Complete Short Fiction (Jerry eBooks)

by James H. Schmitz

  “Of course. But if the results could be made to look like those two, somebody would find it profitable.” Telzey regarded the tiny ladies with their beautiful faces, elaborate coiffures and costumes. They gave her anxious smiles. Replaceable erotic toys. Yes, the exploiters of Marell might have hit on a quite profitable sideline.

  She said to Salgol, “Could you tell someone how to get to Marell?”

  He shook his head. “Lady, no. I’ve tried to find out. But the Hub men were careful not to let me have such information, and the people’s astronomy isn’t advanced enough to establish a galactic reference. All I can say is that it took the ships on which I’ve been three months to make the trip in either direction.”

  Trigger closed the door to the suite’s bedroom, where the Marells had returned to their box. “Well?” she said. “How does it check out telepathically?”

  “They are human,” Telzey said. “Allowing for their backgrounds, they can’t be distinguished mentally from Hub humans. Salgol’s near genius grade. It’s a ticklish situation, all right. How long’s it been since Blethro might have come awake?”

  “Not much more than an hour.”

  “How well are you covered?” Trigger shrugged. “Blethro can give them my description, of course. I dumped his car, taxied back to where I’d left mine, left that in a garage, and taxied here. I really didn’t leave much of a trail.”

  “No. But we’ll assume Blethro contacted his principals at once. That’s obviously a big outfit with plenty of money. And the matter’s important to them. You could upset their entire Marell operation and land them in serious trouble. They’re probably looking hard for you.” Trigger nodded. “They’d try for a quick pick-up first. I figured our best chance to get a line on them would be while they’re still looking for me. In fact, it might be the only real chance for a century to find out where Marell is. If they can’t locate me and those three, they could dissolve the project and wipe out the evidence, and they probably will.”

  “Where do you want to take this?” Telzey said.

  “Psychology Service, top level.”

  “That seems the best move. Why didn’t you go directly to their city center?”

  “Because I didn’t want to have it fumbled by some underling,” Trigger said. “I don’t know the local Service group. You do.”

  “All right.” Telzey looked at the room ComWeb. “Better not use that. I’ll call the center from a public booth. They should have an escort here for you and the Marells in minutes.”

  She left. Trigger returned to the bedroom, told Salgol what they intended. He was explaining the situation to the other two while she closed and latched the box. She put on her blazer, glanced at her watch, sat down to wait.

  Some three minutes later, she heard the faintest of clicks. It might have come from the other room. Trigger picked up the gun she’d left lying on the table beside her, stood up quietly, and listened. There were no further sounds. She started moving cautiously toward the door.

  The air about her seemed to sway up and down, like great silent waves lifting and falling. Trigger stumbled forward into the waves, felt herself sink far down in them and drown.

  III

  “How do you feel?” a voice was saying; and Trigger realized her eyes were open. She looked at the speaker, and glanced around.

  She was sitting in a cushiony deep chair; there was a belt around her waist, and her hands were fastened to the belt on either side. There was a tick in her right eyelid. Other nerves jerked noticeably here and there. The man who’d addressed her stood a few feet away. Another man, who wore a gold-trimmed blue uniform, sat at an instrument console farther up in the compartment. He’d swung around in his chair to look at her. This was a spaceyacht; and that splendid globe of magenta fire in the screen might be a sun she’d seen before.

  “Nerves jumping,” she said in reply to the question. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. “And thirsty. This is the Rasolmen System?”

  The uniformed man laughed and turned back to the console. The other one smiled. “Good guess, Miss Argee! You’re obviously awake at last. You had me worried for a while!”

  “I did?” Trigger said. He’d shoved back the flap of his jacket as he spoke, and she had a glimpse of a gun fastened to his belt.

  “It was that knockout method we used on you,” he explained. “It’s one of the safest known, but in about one out of every three hundred cases, you can run into side effects. You happen to be that kind of case. Frankly, there were a couple of times I wasn’t too sure you mightn’t be going into fatal convulsions! But you should be all right now.” He added, “My name is Wrann. Detective by profession. I’m the man responsible for picking you up—also for delivering you in good condition to my employer. You’ll understand my concern.”

  “Yes, I do,” Trigger said. “How did you find me so quickly?”

  He smiled. “Good organization— and exceptionally good luck! We had your description; and you’d been lunching at Wehall’s. There was a chance you were among the store’s listed customers. We ran your description against the list in the Wehall computer and had a definite identification in no time at all.”

  “I thought that list was highly confidential,” said Trigger.

  Wrann looked somewhat smug. “Few things remain confidential when you come up with enough money. You were expensive, but I’d been told to find you and a certain box, and find both fast, and ignore the cost. We’d thrown in a small army of professionals; but, as it turned out, you’d selected one of the first hotels we hit with your pictures and name. The name was no help. The pictures were. That identification came high, and the suite keys higher, but we got both. We were taking you out of there minutes later.”

  “What was hotel security doing all that time?”

  Wrann grinned. “Looking the other way. Amazing, isn’t it, in a fine establishment like that? Enough money usually does it. You were very expensive, Miss Argee. But my employer hasn’t complained. And now we’ve almost reached our destination. Feel able to walk?”

  Trigger moved her elbows. “If you’ll take this thing off me.”

  “In a moment.” The detective helped her stand up, nodded at a passage behind them. “We had a comfortable little cell ready for you, but I was keeping you up front as long as you were in trouble and conceivably could need emergency treatment to pull you through. You’ll find drinking water in the cell. If you’ll do me the favor, you might straighten yourself out a bit then, before I hand you over at the satellite. You look rather rumpled.”

  She nodded. “All right. Did you bring along my makeup kit?”

  “I brought along whatever you had at the hotel,” Wrann said. “But I was told to keep your property together. You’ll find a kit in the cell.” There were two barred cells then, facing each other at the end of the passage. Trigger stopped short when she saw who was in one of them. Wrann chuckled.

  “Surprise, eh?” he said. “My employer also wants to see Mr. Blethro. Mr. Blethro was reluctant to make the trip. But here he is.”

  He unlocked the door to the other cell and slid it back, while Blethro stared coldly at Trigger. Wrann motioned her in, shut the door and locked it. “Now, if you’ll back up to the bars—”

  Trigger moved up to the door, and Wrann reached through the bars, unfastened the belt from around her waist and freed her wrists. “If you need anything, call out,” he said. “Otherwise I’ll be back after we’ve docked.” He went off down the passage to the front of the yacht.

  Trigger drank a cup of water thoughtfully, returned to the cell door. Blethro sat on a chair, moody regard fixed on the floor. The yellow moustache drooped. She heard Wrann say something to the pilot in the forward compartment. The pilot laughed.

  “Blethro!” Trigger said softly.

  Blethro gave her a brief, unpleasant glance, resumed his study of the floor.

  Trigger said, “Are you in trouble with whoever it is we’re being taken to see?”

  Blethro growled
something impolite.

  “It is my business,” Trigger said. “I know how we can get out of this. Both of us.”

  He lifted his head, moustache twitching with sudden interest. “How?”

  “You heard what Wrann said about that knockout stuff they used on me?”

  “Some of it,” Blethro acknowledged. “I heard you earlier.”

  “Oh? What were the sound effects?”

  Blethro considered, watching her. “Someone choking to death. Gasps— hoarse! Groaning, too.”

  “Fine!” said Trigger. “And I’ll now have some dandy convulsions right here in this cell. As soon as I start, yell for Wrann. If I can get his gun and keys, we’ll go after the pilot next.”

  Blethro stared at her a moment longer, grinned abruptly.

  “Why not?” he said. “I’ve become inconvenient to them—I’ve got nothing to lose.” He stood up, came over to the bars of his cell. “You might even do it! But you’d better be quick. Wrann’s a tough boy—tougher than he looks.”

  Trigger raked fingernails down the side of her face and dropped to the floor. Blethro bellowed, “Wrann! Better have a look at that girl! She’s throwing a fit or something!”

  Footsteps pounded along the passage before he finished. Trigger, contorting, eyes drawn wide, clutching her throat, breath rasping, heard Wrann’s shocked curse. Then the bars rattled as the cell door slid open. Wrann came down on his knees beside her, reaching for an inner coat pocket.

  Trigger’s right hand speared stiffly into his throat. Wrann’s head jerked back. She turned up on her left elbow, slashed her hand edge across the bridge of his nose, saw his eyes glaze, gripped his head in both hands, hauled him down across her and rammed his skull against the floor. Wrann made a gurgling sound.

  Stunned but not out. His gun first—and she had it, hearing the pilot call, “Need some help back there, Wrann?” and Blethro’s, “Naw—he’s handling her all right!” as she squirmed out from under Wrann’s weight and got to her knees. Wrann clamped a hand around her ankle then, pushing himself up from the floor; and she twisted around and laid the gun barrel along the side of his head. That was enough for Wrann. He dropped back, face down; and Trigger came to her feet.

  She went quickly over to the cell door, Blethro watching in silence. Wrann’s key was in the lock. Trigger took it out, glanced along the passage. She couldn’t see the pilot from the door; but he could see the passage and anyone in it if he was at the console and happened to look around. She whispered, “Catch!” and Blethro nodded quickly and comprehendingly and put a big cupped hand out between the bars. She tossed the key over to him. He caught it. A moment later, he had his cell door unlocked and drew it cautiously open far enough to let him through.

  They slipped out into the passage together. The pilot sat at his console, back turned toward them. Blethro muttered, “Better let me take the gun!”

  “I can handle it.” Trigger eased off the gun’s safety, indicated Wrann. “Lock him in if you can do it quietly. But wait till I’m in the control section!”

  She started off down the passage without waiting for his reply. She wasn’t exactly trusting Blethro. Her own gun would have been preferable, but if her luck held, shooting wouldn’t be necessary anyway. The magenta sun was sliding upward out of the yacht’s screen; the pilot was using his instruments. She came up steadily behind him.

  He reached out, pulled over a lever, then leaned back in his chair and stretched. “Wrann?” he called lazily. He turned, beginning to get out of the chair, saw Trigger ten feet away, gun pointed. He stared.

  “Get up slowly!” she told him. “That’s right. Now keep your hands up and go over to the wall.”

  She knew Blethro had entered the compartment; now he came into view on her right. He grinned. “I’ll check him.”

  The pilot shook his head, began to laugh. “Damndest thing I’ve seen in a while! Awake five minutes, and you almost had the ship!”

  “Almost?” said Trigger.

  “Look at the screen.”

  She looked. The screen was blank. “Ship power went off just now,” the pilot explained. “We’re riding a beam.”

  Trigger said, “Check him out, Blethro!” Then, some moments later: “Where’s your gun? You’re bound to have one.”

  The pilot shrugged. “You’re welcome to it! That drawer over there.” Blethro jerked open the drawer, took out the gun. “Now,” Trigger said, “we have two guns on you, and we’re in a bad jam. Don’t be foolish! Sit down at the console, switch ship power back on and break us out of that beam. And don’t tell me you can’t do it!”

  “I am telling you that.” The pilot settled himself in the control chair.

  “I’ll go through any motions you like. Nothing will happen. You can check for yourself. The people here don’t want anyone barging in on them under power, so the satellite’s overriding my console now, and we’ll stay on their beam till it docks us. Sorry, but this simply hasn’t done you any good!”

  After a minute or two, it became evident that he’d told the truth. Blethro had begun to sweat. Trigger said, “How long before we dock?” The pilot looked at a chronometer. “Should be another six minutes.”

  “Wrann brought a handbag of mine on board along with a box. Where did he put the bag?”

  “There’s a bulkhead cabinet beside the passage entry,” the pilot told her. “It’s not locked. The bag’s in there.”

  “All right,” Trigger said. “Get out of the chair. Blethro, put on his uniform. Hurry! If he’s got a cap, put that on, too. I’ll get my gun.”

  The pilot climbed out of the chair. Blethro frowned. “What’ll that do for us?”

  “We dock,” Trigger said. “We come out. For a moment anyway, they may think you’re the pilot. I’m a prisoner. We’ll have three guns. We may be able to knock out the override controls and take off again.”

  The pilot shook his head. “That won’t do you any good either.” Blethro grimaced, baring his teeth. “It can’t hurt! They’re dumping me, friend!” He jerked his gun. “The uniform off! Fast!”

  There was a faint hissing sound.

  Startled, Trigger looked around. Sudden scent of not-quite-perfume— Oh, no! Not again!

  The pilot spread his hands, almost apologetically. “They don’t take chances! We might as well sit down.” He did. Blethro was staggering backwards; the gun fell from his hand. Trigger stood braced for an instant against the armrest of the control chair, felt herself slide down beside it, while the pilot’s voice seemed to go on, drawing slowly off into distance: “. . . told you . . . it . . . would . . . do . . . no . . .”

  IV

  Again she came awake.

  This was a gradual process at first: the expanding half-awareness of awakening—a well-rested, comfortable feeling. But then came sudden knowledge of being in a dangerous situation. There was a shield which guarded her mind, and that now had drawn tight as if it sensed something it didn’t like. Full recollection returned as she opened her eyes.

  She was in a day-bright room of medium size with colored crystal walls, unfurnished except for a carpet and the couch on which she lay. The day-brightness wasn’t the natural kind; the room had no windows or viewscreens. There was one rather small square scarlet door which was closed. The room was silent aside from the minor sounds made by her own motions and breathing. She wasn’t wearing the clothes she’d had on but a short-sleeved sweater of soft gray material, and slacks of the same material which ended in comfortably fitting boots.

  Probably, though not necessarily, she was on the solar satellite which had hauled in the unpowered yacht with its unconscious pilot and passengers. Rasolmen was an open system. It had no planets and very little space debris. It did have, however, a sizable human population whose satellites circled the magnificent sun along their charted courses, as occasional retreats or permanent residences of people who liked and could afford that style of living. Large yachts sometimes joined them for a few weeks or a year. There was almost no commer
cial shipping in the system beyond that which tended to the requirements of the satellite dwellers.

  If the purpose had been only to silence her, it would have been simpler to kill her than to bring her here. So they must want to find out how much she’d learned about their operation, and whether she’d talked to others before she was caught.

  It seemed a decidedly sticky situation, but she wasn’t improving it by lying where she was until someone came to get her. Trigger got off the couch and went over to the scarlet door. There was a handle. She turned it, and the door swung open into a dark corridor with walls and floor of polished gray mineral in which there were flickering glitters. She moved out into the corridor.

  Not many yards away, the corridor opened on a room which seemed to be of considerable size. Through the room poured a river of soundless fires, cascading down through the air, vanishing into the carpeting.

  Trigger stood watching the phenomenon. Its colors changed, sometimes gradually, sometimes in quick ripples and swirls, shifting from yellow through pink and green to sapphire blue or the rich magenta blaze of the Rasolmen sun. No suggestion of heat or cold came from the room, no crackle of energy. It seemed simply a visual display.

  She started cautiously toward the room. There was no other way to go; the corridor ended beside the door through which she’d come. Immediately, the flow shifted direction, surged toward her and became a fiery wall, barring her from the room.

  Less sure now that it was only a display, Trigger waited, ready to retreat through the door. But when nothing more happened, she moved forward again. Again the phenomenon responded. It blurred, reformed as a vortex, lines of dazzling color spiraling swiftly inward to a central point which seemed to recede farther from her with every step she took. Trigger shook her head irritably. There was a strong hypnotic effect to that whirling mass of light. For a moment, she’d come to a stop, staring into it, her purpose beginning to fade from her mind. But warned now, she went on.