Lord of a Thousand Sun: Space Stories of Poul Anderson (Illustrated). Poul Anderson

far ahead," said another.

      "Yeah," said a third. "You ought at least to give us our money back."

      "I haven't got it," said Ray.

      "Look, pal, things happen to people that ain't good sports. They ain't very pop-u-lar, and things happen to them. Where's that money?"

      They crowded in, hemming him against the wall. Beyond them, he could see Colonel Roshevsky-Feldkamp staring coldly at the tableau. Ray wondered if he hadn't put the players up to this. They wouldn't have dared start trouble without some kind of sub rosa official hint.

      * * * * *

      "Come on back to our cabin and we'll talk this over, pal."

      The redhead squeaked and shrank aside. A meaty hand closed on Ray's arm and dragged him half off his feet. Dyann bristled, one hand clapped to her sword. "Are these men annoyin' you, Ray?" she asked.

      "No, we just want a quiet little private talk with our friend," said one of them. "Just come along easy, Ballantyne."

      "Dyann, I think they are annoying me," said the engineer, the words rattling in a suddenly dry and tightened throat.

      "Oh, vell, in that case—" She smiled, reached out, and grabbed a collar.

      There was a minor explosion. The man catapulted into the air, hit the ceiling, caromed off a wall, and bounced on the floor. Sheer reflex sent knives flying into the hands of the other two.

      "Ormun is good!" shouted Dyann joyously. She gave the nearest gambler a fistful of knuckles, tossed him into the air, clutched his ankles as he came down, and whirled him against the wall.

      The third was stabbing at her back. Blindly, Ray grabbed his arm and pulled him away. He snarled and lunged at the engineer, who tumbled backward clutching after the nearest weapon. It happened to be Colonel Roshevsky-Feldkamp's massive briefcase. He grabbed it free and brought it down on the gambler's head. It hit with a dull thwack and the fellow lurched. Ray hit him again. The briefcase burst open and papers snowed through the air. Then Dyann got the enemy from behind and proceeded to tie him in knots.

      The redhead had already departed, screaming. Ray sank to one shaky knee and looked up into the colonel's livid face.

      "I'm terribly sorry, sir," he gasped. "Here, let me help—"

      He began stuffing papers back into the briefcase. A polished boot hit him where it would do the most good and he skidded through the disorderly mass. "You unutterable fool!" raged the voice above him.

      "You vould kick my friend, huh?" asked Dyann indignantly.

      A revolver clanked from the colonel's belt. "That will do," he snapped. "Consider yourself under arrest."

      Dyann's broad smooth shoulders sagged a little. "I am so sorry," she said meekly. "Let me help yust a litle." She stooped and picked up one of the unconscious men.

      "March!" rapped the colonel.

      "Yes, sir," whispered Dyann abjectly. Then, being almost next to him, she rammed her burden into his belly. He sat down with a thunderous oof and Dyann kicked him behind the ear.

      "That vas fun," she grinned, picking up the revolver and sticking it into her belt. "Vat shall ve do now?"

      * * * * *

      "You," said Urushkidan acidly, "are a typical human."

      Ray looked despairingly out of the brig at him. "What else could I do?" he asked wildly. "I couldn't fight a shipful of Jovians. It was all I could do to talk Dyann into surrendering."

      "I mean in fighting in te first place," said Urushkidan. "I hear it started over a female. Why don't you lower animals habe a regular rutting season as we do on Uttu? Ten you could spend time tinking of someting else too, someting constructive."

      "Well—" Ray couldn't suppress a wry smile, "those are constructive thoughts, of a sort. But what happened to Dyann?"

      "Oh, tey questioned her, found she couldn't read, and let her go. But tey won't let her see you."

      "I suppose Earth would raise more of a stink over her being arrested than it's worth to the Jovians. But what's her literacy got to do with it?"

      "Te colonel's papers, you idiot. Tey are bery secret. Doubtless tey are information about Eart's defenses, obtained by his spies and to be brought home by him in person."

      "But I didn't read them either!"

      "You saw tem. Tey are implanted in your subconscious memories and a hypnotreatment could extract tem. An illiterate like Dyann lacks te word-gestalts, she would not remember eben subconsciously, but you—Well, tat is luck. Maybe Eart can sabe you."

      "Oh, no!" Ray clutched his head. "They won't bother. They don't give a damn. I'm wanted back there, and old Vanbrugh will be only too pleased to see me get the works."

      "Banbrugh—te Nort American Councillor?"

      "Uh-huh." Ray leaned gloomily against the door. "I was just a plain ordinary engineer till Uncle Hosmer left me a million credits. Damn him, I hope he fries in hell."

      "A man left you money and you don't like it?" Urushkidan's eyes bugged so they seemed in some danger of falling out. "Shalmuannusar, what did you do wit it?"

      "I spent it. I spent damn near every millo in a year."

      "On what?"

      "Oh, wine, women, song—the usual."

      Urushkidan clapped his tentacles to his eyes and groaned. "A million credits!"

      "It got me into high society," went on Ray. "I made out as if I had more than I did. I met Catherine Vanbrugh—that's the Councillor's daughter—and she got ideas that I might make a good fifth husband, or would it be the sixth? Well, she wasn't a bad-looking wench, and I—uh—well—about the time my money gave out and I went into debt, she was really after me. It was somewhat urgent. I skipped, of course. Old Vanbrugh got the cops after me. I barely escaped. He's got enough influence to—well, it boils down to the fact that the Jovians can do anything to me their little hearts desire."

      He strained against the bars. "Can't you do anything, sir? Your fame is so illustrious. Can't you slip the word to somebody?"

      The Martian puffed out his chest above his eyes and simpered. Then he said with mild regret, "No, I cannot entangle myself in te empirical. My domain is te beauty and purity of matematics alone. I adbise you to accept your fate wit philosophy. Perhaps I can lend you Ekbannutil's Treatise on te Unimportance of Temporal Sorrows. It has many consoling toughts."

      He waved affably and waddled off. Ray sank to the bunk.

      Presently a squad of soldiers arrived to escort him to the tender which would take him down to Ganymede. Colonel Roshevsky-Feldkamp was there, as stiff as ever, though the bandage behind his ear set his cap somewhat askew.

      "Where am I going?" asked Ray.

      "To Camp Muellenhoff, outside the city," said the Jovian with a hard satisfaction. "It is where we keep spies until we get ready to question and shoot them."

      III

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      It took Dyann Korlas about two Earth-days to decide that she didn't like Ganymede.

      The Jovians had been very courteous, apologized in a stiff way for the unfortunate misunderstanding aboard ship, and assigned her a brawny young sergeant as guide. Their armament was much more in evidence and much more interesting than Earth's but granting that spaceships and atomic bombs and guided missiles were more effective than swords and bows and mounted lancers, they took all the fun out of war and left nothing to plunder. She missed the brawling mirth of the war-camps of Varann among these bleak-faced and endlessly marching men in their drab uniforms.

      The civilians were almost