All of his rescuers but one departed the scene hastily at that point, after removing the fake fur they had worn over their faces and changing their clothing. The ringleader also changed clothes and removed his disguise. The clothes he put on were those of a service technician for one of the local utilities. The back of the vehicle in which Sar-Say huddled was cluttered with tools. The vehicle itself bore the stylized representation of a bell inscribed on its outside panels.
Sar-Say and the ringleader waited in the parked vehicle for more than an hour. Then, after an interminable time, the driver placed the vehicle in motion and pulled out into a street with dense clumps of traffic moving in both directions. The delay had been intended to make the authorities’ surveillance devices useless by giving them too many vehicles to inspect.
The drive to Gus Heinz’s house had taken less than five minutes. It was literally one right turn and two lefts from where they emerged. The garage door opened as they neared the house. The driver pulled into the garage, offloaded Sar-Say, then backed out quickly and disappeared into traffic once again.
“Jaime will get rid of the truck,” Heinz said as he led Sar-Say down into the basement. “He’ll ditch it across the river in Southie.”
That had been two days ago. In Sar-Say’s estimation, that was as long as he should stay in one place. Being this close to the scene of his rescue, the humans might institute a house-to-house search. He needed to move to a more distant district of the city, or better yet, leave Cambridge altogether.
It was with relief that he heard voices near sundown. Sar-Say’s hearing was sharper than that of a human, and he quickly recognized both Heinz and Ludnick’s voices. A minute later, there were loud footsteps on the stairs and Benny Ludnick entered the room where Sar-Say was staying.
After performing the palm clasping ceremony again, Ludnick began to speak.
“You sure as hell have messed up this burg.”
“Burg?”
“City. The P.E.s have us locked down tighter than the membrane on a snare drum.”
Sar-Say, who was proud of his mastery of Standard, suddenly realized that his education had not been as complete as he thought.
“You are saying that there are difficulties?”
“Damned straight. The Peace Enforcers won’t let anything fly, they are inspecting ground cars leaving the city, and the Coast Guard has a couple of ships making sure that no one gets out of the bay.”
“So it is impossible to leave the city?”
“Pretty much.”
“How easy would it be to move me to another location within the city?”
“No problem. They aren’t interfering with traffic inside the cordon. Where do you want to go?”
“Somewhere other than here. I think it wise to gain some distance between me and the university. Can you make arrangements to move me?”
“Sure.”
“When would you be ready?”
“I suppose we could do it tomorrow night. Let me check with some guys.”
“Where would I go?”
“South Boston, I think. It’s pretty far from the university, both in terms of culture and distance. I have a house there that I rent out. It’s empty at the moment. I’ll set you up with food and water. If you keep the blinds closed and the lights off, no one will know you are there. You should be safe long enough for them to give up this blockade.”
“Excellent. It would be better if Gus Heinz does not know where I have gone. He and I have a public history. You and I do not.”
“Sounds smart.”
“What of the starship? Have you managed to find one leaving for the colonies within a few weeks?”
“That is a problem, too. There’s an orbital blockade as well. All of the ships have been moved to High Station. There isn’t a single one we can reach at the moment, and none of them are going anywhere until the blockade is lifted anyway.”
“High station? That is the Stellar Survey research station, is it not?”
“It is.”
“And you cannot get me there?”
“Not a chance. They are watching all of the launch facilities, and probably have guards aboard Equatorial Station, where you have to change from shuttle to inter-orbit ferry.”
“How long can they maintain this blockade?”
“They can’t keep the city shut down for more than a week, I would think. As for this starship thing, if it goes on for a month, the owners are going to start bitching. I’ve had some dealings with government bureaucrats. I would say you will be on your way within the next 30 days. Besides, it will take us about that long to get ready.”
“Then I must hide out for the full month while you make preparations for our escape. Do you have an entertainment device in this house you rent?”
“A holovision set? Sure, everybody has them.”
“Good, then I can keep track of the news while you prepare and possibly avoid dying of boredom.”
“Shit happens,” Ludnick replied, obviously not interested in the least in either Sar-Say’s comfort or boredom.
“Have you found the men you need?”
“I have three. I haven’t told them what they will be doing, yet. I just told them that there is a shit pot full of money to be made. They are definitely interested. I have two more to feel out. I just haven’t had the time.”
“It is good that you have not told them about me. That one million credit reward might entice them to betray us.”
“My thought, exactly,” Ludnick replied. “Now let me tell you about the shipping containers and what we will do to modify them…”
#
“So this Heinz lives in Cambridge?” General Parsons asked his aide. The two of them were in their command vehicle.
“Yes, sir. On Crescent, East of Oxford, in the middle of the block on the North Side. About half-a-kilometer from where the attack took place.”
“Ballsy,” Parsons replied. “You would think Fernandez would have mentioned that before we sealed up the whole damned city.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What assets do we have in the area?”
“We have an infiltration squad ready to go. They are currently here in the university. They are waiting for full dark to use their active night camouflage.”
“Who is in charge?”
“Sergeant Chen.”
“Good man. I worked with him down in Nicaragua when that nut of a scientist thought he could distill botulinum without us finding out about it. Have they got sniffers?”
“Yes, sir. We had the cordon team deliver two of them to the squad. They have plans of the Heinz domicile. With luck, we’ll be able to penetrate it without being discovered and take a discreet air sample. If Sar-Say has been there, we should know it immediately.”
“Good. If he hasn’t, Heinz will think he has termites. Keep me apprised.”
“Yes, sir.”
#
Peace Enforcer Sergeant Jacob Liu Chen lay in someone’s flowerbed and used his combat goggles to scan the subject house. It was a clapboard frame, two-story affair that must have been easily three hundred years old. This was one of those Cambridge neighborhoods where the owners were either fifth generation, or else snobbish newcomers paying for the ambience. The lawns were well groomed, with a lot of shrubbery and flowers in evidence. Chen liked that. It gave him and his men something to work with.
The Heinz house was flanked on both sides by two others, with a narrow passageway on each side. There was a large, fenced backyard. The fence was constructed of 12-centimeter-wide planks nailed to a pair of horizontal beams and about 2 meters tall. It had once been painted white, but was in need of a touchup. He suspected Heinz had received more than one visit from the local neighborhood association.
In his goggles, he could see two of his troopers crouching in the shadows next to the backyard fence, one on each side of the house.
“Zwicky?” he whispered into his headset microphone.
“Yeah, Sarge?” came the whispered
response.
“Any sign of a dog?”
“No dog.”
“All right. You and Spears are cleared for entry into the back yard.”
No sooner had the order been given than both figures moved forward and over the fence.
“Sniffer Team One, advance to Point Able!”
Two troopers carrying one of the sniffers advanced to the right front corner of the house. They crouched in the bushes and began the careful job of drilling a small hole in the clapboard. House plans on file with the city indicated that the kitchen was inside where they were drilling, and the drill would break through inside a kitchen cabinet, where it would be unobserved — assuming the plans on file were correct. Even if they were not, the hollow drill they were using was small enough that it would probably not be observed by the inhabitants.
“Sniffer Team Two, advance to Point Baker!”
The second team moved to the opposite side of the house and began drilling through the red bricks that formed the walls of the basement and the foundation for the frame building above. The tiny drill bit was quietly chewing through the mortar between bricks. The basement windows had been painted white, but the one nearest the second sniffer team showed the lights off in what plans called the laundry room.
There followed five minutes in which the only sound was the chirping of crickets. A boom microphone team reported muffled voices inside the house, possibly in the basement, and a single occupant in the upper part of the house. They could hear the latter moving around the kitchen. Whoever was in the basement, their conversation was too muffled to pick out individual words.
“We’re through,” Sniffer Team One reported. “All we can smell are various cleaning solutions and soaps. Apparently, we’re in the cabinet beneath the sink where they store such things. It’s overpowering our sensor.”
“Okay, pull back and go to your secondary target.”
“Moving now,” the whispered response came.
“Team Two?”
“We’re through the bricks. Stand by.”
There followed another long period of silence. Then the leader of Sniffer Team Two reported in an excited whisper.
“We have a positive hit, Sarge! Definite match with the alien’s body chemicals.”
“All team members, move in. Entry Plan Delta. Get into position and prepare for my order. Move!”
#
“So we figure that we can give you three weeks of oxygen in the shipping crate with this regenerator, but it is going to be cramped,” Ludnick told Sar-Say as he sketched out the modifications they were making to smuggle him into space once the blockade ended.
“What about waste disposal?”
“You’ll have to use bags. It is going to get stinky in there, I’m afraid.”
“That is not a problem,” Sar-Say replied. “Our olfactory senses are different from those of you humans. We do not have the same distaste for some odors that you do. How airtight are these cases?”
“Very,” Ludnick replied. “This particular model is used to ship items that would be ruined by exposure to vacuum. The manufacturer guarantees it to be leak proof, or your money back.”
“That will not do me any good if it leaks,” Sar-Say replied.
“True,” Ludnick replied. “Sort of like a guarantee from a parachute packer.”
The reference escaped Sar-Say. He decided to ignore it. “What about an interior release mechanism for the crate seal? I do not like the idea of being locked in a box with no means of escape, especially if my air is running low.”
“We can put one in, but you will have to be careful about using it. The crate will be in vacuum for a long period once in orbit. They only pressurize the cargo holds after they’ve finished loading. Pop the release at the wrong time, and you will be breathing vacuum.”
“A pressure sensor will eliminate that possibility. We can conceal the sensor inside one of the side braces where it won’t be seen.”
They had been going over the plans for twenty minutes, with Sar-Say making changes and Ludnick writing them down on the back of an envelope he had pulled from his pocket. The sketches of the cargo container were laid out on a low table. The scene might have been that of two graduate students working together on their thesis.
They were interrupted as Gus Heinz arrived with refreshments… beers for him and Ludnick, orange juice for Sar-Say. He was just pouring the orange juice out of a refrigerated bulb when a loud crash echoed through the house.
“What the hell…!” Ludnick exclaimed, looking up where dust was slowly drifting down from the basement rafters.
There was the clatter of many feet overhead, the crash of doors being kicked in, and before any of the three could react, the sound of heavy boots on stairs.
The next thing they saw were two big Peace Enforcer troopers as they burst into the basement with their needle rifles at the ready.
“Freeze!” came the order. Both Heinz and Ludnick turned to face the soldiers, then with nearly identical curses, raised their hands over their heads. Sar-Say just stood there, looking from one trooper to the other, dismay apparent in his posture to anyone familiar with Broan body language. All of his plans had turned out for naught, again!
“We’ve got him!” one of the troopers said into his intercom. His call caused numerous other soldiers to come stomping down the stairs. Within seconds, both men and Sar-Say had their arms restrained behind them in handcuffs.
A sergeant looked the three of them over and said, “Call the General. Tell him everything is secure. We’ve captured the alien!”
#
Chapter Twenty Two
The meeting was held in the big conference room one level down from the World Coordinator’s office in Government Tower in Toronto. It was a week since Sar-Say’s capture and three days since he had been returned to PoleStar. He would never again be allowed on Earth.
The interrogations of both Gus Heinz and Benjamin Ludnick had been swift and effective. When informed as to the maximum penalty for their crime, they told investigators everything they wanted to know. In the case of Heinz, it was difficult to shut him up.
Both men said that they had been seduced by the size of the bribe Sar-Say offered, as well as his claim that the Broa would eventually find Earth with or without their help. The investigators’ official report pointed out that Sar-Say could have offered a great deal more – the entire planet, if necessary. Sar-Say’s ability to offer huge rewards, they argued, put him in a different class than other prisoners, a much more dangerous class.
To ensure that he did not escape again, an entire platoon of Peace Enforcers were assigned to guard him. Individual P.E.s would operate only in pairs, and would be rotated periodically to other duties to ensure they didn’t also fall victim to the blandishments that had snared Heinz and Ludnick.
When Mark heard of the arrangement, he was put in mind of an old saying: Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?—Who will guard the guardians? It was a problem as ancient as its Latin roots.
Those invited to the emergency meeting included the three institute directors, their personal staffs, several members of the coordinator’s staff, and members of parliament. Mark Rykand was there supporting his boss. Lisa had again been invited for her specialized expertise. Dieter Pavel was there. So was Dan Landon, resplendent in his dress Admiral’s uniform. General Parsons of the Peace Enforcers was also present.
Upon entering the conference room, Mark walked over to where Dan Landon was standing and shook his hand.
“Good to see you again, Admiral.”
Landon smiled. “And you, Mark. Lisa is as lovely as ever, I see.”
“More lovely.”
“Just like old times. One more and we could have a Klys’kra’t reunion!”
The two of them were facing the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking Toronto. Both were startled when a voice behind them said, “I’m up for it. Where’s the party?”
Mark pivoted to discover Mikhail Vasloff standing behind him. His surpr
ise was such that he didn’t remember shaking hands and he stammered a greeting.
“So, anyone know why we are here?” Vasloff asked in that hail-fellow-well-met tone that he had learned to perfection.
“Not a clue,” Mark replied. Only later did he remember that Dan Landon remained mute.
“It must be important. The Coordinator sent her personal aircraft for me. I must say, I could get used to traveling that way.”
“I wish I had,” Mark mumbled. “Lisa and I were sandwiched into tourist for the jump to Toronto.”
At hearing her name, Lisa turned her head. She had been talking to one of Jean-Pierre’s minions. At the sight of Vasloff, she wore the same startled look that Mark suspected was on his own face.
Vasloff made a few more comments, then excused himself and went over to shake hands with Alan Fernandez. Fernandez had had a bad time since Sar-Say’s escape. He was taking most of the blame in the news media, blame that he richly deserved, in Mark’s opinion.
Before Mark could ponder further, Nadine Halstrom swept into the room, trailed by Anton Bartok and Tony Hulsey. At the Coordinator’s gesture, the principals sat at the long, mahogany table, while their aides took seats around the periphery.
Mark moved to his seat in front of the glass wall through which sunlight poured. He luxuriated in the heat on his back for a few seconds before the window darkened and the overhead lights came on. Behind him, the glass began to emit the low frequency white noise indicative of an anti-eavesdropping field.
“Thank you for coming,” the Coordinator said after everyone was settled “The recent scare regarding Sar-Say has caused a strategy review by my administration. Since you are all involved, we thought it best to tell you our decision before we go public.
“Tony, will you do the honors?”
“Yes, Madam Coordinator,” Hulsey replied, getting ponderously to his feet. He turned to the crowd and said, “I don’t have to tell you that Sar-Say’s recent escape unnerved everyone here in Toronto, as I am sure it did all of you. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since the news broke. I keep having visions of alien hordes invading my bedroom.
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