Doomsman - the Theif of Thoth

by Harlan Ellison

in a private craft that had overturned. As they should

  have. As they would have

  had not AmericaState

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  wanted them to believe any story he gave them

  had

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  not AmericaState wanted him to get to Tedus Nur _ . •

  had not AmericaState rigged the jetcopter to trackback its

  signals, so they would know where he was at any moment.

  He knew, then, and the knowledge did nothing to

  DOOMSMAN

  soothe him. All this effort, all these machinations, were

  all at the notice of the AmericaState officials. He had had

  his memories of Eskalyo discovered when he had been initially probed, and the Probers had decided he, Juanita Montoya, would make a good decoy to find and assassinate Eskalyo, in Ciudad Rosario. Was Eskalyo becoming too much of a threat for the AmericaState system? Was

  there more to this than Juanito suspected? Undoubtedly!

  Yet they had pulled it off this far: they had aroused his

  interest in Eskalyo, then planted Grice to let Juanito

  know he was the petty ruler's son, then arranged it so

  Juanita would think it was his own idea to seek out Grice

  and the man in the Chambers, and Eskalyo himself. It

  had all been a plan, and he had jibbered and capered

  through it like the puppet they wished him to be.

  He cursed himself silently, wishing he had never been

  found by the Seekers. He cursed the invisible, omnipotent

  Them who ruled the AmericaState, and for the first time

  since he could remember, he doubted the stately system;

  perhaps it was because he had been a child of freedom

  . . . perhaps it was because he had too much individuality to fully accept what he had been taught at the School

  . perhaps it was just that he was sick of being

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  shunted about. But at that moment of realization he knew

  the AmericaState way was not the best way to rule the

  continent. The War had been a severe test, and the men

  who had come through it with the most strength left had

  been the ones to establish the School and the Seekers and

  the Probers and all the other security checks and confining minutia of AmericaState government. But Juanito had never doubted that was the best way; the petty rulers

  had to go; they were a menace.

  Was it so, however? Was that the way of it?

  Now he doubted until his brain hurt. Now he knew the

  regimentation was no good, and the School was no good,

  and there was a fear in AmericaState-a fear of Eskalyo.

  Or if there were not .

  why would they be going to so

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  much trouble to convince Juanita he wanted to seek out

  his father?

  It had been chance, obviously, that Grice had been

  captured. Chance-he had been sent on a mission to

  keep him busy till Juanito arrived in Alaska-a harmless

  DOOMS MAN

  mission to keep him out of the way-and he had been

  captured-and tortured-and died with bitterness red on

  his lips.

  That bitterness had compelled him to speak. To tell the

  truth about this business to the man he y.ras supposed to

  have duped.

  So Juanita knew.

  He knew he was being driven to find his father, and

  the AmericaState officials would give him all the help he

  needed. Such as an idling jetcopter . . . a ChiTroop cutter . . . or a free passage to Ciudad Rosario--wherever it might be.

  Had not Grice been tortured in that way, had not his

  bitterness overcome his training, Juanita would have

  stumbled on, thinking he was escaping the assassin's

  corps, thinking he was going to his father, when all the

  while he would have been on his way to an assassination.

  The ChiTroop cutter skimmed over the water of Lake

  Michigan, speeding toward N. Chicago, as th� other

  thought struck J uanito Montoya:

  How were they going to insure that he killed Eskalyo?

  What hidden factors had they? Was he a tool without

  knowing it7 He struggled with himself for a long instant,

  and finally scoffed it away; he had been trained to kill.

  That was probably the hold they had over him. They felt

  sure he would not go back on his training when the moment of assassination came. He chuckled in the sanctity of his mind. They were so wrong.

  Unlike the many serfs and simple-souled draftees to

  the School, Juanito had been a creature of the wind, free

  and on his own: he did not feel grateful for the training,

  and in an instant he woUld throw it over. When he

  reached Eskalyo--his father-he would pledge himself to

  allegiance no matter what the cost.

  His assassin's training would come in handy.

  But that was all in time. First he had to find Tedus

  Nur, head executioner, field division, N. Chicago Chambers.

  Tedus Nur was the most hideous creature ever

  spawned.

  DOOMSMAN

  Not only his physical makeup-though that in itsctf.

  was frightening, and perhaps reason for his other

  defects-but his tone of voice, the look in his eye, his

  gait, his attitude toward the political prisoners in the

  Chambers, everything. In everything, his body was

  reflected. In every word, every deed, every concept and

  inclination, his dwarf's body was mirrored.

  Juanito Montoya instinctively slouched when he met

  Tedus Nur.

  A man with a warped and twisted body such as Nur's

  would be immediately antagonistic to a straight, tall youth

  with unscarred, clean limbs. Juanito sensed this, and lessened his own stature accordingly. If it had any effect on the dwarf, Nur did not let on.

  He was despicable from the first moment of their meeting.

  "What do you want?"

  The thin, gashlike mouth opened to reveal less than

  half the teeth nature had intended. What few wined in a

  broth of saliva were yellow and broken, save for two canines white and clean and deadly-looking, as if Nur were part animal, keeping those two· teeth in good case for his

  animal stages. The mouth opened and a rank smell came

  forth. The eyes narrowed as the mouth opened, and the

  banked fires of hatred-an all-directional hatred, for

  everyone and everything-blazed more brightly from the

  thinned slits. Nur's eyes were bloodshot and stained about

  the iris with orange flecks. His eyes were any color. Any

  sick color. They were not brown, but mud. They were not

  black but dirt. They were not blue but the color of veins.

  Nor green but the color of mold.

  The nose was a delicate, upturned sweetness, like a

  cherry thrust atop a pie of dung, or an innocent child lost

  in a colony of lechers, or a clean thought in the mind of a

  pervert. The nose was not of his face, but merely loaned

  from some other.

  The head was pointed and nearly bald. It sat on a

  nearly nonexistent neck that ran into huge, massively

  corded shoulders . . . segment of a twisted and evil form.

  Tedus Nur was a crippled dwarf of the most objectionable

  sort.

  "Dammit, I ask what you want? You gone answer?"r />
  DOOMSMAN

  Juanita loathed the dwarf at once, but this was the

  man who would give him the words to lead a son to his

  father. By plan of AmericaState, to be sure, but Juanita

  had one ace they knew nothing of:

  He knew they were maneuvering him, now.

  So now he knew, and he knew this play-acting with

  Nur was important; he must not let on that he knew their

  plan. He must allow himself to be a dupe. So far as it

  would bring him to the feet of Eskalyo.

  For he had decided: there was where his destiny lay.

  With his father.

  So he swallowed his loathing of Tedus Nur and replied:

  "I was in a private yacht that sank in the Lake.

  A-uh-friend of mine, John Grice, once told me if I

  ever had a problem, and was near New Chi, I should

  look you up, that you would-uh-help me out."

  Nur's eyes narrowed stjll more, if that was possible,

  and his mouth slitted fine to a sharp reply. "No one is my

  friend, man. You got a name, you got papers, what you

  got I should know you come from Grice?"

  Juanita swallowed hard. Tedus Nur could tell he was

  an assassin. Only an assassin wore the ebony skintite and

  pouch.

  Yet he wanted Juanita to declare himself. "My name is

  Lland Jackh. I come from Oklahoma, near Grice's birthplace. Grice said you would help me find a-uh-certain person."

  Tedus Nur grinned. It would h�ve been more soothing

  had he snarled. He knew Juanita was lying. Juanita knew

  the dwarf was aware of his lie. It was part of the play-act.

  Juanita spoke with the lilt of the Spaniard, not with the

  twang of the Okie. He was obviously from the

  Argentine-and what did it matter where he obviously

  was from, or what he obviously was, for Tedus Nur had

  had his instructions.

  From the top.

  It was his play, all the way.

  "Come, man, I take you to my evening's work. I show

  you how I earn my living."

  The dwarf rose off the many pillows piled on the floor

  of the office and capered toward the door. His wrinkled

  DOOMSMAN

  and crushed little body was all evil and all purpose as he

  took a blacksnake bullwhip from pegs near the door.

  Then he threw open the door-with its latch close to the

  floor-and bowed low.

  "After you, Mr. Lland Jackhl"

  Juanito moved out into the corridor, composed of softly glowing green rock. Green rock that was the foundation of the Chambers. The New Chicago Torture Chambers, where political unfortunates were sent for confession and-in every case-execution. It was a huge tower in the center of N. Chi, surrounded by a force

  mesh that went out for two blocks in any direction. Once

  a man was condemned to the Chambers, no one bothered

  to think of him again-he was dead. The tower rose one

  thousand three hundred feet into the New Chicago sky,

  the stone and not-stone of it glowing soft green by night

  and by day.

  Beacon to those who sought the stem authority of

  AmericaState.

  Bogey to children warned by their mothers at bedtime.

  Source of information from those who sought to overthrow the regimented, assassin-strong, Seeker-filled, Probesman-laden culture of AmericaState.

  Cradle of terror.

  Gray-hailed, green-walled, silent and impregnable

  graveyard into which a man might disappear and never

  be seen again. Turned into the capabl� hands of

  executioners like Tedus Nur.

  "Are you coming, Mr. Jackh?" The little dwarf trotted

  down the green-lit hallway.

  Juanita's thought swirled back into his mind as water

  swirls quickly down a drain. "Uh, oh yes, yes of course,

  I'm coming."

  He followed the dwarf, and wondered how long the

  play-act would continue. He hoped his end would not

  come here, between these walls.

  From somewhere below, a scream swirled up to pierce

  his reverie.

  Tedus Nur enjoyed his work. In his warped, single-line

  DOOMSMAN

  way, in his own way and in no way Juanito could imagine

  as sane, he was probably a top man in his field.

  His field was cruelty.

  Juanito followed the dwarf down a series of baflle

  corridors and areaways, confusing in the extreme; a

  minotaur's maze of strange angles and bewildering backtracks. This was another feature of the escape-proof Chambers.

  Finally they came to a stairway, and the dwarf capered

  and caroled down it as though he were a child bent on a

  playday. Nur whistled and gibbered to himself like a

  thing gone mad, winding down and ever down that :flight

  of fearful stairs. A rank and hideous odor came up from

  below, and though the green walls shone with equal brilliance at any distinct spot, there was a feeling of increasing darkness, of increasing dankness and depth as they descended.

  The screams continued, sometimes rising, sometimes

  falling in pitch, but always there, always commanding and

  drawing them down down down into the bowels of the

  Chambers, and perhaps into the bowels of N. Chi itself.

  Juanito never knew.

  When it seemed his legs would wear off at the knees,

  Juanito heard the little maniac-who had practically

  flown down the last hundred feet of steps till he was well

  ahead of the assassin�all a huzzah, and urge him on.

  He stumbled down the last steps, rounding a curve that

  brought him in sight of a great hall, with low benches in

  every direction, and a hundred green doors set in the

  wall. The doors were all of plasteel, it was obvious, even

  from that distance, and they were numbered from one to

  one hundred. From behind the doors, strange sounds

  could be heard, intermingling and mixing with the sounds

  from other doors. Down here the screams were not terri'fying, but worse, heart-rending.

  The dwarf took up an heroic stance, hands on hips,

  bullwhip dangling, and legs apart, and smiled. He waved

  a hand about proudly. "Mr. Jackhl My office!"

  The benches were black with dried blood.

  "What is this hall?" Juanito asked.

  "Waiting room," . the dwarf answered simply, explaining no further. Yet the manner in which he spoke

  OOOMSMAN

  those two words was enough to send a tremor through

  Juanita's shoulders.

  "Come with me, won't you?'' the dwarf said, and it

  was by no means a request.

  Juanito followed hlm, expecting anything, and expecting even treachery that would leave him imprisoned in one of these cells for the rest of his life. But he followed, for in the warped and twisted mind of this warped and twisted dwarf lay the answer to the puzzle: Where is

  Eskalyo? Where is my father?

  Tedus Nur strode briskly forward, his eyes all fire and

  yearning, his hand tight to the mailed grip of the blacksnake bullwhip. It was just as they reached door number 76 that Juanito noticed something about the whip.

  It was not simply a material construction. There were

  wire tips protruding from the cat that ended the stalk.

  Wire tips that ran up through the stalk and into the handle. The handle was equipped with a series of studs that could be controlled from the fingertips.

  As Juanito st
ared down at the whip, the dwarf turned

  and caught his eyes. "Interesting, eh? A little thing I had

  them send me from the SecuritySeek Research Labs in

  Up-Dakota. Guaranteed to make my job easier." He

  cracked the whip with authority, and sparks blazed a blue

  and gold arc over his head. Juanita drew back as a faint

  touch of that current stood his dark hair on end, and

  burned in his eyes.

  If he had ever doubted it, now he knew for certain: the

  dwarf was criminally insane. A megalomaniac.

  "You need a haircut," the dwarf observed, with no relation to anything else, and dismissing it, turned to palmlock open the door.

  His prints were scanned and grooved and compared

  and okayed, and the door slid back in its trough. The cell

  within was large, but that did the prisoner no good.

  She was bolted to the floor.

  By her thighs, her biceps, her wrists, her waist, her feet

  and her neck. Auburn-haired, closed-eyed, limp and

  filthy, no shard of clothing left on her body, the girl started at the sound of the whip in the air as Tedus Nur entered, and as though the cry were being tom from her stomach, she screamed for the heavens to take notice.

  DOOMS MAN

  "Please, please," she whined, ''please beat me! Beat

  me, but don't touch me, please, rm crying, can't you see

  that, please, please

  .'' Her voice was thick with emo­

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  tion, and her eyes filled with the sort of tears that were

  not affectation.

  She wished for a beating from that hideous whip, more

  than the touch of the dwarf. What horrors had the man

  inflicted on her, Juanito wondered.

  "You asked me to help you find a man, Mr. Jackh,"

  the dwarf said, looking steadily at the girl

  "Yes."

  "What is that man's name?"

  "1-Eskalyo." The hesitation was momentary.

  The dwarf turned then to Juanito, and his face was a

  plea for understanding. My God, thought Juanito, the little scum has emotions after alii

  "Mr. Jackh, in my business, rm told very little about

  matters of consequence, aboveground. I am told there is

  an important man on his way to me who will ask me

  about Eskalyo. I am told to give him all the help I can. I

  would not show what I am about to show to you, to anyone, sir. But I long for recognition my soul cries out