Closed System

away from the table. 'My duty calls. I hope that you enjoyed your lunch.' 'I did,' Pat said. 'Should you wish to visit our city I have leftword at the terminal to arrange transport for you,'Hook said. 'Thanks, but I think I'll go back aboard. I haven'tyet adjusted to Taratwo time.' The street outside the restaurant was cordonedoff by lines of neatly uniformed men, tall, strong-looking

men armed with the latest in sidearms. Acaravan of big ground cars came blasting sud­denly around the corner of the building, the leadvehicle wailing a warning. A late-model Zede exec­utive limousine was sandwiched in between twoarmored police cars. As it swept past, Pat got justa glimpse of a pale, feminine face framed by fieryred hair. The Man's redheaded friend? The Man'swhore?

It was none of his affair. All he wanted fromTaratwo now was a passenger and a clear blinkroute for

space. Pat wasn't really sleepy, but he had no desire to go into the city. He stretched his legs by walkingtoward the passenger terminal. Inside there was dusty luxury in leather seats and wide spaces, allempty. Only one counter was manned. Pat caughtthe eye of the stiff-faced young man there andnodded.

'May I help you, sir?' the young man asked. 'No, no.I'mjust having a bit of a walk.' 'Not much to see around here, sir. If you'd liketo go into the city, Captain Hook has arranged avehicle

for you.'

'Very kind of him,' Pat said. 'But I think I'lljust have a walk and go back aboard.' He turnedaway and started out of the terminal area. 'Sir,' the man behind the counter said, 'it looksas if we're in for an ashfall this afternoon. I seethat you

don't have a breather. If you'll permit me. . .' He came out from behind the counter with alightweight

respirator unit in his hands. 'I think I can make it to the ship without that,'Pat said, although the sky had darkened consider­ably in the short time since he'd left the restaurant.

'If you're not familiar with the effects of anashfall you've got an unpleasant surprise coming.' Pat decided to humor the man, stood still whilethe mask was fitted to his face with adjustablestraps. He reached for his pocket. 'Oh, no, sir,' the young man said. 'No charge.All visitors are furnished with breathers throughthe

generosity of Brenden.'

Brenden was the Man, the ruler.

'Tell Brenden when you see him that I thank him,' Pat said.

A brief smile crossed the young man's stiff face.'That's not likely,' he said. 'But you're welcometo the breather. It's about the only thing that's free on this planet. Just leave it with the customs manwho checks you off.'

Before he reached theSkimmer he was glad he'dtaken the mask. Ash was drifting in little windrowson the surface of the port, jetting up around hisfeet at each step. The decontaminator in the airlockwhined and puffed getting rid of the ash whichclung to his clothing and his shoes.

John Hook arrived late in the afternoon, escortedby four armed guards. By then the ashfall was sodense that although theSkimmer's instrumentswarned him of the approach of the vehicle, hedidn't see it until it was within a hundred feet ofthe ship. The decontaminator had to puff and whineagain, and then his gemstones were aboard. Hookwatched in silence as he checked the contents ofthe small cases.

Pat offered coffee. 'I wish I had time, CaptainHowe,' Hook said. He turned to the armed guardswho were standing by in the airlock, made a mo­tion of dismissal. When the guards were outside,the lock closed. Hook held out his hand. 'Have apleasant trip, Captain.' He leaned close. 'Fivea.m.,' he whispered. Pat nodded. Paranoia was catching. Unless Taratwo had techs of incredible cleverness there wasn't a chance of being spied onaboardSkimmer, because Pat had spent a lot ofmoney to make the ship impervious to any pene­tration.

Early evening seemed to be the time for earth tremors. A shock hit the space port just after darkness gave additional impenetrability to the ashfall. Pat could not even see the lights of the cus­toms building.

A piece of nut pie made from an ancient recipeput Pat over his allowance of carbohydrates forthe day, and he tried to work it off in the exercisegym. What the heck. A man had to celebrate nowand then. He quit the exercise early, before he'deven worked up a sweat, and drew another ancientrecipe from the nutrition servo, a concoction of gin, vermouth, and a touch of bitters. Restless,impatient, not at all sleepy, he punched up thefilm list. It was going to be a boring trip home, because there wasn't a film he hadn't seen at leasttwice.

Suddenly he had a mind picture of the redheadedZedeian actress, and, remembering his vivid andrather erotic dream about her, punched up thefilm and settled back.

Corinne Tower was, he decided, as he ignoredaction and dialogue, the most beautiful womanhe'd ever seen. Her hair was a blazing fall of lus­trous glory when she let it hang to shoulder length.Her medium-heavy eyebrows merely drew atten­tion to her emerald-green eyes.

Curious thing, the mind. Were Corinne Tower'semerald-green eyes the reason why he'd almost ignored Taratwo's fine rubies in favor of the emer­alds? Had the Zedeian beauty been there, lurkingin his subconscious with those glowing green eyestelling him, buy emeralds, buy emeralds?

It was going to be a long night. He didn't un­dress fully to get into bed, but lay there with hishands under his head watching the holographicimage, dozed with Corinne Tower dominating hismind. She was a touchingly beautiful girl, givingthe impression of old-fashioned vulnerability, mostprobably as the result of the role she was playingin the film.

He awoke to the persistent buzzing of an alarm, came into full awareness instantly, leaped to checkthe telltale on the panel as his adrenal glandspumped. His heartbeat decreased slowly when herealized that he was not, after all, in space, where an alarm can mean quite a number of things, notmany of them pleasant. He was still on solid groundon glorious Taratwo, and the alarm had been from an outside motion detector. He activated the night-vision scanners. The ashfall had lessened. Therewas at least three inches of ash drifted on the tarmac, and it showed tracks. The old miner, Mur­phy, was standing in front of the main hatch withthat same leather bag in his hand. Pat glanced athis watch. Four a.m. He'd slept a long time. Hispassenger was due in an hour. He'd have to makeMurphy's visit a short one. He turned on the out­side speaker.

'I'll be with you in a minute, Murphy,' he said.

He pulled on shirt and jacket, turned off the holoprojector, and was on his way to the controlbridge to open the hatch when another alarmbuzzed. Something big was moving swiftly towardtheSkimmer through the drifting ash. The camerasshowed nothing, but caution told him to delayopening the hatch. He checked the screens, look­ing for Murphy. The old man was no longer stand­ing before the hatch, but his footprints were clearlyvisible in the ash.

A blinding light caused all active cameras to show white before they could close aperture.Skimmerwas surrounded by four armored vehi­cles. He flipped the armament ready switch andreached for the fire-control helmet just as a man burst into view, running from the shelterof Skim­mer'sstern into the glare of the spotlights from thefour vehicles. The running man took only a few strides before projectile weapons spat from two of the ground cars and then two more faltering, wilt­ing steps before falling limply into the ash, send­ing up a small cloud.

Pat had the four vehicles targeted. One directedthought and they'd be smashed into junk. TheSkim­mer'sshield was up. It caused the hair on the headof a uniformed policeman to stand straight up ashe walked to the hatch and began to pound on thehull with the butt of a weapon.

'Hull contact,' the computer said aloud.

'I know, I know,' Pat said.

He deliberately waited a few seconds, then openedthe outside speakers. 'Yeah? Who is it?' he asked, trying to make his voice sound sleepy.

'Security police, captain. There has been a slightdisturbance. Please open your hatch.'

Pat checked the targeting of the laser beams on the four vehicles, adjusted the fire-control helmet, walked slowly back, and opened the hatch. The security man was tall, well-built. He had bolsteredhis weapon.

'Sorry to disturb you, sir,' he said. 'Port Secur­ity detected a prowler near your ship.' He wastrying to see past Pat. There wasn't much to see,just a bulkhead. Pat wasn't about to invitehim in.'Were you expecting company, sir?'

Pat didn't lie. 'Man, it's the middle of the night.'He looked at his watch, yawned, brushed his hand through his mussed hair. The passenger was duein less than an hour and Murphy was dead, killedjust for being there near theSkimmer. What thehell was going on? He hoped that Hook knew whathe was doing. The policeman who stood in theairlock with him looked capable. He'd certainlyarrived in a hurry to kill the old man.