Chapter 27

The Devagas, said Lyad, while not too happy with their ally’s increasingly independent attitude, were more anxious than ever to see the alliance progress to the working stage. As an indication of its potential usefulness, the monster had provided them with a variety of working plasmoid robots, built to their own specifications.

“What kind of specifications?” Trigger inquired.

Lyad hadn’t learned in detail, but some of the robots appeared to have demonstrated rather alarming possibilities. Those possibilities, however, were precisely what intrigued the hierarchy most.

Mantelish smacked his lips thoughtfully and shook his head. “Not good!” he said. “Not at all good! I’m beginning to think--” He paused a moment. “Go on, Lyad.”

The hierarchy was now giving renewed consideration to a curious request the plasmoid had made almost as soon as Balmordan became capable of understanding it. The request had been to find and destroy plasmoid 113-A.

The Ermetyne’s amber eyes switched to Trigger. “Shall I?” she asked.

Trigger nodded.

And a specific human being. The Devagas already had established that this human being must be Trigger Argee.

“What?“ Mantelish’s thick white eyebrows shot up. “113-A we can understand--it is afraid of being in some way brought back under control. But why Trigger?”

“Because,” Lyad said carefully, “112 was aware that 113-A intended to condition Trigger into being its interpreter.”

Professor Mantelish’s jaw dropped. He swung his head toward Trigger. “Is that true?”

She nodded. “It’s true, all right. We’ve been working on it, but we haven’t got too far along. Tell you later. Go ahead, Lyad.”

The Devagas, naturally, hadn’t acted on the king plasmoid’s naive suggestion. Whatever it feared was more than likely to be very useful to them. Instead they made preparations to bring both 113-A and Trigger Argee into their possession. They would then have a new, strong bargaining point in their dealings with their dubious partner. But they discovered promptly that neither Trigger nor 113-A were at all easy to come by.

Balmordan now suggested a modification of tactics. The hierarchy had seen to it that a number of interpreters were available for 112; Balmordan in consequence had lost much of his early importance and was anxious to regain it. His proposal was that all efforts should be directed at obtaining 113-A. Once it was obtained, he himself would volunteer to become its first interpreter. Trigger Argee, because of the information she might reveal to others, should be destroyed--a far simpler operation than attempting to take her alive.

This was agreed to; and Balmordan was authorized to carry out both operations.

Mantelish had begun shaking his head again. “No!” he said suddenly and loudly. He looked at Lyad, then at Trigger. “Trigger!” he said.

“Yes?” said Trigger.

“Take that deceitful woman to her cabin,” Mantelish ordered. “Lock her up. I have something to say to the Commissioner.”

Trigger arose. “All right,” she said. “Come on, Lyad.”

The two of them left the lounge. Mantelish stood up and went over to the Commissioner. He grasped the Commissioner’s jacket lapels.

“Holati, old friend!” he began emotionally.

“What is it, old friend?” the Commissioner inquired.

“What I have to say,” Mantelish rumbled, “will shock you. Profoundly.”

“No!” exclaimed the Commissioner.

“Yes,” said Mantelish. “That plasmoid 112--it has, of course, an almost inestimable potential value to civilization.”

“Of course,” the Commissioner agreed.

“But it also,” said Mantelish, “represents a quite intolerable threat to civilization.”

“Mantelish!” cried the Commissioner.

“It does. You don’t comprehend these matters as I do. Holati, that plasmoid must be destroyed! Secretly, if possible. And by us!”

“Mantelish!” gasped the Commissioner. “You can’t be serious!”

“I am.”

“Well,” said Commissioner Tate, “sit down. I’m open to suggestions.” Space-armor drill hadn’t been featured much in the Colonial School’s crowded curriculum. But the Commissioner broke out one of the ship’s two heavy-duty suits; and when Trigger wasn’t at the controls, eating, sleeping, or taking care of the ship’s housekeeping with Lyad and Mantelish, she drilled.

She wasn’t at the controls too often. When she was, they had to surface and proceed in normal space. But Lyad, not too surprisingly, turned out to be a qualified subspace pilot. Even less surprisingly, she already had made a careful study of the ship’s controls. After a few hours of instruction, she went on shift with the Commissioner along the less rugged stretches. In this area, none of the stretches were smooth.

When not on duty, Lyad lay on her bunk and brooded.

Mantelish tried to be useful.

Repulsive might have been brooding too. He didn’t make himself noticeable.

Time passed. The stretches got rougher. The last ten hours, the Commissioner didn’t stir out of the control seat. Lyad had been locked in her cabin again as the critical period approached. In normal space, the substation should have been in clear detector range by now. Here, the detectors gave occasional blurry, uncertain indications that somewhere in the swirling energies about them might be something more solidly material. It was like creeping through jungle thickets towards the point where a dangerous quarry lurked.

They eased down on the coordinate points. They came sliding out between two monstrous twisters. The detectors leaped to life.

“Ship!” said the Commissioner. He swore. “Frigate class,” he said an instant later. He turned his head toward Trigger. “Get Lyad! They’re in communication range. We’ll let her communicate.”

Trigger, heart hammering, ran to get Lyad. The Commissioner had the short-range communicator on when they came hurrying back to the control room together.

“That the Aurora?” he asked.