Free No World of Their Own by Poul Anderson

shaft exit, a massive octagonal tower reared out of the general complex, its architecture foreign to the slim soaring exuberance which was Technate work. A nimbus of radiance hung over its peak, with letters of flame running through it to spell out C OMMERCIAL S OCIETY . Stepping onto a bridgeway, the four were borne up toward a flange near its middle.
    As they got off onto the ledge, a small black aircraft landed noiselessly beside them. A voice came from it, amplified till it boomed through the humming quiet: “Do not move further. This is the police.”
    Police! Langley’s knees felt suddenly watery. He might have known—Chanthavar would not leave this place unwatched. He had sent, an alarm when the spaceman was found missing; the organization was efficient, and now he was saved!
    The three traders stood immobile, their faces like wood. A door dilated, and another man stepped from the building as five black-clad slaves and one Ministerial officer got out of the boat. It was Goltam Valti. He waited with the others, rubbing his hands together in a nervous washing motion.
    The officer bowed slightly. “Good evening, sir. I am pleased to see you have found the captain. You are to be commended.”
    â€œThank you, my lord,” bowed Valti. His voice was shrill, almost piping, and he blew out his fat cheeks and bobbed his shaggy head obsequiously. “It is kind of you to come, but your assistance is not required.”
    â€œWe will take him home for you,” said the officer.
    â€œOh, sir, surely you will permit me to offer my poor hospitality to this unfortunate stranger. It is a firm rule of the Society: a guest may never leave without being treated.”
    â€œI am sorry, sir, but he must.” In the vague, flickering light, the officer scowled, and there was a sharp ring in his tones. “Later, perhaps. Now he must come with us. I have my orders.”
    Valti bowed and scraped. “I sympathize, sir, these dim eyes weep at the thought of conflict with your eminence, but poor and old and helpless worm though I be”—the whine faded into a buttery purr—“nevertheless, I am forced to remind you, my lord, much against my will, which is only for pleasant relationships, that you are outside your jurisdiction. By the Treaty of Luna, the Society has extraterritorial rights. Honored sir, I pray you not to force me into requesting your passport.”
    The officer grew rigid. “I told you I had my orders,” he said thinly.
    The trader’s bulky shape loomed suddenly enormous against the sky. His beard bristled. But the voice remained light: “Sir, my nose bleeds for you. But be so kind as to remember that this building is armed and armored. A dozen heavy guns are trained on you, and I must regretfully enforce the law. The captain will take refreshment with me. Afterward he shall be sent to his home, but at present it is most inhospitable to keep him standing in this damp air. Good evening, sir.” He took Langley’s arm and walked him to the door. The other three followed, and the door closed behind them.
    â€œI suppose,” said the spaceman slowly, “that what I want isn’t of much account.”
    â€œI had not hoped to have the honor of talking with you privately so soon, Captain,” answered Valti. “Nor do I think you will regret a chat over a cup of good Ammonite wine. It gets a little bruised in transit, so delicate a palate as yours will detect that, but I humbly assert that it retains points of superiority.”
    They had gone down a hall, and now a door opened for them. “My study, Captain,” bowed Valti. “Please enter.”
    It was a big, low-ceilinged, dim-lit room, lined with shelves which held not only microspools but some authentic folio volumes. The chairs were old and shabby and comfortable, and the desk was big and littered with papers. There was a haze of strong tobacco in the rather stuffy air.
    A