know everything about them. Suppose we just keep an eye on them, and then you’ll be ready to tail—”
Raf laughed. “Tailing would be it. I don’t think I’ll have a second invitation and if I get lost—”
But Soriki shook his head. “That you won’t. At least if you do—I’m going to make a homer out of you. Just tune in your helmet buzzer.”
It needed a com-tech to think of a thing like that! A small adjustment to the earphones built into his helmet, and Soriki, operating the flitter com, could give him a guide as efficient as the spacer’s radar! He need not fear being lost in the streets should he lose touch with those he was spying upon.
“You’re on course!” He pulled off his helmet and then glanced up to find Soriki smiling at him.
“Oh, we’re not such a bad collection of space bums. Maybe you’ll find that out someday, boy. They breezed you into this flight right out of training, didn’t they?”
“Just about,” Raf admitted cautiously, on guard as ever against revealing too much of himself. After all, his experience was part of his record, which was open to anyone on board the spacer. Yes, he was not a veteran; they must all know that.
“Someday you’ll lose a little of that suspicion,” the com-tech continued, “and find out it isn’t such a bad old world after all. Here, let’s see if you’re on the beam.” He took the helmet out of Raf’s hands and, drawing a small case of delicate instruments from his belt pouch, unscrewed the ear plates of the com device and made some adjustments. “Now that will keep you on the buzzer without bursting your eardrums. Try it.”
Raf fastened on the helmet and started away from the flitter. The buzzer which he had expected to roar in his ears was only a faint drone, and above it he could easily hear other sounds. Yet it was there, and he tested it by a series of loops away from the flyer. Each time as he came on the true beam he was rewarded by a deepening of the muted note. Yes, he could be a homer with that, and at the same time be alert to any other noise in his vicinity.
“That’s it!” He paid credit where it was due. But he was unable to break his long habit of silence. Something within him still kept him wary of the com-tech’s open friendliness.
None of the aliens approached the flitter as the shadows began to draw in. The procession of moving teams stopped, and most of the burden-bearing warriors withdrew to the globe and stayed there. Soriki pointed this out.
“They’re none too sure, themselves. Look as if they are closing up for the night.”
Indeed it did. The painted men had hauled up their ramp, the hatch in the globe closed with a definite snap. Seeing that, the com-tech laughed.
“We have a double reason for a strict watch. Suppose whatever they’ve been looking for jumps us? They’re not worrying over that it now appears.”
So they took watch and watch, three hours on and three hours in rest. When it came Raf’s turn he did not remain sitting in the flitter, listening to the com-tech’s heavy breathing, but walked a circular beat which took him into the darkness of the night in a path about the flyer. Overhead the stars were sharp and clear, glittering gem points. But in the dead city no light showed, and he was sure that no aliens camped there tonight.
He was sleeping when Soriki’s grasp on his shoulder brought him to that instant alertness he had learned on field maneuvers half the Galaxy away.
“Business,” the com-tech’s voice was not above a whisper as he leaned over the pilot. “I think they are on the move.”
The light was the pale gray of pre-dawn. Raf pulled himself up with caution to look at the globe. The com-tech was right. A dark opening showed on the alien ship; they had released their hatch. He fastened his tunic, buckled on his equipment belt and helmet, strapped his boots.
“Here they come!” Soriki reported. “One—two—five—no, six of them. And they’re heading for the city. No dollies with them, but they’re all armed.”
Together the Terrans watched that patrol of alien warriors, their attitude suggesting that they hoped to pass unseen, hurry toward the city. Then Raf slipped out of the flyer. His dark clothing in this light should render him largely invisible.
Soriki waved encouragingly and the pilot answered with a quick salute before he sped after his quarry.
CHAPTER 13
A Hound Is Loosed
Dalgard’s feet touched gravel; he waded cautiously to the bank, where a bridge across the river made a concealing shadow on the water. None of the mermen had accompanied him this far. Sssuri, as soon as his human comrade had started for the storage city, had turned south to warn and rally the tribes. And the merpeople of the islands had instituted a loose chain of communication, which led from a clump of water reeds some two miles back to the seashore, and so out to the islands. Better than any of the now legendary coms of his Terran forefathers were these minds of the spies in hiding, who could pick up the racing thoughts beamed to them and pass them on to their fellows.
Although there were no signs of life about the city, Dalgard moved with the same care that he would have used in penetrating a snake-devil’s lair. In the first hour of dawn he had contacted a hopper. The small beast had been frightened almost out of coherent thought, and Dalgard had had to spend some time in allaying that terror to get a fractional idea of what might be going on in this countryside.
Death—the hopper’s terror had come close to insanity. Killers had come out of the sky, and they were burning—burning—All living things were fleeing before them. And in that moment Dalgard had been forced to give up his plan for an unseen spy ring, which would depend upon the assistance of the animals. His information must come via his own eyes and ears.
So he kept on, posting the last of the mermen in his mental relay well away from the city, but swimming upstream himself. Now that he was here, he could see no traces of the invaders. Since they could not have landed their sky ships in the thickly built-up section about the river, it must follow that their camp lay on the outskirts of the metropolis.
He pulled himself out of the water. Bow and arrows had been left behind with the last merman; he had only his sword-knife for protection. But he was not there to fight, only to watch and wait. Pressing the excess moisture out of his scant clothing, he crept along the shore. If the strangers were using the streets, it might be well to get above them. Speculatively he eyed the buildings about him as he entered the city.
Dalgard continued to keep at street level for two blocks, darting from doorway to shadowed doorway, alert not only to any sound but to any flicker of thought. He was reasonably sure, however, that the aliens would be watching and seeking only for the merpeople. Though they were not telepathic as their former slaves, Those Others were able to sense the near presence of a merman, so that the sea people dared not communicate while within danger range of the aliens without betraying themselves. It was the fact that he was of a different species, therefore possibly immune to such detection, which had brought Dalgard into the city.
He studied the buildings ahead. Among them was a cone-shaped structure which might have been the base of a tower that had had all stories above the third summarily amputated. It was ornamented with a series of bands in high relief, bands bearing the color script of the aliens. This was the nearest answer to his problem. However the scout did not move toward it until after a long moment of both visual and mental inspection of his surroundings. But that inspection did not reach some twelve streets away
