Chapter IV

It was a wondrous world. He walked in halls of polished marble and looked out through colonnades across a bright blue sea. Gentle breezes carried flowers' perfumes to him. Wine warmed his throat. Music rippled in faint, nostalgic waves.

Yet he knew no joy, for loneliness ached dull underneath his breastbone. First listless, then feverish, he wandered in and out among the columns, ever seeking. Servitors brought rare foods, sun-blushing fruits, to tempt his palate; and there were women who pressed themselves upon him, seducing him with eye and voice and touch.

But he brushed by; he would have none of them. He saw the blue sea as a wasteland. The wine turned bitter in his mouth.

Then, suddenly, _she_ was there, a fairy figure far off amid the towering pillars. With a glad cry, he ran towards her.

But she laughed and flitted away before him. And when he tried to follow, dusk came, casting ebon shadows, and he could not find her, and he threw himself down on the hard bed of the marble, bruised and broken.

"Eileen--!" he moaned. "Eileen...."

As from afar, a voice said, "That's right. Another shot of vorghon."

He turned his head, ever so slowly. He forced his burning, heavy-lidded eyes to open.

A man in the white jacket of the medcorps stood beside him, smiling. "Good," the man said. "I knew we'd do it. Vorghon always brings them around."

"You hit it, all right." It was another medman speaking. "For awhile there, I'd begun to wonder. But that last shot turned the trick."

Again Boone whispered: "Eileen--where is she?"

"Eileen, did you say? The first of the medmen came down closer. Some girl? You were alone, you know, aboard the carrier."

"The ... carrier--?"

"You don't remember that part, even?" The medman's brow furrowed deeper. His eyes flicked to his fellow for the fraction of a second as if in wordless exclamation, then came back to Boone again. "You were aboard a sphere-ship bound for Titan. Then the monsters hit it and all hands took off. When we picked you up, you were in an EC carrier, drifting just out of Hyperion's orbit." He chuckled. "You were out of your head at the time. Someplace along the line you'd gotten pretty sick."

Boone tried to drag himself up but found his arms were pinioned. "I was on Hyperion!" he mumbled. "I didn't leave the ship; it crashed down through the ice-shell. Eileen was with me--"

But the medman had straightened. He was not listening. "Another shot for this lad," he clipped briskly. "Make it equal parts of vorghon and anhalsax."

"Right, sir," the second medman nodded. Boone glimpsed an aerojet descending.

Then he was off again--off on another nightmare chase, following Eileen through sifting spheres of light and darkness.

This time, at last, he caught her. Only when he would have put his arms about her, she suddenly changed into a faceless, somehow leering Helgae.

But the haze was gone when he roused again, and he felt better.

Then the medmen came in, looking not quite so jovial as before. A frozen-faced ship's officer entered with them.

There was the usual routine check. At its conclusion, the medman in charge turned to the officer. "All right. You can talk to him now." He stepped back.

* * * * *

The officer moved in closer. "Your name's Fred Boone, EB rating, attached to the Ganymedan base." He said it as if it were an accusation.

"That's right."

"On September 3, 2156, adjusted Earth dating system, you forced the base director, Martin Krobis, to pass you onto the base grav-ramp, then paralyzed him with a nerve-shock and stowed away aboard sphere-ship XL-230, bound for Titan, in direct violation of his specific orders."

Boone studied the officer thoughtfully, but said nothing.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

The officer's ears grew pink. "Affirm or deny."

"I'd rather not do either till I have advice of counsel."

"Oh. One of those." The officer's lips drew tight. "All right, then, if that's the way you want it. But I warn you, it won't help."

Turning on his heel, he stalked out the door. The medmen followed.

Still Boone lay unmoving. There was a tension in him now, and of a sudden he felt old and weary.

So even here, even now, after all that had happened, Krobis was bound to get his pound of flesh.

Almost idly, he wondered how it would end.

Not that it mattered. Not now with Eileen still back on Hyperion, a captive of the Helgae.

If she'd lived this long.

Bleakly, he wondered what had happened that day--or was it night?--in the weird domed city. Were the Helgae living entities, as it had seemed? Had they really tried to probe his brain by some strange thought-wave system? Or was that all imagination?

For that matter, had he ever actually been beneath the ice-shell? Did it even exist? And was there a warm, lush world inside it--a world where huge, six-sexed flowers bloomed and held their colors in spite of ammonia and methane; where Helgae bubbles formed in a flash to trap invaders?

Above all, how had he come to be aboard a carrier, drifting beyond Hyperion's orbit?

Those were questions to which, some day, he'd have to find the answers.

Such questions--! And so many of them!

Yet in his heart he knew that they were academic, almost. For they only concealed the true core of his tension.

Eileen.

Again he saw her as in those last long moments--sealed in her separate sphere, her pale face fear-straught.

The memory woke new fever in him. Why was he lying here, with her in danger? Now, above all, seconds were precious!

And there was only one road for him to take to help her.

A bitter road. Yet he had no choice.

He shifted; twisted; fumbled for the buzzer button.

A medman came. Boone said, "I want a space-phone."

"Who are you calling?"

"The Ganymedan base director. His name is Martin Krobis."

"I'll see." The man went out again.

When he came back, he brought an audio-visual com-box with him. "The call's allowed. I've placed it for you." Setting down the unit on the stand beside Boone's bed, he left the room.

Taut-nerved, Boone waited.

Then the signal blinked. Krobis' face flashed on the receptor-screen, sharp features set in an expression that was half gloating smirk, half chill, bleak menace. "Well, Boone?" His voice came brittle.

Boone hunched forward. "Let's not waste time on things past, Krobis. We know how we feel about each other. What counts now is that Eileen's in trouble."

Tersely, he told his story.

But Krobis' expression stayed the same. The black eyes showed no slightest flicker of emotion.

"That's all, Boone?"

Boone's palms were sweating. "'That's all'--?" he echoed. "Isn't that enough? What more do you want."

* * * * *

For the first time, Krobis' facial muscles shifted. Hate boiled in his eyes. His lips peeled back in a raging grimace. "I want _you_, Boone!" he slashed out fiercely. "I want you, and I'm going to get you! Before I'm through, you'll be booted out of Cartel service and rubbing _djec_ in Venus barracks. This nonsense you've told me--"--he laughed, a harsh, contemptuous laugh--"--do you think I don't see through it? Not even a cadet on his first trip would swallow it! You're trying to save your own neck, that's all. But it won't work, not for a minute--"

"But Eileen--"

"To hell with her, too! Even if I believed you, my job's in Mekronal, not Rescue Service!"

He broke off sharply, as if unable to find words harsh enough to vent his fury. His hand blurred as he flicked the switch.

The screen went dead.

Belly quivering, Boone turned off his own unit and slumped back on the bed.

But before he could even sort out his own feelings, the com-box signal blinked again.

For the fraction of a second Boone hesitated, nonplussed and frowning, then threw the switch.

This time the face on the screen was one he hadn't seen before: a stern-faced man with greying hair, all dignity.

The other said, "I'm Douglas Schilling, specialist in space law at Thelema. A mutual friend heard about your current difficulties. He suggested that you might like to have me serve as counsel."

Boone stared. "A mutual friend--"

"Yes," Schilling nodded. "He prefers that I not use his name over the space-phone, but he said you'd remember him as the man to whom you were talking in Gandor City just before you left for Titan."

Gandor City--! Boone rocked. That could only be Terral, the representative of Associated Independents!

"Do you remember?" Schilling prodded.

Boone made his face a mask. "Yes. I remember."

"Then if you'd care to have me represent you--"

"I would." Boone leaned back and smiled thinly. "That is, if you're still willing after you've heard my story. Krobis has already turned it down."

"Krobis--!" The other's keen eyes flickered. "You mean you've talked to him, given him the details as to what happened?"

"Yes."

"I can't say that I'm glad to hear it. However...." The lawyer shrugged. "Let's make it that I'll see you when your ship gravs down at the Cartel's Thelema headquarters base on Mars tomorrow."

"Good enough."

"Till tomorrow, then...." Already, the lawyer's face was fading.

* * * * *

Tomorrow. To Boone, it seemed that the hours dragged on beyond measure. Yet then, when at last the new day had come, he found himself almost regretful--dreading the things he knew that it must bring; fighting down an ever-growing tension.

Because he knew in his heart that he wasn't going to take it. Not with Eileen's life perhaps at stake; not with Hyperion's ice-shell beckoning.

Somewhere, somehow, he'd find a way....

There was a final routine with the medmen. They pronounced him sound, turned him over to the guards.

Then the ship slowed, hovered. Gravving down through the great Thelema airlocks, it settled to the ramp.

Flanked by two guards, Boone strode from the lift-shaft.

Schilling stood outside. Coolly, he extended documents to Boone's captors. "A temporary order for release of your prisoner to my custody for pre-hearing consultation, gentlemen."

The guard in charge checked through the papers, then stepped back. "He's all yours, Mister."

Schilling led the way to a surface carrier without speaking.

Boone eyed him curiously. "How does it look?"

The lawyer leaned back, and the carrier slid smoothly into motion. "Frankly, I don't like it. Krobis wants blood. He's come in all the way from Ganymede himself, instead of sending a deposition or testifying on the com-box; and he's persuaded the Cartel to try you before a general board so that you can be discharged from the service, with release to the Federation for criminal action if you're convicted."

"So it's double trouble." Boone smiled wryly. "I might have expected that from Krobis."

"You're not convicted yet," retorted Schilling. "Besides, I got that release order so you'd have a chance to talk with someone who's in a spot to help you."

"Terral?"

The lawyer nodded and brought the carrier to a halt beside a building. "You'll find him in my office, there. I'll drop back later."

It was Boone's turn to nod. He got out and went into the building.

And there was Terral--lean, grey, shrewd-eyed Terral, the man empowered to speak for Associated Independents.

He gripped Boone's hand. "Glad to see you, man--even though the circumstances could be better."

"Oh, I don't know." Boone held face and voice alike noncommittal. "Anyhow, thanks for getting Schilling."

"You're wondering why, of course." Terral's lips drew thin. "Believe me, it wasn't altruism, Boone; not one bit of it."

Boone frowned. "Maybe I just don't understand."

"You will," the other clipped. And then: "Boone, how much do you know about Titan fever?"

"Titan fever--?" Boone shook his head. "Not too much."

"Are you aware that it's reached the epidemic stage on half-a-dozen satellites and planets?"

"What--!"

"The Federation's keeping the statistics under cover; otherwise there'd be a panic." Terral paced the floor like a caged lion. "The catch is, Boone, we're all like you: No one knows too much about the whys and wherefores of it, except that the original cases came among IC men who worked in the Helgae cities on Titan back when mekronal was first developed."

* * * * *

Boone ran his thumb along his chin. "I'd heard that part. But I thought we had it licked with chandak extract."

"Chandak extract!" The independents' agent spun around, grey eyes blazing. "That's just the trouble! Chandak's a byproduct of mekronal--and all mekronal comes from Titan! So with IC assigned monopoly rights there, the rest of us are stuck."

"But the Federation--"

"The Federation's run by blithering idiots and IC stooges! Sure, with this epidemic they've set up a quota system. But how much does that mean, when Cartel inspectors make out the production reports?"

"So--?"

"So IC's using chandak the same way they've used mekronal--as a weapon against the Independents!" Terral hammered his palm with a bony fist. "Just look at the pattern! With mekronal, their crews can work in all atmospheres, set up bases at a hundredth the cost of anyone else, and claim satellite monopoly rights from the Federation on grounds of prior colonization."

Boone nodded slowly. "Yes. I know how that works."

"All right. That's straight commercial rivalry, so even though it cuts our throats we've got no come-back. But now comes Titan fever--a disease that kills men like flies when you treat it with any of the mill run of specifics. If you don't treat them--" Terral broke off; looked square at Boone. "Boone, do you know the story on that?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Then read this--a report from the top labs of your own damned organization! Don't ask me how I got it."

The Independents' rep was fumbling in a briefcase as he spoke. He drew out a thick blue-covered folder and handed it to Boone.

Boone stared down at it. "_Titan Fever: An investigation of Untreated Cases_," the title read. The binder was stamped "MOST SECRET" in big block letters, and it bore the official seal of Interplanetary Cartels' central research unit.

But the thing that held his eye was the signature on the submission.

The signature of Martin Krobis.

Frowning, he riffled through the document to the final page:

"... In summary, then, the following tentative conclusions may be reported:

"1. Although occasional deaths due to complications sometimes result from Titan fever, most untreated cases may be expected to recover.

"2. However, there is definite evidence that such cases undergo an extreme mutation of the gametes.

"3. While no adverse physiological effects of this mutation are apparent in infants born to parents one or both of whom have been infected, significant mental changes and/or deterioration stand out clearly.

"4. No such mutative effect is evident in cases treated with chandak extract or their offspring.

"On the basis of available data, therefore, it is considered urgent that all cases of Titan fever developing among Interplanetary Cartels personnel or their families be given prompt treatment with chandak extract.

"All base administrative chiefs are explicitly made responsible for seeing that such treatment is carried out as directed."

Stiff-fingered, Boone closed the folder. Again, his eyes met Terral's.

The lean man's face had grown bleak as Mars' windswept deserts. "Do you know what it's going to mean when that report gets out?"

"I can imagine."

"Can you? I wonder." The other raised a clenched fist; shook it. "Boone, it means a Cartel-dominated solar system, the end of human freedom! IC's got a monopoly on chandak and they intend to hold it, Federation or no Federation. The rest of us won't have any choice but to come to them on their terms, or else gamble that our children will grow up gibbering idiots."

In spite of himself, Boone shuddered.

Terral kept on talking: "The production records tell the story. They say that chandak's in short supply--so short that it comes in dribbles. But that report you read doesn't mention any shortage, does it? All it gives is an order--a flat directive to see that all IC's people are protected."

* * * * *

Wearily, Boone nodded. "All right. You've sold me. Now tell me just how I fit in. What am I supposed to do?"

"Good!" The other slapped Boone's shoulder. "As to what you do, it's the same proposition that we talked about at Gandor City. The thing we're buying is your training. There's an Independent ship ramped in the main port, ready to grav-off. It's equipped for mekronal production. You take it out and find some Helgae."

Boone's heart leaped. "You mean--I break and run? I don't stand trial?"

"That's why we had Schilling get that release order."

The room seemed suddenly distorted. Boone paced the floor to hide his shaking.

He'd left Eileen on far Hyperion, a prisoner of the Helgae.

No, in spite of all Krobis' machinations, fate had thrown him a wild gambler's chance to reach her.

Terral's voice drummed at him: "That order cost us, Boone. Who cares, though, if it breaks the Cartel? Sure, you'll be a fugitive for awhile. But you'll be safe so long as nobody thinks to tie you in with us, and we can smooth the whole business over once we get our own source of mekronal and chandak...."

Pushing his jumbled thoughts aside, Boone pivoted. "What are we waiting for? Let's get started."

"Already?" Terral chuckled dryly. "Slow down! This is going to take a little doing." He bent over the desk, scribbled swiftly on a note-pad, and then straightened. "Take this to the manager at Triangle Freight. Hot as you are, we're going to have to crate you up and send you out onto the ramp as cargo."

"Right." Boone slipped the scrawl into his pocket. "I'll be on my way, then."

"Good luck!"

Boone answered with a wordless salute and, turning, strode from the office and the building.

He still felt a little dazed. How could it all have worked out so perfectly and so simply?

Only then, suddenly, a man appeared out of a doorway, hurrying in Boone's direction with head down--almost running.

Too late, Boone tried to sidestep. The man crashed into him and they both reeled, clinging to each other for support.

The next instant, hands gripped Boone from behind. A hard, unseen something rammed against his backbone. "Don't move, Boone!" clipped a tight, familiar voice.

Boone stiffened. "Krobis--!"

"Correct." The thing against Boone's back withdrew. Krobis stepped round into view, nerve-gun in hand, leaving his aides to hold the prisoner. His black eyes glittered. "For the record, you're under Cartel arrest again, in accordance with IC regulations."

Boone held his voice flat. "I can't stop you, Krobis. But when trial-time comes, the Federation may not think much of this."

"You think not?" The Ganymedan base director smirked, and took a stand with too-short legs wide-spraddled. "Personally, I'm more inclined to believe they'll cite me for a commendation--once they've heard my recording of your little talk with Terral!"

For the fraction of a second, Boone stopped breathing. His lips were all at once so stiff he couldn't speak.

"That hit you, eh?" sneered Krobis. "You should have been more careful. All I was interested in to start was finding out who pressured through that release order for you. I didn't guess you had ties to the Independents, or that you planned to run out. But I'm glad you tried it. The recording makes your conviction certain, and puts us where we can jump the gun on Terral.

"Meanwhile, you stay where you belong--in IC's own Thelema guardhouse!"