Scanned by Highroller

sharply to Juliam, «Where is he? Where has he gone?»

«He left,» said Juliam, «a little after you did.»

Hableyat muttered a pungent syllable. «The confounded unpredictability of the man! I gave him strict instructions to remain here.»

Juliam said, «I reminded him of your instructions. He ignored me.»

«That's the difficulty,» said Hableyat, «in dealing with men of limited intellect. They cannot be trusted for logical performance. A thousand times would I prefer to wrestle with a genius. His methods, at least, would be understandable... If Erru Kametin sees him all my plans will be defeated. Oh,» he groaned, «the bull-headed fool!»

Juliam sniffed but held his tongue. Hableyat spoke incisively. «You go–look along the arcade. If you see him send him back quickly. I'll wait here. Then telephone Erru Kametin–he'll be at the Consulate. Identify yourself as Aglom Fourteen. He will inquire further and you will reveal that you were an agent for Empoing, who is now dead–that you have important information for his ears.

«He will wish you to appear but you will profess fear of Druid counteraction. You will tell him that you have definitely identified the courier, that he will be traveling with the article in question on the Belsaurion. You will give a quick description of this man and then return here.» «Yes, Lord.»

Joe heard the shuffle of Juliana's feet. He slid back, ducked behind a long blue carryall, rose to his feet. He saw Juliam cross the field, then by a roundabout route he returned to the car, entered.

Hableyat's eyes were glittering but he said in a careless tone, «So there you are, young man. Where have you been?. Ah, new garments, I see. Very wise, very wise, though of course it was rash to appear along the arcade.»

He reached into his pouch, came out with an envelope. «Here is your ticket, Ballenkarch via Junction.»

«Junction? What or where is Junction?»

Hableyat put the tips of his fingers together, said in a tone of exaggerated precision, «Kyril, Mangtse and Ballenkarch, as you may be aware, form a triangle approximately equilateral. Junction is an artificial satellite at its center. It is also situated along the Mangtse-Thombol-Beland traffic lane and, at a perpendicular, along the Frums-Outer System passage and so makes a very convenient way station or transfer point.

«It is an interesting place from many aspects. The unique method of construction, the extremities of the efforts made to entertain visitors, the famous Junction Gardens, the cosmopolitan nature of the people encountered there. I'm sure you will find it an interesting voyage.»

«I imagine I shall,» said Joe.

«There will be spies aboard–everywhere, indeed, there are spies. One cannot move his foot without kicking a spy. Their instructions in regard to you may or may not include violence. I counsel the utmost vigilance –though, as is well known, a skillful assassin cannot be denied opportunity.»

Joe said with grim good-humor, «I've got a gun.» Hableyat met his eyes with limpid innocence. «Good – excellent. Now the ship leaves almost any minute. You had better get aboard. I won't go with you but wish you good luck from here.»

Joe jumped to the ground. «Thanks for your efforts,» he said evenly.

Hableyat raised a monitory hand. «No thanks, please. I'm glad that I'm able to assist a fellow-man when he's in trouble. Although there is a slight service I'd like you to render me. I've promised my friend, the Prince of Ballenkarch, a sample of the lovely Kyril heather and perhaps you will convey him this little pot with my regards.»

Hableyat displayed a plant growing in an earthenware pot. «I'll put it in this bag. Please be careful with it. Water it once a week if you will.»

Joe accepted the potted plant. A hoot from the ship's horn rang across the field. «Hurry then,» said Hableyat. «Perhaps we'll meet again some day.»

«Goodby,» said Joe. He turned, walked toward the ship, anxious now to embark.

Last-minute passengers were crossing the field from the station. Joe stared at a couple not fifty feet distant –a tall broad-shouldered young man with the face of a malicious satyr, a slender dark-haired girl–Manaolo and the Priestess Elfane.

V

THE SKELETON-WORK of the embarkation stage made a black web on the overcast sky. Joe climbed the worn plank stairs to the top deck. No one was behind. No one observed him. He reached under an L-beam, set the potted plant on the flange out of sight. Whatever it was, it was dangerous. He wanted nothing to do with it. Hableyat's quid pro quos might come high.

Joe smiled sourly. «Limited intellect» and «bull-headed fool»–there was an ancient aphorism, to the effect that eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves. It seemed to apply in his own case.

Joe thought, I've been called worse things. And once I get to Ballenkarch it won't make any difference...

Ahead of him Manaolo and Elfane crossed the stage, straight ahead with that fixed and conscious will characteristic of the Druids. They climbed the gangplank, turned into the ship. Joe grimaced. Elfane's slim legs twinkling up the stairs had sent sweet-sour chills along his nerves. And the proud back of Manaolo–it was like taking two drugs with precisely opposite effects.

Joe cursed old Hableyat. Did he imagine that Joe would be so obsessed with infatuation for the Priestess Elfane as to challenge Manaolo? Joe snorted. Overripe old hypocrite! In the first place he had no slightest intimation that Elfane would consider him as a lover. And after Manaolo's handling of her–his stomach muscles twisted. Even, he amended dutifully, if his loyalty to Margaret would permit his interest. He had enough problems of his own without inviting others.

At the gangplank stood a steward in a red skin-tight uniform. Rows of trefoil gold frogs decorated his legs, a radio was clamped to his ear with a mike pressed to his throat. He was a member of a race strange to Joe– white-haired, loose-jointed, with eyes as green as emeralds.

Joe felt the tenseness rising up in himself, if the Thearch suspected that he were on his way off-planet, now he would be stopped.

The steward took his ticket, nodded courteously, motioned him within. Joe crossed the gangplank to the convex black hulk, entered the shadowed double port. At a temporary desk sat the purser, another man of the white-haired race. Like the steward he wore a scarlet suit which seemed like a second skin. In addition he wore glass epaulets and a small scarlet skullcap.

He extended a book to Joe. «Your name and thumbprint, please. They waive responsibility for accidents incurred on route.»

Joe signed, pressed his thumb on the indicated square while the purser examined his ticket. «First class passage, Cabin Fourteen. Luggage, Worship?»

«I have none,» said Joe. «I imagine there's a ship's store where I can buy linen.»

«Yes, your Worship, yes indeed. Now, if you'll kindly step to your cabin, a steward will secure you for takeoff.»

Joe glanced down at the book he had signed. Immediately before his signature he read in a tall angular hand, Druid Manaolo kia Benlodieth, and then in a round backhand script, Alnietho kia Benlodieth. Signed as his wife–Joe chewed at his lip. Manaolo was assigned to Cabin Twelve, Elfane to 13.

Not strange in itself. These freighter-passenger ships, unlike the great passenger packets flashing out from Earth in every direction, offered little accommodation for passengers. Cabins, so-called, were closets with hammocks, drawers, tiny collapsible bathroom facilities.