The Mack Reynolds Megapack

by Mack Reynolds

  The Section G agent came to his feet. This was much simpler than he could ever have hoped for. He thanked the other, but avoided the necessity of shaking hands, and left.

  * * * *

  He found a helio-cab and dialed it to the UP building, finding strange the necessity of slipping coins into the vehicle’s slots until the correct amount for his destination had been deposited. Coinage was no longer in use on Earth.

  At the UP building he retraced his steps of the day before to the single office of Section G.

  To his surprise, not only Mouley Hassan was there, but Tog as well. Hassan had evidently had at least a few hours of sleep. He was in better shape.

  They exchanged the usual amenities and took their chairs again.

  Hassan said, “We were just gossiping. It’s been years since I’ve been in Greater Washington. Lee Chang tells me that Sid Jakes is now a Supervisor. I worked with him for a while, when I first joined Section G. How about a glass of wine?”

  Ronny said, “Look. If Tommy Paine was connected with this, and it’s almost positive he was, we’ve got him.”

  The others looked at him.

  “You’ve evidently been busy,” Tog said mildly.

  He turned to her. “He’s trapped, Tog! He can’t get off the planet.”

  Mouley Hassan rubbed a hand through his hair. “It’d be hard, all right. They’ve got the people under rein here such as you’ve never seen before. Or they did until this blew up.”

  Ronny sketched the situation to Tog, winding up with, “The only thing that makes sense is that it’s a Tommy Paine job. The local citizens would never have been able to get their hands on such a bomb, or been able to have made the arrangements for its delivery. They’re under too much surveillance.”

  Tog said thoughtfully, “but how did he escape all this surveillance?”

  “Don’t you understand? He’s working here, in this building, as an employee of UP. There is no other alternative.”

  They stared at him.

  “I think perhaps you’re right,” Tog said finally.

  Ronny turned to Mouley Hassan. “Can you get a list of all UP employees?”

  “Of course.” He flicked his order box, barked a command into it.

  Ronny said, “It’s going to be a matter of eliminating the impossible. For instance, what is the earliest known case of Tommy Paine’s activity?”

  Tog thought back. “So far as we know definitely, about twenty-two years ago.”

  “Fine,” Ronny said, increasingly excited. “That will eliminate all persons less than, say, forty years of age. We can assume he was at least twenty when he began.”

  Hassan said, “Can we eliminate all women employees?”

  Ronny said, “I’d think so. The few times he’s been seen, all reports are of a man. And that case on the planet Mother where he put himself over as a Holy Man. He could hardly have been a woman in disguise in a Stone Age culture such as that.”

  Hassan said, “And this Tommy Paine has been flitting around this part of the galaxy for years, so anyone who has been here steadily for a period of even a couple of years or so, can’t be suspect.”

  Mouley Hassan thrust his hand into a delivery drawer and brought forth a handful of punched cards, possibly fifty in all.

  “Surely there’s more people than that working in this building,” Ronny protested.

  Mouley Hassan said, “No. I’ve eliminated already everyone who is a citizen of New Delos. Obviously, Tommy Paine is an alien. We have only forty-eight Earthlings and other United Planets citizens working here.”

  He carried the cards to a small collator and worked for a moment on its controls, as Tog and Ronny watched him with mounting tension. “Let’s see,” he muttered. “We eliminate all women, all those less than forty, all who haven’t done a great deal of travel, those who have been here for several years.”

  The end of it was that they eliminated everyone employed in the UP building.

  The cards were stacked back on Mouley Hassan’s desk again, and the three of them sat around and looked glumly at them.

  Ronny said, “He’s tinkered with the files. He counterfeited fake papers for himself, or something. Possibly he’s pulled his own card and it isn’t in this stack you have.”

  Mouley Hassan said, “We’ll double-check all those possibilities, but you’re wrong. Possibly a few hundred years ago, but not today. Forgery and counterfeiting are things of the past. And, believe me, the Bureau of Investigation and especially Section G, may look on the slipshod side, but they aren’t. We’re not going to find anything wrong with those cards. Tommy Paine simply is not working for UP on New Delos.”

  “Then,” Ronny said, “there’s only one alternative. He’s on this UP ship going to, what was the name of its destination?”

  “Avalon,” Mouley Hassan said, his face thoughtful.

  Tog said, “Do you have any ideas on the men aboard?”

  Mouley Hassan said, “There were four crew men, and six of our agents.”

  Tog said, “Unless one of them has faked papers, the six agents are eliminated. That leaves the crew members. Do you know anything about them?”

  Hassan shook his head.

  Ronny said, “Let’s communicate with Avalon. Tell our representatives there to be sure that none of the occupants of that ship leaves Avalon until we get there.”

  Mouley Hassan said, “Good idea.” He turned to his screen and said into it, “Section G, Bureau of Investigation, on the Planet Avalon.”

  In moment the screen lit up. An elderly agent, as Section G agents seemed to go, looked up at them.

  Mouley Hassan held his silver badge so the other could see it and on the Avalon agent’s nod said, “I’m Hassan from New Delos. We’ve just had a crisis here and there seems to be a chance that it’s a Tommy Paine job. Agent Bronston here is on an assignment tracking him down. I’ll turn it over to Bronston.”

  The Avalon agent nodded again, and looked at Ronny.

  Ronny said urgently, “We haven’t the time to give you details, but every indication is that Paine is on a UP spacecraft with Avalon as its destination. There are only ten men aboard, and six of them are Section G operatives.”

  The other pursed his lips. “I see. You think you have the old fox cornered, eh?”

  “Possibly,” Ronny said. “There are various ifs. Miss Tog and I can double check here. Then as soon as we can clear exit visas, we’ll make immediate way for Avalon.”

  The Avalon Section G agent said, “I haven’t the authority to control the movements of other agents, they have as high rank as I have,” he added, expressionlessly, “and probably higher than yours.”

  Ronny said, “But the four-man crew?”

  The other said, “These men are coming to Avalon to work on a job that will take at least six months. We’ll make a routine check, and I’ll try and make sure the whole ten will still be on Avalon when and if you arrive.”

  They had to be satisfied with that. They checked all ways from the middle, nor did it take long. There was no doubt. If this was a Tommy Paine job, and it almost surely was, then there was only one way in which he could have escaped from the planet and that was by the single spacecraft that had left, destination Avalon. He was not on the planet, that was definite Ronny felt. A stranger on New Delos was as conspicuous as a walrus in a goldfish bowl. There simply were no such.

  They spent most of their time checking and rechecking United Planets personnel, but there was no question there either.

  Mouley Hassan and others of UP personnel helped cut the red tape involved in getting exit visas from New Delos. It wasn’t as complicated as it might have been a week or two before. No one seemed to be so confident of his authority in the new provisional government that he dared veto a United Planets request.

  Mouley Hassan was able to arrange for a small space yacht, slower than a military craft, but capable of getting them to Avalon in a few days time. A one-man crew was sufficient, Ronny, and especially Tog, could
spell him on the watches.

  Time aboard was spent largely in studying up on Avalon, going over and over again anything known about the elusive Tommy Paine, and playing Battle Chess and bickering with Tog Lee Chang Chu.

  If it hadn’t been for this ability to argue against just about anything Ronny managed to say, he could have been attracted to her to the detriment of the job. She was a good traveler, few people are; she was an ultra-efficient assistant; she was a joy to look at; and she never intruded. But, Great Guns, the woman could bicker.

  The two of them were studying in the ship’s luxurious lounge when Ronny looked up and said, “Do you have any idea why those six agents were sent to Avalon?”

  “No,” she said.

  He indicated the booklet he was reading. “From what I can see here, it sounds like one of the most advanced planets in the UP. They’ve made some of the most useful advances in industrial techniques of the past century.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Tog mused. “I haven’t much regard for Industrial Feudalism myself. It starts off with a bang, but tends to go sterile.”

  “Industrial feudalism,” he said indignantly. “What do you mean? The government is a constitutional monarchy with the king merely a powerless symbol. The standard of living is high. Elections are honest and democratic. They’ve got a three-party system.…”

  “Which is largely phony,” Tog interrupted. “You’ve got to do some reading between the lines, especially when the books you’re reading are turned out by the industrial feudalistic publishing companies in Avalon.”

  “What’s this industrial feudalism, you keep talking about? Avalon has a system of free enterprise.”

  “A gobbledygook term,” Tog said, irritatingly. “Industrial feudalism is a socio-economic system that develops when industrial wealth is concentrated into the hands of a comparatively few families. It finally gets to the point of a closed circle all but impossible to break into. These industrial feudalistic families become so powerful that only in rare instances can anyone lift himself into their society. They dominate every field, including the so-called labor unions, which amount to one of the biggest businesses of all. With their unlimited resources they even own every means of dispensing information.”

  “You mean,” Ronny argued, “that on Avalon you can’t start up a newspaper of your own and say whatever you wish?”

  “Certainly you can, theoretically. If you have the resources. Unfortunately, such enterprises become increasingly expensive to start. Or you could start a radio, TV or Tri-Di station—if you had the resources. However, even if you overcame all your handicaps and your newspaper or broadcasting station became a success, the industrial feudalistic families in control of Avalon’s publishing and broadcasting fields have the endless resources to buy you out, or squeeze you out, by one nasty means or another.”

  Ronny snorted. “Well, the people must be satisfied or they’d vote some fundamental changes.”

  Tog nodded. “They’re satisfied, and no wonder. Since childhood every means of forming their opinions have been in the hands of industrial feudalistic families—including the schools.”

  “You mean the schools are private?”

  “No, they don’t have to be. The government is completely dominated by the fifty or so families which for all practical purposes own Avalon. That includes the schools. Some of the higher institutions of learning are private, but they, too, are largely dependent upon grants from the families.”

  * * * *

  Ronny was irritated by her know-all air. He tapped the book he’d been reading with a finger. “They don’t control the government. Avalon’s got a three-party system. Any time the people don’t like the government, they can vote in an alternative.”

  “That’s an optical illusion. There are three parties, but each is dominated by the fifty families, and election laws are such that for all practical purposes it’s impossible to start another party. Theoretically it’s possible, actually it isn’t. The voters can vary back and forth between the three political parties but it doesn’t make any difference which one they elect. They all stand for the same thing—a continuation of the status quo.”

  “Then you claim it isn’t democracy at all?”

  Tog sighed. “That’s a much abused word. Actually, pure democracy is seldom seen. They pretty well had it in primitive society where government was based on the family. You voted for one of your relatives in your clan to represent you in the tribal councils. Every one in the tribe was equal so far as apportionments of the necessities of life were concerned. No one, even the tribal chiefs, ate better than anyone else, no one had a better home.”

  Ronny said, snappishly, “And if man had remained at that level, we’d never have gotten anywhere.”

  “That’s right,” she said. “For progress, man needed a leisure class. Somebody with the time to study, to experiment, to work things out.”

  He said, “We’re getting away from the point. You said in spite of appearances they don’t have democracy on Avalon.”

  “They have a pretense of it. But only free men can practice democracy. So long as your food, clothing and shelter are controlled by someone else, you aren’t free. Wait until I think of an example.” She put her right forefinger to her chin, thoughtfully.

  Holy smokes, she was a cute trick. If only she wasn’t so confounded irritating.

  Tog said, “Do you remember the State of California in Earth history?”

  “I think so. On the west coast of North America.”

  “That’s right. Well, back in the Twentieth Century, Christian calendar, they had an economic depression. During it a crackpot organization called Thirty Dollars Every Thursday managed to get itself on the ballot. Times were bad enough but had this particular bunch got into power it would have become chaotic. At first no thinking person took them seriously, however a majority of people in California at that time had little to lose and in the final week or so of the election campaign the polls showed that Thirty Dollars Every Thursday was going to win. So, a few days before voting many of the larger industries and businesses in the State ran full page ads in the newspapers. They said substantially the same thing. If Thirty Dollars Every Thursday wins this election, our concern will close its doors. Do not bother to come back to work Monday.”

  Ronny was scowling at her. “What’s your point?”

  She shrugged delicate shoulders. “The crackpots were defeated, of course, which was actually good for California. But my point is that the voters of California were not actually free since their livelihoods were controlled by others. This is an extreme case, of course, but the fact always applies.”

  A thought suddenly hit Ronny Bronston. “Look,” he said. “Tommy Paine. Do you think he’s merely escaping from New Delos, or is it possible that Avalon is his next destination? Is he going to try and overthrow the government there?”

  She was shaking her head, but frowning. “I don’t think so. Things are quite stable on Avalon.”

  “Stable?” he scowled at her. “From what you’ve been saying, they’re pretty bad.”

  She continued to shake her head. “Don’t misunderstand, Ronny. On an assignment like this, it’s easy to get the impression that all the United Planets are in a state of socio-political confusion, but it isn’t so. A small minority of planets are ripe for the sort of trouble Tommy Paine stirs up. Most are working away, developing, making progress, slowly evolving. Avalon is one of these. The way things are there, Tommy Paine couldn’t make a dent on changing things, even if he wanted to, and there’s no particular reason to believe he does.”

  Ronny growled. “From what I can learn of the guy he’s anxious to stir up trouble wherever he goes.”

  “I don’t know. If there’s any pattern at all in his activities, it seems to be that he picks spots where things are ripe to boil over on their own. He acts as a catalyst. In a place like Avalon he wouldn’t get to first base. Possibly fifty years from now, things will have developed on Avalon to the point wh
ere there is dissatisfaction. By that time,” she said dryly, “we’ll assume Tommy Paine will no longer be a problem to the Commissariat of Interplanetary Affairs for one reason or the other.”

  Ronny took up his book again. He growled, “I can’t figure out his motivation. If I could just put my finger on that.”

  For once she agreed with him. “I’ve got an idea, Ronny, that once you have that, you’ll have Tommy Paine.”

  * * * *

  They drew blank on Avalon.

  Or, at least, it was drawn for them before they ever arrived.

  The Section G agent permanently assigned to that planet had already checked and double checked the possibilities. None of the four-man crew of the UP spacecraft had been on New Delos at the time of the assassination of the God-King. They, and their craft, had been light-years away on another job.

  Ronny Bronston couldn’t believe it. He simply couldn’t believe it.

  The older agent, his name was Jheru Bulchand, was definite. He went over it with Ronny and Tog in a bar adjoining UP headquarters. He had dossiers on each of the ten men, detailed dossiers. On the face of it, none of them could be Paine.

  “But one of them has to be,” Ronny pleaded. He explained their method of eliminating the forty-eight employees of UP on New Delos.

  Bulchand shrugged. “You’ve got holes in that method of elimination. You’re assuming Tommy Paine is an individual, and you have no reason to. My own theory is that it’s an organization.”

  Ronny said unhappily, “Then you’re of the opinion that there is a Tommy Paine?”

  The older agent was puffing comfortably on an old style briar pipe. He nodded definitely. “I believe Tommy Paine exists as an organization. Possibly once, originally, it was a single person, but now it’s a group. How large, I wouldn’t know. Probably not too large or by this time somebody would have betrayed it, or somebody would have cracked and we would have caught them. Catch one and you’ve got the whole organization what with our modern means of interrogation.”