosphere into space again. Farradyne hit the drive hard again.

But if the enemy was expecting him to come past on a line-course, they were wrong. The touch of the upper air, thin as it was, had deflected the Lancaster's course into a long ellipse and hurled the ship far to one side of the expected line of flight. The course wound out and around and back and plunged the ship into the upper air again. Terra rotated madly below and then dropped beneath the level of the edge of the control room dome as the Lancaster speared out into space once more. Again they went out and around and down into the upper air, and this time they went around in a tight ellipse with the air screaming at them all the way. Four times around Terra they went, and then Farradyne turned the tail of the Lancaster straight down and started to drop like a plummet.

He was kept busy checking the controls and the autopilot and the computing radar altimeter as he aimed the Lancaster for the southern edge of Lake Superior; they came down in a screaming fall like a meteorite.

The flare parted the waters of the lake and sent up a billow of steam for about a hundredth of a second. Then the autopilot cut the drive and the violence ceased as the Lancaster sank into the deep cool waters, to stop, to come rising buoyantly towards the surface again.

* * * * *

Farradyne hit the switch that opened the scuttlebutt of the water tanks and the lake waters rushed in, killing buoyancy.

The astrodome porpoised once, gently, and then the Lancaster sank very slowly. Farradyne waited until the ship was resting tail down on the bottom; then he turned it slightly to one side and opened the drive by a bare fraction. Water churned below them and the ship moved loggily sidewise, towards the shore. He spent an hour testing and trying the depth along the shore until he found a place that was just deep enough to let the Lancaster stand upright with its dome an inch or two below the surface.

A small fish goggled hungrily at the shining metal.

Farradyne stretched and said, "We got this far anyway!"

Norma looked at him dizzily. "How?"

"My pappy used to tell me about this sort of come-in," he said. "Seems as how he once knew a gent who had piloted one of the old chemical rockets that used braking ellipses for landings. That was a heck of a long time ago, before we had power to burn. Anyway, it wasn't expected, because we succeeded."

"Now what?"

Farradyne tuned the radio to a local broadcast station, and waited, relaxing in his seat, until the music stopped and the latest news flashes came on. Then the announcer said, "The system-wide hunt for Charles Farradyne, the notorious love-lotus operator, still goes on. The search has been narrowed down to North America because of several reports, some official and some unofficial, of activity a-space in this region.

"Farradyne is also to be charged with complicity in the disappearance of Howard Clevis, high undercover operative for the Sand Office. It is believed in some circles that Farradyne may be much higher in the love-lotus ring than a mere handler or distributor. Some officials have indicated that Farradyne may be Mister Big, himself.

"An early interception and arrest is anticipated. Keep tuned to this station for the latest news."

The music returned.

XXVII

Brenner said, "Very neat. Glad you made it." His smile was serene, and it made Farradyne want to push his face in. Brenner grinned at Farradyne's expression. "I wouldn't like to die in space. Now that we've landed it's going to be easier to pick you up."

"No doubt you have your henchmen neatly planted in many of the high offices. But you can't cover them all."

"But how can you tell which is which?" laughed Brenner. "And if you could, how could you prove it? If you should be stupid enough to try to point out the number of people who are plotting your downfall, who are trying to apprehend you--dead or alive--you'll sound like a howling case of paranoia."

Carolyn stirred and groaned. Farradyne looked at her as she opened her eyes. "Can't take it, eh? But how you can dish it out!"

"Where are we?" groaned Carolyn.

"Wouldn't tell you on a bet," he snapped. "You might be telepathic as well as multi-tonal. I--"

Farradyne's eye caught a flicker of motion and he whirled. The other two men were struggling against the tape that bound their wrists and ankles; they glared at him over the white strip of tape beneath their noses, and made three-toned honking noises.

"Shut up!" roared Farradyne.

They stopped struggling.

Brenner said, "Just what do you hope to do?"

"I've got my ideas." Farradyne lit a cigarette and relaxed. "We'll wait until dusk to be sure," he said.

Hourly, the radio went on telling how Farradyne was being cornered. Radar nets and radio-contact squadrons were scouring the North American continent with special attention being given to the North Middle-West. Another report said, "Charles Farradyne, sought for many charges involving love-lotus operations, is implicated in the disappearance of Carolyn Niles, according to her family. Her father indicated that Miss Niles did not return home after a date with the criminal. Be careful! This criminal is cornered and desperate. He will not hesitate to shoot, and he may even bomb a village or neighborhood if his freedom is threatened!"

Brenner and Carolyn did not even jeer at him. The situation was obvious; Farradyne and his white flag would be shot to bits before he could take three steps, let alone make explanations.

By now it was dark outside. The stars were bright above the dome, and danced with the motion of the water. To one side a wavy trail passed across the sky, and high above was the flicker of a space patrol crossing the sky at fifty or sixty miles. The radio was alive with reports, and the police bands were busy with their myriad of reports and directions. Farradyne pricked off their calls on a map, with a drawing pencil. Ground and air patrols were combing a vast area. For a very brief interval, Farradyne could hear a distant network in operation which indicated that the same sort of search was under way in other districts across the face of the continent.

He inspected his map and hoped he had them all. Then, very cautiously, he lifted the nose of the Lancaster above the waterline and eyed his radar. Pips showed here and there, a couple within a few miles of him. He waited until they turned away, waited until they went beyond the radar horizon.

"Now," said Farradyne for all of them to hear. "I can't do this job fair, so I'll do it foul!"

Using just enough power to waft the Lancaster into the air, Farradyne placed the ship in a gully a few hundred yards from a state highway. The trees covered it from direct observation at night and the flat hills and ravines would cover it from radar detection.

* * * * *

It was almost two o'clock in the morning when a lonely moving van came along the highway. The brakes screeched as the driver caught sight of a crumpled body lying by the road. Redness smeared along a length of white thigh, uncovered by a ripped skirt. More redness dribbled wetly from a corner of Norma's mouth. The driver piled out of one door and his helper from the other. They ran to kneel by the woman's side.

Then they smelled the ketchup and stood up, raising their hands promptly in anticipation of the command.

"That's not blood spilled," said the driver loudly. "Let's keep it that way, whoever you are."

The driver's helper said, "This is a bum job, friend. We're carting second-hand furniture, not gold."

"I don't want your load," said Farradyne, stepping into the glare of the headlights while Norma got up and dusted herself off. "I want your truck."

They looked at him and he saw recognition in their faces. Probably every newscast had his picture presented in full color.

"What's the next move, Farradyne?" asked the driver in a surly tone. "Do we take the high jump?"

"No, I just want your truck. Driver, what's your name?"

"Morgan. This is Roberts."

"Morgan, you drive the truck down into that ravine, and Roberts will play hostage. Get it?"

"Behave, Al," pleaded Roberts.

"I will, but I think we'll get bumped anyway."

Morgan got into the truck and drove it slowly from the road, down through the trees, until they came to the Lancaster. Both men goggled at the ship parked there, and Farradyne, who had walked alongside with Roberts and Norma, let them look at it for a moment. Then he waved his gun. "Unload it," he said sharply.

It took them an hour to move the load from the truck to the ground, and Farradyne spent that hour in nervous watching. He could not trust them not to make a break, nor could he hope to explain. When the van was emptied, he faced Roberts against it and said, "Norma, tape Morgan's hands behind him; then Roberts'. Then we unload our cargo."

* * * * *

The two truckmen glowered as the conveyor belt came out of the cargo lock and the white hellflower blossoms tumbled along it to drop into the back of the van. Farradyne left them sitting there on the ground after the loading was finished. He and Norma went into the salon and he faced Brenner. "Better take this quietly," he said.

The radio made him pause:

"Ladies and gentlemen, the late news: the system-wide search for Charles Farradyne is hurrying to a close. Indications are now that the infamous love-lotus chief is hiding in the Lake Superior Region, and all forces are being hurried to that area to create the most leakproof dragnet in the history of man's man-hunts. A special session of the planning committee of the Solar Anti-Narcotic Department has been called to deal with the problem. Any information pertaining to Charles Farradyne may be delivered by picking up your telephone and calling Sand, One-thousand.

"This information is being disseminated freely. We know that Farradyne is listening to this broadcast, and the Sandmen have instructed all radio stations and networks to deliver the following announcement:

"To Charles Farradyne: A reward of fifty thousand dollars has been offered for your capture dead or alive. You cannot escape. The forces that are blanketing the Lake Superior Area are being augmented hourly by additional men and _matériel_ brought in from all corners of the solar system. You will be arrested and brought to trial for your life. However, the reward of fifty thousand dollars will be turned over to you to be used in your own defense if you surrender at once."

Farradyne grunted. "Very tasty dish," he said sourly. "Very competent people you have, boys and girl. Someone really thought that one out most thoroughly. Can you picture me walking up to a patrol and saying, 'Fellers, I've come to give myself up so I can have the reward.' And then I'd go in, sure enough--on a shutter, and the patrol would divide the loot. To hell with you, we'll play it my way. Norma, go ahead."

Norma slipped off one high-heeled shoe and advanced upon Brenner. The enemy agent tried to shy away, but Farradyne went over and caught his head between the palms of the hands and held Brenner fixed. Norma swung the slipper and crashed the heel against Brenner's jaw.

Brenner slumped, and the heelprint on his jaw oozed a dribble of blood mixed with mud.

Farradyne slung Brenner over his shoulder and carried the inert man out. He propped Brenner in the helper's seat and handed Norma into the driver's seat. He stood on the running-board and watched Norma strip the tape from Brenner's wrists and replace it with fresh tape from the truck's own first-aid kit.

"The ankles too," he warned her. "You've got to cover up the tape-burns."

Norma taped Brenner's ankles. Then she looked up at Farradyne. "I'm shaky."

"I know," he said. "But you've got to hold yourself together until this gambit is played out."

She smiled wanly. "That's what's holding me together," she told him. "Charles, wish me luck?"

He leaned into the truck window and put his lips to hers. It was a very pleasant kiss, and while they both knew that this was their first kiss of real affection and mutual confidence, it lacked a compelling passion. But for the present it was satisfying, and complete.

Then Farradyne swung down from the truck with a wave of his hand and Norma put the big engine in gear with a grind that set his teeth on edge.

The truck turned onto the highway and roared off into the night.

Morgan said, "What do we do now?"

"We wait in the spacer," Farradyne replied.

XXVIII

They went up the landing ramp and into the salon; the truckmen stopped short as they saw Carolyn and the other pair.

"Quite a collection you have here," said Morgan. "Is this Carolyn Niles?"

"I am," replied Carolyn. "Aren't you going to do something about it?"

Morgan showed her his taped wrists. "Not in this garland."

Farradyne smiled and left them. He went aloft and returned the Lancaster to the lake. "Now," he said, "we'll wait it out."

Morgan shook his head. "With the net they've set up you'll never see your girl or your truck or your hellflowers again."

"Maybe I want it that way."

"Oh? Putting the finger on the bird you carted out of here?"

"Precisely."

"And how about the dame?"

Farradyne laughed. "In this cockeyed society of ours," he said, "even a streetwalker can rip her dress open, point at a man, and holler 'help!' and half of the community will start yelling 'Lynch the sonofabitch' without looking too hard at either of them. She'll get by, but it may go hard with him."

Morgan and Roberts were scornful, angry, and ready at any instant to do whatever they could to overcome him. Only the tape kept them from trying. But on Carolyn's face was an expression of mingled defeat and admiration. She knew as well as Farradyne that Brenner was in for a rough time.

Farradyne lit a cigarette and mixed himself a highball. Carolyn groaned and tried to flex the wrists that were secured to the arms of the chair. Morgan growled at the sight of her helplessness and asked if Farradyne had harmed her.

Her face took on a cynical smile. "I happen to be immune to love lotus," she said.

"Scorpions," said Farradyne, "are immune to their own poison."

* * * * *

Once again the radio music faded: "And here is the latest news on Charles Farradyne: within the past half hour the area of search has been narrowed down to a tiny ten-mile circle, by the interception of a moving van laden with love lotus. The arrest was made by a state highway patrol with the aid of a woman who gave her name as Norma Hannon.

"Miss Hannon was in a state of hysterical collapse after days of imprisonment at the hands of the love-lotus ring, brutal physical assault, and threats of being forced into love-lotus addiction. The driver of the truck was carrying a license made out to Walter Morgan, but information from the Bureau of Identification indicates that Morgan is also known as Lewis Hughes, a prominent teacher of Ancient History in a Des Moines school. During the struggle Miss Hannon succeeded in rendering the criminal unconscious by hitting him on the jaw with her slipper, after which she taped--"

Farradyne chuckled. "You see?"

Morgan grunted: "My license!"

Roberts cried: "Our truck!"

Carolyn said, "And what's it got you, Charles?"

"--the first-aid kit," went on the announcer. "Morgan or Hughes is being held on a John Doe warrant, charged with love-lotus possession, abduction, illegal restraint, assault and battery, and driving an interstate truck with an improper license.