The 19th Golden Age of Science Fiction

by Charles V. De Vet

  “I have a half hour before my next number,” she said. “Would you like to have me show you the gambling rooms upstairs?” The illusion, the spell of her presence, shattered.

  “Thanks. No,” Larre said, almost harshly.

  “Then, perhaps you’d better buy me another drink.” Her lips dipped in a pert, impersonally intimate smile. She signaled the waiter, taking his acceptance for granted. “I have to keep the management happy or I can’t stay with you.”

  The second drink came. Larre raised his glass, pausing while he watched her lift hers to her lips of purple satin. He saw the cruel selfishness hidden under that coating of lipstick. He wanted to get out into the air, away from her. He drained his glass quickly, started to rise, then sat down to get out the money to pay for the drinks. That second drink had tasted slightly different than the first. Was it possible that.…

  He shook his head to clear his blurring vision. The face across the small table from him faded until only the purple lips stood out from a vague blot of soft white. He closed his eyes to shut it out, and fell forward. He heard the tinkling sound of breaking glass on the floor. Then he was falling into a bottomless blackness.

  * * * *

  “—Another bloody exploratory trip.” The words beat their way through the wall blocking his consciousness.

  “Probably half of us will never come back,” said a second, deeper voice.

  Larre remained quiet, listening to the conversation around him. “—three year trip.”

  “In some leaky old spacer.”

  “—half blind.”

  “So dangerous they have to kidnap a crew.” Gradually he realized what had happened. Shanghaied.…

  He couldn’t let them hold him. For twenty years Gramp had trained him, then sent him to the city to test what he had been taught and to fight the unholy Disciples. But how could he fight them when he did not even know who they were? Of only one thing he was certain: Those years must not be wasted!

  Gramp had warned him not to use his special mind power any oftener than necessary. He’d have to use it now if he wanted to get free.

  For five minutes he lay still, concentrating deeply. He was ready. “A doctor—, a doctor—,” he mumbled through parched lips. “Ditis.” He coughed.

  Suddenly it was deathly still on all sides of him. Then “A Ditis!” The voice was half hysterical. Men scrambled to get away. Yells, “Ditis! Ditis! Ditis!”

  He heard someone coming down the aisle. A light flashed in his eyes. His face was swollen and red. Dull blue splotches showed through the redness.

  “Put on gloves and get him out of here.”

  “We’re in for trouble,” Larre heard one of the men who carried his stretcher say. “The boss gave us special orders to guard this fellow.”

  “You guard him then,” grunted the other. “I’d rather be in trouble than dead. There’s a cure for trouble, but not for ditis.”

  “Not me,” said the first. “Let’s dump him right here.”

  A moment later Larre lay in an alley. Alone. By the smell and the looks of the dilapidated buildings, he judged he was somewhere in the Flats section of the city. His mauve nylon shirt and trousers were filthy with dirt, and his wide silver belt was gone but already his body was back to normal. He dusted himself off and headed for the street.

  “I’d better not go back to my room in the Sailors Rest,” he thought, fingering his hidden pocket to make certain he still had money. “Someone from the bar in the back might recognize me.”

  He remembered there had been a Travelers’ Aid in the depot. He’d inquire about getting a room in a private home.

  At the entrance to the depot he stopped to watch a ball of fire float down the street, burst and spell out the words, “EAT ZESTOS.”

  * * * *

  The next few days Larre remained close to his room. He ordered a news dispenser, paid his subscription for two weeks, and settled down to study the reports. He would be able to understand the complexities of the city better by following the types than by personal investigation. Also it was safer. By the third day he had absorbed a vast fund of understanding. He learned more about the city in those few days than he had in the other twenty-two years of his life.

  His first step, he decided, would be to find a job. He would be less conspicuous as a working man. Gramp had suggested that he try to get employment working for the city. That would give him a good vantage point for observation.

  * * * *

  “Congratulations,” said the Director of Civil Service. “While I am not authorized to reveal your exact mark, I feel free to tell you that it is high enough to qualify you for one of our better positions.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, sir,” answered Larre.

  “Of course you realize,” Director Warner continued, “that the written test is merely a part of the criteria by which we judge the fitness of the applicant for the position. This personal interview forms another, and perhaps more significant, basis for judgment. I might say that, in the final analysis, the recommendations I make largely determine the placement of the aspirant.”

  Was this official just a stuffed shirt being officious and magnanimous? Larre wondered. Or was he leading up to something?

  “I was under the impression that the written exam was important.”

  “Officially yes. Actually no. I might confess that my recommendations are regarded so highly, as much for my connections as for my ability.”

  “When will I know just what your decision is?” Larre asked.

  “I will come to that shortly. These connections which I mention, are maintained only at a high cost. My salary alone would hardly cover the actual expense.”

  “Do you mean there’s graft?”

  “A harsh word, lad. Let us say there are all-around expenses involved which can most equitably be charged to the persons receiving the benefit of our services.”

  “Meaning the applicants,” said Larre. “Including myself?”

  “To be frank,” the Director confided, “yes.”

  “How much would I be expected to pay?”

  “That depends a great deal upon the position desired. For instance I have an opening for a park supervisor, paying four hundred dalls a month, for which I would be glad to report you favorably, upon the payment of a thousand dalls.”

  “To speak as frankly as you have,” said Larre, rising, “I regard you as a dirty grafter. I would as soon throw my money away as to give it to you.” Only by a slight clenching of his jaw muscles did the Director betray his anger as he pressed the buzzer.

  “This person has obviously cheated on his exam,” Warner said to his receptionist, who entered at his ring. “Mark his record to that effect. Explain to him his avenue of recourse, if he wishes it, and dismiss him. That is all.”

  “Yes sir,” her voice was a bit higher than normal, but as sweet as her smile.

  Did he imagine it, Larre wondered, or had she given him a slight wink as she turned?

  In the outer office Larre asked, “What is this avenue of recourse, which he mentioned?”

  “You may file your possible protest with the Civil Service Board.” Her face had lost the impersonal politeness with which she had greeted him when he entered. “Confidentially, you’d be wasting your time. They’re all his men. Tough, but that’s the way it is.”

  He made an effort to keep the conversation going. He wished he could ask her for a date. “In other words I’m all through as far as city employment is concerned?”

  “Unless you want to file an indigenes application. You’d get work then, but you wouldn’t like it. You’re treated like dirt, and they only pay four dalls a day.”

  She wouldn’t go out with him anyway, he thought. Probably she was laughing at him even now. But she was so lovely, and she seemed so young, and so nice. “Thanks, but I’ll pass it up—for now at least.” He just didn’t have the nerve to ask her what he wanted to.

  “I’ll be through work in ten minutes,” she said. It should
have sounded bold, but it didn’t. “Would you care to wait for me downstairs?”

  Larre flushed slightly, with surprise and just a shade of embarrassment. “I could ask for nothing better.” With his feet never seeming to touch the mastic tile of the floor, Larre walked from the office.

  * * * *

  Back in the Director’s office the sweet faced receptionist asked, “How did he do?”

  “A percentile of one hundred, Marguery,” Warner answered. “The top.”

  “How did he react when you offered to sell him a job?” Marguery asked.

  The Director smiled ruefully. “He threw it in my face.”

  “I expected as much,” said Marguery.

  As she returned to her receptionist’s desk she murmured, “Now we’ll put him through his paces.”

  Making sure that he was alone and unheard, the Director picked up the perma-phone. He adjusted the tiny clip to the lobe of his ear, set the headpiece firmly against his cheek and thought his call number.

  “Contact.” The voice that answered carried authority.

  “Give me the Police Commissioner, please.”

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Warner, Director of Civil Service, Commissioner Gorman. I’ve found your man!”

  “Good work!”

  * * * *

  She tucked her gray gloved hand under his arm as though they had been old friends. In a clothier’s window, a life-like mechanical man kept pace with them, tipped his hat, and brushed a fanciful bit of lint from the sleeve of his coat.

  Larre laughed apologetically as she saw him watching the animated dummy.

  “Those advertisements are so eye-catching they’re a nuisance,” she said. She smiled, and the day was bright though shadows had fallen.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a question?” she queried.

  “Not at all.”

  “You’re a stranger to New City, aren’t you?”

  “Is it so obvious?” Why did he feel that he had known her for a long time, when he was positive that he had never seen her before today?

  “It’s good to see someone without the blasé look of most of the city people. Is this your first day in town?”

  “The fourth.” He wanted to talk to her, to keep firm the bond that had sprung up between them. “I stayed at the Sailors Rest the first night.”

  “Oh oh. Trouble?”

  “Plenty. I was abducted by some government space runners. I managed to get away all right, but I thought I’d better not go back.”

  “You were wise.”

  For a time they walked in silence. “Have you had dinner?” she asked.

  “Not yet. Would you take pity on a country bumpkin and dine with me?”

  She smiled. “I know a nice girl isn’t supposed to invite a man up to her apartment. At least not on such short acquaintance. But I would like to cook a meal for you; one that you would probably enjoy more than any we could get in a cateraunt.”

  “That sounds like manna from heaven to me.”

  “Will you still believe me when I tell you that I really am a nice girl, and treat me like one?” She seemed almost sorry that she had asked him to come.

  “You know I will, or you wouldn’t have invited me,” Larre teased. “Lead on, fairy princess.”

  They laughed together and now she was no longer quite so shy.

  “We’ll pass up the cab stand and take a brown-car on the next corner,” she said. “We won’t be gyped there.”

  * * * *

  They had eaten, and Larre had found Marguery to be as good a cook as she was beautiful. To him that beauty grew greater every moment. She had laughed with him, and sang to him. She was a happy, delightful companion. She loved life, every small event was an adventure.

  “So your grandfather never told you what your ultimate assignment was to be?” she asked. She looked so fresh and young in her white house robe.

  “No,” Larre replied. “He said that I’d have to prove first that I was capable. I’m afraid that so far he’d be very disappointed.”

  “No, he wouldn’t, Larre. He very probably knows just what you have to compete with in this graft-ridden city. You aren’t giving up, are you?” Her blue eyes, contrasting with her dark hair and fair skin, gave her an intriguing Celtic loveliness.

  “Not at all. But your invitation was more of a god-send than you can ever know.”

  “You were homesick?” It was more of a statement than a question. “Poor Larre.” She put her hand in his. “Come on into the front room and sit down with me.”

  The living room was tiny, but it expressed Marguery. Teal green furniture, inexpensive but tastefully blending with the aqua walls, was delicately gay, but restful.

  “I know how you felt,” she said, “I cried every night for two weeks when I first came to the city. And I lived with my aunt then.”

  “It wasn’t too bad,” he disclaimed, “I just wasn’t accustomed to being alone.”

  She was close to him. He caught her sweet woman scent and he wanted to kiss her. But he knew she wouldn’t like that—not yet.

  “Why don’t you try to get in with one of the big private companies?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m not licked yet. Not by a long ways. I’ve been thinking of the Companies. I also thought of trying my hand at some business where I could free-lance.”

  “You’re very intelligent, aren’t you? Don’t be conventionally modest now. I want to know.”

  “Gramp seemed to think that I was exceptional,” Larre answered after a moment’s hesitation.

  “That’s what I thought,” Marguery said. “I have a friend employed by the Rubber Company, who works in personnel. Would you like me to call him tomorrow and have him arrange an interview for you?”

  He could only stare at her in silent wonder…

  * * * *

  As he walked into the towering office building of the Rubber Company, Larre whistled. Today he had drawn his first week’s salary, the only money he had ever earned. Gramp, and the Disciples, had been relegated to the realm of problems of the dim future.

  Today was his alone and all signs pointed upward. To culminate his happiness he had been notified that the Big Boss, himself, wanted to see him that very afternoon.

  Larre had been surprised to receive the call. Carle Rezab was the owner as well as president. His company was one of the six that controlled the bulk of the industrial output of the entire hemisphere.

  “Mr. King,” the President began, with no preliminaries, “I’m delighted with the results you have shown in the short time you have been with us.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Larre replied.

  “Not at all. If you are free this evening,” the President continued, “I’d like to have you accompany me to my club. This may seem a bit precipitous but you can be assured I have my very good reasons. Will you be available?”

  * * * *

  That evening Larre set his hat on the waiting tray at the check room. The action triggered the camera which took his picture for identification when he returned. He followed Rezab into the club rooms.

  “Two of the usual, Josef,” Rezab said to the taciturn steward who served them.

  As they drank, Larre looked about the magnificently furnished room. A stereographic vision master covered all the four walls and gave them the appearance of open, wooded countryside. He watched a stag come bounding from the colored forest and run for its life as a pack of wolves followed in full cry. It completed the circle of the room before it was brought to bay and went down fighting beneath the snarling gray bodies of the killers.

  Through a wide doorway he could see well-dressed gentlemen dancing with their ladies in a haze of blue rolling shadows. Larre knew the effects color could have on a man’s emotions. He wondered if the scented atmosphere was not lightly drugged also. His feeling of well-being was a bit too high. He was pleased at the reflected respect accorded him as a friend of Rezab’s.

  His employer invited a giant of a man with white bushy h
air to join them. After a short time Rezab excused himself and walked over to the neon lighted bar. The lights were cleverly arranged to make the bar appear as a pile of birch logs topped by a fierce flame.

  Slowly an inner tension built up within him and Larre knew the time had again come when he must use the training Gramp had given him.

  He let his highly developed intuitive sense send out an aura of light contact. The impressions it brought back were clear and definite. Danger!

  The danger localized and focused in the persons of two men: Rezab; and Josef, the cold, unsmiling steward.

  When the two men met at the far side of the room and began to talk, Larre was ready for them. He sank lower in his chair and, while one part of his mind conversed with his companion, another mental tentacle leaped out and probed into the consciousness of the man known as Josef. This was always a tremendous drain on his vitality but it was necessary.

  He paused there for only a moment. Josef possessed one of those unreadable “murky” minds which he found in approximately one man in four. Quickly he swung over, to Rezab. He could follow the conversation just as easily there. The lust, and the greed for power which he read repelled him.

  “Then he is not a Disciple?” asked Rezab.

  “No.”

  “I was certain that he was one of us,” said Rezab, “Are you positive that he isn’t?”

  “There can be no slightest doubt,” answered Josef. “We gave him several of the approaches. He would have acknowledged them.”

  “That’s the way I figured it originally,” Rezab replied, reflectively. “I decided to bring him here and let you make more conclusive tests.”

  “The x-ray plates show that there is no metal anywhere in his head,” said Josef.

  “Perhaps he has the plate concealed in a metal filling in a tooth.”

  “His teeth are all intact.”

  “Did you x-ray his spinal column, for a double check, as I told you?”

  “Yes. Nothing there, either,” said Josef.

  “Would it be possible that the brain has been operated on in some way to eliminate the need of the plate?” asked Rezab.

  “Impossible! Unless—.” For the first time Josef’s face showed emotion—apprehension. “Unless there’s been some new discovery by a surgeon greater than Mobob.”