Smith, E E 'Doc' - d'Alembert 02 - Stranglers Moon

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STRANGLERS' MOON
Volume Two of The classic Family d'Alembert series
By E.E. ‘Doc' Smith
With Stephen Goldin
CHAPTER 1
Predators and Prey
The Golden Crater Casino was unquestionably among the largest and plushest
gaming
palaces in the Galaxy. Its reputation for the exotic and the exciting was
fully earned, as
the briefest of walks down its crowded corridors and across its even more
crowded
rooms would reveal. People were jammed elbow-to-elbow in some places in their
fanatical attempts to lose money to the House. Women in abbreviated costumes
roamed
the floor, ostensibly employed as photographers, waitresses and the like-
though it was
common knowledge that a fifty ruble bill would procure other services from
them as well.
The great and the near-great mingled at the tables, amid throngs of those who
were
merely wealthy but had aspirations toward greatness. Here a sensable star
brushed
against a countess; there a corporation president bumped into a famous news
commentator. Rank and social distinction were of little importance in the
casino; the only
question of interest was how well could a person gamble and was luck on his
side today.
Yet even as notorious and plush as it was, the Golden Crater was considered
merely
routine by comparison to other "establishments" on Vesa, the moon that billed
itself as
the "Playground to the Galaxy"-and which cynics called a variety of other
names.
Nils Bjenden, a banker from the planet Lindstrom, stood to one side of a
doorway looking
with distaste across the crowded room. This chamber was so jammed with people
that
he had difficulty seeing the other side. The ceiling arched high above his
head, and on it
was projected a kaleidoscopic light show that continually changed colors with
the
changing noise level in the room. But he had not come here to look at the
ceiling, he had
come to gamble-and the mob on the floor was packed so densely that he could
not see
so much as a single gaming table.
"I told you we should have gotten here earlier," he said to his wife Karen,
who stood
beside him and looked as bewildered as he felt. Nils found he had to yell to
be heard
above the room's din, even though his wife was only centimeters away. "But you
wanted
to stop and eat first. We should have left when I wanted to.
"
"I didn't know it would be this crowded," she apologized.
A stranger who'd been standing behind them came to the woman's rescue. "Don't
blame
her, gospodin. The Golden Crater is like this around the clock. Vesa is `the
moon that
never sleeps,' you know; these casinos are ample proof of that.
Nils grunted noncommittally and would have walked away, but Karen struck up a
conversation with the man who'd saved her from a tongue-lashing. "You seem to
know a
lot about it. Do you live here on Vesa?"
The stranger laughed. He was a tall, thin man with brooding eyes and a dark
complexion.
His clothing was almost as conservative as Nils's, comprising a lightweight
brown jacket
and flared pants, a stiff white shirt and a gold sash tied about his waist.
"No, gospozha, I
don't think I'd care to. It's all too hectic, too busy; I'd go crazy in two
weeks. I do travel a
lot, though, and I come here fairly often-every couple of months, at least.
"This is our first time," Karen gushed. "I've been wanting to come for years
and years-it's
not as if we couldn't afford it. But Nils-my husband-is a banker, and he's
always busy
with one deal after another. You'd think the entire planet would fall apart
without him
there to look after it. I finally had to put my foot down and tell him that we
were going to
Vesa, now, or else.
"Hmpf," snorted her husband as he craned his neck to look over the throng of
gamblers
on the floor. "Some vacation it's been, too. I haven't had a moment to relax
since we got
here. There's always people, people, people. What did you say your name was,
again?"
"Lessin," the stranger replied. "And if you think it's crowded here you should
see what it's
like down on Chandakha.
It took a moment for Karen to realize what he was talking about. The moon Vesa
was so
famous that many people forgot there was a planet it circled. "Oh yes, I
remember
reading something about it on our trip out here. They've got an overpopulation
problem,
haven't they?.
"That's putting it mildly." Lessin closed his eyes and shuddered, as though
recalling some
personal nightmare. "Things are so bad down there that the people are little
more than
animals sometimes.
His tone made Karen shiver. "Then I'm just as glad I'm up here, among
civilized people.
"I'm not," Nils grumbled. "I should never have left Lindstrom, not with that
big deal about
to go through. I don't like the thought of having to fight my way through that
mob just to
get near a table and do a little gambling.
"I quite agree," Lessin said amiably. "I much prefer the private clubs,
myself. If I hadn't
promised to meet a friend here, I'd be at one of them right now.
"I didn't know there were any private clubs," Karen said.
"Well, they certainly don't advertise-that's how they manage to stay private.
They like to
avoid crowd scenes like this one here.
"What are these private clubs like?" Nils asked. "They're much smaller, more
intimate
places. Couple dozen people at most, and the atmosphere is more relaxed. The
stakes
can vary from moderate to high, depending on where you go, of course.
"Would there be any chance of our going to one of those places?" Nils asked.
"There
sure as hell isn't going to be any action for us around here.
The stranger hesitated. "Well, they are for members only. . . . .
"You're a member, aren't you?.
"Nils! You have no right to impose on this man," Karen complained.
"Oh, I don't mind. I was about to continue that the clubs are for members and
their
guests. I was going to be taking my friend to one, but," he looked at his
ringwatch, "he's
more than half an hour late right now. If I know him, he's probably picked up
one of the
floorgirls and has forgotten all about me. I hate going places by myself. In
fact, I had just
about decided to invite you two nice people to come along with me.
"Yes, that's more the spirit," Nils said, rubbing his hands with gusto. It was
obvious he
preferred the thought of a quiet, dignified evening of gentlemanly gambling to
the raucous
atmosphere of the Golden Crater.
"It sounds lovely," Karen added.
"Fine, then it's all settled. Just give me a moment to get my cape from the
checkroom
and I'll be right back with you." Lessin smiled at them and moved off quickly
toward one
side of the chamber.
"We were lucky to meet him," Karen whispered to her husband. Her low voice was
just
barely audible above the noise of the casino. "He certainly seems to know what
he's
about.
"Very good sort," Nils agreed.
Their newfound friend was back three minutes later, a full-length brown fur
cape draped
elegantly over his tall, handsome frame. "Shall we be off?" he suggested.
As they left the casino and the door shut behind them, the drop in noise level
was an
immense relief. They faced one of the broad traffic corridors that carried the
bulk of
Vesa's public transportation. Being an airless satellite, all life on Vesa
existed
underground in the vast hollowed-out chambers and tunnels that honeycombed the
moon.
This tunnel was one of the major "arteries" and dozens of electric vehicles
went past
them each minute.
"Thank goodness," Karen said in the comparative quiet of the corridor. "I
thought I'd burst
an eardrum in there." "It's not too long a ride to the club," Lessin said.
"Let me see if I
can flag down a jit." He stood on the curb and waved at a likely looking
vehicle.
A large shuttle lumbered in their direction. This was one of the buses, or
"jits," that were
the universal method of transportation on Vesa. Jits were privately owned and
operated,
acting as combinations of cabs and busses; they could pick up passengers at
will and
take them anywhere on Vesa, without regard to fixed schedules. Tiny computers
built
into the driver's controls calculated the fare from the point of pickup to the
destination.
This jit was obviously an old one, judging from all the paint peeling off its
six-meter length.
The glass in four of its windows had large cracks. As it pulled to a stop
beside them, the
group on the curb could see the vehicle's occupants-half a dozen seedy-looking
men
wearing dirty clothes. Most of them were in need of a shave. They leered out
the
windows at the well-dressed trio.
Lessin waved the jit away. "That's a problem you'd better be warned about if
this is your
first trip here," he explained. "Very few people have private cars; nearly
everybody uses
the jits because they allow for more flexibility in the traffic patterns. But
there's a certain
outlaw element that takes advantage of that. They'd think nothing of picking
up
newcomers like you, beating you up and robbing you. Hardly a week goes by
without
some story in the newsrolls about some tourist getting mugged on a pirate jit.
"Oh, dear," said Karen.
"I have heard about them," Nils said slowly. "That's why I carry a small
stunner in my
pocket at all times." "A wise precaution," Lessin nodded. "However, sometimes
a little
prudence in one's choice of transportation can eliminate the need for that.
Ah, there's a
more likely candidate." He waved at another jit that was coming down the
street.
This one proved to be much more acceptable to all of them. Not only was it new
and
clean, but the six passengers already aboard were far more respectable types
who paid
no notice to the new arrivals. Lessin insisted on paying the fares for all
three of them as
he gave the driver an address. "It'll only be a few minutes' drive," he told
the Bjendens.
"Just relax.
The couple from Lindstrom did so. There was little scenery to watch in these
tunnels, but
the shuttle's novelty intrigued them. Since it did not go faster than thirty
kilometers an
hour-and since the climate was perfectly controlled within these corridors-the
jit was an
open-air conveyance with no roof. The slight breeze was deliciously cool as
they drove
along.
Two minutes later, the jit entered a solitary tunnel slightly darker than the
main
passageways. Lessin looked up and suddenly an expression of horror crossed his
face.
"Oh no!" he exclaimed.
"What's the problem?" Nils demanded.
"The ceiling's going to cave in! There's a crack in the roof right up there.
See?" Both Nils
and Karen craned their necks to see where the stranger was pointing.
At that precise moment, the other six men on the jit exploded into action. Two
of them
grabbed the Bjendens' feet, holding them tightly together so that they could
not run. Two
more grabbed their arms, pinning them to the sides to prevent struggling. The
remaining
two whipped yellow scarves off from around their necks and, in one lightning-
fast
gesture, twisted them around the throats of the married couple. The upward-
tilted necks
were well exposed-an easy target.
The two tourists were taken so much by surprise that they had no opportunity
to
struggle, even if the men holding their bodies had allowed such a thing. Their
eyes
bugged out of their sockets as the scarves tightened around their throats,
squeezing shut
the windpipes and cutting off their air supply. The only sound was the
faintest guggling as
Nils and Karen fought vainly to breathe.
The last sight either of them ever saw was Lessin's imperturbable face staring
at them
with neither pity nor regret in his eyes.
When both were quite dead, Lessin-as leader of the stranglers-had the duty of
combing
their bodies for loot. He did this efficiently and, within a minute, both
bodies had yielded
all that they had of value-wallets, jewelry and keys to a hotel room where
more of their
goods would be stored.
The shuttle driver's timing was impeccable-just as the leader finished his
search, the jit
pulled up to a large white building. Driving into a private accessway, the
driver tooted his
horn sharply twice, and a side door opened. Four men dressed in white
coveralls
emerged from the building and boarded the jit. They looked down at the two
dead bodies
and, without comment, lifted them up and carried them back outside. Lessin
gave them a
curt nod as they disappeared inside the building with their burdens and the
door slid shut
once more.
As the jit backed out into the main thoroughfare again, the leader of the
strangler band
sat down in a seat behind the driver. The Bjendens' hotel keys jingled idly in
his hand.
Tomorrow, after their rooms had been thoroughly picked over, the Bjendens
would be
"checked out" of their hotel and would simply vanish from the face of the
Universe, as
many thousands had done before them. Very simple, very routine.
Lessin gave an involuntary yawn. The banker and his wife brought his daily
total to six.
He decided to see whether he could bring that number up to eight before
calling it quits.
Stifling a second yawn, he told the driver to head back to the Golden Crater;
the pickings
there seemed exceptionally good today.
The man known as Garst was fuming silently as he strode down the marble-
floored
hallway. He made no effort to quiet the clacking sound of his boots made with
each
impatient step he took; he was angry, and he wanted his anger to show.
Her tinning is lousy, he griped silently. Just when I finally had a chance to
talk with the
emissary of the Countess von Sternberg. It would have been my big opportunity
to break
out of my dependence on one little moon, a chance to reach for bigger things.
But maybe that was precisely why she had called him. Maybe she didn't want him
branching out beyond her grasp. Marchioness Gindri was a very possessive
person, and
the thought that her own personal lackey might have ambitions to something
higher than
her would be a very deep sting. But I'd tried so hard to keep this meeting
secret.
He stopped as he came to the giant doors that marked the entrance to her
boudoir.
These doors stood nearly three meters high, and were elaborately carved out of
solid
whitewood and gilded in ornate designs. The knobs were solid gold, sculpted in
the
shape of miniature birds flying with wings outstretched. The doors were meant
to
impress the visitor, but Garst had been here too many times before and they
seemed
just like doors to him.
He paused outside the portals to catch his breath and curb his temper. Maybe
her
summoning him now was just a coincidence. She'd called for him before at odd
times,
this could be just another one. She was, after all, none too bright; it would
do him no
good to allow his guilty conscience-or what passed for a conscience in him-to
ascribe to
her a cunning she did not possess. Probably the biddy was just suffering from
another of
her incessant loneliness jags and needed his services.
Garst shuddered. That was perhaps the most distasteful aspect of his entire
operation-making love to her gross, overindulged body. Someday, he was afraid,
his
sensibilities would overcome his logical mind and leave him incapable of even
performing
the act.
He sighed. The truth of the matter was that he needed her to make his
strangling
operation work. The Marcbioness controlled the entire moon, at least
nominally. It was
she who gave orders to the police force, the hotel employees and the casinos.
True, he
was the one telling her what orders to give, but without her authority and her
title to back
up those orders, he was lost.
Once again, the delightful thought of killing her flashed through his mind.
Many were the
times he had fantasized the simple act of reaching his hands out to surround
her fat,
multi-chinned neck and squeeze the life out of her. But, though the personal
satisfaction
that act would give him would be enormous, the consequences would be
disastrous.
Gindri had no direct heirs to inherit her tide, and at her death Vesa would
revert back to
the Throne, allowing the Emperor to choose whomever he wished as the new
Marquis.
Knowing Stanley Ten's reputation for incorruptibility, the appointee would be
someone
Garst would never get a hold over.
He sighed again. His success lay in keeping Gindri alive and happy, so that
she would not
interfere with the profitable setup he had established. Garst was, if nothing
else, a
realist.
With his temper now well under restraint, Garst pulled down on the handles and
opened
the huge twin doors. Instantly the sickening stench of the Marchioness's
perfume
assailed his nostrils, and he had to fight down the impulse to gag. Instead,
with his most
obsequious smile plastered tightly onto his lips, he entered the room and
snaked his way
over to the side of the bed.
Marchioness Gindri Lohlatt of Vesa looked like nothing so much as a beached
whale in a
white satin nightgown. She easily massed a hundred and fifty kilograms; Garst
had never
asked exactly how much, more out of fear of being revolted by the actual
number than
out of politeness. Her fat face was always red and jowly, her many chins
overlapping and
virtually hiding her neck in layers of blubber. Her body was as soft and
pallid as a slug's.
She would hardly even be able to move on any world with a normal gravity,
Garst
thought. Only the fact that the gravity on Vesa was a mere one-quarter Earth
standard
allowed her to survive without a heart attack.
"You called for me, Your Excellency?" he asked as nicely as he could.
"Yes," she said. Her voice was a throaty rasp, escaping from deep inside her
throat. She
reached out one ponderous arm to him and extended a hand as round as a
balloon.
Garst brought the hand to his lips and kissed it.
He wanted to drop the hand after the kiss, but the Marchioness gripped his
hand tightly
with her own and pulled him closer to the side of her bed. The stench of her
perfume
grew ten times worse with each centimeter closer he came.
A silence hung in the air for a long moment, until Garst's impatience got the
better of him.
"May I ask, Your Excellency, why you sent for me at this particular hour?
Though the
urgency of matters of state of course pales beside my desire to please you,
there are
still some details that are important and must be done at certain times.
Marchioness Gindri looked up at him with great, rheumy eyes. "You haven't been
to see
me in three days.
Her voice wavered, as though she were on the verge of tears. "I need to know
that you
still love me." Though his outward expression did not alter, Garst's inward
fuming
resumed at an increased level. This stupid sow called me all the way over here
for that?
he thought. Oh, how good it will be when I can get away from this moon and
start out in
business on my own. "Of course I still love you," he said aloud, seating
himself on the
little bit of edge next to the woman's enormous body. "What is there not to
love about
you? You're beautiful, intelligent, personable, wealthy and powerful,
everything I admire
most in a woman." And if you believe that, I deserve the Galaxy Award for
acting.
But the Marchioness saw no falseness in his words or eyes, and was reassured
of his
continuing affection. Spreading her arms apart to welcome him to her bosom,
she said,
"Come to me then, my lamb, and prove your love for me.
With thoughts darker than the blackness of space, Garst crawled into her arms.
I won't
always be stuck on this miserable little rock-and when that day conies, I'll
see that you
get the rewards you've earned. Just wait.
CHAPTER 2
The Problem with Vesa
As La Comete Cuivre drifted purposefully through the void of interplanetary
space toward
its rendezvous, its two occupants were keyed to the breaking point with eager
anticipation. Yvette and Jules d'Alembert had been ,.on vacation" for three
months-far
longer than they would have liked-and they were itching for action.
"I wonder what we'll be up against this time," Yvette speculated aloud. "Are
there any
more grand dukes plotting against the "Throne?.
"Probably nothing so dramatic," her brother smiled. He spoke in the French-
English
patois that was their native tongue. "After all, it doesn't take a direct
threat against the
Emperor's life to endanger the peace. There's always a long, uphill battle
against
entropy.
They stopped speaking as their radarscope indicated they were nearing their
destination.
Jules quickly computed the approach pattern and laid it into the ship's
computer. The
action was followed moments later by a flashing light on the control panel in
front of them
and, five seconds after that, a short blast from the retrorockets. La Comete,
according
to the numbers flashed on Jules' screen, would be docking with the other ship
in four
minutes, thirty-seven seconds.
"Let's see what she's like out there," Yvette said, reaching for a different
switch. Both
turned their heads and watched a panel to the right of their seats as a
vidscreen that had
been dark suddenly jumped to life. Though they had known intellectually what
to expect,
they still could not stifle the gasps of awe as they gazed at the ship they
were
approaching.
The Anna Liebling was easily the biggest private space going vessel they had
ever seen.
The d'Alemberts had grown up among circus ships that had to carry all the
personnel and
equipment of the Greatest Show in the Galaxy, monstrous fat freighters ranging
up to a
hundred meters long. That was considered the maximum size for any ship that
had to
maneuver through an atmosphere and land on the surface of a planet, and they
摘要：

STRANGLERS'MOONVolumeTwoofTheclassicFamilyd'AlembertseriesByE.E.‘Doc'SmithWithStephenGoldinCHAPTER1PredatorsandPreyTheGoldenCraterCasinowasunquestionablyamongthelargestandplushestgamingpalacesintheGalaxy.Itsreputationfortheexoticandtheexcitingwasfullyearned,asthebriefestofwalksdownitscrowdedcorridor...

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