by Keith Laumer
“Nuts to you!” Dan said. “I’m not helping any bunch of skinheads commit robbery.”
“This is for the Ivroy, you fool!” Snithian said. “The mightiest power in the cosmos!”
“This Ivroy doesn’t sound so hot to me—robbing art galleries—”
“To be adult is to be disillusioned. Only realities count. But no matter. The question remains: Will you serve me loyally?”
“Hell, no!” Dan snapped.
“Too bad. I see you mean what you say. It’s to be expected, I suppose. Even an infant fire-cat has fangs.”
“You’re damn right I mean it. How did you get Manny and Fiorello on your payroll? I’m surprised even a couple of bums would go to work for a scavenger like you.”
“I suppose you refer to the precious pair recruited by Blote. That was a mistake, I fear. It seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. Tell me, how did you overcome the Vegan? They’re a very capable race, generally speaking.”
“You and he work together, eh?” Dan said. “That makes things a little clearer. This is the collection station and Blote is the fence.”
“Enough of your conjectures. You leave me no choice but to dispose of you. It’s a nuisance, but it can’t be helped. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to accompany me down to the vault.”
Dan eyed the door; if he were going to make a break, now was the time—
* * * *
The whine of the carrier sounded. The ghostly cage glided through the wall and settled gently between Dan and Snithian. The glow died.
Blote waved cheerfully to Dan as he eased his grotesque bulk from the seat.
“Good day to you, Snithian,” Blote boomed. “I see you’ve met Dan. An enterprising fellow.”
“What brings you here, Gom Blote?” Snithian shrilled. “I thought you’d be well on your way to Vorplisch by now.”
“I was tempted, Snithian. But I don’t spook easy. There is the matter of some unfinished business.”
“Excellent!” Snithian exclaimed. “I’ll have another consignment ready for you by tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow! How is it possible, with Manny and Fiorello lodged in the hoosegow?” Blote looked around; his eye fell on the stacked paintings. He moved across to them, lifted one, glanced at the next, then shuffled rapidly through the stack. He turned.
“What duplicity is this, Snithian!” he rumbled. “All identical! Our agreement called for limited editions, not mass production! My principals will be furious! My reputation—”
“Shrivel your reputation!” Snithian keened. “I have more serious problems at the moment! My entire position’s been compromised. I’m faced with the necessity for disposing of this blundering fool!”
“Dan? Why, I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Snithian.” Blote moved to the carrier, dumped an armful of duplicate paintings in the cage. “Evidence,” he said. “The confederation has methods for dealing with sharp practice. Come, Dan, if you’re ready….”
“You dare to cross me?” Snithian hissed. “I, who act for the Ivroy?”
Blote motioned to the carrier. “Get in, Dan. We’ll be going now.” He rolled both eyes to bear on Snithian. “And I’ll deal with you later,” he rumbled. “No one pulls a fast one on Gom Blote, Trader Fourth Class—or on the Vegan Federation.”
Snithian moved suddenly, flicking out a spidery arm to seize the weapon he had dropped, aim and trigger. Dan, in a wash of pain, felt his knees fold. He fell slackly to the floor. Beside him, Blote sagged, his tentacles limp.
“I credited you with more intelligence,” Snithian cackled. “Now I have an extra ton of protoplasm to dispose of. The carrier will be useful in that connection.”
V
Dan felt a familiar chill in the air. A Portal appeared. In a puff of icy mist, a tall figure stepped through.
Gone was the tight uniform. In its place, the lanky Australopithecine wore skin-tight blue-jeans and a loose sweat shirt. An oversized beret clung to the small round head. Immense dark glasses covered the yellowish eyes, and sandals flapped on the bare, long-toed feet. Dzhackoon waved a long cigarette holder at the group.
“Ah, a stroke of luck! How nice to find you standing by. I had expected to have to conduct an intensive search within the locus. Thus the native dress. However—” Dzhackoon’s eyes fell on Snithian standing stiffly by, the gun out of sight.
“You’re of a race unfamiliar to me,” he said. “Still, I assume you’re aware of the Interdict on all Anthropoid populated loci?”
“And who might you be?” Snithian inquired loftily.
“I’m a Field Agent of the Inter-dimensional Monitor Service.”
“Ah, yes. Well, your Interdict means nothing to me. I’m operating directly under Ivroy auspices.” Snithian touched a glittering pin on his drab cloak.
Dzhackoon sighed. “There goes the old arrest record.”
“He’s a crook!” Dan cut in. “He’s been robbing art galleries!”
“Keep calm, Dan,” Blote murmured, “no need to be overly explicit.”
The Agent turned to look the Trader over.
“Vegan, aren’t you? I imagine you’re the fellow I’ve been chasing.”
“Who, me?” the bass voice rumbled. “Look, officer, I’m a home-loving family man, just passing through. As a matter of fact—”
The uniformed creature nodded toward the paintings in the carrier. “Gathered a few souvenirs, I see.”
“For the wives and kiddy. Just a little something to brighten up the hive.”
“The penalty for exploitation of a sub-cultural anthropoid-occupied body is stasis for a period not to exceed one reproductive cycle. If I recall my Vegan biology, that’s quite a period.”
“Why, officer! Surely you’re not putting the arm on a respectable law-abiding being like me? Why, I lost a tentacle fighting in defense of peace—” As he talked, Blote moved toward the carrier.
“—your name, my dear fellow,” he went on. “I’ll mention it to the Commissioner, a very close friend of mine.” Abruptly the Vegan reached for a lever—
The long arms in the tight white jacket reached to haul him back effortlessly. “That was unwise, sir. Now I’ll be forced to recommend subliminal reorientation during stasis.” He clamped stout handcuffs on Blote’s broad wrists.
“You Vegans,” he said, dusting his hands briskly. “Will you never learn?”
* * * *
“Now, officer,” Blote said, “You’re acting hastily. Actually, I’m working in the interest of this little world, as my associate Dan will gladly confirm. I have information which will be of considerable interest to you. Snithian has stated that he is in the employ of the Ivroy—”
“If the Ivroy’s so powerful, why was it necessary to hire Snithian to steal pictures?” Dan interrupted.
“Perish the thought, Dan. Snithian’s assignment was merely to duplicate works of art and transmit them to the Ivroy.”
“Here,” Snithian cut in. “Restrain that obscene mouth!”
Dzhackoon raised a hand. “Kindly remain silent, sir. Permit my prisoners their little chat.”
“You may release them to my custody,” Snithian snapped.
Dzhackoon shook his head. “Hardly, sir. A most improper suggestion—even from an agent of the Ivroy.” He nodded at Dan. “You may continue.”
“How do you duplicate works of art?” Dan demanded.
“With a matter duplicator. But, as I was saying, Snithian saw an opportunity to make extra profits by retaining the works for repeated duplications and sale to other customers—such as myself.”
“You mean there are other—customers—around?”
“I have dozens of competitors, Dan, all busy exporting your artifacts. You are an industrious and talented race, you know.”
“What do they buy?”
“A little of everything, Dan. It’s had an influence on your designs already, I’m sorry to say. The work is losing its native purity.”
Dan nodded. “I have had the feeling some o
f this modern furniture was designed for Martians.”
“Ganymedans, mostly. The Martians are graphic arts fans, while your automobiles are designed for the Plutonian trade. They have a baroque sense of humor.”
“What will the Ivroy do when he finds out Snithian’s been double-crossing him?”
“He’ll think of something, I daresay. I blame myself for his defection, in a way. You see, it was my carrier which made it possible for Snithian to carry out his thefts. Originally, he would simply enter a gallery, inconspicuously scan a picture, return home and process the recording through the duplicator. The carrier gave him the idea of removing works en masse, duplicating them and returning them the next day. Alas, I agreed to join forces with him. He grew greedy. He retained the paintings here and proceeded to produce vast numbers of copies—which he doubtless sold to my competitors, the crook!”
Dzhackoon had whipped out a notebook and was jotting rapidly.
“Now, let’s have those names and addresses,” he said. “This will be the biggest round-up in TDMS history.”
“And the pinch will be yours, dear sir,” Blote said. “I foresee early promotion for you.” He held out his shackled wrists. “Would you mind?”
“Well….” Dzhackoon unlocked the cuffs. “I think I’m on firm ground. Just don’t mention it to Inspector Spoghodo.”
“You can’t do that!” Snithian snapped. “These persons are dangerous!”
“That is my decision. Now—”
Snithian brought out the pistol with a sudden movement. “I’ll brook no interference from meddlers—”
* * * *
There was a sound from the door. All heads turned. The girl Dan had seen in the house stood in the doorway, glancing calmly from Snithian to Blote to Dzhackoon. When her eyes met Dan’s she smiled. Dan thought he had never seen such a beautiful face—and the figure matched.
“Get out, you fool!” Snithian snapped. “No; come inside, and shut the door.”
“Leave the girl out of this, Snithian,” Dan croaked.
“Now I’ll have to destroy all of you,” Snithian keened. “You first of all, ugly native!” He aimed the gun at Dan.
“Put the gun down, Mr. Snithian,” the girl said in a warm, melodious voice. She seemed completely unworried by the grotesque aliens, Dan noted abstractedly.
Snithian swiveled on her. “You dare—!”
“Oh, yes, I dare, Snithian.” Her voice had a firm ring now. Snithian stared at her. “Who…are you…?”
“I am the Ivroy.”
Snithian wilted. The gun fell to the floor. His fantastically tall figure drooped, his face suddenly gray.
“Return to your home, Snithian,” the girl said sadly. “I will deal with you later.”
“But…but….” His voice was a thin squeak.
“Did you think you could conceal your betrayal from the Ivroy?” she said softly.
Snithian turned and blundered from the room, ducking under the low door. The Ivroy turned to Dzhackoon.
“You and your Service are to be commended,” she said. “I leave the apprehension of the culprits to you.” She nodded at Blote. “I will rely on you to assist in the task—and to limit your operations thereafter to non-interdicted areas.”
“But of course, your worship. You have my word as a Vegan. Do visit me on Vorplisch some day. I’d love the wives and kiddy to meet you.” He blinked rapidly. “So long, Dan. It’s been crazy cool.”
Dzhackoon and Blote stepped through the Portal. It shimmered and winked out. The Ivroy faced Dan. He swallowed hard, watching the play of light in the shoulder-length hair, golden, fine as spun glass….
“Your name is Dan?”
“Dan Slane,” he said. He took a deep breath. “Are you really the Ivroy?”
“I am of the Ivroy, who are many and one.”
“But you look like—just a beautiful girl.”
The Ivroy smiled. Her teeth were as even as matched pearls, Dan thought, and as white as—
“I am a girl, Dan. We are cousins, you and I—separated by the long mystery of time.”
“Blote—and Dzhackoon and Snithian, too—seemed to think the Ivroy ran the Universe. But—”
The Ivroy put her hand on Dan’s. It was as soft as a flower petal.
“Don’t trouble yourself over this just now, Dan. Would you like to become my agent? I need a trustworthy friend to help me in my work here.”
“Doing what?” Dan heard himself say.
“Watching over the race which will one day become the Ivroy.”
“I don’t understand all this—but I’m willing to try.”
“There will be much to learn, Dan. The full use of the mind, control of aging and disease…. Our work will require many centuries.”
“Centuries? But—”
“I’ll teach you, Dan.”
“It sounds great,” Dan said. “Too good to be true. But how do you know I’m the man for the job? Don’t I have to take some kind of test?”
She looked up at him, smiling, her lips slightly parted. On impulse, Dan put a hand under her chin, drew her face close and kissed her on the mouth….
A full minute later, the Ivroy, nestled in Dan’s arms, looked up at him again.
“You passed the test,” she said.
GREYLORN
Originally published in Amazing Science Fiction Stories, April 1959.
PROLOGUE
The murmur of conversation around the conference table died as the World Secretary entered the room and took his place at the head of the table.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said. “I’ll not detain you with formalities today. The representative of the Navy Department is waiting outside to present the case for his proposal. You all know something of the scheme; it has been heard and passed as feasible by the Advisory Group. It will now be our responsibility to make the decision. I ask that each of you in forming a conclusion remember that our present situation can only be described as desperate, and that desperate measures may be in order.”
The Secretary turned and nodded to a braided admiral seated near the door who left the room and returned a moment later with a young gray-haired Naval Officer.
“Members of the Council,” said the admiral, “this is Lieutenant Commander Greylorn.” All eyes followed the officer as he walked the length of the room to take the empty seat at the end of the table.
“Please proceed, Commander,” said the Secretary.
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary.” The Commander’s voice was unhurried and low, yet it carried clearly and held authority. He began without preliminary.
“When the World Government dispatched the Scouting Forces forty-three years ago, an effort was made to contact each of the twenty-five worlds to which this government had sent Colonization parties during the Colonial Era of the middle Twentieth Centuries. With the return of the last of the scouts early this year, we were forced to realize that no assistance would be forthcoming from that source.”
The Commander turned his eyes to the world map covering the wall. With the exception of North America and a narrow strip of coastal waters, the entire map was tinted an unhealthy pink.
“The latest figures compiled by the Department of the Navy indicate that we are losing area at the rate of one square mile every twenty-one hours. The organism’s faculty for developing resistance to our chemical and biological measures appears to be evolving rapidly. Analyses of atmospheric samples indicate the level of noxious content rising at a steady rate. In other words, in spite of our best efforts, we are not holding our own against the Red Tide.”
A mutter ran around the table, as Members shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
* * * *
“A great deal of thought has been applied to the problem of increasing our offensive ability. This in the end is still a question of manpower and raw resources. We do not have enough. Our small improvements in effectiveness have been progressively offset by increasing casualties and loss of territory. In the end, alone
, we must lose.”
The Commander paused, as the murmur rose and died again. “There is however, one possibility still unexplored,” he said. “And recent work done at the Polar Research Station places the possibility well within the scope of feasibility. At the time the attempt was made to establish contact with the colonies, one was omitted. It alone now remains to be sought out. I refer to the Omega Colony.”
A portly Member leaned forward and burst out, “The location of the colony is unknown!”
The Secretary intervened. “Please permit the Commander to complete his remarks. There will be ample opportunity for discussion when he has finished.”
“This contact was not attempted for two reasons,” the Commander continued. “First, the precise location was not known; second, the distance was at least twice that of the earlier colonies. At the time, there was a feeling of optimism which seemed to make the attempt superfluous. Now the situation has changed. The possibility of contacting Omega Colony now assumes paramount importance.
“The development of which I spoke is a new application of drive principle which has given to us a greatly improved effective velocity for space propulsion. Forty years ago, the minimum elapsed time of return travel to the presumed sector within which the Omega World should lie was about a century. Today we have the techniques to construct a small scouting vessel capable of making the transit in just over five years. We cannot hold out here for a century, perhaps; but we can manage a decade.
“As for location, we know the initial target point toward which Omega was launched. The plan was of course that a precise target should be selected by the crew after approaching the star group closely enough to permit telescopic planetary resolution and study. There is no reason why the crew of a scout could not make the same study and examination of possible targets, and with luck find the colony.
“Omega was the last colonial venture undertaken by our people, two centuries after the others. It was the best equipped and largest expedition of them all. It was not limited to one destination, little known, but had a presumably large selection of potentials from which to choose; and her planetary study facilities were extremely advanced. I have full confidence that Omega made a successful planetfall and has by now established a vigorous new society.