Читаем The Star Virus полностью

But then the trembling feelings seemed to smooth themselves out and alarm passed away. The course open to him was becoming clear: the lens was no real use to him, whereas what he could take in exchange for it surpassed his wildest dreams. His limbs and voice came under his control again, albeit shakily. It was only in the momentary transition period, when thoughts tumbled wildly, that he was still sufficiently confused to know that his mind had been interfered with.

Without stopping to think further he made a special movement with his wrist. Immediately his tiny gun was in his hand and he fired. Lagging only a bare second behind him, a rose-pink beam from Redace's gun followed suit, and then a sizzling laser ray from Kulthol added to the destruction.

Rodrone sighed with relief. Leaving only a slight ache, his mind was clear again and his muscles functioning without tremor.

And the space-tensor communicator was a smoking ruin.

Everyone looked at the others nervously.

"That was a pretty neat trick," Redace said finally. "They sent through sub-audible signals aimed at taking command of our nervous systems. They could have got what they wanted by remote control."

"But why didn't it work?" Rodrone queried, waving away black smoke from the still-hot equipment.

"If you ask me, it damn nearly did," Kulthol said, and added a few curses. The experience seemed to have frightened him.

"That's right," Redace said thoughtfully. "Obviously their knowledge of the human body is imperfect—the brain command signals didn't take hold properly. Even so, I think they might have been able to make the right adjustments if we hadn't been quick off the mark."

Something was tugging at Rodrone's mind. Suddenly he had it. Ruby and her electronic organ. He knew now where the device had originated: the Streall had a hand in it somewhere. Probably the organs had been made with the help of a human scientist, that was why they worked so well. It also explained why copies made of the organ worked hardly at all: they lacked the special touch of Streall skills.

"Listen everybody," he said out loud, "the Streall have made a psychological attack and failed. Their next attack will be physical. We have only a few hours at most before they are here, and possibly only a few minutes. We can't fight them off because they can simply pile on more force until we break. There's only one alternative: we have to get out."

To some, who had lived permanently on Brüde for years, the decision came as a shock. But once Rodrone convinced them all of the urgency of the situation activity was intense. The great hangar doors opened and ship after ship trundled out into the open. Storage spaces were ransacked of equipment, stores, ammunition and valuables. There was no knowing when they would be able to return to Brüde again, or if the base would even be in existence after the Streall had called.

One by one the spaceships took off from the crater, bringing into action half a dozen different types of spacedrive. Only the fast, reliable ships were used: older and slower vessels were best discarded. A haze of smoke began to fill the crater, drifting and blazing in the arc lights that had been turned on.

The very first ships to reach orbit had already set up a space watch to scan far ahead for approaching raiders. Their warning came when only three ships, the Stond included, were still on the ground. One of them was Redace Trudo's one-man spacer, a sleek crimson boat with a control cabin and bunk, engine and storage hold and nothing else.

Rodrone accosted his friend as the last man raced for the Stond. "Well, where are you going?" he asked. "Back to your rats' warren?"

Redace had abandoned his billowing hat and adopted a cheeky little beret with a prowlike front. "I think not," he replied, "that pack back there are quite competent to tear each others' throats out without my help."

Rodrone smiled. In fact, Redace had no regular companions, only a drifting crowd of murderous ruffians whose high turnover reflected in part his inability to keep his hands off their women.

"Besides," he continued, "you were right about one thing. There's something very funny indeed about the lens and I want to know more about it."

As he spoke he was already walking towards the Stond. A minute later they were airborne, surging upwards towards space. Meanwhile Rodrone was in touch with the space watch.

"Looks like heavy stuff and plenty of it," a matter-of-fact voice told him. "We could probably make a fight of it. But it would be a fight, no doubt about that, and there's probably more behind. Contact about half an hour."

Ludicrously, Rodrone's main thought was not for the safety of the men and women in his fleet but his need to keep the lens, and keep it undamaged. He put through a general call.

"Hear this," he said. "You all have your code calls. The regroup code is Cassius. Now scatter."