The Invaders Plan

by Ron Hubbard

  He came gangling halfway over to meet me. He was still chomping on a bun and wiping his hand on the robe.

  "I am Officer Gris," I told him, in a very low voice.

  I pulled my identoplate from my pocket and showed him. I looked stealthily to the right and left. I said, "You arrived okay?" He was looking at me oddly.

  "Is everything all right?" I said. "Did Zanco deliver the shipment?" He nodded. But he said, "You sound just like Professor Gyrant Slahb!" Ah, well, we have a penetrative intellect here, I thought. But they train you splendidly in the Apparatus.

  I smiled, "Well, I should hope so! He is my great-uncle on my mother's side!" Instant awe! Instant adoration!

  "He's a wonderful man," said Prahd.

  "He certainly is," I agreed heartily. "Now, to business. Are you set up for the test case?" He loped ahead of me and we went into the hospital. A side room was piled with empty cases, big and small. The main invalid room had been all pushed about and a big portable operating table was centered. Lights were ready to beam down. Racks of knives were ready to probe. Spin drills were ready to spin. Culture flasks were ready to culture. Heaters and flame were ready to burn Hells out of everything in sight. What a layout!

  "I see you've used the table already," I said.

  He blushed faintly and, yes, I noticed there were a couple telltale spots on it.

  "No, no, I mean the Widow Tayl." He blushed harder and started to look hangdog.

  "No, no, no!" I said. "I mean her operations."

  "Oh, that," he said, instantly relieved. "The poor woman. Warts are so easy to handle. And there's no reason for her breasts to sag. By introducing a muscle-cord catalyst to the mammora fermosa..." What a dedicated cellologist!

  I forestalled lecture 205. "It's all right. I know you had to see if the equipment works."

  "Oh," he said, glowing, "her equipment really works!" He shook his head in wonder. "But there are several more things I can do to her. . . ." I'll bet you will do them, I said to myself. Standing on one's head in the swimming bath or trying it in a tree might be novel. "The test case!" I said firmly.

  He was all attention.

  "You realize it is very secret and your presence here more secret still. I am here today to see if you are set up and to bring you more equipment."

  "Good Lords," he said, "I have more equipment here now than we had in the whole hospital!"

  "We will install one set of these in the test case," I said. "I want you to study the directions and get all set up. There must be no slip-up. Your future, I hate to have to remind you, depends on this first test case. My grandfather ..."

  "You mean your great-uncle, don't you?"

  "My grandfather was a cellologist," I corrected quickly. "I have heard him say that the first case tells the tale. And although my great-uncle was very impressed with your record, it is I," I said very firmly, "that you must please. One leak of your presence here, one slip of the knife in this test operation and . . "I made the gesture of good-bye.

  That scared him. "Oh . . . I . . . I . . . I will obey you, Officer Gris. I will . . . will d . . . d . . . d ..." I went to the door. I bawled, "Driver! Bring in those boxes." I found an additional storage space. My driver, Ske, muttering under his breath, began to make trip after trip, lugging in the cartons and filling the spare room. The one marked with an Xwas early and I opened it and got out the directions and the hearing and sight buttons, one set. I put them down on a table. I briefed him in detail and then concluded, "You study these. They will go into the test case." He said he would. And although I tried to dissuade him that the rest were of no interest, he kept pawing around the other cartons. I didn't know or care what was in them, really.

  "These aren't all cellological," he said.

  "They have relevant applications," I said learnedly, although how you could treat a long-distance, miniature, pocket, electronic, automatic sound-aiming rifle sight as cellological I wouldn't know.

  Ske finally finished and went grumpily back to the car. Young Doctor Bittlestiffender suddenly turned from his examination of cases. "There's blood on these boxes!" Ah, me. Apparatus training has to be good, the demands made on it. I said, "Horrors!" I rushed madly out to the car. Ske was just sitting down in it, very sweaty and cross.

  "Let me see your hands!" I demanded.

  He was willing to do that. And sure enough, the boxes of gold had gouged the flesh a trifle here and there. But not enough to bleed.

  I held the hand firmly.

  "Aha," I said. "Steel slivers!" I shot the Knife Section knife out of my sleeve. I stabbed him in the palm!

  He screeched!

  I grabbed the other hand before he could get away. I stabbed it!

  He screeched again.

  I vanished the Knife Section knife up my sleeve.

  Young Doctor Bittlestiffender was coming across the lawn behind me.

  "The poor fellow," I said. "I've got the steel slivers out now. Perhaps you better bandage his hands. He is not used to rough work." The blood was dripping. "I could have done that much less painfully," said young Doctor Bittlestiffender.

  "Sometimes stern measures are required," I said.

  Ske looked at me with blazing eyes. And then the pain got to him and he gripped his palms together to ease it.

  Young Doctor Bittlestiffender looked at me with new respect. He led the whimpering Ske off across to the hospital.

  A voice at my elbow. "They will be a moment. I want to talk to you. Could you come into the main house? There's nobody else here." It was the Widow Tayl.

  I should have known better. She led me into a gorgeous morning room, all white and gold. The slanted sun was pouring in on a glistening, white rug.

  Her slippered foot was hooked behind my boot as I tried to back up.

  The jar of my hitting the rug made a grinning cupid rock upon its pedestal. Pratia was saying, "I just can't thank you enough for bringing him here." My hat flew out the open window as she crooned, "We had the most wonderful day yesterday." I got a glimpse of a manservant sweeping in the hall, a smirk on his face, as Pratia prattled. "And Prahd and I had the most wonderful night." My hand was clutching the edge of the rug ineffectually as she said, "In fact, we had the most wonderful . . . wonderful . . ." The cupid was really rocking! Pratia, in a strained voice was saying, "... wonderful . . . wonderful . . . wonderful ..." The curtains all fell off the rod as she said, "Oooooooooooh!" with a shuddering moan.

  The grinning cupid had settled back, steady once more. In a normal voice, Pratia said, "He is really quite nice. You should see what he has." My tunic was crumpled up on the floor, just out of reach. I was trying to pull it to me. In a more strained voice, she said, "He was so starved." My hand had to abandon the tunic.

  The cupid was rocking again. Pratia said, "So starved . . . so starved . . . so starved . . . Oh. Oh. Oh!" My hand almost broke its fingers on the edge of the rug. "There!" shuddered Pratia.

  The cupid fell over with a crash against the floor.

  The servant's broom threw up a cloud of dust.

  My hand finally reached my tunic as she said, in a more relaxed voice, "I just wanted you to know how great he is in bed." I was pulling on a boot. "Well, thank you for telling me," I said. There is nothing quite so discouraging as going through this sort of thing with a woman telling you how great another man is. Wearing.

  A glimpse of the servant's surprised face through the half-open hall door should have warned me. "Oh, don't leave!" said Pratia.

  My boot flew out the window as she cried, "I haven't told you enough yet!" I knew Ske would be looking at his watch.

  The other set of curtains at the window came down.

  A murmur of voices outside told me that the servant was chatting with Ske, probably about the weather, out at the airbus.

  The open window let in Ske's distempered call, "Officer Gris! You going to be in there all day?" The yard was very peaceful. The servant had changed his uniform. Ske was picking up my boot and cap.

 
I stood in the door, trying to button my tunic. Difficult since now half the buttons were gone and I was having a hard time: it kept going askew.

  Ske handed me my boot and cap.

  Widow Tayl's face was at the window, smiling an enormous smile.

  Young Doctor Bittlestiffender came out of the hospital and walked toward the house. Widow Tayl raced by me. She slid her arm possessively through his and looked up at him adoringly.

  The young doctor shook me by the hand. "Officer Gris," he said in an emotional voice, almost tears in his eyes, "I will never be able to thank you enough." She looked at me glowingly and her hand was reaching for him. She cooed at me, "Isn't he a wonderful young thing, Soltan?" Well, it's nice to be appreciated, I thought, if only by the man in this case.

  We flew away swiftly into the glorious morning sky.

  "Why can't you leave that nice woman alone!" snarled Ske.

  If I only could, I thought, gazing down at the dwindling scene. The two were hurrying toward the room I had just lost another battle in. Soon, praise the Gods, I would be safe on Earth!

  Chapter 8

  We were flying in the direction of the Apparatus hangar. But my driver was flying very badly. He had each of his hands so wound up in bandages so hugely that he was making it an excuse not to be able to control the wheelstick.

  I decided this peeve of his had gone far enough. If we really had it out, it would clear the air.

  "What did you tell that doctor about me?" I said.

  He flew on for a bit – if you could call it flying. "You really want to know?"

  "Feel free to talk," I said. "I won't discipline you."

  "Well, first I said that if he was going to have much to do with you, he better watch his step." Fine, I thought. Really pretty good, in fact.

  My driver pretended to miss his grip on the wheel-stick and the airbus reeled.

  My suspicions were aroused. "And what else did you say? You're in no danger." He took a deep breath. Then he spoke in pure venom. "I said you were a typical officer of the Apparatus: a sadistic, mean, cheap (bleepard) that would murder his mother for a hundredth of a credit!" I hit him!

  It was a good thing the communications buzzer went off.

  I braced myself against the incipient spin of the airbus and picked up the instrument.

  "Officer Gris?" My blood started to congeal. I recognized the voice of Lombar Hisst's chief clerk. I got out an acknowledgment.

  "The chief says for you to get the Hells down to the hangar right this minute. He's waiting for you." He hung up.

  My imagination went into high gear. Had Heller escaped? Had Hisst found out about the Countess Krak? Hadn't he liked the present I'd mailed him? Had the head of Zanco talked about the ten thousand credits?

  My mind boiled with fear.

  My driver was grinning evilly. "You drive!" I yelled at him. "Get this wreck up to five hundred and now!" That's the way you have to treat riffraff. I was just paying the penalty for becoming friendly with him.

  No, that wasn't it. It had all started when Heller had come on the scene. Heller corrupted everyone! He was a scourge!

  And now, in all probability Heller had done something that had pulled Hisst down on me. Oh Gods, would I be glad when I had Heller off this planet and totally under my control!

  What in the name of Devils had Lombar found out? What did he want?

  When we landed at the hangar, I did not need the directions of the guard. There was a bilious yellow "contractor" truck sitting just inside the door. It said, VERMIN AND INSECTS on its side. That would be Lombar. He was taking the cover of an exterminating company. He often did and it went along with his conviction that all riffraff should be done away with and, besides, he was clever. All incoming spacecraft from other worlds were supposed to get a disinfection and it permitted access to all parts of a ship without exciting suspicion.

  Tug Onewas bustling with workers and the amount of noise was deafening. One more truck and one more crew added to it would go wholly unnoticed. But what did Lombar intend?

  I scuttled over to the bilious yellow van. I had been observed from inside. The door snapped open and I was forcefully yanked within.

  Lombar was sitting in the dimness on a stool. He was garbed in a bilious yellow cover suit. His flaming amber eyes glared out from under the brim of an exterminator's helmet.

  "It's a (bleeped) good thing you sent me that 'present'!" he snarled. "For days I've been considering taking you off this assignment!" I was trembling. And this upset me more. That is the trouble with Lombar: he is not consistent. He'd forbidden me to take bribes and yet, while he must realize, despite my deception, that I had taken one, he was leaving me on because I had violated his orders . . . no, no. I was simply confused and thinking in a confused way. And it was also unjust. If he just knew all the good work I'd been putting in ...

  "You reported," Lombar said, "that certain boxes were going aboard and I myself saw some being loaded. You are going to lead us to those boxes!" Somebody shoved a bilious yellow cover suit at me. It said, KILL 'EM EXTERMINATORS on the back. I hastily struggled into it.

  I saw that there were three others in the back of the van. Iknew two of them. One was named Prii, an expert on opening and closing anything so that no one would know it had been touched. The second was Bam, the top-rated saboteur of the Apparatus – quite famous actually amongst the top criminals of the Confederacy. The third one was a plump scientist I did not know: but that is not unusual – the Apparatus has literally thousands of scientists in its employ, experts on the most minute trivia one has ever heard of. They, too, were in bilious yellow cover suits and helmets.

  Lombar was peeking through a can't-see-in side window. He was looking in the direction of the hangar offices. "Hah, the contractor has arrived." I peeked. A fancy aircar had landed and a very fat man in a very fancy suit was making his way somewhat anxiously to the office.

  "Now, you little fat (bleepard)," muttered Lombar as though to the distant contractor, "Get into your act!" Shortly, a guard ran from the office.

  Heller was working with a group of men. He had a little hull-sounding device in his hand that tests the absorption quality, the thickness of plates and security of joints. Swinging from a rope, he was going all along the side of the hull, verifying each plate. It's what they do both before and after a new coating. He was working very quickly, tapping himself along with hull shoes, quite an athletic feat, actually. The others were recording his reads and adjusting his and their own ropes. He had his little red racing cap on the back of his head and the figures he was giving were being uttered in a continuous stream, hearable above the din.

  The guard, pretty clumsy, clambered up on a staging below Heller and, yelling at the top of his voice, got attention. Heller called for a young engineer who took over Heller's hull-sounding device and, much more slowly, began to do what Heller had been doing.

  Heller slipped down his rope. He hit the pavement and trotted toward the office.

  "Now fall for it, you (bleeped), rotten snob," said Lombar as though giving orders to the distant Heller.

  The newly arrived contractor was showing Heller a blueprint. Heller glanced back at the tug as though unwilling to interrupt his work. But the contractor kept at him. Heller shrugged.

  The day subofficer from Snelz's platoon and one other guard went over at Heller's beckon. Shortly all four, the guards, contractor and Heller went out and climbed into the contractor's limousine. It took off.

  Lombar laughed a very nasty laugh. "Typical of a lousy, rotten Royal officer! Contractor comes up with some stupid problem, begs for help, says his draftsmen can't get on unless he has expert guidance. And the Royal officer, he just thinks the world can't get on without him. Conceited (bleepard)! Know all!" He raised his voice in a mimic, " 'Anybody need my Royal help?' " He snarled, "No wonder Voltar can't get anyplace with the likes of him running things! I sure can read Heller right! Stupid snob!" He opened the door and waved his arm to the rest of us. "Come on! Let
's get at that cargo!" Carrying various pieces of exterminator equipment, we walked in a businesslike way over to the airlock and entered. No one paid any attention to us, not even the guards.

  I unlatched and lifted the deckplates of the passageway and very shortly we were all down in the small, cramped hold. The last one in, Bam, the saboteur, dropped the deckplates down in place behind us. Prii, the open-close expert, pushed a glowlight up against the bulkhead so we could see.

  There were sixteen cases lying there, quite long, quite tightly closed, all of them strapped securely in place for a voyage.

  Prii got to work immediately. He took a quick series of pictures so he could restore things to exact position. Then he cast off the voyage clamps. Working with a little set of tools, he took the case tops off, stacking them to one side.

  They were a very efficient team. The moment a case was opened, the scientist made a rapid tally of its content.

  It was hot in the cramped hold. Tugs don't have any carrying space except for their own stores. Lombar smelled bad, even to me, in these close confines. Maybe it was the slums sweating out of him, the slums he so despised. I was worried that Heller might come back unexpectedly. We seemed to be squatting there for hours.

  "This is all there is?" Lombar said to me.

  I thought. There were the two little cases somewhere else in the ship. But I knew what those were. I nodded.

  But Lombar wasn't looking at me. He answered his own question as usual. "Of course it is. I've studied her blueprints and she hasn't any other cargo space. I've gone over the work he has ordered and it's just hull, controls and electronic nonsense. No guns. That's good. She's defenseless. Shoot her down with one blast." I shuddered. Not with me aboard, I hoped.

  "Well? Well?" said Lombar impatiently to the scientist. He was obviously getting tired of sitting there and the scientist, like all scientists in conference with themselves, was pottering along, looking at an object, looking up thoughtfully and then making notes. They can look so confoundedly wise when all they're really doing is thinking about a jolt break. Apparatus scientists are on the payroll to study the technology of the opposition and give opinions about it, not to do any real work.