Iris laughed aloud, a mocking, airy sound that rang eerily through the silent ship.
"A myth, a shadow," she explained. "Some poor romantic fool we hired to play at pirate. He serves as the herring to draw across the train of Dallis here and others who really do the pirate's work."
"You hired him?" Thorne was frankly startled.
"Of course. He was sailing to and fro in a cape and mask, cutting out single ships, raiding mining camps, playing Robin Hood. But he was colorful and had made a reputation for chivalry we needed. We bought it. He continues these daring raids as before, robbing the rich and helping the weak, covering the real attacks by unknown pirates who leave no trace."
"Me," said Dallis, softly. "No trace at all, Thorne."
"Others cash in on the exploits," she admitted. "But it is Tom who pays him. A good investment, all considered."
"To show up the Planet Patrol?" wondered Thorne. "An investment in obstruction." He looked at her with dawning comprehension. "I begin to see," he added, slowly. "Those telecasts ... your work?"
She smiled. "Of course. One of my first. I bought into a cheap little movie company and put out the first blood and rocket melodrama." A laugh bubbled to her red lips. "It made money. We expanded and started the whole cycle years ahead of its normal course. We still make money."
"You seem to have it all worked out," he said. "A normally apathetic public, soothed by a whole cycle of propaganda telecasts, a finger in the heart of the Planet Patrol, an honest, open business that takes you anywhere in the System, and a masked front man to take credit for the whole witches brew." He laughed shortly. "I suppose I can guess what will happen. Once you have the ransom you go respectable for good, leaving the unfortunate Chain Lucas to cover your trail and take the blame."
Both Dallis and Iris laughed, a merry, discordant jangle.