The Invaders Plan

by Ron Hubbard

  I wanted to get out of there and get about my business. I reached into my pocket and got out a counterfeit five-credit note. He was no trained cashier. Might as well get him killed off by his friends the bluebottles.

  I extended the note.

  He smiled. "I am afraid that is not quite enough, Officer Gris." I froze. How could he know my name? I had no identification on me!

  "Not five credits," he said pleasantly. "I think five thousand credits would be more accurate." I was thinking fast. "I don't have money like that."

  "Oh, I think you could get it. You could give me all you have on you right now. And then give me the rest in installments – say, during the next week."

  "You know nothing but my name!"

  "Oh, and perhaps a few things more. Like twenty dead Fleet spacers in a dungeon. I think the Fleet would dearly love to know about them." I pretended to sag. Listlessly, I put the riding helmet on and dropped the visor. Then, as though hopeless, I took the rest of the counterfeit money out. I got up and walked over to him. He stood. He reached out his hand.

  There was nothing wrong with my arm now and never would be again.

  The hand that was extending the money to him did a small jerk.

  A ten-inch tri-knife snapped out of my sleeve into my palm.

  The (bleeped) fool was still smiling, thinking he had won.

  I lunged. Ten inches of steel went through his heart.

  Abrupt surprise shot into his eyes. And the knowledge he was dead.

  I yanked the knife back, stepping aside. The blade inside him turned into three parts. Guts and a gush of blood rushed out of him, splatting on the floor.

  He fell in it face down.

  I prodded him. He was dead. Very messily dead.

  The bills had flown sideways. I picked them up and wiped the blood stains off the shiny paper by rubbing them on the back of his coat. I put them in my pocket.

  Then I ransacked the room and found the recording strips he had made on a hidden machine. I destroyed them.

  He had uttered no sound. I had been silent. I went to the door and opened it a crack.

  For an instant I thought I saw someone at the lower end of the hall, someone who had abruptly stepped out of sight. A witness?

  Footsteps were coming down the hall from the other direction. It was a woman. She was middle-aged. She looked like she worked in this building.

  I stepped out in front of her. I was holding the bloody knife. She stopped. I handed it to her hilt first.

  "Quick," I said in a low urgent voice. "Take this and run down to the bluebottle station and show them that Doctor Cutswitz has been murdered." She would have screamed. But a low, secret sort of voice prevents that when used right. Her eyes went round and glazed.

  She grabbed the hilt of the knife and rushed off, heading for the police station just below.

  Another flick of movement in the shadows down the hall. Had I been observed?

  Well, who cared? It would do them no good. I had the riding helmet on and the black visor down. I sped to the window. Nobody followed.

  I went down the wall like an agile insect, I mounted the speedwheel.

  A call for an arrest van blasted out at the police station. To Hells with them. I silently rolled the speed-wheel to the other end of the alley, into another street. I made no noises with the vehicle. It was two blocks away when I opened it up to a roar.

  They would arrest the woman, of course. The police principle of "the least work consists of arresting the handiest person" would be in full play. It was a solved crime on their books. Be neat, I always say. Leave no loose ends.

  I dropped the speedwheel at the den, putting it exactly where it had been before. I even locked it up again.

  Shortly after, I slipped into the airbus. My changing clothes woke my driver up. We flew away on quiet wings. As we passed over the River Wiel, I dropped the suit and helmet into the raging water below.

  That night I lay in my room. I planned and planned. What would happen to Heller and Krak now was all their own doing. I had never felt so deadly before in my whole life. I told myself, Hells have no Demon as full of hate as a man covertly hypnotized. And no Demon would have dared make up such ugly and varied plans as I made that night.

  Heller was totally at my mercy now and I intended to make the very vengeful most of it!

  Chapter 6

  I was up with the dawn. I loftily did not comment on my driver's petty tribulations about the costume refund – Heller, it seems, had forgiven him but the driver, of all things, felt guilty!I swept into the office where the early arriving Bawtch was sucking his early morning jolt: I took it right out of his hand and finished it! I didn't even stand there to enjoy his surprise.

  Climbing down the stairs into the hidden rooms in the basement, I made my way to the secret forgery unit.

  Every Apparatus section has its own forgery unit – one couldn't run without one. Such actions are usually reserved for the framing of resistive or dissident citizens: few would be brave enough to make forgeries of the type I planned.

  But, under the shadow of Lombar, forced to it by his orders – and even, I must admit in this case, enjoying the vindictive flavor of it – I swept aside assorted pens and stamps and sat down to compose my masterpieces.

  It took me quite a while, what with scratch-outs and additions, but I was finished by the time the two forgers arrived.

  They sat down at their tables and I put the rough drafts before them. It made me smile to see them flinch.

  "I don't think we have the right paper," said the senior.

  "Get it," I said. "Right now. Get it!" He fished around for a time, going through materials in the cases. He finally found two sheets of what he needed.

  The other forger said, "I don't think we have the right seals."

  "I think you have," I said.

  He raked about in some old boxes and finally located some that could be converted.

  They were both a bit white and terrified, as well they might be. Because I have enough on both of them, material not even in the master data files, and they elected to commit the present crime on the basis that it was less painful than the revelation of old crimes.

  Forgers are very funny people. There is a streak of artist in them and, along with it, artistic pride, and soon they were both deeply immersed in concentration and ink. I did not have to tell them to do the best possible job. Their own tradecraft was a matter of self-respect. But, more than that, if these two forgeries had the tiniest detectable flaw in them, and if they were prematurely exposed, half the Domestic Police Division would be on their trail. Necessity breeds precision!

  I sat down on a case full of unused execution orders and waited. The tongues of the forgers suffered the clenching of teeth, the pens drew out, with painful slowness, the flowing swirls and ornate convolutions these documents required. Two hours was not too long to wait for they were making absolutely undetectable masterpieces.

  Finally they came to the stamps. Only one of the documents required the final affixations of seals.

  At last, sweating, sort of proud and terrified at the same time, they were blowing the waxes dry.

  The junior looked at them for any flaw. The senior compared them critically to a book containing facsimiles of the real thing.

  "Gods," said the junior. "They look realer than the real thing!" There was some pride in it. "I do think that the only way they could be detected as artificial would be by inspecting the Royal Issue Log itself! And no one outside of Palace City has access to that. These are masterpieces!" The senior forger got down a pair of official covers and then a thin, waterproof envelope with body tapes.

  As he was assembling them, he said to me, "You know, of course, that possession of a forgery of the Royal signature and seals gets immediate torture and execution. These will never be traced to us. We have forgotten we ever heard of them. But just carrying these on your person, Officer Gris, if found and detected, would be the finish of you. With embellishments." H
e handed over the packet but didn't let go of it. "Open your tunic so I can tape this to your chest." And as he worked at it, "It is clever, of course, as these would never appear in the master data files. But they wouldappear in the Royal log in Palace City. If anyone ever tried to present them there, the first thing that would happen would be a check and verification of the Royal Issue Log. It would show that these two documents had never been issued. The result would be immediate seizure of the presenting person, torture and execution." He had finished up and, as I rebuttoned my tunic, looked at me gravely. "I hope you know what you are doing. Be very careful to whom you show these. Keep the matter folded in the deepest secrecy. Even if you gave them to somebody, that person could implicate you as well." As I opened the door to leave, the senior forger shook his head. "My Gods, Officer Gris, you must be awfully mad at those people." That, from a forger who routinely forged things that got people imprisoned and executed, was quite a compliment.

  I didn't even bother to stop by my desk. I had places to go.

  I had lots of time, really: it was only ten o'clock. But I said to the driver, "Open that throttle!" He was doing two hundred in the thick, midmorning traffic. "Who the Hells do you think I am?" he said crossly. "I can't drive like Heller and you know it!" He was getting awfully insolent lately. I was about to reach forward and bat him one when I realized that if we were to have a crash and live through it, this packet might be found on me. I forcefully checked my impatience and let him bumble along.

  The Great Desert fled beneath us. There were more sun-dancers today but I spent no time watching them.

  My eyes were fixed on the ugly hulk of Spiteos, swelling in size as we closed the distance to it. This was going to be very sweet.

  Chapter 7

  The training room, when I came in, was in its usual turmoil. It had been cleaned again and stank of army disinfectant. The assistant trainers were putting various people through their paces: here a special agent getting skilled in the use of electronic needle bombs blown from a tube; there, two claw fighters learning how to look like they were tearing each other apart without suffering the slightest injury beyond the stain of fake blood; over there, an act with a magician and a primate who seemed to be exchanging roles in making each other disappear.

  And there was the Countess Krak, my quarry.She wasn't doing any training: apparently she had turned all that over to assistants now. She was wearing a powder blue, one-piece exercise suit; she had her silky hair bound back with a powder blue band; her sparkling ankle boots were twinkling as she worked upon a pair of rings. She was shooting herself up in the air, her toes moving rapidly in cross-uncross twitches, and then at the top she would flip upside down and catch herself with her heels in the rings. She was very graceful.

  She seemed very happy. When I drew near her I could even hear that she was humming a little song. She was very beautiful. She saw me suddenly and the smile went off her face. But she dropped down to the floor. "Hello, Soltan." A bit wary.

  I was the picture of glad but secret tidings. I glanced around and saw a hidden corner back of some old machines. "I have wonderful news," I whispered. I went over to the corner, beckoning.

  She came over. I glanced all around and made very sure that we could not be seen nor overheard and also that no one could come up on us suddenly.

  I beckoned with my fingers to get her to move even closer. I whispered, "I have just had the most glorious audience." That phrasing meant only one thing. "The Emperor?" she said. "You?" I looked very modest. I fiddled with my emerald insignia locket. "Really, it is because Jettero is so important." I knew she would accept that. "But who can fail to shine in reflection of his glory. It is just that I have the good fortune to be associated with him." She was buying it.

  "You see," I continued, "I was terribly concerned that he might be injured or hurt." Aha, the (bleepch) thought that the hypnotic suggestion was still in place, (bleep) her. She was nodding: she thought she understood that very well.

  "So I have gently been pulling strings," I continued with the most innocent face I could manage. Then I looked around to make sure we were alone and drew much closer to her and dropped my voice. "I really should not be telling you any of this. It is the most secret of state secrets. It was thoroughly impressed upon me that I must not reveal it to a soul!" I managed to look puzzled, very slightly. "I am not sure why I felt so compelled to come and tell you at once." Ah, she was really buying it, the filthy (bleepch) with her hypnotic tricks! I put on a "little boy" look that women can't reject – it raises the motherhood in them.

  "But in addition to that, I really could not see how I could do it alone. I desperately need your help." Oh, she was eager to give it. Anything that had to do with Heller was her top, and maybe only, priority.

  I resumed the confidential manner. "I could probably be severely punished for revealing any of this," I said. And then seemed to regret my incaution and drew back a bit. But women are absolute sponges of curiosity.

  "I promise no one else will hear it from me," she said eagerly.

  "It would be my life if they did," I said. I resumed. "Really, I have no choice as I need your help in this. May we sit down?" I raked a couple of stools over into the hidden corner. By turning our faces to the wall, slightly, it was doubly difficult for anyone to see what we were about should they walk up. I began to undo a couple of my tunic buttons and reached in as though about to produce the packet. But I didn't. Her eagerness, of course, became intense enough to overweigh some of her natural critical sense.

  "Before dawn this morning," I whispered, "a Palace City air limousine came for me secretly. Honestly, I was terrified at first: I thought I was being taken for interrogation. They brought me into the palace by a back route and through a secret door. They led me to a room that had a vast swimming bath. Honestly, I never knew they threw rare rugs around the edges of a swimming bath. I waited for half an hour – I was very nervous, I can tell you.

  "And then there he was! I could hardly believe my eyes, he is so seldom seen. He entered in a sparkling morning robe. Cling the Lofty himself! Honestly, I could have died. There I was in no dress uniform or anything.

  "His Majesty said, 'Is this the officer in charge of Mission Earth?' and the escort officer said it was.

  "The king took his robe off and took his morning swim – honestly, I didn't know he swam every morning: and in a diamond pool, too! Imagine it!

  "I just stood and waited, scared to death, not knowing what I'd done wrong. But after a while His Majesty came out of the bath and lay down on some cushions and a couple of his yellow-men began to lard him with perfumes. He made a gesture at a spot near him and the escort shoved me to that spot.

  "His Majesty said, 'I have always believed that Jettero Heller was a very good man.' " As I expected, this produced an instant reaction from her. Wide-eyed. Amongst a hundred and ten planets and tens of millions of officers, one would not expect an Emperor, even one with a brilliant memory, to know the name of a junior officer. She was now grabbing for every word. To myself, I thought, you asked for it, you (bleepch), and now you are getting it.

  I continued, "After a bit His Majesty looked at me puzzled. He said, 'So there is some other reason why he is delaying his departure on this mission and I have brought you here to tell me!' "Honestly, I expected his next words would order me executed. Well, I am not that brave. And so I am afraid I betrayed some confidences. No, no," I added hastily, "don't start so with alarm. This has a very happy ending." It filled me with private glee to say those words. The "happy ending" would be total tragedy for them both.

  "Forgive me, Countess. I am an officer and know where my duty lies. I am even imperilling myself to relate this to you. But what could I say? Now," I said, changing the subject slightly, "has Jettero shown you the clipping? The one that concerns you?" She probably didn't know that I knew. She nodded.

  I continued, "I had never heard of it before. If I had, I would have acted sooner. But to get on. I had to tell His Majesty the r
eal reason the mission was delayed." I could practically hear her heart beating rapidly inside her chest.

  "His Majesty hectored me. He told me that the most vast and secret affairs of state depended upon a successful completion of that mission. He sounded very provoked and when it occurred to me that, because of this, he might hurt Heller, I got very sick at my stomach! The thought was that awful." Gullible (bleepch). You think that hypnotic suggestion is still in place. Ah, you're going to pay for that, (bleep) you. Look at you nod!

  I drew a long breath as though it had been a painful moment. And then I got back to my lying. "Sick as I felt, I simply had to plead with him. Oh, I tell you, even the yellow-men rubbing the perfumed lard into him were frightened that anyone should seek to plead with the Emperor about anything. But something, I don't know what, was making me desperate.

  "I told him that he knew and I knew that Jettero Heller was the only one who could do the mission to Blito-P3. He agreed with that, as Jettero had done the original mission. And then I did something I couldn't ever before have imagined myself capable of. I suggested – imagine that, suggesting something to Cling the Lofty! I don't know where I found the courage – that if Jettero Heller's immediate personal problems were removed, the mission could go quite quickly.

  "And you know what he did? Oh, it is plain to see why he is the Emperor! He called in his scribes right that moment and he dictated to them. And they wrote it all down. And then he rolled over and looked at me and he said, 'Never let it be believed that I do not concern myself with the welfare of my officers and subjects. Part of the power of ruling should always be devoted to justice. But you will note that the second document is unsigned. The mission is important to the State beyond belief. See to it.' And then he had them give me the documents and he waved to them to take me off." I glanced around to verify that we were still hidden. The sounds of the training room even seemed far away. I drew from under my blouse the packet.

  I reverently opened the first one and, holding it, let her read it.