Unlike civilian life or the Fleet or Army, there are no trials in the Apparatus. Ordinarily he would have simply accepted it. But something had gotten into him.
He stabbed a hand toward his belt! I was certain he was going to draw and shoot.
Well, I am not slow. I wouldn’t have lived as I have if I could be outdrawn.
My own hand leaped, with no thought from me, to my breast pocket and the blastick was out and leveled at him before he had hardly touched his belt.
The field of fire took in the prostitute on the bunk behind him and 800 kilovolts would kill her, too. But it wasn’t any time for niceties.
I pressed the switch-trigger!
The blastick pin made only a faint pop!
No explosion!
I was holding a dud-loaded blastick! It was a very bad moment. I had no other weapon. I could not reach him to strike or kick. I was defenseless!
He was still scrabbling at his belt and my heart almost stopped as he lifted his fingers. I was quite certain I was dead!
But he was holding two ten-credit notes! He had not been drawing out a weapon. He had been trying to get at money!
Had he heard the switch-trigger fall on a dud load?
No, he had not!
He was holding out the two ten-credit notes and he moved sideways from the chair and fell on his knees. “Please, Officer Gris. Please! Don’t kill me!”
There was a big stun gun lying on a bench not three feet from his reach. I am well schooled. I let no sign of my emotions show. I toughed it out.
“I was just following your orders, Officer Gris. I wasn’t fraternizing with a prisoner. You said the prisoner mustn’t suspect he was being guarded. You said to make it look like he was under protection from outside threat!”
He was bobbing up and down, head lowered, holding out the two ten-credit notes. His hand was shaking like a loose wing on an atmosphere plane.
The prostitute had awakened. She pulled her dirty hair away from her face with a filthy hand. She didn’t take it in at all. “Hey, don’t give away no money! You can buy another (bleep)!”
Snelz crawled forward, head down. He laid the two ten-credit notes at my feet and scuttled back. He crouched there, all curled in on himself, trying to give a crossed-arm salute while kneeling on the floor. Ridiculous. All he had to do was reach out and grab the stun gun and shoot me. A stupid (bleepard).
I said, “How much money did Heller give you? And for what?”
Snelz whimpered. “He gave me fifty credits for sweetbuns and sparklewater, to buy them at the camp store. Oh, and also for papers. He didn’t bribe me to do anything else. He said he might need something later but as for the fifty, I could buy something for my men and keep the change.”
He looked up and clasped his hands under his chin. “We haven’t been paid for ages. I didn’t realize you would want your share. Don’t kill me. I won’t forget again! Please!”
Any reply I had was interrupted by the prostitute. She scuttled across the floor and made a grab for the twenty credits at my feet. I stamped a boot heel on her hand. The bones snapped!
She gave a scream and went running naked out of the door. Outside she stumbled over something and gave another scream. She came rushing back into the room, completely dazed, not knowing where she was going. “He killed the sentry!” She cowered back in the corner of the cave, gripping her broken hand, too demented to realize all she should have done was run away.
Snelz gave a glance toward the outside darkness. With all this screaming, other officers might well come rushing over. Before he could get up too much hope and realize he had a gun within reach and that I was holding a dud, I thought I’d better finish this.
“Snelz,” I said, and had his gaze riveted upon me at once with the tone I used, “you have reminded me that you were in fact executing an order. However, you were doing it in far too friendly a fashion.”
He seized upon it. “I did it to get his promise,” he said in a hopeful rush of words. “He gave me his word as a Royal officer, he would let me or my men know where he was at all times. He said he knew I had a tough job and that he’d make it easy for me. I actually persuaded him to fully cooperate. And Officer Gris, that’s the word of a Royal officer, not like that of Apparatus people.”
It was a slur, really. He obviously included me in “Apparatus people.” He recognized his mistake. He wailed, “I’ll give you your share after this! Please don’t kill me!”
I had been edging over toward the stun gun. I was now blocking the route to his reaching it.
“I’ll execute my orders faithfully!” said Snelz. “I’ll keep him cooperating. He won’t suspect he’s a prisoner and he won’t escape. I pledge my life on it.” He thought for a moment to see if there was anything else. There was. “I’ll give you half whatever I get from him!”
As I now did not have to back down because I was defenseless, I decided to be magnanimous. “All right. If you do that faithfully, you can have your life.”
His relief was obvious. “You won’t be sorry, Officer Gris. Can I get up now?”
I put the dud blastick back in my pocket. I pulled the charge out of his stun gun and threw it back down on the bench. A close one!
He went outside and pulled the sentry back toward the light of the cave. He checked to see if he was dead. “You certainly squashed his skull,” said Snelz. “But he isn’t dead. Can I have one of those ten-credit notes back? The camp doctors will want six to fix his head and another four to repair the whore’s hand.”
The nerve of him. The going charge for both would be under five. But I kicked one of the notes over to him and then, as an afterthought, picked up the other one and put it in my pocket.
The whole thing had been so messy, I was gloomy all the way back to Spiteos. I could not for the life of me figure out what had gone wrong with the blastick. Obviously it was the one Heller’s friends had sent him in the baggage for I had expertly put the dud armory one in his boot. I couldn’t figure why his friends would send him a dud-loaded weapon. Of course, when you get them off the shelf, they have a dummy load in them. And it came to me that he simply, stupidly had not loaded the weapon.
Riding the zipbus back, I was almost at the Spiteos end before I recalled that he had adjusted my face patches. But he was not that clever. And I would have felt the blastick leave my pocket if he had shifted back.
I was all out of sorts. Things were not going right at all. But one thing I knew for sure: I was not going to be left standing, holding a dud weapon in a bluff again. Even coming back, unarmed, through the camp tonight had been a risk I had no right to take, what with Lombar counting on me.
It was very late but I went straight to the armory. The old cretin that runs the place slept inside. I unlocked the top half of the door with my identoplate and yelled into the darkness. After three tries, the lights went on and the old fool came fumbling up to the counter, half asleep.
“What the Devils do you mean, waking me up?” he snarled.
I was in no mood for this. I reached my hand over the lower part of the door and tripped the latch. I sent the bottom section slamming into his stomach!
I was inside in a second and before he could recover, I hit him with a backhand. He fell and I let him have a boot. “When you are talking to me, show some respect!”
He lay there on the floor. So I picked my way along the shelves. I got down a stun gun and holster. I picked up two blasticks and a case of cartridges. Then I saw some Knife Section knives and neck scabbards and took a set.
I booted him again. “Log these out so you can’t claim you were robbed!”
He got up. His papers had gone all over the place when the door was slammed back. He gathered them from the floor and began to record the numbers of the weapons I had taken. He held out his hand for my identoplate and then pressed it on the sheet. He said, “Officer Gris, you’re getting more like Lombar Hisst every day.”
I looked at him. If he had intended a slur, he could have been
killed for it. I decided he had not.
“Thank you,” I said.
Later I lay in my bed, listening to the even breathing of Jettero Heller, asleep on the other side of the room. Things were not going well at all!
I thought it out very carefully, staring into the dark. As long as we remained on Voltar, my neck was at risk. Here, Jettero Heller was surrounded by a world he knew and could manage. He had subverted the guard—although I had sure slowed that down tonight. He had tons and tons of friends in Government City and the Fleet. He might pull anything. And we were directly under the view of Lombar Hisst. I did not dare foul up. It was an awful position to be in.
I took my resolve right there. Regardless of anything, I would rush through all preparations and leave Voltar fast!
When we got to Blito-P3 it would be a different story. I would have no worries about Heller breaking out. He would have no friends.
I would really push it to get Heller to Earth, for there, he would be completely at my mercy!
The thought of Jettero Heller safely imprisoned in some nice Earth penitentiary was so pleasing, I had trouble getting to sleep, just gloating on it.
PART THREE
Chapter 7
I awoke at dawn, all full of energy and ambition to blast us out of the Voltar Confederacy quick and get safely to Earth with Heller. As I piled into my clothes, I glanced over at him. There he was, sleeping with a half smile on his face as though he hadn’t a care or worry in the world. He was very good-looking, even in sleep, which is unusual. He was a very masculine fellow but he was pretty, too. I wished I had more blackmail material on him. Anyone that was that handsome must have had plenty of wild adventures in the sex department. I told myself I wouldn’t need the data now. We were going to leave and fast.
I gulped down some of his sparklewater and crammed a sweetbun in my mouth, rapidly planning out the day. I would rush down to training and make an appointment for him. I would dash over to Crobe’s and schedule any operations. Then I would come back and grab him and within just a couple of days we’d be gone. He could finish his studies and heal up en route to Earth.
As I rushed out of the door, one of the sentries grabbed my arm. “Officer Gris, you’re wanted in the Chief Executive’s tower office. Very urgent. They told me to tell you about a minute ago.”
My mouth dried up. A summons from Lombar usually meant trouble. Like a dying person’s life flashing past their eyes, such news always brings a review of one’s crimes. Had he heard of Heller’s survey? Other things?
I put a brave face on it. Whatever it was I would handle it speedily. I hoped. I had my own plans to execute. But one of Lombar’s troubles, and he had a few, was telling you that some job was entirely up to you and then, shortly after, barging in again and interfering—one more good reason to blast off from Voltar.
In the tower anteroom, I might have dashed right on through and into Lombar’s office. A clerk stopped me. The clerks there don’t like me—a sign of obvious envy. “That office is jammed with Apparatus planet heads. A lot more rank than you. Sit right down over there and wait.”
Must be all the staff cars I’d seen rushing in last night. Maybe Lombar had been working all night. He was like that, work like mad but only when his personal pet projects were involved; at other times he just loafed and did things like reviewing “freak parades.” I was annoyed.
The blazing star of Voltar struggled up beyond the distant hills to drown the desert in its daily fire. The administration office buzzed along. Clerks came, clerks went. I waited and began to seethe. I had to get going. Every extra hour I spent on this planet was full of danger to Mission Earth.
The light was practically burning the stone floor back to lava now. From the murmur that came from Lombar’s office, there was no sign of end-conference.
I racked my wits as to how I could spend this time gainfully and speed things up. Then I remembered Heller sleeping and my thoughts about the sex department adventures. Ho, ho. Yes, I could spend my time here. There was a big central data bank console right over there in the corner.
The clerks yow-yowed and said no until a sour old criminal snarled, “Let him. Hisst just promoted him so he can do no wrong—yet.”
I went over to it, sat down and plugged my identoplate in. When you find yourself with the whole Apparatus data bank available, you make the most of it. This was a master console, not a restricted one like they have in other offices. Everything is here, especially blackmail. The only restriction is that your identoplate gets recorded on everything you ask for. I was almost tempted to punch in the Emperor and see what I got. I fought an urge to punch in Lombar Hisst and then I realized it would be just banal or blank. I succumbed to punching in my own name with “Recent Additions.” I knew my own file, of course. Anyone high in the Apparatus manages that.
One can actually extract any document and banish it from the file, using a master console. One can add any document to a file, even a flagrant forgery. The trouble is, the identoplate appears in connection with the action. There is a tale of an Apparatus officer that made himself a Fleet Admiral—and so he was, until the next day when they executed him. I hope he found those twenty-four hours worth it!
Disappointment. The only recent addition to my file was my promotion. I thought it a little strange it did not record my removal from Section 451 and then I foolishly rationalized that even though the data banks occupy thirty square miles of buildings, they sometimes fall behind—the Apparatus is not that free from error.
I looked around. The conference was still in progress. I had a wide-open line here, the whole Apparatus data bank before me and no fee to pay. Let’s see what else I could find out for free.
I punched in,
DR. Crobe.
Dead
said the screen. Well, all right, so the Apparatus lied. That wasn’t news. Try again.
Countes Krak.
I punched. I took off my cap and laid it down.
No such person
said the screen. So I punched in her real name,
Lissus Moam.
The screen said,
See countess Krak.
Aha! I was getting somewhere. I punched in,
Countess Krak.
The machine said,
Lissus Moam.
So I punched,
Why are you cross-referencing?
The machine said,
You have your finger holding down the repeat key.
Oh. My finger wasn’t but my cap was. I put the cap elsewhere and punched in,
Lissus Moam.
again. The screen promptly said,
See Graves Reference.
So I punched,
Graves Reference.
The screen said,
There is no connection to Graves Reference.
I hit “Query” three times. The machine said,
Please do not argue. The computer is always right.
The criminal clerk said, “Are you sure you know how to operate that machine?”
“Be respectful,” I said, and he tottered off sneering.
At least I knew Countess Krak did not exist and that Lissus Moam was recorded as dead: they didn’t keep the records of dead people. Technically, she had no criminal record now. Useful data to keep to myself.
But, to business: Jettero Heller! If I could find some juicy bit, I could perhaps blackmail him at need into being more compliant. I punched in the name and the subtitle,
Sex.
The screen said,
Male .
That made me cross. These machines are so confounded literal. So I punched in,
Sex Irregularities.
The screen said,
None.
(Bleep) the machine, and I sort of slugged it. “You having trouble?” said the old criminal clerk. There was hope in his voice that he could throw me out of there. I ignored him.
The way the Apparatus screen operates, it can summate in single words or it can show a whole document and t
hen zero in, in a flash, upon the required paragraph. I had been asking for summations. I had better get to documents, so I pushed the lever for those.
Affairs with women.
Blank screen.
Affairs with fellow officers.
Blank screen.
Affairs with underage.
Blank screen.
Affairs with prostitutes.
Blank screen. Then I remembered he had a beautiful sister.
Incest.
Blank screen.
Annoyed, I looked to see if the machine had gotten turned off. I made a test.
Jettero Heller?
The screen said,
Yes?
It was operating. I sat there. Suddenly the screen lit up,
Warning. Data time is valueable. Please prepare your questions in advance so they can be rapidly handled. Section Chief Data Banks Apparatus.
It would close off in exactly five seconds after such a notice.
Desperate, I punched in,
Mental Interviews.
A document! At last! I had saved my console connection.
The document, a smudgy mess scribbled by some doctor in the loony section,
Routine Interview before hospital discharge.
I hadn’t asked for any portion heading. I punched,
Why hospital?
It zeroed in to the top of the sheet.
Wounded in rescue of battleship.
I punched,
Why mental interview?
The screen zeroed to,
Fight in hospital with male homosexual nurse.
Aha! I punched in,
Conclusion?
The machine zeroed in on,
Male nurse hospitalized.
I thought no, no, no, you (bleeping) machine. I punched,
Findings on mental condition subject.
The screen zeroed in on,
Mission Earth Volume 1: The Invaders Plan Page 13