THE RAIDER
BY DON BERRY
He was a hunter with a Cause that
transcended all law. But, now, could
the Cause forgive him his service?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, April 1958.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
They dropped the raider on the night side, less than thirty miles fromThanlar, the capitol city. The dark, slim ship drifted silently to theground, discharged its passenger and lifted again, moving slowly likea great shark in the night. On the way out into space, it was caughtby the defense screens of Thanlar and disappeared in a gout of flamingenergy that lit up the entire night sky.
The raider did not see it; he was already asleep.
He slept, and his dreams were troubled by images of a familiar face.Strong cheekbones, the mane of white hair, the famous half-smile ofMayne Landing, Earth Commissioner to the Colony Planets. Mayne Landing,the gentle representative of Terra to her children, the kindly oldgentleman with the fist of steel, the benevolent despot over a hundredColony Planets.
Mayne Landing: victim.
The raider woke with the dawn, a dawn that was slightly more red-tingedthan the sun he was used to. He gathered his small store of equipmenttogether and cached it in the low scrub of the surrounding forest. By aclear, sparkling stream he washed, wincing slightly from the shock ofthe too-cold water against his face.
He wore clothes indistinguishable from the other farmers of thisdistrict, slightly shabby, a uniform dun color. They did not fit himwell, but they could not hide the wide shoulder and slim waist. Well,it didn't matter: the farmers of this planet, like all the Colonies,had to work hard to scrape their meager living from the rocky soil.They were all in good condition; he would not be conspicuous.
He finished washing and dried himself on the sleeve of his jumper. Thenhe began to walk down the rocky hill to the village that stood in thetiny valley below. In the early sun, the tiny assemblage of white cleanhouses sparkled like a handful of sand-polished shells clustered on abeach. He stopped for a moment, halfway down, looking at the village.
It was a nice little place, he thought. Peaceful in the early light,calm. There were a few people moving about the streets, probablyfarmers early on their way to the fields. It was a pastoral scene, likesomething he had read in a book a long time ago.
Nice, he thought. Quiet. I wonder what it will be like when I'mfinished here.
It didn't pay to think about things like that. Not in his business.
He let his eyes shift slightly to take in the tall towers of Thanlar,just visible over the crest of hills on the other side of the valley.Thanlar, the capitol. That was his concern. That was what he had tothink about, not the village.
He sighed once, started down the hill again, walking slowly, pickinghis way through the loose rocks with care.
As he neared the village, he passed several crews of men going out intothe fields. He greeted them in Interlingua, and they replied shortly,without curiosity. He knew he was a stranger to them; they did notrecognize him, but they showed no curiosity. These days, curiosity wasnot much advantage to anyone, he thought. The farmers had probablylearned long ago not to show too much interest in any stranger whosuddenly appeared from nowhere.
He came into the village and walked quickly to the faded woo