The task of preparing the Seeker for flight involved frequently climbing from ground level up to the rocket ship’s cockpit. Donn had been more than prepared to do his full share of the work, but Jan had seen him slowly becoming drained of energy by the punishing heat and had unobtrusively taken on the most demanding jobs. In spite of his superb physical condition he found himself sweating profusely from the exertion, a fact which strengthened his secret resolve about the Verdia mission.
Rescuing Bari from the Killer Planet was an undertaking for someone in his physical prime, and he would be able to afford no mistakes when the time came to take over from his father. He had not yet worked out exactly how he was going to do it—outwitting his father in such a matter would be far from easy—and his lack of a plan added to the uncertainties which clouded the near future. His feeling of urgency increased as he remembered how short was the time remaining to him. The Seeker was due to be taken aboard the Culcheth that very afternoon, and the warp jump to Verdia was scheduled for the following day…
“Jan, when are we going to break for lunch?” The voice from Jan’s wrist communicator was that of Ozburt Groom, speaking from the control deck of the Culcheth, which was parked about a kilometre away. “I’m so hungry I could eat a Sirian lizard.”
Jan leaned against one of the transporter’s gigantic wheels and shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t be hungry already.”
“Don’t forget I’ve had nothing since breakfast,” Ozburt said plaintively. “That burger I had a couple of hours ago doesn’t count—it was so small it’s rattling around in my stomach.”
“There’s plenty of room for it,” Jan replied, alluding to his friend’s ample girth. “How’s the work going over there?”
“Almost through—another hour or so will wrap it up.”
“In that case wouldn’t it be more sensible to finish off before you stop to feed your face?”
“Don’t be such a slave-driver,” Donn said, coming to stand by his side. “Ozburt is doing me a big favour by standing in for Ed.”
He was referring to the fact that Ed Czubek, the Hazard Line’s sole remaining freighter pilot, had taken a day’s sick leave. Ozburt had volunteered in his place to carry out all the pre-flight checks on the Culcheth so that tomorrow’s take-off would not be delayed.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Jan said, realising he had been unfair to Ozburt. “It’s just that there’s so little time left, and…and…”
“I know—the last two years have been a big strain on all of us.” Donn squeezed his son’s shoulder, demonstrating the affection he rarely put into words. “Now why don’t you arrange to pick up Ozburt and Petra and I’ll buy us all a lunch so big that even Ozburt will have to admit defeat?”
“Okay, Dad,” Jan said, smiling. He was raising his communicator to his lips when he noticed two long grey cars bearing the county crest pulling up at the Hazard Line’s office. A squat, soberly dressed man got out of the leading car, shading his eyes as he looked all about him, while Jan’s father was approaching him. He had a hard and humourless face, and something in his manner made Jan feel strangely uneasy.
“Are you Donn Hazard?” the man said brusquely.
“I am.” Donn showed some surprise. “What can I do for you?”
“You can take this.” The stranger produced a folded document from one of his pockets. “It’s a court order empowering me to impound all your assets pending bankruptcy proceedings against you.”
“I…” Donn looked stunned, unable to comprehend what was happening. “What does this mean?”
“It means you haven’t been paying your bills, Mr Hazard. It means you owe a lot of people a lot of money and they’ve gotten tired of waiting for it. My name is Weston, by the way, and—as you may have guessed—I’m a bailiff. I know the word has an old-fashioned ring to it these days, but a debt is still a debt.”
“But this is ridiculous.” Donn frowned as he opened the document. “There must have been a mistake. I know I’ve had to ask some people to wait a while, but…”
“It’s been more than a while,” Weston cut in. “Quite a few of your creditors have been waiting two years.”
So it has finally happened, Jan thought, numbed with dismay. His father had been so obsessed with designing and building the Seeker and preparing for its desperate mission that everything else had ceased to have much meaning for him. Friends and colleagues had repeatedly warned him that his business was rapidly going downhill, but nothing had mattered to him other than the overwhelming need to build the ship which would rescue his son.
And the worst had finally come to pass—only hours before the take-off for Verdia.
“All right, I’ll make you a deal,” Donn said, forcing a smile with obvious effort as he pointed at the Seeker. “You can take everything except that.”
Weston again shaded his eyes as he turned his attention to the smooth curvatures of the little ship which was poised on the transporter like a crimson bird ready to take flight.
“What in the name of…?” His eyes widened with surprise. “That looks like a rocket ship!”
“That’s exactly what it is.”
“But why would anybody want a chemically powered ship in this day and age?”
“You could say it’s an experimental vessel,” Donn replied. “It was built to do one special job and it’s of no value to anybody except me—so what do you say? Have we a deal?”
Weston shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’ll have to impound everything, including that rocket—even if it’s only for the scrap value.”
“Scrap!” Jan was galvanised into stepping forward, his mind clamouring with anger and alarm. “You can’t scrap the Seeker!”
Weston regarded him with unfriendly eyes. “I’m only doing my job, young man.”
“Some job!” Jan said heatedly. “If you think you’re just going to walk in here and…”
“It’s all right, son,” Donn cut in, then returned his attention to the bailiff. “Look, there’s no need for all this rush is there? If you will come back in a couple of hours, I’ll have my lawyer here and we can talk things over in a reasonable manner.”
“No way!” Weston shook his head emphatically. “I go away for a couple of hours and come back to find that half your assets have mysteriously vanished. Nobody’s going to pull that trick on me. No, sir!”
“I don’t go in for trickery,” Donn snapped, a gleam of anger in his eyes.
“I hope you’re not thinking of trying anything foolish,” Weston said, shifting uneasily. “I have quite a few men with me in case of trouble.”
“Trouble?” Donn glanced past the stocky figure of the bailiff to where half-a-dozen men were getting out of the official cars and a look of resignation appeared on his face, making him look very tired. “I don’t want trouble.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Weston said.
Jan was aghast as he listened. It came to him that two years of unremitting effort and worry had taken a terrible toll of his father’s spirit. The monstrous unfairness of having the Seeker impounded on the very eve of its departure must have been the last straw for him. Jan clenched his fists as a tide of fury washed through his being. Was this going to be the futile end to all their hopes? Was his brother going to be condemned to eke out the rest of his life in the jungles of Verdia because of one petty official?