The Star Virus

"Are you joking? We'd rot in that thing!" That was unfortunately true. Its ancient engines had broken down three times in the last month already, and Rodrone intended to scrap the old crate anyway.

"Three months spent with me hardly entitles you to make off with the Revealer," he pointed out.

"We know that." The black-haired man wiped his brow. "Name your price. We'll lodge a promissory note with any bank you like and pay off within a stated period."

"You forget you are renegade bondsmen and the banks might not accept your signature. Besides, I don't wish to part with the Revealer. I am sorry you are so disappointed with your new life, gentlemen, and if you like I will set you free at our next port of call—even on a Karness planet, if that's what you want."

The man spat. "We're not going back to Karness! We mean to take that ship!"

"A pity you couldn't have come to the point sooner. Well, you know, there's only one way to get it."

As he spoke, Rodrone rose to his feet, calmly lifting both hands palms outward to a level with his stomach, as if in a placating gesture.

The bondsmen had probably counted on the fact that if it came to a fight they outnumbered all the loyal followers Rodrone had in the expedition. This was a situation into which most experienced freebooter captains would never have backed themselves, but which did not distress Rodrone unduly.

Automatically the men measured the distance between Rodrone's hand and the gun on his thigh, at the same time keeping a nervous eye on Kulthol and the others ranging about them. All except Clave, that was. He was eating his meal, outwardly oblivious to the conversation.

As it happened, several already had weapons in their hands, in pockets or behind backs. But as they brought them into view the little golden gun on Rodrone's thigh suddenly vanished and reappeared in his left hand with a slapping sound. All motions froze.

They stared, incredulous. Rodrone worked his magic trick again, reversing and re-reversing the magnetic control field between the plate on his thigh and the one attached to his wrist. The gun reappeared on his thigh, then flew back to his hand again, quicker than they could move or even see.

"My eye is as quick as my draw, gentlemen," Rodrone warned them in a low voice.

"They can't take us all," growled the black-haired man. "Get them!" He fired, dropping to one knee.

He never rose again. The shot from his bullet-firing weapon zipped past Rodrone, but the thin beam from the freebooter's tiny gun bored a hole through his skull.

At almost the same instant there was a deafening crash. A flashing shaft of pure energy burned a smoking hole in the wall behind the bondsmen.

Clave was standing, holding a two-handed beam tube before him. "The next burst takes you all," he said affably.

Kulthol, lounging against a table, laughed.

The bondsmen could scarcely believe their eyes. The beam tube was hardly a weapon for use indoors. They looked at the gaping, still-hot hole, then at the body of their leader sprawled on the floor. Silently, sullenly, they threw down their weapons.

"That's better," Rodrone said, returning his gun to its place. "You have behaved very foolishly. Allow me to inform you that the penalty for mutiny, out here beyond the reach of law, is generally far more severe than anything you would suffer at the hands of Karness."

"What are you going to do with us?" asked one, glowering and afraid.

"Nothing. Punishment bores me." Rodrone flung himself on a couch, propping a booted foot on a low table. "You may decide for yourselves how you wish to spend the future. If you wish to remain with me, then you will have to accustom yourselves to my ways. Otherwise…" He shrugged. "There are other outfits more assiduous than we are in their search for an honest living. As most of you are trained technicians, in time you may no doubt find a place with them. However, I may as well tell you that I am not completely without plans for some acceptable pickings in the near future, and you can decide shortly whether my methods are really as distasteful to you as you currently imagine. Finally, let me say that it is a matter of complete indifference to me what you do. I don't care if you end up as slaves of the Vine."

They all shuddered slightly at the reference to the notorious Dravian Vine, a vegetable growth that secreted a pearly mist instantly addictive to a number of species, of whom man was one, after which they became suppliant servants possessing an eager rapport with the Vine's wishes. Although lacking sentience in the true sense, the Vine had by one means or another succeeded in establishing itself on a number of worlds close to its planet of origin, and the number of men who spent their lives in its grip certainly ran into the tens of thousands.

"And by the way," ended Rodrone, pointing with distaste to the floor, "please remove your friend. I'd also like you to repair the wall tomorrow. We like to keep things in good order."