“It’s no use, Nick. We can’t make it. We’ll be murdered. And if we do get by, what’ll we find? A thing that builds killing engines. Let’s go back, We can go back the way we came. Can’t we? And have a little, little while alive together—”

  “Ordinarily I’d agree with you, dear. But I think I see the truth. The way the bishop behaved. Didn’t you notice?”

  “Bishop?”

  “Consider. Like the knight, I’m sure, the bishop attacks when the square he’s on is invaded. I daresay the result of a move on this board depends on the outcome of the battle that follows it. However, a bishop can only proceed offensively along a diagonal. And the pieces are only programmed to fight one other piece at a time—of certain kinds, at that.” Flandry stared ahead toward his destination, still hidden by the horizon. “I imagine the androids are the pawns. I wonder why. Maybe because they’re the most numerous pieces and the computer was lonely for mankind?”

  “Computer?” She huddled against him.

  “Has to be. Nothing else could have made this. It used the engineering facilities it had, possibly built some additional manufacturing plant. It didn’t bother coloring the squares or the pieces, knowing quite well which was which. That’s why I didn’t see at once we’re actually on a giant chessboard.” Flandry all of a sudden grimaced. “If I finally hadn’t—we’d have quit, returned and died. Come on.” He urged her forward.

  “We can’t go farther,” she pleaded. “We will be set upon.”

  “Not if we study the layout,” he said, “and travel on the squares that nobody can currently enter.”

  After a while he went on. “My guess is the computer split its attention into several parts. One or more parts to track the wild robots. And two other parts set up to be nothing less than rival chessmasters. That could be why it hasn’t noticed something strange is happening today. I wonder if it can notice the unusual any longer without being nudged.”

  He never got an answer to that, being first too concentrated on threading his way and afterward too busy to ask. He zigzagged off the board with Djana onto the blessed safe, unmarked part of the land, and walked around the boundary. En route he saw a robot that had to be a king. It loomed four meters tall in the form of a man who wore the indoor dress of centuries ago, goldplated and crowned with clustered diamonds. It bore no weapons. He learned later that it captured by divine right.

  They reached the ancient buildings. The worker machines that scuttled about had kept them in good repair. Flandry stopped before the main structure. He tuned his radio to standard frequency.

  “At this range,” he said to that which was within, “you’ve got to have some receiver that’ll pick up my transmission. What do you say?”

  Code clicked and gibbered in his earplugs. And then slowly, rustily, but gathering sureness as the words advanced, like the voice of one who rouses from a heavy sleep: “Is…it…you? A man…finally returned? No, two men, I detect—”

  “More or less,” Flandry said.

  “Enter…the airlock. Remove your spacesuits inside: It is Earth-conditioned, with…furnished chambers. Inspection reveals a supply of undeteriorated food and drink. I hope you will find things in proper order. Some derangements are possible.”

  -9-

  Flandry and Djana had scant chance to talk until they were again in space, completing the rounds that would end back on Irumclaw. She had spent most of the interval in bed, waited on by robots while she recovered. He, bouncing back sooner, had been preoccupied with setting matters on the moon to rights and supervising the repair of Jake. The latter job was complicated by the requirement that no clue remain to what had really taken place. He didn’t want his superiors disbelieving his entries in the log, concerning a malfunction of the hyperdrive oscillator which it had taken him three weeks to fix.

  Stark Wayland fell aft at last. Flandry patted Djana’s hand. “Mission accomplished,” he said. “I shall expect you to show your gratitude while we return in the ways you know best.”

  “Well-l-l,” she purred. After a minute: “How did you know?”

  “Hm?”

  “I don’t yet understand what the matter was. You tried to explain but I was too dazed.”

  “It’s simple enough,” he said entirely willing to parade his cleverness anew. “Once I saw we were caught in a chess game everything else fell into place. For instance, I remembered those radio masts being erected in the wilds. An impossible job unless the construction robots were free from attack. Therefore, it seemed that the ferocity of the free-ranging machines was limited to their own kind. Another game, you see, with more potentialities and less predictability than chess, even the kind of chess-cum-combat that had been developed after the regular sort got boring. New types of killer were produced at intervals and sent forth to see how they’d do against the older sorts. Our boat—and then later even we ourselves—were naturally taken for such. The robots weren’t supplied with information about humans and line-of-sight radio often had them out of touch with the big computer.”

  “But we tried to call —”

  “You mean from the peak of Mt. Maidens? Well, obviously none of the robots would be able to recognize our signal, on the band they used. And that part of the computer’s attention which always ‘listened in’ on the escapades of its children simply filtered out my voice, the way you or I can fail to hear sounds when we’re busy with something else. With so much natural static around, that’s not surprising. Those masts were constructed strictly as relays for the robots—for the high-frequency band which carried the digital transmissions—so that’s why they didn’t buck on my calls on any other band. The computer always did keep a small part of itself alert for a voice call on standard frequencies. But then it assumed that, if and when humans came back, they would descend straight from the zenith and land near the buildings as they used to. It didn’t make arrangements to detect people —radio from any other direction.”

  Flandry puffed. Smoke curled across the view screen.

  “Maybe it should have done so—at least in theory,” he said. “However, after all those centuries the poor thing was more than a little bonkers. Actually what it did—first establish that chess game, then modify it, then extend the range and variety of fights farther and farther across the moon—that was done to save most of its sanity.”

  “What?”

  “Why, sure,” Flandry said. “A thinking capability like that, with nothing but routine to handle, no new input, decade after decade—” He shivered. “You must know what sensory deprivation does to organic sophonts. Our computer could rescue itself by creating something complicated and unpredictable to watch.” He paused before adding slyly: “I refrain from suggesting analogies to the Creator you believe in.”

  He regretted it when she bridled and snapped, “We’ll want a full report on how you influenced the situation.”

  “Oh, for the best, for the best,” he said. “Not that that was hard. The moment I woke up the White King, the world he’d been dreaming of came to an end.” His metaphor went over her head, so he merely continued: “The computer’s pathetically eager to convert back to the original style of operations. Brother Ammon will find a fortune in metals waiting for his first ship. I do think you are morally obliged to recommend me highly for a very substantial bonus—which he is morally obliged to pay.”

  “Morally?” The bitterness of a life which had never allowed her a chance to consider such matters whipped forth. “Who are you to blat about morals, Dominic Flandry, who took an oath to serve the Empire and a bribe to serve Leon Ammon?”

  Stung, he threw back: “What else could I do?”

  “Refuse.” Her mood softened. She shook her head, smiled a sad smile and squeezed his hand. “No, never mind. That would be too much to expect of anyone nowadays. Let’s be corrupt together, Nick, darling, and kind to each other till we have to say goodbye.”

  He looked long at her and at the stars, where his gaze remained, before he said quietly, “I suppose I can tell you what I’ve had in mind. I’ll take the pay because I can use it—also the risk of being found out and broken. It seems worth that to hold a frontier.”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “Irumclaw was due to be abandoned,” he said. “Everybody knows—knew—that. Which made the prophecy self-fulfilling. The garrison turned incompetent. The able civilians withdrew, taking their capital with them. Defensibility and economic values spiraled down toward the point where it really wouldn’t be worth our rational while to stay. In the end the Empire would let Irumclaw go. And without this anchor point, it would have to pull the whole frontier parsecs back—and Merseia and the Long Night would draw closer.” He sighed. “Leon Ammon is evil and contemptible,” he went on. “Under different circumstances I’d propose we gut him with a butterknife. But he does have energy, determination, even courage and foresight of sorts.

  “I went to his office to learn his intentions. When he told me, I went along because—well—

  “If the Imperial bureaucrats were offered Wayland they surely wouldn’t know what to do with it. Probably they’d stamp its existence secret to avoid making any decisions or laying out any extra effort. If nothing else, a prize like that would make conciliation and consolidation a wee bit difficult, eh? Ammon, though —he’s got a personal profit to harvest. He’ll go in to stay. His enterprise will be a human one. He’ll make it pay off so well—he’ll get so much economic and thereby political leverage from it—that he can force the government to protect his interests. Which means standing fast on Irumclaw. Which means holding this border and even extending control a ways outward.

  “In short,” finished Dominic Flandry, “as the proverb phrases it—he may be a son of a bitch but he’s our son of a bitch.”

  He stubbed out his smoke with a violent gesture and turned back to the girl, more in search of forgetfulness than anything else.

  In Hoka Signo Vinces

  “Snort!” snorted Alexander Jones.

  “What, dear?” inquired Tanni.

  “It’s those Pornians,” he grumbled from behind the newsfax sheet he was holding, still damp off the subspace receiver. “They’ve finished building that battleship, and now they’re putting her into space.”

  “How awful!” said Tanni musically.

  Alex lowered the newssheet and gazed fondly at her blonde beauty. He could never quite get over the exaltation of being married to her. And when in addition, he—still a very young man, only a few months ago a mere ensign in Survey—was made plenipotentiary, with the rank and pay of an ambassador, it was not even a very believable situation.

  So far his duties had been light: to reside here in the coastal city-state Mixumaxu, introducing the natives gradually to modern technology, leading them toward the eventual formation of their own world government, and so on. Of course, as the Terrestrial cultural mission expanded their activities and brought more of the planet under his supervision, the work would increase; already there were a fiendish lot of reports to file. And even ambassadorial quarters on a new planet were not quite the ideal home for a recent bride, and the Hokas were—well—a little odd, to say the least. But it could have been a lot worse, too. Mixumaxu was fairly civilized, and had a delightful climate. The Hokas, far from chafing at their subordinate status, were falling all over themselves to be friendly and helpful and…yes, their only fault was that excessive enthusiasm, too much imagination, too much tendency to go hog-wild over any new concept, too little ability to distinguish fiction from fact—

  “I think that’s terrible,” said Tanni indignantly. “You’d think the other planetary governments would get together and stop them.”

  “What?” asked Alex, jerked back from his musings.

  “Those Pornians and their space dreadnaught.”

  “Oh, that!” said Alex. “Well, you see, the trouble is, after the last war all the civilized races agreed to complete disarmament except for small interplanetary police forces. There’s no military to speak of anywhere in the known parts of the galaxy, and the taxpayers wouldn’t stand for any. Damn fool thing, too—” Alex started to fume again. “We need some kind of interstellar police to stop fanatic racialists like those Pornians from building weapons. Why, something like this ship could spoil a hundred years of peace and goodwill, start an armaments race and wreck the League—” He got to his feet. “Where’s the subspace video? I want to see what Earth Headquarters has to say in today’s bulletins.”

  The newsfax was sent from a local bureau a mere fifty light-years away; only by straining his ambassa­dorial salary could Alex afford a receiver for programs sent all the way from Earth.

  “I put it on the porch, dear,” said Tanni. “That program the Hokas like so much—you know, Tom Bracken of the Space Patrol—it was on and they came to see it like they do every day.”

  Alex frowned at her. “I hope you didn’t leave the circuits open, honey,” he said. “You know the Hokas aren’t supposed to have contact with anything too modern at this stage of their development.”

  “I locked it on that one channel,” she reassured him. “They can only get the children’s programs.” Alex sighed with relief and went out and wheeled in the video. The Hokas were just too blinking inventive, among their other faults. He wished Earth Headquarters hadn’t been so quick about allowing them limited trade rights. A few unscrupulous traders could start furnishing them with stuff they shouldn’t get for the next twenty years.

  He tuned the video to EHQ and sat through an hour of official bulletins. But there was nothing of importance. Pornia was so far from Earth that a lethargic government couldn’t appreciate the danger. But it was within a few light-years of Toka, and Alex was acutely aware of that fact. This was not the first time he had grumbled about the situation, to his wife or even to some of the Hokas. You’d think the human race’s own history would have convinced it that militarism must be nipped in the bud, but—

  He sighed, switched off the set, and yawned. Presently he and Tanni turned out the lights and went to bed.

  Alex was just failing off to sleep when there was small tap on the window. For a moment, he tried drowsily to ignore it, but it came again.

  “Hist,” whispered a Hoka voice through the opening.

  Alex cursed, swiveled his eyes toward Tanni, and saw that she was already asleep. He signaled silence to the bear-like face which pressed its damp black nose the pane. “Just a minute,” he murmured. “I’ll be right out.”

  Growling to himself, he dressed clumsily in the dark and went out on the porch. One moon was up, almost full. In its bright glow he could see two Hokas waiting for him.

  Surprise brought him up short, and his breath hissed between his teeth. Gone were the floppy boots, peak hats, and bell-covered motley of the local folk dress. The two that faced him had adorned their portly bodies with gray tunics, tight whipcord riding breeches, Sam Browne belts, jackboots, and goggled metal helmets. And holstered by the side of each was a—

  “What are you doing with those,” squeaked Alex. His heart tried to climb out of his mouth. “Where’d you get Holman raythrowers?”

  They paid no attention. Solemnly, the larger Hoka saluted.

  “Coordinator Jones,” he said in the English which was rapidly becoming the world language of Toka, “the expedition is ready.”

  “What expedition?” cried Alex. “Look here, Buntu—”

  “Sir,” said the Hoka stiffly, “I am now Captain Jax Bennison of the Space Control, at your service.” He clicked his heels and saluted again.

  “Great jumping rockets!” exclaimed the other Hoka. “Don’t tell me the Coordinator didn’t recognize you?”

  “It’s the moonlight, probably,” said the first Hoka. “All clear and on green now, Coordinator?”

  “I—I—” stammered Alex.

  “Aye, aye!” repeated Jax Bennison crisply. “No time to lose, then. We lift gravs at 2330 hours. Follow us, sir.”

  The Hokas set rapidly off and Alex, his brain spinning, hurried after them. He didn’t understand one part of this—but if it ever got back to Earth that he had allowed Holman raythrowers to get into the hands of aborigines— His brow beaded with cold sweat at the thought.

  The Hokas led the way down narrow, cobbled streets between high-walled houses. The city was quiet, asleep it seemed. But the guards at the old defensive wall saluted and opened the gates for them. “Good hunting, Patrolmen,” said one.

  Outside, there was a broad empty field used for the infrequent spaceship landings. In the moonlight, Alex, saw that more than a hundred Hokas, uniformed like the two of them, were lined up at attention. But it was on the large shape behind them that his staggering mind focused.

  “My courier boat!” he wailed. “What have you done to her?”

  The once sleek shape of the Tanni Girl was now hacked and scarred. Holes had been cut the length of her sides and the muzzles of primitive gunpowder cannon projected beyond the air-seals. Her name had been painted out and the cognomen Fearless replaced it; below were the words Space Patrol Ship Number One and a large white star.

  Alex made three long strides and caught up with Captain Jax Bennison, who was saluting an elderly Hoka recognizable as a town official. But this one was now dressed in a blue tunic, gold braid, cutlass at cocked hat.

  “What’s the idea?” barked Alex hysterically. “My ship—”

  Jax pointed to the ornate shield with the legend Space Patrol that he wore on his breast.

  “Sorry, sir,” he answered, “but you know the rights of the Patrol. Patrolmen may requisition whatever is needed just by showing their badges.”

  “Who said so?” raged Alex.

  “Tom Bracken of the Space Patrol, sir,” said Jax. “He says it every day on the video.”

  Cocked-Hat saluted in his turn. “We knew that you, sir, as Supreme Coordinator, would approve,” he said. “Fleet Admiral Ron Bronz at your command, sir.”

  “The danger is imminent, sir,” added the second Hoka. “The Malevonians are obviously preparing the great push, and yet the Patrol Fleet seems to be elsewhere. We could do nothing but organize our own branch of the Patrol to stop the enemy.” He clicked heels. “Executive Officer Lon Meters at your command, sir.”