Ensign Flandry df-1

by Poul Anderson

  Silence lay thick while the phone hunted through its various scanner outlets. The screen flickered, the ambassador looked forth. “Hauksberg! What the devil?”

  “Just returned,” said the viscount. “We heard of an attempt to rifle Premier Brechdan’s files. May have been a successful attempt, too; and the agent escaped. The premier accused me of havin’ a finger in it. Obvious thought. Somebody wants to sabotage my mission.”

  “I—” Oliveira collected himself. “Not necessarily. Terra isn’t the only rival Merseia has.”

  “So I pointed out. Prepare to do likewise at length when you’re notified officially. But we’ve got to show good faith. I’ve deputed the Merseians to arrest Commander Abrams. He’ll be fetched back here. Place him under guard.”

  “Lord Hauksberg! He’s an Imperial officer, and accredited to the diplomatic corps.”

  “He’ll be detained by Terrans. By virtue of my commission from his Majesty, I’m assumin’ command. No back talk if you don’t want to be relieved of your position.”

  Oliveira whitened but bowed. “Very good, my lord. I must ask for this in properly recorded form.”

  “You’ll have it when I get the chance. Next, this young fella Flandry, Abrams’ assistant. Happens I’ve got him on deck. Think I’ll quiz him a while myself. But have a couple of men march him to detention when I give the word. Meanwhile, alert your staff, start preparin’ plans, explanations, and disclaimers, and stand by for a visit from Brechdan’s foreign office.”

  Hauksberg cut the circuit. “Enough,” he said. “C’mon out and start talkin’, you.”

  Flandry went. Nightmare hammered at him. In the back of his head ran the thought: Abrams was right. You don’t really want drama in these things.

  What’ll happen to him?

  To me? To Persis? To Terra?

  “Sit down.” Hauksberg pointed his gun at a lounger and swung the barrel back at once. With his free hand he pulled a flat case from his tunic pocket. He appeared a little relaxed; had he begun to enjoy the tableau?

  Flandry lowered himself. Psychological disadvantage, looking upward. Yes, we underestimated his Lordship badly. Persis stood in the archway, red-eyed, hugging herself and gulping.

  Hauksberg flipped open the case—an unruly part of Flandry noticed how the chased silver shone beneath the fluoro-ceiling—and stuck a cheroot between his teeth. “What’s your role in this performance?” he asked.

  “Nothing, my lord,” Flandry stammered. “I don’t know—I mean, if—if I were concerned, would I have been here tonight?”

  “Might.” Hauksberg returned the case and extracted a lighter. His glance flickered to Persis. “What about you, m’ love?”

  “I don’t know anything,” she whispered. “And neither does he. I swear it.”

  “Inclined to b’lieve you.” The lighter scritted and flared. “In this case, though, you’ve been rather cynic’lly used.”

  “He wouldn’t!”

  “Hm.” Hauksberg dropped the lighter on a table and blew smoke from his nostrils. “Could be you both were duped. We’ll find that out when Abrams is probed.”

  “You can’t!” Flandry shouted. “He’s an officer!”

  “They certainly can on Terra, my boy. I’d order it done this very hour, and risk the repercussions, if we had the equipment. ’Course, the Merseians do. If necess’ry, I’ll risk a much bigger blowback and turn him over to them. My mission’s too important for legal pettifoggin'. You might save the lot of us a deal of grief by tellin’ all, Ensign. If your testimony goes to prove we Terrans are not involved—d’ you see?”

  Give him a story, any story, whatever gets you away.

  Flandry’s brain was frozen. “How could we have arranged the job?” he fumbled. “You saw what kind of surveillance we’ve been under.”

  “Ever hear about agents provocateurs? I never believed Abrams came along for a ride.” Hauksberg switched the phone to Record. “Begin at the beginnin”, continue to the end, and stop. Why’d Abrams co-opt you in the first place?”

  “Well, I—that is, he needed an aide.” What actually did happen? Everything was so gradual. Step by step. I never really did decide to go into Intelligence. But somehow, here I am.

  Persis squared her shoulders. “Dominic had proven himself on Starkad,” she said wretchedly. “Fighting for the Empire.”

  “Fine, sonorous phrase.” Hauksberg tapped the ash from his cheroot. “Are you really infatuated with this lout? No matter. P’rhaps you can see anyhow that I’m workin’ for the Empire myself. Work sounds less romantic than fight, but’s a bit more useful in the long haul, eh? Go on, Flandry. What’d Abrams tell you he meant to accomplish?”

  “He … he hoped to learn things. He never denied that. But spying, no. He’s not so stupid, my lord.” He’s simply been outwitted. “I ask you, how could he arrange trouble?”

  “Leave the questions to me. When’d you first get together with Persis, and why?”

  “We—I—” Seeing the anguish upon her, Flandry knew in full what it meant to make an implement of a sentient being. “My fault. Don’t listen to her. On the way—”

  The door opened. There was no more warning than when Hauksberg had entered. But the thing which glided through, surely the lock was not keyed to that!

  Persis shrieked. Hauksberg sprang back with an oath. The thing, seared and twisted metal, blood starting afresh from the cauterized fragment of an arm, skin drawn tight and gray across bones in what was left of a face, rattled to the floor.

  “Ensign Flandry,” it called. The voice had volume yet, but no control, wavering across the scale and wholly without tone. Light came and went in the scanners which were eyes.

  Flandry’s jaws locked. Abrams’ agent? Abrams’ hope, wrecked and dying at his feet?

  “Go on,” Hauksberg breathed. The blaster crouched in his fist. “Talk to him.”

  Flandry shook his head till the sweat-drenched hair flew.

  “Talk, I say,” Hauksberg commanded. “Or I’ll kill you and most surely give Abrams to the Merseians.”

  The creature which lay and bled before the now shut main door did not seem to notice. “Ensign Flandry. Which one is you? Hurry. Meshuggah. He told me to say meshuggah.”

  Flandry moved without thinking, from his lounger, down on his knees in the blood. “I’m here,” he whispered.

  “Listen.” The head rolled, the eyes flickered more and more dimly, a servomotor rattled dry bearings inside the broken shell. “Memorize. In the Starkad file, these numbers.”

  As they coughed forth, one after the next in the duodecimals of Eriau, Flandry’s training reacted. He need not understand, and did not; he asked for no repetitions; each phoneme was burned into his brain.

  “Is that everything?” he asked with someone else’s throat.

  “Aye. The whole.” A hand of metal tendrils groped until he clasped it. “Will you remember my name? I was Dwyr of Tanis, once called the Merry. They made me into this. I was planted in your airboat. Commander Abrams sent me. That is why he left this place, to release me unobserved. But an alarm order was on the Starkad reel. I was ruined in escaping. I would have come sooner to you but I kept fainting. You must phone for the boat and … escape, I think. Remember Dwyr.”

  “We will always remember.”

  “Good. Now let me die. If you open the main plate you can turn oft my heart.” The words wobbled insanely, but they were clear enough. “I cannot hold Sivilla long in my brain. It is poisoned and oxygen starved. The cells are going out, one by one. Turn off my heart.”

  Flandry disengaged the tendrils around his hand and reached for the hinged plate. He didn’t see very well, nor could he smell the oil and scorched insulation.

  “Hold off,” Hauksberg said. Flandry didn’t hear him. Hauksberg stepped close and kicked him. “Get away from there, I say. We want him alive.”

  Flandry lurched erect. “You can’t.”

  “Can and will.” Hauksberg’s lips were drawn back, his chest ro
se and fell, the cheroot had dropped from his mouth into the spreading blood. “Great Emperor! I see the whole thing. Abrams had this double agent. He’d get the information, it’d be passed on to you, and you’d go home in disgrace when I caught you with Persis.” He took a moment to give the girl a look of triumph. “You follow, my dear? You were nothin’ but an object.”

  She strained away from them, one hand to her mouth, the other fending off the world.

  “Sivilla, Sivilla,” came from the floor. “Oh, hurry!”

  Hauksberg backed toward the phone. “We’ll call a medic. I think if we’re fast we can save this chap.”

  “But don’t you understand?” Flandry implored. “Those numbers—there is something about Starkad—your mission never had a chance. We’ve got to let our people know!”

  “Let me worry ’bout that,” Hauksberg said. “You face a charge of treason.”

  “For trying to bail out the Empire?”

  “For tryin’ to sabotage an official delegation. Tryin’ to make your own policy, you and Abrams. Think you’re his Majesty? You’ll learn better.” Flandry took a step forward. The gun jerked. “Stand back! Soon blast you as not, y’ know.” Hauksberg’s free hand reached for the phone.

  Flandry stood over Dwyr, in a private Judgment Day.

  Persis ran across the floor. “Mark, no!”

  “Get away.” Hauksberg held his gun on the boy.

  Persis flung her arms around him. Suddenly her hands closed on his right wrist. She threw herself down, dragging the blaster with her. “Nicky!” she screamed.

  Flandry sprang. Hauksberg hit Persis with his fist. She took the blow on her skull and hung on. Flandry arrived. Hauksberg struck at him. Flandry batted the hand aside with one arm. His other, stiff-fingered, drove into the solar plexus. Hauksberg doubled. Flandry chopped him behind the ear. He fell in a heap.

  Flandry scooped up the blaster and punched the phone controls. “Airboat to Embassy,” he ordered in Eriau.

  Turning, he strode back to Dwyr, knelt, and opened the frontal plate. Was this the switch he wanted? He undid its safety lock. “Good-bye, my friend,” he said.

  “One moment,” wavered from the machine. “I lost her. So much darkness. Noise … Now.”

  Flandry pulled the switch. The lights went out in the eyes and Dwyr lay still.

  Persis sprawled by Hauksberg, shaken with crying. Flandry returned and raised her. “I’ll have to make a dash,” he said. “Might not finish it. Do you want to come?”

  She clung to him. “Yes, yes, yes. They’d have killed you.”

  He embraced her one-armed, his other hand holding the blaster on Hauksberg, who stirred and choked. Wonder broke upon him like morning. “Why did you help me?” he asked low.

  “I don’t know. Take me away from here!”

  “Well … you may have done something great for the human race. If that information really is important. It has to be. Go put on a dress and shoes. Comb your hair. Find me a clean pair of pants. These are all bloody. Be quick.” She gripped him tighter and sobbed. He slapped her. “Quick, I said! Or I’ll have to leave you behind.”

  She ran. He nudged Hauksberg with his foot. “Up, my lord.”

  Hauksberg crawled to a stance. “You’re crazy,” he gasped. “Do you seriously expect to escape?”

  “I seriously expect to try. Give me that holster belt.” Flandry clipped it on. “We’ll walk to the boat. If anyone asks, you’re satisfied with my story, I’ve given you news which can’t wait, and we’re off to report in person to the Merseian authorities. At the first sign of trouble, I’ll start shooting my way through, and you’ll get the first bolt. Clear?”

  Hauksberg rubbed the bruise behind his ear and glared.

  With action upon him, Flandry lost every doubt. Adrenaline sang in his veins. Never had he perceived more sharply—this over-elegant room, the bloodshot eyes in front of him, the lovely sway of Persis re-entering in a fire-red gown, odors of sweat and anger, sigh of a ventilator, heat in his skin, muscle sliding across muscle, the angle of his elbow where he aimed the gun, by eternity, he was alive!

  Having changed pants, he said, “Out we go. You first, my lord. Me a pace behind, as fits my rank. Persis next to you. Watch his face, darling. He might try to signal with it. If he blows a distress rocket from his nose, tell me and I’ll kill him.”

  Her lips trembled. “No. You can’t do that. Not to Mark.”

  “He’d’ve done it to me. We’re committed, and not to any very genteel game. If he behaves himself he’ll live, maybe. March.”

  As they left, Flandry saluted that which lay on the floor.

  But he did not forget to screen the view of it with his body on his way out to the corridor, until the door shut behind him. Around a corner, they met a couple of young staffmen headed in their direction. “Is everything well, my lord?” one asked. Flandry’s fingers twitched near his sheathed gun. He cleared his throat loudly.

  Hauksberg made a nod. “Bound for Afon,” he said. “Immediately. With these people.”

  “Confidential material in the suite,” Flandry added. “Don’t go in, and make sure nobody else does.”

  He was conscious of their stares, like bullets hitting his back. Could he indeed bluff his way clear? Probably. This was no police or military center, wasn’t geared to violence, only created violence for others to quell. His danger lay beyond the compound. Surely, by now, the place was staked out. Dwyr had wrought a miracle in entering unseen.

  They were stopped again in the lobby, and again got past on words. Outside, the garden lay aflash with dew under Lythyr and a sickle Neihevin. The air was cool. It quivered with distant machine sounds. Abrams’ speedster had arrived. O God, I have to leave him behind! It sat on the parking strip, door open. Flandry urged Hauksberg and Persis aboard. He closed the door and waved on the lights. “Sit down at the console,” he ordered his prisoner. “Persis, bring a towel from the head. My lord, we’re about to talk our way through their security cordon. Will they believe we’re harmlessly bound for Dhangodhan?”

  Hauksberg’s face contorted. “When Brechdan is here? Don’t be ridiculous. C’mon, end the comedy, surrender and make things easier for yourself.”

  “Well, we’ll do it the hard way. When we’re challenged, tell ’em we’re headed back to your ship to fetch some stuff we need to show Brechdan in connection with this episode.”

  “D’ you dream they’ll swallow that?”

  “I think they might. Merseians aren’t as rule-bound as Terrans. To them, it’s in character for a boss noble to act on his own, without filing twenty different certificates first. If they don’t believe us, I’ll cut out the safety locks and ram a flier of theirs; so be good.” Persis gave Flandry the towel. “I’m going to tie your hands. Cooperate or I’ll slug you.”

  He grew conscious, then, of what power meant, how it worked. You kept the initiative. The other fellow’s instinct was to obey, unless he was trained in self-mastery. But you dared not slack off the pressure for a second. Hauksberg slumped in his seat and gave no trouble.

  “You won’t hurt him, Nicky?” Persis begged.

  “Not if I can avoid it. Haven’t we troubles enough?” Flandry took the manual-pilot chair. The boat swung aloft.

  A buzz came from the console. Flandry closed that circuit. A uniformed Merseian looked from the vidscreen. He could see nothing but their upper bodies. “Halt!” he ordered. “Security.”

  Flandry nudged Hauksberg. The viscount said, “Ah … we must go to my ship—” No human would have accepted a tale so lamely delivered. Nor would a Merseian educated in the subtleties of human behavior. But this was merely an officer of planetary police, assigned here because he happened to be on duty at the time of the emergency. Flandry had counted on that.

  “I shall check,” said the green visage.

  “Don’t you realize?” Hauksberg snapped. “I am a diplomat. Escort us if you like. But you have no right to detain us. Move along, pilot.”

  F
landry gunned the gravs. The boat mounted. Ardaig fell away beneath, a glittering web, a spot of light. Tuning in the after viewscreen, Flandry saw two black objects circle about and trail him. They were smaller than this vessel, but they were armed and armored.

  “Nice work, there at the end, my lord,” he said.

  Hauksberg was rapidly regaining equilibrium. “You’ve done rather well yourself,” he answered. “I begin to see why Abrams thinks you’ve potentialities.”

  “Thanks.” Flandry concentrated on gaining speed. The counteracceleration field was not quite in tune; he felt a tug of weight that, uncompensated, would have left him hardly able to breathe.

  “But it won’t tick, y’ know,” Hauksberg continued. “Messages are flyin’ back and forth. Our escort’ll get an order to make us turn back.”

  “I trust not. If I were them, I’d remember Queen Maggy was declared harmless by her Merseian pilot. I’d alert my forces, but otherwise watch to see what you did. After all, Brechdan must be convinced you’re sincere.”

  Ardaig was lost. Mountains gleamed in moonlight, and high plains, and cloud cover blanketing the planet in white. The wail of air grew thin and died. Stars trod forth, wintry clear.

  “More I think about it,” Hauksberg said, “more I’d like to have you on the right side. Peace needs able men even worse’n war does.”

  “Let’s establish peace first, huh?” Flandry’s fingers rattled computer keys. As a matter of routine, he had memorized the six elements of the spaceship’s orbit around Merseia. Perturbation wouldn’t have made much difference yet.

  “That’s what I’m tryin’ for. We can have it, I tell you. You’ve listened to that fanatic Abrams. Give me a turn.”

  “Sure.” Flandry spoke with half his attention. “Start by explaining why Brechdan keeps secrets about Starkad.”

  “D’ you imagine we’ve no secrets? Brechdan has to defend himself. If we let mutual fear and hate build up, of course we’ll get the big war.”

  “If we let Terra be painted into a corner, I agree, my lord, the planet incinerators will fly.”

  “Ever look at it from the Merseian viewpoint?”