by Ipomoea
The screen darkened, and he reset more switches, explaining as he went. "This is routine. José transmitted the contents of the spools he had, but at ultra-fast speed. All I have to do now is play them back slow. Now."
There came a buzz and then Venner's rasping voice.
"Joe. Nothing very important yet. I've tracked the seeds from where they grow all the way to here, to the plant where they are extracted before milling. As far as I can tell they are bagged and shipped out to Eklund as some kind of cattle-food additive. I'm sending Louise to follow up that angle. Meantime I have happened across a small plant where they pack and wrap sugar exactly the same as the happystuff, and I am going into that a bit more closely. I have arranged with Ramirez to deposit these reports with him every four hours, or to call him if I have nothing to report of importance." There came a click, a low buzz, then the same voice again.
"Still nothing much to talk about. That sugar-packing plant is not so easy to get into. No word from Louise. Maybe she got held up."
Another click and buzz-pause, then Venner was speaking again, this time with crackling emphasis. "Joe, I think we've struck trouble of some kind. For me, that damned sugar-packaging outfit is better guarded than a bank vault, and that is suspicious in itself. I'll give it one more try, but I am worried about Louise. She should have reported in—she knows the score well enough—but not a sound from her. Unless you hear something to the contrary, that's where we'll be. Better join us—with your eyes wide open."
A final click, a brief buzz, and then nothing. Joe closed a switch.
"That's the lot," he said, and there was an edge on his
voice that Sam had not heard before, an intensity and for-
bidding calm in his eyes. "And that was twenty-four hours
ago. My master is in danger." '
"That figures," Sam agreed. "What do we do?"
"You?"
"Yes, me! Look, I know this is not my kind of action, but I am under a certain amount of obligation. Damn it, Venner saved my life. So did you with that sun-stone thing. I want to help."
Joe stared at him for fully five seconds, and Sam wondered how a face could be so expressionless and yet so ruthlessly determined.
"Very well," he said, at last. "Thank you. Just a moment." He made the connection once more with Ramirez and, without preamble, said, "José. The situation is critical. If you do not hear more from me in twenty-four hours, push the panic button. Understood?" The screen went dark and Joe got to his feet purposively.
"There are certain preparations I have to make. While I'm doing that you can be arranging to hire that jet-plane again. Five minutes."
It was fifteen minutes later that Sam settled alongside Joe in the jet-plane and watched while the engine howled into life.
"What's the object of that panic button thing?" he asked. "Calling up the heavy reserves to the rescue?"
"Nothing like that." Joe had his calm back now, kept his eye on the temperatures and pressures as the engine warmed up. "As you've been told, ISB has no status to interfere with internal affairs, and we have not yet estabished that this is anything more. Not to prove, that is. So there will be no overt force. The panic button merely tells H.Q. that we have failed, but that we think we were on to something, and therefore someone else should be assigned to follow up."
Sam nodded, keeping his feelings to himself. Failed, it seemed, was a euphemism for deceased. He felt a chill. But then he recalled his burned palm, his father, the several attempts on his life—and realized that he was about to take a crack at the man responsible, and he felt a little bit better about it. They took off into a rose-tinted afternoon with no more than an hour of daylight aheacVof them.
"Darkness will suit our purpose well enough," Joe commented, as he turned the controls over to the auto-pilot. "Meanwhile, we have things to do. You'll need this." He produced a heavy plastic belt, broad and black and bulky. "Before you put it on, let me show you what it's for. We dislike using brute force at any time, but when it is necessary, we use it thoroughly."
He did deft things with the buckle. "This gets you a knife, see? It is flexible, razor-edge this side, diamond-hard file the other." He put it away again, made other movements and had a handful of what looked like green beads on strings. "This is detonite, an extremely powerful explosive. To use, you pinch one off and dispose of it—and you "have thirty seconds to get clear before it explodes. These"—he was producing stuff like a conjuror with a top hat—"are smoke-and-retch bombs. Pinch off in the same way. They make a smoke screen, but they also stop anything that breathes air, positively. This"—he gripped a small disk, tugged it free—"is an extremely rugged two-way transmitter-receiver. Use it like this, or you can leave it in place, and activate it just by turning the disk half a turn, then someone else can listen in on whatever is being said where you are, up to half a mile. This"— it was a slim rod, no more than a pencil to look at—"spits darts accurately up to about thirty feet. They are toxic. One will knock a man out almost instantly, and keep him out for almost an hour. Fully loaded with fifty."
He was finished with the belt. Sam looked at it nervously, demanded a run-through to make sure, and then buckled it
In place. He saw that Joe was already wearing one exactly like it.
Joe then tapped a small gray box he had attached to the control panel. "And this is a direction-finder that is tuned in to a small transmitter built into Dr. Vernier's teeth. We have to assume that he will have been searched and disarmed, but I doubt if they will have noticed the bug. We can hope, anyway." He switched on the finder now, and adjusted it with great delicacy. The small screen glowed a dull lambent green, but without anything resembling a trace on it. Joe sighed.
"We are hardly within range yet. Soon, though, we should get it."
Far down below them the sea grew darker, dappled with lingers of green-white fluorescent foam. Sunset loomed ahead and grew, like a dark purple cloud, to meet them. Joe kept caressing the finder, and consulting the plane's navigation indications. All at once he said, in quiet satisfaction, "That's it, see?"
Sam saw a tiny green dot hovering away off center to the lower right-hand corner of the screen. Joe crouched over it like a scout nursing the first sparks of a campfire, constantly referring to the flight data. Now, in growing gloom, he flicked on the radar scan and the sweeping finger traced out the distant bulk of the island. Sam wasn't sure whether or not he could actually see it with the naked eye, but there was no doubt about the electronic one. Then Joe sat back, and sighed.
"It's nice to be sure. He's there, right enough."
"That's fine," Sam agreed. "But where does it leave us? What I mean is, if Eklund's as smart as we've been giving him credit for, you can bet he has various eyes and ears well out and working. I can't see him just sitting idle to let us fly in and land, and walk in and start asking awkward questions. Can you?"
"I don't see why not," Joe countered quietly. "If you have lie nerve for it!"
"Nerve?" Sam asked, not liking the suspicions that were rushing to his mind.
"I can't advise this," Joe said, very quietly, "I can only describe it to you, and let you choose. You have, after all, been invited back. Mr. Eklund's words were 'any time,' as I recall. And Miss Eklund seemed eager to have you return. And you are, like it or not, the Hutten now. You told Mr. Eklund that you were on your way to interview Mullens and Amario on Zera. You had his approval on that. You have in fact fust done it. What could be more natural than that you would want to call in here on your return, to rest a while before making the other trip, to Ophir?"
There was a horrible logic about it. In any other circumstances Sam could see himself doing exactly that.
"Yes, but—but what if Eklund gets suspicious?"
"Why should he?"
"Well, for one thing he will expect me to be well and truly under the influence of that devilish fire-ball he gave me, like a zombie!"
"Not necessarily. He gave you no order to carry it with you. It might annoy
him, but surely nothing more, if you say that you've put it away somewhere for safekeeping. Or even that you've lost it!"
"You have an answer for everything," Sam muttered. "But you and I both know that we are walking all around the real issue. That man is as crazy as a bedbug, and dangerous."
"I am aware of that." Joe was serious. "But you are, remember, the Hutten heir. Mr. Eklund may be power-mad, but I doubt if he is rash enough to do you any harm. I doubt if he would want the publicity that would be bound to follow. And he can hardly be sure that you suspect him of anything, certainly not if you walk right in and act naturally. After all, why should you suspect him any more than Brandt, or Mullens, or any of the others? The most he can do is try by some other means to get you over on his side."
Sam cringed from it, but there was logic in Joe's design. On the surface there was indeed no reason why he shouldn't just drop in and act as if he had accepted an invitation.
After all, he thought, I've already done it once. So, unwillingly but resigned, he had a further question.
"Suppose I do, what will be achieved?"
"I've been thinking about that. Essentially, it must appear that you are alone. Fortunately this aircraft can be flown almost entirely on automatic controls, so that's no problem. Now, recall the villa as we saw it from above. It is backed into the mountainside. If I can get clear and work my way around there, I may be able to find some back way in, while you are keeping them distracted in the front. It's not much of a plan, but it is the best I can think of, at short notice. You'll have to play your part by ear, just as it comes, and forget all about me—except that you could switch on that communicator in your belt as soon as you're in. Then I will be able to keep in touch with whatever you're doing. There's the coastline now, just ahead. You haven't much time to decide."
Sam found he had very little hope of any alternative, either. By the time they were within range of the villa he had decided, not happily, but there was nothing else he could do that he could think of. Joe got on the radio, raised the villa response, passed the microphone over.
"Remember," he warned, "you're alone. Make it goodl"
Sam gulped, saw a little green eye winking at him, pressed the talk switch and a richly feminine voice came.
^Villa Eklund. Who is it?"
"Hello, Miss Corinne." His voice came out rusty and he coughed to clear it. "This is Sam Hutten, back again."
"Oh!" That first reaction was surprise, then it came again. "Oh, Mr. Hutten, how lovely to hear your voice again, so soon! Are you coming in to land?"
"If that's all right with you?"
"Of course it is. I will activate the beacon right away. I'm so glad you've come. But you must excuse me; perhaps I am being selfish. Is this just a friendly visit, or are you on some serious business? Do you wish to speak to my father?"
"It's nothing serious." Sam struggled to keep his voice light. "Just taking advantage of your very kind invitation. You see"—he made a feeble try to chuckle casually—"the fact is that I've just got back from Zera, from visiting Mr. Mullens and Mr. Armario, and I couldn't think of anywhere else I wanted to go right away. I shall have to visit Ophir, of course, and soon, but I've done so much hopping about lately ..."
"Yes, of course, you poor man. I understand perfectly."
"And I didn't really feel like staying at Hutten House. Not all alone. And then I remembered your very warm invitation—and here I am!"
"I'm so glad. My father is busy just now with a guest, but I know he will be just as pleased to see you as I am. I will come and get you, not with horses, this time. I will spare you that. Are you alone?"
"Yes. All by myself, this time. Thank you again." Sam shut off the mike and put it back on the panel. His hand shook, and he felt clammy all over, but Joe gave him a swift sideways grin and nod.
"Past that hurdle," he said. "Now, as soon as this is on the ground-control system I'm going to hide. In the back. Just in case she gets close enough to look in. Then, when you're gone, I'll be out and away. Don't forget that communicator."
"I'll do it now." Sam made the adjustment, shrugged the belt into comfort and was glad that he was wearing pants almost the same color, so that it wouldn't show. "I never knew I was such a good liar," he said, trying to grin. Joe glanced ahead.
"There's the strip. Auto-pilot on! Let's hope she's not as good an actress as you are a Bar, that's all. She certainly sounded pleased."
As the plane bounced gently on the grass and rolled to a halt Sam saw a pair of blazing eyes in the distance rapidly nearing. He scrambled out and went to meet the car he could hear now. It was a low and sleek cushion-car, with Corinne at the tillers. She pulled it to a halt right beside him, gave him a dazzling smile of welcome, and laid her hand on his wrist as he settled in by her side.
"I am so happy that you decided to come, Mr. Hutten."
"Please call me Sam," he murmured, trying to match her mood. "I feel guilty, dropping in just like this."
"Don't be silly! You are at home here, always. And you must stay a while, this time. I want you to." She set the car sizzling away, and Sam felt the sweat breaking out on hjm all over again. The whirling confusion in his mind was bad enough in itself, but being so close to this gorgeous girl, and engulfed by the sheer vitality that came off her like radiance from a fire, was enough to make him slightly lightheaded. For this evening she was dressed, if that was the right word, in something white and insubstantial, cobwebs and moonbeams, from breast to mid-thigh. It was sheer enough to reveal not only her devastating figure but the sultry red-glow of the sphere that lay on her bosom. It seemed a far cry, several lifetimes ago, that he had been a cool, calm, dispassionate and uninvolved instructor of youth, and the period in between was somehow totally unreal. How had he ever got himself into a nightmare like this?
Once again Eklund was at the top of the steps awaiting him, but this time, with his majestic stance, the silver hair crowning his magnificent skull, and the bright light coming from behind to strike a halo around him, he looked like some strange, supernal being. In just that instant Sam had a twinge of irrational fear. Eklund had spoken of aliens. Perhaps he was one! But then the rich rolling voice banished the illusion.
"My dear Hutten, you are most welcome. I am honored that you chose to come here when you were weary and needed somewhere secure to rest."
"That's one way of putting it." Sam exchanged grips cordially. "For my part I feel I should apologize for taking liberties."
"Nonsense. You had a good trip?"
"You could say that. Mullens and Armario are substantially in agreement with what we were saying, and they'll come to the conference all right. Can't say I was captivated with Zera, though. I'd hate to live there for long."
"You will never need to, my boy. If and when you do decide to build yourself a home here, please allow me to advise you. Meanwhile, this must be your home. But this will never do. I am keeping you standing, talking, when you are surely weary and in need of a bath."
"That's true. I'm not fit to be associated with, right now. If you would direct me . . . ?"
"I will see to it" Corinne took his arm possessively. "This way."
"I'm afraid I haven't any luggage either. Such a rush!"
"We will take care of that too. You shall have everything you need. Come along with me."
"We dine within the hour," Eklund boomed after them. "See you then, my boy."
Sam allowed himself to be led away, through an arch and along a cool passage, ending in a room that made him halt and stare. It was large, lit with rose-glow isotope-lamps, each one held up by a lifelike human effigy. The walls and floor were gold-and-white tiles decorated with a repeated floral motif. The middle of the floor was all one huge sunken bath from which vapor rose in lazy spirals. Corinne gave it all to him with a casual gesture.
"I will call a slave to assist you," she said, and stepped to the wall, to touch a button. Sam, expecting a robot of some kind, stared even more widely as from an archway on the far side
came a girl, gliding toward them with catlike grace. He looked again—and it wasn't a girl at all. The contours were lushly feminine, but this "thing" was as sexless as any store-window dummy. It halted silently in front of them and Corinne spoke, enunciating with care:
"Bring soap, towels, depilatory and clean robes. Then assist the master to bathe and dress." That said, she smacked her palms together sharply and the thing went away instantly. Sam discovered that his mouth was sagging open, and closed it as Corinne turned, smiled her dazzling smile, and said, "It is a robot, of course, but of an advanced type. My father has a fancy for such things. It will obey simple commands within its program scope. We use many of them, for all sorts of things, cleaning and cooking and assisting with the herd animals. Is there anything else you need?"
Sam shook his head, more to clear it than anything else. Then he looked at her again and managed a shaky smile. "Can I ask for privacy?"
She laughed, and it was a sound to send ripples along his spine, then stared at him with bright blue gaze and bubbling mischief. "I am tempted to join you. I would scrub you all over—but not this time. Perhaps later? Would you like that?" She laughed again and put a hand on his arm. "We shall have such a lot of lovely times together, you and I, you'll see. But I will not keep you longer. Here come your towels. When you are ready you simply tell the slave Take me to the salon,' and that will be all right. We will be waiting for you."
Sam was glad of the bath. It eased away the last traces of his aches, and it helped to reduce a little of the horrible confusion in his mind. In all his life before he had never met anyone quite like Corinne Eklund. The thought came again: perhaps both of them were aliens, that they merely looked human. Certainly he had never met any woman who had so much built-in allure and yet such artlessness. Women that beautiful usually knew it, and made conscious use of it. And that slave—he managed studiously to avoid being aware of the thing while he was actually in the water, but it insisted on helping with towels, and ushering liim into the robes it had brought for him. And, even at touching distance, it looked alive. It breathed. And, as far as he was aware, it was fantastically superior to anything robotic that he had ever heard of. He was relieved to see that it showed not the slightest interest in the belt of lethal hardware he managed to strap around his waist under the toga-like robes provided for him.