Space Viking by H. Beam Piper (read an ebook week .TXT) 📕

have, too. They do have ships, of a sort, and they do raid, after a fashion. But now, there isn’t going to be any Tanith base, and they have a no-good planet and they’re stuck with it.”

“Can’t they make anything out of it themselves?”

“Like what?” Harkaman hooted. “They have no equipment, and they have no men. Not for a job like that. The only thing they can do is space out and forget it.”

“We could sell them equipment.”

“We could if they had anything to use for money. They haven’t. One thing, we do want to let down and give the men a chance to walk on ground and look at a sky for a while. The girls here aren’t too bad, either,” Harkaman said. “As I remember, some of them even take a bath, now and then.”

“That’s the kind of news of Dunnan we’re going to get. By the time we’d get to where he’s been reported, he’d be a couple of thousand light-years away,” he said disgustedly. “I agree; we ought to give the men a chance to get off the ship, here. We can stall this pair along for a while and we won’t have any trouble with them.”

The three ships were slowly converging toward a point fifteen thousand miles off-planet and over the sunset line. The Space Scourge bore the device of a mailed fist clutching a comet by the head; it looked more like a whisk broom than a scourge. The Lamia bore a coiled snake with the head, arms and bust of a woman. Valkanhayn and Spasso were taking their time about screening back, and he began to wonder if they weren’t maneuvering the Nemesis into a crossfire position. He mentioned this to Harkaman and Alvyn Karffard; they both laughed.

“Just holding ship’s meetings,” Karffard said. “They’ll be yakking back and forth for a couple of hours, yet.”

“Yes; Valkanhayn and Spasso don’t own their ships,” Harkaman explained. “They’ve gone in debt to their crews for supplies and maintenance till everybody owns everything in common. The ships look like it, too. They don’t even command, really; they just preside over elected command-councils.”

Finally, they had both of the more or less commanders on screen. Valkanhayn had zipped up his shirt and put on a jacket. Garvan Spasso was a small man, partly bald. His eyes were a shade too close together, and his thin mouth had a bitterly crafty twist. He began speaking at once:

“Captain, Boake tells me you say you’re not here in the service of the Duke of Wardshaven at all.” He said it aggrievedly.

“That’s correct,” Harkaman said. “We came here because Lord Trask thought another Gram ship, the Enterprise, would be here. Since she isn’t, there’s no point in our being here. We do hope, though, that you won’t make any difficulty about our letting down and giving our men a couple of hundred hours’ liberty. They’ve been in hyperspace for three thousand hours.”

“See!” Spasso clamored. “He wants to trick us into letting him land⁠—”

“Captain Spasso,” Trask cut in. “Will you please stop insulting everybody’s intelligence, your own included.” Spasso glared at him, belligerently but hopefully. “I understand what you thought you were going to do here. You expected Captain Harkaman here to establish a base for the Duke of Wardshaven, and you thought, if you were here ahead of him and in a posture of defense, that he’d take you into the Duke’s service rather than waste ammunition and risk damage and casualties wiping you out. Well, I’m very sorry, gentlemen. Captain Harkaman is in my service, and I’m not in the least interested in establishing a base on Tanith.”

Valkanhayn and Spasso looked at each other. At least, in the two side-by-side screens, their eyes shifted, each to the other’s screen on his own ship.

“I get it!” Spasso cried suddenly. “There’s two ships, the Enterprise and this one. The Duke of Wardshaven fitted out the Enterprise, and somebody else fitted out this one. They both want to put in a base here!”

That opened a glorious vista. Instead of merely capitalizing on their nuisance-value, they might find themselves holding the balance of power in a struggle for the planet. All sorts of profitable perfidies were possible.

“Why, sure you can land, Otto,” Valkanhayn said. “I know what it’s like to be three thousand hours in hyper, myself.”

“You’re at this old city with the two tall tower-buildings, aren’t you?” Harkaman asked. He looked up at the viewscreen. “Ought to be about midnight there now. How’s the spaceport? When I was here, it was pretty bad.”

“Oh, we’ve been fixing it up. We got a big gang of locals working for us⁠—”

The city was familiar, from Otto Harkaman’s descriptions and from the pictures Vann Larch had painted during the long jump from Gram. As they came in, it looked impressive, spreading for miles around the twin buildings that spired almost three thousand feet above it, with a great spaceport like an eight-pointed star at one side. Whoever had built it, in the sunset splendor of the old Terran Federation, must have done so confident that it would become the metropolis of a populous and prospering world. Then the sun of the Federation had gone down. Nobody knew what had happened on Tanith after that, but evidently none of it had been good.

At first, the two towers seemed as sound as when they had been built; gradually it became apparent that one was broken at the top. For the most part, the smaller buildings scattered widely around them were standing, though here and there mounds of brush-grown rubble showed where some had fallen in. The spaceport looked good⁠—a central octagon mass of buildings, the landing-berths, and, beyond, the triangular areas of airship docks and warehouses. The central building was outwardly intact, and the ship-berths seemed clear of wreckage and rubble.

By the time the Nemesis was following the Space Scourge and the Lamia down, towed by her own pinnaces, the illusion that