Now he was studying his new profession of interstellar robbery and murder against which he had once inveighed. Otto Harkaman’s handful of followers became his teachers. Vann Larch, guns-and-missiles, who was also a painter; Guatt Kirbey, sour and pessimistic, the hyperspatial astrogator who tried to express his science in music; Sharll Renner, the normal-space astrogator. Alvyn Karffard, the exec, who had been with Harkaman longest of all. And Sir Paytrik Morland, a local recruit, formerly guard-captain to Count Lionel of Newhaven, who commanded the ground-fighters and the combat contragravity. They were using the farms and villages of Traskon for drill and practice, and he noticed that while the Nemesis would carry only five hundred ground and air fighters, over a thousand were being trained.
He commented to Rovard Grauffis.
“Yes. Don’t mention it outside,” the Duke’s henchman said. “You and Sir Paytrik and Captain Harkaman will pick the five hundred best. The Duke will take the rest into his service. Some of these days, Omfray of Glaspyth will find out what a Space Viking raid is really like.”
And Duke Angus would tax his new subjects of Glaspyth to redeem the pledges on his new barony of Traskon. Some old Pre-Atomic writer Harkaman was fond of quoting had said, “Gold will not always get you good soldiers, but good soldiers can get you gold.”
The Nemesis came back to the Gorram yards and settled onto her curved landing legs like a monstrous spider. The Enterprise had borne the Ward sword and atom-symbol; the Nemesis should bear his own badge, but the bisonoid head, tawny on green, of Traskon, was no longer his. He chose a skull impaled on an upright sword, and it was blazoned on the ship when he and Harkaman took her out for her shakedown cruise.
When they landed again at the Gorram yards, two hundred hours later, they learned that a tramp freighter from Morglay had come into Bigglersport in their absence with news of Andray Dunnan. Her captain had come to Wardshaven at Duke Angus’ urgent invitation and was waiting for them at the Ducal Palace.
They sat, a dozen of them, around a table in the Duke’s private apartments. The freighter captain, a small, precise man with a graying beard, alternately puffed at a cigarette and sipped from a beaker of brandy.
“I spaced out from Morglay two hundred hours ago,” he was saying. “I’d been there twelve local days, three hundred Galactic Standard hours, and the run from Curtana was three hundred and twenty. This ship, the Enterprise, spaced out from there several days before I did. I’d say she’s twelve hundred hours out of Windsor, on Curtana, now.”
The room was still. The breeze fluttered curtains at the open windows; from the garden below, winged night-things twittered.
“I never expected it,” Harkaman said. “I thought he’d take the ship out to the Old Federation at once.” He poured wine for himself. “Of course, Dunnan’s crazy. A crazy man has an advantage, sometimes, like a left-handed knife-fighter. He does unexpected things.”
“That wasn’t such a crazy move,” Rovard Grauffis said. “We have very little direct trade with Curtana. It’s only an accident we heard about this when we did.”
The freighter captain’s beaker was half empty. He filled it to the brim from the decanter.
“She was the first Gram ship there for years,” he agreed. “That attracted notice, of course. And his having the blazonry changed, from the sword and atom-symbol to the blue crescent. And the ill-feeling on the part of other captains and planet-side employers about the men he’d lured away from them.”
“How many men and what kind?”
The man with the gray beard shrugged. “I was too busy getting a cargo together for Morglay, to pay much attention. Almost a full spaceship complement, officers and spacemen of every kind. And a lot of industrial engineers and technicians.”
“Then he is going to use that equipment that was aboard, and put in a base somewhere,” somebody said.
“If he left Curtana twelve hundred hours ago, he’s still in hyperspace,” Guatt Kirbey said. “It’s over two thousand from Curtana to the nearest Old Federation planet.”
“How far to Tanith?” Duke Angus asked. “I’m sure that’s where he’s gone. He’d expect me to finish the other ship and equip her like the Enterprise and send her out; he’d want to get there first.”
“I’d thought that Tanith would be the last place he’d go,” Harkaman said, “but this changes the whole outlook. He could have gone to Tanith.”
“He’s crazy, and you’re trying to apply sane logic to him,” Guatt Kirbey said. “You’re figuring what you’d do, and you aren’t crazy. Of course, I’ve had my doubts, at times, but—”
“Yes, he’s crazy, and Captain Harkaman’s allowing for that,” Rovard Grauffis said. “Dunnan hates all of us. He hates his Grace, here. He hates Lord Lucas, and Sesar Karvall; of course, he may think he killed both of them. He hates Captain Harkaman. So how could he score all of us off at once? By taking Tanith.”
“You say he was buying supplies and ammunition?”
“That’s right. Gun ammunition, ship’s missiles, and a lot of ground-defense missiles.”
“What was he buying them with? Trading machinery?”
“No. Gold.”
“Yes. Lothar Ffayle found out that a lot of gold was transferred to Dunnan from banks in Glaspyth and Didreksburg,” Grauffis said. “He got that aboard when he took the ship, evidently.”
“All right,” Trask said. “We can’t be sure of anything, but we have some reasons for thinking he went to Tanith, and that’s more than we have for any other planet in the Old Federation. I won’t try to estimate the odds against our finding him there, but they’re a good deal bigger anywhere else. We’ll go there, first.”
VII
The outside viewscreen, which had been vacantly gray for over
