They all turned to face the portrait of Leonidas IX, Emperor of Humanity.

Despite Dougal’s frantic desire for haste, getting the cargo inspected and loaded took three more days. Eventually it was accomplished, and MacKinnie met Dougal for the last time before departing.

“We must thank Trader Renaldi for his help,” Dougal said. “Without his assistance we’d still be dealing with Imperial clerks.”

MacKinnie chuckled. “He wants to get back to civilization.”

Dougal snorted contempt. “He would say that—”

“He didn’t say it.”

“No, but it was obvious.” Dougal shrugged. “Well, we can be thankful for his impatience. Also that Imperial bureaucrats are no different from our own.”

“It should be fairly obvious to them that we’re far too primitive to be a threat to the Empire—”

“Or more to the point, to their files. And their careers,” Dougal said. “It’s fortunate that they didn’t assign this task to that young blabbermouth from the tavern.”

“Yes. This Midshipman Landry is competent enough, but he’s never been on Makassar. I’d have thought they’d put one of the chaps who’s been there on this—”

“They can’t spare anyone higher-ranking than a midshipman,” Dougal said. “That boy, Lieutenant Jefferson, is supposed to be quite competent.”

“We must have seen him on an off night,” MacKinnie said.

“Possibly. At any event, they have him working at the

University, reading our engineering textbooks, and looking at the research laboratories.”

MacKinnie frowned. “Are they suspicious? And of what?”

“I do not know. He says he is part of a survey to determine what Prince Samual’s World needs. Certainly there are enough of them looking in odd places, but we know more about Jefferson than the others. He has become friendly with the daughter of one of King David’s officials, and they report his activities to me. So far he has not again mentioned Makassar, but I’ll be happier with you away.”

“Yes. And speaking of that, I’d best be leaving for the harbor,” MacKinnie said.

“Nervous?”

“A bit.”

“You’ve done all you can.”

“Sure,” MacKinnie said. “And that’s little enough. God knows how I’m going to bring home those books.”

“Or whatever they are.”

“Yes. Or whatever they are.” He shrugged. “One thing at a time. Take what comes and do what you can.” And that, Nathan thought, was what I was told by my tac officer back in the Academy. An Academy that doesn’t exist…

“You won’t fail us.” Dougal hesitated a moment, then put out his hand. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. I expect I’ll need it.”

The merchant landing boat was ugly, a squat, winged cylinder nothing like the slim Navy landing ship that floated next to the main pier of the Imperial docks. The boat’s gangway was a slice out of one side which lowered to match the height of the dock. The compartment inside was bare steel.

“Built to lift mass,” Landry explained as they boarded.

“There’s no need to maneuver in atmosphere. Not like a Navy boat.”

The others didn’t answer, although MacLean listened with evident interest to every word Landry said. They went down a short corridor to a compartment filled with padded seats. “Find a place,” Landry said. “I’ll help you strap in.”

“Why the straps?” Longway asked. “If this falls, they won’t help much, will they?”

“Not a lot,” Landry admitted. “But these boats are quite serviceable. Not much happens to them.”

“I hope not,” Mary Graham said. “I — where are the Traders?”

“They lifted off hours ago,” Landry said. “With their own cargo. Not as big a load as we’re carrying—”

MacKinnie could draw his own conclusions from that, and he didn’t much like them. There didn’t seem to be much to do about the situation, though. And at least Landry was aboard …

There were warning tones from somewhere, three repeated notes, then a series of shorter tones that blended with a sudden roar from behind them. The landing boat lurched and began to move across the water.

“What pushes this?” Kleinst asked.

“Steam,” Landry said. “Distilled water flows through a nuclear heat source—”

“Nuclear?” MacLean asked.

“Sorry,” Landry mumbled. “It would take too long to explain. I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you anyway-”

“The Empire is our ally,” Mary Graham said. “Why can’t you tell us?”

“A good question, freelady,” Landry said. “I don’t really know the answer. But I have my orders … lean back, here we go.”

The acceleration increased suddenly, and they were pressed back into their couches until they weighed far too much. MacKinnie gritted his teeth and fought to stay calm. He couldn’t see out but he was certain they were flying now, the first natives of Prince Samual’s World to fly in a heavier-than-air machine for centuries. Nathan glanced across the aisle toward Mary Graham. She gripped the chair arms unconsciously, but there was a set smile on her lips. MacKinnie couldn’t see any of the others.

The feeling of too much weight went on for a long time. MacKinnie estimated it at about twice normal; uncomfortable but not painful. He had carried companions on his back for much longer. But he wished it would stop.

When the engines quit, the silence was terrifying. Worse yet was the sensation of falling.

Mary Graham was the first to speak. Her voice was quite calm. “The engines have quit. Are we going to crash?”

There was a confused babble from behind, and one of the guards shouted “Goddam, we are falling!”

MacKinnie grimly faced death, reviewing the silly prayers the chaplains said over the dying. Somehow they did not seem silly at all.

“No, no,” Landry protested. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you. We are in orbit. The sensation of falling is natural, but it’s false. In fact, we can’t fall. Without power we’d never leave this orbit, because we’re falling around the planet — oh, hell, I don’t expect you to understand. But we’re quite safe.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Longway said grimly. “But you might have told us—”

The incident served to reassure MacKinnie about Kleinst. The young scholar had evidently known they were safe, but made no move to assure the others and thus break his cover as social historian. MacKinnie did not care for weaklings, but the young man seemed to have common sense as well as educated intelligence.

The landing boat’s engines started again, this time far more gently than before. For nearly an hour they experienced accelerations, now forward, now sideways, then finally there was a resounding clang, followed by other sounds. Midshipman Landry glanced at his pocket computer. “Good time,” he said. “Couldn’t have matched up quicker myself.”

“Do you pilot these craft?” MacLean asked. “Your pardon, but you seem young for such a task. It must be very demanding.”

MacKinnie listened with amusement. From his interviews with MacLean he knew what an effort MacLean must have made to be polite to a mere midshipman.

“I have been a qualified landing-craft pilot for nearly a standard year,” Landry answered proudly. He glanced at Mary Graham as if seeking approval. She smiled. “It’s not that difficult,” Landry continued. “The computers do most of the work. The fact is, we couldn’t fly these ships without them.”

The compartment door opened and two men in coveralls came inside. One wore gold piping on his sleeves, and both were dark men, with eyes that seemed to slant. There were no orientals on Prince Samual’s World, and MacKinnie and the others stared at the crewmen.

“My name is Taka,” one of the crewmen said. He floated through the compartment, not touching the decks, and began loosening the straps holding MacKinnie in his seat. When they had everyone loose they gestured toward the opening.