The Programmed Man

by Jean Sutton

  In truth the Zumans were Earth-descended -- a point the history books conveniently overlooked -- and as such were a very real part of the Empire, even though they were sealed off. Far from being the ogres the public media made them, most were just ordinary people. Only now and then did the mutations occur which produced telepaths and -- yes, he had to admit it -- teleports. Of course, the curve of genius was rather high...

  Dr. G -- he toyed with the name in his mind. The good doctor, contrary to much of the First Level belief, wasn't interested in conquest or power. His sole objective was to return his people to the Empire. In fact, from what Karsh had discerned through York's reports, the head of Zuman Intelligence was an extremely likable man. Likable and extremely intelligent, he corrected. In all honesty, Karsh thought, he'd like to see the Zumans take their rightful place in the stream of history. The Empire would be the better for it. He couldn't say that, of course, but he felt it, and as the Empire's chief intelligence officer, his task was to see that it never came to pass. Justice was on the side of Dr. G, he thought. But he held the power.

  He smiled frostily.

  6

  GELHART HUNG alone in a black universe, a pale yellow sun that shone with a lusterless light yet was unbearable to the naked eye. The hundred thousand stars that gleamed around it were incredibly remote, forming little more than a backdrop to the eternal velvet night through which Gelhart sped, accompanied by six smaller pieces of matter. These were its planets -- "grotesque caricatures of worlds," as Jan Galton described them.

  Standing with York at the Draco's star window, the navigator observed, "For some reason this part of the rim is terribly empty, almost alien, you might say. The few inhabited planets are widely scattered, scarcely better than Gelhart's."

  "Empty?" York peered at the sweep of stars, thinking it resembled a field of diamonds.

  Galton smiled wryly. "I was speaking of the prevalence of life. It teems in some parts of the galaxy yet appears to avoid other parts. This is one of the avoided areas."

  "Has it to do with the nature of the planets?"

  "That would be my supposition," Galton admitted, "although I've seen civilization on worse worlds. The dwarf planets of the Struve sun, for example. Did you know that its light is purple? Can you imagine life on one of its worlds? And yet there is. They say that man is the most adaptable creature in the universe. I claim he has to be, judging from some of the places he's chosen to live on."

  "You used the word alien," York commented. "Were you thinking of Gelhart?"

  "In part," Galton confessed. "Look at it -- a yellow sun, much like Sol, and not too greatly different in size. Yet note its light -- dull, lifeless, as if it were a great mass painted yellow instead of a blazing inferno. A strange star, like many in this region."

  "Is it hot?"

  Galton nodded. "Hot enough to cinder Goa and Debro, its two inner planets, and make wastelands of the third and fourth. They're vast, burning deserts; no other words can describe them."

  "What about the outer two? You mentioned six."

  "Methane," said Galton, "methane giants, much like Jupiter and Saturn, if you're acquainted with them. They're frozen solid to their cores. This is an unhospitable part of the galaxy, York, and yet these planets will be claimed someday."

  York returned his attention to Gelhart. It did appear more like a yellow plate pasted against the sky than a sun. Although unbearable to the eye, its brightness was not a gleam, nor did it pulsate like so many stars. Lifeless was a good word, he thought. He glanced at the navigator and asked, "Where are we now?"

  Galton smiled slightly. "I've been working all night to come up with that answer."

  "Because of Gelhart's isolation?"

  "Locating Gelhart was no trick, but locating its planets was," he explained. "They are forgotten worlds, lost in time. I don't believe anyone's bothered with them in a thousand years."

  "But you did find them?" York interrupted.

  Galton nodded. "We emerged inside the orbits of Tennhauf and Geranda, the methane giants I mentioned. At the moment we're penetrating the orbit of Skyro, fourth from the sun."

  "Not stopping?"

  "Skyro's present position is opposite the sun," explained Galton. "I finally tracked that down. As it happens, we're much closer to Bonoplane, the third planet. She'll fill our star window before long."

  "When will we reach it?"

  "Almost one standard week," answered Galton. "Our navigation's not sufficiently refined to risk popping in much closer."

  York grinned. "It's close enough for me."

  "We'll spend far more time covering the last few millions of miles in conventional drive than we did skipping a tenth of the way across the galactic rim," Galton stated. "It's somewhat like planetary travel; you spend more time getting to and from the terminals than you do in flight."

  "What's Bonoplane like, aside from being a vast desert?"

  "Burning heat by day, bitter cold by night -- a dry, windless world without life. A sterile world, York." Galton shrugged.

  "I was thinking in terms of landing."

  "It has an oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere," replied Galton. "The oxygen content is low but breathable, at least according to the records. We'll have to test that. There's the usual scatter of other gases. Surface gravity and barometric pressure both are close to four-fifths standard."

  "Breathable oxygen and yet no life?" York cocked his head.

  "None," Galton replied flatly.

  "How large is it?"

  "Slightly over seven thousand miles in diameter." Galton smiled as York pursed his lips. "If you're worrying about locating the Rigel on what appears to be a limitless plain, don't. The Draco's sensors can cover every square inch of Bonoplane in two days, three at most."

  "The thought was perturbing," he admitted.

  "Actually our subspace interrogator is locked on the planet now," Galton went on. He caught the question in York's eyes and continued. "In case of any attempt to communicate."

  "Could anyone there detect our approach?"

  "It depends on the Rigel's condition -- if it's there," answered Galton. He eyed York curiously. "But we don't know that, don't even know if it ever reached a planetary surface, let alone Bonoplane's."

  York said drily, "I imagine it's there."

  "Are you expecting survivors?"

  "Definitely."

  Galton shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose there is a lot that I don't know."

  "A lot that none of us know," he corrected, "but we'll learn. What kind of landers did the Rigel carry?"

  "Cruiser standard, eight in number, plus the captain's spacer," the navigator answered. "They can't go between systems, if that's what you're asking."

  "But they have an interplanetary capability?"

  "Conventional drive." Galton nodded. "But it would require quite skillful navigation."

  "So if Skyro's on the opposite side of the sun, Bonoplane's about the only place they could have landed. Is that what you're saying?"

  "That would be my guess."

  "Let's hope you're right." York looked at the star window and asked, "What's the nearest inhabited world?"

  "Grydo, third of Geddes." Galton leveled a long finger at the star window. "That small green sun off to the right of Gelhart. It resembles an emerald."

  "That's close?" asked York. "It appears as distant as anything in the sky."

  "A bit over six hours through hypertime," answered Galton. "That's a long way if you're speaking of pure distance, which we seldom do. Distance is a measure of planetary surfaces; in space we speak only of time."

  York started to reply when Les Osborn came over from the communicator, where he had the watch, and stood stiffly until Galton said, "What is it, Osborn?"

  "The captain would like to see Mr. York in his cabin, sir."

  "In a few minutes," York told him. "I'm getting my astronomy lesson."

  "Yes, sir," Osborn returned dubiously. />
  Galton observed York shrewdly as the deckhand wheeled to return to his post. "You haven't quite got the Navy spirit," he remarked. "It's customary to jump when the captain beckons."

  York smiled. "Perhaps he wants to swear me in. Think I'd make a good deckhand?"

  "Absolutely not," Galton declared. His eyes twinkled. "You're much too independent, York."

  Captain Hull was hunched over some papers when York came in. The bluish light gave his skin a ghostly hue. "Sit down," he invited.

  "Thank you." York seated himself in the chair at the side of the desk and waited for the captain to speak.

  Hull pushed the papers aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "We've been making a quiet investigation," he announced, "but I can't honestly say that it's produced much."

  "On the gas bomb?"

  Hull inclined his head. "We have the deluded belief that the officers' quarters are sacrosanct, but it's amazing how many enlisted personnel have access -- maintenance, mess attendants, cooks, men going to the weapons compartments. I'll have to confess, I was quite surprised."

  "You're used to seeing them," York ventured. "They become part of the scenery."

  "I suppose." Hull paused before continuing. "I'll also have to admit that several of the Alphan crew members were in this area about that time. Not that it's significant," he finished.

  "You know their names?"

  Hull said reluctantly, "Char Wong, an engine technician, and Lu Singkai, of maintenance. They came up to play Krabacci with Wally, our mess attendant. I don't say this in the belief that either of them is guilty of anything, but only to put it in the record."

  "Have they been up before?" asked York.

  "A number of times. The game's very popular."

  "Did they arrive and leave together?"

  "I can't say. I haven't wanted to cause too much of a disturbance," replied Hull. "If the point's important, I can have Tregaski ask Wally in confidence."

  "Perhaps it's better if you didn't make an issue of it," York suggested. "At least we're warned."

  "That's my feeling." Hull shifted back in his seat and folded his hands. "But that's not why I sent for you. It seems that your Myron Terle has made another appearance, this time in Rhonda."

  "Rhonda?" He turned over the name in his mind.

  "An industrial city on Anhaus, third of Arcturus. He tried to contact another of Li-Hu's agents."

  "Tried?" York arched his eyebrows. "I take it that he wasn't too successful."

  "He failed to keep the appointment," Hull acknowledged.

  "Another double agent?"

  Hull nodded. "However, First Level believes that the Zuman government already has effected some sort of alliance with Prince Li-Hu. His appearance in Rhonda appears to affirm that."

  "Who in First Level?" asked York.

  "The Admiral of the Galactic Seas and, I presume, August Karsh. I understand the E.I. is working closely with the Navy on this one." York suppressed a smile, thinking that Hull had everything turned around. If anything, the admiral was waiting on Karsh's doorstep, hoping for a few crumbs.

  He asked, "What's his reasoning?"

  "Terle's actions. He's used the same passport twice -- name of Dorcus Antol -- and he's fluffed both contact attempts. That doesn't sound like the Myron Terle you describe. The admiral feels that these maneuvers are deliberate attempts to draw attention to himself."

  "Does he give a reason?"

  "The one I mentioned -- to conceal the fact that such an alliance already exists. Terle's actions apparently are designed to make us believe otherwise."

  "That's a complicated picture you're drawing," York mused.

  Hull asked, "Aren't these intelligence maneuvers usually complicated?"

  "Very," he acknowledged.

  "If such an alliance does exist, it's related to our present problem, York. I see no reason to doubt that. I still consider Terle as the most dangerous threat."

  "It sounds reasonable," he acceded.

  "It is reasonable," Hull corrected. "At least that's the admiral's belief. And if we accept that, we have to accept the fact that Terle has some plan for getting the bomb secret. I shudder to think of a man like that loose."

  "Because he's a teleport?"

  Hull nodded. "How can you catch such a man?"

  "You couldn't on a crowded planet, say like Earth or Kalar. He could move from house to house, or city to city, within the blink of an eye."

  "So if he ever got aboard a ship headed toward such a world -- ?" Hull hunched forward, frowning.

  "You'd never catch him," York asserted.

  "And if he had the secret?"

  "He'd get it back to Dr. G."

  "How?" Hull asked bluntly.

  "If you're speaking of Earth, I imagine the good doctor has any number of agents scattered around."

  "On Earth -- First Level? That's hard to believe."

  "Nevertheless it's true." York smiled. "Karsh penetrates the Zuman worlds. Do you believe Dr. G is any less adroit?"

  "I couldn't say," Hull answered stiffly.

  "He isn't. Take it from me."

  "You forget, we keep those worlds sealed off, York. A gnat couldn't slip through."

  "Is Myron Terle smaller than a gnat?"

  Hull bit his lip vexedly. "I'll admit that he got through; how, I don't know."

  "Just like E.I. gets through."

  Hull raised his head angrily. "You're making us sound slipshod."

  "Not a bit," York denied, "but you can't catch them all. The Draco and destroyers like it serve to keep traffic to a minimum. But there is traffic. And once a ship gets into hypertime..."

  "That's the safest assumption, I suppose."

  "Quite the safest," he assured him.

  Hull sighed and sat back. "That's what worries me, the possibility that Terle might somehow get the secret and escape aboard a ship bound for a major planet. Believe me, I have nightmares over that possibility."

  "I imagine Karsh has, also," he replied drily.

  "No doubt. Nevertheless I'm fully confident that the admiral is taking all necessary precautions, York."

  "Such as?"

  "I couldn't say." Hull's voice was frosty. "But with First Level alerted to the danger, I have the definite feeling that Mr. Myron Terle is in for somewhat of a shock. Prince Li-Hu as well. They're challenging the power of the Empire, and I fancy the Empire's capable of answering it."

  "And the Draco's the answer, eh? That must give you a feeling of pride."

  Hull reddened and said, "It's beginning to look very much as if we won't be in on the kill, and that's too bad."

  "Why not?" York asked sharply.

  "The N-cruiser Cetus has been dispatched to the scene," Hull told him. "By a fortunate happenstance, it was undergoing emergency repairs on one of the nearby rim worlds. They rushed through the job."

  "It's spaceborne?"

  Hull nodded. "I've just received a report that it's already out of hypertime and somewhat closer to Gelhart than we are."

  "That shouldn't prevent our going in," he asserted.

  "I'm afraid it might. I wouldn't be at all surprised if we were ordered back to Upi."

  "As critical as this situation is?" asked York. "I can't believe that."

  "There are reasons, York."

  "Because the Draco isn't an N-ship?" he asked bluntly.

  Hull said coldly, "The Empire's policy is to restrict all N-bomb information to certain qualified ships. The Draco doesn't happen to be one of them. I don't mind saying, York, I regard it as good policy."

  "Really?" York grinned. "I'll bet you're boiling inside."

  "I would like to be in on the kill," Hull replied steadily. "I admit that. But that's personal vanity. From an operational point of view, I realize the Cetus is more than adequate for any emergency that might arise."

  "Was the Rigel?" York asked softly.

  Hull flushed. "I mi
ght point Out that if this proves to be sabotage, it will be the first case in over three centuries, and I can assure you that it won't happen again. We are warned now."

  York leaned back, eyeing the captain steadily. "How can you say that, in view of what just happened here? You have a potential murderer aboard, and you don't even know who he is, or what he might do, or how he might be linked up to what happened aboard the Rigel. You don't know any of those things, Captain, and yet you deny even the remote possibility of sabotage."

  "I'll take the responsibility for what happens aboard my ship," Hull snapped stiffly.

  "I'm pointing out that this isn't a matter of weapons and ship size," York replied. "It's a matter of intelligence, and that means E.I. Right now the Rigel happens to be my job."

  "You are taking a lot for granted, Mr. York."

  "Let's not be formal," he answered. "It was cozier the other way. You admitted that you'd like to be in on the kill, and I'm just trying to assure you that you will be. The Draco won't be ordered back to Upi. I can guarantee that."

  "What makes you so positive?"

  "August Karsh."

  Hull said pointedly, "August Karsh hasn't the slightest say where naval operations are concerned, York. He might advise, yes, but not give orders."

  "This situation isn't restricted to the Navy," York replied easily. "It's bigger than that. When you're talking about the N-bomb, you're talking about the Empire, its survival. This isn't a battle, Captain. It's a conspiracy, and that puts it right in August Karsh's lap. Those are the facts of life."

  "We'll see," Hull returned shortly.

  York grinned suddenly. "You should really be happy," he said. "Nothing ever happens on Upi, but out here..."

  Passing through the crew's quarters en route to the ship's hospital, York saw Osborn sitting alone at one of the mess tables, immersed in a magazine. He paused, looking at Osborn's bony profile as a plan formed in his mind. Osborn was tough, rugged, the kind of a man he might need. As if prescient, Osborn glanced up and abruptly sat straighter.