E.C Tubb - Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun

• Название: Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun
• Автор: E.C Tubb
• Жанр: Боевая фантастика

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He froze as a man coughed and boots crunched past in the mist. A patrolling guard or a field-worker heading for home. The noise faded and he resumed progress, one hand trailing against the wall as a guide.

The plan to rob Hoghan had been worked out by a military mind and had all the advantages of simplicity. A plan based on the fact that soldiers obeyed orders and did so without question. Instructions had been issued to load a selected cargo from a warehouse to a waiting vessel. The problem lay only in those engineering the theft being able to hide their complication-the reason for the woman, of course. She had been the 'front'.

The brain? Major Kan Lofoten. Perhaps working with someone equally ambitious. But Dumarest suspected the man to be working alone. He was too shrewd to take unnecessary chances and the plan, once decided on, would need little to put into operation.

Why include himself? As an insurance, the woman had said. A precaution. It was possible she believed that, but Dumarest wasn't so sure.

He paused as the wall fell away from beneath his fingers, turned to face right and moved a score of paces; halting as the bulk of a warehouse loomed up before him. One which should have been open by now with men busy moving crates and bales. Instead the doors remained sealed and Dumarest frowned. Something, apparently, had gone wrong.

He waited another few minutes then marched forward with a brisk step. The guard was tall, young, and startled by his sudden approach. The rifle he carried slipped from his hands and fell with a clatter.

"Who goes there? Halt and-"

"Recover your piece, soldier!"

"Yes, sir!" It swept to the salute as the man obeyed. "Colonel?"

"How long have you been with the Legion?"

"A month, sir. Just out of basic training and this is my first engagement."

"Keep better guard or it will be your last. Who is in charge here?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Who would? Lieutenant Swedel? Is he inside?" Dumarest stepped past the guard. "Keep alert, soldier. No entry for anyone without my permission. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!"

The warehouse was filled with crates, boxes, bundles, objects wreathed in sacking and rope, others cocooned in plastic. The repository of those who, knowing of the coming war, had taken steps to secure their valuables.

Swedel was a thin, stooped man with a ravaged face and a nervous tic beneath one eye. He stared at Dumarest and, slowly, gave a salute.

"Colonel?"

"Colonel Varst. From H.Q., dispatched for Special Duties." Dumarest took papers from his pocket and fluttered them. "To be frank with you, Lieutenant, I'm in charge of Security. Undercover, you understand, but I know I can rely on your discretion. Who is in charge here?"

"Captain Risey." Swedel frowned. "Undercover Security? I don't understand."

"I think you do, Lieutenant. Where is the captain to be found?"

"He was summoned by the police an hour ago. He's probably at the garrison by now."

"The local police?" Dumarest thinned his lips as the man nodded. "Do you know why? Well, never mind, I can find out later. So that leaves you in charge. What instructions have you had for the shipping of cargo?"

"None."

"How long have you been on duty?" Dumarest saw the sudden narrowing of the eyes, the dawning suspicion. "Well, answer me, man! How long?"

"Two hours. Lieutenant Frieze collapsed from some internal complaint."

"I see." Dumarest masked his face and eyes. The unexpected had happened and the plan had failed. Swedel already suspicious, couldn't be deluded and Frieze, obviously the officer primed, was out of action. Risey? What would the police want with him?

Swedel said, "I can't understand your interest, Colonel. What has Security to do with this warehouse? And why should you think I've had instructions to ship cargo?"

"Did I say you've had?"

"No, but you inferred it. Something is wrong here." His hand dropped to his belt and the pistol holstered there. "Your identification, Colonel. I think I'd better take a closer look."

"Of course." Dumarest lifted his hand to his pocket as he looked over the other's shoulder. A group of soldiers stood before the wide doors, chatting, at ease. To one side rested a small office, the door open, a single light burning inside. "Let us go into your office."

"Your papers, Colonel!"

"In the office. You have a phone there? Good, you will be able to verify my documents-or do you trust scraps of paper more than an authorized identification?"

Dumarest headed towards it without waiting for an answer, turning as he passed through the door, the papers falling from his hand as he pulled them from his pocket. Immediately he stooped to recover them, moving as he rose to stand between the officer and the door, his bulk masking the smaller man. As Swedel reached for the useless papers Dumarest sent the stiffened fingers of his right hand stabbing at the unprotected throat. A blow designed to stun, not kill, and as the man slumped Dumarest caught him, supporting him in his arms.

"Sir?" One of the soldiers, attracted by the hint of movement, was looking towards the office. "Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing." Dumarest turned towards him, one arm behind Swedel's back, his hand gripping the belt to hold the man upright. "Get those doors open! You have a loading platform? Good. Have it prepared. Move!"

As they sprang to obey, Dumarest eased his limp burden into the only chair the office contained, turned it to face the phone, propping the head on the folded arms. To a casual glance he was a man engrossed in making a call.

"Sir?" A soldier called to Dumarest as he left the office. "What shall we load?"

* * * * *

The platform was pulled by a mechanical horse, a small, whining vehicle which dragged it across the field through veils of mist. It held a dozen crates, boxes chosen from a pile standing beside the doors and which Dumarest could only hope held things of value. There had been no time to make sure.

The soldiers who had loaded them walked at the rear of the platform. The driver, squinting ahead, cursed the mist as he strained to see his destination.

"The Varden, sir?"

"To the east of the field." The mist was both a help and a hindrance-and why hadn't Dephine placed the guide beacon? Dumarest pushed ahead, almost running, seeing it after he had covered a hundred yards, a winking, yellow glow. Dephine stood beneath it.

"Earl?"

"Is everything arranged?"

"Yes. Where is the loot?"

"Coming-what I could get of it." Dumarest turned as the thin whine of the vehicle grew louder. "Something went wrong. Get inside and out of that uniform. Have the captain ready to leave when I give the word. Hurry!"

"He won't be rushed, Earl. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He-"

"Will do as I tell him!" Dumarest snarled his impatience. "Don't stand there arguing, woman. We're racing against time. Now get in the ship and have the handler standing by. The loading ramp should be moving and the ports open. I-" He broke off as a dull report echoed through the air. "Guns."

"A diversion," she explained. "I arranged it. It should distract the guards."

Men bribed to fire into the air at a certain time, but they were late, a thing she hadn't yet realised.

"Earl?"

"The plan failed," he said, quickly. "The officer who was supposed to have taken care of the loading fell ill and his replacement knew nothing about it. The police are involved somehow and they could be moving in. Now get busy. If this ship leaves without us we're as good as dead. If it doesn't leave at all, the same. You take care of the captain while I see the handler. Are you armed?" He grunted as she showed him a compact laser. "Don't use it unless you have to, but don't hesitate to burn a hole if you must."

He ran into the ship as she vanished through the port. The handler, a sallow-faced man, straightened from where he leaned against a bulkhead. He scowled as Dumarest snapped orders.

"Now wait a minute, mister. I'm not one of your soldier-boys to jump when you give the word. You've got a cargo to be loaded? Right, we'll load it, but all in good time."

"My time," said Dumarest. "Get that ramp started and get to work. Never mind stacking the stuff, just get it aboard."

"Now wait a minute!" The handler gulped as Dumarest reached out towards him, gripped him, sank his fingers into yielding flesh. "You-I can't breathe!"

"You can breathe," said Dumarest. "But not for long if you keep arguing. Now get to it and let me see you move."

The platform was approaching when he ducked through the port, coming to a halt as Dumarest reached the ground.

The handler, scared, had started the belt and Dumarest snapped at the man to throw the crates on the moving surface. As the first vanished into the ship a soldier tensed, head turned, listening as the sound of gunfire came closer.

"Something's up, Colonel. An attack of some kind."

"Just noise. Keep working." Dumarest looked at the beacon. It would attract unwanted attention and it had served its purpose. He mounted the ramp, lifted it from its support and switched off the pulsing, yellow glow. As it died a bullet smashed the instrument from his hands.

"You at the ship!" The voice, amplified, roared from the mist. "You haven't a chance. Surrender!"

"Sir?" The soldiers, bemused, stared up at where Dumarest stood. "What's happening, Colonel?"

"Nothing."

"We're being fired on!" A soldier grabbed his rifle from the platform, freezing as the voice thundered around them.

"This is Colonel Emridge speaking. I order all soldiers of the Legion to refuse to obey all orders from any officer but myself. If they are with an officer they must place him under arrest. This is a direct command from the highest level. If any officer attempts to escape he is to be shot down."

"I guess that means you, Colonel." The soldier with the rifle lifted it to his shoulder. "Move and I'll let you have it."

The port was open behind him, the door swung back, a slab of solid metal more than proof against a bullet. But the man had his finger on the trigger, the weapon aimed and ready to fire.

Dumarest called, loudly, "No! Don't kill him! Don't shoot!"

He saw the barrel of the rifle drop as the man instinctively turned and was diving into the ship before he could realise how he'd been tricked. A bullet slammed against the hull, another against the door as he dogged it tight.

"Dephine?" Dumarest slapped his hand against the communicator as he called. "Dephine?"

"Here, Earl." Her voice was small over the speaker, strained, but that was to be expected. "In the control room."

"Coming. Have the captain order total seal."

Dumarest released the button and made his way through the ship, passing closed doors and familiar compartments. In the empty salon he paused, slipping the knife from his boot and tucking it into the belt of his uniform. As he reached the control room he called, "Dephine?"

"Here, Earl. Inside."

She stood beside the control chair, out of uniform now, her clothing crumpled, her hair a mess. Her hands, empty, were extended towards him.

Dumarest turned, snatching at his knife, freezing as he saw the man behind him, the knuckle white on the trigger of the laser pointed at his stomach.

Major Kan Lofoten smiled.

* * * * *

He stood very tall and very confident against the edge of the door, neat in his uniform, the gun no less menacing than his eyes.

He said, "As I promised, Captain. You see how an intelligent brain can determine the course of events? Either way we win."

Dumarest looked at the woman.

"He was waiting, Earl. Here in the control room. He disarmed me before I had a chance." Swallowing she added, "When I came to talk to the captain he-"

"Shall we say that I took over?" Lofoten gestured with the gun. "But then I have been in charge all along. Even your clever scheme, my dear, which was not so clever when duly considered, was more the result of my hints than your own intelligence. To steal from a mercenary band. How little you know of how the military operate. And yet there was a chance the thing could succeed given the right kind of fool."

Dumarest said, "We have some loot so why the gun? Why not just let us go? That was the original intention, wasn't it? To let us go and to take full blame for your previous thefts. What happened, Major? Did someone find out what you'd done?"

"Be silent!"

"Why?" Dumarest glanced at the captain who stood, a thick-set, swarthy man before the glittering tell-tales of the main console. "Captain Remille might be interested. To me it was obvious-why else should you trust a stranger? For what other reason than to act as a catspaw and decoy? But you had me fooled for a while when I learned that Lieutenant Frieze had fallen sick. I took him to be your man. I was wrong."

"Sick?" Remille frowned. "Another one?"

"Shut up, you fool!"

"Yes, Captain, shut up," said Dumarest cynically. "You're on your own vessel and in full command but you must remain silent when the officer speaks. After all he is a member of a mercenary band. A disgraced member, true, and one who will be shot when they get their hands on him, but you must remain silent until he gives you permission to speak."

"Talk again and I'll fire!" snapped Lofoten. "Don't listen to him, Remille."

"Why not, Captain? He talks sense." Dephine edged closer. "What does Lofoten bring you? Nothing. We have a dozen crates filled with valuables. More than enough to buy passage. What further use can the Major be to you?"

"You bitch! I'll-"

Lofoten lifted the gun, raising it high to bring it slashing across her face, a vicious blow which would have opened her cheek, smashed her nose, torn her lips and turned the clean lines of her face into a puffed ugliness.

Dumarest caught his wrist before the gun could fall. His fingers tightened, twisting, his body moving as the laser fell from the nerveless fingers, the trapped arm slamming across his chest, the sound of snapping bone like the breaking of a twig.

"The gun!" He caught it as she threw it towards him. "Get your own." The knife made a soft slithering as he tucked it back into his boot. "Cover them while I get off this uniform." He kicked aside the discarded fabric. "Well, Captain?"

"We had a deal," said Remille glancing towards Lofoten. "Crates slipped aboard and goods to be sold on a secret market. That's all I know but I had to deal through the woman. Then he arrived on board and-well, the rest you know."

"And the sick men?"

Remille avoided his eyes. "Nothing."

He was lying, but Dumarest couldn't guess why and had no time to find out. Already the mercenaries would be assembling heavy equipment to break into the ship and metal, protection against a bullet, was of little defense against a heavy missile.

From where he sat on the deck, Lofoten said, "Captain, if I could talk with you in private?" He heaved himself to his feet, his arm hanging limply at his side. His face was pale, beaded with sweat. "It's important."

Dumarest said, "Captain, are you ready to leave?"

"Yes, but-"

"Wait much longer and you won't get the chance. Those outside will split your hull open like a rotten melon. My guess is they have charges set and ready to go." Dumarest gestured towards the panel where a signal lamp flashed in ruby urgency. "The radio-attention signal. They want to talk to you."