The Star Fox

He strained back to his feet. His head still rang. The other males did likewise. Jocelyn remained seated.

“Great … jumping … Judas,” Koumanoudes gasped. “What have you done?”

“Don’t be alarmed,” said Bragdon. “We have other transportation coming.” He paused. “I may as well explain. The object is to cripple your damned piracy by taking you back to Earth. I had various schemes in mind, but this chance suggested a simple method.

“One other flyer is out, with a couple of young men who know what’s afoot and know approximately where I intended to do this. They can spot the wreckage from afar. We’ll all go aboard and return to the Quest, Only we’ll be on the floor, out of sight, and I’m sorry, but you’ll be tied. Once back inside the ship, you’ll be taken to a special cell we’ve got fixed. Jocelyn and I will stay concealed too. When you don’t report in, your crew will get worried and go look for you. Naturally, Captain Gutierrez will lend every assistance. The wreck will be found—unfortunate crash, everybody killed. No one’s likely to check so close that he’ll see there are no human remains. But if anybody does, he’ll conclude that we hiked off in a forlorn attempt to get help, and soon died. So, with much sorrow, two spoiled expeditions wend their separate ways home.”

“Can you rely on your crew?” Vadász asked, snake cold.

“They won’t know the truth until Quest is again in space,” Bragdon said. “Captain Gutierrez and First Officer Hermann do already. I don’t expect the men will mutiny.”

“You filthy bastard—” Koumanoudes advanced a stiff-legged step.

“Halt,” Bragdon warned. “I’m entirely prepared to shoot if I must. On the other hand, if you behave yourselves you’ll be released unharmed on Earth.”

Heim hunched his shoulders. “How will you prevent us from starting right out again?” he inquired.

“Have you forgotten? Your ship’s now equipped for nuclear weapons. The moment she enters the Solar System, the Peace Control Authority is law-bound to seize her. And without their principal officers, where else can your men go?”

“Who are you working for, Bragdon?” Heim fleered. “Alerion?”

“Mankind.” The answer was proud. “In case you’re interested, I’m not a xenologist, only a PCA officer on leave, and they’ll cashier me for this. It’s worth it, though. World Militants for Peace will see I get another job.”

“They engineered this, huh?” Koumanoudes snorted. “Yeh. They’ve got members in government too.”

Heim spoke to Jocelyn. “You never actually quit that gang, did you?”

“Please, please,” her whisper drifted down the wind.

“We may as well make ourselves comfortable,” Bragdon advised. “This gravity will wear us out if we don’t The other vessel probably won’t arrive for several hours, since we couldn’t make exact timing or location arrangements, or risk radio.” He gestured with his gun. “You sit before I do.”

Vadász was so near Heim that the captain alone heard the minstrel’s indrawn hiss and noticed how he stiffened. “Heigh-ho, Roger!” he murmured. “Hook the first moon by.”

“What’s that?” Bragdon challenged, for he saw his prisoners go taut.

“I would not translate in a lady’s presence,” Vadász snarled.

It thrilled through Heim. Spaceman’s slang. “Something’s about to happen. Take your chance when you see it.” The blackness and coldness departed him. His pulse slammed with preparation to fight.

“Are you skizzy, though?” Vadász continued. “We can’t stay here.”

“What d’you mean?” Bragdon demanded.

“Next to a river like this. Flash floods. We will get tumbled around, our suits torn open, we are dead unless we get on higher ground.”

“You lie!”

“No, no. Look at those mountains. Think. A dense atmosphere under strong gravity has a high density gradient, therefore a high temperature gradient. This is autumn. It gets cold enough at night, above snowline, to freeze ammonia. But the stuff liquefies again about noon, and pours down into the riverbeds. The gravity pulls it so fast that it goes fifty kilometers or better before it evaporates. Isn’t that true, Gregorios? You were the one who told me.”

“Sure,” Koumanoudes said. “That’s what the name Morh means. Floodwater.”

“If this is some trick—” Bragdon began.

It sure as blaze is, Heim’s thought leaped. There’s no such phenomenon. But the yarn sounds plausible to a newcomer—I hope—how 1 hope!

“I swear I’ll shoot on any suspicion,” Bragdon said.

Heim started to walk away from him. “Do, if you want,” he retorted. “That’s an easier way to die than in an ammonia flood. You can’t stop me trying to get on top of those bluffs.”

His back was tense against the firebeam. But only Jocelyn’s cry reached him: “Vie, no, don’t! What’s the harm?”