Part 33 (1/2)

”It's not preposterous,” said his grandfather. ”Sounds like fun, to me!

You're tired now, Bron. Lots of responsibilities and such. Take a rest.

You and your Cousin Oliver get together and fix those new gadgets on my s.h.i.+p. I'll take the other boys for a run over to this s.p.a.ceport town.

The boys need a run ash.o.r.e, and there might be some loot. Your grandmother's fond of homespun. I'll try to pick some up for her.”

Hoddan shrugged. His grandfather was a law unto himself. Hoddan saw his cousins bringing horses from the castle stables, and a very casual group went riding away as if on a pleasure excursion. As a matter of fact, it was. Thal guided them.

For the rest of that morning and part of the afternoon Hoddan and his Cousin Oliver worked at the battered s.h.i.+p's Lawlor drive. Hoddan was pleased with his cousin's respect for his device. He unfeignedly admired the cannon his cousin had designed. Presently they reminisced about their childhood. It was pleasant to renew family ties like this.

The riders came back about sunset. There were extra horses, with loads.

There were cheerful shoutings. His grandfather came into Hoddan's s.h.i.+p.

”Brought back some company,” he said. ”s.p.a.celiner landed while we were there. Friend of yours on it. Congenial fellow, Bron. Thinks well of you, too!”

A large figure followed his grandfather in. A large figure with snow-white hair. The amiable and relaxed Interstellar Amba.s.sador to Walden.

”Hard-gaited horses, Hoddan,” he said wryly. ”I want a chair and a drink. I traveled a good many light-years to see you, and it wasn't necessary after all. I've been talking to your grandfather.”

”Glad to see you, sir,” said Hoddan reservedly.

His Cousin Oliver brought gla.s.ses, and the Amba.s.sador buried his nose in his and said in satisfaction:

”A-a-ah! That's good! Capable man, your grandfather. I watched him loot that town. Beautifully professional job! He got some homespun sheets for your grandmother. But about you.”

Hoddan sat down. His grandfather puffed and was silent. His cousins effaced themselves. The Amba.s.sador waved a hand.

”I started here,” he observed, ”because it looked to me like you were running wild. That s.p.a.cefleet, now ... I know something of your ability.

I thought you'd contrived some way to fake it. I knew there couldn't be such a fleet. Not really! That was a sound job you did with the emigrants, by the way. Most praiseworthy! And the point was that if you ran hogwild with a faked fleet, sooner or later the s.p.a.ce Patrol would have to cut you down to size. And you were doing much too good work to be stopped!”

Hoddan blinked.

”Satisfaction,” said the Amba.s.sador, ”is well enough. But satiety is death. Walden was dying on its feet. n.o.body could imagine a greater satisfaction than curling up with a good tranquilizer! You've ended that! I left Walden the day after your Ensfield raid. Young men were already trying to grow mustaches. The textile mills were making colored felt for garments. Jewelers were turning out stun-gun pins for ornaments, Darthian knives for brooches, and the song writers had eight new tunes on the air about pirate lovers, pirate queens, and dark s.h.i.+ps that roam the lanes of night. Three new vision-play series were to start that same night with s.p.a.ce-piracy as their theme, and one of them claimed to be based on your life. Better make them pay for that, Hoddan!

In short, Walden had rediscovered the pleasure to be had by taking pains to make a fool of one's self. People who watched that raid on visionscreens had thrills they'd never swap for tranquilizers! And the ones who actually mixed in with the pirate raiders-- You deserve well of the republic, Hoddan!”

Hoddan said, ”Hm-m-m,” because there was nothing else to be said.

”Now, your grandfather and I have canva.s.sed the situation thoroughly!

This good work must be continued. Diplomatic Service has been worried all along the line. Now we've something to work up. Your grandfather will expand his facilities and s.n.a.t.c.h s.h.i.+ps, land and loot, and keep piracy flying. Your job is to carry on the insurance business. The s.h.i.+ps that will be s.n.a.t.c.hed will be your s.h.i.+ps, of course. No interference with legitimate commerce. The landing-raids will be paid for by the interplanetary piracy-risk insurance companies--you. In time you'll probably have to get writers to do scripts for them, but not right away.

You'll continue to get rich, but there's no harm in that so long as you re-introduce romance and adventure and derring-do to a galaxy headed for decline. Savages will not invent themselves if there are plenty of heroic characters--of your making!--to slap them down!”

Hoddan said painfully:

”I like working on electronic gadgets. My cousin Oliver and I have some things we want to work on together.”

His grandfather snorted. One of the cousins came in from outside the yacht. Thal followed him, glowing. He'd reported the looting of the s.p.a.ceport town, and Don Loris had gone into a tantrum of despair because n.o.body seemed able to make headway against these strangers. Now he'd turned about and issued a belated invitation to Hoddan and his grandfather and their guest the Interstellar Amba.s.sador--of whom he'd learned from Thal--to dinner at the castle. They could bring their own guards.