As if in attendance upon his thoughts, his open receiver burst, amid general static:
"KBM calling all ships. Apprehend all suspicious craft approaching Botrodus; engage if they refuse to give proper clearance. Meevo—Frederix—if you hear my voice, understand that you will be given no quarter—"
Suddenly another carrier wave whined into the wavelength; Andres' angry voice broke in:
"Blake, you damned fool, Frederix had nothing to do with this!"
"Captain Andres, unless you have absolute proof, please get off the band—"
Silence. Heartbreaking silence. KBM took up again, vainly calling Calidao.
Frederix looked at his directional finder. He was heading for Kaa at nearly a thousand m.p.h. If he changed his course a few degrees and headed for Andres' Rendezvous on the Kaa-Calidao airline, he could call KBM and straighten the matter out. Quickly he made the necessary alterations....
The bitter chill of the Martian night cut through the ship's hull. Locking the robot controls, Frederix slipped on a beryl-durite oxysuit, locked the glassite helmet in place and turned on the thermo-electric unit.
Straight out across the Hargoan Swamps he flew, towards the Rendezvous. And he thought of the past, back before his birth when Andres, as legend ran, had come back from far places, from a memorable battle in Alpha Centauri's vast system, wounded in body, and, his legion buddies whispered, in heart. Aye, even in soul. Rumor had it that he had loved with all the native fire and enthusiasm that were his—fighter extraordinary, D'Artagnan of the Legion. Had loved and lost and something within him had died.
He had for a while lived a hermitary existence in an old Martian ruin on a narrow, arid, mountainous strip cutting across Hargo; but combat, strife, adventure called—