At any rate, Rodrone was adamant in his resolve and the misgivings of a few crew members soon ceased to reach his ears, as he had known they would. And in one companion at least, he had every possible support: Clave delighted in the prospect of an escapade that would enrage both the house of Jal-Dee and the awesome Streall in one blow.
He knew little, of course, of the heady, crazed moment of feeling that had prompted Rodrone’s decision. It had felt like pulling out the rock that would bring an avalanche down on his own head; but once he had formed it, he refused to reverse his intention. Anything over which the inhuman Streall took such trouble must possess unusual properties. Probably it was a Streall artifact, which itself was sufficient to arouse Rodrone’s interest.
Much of the voyage Rodrone spent lying on a couch, watching the stars through an observation window. The Hub was a sight familiar to him all his life, yet nevertheless it could still keep him spellbound for hours. The stars piled up in clouds, snowdrifts, glowing globular clusters and shapeless masses; suffused through the generally white light were delicate colors, pinks, faint blues and yellows. And throughout the endless continent of drifting stars the species Homo sapiens was spreading relentlessly, haphazardly; no one knew quite how far, still less where the limit lay. It was an endless universe of worlds, of opportunities, of possibilities.
In view of that, it was a jarring fact, to Rodrone’s mind, that in the whole of the known hub there was only one race to maintain an interstellar presence, and it was even more strange that in such a plethora of worlds the Streall should so coldly resent man’s entry on to the scene. But then the Streall did not have minds like men’s minds. They did nothing that was not part of a centuries-old plan, and their vision of the universe was authoritarian and strict.
At first there had been much conflict. The Streall had seemed to be bewildered by man’s debut and coldly resentful of his lack of a central authority which could enforce agreements. But their disdain soon led them to shun even military contact, and their depradations fell short of all-out war. To this day they occasionally moved into systems to stall potential human colonists, and sometimes they claimed ownership of already settled planets and enforced massive eviction, but their attitude generally was characterized by an icy, distant enmity.
Rodrone had already gained some personal experience of them. He had briefly been their prisoner during one of their aggressive campaigns, and had gained an incomplete but chilling insight into their way of thinking. They viewed themselves as created by nature to be the dominant life-form in the galaxy, and man as a disrupter of cosmic order.
It puzzled Rodrone that there should be only two races at large in the galaxy, and that they should be so different in nature. Streall philosophy frightened him. It had a relentless, mathematical logic, and furthermore, the Streall were a truthful race not given to prevarication or opinion-forming. The hard-fact nature of their thought gave their assertions a threatening credibility.
Nevertheless their philosophy was utterly repugnant to Rodrone. He subscribed to no belief in a supreme deity, in an overall cosmic plan or even in immutable physical laws. If he could be said to harbor any religious feelings at all, then his was a religion of unrestrained action, of spontaneous enterprise and disregard for any authority, whether biological or divine. In short, he believed in a universe with the safety valve taken off.
And so Rodrone lay staring at the stars, while in his turmoil of a soul lay the seeds of unimagined deeds, waiting any opportunity to burst bizarrely into flower.
The only flaw in the plan was that the Streall might already have overhauled the merchant ship. Certainly they would not be long in coming, and for that reason Rodrone had already contacted Brüde to arrange a rendezvous, to which they could retire with better chances if it came to a running fight.
Because of their perfect knowledge of their prey’s whereabouts, they fished into its vicinity with all the advantage of surprise, coming within striking range before its radar could give effective warning. The Stond and the Revealer took up positions on either side of the Jal-Dee vessel. Electric beams prodded threateningly, cracklingly, on its hull.
Rodrone quickly established a television link. He wore a space helmet to obscure his face—an elementary though ineffective safeguard against the inevitable check that would be made later in Jal-Dee’s records. When the captain of the other ship appeared on his screen he wasted no time in argument.
“Open your personnel ports. We are coming aboard.”
The merchant captain’s face was a mask of fury. “You’ve made a mistake this time, my man—”
“That’s my affair. Open the ports or we’ll blast a way through. If you attempt to accelerate, we will open fire.”
Abruptly he cut the connection, then motioned to Clave. Together they lumbered off, clumsy in their suits, to join the party that had already gathered in the space-raft.
Wordlessly they took their seats in the open raft, gripping a bar to keep them in their places. With only a faint vibration, the raft jetted across the void to the other ship. Minutes later a smooth hull loomed over them as they approached the port.
At first Rodrone thought the captain was going to disobey his order. But at the last minute the circular port slid open. Following a long established procedure, the pilot of the raft landed it squarely against the hull and fixed it there with adhesive clamps; they had abandoned the use of magnetic clamps when an enterprising defender had expelled their attack raft by applying a reverse magnetic field, leaving the boarders stranded in a hostile ship. A dozen men clambered out of the raft and drifted cautiously to the opening.
Rodrone was half expecting a trap. The captains of most house-owned ships did not have the stomach for a fight, but the present one would be in a state of fright because of his expected encounter with the Streall. But the chamber within was empty. Using their gas jets they moved to the inner port and operated the lock. The outer port closed, and in the next instant the inner one opened.
Facing them was a broad-shouldered man in a gaudy uniform. His insignia announced him as the second officer.
“You can put those away,” he said, waving nonchalantly at their weapons. “You’re in luck; the captain has decided to do business with you. If the rest will remain here, your leader may accompany me to the control room.”
Rodrone pointed to Clave and stepped forward, accompanied by his sidekick. The second officer frowned. “I did say one . . . but… well, all right then.”
Before leaving, Rodrone turned to the others. “If anything seems fishy, do something. The initiative’s yours.”
With a dignified, hurt silence the officer conducted them along corridors of plastic metal. Once he invited them to break the seals on their space helmets, but they declined. It was bad tactics to rely on an air supply which could easily be contaminated by the other party.
The control room was already occupied by three men, the captain and two crew members. Rodrone knew from their shifty looks that they were armed, though the weapons were not visible.
“All right,” the captain began in clipped tones. He looked as if he was under great strain. “I suppose you want my cargo. Well, it’s a good haul. We’re carrying Daimler silks and quinqualine, mainly. Very costly materials. So make me an offer. I don’t expect to get a fair price from you scoundrels, but let me tell you that I’ll fight rather than let it go for a ruinous one…”
He trailed off. Something in Rodrone’s ominous silence unnerved him.