Astounding British Edition, Volume 8, No. 11 — page 18: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

16 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION CHAPTER XI. COMMANDER KrRoGSoNn stormed up and down his office in a frenzy of impatience. “It shouldn’t be more than another fifteen minutes, sir,” said Schninkle. _ Krogson snorted. “That’s what you said an hour ago! What’s the matter with those people down there? I want the identity of that ship and I want it now.”> “It’s not Identification’s fault,” explained the other, “The big analyzer is in pretty bad shape and it keeps jamming. They’re afraid that if they take it apart they won’t be able to get it back together again.” The next two hours saw Krogson’s blood pressure steadily rising toward the explo- sion ~point. Twice he ordered the whole identification section transferred to a labor battalion and twice he had to rescind the command when Schninkle pointed out that scrapings from the bottom of the barrel were better than nothing at all. His finger- nails were chewed down to the quick when word finally came through. “Identification, sir,” said a hesitant voice on the intercom. “Well?” demanded the commander. “The analyzer says—” The voice hesi- tated again. “The analyzer says what?” shouted Krog- son in a fury of impatience. “The analyzer says that the trace pattern is that of one of the old Imperial drive units.” “That’s impossible!” sputtered the com- mander. “The last Imperial base was smashed five hundred years ago. What of their equipment was salvaged has long since been worn out and tossed on the scrap heap. The machine must be wrong!” “Not this time,” said the voice. ‘We checked the memory bank manually and there’s no mistake. It’s an Imperial all right. Nobody can produce a drive unit like that these days.” Commander Krogson leaned back in his chair, his eyes veiled in deep thought. “Schninkle,” he said finally, thinking out loud, “I’ve got a hunch that maybe we’ve stumbled on something big. Maybe the Lord Protector is right about there being a plot to knock him over, but maybe he’s wrong about who’s trying to do it. What if all these centuries since the Empire collapsed a group of Imperials have been hiding out waiting for their chance?” Schninkle digested the idea for a moment. “Tt could be,” he said slowly. “If there is such a group, they couldn’t pick a better time than now to strike; the Protectorate is so wobbly that it wouldn’t take much of a shove to topple it over.” The more he thought about it, the more sense the idea made to Krogson. Once he felt a fleeting temptation to hush up the whole thing. If there were Imperials and they did take over, maybe they would put an end to the frenzied rat race that was slowly ruining the galaxy—a race that sooner or later entangled every competent man in the great web of intrigue and power politics that stretched through the Protectorate and forced him in self-defense to keep clawing his way toward the top of the heap. Regretfully he dismissed the idea. This was a matter of his own neck here and now! “It’s a big IF, Schninkle,” he said, “but if I’ve guessed right we’ve bailed ourselves out. Get hold of that scout and find out his position.” Schninkle scooted out of the door. A few minutes later he dashed back in. “I’ve just contacted the scout!” he said excitedly. “He’s closed in on the power source and it isn’t a ship after all. It’s a man in space armor! The drive unit is cut off and it’s heading out of the system at fifteen hundred per. The pilot is standing by for instructions.” “Tell him to intercept and capture!” Schninkle started out of the office. “Wait a second; what’s the scout’s position?” Schninkle’s face fell. “He doesn’t quite know, sir.” “He what?’ demanded the commander. “He doesn’t quite know,” repeated the little man. “His astrocomputer went hay- wire six hours out of base.” “Just our luck!” swore Krogson. “Well tell him to leave his transmitter on. We'll ride. in on his beam. Better call the sector commander while you're at it and tell him what’s happened.” “Beg pardon, commander,” said Schninkle,” but I wouldn’t advise it.” “Why not?” asked Krogson. “You're next in line to be sector com- mander, aren’t you, sir?” “T guess so,” said the commander. “If this pans out you'll be in a position to knock him over and grab his job, won’t you?” asked Schninkle slyly. “Could be,” admitted Krogson in a tired voice. “Not because I want to, though—but because I have to. I'm not as young as I once was and the boys below are pushing EOmIichbooksnco -_