"It was either that or foul up the job. Besides, she can't do much immediately. We're strangers, not the usual townsfolk. There's a warming-up period before the average nervous system begins to respond properly in resonance to the vibrations."
"But what about me? I was—"
Rodrone could not help but smile, unable despite himself to save his friend from further indignity. "I said the average nervous system. You're different. A perfect mark!"
Looking down at the floor, Clave considered the proposition wryly. "Well, we'd better not waste time," he said finally.
Previously he had prepared some programs for the electronic computer thief. Placing the smooth side against the casing of the larger machine, he slid it about, searching for the best site. Numbers, symbols and evanescent diagrams flickered across the screen. Crouching, Clave studied them, found a convenient point to inject his signals. As he pressed a button, electronic probe beams passed through the casing and linked up with the computer's circuits.
A brief clatter came from the print-out unit. Rodrone stepped over to it and ripped off a sheet of paper.
It was all there. Details of cargoes, and space-time coordinates for all planned shipments within fifty light-years for the next three months.
"This is what we want, let's go."
Clave stood up and put away the little box. They turned to leave.
But suddenly the print-out clattered again, breaking the silence of the cellar with a life of its own.
"What's that, a second copy?"
"I guess it's still obeying the order to print out," Clave answered dubiously, "but it must be something new."
Rodrone ripped off the new sheet and held it to the light. The computer was receiving a fresh input from somewhere. On the slick paper an angry conversation was emerging between Jal-Dee officials and an unknown interlocutor.
Evidently they had missed the first part of the argument while obtaining their own print-out. After a pause, the machine delivered another burst. Rodrone bent to read it.
"
"
Kantor was more or less owned by Jal-Dee. Rodrone waited to see what the result of this bellicose threat would be. There was a long, suspenseful pause. Then, without further comment, a string of figures followed giving the route of the contended cargo. "
“The Streall!" Rodrone breathed. "Trust Jal-Dee to back down, the spineless worm!"
Before Clave could answer a faint but regular
He waited while Clave swiftly closed the door and gathered up his equipment from where he had clamped it on the wall. Together they mounted the steps and peered through the windows of the front office.
From here the hideous noise of Ruby's organ swelled out into the street, pouring hatred into the wretched town. Rodrone's people were retreating from the drinking house, firing into it as they did so. It was easy to guess what had happened. Ruby, determined to have her way, had whipped up the townspeople into a frenzy of resentment against the newcomers. The rest was inevitable.
Worriedly he glanced at Clave. It was impossible to say how he would respond to the weird harmonies in this new situation.
"Go to the runabouts and stay there," he ordered firmly. "Don't move, just wait for us."
Clave nodded uncertainly. Outside, they took opposite directions, Rodrone keeping close to the wall. Most of his people seemed to be already in the street, covering the bar entrance with a fusillade of fire to prevent anyone else coming out. But answering shots were beginning to come from the upstairs windows.
The men and girls were edging towards the runabouts, watching carefully for attack from another quarter. Rodrone sought out Kulthol.
