Various Fiction

by Robert Sheckley

  “How long you in for?” Delgado asked.

  “Nine years, three months and two days left to go,” Trent said. “You?”

  “I’m on an indeterminate sentence,” Delgado said.

  Trent nodded. “That means they suspect you of being an Eneshti spy but can’t prove it yet.”

  Chapter 3

  Next day, Delgado ate dinner again with Trent, Biltis and Dorem, and another man, Simpson.

  The mess hall was noisy and smelled of fried grease. The prisoners, eating on their plastic trays, drinking their weak coffee out of paper cups, joked with the guards, who strolled among them and seemed kindly disposed toward them.

  Delgado said little but took it all in, like a spectator rather than a participant. He had the odd sensation of being two people. One of him was drugged, apathetic, and went through the prison routine like a sleepwalker. The other, who peeked out through his eyes at odd moments, was awake and alert and thought everything was interesting and actually quite a lark. Delgado didn’t know where that part of himself was coming from. The two Delgados argued about it but didn’t resolve anything, and, after a poor night’s sleep, there he was in the messhall again, with the wised-up Trent, big Biltis, his broad unshaven face glowing with stupid malice, Simpson, a scrawny, balding young man, and Dorem, solid and thoughtful, watching everything through bloodshot, mistrustful eyes.

  Delgado was so caught up in his own thoughts that he gave a start when Biltis asked him, “Hey, Delgado! Anything the matter?”

  Delgado said, “No, nothing. Why do you ask?”

  “You got a weird look on your face. Like you were dreaming.”

  “I’m ok,” Delgado said. “It’s just that I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  Dorem shook his head. “Guilty conscience, maybe? Haven’t been making any little deals with the guards, have you?”

  It was impossible to tell whether he was kidding or not. Delgado wasn’t even going to answer. But Trent decided to take it seriously.

  “That’s crazy talk. You’ve known Delgado for a month now, ever since he came here. You know he keeps to himself. Is that a crime?”

  “There’s something here I don’t like,” Dorem said.

  Delgado said, “Don’t worry about me. I’m with you.”

  That morning Delgado had learned that all long-term prisoners were to be shipped from Sagamore to the Io facility. Maybe he didn’t know who he was, but he did know that Io was the end of the line. Once you were in the Io penal institution, there was no possibility of escape. If you broke out, there was nowhere to go. Io had no air, a freezing temperature. To go out onto its surface Io was to opt for instant death.

  There wasn’t even a chance of stealing a transporter and escaping back to Earth. Every transporter had its own unique energy signature and could be tracked continually from Earth. There had only been one attempted breakout from Io. The prisoners had seized a ship and forced the pilot to take them back to Earth. The authorities had been waiting. All the prisoners’ sentences had been doubled.

  “We all set, then?” Trent asked. “Remember, today’s the day.”

  Delgado nodded. Still, he was surprised when the explosion shook the mess hall.

  Chapter 4

  “Now remember,” Dorem said, “Mr. Ajjacione goes first. He set this whole thing up and it’s his right. We’ve all pledged to do our best to protect him if anything goes wrong, even if it takes our lives. We agreed to this, remember? Anybody have a change of mind?”

  They all shook their heads. Delgado remembered the name Ajjacione now. He was one of the top executives in the America South Syndicate. It had been a matter of amazement that the officials of the North American Federation had managed to arrest him up while he was visiting Miami. No top executive of any of the world syndicates had ever served time. Now it looked like Mr. Ajjacione wasn’t going to be the first.

  “Mr. Ajjacione is going to get out before they ship him to Io,” Dorem said. “The fix is in, everything ought to go just fine. But if there’s any mistake, remember, you guys are expendable and Mr. Ajjaccione is not. If any of you go against that, you’ll wish you’d died in the breakout when the organization gets hold of you. All clear?”

  They all nodded.

  “Any questions?”

  Simpson asked, “Where’s Mr. Ajjacione now?”

  “They got a special cell for him on Block C. The luxury cell. Don’t worry, he’ll be joining us once the thing is underway. Any other questions? OK, here we go.”

  And then came the explosion that blew out one hall of the mess room.

  “Come on,” Trent said, and led Delgado toward the explosion. Seconds later, Bilitis, Simpson and Dorem were there. They were quickly joined by Ajjacione, a small dapper man in a custom-fitted prisoner’s outfit.

  Panic. Guards and prisoners were running away from the billowing smoke. Delgado, with Trent leading, moved toward the explosion site.

  A guard tried to stop them. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “We gotta help those guys!” Trent said. He rushed past the guard, who shrugged and went the other way. They reach the jagged hole and hesitated for a moment—this thing still looked plenty hot.

  Ajjacione was impatient. “Come on,” he said. “Lead man, go in.” He had a small heat gun. He gestured with it. Biltis went in, then came out again, waving. “It’s OK! Come on!”

  The rest piled through the opening. Ajjacione took the lead, the others clustered behind him.

  They were on their way, all was going well . . . and the first disaster occurred.

  An automatic guard-robot came springing out of a niche in the wall. Weapon at the ready.

  “Stop! Show authorization!”

  Delgado figured this had to be part of the old system by which the prison was guarded. He thought these old guard-robots had been taken out of commission long ago. Newer, better means of security had been put into place since then. But here was this old robot, its weapon at the ready, demanding authorization.

  Ajjacione said, “Biltis, go up and show the guard your authorization.”

  Biltis looked askance. “But boss I haven’t got any—”

  “Sure you do,” Ajjacione says. He winked at the other men, made a little gesture with his hand. It was enough. They knew he meant for Biltis to distract the guard long enough for the others to overwhelm him.

  “Boss, I really don’t think—”

  “Don’t think, Biltis. You signed on to take the point. If anything goes wrong, your family will be provided for. If you don’t do this, they will also be provided for, but in a different way. You wouldn’t want that, Biltis. Now, get moving.”

  “Identification!” the robot guard roared.

  “Coming right up!” Biltis cried, scrambling forward. “I’ve got it right here.” He reaches into his jacket. “Just give me a moment to get it out . . .”

  “Make no false move!” the guard rumbled. It took one hand off its weapon. Its hand flashed out, a rod driven through a piston, and seized Biltis’s wrist. Biltis shrieked and attacked the guard with his free hand, clawing at the robot’s vision sensors.

  “Now!” Ajjacione roars. The others sprang forward and piled on the robot guard. They overbalanced him, he fell to the ground, triggering his energy weapon as he went down. Beams of blue-white electricity arced through Biltis. Ajjacione was firing into the robot’s computer brain. Delgado scrambled around and hit the robot’s neck joint with a clubbed fist. The robot suddenly went silent, slack.

  Chapter 5

  “Bad break,” Ajjacione said. “That robot guard wasn’t included in the layout plans. Somebody take his weapon. And let’s get going.”

  One man down. That left Delgado, Ajjacione, Trent, Simpson, and Dorem. They continued down the corridor.

  They left Biltis where he’d fallen and kept on going. Down a viper’s tangle of corridors, curling around each other, and all of them seeming to lead inward rather than outward. Corridors down which they hurried,
their shadows racing ahead of them, their feet making slapping sounds in the dark underground silence.

  They came out of a passageway into a long gallery with a high vaulted ceiling, rounded like an egg, translucent, lit from behind. There were no shadows in this part of the structure. Their footsteps were muffled as they moved across the gritty surface.

  They passed a sign: “Unauthorized Persons Stay Out! This Area is Armed!”

  Another sign: “Proceed at your own Peril.”

  A final sign: “Turn back now. You have been warned.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Ajjacione said. “This part of the prison hasn’t been active in twenty years.”

  They moved into a downward-sloping corridor. Soon they were splashing through ankle-deep water. The air smelled of mold and decay. They came to a Y connection in the tunnel. This wasn’t on the maps.

  “Check out the lefthand one,” Ajjacione said to Simpson.

  Simpson cautiously stepped into the lefthand tunnel. There was a sound of compressed air explosively escaping. Simpson gave one short, strangled cry, cut off. The others peered in. Simpson had passed a set of small holes set into a plate in one wall. As he passed, he had triggered something. Metal slivers, driven by compressed air, had been shot out of the holes.

  “Why would they do that?” Delgado asked.

  Ajjacione shrugged. “Part of an older defense system. So they wouldn’t have to rely entirely on robot weapons.”

  “You got any idea what else might come up against?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” Ajjacione said. “I guess we’d better take the other passageway. Go ahead, Delgado, lead off.”

  Delgado took the lead, Ajjacione coming after him, Trent bringing up the rear. The tunnel was illuminated by small light bulbs set into the ceilings. Delgado walked cautiously, his skin prickling in anticipation. The tunnel here was dry. The quality of the air seemed to have changed, too. It was cleaner. Delgado wondered if perhaps they were getting near the tunnel’s exit. Maybe they had already passed the last of the defenses . . .

  Then Dorem, in the rear, screamed. Delgado whirled around, got around Ajjacione, and looked to see what was the matter. Some sort of a net had fallen over his head. It was like a fisherman’s net, made of silvery filaments which were visibly constricting around his head.

  “Get it off me!” Dorem screamed.

  Delgado tried to break it. He succeeded only in cutting his hands on the fine wire. The net was tightening around Dorem, constricting around his face.

  “Give me your gun!” Delgado cried to Ajjacione.

  “No use, he’s had it,” Ajjacione said, stepping back.

  Delgado was trying to pull the web from around Dorem’s head. “Just hang on, I’ll get this thing off you somehow . . .”

  Dorem’s eyes bugged out as the net tightened in small, convulsive jerks. He tried to get his hand under it. His hand was forced against his chest. The net continued to constrict. Dorem moaned, air hissed out of his mouth. The net continued to constrict, and then there was the sound of bones breaking.

  Ajjacione was pulling at his arm. “Come on. We’ve got to keep on moving.”

  And now there were just the three of them, Delgado leading, then Ajjacione, and Trent bringing up the rear.

  And then Trent was gone. Just like that. Without a sign or a sound.

  Delgado wanted to go back for him, but Ajjacione pushed him ahead. Up ahead he could see a glimmer of light.

  And then Delgado was looking past a door sagging on its hinges to the nighttime street, with buildings silhouetted against a pale sky. They were just about to make their final run for freedom, when a voice came to them from nowhere.

  “You are now leaving the Sagamore prison. Please have your identity cards ready.”

  They froze. Where the hell did that come from? What is it? Where is it?

  Then Delgado noticed something ahead, looming just outside the exit from the tunnel. It was a dark shape with red eyes. Another robot guard.

  “What are you?” Delgado asked.

  “Exit guard,” the thing answered.

  Ajjacione said, “This post has been abandoned. You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “They didn’t tell me anything about it,” the robot said. “I am still operative. Identity papers, please.”

  Delgado said, “I can’t see you. Can you come over here to us?”

  “That is an old trick,” the robot said.

  “Well, I’ve got my ID here. Where do I put it?”

  “I’ll take it,” the robot said. From the shadows a long metal arm extended toward them.

  Delgado grabbed it and pulled for all he was worth. A tall, skinny robot stumbled out of the shadows. Delgado grabbed it around the middle, knocked it down.

  “Help me,” he said to Ajjacione.

  “You’re doing great,” Ajjacione says. He skirted Delgado and the robot and ran through the end of the tunnel, into the outside air.

  “Bastard,” Delgado said.

  “Escapee,” the robot said, squirmed around, pointed a finger at Ajjacione. A brilliant lance of light shot out. Ajjacione was hit in the middle of his back. He fell, his clothes afire.

  Delgado, with a strength he didn’t know he possessed, twisted the robot’s head in a full circle, breaking it loose from its mechanical spine.

  The robot’s voice, coming from a soundbox in its thorax, said, “I must insist that you stop this.” His hand came around, trying to get the finger pointed at Delgado.

  Delgado gripped the deadly hand, trying to keep it away from him.

  Light lanced out of the finger again, scorching the ground.

  Delgado grabbed the finger, bent it backwards. The finger fired again.

  Burning light scorched the robot’s mid-section, burned through, consuming the robot’s mechanical guts.

  Delgado scrambled to his feet, went over to Ajjacione. The man was dead. The robot had burned a hole clean through him.

  Delgado ran, out of the exit hole, into the street. He kept on running, expecting to get zapped at any moment. But there were no more defenses. He was alone on the wide dark street.

  Chapter 6

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “So that you may tell it to others.”

  “Doesn’t that defeat your purpose of secrecy?”

  “A complete secret cries for revelation. Secrecy serves its purpose best when it is partially exposed. And indeed, secrecy is not our ultimate goal, even at the present time.

  We crave revelation also, firstly to justify ourselves in the eyes of mankind, secondly to give to those who will listen some hope, and the possibility of working with us.”

  “How will what I write help others to seek you out and work with you?”

  “It will introduce them to the possibility that we exist. It will open their eyes. Then maybe they will be able to see us, to look through the humdrum surface and see the reality that we represent. From there it is but a step to making the decision to work for us, to serve us, for the short-range enhancement of the Eneshti, it is true, but more importantly for the long-range improvement of the human race.”

  “Even if some people accept what I write here as true, how will they find you?”

  “Once the susceptibility has been planted, many things become possible. They need not worry about finding us. We will find them.”

  “You know that most of my readers will dismiss what I say here as just so much fringe hysteria, in a class with ley lines and flying saucers.”

  “That is to be expected. Yet a few will read and begin to experience an opening of their minds. We are interested only in those few.”

  Joseph W. Painter, “Talks with the Eneshti,” Mystic Insights Press, 2217. 7th Edition.

  When Delgado got out, he saw, at the end of the block, a car waiting, its lights out, sitting in the middle of the street with its engine turning over. The window glass was dark and Delgado couldn’t see if there was anyone inside. He figured there w
as, since it was logical to assume that the people who had helped set up Ajjacione’s escape would also be waiting to receive him when he broke out.

  Delgado started walking toward the car, then stopped. It had just occurred to him that he might not get a friendly reception. They had been told how expendable they all were. The idea was for Mr. Ajjacione to get out. If anybody else made it with him, fine, he’d be taken care of. But the primary concern was Ajjacione.

  Delgado didn’t think they’d be pleased to hear that Ajjacione hadn’t made it, but that Delgado had.

  Between him and the car there was a narrow alleyway to his left. He continued as though proceeding to the car, which switched on its lights as he approached. Then he ducked into the alley and started running.

  Behind him, he could hear the car screeching to a stop at the alley’s entrance. The car could not fit through. But two men got out and started in pursuit of him. The car peeled off with a burning of rubber. Delgado was sure they would be going around the block, to cut him off before he could get out the other side.

  The end of the alley loomed ahead of him. The two men behind him were shouting at him. Bullets ricocheted off the walls. He saw the car pull up to the alley mouth in front of him. Another man got out, a handgun poised.

  Delgado saw a door to one side of the alley and pushed against it. Locked. He backed up and smashed his shoulder into it. The lock flew apart and the door opened. He ran inside.

  He seemed to be in some sort of a warehouse. It was a huge space, lit by dull emergency lighting. He ran down a corridor of packing cases, and after a while he stopped. Footsteps behind him. Some of Ajjacione’s men had gotten into the warehouse.

  Delgado found a staircase and raced up to the second floor, then continued on to the third. There were no more stairs. He was at the top. There was a central corridor and offices on either side of it. Behind him he could hear running steps. These people were fast! Where could he go now? If only he had a weapon! How stupid of him not to have picked up Ajjacione’s gun!