“The League isn’t going to take this lying down,” he warned.

  “I think the League had better do so,” she retorted. “We are here, in the region, with interior lines of communication. We can strike from space, anywhere. A League warfleet must come across many parsecs. It will find its bases demolished. And it will not know where our home planets are!”

  Falkayn backed off in haste. He didn’t want her in that mood. “You certainly have a tremendous advantage,” he said. “The League can muster forces greater by orders of magnitude—surely you realize that—but the League may well decide that the cost of defeating you would be greater than any possible gain in doing so.”

  “Thus my father calculated before he died. Merchants, who lust for nothing but money, can be cowed. Adelsvolk are different. They live for an ideal, not for economics.”

  I wish you’d had a chance to stick that pretty nose out of your smug, ingrown little kingdom and see what working aristocrats are like, Falkayn thought. Aloud: “Well, now, Jutta, I can’t quite agree. Remember, I’m both a merchant and a nobleman’s son. The psychologies aren’t so unlike. A peer has to be a politician, with everything that that entails, or he’s no good. And a merchant has to be an idealist.”

  “What?” She blinked in startlement. “How?”

  “Why, you don’t think we work for money alone, do you? If that were the object, we’d stay safe and snug at home. No, it’s adventure, new horizons, life’s conquest of inanimate nature—the universe itself, the grandest enemy of all.”

  She frowned, but she was softened. “I do not understand, quite.”

  “Suppose I give you a few examples—”

  Dinner was served in the roof turret, which had a view like being outdoors. By night Vanessa took on beauty. Both moons were aloft, small and swift, turning the land to a fantasy of dim silver and moving shadows. The lake gleamed, the native towers looked like giant blossoms. Overhead the sky was splendid with stars, Beta Centauri the king jewel, its blue radiance matching the moons.

  And glowpanels caressed Jutta’s sun-browned cheeks with their own light; and Beethoven’s Seventh lilted softly from a speaker; and bubbles danced in the champagne glasses. Dinner had made its stately progression from hors d’oeuvres and consommé through fish, roast, and salad, to petits fours and now cheeses. Falkayn had kept the magnum flask busy. Not that either party was drunk—Jutta, alas, had so far kept her wits patriotically about her—but they both felt more than cheerful.

  “Tell me other things,” she urged. “You have had such a wonderful existence, David. Like the hero of an ancient saga—but this is now, which makes it twice as good.”

  “Let me think,” he said, giving her a refill. “Maybe the time I cracked up on a rogue planet?”

  “A what?”

  “Free planet, sunless. More of them floating around in space than there are stars. The smaller the body, you see, the likelier it was to form when the galaxy coalesced. Normally you find them in groups…to be honest, you don’t normally find them, because space is big and they are little and dark. But by sheer chance, on the way from Tau Ceti to 70 Ophiuchi, I—”

  The adventure had, in fact, happened to somebody else. So had most of the stories Falkayn had been relating. But he saw no reason to spoil a good yarn with pedantry.

  Besides, she continued to sip, in an absentminded and unsuspecting way, while he talked.

  “…And finally I replenished my air by boiling and processing frozen gases. And was I glad to leave!”

  “I should think so.” She shivered. “Space is bleak, Lovely, but bleak. I like planets better.” She gazed outward. “The night here is different from home. I don’t know which I like best, Neuheim or Vanessa. After dark, I mean,” she added. “None of the Kraokan worlds are pleasant by day.”

  “None whatsoever? You must have seen quite a variety, with three of them for neighbors.”

  “Five,” she corrected. Her hand went to her mouth. “Lieber Gott! I didn’t mean to tell.”

  He chuckled, though inwardly he thrummed with a new excitement. Judas! Five planets—six, counting Neuheim—in the thermal zone where water was liquid…around one star! “It doesn’t make any practical difference,” he said, “when you’ve evidently found some way to make your whole system invisible. I’d like to know more about you, that’s all, and I can’t unless you tell me something about your home.” He reached across the table and patted her hand. “That’s what gave you your dreams, your hopes—your charm, if I may say so. Neuheim must be a paradise.”

  “No, it is a hard world for humans,” she answered earnestly. “In my own lifetime, we have had to move entire villages toward the poles as the planet swung closer to the sun. Even the Kraoka have their troubles for similar reasons.” She pulled free of his touch. “But I am talking of what I shouldn’t.”

  “Very well, let’s keep to harmless things,” he said. “You mentioned that the nights were different at home. In what way?”

  “Oh…different constellations, of course. Not greatly, but enough to notice. And then, because of the auroras, we never see the stars so clearly as here, from any location. I must not say more. You are far too observing, Davy. Tell me, instead, about your Hermes.” She smiled irresistibly. “I would like to know where your own dreams come from.”

  Nothing loath, Falkayn spoke of mountains, virgin wilderness, plains darkened by horned herds, surfbathing at Thunderstrands—

  “What does that mean, Davy?”

  “Why, bathing in the surf. You know, the waves caused by tidal action.” He decided to disarm her suspicions with a joke. “Now, my poor innocent, you’ve given yourself away again, You imply Neuheim doesn’t have tides.”

  “No harm in that,” she said. “True, we have not any moon. The oceans are like huge, still lakes.”

  “Doesn’t the sun—” He checked himself.

  “Not so far away as it is, a tiny point of fire, I can’t get used to the disk here.” Abruptly Jutta set down her glass. “Listen,” she said, “you are either very young and sweet or you are clever as Satan.”

  “Why not both?”

  “I cannot take the chance.” She rose. “Best I leave now. I made a mistake to come.”

  “What?” He scrambled to his own feet. “But the evening’s hardly begun. I thought we’d go back to the living room and relax with some more music.” The Liebestod, for instance.

  “No.” Distress and determination chased each other across her face. “I enjoy myself too much. I forget to guard my tongue. Take to the League this word from us. Before they can marshal against us, we will have the Kraokan stars, and more. But if the League will be reasonable, jo, perhaps we can discuss trade treaties.” Her eyes dropped. She flushed. “I would like if you could return.”

  Politics! Falkayn groaned. He got nowhere trying to change her mind, and must finally see her to the door. There he kissed her hand…and before he could build on that beginning, she had whispered good night and was outside.

  He poured himself a stiff whiskey, lit his pipe, and flung himself into a lounger. None were an adequate substitute.

  Rats! he brooded. Giant mutant rats! She’ll have me hustled off the planet right away, tomorrow dawn, before I can use any information I might have gathered.

  Well, at least there’ll be girls at Sector HQ. And maybe, eventually, I’ll find myself back here.

  As a journeyman assistant; and Jutta will be at the social apex of an interstellar empire. She wouldn’t snub me on that account, but what chance would we ever have to get together?

  He puffed hard and scowled at a repro of a Hokusai portrait, an old man, which hung opposite him. The old man smiled back till Falkayn wanted to punch him in the nose.

  The long-range significance of the Neuheimer scheme was far nastier than several gigacredits’ loss to the merchant princes, Falkayn saw. Suppose it did succeed. Suppose the mighty Polesotechnic League was defied and defeated, and the Kraokan Empire was established. Well, the Kraoka by themselves might or might not be content to stop at that point and settle down to peaceful relationships with everybody else. In any event, they were no direct threat to the human race; they didn’t want the same kind of real estate.

  But the Neuheimer’ humans—Already they spoke of themselves as crusaders. Consider the past history of Homo self-styled sapiens and imagine what so spectacular a success would do to a bunch of ideologically motivated militarists! Oh, the process would be slow; they’d have to increase their numbers, and enlarge their industrial base, and get control of every man-useful planet in this neighborhood. But eventually, for power, and glory, and upset of the hated merchants, and advancement of a Way of Life—war.

  The time to squelch them was now. A good healthy licking would discredit the Landholders; peace, mercantilism, and cooperation with others—or, at least, simple cutthroat economic competition would become fashionable on Neuheim; and, incidentally, a journeyman who played a significant part in that outcome could expect early certification as a Master Merchant.

  Whereas a mere bearer of bad tidings—

  “All right,” Falkayn muttered. “Step One in the squelching process: Find their planetary system!”

  They couldn’t hope to keep its location secret forever. Just long enough to secure a grip on this region; and given the destructive power of a space fleet, that needn’t be very long. While it remained hidden, though, the source of their strength was quite efficiently protected. Hence their entire effort could go into purely offensive operations, which gave them a military capability far out of proportion to their actual force.

  Nonetheless, if the League should decide to fight, the League would win. No question about that. In the course of the war, the secret was bound to be discovered, one way or another. And then—nuclear bombardment from space—No!

  The Landholders were gambling that the League, rather than start an expensive battle for a prize that would certainly be ruined in the course of the fighting, would vote to cut its losses and come to terms. Antoran being hidden, the bet looked fairly good. But no matter how favorable the odds, only fanatics played with entire living worlds for stakes. Poor Jutta! What foul company she was mixed up in. How he’d like to introduce her to some decent people.

  O.K., then, where was that star?

  Some place not far off. Jutta had betrayed nothing by admitting that the constellations at home were almost like the constellations here. The ancient Kraoka could not have traveled any enormous ways, as interstellar distances go. Also, the home base must be in this territory so that its fleet could exploit the advantage of interior communications.

  And Antoran must be large and bright, no later in the main sequence than, say, GO. Yet…every possible sun was already eliminated by information the League had long possessed.

  Unless—wait a minute—could it be hidden by a thick nebulosity?

  No. There’d still be radio indications. And Jutta had spoken of seeing stars from her home.

  Aurora. Hm-m-m. She’d mentioned the necessity for certain villagers to migrate toward the poles, as her planet got too near its primary. Which meant their original settlements were a good bit farther toward the equator. Even so, auroras had been conspicuous: everywhere you went, she’d said. This, again, suggested a highly energetic sun.

  Funny, about the eccentric orbit. More than one planet in the system, too, with the same problem. Unheard of. You’d almost think that—

  Falkayn sat bolt upright. His pipe dropped from his jaws to his lap. “Holy…hyper…Judas,” he gasped.

  Thereafter he thought most furiously. He did not come back to himself until the coals from his pipe set fire to his trousers.

  The door to Beljagor’s place, offices-cum-residence, barely had time to get out of Falkayn’s way. But as he entered the lobby, he skidded to a stop. In a small room opening on this, two Kraoka were talking. One was armed and brassarded, an invader. The other was Quillipup. They froze.

  “Greetings,” said the liaison agent after a pause. “What brings you here?”

  “I want to see your boss,” Falkayn answered.

  “I believe he is asleep,” Quillipup said.

  “Too bad.” Falkayn started down the hall.

  “Stop!” Quillipup bounded after him. “I told you he is asleep.”

  “And I told you it’s a pity he has to be wakened,” Falkayn rapped.

  Quillipup regarded him. Her dorsal fin rose. The Antoranite glided close behind, hand not far from blaster.

  “What have you to say which is so urgent?” Quillipup asked slowly.

  Falkayn gave her eyeball for eyeball and responded, “What’s so urgent for you, that it can’t wait till Beljagor has risen?”

  Silence, under the icy white light. Falkayn grew aware of blood pounding in his ears. His skin prickled. That energy gun looked too businesslike for his taste. But Quillipup turned on her heel, without a word, and led her companion back to the office. Falkayn let out a hardheld breath and continued on his way.

  He hadn’t been told where in the building the factor lived, but the layout of places like this was pretty standardized. The suite door was locked. He buzzed. Nothing happened. He buzzed again.

  The scanner must have a screen in the bedroom, because the voice from the annunciator rasped, “You! Do you suppose I’d get up for a pestilential human?”

  “Yes,” Falkayn said. “Urgent.”

  “Urgent that you jump off the nearest cliff, right. And a bad night to you.” The speaker clicked off.

  That adjective “urgent” was being overworked, Falkayn decided. He leaned on the buzzer.

  “Stop your infernal racket!” howled Beljagor.

  “Sure, when you let me in,” Falkayn said.

  Click.

  Falkayn whistled “The Blue Danube” to pass the time while he leaned on the buzzer.

  The door flew open. Beljagor bounced forth. Falkayn was interested to note that the Jaleelan slept in pajamas, bright purple ones. “You insolent whelp!” the factor bawled. “Get out of here!”

  “Yes, sir,” Falkayn said. “You come, too.”

  “What?”

  “I have to show you something in my spaceboat.”

  Beljagor’s eyes turned red. His tendrils stood erect. He drank air until his small round form seemed ready to explode.

  “Please, sir,” Falkayn begged. “You’ve got to. It’s terribly important.”

  Beljagor cursed and swung a fist.

  Falkayn sidestepped the blow, picked up the Master Merchant by collar and trousers, and bore him kicking and yelling down the hall. “I told you you had to come,” the journeyman said patiently.

  The two Kraoka in the lobby had left, and those on sentry-go at the warship made no move to interfere. Maybe, behind furry poker faces, they enjoyed the sight. Falkayn had left the gangway ramp extruded from his speedster but had put a recognition lock on the entrance. It opened for him. He carried Beljagor inside, set him down, and waited for the storm to break.

  The Jaleelan spoke no word, only looked at him. His snout quivered a little.

  “O.K.,” Falkayn sighed. “You don’t accept my apologies. You’ll have my certificate revoked. You’ll strangle me with my own guts. Anything else?”

  “I suppose you have an explanation,” Beljagor said like fingernails going quite slowly over a blackboard.

  “Yes, sir. The business won’t wait. And I didn’t dare speak any place but here. Your Quillipup is acting far too friendly with the self-appointed liberators. Be no trick for her to bug your quarters.”

  What ozone had come in with them—less than by day—must have been processed into oxygen by now. Falkayn slipped off his filter mask. Beljagor mumbled something about Earth-type atmosphere, otherwise, the factor had cooled off astonishingly fast. “Talk, cub,” he ordered.

  “You see,” Falkayn said, “I know where Antoran is.”

  “Heh?” Beljagor jumped several centimeters in the pilot chair he occupied.

  “They’d never let me go if they found out I know,” Falkayn continued. He leaned back against a bulkhead. His gaze drifted beyond the viewports. Both moons had set, and Beta Centauri ruled heaven. “As is, you’ll have to come, too.”

  “What? Impossible! If you think I’ll abandon the property of General Motors to a gang of pirates—”

  “They’ll doubtless send you packing before long in any event,” Falkayn said. “Admit that. You just hate to surrender. But we’ve got to take the bull by the tail and look the situation squarely in the face.”

  “What do you mean, you know where Antoran is?” Beljagor spluttered. “Did you swallow something the Horn creature told you for a joke?”

  “No, sir, she didn’t intend to give me any information. Only, well, she was raised in an isolated, dedicated, Spartan society. She wasn’t equipped to handle me.” Falkayn grinned. “Figuratively, I mean, not literally. Her fellows didn’t allow for the effects of alcohol and smooth talk. Not used to such things themselves, I imagine. Could be they also counted on my being so overbowled by her looks that I’d merely gawk and listen to her. They seem to be a very romantic bunch. Dangerous as hell, but romantic.”

  “Well? Well? What did Horn say?”

  “Little items. They gave the show away, though. Like, Antoran isn’t a planet but a star. And just one star hereabouts can possibly fit the data.” Falkayn let Beljagor rumble for a moment before he pointed skyward and said, “Beta Centauri.”

  The factor did explode. He hopped around the cabin, flapping his arms and raving. Falkayn filed the choicer epithets in his memory for later use.

  At last Beljagor was sufficiently calm to stand in one spot, raise a finger, and say, “You unutterable imbecile, for your information, Beta is a type B blue giant. People knew, before space flight began, giant suns don’t have planets. Angular momentum per unit mass proved as much. After the hyperdrive came along, direct expeditions to any number of them clinched the matter. Even supposing, somehow, one did acquire satellites, those satellites never would get habitable. Giant stars burn hydrogen so fast their existence is measured in millions of years. Millions, you hear, not billions. Beta Centauri can hardly be ten million years old. More than half its stable lifetime is past. It’ll go supernova and become a white dwarf. Life’d have no chance to evolve before the planets were destroyed. Not that there are any, I repeat. The reason for only the smaller suns having planets is understood. A big protostar, condensing from the interstellar medium. develops too intense a gravitational field for the secondary condensation process to take place outside it.