Wasp

by Eric Frank Russell

  For a short time he debated within himself whether to go after the Anthus and Kitsi. There was the disadvantage that they were in different docks a fair distance apart. Here, he had two suitable ships within easy reach of each other. And it was probable that the other vessels also were loading, thus being no easier to victimise.

  It seemed that in his haste he had arrived too early. The best thing for him to do would be to go away and come back later after workers and officials had gone home. But if the cop on the gate or a waterfront patrol became nosey it would be hard to explain his need to enter the deserted dock area after all work had ceased. A hundred excuses could turn into a hundred self-betrayals.

  “I have a personal message for the captain of the Su-cattra.”

  “Yar? What is his name?”

  Or, “I have a corrected cargo manifest to deliver to the Su-limane.”

  “Yar? Let me see it. What’s the matter-can’t you find it? How can you deliver it if you haven’t got it? If it’s not in your pockets it may be in that bag. Why don’t you look in the bag? You afraid to open it, hi?”

  Leaving the dockside he walked past the end of the huge shed which stretched the entire length of the dock. Its sliding doors stood three feet ajar. He went through without hesitation. The side farthest from the dock was stacked roof-high with packing-cases of every conceivable shape and size. The opposite side was part full. Near the main quayside doors halfway up the shed stood an array of cardboard cartons and bulging sacks which workers were taking out to the Su-cattra.

  Seeing the name Melami stencilled all over the nearest stack of cargo, Mowry looked swiftly toward the distant loaders, assured himself that he had not been observed, dodged behind a big crate. Though no longer visible from inside the shed he could easily be seen by anyone passing the sliding doors through which he had entered. Holding his case endwise ahead of him, he inched through the narrow gap between two more crates, climbed over a big coffin-shaped box, squirmed into a dark alcove between the stack and the shed’s outer wall.

  It was far from comfortable here. He could not sit, neither could he stand erect. He had to remain half-bent until, tired of that, he knelt on his case. But at least he was safe. The Melami was held up and nobody was likely to heave its cargo around for the fun of it. He stayed there for what seemed a full day. The time came when whistles blew and sounds of outside activity ceased. Through the shed’s wall sounded a muffled tramp of many feet as workers left for home. Nobody had bothered to close the shed’s doors and he couldn’t make up his mind whether that was a good thing or not. Locked doors would suggest an abandoned dockside guarded by none save the cop on the gate. Open doors implied the arrival of a night-shift or per-haps the protection of roving patrols.

  Edging out of the alcove he sat on a crate and rubbed his aching knee-caps: He waited two more hours to let overtime workers and other eager beavers get clear. When his patience ran out he walked through the deserted shed, stopped behind its quayside doors that were directly opposite the middle of the Su-cattra.

  From the case he took a limpet-mine, set its timing-switch to give a twenty-hour delay, threaded a length of thin cord through the holding loop. He peeped out the door. There was not a soul on the dockside but a few sailors were busy on the ship’s top deck.

  Boldly he stepped out of the shed, crossed the intervening ten yards and dropped the mine into the narrow stretch of water between ship and dockside. It hit with a dull plop and a slight splash, sank rapidly to the limit of its cord. It was now about eight feet below the surface and did not immediately take hold. He waggled the cord to turn the magnetic, face toward the ship. The mine promptly attached itself with a clang loud enough to resound all over the big vessel. Quickly he let go one end of the cord, pulled on the other and reeled it in through the holding-loop.

  High above him a sailor came to the deckrail, leaned on it and looked down. By that time Mowry had his back toward him and was strolling casually toward the shed: The sailor watched him go inside, glanced at the stars, spat in the water and went back to his chore.

  Soon afterward he repeated the performance with the Su-limane, sticking the mine amidships and eight feet down That one also had a twenty-hour delay. Again the clang aroused careless attention, bringing three curious sailors to the side. But they took their time about it, saw nobody, shrugged it off and forgot it.

  Mowry made for the exit gates. On the way he passed two officers returning to their ship. Engrossed in conversation, they did not so much as glance at him. If only they’d known of the long swim in store, he thought, they’d willingly have beaten out his brains.

  A different policeman was on duty by the gates as he went through.

  “Live long!”

  “Live long!” echoed the cop, and turned his attention elsewhere.

  Trudging a long way down the road and rounding the corner near to the gates of dock three, Mowry saw the car-park and came to a halt. A hundred yards away his car was standing exactly where he had left it but had become the subject of unwelcome interest. Its hood was raised and a couple of uniformed police were prying around the exposed dynomotor.

  They must have unlocked the car with a master-key in order to operate the hood’s release-catch. To go to that length meant they were not amusing themselves by being officious. They were on a definite trail.

  Retreating behind the corner, Mowry gave swift thought to the matter. Obviously those cops were looking for the dynomotor’s serial number. In another minute one of them would be crawling under the car to check the chassis number. This suggested that at last authority had realised that Sagramatholou’s car. had changed its plates. So the order had gone out to inspect all cars of that particular date and type.

  Right in front of him, hidden from the car-park, stood the unoccupied cruizer belonging to those nosey-pokes. They must have left it there intending to edge it forward a few feet and use it as a watching-post if necessary. Once they’d satisfied themselves that the suspected dyno was indeed a hot one, they’d come back on the run to set a stakeout.

  Cautiously he took a peep around the corner. One was talking excitedly while the other scribbled in a notebook. It would be another minute before they returned because they would close the hood and relock the dyno in order to bait the trap.

  Certain that no passer-by would question something done with casual confidence, he tried the cruizer’s door-handle. It was locked. He had no key with which to open it, no time to pick it, and that put an end to any thought of taking one car in lieu of the other. Opening his case, he took out the spare limpet-mine, set it for a one-hour delay. He lay in the road, rapidly inched himself under the cruizer and stuck the bomb to the centre of its steel framework. Wriggling out, he brushed himself down with his hands. Seven people had seen him go under and emerge. Not one viewed his actions as extraordinary.

  He snatched up his case and departed at a pace that was little short of a shambling run. At the next corner he looked back. One cop was now sitting in the cruizer and using its short-wave radio: The other was out of sight, presumably concealed where he could watch the dyno. Evidently they were transmitting the news that the missing car had been found and were summoning help to surround it.

  Yet again adverse circumstances were chivvying him into a tight corner. He had lost the car on which he had relied so much and which had stood him in such good stead. All that he now possessed were his gun, a set of false documents, a large wad of counterfeit money and a case that was empty save for what was wired to its lock. The case he got rid of by placing it in the entrance to the main post-office. That action would not help to cool things down. Discovery of his dyno had warned Alapertane that Sagiamatholou’s killer was somewhere within its bounds. While they were squatting around it in readiness to snare him a police cruizer would shower itself all over the scene. Then somebody would dutifully take a lost case to the nearest precinct station, a cop would try key it open and make an awful mess of the place.

  Alapertane already was half
-awake. Two big bangs were going to bring it fully awake and on its toes. Somehow he’d have to get out before they copied the Pertane tactic and ringed the town with troops.

  CHAPTER XI

  This was a time when he regretted the destruction of Pigface’s card in that explosion at Radine. He could do with it now. Equally he was sorry that he’d given Sagramatholou’s badge to Skriva. Despite looking as much like a Kaitempi agent as a purple porcupine, either the card or badge would have enabled him to commandeer any civilian car in town simply by ordering its driver to take him wherever he wished to go, shut up and do as you’re told.

  He had one advantage: the hunters had no real description of Sagramatholou’s killer. Possibly they were shooting in the dark by seeking the elusive Colonel Halopti. Or perhaps they were chasing a purely imaginary description which the Kaitempi had tormented out of its captives. It wasn’t likely that they’d be eagerly sniffing around for an elderly, slightly befuddled civilian who wore glasses and was too daft to know one end of a gun from the other.

  All the same, they would quiz anyone they caught leaving town in a hurry at this particular time, even if he looked the soul of innocence. They might take it further by searching every outward traveller in which event he’d be damned by possession of a gun and a large sum of money. They might also hold any and every suspect pending a thorough check of identities. That also would get the noose round his neck. The Board of Maritime Affairs had never heard of him.

  Therefore escape by train was out of the question. The same applied to long-distance buses. They’d all be watched Ten to one the entire police network was ready to take up the relent-less pursuit of any car reported stolen; they would assume that the culprit might have dumped one dyno intending to steal another. It was too late in the day to acquire another car by buying it outright. But… hah, he could do what he’d done before. He could rent one.

  It took him quite a while to find a hire-and-drive agency. The evening was drawing in, many businesses already had shut for the night, others were near their closing time. In one way that might be a help: maybe the lateness of the hour would cover his haste and get him prompt service.

  “I wish to rent that bullnozed sportster for four days. Is it available at once?”

  “Yar.”

  “How much?”

  “Thirty guilders a day. That’s one-twenty.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  “You want it right away?”

  “Yar, I do.”

  “I’ll have it made ready for you and get you the bill. Take a seat. Won’t keep you more than a few minutes.” The salesman went into a small office at back. The door swung slowly and had not quite closed when his voice penetrated the gap, saying, “A renter in a hurry, Siskra. He looks all right to me. But you’d better call and tell them.”

  Mowry was out the front, down the street and around two corners before the unseen Siskra had time to finish dialling. He’d been out-thought. The hunt was a move ahead of him. All renting agencies had been warned to report every applicant for a car. Only a narrow door-gap had saved him. If it had closed and silenced the voice he’d still have been sitting there when a carload of agents burst in.

  “Why d’you want this dyno, hi? Where d’you plan to go with it? Wbere d’you live? Who are you, anyway? Hold your arms up while we have a look at your pockets.“His back was sticky with sweat as he put plenty of distance between him and the dyno-dump. He threw away his glasses and was mighty glad to be rid of them. A bus came along bearing the sign: Airport. Now he remembered that he’d passed an airport on the road coming in. Wasn’t likely that Alapertane had more than one of them. Undoubtedly the port itself would be staked right, left and centre, but he did not intend to ride that far. This bus would take him to the outer suburbs and in the direction he wanted to go. Without hesitation he jumped aboard.

  Although his knowledge of the town was small his inward journey had given him a shrewd idea of how far he could go without reaching the fringes. A police check was likeliest immediately outside the town where the road left the built-up area and took to the country. At that point all those aboard ‘ could be regarded as leaving Alapertane and therefore fit subjects for questioning. He must get off the bus before then.

  Dismounting in good time, he continued walking outward in the hope that on foot he could avoid the checking-post by sneaking past unobserved, say by taking to the fields. Day was almost done; the sun was half under the horizon and light was dimming fast.

  He slowed his pace, decided that he’d stand a better chance of getting through in darkness. But he dared not draw attention to himself by mooching up and down the road or sitting on the kerb until nightfall. It was essential that he should look like a local citizen homeward bound. Turning off the main road he detoured at set pace through a long series of side-roads, circled back, regained the main one when the sky was black.

  Continuing outward, he concentrated attention straight ahead. After a while the road-lights ended, the shine from many house windows ceased and in the distance he could see the sky-glow of the airport. It would be anytime now. He had a strong urge to walk through the darkness on tiptoe. A bus overtook him, hummed into the heavy gloom, stopped with a brief blaze of braking lights. Cautiously Mowry advanced; got to within twenty yards of the bus. It was fully loaded with passengers and luggage. Three policemen were on board, two of them checking faces and documents while the third blocked the exit door.

  On the verge and right alongside Mowry stood a cruizer, its doors wide open and its lights extinguished. It would have been almost invisible but for the glow from the nearby bus. But for the present hold-up he might have sneaked to within grabbing distance before seeing it; they’d have sat in silence, listening to the faint scuffle of his feet, and jumped him as he came abreast of them.

  Calmly he got into the cruizer, sat behind its wheel, closed the doors and started the dynomotor. On the bus an irate cop was yelling at a frightened passenger while his two fellows looked on with cynical amusement. The click of door-locks and the low whine of a motor went unheard during this stream of abuse. Rolling the cruizer off the verge and onto the road, Mowry switched on the powerful headlights. Twin beams pierced the night, bathed a long stretch of road in shining amber, filled the bus with their glare. He accelerated past the bus, saw the three cops and a dozen passengers staring out at him.

  He bulleted ahead feeling that the fates had been kind and compensated for recent ill fortune. It was going to be some time before the alarm went out and the pursuit commenced. By the looks on the faces of those police they had not realised that it was their own car shooting past. Perhaps they thought he was a motorist who’d taken advantage of their preoccupation to slip by unquestioned.

  But it was likely they’d take action to prevent a repetition. Two of them would continue to browbeat the bus passengers while the thixd went out to catch any more sneakers. In that event the third could hardly fail to notice the absence of the cruizer.

  That’s when the fun would start. He’d give a lot to see their faces. No cruizer meant no radio either. They’d have to rush the bus to the far-off airport, or stir their lazy legs and run like mad to the nearest house with a telephone. Better still, they’d have to make a humiliating confession over the line and take a verbal beating-up from the other end.

  This mental reminder that in seizing the car he had also acquired a police radio caused Mowry to switch it on. At once it came to life.

  “Car Ten. Suspect claims he was examining parked cars because he’s completely forgotten where he’s left his own. He is unsteady, his speech is slurred and he smells of zith-but he may be putting on an act.”

  “Bring him in, Car Ten,” ordered Alapertane H.Q.

  Soon afterward Car Nineteen asked for help in ringing a waterfront warehouse, reason not stated. Three cars were ordered to rush there at once.

  Mowry turned the two-way switch to get the other channel. It was silent a long time before it said, “K-car. Waltagan calling
. A seventh has now entered house.”

  A voice rasped back, “You’d better wait. The other two may turn up yet.”

  That sounded as if some unfortunate household was going to suffer a late-night raid by the Kaitempi. The motive was anyone’s guess but it did not necessarily have anything to do with the finding of Sagramatholou’s dyno. The Kaitempi could and would snatch anyone for reasons known only to themselves; they could draft any citizen into the ranks of D.A.G. merely by declaring him in. The Kaitempi could do anything they pleased—except smack down a wasp, push away a Spakum space-fleet or win a war.

  He switched back to the police channel because over that would come the howl of fury about a missing cruizer. The radio continued to mutter about suspects, fugitives, this, that or the other car, go here, go there and soforth. Mowry ignored the gab while he gave his full attention to driving at the best speed he could make.

  When twenty-five den from Alapertane the radio yelped as the big long-range transmitter in Pertane itself let go with a powerful bellow.

  “General call. Car Four stolen from Alapertane police. Last seen racing south on main road to Valapan. May now be passing through area P6-P7.”

  Replies came promptly from all cruizers within or near the designated area. There were eleven. The Pertane transmitter started moving them around like pieces on a chess-board, using coded map-references that meant nothing to the listener. One thing seemed certain: if he kept to the main Valapan road it wouldn’t be long before a cruizer spotted him and caused every car within range to converge upon him. To take to minor roads and tracks wouldn’t help any; they’d expect a trick like that and perhaps even now were taking steps to counter it.