Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

116 ~ ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION “Guess we'll need a can opener?”’ “We might. If he’s aboard, we may have to get a little rough.”’ Lanko leaned back. | “‘Check the power pattern. Sort of like to know what we’re running into before we commit ourselves.” He glanced again at the indicators, then poked at switches. “In fact, I think we’d better wait right here, till we get this boy identified.” Banasel was whistling tunelessly as he set up readings on a computer. Finally, he poked the activator bar, and watched as the machine spat out tape. Above the tape chute, a series of graphs indicated the computations, but Banasel ignored them, feeding the tape into another machine. “I suppose there are some characters who could make a positive identifica- tion from the figures and curves. But I’m just a beginner. That’s why they furnish integrator directories, I guess.” Lanko smiled. “I don’t know anything, either,” he agreed. “But I generally know where I can look up what I need.” He set a compact reel of tape into the computer. oh They watched the directory as its screens glowed. Figures and descriptions shimmered, and there was a rapid ticking. A sheet flowed out toward them, and Banasel tore it off as the ticks ceased. ‘Type seventeen screens,” he read. “‘Probably Ietorian model Nan fifty- seven generators. Strictly a sportster setup. He’s got electromagnetics and physical contact screens, but there’s nothing else. And, with the type of readings I’ve got here, I’d say he’s running all the power he’s got. Do we 0 in?” | : “Sure we do.” Lanko nodded confidently as he slapped the drive lever. “This thing we’ve got’s only an atmosphere flier, but it’s made to take care of tougher stuff than luxury sportsters. Set up your can opener, just in case our boy wants to argue with us.” Banasel nodded silently. The small sportster was parked between two peaks. Before it was a tiny level space, too small for any ship. Above it, towered bare rock, tipped with eternal snow. Lanko examined the scene disgustedly. | “‘Inhospitable, isn’t he?’ he grunted. “He could at least have had enough front yard for a visitor to land.”” He picked up a microphone, touched a stud, and turned a knob. A faint hiss sounded from the speaker before him. ‘‘Philcor resident calling sportster,” he snapped. ““Come in, Over.” The hiss continued. Lanko punched another stud, and listened. The hiss remained unchanged. “Open him up, Banasel,” he finally ordered. “I’m going in.” He rose from his chair, crossing to the exit port. For an instant, he stood, checking his equipment belt. Then, he reached to a cabinet, to pick up a tool kit. He opened the box, examined its contents, then turned and nodded to Banasel. The port opened wide, and he stepped through. He dropped lightly to the space before the sportster, then stepped away, crouching behind a rock outcrop, and turned his body shield to full power. “Screens down,” he ordered. _ the port. THE PLAYERS 117 A faint haze grew about the sportster. At first, it was a barely perceptible fluorescence, Then, it became a fiercely incandescent glow. It flamed for a few seconds, then faded, becoming green, yellow, red, and at last, blinking to invisibility. “They're damped,” Banasel’s voice announced. ‘Shall I give him some more and knock out the generators?” “Not necessary,’’ Lanko told him. “Just hold complete neutralization. Pll cut them from inside.” He rose from his position behind the rock, idly kicking at the face of it as he walked past. A shower of dust crumbled to the ground. “Good thing there aren’t any trees around here,” he laughed. “We'd have to put out a forest fire.” He pulled his hand weapon from his belt, made a careful adjustment, then walked over to the ship. After a quick examination, he directed the weapon toward a spot in the hull. “Lots of credits here,’ he commented laconically. ‘““Shame to hurt the finish too much.” . A few minutes later, he stepped back, examining his work. Then, he nodded and removed another instrument from his tool kit. He focused it on the ship’s port, flicked a switch on his belt, then snapped the instrument on. For a few seconds, nothing happened, then there was a grinding screech of tortured metal, and the port swung open. As Lanko stepped inside, he examined the control room with care. At last, satisfied that no booby traps were set, he crossed to the control panel. He located the communicator controls, and picked up the microphone. “ALl’s well, Ban,” he reported. ‘““Ease off.” He watched as the overloaded generator recovered. When the needles were at normal readings, he flicked the screen controls off, then picked up the microphone again. “Haul out, Banasel,”’ he ordered. “I’m going to fix this can up again, close the port, run up the screens, and wait for our boy to come home. Like to talk to him.” The sportster had a well stocked galley. Lanko ate with enjoyment, study- ing the tapes he had found interestedly. Finally, he pushed the last reel aside, then sat back to gaze at the wall. A low tone sounded, and the viewscreen activated. Lanko nodded to himself, then went to the control room aperture, turning off the alarm as he went through. A few strides took him to the entry port, where he waited, weapon in hand. The door swung open and Lanko touched his trigger. The newcomer’s screen flared briefly, then collapsed. Lanko stepped forward, examining his prisoner. He was humanoid. There were some differences from the usual type encountered on the planet, but they were not serious. He could have passed in most of the Galenkar, if not anywhere. Some might even be attracted by his slightly unusual appearance. Lara ol entre ay sok co CO