Calvin M. Knox Read online

  "Yes. I know." The elevator creaked again, descending, bringing with it Beryaal's hand-picked crew. Had Beryaal trusted them with the secret, Catton wondered? That was the all-important information he needed.

  The Earthman stooped, picked up the nearest crate, and ripped its seal open. Beryaal tried to interfere, but he was too late. Catton yanked off the top of the crate. Within, cushioned in layer on layer of shock-absorbent plastic, was a small, exquisitely machined device. Catton felt a chill as he looked on a matter duplicator for the first time.

  "Get him," Beryaal murmured.

  The Earthman straightened instantly and yanked the hand-camera from his pocket. The crewmen, armed with heavy cargo-pins, were about to charge.

  "Hold it," Catton snapped. "This thing in my hand is a camera. It's sending a film back to the customs office outside. And if you touch me, itll be valid evidence of who my murderers are."

  "Don't believe him," Beryaal said coldly. "I order you to attack!"

  But the crewmen continued to hang back. Catton grasped at their moment of indecision. "He's just trying to get you in trouble," the Earthman said. "He wants you to jump me with the camera going. But he doesn't care about you. You know what kind of cargo you're carrying?" He seized the matter duplicator and held it up. "You know what this is? It's a matter duplicator! You're supposed to dump them on Earth. But it's death to deal in duplicators—death on any world! And that's the stuff your boss is paying you to carry!"

  Beryaal uttered a strangled cry of rage. He lashed out, knocking the camera from Carton's hand. The crewmen milled about in confusion. Evidentiy Beryaal had handed them some cock-and-bull story about the cargo; they had had no real idea they were carrying anything as risky as matter duplicators.

  Catton went for his blaster, but Beryaal leaped, knocking the blaster skittering back behind a heap of crates. The Morilaru was panting with anger and frustration. His long spidery arms reached out to encircle Catton, to hug him tight.

  The Morilaru was four inches taller than Catton, but he was thin and fleshless, weighing no more than the Earth-man and perhaps less. Carton's fists pummelled desperately into Beryaal's body midsection. Beryaal gasped, gave ground. His claw-tipped fingers reached for Catton's eyes. The Earthman writhed out of the way in time, charged forward, smashed Beryaal heavily back against the bulkhead.

  Beryaal screamed for help. But the crewmen simply stared at the contestants without moving. Catton's fists hammered Beryaal's thin body. The Earthman reached up, seized Beryaal's throat, tightened. He crashed the Morilaru hard against the bulkhead again. Shoulder-spikes splintered. Beryaal howled.

  Suddenly he broke loose. He darted into the midst of the crewmen and snatched up a fire-hatchet. He swung it down in an immense arc; Catron sidestepped, clubbed down with his fist on the back of Beryaal's head. The Morilaru dropped. Catton seized the hatchet just as Beryaal struggled to his feet and charged.

  Catton swung the blade in a short chopping curve. Beryaal ran full tilt into it. Purple gouts of blood spurted from the Morilaru's chest. Beryaal plunged face-down into the pile of crates and lay there.

  Catton sucked in breath and said, "Which one of you is the navigator of this ship?"

  "I am," answered a lean, muscular Morilaru.

  "Good. You wait here." To the others Catton said, "The rest of you get out of the ship and report to the spaceport police." Catton picked up the fallen camera, activated it by inserting the "eye," and flashed it on the crewmen. "I'm sending these men outside. Have they picked up and held," he said to the listening customs officials.

  He clicked the camera off. The men sullenly herded into the elevator, rode upward to the hatch, and filed out of the ship. Catton said to the terrified navigator, "You know how to compute an automatic-wave orbit?"

  "Of course."

  "Good. Get into the control room and compute an orbit that will take this ship right into the sun." "What?"

  "You heard me. Don't worry—neither of us will be aboard when the ship blasts off."

  Catton shepherded the man into the control room and watched him as he set up the sunward orbit. Catton made the man run a visual check on the orbitscope. It phased out perfecdy, showing a trajectory that curved in one grand sweep into Morilar's sun. "Good. Now radio the control tower for blastoff clearance," Catton commanded.

  This was, he knew, the best way to resolve the situation. Destroying the evidence was justifiable when the evidence consisted of matter duplicators. The entire mission, after all, had been unofficial. And this way, at least, the duplicators would be destroyed. The deadly cargo would fall neither into Terran nor alien hands, and that was just as well. A commercial society could not endure the existence of matter duplicators.

  Clearance came. "Come on," Catton ordered. "Activate the autopilot and let's get out of here."

  They trotted across the field to safety while the seconds ticked away. He still had a little work to do, he thought. The detained crewmen would have to undergo a mnemonic erasure. And he would have to say goodbye to Estil and her father.

  Then he could return to Earth and file his report. Present danger averted—but enemies still existed. No formal complaint would be lodged by Earth. The crisis had been solved unofficially. But with Beryaal no longer obstructing justice, it would be possible to seize subtly the illicit hypno-jewel factory on Skorg; the Skorg government could not afford the galactic ill will it would risk by refusing to crack down. And, just as subdy, an espionage net would tighten around Vyorn, to prevent any further exports of matter duplicators or other dangerous contrivances. But Earth would have to remain on guard against the Beryaals and eMerikhs who plotted her downfall. Which meant plenty of future employment for Catton.

  A booming roar split the silence behind him. Catton turned,

  shading his eyes against the fury of the rocket blast. The cargo ship rose from the field, hovered a moment, then soared upward, carrying its freight and its one dead passenger on a smooth arc toward the blazing yellow sun of Morilar. Catton smiled to himself. The mission was over.

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