Double Star

«Chief,» Dak said urgently, «we are short on minutes.»

«Compose yourself,» I said without looking up. «The entire Martian nation can wait, if necessary, on a young lady.» I handed the book to Penny. «Will you note the size of this book? And then remind me to send a photograph suitable for pasting in it — and properly autographed, of course.»

«Yes, Mr. Bonforte.»

«Will that suit you, Miss Deirdre?»

«Gee!»

«Good. Thanks for asking me. We can leave now, Captain. Mr. Commissioner, is that our car?»

«Yes, Mr. Bonforte.» He shook his head wryly. «I'm afraid you have converted a member of my own family to your Expansionist heresies. Hardly sporting, eh? Sitting ducks, and so forth?»

«That should teach you not to expose her to bad company — eh, Miss Deirdre?» I shook hands again. «Thanks for meeting us, Mr. Commissioner. I am afraid we had better hurry along now.»

«Yes, certainly. Pleasure.»

«Thanks, Mr. Bonforte!»

«Thank you, my dear.»

I turned away slowly, so as not to appear jerky or nervous in stereo. There were photographers around, still, news pickup, stereo, and so forth, as well as many reporters. Bill was keeping the reporters away from us; as we turned to go he waved and said, «See you later, Chief,» and turned back to talk to one of them. Rog, Dak, and Penny followed me into the car. There was the usual skyfield crowd, not as numerous as at any earthport, but numerous. I was not worried about them as long as Boothroyd accepted the impersonation — though there were certainly some present who knew that I was not Bonforte.

But I refused to let those individuals worry me, either. They could cause us no trouble without incriminating themselves.

The car was a Rolls Outlander, pressurized, but I left my oxygen mask on because the others did. I took the right-hand seat, Rog sat beside me, and Penny beside him, while Dak wound his long legs around one of the folding seats. The driver glanced back through the partition and started up.

Rog said quietly, «I was worried there for a moment.»

«Nothing to worry about. Now let's all be quiet, please. I want to review my speech.»

Actually I wanted to gawk at the Martian scene; I knew the speech perfectly. The driver took us along the north edge of the field, past many godowns. I read signs for Verwijs Trading Company, Diana Outlines, Ltd., Three Planets, and I. G. Farbenindustrie. There were almost as many Martians as humans in sight. We ground hogs get the impression that Martians are slow as snails — and they are, on our comparatively heavy planet. On their own world they skim along on their bases like a stone sliding over water.

To the right, south of us past the flat field, the Great Canal dipped into the too-close horizon, showing no shore line beyond. Straight ahead of us was the Nest of Kkkah, a fairy city. I was staring at it, my heart lifting at its fragile beauty, when Dak moved suddenly.

We were well past the traffic around the godowns but there was one car ahead, coming toward us; I had seen it without noticing it. But Dak must have been edgily ready for trouble; when the other car was quite close, he suddenly slammed down the partition separating us from the driver, swarmed over the man's neck, and grabbed the wheel. We slewed to the right, barely missing the other car, slewed again to the left and barely stayed on the road. It was a near thing, for we were past the field now and here the highway edged the canal.

I had not been much use to Dak a couple of days earlier in the Eisenhower, but I had been unarmed and not expecting trouble. This day I was still unarmed, not so much as a poisoned fang, but I comported myself a little better. Dak was more than busy trying to drive the car while leaning over from the back seat. The driver, caught off balance at first, now tried to wrestle him away from the wheel

I lunged forward, got my left arm around the driver's neck, and shoved my right thumb into his ribs. «Move and you've had it!» The voice belonged to the hero-villain in The Second-Story Gentleman; the line of dialogue was his too.

My prisoner became very quiet.

Dak said urgently, «Rog, what are they doing?»

Clifton looked back and answered, «They're turning around.»

Dak answered, «Okay. Chief, keep your gun on that character while I climb over.» He was doing so even as he spoke, an awkward matter in view of his long legs and the crowded car. He settled into the seat and said happily, «I doubt if anything on wheels can catch a Rolls on a straightaway.» He jerked on the damper and the big car shot forward. «How am I doing, Rog?»

«They're just turned around.»

«All right. What do we do with this item? Dump him out?»

My victim squirmed and said, «I didn't do anything!» I jabbed my thumb harder and he quieted.

«Oh, not a thing,» Dak agreed, keeping his eyes on the road. «All you did was try to cause a little crash — just enough to make Mr. Bonforte late for his appointment. If I had not noticed that you were slowing down to make it easy on yourself, you might have got away with it. No guts, eh?» He took a slight curve with the tires screaming and the gyro fighting to keep us upright. «What's the situation, Rog?»

«They've given up.»

«So.» Dak did not slacken speed; we must have been doing well over three hundred kilometers. «I wonder if they would try to bomb us with one of their own boys aboard? How about it, bub? Would they write you off as expendable?»

«I don't know what you're talking about! You're going to be in trouble over this!»

«Really? The word of four respectable people against your jailbird record? Or aren't you a transportee? Anyhow, Mr. Bonforte prefers to have me drive him — so naturally you were glad to do a favor for Mr. Bonforte.» We hit something about as big as a worm cast on that glassy road and my prisoner and I almost went through the roof.

«Mr. Bonforte!» My victim made it a swear word.

Dak was silent for several seconds. At last he said, «I don't think we ought to dump this one, Chief. I think we ought to let you off, then take him to a quiet place. I think he might talk if we urged him.»

The driver tried to get away. I tightened the pressure on his neck and jabbed him again with my thumb knuckle. A knuckle may not feel too much like the muzzle of a heater — but who wants to find out? He relaxed and said sullenly, «You don't dare give me the needle.»

«Heavens, no!» Dak answered in shocked tones. «That would be illegal. Penny girl, got a bobby pin?»

«Why, certainly, Dak.» She sounded puzzled and I was. She did not sound frightened, though, and I certainly was.

«Good. Bub, did you ever have a bobby pin shoved up under your fingernails? They say it will even break a hypnotic command not to talk. Works directly on the subconscious or something. Only trouble is that the patient makes the most unpleasant noises. So we are going to take you out in the dunes where you won't disturb anybody but sand scorpions. After you have talked — now here comes the nice part! After you talk we are going to turn you loose, not do anything, just let you walk back into town. But — listen carefully now! — if you are real nice and co- operative, you get a prize. We'll let you have your mask for the walk.»

Dak stopped talking; for a moment there was no sound but the keening of the thin Martian air past the roof. A human being can walk possibly two hundred yards on Mars without an oxygen mask, if he is in good condition. I believe I read of a case where a man walked almost half a mile before he died. I glanced at the trip meter and saw that we were about twenty-three kilometers from Goddard City.

The prisoner said slowly, «Honest, I don't know anything about it. I was just paid to crash the car.»

«We'll try to stimulate your memory.» The gates of the Martian city were just ahead of us; Dak started slowing the car. «Here's where you get out, Chief. Rog, better take your gun and relieve the Chief of our guest.»

«Right, Dak.» Rog moved up by me, jabbed the man in the ribs — again with a bare knuckle. I moved out of the way. Dak braked the car to a halt, stopping right in front of the gates.

«Four minutes to spare,» he said happily. «This is a nice car. I wish I owned it. Rog, ease up a touch and give me room.»

Clifton did so, Dak chopped the driver expertly on the side of his neck with the edge of his hand; the man