Chapter II

O'Dea and Hawthorne watched their repaired vessel roll out of the Centaur repair shop. The smashed plates had been neatly straightened; the vessel gleamed from nose to tail.

An enthusiastic Centaur foreman accompanied the ship.

"Oh my intimate friends!" he sprayed in Hawthorne's face. "I too _parlez-vous_ the English! For men I have the great love! It will give me tremendous enjoyment to help to populate this planet with human beings!"

"You go to Hell," Hawthorne growled. He shivered in Avignon's thin atmosphere and pulled the rough blanket Morguma had supplied tighter around him. He and O'Dea looked like a pair of Indian chiefs.

"Undertake to observe," said the foreman. "Seizure beams!"

He shouted something in his own language to his workers inside the ship. The pale green beams lanced out. The foreman's fangs protruded several inches.

"And the interior is so dainty!" the creature warbled. "Chenille curtains over the ports! Pastel wallflower paper! Furnishings of a luxuriance that would be of pleasure even to the dictator himself!"

Hawthorne spat disgustedly. "Pastel wallpaper! Chenille curtains! Who ever heard of curtains in a space ship, much less chenille!"

His homely face twisted in pain. "Chenille!" he groaned again.

"You have no soul," grinned O'Dea. "As long as these baboons are willing to supply us with the finer things of life, you might at least appreciate it."

"You know what I think of you," growled Hawthorne. "Chenille curtains--ugh!"

He spat disgustedly.

Morguma appeared and waved them to the open lock. He preceded them, and when they had mounted to the lock, he shoved them back gently with his huge paws until they faced a barrage of Centaur camera fiends. The three of them, Morguma in the middle with a giant smirking grin, stood framed in the lock while shutters clicked.

"I wish you wouldn't breathe in my face," O'Dea said. "You smell like something that forgot to die off in the Mesozoic era."

Morguma giggled. "All Centauri loves you! Your beautiful faces will be in all our newspapers now!"

They went into the control room. Hawthorne stared unbelievingly at the transformation. Flowers were spread profusely. Embroidered antimacassars graced the dainty chairs. And the curtains over the ports were indeed of chenille. The pilot groaned dismally.

But O'Dea's eyes lighted when he saw the huge portrait over the control board.

"Mercedes!" he shouted.

"Oh how happy I am to see you pleased!" exclaimed Morguma. "We found this divine female human being's picture and enlarged it as you see. She is an entrancing thing!"

"You talk the truth," O'Dea agreed. "But that won't change the fact that I don't like you. What happens now?"

Morguma looked mildly apologetic. "Now we must perform labor! The great task for which this ship has been fitted!"

The Centaur seated himself at the rear of the control room, produced an instrument that looked like a whip. It looked like a whip because it was one. He flicked it experimentally.

"Oh how devastated I would be," he told them, "if I should be forced to use this! You will take off and fly to our asteroid belt, following the intelligent directions I shall give you. We will find a substantial piece of some agreeable material and bring it back to Avignon."

The two men looked at each other and then at the whip. The alien snapped it lightly a few times as if nervous. They turned to the control board.

* * * * *

A few hours later they were in Alpha Centauri's asteroid belt, dodging debris. For a while they were nervous. It was here, in this field of small flying particles that was worse even than their Solar System's, that a baseball-sized rock had eluded their detectors and knifed through their vessel, passing through all three fuel chambers in its line of flight and taking a long stream of rocket fuel for its wake.

But the Centaurs evidently had perfected asteroid navigation; and when they saw several pieces of matter that were about to strike them deflected, they stopped worrying.

O'Dea manned a board lined with instruments the Centaurs had installed. They were simple to operate. He merely moved a telescope lens until a piece of cosmic scrap was in the cross hair, then he read a dial. The telescope was synchronized with a Centaur version of a spectroscope, and its reading was given in figures on the dial.

He felt the Centaur looking over his shoulder, checking up on him, so he had to do his work properly. Not that it made much difference. Whether he and Hawthorne played the game was of little importance as far as the Centaur's plans went, except that the creatures liked the symbolism created by having two humans work on the project.

"Morguma," he said. "Those spaceships on Avignon can't all be engaged in this work. There are types there that can be of no use."

"Oh you are so intelligent to reason that!" Morguma marveled. "This pretty planet of Avignon is the reservation we have set aside for all space work. All of our ships are built there and all are based there!"

O'Dea tracked down a likely looking asteroid.

"How come?" he asked.

"We Centaurs are a delicate sensitive people! We love the beautiful things of life, and dislike such noisy greasy articles as space ships. So a few years ago it was decided to remove all the dirty factories from our home planets. Now the only craft that disturb the peace of our people on the main planets of Centauri are the rockets that transport materials and workers to and from Avignon!"

"There's something wrong there." O'Dea centered his instrument on the asteroid. "_You_ seem to be happy enough. And the other workers on Avignon--they didn't seem to be disgusted by the dirt and noise."

"Oh, I am ecstatic!" Morguma raved. "It is my aptitude! Rocket fuel is my life blood! There are those among us who have a love for this noisy distasteful life of space!"

"Sounds logical," O'Dea murmured. "Some humans enjoy doing the dirty work that nauseates the average person ... unpleasant, but necessary. As for that remark about rocket fuel's being your life blood, Morguma, I happen to know it's true!"

He chuckled at the look of discomfiture that spread over Morguma's features. The _quintol_ that was a part of rocket fuel was the equivalent of alcohol to the metabolism of the Centaurs. Several times he had seen Morguma take a quick pull from a small bottle he kept in his leathery garment--the Centaur version of a hip flask.

Morguma changed the subject as O'Dea's throaty chuckle continued. He pointed to the grayish speck in the telescope.

"Oh a remarkable find! A lump of solid carbon dioxide, and of such a size! Oh how fortunate we are to have such fortunate fortune!"

Their vessel closed in on the chunk of almost pure carbon dioxide, a piece larger than the ship. Under the Centaur's directions, O'Dea fed out the seizure beams. He watched the rough mass become gradually rigid, fixed in space relative to them.

That seizure beam would interest Earth's scientists. But Earth was trillions of miles away.

Morguma clapped his paws together in foolish delight. "Oh how goody! We must hasten back to Avignon! On the way, we will analyze this precious find!"

* * * * *

As they blasted back toward Centauri's sixth planet, O'Dea learned from Morguma how the analysis was made by instrument. The figures they reported would be turned into a central office, along with the results of other ships engaged in the same task. In that way, the Centaurs checked the composition of the atmosphere they were creating for the planet, knew what elements were most necessary at any given moment.

They swooped low over the planet, on the side opposite the space base. Other Centaurs were bringing laden ships down, loosing their cargoes like sticks of bombs. A great plateau was speckled with white, and below, the ocean bed was filling with water.

Hawthorne joined the procession of Centaur ships. When they neared the surface, he barked at O'Dea to loosen their load. The seizure beams disappeared and the icy chunk splashed over several acres of ground.

"A successful mission!" Morguma giggled. "Now we return to our lovely base to rest!"

O'Dea and Hawthorne glowered.

The next day was similar to the first, and the one after it, and all the rest until they had turned in a dozen days of work as slaves in the asteroid belt. O'Dea became proficient in operating his instruments; and Hawthorne brushed up on precision bombing until he could have planted his loads on a dime, if anybody had provided the dime.

They found out that the Centaurs didn't believe in resting on the Sabbath. Working hours were roughly from sunup to sundown--about an eight hour stretch, since Avignon's day was shorter than Earth's.

At dawn, a skipping troop of young Centaurs invaded their chambers. The students were learning English, diplomatic French, South Martian Portuguese, and a score of other languages of which Hawthorne and O'Dea knew nothing.

Then Morguma came and led them to a huge boiler factory that was fitted as a dining room, where they toyed with Centaur food and ate vita-horm capsules salvaged from their ship.

After that, it was out to the asteroid belt for another load of frozen atmosphere.

"Oh, Hell," said O'Dea. They were going back to their quarters after another day's work. "If it wasn't for that picture of Mercedes, I'd throw in my buttons. I'm dying to see a human being again!"

Hawthorne's homely face turned suspiciously to him. "I'm here, ain't I?"

O'Dea raised an eyebrow and turned away. A fleet of powerful Centaur dreadnaughts was landing. They had just performed the fabulous task of transporting a huge frozen lake to Avignon--a miracle of coordination.

O'Dea filled his lungs with air. He removed the blanket from his shoulders, let his chest rise and fall evenly.

"Almost as good as Earth," he said. "This air is wonderful now, but it's wasted. Only two humans to breathe it--hey!"

He stared at the spindly mountain that rose to a dizzy peak at the far end of the valley. A thin stream of smoke rose from it.

"I never noticed that before. Morguma--is that a volcano?"

Morguma, who had paused to watch them enjoy the air, looked toward the steaming mountain top and uncovered his fangs in a friendly smile.

"Entirely without harm, my charming friends of Earth! Our great scientists have performed in full an investigation. There is absolutely no danger from that volcano!"

O'Dea peered suspiciously at the distant cone. "If that thing ever goes off, this valley will be buried!"

"Oh fear not that this luscious land will be demolished, my beautiful comrades! Not a hair of your lovely heads will be harmed!"

Hawthorne growled. O'Dea made a fist of his right hand, rubbed it thoughtfully. But he shrugged, looking at the Centaur's twelve arms. They continued into the noisy dining room.

As they entered, Hawthorne stopped short and glared. Suddenly shaking with anger, he waved his fist at Morguma.

"This is the limit! You can kill me, but I don't have to stand for--this!"

* * * * *

His gesture swept the huge room. On every chair was hung bouquets of riotously colored Centaurian flowers. The walls were padded with garlands, and huge vases were in the center of each table. From the ceiling, more streamers of blossoms dipped low.

O'Dea's lips twitched, trying to hold back a grin. He watched the solid, plain features of the husky pilot become dark with fury.

"Wait Paul," he said quickly, "until we find out what it's all about." He turned to Morguma. "What happens here, my reptilian _amigo_?"

"A holiday! Tomorrow is the birthday of his supreme magnificence, _The_ Centaur! On the anniversary of his coming into the world as the son of a humble fish cleaner, we honor this great person by desisting from all labor!"

"Oh--the big shot's birthday." O'Dea held a hand on Hawthorne's arm as the pilot started to cool off. He stared at the huge portrait of a giant, moronic Centaur leering unintelligently down at them.

"A few little glands controlling a whole solar system," he mused. "I'm glad that rhino never leaves his palace."

He turned his eyes from the dictator's portrait, took Hawthorne's arm and guided him away. The two men walked to their customary places. When they found their chairs, Hawthorne stopped and growled again. He stared distastefully at the decorations on their chairs.

They were flowers--flowers from Earth.

And they were pansies.

Hawthorne pushed them disgustedly from the arms of his chair and settled down in glum resignation.

Morguma took his place at O'Dea's left. O'Dea glanced at Hawthorne on his right and chuckled. He turned to the Centaur,

"Terrestrial flowers? How come?"

"I ecstasize to see your pleasure," Morguma drooled. "One of our brave captains took a ship to your delightful world, succeeded in plucking fragrant specimens of fauna and flora to populate this world. There are now animals and vegetation from Earth thriving happily on this globe!"

"So ... any humans?"

A tear trickled down Morguma's leathery cheek. "Oh it was so sad! The humans resisted--poor misguided creatures! They all lost their valuable lives and we will have to return for more!"

O'Dea put down the Centaurian mushroom he had been preparing to taste. The grin disappeared from his face as he shoved back his chair and faced Morguma. There was a deadly something in his eyes that seemed out of place in the usually carefree features.

"Another of your nonchalant slaughters." His voice was a low monotone. "Morguma, you'll pay for that--you and your grinning murder pals--"

His hand closed around the steaming cup of Centaurian coffee and he flung the liquid into the Centaur's face.