Gigantic Hal Samdu stalking ahead, Giles Habibula waddling and purring and laboring with his cane behind, they went out of the Commander’s apartment, out through the chart room and the great armored valves of the Inflexible, into the New Moon.
Gaspar Hannas met them.
Huge as Hal Samdu, he was dressed in loose flowing black.
The black emphasized the whiteness of his monstrous soft-fleshed hands and his vast smooth face.
His black, deepset eyes were distended and darting with fear.
Sweat shone on his forehead and his white bald head.
But his blank face greeted them with its slow and idiotic grin.
“Gentlemen!” he gasped hoarsely.
“Commander!
We must hasten.
Time draws short.
The guards are posted, and I’ve been waiting—”
His voice choked off, abruptly, and he started back from Giles Habibula.
Leaning heavily on his cane, the old man was peering at him.
The old soldier’s yellow face broke into a wondering grin.
“In life’s name!” he wheezed.
“It’s Pedro the Shar—”
The mindless smile congealed on the white lax face of Caspar Hannas, and his huge hands made a frightened gesture for silence.
His eyes swept the fat man swaying on the cane, and he whispered hoarsely:
“Habibula.
It’s been fifty years.
But I know you.
You’re Giles the Gh—”
“Stop!” gasped Giles Habibula.
“For I know you—Caspar Hannas—in spite of your artificial face.
And I’ve more on you than you do on me.
So you had better hold your mortal tongue!”
He steadied himself, with both hands on the cane, and his pale eyes blinked at the giant in black.
“Caspar Hannas!” he wheezed. “The great Caspar Hannas, the New Moon’s master!
Well, you’ve come a long way, since the time of the Blue Unicorn.
You must have eluded the posse hi the jungle—”
The big man lifted his hand again, fearfully.
“Wait, Habibula!” he gasped.
“And forget—”
“Ah, so, old Giles can forget—for a price.”
The old man sighed.
“Life has served us mortals different.
Here you have made a mighty fortune.
Men say the New Moon has made you the System’s richest man.
Your poor old comrade is but a penniless veteran of the Legion, starved and friendless and ill.”
He quivered to a sob.
“Pity old Giles Habibula—” “In fifty years, you have not changed!” Admiration rang in the husky voice of Hannas. “What do you want?”
The yellow face was suddenly beaming.
“Ah, Mr. Hannas, you can trust the discretion of Giles Habibula!
The luxury of your accommodations here is famous, Mr. Hannas.
The excellence of your food.
The vintages of your wines.”
Caspar Hannas smiled his senseless smile.
“You are the guests of the New Moon,” he said.
“You and your comrades of the Legion.