from Bellaver in the usual way, and one of them must have been incautious about his shield. Because a Lazarite working for Bellaver caught a mental hint of the starship, and the reason for the Titanite, and that was it. Three generations of Bellavers have been after us for the star-drive, and it’s developed into a secret war as bitter as any ever fought on the battlefield. They hold all the Titanite, we hold the ship, and perhaps now you’re beginning to see why MacDonald was killed, and why you’re so important to both sides.”
“Beginning to,” said Hyrst. “But only beginning.”
“MacDonald found a Titanite pocket. And as you know, a Titanite pocket isn’t very big. One man can break the crude stuff, fill a sack with it, and tote it on his own back if he doesn’t have a power-sled.”
“MacDonald had a sled.”
“And he used it. He cleaned out his pocket, afraid somebody else would track him to it, and he hid the wretched ore somewhere. Then he began to dicker. He approached the Bellaver Corporation, and we heard of it and approached him. He tried playing us off against Bellaver to boost the price, and suddenly he was dead and you were accused of his murder. We thought you really had done it, because no Titanite turned up, and we knew Bellaver hadn’t gotten it from him. We’d watched too closely. It wasn’t until some years later that one of our people learned that MacDonald had threatened a little too loudly to sell to us unless Bellaver practically tripled his offer—and of course Bellaver didn’t dare do that. A price so much out of line even for Titanite would have stirred all the rival shipbuilders to unwelcome curiosity. So, we figured, Bellaver had had him killed.”
“But what happened to the Titanite?”
“That,” said Shearing, “is what nobody knows. Bellaver must have figured that if his tame Lazarites couldn’t find where MacDonald had put it, we couldn’t either. He was right. With all our combined mental probes and conventional detectors we haven’t been able to track it down. And we haven’t been able to find any more pockets, either. Bellaver Corporation got exclusive mineral rights to the whole damned moon. They even own the refinery now.”
Hyrst shook his head. “Latent impressions or not, I don’t see how I can help on that. If MacDonald had given the killer any clue—”
* * * *
A beam of bright blue light no thicker than a pencil struck in through the mouth of the passage. It touched the side of the large stone block. The stone turned molten and ran, and then the beam flicked off, leaving a place that glowed briefly red. Shearing said, “I guess our ten minutes are up.”
They were. For a second or two nothing more happened and then Hyrst saw something come sailing in through the crack. His mind told him what it was just barely in time to shut his eyes. There was a flash that dazzled him even through his closed lids, and the flash became a glare that did not lessen. Bellaver’s men had tossed in a long-term flare, and almost at once someone followed it, in the hope of catching Hyrst and Shearing blinded and off guard. The eyes of Hyrst’s mind, unaffected by light, clearly showed him the suited figure just below him, with its bubble helmet covered by a glare-shield. They directed him with perfect accuracy in the downward sweep of the lead weight he had taken from his boot, and which he still held in his hand. The bubble helmet was very strong, and the gravity very light, but the concussion was enough to drop the man unconscious. Just about thought Hyrst, what happened to me there in the hoist tower, when MacDonald died. Shearing, who had by now adjusted his own glare-shield stooped quickly and took the man’s gun.
He said aloud, over the helmet communicator, “The next one that steps through here gets it. Do you hear that, Bellaver?”
Bellaver’s voice answered. “Listen, Shearing, I was wrong. I admit it. Let’s calm down and start over again. I—”
“Ten minutes ago it was no mercy.”
“It’s hard for me to behave reasonably about this business. You know what it means to me, what it meant to my father and his father. But I’m willing to do anything, Shearing, if you’ll make a deal.”
“I’ll make a deal. Readily. Eagerly. Give back what your grandfather stole from us, and we’ll call it square.”
“Oh no we won’t,” said Hyrst grimly, breaking in. “Not until I find who killed MacDonald.”
“All right,” said Bellaver. “Wilson, break out the grenades.”
The entire surface of Hyrst’s body burst into a flaring sweat. For one panic-stricken second he wanted to rush out the crack pleading for mercy. Then he got his feet against the wall and pushed hard, and went plunging across the chamber in a sort of floating dive. Shearing got there at the same time and helped to pull him down. They huddled together on the floor, with the coffin-shaped block between them and the crack. Hyrst sent out a frantic mental call to hurry, directed at the spaceship of the brotherhood.
“They’re all going to hurry,” said Shearing. “Vernon has found the ship now. He’s telling Bellaver. Here comes the grenade—”
Small round glittering thing of death, curving light and graceful through the airless gloom. It comes so slowly, and the flesh shrinks quivering upon itself until it is nothing more than a handful of simple fear. Outside the men are running away, and the one who has thrown the grenade from the cramped, constructing vantage of the crack is running after them, and Shearing is crying with his mind Will it to fall short, will it to fall sh—
There is a great brilliance, and the rock leaps, but there is not the slightest sound.
CHAPTER VI
“The Ram, the Bull, the Heavenly Twins,
And next the Crab the Lion Shine.
The Virgin and the Scales—”
The old zodiacal rhyme was running through Hyrst’s mind, and that was the only thing that was in his mind.
The Virgin and the Scales.
Yes. And she’s very beautiful, too, thought Hyrst. But she shouldn’t be holding the Scales. That’s all wrong. The Scales come next, and then the Scorpion—Scorpio—and the Archer—Sagittarius—
And anyway they aren’t scales, they’re a pair of big golden stars, and she’s putting them down, and they’re melting together. There’s only one of them, and it’s not a star at all, really. It’s a polished metal jug, reflecting the light, and—
The Virgin smiled. “The doctor said you were coming around. I brought you something to drink.”
Reality returned to Hyrst with a rush. “You’re Christina,” he said, and tried to sit up. He was dizzy, and she helped him, and he said, “I guess it did fall short.”
“What?”
“The grenade. The last thing I remember is Shearing—Wait. Where is Shearing?”
“Sitting up in the lounge, nursing his bruises. Yes, it fell short, but I don’t think telekinetics had much to do with that. We’ve never been able to control matter convincingly. There. All right?”
“Fine. How did you get us out?”
“Of course the grenade had made the entrance impassible—we had to cut our way in through the outer wall. We had a clear field. Bellaver’s men had all gone back to their ships. They thought you were dead, and to tell you the truth we thought you must be, too. But you didn’t quite ‘feel’ dead, so we dug you out.”
“Thanks,” said Hyrst. “I suppose they know different now.”
He was in a ship’s sick-bay. From the erratic crash and shudder of the lateral jets, they were beating their way through the Belt, and at a high rate of speed. Hyrst sent a glance back into space. The tugs and Bellaver’s yacht were following, but this time only the yacht had a chance. The tugs were dropping hopelessly behind.
“Yes, they soon found out once we got you out, but with any luck we’ll lose them,” said Christina. She sat down beside the