"They're heading for the Chaladoor," said Goth, looking at the screen plot.
"So why am I not surprised?" said the Daal of Uldune sourly. He was busy with some calculations of his own, about the progress—at rather more modest speeds—of his fleet. He had ordered out all the ships he could spare. Uldune had watching enemies too.
The last probe into the Chaladoor had not been a successful one. The ships had in fact managed to send out quite a comprehensive report of the conflict with the Phantom ships.
They just hadn't been able to win or escape. The Daal had, since then, acquired some insight into what the Phantom ships couldn't withstand. But that didn't alter the fact that a ship crewed with three of the witches, using their special drive, had barely escaped. The hexaperson knew that he could not afford to lose the better part of his fleet, or Uldune—the wolf—would fall to the jackals.
There was a narrow crawlspace down along the
Venture
's tubes. It was the sort of place, especially for a large man like Captain Pausert, that was only visited with some discomfort while doing tube calibrations. If one was really determined and crawled along a long way, one came to a slightly larger gap created by the updating of tube-liners. They'd been longer back in the long-ago day that the
Venture
was first launched as a pirate-chaser. Modern tubes were just that little bit shorter before the final choke and outer flares. That left a gap. It was a hot, noisy spot.
Vezzarn still found it the best place to be on the ship right now. He'd made himself a makeshift bed there, collected some food and water, and was prepared to wait it out until the
Venture
next set down and emptied so that he could make a quiet departure for more pleasant and safer places. It wasn't safe out there in the rest of the ship!
They'd tranq-darted him as he'd come to the airlock, and locked him into one of the staterooms. But they hadn't even bothered to tie him up. Fortunately he'd come around and been able to use his lock-picks and leave before they'd come back. It was hard to work out quite what was going on as so many of the men now crowded into the
Venture
seemed to do things in concert, without talking. Some did talk, of course. The pilot, for one. He managed better take-offs than Captain Pausert although he was a decidedly worse ship-handler. Pausert would have done better. Except—from what Vezzarn had seen from the wiring crawlway—Pausert had somehow joined the silent majority on the ship. Vezzarn had been relieved and delighted when he'd first spied the captain. It hadn't taken the little old space-dog more than a few moments of observation to realize that this might be Captain Pausert's body, but wasn't the man he knew. Vezzarn could only be relieved that the presence of another one of the strangers had kept him from calling the captain.
He'd found that he could, with difficulty, belly-crawl and wriggle his way along to above the control room, where at least the pilot spoke and was spoken to. He'd learned a fair bit in the process. Subradio messages from frantic underlings had been coming in. It appeared that the Borozo-Shinn conglomerate had suffered cataclysmic losses. Others were moving in on their territory, and some of those left on Pampez were singing, loudly. Not all had been the silent-type part-of-the-plant.
And Marshi-Tchab, it seemed, did not care. They could all die, and it could all be lost. The criminal empire she was leaving behind was worth many millions, Vezzarn was sure. But for all the attention she paid to the squalling, it might as easily have been a piece of scrap paper that she'd dropped.
Then finally, a message came in that she did want to hear.
A set of coordinates.
They might have been what she wanted to hear, but they filled her pilot with horror. Enough horror that he was actually brave enough to protest. "We can't go there, Tchab."
"You will go where I tell you to go."
"But that is the Chaladoor," said the pilot.
"That was to be expected. Ships have dealt with the Chaladoor before."
Vezzarn was more familiar with coordinates in Chaladoor than the pilot was.
Vezzarn had managed to raid the kitchen several times.
He began wondering if he could also get to the lifeboat and get away. But as they were traveling in a formation of five ships, there was very little chance of escape that way.
But the alternative, it seemed, was to return to the Megair cluster.
And only the Wisdoms got out of there! Besides the Cannibals, the Phantoms were as thick as ants on sugar in the area.
"Course triangulation says they're heading towards Megair!"
"We do have a gravity tractor fitted. Externally," said Sedmon almost apologetically.
Goth's stare was cold. "And how did you know about that?"
Sedmon shrugged. "Vezzarn remains in my employ. However, it would seem the technique—without considerable skill and the Sheewash drive—remains a last resort."
"If the old man is still alive, he's in big trouble," said Goth, looking up from her calculations.
"Are we going to catch them before they get there?" asked the Leewit, looking at the mess of numbers Goth had been working on.
Goth nodded. "Should do it in less than five hours." She looked thoughtful. "Have to start thinking of good delaying tactics. Unless this fancy ship of yours can take on all five of those ships."
"The
Thunderbird
has quite an armory," admitted Sedmon.
Vezzarn was watching from the crawlspace when Marshi-Tchab's small fleet encountered the Phantom ships. As usual, they appeared with astonishing rapidity. But in their previous encounters, the Phantom ships had come trickling in, in ones and twos. This time the pilot was looking at his forward view screens when some twenty or more of the spiky ships appeared at once. And they did not waste any time in launching their torpedoes at Marshi-Tchab's flotilla.
Marshi-Tchab's ships of course returned fire—futilely. Desperate evasive action followed.
Marshi-Tchab's ships had the problem that they were running straight towards the oncoming torpedoes. Even high-G turns were not effective in shaking the torpedoes. And none of the ships had the option of turning to the mysterious drive that the Wisdoms used. The Phantoms were also firing multiple salvos—something else that was new. The gunners on the various ships did manage to destroy some of the incoming space-torpedoes, but that was all.
The fight was one-sided. Vezzarn assumed that he was going to die. He just wished that he could have chosen a more comfortable place to do it, possibly one that did not have a view of ships exploding into varieties of amber or viridescent fire against the blackness of space.
"Look!" yelled the Leewit. "They're under attack. The Phantom ships are attacking them!"
They were barely light-minutes away from Marshi-Tchab's flotilla. You couldn't, from here, see the torpedoes, not even on the
Thunderbird
's souped-up detectors. But you could see the ships scatter and the riot of space guns being fired into the void—to almost no effect. Yes, there was an amber flare of someone hitting a Phantom ship torpedo. But there was also the terrible destruction of one of Marshi-Tchab's ships a few seconds later. It was plain that the flotilla would be annihilated. It was apparently plain to them also, as they were fleeing desperately.
For three of the five, that didn't help. Goth found herself digging her nails into her own palms, unable to do more than watch in horror.
"The leech is still transmitting," said Sedmon. "That means that the
Venture
is one of those two survivors."
"Thank you," said Goth, aware that her voice sounded very odd.
"They're coming back towards us," said the Leewit. "Looks like the Phantoms aren't chasing them."
* * *
As part of the mother-plant, Pausert was aware of outright panic. IlItraming ships. Many of them. The kind which had once destroyed the mother-plant.
And then the mother-plant drew comfort and confidence from knowledge held by the Pausert-plant.
There was a ship back there. It had arrived far too fast to have used the sort of drive most of these humans had available to them. It was not of Illtraming design. Therefore it must be a ship of that dangerous group of humans from Karres, the ones that used this mysterious klatha force. And the part of the plant which had once been the organism known as Captain Pausert had used it too, in times past, to evade the Illtraming ships and reach the Illtraming homeworld.
If the mother-plant could do that as well, it would be a simple matter to plant spores in some of the Illtraming. They were far better suited both to growing the mother-plant haploids and to being controlled by it. The mother-plant had much better access to their memories and thoughts than to those of humans. That was only natural: the Illtraming had been bred and shaped by the mother-plant to be a good host. As much as it was capable of understanding the concept, the mother-plant resented the sheer ingratitude of the little creatures. The mother-plant had made them what they were, raised them up from being less intelligent animals to ones that could think and reason, so that they could be better motiles to help the mother-plant with its purpose.
The mother-plant was aware that, bizarre as it might seem, the Karres humans were deeply attached to individuals. It knew that the part of the plant once called Pausert was of value to them. And they were now within hailing distance.
"The communicators are signaling a pickup," said the Leewit, pointing at the blinking LED on the control panel.
"Let's hear what they have to say." Sedmon opened the channel.
"Karres ship come in for
Venture 7333
."
Goth recognized the curiously atonal voice. "Marshi. Also known as Tchab, I suspect. Wonder what wig she's wearing now?"
"We may as well see if she is allowing visual transmissions," said Sedmon. "I do not wish to be seen, however. It is possible that they would recognize the Daal of Uldune."
"Reckon she can see me," said Goth. "Seeing as she has been circulating pictures of me."
"I would be very afraid if I was her," said Sedmon with a slight smile.
But it appeared that Marshi was no more afraid than she was surprised, or concerned, that the crew of the ship following her should see that she was entirely hairless. "I have here a prisoner of considerable value to you. I need your cooperation if you wish me to spare his life." Pausert stepped into vision.
"What do you want?" asked Goth. "You are in no position to bargain. We have sufficient speed and firepower to blow you apart. Give us the prisoner and we'll let you go. Give you a head start of half a lightyear. You will get away alive. If we don't get him, you won't."
"We are uninterested in escape," said Marshi, uncompromisingly. "We have the purpose. If we cannot fulfill the purpose then it is best to die, along with the prisoner. And without your cooperation we cannot succeed in our purpose."
"What is it that you want from us? We need Captain Pausert's safe return assured before we are prepared to negotiate."
"We need you to come and take us through the Illtraming ships to our destination," said Marshi. "You have achieved this before by means of your klatha powers. Do this and we will release the prisoner and you."
She seemed to know quite a bit about both Karres and klatha, thought Goth. That was bad and worrying. She must have been able to access Captain Pausert's memories. But he was just as capable of using the Sheewash drive as they were.
Or was he? She remembered the story of how Mebeckey had got himself trapped in the store—unable to use his lock-picking skills to get himself out. So . . . the captain could not do the Sheewash drive for her—which implied that if the plant took over either her or the Leewit, neither of them would be able to, either.
"We know that you have the captain under some kind of control. Let him out and he can operate the drive for you."
"That will not be possible," said Marshi. "A lever of some kind would be necessary to make him cooperate. I have him as a lever to make you cooperate. You will come across to the
Venture
in a lifecraft. I will not place you under my control because you will not be able to operate your drive then."
Sedmon snapped the communicator off. "I can't let you do this," he said, keeping his voice very calm and even, pointing a stunner at her. "She has no intention of honoring her promise and anyway . . . he's hopelessly addicted now, Goth. And we cannot let her get away. We cannot have her succeed and breed."
"I know all of that, Sedmon," said Goth calmly. "I also know that I 'ported the charge out of that stunner. And what you don't know is that we have a few tools in our arsenal as Karres witches that you don't know about. For a start, if need be, unless I am unconscious, I could destroy myself, and in the process it'd take the
Venture
with me. For a second thing, we have a way of crossing space that doesn't require using a ship. Getting there . . . would leave us vulnerable for a few minutes. But it doesn't take very long to set things up to leave, even without a ship. If I can get into the
Venture
, I can get us out."
"By the Egger Route," said Sedmon. "I have some idea what you're talking about from Vezzarn. But, Goth . . . that still doesn't deal with his addiction."
"I think I can deal with that," said the Leewit. "Which is why I'm going with you, Goth. And no, you can't stop me either, Sedmon. Try and I'll let Ta'zara bounce you around. Or I could whistle at your ship's electronics and bust them up so good that you'll have to come with us, see."
"You do not go without me," said Ta'zara calmly.
"Sedmon, we will not let her get away to breed. Not even if I have to destroy the
Venture
, the captain and us to stop her," said Goth, snapping on the communicator.
"Three of us are coming across," she told Marshi. "And we can only manage to take one ship. The rest will have to stay as hostages."
Hostages? The Karres humans did not understand the mother-plant at all.