The Planet Killers

by Robert Silverberg

  He had no idea which way he was going. The streets were silent now, completely empty. It was nearly two hours past midnight. The anti-fatigue tablet he had taken before coming out to meet Smee was wearing off now, and Gardner was beginning to feel tired. But he kept on walking.

  He turned into a street lined on both sides with grubby little residential dwellings, illuminated only by dim glow-lights across the street, and abruptly someone hit him from behind.

  It was a light, glancing blow, and Gardner had spent a hundred hours learning how to recover almost instantly from a surprise attack. He let his left knee go limp, dissipating the force of the blow, but before he could turn, another blow descended, and this one nearly knocked him sprawling. Only his special training saved him. He took two wild staggering steps forward, halted as if about to pitch forward face-first, and managed to recover his balance. He danced two or three more steps, then turned around.

  A pair of young ugly-looking Lurioni stood behind him, their long arms folded. They were grinning in happy amusement.

  “Hello, Earthman,” one of them said.

  They seemed to be boys, though it was hard to tell the age of a Lurioni without long practice. Gardner sized them up immediately as the local equivalent of juvenile delinquents. They were wearing open jackets flamboyantly ornamented with strips of silk. The rain had soaked them to the skin; evidently they had been prowling in search of strangers for hours. Gardner noticed little metal needles puncturing the skin of their cheeks—a symbol of their toughness, he figured. He decided to find out exactly how tough they really were.

  “W-what do you want with me?” he asked in a timid, stammering voice.

  “Got any money, Earthman?”

  Gardner let an expression of abject fear and utter capitulation crawl across his face. “I don’t understand. You want to rob me?”

  The Lurioni boys laughed contemptuously. “Rob you? Hah! Who ever said anything about robbing you, Earthman? We wouldn’t do a cruel thing like that!”

  “Oh, well, then …”

  “We just want your money!”

  Gardner blinked bewilderedly. He hoped that he had successfully put over an appearance of complete futility.

  “Hit him,” one of the boys whispered to the other. The smaller of the two advanced boldly toward Gardner, grinned cheerfully at him, and struck him in the stomach. Gardner tightened his stomach-muscles and rode with the blow, following the Security-taught techniques, but he allowed an agonized grunt to escape, and his face became a crumpled mask of pain.

  “Please,” he whimpered. “Please, don’t hit me again.”

  “Hand over your cash, or we’ll give you a lot more, Earthman.”

  “Sure,” Gardner wheezed. “You can have my money. Just don’t hit me again, that’s all I ask.”

  He started to reach into his right-hand pocket, but the taller boy said quickly, “Uh-uh, friend. Keep your hands out of your pockets. Tell us which one the money’s in, and we’ll take it out for you.”

  “It’s in the right-hand one,” Gardner said.

  “Get the money,” the tall boy commanded.

  Gardner poised tensely, plotting out the precise pattern of muscle stress and counter-stress that he was going to bring into play. The younger boy was slipping a hand into the Earthman’s pocket. The spidery hand closed on Gardner’s billfold and started to draw it out. Gardner counted silently; this maneuver called for perfect timing, or else he might find himself lying in the gutter with his head kicked in.

  Thousand one … thousand two … thousand three … now!

  Gardner turned suddenly at a right angle. The motion pulled the flap of his pocket tight shut, trapping the boy’s hand at the wrist. Gardner grabbed the imprisoned wrist, ripped the hand from the pocket, arched his back, bent his knees, and flipped.

  The lightweight Lurioni went catapulting into the air heels first, described a short arc, and crashed into his companion somewhere amidships. Gardner launched himself forward and was on them the next second, taking advantage of their astonishment.

  His powerful arms straddled their shoulders and he pushed them to the ground. Instantly, he had one hand clamped on each throat. He tightened his grip until they began to have trouble with their breathing. The glared up at him, a mixture of hate and terror in their cold eyes.

  “I think I’ll strangle you,” Gardner remarked casually. “One with each hand.”

  He increased the force of his grip on the throats, kneeling at the same time on their chests. They kicked and flailed their arms, clawing at his face desperately, but to no avail. By the dim light of the streetglows he could see their faces growing mottled. The urge to throttle them to death was strong, but Gardner resisted the easy temptation.

  After a moment he released his hold on their throats. They had stopped resisting now. He rose from them; they remained on the ground, making hoarse gasping sounds. Gardner backed a step or two away from them.

  “Stay right where you are until I’ve turned the corner,” Gardner ordered brusquely. “You understand me? If either of you gets up, I’ll let you both have it with my blaster.”

  He patted his pocket meaningfully. The blaster was pure bluff, but they had no way of knowing that. They made no sign of moving.

  He edged away, facing them, only once stealing a glance behind him to make sure that no new adversary might be sneaking up on him. The vanquished pair remained flattened against the wet pavement until Gardner had reached the end of the street.

  “All right,” Gardner called to them. “You can get up now. Start running in the other direction, fast as you can.”

  They rose. Gardner heard them interchange hot words; they were angry at each other for the failure of their little prank, obviously.

  Suddenly the older boy produced a bright curved knife from somewhere in his jacket. The younger boy sprang backward, but not quickly enough; the tall one thrust the knife into his companion’s belly and ripped upward with a killer’s practiced hand. Gardner gasped as the tall boy coolly watched his companion crumple; then the killer turned and trotted away.

  A pleasant planet , Gardner thought.

  He did not go to the assistance of the boy who had been knifed. There was never any percentage in helping thine enemy to wax strong and smite you. For all he knew, an attempt at help would only bring him a knife-thrust for his troubles. All things considered, he was lucky to have come out of the encounter in one piece.

  His earlier qualms were almost completely dissipated now. This was an ugly, brutish world. For the first time, Gardner actually found himself impatient for the completion of the mission.

  He began to walk rapidly toward a wide boulevard several blocks distant. He had no further desire to stroll aimlessly in this deserted neighborhood, and perhaps to have to fight for his life every block or two.

  He had lost all sense of his direction. He had no idea where he was now in relation to the Lane of Lights, although he could not be more than half a mile from it. Reaching the boulevard, he found it described as Admiral Knairr Parkway; it was more brightly lit than the other streets, and there was still some vehicular traffic. Frowning, Gardner peered into the street, hoping to catch sight of a passing taxi.

  Then he saw a box much like a fire-alarm box near him. Translating the Lurioni inscription, he read To Summon Hired Vehicle, Press This Key .

  Gardner pressed it. An acknowledging red light went on. He waited.

  Some fifteen minutes passed. The light rain continued to drizzle down, and he was getting thoroughly soaked, but there was no help for it. Grimly he stood guard by the taxi call-box, and finally a cab pulled up.

  A Lurioni stuck his head out of the front window. “You rang for me?”

  “Yes.”

  Gardner started to enter the cab, but the door remained locked. The cabbie said, “Stand fast there, you! Let me scan you first!”

  A hand-scanner buzzed, and only after the taxi driver was satisfied did he allow Gardner to enter. Sinking back in the cus
hioned interior, Gardner said, “What was that for?”

  “The scanning?” The cabbie laughed. “After midnight I’m not required to give a ride to anyone carrying a weapon, Earthman. It’s the law.”

  “And if I had been carrying a weapon?”

  “I would have driven on. I’ve been in this business twenty years, and I’m not minded toward suicide. Where to, Earthman?”

  “Nichantor Hotel, South City.”

  The cabbie swore. “That’s a long trip for such an hour.”

  “I can’t help it. That’s where I’m staying.”

  For one uneasy moment, Gardner thought that the cabbie was going to dump him out and leave him to his own devices, but, to the Earthman’s great relief, the cab began to move.

  They traveled in silence. When, nearly an hour later, the cab came to a halt in front of the hotel, the cabbie turned round and said, “Four units-twenty, ser Earthman.”

  “It only cost me three and ten to make the trip in the other direction,” Gardner muttered, suspecting he was being fleeced.

  “Double charge after midnight,” the cabbie retorted. The door was locked, and would remain locked until Gardner paid. Reluctantly, Gardner surrendered a five-unit piece and the door opened.

  “May you sleep well, ser Earthman.”

  “Thanks,” Gardner growled.

  He entered the hotel, going past a drowsy-looking night clerk, and went up to his room. He stripped off his soggy clothes and spread them out to dry. Then, for the second time that evening, he climbed into bed and closed his eyes.

  But sleep, which had taken him so quickly that first time hours before, now refused to come. Gardner lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the distant trickle of water in the pipes, hearing the creak of a bed on the floor above him, the faint cough of his neighbor on the other side of the thin wall.

  The night’s events remained with him: the meeting with Smee, the dance, the raid, the encounter in the streets, the interchange of words with the taxi driver. It had been a very long evening, and an instructive one. He felt he understood Lurion. It was a world in which all of Earth’s faults had been carried to an extreme of brutality, selfishness, and evil, and where the virtues of Terran civilization did not appear to have taken root. So far, in his brief time here, Gardner had seen no indication of a flourishing, healthy art or religion or ethical structure. The architecture was chaotic and hodge-podge, the music harsh and ugly, the people coarse, brutish.

  Finally Gardner slept. But he was awakened early by the sound of people moving about, of chambermaids singing ribaldly as they thumped their way down the halls, of other tenants slamming their doors as they went down to breakfast. Gardner looked at his watch and saw that he had slept only five hours.

  He rose nevertheless, showered and shaved, and was out of his room within three quarters of an hour. As he affixed the seal to his door, the chambermaid wandered by and said, “What are you doing?”

  “Locking my room.”

  “How am I supposed to get in and clean?”

  “You aren’t,” Gardner said. “I’ll be responsible for cleaning my own room. You don’t mind that, do you?”

  “Just so long as you okay it with the management, I don’t. But when they come to me and ask how come I haven’t cleaned your room, and you say nothing about locking me out—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll defend you.”

  “How do I know? Maybe you just want to trick me out of my job?”

  Gardner sighed. He handed the girl a two-unit piece as a token of his honesty, and headed for the lift-shaft. Doesn’t anyone trust anybody on this accursed world? he wondered.

  It didn’t look that way. He rode down to the hotel dining room and breakfasted on an uneasy collection of mangled vegetables floating in a thin, vinegary oil. It was all he could do to get the stuff down, but he managed to eat it all. He was not developing any love for Lurioni cooking. He wondered how Smee had been able to stand it for six months.

  Chapter Six

  After breakfast, Gardner set out to peddle his wares. If he had ostensibly come to Lurion as a jewel-merchant, he would have to work at his trade, unless he wanted to risk getting into trouble. The Lurioni authorities might just be checking on all newcomers, for unspecified reasons, and he wanted to cover himself.

  The local jewel merchants’ exchange was some five or six blocks from his hotel, which is why that hotel had been chosen for him. As in all cities on all humanoid worlds, jewel traders tended to concentrate in one crowded district, hawking their wares at each other out on the street, exposing palmsful of pearls and rubies and emeralds to the highest bidder. Gardner carried his little pouch of merchandise in his bosom.

  The jewels, he knew, would have to be very carefully managed. He had to spin his supply out to last at least the three weeks, and possibly a good deal more. He had the usual six-month visa, but he dreaded the thought of spending an indefinite amount of time with no occupation to keep his mind away from the project.

  He entered the bourse, which lined both sides of a narrow street for several blocks. Stern-looking Lurioni police, no doubt well paid by the jewel merchants’ association here, stood guard.

  The first step was to find an Earthman. Again, it was protective camouflage; a newly-arrived Terran would be expected to seek out a professional comrade from his home world.

  In Gardner’s case, though, it hurt. In three weeks or so, he knew, he would be on his way safely back to Earth, while the people he might meet and befriend now would have to perish with all of Lurion. Those Earthmen now on Lurion were considered expendable according to the harsh mathematics that governed this entire operation. Three thousand souls, more or less, could not be considered important when the lives of untold generations of Earthmen hung in the balance.

  Gardner found himself suddenly face-to-face with an Earthman, a man in his sixties, short, stout, prosperous-looking, who smiled genially at him.

  “You’re an unfamiliar face. Welcome to Lurion. I’m Tom Steeves.”

  “Roy Gardner,” Gardner said, extending a hand to take the plump, slightly clammy one of the older man.

  “Just arrived?” Steeves asked.

  “Yesterday.”

  “For how long?”

  “Six months. Or until I’ve sold what I’ve brought. I represent a private trader.”

  Steeves chuckled. “You’ve got to be careful here, Gardner. These Lurioni will rob you blind if you don’t watch out. Look at these.”

  The older man opened his palm, revealing three flawless-looking sapphires. Gardner bent close over them, uncomfortably aware that he was being asked to pronounce a professional opinion.

  “Lovely,” he said finally. “Of course, I’d have to study them closely.”

  “Of course they’re lovely,” Steeves said. “Full-blooded beauties. And phony, every one of them.”

  “ No! ”

  Steeves smiled benignly. “They’re products of the furnace of Guair bin Netali, and if I hadn’t seen them manufactured myself I wouldn’t believe they were paste. Netali is only one of the professionals here. Watch out for his work.” Steeves restored the sapphires to his pocket, and patted his capacious stomach. “I’ve been here twenty years, Gardner. I know all the tricks of Lurioni jewel-trading. If you’re unsure, check with me first. You’ll always, find me on this corner, every day of the week.”

  “Thanks,” Gardner said. “I appreciate your offer. I may need some help until I know the ropes.”

  He chatted with Steeves a while longer, then moved on through the bourse. He spent most of the morning investigating, chatting with the other Earthmen, learning the angles, finding out who was trustworthy and who was not. By noon, Gardner had met and exchanged greetings with several dozen fellow Earthmen. He had had a hurry-up hypno-course in the technique of jewel trading, but now he was getting a practical course in professional argot and mannerisms.

  At half past noon, he found himself in the company of two Earthmen and an Ariagonid w
ho invited him to join them for lunch. Gardner accepted; they ate at a small Ariagonid-operated restaurant a block from the exchange, where the food was downright splendid compared with the usual Lurioni slops. During the course of dinner, Gardner consummated his first deal, unloading a ruby for a good price.

  “Payable in Terran currency,” he specified.

  The Ariagonid, who was the purchaser, hemmed and hawed and stroked his purple wattles; the conversion rate would favor him if payment were made in his own currency. But Gardner remained adamant, whittling the purchase price down a little to ease the pressure on the Ariagonid, and the deal was closed.

  “I will register the currency this afternoon,” the Ariagonid promised. “By tonight you will deliver my gem?”

  “Fair enough,” Gardner said.

  Glancing quickly at his two fellow Earthmen, Gardner knew he had struck a good deal. He was pleased at his bargaining success, though he knew all too well that he was simply playing out a game against time; the price he got for the jewels was an irrelevancy. All that mattered was the need to have some sort of gainful employ until the time came to leave Lurion.

  At the end of the day, Gardner returned to his hotel, foot-sore and hoarse, but secure in the knowledge that he had firmly established his new identity. He had haggled and bought and sold most convincingly, he thought. If any observers had been trailing him, they could not fail to believe that he was a legitimate merchant of precious and semiprecious stones, nothing more.

  When evening came, he remained in the vicinity of his hotel, taking special care to get indoors before the hour grew late. His life was far too precious to the project to chance it on the streets in so dangerous a city at night,

  There was a bistro opposite the hotel; he spent the hours after dinner there, as he might be expected to do, sipping judicious quantities of khall and eyeing the passing crowd. Later at night, when the streets began to empty out and the neighborhood became more dangerous, Gardner would stroll back to the hotel. For a twenty-segment piece he could buy admission to the orthicon room, where a gay kaleidoscope whirled endlessly to the stupefied delight of an eager audience. It was a harmless enough diversion, especially if you kept your eyes off the screen and watched with interest the efficient tactics of the numerous pickpockets moving through the room. Around eleven each night, Gardner would retire to his own room, read for a while, and go to sleep.