On the base of the statue was an inscription in Classical English.
“ ‘To the people of Balthash,’ ” the engineer read aloud. “ ‘From the people of Terra, in commemoration of the fiftieth birthday of Leader Hax.’ ”
Thallag’s secretary, who was a subtle woman, smiled. Thallag, who was even subtler, did not smile.
“A neighborly gesture,” Thallag said. “Imagine Terra sending us this lovely statue.”
“Could it be a good-will offering?” the engineer asked. He blushed when Thallag turned to stare at him.
“Stick to wiring diagrams,” he said. “Why should Terra offer its good will to Leader Hax?”
The engineer scratched his head. He was dimly aware that Terra disapproved of Leader Hax.
“Then why did they send the statue?” he asked slowly.
“Ah!” Thallag said. “That’s what we must discover!”
And the answer was obvious, he decided. Terra was still trying to aid the Balthasan underground, hoping to unseat Hax. But overt interference was frowned upon in the Galactic South.
But trickery—indirection—
The rebels desperately needed electronic weapons. Terra had them, but had been unable to smuggle any through Balthasan customs.
And here was a statue, arriving just two days before Hax’s birthday.
“I want you to inspect this thing,” Thallag said to his engineer. “Inspect it with a microscope, if necessary. Look behind every molecule. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the engineer said. He cleared his throat. “Sir, if this thing looks suspicious, why not ship it back to Terra?”
Thallag’s secretary smiled at this naivete. Thallag shook his head wearily.
“Let me play with politics,” he said. “You find me the hidden weapons. I expect you to have every one of them by tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, sir,” the engineer said, and hurried away.
“He means well,” Thallag said to his secretary, back in his office.
“I suppose so,” his secretary said.
“He’s thorough,” Thallag said with certainty. “I’ll say that much for the idiot. He’ll find whatever Terra hid there.”
“It’s really a pity you can’t send the statue back,” his secretary said.
“I wouldn’t want to,” Thallag told her, walking to the window. Below him, in the courtyard, workmen were preparing a pedestal for the statue. Behind the courtyard loomed the gray mass of Hax’s palace.
“I think we can use this statue,” Thallag said. “Besides, if we shipped it back, Terra would scream all over the Galactic South that her peaceful gesture was rebuffed. The Leader wouldn’t like that.”
His secretary nodded sagely as she fussed with her hair.
“Also,” Thallag said in a low voice, “Leader Hax likes the statue. He considers it a very good likeness.”
Neither of them smiled.
“If the Terrans did hide weapons in it,” his secretary said slowly, “do you really think you can find them? They know that the statue will be inspected.”
Thallag stared gloomily out the window at Leader Hax’s palace. Then he grinned. “Come, come,” he said. “Terrans are flesh and blood and brain, just like the rest of us. What human ingenuity can hide, human ingenuity can discover.”
“I hope so,” his secretary said.
PHILLIPS thought over his list of possible solutions. Morgan slumped easily in his chair, looking pleasantly unofficial.
“I think I know,” Phillips said slowly. “There are no weapons in the statue!” Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, but gave no other sign.
“It’s very clever,” Phillips said, smiling at his own ingenuity in discovering the secret. “You know the Balthasan Security would find anything you hid in the statue. Therefore you hide nothing. They search in vain. They get nervous. They think that Terra has engineering methods beyond their knowledge. Leader Hax doesn’t know what to do. His uncertainty is communicated to his followers. Then, when the rebels attack—”
“That’s very good,” Morgan said. “Almost Machiavellian.”
Phillips smiled modestly.
“But tell me,” Morgan asked, “how do you think the underground feels when no weapons are forthcoming?”
“Well—I should think—” Phillips closed his mouth with a snap, and wished he had never opened it.
“Psychology is a weapon that cuts two ways,” Morgan said. “Besides, having no weapons in the statue is too subtle for simple men like us.”
“You mean that there is something hidden there?”
“Disappoints you, doesn’t it?” Morgan said. “But you’re thinking in terms of literature, not life. Your way would make fitting storybook justice. The dictator who rules by fear, conquered by fear. But unfortunately, things, aren’t arranged so nicely. In life, force must usually be met with force.”
“Hmm,” Phillips said, not sure if Morgan was being completely honest with him. “If there are weapons concealed in the statue, I don’t see why they can’t find them.”
“Perhaps they will,” Morgan said. “As I said, it’s basically a simple scheme.”
Thallag’s engineer was no actor. He always looked exactly as he felt. Now he stood in front of the Security Chief’s desk, shuffling his feet and avoiding Thallag’s look.
“Well, what did you find?” Thallag asked.
“Plenty,” the engineer said. “It’s in the body of the statue, behind concealed panels.” He looked unhappy about the whole thing.
“What’s the matter, then?” Thallag asked him.
“There was no reason to hide it. It’s no good,” the engineer stated, meeting Thallag’s eye for the first time.
“Explain,” Thallag said.
“Oh, it looks real enough. They’ve got power equipment in there, transistors, circuits—but no one could build a weapon out of it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” the engineer said in a flat, certain voice. “I know modern weapons. The underground could buy junk like that in any supply store, even without a permit.
But no conceivable weapon could be built out of it.”
“That’s very interesting,” Thallag said. “Why would Terra smuggle equipment that the underground doesn’t need?” He put his fingers lightly together.
The only logical assumption was that the Terrans expected the equipment to be found.
They knew it would be found.
Their scheme was more involved than that.
“And you found nothing else?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Then you missed something.” Thallag smiled grimly. “I’ll stake your life on it. You have about eighteen hours to find whatever you missed.”
“But sir, I inspected every possible—”
“Try the impossible, then. I guarantee you’ll find more. You must.”
“Yes, sir,” the engineer said wearily.
“You know how small electronic weapons can be. They could hide the components anywhere.”
“The X-ray didn’t show anything. But I’ll try again.”
“Good,” Thallag said pleasantly. “And I wish you luck.”
Without being told, his secretary marked the engineer’s name on a list of possible subversives.
Thallag spent the rest of the day checking the security measures for the Leader’s birthday.
Hax telephoned him later. The Leader was still delighted with his statue. He liked the representation of the features, the demigod proportions. It was how he liked being thought of.
And he liked the materials that it was built of; materials that would last eternally, as he knew his dynasty would.
“Pull its teeth,” he said to Thallag. “Get all the weapons out of it. Then wipe out the underground.”
“Yes, sir,” Thallag said. The Leader hung up, and Thallag slammed the telephone down.
As easy as that. Just pull its teeth, and wipe out the underground.
Angrily he s
tared at the massive gray palace. That damned engineer, he thought.
If he didn’t find the weapons he’d have the man killed by centimeters . . . as Hax would have him killed if anything went wrong.
BEFORE midnight the engineer returned to his office, grimy but triumphant. “Found them, sir,” he said.
In his soiled hands he held the almost microscopic components of twenty electronic guns.
“Good man,” Thallag said, feeling the blood stir again in his veins. “Tell me about it. Have a chair.”
“Finest hiding job I’ve ever seen,” the engineer said, putting the components on Thallag’s desk. “First I re-checked the equipment in the statue. No weapons there.”
“I’ll make you a general,” Thallag said. His secretary silently scratched the engineer’s name from the list of possible subversives.
“Even these basic components were disassembled,” the engineer said, “and hidden in segments.”
“Where were they?”
“The first I found was in the pupil of the left eyeball of the statue. If I hadn’t probed it on a hunch I might not have found any of them. After that, I proceeded on the assumption that the most unlikely areas would be the most likely. I found segments in the earlobes, the fingernails, and the tongue. And to make sure, I probed every cubic inch of the thing.”
“That’s like the Terrans,” Thallag said. “Very like them. You’re sure there’s nothing more?”
“If anything else is found I will personally eat it.”
“You’ll have to,” Thallag said. “Now go and have a drink. That’s an order.”
The engineer saluted and hurried out.
“I do believe,” Thallag said. “That they have out-maneuvered themselves. What time is it?”
“One-fifteen,” his secretary said.
“The presentation is at nine,” Thallag said. “And according to my sources, the rebels will try to take the weapons tonight. After that, they’ll attack in force.”
His secretary smiled wanly, seeing the plan already.
“So be it,” Thallag said. “But let’s make a few preparations for them.”
His secretary nodded.
Thallag thought for a moment. “Do you know,” he said, “I don’t see how the weapons would help them against a disciplined army.”
He stared at the components on his desk.
“I really don’t. Perhaps they counted on an element of surprise,” Thallag said. “Well, to work. And the statue is still absurd, esthetically.”
His secretary nodded.
Phillips sat silently for a few moments after Morgan told him.
“So that’s how it works,” he said, finally.
“That’s it. As simple and obvious as that. They want a concealed trick. We give it to them. Then they want another, even more cleverly concealed trick. We give them that, too. And that usually satisfies them. Then—”
“But really,” Phillips protested. “It’s obvious, once you look at it.”
“I know it,” Morgan said “I know it so well. As a part of the BIA, you’ll just have to learn to leave subtlety to others.”
Phillips opened his mouth to speak, and then realized what Morgan had said. He was in. He tried to think of something appropriate to say.
“Our schemes are so obvious,” Morgan sighed. He grinned frankly at Phillips.
“But they work.”
THE courtyard in front of Hax’s palace was dark. Deep shadows were thrown by the walls, soaring a hundred feet above the ground. Shadows were thrown by the imperial buildings, mounting above the walls.
In the courtyard the statue was alone and silent.
Starlight glittered feebly along the edge of the upraised sword.
“I wish they’d hurry,” Thallag muttered to his secretary. “It’s chilly.”
The normal complement of guards paced slowly along the walls, and the color guard stood at the gate. But the courtyard was deserted.
“Where is that underground?” Thallag said. “Could someone have warned them?”
“Look,” his secretary whispered.
Blackness moved against blackness. A lump of blackness slid along the edge of the wall, moving in from the street. Another lump followed it.
“That’s two,” Thallag whispered, adjusting his earphones. “Where are the rest of them?”
“They must be in the street,” his secretary whispered back. “Waiting for a signal.”
There was a faint sound of metal against metal, and the two lumps of darkness froze.
“Go tell those clumsy idiots to be quiet,” Thallag whispered furiously. “Tell them to hold their fire until I give the signal. We want to get all of them.”
She moved silently away.
Thallag watched the shadows approach the statue. Then he heard static in his earphones.
“Here it is,” one shadow murmured to another. Thallag’s superb amplifying system brought the sound clearly into his earphones.
“Right. Are the others ready?”
“Yes. Hurry up. Give the word.”
“One-two-eight-nine-four,” he man said. “Horses, dogs, purple, eighty, man, pigs.”
Thallag thought, all that just to open a secret panel.
“Go ahead,” the man said “You’ve got the rest of it.”
“Red, green, scream,” the second man said. “Horrible, fast, jump.”
“It’s open,” the first man said. “Plug it in.”
Thallag stared down at them. For one horrible moment he considered the possibility that the engineer had overlooked something.
But that was impossible.
But what were they doing to the components within? To the power equipment and transistors and circuits. What?
There was a clang of metal, and the statue stepped nimbly off the platform. It hesitated a moment, then began to stride toward the palace, its tons of dense metal shaking the courtyard.
“Now, now!” one of the men shouted, and Thallag’s sensitive amplifying system blasted it into his ears.
The statue gathered speed and headed for the main door. The color guard had time for three frenzied shots which glanced harmlessly off the monster’s chest. Then they were mashed into the door.
The statue went through the thick door like a mailed fist through paper.
And the courtyard was alive with men, running, shouting, screaming. Projectiles from simple chemical reaction weapons showered the guards on the walls before they could use their own, vastly more effective arms.
And more men poured into the courtyard, bearing down on the smashed door. Thallag thought that half the population of the city must be there. And the rest were outside, to judge from the roar.
His soldiers were waiting. Thallag’s finger was poised over the alarm button, but for one precious, irreplaceable second he couldn’t drive it home.
One part of his mind was considering how obvious it really was. Those simple components within the statue, that you couldn’t build an electronic weapon from . . . To examine every inch of a machine, but not question its total function!
The other part of his mind was watching the gigantic carbon steel and tungsten man smashing through the palace, effortlessly killing guards, roaming the corridors, unkillable, bearing a sword and a loaf of bread, searching for a man who wore its face.
GHOST V
Delousing planets was humdrum—but not the one that wanted to exterminate exterminators!
“HE’S reading our sign I—I now,” Gregor said, his long bony face pressed against the peephole in the office door.
“Let me see,” Arnold said.
Gregor pushed him back. “He’s going to knock—no, he’s changed his mind. He’s leaving.”
Arnold returned to his desk and laid out another game of solitaire. Gregor kept watch at the peephole.
They had constructed the peephole out of sheer boredom, three months after forming their partnership and renting the office. During that time, the AAA ACE PLANET DECONTAMINATION SERVICE
had had no business—in spite of being first in the telephone book. Planetary decontamination was an old, established line, completely monopolized by two large outfits. It was discouraging for a small new firm run by two young men with big ideas and a lot of unpaid-for equipment.
“He’s coming back,” Gregor called. “Quick—look busy and important!”
Arnold swept his cards into a drawer and just finished buttoning his lab gown when the knock came.
Their visitor was a short, bald, tired-looking man. He stared at them dubiously.
“You decontaminate planets?”
“That is correct, sir,” Gregor said, pushing away a pile of papers and shaking the man’s moist hand. “I am Richard Gregor. This is my partner, Doctor Frank Arnold.”
ARNOLD, impressively garbed in a white lab gown and black horn-rimmed glasses, nodded absently and resumed his examination of a row of ancient, crusted test tubes.
“Kindly be seated, Mister—”
“Ferngraum.”
“Mr. Ferngraum. I think we can handle just about anything you require,” Gregor said heartily. “Flora or fauna control, cleansing atmospheres, purifying water supply, sterilizing soil, stability testing, volcano and earthquake control—anything you need to make a planet fit for human habitation.”
Ferngraum still looked dubious. “I’m going to level with you.
I’ve got a problem planet on my hands.”
Gregor nodded confidently. “Problems are our business.”
“I’m a free-lance real-estate broker,” Ferngraum said. “You know how it works—buy a planet, sell a planet, everyone makes a living. Usually I stick with the scrub worlds and let my buyers do their decontaminating. But a few months ago I had a chance to buy a real quality planet—took it right out from under the noses of the big operators.”
Ferngraum mopped his forehead unhappily.
“It’s a beautiful place,” he continued, with no enthusiasm whatsoever. “Average temperature of 71 degrees. Mountainous, but fertile. Waterfalls, rainbows, all that sort of thing. And no fauna at all.”
“Sounds perfect,” Gregor said. “Micro-organisms?”
“Nothing dangerous.”
Various Fiction Page 82