The Duplicators

dead.

“Sput!” said Harl, astounded. “What’re you doin’, Link? You ain’t killin’ ’em, are you? I need ’em to bring in greenstuff!”

“They’ll live,” said Link. “Wait here. I want to see what Thistlethwaite did. Anyhow, he didn’t try to lift the ship off to Old Man Addison’s Household!”

He went in. He climbed the stairway. He saw a cargo compartment door. It had been sealed. It was now welded shut. Thistlethwaite had used an oxygen torch on it. A second cargo door. Welded shut. The third door was open. It was apparently the compartment from which the loot of the uffts had come. It appeared to be empty. The engine room door was welded shut, and the spaceboat blister. The control room was sealed off from any entry by anybody without at least a cold chisel, but preferably a torch. And the oxygen torch was gone.

Link went down the stairs again, muttering. Thistlethwaite had made the Glamorgan useless to anybody possessing neither a cold chisel nor an oxygen torch. Harl couldn’t seize the materials Thistlethwaite planned to trade for dupliers. Old Man Addison might—

In the one gutted cargo space—he looked into it again with no hope at all—he found a plastic can of beans, toppled on the floor. He picked it up. It was too large for the jaws of uffts to grasp.

He went down to the exit port again, piously turning out the electric lights that Thistlethwaite had left burning. He was deeply and savagely disappointed. He was almost at the exit port when an idea came to him. He climbed back up and touched the bottommost weld. It scorched his fingers.

Thistlethwaite hadn’t done it long ago. He couldn’t be far off.

Link turned on the lights again and searched. The only loose object left anywhere was an open can of seal-off compound, for stopping air leaks such as the Glamorgan had a habit of developing. It was black and tarry and even an ufft would not want it. Link did.

He reached the open air again. He said briefly, “Hold this, Harl.”

He handed over the container of beans and worked on the landing fin in which the exit port existed. He had only the narrow bristle brush used to apply the seal-off compound, and only the compound to apply. The light was starlight alone. But when he’d finished he read the straggling letters of the message with some satisfaction. The message read:

THISTLETHWAITE,

HOUSEHOLDERS DELIGHTED WITH TEST OF WEAPONS TO MAKE UFFTS WORK WITHOUT PAY. LEAD YOUR GANG INTO AMBUSH AS PLANNED FOR LARGE SCALE USE OF WEAPON. WATCH OUT FOR LINK. HE IS PRO-UFFT AND SECRETLY AN UFFT SYMPATHIZER.

“What’d you do, Link?” demanded Harl. “The uffts’ve all run away, squealing. What’d you do? And what’s that writing for?”

“That writing,” said Link, “is to end the Thistlethwaite problem on Sord Three. You may not realize that there is such a problem, Harl, but that’s to take care of it. And what I did was use a stun gun at maximum dispersion and minimum power. And I’m going to ask you, Harl, to go back to the Household straight through the ufft city. If they try to object I’ll give them more of what they’ve had. I think the psychological effect will be salutary.”

Harl thought it over. His followers did not look very military in the starlight.

“Wel-l-l-l,” said Harl, “I’m not sure what those words mean, Link, but I was thinkin’ we’d have a tough time gettin’ home, with uffts bitin’ the unicorns’ feet all the way. But you say we won’t. Or do you?”

“Yes,” said Link. “I say we won’t. I guarantee it.”

“Then we’ll try it,” said Harl heavily. “Uh… what’s this you gave me to hold?”

“It’s a guest-gift for Thana,” said Link.

Harl bellowed.

“Come on, fellas! Back to home! We’re ridin’ through the ufft city! There’s a dinkus with maximum dispersion an’ minimum power that drove off the uffts just now, an’ we want to use it on them some more.”

The cavalcade set out upon another long, shambling journey underneath the stars. It was some time before the unicorns reached the ufft city. It was not silent, even though all was darkness. There were shrill babblings everywhere. The agitated stories of uffts who’d experienced stun gun stings were being discussed by uffts who hadn’t experienced them. Those who’d felt the shocks couldn’t describe them, and those who hadn’t couldn’t believe them. The discussions tended to grow acrimonious. Then there were squealings that men were about to pass through the city. Those who hadn’t been shocked went valiantly to oppose the passage, or at least make it as unpleasant as possible by abuse.

Link let the congregation of zestfully vituperative uffts grow very large and get very near. “Murderers!” and “Massacrers!” were the least of the epithets thrown at the men. “The world will hear of this massacre!” shouted an ufft. Another took it up, “They’ll know how many of our comrades you murdered tonight!” The unicorns picked their way onward in their loose-jointed, wobbling fashion. Voices found an easier word. “Killers!” they shouted from the darkness. “Killers! Killers!” Actually, and Link knew it, no ufft in all the city would be able to find so much as a spot on his hide that was pinker than the rest, come tomorrow morning.

But now—Presently there was a huge, milling, madly galloping and wildly yelling barrier of uffts before the cavalcade. If the animals went into it, their feet would suffer. They’d be bitten. If they turned back, the uffts would be encouraged to follow and close in on them and again bite large splay feet.

Harl bellowed a halt. The cavalcade came to a standstill. Link gave the running, tumbling aggregation of abusive creatures two more shots from the stun gun. Individuals suffered the equivalent of bee stings for the fraction of a second. They shrieked and ran away.

The rest of the travel through the city was without incident, save that very occasionally very brave uffts squealed insults from not less than half a mile away, and then fled still farther from the shambling line of mounts and men.

Then there were the undulating miles beyond, to where very faint and feeble lights showed through the darkness. And then eventually the houses of the village loomed up on either side.

Thana welcomed Harl and Link, but she was inclined to be distressed that their dinner now had to be warmed over and was inferior in quality for that reason. They dined. Link presented Thana with the plastic can of beans. Harl asked what they were. When Link told him, he said absorbedly:

“I’ve heard that there’s a Household over past Old Man Addison that has beans. But I never tasted ’em myself. We’ll duply some an’ have ’em for breakfast. Right?”

And Link was ushered into a guest room, with a light consisting of a wick floating in a dish of oil. He slept soundly, until an hour after sunrise. Then he was waked by the sound of shoutings. He could see nothing from his window, so he dressed and went leisurely to see from the street.

There were many villagers out-of-doors, staring at the distance. From time to time they shouted encouragement. Link saw what they shouted at.

A small, hairy figure, chastely clad in a red-checked tablecloth around his middle, ran madly toward the Household. The figure was Thistlethwaite. The red-checked cloth had once been draped over a table in the Glamorgan’s mess room. Thistlethwaite ran like a deer and behind him came uffts yapping insults and trying to nip his heels.

He reached safety and the uffts drew off, shouting “Traitor!” and “Murderer!” as the mildest of accusations. But now and then one roared shrilly at him, “Agent provocateur!”

Chapter 7

The situation developed in a strictly logical fashion. The uffts remained at a distance, shouting insults and