As Harry had anticipated, the transporter's interior accommodations proved to be extremely limited—living prisoners were not supposed to be its stock in trade. Entering the small, cramped cell, he propped Dorry more or less upright in the small seat opposite his own, and got ready to endure what he hoped would be a very short ride.
The transporter's fusion-powered engine was no longer idling, and now the familiar twitch of dropping into flightspace came and went.
Had Becky and Ethan, living or dead, ridden in this same prison, days ago, as they were being carried on their way to death or worse? Harry closed his eyes and tried to draw them closer to him. It didn't work; such efforts never did, for him. For all that Harry's own feelings, his perceptions, could tell him, his wife and son might have been locked into this very chamber, even died in it, days ago—or they might even now be safe at home on Esmerelda.
The little room did provide him with water and air and elementary plumbing, enabling him to conserve his suit's life support systems a little longer.
How long it took the transporter to convey him from the near vicinity of 207GST, deep into the system called the Gravel Pit, to a location only minutes from the rogue's hideout, Harry never knew; since the berserker attack, it very seldom occurred to him that he should make an effort to keep track of time, except for purely technical reasons. He put in a request to be allowed to observe the transporter's progress to the inner system, and the assassin silently consented, creating the appropriate images on one wall of his small prison cell.
When they had emerged from flightspace again, the assassin blandly acknowledged that it was following the path mapped out earlier by Harry's own recon team. Penetrating the outer reaches of the Gravel Pit required great skill at collision avoidance, and sturdy defensive forcefield shields to cushion the impacts that could not be dodged. But with the guidance provided, the assassin managed the trick neatly.
Soon there were fireworks, generated in the space immediately surrounding the transporter by the interaction of its defensive fields and projectors with flying dust and gravel. The transporter's automated defenses seemed to be up to the job. Minutes later the fireworks ceased, and there supervened an ominous calm, the eye of the storm. The difference was dramatically obvious. They had reached the zone of relative stability. This region was half familiar to Harry, as he had several times traversed it on his scouting missions.
The presentation in Harry's cell showed him a few small planets, or planetoids, moving in peaceful orbits.
A bright marker appeared in the display, highlighting one of them, a rock not big enough to have any substantial gravity of its own.
The assassin's almost human voice announced: "I highlight the place at which our enemy has established itself."
The image certainly resembled that which Cheng's scouts had earlier brought back to 207GST. "As far as I can tell, you've got it right."
Suddenly the holostage display had changed. Detectors had discovered another presence, ship or machine, following the assassin's transporter at a respectful distance as the transporter still occasionally darted or swerved to avoid some catastrophic collision. It was working its way gradually closer to the drearily ordinary star that ruled this manic planetary family.
Soon Harry had had enough of silent contemplation. "What you're showing me seems to indicate we're being followed. What the hell is that thing?"
His captor's voice was the same as ever. "I thought it possible that you could tell me."
"Well, I can't."
The assassin continued to present the images for perhaps another half minute, Then it asked simply: "Have you any comments? Suggestions?"
"No comment at this time, as the politicians say. Look, assassin, or whatever the hell I should call you, I have no way of telling what that blob is that you're showing me. For all I know you're just making it up, part of some crazy mind game."
"I have no computing capacity to spare on tricks, and no taste for mind games. I am not making the image up. You see the object's shape as indeterminate because it is at the limit of detection in this dusty space. I can tell only that it is the size of a small ship, not quite as large as this machine in which you ride, and that it is no ally of mine. Very likely it is some unit belonging to the rogue.
"Alternatively, it may be one of the small badlife ships that fled from your base at my approach; but I do not understand why your former companions would first run away and then pursue me."
"If you're trying to figure out why ED humans act the way they do, I can tell you that it's hopeless."
"Nevertheless I must try." The presentation of the mystery object had vanished. The image of the approaching enemy base was back, a little sharper now.
"So what will you do?"
"Disregard this unknown object's presence, and push ahead with my attack. I have no choice."
Only a little time had passed before the assassin's voice was back, telling Harry it had managed to tap into the radio talk between the Secret Weapon and the Ship of Dreams.
It announced that it was going to allow Harry, its new ally, to listen in as well. It wanted him to evaluate what he heard.
"Sure, I'll listen." How much evaluation he might provide would be another matter.
"But you will not be allowed to transmit to your former companions."
"Somehow I'm not surprised."
Dorry was still sitting where Harry had propped her in place, to all appearances an inert piece of wreckage. The tame robot had not moved or spoken since Harry set her down, but it seemed a safe assumption that she was also listening.
Suddenly familiar voices began to come through, in terse radio exchanges. If they were coded, the crafty assassin was having no trouble unscrambling them for Harry. He soon was able to get a grasp of what had been happening since the two ships had fled the vicinity of 207GST.
"Winston!" Lady Laura was actually screaming, her voice gone unrecognizable in an uncharacteristic panic.
And Cheng's voice answering immediately, ship-to-ship, still at close range. "I'm here, Laura. Our base is gone. Somehow the damned thing beat us to the punch. Satranji and I are aboard the yacht, no one else. Who's with you?"
So far, none of it was a surprise to Harry. Winston Cheng would be as always determined, above everything else, to find out what had happened to his own missing people, and rescue them if possible.
There was an exchange of information on coordinates and speeds. The third ship, Cheng's second armed yacht, was out of touch and presumably in full flight with its own crew aboard, headed for some planet from which assistance could eventually be sent. But any possibility of outside help was days and days away.
Cheng demanded, tersely: "Where is the great inventor?"
Masaharu said: "Right here with me. I have been forced to apply physical restraint, and I have threatened to kill him if he makes trouble. He has had very little to say for himself—"
A voice that Harry could recognize as Gianopolous's broke in, thick with strain: "You are taking us to certain death, killing us all, going after that thing. I hope you realize that."
No one bothered to offer any comment.
Several moments of silence passed before the inventor spoke again. "Can I put on the copilot's helmet? I want to see what's going on."
The lady's voice was no harsher than usual. "Remember the warning I have given you. If you should make any attempt to seize control—"
"No, no. Right now I only want to see what's going on. You must allow me that, at least."
If the disguised ship had been following the yacht when both left the vicinity of Cheng's wanderworld, it had pulled ahead of the yacht on the way. But Winston Cheng would be closely following. The Secret Weapon would not dock or crash here ahead of the yacht, except by Cheng's direct order—or by some accident.
If the Lady Masaharu had ever tried to argue Cheng out of this suicidal effort, she had abandoned that effort long ago. If she could not save his life, then she must go with him.
The Lady Masaharu had remained fanatically determined to stand by her man throughout this supreme crisis, and to keep the Secret Weapon near his yacht. But it was all right if her ship got somewhat ahead of the Ship of Dreams, or even if they lost contact briefly, because she knew that whatever else might happen, the tycoon was going to press on to the rogue's stronghold.
All of Cheng's ships had the rogue's location loaded into their data banks. Everyone aboard could tell that the assassin's transporter was headed in that direction.
With Cheng in command, there could be no question of abandoning their effort. Terse communications revealed the revised plan of attack. Both ships would touch down, if possible, on the berserker base. Only Cheng himself and Lady Laura would disembark, after the Secret Weapon had disgorged its fighting machines. Satranji would remain in the pilot's seat aboard the yacht, supporting this minimalist landing party with its weapons, and holding the Weapon in readiness to bring all the humans off again. Harry supposed that forming a plan was a required ritual, even when it did not connect with reality.
There was a little more talk, relatively unguarded. What difference, now, if the enemy were listening? Lady Laura, driving the ship that was disguised as a berserker, would precede the yacht, following the real berserker at the approximate limit of detection range.
The lady was perfectly familiar with the cargo that filled the modest hold of the small ship she was driving. It consisted almost entirely of twelve distinct pieces of machinery, all of them designed and built, under her guidance, to fight berserkers. She had overseen the stowage, making the decision on which of the new machines would be first to leap into action when, at the proper moment, the hatch flew open.
The twelve machines were not, the Lady Masaharu regretted, the best berserker-bashers it would have been possible to build. Certainly they were not the equal of the machines she could have created had she been given time to recruit the finest engineers and allow them time to thoroughly test their creations. But the devices on hand were powerful and violent, in some cases not much less dangerous than the berserkers themselves. Whatever their inadequacies, they would have to do.
She and Cheng continued to exchange a few brief ship-to-ship communications as they both drove sunward. Their respective vessels had never been separated by more than a light-second in the scrambling evacuation from 207GST, and usually they had remained within a hundred thousand kilometers of each other.
Even had she been denied the chance for direct communication with Cheng, the Lady Masaharu would have been perfectly certain of his intentions. After decades of faithful companionship and service, she knew the man. He had sworn and dedicated himself to attack the berserker base, regardless of odds or circumstances, and here, right now, was the only chance that he would ever have to do just that. He was determined that this day, this hour, would see the end of his long torment and his great effort.
Could the watching badlife, at the distance they were observing from and under such conditions, have detected Harry's transfer from transporter machine to berserker base, a little while before the shooting started? Their instruments might have seen a movement of small figures, but could not be certain what they were seeing or what it meant.
Observing what happened next, from their respective ships, Cheng and the lady were both able to see the assassin descend upon the berserker base. But instead of the expected peaceful landing, they had witnessed a sharp but apparently inconclusive exchange of fire with moderately heavy weapons, between the approaching transporter and the base.
Taking this mysterious attack as a sign that the gods or the fates were with him, and whatever power ruled the berserker base was already under assault by some very active enemy, the tycoon had hurried to press on with his own effort.
"It seems our enemy has other enemies."
"And stronger ones than we are."
"Whatever it means, we must take advantage of the opportunity."
It was plain to Harry that none of the humans on Winston Cheng's yacht, or those on the Secret Weapon, had any idea that one berserker was about to launch a violent attack upon another. And only Satranji had any idea that he had betrayed them all.
When the voices from outside fell silent, the assassin's came to probe again at Harry. "Did you understand the substance of the conversation?"
"Most of it, I think. The inventor is right in the control cabin of the Secret Weapon with her, but she's somehow got him shackled, immobilized. Cheng is pushing on with our attack against your deranged former colleague, just as planned, despite the human losses. The two ships are following you, this machine, thinking that it's just part of the rogue's equipment."
"They are planning to attack the rogue's base, with two small ships?"
"The original plan included only one more armed yacht, and I doubt that would have made a lot of difference." Harry paused. "You know, your own scheme may not make much more sense, if the rogue's as tough as you say. And humans can sometimes be just as fanatical as you are."
"I very much doubt that."
"Watch and see." So far, Harry was not regretting his inability to talk to his fellow humans—he didn't want to hold a conversation with Satranji listening in.
Harry: "What do we do now, assassin?"
Assassin: "I go on with my plan. So do you, if you wish our agreement to remain in effect. Any attack that these other badlife may actually carry out will work in our favor, by providing additional distraction."
As the assassin's transporter neared the rogue's research facility, Harry's senior partner provided him with a good look at their common enemy. They had now arrived within easy range for direct communication and contact with the rogue.
Presently the assassin informed Harry that, according to plan, it had just exchanged routine greetings with the machine they intended to destroy, and had informed the enemy of Harry's presence on board as a prisoner.
The voice in Harry's helmet said: "Are you ready, Harry Silver? The plan appears to be working. The rogue gives no sign of suspecting that I come as its enemy. It does not appear to have detected the ship that follows me."
Harry could feel the inner relief that usually came with the start of action. "Ready as I'm ever going to be."
He was automatically running once more through his suit's checklist. "So here we go."
"Here we go."
A door opened in one wall of Harry's small cell, releasing him to move about aboard the transporter—if there was really any place other than the cell for him to go.
On his feet and ready, Harry jerked his head in the direction of Dorry, who still sat inertly where he had put her down. "What about this one?"
"Leave the badlife robot here for now, so we need not explain its presence. I will have it ready, if a way to use it should present itself."
The assassin created a clear spot in its own outer hull, or opened a small aperture, enabling Harry to look out as they approached the rogue's compact stronghold.
Artificial gravity abruptly disappeared, and Harry's stomach reacted to that event in its usual way, giving an unpleasant lurch. A moment later his guide appeared, drifting weightless in the doorway of the small compartment. It was either the same unit that had brought him to the transporter or an indistinguishable duplicate. As the berserker had promised, it was carrying, slung over one shoulder, a carbine of the same type as the one that Harry had lost during the fight.
There also appeared the same machine that had spoken to him on the ruined base. Its voice, almost Harry's own, said: "Follow your guide to the airlock. I will be landing presently."
While Harry and his escort, the roughly anthropomorphic unit provided by the assassin, were in transit, the machine shared with him the best view it could provide of what the rogue's base looked like.
He could see how the rogue's installation was built into and clinging to the irregular shape of a small asteroid, looking not too much different from 207GST, scarred and cratered by millennia of minor impacts, that otherwise looked not much different from a million others sharing this perilous space.
Before sending Harry on his way, the assassin gave him a final briefing. It thought it had spotted where the enemy brain was housed, and it had also seen indications of life in one of the remote portions of this installation. Harry was to allow his suited body to be limply towed through space, as if he were somehow immobilized inside his armor. The intent was that the rogue should focus most of its attention on the condition of its potential specimen inside his armor.
"I copy. Let's go."
The escort machine provided by the assassin, perhaps the same unit through which it had spoken to him when they were on the wanderworld, contained at least one key module of the assassin's main brain—a physically small computer, no bigger than a human skull.
First attaching to itself a device that looked like a miniature space scooter, this berserker towed Harry's inactive body through several hundred meters, perhaps a full kilometer of space, from the spaceborne assassin machine to the small base established by the rogue.
Studying his surroundings as thoroughly as he could in the brief time available, Harry started inside his suit at the sight of the Secret Weapon coming on slowly, as if about to make a peaceful docking. At least Harry thought it was the disguised ship, though for all that he could tell, it might well have been just one more berserker. In either case, this could well be the mystery object that had been following the assassin's transporter.
From his position in nearby space, Harry got a good look at the establishment the rogue had created for itself. His first impression was that the renegade, trying to prepare against attack, had devoted a lot of time and energy to digging and building itself solidly into the landscape. The beginnings of some kind of defensive ring could be surrounding its main installation—no more than the beginnings, so maybe Cheng's miniature squadron would have some chance of reaching the ground after all. There were a couple of what appeared to be powerful beam projectors under construction. Harry as he approached could see some active construction machinery, going about its job in deep-space silence.
The man-sized, expendable device that was escorting Harry shifted the carbine it was carrying from one metal shoulder to the other. There appeared to be no purpose to this action, except that it had moved the weapon approximately a meter closer to his hands, which he kept down at his sides.
The voice in his helmet was only a metallic whisper: "Do not reply. This is the end of our direct communication until the fight has started."
The dock of the berserker base loomed up just ahead, rocks and walls devoid of any symbols, looking as bleak as a fossil skull. A kind of surf was breaking on it, engulfing the whole mass, in the form of kilometers-per-second clouds of almost invisible dust particles, appearing as smooth shadowy curves of force in space, ready to sandblast the unwary or unprotected into oblivion. His armored suit could handle the thin onslaught. Within a few meters, a field of artificial gravity, almost a surprise, suddenly took hold. The dock was just below him now, and Harry's booted feet came down upon it solidly, with a sound of great finality.