I had about a minute or two before anybody would arrive. “I’m inside,” I told Cathie. The doors to the balcony were open, and even at this late hour, I could hear a crowd out there. Probably excited because the lights had come on.
“Okay,” she said. “Luck.”
I took the lander’s commlink out of my vest and looked for a place to put it. It was about the size of a small candy bar. I thought about the bookcase. The books showed some wear. Maybe under the table. I even considered punching a hole in the bottom fabric of a chair and putting it inside. But the first time somebody cleaned they’d see the damage.
What else?
There was an air vent.
Perfect.
It didn’t open without a fight, but I got it as the elevator arrived. I slipped the commlink inside, activated it, and closed the vent. “Cathie, testing.”
“I read five by.”
“Okay. Reception’s good on this end, too.”
“Now please get out of there.”
Voices at the door. “They’re here,” I whispered.
“Leave the channel open,” she said. I was wearing a jack, so they couldn’t hear her speak, but they could easily have heard me had I said anything more.
Pierik came in first. Four others followed. They were laughing and going on about how successful the rally had been. The attendant closed the door behind them. “The attack was pure genius,” said one of the aides. “Brilliant.”
They all laughed.
Pierik’s disk eyes gleamed in the lamplight. He clapped the tallest of his aides on the shoulder. “Timing was perfect,” he said.
“You were marvellous tonight,” said the tall one. He was clearly the oldest of the group.
“Thank you, Shola,” said Pierik. “A compliment from you means a great deal.” And I was sure they were hard to come by. It struck me that insinuating oneself shamelessly into the good graces of one’s superiors would turn out to be another universal characteristic of intelligent creatures.
Sholah opened a cabinet and removed a flask. Poured drinks for everyone. They toasted their most magnificent leader, their rock in a time of troubles, and drank it down. Then they retreated to the chairs. Sholah carried the flask, refilled Pierik’s glass, then his own, and passed the flask on. They drank to the courage of the leader. And to that of the fighting forces. While I watched them doing the toasts, the truth about the wars dawned on me. It was a charade. It was 1984, a series of never-ending conflicts to ensure continuing nationalistic fervor and support for the assorted dictators. That explained why strategic targets never got hit, why no major battles got fought. Don’t waste the resources. And the last thing anybody wanted was to win.
I can’t prove any of this. Couldn’t then, can’t now. But I saw it in the way they laughed, in the comments about the bombing of Roka, in their attitude toward the military. I wondered how deep the collusion went. Was there simply a general understanding among the dictators? Did Pierik talk directly with Maglani the Magnificent and Seperon the Father of His People? All right, you hit us here, and well get you there.
They drank another round, and then Pierik said how he had to get some sleep and suddenly I was alone with him.
He turned off the lights in the office and retreated into the inner quarters. He walked through the room, switching on lamps, and at last fell wearily into a chair.
Open doors led to a dining area and, probably, a bedroom. I saw more oils and sculpture. And framed photos. Here was the dictator standing on a balcony giving a salute. (The balcony looked like the one connecting with the outer office.) There, he reviewed troops. He walked the deck of a warship, talked to a crowd, on a street corner, posed with a group of young females. Here he signed a book for an adoring subject. There, surrounded by uniformed officers, he examined a map.
Pierik picked up a book, loosened his shirt, and collapsed onto the sofa. He propped his head on a pillow, adjusted a table lamp, and opened the cover. A History of Something or Other. He turned a page. A couple of pages. “Hard to believe,” he said to himself in a low tone. He made a noise in his throat. And looked up. “Messenger,” he said; “don’t you know it is not polite to stand there and not address your host?”
I was, somehow, not surprised. “How did you know I was here?”
“You give off a rather clear scent.” His eyes grew and shrank. “Have you come to kill me? Or merely to gloat?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Ah. Perhaps you will restrict yourself to a social visit?”
“I want you to realize you have no choice but to stop the war.”
“My good friend Night Rider, you must realize that even I cannot do that. These events are caused by factors beyond mortal control.” He closed the book and put it on the table. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Thanks, no.”
“Won’t you at least have a seat?” He indicated an armchair.
“You will act on the war, Pierik.”
“Well.” He gazed around the room. “It’s disconcerting not knowing where to look.”
“Yes.” I was standing before thick dark curtains. “I’m sure it is.”
“Ah, you are over by the window.”
I didn’t move.
“Did you enjoy the event this evening?”
“Not really. But you are quite good.”
“Thank you. From you, that is a supreme compliment.” He looked off to his right. “One of the great problems for someone in my position is getting an honest evaluation. No one will tell me the truth. I could fall on my face out there, and they would all say how wonderful I am.”
“I wonder why that is?”
“It is the price I must pay.” He rubbed his hands together. “And I shall reply to your demand with equal honesty. I cannot change the course of events. Were I to stop hostilities, there are others who would continue. On all sides. The conflict creates purpose for the nation, it is our life blood. It is why we live.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Of course it is. But everyone subscribes to it. And that makes it true.”
“That’s nonsense, Pierik. You will do what I ask or I’ll kill you.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then: “You are exactly like us. ‘Do as I say or I will kill you.’ Marvellous. What prompts you to come here and talk morality?”
“I’m not going to debate the issue. If you will not comply, I will take your life.”
He moved the cushions around. “If I call the guards, you will not get out. They’ve been instructed to block the doors.”
“You’ll be dead before they can get in here.”
“I suppose that is so. You do have me at a disadvantage.” He held a hand over his eyes, shielding them from the table lamp. “This is a bit bright.” He reached for it. “I should have it adjusted.” He turned the switch, and all the lamps in the room went out.
It was pitch dark. I heard him move.
“I think now,” he said, “we are on equal terms.” There was a click. The guards were in the outer office, and then the doors opened and they charged into the room.
That let some light in, but I couldn’t see Pierik. “Please don’t do anything foolish, Night Rider. If I am not here to stop them, they will certainly kill you.”
There were only two, but I heard more coming. Both carried flashlights. One crossed the room and blocked the doorway that led to the bedroom. Which told me where Pierik was. The other planted himself in the exit so I couldn’t get out.
I grabbed the tensor. There was more noise in the office, and reinforcements poured in. “Now,” came Pierik’s voice, “whoever you are, whatever you are, this incident is over.” The lights came back on.
Pierik reappeared. “I’d prefer you don’t resist.” The soldiers glanced at one another, but I could read nothing in those masks.
At the dictator’s command they swept through the room, forming a chain, allowing no space for evasion. I began firing. A couple of them cri
ed out and went down. Someone threw a canister of gray powder. It became a cloud and drifted across the room.
The guards pulled strips of linen across their mouths and noses. And they could see me, looked right at me. More powder flew.
I was coughing. They grabbed me. I fired off several more shots. Got two or three more, but even when they were falling left and right, I saw no emotion. I kept thinking, Masks across their masks.
They secured me, used a cord to bind my hands. I tried to hang onto the tensor, but it fell, to the floor, got kicked away, outside the lightbender field, and became visible. One of them found it and handed it to over to Pierik.
“Bring him here.” The dictator was delighted.
The guards dragged me across the room, and set me facing him. He reached out tentatively and touched me. My shoulder. My vest. His fingers twisted the cloth. Found my face. Touched the skin.
Apparently it was not a good experience. He pulled back. “What kind of creature are you?” he demanded. “From where have you come?”
“No place you ever heard of,” I said.
Someone else came in. “What is it, Kahba?” It was Sholah.
Pierik was still watching me. “The one I told you about is here.”
“Really?” He looked at the bodies on the floor, at the guards, at their struggles with an invisible presence. “Indeed.”
“You are just in time to see the conclusion to this very odd event.”
Sholah followed Pierik’s lead. Touched my clothes. He too had a hard time with my skin. “Incredible,” he said. “Kahba, there was a report of a monster in the streets yesterday. I gave it no credence, but—.”
“Was it you?” Pierik demanded of me.
It might as well have been. “Yes,” I said.
“That brings us to my next question. What is the secret of your invisibility?”
I visualized invisible troops hitting the villages. Maybe McCarver was right. My God. “It is innate,” I said. “We are born with it.”
“If that is true,” said Shola, “he is of no further use to us.”
“Are there more of you?” asked Pierik.
“I am alone.”
“I do not believe you. Where do you come from?”
“An island in the eastern ocean. We have kept its location secret since the rise of civilization.”
“Really?” He did not laugh, but he might as well have. “There is no question that a device that hides one from the light would have its value.”
“It is not a device. It is inborn.”
“So you say. Let us find out.” He looked at the captain. “Throw him off the balcony. We will see how high he bounces.”
They dragged me toward the outer office.
“Wait,” I said. “It is a device. I’ll show you.”
“It’s no matter, Night Rider. We’ll take it from your corpse at our leisure.”
They lifted me off the floor, carried me through the office and out onto the balcony. There, they hoisted me shoulder high. The air, warm minutes ago, was cold. The crowd below cheered.
I looked down six stories. It was a bad moment. “Wait,” I said, “you’ll break it.”
“He has a point,” said Sholah.
The dictator raised a hand to the guards. Hold. Do not fling the miscreant over the side just yet. “It’s also possible,” Pierik said, “we might hurt someone. Down there.” He made noises in his throat while he thought about it. “Bring him inside for a minute.”
For a minute? That didn’t sound good.
They set me down again in front of the dictator. “All right, Night Rider, make yourself visible.”
“I’ll show you how. But I want a guarantee I’ll be released.” Not that I expected a guarantee would help, but it was something.
Pierik showed me the tensor. Pointed it at me, face level. The guards behind me, who could see nothing between themselves and the muzzle, got nervous and tried to clear a space. “You will do as I tell you. You are an intruder, and I will not bargain with you.”
He had a point. “I can’t do it with my hands tied.”
Pierik signaled the captain. Someone cut me free. But they kept my arms pinned.
“Very good. Now, let’s see what you look like.”
I took a deep breath, got my hand on the buckle control switch, and turned off the lightbender.
Pierik’s eyes went wide and changed to a deep violet. He made a sound like someone who had just come unexpectedly on a snake. The guards let go and jumped back, and I almost got free. But they recovered and seized me again.
He studied me for a long moment. “Well, Night Rider, you are an ugly creature, are you not? Tell me again where you come from.”
“—An island in—”
It was as far as I got. Pierik struck me with the gun barrel. “You are going to have a difficult evening. Do you want to tell me the truth? Or would you prefer I send you downstairs for a while?”
What was downstairs? Gestapo headquarters? “I have told you the truth, Pierik.”
He leaned back against the table and looked at Shola. “Counselor, do you think it possible so ugly a creature could have been born on this world?”
Shola was not young. As they aged, Noks lost their glossiness. Shola’s hands and mask were rough and worn. “Where else could he have come from, Kahba?”
“I think he is a visitor from another place. Another world.”
“But there is no world beyond Inakademeri.”
Pierik pressed his hands together. The digits were long and looked more like claws than fingers. “How do we know that is so?” His eyes reverted to green. Green like the end of summer. “I am indeed sorry that the first visitor to our world insists on behaving in so contemptible a manner. But you leave me no choice. If you will not talk to me, I shall leave the questioning to others.”
“I will talk to you,” I said. “I will tell you something your guards should also hear. You pretend to be a great war leader, but you have no desire to win the war. Or even to see it end.”
Pierik hit me again.
“You use it to stay in power. To fool—.”
The third blow drove me to my knees. They hauled me back up.
Without meaning to, I slipped into English. “You don’t give a damn about anybody, you son of a bitch.”
It didn’t matter that he couldn’t speak the language; he got the message. But he kept his voice level. “What controls your invisibility?”
I did not like the idea of giving lightbender technology to the monster. I could hear McCarver. I told you so. Damn fool idiot.
“Cathie,” I said. Still in English: “If you’re there, this would be a good time. Do the bombing.”
Pierik signaled the captain, who jammed a rifle butt into my midsection.
“He is dressed oddly,” said Shola. “The technique must be in the clothing. Perhaps the box on his belt.”
Pierik’s eyes flashed. “Well,” he said, “it’s been a long day and it’s getting late. Let’s just kill him and then we’ll see if we can figure it out tomorrow.” He stepped back and looked at the captain. The captain raised his sidearm and pointed it at my forehead.
“No,” said Pierik. “Not here. Take him downstairs, take care of it, and bring me his clothes and anything else you find.”
“Yes, Kahba.” He holstered the weapon and the guards started me toward the door.
I got a glimpse of the vent. “Cathie,” I said, in English, “help.”
Pierik looked perplexed by the strange words. Someone opened the door, and I saw a crowd of Noks standing immediately outside.
At that moment an explosion rocked the room, and they all dived for the floor.
Cathie had the volume at the top of the dial. Klaxons went off and screams erupted. The afternoon attack was doing a rerun. I broke loose, hit the lightbender control, pushed Noks every which way, and ran for my life. Behind me, more bombs were going off. Cathie, when she wanted, could deliver a stunning acoustical perfor
mance.
9.
I had expected to find a welcoming committee when I got back to the Sheldrake, I’d expected McCarver to yell and scream and confine me to quarters until transportation home could be arranged. But no one was there when I came in the hatch. I got no summons to McCarver’s conference room, nor even a call on the commlink.
I needed a shower and a change of clothes, but I went down to mission control first. Cathie had someone on the circuit when I went in. She signed off, jumped up, and hugged me. “Hi, hero. Welcome home.”
“Hi yourself,” I said. “Does McCarver know I’m back?”
“He knows.”
“What’s happening?”
“He just got a message from Hutchins a few minutes ago,”
“And—?”
“It was sealed. His eyes only. But I suspect he’ll be calling for you in a bit.” She looked at him. “I’m sorry, Art.”
I shrugged. “I appreciate what you did for me.”
“My pleasure.”
“What took you so long?”
She grinned. “I wanted to start with a bang. Needed a minute to set it up. But I should tell you that was quick thinking on your part. I was trying to figure out what to do when they first caught you and I was about to yell at them when you told me to run the bombing.”
“Cathie.” McCarver’s voice on the commlink. “You know where Kaminsky is?”
“He’s here, Paul.”
“Up forward, please.”
“You’ll be staying on with us after all, I guess,” he said. “If you want to. Although I can tell you honestly, if you were to decide to leave, I wouldn’t feel badly about it. You’re a loose cannon, Kaminsky.”
I was still settling into my chair. We were in McCarver’s private conference room. “I don’t understand, Paul. I thought I was going to be charged and sent home. Are the charges still in place?”
“They’re in the process of being dropped.”
“Not that I’m complaining, but why?”
He looked ready to explode. “Somebody on this mission has been leaking pictures to the media. People at home sit every night and watch the Noks get killed. And I guess they don’t like it very much. There’s political pressure now. To do something.”
Cryptic - The Best Short Fiction of Jack McDevitt Page 43