CHAPTER FOURTEEN

WITHIN THE SHED the old Ispra began to come alive. The propulsors were raised into their sockets, bolted and welded. Up through the stern access panel the generator and converter were hoisted, then slid forward and secured. The Ispra was no longer a hulk. Reith, Anacho and Traz wire-brushed, ground, polished, removed rotten padding, sour-smelling old settees. They cleaned the observation ports, reamed air conduits, installed new seals around the entry hatch.

Deine Zarre did no work. He hobbled here and there, his gray eyes missing no details. Artilo occasionally looked into the shed, a sneering droop to his gray mouth. Woudiver was seldom to be seen. During his rare appearances he was cold and businesslike, all trace of his first jocundity gone.

For an entire month Woudiver did not show himself. Artilo, in a confiding mood, spat down at the ground and said, "Big Yellow's out at his country place."

"Oh? What's he do out there?"

Artilo twisted his head sidewise, showing Reith a lopsided grin. "Thinks he's a Dirdirman, that's what. That's where his money goes, on his fences and scenery and hunts, wicked old beast."

Reith stood stock-still staring at Artilo. "You mean he hunts men?"

"For sure. He and his cronies. Yellow has two thousand acres to his place, almost as big as the Glass Box. Walls aren't so good, but he's got them circled by electric wires and sting snaps. Don't go to sleep on Yellow's wine; you'll wake up to find yourself in the hunt."

Reith forbore to inquire the disposition of the victims; it was information he did not want.

Another of the ten-day Tschai weeks passed, and Woudiver appeared, in a surly mood. His upper lip was stiff as a shingle, totally concealing his mouth; his eyes darted truculently right and left. He strutted close to Reith; the great hulk of his torso blotted out half the landscape. He held out his hand. "Rent."

His voice was flat and cold.

Reith brought forth five hundred sequins and placed them on a shelf. He did not care to touch the yellow hand.

Woudiver, in a spasm of petulance, struck out with the back of his hand, knocking Reith head over heels. Reith picked himself up in astonishment. His skin began to prickle, signaling the onset of fury. From the corner of his eye he noticed Artilo lounging against the wall. Artilo would shoot him as calmly as he might crush an insect, this he knew. Nearby stood Traz, watching Artilo intently. Artilo was neutralized.

Woudiver stood looking at him, eyes cold and expressionless. Reith heaved a deep sigh, choked back his wrath. To strike back at Woudiver would gain none of his respect, but only stimulate the whole of his rancor. Inevitably something dreadful would occur. Reith slowly turned away. "Bring me my rent!" barked Woudiver. "Do you take me for a mendicant? I have been sufficiently wounded by your arrogance. In the future extend me the respect due to my caste!"

Again Reith hesitated. How much easier to attack the monstrous Woudiver and accept the consequences! Which would be wreckage of the program. Again Reith sighed. If it were necessary to eat crow, a mouthful was no worse than a taste.

In cold and austere silence he handed the sequins to Woudiver, who only glared and made a waggling motion of the hips. "It is insufficient! Why should I subsidize your undertaking! Pay me my due! The rent is one thousand sequins a month!"

"Here is another five hundred sequins," said Reith. "Please do not demand more, because it will not be forthcoming."

Woudiver made a contemptuous sound, wheeled and stalked away. Artilo looked after him and spat in the dust. Then he gave Reith a speculative glance.

Reith went inside the shed. Deine Zarre, who had observed the episode, made no comment. Reith tried to soothe his humiliation in work.

Two days later Woudiver reappeared, wearing his gaudy black and yellow outfit.

His truculence of the previous occasion had vanished; he was blandly polite.

"Well, then, and what is the current state of your project?"

Reith responded in a flat voice. "There have been no major problems. The heavy components are in place and connected. The instruments have been installed, but are not operative. Deine Zarre is preparing another list: the magnetic justification system, navigation sensors, the environment conditioners. Perhaps we should also purchase fuel cells at this time."

Woudiver pursed his lips. "Just so. Again the sad occasion arises, of parting with your hard-gained sequins. How, may I ask, did you garner so large a sum? It is a fortune in itself. With so much in hand I wonder that you risk all on a wild-goose chase."

Reith managed a wintry smile. "Evidently I do not regard the expedition as a wild-goose chase."

"Extraordinary. When will Deine Zarre have his list in hand?"

"Perhaps -it is finished now."

Deine Zarre had not finished his list but did so while Woudiver waited.

Scanning the list with head thrown back and eyes half-closed, Woudiver said, "I fear that the expense will be in excess of your reserves."

"I hope not," said Reith. "How much do you reckon?"

"I can't say for certain; I do not know. But with rent, labor costs, your original investments, you cannot have too much money left." He looked at Reith questioningly.

The last thing Reith planned to do was confide in Woudiver. "It is essential then that we keep costs to a minimum."

"Three basic costs must be met without fail," intoned Woudiver. "The rent, my fees, honorariums to my associates. What remains may be spent as you will. This is my point of view. And now be so good as to tender me two thousand sequins, for the honorariums. The materials, should you be unable to pay, can be returned without prejudice and at no cost other than drayage fees."

Gloomily Reith handed over two thousand sequins. He made a mental calculation: of something like two hundred and twenty thousand sequins brought from the Carabas, less than half remained.

Somewhat later a smaller wagon arrived, with eight canisters of fuel. Traz and Anacho started to unload these, but Reith stopped them. "One moment." He went into the shed where Deine Zarre checked items off his list. "Did you order fuel?"

"Yes."

Deine Zarre seemed pensive, thought Reith, as if his mind wandered afield.

"How long will a canister of fuel drive the ship?"

"Two are needed, one for each cell. These will give about two months' service."

"Eight canisters have been delivered."

"I ordered four, to ensure two spares."

Reith returned to the dray. "Take off four," he told Traz and Anacho. The driver sat in the shadow of the cab. Reith leaned in to address him, and to his surprise saw Artilo, apparently in no anxiety to identify himself. Reith said,

"You brought eight cans of fuel; we ordered four."

"Yellow said to bring eight."

"We only need four. Take four back."

"Can't be done. Talk to Big Yellow."

"I need only four cans. That's all I'm taking. Do what you like with the others."

Artilo, whistling between his teeth, jumped from the cab, unloaded the four extra canisters, carried them over to the shed. Then he climbed back into the dray and drove off.

The three stood looking after him. Anacho said in a toneless voice, "Trouble is on its way."

"I expect so," said Reith.

"The fuel cells," said Anacho, "are no doubt Woudiver's own property. Perhaps he stole them, perhaps he bought them on the cheap. Here is an excellent chance to dispose of them at a profit."

Traz made a growling sound in his throat. "Woudiver should be made to carry away the cells on his back."

Reith gave an uneasy laugh. "If I only knew how to make him.

"He fears for his life, like anyone else."

"True. But we can't cut off our nose to spite our face."