[Jan Darzek 05] - The Whirligig of Time

by Lloyd Biggle, Jr.

  Forlan said despondently, "Now I suppose our only hope lies in the committee of scientists, and the committee already has admitted failure. Have you no suggestions at all?"

  "I have an observation. Now that we are no longer distracted by ransom demands, perhaps we can give our whole attention to the main problem - with far better effect."

  Darzek left the mas pondering the letter; and he wondered whether Forlan or Min Kallof had the subtlety to grasp what the main problem was. Either Miss Schlupe was right, and Qwasrolk the teleport was the villain - or the villain himself was so highly placed and so deeply in their councils that he knew everything they were doing. A more formidable opponent could not be imagined, and his existence meant that no one on Vezpro could be trusted.

  At the Trans-Star office, Darzek went immediately to see E-Wusk.

  "I told you we might have more work to do," he said. "Now you can get started."

  E-Wusk gestured perplexedly with a multitude of telescoping limbs. "But what is there to do?"

  "Plenty," Darzek said. "You can begin making plans to evacuate five billion people."

  17

  Once again they sat in a transfer station restaurant, looking down on the world of Vezpro. Miss Schlupe remarked, "Well, we know for certain that we have a teleport to deal with. What if he's in cahoots with a telepath?"

  "However it was done, he knew more about what we were doing than we did," Darzek said. "Obviously he had no intention of trying to collect the ransom. I have the feeling of being played with. Cat and mouse, and I'm not accustomed to being the mouse. In fact, I resent it."

  "Do you know what the masfiln is going to say?"

  "The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

  Min Kallof was scheduled to address the Vezpro World Assembly, which was called the Dezmas, and the speech was being viewed around the world. Darzek and Miss Schlupe had elected to hear it in more comfortable surroundings than those furnished with seats designed for three-legged life forms.

  "Won't that cost him his job?" Miss Schlupe asked.

  "Forlan thinks not. He believes the Vezpronian people will feel that the masfiln did the right thing in trying to trick the blackmailer. The problem will be to convince them that the threat is real."

  "How much convincing do they need? The eleventh planet is getting spectacularly visible."

  "The government is worried that the people will think it can't happen here. Things will be difficult enough if they cooperate completely. E-Wusk's latest calculations indicate that the evacuation of five billion of anything would take a noticeable percentage of the galaxy's spaceships. It all depends on how far we transport them, of course, and how many round trips one ship can make. But we also have to think about things like food and shelter and beds and other necessities after they arrive. Few worlds would be able to cope with millions of refugees, no matter how hospitable they may feel. This is a job no one but E-Wusk could handle. He's already got every avail able factory constructing a kind of prefab dormitory passenger compartment that comes in sections and can be assembled in the ship. It'll instantly turn freighters of any size into passenger ships with maximum capacity for short hauls."

  "I gather that the idea is to get everyone to safety and then worry about finding permanent homes for them," Miss Schlupe said.

  "If they're needed. We can always hope that the villain's gadget will go ffft this time, the way ours did."

  "But you couldn't bring everyone back just because he failed once," Miss Schlupe protested. "He could always try again - without announcing the date."

  "Right. We've got to figure out a way to stop him, or we've got to catch him, or both. In the meantime, we'll have to play it safe and evacuate the planet. Both Kallof and Forlan agree. Here he is."

  The masfiln's address to the Dezmas and the world, an unprecedented event, had been well publicized. The other diners instantly fell silent, and all watched the screen intently.

  Min Kallof possessed the simple dignity of sincerity and absolute integrity. He seemed, on the rostrum before the Dezmas, to be taller than he actually was, and he used his three arms to good effect as he spoke.

  And he told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth as he related the history of the ransom notes, the attempts to learn the scientific secret of turning worlds into suns, the misfiring trickery of the ransom ship, and finally the pronouncement of doom.

  "An emissary of Supreme is present on this world to advise us," Kallof said. "His advice is that we evacuate the world of Vezpro before the new cycle. He already is making arrangements. Your government intends to follow his advice."

  The masfiln concluded quietly, thanking his colleagues for their assistance and expressing confidence that the citizens of Vezpro would meet the emergency with calm and cooperation.

  He turned and seated himself in the long row of delegates - the mases who constituted his cabinet.

  But the picture did not fade. Naz Forlan got to his feet, a grotesque dwarf beside the native Vezpronians. "As Mas of Science and Technology," he announced, "it was my duty to discover the source and the scientific basis for this plot against our world. I did my best, as all those who worked with me will testify, but I failed. Therefore I consider it my duty to resign, and I shall hand my formal resignation to the masfiln before we leave this room. Between now and the new year I shall dedicate myself entirely to the attempt to save Vezpro. I will not surrender what I consider my native world without a fight, and I will not leave it until the last fraction of the final moment. And when I leave, I will be the last to go."

  He resumed his seat among the mases. On Barth, Darzek thought, he would have received a tumult of applause; but silence was the measure of approval on Vezpro, and the Dezmas was totally silent.

  "Nice touch," Darzek said to Miss Schlupe.

  "I thought it was a bit hammy," she said. "If there were anything he could do, he already would have done it."

  "Perhaps he has."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "There's a certain theory that this whole business is a plot against Forlan - to drive him out of office. If so, it's succeeded. If his resignation accomplishes nothing else, at least we'll find out whether there's anything to the theory."

  On their return to Klinoz, Darzek went immediately to Forlan's old Department of Science and Technology. The place was funereal. Eld Wolndur and Melris Angoz were talking quietly with a host of young scientists and technicians in the office where they were supposed to be performing supersecret work for Darzek.

  Darzek watched the scene for a moment, icily, before inquiring as to whether he might have his employees' private attention for a few moments. The others quickly departed.

  "How long has this been going on?" Darzek demanded. "What going on?" they asked innocently.

  "Your entertaining the whole department here and discussing your work with every passerby."

  "But those are all loyal employees -"

  "Loyal to whom?" Darzek demanded.

  They made no response, and he said nothing further to them. He returned to the Trans-Star office and had a brief conference with Gud Baxak. Later that day he went to the masfiln's office for an equally brief conference, with the result that his two assistants found their office closed and themselves instructed to move their activities at once to isolated quarters Gud Baxak found for Darzek on the outskirts of the city. Miss Schlupe's female commandos already were guarding the place when they arrived and would continue to do so, in shifts, throughout Vezpro's twenty-six hour day. Getting a computer console installed for Melris, and tied in with the world's master computer, was a considerable problem, but when an emissary of Supreme asked, and the world's masfiln said yes, speed in the most complicated operation came as a matter of course. By midafternoon the new quarters were functional, and Melris and Wolndur, now each with a private office, were gloomily contemplating their new surroundings.

  Darzek summoned them to an office h
e had reserved for himself and spoke with a firmness that left no doubt that he meant what he said. "If I find out that either of you has discussed the work done here with any unauthorized person, I not only will dismiss you at once, but I'll see that you're evacuated from Vezpro on the next refugee ship. It'll be a far milder fate than you deserve."

  Wolndur said, "Surely you don't think -"

  "I think I'm coming to my senses much too late about this. When your adversary knows everything that you've been doing, it's time for drastic measures. From this moment, we trust nobody."

  "But who will direct us?" Melris blurted. "In our old location, Naz Forlan -"

  "He's resigned," Darzek said. "If he calls here he won't get past the reception room. The same applies to the masfiln, or any other government official, past or present. Either security is complete or it's worthless. As for directing you, I'll do that, and I direct you to go to your offices and start using your imaginations. They've been rather dormant lately."

  "But surely you don't suspect the mas!" Wolndur exclaimed. "Ex-mas. I suspect everyone, including myself."

  He chased them back to their offices, gave an equally stern lecture to Miss Schlupe's commandos, and then returned to his own office, seated himself, and reflected that his own imagination also had been rather dormant lately, if not actually comatose.

  In a safe in his sleeping quarters, Darzek had concealed Qwasrolk's demented scribbles. UrsNollf had taken a copy to Primores; by this time Supreme was digesting it, but Darzek was not hopeful that even a world-sized computer could tell them anything of value about it. Profound scientific knowledge combined with the highest form of creative imagination was needed, and Darzek had long been frustrated by Supreme's lack of creativity.

  And if this, the Supreme Court of computers, could not render a verdict, where then could he turn? Forlan would be working with his committee of scientists, and the villain, whether or not he was one of them, would know everything they were doing. Raf Lolln, Darzek thought, was more a skeptic and a critic than a creator. Wolndur was years away from scientific maturity.

  "It's almost enough to make a man wish he'd studied physics," Darzek muttered.

  Finally he went to see what his assistants were doing. Wolndur was staring into space with a Vezpronian version of a pout. On his large workscreen he had placed a formula. It looked vaguely familiar to Darzek; but after having seen so many, every formula looked vaguely familiar to him. Wolndur looked at Darzek, frowned, looked away. Darzek left him.

  From Melris's room came a concert of music - of an entire orchestra of computer consoles in vigorous operation, each with its own distinct pitch. The sounds stopped as Darzek entered the room, and he found Melris studying a seemingly unending strip of computer readout.

  She looked up excitedly. "I had an idea. I got a list of the materials that the scientists said would be necessary to convert a world into a sun, and I've been tracing the movement of all of them, in this entire sector, looking for unusual amounts or shipments to unusual places."

  "Excellent idea," Darzek said. "Found anything interesting?" "Yes. I've found that large quantities have disappeared without a trace. And I think I know where some of them disappeared from."

  Darzek pulled up a chair and seated himself. "Where?" "Wait."

  The keyboards hummed again, and the strip of readout began to pile up on the floor. Melris picked it up and began to transcribe the embossed hieroglyphics. She scribbled frantically - names of fabrication plants, addresses, dates, statistics. When she finished, she had listed more than fifty business concerns.

  "That may be only a beginning," she said. "The quantities are quite small for each one. What shall we do with it? Perhaps the chief proctor -"

  "Definitely not the chief proctor," Darzek said firmly. "I'll handle this myself." He took her notes. "If this is only a beginning, keep working on it. And congratulations. But don't forget what I said. This isn't to be mentioned to anyone."

  He went first to the Trans-Star office, where he and Miss Schlupe studied the names of the firms and debated what should be done. Miss Schlupe wanted to have shipments watched and her investigators become acquainted with the firms' employees and see what they could learn.

  Darzek shook his head. "When something is spread out over fifty firms - and we don't know how many more - someone is ingeniously covering his tracks. I'm going to call on one of these places myself. I haven't done much detecting lately. I'll see what I can find out, and then we'll decide what to do about the others."

  It was one of the world's lesser urban centers, but, like the capital city of Klinoz, it had the appearance of a single sprawling building with an occasional domed park surrounded by windowless spires. The factory was in the segment devoted to light industry. It was fully automated, and Darzek entered and wandered about unhindered, wondering what kind of strange apparatus the outpouring of diffraction discs and curlicued parts was destined for. Finally he found a maintenance worker poking his three arms into a stalled machine. The worker directed Darzek to an office, which he reached by way of a repair shop where other maintenance workers were dissecting machines similar to those Darzek had seen on the assembly and fabrication lines.

  The factory was so small that a single manager, perhaps its owner, ran it. Darzek introduced himself: Gul Darr, trader, of the Trans-Star Trading Company.

  The elderly Vezpronian turned at his desk and regarded Darzek speculatively. A trader might be either a salesman or a potential customer.

  "I'd like to talk with your procurement officer," Darzek told him. The manager scowled and hunched his three arms. "I do my own procuring," he said.

  "In that case - I have a small problem of solvency transfer to clear. No doubt there's a simple explanation. Perhaps you credited the wrong account. Eleven terms ago you received a proweight of plutonium pellets. The solvency involved amounted to -"

  Staring, the manager blurted, "Plutonium pellets? What would this factory be doing with plutonium pellets? It manufactures dlarwux!"

  Darzek spoke slowly, passing over the fact that he had no idea what dlarwux might be. "Are you saying that you did not receive a proweight of plutonium pellets eleven terms ago?"

  "Not then or ever. Even if I had a use for them, I couldn't bring them here. Radioactive materials can only be used in Zone Twenty."

  "I see," Darzek mused. "That would of course explain the solvency mix-up. Just so I can make my report complete, would you mind showing me your materials log for that term?"

  The manager minded, but he was being polite to a stranger; also, a dispute over a solvency transfer could be a nuisance. He turned to his records file, punched the relevant dates, and one after another the invoices of materials received appeared on the screen above his desk.

  "Thank you," Darzek said finally. There was no question of deceit here; the computer automatically registered materials received, or the transmitter would not send the materials; and tampering with records of this type so as to leave no trace would have required skill of an order unknown to Darzek. He doubted that it was possible.

  Then he had another thought. "Do you have a warehouse?"

  The manager already had turned back to his work. "In Zone Seventeen," he answered indifferently. He had humored this stranger long enough.

  "Can radioactive materials be stored in Zone Seventeen?"

  "If they're properly shielded," the manager said. "However, why would I be ordering radioactive materials if I can't use them?"

  "I'd like to inspect your warehouse and its materials log." "Sorry. I can't take the time today."

  Darzek displayed his credentials. He was prepared to threaten the manager with the chief proctor or the masfiln himself; but the manager had heard the masfiln's speech and knew that an emissary of Supreme was on Vezpro, and he knew that his world was threatened. It dawned on him abruptly that this was no piddling matter of a solvency transfer. Without a word he got to his feet, led the way to a private transmitter in th
e far comer of the office, and stepped through. Darzek followed.

  On any world in the galaxy it would have been, unmistakably, a warehouse. Bars and sheets of metal, rolls of plasticlike materials, containers of all kinds and sizes - these were the reserve raw materials used to manufacture what the manager had called dlarwux, and they were piled in neat rows and arranged for easy access.

  There was one difference. A far comer was partitioned off with crates and obviously served as an office. It contained the records file, a couple of the strangely shaped Vezpronian chairs, and a table that might have served as a desk.

  On one of the chairs, Qwasrolk was seated.

  He seemed to be asleep. Darzek paused, his mind groping desperately for a method of approach; but before he could so much as whisper a warning to the manager or extend a restraining hand, the manager charged forward in a rage, shouting. Qwasrolk turned his lidless eyes and horribly scarred face in their direction. For a moment he regarded the menacing manager, his lipless mouth barring his teeth, his noseless, revolting face fully exposed under bars of light that fell from an air vent. Then he vanished.

  The manager halted, staring at the empty chair. "Where did he go? And how did he get in here?"

  "Never mind," Darzek said. "Let's have a look at that materials log."

  The manager again punched the relevant dates on the records file, which began to flash invoices of materials received during the term. Suddenly the screen went blank. A moment later another invoice appeared, and another, and then the screen went blank again.

  The manager perplexedly punched the dates again and started the series over. And again the blanks appeared. The manager backed up to the chair recently vacated by Qwasrolk and sat down.

  He said, protestingly, "Nothing is missing. We take regular inventories and take them carefully."

  "I'm sure you do," Darzek said.

  "Why would anyone go to the trouble of erasing my records?" "Because," Darzek said, "they would have shown the delivery of materials you didn't order and that never appeared on any of your inventories."