The Astounding Science Fiction Anthology

by John W. Campbell Jr.

  “That was really sweet of you, Vall, fighting those men for talking about me,” she began. “You took an awful chance, though. But if you hadn’t, I’d never have known you were in Darsh—Oh-oh! That was why you did it, wasn’t it?”

  “Well, I had to do something. Everybody either didn’t know or weren’t saying where you were. I assumed, from the circumstances, that you were hiding somewhere. Tell me, Dalla; do you really have scientific proof of reincarnation? I mean, as an established fact?”

  “Oh, yes; these people on this sector have had that for over ten centuries. They have hypnotic techniques for getting back into a part of the subconscious mind that we’ve never been able to reach. And after I found out how they did it, I was able to adapt some of our hypno-epistemological techniques to it, and—”

  “All right; that’s what I wanted to know,” he cut her off. “We’re getting out of here, right away.”

  “But where?”

  “Ghamma, in an airboat I have outside, and then back to the First Level. Unless there’s a paratime-transposition conveyor somewhere nearer.”

  “But why, Vall? I’m not ready to go back; I have a lot of work to do here, yet. They’re getting ready to set up a series of control-experiments at the Institute, and then, I’m in the middle of an experiment, a two-hundred-subject memory-recall experiment. See, I distributed two hundred sets of equipment for my new technique—injection-ampoules of this zerfa-derivative drug, and sound records of the hypnotic suggestion formula, which can be played on an ordinary reproducer. It’s just a crude variant of our hypno-mech process, except that instead of implanting information in the subconscious mind, to be brought at will to the level of consciousness, it works the other way, and draws into conscious knowledge information already in the subconscious mind. The way these people have always done has been to put the subject in an hypnotic trance and then record verbal statements made in the trance state; when the subject comes out of the trance, the record is all there is, because the memories of past reincarnations have never been in the conscious mind. But with my process, the subject can consciously remember everything about his last reincarnation, and as many reincarnations before that as he wishes to. I haven’t heard from any of the people who received these auto-recall kits, and I really must—”

  “Dalla, I don’t want to have to pull Paratime Police authority on you, but, so help me, if you don’t come back voluntarily with me, I will. Security of the secret of paratime-transposition.”

  “Oh, my eye!” Dalla exclaimed. “Don’t give me that, Vall!”

  “Look, Dalla. Suppose you get discarnated here,” Verkan Vall said. “You say reincarnation is a scientific fact. Well, you’d reincarnate on this sector, and then you’d take a memory-recall, under hypnosis. And when you did, the paratime secret wouldn’t be a secret any more.”

  “Oh!” Dalla’s hand went to her mouth in consternation. Like every paratimer, she was conditioned to shrink with all her being from the mere thought of revealing to any out-time dweller the secret ability of her race to pass to other time-lines, or even the existence of alternate lines of probability. “And if I took one of the old-fashioned trance-recalls, I’d blat out everything; I wouldn’t be able to keep a thing back. And I even know the principles of transposition!” She looked at him, aghast.

  “When I get back, I’m going to put a recommendation through department channels that this whole sector be declared out of bounds for all paratime-transposition, until you people at Rhogom Foundation work out the problem of discarnate return to the First Level,” he told her. “Now, have you any notes or anything you want to take back with you?”

  She rose. “Yes; just what’s on the desk. Find me something to put the tape spools and notebooks in, while I’m getting them in order.”

  He secured a large game bag from under a rack of fowling pieces, and held it while she sorted the material rapidly, stuffing spools of record tape and notebooks into it. They had barely begun when the door slid open and Olirzon, who had gone outside, sprang into the room, his pistol drawn, swearing vilely.

  “They’ve double-crossed us!” he cried. “The servants of Starpha have turned on us.” He holstered his pistol and snatched up his submachine-gun, taking cover behind the edge of the door and letting go with a burst in the direction of the lifter tubes. “Got that one!” he grunted.

  “What happened, Olirzon?” Verkan Vall asked, dropping the game bag on the table and hurrying across the room.

  “I went up to see how Marnik was making out. As I came out of the lifter tube, one of the obscenities took a shot at me with a hunting pistol. He missed me; I didn’t miss him. Then a couple more of them were coming up, with fowling pieces; I shot one of them before they could fire, and jumped into the descent tube and came down heels over ears. I don’t know what’s happened to Marnik.” He fired another burst, and swore. “Missed him!”

  “Assassins’ Truce! Assassins’ Truce!” a voice howled out of the descent tube. “Hold your fire, we want to parley.”

  “Who is it?” Dirzed shouted, over Olirzon’s shoulder. “You, Sarnax? Come on out; we won’t shoot.”

  The young Assassin with the mustache and chin beard emerged from the descent tube, his weapons sheathed and his clasped hands extended in front of him in a peculiarly ecclesiastical-looking manner. Dirzed and Olirzon stepped out of the gun room, followed by Verkan Vall and Hadron Dalla. Olirzon had left his submachine-gun behind. They met the other Assassin by the rim of the fountain pool.

  “Lady Dallona of Hadron,” the Starpha Assassin began. “I and my colleagues, in the employ of the family of Starpha, have received orders from our clients to withdraw our protection from you, and to discarnate you, and all with you who undertake to protect or support you.” That much sounded like a recitation of some established formula; then his voice became more conversational. “I and my colleagues, Erarno and Kirzol and Harnif, offer our apologies for the barbarity of the servants of the family of Starpha, in attacking without declaration of cessation of friendship. Was anybody hurt or discarnated?”

  “None of us,” Olirzon said. “How about Marnik?”

  “He was warned before hostilities were begun against him,” Sarnax replied. “We will allow five minutes until—”

  Olirzon, who had been looking up the well, suddenly sprang at Dalla, knocking her flat, and at the same time jerking out his pistol. Before he could raise it, a shot banged from above and he fell on his face. Dirzed, Verkan Vall, and Sarnax, all drew their pistols, but whoever had fired the shot had vanished. There was an outburst of shouting above.

  “Get to cover,” Sarnax told the others. “We’ll let you know when we’re ready to attack; we’ll have to deal with whoever fired that shot, first.” He looked at the dead body on the floor, exclaimed angrily, and hurried to the ascent tube, springing upward.

  Verkan Vall replaced the small pistol in his shoulder holster and took Olirzon’s belt, with his knife and heavier pistol.

  “Well, there you see,” Dirzed said, as they went back to the gun room. “So much for political expediency.”

  “I think I understand why your picture and the Lady Dallona’s were exhibited so widely,” Verkan Vall said. “Now, anybody would recognize your bodies, and blame the Statisticalists for discarnating you.”

  “That thought had occurred to me, Lord Virzal,” Dirzed said. “I suppose our bodies will be atrociously but not unidentifiably mutilated, to further enrage the public,” he added placidly. “If I get out of this carnate, I’m going to pay somebody off for it.”

  After a few minutes, there was more shouting of: “Assassins’ Truce!” from the descent tube. The two Assassins, Erarno and Kirzol, emerged, dragging the gamekeeper, Tarnod, between them. The upperservant’s face was bloody, and his jaw seemed to be broken. Sarnax followed, carrying a long hunting pistol in his hand.

  “Here he is!” he announced. “He fired during Assassins’ Truce; he’s subject to Assassins’ Justice!”

  He no
dded to the others. They threw the gamekeeper forward on the floor, and Sarnax shot him through the head, then tossed the pistol down beside him. “Any more of these people who violate the decencies will be treated similarly,” he promised.

  “Thank you, Sarnax,” Dirzed spoke up. “But we lost an Assassin; discarnating this lackey won’t equalize that. We think you should retire one of your number.”

  “That at least, Dirzed; wait a moment.”

  The three Assassins conferred at some length. Then Sarnax hooked fingers and clapped shoulders with his companions.

  “See you in the next reincarnation, brothers,” he told them, walking toward the gun-room door, where Verkan Vall, Dalla and Dirzed stood. “I’m joining you people. You had two Assassins when the parley began, you’ll have two when the shooting starts.”

  Verkan Vall looked at Dirzed in some surprise. Hadron Dalla’s Assassin nodded.

  “He’s entitled to do that, Lord Virzal; the Assassins’ code provides for such changes of allegiance.”

  “Welcome, Sarnax,” Verkan Vall said, hooking fingers with him. “I hope we’ll all be together when this is over.”

  “We will be,” Sarnax assured him cheerfully. “Discarnate. We won’t get out of this in the body, Lord Virzal.”

  A submachine-gun hammered from above, the bullets lashing the fountain pool; the water actually steamed, so great was their velocity.

  “All right!” a voice called down. “Assassins’ Truce is over!”

  Another burst of automatic fire smashed out the lights at the bottom of the ascent tube. Dirzed and Dalla struggled across the room, pushing a heavy steel cabinet between them; Verkan Vall, who was holding Olirzon’s submachine-gun, moved aside to allow them to drop it on edge in the open doorway, then wedged the door half-shut against it. Sarnax came over, bringing rifles, hunting pistols, and ammunition.

  “What’s the situation, up there?” Verkan Vall asked him. “What force have they, and why did they turn against us?”

  “Lord Virzal!” Dirzed objected, scandalized. “You have no right to ask Sarnax to betray confidences!”

  Sarnax spat against the door. “In the face of Jirzyn of Starpha!” he said. “And in the face of his zortan mother, and of his father, whoever he was! Dirzed, do not talk foolishly; one does not speak of betraying betrayers.” He turned to Verkan Vall. “They have three menservants of the family of Starpha; your Assassin, Olirzon, discarnated the other three. There is one of Prince Jirzyn’s poor relations, named Girzad. There are three other men, Volitionalist precinct workers, who came with Girzad, and four Assassins, the three who were here, and one who came with Girzad. Eleven, against the three of us.”

  “The four of us, Sarnax,” Dalla corrected. She had buckled on a hunting pistol, and had a light deer rifle under her arm.

  Something moved at the bottom of the descent tube. Verkan Vall gave it a short burst, though it was probably only a dummy, dropped to draw fire.

  “The four of us, Lady Dallona,” Sarnax agreed. “As to your other Assassin, the one who stayed in the airboat, I don’t know how he fared. You see, about twenty minutes ago, this Girzad arrived in an airboat, with an Assassin and these three Volitionalist workers. Eramo and I were at the top of the dome when he came in. He told us that he had orders from Prince Jirzyn to discarnate the Lady Dallona and Dirzed at once. Tarnod, the gamekeeper”—Sarnax spat ceremoniously against the door again—“told him you were here, and that Marnik was one of your men. He was going to shoot Marnik at once, but Erarno and I and his Assassin stopped him. We warned Marnik about the change in the situation, according to the code, expecting Marnik to go down here and join you. Instead, he lifted the airboat, zoomed over Girzad’s boat, and let go a rocket blast, setting Girzad’s boat on fire. Well, that was a hostile act, so we all fired after him. We must have hit something, because the boat went down, trailing smoke, about ten miles away. Girzad got another airboat out of the hangar and he and his Assassin started after your man. About that time, your Assassin, Olirzon—happy reincarnation to him—came up, and the Starpha servants fired at him, and he fired back and discarnated two of them, and then jumped down the descent tube. One of the servants jumped after him; I found his body at the bottom when I came down to warn you formally. You know what happened after that.”

  “But why did Prince Jirzyn order our discarnation?” Dalla wanted to know. “Was it to blame the Statisticalists with it?”

  Sarnax, about to answer, broke off suddenly and began firing at the opening of the ascent tube with a hunting pistol.

  “I got him,” he said, in a pleased tone. “That was Erarno; he was always playing tricks with the tubes, climbing down against negative gravity and up against positive gravity. His body will float up to the top—Why, Lady Dallona, that was only part of it. You didn’t hear about the big scandal, on the newscast, then?”

  “We didn’t have it on. What scandal?”

  Sarnax laughed. “Oh, the very father and family-head of all scandals! You ought to know about it, because you started it; that’s why Prince Jirzyn wants you out of the body—You devised a process by which people could give themselves memory-recalls of previous reincarnations, didn’t you? And distributed apparatus to do it with? And gave one set to young Tarnov, the son of Lord Tirzov of Fastor?”

  Dalla nodded. Sarnax continued:

  “Well, last evening, Tarnov of Fastor used his recall outfit, and what do you think? It seems that thirty years ago, in his last reincarnation, he was Jirzid of Starpha, Jirzyn’s older brother. Jirzid was betrothed to the Lady Annitra of Zabna. Well, his younger brother was carrying on a clandestine affair with the Lady Annitra, and he also wanted the title of Prince and family-head of Starpha. So he bribed this fellow Tarnod, whom I had the pleasure of discarnating, and who was an underservant here at the hunting lodge. Between them, they shot Jirzid during a boar hunt. An accident, of course. So Jirzyn married the Lady Annitra, and when old Prince Jarnid, his father, discarnated a year later, he succeeded to the title. And immediately, Tarnod was made head gamekeeper here.”

  “What did I tell you, Lord Virzal? I knew that son of a zortan had something on Jirzyn of Starpha!” Dirzed exclaimed. “A nice family, this of Starpha!”

  “Well, that’s not the end of it,” Sarnax continued. “This morning, Tarnov of Fastor, late Jirzid of Starpha, went before the High Court of Estates and entered suit to change his name to Jirzid of Starpha and laid claim to the title of Starpha family-head. The case has just been entered, so there’s been no hearing, but there’s the blazes of an argument among all the nobles about it—some are claiming that the individuality doesn’t change from one reincarnation to the next, and others claiming that property and titles should pass along the line of physical descent, no matter what individuality has reincarnated into what body. They’re the ones who want the Lady Dallona discarnated and her discoveries suppressed. And there’s talk about revising the entire system of estate-ownership and estate-inheritance. Oh, it’s an utter obscenity of a business!”

  “This,” Verkan Vall told Dalla, “is something we will not emphasize when we get home.” That was as close as he dared come to it, but she caught his meaning. The working of major changes in outtime social structures was not viewed with approval by the Paratime Commission on the First Level. “If we get home,” he added. Then an idea occurred to him.

  “Dirzed, Sarnax; this place must have been used by the leaders of the Volitionalists for top-level conferences. Is there a secret passage anywhere?”

  Sarnax shook his head. “Not from here. There is one, on the floor above, but they control it. And even if there were one down here, they would be guarding the outlet.”

  “That’s what I was counting on. I’d hoped to simulate an escape that way, and then make a rush up the regular tubes.” Verkan Vall shrugged. “I suppose Marnik’s our only chance. I hope he got away safely.”

  “He was going for help? I was surprised that an Assassin would desert his client; I should have thoug
ht of that,” Sarnax said. “Well, even if he got down carnate, and if Girzad didn’t catch him, he’d still be afoot ten miles from the nearest city unit. That gives us a little chance—about one in a thousand.”

  “Is there any way they can get at us, except by those tubes?” Dalla asked.

  “They could cut a hole in the floor, or burn one through,” Sarnax replied. “They have plenty of thermite. They could detonate a charge of explosives over our heads, or clear out of the dome and drop one down the well. They could use lethal gas or radiodust, but their Assassins wouldn’t permit such illegal methods. Or they could shoot sleep-gas down at us, and then come down and cut our throats at their leisure.”

  “We’ll have to get out of this room, then,” Verkan Vall decided. “They know we’ve barricaded ourselves in here; this is where they’ll attack. So we’ll patrol the perimeter of the well; we’ll be out of danger from above if we keep close to the wall. And we’ll inspect all the rooms on this floor for evidence of cutting through from above.”

  Sarnax nodded. “That’s sense, Lord Virzal. How about the lifter tubes?”

  “We’ll have to barricade them. Sarnax, you and Dirzed know the layout of this place better than the Lady Dallona or I; suppose you two check the rooms, while we cover the tubes and the well,” Verkan Vall directed. “Come on, now.”

  They pushed the door wide-open and went out past the cabinet. Hugging the wall, they began a slow circuit of the well, Verkan Vall in the lead with the submachine-gun, then Sarnax and Dirzed, the former with a heavy boar-rifle and the latter with a hunting pistol in each hand, and Hadron Dalla brought up the rear with her rifle. It was she who noticed a movement along the rim of the balcony above and snapped a shot at it; there was a crash above, and a shower of glass and plastic and metal fragments rattled on the pavement of the court. Somebody had been trying to lower a scanner or a visiplate-pickup, or something of the sort; the exact nature of the instrument was not evident from the wreckage Dalla’s bullet had made of it.