Talents, Incorporated Part 14

He ordered the cargo-s.h.i.+p to send as much of its stores as the s.p.a.ce-boat could conveniently carry.

"_Then how about some cigars?_" asked Gwenlyn. She seemed at once amused and approving, because Bors would not indulge himself in a really satisfying meal while his crew lived on far from appetizing emergency foodstuffs.

"No," said Bors. "No cigars either. You said you had some news for me.

What is it?"

"_I brought along our s.h.i.+p-arrival Talent_," said Gwenlyn blandly. "_He can only tell when a s.h.i.+p will arrive at the solar system where he is, so he had to come here to precognize._"

Bors felt again that stubborn incredulity which Talents, Incorporated would always rouse in a mind like his.

"_There'll be a s.h.i.+p arriving here in two days, four hours, sixteen minutes from now_," said Gwenlyn matter-of-factly. "_He thinks it's a fighting s.h.i.+p, though he can't be sure. It could be a cruiser or something like that doing mail duty, coming to deliver orders and receive reports. You can't run an empire without a regular news system, and Mekin wouldn't depend on commercial s.h.i.+ps for government business._"

"Good!" said Bors. "Thanks!"

There was a pause.

"_What will you do now?_"

"Try to raise the devil somewhere else," said Bors. "Try to pick up another food-s.h.i.+p, probably. Maybe I ought to let this s.h.i.+p alone, to carry news of the pirate s.h.i.+p _Isis_ back to Mekin, but-- No. They use b.o.o.by-traps as police devices!"

It was not reasonable, but Bors could not think of missing a Mekinese wars.h.i.+p. The idea of a government using b.o.o.by-traps to enforce its orders somehow put it beyond forgiveness, and with the government all those who served it willingly.

"_You'll go to Garen then?_" asked Gwenlyn.

Bors felt a sharp sting of annoyance. He had carefully kept secret the choice of Garen Three as the next planet to be invaded by the pseudo-pirate s.h.i.+p. It was upsetting to find that Gwenlyn knew about it.

Blast Talents, Incorporated!

"_The dowsing Talent_," said Gwenlyn, "_says there's a battles.h.i.+p aground there. There've been some riots. The people of Garen don't like Mekin, either. Strange? The battles.h.i.+p is to overawe them._"

"How do you know that?" demanded Bors.

"_The Department for Predicting Dirty Tricks was reading old news-reports_," she told him. "_We're leaving now. 'Bye._"

"Goodbye," said Bors, and sighed, not knowing whether he felt regret or relief.

The s.p.a.ce-yacht _Sylva_ flicked out of sight. It had gone into overdrive. Bors realized that he hadn't noticed which way it pointed. He should have taken note. But he shook his head. He gave the cargo-s.h.i.+p detailed orders, receiving its s.p.a.ce-boat and what food it had been able to bring. He sent it off to meet his fleet at Glamis.

He stayed in orbit around the fourth planet to wait for a Mekinese fighting-s.h.i.+p. He began, too, to make long-range plans.

_Part Three_

Chapter 7

The Mekinese s.h.i.+p was a cruiser, and it broke out of overdrive within the Tralee solar system just two days, four hours, and some odd minutes after Gwenlyn predicted its coming. Presumably, it had made the customary earlier breakout to correct its course and measure the distance remaining to be run. In overdrive there was not as yet a way to know accurately one's actual speed, and at astronomical distances small errors piled up. Correction of line was important, too, because a course that was even a second off arc could mount up to hundreds of thousands of miles. But even with that usual previous breakout, the Mekinese cruiser did not turn up conveniently close to its destination. It needed a long solar-system drive to make its planetfall.

Bors's long-range radar picked it up before it was near enough to notify its arrival to the planet--if it intended to notify at all. Most likely its program was simply and frighteningly to appear overhead and arrogantly demand the services of the landing-grid to lower it to the ground.

Bors's radar detected the cruiser and instantly cut itself off. The cry of "_Co-o-ntact!_" went through the s.h.i.+p and all inner doors closed, sealing the s.h.i.+p into sections. Bors was already at the board in the control room. He did not accept the predictions of Talents, Incorporated as absolute truth. It bothered him that such irrational means of securing information should be so accurate. So he compromised in his own mind to the point where, when Talents, Incorporated gave specific information, it was possible; no more. Then, having admitted so much, he acted on the mere possibility, and pretended to be surprised when it turned out to be a fact.

That was the case now. A s.h.i.+p had appeared in this solar system at the time the s.h.i.+p-arrival Talent on the _Sylva_ predicted. Bors scowled, and swung the _Isis_ in line between Tralee and the new arrival. He turned, then, and drove steadily out toward it. The other s.h.i.+p's screens would show a large blip which was the planet, and in direct line a very much smaller blip which was the _Isis_. The small blip might not be noticed because it was in line with the larger. If it were noticed, it would be confusing, because such things should not happen. But the cruisers of Mekin were not apt to be easily alarmed. They represented a great empire, all of whose landing-grids were safely controlled, and though there was disaffection everywhere there was no reason to suspect rebellion at operations in s.p.a.ce.

For a long time nothing happened. The _Isis_ drove to meet the cruiser.

The two vessels should be approaching each other at a rate which was the total of their speeds. Bors punched computer-keys and got the gravitational factor at this distance from Tralee's sun. He set the _Isis's_ solar-system drive to that exact quant.i.ty. He waited.

His own radar was now non-operative. Its first discovery-pulse would have been observed by the Mekinese duty-officer. The fact that it did not repeat would be abnormal. The duty-officer would wonder why it didn't come again.

The astrogation-radar cut off. Then a single strong pulse came. It would be a ranging-pulse. Cargo-s.h.i.+p radars sacrificed high accuracy for wide and deep coverage. But war-vessels carried pulse instruments which could measure distances within feet up to thousands of miles, and by phase-scrambling among the echoes even get some information about the size and shape of the object examined. Not much, but some.

Bors relaxed. Things were going well. When four other ranging-pulses arrived at second intervals, he nodded to himself. This was a wars.h.i.+p's reaction. It could be nothing else. That officer knew that something was coming out from Tralee. It was on approximately a collision course. But a s.h.i.+p traveling under power should gain velocity as long as its drive was on. When traveling outward from the sun and not under power, it should lose velocity by so many feet per second to the sun's gravitational pull. Bors's s.h.i.+p did neither. It displayed the remarkably unlikely characteristic of absolutely steady motion. It was not normal.

It was not possible. It could not have any reasonable explanation, in the mind of a Mekinese.

Which was its purpose. It would arouse professional curiosity on the cruiser, which would then waste some precious time attempting to identify it. There wouldn't be suspicion because it didn't act suspiciously. Still, it couldn't be dismissed, because it didn't behave in any recognizable fas.h.i.+on. The cruiser would want to know more about it; it shouldn't move at a steady velocity going outward from a sun.

In consequence, Bors got in the first shot.

He said, "Fire one!" when the Mekinese would be just about planning to turn their electron-telescope upon it. A missile leaped away from the _Isis_. It went off at an angle, and it curved madly, and the instrumentation of the cruiser could spot it as now there, now here, now nearer, and now nearer still. But the computers could not handle an object which not only changed velocity but changed the rate at which its velocity changed.

Missiles came pouring out of the Mekinese s.h.i.+p. They were infinitesimal, bright specks on the radar-screen. They curved violently in flight trying to intercept the _Isis's_ missile. They failed.

There was a flash of sun-bright flame very, very far away. There was a little cloud of vapor which dissipated swiftly. Then there was nothing but two or three specks moving at random, their target lost, their purpose forgotten. The fact of victory was an anticlimax.

"All clear," said Bors grimly.

The inner-compartment doors opened. The normal sounds of the s.h.i.+p were heard again. Bors began to calculate the data needed for the journey to Garen. There was the angle and the distance and the proper motions and the time elapsed.... He found it difficult to think in such terms. He was discontented. He'd ambushed a Mekinese cruiser. True, he'd let his own s.h.i.+p be seen, and the Mekinese had warning enough to launch missiles in their own defense. It was not even faintly like the ambush of a cruiser on the bottom of a Kandarian sea, waiting to a.s.sa.s.sinate a fleet when its complement went on board. But Bors didn't like what he'd just done.

The figures wouldn't come out right. Impatiently, he sent for Logan. The mathematical Talent came into the control room.

"Will you calculate this for me?" Bors asked irritably.

Logan glanced casually at the figures and wrote down the answer.

Instantly. Without thought or reflection. Instantly!

Bors couldn't quite believe it. The distance between the two stars was a rounded-off number, of course. The relative proper motion of the two stars had a large plus-or-minus b.u.g.g.e.r factor. The time-lapse due to distance had a presumed correction and there was a considerable probable error in the speed of translation of the s.h.i.+p during overdrive. It was a moderately complicated equation, and the computation of the probable error was especially tricky. Bors stared at it, and then stared at Logan.

"That's the answer to what you have written there," said Logan condescendingly, "but your figures are off. I've been talking to your computer men. They've given me the log figures on past overdrive jumps and the observed errors on arrival. They're systematic. I noticed it at once."

Bors said, "What?"

"There's a source of consistent error," Logan said patiently. "I found the values to correct it, then I found the source. It's in your overdrive speed."

Bors blinked. Speed in overdrive could not be computed exactly. The approximation was very close--within a fraction of a tenth of one per cent--but when the distance traveled was light-years the uncertainty piled up.