Wildeblood's Empire Read online

  “James Wildeblood was a biologist,” said Conrad. “He must have been personally interested in contact with the aliens. He must have been aware of the significance of contact.”

  “And yet,” I said, “he had it built into the law that there should be no interference.... Alice told me that the other night. Perhaps he was trying to protect the salamen from his descendants.”

  “He doesn’t seem to have been concerned with protecting anything else from his descendants,” Conrad pointed out.

  “Perhaps it’s precisely because he was a biologist that he made this particular exception,” I suggested.

  Once again we were back to the question: What kind of a man was Wildeblood?

  It wasn’t difficult to understand why he’d never made any attempt personally to open communications with the salamen. He’d had plenty to occupy his time without that. The same went for the whole colony, they had a world to build. But now, with a small but apparently not overworked aristocracy running a colony that was more than sustaining itself...why not? Simply because their thoughts hadn’t turned that way, it seemed. And why not? Because James Wildeblood had put nothing in his scheme that would encourage thoughts to turn that way. In all likelihood ninety-nine people out of a hundred didn’t even know that the salamen existed, or care.

  Eventually, I said: “It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just something that was left aside.”

  “It would be a terrible tragedy,” said Conrad, “if we were expelled from this world now. Quite apart from the fact that we’ll have missed an opportunity...have you thought about what might happen when the colonists do rediscover the salamen? Especially if the Wildeblood oligarchy is still in power. They could be ripe for exploitation—colonialism in the ancient sense.”

  “It had occurred to me,” I admitted. And maybe, my thought ran on, that’s why James Wildeblood didn’t draw attention to the existence of intelligent natives here, but allowed—or encouraged—the fact to be forgotten. Maybe he did know a very great deal about the significance of human contact with aliens...in the wrong circumstances. I didn’t find it hard to believe that James Wildeblood might have had far more conscience when it came to dealing with aliens than he had when it was a matter of dealing with fellow humans.

  “You have to fight,” said Conrad. “You and Nathan. It’s up to you to keep us here. You must.”

  “We’re doing our best,” I said. “We can’t do more. As soon as Nathan wakes up it’s once more into the breach, and only time will tell whether or not we’ve blown the whole thing.”

  I signed off.

  I went back to find out whether Nathan had overcome the reaction against the stimulant I’d given him earlier. He hadn’t, quite. He was awake, but he was still lying flat out on his bunk. I made as if to leave again, but he stopped me before I could open the door.

  “About what I said earlier, Alex,” he said. “I’m sorry. I ran away with myself. It was the after-effects coming on. Not just the drug...the fight. I was pretty tight about it, you know.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “I didn’t mean it,” he said, making sure. I didn’t know quite how to take it. Looked at uncharitably, the more in control of himself he was, the more likely he was to be lying. He’d meant what he said...then. But now he was taking time out to apologize, which was fair.

  “Did you ever hear the old saw about the mechanic and the dent?” I asked.

  “Probably,” he said. “But go ahead.”

  “Guy with a new car bumps it while he’s parking. The wing’s fancy aluminum, no tensile strength to speak of...it isn’t much of a bump but it leaves a big dent...very unsightly. So he takes it to the mechanic, who looks at the dent for a couple of minutes, sizing it up from six different angles. Then he bends down and thumps the wing further along with the heel of his hand. The dent springs back out, leaving the wing good as new. The mechanic says: ‘That’s ten dollars,’ and the owner says: ‘How the hell do you figure that? All you did was hit the damn thing with your hand.’ So the mechanic makes out an itemized account. It says: One tap with hand, two cents; knowing where to tap, nine dollars ninety-eight. See?”

  It was an old story. It had probably been around in the days of the model T.

  Nathan didn’t take long to catch on.

  “What you’re saying,” he said. “is that this colony has succeeded not because Wildeblood was a dictator but because he was an ecologist. It wasn’t the way he went about it that mattered, just the fact that he knew what needed to be done.”

  “It’s worth considering,” I said.

  “So every colony should have an ecologist in charge?”

  “An ecologist of Wildeblood’s caliber.”

  “Do you believe that? Is that the reason this colony came off, in your mind?”

  “What has belief got to do with it?” I asked, with heavy irony. “What matters is the story we give to the UN. That could be mine. I might stick to it. How about you?”

  He grinned. “I’ll think it over,” he promised. “I think I feel better now. Does our carriage await?”

  “There’s one at the cottage,” I said. “I’ll signal them.”

  I went out to do just that.

  The carriage provided for our use this time was a rather different affair from the one that had been ambushed the night before. It had four wheels, two horses and seated six. Sitting beside the driver, on the elevated section at the front, was a man with a rifle. Neither Elkanah nor Miranda was on duty—both for fairly obvious reasons. Neither the servant that was driving nor the guard had much in the line of conversation, and so the drive passed without much to enliven the time.

  Supper at the house was a less than merry meal. There were, if I counted right, thirteen at table, but I don’t think that had a lot to do with it. Zarnecki was there, at Philip’s right hand, looking very much in control of himself and the situation. I was seated between an old lady and Cade, as I had been for most meals. We’d discovered weeks ago that we didn’t have anything in common. There was nothing in the air to mark the supper apart from others we’d enjoyed (if that’s the right word) at the same table. The daggers might be drawn but they were kept very much out of sight. Under the tablecloth, I supposed.

  All through the evening, in fact, the facade was maintained, although it took effort on my part and, in all probability, even more effort on the part of Zarnecki. Only Nathan had the equipment ready on hand to oil his way through the maze of potential thorns. He was charming to Alice and respectful to Philip, and it seemed to me that he was a prime candidate for another seduction charge.

  I was glad enough to get up to my room and lie down for a while preparatory to my scheduled dead-of-night adventure. It was getting to be a habit.

  I followed exactly the same procedure as I had on the earlier occasion, waiting until I was reasonably sure that the household was as still as it was going to be, and then tiptoeing through the corridors to the back stairs. I made for the same door, and everything went perfectly...until I reached it.

  It was locked. And someone had taken care to remove the key. Extra security precautions seemed to be in force—or perhaps I had just been lucky the first time.

  I cursed silently, and made my way back to the main part of the house. But there I found the hail still lighted, and I already knew that the heavy bolts on the front door would take some drawing. Opening the massive thing without undue noise would be one hell of a trick.

  After a couple of minutes’ thought I decided that my best bet lay not in the main section at all, but out in the desolate quiet of the west wing. There might not be any unlocked doors there—none that I could locate, anyhow—but I was pretty sure I could find the museum gallery even in the dark. And it wouldn’t matter if I fumbled a bit, because no one was likely to see or hear. There were plenty of windows in that gallery.

  And so I proceeded to feel my way through the darkened corridors, taking my time, and feeling quite relaxed. I located the door of the hail where
James Wildeblood had established his collection, and opened it carefully. The noise it made seemed loud and penetrating to me, but I slipped inside and stood perfectly still, ears straining to catch the faintest sound that might signal pursuit. There was nothing.

  I worked my way along the wall, testing the windows as I came to them. Alternate ones were built to open, but the first two I tried were firmly stuck. The third one, however, gave as I tugged, and slid up with no more than the merest groan. I swing myself over the sill, and began to let the window down behind me. Then, as an afterthought, I picked up a pebble and used it to wedge the window, preventing it from closing fully. The crack that remained was not obvious but I could get my fingers into it. I would have no trouble getting back in again.

  I moved along the inner wall of the west wing, toward the open edge of the courtyard. When I reached the end of the building I crouched down and breathed deeply for a few minutes while I measured the open expanse of lawn that separated me from the railing. It was a starry night and my eyes were well used to the dark by now. I wouldn’t need a flashlight—which was perhaps as well, in view of the fact that the man I was going to meet had mine already in his possession.

  I decided that I didn’t like the look of the open space. Everything seemed quiet, but if there was a guard anywhere he would likely be at the gate, and while I crossed the lawn I would be visible.

  Instead, I worked my way around to the other side—the outer wall—of the wing, intending to use the cover of the gardens and outhouses at the back. All went well until I cut away from the shadow of the house and sprinted for the nearest of the outbuildings. Somewhere ahead of me a dog began to bark.

  I turned, instantly, and began to run away from the sound. I had covered twenty yards or so when I heard a voice, and a light showed as a door was opened somewhere in the cluster of huts and barns. I threw myself flat. There was hardly any cover—I was in grass that was none-too-long, some distance from the nearest tree. But they were coming out of a lighted room...they wouldn’t pick me out if I didn’t move.

  But that wasn’t the danger.

  The barking started up again—and this time it was coming closer. They had released the dog.

  I got up and sprinted for the nearest section of iron rail. But I hadn’t a chance. I had well over a hundred yards to cover and I had barely a couple of seconds start on the dog. It caught up with me in the open and dived for my heels. I spun and stumbled, and then could do nothing except protect my face from the dog. It darted in and out, snarling and yapping, but it didn’t try to tear me to bits. It had done its job. It didn’t have to bite and hadn’t been trained to.

  A couple of minutes passed while they caught up. It seemed like a long time. I was grateful when it ended and the handler silenced the dog with a couple of blows with the end of its leash. Then there was another pause while someone brought up a light. I didn’t try anything There were three of them and they still had the dog. I just came slowly to my feet, moving very carefully.

  By the time the lantern came I had decided that my only way out was a strong piece of bluff.

  “What the hell is going on?” I demanded. “Philip will have your hides for this! Setting the dogs on his guests, by God...!”

  It didn’t sound convincing, even to me. And when the light arrived and I saw who was coming after it my heart sank. The lantern was being carried by the blond servant who’d followed me a couple of days back, and with him was Zarnecki—fully dressed and obviously not recently risen from his bed.

  “Out walking, Mr. Alexander?” he asked.

  “Of course I was,” I replied, trying to make it sound like a perfectly natural thing to be doing. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “You know better than to wander about after dark,” he said. “There are thieves about, remember?”

  “I wasn’t going outside the grounds,” I lied, valiantly. “I thought I’d be safe here. I didn’t realize that you had dog patrols and machine-gun emplacements.”

  The scorn and sarcasm bounced off.

  “Had you told us that you wanted to take a stroll,” he murmured, with mock courtesy, “we would have made arrangements. As it was, you see, the very precautions undertaken for your protection....”

  He left the sentence hanging.

  “I notice you haven’t been sleeping yourself,” I countered. “Maybe it’s the change in the weather?”

  “Perhaps it is,” he said. “But I wasn’t intending to sleep tonight. I thought that if the occasion arose I might like to do a little hunting.”

  “And has it?” I asked.

  “I think so,” he said. Then, to one of the servants who had come out after the dog, he said: “Rouse the rest of the men. Get the dogs out. Shielded lanterns. Send a runner to the gendarmerie and tell Beloff to get his men in position. You cover the dunes. Cade and the farmers’ men will look after the fields to the east and north. I’ll take the cemetery and the woods with the larger pack of dogs.”

  He turned back to me then.

  “I think we may catch our thieves,” he said.

  “I hope you’re not going to this trouble on my account,” I said.

  The dog was being led away now, and the servants were retiring with it at the double. Only Zarnecki and the blond man remained. I knew I could outrun Zarnecki, but there seemed to be no point now. I couldn’t get to the cemetery in time to warn the man with the big nose, and there was still a chance I could brazen it out with Zarnecki.

  But Zarnecki took the lantern then.

  “Search him,” he said, briefly.

  The blond youth made a move toward my pockets. I dropped my hands and backed away slightly.

  “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” I demanded.

  “I want to see what you have in your pockets,” Zarnecki replied, calmly.

  In all probability, he didn’t know what he was looking for. But I had only one thing in my pockets, and that was one thing I didn’t want him to find.

  “You can’t do this,” I said, feeling the absurd falseness of the line so bitterly that I left the last two words out.

  He shrugged. “Let’s go back to the house, then,” he said. “And we’ll find out then what we can do and what we can’t.”

  I knew I was on to a loser. In circumstances such as these, no appeal to Philip could possibly succeed, even if Zarnecki was on the brink of falling out of favor. I reached into my pocket and produced the folded piece of paper.

  “All I have is this,” I said, calmly.

  He fumbled it open with one hand, holding the lantern aloft with the other.

  “Where did you get this?” he demanded, when he had looked at it. His voice was firm and confident.

  “It’s a copy of the one Miranda gave to Nathan,” I said. “I think you know that very well.”

  It didn’t come off.

  “This is paper from our factory, Mr. Alexander,” he said. “Isn’t it strange that you should make your copies on our paper?”

  “Hardly,” I said. “We don’t carry vast stocks aboard the Daedalus. Every gram counts. Naturally—we took steps to procure some of your paper.”

  He didn’t bother to ask who had given it to us. He had already decided not to believe me. He hadn’t the time to waste in proving that I wasn’t innocent.

  “Go back to your room, Mr. Alexander,” he said. “I have work to do. But stay there. We’ll be wanting you again. There’s nowhere you can run to.”

  I shrugged. “If that’s what you want,” I said. “But you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

  Stick with it to the bitter end, I thought.

  Unfortunately, I had a feeling that the bitter end was only just around the corner.

  It’s up to you, Cyrano, I muttered under my breath. Somehow, you have to get away.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  But he didn’t get away.

  I knew he hadn’t when they came back to my room, half an hour or so after dawn.

  I’d watched th
e dawn from the windows of my room. I hadn’t been able to sleep. I’d seen the dregs of the search parties begin to trickle in after their hard night’s work: Men, dogs, horses, all looking tired. There were a lot of them. I hadn’t realized what kind of an operation Zarnecki had planned. It occurred to me that he’d have looked a bit of a fool if nothing had happened. Maybe this was his way of redeeming himself for the dueling fiasco. Maybe it had been something of a desperate play on his behalf.

  I hated myself for having helped him bring it off.

  He came into my room with Cade and Elkanah. The blond youth, who had been sitting outside the door all night, hovered in the background.

  He looked me over. I was still dressed: I guess I looked a little rumpled after my little short-circuited adventure. He still looked very composed, and quite neat. A night’s arduous hunting seemed to have made little or no impression on him. But he was wearing an attitude of triumph that gave him a lot of help.

  “You’re under arrest, Mr. Alexander,” he said.

  “Where’s Philip?” I demanded.

  “Philip’s asleep,” replied Zarnecki. “There really is no point in waking him.”

  “In that case,” I said, “I want to see Nathan.”

  “He can visit you in jail,” Zarnecki promised. His tone was aggressive, even insulting. He thought he had me exactly where he wanted me. I was afraid that he might be right.

  “What’s the charge?” I asked, harshly. “And where’s your evidence?”

  He was ready for those questions all right.

  “Treasonous conspiracy,” he said. “And as for evidence, we have a copy of a coded message with the first few numbers missing...the numbers which were written on the piece of paper you had, apparently in the same handwriting. And we have a torch and a wristwatch. All these things were found in the possession of a man we caught on the hill on the far side of the cemetery. He had, it seems, been waiting for someone to meet him. And you, Mr. Alexander, appeared to be going somewhere tonight when we interrupted you.”