by Jean Sutton
Norden stiffened, moving his weapon ominously. "The first false move from anyone and you all get cut down," he warned.
"We get a choice?" York asked.
"Certainly, if you prefer to die now." The weapon moved toward him.
York grinned. "I'll take my chances on a short reprieve."
"May I put in a word?" a voice from the rear asked.
Norden stiffened, moving his eyes. It was Hing Poy.
"As an Alphan, I disown you," Hing Poy said. "Your ancestors must shudder in their graves."
"I disown you, also," Chun said steadily.
Norden stared impassively at them. "You'll have a chance to talk it over with your own ancestors very soon," he promised.
"What's all this about?" Hull demanded. His face flushed angrily.
"You'll learn."
"We all have something to learn," York put in calmly.
Barngate stared at him, sudden suspicion clouding his face. "You don't appear very worried," he observed.
"I don't believe you can pull it off," York challenged.
"No?" Barngate's blaster centered on York's chest. "You don't know when you've lost, do you, York? You're an incompetent fool, you and your August Karsh and all of First Level. You don't even know that the sun has set on your Empire. You're done, York, you and all your kind. A stupid race," he sneered.
"Words," York said.
Barngate laughed, a nasty grating sound, and nodded toward Apgar. The deckhand slipped through the doorway and returned a moment later with four masks, handing one to each of his companions.
"Gas?" a voice half-whispered.
"That's how they took over the Rigel," York said.
"You're guessing late for an E.I. man," Barngate grated.
"As a matter of fact, I can't take full credit for the honor," York answered. He nodded toward Benbow. "Our good doctor surmised that the crew had to be unconscious or dead. The rest was simple deduction."
"You guessed that?" demanded Hull. "You didn't mention it."
"No reason to," York acknowledged.
"And so you die," Barngate rasped.
"Just stand here?" snarled Tregaski. He lowered his head, hunching his shoulders as if to charge. Norden's weapon swung around.
"Hold it," York barked. "That's a command." Tregaski stiffened, staring at the blaster in Norden's hand, then slowly exhaled, standing straighter.
"That's better," Norden said.
Hull looked disdainfully at York. "August Karsh will have to take the credit for this," he said icily.
"Karsh!" Barngate spat the name.
Norden walked over to a wall communicator, keeping one eye on York as he punched the selector button. He said into the tube, "This is Commander Norden speaking. You may proceed."
"We just die?" a voice from the rear exclaimed incredulously.
"That's right," answered Norden. He looked at his companions. "Time to mask, Captain."
"Don masks," Barngate ordered.
York saw a tension run through the room and barked, "Hold it. Wait."
"Hold it," Tregaski snarled.
"Don't budge," York rasped. He swung back, waiting for a long suspense-filled moment, scarcely daring to breathe as the Alphans scrambled into their masks. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the uncertainty on Tregaski's face, the impassive look on Hull's. Hing Poy's eyes were blank pools.
Suddenly Norden's weapon wavered, and he took a faltering step forward. At that instant York lowered his body and lunged toward Barngate, who was reaching desperately for his mask. York struck him low, sending him reeling backward, and was on him instantly, yanking away his blaster. As he rose and whirled, he saw the other Alphans clawing at their masks.
Tregaski came to life with a roar. Lunging forward, he wrenched the blaster from Norden's hand and fell on Apgar, smashing him to the deck. York whirled toward Shumway, surprised to see Hull standing over him, blaster in hand. Hull looked around slowly, his eyes resting on York.
"Their masks were filled with a nice, soothing sleeping gas," York explained.
"Gas?"
"A quick-acting mixture the doc drummed up." He nodded toward Benbow.
"But how -- ?" Hull glanced uncertainly from Benbow to York.
"We figured they'd try it this way," York continued. "The attempt on my life was the tip-off."
"How'd he know which masks to fill?"
York grinned. "He filled them all, every mask on the ship. Take your pick and go to sleep."
Hull started to answer, then jerked up his head sharply. "My God, we're forgetting about the gas in the system!"
"Wait," York counseled. As Benbow bent over Barngate to examine his pulse, they waited silently. Moments later they heard a clumping noise in the corridor, and Osborn came through the doorway, bent under the weight of a body.
"Char Wong!" exclaimed Hull. York felt a stab of surprise. He'd felt positive it had to be either Char Wong or Lu Singkai, but he'd placed his money on the older man. Between the two, Singkai had appeared the better candidate. Well, he'd guessed wrong.
Osborn deposited his burden none too gently on the floor and straightened, looking at the agent. "It was just like you said it would be, Mr. York," he said.
"What was?" snapped Hull. "What happened?"
Osborn stood straighter. "Mr. York had me hide in the air-distribution room. Told me to make certain no one put anything in the air system."
"Who had the watch?" Hull barked.
"Lu Singkai. While I was hiding, Wong here" -- he indicated the unconscious man -- "came in. He pushed some kind of a needle in Singkai, and he keeled over. Then Wong locked the door."
"You were watching all this?" Hull asked sharply.
"Yes, sir. Mr. York told me not to do anything unless someone tried to put something into the system."
"And he did?"
"Yes, sir, he tried. He got some pressure containers that were hidden behind the indicator panel and placed them near the air ducts. After a while someone gave him an order over the communicator. When Wong put on a mask, I got ready to let him have it -- "
"Let him have it?"
Osborn dug into his pocket and brought out a stun gun. "Mr. York gave it to me," he explained.
"I see." Hull nodded gravely.
Osborn looked puzzled. "But something happened. Wong keeled over before I could use it. That's when I grabbed him."
"You did fine, Osborn." Hull nodded approvingly. Pursing his lips, he looked at York. "It seems to me I could have been acquainted with some of this," he remarked.
York subdued a smile. "Not really, Captain."
"And why not?"
"You probably wouldn't have gone along with it," York answered coolly. "Or you might not have let it go this far."
Hull stared at him. "Perhaps you're right," he admitted finally.
"It was the only way we could catch the traitors aboard the Draco," York pursued.
"Traitors!" Hull's eyes blazed. "I'll see them under the atomizer."
"When August Karsh finishes with them," he agreed.
Hull swung toward Tregaski. "Lock these men up, Lieutenant, and I don't want to see anyone talking with them. No one."
"With pleasure," Tregaski returned.
Hull looked at York. "If you would come to my cabin -- "
"Certainly," he responded. Hull turned wordlessly and left the mess hall, nor did he speak until they were seated under the blue lights. Then he weighed the agent speculatively.
"Several things puzzle me," he mused.
"Understandable," York murmured.
"Just before I went to the mess hall, I received a message from the Admiral of the Galactic Seas," the captain continued. York stiffened, waiting. "Notice of promotion to the rank of rear admiral, effective immediately. I'm assigned to duty at First Level," he added.
York exhaled slowly, feeling a brief reprieve. "Congratulations!" he exclaimed. "You've earned i
t."
"But why?" Hull cocked his head speculatively. "Let's drop all pretense, York. I'm an outworlder, and outworlders don't make rear admiral. I don't have to tell you that."
York studied him, seeing the puzzlement in his face which had prompted him to step beyond his pride. No, he thought, the captain didn't know, but he would soon enough. He said quietly, "You're privy to a secret, Admiral. That makes you eligible."
"The bomb secret?" Hull asked wonderingly. At his nod, Hull said, "But the Rigel was unarmed. You saw that yourself."
"That's the secret."
"You're saying -- ?"
"There is no bomb, never has been."
"I -- I can't believe that."
"Nevertheless, it's true. The bomb is a giant hoax created to keep peace in the Empire, to assure the eminence of the Empire."
"But all the N-cruisers," Hull broke in disbelievingly.
"Are traveling unarmed except for conventional weapons," York supplied. "Those empty compartments have kept the Empire unchallenged for centuries, Admiral."
"Barngate guessed?"
"As a crew member it was easy. He knew they hadn't unloaded anything."
"But I didn't guess."
"Subconsciously you did," York answered. "Sooner or later it would have come to you. Meanwhile, knowledge of the empty chamber was dangerous."
"So that made me a rear admiral," Hull said bitterly. "Is that so they can keep an eye on me?"
"Don't feel bad," York encouraged. "They keep an eye on everyone, and that includes the Admiral of the Galactic Seas and August Karsh. It's part of the system; the Empire couldn't survive without it."
"I wasn't aware of that."
York saw some of the strain leave his face. "You learn to live with it," he counseled.
Hull looked wonderingly at him. "Will I -- ever?"
"In time, until someday the secret is out," York said. "After that we can all relax."
"It'll never get Out, York. It can't." Hull clenched his fist.
"Yes, it will," he corrected. He looked Hull squarely in the eyes. "No secret can be kept forever, Admiral."
One hour to Earth orbit.
One hour to Earth's teeming cities.
One hour to safety.
Daniel York sat in his small stateroom, his eyes on the clock, watching the slow sweep of the minute hand. With high navigational skill, Galton had brought the Draco from hypertime well inside the orbit of Mars, and for the last three days the destroyer had been hurtling toward Earth on conventional drive. Now, from well inside the lunar orbit, Earth filled the sky, an immense bluish-yellow planet that lay in half phase, with the sun a gleaming disk off to one side.
In one hour -- less now -- the Draco would come into Earth orbit, and the mission would end. Success or failure -- everything hung on minutes. Listening, he heard the rumble of the Draco's power drive in retro-fire, transmitted through the bulkheads as a faint whisper. The minute G force set up by the destroyer's constant deceleration tugged gently at his body.
And then it was fifty minutes.
He let his thoughts wander. Admiral Hull would be on the bridge with Galton, scanning the maps of local space while he watched the great bluish-yellow planet swim toward him out of the velvet night. Admiral -- the rank he'd never hoped to attain. Instead of the bleak planet Upi, he'd have a cozy office in Naval Center, replete with all the benefits that came with high rank. He'd never again travel the rim or watch the midge sun Blackett rise above Upi's craggy peaks. For him the story was ended.
And down in the hold, under lock and heavy guard, were Barngate, Shumway, Norden, Apgar, and Wong, who must apprehensively be awaiting the moment when they would be escorted into August Karsh's therapy room. For them, too, the story had ended.
But not for him.
Everything depended on time -- the Draco's speed, its rate of deceleration, its instant of entry into orbit. And on what was happening on Grydo. More specifically, what was happening -- or had happened -- to the Programmed Man.
What of the others?
He smiled at the thought. Prince Li-Hu probably was fretting in his palace on Shan-Hai, wondering why he hadn't heard from his agents, why the Draco hadn't appeared at X spot in space. Did he suspect that he had lost the bomb secret? Probably, he thought, for although the prince was ambitious, power-mad and reckless, he certainly was no fool. Perhaps he was already spinning a second plot.
What of Dr. G? He probably was standing in his balcony, watching the huge violet sun, contemplating the possibilities pro and con, all absolutely without emotion. For him the mission had been a thing of mathematics in which action had been geared to number; certain things happened at certain times. And if the numbers were correct, he had won. And he most certainly must be contemplating the Programmed Man, on whom so much of his bet had been placed.
And August Karsh? Karsh undoubtedly would be at the space terminal, and equally undoubtedly would be accompanied by the Admiral of the Galactic Seas. But Karsh would not be speaking of victory. Not yet, for he was a cautious man. Despite his renown as an intelligence chief almost without peer, he would be fully cognizant that he was pitted against Dr. G. No, he would not speak of victory, not until he had it in his hand.
What of himself?
York smiled grimly. The mission had been audacious, complex, so dependent upon an unending stream of factors beyond his control that it had seemed doomed from the start, and yet its very audacity had given him a degree of assurance. In the past, he'd found, it had been the audacious enterprises that had succeeded best, and yet the death rolls were filled with the names of agents who had died on far lesser missions.
He returned his eyes to the clock.
Twenty minutes to Earth orbit.
He was sitting, leaned back, eyes closed, when he heard the footsteps in the corridor, Tregaski's heavy footfalls masking the lighter ones.
York straightened with a sigh. The ship would be alerted; there would be armed men in every corridor, every compartment. Hull would have seen to that. When he heard them pause at the door, he called, "Come in."
The door burst open and the admiral stood there, his face bleak and suspicious, his mud-blue eyes narrowed into tight slits. Tregaski towered at his side, his face a mask of hostility, one hand on his blaster.
York looked surprised. "Well, this is pleasant. I thought you'd be on the bridge."
Hull took two swift strides into the room and halted, leaving Tregaski at the door. "I've just received a message from Grydo," he said sharply. "The man they captured isn't Myron Terle."
York smiled and said, "I'm not surprised."
"Not surprised?" Hull blurted. He took another step forward. "His name happens to be Daniel York."
"York, eh? Have you heard from August Karsh?"
Hull appeared taken aback. "Not yet," he admitted.
"I expect you will, Admiral." The agent glanced at the clock: three minutes to orbit.
"I don't know what your game is," grated Hull, "but you'd better start explaining."
"I think I'd better." The agent sighed and gazed musingly at the admiral. "You weren't supposed to know this part of the secret."
"Start talking," Hull snapped.
"Very well." The agent leaned toward him. "August Karsh was never fooled. He knew from the start that both Prince Li-Hu and Golem Gregor -- that's Dr. G -- were after the bomb. Between the two, Dr. G was the greater threat. You can understand that, and of course Dr. G realized that."
"Realized what?" demanded Hull. "You're talking in a circle."
"Realized that Karsh would act on the assumption that Zuma offered a greater threat than the Alphan suns. Dr. G didn't underestimate his own reputation."
"Facts, I want facts," Hull interrupted.
"The background is essential to understanding the facts," the agent explained. "Dr. G also realized that his only hope in obtaining the bomb secret lay through his agent, Myron Terle. His problem, then, was h
ow to get Terle on the scene without Karsh's knowledge." He paused, glancing at the clock: seconds from orbit.
"Keep talking," Hull said edgily.
"I believe the rest is clear," the agent replied amiably. "To accomplish his end, Dr. G created an impersonation of Myron Terle and sent him through the galaxy to lead August Karsh astray."
"Sent Daniel York?" Hull exclaimed incredulously.
"York was on a Zuman world at the time. I mentioned that."
"What has that got to do with it?"
"Dr. G knew it. While York was watching Terle, he was being watched by Dr. G, but of course he didn't know that. When Dr. G learned of Prince Li-Hu's plot, he seized York, put him in the therapy chamber and programmed his mind."
"Programmed?"
He nodded. "In Daniel York's mind, he was Myron Terle, carrying out Dr. G's orders. It's all a matter of multiple hypnosis," he explained.
"Terle was York? My God, then you're -- "
"Myron Terle, of course."
"Teleport!" The warning came in a strangled cry from Hull's lips. Before Tregaski's hand could grasp his blaster, Terle laughed...
And vanished.
The Authors
JEAN AND JEFF SUTTON are a man-and-wife writing team who make their home in San Diego, California. This is their second novel for Putnam's, the first being The Beyond. Jeff Sutton is also the author of Apollo at Go and Beyond Apollo, both science fiction. An ex-newspaperman and the author of many novels, Mr. Sutton is an editorial consultant in the aerospace field. Mrs. Sutton teaches high school social studies in San Diego, California.