Hm-m-m…there was a powerful ecclesiastical organization, and piety had not stopped a good deal of conflict between church and throne. Maybe he could work through the priesthood somehow.

* * *

The outworld traders who came to swap various manufactured articles for the furs and spices of Ryfin’s Planet had not influenced the local cultures much. Perhaps they had inspired a few wars and heresies, but on the whole the autochthones were content to live in the ways of their fathers. The main effect of trading had been a loss of superstitious awe—the strangers were mighty, but they were known to be mortal. Alak doubted that even the whole Patrol fleet could bullyrag them into yielding on so touchy a point as Varris’ surrender.

“What I can’t understand,” said Drogs, “is why we don’t just swoop down and give the city a blanket of sleep-gas.” This mission had been ordered in such tearing haste that he had been given only the most nominal briefing; and on the way here, he had followed his racial practice of somnolence—his body could actually “store” many days’ worth of sleep.

His free hand gestured around the flitter. It was not a large boat, but it was well equipped, not only with weapons—for bluffing—but with its own machine shop and laboratory.

“Metabolic difference,” said Alak. “Every anaesthetic known to us is poisonous to them, and their own knockout chemicals would kill Varris. Stun beams are just as bad—supersonics will scramble a Ryfinnian’s brain like an egg. I imagine Varris picked this world for a bolthole just on that account.”

“But he didn’t know we wouldn’t simply come down and shoot up the den.”

“He could make a pretty shrewd guess. It’s a secret that we never kill, but no secret that we’re reluctant to hurt innocent bystanders.” Alak scowled. “There are still a hundred million people on Caldon who’d rise—bloodily—against the new government if he came back to them. Whether he succeeded or not, it’d be a genocidal affair and a big loss of face to the Patrol.”

“Hm-m-m…he can’t get far from this world without more fuel; his tanks must be nearly dry. So why don’t we blockade this planet and make sure he never has a chance to buy fuel?”

“Blockades aren’t that reliable,” said Alak. Drogs had never been involved in naval operation, only in surface work. “We could destroy his own boat easily enough, but word that he’s alive is bound to leak back to Caldon now. There’d be attempt after attempt to run the blockade, and get him out. Sooner or later, one would succeed. We’re badly handicapped by not being allowed to shoot to hit. No, damn it, we’ve got to lift him, and fast!”

His eyes traveled wistfully to the biochemical shelves. There was a potent drug included, a nembutal derivative, hypnite. A small intramuscular injection could knock Varris out; he would awaken into a confused, passive state, and remain thus for hours, following any lead he was given. Much useful information about his conspiracy could be extracted. Later, this drug and other techniques would be used to rehabilitate his twisted psyche, but that was a job for the specialists at Main Base.