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Still The Most Dangerous Game
By Steven Gordon
Prologue
Tener Arlino was the best of the best. He was a Graftonite.
Graftonites had superfast reflexes that made them some of the most
sought after, and feared, gunmen in the galaxy.
And Tener Arlino wasn't just any Graftonite. He had won a Silver
Medal in distance shooting in the Graftonite Olympics of '32. That
meant he was just about the best of the best.
So when Arlino checked his electronic mail one day while sipping
a cup of gauche, he only raised an eyebrow slightly when he saw the
message. The one that said
"You will be dead in a month."
He discarded it, and went about his other business, thinking it
some practical joke. After all, who could challenge him?
***************************************************************
He was possibly the smartest man currently living in the known
galaxy. He was so brilliant that through his sheer force of intellect
he rose from humble beginnings to rule an Empire.
It was a small empire, as empires go--currently four solar
systems, while the League of United Planets occupied dozens, and the
Slurian Union a larger fraction of that--but even an Empire of four
systems was impressive, given what he started with.
Word of this man's brilliance had spread far and wide. To some he
was known as the Great Thinker, the man who had used his brains to take
over a planet and then make a small empire.
To others he was called the Terrible Thinker, because he was a
brutal dictator who would use nearly any means to achieve his end.
Brutality and murder were but tools in his arsenal.
To the larger Slurian Union he was a secret ally. The Terrible
Thinker did not think it a good idea to openly ally with one side or
another, but on occasion cooperated with the Slurians where common
interests were involved.
An emissary from the Slurians was secretly consorting with the
Terrible Thinker. This emissary was a Colonel in the fearsome Slurian
external intelligence service, the NGB. The Slurian Colonel's name was
Chedaski. He sat in front of the desk in the nondescript office and
willed himself not to react when the Terrible Thinker came in. He had
been briefed about the Thinker's odd appearance, but was still a little
started by those eyes.
********************************************************************
Two weeks later, Alino received another message.
"You will be dead in two weeks."
This time he was curious, or rather annoyed, enough to try to
trace the message. No luck.
One week later he received another message.
"You will be dead in a week."
Alino started taking precautions, guarding his back. He started
to get messages on a daily basis now, counting down the time until he
was to be killed.
********************************************************************
Colonel Chedaski outlined the problem to the Great Thinker. The
League was the natural enemy of the Slurian Union. The seductive
"freedoms" of the League planets had the potential to create chaos in
the orderly Slurian society. The League had to be subjugated.
But the Slurian Union had already fought a war with the League,
and things hadn't gone so well. In fact, things had gone rather badly,
and if it hadn't been for a hastily arranged cease fire, there might
not have been a future at all for the Slurian Union.
The Slurian Union needed allies. The Great Thinker's empire was
one such ally, but it was a small one. There were other small,
independent systems, but most didn't have a fleet of any size.
But there was one independent regime that did have significant
armed forces.
The June Directorate. A man of the people had taken power on the
planet June, and had quickly spread his influence throughout the former
Cahill Republic. The new ruler had inherited a substantial fleet of
nearly 400 warships. Those combined with the rebuilt Slurian fleet
could present a serious challenge to the League.
The problem: The League was directly between the Slurian Union
and the June Directorate. Sluria couldn't simply conquer the former
Cahill Republic and take their ships. Sluria's influence was also
limited because the new Directorate was proving to have quite an
effective counter-intelligence unit.
So the NGB decided to turn to outside help. The Great Thinker, it
was known, had a history with the ruler of the new Directorate and knew
a lot about him. With his tremendous brainpower, he should be able to
concoct a plan to get the Directorate to join in a loose alliance with
the Slurian Union.
Colonel Chedaski was only mildly surprised when, a few seconds
after explaining the problem, the Great Thinker proposed an immediate,
detailed answer.
***********************************************************************
"Today is the day!" read the message.
Alino looked at the message grimly. His blaster had been charged
and checked several times. He wasn't going to be hiding in his home
waiting for an attack.
He stepped out the front door of his home, a sprawling house on
several acres of land. He looked around, and breathed in the fresh air.
That relaxed him.
He didn't even see the attack coming, but he did feel the sharp
pain in his neck. In a second, he fell to the ground.
Alino got the impression that some time had passed when he awoke.
He found himself sitting in an ornate dining room with wide views of a
forest outside through giant windows.
As Alino looked around, he saw a man smiling at him. "Ah, you're
awake."
Alino immediately went for his blaster. It was gone, of course.
The man laughed. "I took that from you days ago, Mr. Alino."
"Who are you?"
"I have many names," said the man. "Some people call me The
Agonizer."
"Never heard of you," said Alino.
"Oh," said the man, looking disappointed. "Then you may know me
as Ernst Manheim Studt."
"Never heard of him either," said Alino.
"Hm," said Studt.
"What do you want?" said Alino
"Didn't you get my messages?" Studt asked. "Was my meaning not
clear?"
"You're the one? If you're going to kill me, why did you bring
me... where am I?"
"On my planet," said the "Agonizer". "I brought you here for a
little game, Mr. Alino."
"What game?"
"One of survival," said the Agonizer. "You see, I've been a
hunter all my life. But hunting animals has been too easy. There's not
only little challenge, but little... interaction. I value interaction
with my prey." He paused. "That's when I started hunting people. For a
time, I found it rewarding."
"That's nice," said Alino.
"But even that got to be too easy," said the Agonizer. "So I
armed my prey. But still I beat them. So I had to search for tougher
game."
"You want to kill me," said Alino.
"Kill you? Yes, that's part of it," said the Agonzier. "But
really, want I most want to do is HUNT you, Mr. Alino. Here is how it
will work. I will provide you with your blaster. I will hunt you in the
forest. If you can kill me, or stay alive for three days, which is 75
hours here, I will set you free."
"Do you know who I am?" said Alino.
"You're a famous Graftonite gunfighter," said the Agonizer.
"And you're no Graftonite." Alino curled his lip in disgust. "You
don't stand a chance."
"We'll see," said the Agonizer, with a small smile. "In the
meantime, would you like to try some dinner? I've done some research on
your favorite dishes, I think it will be to your liking."
***********************************************************************
Colonel Chedaski was immediately startled when the Great Thinker
proposed a solution to the problem of getting the Directorate to side
with the Slurian Union. Not only did the solution come within seconds
of Chedaski stating the problem, but the solution was very, very
detailed. Either the Great Thinker had been thinking of a similar
operation, or he was indeed a very, very quick thinker.
"There is only one catch, of course," said the Great Thinker.
"What?"
"The ruler of the June Directorate is Steven Quick. If your plan
is to work, he must never, ever know that I am involved."
Colonel Chedaski nodded. The reasons were obvious.
***********************************************************************
Alino hid in the forest. It had been nearly an entire day since
the hunt had begun. He had waited in ambush in a tree, but so far the
Agonizer hadn't shown up.
Suddenly, he felt a twinge in his shoulder and saw a blast of
light out of the corner of his eye. He checked his shoulder. He had
been lasered from a long distance. But the laser had been on the test
setting, so he barely felt it.
Alino looked around, but could find nothing.
The Agonizer was playing with him. He could have taken him out at
any time, and he was letting Alino know it.
***********************************************************************
"In order for this operation to success we will need a number of
capable operatives," said Colonel Chedaski.
"I'm sure your service can provide them in quantity," said the
Great Thinker.
The Great Thinker really wanted to keep a distance from this one
if he didn't want to use his own operatives, Chedaski thought. What did
the Great Thinker think, or fear, would happen if Steven Quick found
out he was involved?
"My people can perform most of the tasks, but the abduction of
the scientist could be difficult. He'll be heavily guarded."
"You'll need a capable hunter," said the Great Thinker.
"Do you have someone in mind?" Colonel Chedaski asked.
**********************************************************************
On the second day Alino set up an ambush for the Agonizer again,
crouching behind bushes near a clearing. He heard footsteps
approaching.
Suddenly, the footsteps stopped.
A blaster started blazing.
The bushes in front of Alino turned to flame. He turned, running.
Once again he had been detected first. Once again the Agonizer
could have finished him easily.
Tomorrow was the last day.
**********************************************************************
"If we do this, the League is going to send operatives to
investigate," said Chedaski.
"Almost certainly."
"They may even send their best. Column agents."
"Perhaps even one of the Eight," said the Great Thinker, getting
a far away look.
"Who do we have who can deal with one of the Eight?"
********************************************************************
Alino simply avoided confrontation on the third day. He ran and
ran, trying to keep moving so he wouldn't be an easy target. He checked
his watch. There was only an hour left. His heart pounding, he kept
running through the forest-
And tripped over a boot.
He lay there, looking up at a blaster muzzle.
"They always run on the last day," said the Agonizer, lowering
his weapon. "All I have to do is to know where to stand still, and wait
for you to pass by. You're as predictable as the rest."
"Why are you doing this?" said Alino.
"In your case, there isn't much of a reason," the Agonizer
sighed. "Still, maybe I can find someone else who will be a challenge."
Alino reached for his blaster, moving with the blindingly quick
speed of a Graftonite. But the Agonizer was even quicker, raising and
firing his blaster before Alino had the gun up.
As the life drained out of Alino, he heard these last words,
"They always think they're better than they actually are. Where will I
get a real challenge?"
********************************************************************
"I think I know just the man," said the Great Thinker. "He's very
capable."
"Can he handle this?"
"He enjoys a challenge," said the Great Thinker. "So, do we have
a deal?"
"I'll have to confirm it with my superiors, first," said Colonel
Chedaski.
"Naturally," said the Great Thinker, pouring them both drinks.
He held up his. "A toast: to the newest member of the Slurian
Alliance: Steven Quick and the June Directorate."
Chedaski held up his cup and drank. As he did, he couldn't help
but stare at what he had avoided all afternoon.
The Great Thinker's eyes. Those bizarre, white pupiled eyes.
Just like Steven Quick's.
Chapter 2 An Introduction to
Quick
He was a super genius.
That was an undisputed fact about Steven Quick, the undisputed
dictator of the June Directorate. Some people said that he was the
smartest living human being, if in fact, he was human at all.
For you see, there were those white eyes. That was the most
unnerving thing about him, those white eyes that simply stared. He was
so smart that he could almost always finish a visitor's sentence for
him. It was as if those eyes could read minds. But maybe, being a super
genius, he could see nearly all possibilities, and that gave him the
same prescience as a mind reader.
It was odd that many people who had heard of the Great Thinker
had never heard of Steven Quick; and many people who had heard of
Steven Quick had never heard of the Great Thinker. But then, their
respective empires were on opposite sides of inhabited space; the Great
Thinker's small set of four solar systems somewhat near Slurian space,
while the June Directorate was about as far about from Slurian space as
one can get, given that the massive League of United Planets was in
between the two.
So people who knew of the Great Thinker thought he was the
smartest being who had ever lived; and people who knew of Steven Quick
believed he was the smartest; and those who knew of both (there were
some) believed what they wished. But almost no one knew the other trait
that both had in common; for while Steven Quick made public
appearances, the Great Thinker almost never did, and his bright, white
eyes were a closely guarded secret.
For years, Steven Quick had hid his eyes as well, with colored
contact lenses. A cruel childhood had quickly taught him that those who
appeared different were the first to get picked on. It didn't help that
as a child he had an IQ smarter than that of most adults. Children
shunned him and adults felt sorry for him; but as he got older, the
adults began to feel threatened by him. His contemporaries couldn't
relate to him; his coworkers vastly underperformed by comparison; his
bosses feared he might get their positions; and women, well, women
weren't looking for someone so... different.
But when Steven Quick rose to head one of the largest
corporations on June, and then become governor of a large province, he
stopped wearing contact lenses. He had risen to such a level of power
that they were unnecessary. The white eyes unnerved people, but now
that he was undisputed dictator, they had to deal with it.
Not that he was a cruel dictator. He took power in a bloodless
coup after "losing" an election that his rivals had fixed. He had
abolished the Cahill Republic and given the government a new name, the
June Directorate. June was the capital of the old Republic, which
explained the first name. But why call it a Directorate?
"I want to run government leanly and efficiently, like a
corporation," Quick once said. "I know that's almost a contradiction in
terms, but I want to show that can be done. And the people at the top,
I and a few others, we'll be the directors of this new kind of
government corporation; hence, the directorate."
His advisors had advised against; no government in history had
ever been called a "directorate" before; it was too new, too different
for the masses to understand.
"If that's the hardest thing that the masses will have to get
used to, we'll be lucky," said Quick grimly.
It was now only four years into his reign. While he held absolute
power to himself, he mostly left people alone. The press was free,
although Quick felt free to resort to the courts if they went too far,
suing them for slander; and Quick funded a government run data service
which was free, and competed quite well in terms of circulation with
the non-governmental press.
People were free to say or do as they wished, as long as they
didn't commit crimes against their fellow citizens. They were even free
to speak out against the government, although, of course, the few who
took up arms were apprehended or put down.
Some liberties were greatly expanded. In the economic sphere
taxes were slashed in half. People had more spending power and more
ability to spend what they wished with their hard earned credits.
But as taxes were slashed so was the bureaucracy and the subsidy
system, creating joblessness. Director Quick decreed that the
government would give jobs to anyone who wanted them, but most of those
positions were in the areas of physical labor--made purposely
unpleasant, so people would seek out jobs in the private sector. As a
result the government, which formerly had employed half the population,
now employed less than 20%, or 10%, if one didn't count the military
and military support positions.
But perhaps the greatest freedom that Quick guaranteed, unlike
the Great Thinker's Empire, or the Slurian Union, was the freedom to
emigrate. Anyone who was unhappy was free to leave. In fact, the
government subsidized flights for one-way departures. Despite this
incentive, the numbers of job seekers and entrepreneurs looking for a
business friendly climate coming into the June Directorate had
increased, to such a point where, earlier that year, more people were
coming into the Directorate than leaving it.
Politically, the Directorate was at odds with its major neighbor,
the League, and officially neutral towards the Slurian Union. Quick was
well aware that the League had opposed his ascension to power, but
neither did he trust the Slurians. What he did trust, however, was the
Directorate fleet, which currently numbered 400 warships, a number that
was increasing under a mass shipbuilding campaign that made the League
worried and the Slurians interested.
Such was the state of affairs when a young looking woman entered
Quick's office. Quick had many offices, but he conducted much of his
business from the White Office. One white wall near his desk had dozens
of monitors mounted on it, where it was said he could simultaneously
process what was going on all over his domain. Sitting in a cool white
suit, he sat back, watching the screens, as two individuals entered the
office.
The woman, one of Quick's executive assistants, was named
Madeline. Like most of the employees of the Directorate, she held Quick
in awe, but tried very hard not to show it, and was mostly successful.
That's one of the things he liked most about her.
"The two employees you asked to see are here," said Madeline.
"Also, the Slurian Ambassador is waiting."
"Have him wait a little longer," said Quick. He punched a key on
a keyboard, and data appeared on one of his many screens. "Roger Eber,
please step forward."
One of the two newcomers nervously stepped forward. "Director,"
he said, by way of greeting.
"You are the undersecretary in charge of administrating the
Directorate's social welfare programs," said Quick.
"Yes sir," said Eber.
"It was not a question," said Quick mildly. He punched a few more
buttons. "I see your caseload has fallen 75% in the past four years.
But your workforce has remained essentially the same size."
"Well yes, sir, but we are reviewing our workforce-"
"For four years?" said Quick, those white eyes staring at him.
"Four years? Really?"
"We have a reduction plan prepared to go, we have memos-"
"When were you planning to start trimming your excess staff?"
Quick asked.
"Well, I-"
"Wait!" said Quick dramatically, holding up a hand. He snapped
his fingers twice.
A bright orange cat jumped up on his white desk. The cat had
light and dark orange stripes.
"You may try to fool me," said Quick.
"I assure you, sir-"
"But you can't get away with lying to Mr. Cat," said Quick.
Eber looked confused.
"Tell him!" said Quick.
"Sir?'
"Tell Mr. Cat your staff reduction plans," said Quick.
Eber cleared his throat. "Sir, we planned-"
"You're not looking at him."
"Sir?"
"Show some respect. Look at the cat when you're talking to him."
Eber looked at Mr. Cat. Mr. Cat stared back at him.
"Closer," said Quick.
Eber moved closer.
"Closer," said Quick again.
Eber lowered his head, until his was almost level to Mr. Cat's,
and they were staring eye to eye.
"Now, finish your report."
"Well, ah-"
"Mr. Cat."
"Mr. C-cat," Eber stammered. "We planned to put in a 40%
reduction of the workforce in the next six months-"
"Mr. Cat?" said Quick.
The cat looked up at Quick.
"Is Undersecretary Eber speaking the truth?"
Mr. Cat looked at Eber, and then at Quick. Quick made the
slightest of gestures with his left hand.
Mr. Cat shook his head repeatedly.
"Mr. Cat doesn't believe you, Mr. Eber," said Quick. "I told you
not to try to deceive him."
Eber looked at the cat, then at Quick, then back at the cat
again, as if he couldn't believe what was going on.
"I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go," said Quick.
"Let me go?"
"You're being formally declassified, effective immediately."
"But... but if I'm declassified-"
"Yes, you'll have a chance to strike it rich in the private
sector," said Quick. "In a way, I almost envy you."
"But no one will hire me after I've been declassified," said
Eber.
"Well, then you can become an entrepreneur, and start your own
business," said Quick. "But if worst comes to worst, the government
will always be here for you. We guarantee a job for everyone."
"On a labor battalion?" said Eber.
"It's wonderful exercise," said Quick. He checked a chrono. "And
now I'm afraid I have to end this interview, we've already gone 42.4
seconds over the allotted time. Good day, Mr. Eber."
Guards came forward and escorted him out.
"The other employee you requested is here," said Madeline.
"Send him in," said Quick.
A thin young man entered the office. He didn't seem at all
intimidated by Quick.
"Your name is Gary Melberg," said Quick, studying a display.
"You're an administrator of the east coast computer network."
"Yes, Director Quick," said Melberg. He noticed Mr. Cat, and
raised an eyebrow.
"Your superiors report that you spend most of your days writing
jokes and relaxing."
"Yes, Director Quick."
Quick looked up at him. "Can you offer any reason why you
shouldn't be declassified?"
"I get all my work done," said Melberg. "Check it out. All top
marks. Human administration, infrastructure reports, monitoring."
"I have indeed checked out your work," said Quick. "It's
exemplary. If you had so much free time, why didn't your supervisor
give you more work?"
"I don't know," said Melberg. There was a pause. "Maybe he
thought it would take work away from other people."
Quick rolled his eyes. "Henceforth you are taking your
supervisor's job. You are now director of administration for the
computer network on the entire northwestern continent."
"And my boss?"
"He will take your job," said Quick. "Since he obviously has no
talent for administration, perhaps he needs more hands-on work."
"T-thank you, Director!" said Melberg.
Quick indicated the audience was over. As Melberg turned to
leave, however, Quick called him back. "And Melberg?"
Melberg turned. "Yes sir?"
"If I don't hear that you're keeping busy, I'm going to promote
you again."
"Y-yes sir," said Melberg.
"I believe you enjoy this work," said Madeline, after Melberg had
left.
"This is not work, this is comic relief," Quick snapped. "It's
been three years after I put a meticulous screening process in place,
and we still have cretins throughout the bureaucracy."
"Change takes time," said Madeline.
"But it shouldn't," said Quick. "Even calculating that people
react on average one tenth as fast as I do to new data, people should
have adjusted by now."
"Perhaps you're still setting expectations too high."
"Perhaps," said Quick. "Now get me the Slurian ambassador."
Ambassador Kemerov looked oily, or perhaps that was Quick's own
interpretation. He flashed a smile, which looked as false as a 19
gemble note. "Director Quick, it is a pleasure to meet with you again."
He looked at Quick's desk, and noticed Mr. Cat. "Director, you have an
animal on your desk."
"So I have," said Quick.
"A pet, director?"
"Yes," said Quick.
"He does not look fearsome," said Kemerov. "On Sluria, we use
pets to enforce discipline."
"Oh, believe me, Mr. Cat has his ways," said Quick. "Now what can
I do for you?"
"A number of things, Director," said Kemerov. "Primarily the
military cooperation agreement."
"Then your visit is premature," said Quick. "I'm not about to
enter into a military alliance with the Slurians."
"But the League is on your doorstep; who will protect you if they
attack?"
"My 400 ship fleet will offer some protection," said Quick.
"Against five times as many ships?" said Kemerov.
"Almost four and a half times," said Quick "And that assumes they
strip all their ships from the Slurian border, which seems unlikely."
"They still outnumber you. Without our protection, you will be a
tempting target."
"The League, whatever it's faults, has rarely attacked first,"
said Quick. "I'm afraid that's not a record that your Slurian Union has
been able to emulate."
"But they tried to topple your young government."
"So they did and here you are. But as I've told your
representatives before, I want to take things gradually. Let's start
with that economic cooperation agreement we discussed." Quick pressed a
button on one of his many keyboards.
"You are ready to agree to it?"
"With a few adjustments," said Quick. "I notice the trade treaty
has a few clauses protecting you. Such as refunds for any malfunctioned
goods we sent you, certain limitations of liabilities, and ability to
terminate the agreement on short notice."
"Just standard protections in all our treaties," said Kemerov.
"I'm sure," said Quick. "But I also noticed that none of those
standard protections apply to us. We can't terminate the trade
agreement without two years notice, we have unlimited liability, and we
even have to make credit payments if two way trade falls below a
certain level. Why is that?"
"Well, you have to understand, the Slurian Union is a much larger
trading partner to have a trade agreement with. To have the benefit of
such a larger trading partner, there must be certain... adjustments,"
said Kemerov.
"While the Slurian Union is five times the size of the June
Directorate, your aggregate Gross Interstellar Product is only slightly
larger than ours," said Quick. "So either we get the deal on the same
terms and the same protections as you do, or there's no deal."
Kemerov looked flabbergasted. "Director, I'm sure we can't extend
the same protections that we safeguard for ourselves. It's not Slurian
policy-"
"Then we have nothing further to discuss," said Quick, turning
his chair away. "The door is behind you."
The sounds of Quick typing on his keyboard could be heard. He had
already turned to his next matter.
Kemerov sat in silence for a moment. He had been ordered to get
this treaty at all costs. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps, just this
once, special adjustments could be made-"
Quick swiveled back to face him. "Present me a treaty where it
makes no difference where the words "Slurian Union" and "Directorate"
go, and perhaps I'll sign it. Or perhaps not; the League is offering me
a similar deal, without all your extra ka-ka."
"I'll have the treaty ready within a day!" said Kemerov.
"That's the spirit!" said Quick.
Kemerov sat there.
"What are you waiting for?" Quick barked.
Kemerov scampered for the exit.
"Fools," Quick muttered. "I'm surrounded by fools, and people who
think I can be taken for one."
*****************************************************************
"A test," said Colonel Chedaski.
"A test," said the Great Thinker.
"My superiors are not convinced your plan can work. It will
require that Quick be fooled, and he is not so easy to fool," said
Chedaski.
"They do not believe in my plan?"
"Let's just say they'd like a demonstration of Quick's
fallibility," said Colonel Chedaski. "You have to understand our
position; if Quick sees through our efforts, our plan could have the
opposite effect, throwing him into alliance with the League."
"And so we must delay," said the Great Thinker. He looked
irritated. "Very well, you will have your demonstration."
*****************************************************************
Director Steven Quick sat and watched several holodisplays on his
screen. Several committee meetings were being held--energy, water,
transportation, and infrastructure. He listened to the slow babble from
each group. At appropriate points he intervened, expediting matters to
get the conversation on point and the matter at hand quickly resolved.
Monitoring four different trains of thought were no problem for him; in
fact, he was also working on some other problems on his panel at the
same time.
Finally, after he could take no more of it, he intervened in each
meeting, redefining the precise issue in a way the others could
understand, and telling them the solution, or how to find the solution.
They nodded gratefully and thanked him, and their images faded.
Quick leaned back in his executive chair and sighed.
"You seem more impatient than usual," said Madeline.
"They're the smartest people. I recruited them myself. And yet
they dither and waste time at these pointless meetings."
"The meetings are not pointless. They are dealing with real
problems."
"Then why can't they get to the point?"
"They are," said Madeline. "But even they can't match your
analytical speed."
"I know," said Quick, sighing.
"Maybe you need a rest?" said Madeline.
"No, that would just bore me," said Quick.
"Then Deputy Secretary Vardeman would like to see you."
Quick sighed again. "Send her in."
Directorate Deputy Secretary of Foreign Relations Tara Vardeman
was young and successful. It also didn't hurt that she was pretty,
though if the Director was swayed by women, it was a closely kept
secret. His closest personal secretary, Madeline, was a woman, but
there was never a hint of a whisper of a relation between the two.
It was at the end of a routine meeting with the Director that
Vardeman brought up the matter. Everyone was standing up to leave when
Vardeman said, "Sir?"
Quick turned to face her.
"We--I have some evidence that one of our career officers is
embezzling funds."
"So? Turn it over to the Inspector General's office," said Quick,
sighing. Couldn't he find good employees anywhere?
"It's just, sir, I'm not sure the evidence is conclusive, and I
don't want to ruin the young man's career-"
Quick sighed again. "Send the evidence to my terminal and I'll
have a quick look." No pun was intended; everyone knew he could process
information more quickly than anyone.
"Yes sir, thank you sir."
That afternoon Quick called in a young diplomat named Seld
Arrity. "Mr. Arrity."
"D-director Quick," said Arrity, looking scared.
"Normally I don't deal with such low level cases as yours," said
Quick. He tapped one of these screens. "But your theft was particularly
flagrant. Did you really think you could get away with stealing two
million credits worth of relief supplies?"
"Sir?" said Arrity, looking confused.
"The evidence is all here, the electronic paper trail, your
personal access codes," said Quick. "The only reason I asked you here
is how long you thought you could do this and stay undetected."
"Sir, I don't know what you're talking about," said Arrity.
Quick sighed. "If you're going to play it that way, then it's not
worth wasting any more of my time. You're being declassified, of
course."
"De-declassified?"
"Your sentence will be five years in a punitive labor unit," said
Quick.
Arrity looked like he was about to faint.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Arrity tried to speak, but no words came out.
Quick shook his head. "It seems the only thing you're good at is
stealing." He motioned with his hand; guards took him away.
Quick turned to Madeline, who stepped out of the shadows.
"Will I ever get this government cleaned up?"
*********************************************************************
"So it was successful," said the Thinker. It was not a question,
but a statement.
"Yes, how did you know?" said Colonel Chedaski.
"Because I know him," said the Thinker. "He is not infallible;
present him with the proper data, and he will come to the conclusion we
want."
"Yes," said Chedaski.
"So I take it we have the approval of your security services to
proceed?" said the Thinker. For although it was his plan, it would fall
on the Slurians to carry it out.
"Yes," said Chedaski. "But it is still very dangerous."
"Then we will have to proceed carefully," said the Great Thinker.
Chapter 3 Enter the
Capybara
It was a time of exploration.
The League, and to a much lesser extent the Slurian Union and
other governments, sent out probes to explore the known galaxy. As only
a small amount of the galaxy had been explored, and only a tiny
fraction of that small amount had been settled by humans, there was
significant curiosity as to what was out there.
Although there were always rumors to the contrary, there had
never been any official contact with intelligent life above the animal
level ever since man had left the Earth and spread out among the stars.
Man found plant life, and other animals, but no truly sentient life, on
our level, or above.
For a time people thought that man was the only intelligent life
in the galaxy. But those who thought this could only think so for a
short period of time. For before long, evidence of an ancient
civilization appeared. Expeditions found artifacts belonging to a race
so technologically advanced that they more often than not could not
even figure out what the artifacts were or how they worked. With the
finding of the first few artifacts, the search for more intensified, in
the hopes of finding this advanced alien civilization.
But so far, nothing had been found.
Nothing, that is, except the monuments.
The monuments. Generally they were tall, black rectangular
objects, usually on empty planets, with alien writing on them.
Writing. Clues to the ancient aliens. The ancients. Or Chents, as
they were soon called.
The League sent ships far and wide to explore the galaxy. So did
the Slurians, to a much lesser degree, as they were focused on conquest
and utilitarian needs. Among the League explorers, one of those who
would become legendary was James Starr.
He traveled in a small scout ship, the Space Racer, and often
traveled alone, accustomed to not seeing human faces for weeks or
months. His only company was his robot companion, 200L, a very
primitive, mechanical looking robot. Despite appearances, however, 200L
had quite an advanced brain. 200L was Starr's "secretary", companion,
and sounding board for his ideas.
The Space Racer approached a planet in an uncharted system.
"Oxygen nitrogen atmosphere," said Starr, staring at the readouts
that reflected on his face. "Plant, animal life, and...."
"The source of the transmission?" said 200L.
For the past five days the Space Racer had been homing in on a
transmission that emanated from this system. They had traced the signal
to this system, and now traced it to this planet. And now..."
"The northern continent," said Starr.
"Any signs of civilization?"
The signal hadn't come from any known system. That implied an
alien intelligence. This could be their big discovery, an alien
society.
"No...," said Starr, still scanning. "It's just... wildlife. No
sign of artificial structures.... Wait. There."
An object appeared on his screen.
A very familiar object.
A monument.
The Space Racer touched down on an open field. A few hundred feet
away the black monument loomed.
"We should proceed with caution, James," said 200L, as they
stepped off the exit ramp.
Starr looked at the grassy field. The sound of rushing water
could be heard faintly in the distance.
"That's why I brought you to protect me," said Starr, as they
walked forward.
"I am unarmed," said 200L.
"I'm not," said Starr, patting the blaster strapped to his leg.
"A number of first contact teams have been lost or murdered
during encounters with monuments," said 200L. "And you only increase
the risk to yourself by traveling alone."
"Now, who would want to hurt me?" said Starr.
"Are you asking for an unabridged list?" 200L responded.
"Never mind," said Starr. "As I think of it, an alien is just a
friend you haven't met yet."
"Tell that to the explorer team which was found dissected by the
monument on-"
"Yes, well, you always keep bringing that one up," said Starr
crossly.
They were close to the monument now. Starr could see the alien
lettering, even from this distance.
"Look at this," said Starr, pointing to the side of the monument.
"This is completely different writing from the monument we found two
months ago."
He circled the monument. It seemed to be symmetrical. Starr took
readings with his scanner. "But it's built almost exactly like the
other monuments. Why would they build another one and then write in a
completely different language on it?"
"Perhaps more than one race built the monuments, or perhaps over
time their language changed," said 200L.
"Interesting proposition," said Starr, studying the lettering.
Suddenly, something flickered out on his scanner. "The signal has
stopped."
"It's probably no coincidence that it stopped with our arrival,"
said 200L. "Warning, James, this could be a trap."
"Well, keep an eye out for trouble," said Starr, still staring at
the lettering on the monument.
He stared at it for several minutes, taking notes on his datapad,
before 200L interrupted.
"Ah, James."
Starr continued to jot down notes.
"James," said 200L.
"What?" said Starr, not looking up.
"I really think you should pay attention," said 200L.
"To what?" said Starr, still not looking up.
"To the alien creature behind you."
Starr spun around, his blaster drawn. There, not 20 feet away,
under a tree, was a medium sized animal.
It was about four feet high, with rough brown fur. It had four
feet with webbed toes. It had a big rectangular shaped nose with large
whiskers. And it had big black eyes and small ears that fluttered in
the wind.
Starr turned his scanner on it. "Some kind of Rodentia."
"A very close resemblance to Rodentia Hydrochoeris," said 200L.
"Rodentia Hydrochoeris," said Starr, blinking. "A capybara. Yes,
it does look like a Capybara. If it is a Capybara, I wonder what it is
doing so far out here."
The Capybara stared at them with its big black eyes. The crunch
crunch sound they heard was the sound of something grinding between its
teeth. Every so often it would pick up something from the ground and
put it between its mouth and chew on it. But its gaze never, ever left
Starr.
Starr scanned further. "That's some kind of nut tree. It's eating
nuts."
"It could be dangerous," said 200L.
"It doesn't seem aggressive."
"It's unknown, and should be treated as dangerous," said 200L.
"Did I really program you to be so cautious?" said Starr. "I'm
armed; if it charges me, I can defend myself." He knelt down, and
stared at the Capybara. "But I'd rather have a conversation with it.
Think of what it could tell us about this monument."
"I very much doubt a simple vertebrate has the capacity for
speech, much less intelligent conversation," said 200L.
"I might (tweatle tweatle) surprise you," said the Capybara.
Starr's jaw dropped. The voice, in an almost musical tone, had
appeared to come from the Capybara's mouth (if, indeed, it was a
Capybara). Starr raised his blaster. "Who or what are you?"
"Who or what (tweatle tweatle) are you?" asked the Capybara.
Starr's eyes narrowed. "My name is James Starr, senior explorer,
League Survey Service."
"League Survey Service," said the Capybara. "Is that your
organizational unit?"
"Yes," said Starr. "I come from a race of people called human
beings. And you?"
"What is your function?"
"My function? I am an explorer," said Starr. "And you?"
"I am a (tweatle tweatle)," said the Capybara. "Oh dear, it
doesn't translate well. I am like an explorer, but more, perhaps
(tweatle tweatle) or (tweatle tweatle) would best describe it."
"Sorry?"
"A scientist, perhaps, or a learned being-"
"A professor, perhaps?"
"Professor," said the Capybara. "Yes, perhaps a Professor. I like
the sound of that; I think you can (tweatle tweatle) identify with
that. Yes, you may call me Professor."
"Well, Professor, how did you learn our language?" said Starr.
"I've been (tweatle tweatle) you since you landed," said the
Professor Capybara.
"You learned my language in several minutes?" said Starr.
"Why not? I had the time," said the Professor Capybara.
"But I haven't said all that much," said Starr.
"What was there to say?"
Talking to the creature was confusing. But it definitely was an
intelligent alien life form, the first anyone was known to have ever
encountered. And it seemed friendly enough.
"Did you send the signal from the monument?"
"Monument?"
Starr pointed to the black rectangular object behind him.
"Oh, is that what you call it. What a (tweatle tweatle) and
inappropriate term," said the Capybara.
"What should it be called?" Starr asked.
"Yes, I sent the (tweatle tweatle)," said the Capybara, avoiding
the last question.
"Why?"
"To meet you," said the Capybara.
"How did you know we would be in the area? We were light years
away when we received your signal."
"Can we go inside your space vessel? I'd like to (tweatle
tweatle) more."
The Capybara was being very evasive about answering his
questions. He seemed more interested in getting his own questions
answered. For a moment Starr considered consulting 200L. But he already
knew 200L would advise against letting the creature in the ship.
But this was the first intelligent life form anyone had ever
encountered! Maybe even the race who had constructed the monuments!
Starr decided to take a risk. "Sure."
He turned to go, but when he looked back, the Capybara was
scooping up something from the ground. Fallen nuts.
"What are you doing?"
"Gathering provisions," said the Capybara.
Two days later Starr had few more answers. But the Capybara had
peppered him with questions. He had allowed the Capybara to see the
ship's general database, which the creature seemed to absorb in only a
few minutes. "I want to go there," said the Capybara, pointing a webbed
finger at a planet. Will you take me?"
August. The capital of the League.
"Will you take me?" The Capybara repeated.
"Sure," said Starr numbly. He was about to make history.
He and 200L talked about it after they lifted off and the
Capybara was (resting?) in one of the aft compartments.
"Are you sure this is a good idea, James?" said 200L. "The
creature has told us practically nothing about itself. It may have
hostile intent."
"If it did, it could have attacked before now," said Starr.
"It may wait to attack until it reaches our capital," said 200L.
"What can one creature do against an entire planet?" said Starr.
"Perhaps he's an advance scout," said 200L. "Sent to study us, to
see how strong we our, to find our weaknesses, to plan for an
invasion."
"That's one possibility," said Starr. "He is very secretive. I'm
sure he has an agenda. But the only way we're going to find out what it
is is to take him to August."
"I just hope we're not making a big mistake," said 200L. "If he's
one of the Chent, we may be bringing unwanted attention to ourselves."
"Your race has a lot of fear, doesn't it?" said the Capybara,
padpadding from the aft compartment.
Starr gulped. The tension was so thick that one could almost cut
it with a electroblade.
"I am not human," said 200L.
"But you were programmed by them," said the Capybara. "What can I
do to (tweatle tweatle) allay your fears? Perhaps my appearance is a
problem."
Suddenly, in the blink of a second, the Capybara was wearing
spectacles. And then an old fashioned pipe stuck out of its mouth!
"What is that?" said Starr.
"I have studied your databases' references to (tweatle tweatle)
professors. Perhaps if I had some of the (tweatle tweatle) of a
professor, I would generate less fear among your populace."
"You're the first ah, alien we've ever encountered," said Starr.
"You're going to provoke enough fear as it is."
"Then, ah, perhaps we had better be (tweatle tweatle) discrete
about my introduction to your society," said the Professor.
"Perhaps we had better," Starr agreed. He stared at him.
The Capybara's whiskers twitched slightly, as his dark eyes
stared back at Starr through old fashioned spectacles.
This was going to require some explaining back at the base.
**********************************************************************
"I need a challenge," said Ernst Manheim Studt, sitting at his
terminal. Ivan, his servant, stood nervously in the background but he
was speaking mostly to himself.
"No, I'm tired of run of the mill killers," said Studt, watching
the names appear on the list.
More names appeared. Studt checked out their brief bios. "No,
that these. Aren't there any other fresh possibilities?"
He toyed around, searching different databases. Then he got an
idea, and tapped into a new database. He found a possibility, and gave
a smile as he read the description.
"Yes," said Studt. "Here's a killer who has style. Erno Keller."
"What style, master?" said Ivan, stepping forward to look at the
screen.
"Look at all the creative ways he's killed his victims--clubbing,
electrocution, acid, strangling... there's a whole list!" said Studt,
excitedly. "This is the one I want!"
"But master, look!" said Ivan, pointing at the screen.
"What?" said Studt.
"He's in prison," said Ivan.
"I'll have to see if I can get him out on parole," said Studt,
giving a grin.
Studt, dressed in a fancy black suit, approached the maximum
security prison on Whenfor and showed his ID on his datapad. The guard
looked at the ID, and then at Studt, and then let him in. Studt smiled
at him as he walked by.
Studt again presented his credentials to the warden.
"Why do you want to see him, Detective Studt?" the warden asked.
"We have an unsolved murder we think he can help with."
"Whatever it is, he probably committed it," said the warden.
"He's a monster."
"Yes, I'm sure," said Studt, smiling at the mention of the word
'monster'. "May I meet with him privately?"
"I'll arrange to have leg and wrist cuffs put on him."
"That won't be necessary," said Studt, smiling again.
The warden looked at Studt oddly. "He's already killed one guard
and wounded another."
"I can handle myself," said Studt.
The warden studied the man in the black suit. "Very well, but do
not say I didn't warn you."
Studt waited impatiently for almost an hour before Erno Keller
was brought to the small conference room. Two guards brought him there,
in cuffs. Studt put a hand in front of his mouth, and made a small
swallowing sound.
"You can remove those," said Studt mildly.
"Sir, this is a dangerous inmate!" said one of the guard.
"Please remove them, please." said Studt.
"You heard the man," said Keller, speaking in a mocking tone.
The guards removed the cuffs, and stood at the entrance.
"Please close the door and wait outside," said Studt.
"Sir, that's not advisable," said the guard.
Studt stared at the guard, and something deadly in his glare made
the guard comply without a further word. The door swung shut behind
Keller.
"So," said Keller, clenching and unclenching his fists. "What are
you? My latest social worker? Perhaps you'd be interested to hear what
I did to my last social worker."
"I probably would," said Studt, smiling. "But I have more
important business to discuss."
Keller slowly sat down, and stretched out his arms so that he
could grab Studt on a moment's notice. "What makes you think I'll let
you discuss anything?"
Studt leaned forward, putting his head in easy reach. "Because if
you want to escape tomorrow, you'll listen."
Keller looked off balance for the first time. "Who are you?"
"A friend."
"I have no friends," said Keller.
"You do now," said Studt. And he quickly told Keller the details
of the escape plan.
"That won't work," said Keller. "They'll shoot you down before
you land."
"Not if I land quickly."
"You can't land that fast."
"I have very good reflexes," said Studt.
"Do you?" Keller grinned. His hands flashed out, grabbing Studt
by the neck.
Or at least he tried to. Studt grabbed Keller's hands by the
wrist, and held them, unmoving. He squeezed hard, causing Keller to
gasp slightly.
"You are lively, I like that," said Studt, as if he were judging
a wild animal.
Keller struggled to free himself, but couldn't. The pain in his
wrists were building up.
"So, do you wish to escape, or not?"
Keller couldn't move either arm. With a flourish, Studt released
him. His arms went thumping down on the table before him.
"Well?" said Studt.
With a sheen of perspiration on his brow, Keller nodded.
The next morning Keller was standing in a precise spot in the
middle of the exercise yard. The guards on the walls heard the
unmistakable whine of a gravitator and raised their weapons-
And suddenly the gravitator came flashing into view, heading
towards the ground at an impossible velocity. At the last minute,
however, a precise amount of antigrav thrust was applied, and the
gravitator stopped, almost on a dime, with only a medium thud, only
inches away from Keller.
"Come on!" said Studt, to a very surprised looking Keller.
Studt was wrapped into the gravitator, a vertical column behind
him that defied gravity. Keller ran to Studt and wrapped his hands
around him and part of the column. The gravitator took off, shooting
into the air.
A few guards managed to get some shots off before it disappeared,
but none came close.
"I've never seen a gravitator go so far."
"A specially modified version for those with superior reflexes,"
Studt grinned.
Keller grinned back. Now that he was out of prison, he didn't
need Studt anymore.
"Set us down in an isolated place," he said, his hands moving to
encircle Studt's throat. "We have some unfinished business."
"Indeed we do," said Studt, smiling, as he pressed a hypospray
against Keller's leg. Keller slumped, supported only by Studt's arms.
Keller awoke in a chair in Studt's home on Studt's planet.
"Ah, you have rejoined us," said Studt, putting away the antidote
hypo. "And just in time for dinner, too. What timing."
Keller looked around.
"Don't bother thinking of escape. You and I are all alone on this
planet," said Studt.
"All alone?"
"Not counting Ivan," said Studt, watching Ivan start to serve
dishes in the adjacent dining room.
"Really?" said Keller, getting up and giving a wolfish smile.
Studt drew a blaster. "Really Mr. Keller. I admire your
enthusiasm, but can't you at least go through dinner without killing
anyone."
Keller looked at the blaster. There would be time, later. He sat
down at the dining room table, and started to eat the entree with his
fingers.
"Aren't you curious why I saved your life?"
"No," said Keller.
"No?"
"You're obviously some kind of deranged do-gooder, though I've
never met any social worker quite like you before," said Keller.
"My name is Ernst Manheim Studt," said Studt.
"Never heard of you."
"I am also known as the Agonizer."
"Nice name," said Keller.
Studt frowned. "You've never heard of me?"
"Not really," said Keller. "So what are we here for, social
rehab?"
"Not really," said Studt, smiling slightly. "We're here for the
hunt."
"What are we hunting?"
"Not we, Mr. Keller. I am the one doing the hunting," said Studt.
He smiled meaningfully.
That got his attention. Keller stopped eating. He stared at
Studt. Studt's blaster was not in his hand but was at his supper dish.
Keller paused a moment, and then reached out to lunge for Studt.
But Studt's hands were quicker, grabbing the blaster, and
shooting Keller. Keller slumped in his chair.
Ivan came out of the kitchen. "Master, will I only be serving
dessert for one?"
"Yes," said Studt. He sighed. "Perhaps I made a mistake. This one
is very rash."
"But lively, Master, you like that."
"Yes, well he's here, so he'll have to do," said Studt.
Keller woke up on a beach. He had a blaster holstered to his
side. Studt stood before him, a laser rifle in his hands.
Keller slowly stood up. "What is this?"
"The hunt begins in 90 seconds, Mr. Keller," said Studt. "You
must stay alive for three days or kill me in that time."
Keller slowly drew his blaster, and wet his lips. His thoughts
were obvious. Studt's hands were on his blaster.
"I will give you an hour's headstart," said Studt.
Keller paused a moment more.
"Now 45 minutes," said Studt.
"You said an hour!" said Keller.
"Your indecision bores me," said Studt.
Keller turned, and ran.
Studt returned to the house that evening, wearing a deeply
dissatisfied look. "What is wrong, Master?" said Ivan, as he prepared
dinner.
"I had to terminate Mr. Keller."
"So soon?"
"I located him with ease. When I told him to run, he drew his
weapon and ran towards me, said Studt. "He was an undisciplined
madman."
"So sorry, master," said Ivan.
"After all that effort, it's all been wasted," said Studt.
"Perhaps you need a more sophisticated killer," said Ivan.
"Or perhaps not a killer at all," said Studt. "Someone skilled in
the arts of deception. I will start a search, after dinner."
Chapter 4 The
Column Gets Involved
Quick sat in front of a large, five leveled chess board. From
time to time he keyed in moves, and then the computer quickly
responded. Quick had quickly mastered five dimensional chess and had
created a new version of the game, with larger boards and more pieces,
and more kinds of pieces. It was a game only he and the computer could
play. The problem was that Quick almost always beat the computer, which
would cause the tech team to scurry back to work to reprogram.
But it still took some effort and brainpower to win, which is
more than he could say for most games of logic and strategy. Therefore,
he played three such games at a time while he listened to the report
from an ad-hoc aeronautics committee. They were reporting on the
failure of a new spaceship design.
Quick listened abstractly as he continued to play. Since he was
the absolute ruler, he had no need to be polite and pretend to give his
undivided attention. Anyway, the others at the meeting knew he was
listening.
After a certain point in the meeting passed, Quick raised his
hand. "Stop. You've been explaining this for nearly eight minutes, and
still haven't gotten to the cause of the failure."
The lead engineer gulped. "Sir, I was trying to explain-"
"I'd like to arrive at a solution before we reach the fifteen
minute mark," said Quick. He was very jealous about the use of his
time. He felt that all issues and problems should be resolved
instantly. Being a genius, his mind worked so quickly that he felt that
others should too.
Of course, Quick was not so unrealistic to realize that even
though he had the best of the best working for him, that they couldn't
work at his level. Still, he often let his impatience get the better of
him.
Still holding up a restraining hand, Quick looked away from the
chess problems and studied the technical report.
One minute passed. Then two, then three, then four.
Then Quick started to type rapidly on his keyboard. A series of
formulas floated in the air around the table. One particle set of
formulas flashed.
"There was your error."
Another formula appeared.
"This is the solution."
The engineering team looked at the equation, and tried to-
"Implement it on the next test, and report back," said Quick.
He waved a hand, and the images of the participants around the
table faded.
Madeline stepped forward from where she had been waiting in a
corner of the room.
"14 minutes," said Quick. "Not bad."
"It might be nice if you let some of the other participants
speak," said Madeline.
"I did," said Quick. "For nearly eight minutes."
'I didn't realize you knew anything about rocket mechanics."
"I didn't," said Quick. "How do you think I spent those eight
minutes?"
"You learned enough about rocket science to solve the problem in
eight minutes?" said Madeline.
Quick sighed. "It wasn't necessary to learn the entire field.
Part of having the ability to quickly solve the problem is having the
ability to learn what is important and what isn't." He looked at her
expression. "You're not just here about that. Something's happened.
What?"
"There's been an incident on Carradine."
Carradine. A border planet, originally inhabited a small settler
group from the League. The League, for whatever reason, never expanded
its holdings, and so settlers from the nearby Cahill Republic came as
well. Flash forward a century later, and the settlers from the Cahill
Republic outnumbered the original Leaguers by nearly ten to one. And
the Cahill Republic, of course, had been replaced by the Directorate.
That was the problem. The League claimed the planet was theirs,
because they settled it first; the Directorate claimed the planet,
because most of the people who settled there were from the old Cahill
Republic. This was one of the largest but not the only flashpoint in
the tense relations with the League.
Quick pressed a button and a report appeared above the table in
front of him.
"One of the reactors was sabotaged," said Madeline.
"Sabotage? Are they sure?"
"Several guards were stunned," said Madeline. "Security managed
to stop them before they completed the meltdown, but the reactor will
be down for repairs for at least two weeks, causing rotating blackouts
all across the eastern continent."
"Who is responsible?" Quick asked.
"The Free Carradine movement," said Madeline. The Free Carradine
movement was group that wanted Carradine to be a League planet, not a
Directorate planet.
"The number of protests have increased as well," said Madeline.
"I've fed the data to your terminal."
Quick read the reports. There had been a marked increase in
demonstrations against the Directorate administration on Carradine. "It
looks like a vocal minority of a small minority is not happy."
"Not only that," said Madeline. "There's been a spike in anti-
Directorate sentiment in the League Media and the Senate. There's even
talk in some circles of military action to 'liberate' Carradine."
"They seemed content enough to let us have the planet when we
were the Cahill Republic," said Quick. "But now they're unhappy. What
are there, only 70,000 League settlers there?"
"72,040. You can see related statistics at the bottom of my
report," said Madeline. She was most thorough, and yet also concise,
which Quick liked.
"This problem has flared up in an unexpected way," said Quick.
"The League citizens are being treated equally to our own. My own
sociopolitical projections for Carradine didn't predict anything like
this."
"Then we should readjust our projections and take action
accordingly," said Madeline.
"Or, we should look for the root causes which we didn't
anticipate," said Quick. As he said it, there was a gleam in his white
eyes as he stared into space.....
The League of United Planets was the most powerful coalition of
colonized planets in the galaxy. It was administered by an elected
government on the planet August and stood for human rights and
democratic representation. A very large bureaucracy administered its
programs and a slightly less large military defended it. In addition,
the League had a number of external intelligence agencies working for
it. Stellar Intelligence was the largest such agency; but the most
renown agency was simply known as the Column.
And in the Column the most capable agents were known as Level One
Agents. There were traditionally only eight of those, who were known as
"The Eight." And of those eight most capable agents, perhaps the most
capable agent in all the League was at that moment staring critically
at a small, blobby mass in the main headquarters building on August.
"Why do I always get the jello?"
Superspy Clifford Croft made a grimace as he raised the
plastiform container off the cafeteria cart. He watched it jiggle
suspiciously as he shook it.
"What's the problem, Croft, you're holding up the line," grumbled
another spy in line behind him. His name was Preston.
"This is my problem," said Croft, holding up the jello. "We have
saved the League from destruction countless times, have we not?"
"They're countable," said Preston.
"I was the first agent to infiltrate the Happy Worlds and return
to tell about it, was I not?"
"You did get caught there," said Preston. "And they did brainwash
you for a time and turn you into a double agent."
Croft waved his hand dismissively. "That's only what I wanted
them to think. How many assassinations have I prevented, how many
governments have I saved from being toppled-"
"Or toppled yourself," said Preston.
"How many countless billions of credits have I saved, how much
advanced technology have I secured-"
"I think other agents here may have helped, just a bit, too,"
said Preston.
"And look at how they treat us," said Croft, holding up the
jello. "This is how they thank us. With clearly inferior dessert
products."
"You're one of the Eight, why don't you talk the Chief?" Preston
asked.
"Maybe I will," said Croft. "Do we really ask for a lot? Have we
asked for a pay raise in the past two years? Have we asked for an extra
week of vacation, just like the so-called agents in Stellar
Intelligence have? We have no overtime, we don't even have a dental
plan, I think the least the Chief can do-"
He was interrupted by the beeping of the alarm on his wrist comm.
He pressed a button. It was the Chief.
Roger Steadman was the Director of the Column, the elite
intelligence agency of the League. Although a political appointee, he
was one of those rare political individuals who was actually qualified
for the job in which he had been appointed to, having worked in
military intelligence in a previous career. After his military career
had ended, he entered the private sector, became wealthy, made the
right contributions, and became Director of the Column.
Some said that he was disappointed not to be offered the
Directorship of Stellar Intelligence, the much larger and better funded
intelligence service of the League, but Steadman knew the Column, while
a smaller organization, was the best of the best, and he appreciated
having the finest talents work for him.
That was why he had an unusually good relationship with one of
his top agents reputed to be "difficult". The agent in question was
Clifford Croft, one of the Column's special top Eight agents. Croft had
an arrogant attitude that rubbed some people the wrong way, but he and
Steadman got along well enough. Steadman appreciated his expertise and
Croft knew it.
"Have a seat," said Steadman, welcoming Croft into his office.
Croft sat. "What's up, sir?"
"We have a situation on Carradine." Steadman pressed a button,
and a detailed holo appeared above his desk. "As you probably know from
media reports, it's a contested planet, a source of contention between
the League and the Directorate."
"Yeh, there's been a lot of yapping about it," said Croft. "I
heard something about the incident."
"Well, perhaps you heard that a local radical group took
responsibility for sabotaging a reactor on Carradine," said Steadman.
"The 'Free Carradine' movement wants the planet to go from Directorate
control to League control."
"Sounds good to me," Croft grunted. His stomach growled. Was it
time for lunch already?
"This conflict could lead to war with the League."
"No," said Croft. Then, "Really?"
"There's a lot of buzz about it in the press. I don't think it's
reached that level yet," but it might," said Steadman.
"How many people do we have there?"
"About 70,000. The Directorate has about 600,000."
"Are our people being arrested, shot, killed?"
"As far as we can tell, they haven't been oppressed in any way,"
said Steadman.
"Then why is everyone getting so excited?" Croft asked.
"That's what you're going to find out," said Steadman. "There
would be only one interest served by a war between the League and the
Directorate."
"The Slurians," said Croft, making a face. "You think they're up
to their old tricks again?"
"That's what you have to determine," said Steadman again. "We
have a more than three to one advantage in ships against the
Directorate. But we'd have to send most of the fleet there to fight
them-"
"Leaving us relatively defenseless against the Slurians," said
Croft. "This sounds like something they would engineer."
"If they are, it's your job to stop it," said Steadman. He
paused. "You'll be getting some help on this one."
Croft groaned. Every time he was offered "help", it usually meant
trouble.
"It's worse than you think," said Steadman. "Prepare yourself."
Croft rolled his eyes. If the Chief said it was bad, it really,
really was.
"The good news is that you can take Preston with you."
Oh. That wasn't bad. Preston was one of the better agents,
actually. Croft looked puzzled. Why was that bad?
"But you'll also be teamed with an agent from Stellar
Intelligence. Barry Vickery."
"No!" said Croft. "SI is filled with amateurs. And the whole
agency leaks likes a sieve. Why don't I just save time and take a
Slurian agent instead?"
"You don't understand the politics of this, Clifford," said
Steadman.
"Then explain it to me," said Croft, putting his face in his
hands. "Briefly, preferably."
"SI claimed jurisdiction on this one. It was all I could do to
get you attached to the mission," said Steadman.
"Attached? What do you mean, attached?"
"Agent Vickery is in charge," said Steadman.
"An SI agent... in charge?"
"It was the only way I could get you on the mission."
"Then send someone else."
"I have a feeling something bigger is going on here," said
Steadman. "I need you on this mission."
"I'm flattered but I have to-"
"Prep and get ready for the mission," said Steadman, a certain
firmness appearing in his voice. "You'll be heading to June under cover
of a diplomatic mission lead by Assistant Secretary of foreign affairs
William Huffington."
"June? If the action is on Carradine, why are we going to June?"
"To meet with Steven Quick," said Steadman. "Then the delegation
will go to Carradine."
"Diplomats," Croft said, wrinkling his nose. He sighed. "Well,
all right. I've never met a super genius before. They say he's so smart
that he can read minds."
"Then make sure you're not thinking of anything important," said
Steadman. "Let me make myself clear; you are at all costs to avoid
creating a confrontation with the Directorate. If we can, we are to
recruit them as allies, not make them enemies."
Croft raised an eyebrow. "Is that official League policy, to make
the Directorate our ally?"
"Those are your orders," said Steadman simply.
Croft nodded. Steadman was freelancing. That could be dangerous,
politically.
Well, then maybe the mission would be fun, after all.
*****************************************************************
"The League is sending a delegation," said Madeline.
"Are they?" said Quick abstractly, sitting in an easy chair. His
hands were stroking Mr. Cat but his strong white eyes were staring
vacantly into space.
Madeline knew that stare. Quick's mind was working furiously,
thinking of future possibilities, future contingencies.
"The Assistant Secretary of State for Humanity," said Madeline.
"Really?"
"He wants to talk with you about the human rights situation on
Carradine," said Madeline.
"And he expects to show up here, without an appointment, and just
see me?" said Quick, looking amused. "What does he think I am, a tinpot
dictator?"
"How would you characterize yourself?" Madeline asked.
"A dictator sitting on 400 warships," said Quick coldly. He
thought about it, for a fraction of a second. "All right, I will meet
with him. But first have him meet with our minister for human rights."
Madeline started to turn away, then stopped. She looked puzzled.
"We don't have one."
"Oh yes," said Quick, smiling. "Have him meet with Gentig, then."
Madeline looked puzzled for a moment, and then, a flash of
recognition sparked in her eyes.
That's one of the things Quick liked about her. She picked up on
his thoughts quickly.
******************************************************************
"The plan proceeds apace," said Colonel Chedaski.
"Your operatives failed to destroy the reactor on Carradine,"
said the Great Thinker. Those white eyes stared out into space.
"They were not Slurian operatives, as you know, but dupes we
positioned from the Free Carradine movement," said Chedaski. "Even so,
they should have succeeded."
"Why didn't they?" Those white eyes were pointed at him.
"There were additional guards at the plant that were not
indicated by our intelligence. After we stunned the first wave, a
second wave came in and interfered," said Chedaski.
"You think they had warning?" the Great Thinker asked.
"No," said Chedaski. "After all, the sabotage was partially
successful."
"Yes, it was," said the Great Thinker, staring out into space,
making calculations.
"The one thing I don't understand is why you didn't permit us to
blow up the plant, or kill the guards," said Chedaski. "That would have
been a much more effective demonstration."
The Great Thinker sighed, and Chedaski shuddered as those eyes
turned back on him. "Because we want the Directorate to think that the
League is behind this. Killing innocent people and blowing up power
plants is not something they normally do."
"Ah," said Chedaski. "I see."
"Do you really?" said the Thinker.
Chedaski held his anger in check. "Phase two is about to begin.
The League has assigned one of their top operatives, a Column agent
named Clifford Croft."
"That name is known to me," said the Great Thinker softly.
"We should take him out now, before-"
"And show our hand? I think not," said the Thinker. "Better to
take him out when he is most needed, and will be most missed. That will
be in Phase Three, if I recall correctly. You have agents in the League
and the Directorate aplenty; let them handle him, for now."
"Very well," said Chedaski.
The Great Thinker permitted himself a small smile. He turned to a
five dimensional chess board near his desk, and engrossed himself in
other thoughts....
Chapter 5 The Capybara on
August
The President of the League of United Planets stood in his office
in the heart of Sarney Sarrittenden on August and looked at Professor
Capybara and didn't know quite what to make of him. He looked like a
large, furry rodent wearing spectacles with an unlit pipe in his mouth.
"What, ah, should I call you?" said the President. His aides
looks similarly perplexed.
"Well, actually, anything you like," said the Capybara.
"But, surely, you must have a name," said the President.
"Why?" said the Capybara.
"Well...." The President had no good answer for that one.
"As it so happens, I do. If you insist, you may call me (tweatle
tweatle whistle!)," said the Professor.
"Tweatle tweatle (whistle!)?" said the President.
The Capybara cringed.
"Not so good?" said the President.
"A, ah, not terrible first attempt," said the Capybara
diplomatically.
"How about 'Professor', then?" said the President.
"That (tweatle tweatle) works for me too," said the Capybara.
"So, what brings you to August?" The President asked.
"I just thought I would (tweatle tweatle)," said the Capybara.
"What?" said the President.
"I said I wanted to (tweatle tweatle)," said the Capybara.
"Do we have any translators here?" said the President.
"I apologize," said the Professor. "Your language is so,
simplistic, it is not easy to express even moderately complicated
concepts."
"I see," said the President, who didn't, not really. "Well, let's
eliminate the possibilities. Are you here to conquer us?"
"Conquer you?" the Capybara boomed.
The President's aides took a step back.
The Capybara tweatle-tweatled. It might have been his version of
laughter. "No, I have no interest in that."
"Then... are you here to establish peaceful relations, with your
people?"
"With my people? said the Capybara, looking puzzled. "No, that's
not correct. Let me try and (tweatle tweatle) another way. I have come
to find a place to (tweatle tweatle) settle."
"To...settle?"
"Yes," said the Capybara. "To settle. To live here. I have yet to
learn all the synonyms for this word; does your language have any
others that might further assist your comprehension?"
The President, ignoring this latest subtle put-down, looked at
his aides in wonder and exchanged unspoken words. They had a friendly
alien visitor, their first, from an obviously advanced culture, and he
wanted to settle on August! Think of all the information they could
learn from him! If he was indeed a member of the advanced race known as
the Chent, they could leap generations ahead in technology.
The President looked down at the Capybara. "What would you say to
a state dinner?"
"As long as I am not on the menu, I would be pleased to attend,"
said the Capybara.
***********************************************************************
"This does not look like a state dinner to me," said the
Capybara, looking at the examining table, medical equipment, and
doctors in white lab coats.
"Dinner is tonight," said the lead doctor, running a scanning
device over the Capybara.
"Is that my menu?" said the Capybara, pointing at the scanning
device with his snout.
"We just want to be sure that you're in good health," said the
doctor.
"I'm quit (tweatle tweatle) fit," said the Professor.
The doctor tapped his scanner. "I'm not getting any readings."
"Really?" said the Professor. He leaned over and peered through
his spectacles at the doctor's scanner. "Perhaps your menu is
malfunctioning."
The doctor turned the scanner on himself. "I'm reading my life
form."
"I hope it's an interesting read," said the Professor.
He turned it back on the Capybara. "But none on yours. It's like
you're not even here."
"I don't tend to make a big (tweatle tweatle) splash," said the
Professor Capybara modestly.
The doctor gestured and two assistants wheeled over some
electrical equipment.
"What is that?" said the Capybara, his ears flicking slightly.
"I just want to do some tests."
"Tests?" said the Capybara brightly. "All right, here is one."
Suddenly, a hologram appeared in front of the Capybara, though no
projection device could be seen. The hologram was of a complex three
dimensional polygon that was slowly rotating, with different sections
in different colors. The polygon slowly rolled back and forth and as it
did the colors changed.
"Can you fix this?" the Capybara asked.
"What?" said the Doctor, staring at it.
"Make the colors flow (tweatle tweatle) mathematically correct?"
"Mathematically correct?"
"Sorry, I have not the (tweatle tweatle)," said the Capybara.
"Your language is so limited. I meant, for you to (tweatle) the
(tweatle tweatle)."
"Uh...."
"The puzzle is only in four dimensions, is that not (tweatle
tweatle) challenging enough?" said the Professor, blinking
disingenuously.
"We're here to do medical tests," said the doctor.
"Are you unwell?" said the Capybara, shrinking back as if he
feared to catch something.
"Medical tests on you," said the Capybara.
"Oh, I'm sorry, but I don't have time for that," said the
Capybara. He got up and waddled to the door. "I have a state dinner to
attend."
Two guards at the door blocked his way. The Capybara looked up at
first one, and then the others, with deep dark eyes.
The guards, in a slow, labored movement, moved out of the way.
The Capybara sniffed, and went about his business.
*****************************************************************
It was one of the most ornate chambers in the palace. All the
metallic walls in the palace at Sarney Sarrittenden gleamed oddly, and
could seem to change colors when you looked at them from different
angles. But the colors were especially vivid in the main ceremonial
dining room where visiting heads of state dined.
Usually at banquets such as these there would be one long table
with members of both the visiting and the home delegation seated there.
Since the Professor Capybara came alone, however, everyone else seated
at the table were government officials and leading figures in business
and the media who were curious about the first alien ever discovered.
The Capybara sat on a specially adjusted seat just to the right
of the head of the table, next to the President.
He seemed to enjoy all the attention he received but always had a
way of ducking questions.
"So, Mr. Capybara, where are you from?" asked one prominent
industrialist.
"Oh, from the neighborhood," said the Capybara.
"August?" said the industrialist, looking stunned.
The Professor Capybara raised an eyebrow. "Your galaxy."
"Mr. Capybara, tell us more about your civilization," this, from
one of the top female journalists on August.
"I'm not sure you could understand it," said the Professor,
trying to be polite.
"Please, Professor!" she implored.
"Very well," said the Professor. "My civilization is (tweatle,
tweatle tweatle tweatle tweatle whistle! tweatle tweatle tweatle
tweatle tweatle tweatle tweatle tweatle tweatle tweatle.)." He looked
at the stunned crowd. "Are you getting all this down?"
The main course was in the process of being served as he talked.
The Professor insisted on being served the same foods the other guests
were. So far, however, he hadn't eaten a thing, merely looking at the
food with his spectacles, which made ever so slight clicking sounds
from time to time.
"Don't you like the food?" asked the President's wife.
The other guests looked horrified, worried that the Professor
might be offended.
But the Professor seemed nonchalant. "Yes, the food is very
(tweatle tweatle)," said the Capybara.
"You don't seem to be eating very much of it, if you don't mind
me saying so," said his wife. She had an independent streak and wasn't
the quiet spouse.
"I am, (tweatle tweatle)," said the Professor.
"What?"
"(Tweatle tweatle)," said the Professor. "I am sorry, but the
closest words I can find are, I am admiring your food from a distance."
"Oh," she said.
The main course was put in front of the Professor. He stared at
it, and seemed to make a small sound.
"Is there a problem?" said the President.
"Ah... what is this..."
"It is beef, Professor," said the President.
"Beef? Animal flesh?"
"Yes," said the President.
"This is not one of your fellow humans, an enemy or opponent,
perhaps?" the Professor asked.
The room was so silent that one could have heard a datapad drop.
"We don't believe in eating each other," said the President
coldly.
"Oh, of course not, my (tweatle tweatle) apologies," said the
Professor. "It's just that ever since I was weaned I was taught never
to ingest any animal flesh without inquiring as to its zoological
identity. But you really don't eat each other? Not that I thought you
did. No, of course not. In fact, I will (tweatle tweatle) be sure to
make a note of that." Suddenly a small holographic image of a tablet
appeared in the air in front of the Professor. Alien lettering started
to appear, animated by a pen that seemed to move on its own.
"Humans:... they... don't... eat... each... other," said the
Professor. The image vanished.
"Is there anything else I should know?" The Professor asked the
stunned guests.
*******************************************************************
Later that night, the President, dressed in nightclothes, entered
his office, flanked by guards. The Professor was sitting at his desk,
studying a holoimage of data moving rapidly through the air. The images
of the data seemed to reflect off the Professor's spectacles.
"How did you get in here?" The President demanded.
"I just walked in," said the Capybara. "Did I make a wrong turn?"
"You are accessing classified databases!"
"My apologies," said the Capybara. The datastream moved even
faster now.
"I insist you stop immediately!" said the President.
"Just a moment," said the Capybara, still studying the
datastream.
"Right now!" barked the President.
"All... right...," said the Capybara, speaking very slowly. "I...
will... comply... with... your..." Suddenly, the data flow ended.
"Thank you," said the Professor, waddling out of the President's
office.
"How did he get out of his quarters?" the President demanded.
"I don't know, sir," said one of his aides.
"What about the guards?"
"There were four of them, outside his quarters. They say they
didn't see a thing," said the aide.
"And what was he accessing on my terminal?" the President asked.
An aide, who was bending over the terminal, tapped some keys.
"Well?" said the President.
The aide viewed the log file. "Apparently, sir, everything."
"Everything?"
"He was only here a few minutes," said another aide. "How much
information could he have seen?"
"Or downloaded," said the aide at the screen.
"What?" said the President.
"Well, sir, you must have noticed those old-fashioned spectacles.
If those are some sort of scanning or recording device-"
"Guards!"
But when they got to the Capybara's quarters, he was gone.
James Starr was led by worried looking aides into the President's
office.
"Finally!" said Starr. "Mr. President, I protest not being
allowed to see the Professor. After all, I was the one who discovered-"
The President cut off his speech with a motion of the hand.
"You're too late. He's gone."
"Gone?"
"Yes, don't you (tweatle tweatle) understand the word?" said the
President angrily, trying to imitate the Capybara's sounds. He felt
like a fool. "Your alien friend came in here and accessed our top
security database, and then disappeared."
"Disappeared?"
"Is there an echo in here?" said the President. "I want to know
what he's up to." He looked expectantly at Starr.
"Why do you think I would know?" Starr asked.
"You found the creature."
"Sir-"
"You spent ten days with him in your ship. Surely you must have
learned something."
"Actually, not a whole lot. He was very good at being evasive,"
said Starr.
"Do you think this is a prelude to invasion?"
"What?" said Starr.
"He got access to all our secure databases, including our
military ones--out troops, technology, disposition of forces, battle
contingency plans. He might be an advance scout for an invasion force."
"Sir, we have yet to see signs that there are more than one of
him," said Starr.
"If he's not a spy, then what is he doing? Where is he?"
"I don't know."
"Then find him," said the President.
"Why me?" said Starr.
"You found him once before."
"He wanted to be found."
"You know how he thinks."
"No I don't," said Starr.
"Well, you're the best we've got," said the President.
"For the first time since I've entered this office, you've said
something I can agree with," said Starr.
Starr returned to his temporary quarters on August, where 200L
awaited him. Starr explained the situation.
"Very odd," said 200L.
"Specify," said Starr.
"That a large, 244 pound rodent with spectacles and a pipe could
elude detection on a planet of billions of people."
"That is odd," said Starr. "Also unexplained is the matter of his
escape."
"The implication is he has some sort of camouflage," said 200L.
"I would tend to agree," said Starr. "And he could be anywhere on
August, if indeed he's still on August."
"I think before figuring out where he is, we have to analyze his
actions and discover his intent," said 200L.
"The President thinks he might be an advance scout for an
invasion force."
"Possible," said 200L. "If so, having had access to our military
database, his mission will be accomplished, and he will return to his
point of origin."
"The planet with the monument?"
"James, I do not believe that even you believe he originated from
that planet. We saw no signs of civilization there, other than the
monument."
"Perhaps there could be some sort of camouflaged society there."
"If so, how will we find it?" 200L asked. "It's a big planet."
They were both silent for a moment.
Then Starr said, "Let's assume, for the moment, that he's not
here to scout for attack information."
"Why?"
"Just a feeling," said Starr.
"Ah, yes. A feeling," said 200L.
"Well, if we assume he is a spy, then he's probably gone, and
there's no further point to this thought exercise," said Starr.
"All right," said 200L. "Let us assume he's not here for strictly
military reasons. Then why is he here?"
"Maybe he's an explorer, like ourselves. He described himself as
a professor, right?"
"A professor is one who teaches. He taught us nothing."
"But a professor is also a researcher," said Starr. "Maybe he's
trying to learn from us."
"Meaning?"
"He can't learn everything there can be about us simply by going
through a database. He'll want to see our society firsthand."
"So? Where will we find him?"
"Let's wait and see," said Starr. "He'll show up eventually."
Mark Trevor wiped off the sweat from his face with a towel as he
eyed the green field around him. Open space was rare on August but this
was the premier exercise facility, restricted to Olympic athletes, and
Trevor was one of the very best hover jumpers.
Trevor dropped the towel and prepared to jump again. He was
wearing special shoes outfitted with minigravitators which would allow
him to hover in the air momentarily, and then take a standing jump.
Touching the control panel on his left wrist, he lifted himself in the
air again.
He stared at the sands in front of him, and prepared to jump. The
hovershoes would reduce the impact, but it was still quite a strain on
his ankles. Trevor took a deep breath, and-
"Excuse me."
Trevor looked around. He was suspended in midair. There was no
one around.
"Sorry to startle (tweatle tweatle) you," said the voice.
Suddenly, Trevor saw a large creature floating with him in the air. The
creature didn't seem to have any device to suspend gravity.
"What are you?" said Trevor. He stared at the creature. "You're the
alien!" he said, shrinking back.
"I have not come to harm you."
The aliens words had an oddly soothing effect on Trevor. "Oh," said
Trevor.
Then, "Why are you here?"
"Just to talk," said the alien. "I understand you are one of the
leading athletes in your society. Tell me, why do you feel the urge to
compete?"
And for the next several minutes, Trevor found himself talking to
the large rat. He didn't even remember when his shoes' power supply
faded, sending him plunging to the ground.
Only he didn't plunge; he slowly dropped down, as did the
Capybara.
"How did you do that?" Trevor asked.
"I could do the math, but I don't think you could (tweatle
tweatle)," said the Capybara.
Suddenly, other people could be seen running onto the field.
"Well, it's time for me to go," said the Capybara.
Trevor looked at the approaching people, and then back at the
Capybara.
But he was gone.
"There have been several sightings so far," said 200L.
"I know," said Starr, studying the data. "He's seen two top
athletes, a top mathematician, a food technologist, and an actor. That
hardly looks like invasion scout to me."
"Perhaps you were right," said 200L.
"What was that?" said Starr. "I didn't hear you."
"Perhaps this one time, your irrational feeling was correct. It
now does not seem that the creature has hostile intent. An invader
would not consult with such people."
"He's an explorer, just like us," said Starr.
"But where will he appear next?"
"He's still on August," said Starr.
"That doesn't narrow it down much," said 200L.
"Well, let's study the people he's contacted again," said Starr.
"Abrams, Arial, Baker, Candy-" Suddenly, he broke out in a large grin.
"It's alphabetical!"
"So?"
"So, all we have to do is find out the names of the top experts
in every field and see where he is on the list."
"He will not visit every expert," said 200L. "And there are a lot
of names."
"Yes, but as time goes on we can eliminate certain
possibilities," said Starr. "For example, he's already talked to two
athletes, it's unlikely he'll talk to a third."
"So?"
"So, by the time he gets to the letter R or S we can eliminate a
whole bunch of fields and get a likely read on where he's going to
appear next."
It was easier said than done. It was actually the letter W before
Starr caught up with the Capybara, who was just waddling out of the
office of Professor Wilkinson, a prominent physicist.
"Oh, hello, James," said the Capybara, in that wonderfully
musical voice of his. "What a surprise to see you here."
"You were following a rather predictable pattern," said Starr.
"Then why are you the first of my pursuers to encounter me?" said
the Capybara. He sighed. "It was such a (tweatle tweatle) simple test,
too."
"You purposefully made it easy," said Starr. "To see how long it
would take for us to find you."
"Your race has some potential, James," said the Capybara. "But
you still have a long way to (tweatle tweatle)."
"You sound like you're leaving."
"I am," said the Capybara.
"Would you like me to fly you back to your planet?"
The Capybara wiggled his nose. "I do not think your superiors
would be very pleased with you if you did."
"So?" said Starr. "I don't always do what I am told."
"Very good, young James. There is hope for you yet," said the
Capybara. "But no, I am not going home."
"Actually, you said you were coming to reside here."
"Well, that all depends on the definition of 'here'," said the
Capybara.
"What do you mean?"
"I must (tweatle tweatle) all your major human enclaves before
making a decision," said the Capybara.
"Enclaves... you mean the Slurians, the Directorate-"
"Yes, among others."
"But those are dictatorships!" said Starr.
"Sorry?"
Suddenly, they heard sounds of an alarm, and running feet.
"Oh dear, Professor Wilkinson must have (tweatle tweatle) the
authorities. I'm most disappointed. I thought we had had such a nice
(tweatle tweatle)."
"You were trying to learn our technology?"
The Capybara gave a quick bark, or laugh, Starr wasn't sure
which. "No, James. There is nothing you can teach me. I'm merely
observing your level of technology."
At that moment the sounds of footsteps grew closer.
"Let me handle this," said Starr, looking around the corner as
soldiers appeared. "Hold up!" he said, not wanting the Capybara to be
harmed.
But when he turned back, the Professor was gone.
"The Slurians!" said the President. "He's gone over to the
Slurians!"
"Among others, yes sir," said Starr.
"How did you let this happen?"
"I wouldn't say I let it happen," said Starr. "He can seem to
disappear at will."
"Disappear? You mean invisible? Or teleportation?"
"I'm not sure, sir," said Starr.
"But he appeared for you." That was a statement, not a question.
The President thought for a moment. Then he spoke again. "This is a
disaster. If he goes to the Slurians, and gives them our classified
information-"
"Begging your pardon, sir, but I don't think he's interested in
our petty feuds," said Starr.
"Petty?" said the President. "Is that what you call interstellar
warfare?"
"Sir-"
"What if he decides to side with them? Think of the technological
advantage he can give them."
"I'm not sure if he would tell them more than he told us-"
"Oh, the Slurians wouldn't be as gentle as we were, I assure
you," said the President. "We've got to get him back." He pressed a
button on his desk. "Get me the directors of SI and the Column."
Chapter 6 A Quick
Meeting
Croft , on the diplomatic courier ship Wainscott, studied the
holoimages put out by the news services. He pointed at the image of the
large rodent. "Well, look at that," said Croft. "After millennia of
waiting, we finally discover alien life. And it looks like a giant rat
wearing old fashioned spectacles."
His fellow Column agent, Preston, shook his head. "The President
is claiming all the credit. He made out like he went and discovered the
rat himself."
"Apparently the rat can talk," said Croft. He read the readout
further. "He calls himself a professor."
"He can probably do a better job than some of the professors I
had at Sarney U," Preston grunted.
Barry Vickery, the SI agent they had been paired with, sat in a
seat opposite theirs. "Well, I think it's exciting. Think of it! A
totally alien race. Think of the things they can teach us!"
"About cheese, maybe," said Croft.
"Or cats?" said Preston.
Vickery shook his head. "Doesn't this excite you at all?"
"Eh," said Croft. "I've seen so many things in the galaxy, I'm
pretty jaded. If you've seen one giant talking rat, you've probably
seen them all."
"Attention everyone," said a new voice in the cabin. The
diplomats looked up. It was the head of mission, William Huffington.
"We will be landing on June in just under two hours. I just want
to review protocol for the mission," said Huffington.
"We are here to press for human rights, not just for the citizens
of Carradine, but for the Directorate as well," said Huffington.
"Since when was our mandate expanded?" Preston whispered.
"Therefore, while I expect you to have a polite and correct
attitude with our diplomatic counterparts, we should not hesitate to
use every opportunity to bring up the plight of the oppressed people
with the Quick dictatorship. We want all the people of the Directorate
to enjoy all the rights we do."
"Which rights is he talking about?" said Croft softly. "From what
I read, there are no political prisoners in jail; everyone is free to
leave any time they like, there's nearly complete freedom of the press;
it may be a dictatorship, but compared to Sluria, it's a paradise."
"What little chit-chatting is going on there?" Huffington
frowned. He made eye contact with Croft, and his eyes widened. He had,
of course, been notified about the real status of Croft, Preston, and
the SI contingent, but wasn't happy to have them along.
"Did you have a question, Mr. Taffy?"
Taffy was Croft's cover name. It was one of the very worst ones
the Column randomizer computer had come up with.
"No, sir," said Croft.
"Good," said Huffington. "We are all diplomats, and should act
accordingly."
"I guess we should get ready to give them the shaft, then," Croft
muttered.
Huffington, only partially hearing what Croft said, glared at
him.
****************************************************************
Quick looked at the assembled committee members. "I think we have
covered the next six month cycle adequately, for the moment. Now let us
look two years into the future."
He clicked a button and a display appeared. "I mathematically
calculate that larger than normal crop failures are likely, given
historical weather patterns. We must increase infrastructure spending
on irrigation. There will also be an energy shortage, which is why we
need to build new power plants. I also expect the start of a recession,
so to forestall that-" Quick went on for several minutes. These were
the kinds of meetings he liked best, where he talked, and the others
listened. Things got done a lot more quickly that way, a lot more
efficiently.
When the meeting had concluded (in only 19 minutes, a victory
given that Quick had budgeted 20), Quick slumped back in his chair and
sighed.
"I know there are still people who are amazed that you are able
to see into the future like that," said Madeline.
"It's not seeing into the future, it's analyzing rational
projections," said Quick. "I've been all over the present. It's old,
old news. So is the near future. With my analytical ability, I've
projected nearly every possibility. It's the medium term and distant
future that still holds some mystery to me." He sighed again.
"You seem tired, why don't you get some rest?" Madeline asked.
"Not tired, just frustrated," said Quick. He looked at a flashing
indicator. "The delegation from August has arrived. Is Gentig ready?"
"He will follow your exact instructions," said Madeline.
"Good," said Croft. He flicked on a screen, and images of organic
molecules appeared.
"Are you solving some medical problem?"
"No," said Quick. "Just learning a new subject. You never know
when it might be useful."
When they landed, they made their way to the embassy. Due to the
tense state of affairs between the Directorate and the League, the
embassy on June had only recently reopened, having been closed for
several years since the Cahill Republic was overthrown. The League had
still not been able to negotiate the opening of consulates on other
Directorate planets.
They were informed that they would be met at the Presidential
Palace later that afternoon. "That's quick," said Huffington. "Perhaps
that's a good sign."
But when his delegation entered the Palace, they found that
things were not as they seemed. The delegates were subjected to
extremely close search. Fortunately, Croft knew not to bring any of his
special equipment with him, the exposure of which would have been
embarrassing, to say the least.
They were escorted to a large, white conference room with a white
table and white chairs. And there they sat.
And sat.
And sat.
After an hour, Huffington sent an aide out to make inquiries. He
was sent back with his tail between his legs.
After a second hour, Huffington, annoyed, sent his aide out again
with another message: if Quick didn't meet with them now, they were
going to leave.
That got a response. They were told they would be met in minutes.
"Sorry I'm late," said a businesslike man, coming into the
conference room. All eyes turned on him. He was a balding, middle-aged
man in a suit.
"You are not Director Quick," said Huffington.
"How astute of you," said the man. "My name is Gentig."
"I thought we were meeting with Director Quick," said Huffington.
"Why ever would you think that?"
"We requested a meeting with him."
"Not exactly," said Gentig. "You announced you were coming and
demanded a meeting with him. You never waited for a reply. You assumed,
perhaps, because you are from the League, that he would rush out to
meet whatever minor official was sent. But Director Quick is a busy
man. So he sent me."
Huffington blinked, taking in the situation. "All right then, we
will negotiate through you."
"Fine. What will it take for you to stop your terrorist attacks
on our power stations?" said Gentig.
Huffington blinked again. "We did not attack your power
stations."
"The terrorists who were caught said they were members of the
Free Carradine movement. It is well known that the League supports this
terrorist group."
"No, we don't," said Huffington.
"Then if you claim not to be behind the attack, then what are you
here to negotiate," said Gentig.
"I am the Assistant Foreign Secretary for Humanity. I am here to
talk about the human rights situation here on Directorate controlled
planets," said Huffington. "We are very concerned by the autocratic
nature of your state. Citizens have no input on their rulers, either
through elections or referendums. Overly strict enforcement of libel
laws have sent journalists to jail."
Gentig listened patiently as Huffington went on and on. When
Huffington paused, Gentig said, "Are you done?"
Huffington said, "I await your response."
"Good. Now we can talk about our complaints."
"Your complaints?"
"About League human rights abuse. Your people have among the
least economic rights of any society, except perhaps the Slurian Union.
You have enormous taxes on income, sales taxes on consumer products,
taxes on comm usage, value added taxes, taxes on licenses, taxes on
businesses, taxes on-"
Gentig went on and on for several minutes. I think he would have
gone on longer, had Huffington not interrupted. "Wait a minute, these
aren't human rights abuses."
"Of course they are," said Gentig. "You're engaged in mass
confiscation of property. That's a human right abuse. By our estimates
some 70% of average income is confiscated by the state. On June, by
contrast, taxes never exceed more than 15% of an individual's income,
giving consumers incredible buying power--and freedom," Gentig said.
"You also engages in rampant discrimination against your own citizens,
giving preferences in education, jobs, and housing to citizens of other
League planets over your own planet of August, even if such other
citizens have lesser abilities or test scores."
"We feel that for social order it is necessary to have a broad
pool-"
"Social order," said Gentig. "Well, we have no such orders here.
People are free to come, people are free to go, people are free to
start businesses in a low tax environment, or work for whoever they
want to, without interference of the state."
"You do not sound like a foreign secretary for human rights,"
said Huffington.
Gentig pretended to look startled. "I never claimed I was."
"Who are you, then?"
"I'm the Commissioner of Minimal Taxation," said Gentig.
"Why were you selected to meet with us?" said Huffington.
"To discuss some of your more blatant human rights problems."
"We want to speak to Director Quick."
"Director Quick is extraordinarily busy, and has no time for...
deputy assistant secretaries."
"I am an assistant secretary, not a deputy assistant secretary,"
said Huffington.
"I stand corrected."
"I would like to speak to a secretary in your foreign ministry."
"Certainly. I can set you up for an appointment in several
weeks."
"But we came all the way here-"
"Without invitation, without confirmation of any meeting-"
"Arrogance," said a new voice.
They all turned, and a new man entered, a man wearing a white
suit with white, piercing eyes. He carried and stroked an orange cat.
Armed guards flanked him on either side.
"Arrogance," Quick repeated. "I think that was the word you were
looking for, Gentig."
"Yes sir," said Gentig.
"Director Quick," said Huffington. "It is a pleasure to meet
you."
"I am afraid the pleasure is not mutual, Mr. Huffington," said
Quick. "Your League is very quick to nag us about our political system,
but I rarely see articles in your press about the Slurian system. The
Slurians have internment camps for political prisoners; we do not. The
Slurians confiscate 95% of all personal income and property; we do not.
The Slurians do not permit a free and robust press, as we do. And yet
we are the subject of nearly all your diatribes. Why is that?"
As he spoke Quick's eyes scanned the delegation, spending
precious seconds staring at each member. Croft wondered if he had a
photographic memory. When his gaze turned to Croft, he seemed to stare
especially hard, though it was difficult to tell with those white eyes.
While the other diplomats shrank away, however, Croft gave an
irritating grin. Quick showed no expression, going on to his next
victim.
"The situation on Carradine has exacerbated tensions," said
Huffington. "Many of our citizens do not wish to live under your form
of government."
"You mean a handful who are funded by the League to commit
terrorist acts," said Quick "There is no discrimination or repression
against our citizens of League origin. In fact, unlike the Slurian
Union, our citizens enjoy the greatest guarantee of all--the right to
leave. So far, not more than a handful have left Carradine. If life
there is so repressive, why do they stay?"
"It's their home, Director," said Huffington.
"And this is mine," said Quick. "Send a message to your
superiors. I do not appreciate their meddling in our internal affairs.
If this continues, I may find the overtures of the Slurians more to my
liking."
"Surely you can't be thinking of aligning yourself with the
Slurians?" said Huffington.
"Why not? They get reasonably good press on August. I think I can
only improve my standing with your government and media elites by doing
the same."
He turned to go.
"Wait!" said Huffington. Then, he quickly added, "Please."
Quick turned back. "You have further comments?"
"Yes."
"Tell them to my designated representative."
"But sir, this man is a tax official."
"Very well. Will speaking to one of my personal assistants
suffice?"
Huffington considered. "For now, yes."
Quick put Mr. Cat on the table. "Be sure to take copious notes,"
he instructed.
Mr. Cat meowed.
Gentig got up to leave.
"Director Quick, you can't be serious!" said Huffington.
But he was talking to a departing back.
As he left the room, Quick spoke to an assistant. "The diplomat
who was sitting second from the far right."
An aide checked a visual camera record on his datapad. After a
moment he said... "Yes, Clifford Taffy."
"He's not who he seems. Find out who he really is."
"Yes sir."
********************************************************************
"I'm pleased to conclude this revised trade agreement with you,
Director Quick," said Ambassador Kemerov, as he passed around the
signed papers.
"I hope this begins an era of positive relations between us and
the Slurian Union," said Director Quick. "I was also quite pleased with
your amenability to changing most of the problems in the previous
contract we discussed."
"It was my pleasure, Director," said Kemerov. "We eagerly seek
further contact with your society. In fact, we would love to talk with
you about the possibility of opening up consulates on each of your
planets."
"An interesting idea," said Quick.
Kemerov raised his eyebrows. Quick had earlier rejected it out of
hand.
"Let us explore the options, on a ministerial level," said Quick.
"By all means," said Kemerov.
"Thank you," said Quick, nodding to him. That was his cue to
leave. He, like all of Quick's guests, had been briefed that that was
the goodbye signal.
Kemerov took his cue and left.
Madeline stepped forward from the background. "Are you sure that
is wise?"
"The trade agreement? Now that it's on reasonably fair terms, why
not?" said Quick. "Not that their third rate economy has much to trade.
Some raw materials, maybe."
"I wasn't referring to the trade deal. I was talking about
letting them open up consulates," said Madeline. "They will all be
filled with spies, you know."
"So will ours," said Quick. "And I like to think that our
intelligence services are better than theirs."
"It will be seen as a further tilting towards the Slurians. It
may trigger a reaction from the League," said Madeline.
"That's true," said Quick. He paused. "We will wait and see what
develops. If relations improve with the League, we'll put this
consulate idea on hold."
"And if things get worse?"
"If things get worse and it comes to war, we'll need all the
allies we can get, even the Slurians," said Quick.
Madeline stood to the side, frowning.
******************************************************************
"So what did you learn?" asked Director Steadman. Preston and
Croft were on a secure link with the Column director.
"Nothing," said Croft.
"Not much," said Preston.
Croft turned to Preston. "Not much? That means you actually
learned something. Do tell."
"Uh... all right, I didn't learn anything."
"There," said Croft, turning back to Steadman's holoimage.
"What is your point, Croft," said Steadman.
"I don't know why we're here," said Croft. "The action is on
Carradine, not here."
"The delegation is heading to Carradine tomorrow. Is that soon
enough for you?"
"Yes," said Croft.
"What are your personal impressions of Quick?" said Steadman.
"He seems bright enough," said Croft. "He's got to have that
stare patented."
"What else?"
"He seems pretty irritated with us. He hinted not too bluntly
that if we keep pushing, we're going to push him into an alliance with
the Slurians."
"That's what we fear," said Steadman.
"If we fear an alliance, why did we send Huffington?"
"Sorry, I overused the word we," said Steadman. "Let's just say
there are some government officials concerned about the deteriorating
relations between our two governments."
"All right, that's sufficiently vague and mysterious."
"Any signs yet of Slurian involvement?"
"How could there be?" said Croft. "We've only met one guy. And
his cat." He paused. "The cat looks suspicious."
"Report back after you arrive on Carradine," said Steadman,
cutting the connection.
**********************************************************************
In an old, antiquated factory on Sluria that churned out badly
made hovercars, a worker slowly moved through the paces. When an
unfinished car came down the assembly line, he would slowly spray it in
a few places, slowly tighten a few screws, and send it on. Every so
often he would take a swig from a bottle hidden under the assembly
line."
But today was unusual because he was being interrogated by a
large mammalian rat creature who was asking him questions.
"Am I imagining things?" the worker asked.
"I don't think so," said the Capybara. "What is your name?"
"Slobo," said the worker.
"Tell me slobo, why do you work so inefficiently?"
"What do you mean?" Slobo asked.
"I imagine that spray you use is some sort of treatment."
"For rust protection, yes."
"And yet you spray it only sporadically each car."
"I do?"
"And I notice that when you tighten the little metal devices,
sometimes you tighten some, but not others."
"I do?" said Slobo.
"Perhaps you are not aware of your actions because of the mind
altering effects of the liquid you imbibe," said the Capybara. "Why do
you ingest a liquid that inhibits your performance?"
"It's ah, just some refreshment," said Slobo.
"I have scanned its properties, it is considerably more than
refreshment," said the Capybara.
"Are you with the loyalty police?" said Slobo, staring at the
Capybara.
"What if I were?"
"I will not answer any more of your questions!"
"Are you sure?"
Slobo looked, and now the Capybara was decked out in the uniform
of the Loyalty Police, fitted exactly to his side. He even wore the
trademark redcap and had colonel's stars on his shoulders.
"Sir!" said Slobo, immediately stiffening to attention. "I did
not know."
"You had no way of knowing," said the Capybara. "I was under
fur."
"Under fur?"
"Sorry," said the Capybara, frowning. "The language. Under...
cover?"
"Yes, I understand, sir!" said Slobo.
"Now, tell me why you work so sloppily."
"Sir, I am doing the best I can!" said Slobo.
"I see," said the Capybara. He paused. "What do you think of your
government?"
"The Slurian Union is the most evolved form of government in
existence!"
"Really? From my impression it seems little more than a group
dictatorship that conspires to control all the resources and to work
the populace as little more than slaves."
"Sir! I know you are just testing me! I am completely loyal to
the Slurian Union," said Slobo.
"Hm," said the Professor.
Suddenly, a uniformed officer came down the walkway, flanked by
guards. He wore the same kind of uniform the Professor did, the feared
Loyalty Police. But this Redcap was only a captain.
He looked the Professor up and down. "Who or what are you?"
"My name is the Professor," said the Professor.
"Why are you wearing a uniform of the Loyalty Police?" he said.
"I'm an officer," said the Professor.
"No you are not," said the Redcap Captain.
"How do you know?"
"We have no... animal officers," said the Redcap.
"I'll try not to take offense."
"Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a member of the
Loyalty Police is?" the Redcap asked.
"How could I be impersonating one, when you can clearly tell at
a glance I am not one?" said the Capybara. "I put this on for a fancy
dress party I'm going to later tonight."
"You must come with me," said the Redcap.
"I'd love to, but I have another appointment," said the Capybara.
"Who is your contact, spy?" said the Redcap Captain.
"Who am I meeting with. I believe you call him your First
Secretary," said the Professor. He watched the color drain from the
Redcap's face. "Why is he a spy?"
The Redcap drew his blaster. "You will come with me at once."
"Don't think so," said the Capybara. "Look, up there!" There was
a thunderous explosion and a burst of light in the ceiling. Everyone
looked up. When they looked down, the Capybara was gone.
*********************************************************************
Sergei Baronov was the current First Secretary of the Slurian
Union. He had spent 50 years working his way up in the party
bureaucracy, and had been First Secretary for nearly ten years. Having
purged his rivals, and putting his own people in command of the party
apparatus, the military, the NGB, and the other security services, he
felt reasonably secure, in his heavily guarded office on Sluria.
Which is why, ironically, he felt quite insecure when a large
rodent suddenly appeared in his office.
"Why, hello there," said the rodent, in fluent Slurian.
Baronov, who had been alone in his office, jumped. He immediately
pressed a button on his desk. Armed guards rushed in, along with Yuri,
his executive assistant. The guards had Redcaps with silver braids.
These were the elite members of the Loyalty Police, the Personal Guard.
"I'm not here to hurt you," said the creature.
Baronov peered at the creature. Then he turned back to his desk
and pressed a few buttons. A holo of the Professor appeared.
"You are the alien," said Baronov.
"You can call me the Professor," said the Professor.
"Have you come to assassinate me?" said Baronov. "The League sent
you, didn't they?" His guards, looking determined, kept their weapons
raised.
"What a classic case of (tweatle tweatle) paranoia," said the
Professor. "No, I have not been sent by anyone. I have come to (tweatle
tweatle) visit with you."
"To... visit?" said Baronov.
"Yes. Did I use the word incorrectly?"
Baronov's fear evaporated. He clapped his hands. "Ha! You are the
one we have been seeking. Yuri, get the director of the NGB on the
line. Tell him that the alien he has been earnestly promising to
deliver to me for a week has come right to my office!"
"Yes sir," said Yuri, raising his comm to his mouth.
"I am looking for a place to settle down," said the Professor.
"To settle down?" said Baronov.
"Yes," said the Professor. "But first I want to (tweatle tweatle)
more about the Slurian Union. Can you tell me about it?"
"Yes, yes of course!" said Baronov. "The Slurian Union is a
consumer's paradise. We believe the rights of the consumer, who is
fully empowered to lead rich, rewarding lives-"
"I took a quick look around on my way here," said the Professor.
"I noticed that your standard of living is noticeably below that of the
League's."
"Oh... oh of course, you were on August!" said Baronov. "That is
where the richest of the rich live, while the rest of the League is
kept in the yoke of poverty to support their excessive pleasures. In
the Slurian Union, on the other hand, everyone shares with the state,
and the state levels the playing field."
"I see," said the Professor. "If your system is so popular, why
do you have so many (tweatle tweatle) guards patrolling your streets?"
"Guards? You mean the Loyalty Police," said Baronov. "They are
teachers, who guide our people in times of trouble."
"I notice that your teachers are armed with crude energy
discharge weapons," said the Professor. "Are they used to (tweatle
tweatle) discipline?"
"Only in the most rarest of cases," said Baronov. "Their weapons
are merely... symbols of their authority. Their utilitarian function is
strictly a distant secondary one, I assure you."
"I see," said the Professor. "If your system is so popular, than
why is the League of United Planets substantially larger in size than
your (tweatle tweatle) Union?"
"We have trouble getting our message out. The League jams our
transmissions."
"I did not observe any jamming when I was there," said the
Professor. "I observed many different kinds of opinions on the public
data networks. Your data networks, on the other hand, are much fewer in
number and all reflect the same opinions."
"We find that emphasis and repetition help guide the populace
better," said Baronov. Suddenly, he saw several black clad individuals
enter the room. Good. Special Tasks had finally arrived.
"Why don't you stay at the palace, as my guest?" said Baronov.
"That won't be necessary," said the Professor. "I'd just like to
(tweatle tweatle) a look around."
"I insist," said Baronov.
The Capybara looked at the armed guards surrounding him for a
moment. His ears fluttered slightly. "No, I don't want to impose."
He started to turn to the door.
"On stun!" said Baronov.
A blaster shot hit the Professor in the snout. He stood there,
blinking for a second.
Then several more blaster shots rang out, hitting the Professor
in the torso and body.
"Hm, must make a (tweatle tweatle) note about this," said the
Professor. The holographic pen and script appeared in the air in front
of him, and started to write rapidly..
The blaster fire continued to have no apparent affect on him.
"More!" said Baronov.
"Sir, it is not working!" said one of the guards.
"Then set to kill!"
The Professor looked up at Baronov with those big dark eyes of
his. Baronov met his stare.
"Fire!" said Baronov.
The Capybara was blanketed with blaster fire. He shrieked, his
body crumpled under the impact, and he fell to the ground, his tongue
dangling out of his mouth,
"Ceasefire!" said one of the guards.
They looked at the body. One of them moved closer, as if to touch
it...
And the Capybara promptly stood up!
"Just (tweatle tweatle) kidding," said the Capybara.
They all stared at him, speechless.
"I have learned from the other humans I have met that humor
sometime helps to dispel tensions. I thought I would (tweatle tweatle)
it here."
They still stared at him, wordlessly.
"Obviously, you do not have the ability to appreciate even the
simplest levels of humor. I will (tweatle tweatle) make a note of it,"
said the Capybara, as he waddled out of the room.
Chapter 7 Hostage
Crisis On Carradine
Four days later, Croft was sure they were wasting their time.
Croft and Preston along with the other diplomats sat through a series
of "town hall" meetings where people would complain about living under
Directorate rule. The problem was that only a handful of people showed
up for each meeting, and nearly all of them were Free Carradine
fanatics. What they lacked in quantity, however, they made up for in
lung capacity. Once one of them started speaking they could literally
go on for up to an hour, without stopping.
One woman catalogued a list of offenses. "The government here is
spying on me! They have taps on all my comms! They even have a
microphone in my toothbrush, a camera in my mirror, and they have wired
up my entire neighborhood to spy on me-"
Croft whispered to Preston. "It sounds like she should be
watched."
"Yeah," Preston whispered back. "Notice how empty these meetings
are."
"I noticed," said Croft.
"Looks to me like most of the League citizens here don't have too
much of a problem living under Directorate rule."
"You wouldn't know it by what you read in the press services,"
said Croft.
"It wouldn't surprise me to learn that the Slurians are paying
off certain journalists," said Preston. "It's happened before."
"You think the Slurians are funding this group?"
Preston shrugged. "It's certainly possible. It just doesn't seem
possible that such a content group would produce such a hardcore of
malcontents."
"Perhaps this Free Carradine group deserves some further
scrutiny."
The town meeting they were in, however, was interrupted when
someone came and whispered something in the secretary's ear. He quickly
went off-stage.
Croft and Preston followed. They ran into Vickery.
"What's going on?" said Croft.
"A bunch of Free Carradine followers have gone into the federal
complex near the spaceport and taken hostages," said Vickery.
The federal complex. That was where the local Directorate
bureaucrats ran the planet from.
"Let's go," said Croft.
"We can't get involved," said Vickery.
"We can observe," said Croft.
"Well, yes," Vickery admitted.
When they got there the place was cordoned off by local security.
Croft whispered something into Preston's ear. Preston left.
"Where he is going?" Vickery asked.
"Just to get me some cough drops," said Croft.
"You're not coughing."
"I might, later," said Croft.
Even though they were on site all they could learn about the
event was what they heard from the public broadcast services. Listening
to their comms they learned that there were 20 hostages inside. The
Free Carradine movement had a number of demands, foremost among them
was access to transmitters to broadcast the failings of the June
Directorate. They also wanted an unspecified sum of money, free
transport to the League, and immunity from prosecution.
Little else was learned from listening to the news, as the same
information recycled over and over. Preston returned during this time,
carrying a large briefcase and a small one. He handed the large one to
Croft.
"You must have brought a lot of cough drops," said Vickery.
Croft said something quietly to Preston and pointed somewhere
distant, and made a cryptic gesture with his hand. Preston nodded and
left with the small briefcase.
"What are you doing?" said Vickery, watching Croft with the large
briefcase.
"I think I have to wash my hands," said Croft. "I'll be back."
He left, and returned a few minutes later. The briefcase was
gone, and his jacket noticeably bulged.
By this time, the terrorists were threatening to execute the
hostages unless their demands were met. Local news reporters were
productively speculating on who would be first.
Croft started to move towards the police barricades.
"Where are you going?" said Vickery.
"Just going to ask the police a question. I'll be right back."
"All right," said Vickery. "But remember, we're not supposed to
get involved."
"I remember," said Croft.
When Croft got to the police line and tried to cross it, an
officer held up a restraining hand.
Croft raised his datapad, showing an official ID of the June
Bureau of Investigations. "I'm special agent Cronson," said Croft,
speaking with the slight twang of the June accent. "Please step aside."
The guard looked uncertain for half a second, but, judging from
Croft's manner, he nodded and stood aside.
Croft made his way up the steps. A police sharpshooter perched
behind a statue warned, "Don't go any farther! They already wounded the
first hostage negotiator we tried to send in!"
"They won't shoot me," said Croft calmly.
Croft cupped his hands. "Hey, inside. We'd like to talk about
your demands."
A shot rang out. Croft instinctively ducked.
"There's nothing to talk about!" a voice screamed back.
"How much money do you want? Where do you want it delivered? When
will your broadcast begin?" said Croft. "I'm here to attend to the
details."
There was silent for a moment. Then a hesitant voice said, "All
right. But just one of you. And you better not be armed!"
Closing his bulging jacket tightly, Croft entered the building.
One terrorist stood with a blaster at the door to a suite of offices
where they were holed up.
He looked at Croft's bulging jacket. "I said unarmed."
"It's just a blaster resistant vest," said Croft.
The man nodded and pushed Croft into the room, where another
terrorist with a blaster escorted him to their leader. As they walked
Croft took in all the details; the desks, all unattended, the hostages,
huddled in a corner of the room, whimpering; the large, ornate windows;
and the terrorists themselves, five in all, by Croft's count, including
their leader, a man with long straight hair and a small grubby beard.
"Who are you?" said the man, with a hostile glare.
"My name is Kron-Kronberg," said Croft, forgetting his cover
name. Croft had a terrible memory for cover names. In this case, unless
the terrorist compared notes with the police outside, what did it
matter?
"You don't seem to know your own name very well," said the
terrorist leader.
Croft smiled. "My specialty is hostage negotiation."
The leader eyed his jacket. "Before we begin, I want him searched
from head to feet. Don't move," he said, as he pointed a blaster
squarely at Croft's face, while a subordinate searched Croft.
Two terrorists were engaged with Croft. One was watching the
door. That left only two others to watch all twenty hostages.
Interesting.
The terrorist searching Croft opened his jacket. The "blaster
resistant jacket" turned out to be a mass of shiny metal with readouts
and glowing displays.
"What is this!" the leader cried.
"Oh, this?" said Croft. "That's just a bomb."
One of the hostages screamed, which only served to add to the
panicky effect.
"Take it off!" the leader screamed, waving his blaster at Croft.
"Well, if I did that, you wouldn't have much of an incentive not
to shoot me, would you?" said Croft. "That's what you get for shooting
the last hostage negotiator."
"Oh yeah? And what if I shoot you now?" said the leader, pointing
his blaster set at Croft's head.
"It's set to go off on a deadman's switch," said Croft. "The
minute my heart stops, the bomb starts."
One of the hostages screamed again. A few of the terrorists
shrank back.
"No need to shrink back," said Croft. "There's enough thermite
here to destroy the entire wing of this office building."
"Why are you doing this?"
"It's simply insurance to make sure you don't shoot me before we
have a chance to conclude our negotiations," said Croft.
"There's nothing to negotiate," said the leader. "We want all our
demands met."
"And I'm here to meet them," said Croft.
"Fine. Let's start with our list of grievances. We want them
broadcast into Directorate space. We want all the deceived and
oppressed peoples to understand what the June Dictatorship is doing to
them."
"Fine," said Croft. "You can do that right now."
"I can?" said the leader, confused.
"Yes," said Croft. "Take our your datapad."
The leader took out his datapad. While he did so, his gun hand
lowered, Croft noted.
"Key to any of the Directorate data networks, and start
speaking," said Croft. "By the way, there's freedom of speech in the
Directorate; you didn't have to take hostages to do this."
"No!" said the leader. "I don't want a voice message posted on
one little network. I want the message to go out on all networks
simultaneously."
"Well, that will take a little more doing," said Croft.
"And I want ten million League credits."
"League credits? Where is the Directorate supposed to get League
credits?"
"I'm sure they have some."
"It will take time to get the money converted." Croft felt he had
a good reading on the leader now. This was no Slurian spy, but a
simple, deluded fanatic. Used by the Slurians, no doubt, but bereft of
the cunning that Slurians were known for.
"You're just stalling!" said the leader. He pointed his blaster
at Croft again.
"If you shoot me and blow yourself up, you certainly won't get
your message out," said Croft. "And what of these innocent people?"
"These aren't innocent people! These are tyrants!"
"The sign on the door said 'spaceport and cargo administration',"
said Croft. He indicated the huddling masses. "They don't look like
tyrants to me."
"You're not taking me seriously!" said the leader. "When are you
going to meet our demands?"
"Release a few of the hostages," said Croft. "Then we'll see
about getting you the ship you requested."
"No!" said the leader. "I think you just want to trick us." He
pointed the blaster at Croft, and paused for several heartbeats. "If I
can't shoot you, I'll shoot one of them. Fonda! Get me one of the
hostages."
"I wouldn't do this," said Croft, eyeing the placement of the
terrorists. There were still too many of them.
A gasping, weeping woman was brought forward.
Croft took a step forward. "I really, wouldn't do this."
One of the terrorists pointed a blaster at Croft. Another pointed
it at the woman.
"What are you going to do?" said the leader mockingly. He nodded
to the other terrorist. "Kill her."
The terrorist fired and the woman screamed, and slumped to the
ground. The other hostages screamed as well.
"There, what do you think of that, Mr. Hostage Negotiator?" said
the terrorist.
"I'm trying to be forgiving," said Croft staring at the dead body
and trying to keep his rage in check. "But I'm afraid I'm not as
forgiving as Mr. Preston is."
"Who?" said the leader.
"Now, Preston."
A laser bolt shot through the window, striking one of the
terrorists in the forehead. Good shooting Preston! The four remaining
terrorists looked startled as one of their number slumped lifelessly to
the ground.
A half mile away, Preston lay prone on the ground, with a sniper
rifle with a in his arms, and an earpiece in his ear. He watched the
action in the building through his visual amplifier.
The leader grabbed another hostage and held him close, putting a
blaster to his head. "Stop, stop this instant!" said the leader.
"Certainly," said Croft. "As long as you don't execute any more
hostages, none of you will be harmed."
The leader calmed down a bit, and his fear was replaced by anger.
"I wish I could kill you," he said.
"Maybe you'd be happier if you set more realistic goals," said
Croft.
"You think you're making a fool out of me?"
"Not at all," said Croft. "The offer of transport out of here
still stands."
"How?"
"A shuttle can land on the roof. It can take you anywhere you
want to go."
"And our other demands?"
Croft shrugged. "You can't expect to get everything on your first
hostage taking. Better luck next time."
"No!" said the leader, glancing at the shiny displays on Croft's
bomb vest.
"Is this what's disturbing you?" said Croft, indicating the bomb.
"If you'll agree to go, I'll take it off."
"You'll take it off?"
"If you promise not to shoot me, of course," said Croft. "Then
we'll be in a position... to resolve this peacefully."
Preston, sitting on the hill a half mile away, stiffened when he
heard the word "position", and focused again with the sniper rifle.
"All right," said the leader, smiling wolfishly. "Take off your
bomb."
"It's not that simple," said Croft. "It was fitted onto me in two
pieces. If the two pieces split apart suddenly, it will explode. It's
an anti-tampering device."
"So?"
"So two people helped me get it on, I'll need two people help me
get it off." This was the decision point. Would the leader choose
terrorists to help him, or hostages? Croft needed terrorists, so he
quickly added. "It's a delicate operation, I need hands that aren't
going to shake or quiver."
"All right," said the leader. He was eager to see Croft disarmed.
so he could kill him. He gestured to two of his men.
There were two terrorists coming to "help" Croft, their blasters
in their hands, but not pointing at anyone. The leader was watching
Croft, his blaster also not particularly pointed anywhere. That left
one terrorist guarding the door, and no one pointing a weapon at the
hostages.
Croft took two steps forward to meet the terrorists coming
towards him, putting him in view of the light coming from outside the
window.
Croft took off his outer jacket and started to put his hands
underneath the bomb, near his chest.
"What are you doing?" said the leader.
"There are sensors attached to the skin around my heart. I have
to remove them carefully as you lift off the bomb."
The two men took a hold of the bomb vest where Croft told them to
and slowly started to pull. Croft reached both hands underneath the
bomb casing where it touched his skin. The men were only beginning to
realize that the bomb was not coming apart as intended when things
moved very quickly.
Croft drew two blasters which had been disguised as part of the
bomb. One of the terrorists, between him and the window, was shot in
the back from a laser bolt from outside. Croft knocked the other down
with an elbow and carefully shot the leader.
The terrorist at the door raised her blaster, but Croft was
quicker, burning her in the chest.
The other terrorist on the ground started to grope for his
blaster in the bright afternoon light. But then he was shot in the
head, the bolt traveling mere inches from Croft's torso.
"Good shooting, but that last one was too close," said Croft.
"A miss is as good as a parsec," came the voice in his ear.
Croft turned to the leader, whom he had shot most carefully. He
had shot the man in the stomach, to insure he wouldn't be dead.
"You... you tricked me!" said the terrorist.
"You didn't have to kill that woman," said Croft, his face a
blank. "What are the Slurians planning?"
"What? I'm not telling you anything," he spat.
Croft paused, then raised his blaster. "I didn't think you knew
anything useful."
At that moment he heard the sounds of alarms, and rushing feet.
When the police arrived inside, they found 19 grateful hostages,
and five dead terrorists.
**********************************************************************
"You lied to me!" said Vickery, enraged.
"Well, only in the areas where I wasn't truthful," said Croft.
"I am the head of this intelligence mission, Mr. Croft! Do you
realize how this makes me look?"
"We rescued all but one of the hostages. I think that makes you
look pretty good," said Croft.
"We are not supposed to get involved!" Vickery raged.
"According to whom?" said Croft curiously.
"Stellar Intelligence," said Vickery.
"Well, then I have done you a great favor," said Croft.
"Have you?" said Vickery.
"Yes," said Croft. "By not telling you what I was up to, I have
given you plausible deniability."
Vickery rolled his eyes. "I intend to report this incident to my
superiors. I fully expect to see you removed from this mission."
"Well, do what you have to do," said Croft. He coughed slightly.
"Say, you don't have any cough drops, do you?"
**********************************************************************
Colonel Chedaski didn't look happy. The Great Thinker didn't have
to be a genius (which he was) to sense that.
"Our plan failed."
The Great Thinker gave a mirthless smile. "How quick you are to
judge failure."
"You saw the report on our next escalation."
"The hostage crisis."
"Our dupes were supposed to use this opportunity to make anti-
Directorate propaganda to further inflame tension, and execute the
captives. Instead, they got themselves shot," said Chedaski. "Your
simulations said that wouldn't happen. Your simulations said that
Quick, the great lover of free speech, would give them a platform
without objection."
"There was interference," said Chedaski.
"Interference you should have predicted. The spy, Clifford
Croft," said Chedaski.
"He is one of the League's most capable agents," said the Great
Thinker, staring out with those white eyes. "But even his interference
cannot change the plan."
"Hasn't it?"
"No," said Chedaski.
"What do you mean?"
The Great Thinker grimaced. How difficult it was to deal with
slower thinking, mentally limited individuals. "It does not matter what
happened or didn't happened. What only matters is the perception of the
event."
"What do you mean?" said Chedaski again.
The Great Thinker sighed. Must he spell it all out? How obvious
did he have to be? "All right," he said. "Here is what you need to do."
********************************************************************
"Another incident," said Madeline.
"Yes," said Quick.
Pedro stood in Quick's office. They were all on a first name
basis here, all except Director Quick, of course. Pedro Gomez was the
Director of Central June Security, one of the many security agencies
that Quick had set up when he had assumed control over the Cahill
Republic. Quick had set up competing security agencies on the theory
that competition was healthy in all environments, and would spur
superior performance. For some reason, however, he had assigned the
Carradine portfolio exclusively to Pedro.
"I just finished your report," said Quick quietly.
"Yes," said Pedro. "Our reports indicate that the Free Carradine
movement is being directly controlled by the Column." He pressed a
button, and an image from the federal complex appeared, showing Croft
and some of the terrorists.
"This man is Clifford Croft, one of the Column's top operatives,"
said Pedro.
"I know who he is," said Quick dryly.
Pedro looked startled. "Yes, sir, well, we suspect he is the one
who is directing the Free Carradine terrorists."
"Why would he direct the terrorists, and then heroically kill
them and save the hostages?" Quick inquired.
"To make the League look good, of course," said Pedro. "If you
believe what appeared to happen, your suspicions of the League would
abate, which would give them more freedom to incite violence and hatred
against the Directorate covertly."
"A clever scheme," Quick commented. "But the League isn't quick
to kill its own people to achieve its goals. And those terrorists were
shot dead."
"They murder like every other agency," said Pedro. "And I have
traced the sources of financing of this Free Carradine movement. The
accounts originated on August."
"The League," said Quick.
"Yes," said Pedro. "Furthermore, my research has indicated that
several of the dead terrorists have records as minor operatives in
Stellar Intelligence, another arm of the League."
"So they really killed their own people to make it look
convincing," said Quick. "That changes everything. If that's how they
treat their own people, what do they have planned for us?"
"Nothing good, I'm sure," said Pedro.
Quick appeared to stare into space for a moment, as if thinking.
Madeline knew his mind was working at many times the speed of a regular
person's.
Quick spoke. "Thank you, Pedro. Keep me informed of further
developments."
"Yes, sir," said Pedro. He turned and left.
Quick turned to Madeline. "What do you think?"
Madeline said, "I've seen the evidence that Pedro downloaded.
Free Carradine does appear to be controlled by the League."
"I don't think I want to wait and see what the League has planned
next," said Quick. "Get me the Slurian Ambassador."
"What are you going to do?"
"I think it's time we expanded political relations," said Quick.
"I think I'm going to agree to let them open up consulates on our
planets."
"A lot of them will be spies," Madeline warned.
"So will ours," said Quick, giving a grin. "But I think we need
to show the League the perils of toying with us. Strengthening
political ties with the Slurians will do that. Get me the Ambassador
now, Madeline. I want a formal announcement by the end of the day."
"Yes, sir," said Madeline.
***********************************************************************
"So you're a garbage collector because you're (tweatle tweatle)
dumb?" said the Capybara.
He walked next to a slowly moving rubbish collection truck on the
planet Tolliver, a planet within the Great Thinker's empire.
"Thanks for rubbing it in," said the worker, whose name was
Fredr.
"Sorry, your language is new to me. Do you prefer the term
(tweatle tweatle) thinking impaired?"
"Leave me alone," said Fredr.
The Capybara persisted. "If you're unhappy with this position,
why did you (tweatle tweatle) choose it?" said the Capybara.
"I didn't," said Fredr. "I was assigned it."
"Ah," said the Capybara. "By your central authorities."
"Basically," said Fredr. "Though they claimed it was impartial."
"How do you mean?"
Fredr made another face, as he picked up another trash can.
"When the Great Thinker took over, we all had to take IQ tests."
"IQ?"
"Intelligence," said Fredr. "Based on the so-called results of
this tests, we were assigned jobs to 'fit our abilities'."
"Ah," said the Professor. "A (tweatle tweatle) meritocracy."
"I used to be a lawyer before I was declassified," said Fredr.
"How does mentally manipulating geometric shapes or solving word
puzzles determine whether I'd be a good lawyer?"
"So your test results didn't go well," said the Professor.
"No they didn't," said Fredr. "They said I wasn't smart enough to
practice law. Only 'manual labor' jobs."
"Will they let you (tweatle tweatle) retest?"
"Not usually," said Fredr. "They say intelligence is innate;
either you have it, or you don't. I think it's merely skill in handling
those kinds of problems."
"So the smartest ones... I mean, the ones who (tweatle tweatle)
best on your exams, they are your scientists, and doctors?" the
Professor asked.
"No," said Fredr. "They are the politicians, the ruling class.
The A's, they're called. The next rank below that, the A-'s and the
B+'s, they're the scientists."
"Then what are lawyers?"
"C's," said Fredr.
"Then what are you?" said the Professor.
"I'm not good at standardized tests," Fredr grumbled. "The Great
Thinker says it's for the best. But he should be careful."
"What (tweatle tweatle) do you mean?"
"There are a lot more so-called 'dumb' people then there are
smart people," said Fredr. "Almost 80% are ranked as dumb or lower. One
of these days, the dumb people are going to rise up and take away power
from the smart ones."
"How so?" the Professor asked.
"Democracy," said Fredr. "Everyone will get the right to vote."
"Interesting concept," said the Professor. "You have no voting
rights here?"
"It's a dictatorship!" said Fredr. "Elections are only held for
local officials and minor issues. Even then you have to take a current
events test before you can go into the voting booth. They say it's to
make sure you have some idea what you're voting for, but it's really a
trick to weed out the D grades and below."
"Hm," said the Professor. Suddenly, he saw men in black uniforms
approaching.
Fredr picked up the pace of garbage collection and suddenly fell
silent.
"What are you doing with this alien?" one of the men in black
demanded.
"Nothing, sir," said Fredr. "He just came up to me while I was
doing my job."
"Don't lie to me, D grade," growled the officials. "Our monitors
saw you talking to him. Take him in for personality assessment."
One of the other soldiers grabbed Fredr and started to take him
away.
"No... no... not personality assessment! Please, no!"
The official looked at the Capybara. "What do we have here?"
"I believe you are feigning ignorance in order to elicit
information," said the Capybara.
"What makes you say that?" the official asked.
"Logically given my appearance I should have been the primary
object of interest. Yet you dealt with Fredr first. You also seem
curious about me, but not surprised, so you evidently know who and what
I am," said the Professor. He stared at the official with deep dark
eyes. "Or at least you think you do."
"You will come with us," said the official.
"Certainly," said the Capybara. "If you prove worthy."
"Worthy?"
"First you must solve a test," said the Capybara. A holograph
image appeared above him of floating squares of all different colors on
each side. "How must these be put together to form a perfect square
with one color on each side?"
"Uh...," said one of the soldiers.
Eight hours later, it was the Capybara who was studying a puzzle.
"Hm, very interesting," said the Capybara.
The Professor Capybara was inside one of the most closely guarded
offices in the galaxy.
The Great Thinker's office.
The Great Thinker was showing him mathematical equations on a
holodisplay.
"You are impressed?" said the Great Thinker.
"Ah, well, quite impressive, for your race," said the Capybara.
The Great Thinker's face darkened. "What does that mean?"
"You are the most intelligent human I have encountered thus far,"
said the Capybara.
"Thank you," said the Great Thinker, his face clearing again.
"Then there is much we can learn from each other."
"I do not think so," said the Capybara.
"What do you mean?"
"I learned these (tweatle tweatle) equations when I was a
weanling," said the Capybara. "Your level of technology is far below
mine."
The Great Thinker gulped hard. He didn't let anyone insult him
like that. But he recognized that he needed this creature. "That may be
true, but you should still stay with us."
"Why?"
"Because I am the smartest human you will ever encounter," said
the Great Thinker.
"I'm not so (tweatle tweatle) about that," said the Capybara.
"What do you mean?" said the Great Thinker.
"I have heard of one called... one called... just a moment, let
me check my (tweatle tweatle) notes," a holographic image of data
written in an alien language appeared in tiny lettering in the
Capybara's spectacles. "Ah, yes. Steven Quick."
"Quick? Quick? Quick is nothing, compared to me."
"Yes, I've registered your opinion on that, but I'd like to
(tweatle tweatle) him for myself," said the Capybara.
"I don't think so," said the Great Thinker, giving the Professor
a dark look.
"Why not?"
The Great Thinker pressed a button, and guards entered the room.
They carried a large, metallic looking net. They threw the net over the
Capybara, and it formed a tent like shape over him.
The Great Thinker grinned. "We have already heard that you are
impervious to blaster fire. But I don't think even you can escape from
this energy field. Now, you will immediately start explaining how your
technology works. You will avoid punishment by meeting production
quotas. If you behave-"
"I don't think so," said the Capybara mildly.
"What?" said the Great Thinker.
"I simply don't have time to (tweatle tweatle) with you further,"
said the Capybara. "I'm sorry, but I'm on a tight schedule, you
(tweatle tweatle) understand."
The Great Thinker laughed. "Where do you think you are going?"
"That way," said the Capybara, pointing with his snout to the
door.
"I would like to see you try," said the Great Thinker.
"As you wish," said the Capybara, shrugging.
Suddenly, the electronet, as if lifted by invisible hands, lifted
off the Capybara, and landed on the guards instead.
"Thank you for the enlightening conversation," said the Capybara.
"And please do not be too (tweatle tweatle) that your plans for keeping
me in captivity did not work out. You must work on more reasonable goal
fulfillment targets."
He waddled out of the room, once again leaving a speechless room
behind him.
***********************************************************************
"You did a fine piece of work, Croft," said Director Steadman,
over a secure holoconnection.
"Thank you, sir," said Croft. Preston stood casually in the
background.
"I'm ignoring the complaint that was lodged by the SI about your
'unauthorized actions'," said Steadman. "It's clear to me that if you
had failed to act, those hostages might all have been killed, and
relations would have been even further inflamed."
"Yes sir," said Croft.
"Unfortunately, you have only slowed the deterioration in
relations. The Directorate has just announced a 'friendship treaty'
with the Slurians that will allow each of them to establish consulates
on each others planets. This was obviously aimed at us."
"Yes sir," said Croft. "Sir? May I ask a question?"
"Go ahead."
"Why are we contesting Carradine at all? It has no strategic
value that I can see. The League citizens there don't act like their
oppressed, aside from a handful of Free Carradine crazies. I checked
the out-migration statistics--only 22 left in the past six months. In
fact, 488 people have migrated from the League to Carradine in the past
six months."
"I know," said Steadman.
"Furthermore, the Directorate people outnumber the Leaguers nine
to one. This didn't happen overnight. If the League didn't want the
Directorate to take over, why didn't they encourage emigration to
Carradine over the past 100 years?"
"You forget," said Steadman. "Back then it was Cahill Republic
settlers, not Directorate settlers."
"I see," said Croft. "So we would have acquiesced to a Republic
taking over the planet, but not Quick's government."
"There's more to the story than that, but that's the basic
issue," said Steadman. He paused. "Let me make comm call or two. I'll
get back to you in a day or two. Are you and Preston going to be ok
there?"
Croft shrugged. Preston asked, "Do they have any good antigrav
golf courses here?"
After disconnecting with Croft, Steadman thought for a long
moment. The current administration wasn't really focused on the
Carradine issue, being too focused on domestic issues. Steadman could
go directly to the Secretary of Foreign Affairs, but getting him to
listen would be another matter. Maybe the Secretary would listen to
someone else....
Senator Yale Darno was one of the most respected members of the
opposition. Most respected, because the current administration feared
he would run against the President, come reelection time. The Senator
was playing coy with the news services, but it was likely he would make
a formal announcement in the coming months. At first glance he was an
unlikely choice for Steadman to have contacted. But if he had no formal
influence with the administration, he was a voice they would listen to,
out of fear, if nothing else.
Fear is what got Senator Darno an almost immediate meeting with
Secretary of Foreign Affairs Alden Magnuson. But the Secretary didn't
act fearful, of course. He merely acted polite and interested. He was,
after all, a consummate diplomat.
"Alden, thank you for receiving me on such short notice," said
Darno.
"It's my pleasure," said the Secretary. He wondered what Darno
wanted. Was he trying to dig for information, threaten him to get him
to do something, or was he plotting an attack against the ministry, and
simply coming to warn the Secretary about it?
The answer turned out to be a combination of the second and third
possibilities.
"I'm very concerned by this Carradine situation," said Darno.
"So am I," said the Secretary. It seemed like a good thing to
say. He nodded slightly when he said it, to look scholarly.
"It seems we're driving the Directorate right into the arms of
the Slurians," said Darno.
"We're looking into the situation," the Secretary promised.
"I know. By sending your human rights gadfly to berate them,"
said Darno. "That wasn't quite what I had in mind."
"We are very concerned about human rights in the Directorate,"
said the Secretary.
"From what I've seen, they have'm," said Darno. "Or at least,
they have much more of them then they do on Sluria."
"Is that what this about? To accuse us of being soft on Sluria?"
said the Secretary.
Darno waved his hand. "Your record on that is well established.
No, I'm more interested in the Carradine issue."
"Yes, we have spoken up for the civil rights of our citizens
there."
"Your administration has been in office for the past 17 years,
and never seemed concerned before a couple of months ago," said Darno.
"Not when the Cahill Republic informally administered the planet, and
not even the first year or two of the Quick administration."
"We've been very busy," said the Secretary. "It's a big galaxy,
and we have only so many resources."
"That's what I thought, at first," said Darno. "Until I got my
hands on this," he said, holding up a datapad.
"It's a classified diplomatic document."
"How did you get that?" the Secretary asked.
"You'd be surprised what sort of things land in my email box
every day. How they get there, I don't know," said Darno. He held up
the datapad. "This is a record of the informal understanding we had to
let the Cahill Republic take control of Carradine, in return for
certain trade concessions."
"Well, even if that's true, I never knew-"
"but the Cahill people did. And probably Quick did," said Darno.
"No wonder we made no objection while they out-colonized us. No wonder
Quick thinks the planet is his. You agreed to it."
"I didn't agree to anything-"
"It was your political mentor, 49 years ago. You were only an
assistant secretary in the department," said Darno, his tone making his
meaning clear.
The Secretary sat back and cleared his throat. "You have some...
constructive suggestions?"
"Let Carradine go. It's small potatoes compared to the Slurian
threat."
The Secretary smiled. "I know you have an obsession with the
Slurian bogeyman-"
"Alden, use your brain. The Directorate has 400 ships. They can
be used with us, or against us. If you drive them into the arms of the
Slurians, the voters won't forget that, on election time."
The Secretary paused and studied his fingers. "I do not respond
well to threats."
"And I don't make threats," said Darno.
"However, it is possible that there might be other approaches
that we might make-"
"Good," said Darno. "And do it quickly." He tossed a datapad on
the Secretary's desk.
"What is this?"
"A record of Slurian subversion on Carradine. Sorry, I meant, the
Slurian bogeyman's subversion," said Darno. "I plan to make a speech on
the issue in the next two weeks. Can I expect to see you playing nicely
with the June Directorate by then?"
"I'll have to discuss any new initiative with the President,"
said the Secretary.
"You do that," said Darno. He got up. "Is Sally ok? How are the
kids?"
"They're fine," said the Secretary. "And Milly?"
"Couldn't be better," said Darno. He shook the Secretary's hand.
"Have a good day, Alden."
Chapter 8: Ernst Manheim
Studt Enters the Fray
"The Secretary of Foreign Affairs has been dispatched to June,"
said Colonel Chedaski. "He is going to offer a compromise on the
Carradine issue."
"There has been a counter reaction in the Directorate
bureaucracy," said the Great Thinker. "This was predicted, and factored
into the plan."
"What if the League is successful?"
"They won't be," said the Great Thinker. "We are ready to proceed
to the next phase. Are all the actors in place?"
"Yes," said Chedaski.
"Including our key player?"
"The Agonizer?" said Chedaski. "He is only too delighted to take
Croft on." He paused. "But are you sure that he can kill Croft? That
pesk has proven highly unkillable in the past."
"If you have to ask, you don't know the Agonizer," said the Great
Thinker, those white eyes boring into Chedaski.
"Believe me, I know," said Chedaski, shivering slightly.
***********************************************************************
It had been several weeks earlier. The Agonizer had refused all
remote contacts. He wanted to meet Chedaski, face to face, on his
private planet, alone. The prospect of meeting a homicidal maniac on
his own grounds didn't delight Chedaski. But it had to be done, so he
went.
The Agonizer had insisted on some precautions. His assistant, a
skin and bones man named Ivan, met Chedaski in a small scout ship, and
then kept him locked in the cabin section so he could not see the
coordinates where they were going. Chedaski knew the planet wasn't far
from the edge of League space, but the Agonizer evidently valued his
privacy.
When Ivan had set the coordinates, he came back from time to time
to the passenger section to serve Chedaski meals. Chedaski tried to
pump him for information.
"Why does your employer feel the need to meet face to face?"
Chedaski asked.
"My master relishes human contact," said Ivan. Something in the
way he said 'master' made Chedaski shiver. He had seen the Agonizer's
profile. His real name was Ernst Manheim Studt. And he was a homicidal
killer. He killed for money, or fun, or just for kicks. Not a very safe
environment for Chedaski, no.
Chedaski felt his blaster inside his jacket. Ivan hadn't bothered
to ask for it. Perhaps he would ask for it when they reached the
Agonizer's planet. Or more probably, the Agonizer didn't care; he had
taken out Graftonites, after all.
Maybe he was purposefully letting Chedaski keep his blaster in
the hopes that Chedaski would challenge him to a duel. His file said he
liked all those things.
Chedaski hated dealing with independent contractors. He
especially hated dealing with unpredictable independent contractors who
were as liable to kill him as the designated target at the drop of a
hat. However, the Slurians knew that pesky Croft. He had a file as long
as a landing strip. He was very difficult to kill. Chedaski would have
preferred sending a unit in from the Special Tasks branch to deal with
Croft, but they had failed before.
The Great Thinker had assured him that the Agonizer would
succeed. The Agonizer was, after all, undefeated. But so was Croft.
Still, the Agonizer's kill record was indeed impressive. He had killed
Graftonites, and all their super reflexes hadn't helped them. How had
he managed that?
It took only a few days to arrive at their destination. Chedaski
found himself on a small landing platform in a heavily wooded area.
Just over a ridge he saw the tops of a house.
Ivan led him there. They went around to the front door and
entered. Chedaski found himself in a very well-decorated home.
"So where is he?" said Chedaski, looking around?
"I am here," said Ernst Manheim Studt. He wore a black suit,
which was quite a contrast to his shock of white hair. "Thank you for
coming all this way, Colonel Chedaski."
"It's not as if you gave me any choice," said Studt.
"Forgive me for making you indulge my tastes," said Studt. "But
aside from Ivan, there is no one else on my planet. I get lonely."
"I've heard you've brought more than a few people here," said
Chedaski.
"Yes, but I was hunting those, and they didn't stay very long,"
said Studt, watching Chedaski's face for a reaction. It was as if he
were trying to scare him.
"Can we get down to business?"
"Certainly," said Studt. "But you must be hungry from your long
journey." He clapped his fingers. "Ivan, prepare a special number four
dinner for my guest and I."
"What does Ivan eat?" Chedaski wondered aloud.
Studt shrugged, as if it never occurred to him, or if he simply
didn't care. "Let us not talk about the little people, Colonel. Tell me
of some of your exploits. You must have had some quite fascinating
kills in the NGB."
Chedaski stared at Studt. Where was that going? Time to get him
back on track. "I am here to talk about a mission."
"I do not work cheaply," said Studt. He waved his hands around
him. "I have enormous overhead," he grinned.
Somehow Chedaski doubted that. Studt's high prices were merely a
pretext to feed his maniacal ego.
Chedaski pressed a button on his datapad. "We would like the
following individual, and all around him, eliminated." A picture of a
smirking Clifford Croft appeared. Written data appeared at the bottom
of the hologram.
Studt read the information eagerly. "I am not familiar with this
man," he frowned.
"He is with the Column."
"The Column?" said Studt, brightening.
"In fact, he is one of the agency's eight."
"One of the Eight!" said Studt. "Well, that settles it, I am
interested!"
"I thought you would be."
"I am always looking for a challenge. I have never killed a top
operative of the Column before," said Studt. He grew contemplative,
with a far away look in his eyes. "Yes, that might prove to be quite an
enjoyable challenge. Is he a skilled gunfighter?"
"To a certain degree," said Chedaski. "But his main skills are in
infiltration, trickery, and deception."
"Perfect!" said Studt. "I shall enjoy hunting him!"
"We don't want you to hunt him, we want you to kill him," said
Chedaski.
"When?" Studt asked.
"I will forward you the date a few days in advance," said
Chedaski. "It has to be properly timed, when he is in the company of
another individual."
"I need at least two weeks notice," said Studt.
"Why?" said Chedaski.
"To prepare," said Studt. "If he is as good as you say-"
"No, you just want to send him notes telling him you're going to
kill him," said Chedaski. "I know how you work. This man is an expert
infiltrator. We don't want him warned in advance."
"But the fear builds up, it makes for an engaging hunt-"
"No. Or no deal," said Chedaski.
"Oh... Oh, very well," said Studt.
"What about your price?"
Studt laughed and handed over a datapad. "It's non-negotiable, so
don't even bother to argue, or I will double the price."
Chedaski's eyes went up when he saw the figure, but he only
nodded. He could get a special appropriation to cover it.
Ivan started to serve dinner.
"Excellent!" said Studt. "I always build up an appetite before a
hunt!"
"You're not going to bring him here and hunt him. You're just
going to kill him," said Chedaski, looking Studt squarely in the eyes.
"For the money you're asking us to pay, you have to do it our way."
"All right, Colonel, all right," said Studt. He cut a piece of
bloody meat and put in his mouth. He laughed. "Our business is
concluded. Let us eat!"
"I still don't understand why I had to come all the way here for
this," said Chedaski.
"I wanted to meet you, Colonel," said Studt.
"Why?" said Chedaski.
"I heard you might be a formidable opponent," said Studt, his
eyes glittering as he stared very hard at Chedaski.
Chedaski's stomach flipflopped. His hand moved nearer to his
jacket.
"I wouldn't, Colonel," said Studt. "Enough Graftonites have tried
to outdraw me, I can show you where they're buried."
Chedaski found he had problems speaking. "I just came here to
negotiate," he whispered.
"Relax, Colonel, relax! You're hardly likely to pay my fee if
you're dead, aren't you?"
Chedaski, nodding, relaxed slightly.
"Still, I was disappointed when I learned that you haven't been
an active field agent in some time. I don't think you would be a very
exciting sport." Studt looked at the hologram of Croft. "This one,
however, has possibilities...."
*******************************************************************
The Capybara looked at the mathematical equations on the board.
He sat alone in a white office with a single individual. "Interesting,"
he said.
"I think you're flattering me," said Steven Quick. "Surely your
mathematics is above ours."
"That's correct," said the Capybara. "But it never hurts to be
(tweatle tweatle) polite. So, now that we've talked for a bit, isn't it
time for you to try to (tweatle tweatle) capture or kill me?"
Quick gave a small smile. "How do you mean?"
"The previous beings I encountered attempted to capture or kill
me when they couldn't immediately secure my cooperation," said the
Capybara. "Why should your behavior be any different?"
"For one thing, I heard what the League and the Slurians tried to
do to you," said Quick. "I have excellent intelligence services. Who
else have you seen? The Rurrians? The Great Thinker? I can only
imagine. I already know that attempting to detain you is a losing
effort, so why try? Persuasion is the only weapon in my arsenal," said
Quick, grinning. "For one thing, even if we're not at your level, I am
the closest human to your level. You'll have the most interesting
conversations with me."
"Somewhere, I think I have heard that before."
"So you have met the Terrible Thinker," said Quick. "How is he
doing? Wait, I withdraw the question. I don't wish to know." He was
silent for a moment. "Stay or go, it's up to you. I have more important
matters to deal with right now."
"Yes, the brewing war with the League humans," said the
Professor. "Are you really going to start a war over your dispute?"
"I'm trying to prevent a war," said Quick. "But the League keeps
provoking me."
The Professor turned his head. "Now, you know that's not true.
You've (tweatle tweatle) known that for some time. The one thing I
can't understand, is why are you acting like you don't know?"
"I think our interview is over," Quick quickly said.
*******************************************************************
Croft and Preston had been on Carradine for several days and were
bored. The planet was pleasant enough--peaceful, quiet, well organized,
and without a major criminal element. If one didn't check the
interstellar holonews one wouldn't know about the turmoil going on
there.
It was four days later that the Chief contacted them, and only
two odd things happened before they got the call.
Croft got up one morning, and as he and Preston finished lunch,
they went outside to the groundcar they had rented. There was a small
paper card on the windshield.
"A ticket?" said Croft. "I didn't get the impression they give
tickets on this planet." Indeed, the regulatory authorities seemed
almost absent. Except for crime prevention, there were few regulations
of the "oppressive dictatorship" that had to be obeyed.
Croft flipped the card around. He whistled softly.
"What is it?" said Preston.
"Not a ticket," said Croft, showing the card to Preston.
In a flowery font, the card read
CLIFFORD CROFT, IN EXACTLY TWO WEEKS YOU WILL BE KILLED
"One of your admirers?" said Preston.
"Could be one of many," said Croft. "But I don't know any who
would warn me in advance. Certainly not so far in advance."
"Maybe he wants to give you time to put your affairs in order,"
said Preston. "Or maybe it's a joke."
"Who knows I'm even here?" said Croft, looking around, as if for
someone watching him.
"You think we're being watched?" said Preston.
"Probably," said Croft. "Whoever left this note will probably be
looking for a reaction."
"What do we do?"
"For now, nothing," said Croft, pocketing the card.
They continued to rest and relax for the next two days, waiting
to hear from the Chief. They were driving along in their groundcar when
suddenly it sputtered and stopped. Preston and Croft were in the middle
of an isolated stretch of road.
They got out of the groundcar and popped open the hood.
"You know how these things work?" Preston asked.
"I was hoping you did," said Croft, studying all the wires and
components. It looked about as complex as the engines they used on
Wildcat fighters.
Suddenly a small white car came down the road. The car slowed and
stopped. A smiling man with a white shock of hair in a black suit came
out. "Are you having some trouble?"
'Yes," said Croft smiling, immediately looking into the car for
other confederates. There were none. He looked around. They were on an
open prairie. There was no spot for assassins to be lurking. But Croft
didn't trust coincidences.
"I know something about engines, perhaps I can help," said the
man.
"That would be mighty kind of you," said Croft, carefully
standing out of the way so that he could watch the man to see if he
implanted a bomb in the engine while still giving Preston a clear line
of fire.
Then he said, "I see your problem. Your governor cable has come
loose." A pause. "I've reattached it. Try it now."
Croft nodded to Preston. Preston went into the groundcar and
restarted the engine. It hummed into life.
"There you go," said the man, smiling.
"Thank you," said Croft.
"You're welcome," said the man. "By the way, are you tourists?"
"Yes, we're tourists," said Croft.
The man extended his hand. "My name is Ernst."
"My name is Joe," said Croft, extending his.
The man shook his hands slowly, grinning as he stared into
Croft's eyes. The handshake went on so long, Croft wondered if he were
going to get his hand back. But the man let go.
"You have quite a good grip," said the man.
"Thanks," said Croft.
"Are you sure you're tourists?" said the man.
"Why do you ask?" Croft asked.
"You seem very... professional," said the man. "Like military,
perhaps."
"I did a stint in the planetary guard a hundred years ago," said
Croft.
"Yes," said the man, grinning at Croft as he continued to stare
at him. "Well, I suppose I must be off."
"I suppose," said Croft, watching him closely.
"Nice meeting you... Joe," said man, giving Croft a wave as he
casually walked by the open door on the passenger side of the
groundcar.
Croft and Preston watched him go.
"That was odd," said Preston.
"Doubly odd," said Croft, watching him go. "He just turned around
and went back the way he came."
"Did he plant anything in the engine?"
"No, I was watching him there carefully," said Croft. "But I'll
bet he or one of his friends unplugged whatever he plugged in."
"But why?" said Preston.
Croft watched the distant groundcar, now a dot on the horizon. "I
don't know."
In fact, it took him a whole five seconds to figure out. When
Croft got back into the groundcar, he felt a stabbing pain under his
thigh. He put his hand under it, and fished something out.
Another card.
CLIFFORD CROFT, YOU WILL BE KILLED IN EXACTLY TWELVE DAYS
"That's... that's him!" said Preston.
"Yes," said Croft.
"Why would he want to meet you?" said Preston.
"For the same reason he gives these warnings," said Croft.
"What do you mean?"
"We've got a crazy nut on our hands."
"Are you sure it's not the Slurians?"
"No," said Croft. "The NGB or even Special Tasks wouldn't be
so... playful. This is something different."
"But who is he? We don't know anything about him," said Preston.
"I'm sure he left plenty of prints on the engine," said Croft.
"And we know his first name is Ernst."
Preston snorted. "An alias, probably."
Croft shook his head. "I don't think so."
In a few hours, when they took their fingerprint sample and
submitted for analysis, they had their answer.
A holo of their friendly repairman appeared above their datapad.
"Ernst Manheim Studt," said Croft. "Otherwise known as the
Agonizer."
"Nice name," said Preston. "With a name like that, he must be a
psycho Graftonite killer."
Croft shook his head. "No. But he's killed several Graftonites,
apparently."
"A non-Graftonite? How?"
"I don't know," said Croft. "But you've got the psycho killer
part right. Here's a partial list of his victims." A list scrolled
below the holographic face.
"Why is he after you?"
"I don't know," said Croft. "But the intelligence indicates that
he likes to play with his victims."
"Well, the next time you see him, shoot him!"
"I don't suspect he'll make it so easy, next time," said Croft.
He read the data. "It says his parents were killed by a Graftonite
contractor. Some time later, he killed the Graftonite who killed his
parents."
"Good for him," said Preston.
"But it didn't end there. He became a killer for hire, known for
taking particularly tough assignments. It says here he even turns down
assignments if he doesn't consider the victim sufficiently
challenging."
"How come we never heard of this guy before?" said Preston.
"He must have a bad public relations firm," said Croft. "It's a
big galaxy with a lot of killers."
"It's obvious why he's after you," said Preston. "You're one of
the Eight."
"Yes, but how did he learn I was one of the Eight, or where I
was?" said Croft.
"You think someone put him up to it?"
"The Slurians, no doubt," said Croft. "They're probably tired of
the mounting body count every time they send a team after me."
"It's not like the Slurians to use an outside contractor."
"Remember what I did to the last NGB agent who tried to kill me?"
"Oh," said Preston. "Yes. Well, maybe they did get desperate and
hire this guy."
"But why now?" said Croft. "I'm in between assignments. Why at
this particular time?"
"He said he wasn't going to kill you for 12 days."
'Then something big is going to happen in 12 days," said Croft.
"Well, I guess our vacation will come to an end soon," said
Preston.
They found out two days later, when the Chief gave them their
assignment. His holo filled a corner of their hotel room.
"Our allied intelligence has indicated an opportunity to obtain a
personal decoder," said the Chief.
"A... what?" said Croft.
"A personal decoder," said the Chief. "Allied intelligence has
discovered that the Directorate has invented a device that will let
them instantly decode all our classified transmissions."
"Ooops," said Croft. "That's a minor security breach."
"We only became aware of the existence of the device when someone
inside the Directorate offered to sell it to us," said the Chief.
"Needless to say, we need to get our hands on this device."
"Ah, Chief, that sounds good, but what does this have to do with
uncovering the Slurian plot to increase tensions between us and the
Directorate?"
The Chief grimaced. "Agent Vickery has convinced his superiors to
get you transferred off the primary mission and onto this task."
"What?"
"It was Stellar Intelligence itself, through one of Vickery's
sources, which was contacted about selling the personal decoder.
Stellar Intelligence felt that your skills would be better utilized in
an operations such as this than in your current observation mode."
"Since when does SI give us orders?" said Croft.
"It's all a game, Croft," said the Chief. "You can return to
investigate this matter when you have recovered the decoder. I jumped
at the chance to have you do it. I know if Stellar Intelligence tried
to do it on their own, things would get fouled up."
"Aren't you just the tiniest bit suspicious as to why they would
let us have this mission, much less tell us about it?"
"I think they thought it was a way to get rid of you from the
diplomatic observer team," said the Chief.
"Hm," said Croft. "And what if I get caught buying this device?
Won't that worsen relations?"
"Don't get caught," said the Chief. "I have every confidence in
you. I'm forwarding you a file with all the information on a
subchannel." He eyed their faces. "Is there something you're not
telling me?"
"Nothing really, Chief," said Croft.
"Croft!"
"Well, there is a little matter of a weird guy with eccentric
business cards," said Croft.
"Explain."
Croft did.
The Chief punched up the information from his database, and
stared at it for a minute. Then he whistled.
"Yeah," said Croft.
The Chief looked at Croft. "This is not one of your run of the
mill killers," he said.
"Chief, if you're thinking of pulling me from the assignment-"
"I'm not," said the Chief.
"I don't have to fight you?"
"You don't have to fight me," said the Chief. "You keep
forgetting, Clifford, unlike your previous bosses, I have a brain. This
person has obviously been sent to prevent you from acquiring the
decoder. If I send someone else, someone of lesser skills who's not one
of the eight, this killer will simply be assigned a new target. You're
still the best person for the job."
Preston cleared his throat.
"You and Preston, I mean."
"If this guy was hired to stop me from completing this mission,
how did he seem to know about it even before I did?"
"There must be a leak at Stellar Intelligence," said Steadman.
"I always said they leaked like a sieve," said Croft.
"Regardless, you must complete the mission. Still, with a killer
of this caliber... I'll send two additional agents, Kelly and Sanford,
to assist you on Ivory."
"Ivory?" said Croft. "No, no no no no no."
"What's wrong?" said Preston.
"I am not going back to Ivory."
"I know you had a bad experience there the last time-"
"Bad experience doesn't begin to describe it," said Croft.
"That's the craziest planet in the galaxy."
"Nevertheless, that's where you have to go. The person who is
selling the personal decoder wants to meet on neutral ground."
"That's unstable ground, not neutral ground."
"I'm not as well traveled as some," said Preston. "Would someone
enlighten me?"
"It's a crazy planet filled with insane people," said Croft.
"It's not," said the Chief. "It's just one of the small
independent planets with a different form of government."
"What government?" Croft exclaimed.
"Ivorians strongly believe in participatory government," said the
Chief.
Preston blinked. "Which means?"
"All political parties are in the government," said Croft.
"How can that work?" said Preston.
"Terribly," said Croft.
"They divide up the week based on their numbers in the
parliament," said the Chief. "For example, if one political party has
fifty percent of the seats, they run the government three and half days
out of every seven. If another party has one seventh of the seats, they
rule the planet for one day a week."
"But wait, it gets crazier," said Croft.
The Chief nodded. "Smaller, more extreme parties get their chance
too. If the Gauche lovers party has a seat or two in parliament, they
get to rule for an hour or two every week."
"I still don't understand," said Preston. "How can a government
run when it changes control every day or every few hours?"
"Poorly," said Croft.
"They work out a balance among each other," said the Chief. "You
really only have to worry during the times the small, radical parties
are in charge."
"The Gauche party?" said Preston, referring to the popular stewed
bean drink. "What do they do, give out free coffee?"
"It's not the Gauche party you'll have to worry most about," said
the Chief. "I'm sure Croft will fill you in on the way there. Clifford!
Clifford!"
Croft looked at the holo of the Chief.
"Stop pouting. It's not becoming for one of the Eight. Steadman
out." The image faded.
"I promised myself I would never go back there," said Croft.
"You must be quite disappointed with yourself, then," said
Preston.
"Ha ha," said Croft. "Pack extra blaster packs."
They were in a smoothtube transport at the spaceport, heading for
their commercial flight to Ivory. The transport stopped at each
terminal; of course, Croft's and Preston's terminal was at the end of
the line.
The train stopped at one of the terminals. Croft hardly noticed.
"Wonderful," he said. "How could this day get any worse?"
There was a tap on the window. Croft, frowning, looked up, to see
a familiar face in a black suit standing on the platform.
Ernst Manheim Studt.
He was pointing down.
Croft bent down, and picked up a card he noticed on the ground by
his feet.
CLIFFORD CROFT, YOU WILL BE KILLED IN EXACTLY TEN DAYS
Croft drew his blaster, but the tube transport started moving
with a lurch, and the smiling face of Studt moved out of sight.
"Is he starting to get on your nerves?" Preston inquired.
"Not in the slightest," said Croft, putting away his blaster.
The flight to Ivory was largely uneventful. The first thing Croft
did when the ship launched was to walk the ship from one end to the
other and look for Studt. He found no sign of him.
"Well, it looks like we won't be bothered for a week," said
Preston.
"Yeah," said Croft, without much conviction.
"So tell me more about this planet. The government sounds totally
unworkable."
"It is," said Croft. "One day the pro-business party is in power,
and they lower business taxes and raise sales taxes. The next day the
communitarian party is in power, and they raise income taxes on the
higher income class as well as business taxes."
"But that's unworkable," said Preston. "I mean, people don't pay
taxes every day."
"They do here, electronically, a fraction of their estimated
yearly totals."
"So one day the tax is 80%, the next day it's 5%?"
"Well, it's not quite as bad as that," said Croft. "There is some
balance among the major parties, as the Chief implied."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, for example, if the communitarian party did raise taxes to
80% for the day they're in power, the pro-business party would respond
when it got into power by eliminating the tax when they were in charge,
and putting a highly regressive 80% tax on the lower income brackets.
That's why the communitarian party never gets to do really radical
things, like planitarization of major industries," said Croft.
"I see."
"Generally, the larger the party, the more days per week it has
in power, and the greater the ability it has to moderate the actions of
the other parties," said Croft. "What I've said, of course, had no
bearing on the very small parties."
"The very small parties?"
"The small, wacky, one issue parties that have little to lose by
infuriating everyone," said Croft.
"Like what?"
"You'll see," said Croft.
The trip was quiet for the first five days. And then a stewardess
came and handed Croft an old-fashioned envelope. The envelope read,
"Please deliver to passenger Clifford Croft on the fifth day of the
voyage."
Croft took it, but groaned. Inside, of course, it read
CLIFFORD CROFT, YOU WILL BE KILLED IN FIVE DAYS.
When they arrived on Ivory, two days later, they got a cheery
sendoff from the Captain. "Attention all passengers, we will be landing
in approximately five minutes. We're in luck; it's a sunny day on
Ivory, 75 degrees, and the current government in power does not require
any sort of customs search or entry visas at all, at least for the next
30 minutes. We'll try to get you to the gate in time before the next
change in government."
"The pro-immigration free borders people must be in power," said
Croft, checking his chrono.
"This is going to be really crazy," said Preston.
That was an understatement. When they got out of the gate, they
saw a number of people with signs with names of people leaving the
flight. But one sign, the biggest, was simply posted to a column, with
no one standing by it.
CLIFFORD CROFT, THREE MORE DAYS.
"I guess he's here," said Preston.
"I would say that's a reasonable assumption," said Croft.
Two men stepped forward. They identified themselves as agents
Kelly and Sanford.
"All right guys, here's the schedule," said Croft. "We're
supposed to meet with our contact in a tavern here in town tomorrow.
Try to stay out of trouble with whatever government happens to be in
power."
"I can see we're in trouble," said Preston, checking a monitor
readout.
"How do you mean?" said Croft.
He checked the readout, and gave a low whistle.
There were literally two dozen political parties. The planetary
government was even more fragmented than when Croft had been here last.
They saw evidence of this as they went to hail a groundcar taxi.
On the way to there they were stopped by a pair of policemen.
"Excuse me," said one of them.
"Is there a problem, officer?" Croft asked. His papers were in
order, and he was licensed to carry a blaster, so he had nothing to
fear.
The policeman said, "I couldn't help but notice that you and two
of your companions are dark haired."
Croft turned around, and looked at Preston and Kelly. "Yes..." he
said, wondering where this was leading.
"There's a tax on dark haired people. 20 credits a head," said
the policeman.
"20 credits for being darkhaired?" said Croft. "What kind of law
is that?"
"A law of the blonde party," said the policeman. "I'm sorry, but
they're in power for the next two hours or so. We keep trying to vote
them out, but a vocal minority keeps putting them back in."
"Can't you just let us by?" said Croft.
"Sorry," said the policeman. "I sympathize with you, but if I get
fired, it will be three days before a friendly government rehires me,
and I can't afford to lose three days of salary."
Croft sighed as he and his companions paid. "What's to stop
someone else from demanding this tax again five minutes from now?"
"I'm sending an official certificate to your datapads now," said
the policeman. "We tend to be very organized about these things."
"How comforting," said Croft.
When they arrived at the hotel, the clerk said, "Do you gentlemen
plan to go out tonight?"
Croft exchanged glances with Preston. "Not really. Why?"
"I wouldn't recommend it," said the clerk.
"Why not?" Croft asked.
"The anarchy party comes to power in two hours. Until 7 AM, the
entire criminal code has been stricken."
"There must be a lot of crime," said Croft.
"Just a few hours a week," said the clerk. "The anarchy party
says by scheduling a set time for bad behavior, it helps people get it
out of their system."
"What a cathartic political system," said Croft. "Thank you.
Goodnight."
They went up to their rooms. Croft shared a room with Preston,
while Kelly and Sanford were in an adjacent room.
"Do you think we should set up a watch, Cliff?"
"Why?" Croft asked.
"Because of the Agonizer."
"He's not going to kill me for another three days," said Croft.
"I'm perfectly safe."
"Cliff, he's a nutcase."
"That's true too," said Croft.
The next day they got ready for their meeting. The details they
received were a little... unusual. They were to go to a certain tavern
and meet a "blonde woman with large breasts" sitting in a corner.
"Why not just describe what she's wearing?" Croft asked, looking
at the details. After all, there could be a lot of women with large
breasts at this tavern. He didn't want to have to go over and
interrogate each set.
Preston shrugged.
Croft, Preston, Kelly, and Sanford went down to the lobby to find
the desk clerk totally naked. So was everyone else.
"You can't be planning to go out like that, sir," said the desk
clerk, staring at their clothes.
"Don't tell me," said Croft. "The nudity party is in charge?"
"The free expression party. Nudity is mandatory," said desk
clerk.
"Doesn't sound like free expression to me," said Preston.
"Can we, ah, go back to our rooms and wait a few minutes for this
to pass?" said Croft.
"The Free Expression party is in charge for the next hour and a
half," said the desk clerk.
"Our meeting is in one hour," said Preston.
"All right," said Croft, rolling his eyes. He looked at the other
agents. "Let's go back upstairs and change."
When they returned, feeling awkward, each wore nothing but
blaster holsters, blasters, and datapads. Croft grimaced as he felt the
room staring at him.
The desk clerk looked at them.
"I don't suppose it's against the law to wear our guns," said
Croft.
"No, not until tomorrow," said the desk clerk.
"Very nice," said Croft dryly.
They took a taxi to the tavern. Croft felt naked as he stepped
out onto the city street and into the tavern. Well, he was.
A young blonde woman with large but perky breasts sat in the far
corner. Their contact.
Croft and Preston went to meet her, while Kelly and Sanford acted
as backup.
"The air in here is quite subtle," she said.
"Subtly sweet," said Croft, making a face.
'What's wrong?" the woman asked.
"I hate those dopey code phrases. We know who we are. And if we
were someone else, the oddity of such phrases would tell even a
commoner that we're spies," said Croft.
"I'm no spy," the woman said.
"How exactly would you characterize yourself?"
"I'm a businesswoman," she said.
"That's nice," said Croft. "Do you have the device?"
"Does it look like I am?" she smiled, opening her bare arms.
"Then why am I talking to you?" Croft asked.
"My, how impatient you are, Mister..."
"Mister," said Croft.
"Mister Mister, then," she smiled. "I am an intermediary."
"Then intermediate," said Croft.
"You get to the point," she said, looking pointedly between his
legs. "I like that."
"You don't get to the point," said Croft. "I don't like that. You
also purposely picked this foolish time of day to meet. Why?"
"I just wanted to make sure you weren't hiding anything," said
the woman, batting her eyes.
"Ah, listen," said Croft. "We're not a dating service. We're here
to buy the item. When can we see it?"
"First we must agree on a price."
"So name your price," said Croft.
The blonde paused for a moment. "Twenty million credits."
"All right," said Croft. "Now get the device."
"You agreed too quickly!" said the blonde.
"You want me to agree more slowly?" said Croft.
"You sound like you don't care what the price is, because you'll
just kill us to get the device."
"No, we're not Slurians," said Croft. "Of course I agreed. What
do I care? It's not my money."
"Oh," she said, relaxing slightly.
"Of course, we'll want to see the device in action before we
pay."
"Of course," she said.
"And if you do double cross us, we will kill you," said Croft.
"But otherwise, no, I don't see any other circumstances under which we
would harm you."
"That's reassuring," she said, arching her chest. "But isn't
there anything else you'd like to do with me?"
"None that I can particularly think of," said Croft. "When can
you arrange a meeting with the primary seller?"
"What if I said I wanted a commission for arranging the meeting?"
she said slyly.
"I presume you're already getting paid a portion of the purchase
price," said Croft.
"That's not what I mean," she said. She rubbed one of Croft's
legs under the table. "I mean what if I asked for an evening with you?"
"I'd rather pay more money and sleep in," said Croft.
She made a scowling face. "All right." She pressed a button on
her datapad. "I've transmitted the coordinates. Be there at noon sharp,
two days from now."
"Two days? Why so long?" said Croft. "What is the seller doing,
running a nudist marathon?"
"Silly!" she said flirtatiously, rubbing a finger under Croft's
chin. "He's... not... here... yet...."
"Sure," said Croft. He motioned to the others, and they got up.
"Oh, do you have to leave?" she asked.
"We've decided to go indoors until clothes are back in fashion,"
said Croft.
"Your loss," the blonde grinned.
They made their way to the street.
"A very odd woman," said Preston. "What did you think of her?"
"I hate it when people mix business and pleasure," Croft
commented, as he hailed a groundcar tax. It came to a halt. All four of
them got into the back.
"Where to, sir?" said the driver in front in a high pitched
voice, not bothering to turn around. All Croft could see was the back
of his head and his bare shoulders.
Croft told him the name of their hotel.
"Yes sir," came the high pitched response.
The groundcar started off.
"Why do you really think she's making us wait two days?" Preston
asked.
"I don't know," said Croft. "But I don't think it's because she's
waiting for the seller to arrive."
"She seemed like a very odd intermediary," said Preston. "She
seemed really turned on by you, Cliff."
"That's not odd."
But what was odd was that after a moment or two Croft noticed
that they passed their hotel. "Driver, you passed our hotel."
"I thought if you had the time, you'd enjoy a scenic tour of
Ivory," said the driver. But he no longer had that high pitched voice,
but a somewhat familiar, deeper voice. He turned around and grinned at
Croft.
It was Ernst Manheim Studt.
Croft immediately drew his blaster and pointed it at Studt's head
through the partition.
"Oh, I wouldn't do that," said Studt conversationally. "These
partitions are not only blaster proof, but blaster reflective. You'd be
terminating yourself, and after all, you still have two more days." At
that last he turned and grinned at Croft.
"Who are you?" said Croft. "Why are you doing this?"
" I enjoy conversing with all my competitors. You present a
unique challenge, Mr. Croft. I have never killed a Column agent before,
much less one of the vaunted Eight."
"Why do you have to kill me at all?" said Croft. "I never even
heard of you."
Studt frowned. "That hurt, Mr. Croft."
Suddenly, the ground car accelerated, heading towards a large
truck ahead on the road.
"Hey, slow down, slow down!" Kelly shouted.
The car reached ramming speed, and then, at the last minute,
swerved around the truck.
"Hey!" Sanford shouted.
"Perhaps you'd like to go back in the direction of your hotel,"
Studt grinned.
"Yes!" said Preston.
Studt wheeled the vehicle around and they started back--in the
wrong lane, with ground cars whizzing towards them. Studt accelerated
towards the other cars, verving off at the last minute, constantly
checking his rear mirror to watch the facial expressions of his
passengers.
"Getting a little flustered, are we, Mr. Croft?" said Studt.
Croft's hands tightly gripped the door of the groundcar, his
teeth clenched. His companions had shock and fear on their faces.
Studt swerved close to another truck, only swerving away again at
the last minute.
"All I can say, Studt, is that if it happens to me, it happens to
you," said Croft.
Studt frowned and slowed down, turning the car around, so it was
driving in the right direction in the proper lane. "What bravery, Mr.
Croft. Perhaps you have earned your reputation. I look forward to our
meeting two days from now."
"Why not do it now?" said Croft.
"Ah, because, Mr. Croft, I have given you two more days, and I'm
a professional, I always keep my promises."
"You're a professional sadist," said Croft. "You simply want to
see your intended targets suffer."
Studt gave a laugh. Suddenly, the car pulled up to a stop. "Here
we are, Mr. Croft. Your hotel."
Croft matched glances with the other agents. Quickly they piled
out of the car. Croft raised his blaster to aim through the passenger
side window. But the groundcar started off, zooming away even as its
back doors flapped open. Croft fired several blaster shots, but none
scored a vital hit as the groundcar sped away.
"Hey hey hey," said a uniformed policeman running up to them.
"You're not allowed to do that for another 30 minutes." He looked them
up and down. "And don't you think it's time you put some clothes on?"
The worst part was, when Croft found out later, was that those
partitions weren't blaster reflective. They weren't even blasterproof.
He could have killed Studt at any time.
******************************************************************
"He's taunting them! He's practically letting them know it's a
setup!" said Colonel Chedaski. "He's going against all his express
orders! I knew that madman would agree to everything and then do
exactly what he wanted!"
"His behavior was anticipated," said the Great Thinker, those
white eyes staring out into space.
"You always say that," said Chedaski. "But this Croft is no fool.
He knows now he's going to walk into a trap. How is Studt going to
handle him and three other agents?"
"Quite easily," said the Great Thinker.
"He's no Graftonite, he can't take four Column agents," said
Chedaski.
"You are not operating with all the facts," said the Great
Thinker, blinking exactly once. "Wait, and see."
*******************************************************************
Croft and the others made their report to the Chief via secure
hololine.
"You think it's a coincidence that they want to sell the device
on the same day that Studt is slated to kill you?" the Chief asked.
"Let's just say that it's more than a little coincidental," said
Croft.
"So you think it's a trap?"
"Definitely."
"So, you're convinced they don't really have a personal decoder
to sell."
Croft was silent.
"Croft?"
"I'm not sure," said Croft. "If Studt is working with the
supposed seller, then there will be no decoder. But if Studt has simply
been following us, working his Slurian contacts at Stellar
Intelligence, he may know about the sale, but have nothing to do with
it. He may have timed his little attack on me to coincide with the
sale, not the other way around."
The Chief paused for a moment. "Clifford, I know this looks like
a trap, but if there's even a chance of getting that decoder-"
"I know, I know."
"You have three agents with you. I know this is a fanatical
killer, but if you're careful, you should be able to take him," said
the Chief.
"Yep," said Croft.
"In the meantime, you have another free day. Try to relax," said
the Chief.
"Relax," said Croft, as the Chief's image faded. "Sure."
Nevertheless that's what Croft tried to do, sitting in the small
garden behind the hotel the next day with the others, sunning himself.
"We'll all be there," said Preston. "The minute this guy shows
up, we'll blast him."
"What if he's not there?" said Croft. "What if he attacks at a
distance, with-"
Suddenly Preston heard a thunking sound and Croft screamed as a
dart buried itself in his back. Kelly and Sanford were up, blasters
waving around, as Croft pulled it out.
"Cliff, are you ok?"
It was a chemical dart. He had probably been poisoned. But as
Croft looked at the chemical casing, it looked an odd color. He opened
it up... and instead of chemical residue, he found a small scrap of
paper.
CLIFFORD CROFT, YOU WILL BE KILLED TOMORROW!
Croft showed it to Preston wordlessly.
"We'll form a cordon around you," said Preston. "He'll never get
a shot in."
"Right," said Croft. He wasn't feeling very confident. He wiped a
trace amount of his own blood off his hands.
Preston came closer to Croft, and spoke in a whisper. "Cliff...
do you want me and the boys to handle this tomorrow?"
Croft shook his head. "No, I'll go." He sensed that this was one
adversary there was no running from.
Suddenly, he heard a faint, small musical voice. It was so faint
he thought he imagined it.
But it appeared to say, "Most impressive."
Croft looked around. There were some rustling in foliage. But he
could clearly see there was no one there. The foliage stopped rustling.
It must have been the wind.
The next day Croft got up to see Preston already awake, a blaster
in his hand. Croft looked questioningly at him.
"It's today. He could strike at any time," said Preston.
"He's not going to strike until we get the decoder," said Croft.
"He's probably already arranged to resell it to the Slurians."
"Maybe," said Preston. "But I'm not going to let anyone take a
chunk out of you without a fight."
"Thanks, buddy," said Croft.
They met up with Kelly and Sanford and went downstairs to check
out of the hotel. Once they got the decoder, they planned to
immediately leave the planet on a direct flight to August.
As they paid their bill Croft was astonished to see that the tax
was 50 percent.
"50 percent!" he said.
"Sorry sir," said the manager. "The communitarians are in power
today. You'll find they tax everything."
"Wonderful," said Croft, paying the bill.
As they got to the exit a hotel employee was waiting. "Just a
moment, sir," he said.
"What is this?" said Croft.
"Exit tax."
"Exit tax? From the hotel?"
"From any structure that does business," said the employee
glumly. "40 credits, please."
Croft paid up.
When they got outside they were immediately accosted for the
sidewalk tax.
"At this rate, we're going to run out of cash before we get the
device," said Preston.
Croft said nothing, hailing a groundcar taxi. He very carefully
checked the identity of the driver.
They reached their destination, an idle ore mill.
"Are you sure you want to go there?" said the driver, indicating
the decrepit mill.
"Not really," said Croft.
"You don't?" said the driver.
"How much do we owe you?" Preston asked.
"50 credits," said the man.
"For a ten minute ride?"
"With the cab tax," said the driver. "And I'm also collecting
your ore mill tax for you."
"We don't own it," said Preston, "We're just going into it."
"I know," said the driver.
"How does anyone get anything done when the communitarians are in
power?"
"Mostly, they don't," said the driver. "People tend to stay
indoors."
Wordlessly, they exited the taxi. The three agents formed a
protective ring around Croft.
They entered the factory. It had been idle for some time. It was
dark with a lot of space for hiding places.
There was one place that was lit, an interior office. They walked
in there, and beyond a set of doors, they saw the blonde woman again.
She looked different with clothes on. They also saw a small,
perspiring, balding man.
"So-so many of you," said the man.
"Quantity and quality," said Croft, looking around. It was a
small room. No views for long distance sharpshooters. There could
always be a boobytrap, though.
"Do you have the device?" said Croft.
"Yes," said the man. "Do you have the money?"
"No," said Croft.
"No?" said the man.
"I don't carry around 20 million credits in my pockets," said
Croft. He held up his datapad. "We'll transfer it to your account the
minute you give us a demonstration."
"Ah, all right," said the man. He brought a small device out from
under his jacket. It had a screen and a small keyboard. He punched a
few of the keys.
A code appeared on the screen. "And now watch while I decode it,"
he said.
"Wait a minute," said Croft. "That's not a League code."
"Yes, that's a Directorate code," said the man.
"I want to see it decode a classified League code."
The man looked confused. "It doesn't do that," he said.
"What does it do?" said Croft.
"It only decodes Directorate codes," said the man. "That's why I
thought you wanted it." He looked at the blonde woman.
"We were told it was something else," said Croft. His eyes darted
left and right. "Come on, guys."
"You don't want the decoder?" said the man.
Croft ignored him. As they retraced their steps, however, they
found a familiar figure waiting for them in the next room.
Ernst Manheim Studt. The Agonizer.
All four Column agents immediately drew their weapons. But they
might have been firing in slow motion for all he cared. The Agonizer's
hands moved like a blur, as if he were a Graftonite, and with two
blasters, one in each hand, he shot them one by one.
Kelly and Sanford fell, with shots to the head and chest. Preston
fell with a shot to a side. And Croft's blaster was cleanly shot out of
his hands. His fingers weren't even singed.
Ernst Manheim Studt smiled as he watched the results of his work.
"There never really was any doubt, you know," he said. He
addressed the small man. "The device, please."
"Don't give it to him," said Croft, staring Studt in the eye.
The man looked hesitant, until Studt gave him a wolfish smile.
Trembling, the man handed it over.
"Thank you," said the Agonizer. "Now, let's see, who shall I let
live, and who shall I kill?"
"How about letting us all live?" said Croft grimly, eyeing the
dead bodies of his two companions. Preston was still conscious, but his
blaster had slid out of his hands... near Croft's feet.
"No, that won't do," said the Agonizer. "I was ordered to
eliminate all witnesses, but I can't resist leaving at least one
witness. I want people to spread the word, so people like Clifford
Croft won't have to ask, 'Who is Ernst Manheim Studt'?"
"A madman," said Croft.
Studt smiled.
"You-you can let me live," said the man.
"Sorry," said Studt. "But I was specifically told to kill the
Directorate traitor." He watched the man's face until it sank in, and
then he shot him. The man cried and fell to the ground.
Croft thought he heard a faint sound. He wasn't sure what it was.
Maybe it sounded like a tweatling sound, like a bird might make.
Studt turned to the blonde. "Let me live!" she said. "I'll tell
everyone about you!"
Studt frowned. "A hard choice. Either you, or the wounded spy on
the ground that Croft is trying so hard to draw my attention away
from."
"I'm not a Directorate citizen, you don't have to kill me,"
pleaded the blonde.
Studt frowned. "That's true, but I really disliked your slutty
display in the tavern." He shot her in the chest. "What low class," he
said. Studt turned to Croft, casually holstering one blaster and then
moving his hand over part of the second blaster. "Any last words, Mr.
Croft?"
Croft looked at the blaster on the ground. He'd never make it,
certainly not against a man with Studt's reflexes.
Preston caught his eye. For a moment they seemed frozen in time.
Then Croft looked up. He matched Studt's stare, and then watched as
Studt slowly formed a smile, and he pulled the trigger.
Croft fell to the ground.
Preston screamed at him and reached for his blaster. Studt easily
kicked it away, and then kicked Preston in the head. "Mind your
manners," he admonished.
Chapter 9 The Most Dangerous Game
Resumes
Croft groaned as he opened his eyes. He was lying on a couch.
"Where am I?"
"Welcome to my little home," came a familiar voice.
Croft sat up, and found himself in a very large and fancy looking
living room. The first thing he checked for was his blaster. It was
gone, of course.
Ernst Manheim Studt, the Agonizer himself, noticed his movement.
"There will be time for that soon enough, Mr. Croft."
"I thought you said you were going to kill me," said Croft,
getting up and looking around. The surroundings outside were
wilderness. Just where was he?
"Yes, well, I apologize for the deception," said the Studt. "But
if I kept sending you warnings that I was going to stun you and bring
you here to be hunted, you might not have taken me so seriously."
"Hunted?" said Croft.
"Yes," said Studt. "And you will be one of my greatest
challenges."
"What do you mean?"
"Have I not already made myself clear? I am the galaxy's greatest
hunter. But animals, even the most aggressive mutated bear, or
Tigerbeast of Wilderland, are no longer a challenge."
"And so you hunt people," said Croft.
"Not just anybody, Mr. Croft. Only the best! Graftonites, for
example."
"I'm no Graftonite," said Croft.
"True," said the Agonizer.
"If you can take on Graftonites, I won't be a challenge for you,"
said Croft.
Studt gave a laugh. "Don't be so quick to sell yourself short,
Mr. Croft. I have already disobeyed my employer's order to eliminate
you immediately."
"Good for you," said Croft, rapidly looking around. "May I go
now?"
Studt laughed again. "My employer wanted me to eliminate you
immediately, but when I learned about your record, I decided I would do
no such thing."
"Great. Could you call me an aircab?"
"I'm afraid an aircab could not carry you very far, Mr. Croft,"
said Studt. "You are on my planet now."
"Your planet?"
Studt shrugged modestly. "A small, undiscovered planet just
beyond the rim of League space."
"I'm surprised it hasn't been discovered by now, if it's so
close."
"Close is a relative term, Mr. Croft," said Studt. "And once in a
long while a scout has landed here." There was a dangerous glint in his
eye.
"Ah," said Croft. He didn't ask what happened to the scouts.
Studt smiled. "But let us get back to why you are here. I have
hunted gunmen before, Mr. Croft. They are obvious contenders."
"Not so obvious," said Croft. "Why bother hunting gunmen if they
are unarmed?"
Studt feigned surprise. "Of course they are armed, Mr. Croft."
"You beat armed Graftonite gunmen?"
"Yes," said Studt.
"But you are not a Graftonite yourself."
"No," said Studt. "But let us return, once again, to my reason
for selecting you. The gunmen I brought here made little effort to hide
themselves. There was little sport in it."
"In what?"
"In the hunt, Mr. Croft, the hunt," said Studt. "There is no joy
in simply... dispatching. There must be a buildup, a puzzle, a chase.
That is why you have been selected. You are an expert spy, perhaps the
best, known for your infiltration skills, intelligence, and ability to
blend in."
"To blend into societies," said Croft. "That's true, what you
said, about me being the best and all. But I can't blend into a jungle,
it's not the same thing-"
"Similar enough," said Studt. "I trust you will not deprive me of
my pleasure by purposely making it easy for me to dispatch you."
"Why should I play along at all?" said Croft.
"For one thing, to save your own life," said Studt. "If you
manage to evade me for three full days, or, improbably, kill me, you
are free to go."
"Free to go," said Croft hollowly.
"Free to go," said Studt, smiling broadly.
"How many people have been... free to go, since you started this
hunt of yours?"
"None so far," said Studt. "But there is always the possibility."
"No," said Croft.
"That's giving up rather quickly, Mr. Croft."
"No, I mean I'm not going to play," said Croft. "Not unless you
increase the stakes."
"What stakes could be higher than your life?"
"None, but I need an added incentive," said Croft. "If I win, I
want to know everything you do about the Slurians' plans to foment war
between the League and the Directorate."
Studt paused, and it seemed as if he were going to refuse, but
then he smiled. "Very well, Mr. Croft! You drive a hard bargain. If you
survive, I will give you the information you request."
"What if I win by killing you?" Croft asked.
Studt gave a broader smile. "What bravado! I like that. Very
well, Mr. Croft, then you can simply access the terminal in my bedroom.
The password is hunter."
"Thanks," said Croft.
"You are quite welcome," said Studt. "Now, I am famished! It is
time for dinner. He touched a comm. "Ivan, will you assemble our guests
for dinner?"
The dining room was adjacent to the living room, and decorated
just as luxuriously. A very thin and pale man was laying out dishes on
the table. The sounds of footsteps coming down a stairwell could be
heard.
"Did you call our guests?" said Studt.
"Yes, Master!" said Ivan subserviently.
"Then where are they?"
Three people stepped into the room. One was wearing denim, which
was typical Graftonite apparel. Another was a young woman, looking
uncertain of herself, and a third was a muscular man, wearing a
sleeveless shirt, looking very confident.
"Ah, now all our guests are here."
"We are not your guests," said the one who looked like a
Graftonite.
"But of course you are," said Studt. "But forgive me, I have yet
to make the introductions. Mr. Croft, this is Arn Jilato, a silver
medalist gunfighter from the planet Grafton. He is quite a formidable
opponent, and I hope he doesn't disappoint us."
"To his right the young lady is Allison Hurrow. Don't let her
appearance fool you, Mr. Croft. She is one of the top industrial
espionage operatives in your League, with a special expertise in...
camouflage."
"And to Miss Hurrow's right is Broadbent Grady, a two time
planetary gold medalist in Heuristic Karate. And I would like all of
you to meet Clifford Croft, a brave and dashing operative with the
Column. I only wish I could tell you some of his tremendous deeds, but
unfortunately they are all classified."
"As you all know, you have been brought here for the hunt. If any
of you can survive for three days, you will be free to go."
"You will just pick us off," said Grady.
"Hardly," said Studt. "You will be armed," he added, casually
walking over to a cabinet and opening it. Inside were nine blasters,
each on a rack. He, Studt, was already armed, with a blaster holstered
on his right leg.
"Who are you hunting first?" said Croft, the wheels moving
rapidly in his head.
"First, Mr. Croft?" said Studt, looking surprised. "Ah, yes. I
used to hunt my prey one by one, but I did not find that very
challenging. So now I have decided to hunt you all simultaneously."
"So what's to stop the four of us laying an ambush for you and
gunning you down?" Croft asked.
"Why, nothing at all," said Studt, giving another smile.
Everyone else quickly looked each other over, trying to gauge the
possibilities.
"Yes, I am trying to introduce this group dynamic," said Studt.
"I hope it will present me with more of a challenge."
"What if we refuse to play your sick little game?" said Jilato,
the Graftonite.
Ivan came into the dining room, bearing plates of food which he
started to serve. No one paid him any attention.
"You are, of course, free to refuse," said Studt.
"And that's it?" said Jilato.
"Not quite," said Studt. "I will hand you a blaster and take you
to the beach. We will stand back to back and each go ten paces. At the
count of ten we will turn and... resolve matters."
"I'll do it," said Jilato promptly. He stood up.
"Sit down, Mr. Jilato," said Studt. "Let us have dinner first."
Jilato looked at the weapons cabinet, and then back to Studt. His
thoughts were obvious. He hesitated for a long moment, and then nodded,
sitting down.
"That's better," said Studt. "Ivan made enough food for four, and
I don't want to see any of this luscious roast beast go to waste."
The meat was unidentifiable but it was tasty, Croft had to admit.
But as he ate his mind was still turning, figuring out angles. "What if
we simply walk in a straight line away from your house for three days?"
"Oh, I am sorry, but that will not be possible," said Studt,
looking genuinely apologetic. "You see, I am in love with beachfront
property. As a result, my home is located on an island."
"How big?" Hurrow asked.
"Approximately 15 square miles," said Studt. He smiled. "More
than enough area for you to hide in, with a widely divergent
geography."
"I don't suppose there's another landmass nearby," said Croft.
"Yes, actually there is a whole continent," said Studt. "Quite
near. Only a half hour flight time in my ship."
Oh. That could be several hundred miles.
Studt grinned, as the implications became clear. "Are you
enjoying the food, Miss Hurrow?"
Hurrow glared at him, but said nothing.
Studt turned his gaze upon Harrow. "Come come, eat, Mr. Harrow.
You can't afford to lose your strength."
Harrow glared at him to.
"Nothing to say?" said Studt. "I do hate silent prey. It appears
that only Mr. Croft is capable of interesting conversation."
"You haven't tried talking to me," said Jilato.
"My dear Mr. Jilato, what is the point? I'm sorry to be blunt,
but you're going to be dead in an hour, so why should I bother?" said
Studt.
"You're awfully confident, for a non-Graftonite," said Jilato.
"Yes, I am," said Studt.
He continued with a steady stream of commentary as each dish was
served. Croft ate without reservation; it made no sense for Studt to
poison the food.
As dinner drew to an end Croft said to Jilato, "You're really
going through with this shootout thing?"
Jilato nodded.
Croft said, "Our intelligence has indicated that he has killed
Graftonites before."
"He probably killed a few lesser ones," said Jilato. "Or
cheated," he said, giving a stony stare.
"Ah, open, honest hostility," said Studt. "I look forward to yet
another opportunity to put an arrogant Graftonite in his place. Did you
know, it was a Graftonite who killed my parents?"
Jilato said nothing.
"A contract killing. Nothing personal, I was told," said Studt.
"But I did take it personally, and I vowed on that day to teach the
Graftonites a lesson."
"So it's a grudge," said Croft. "Since I'm not involved-"
Studt shook his head. "It's beyond that now, Mr. Croft. I have
the thrill of hunting in my blood."
"If you've really killed Graftonites, you've probably cheated,"
said Jilato. "You say we're going to go back to back and walk ten
paces. How do I know you won't turn around before ten and shoot?"
"How do I know the same about you?" Studt countered. "I forget,
the Graftonite credo of a fair fight. Well, worry not, Mr. Jilato, the
others will witness this; and if I falter, they may fault me for
cheating."
"Doesn't sound like much of a deterrent to me," said Jilato.
Studt sighed, and put down his napkin. "I can see you're going to
ruin the rest of the dinner with your hostility. Very well, let's get
this out of the way." He stood up, and walked to the cabinet, and took
out a blaster. Croft moved to the cabinet as well.
"Not yet, Mr. Croft," said Studt, pointing the blaster at him.
"Everyone, please head to the door."
As they walked outdoors Croft, out of the corner of his eye, saw
Studt reach into a pocket and then yawn, and briefly put his hand in
front of his mouth. Croft pretended not to notice.
There were firesticks illuminating the night on the beach. It was
almost as if Studt had anticipated this encounter would occur.
When they got to the beach Studt drew his own blaster, and handed
the other one to Jilato. "Are you ready, Mr. Jilato?"
He's really going to do this, Croft realized. He could kill us
all, but that's not the only thing he wants. He wants the thrill, the
excitement, the fear, the possibility of losing.
Jilato, in a flash, raised the blaster and fired, cutting one of
the firesticks cleanly in half.
"Ready," said Jilato.
"Excellent," said Studt, looking totally unfazed.
Jilato and Studt stood back to back. "Ivan, if you would."
The servant looked nervous. "Yes, Master. One."
Jilato and Studt took a step apart.
"Two."
They took another step. Studt was the picture of total
confidence.
"Three."
How did Studt know that Jilato wouldn't turn around early? Was he
really relying on the Graftonite sense of honor.
"Seven."
Time seemed to jump as Croft considered what was about to happen.
Then, Croft noticed that Ivan was holding a small device in his hand.
His finger was poised over it and he was staring intently at Jilato.
"Nine."
Neither turned. The tension was incredible.
"Ten-"
The Graftonite Jilato spun around and raised his blaster, almost
more quickly than the eye could see. But he screamed as a blaster bolt
hit him, square in the chest.
Studt stood there with a smoking blaster, looking very smug and
self-assured.
Studt went over to Jilato's body and kicked it. "Another
Graftonite fool gets his just rewards." He reached down and picked up
the blaster. Then he turned to Ivan. "Ivan! Get rid of this trash!"
"Yes sir," said Ivan, moving forward.
But Croft was quicker, grabbing the device from Ivan's hand.
"What is this?" said Croft, holding it up.
Study casually walked over. "Insurance," he smiled.
"Insurance?"
"If our Graftonite friend had cheated and turned around early,
Ivan would have beeped me." He looked at Croft's expression. "It wasn't
cheating, Mr. Croft. Only insurance against the possibility of his
cheating. As you see, Jilato did his part, and so did I." He looked
grimly at Croft.
"And now, shall we return to the manor for the night?" said
Studt. "We all have to be up early in the morning.
Studt led them back to the manor. They had a lot to think about.
He had beaten a Graftonite. How could any of them take him on and win?
Studt directed them to bedrooms upstairs. "Sleep well," he said.
He looked at their expressions. "You have nothing to fear. You will not
be harmed. I play by the rules."
"Your rules," said Croft.
Studt smiled, "Yes, my rules. And Mr. Croft, to save you some
time, I wouldn't get any bright ideas about trying to get to my ship.
The landing pad is only a few hundred feet away, but the ship itself is
surrounded by a formidable forcefield."
"And where are the controls to this forcefield?"
"In my quarters on the first floor, just off the kitchen," said
Studt. "Goodnight, everyone."
But they didn't go to sleep quickly. The three of them gathered
in Hurrow's room to talk, in whispered tones.
"He's a madman," said Hurrow.
"A madman who is going to kill us," said Grady grimly. "We should
band together and make an ambush."
"No way!" said Hurrow. "You saw what he did to that Graftonite."
"There will be three of us with blasters, and we can have the
advantage of surprise, if we ambush him," said Grady.
"I'm not going anywhere near him," said Hurrow.
"That's easy for you, the camouflage expert, to say," said Grady.
"What am I supposed to do? I'm not even a particularly good shot with a
blaster. I don't even know why I'm here." He turned to Croft. "You've
been quite silent. What do you think about this madman?"
"That he's going to hunt us," said Croft.
"Do you want to work together?"
"Not particularly," said Croft.
"He said we stood a better chance if we worked together," said
Grady.
"That's his game," said Croft. "I'm going to play mine." He went
to the door.
"Where are you going?" Grady asked.
"For a walk," said Croft.
The spaceship, a small scout ship, was indeed on a pad a few
hundred feet from the manor. It was also surrounded by a crispy
forcefield that periodically zapped bugs that wandered into its path.
There appeared to be no control panel to deactivate it.
Studt had said it could only be deactivated from his quarters. Of
course, if Croft was going to Studt's quarters, he might as well
disable Studt in the process. Catch him in his sleep and ambush him.
Croft went back to the house, into the dining room. He opened the
cabinet, and was only mildly surprised to find ten blasters there.
Studt just left them out in the open. In fact, unless he had a spare
blaster, Studt had put his own blaster in the cabinet as well!
Croft took one of the blasters and examined it. It seemed fully
charged.
He made his way to Studt's bedroom door. It was an interior room,
with no outside windows. Croft looked at the door.
And looked closely at it. And more closely.
It was ringed with alarms, and a forcefield, for good measure.
Without specialized equipment, he wasn't going in there.
Croft returned to bed. Hurrow saw him pass her bedroom, and
called out. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"Going to sleep."
"How can you sleep at a time like this?" Hurrow asked. "He's
going to try and kill us?"
Croft shrugged his shoulders. "It's nothing new for me." He went
to bed, but he was hardly so nonchalant on the inside. His mind was
racing, thinking of strategies, and possible solutions. Only late in
the night did he finally fall off....
....to wake up, just an hour later. Something felt odd about his bed.
The mattress sunk to his right, as if there were something... or
someone... in bed with him. Croft quickly turned on the light by his
bedside.
If he had been given a million guesses to guess who was in bed
with him, that would not have been enough guesses for Clifford Croft.
For in bed with him, neatly tucked under the covers, was some
kind of animal. Some kind of rodent, maybe, with a long, rectangular
nose, whiskers, and dark eyes. Even more oddly, it wore spectacles and
had an unlit pipe in his mouth.
"I don't remember requesting room service," said Croft warily,
pointing his blaster at the creature. What was this, some sort of sick
joke on Studt's part? Probably.
"I mean you no harm," said the creature. "I was just trying out
the (tweatle tweatle) human furniture." It somehow tossed aside the
blanket to reveal a large, furry rodent. One that looked vaguely
familiar.
"Wait a minute," said Croft, his eyes narrowing. "I've seen holos
of you. You're the alien everyone's talking about."
"Semi-sentient life forms call me "The Professor" or "The
Professor Capybara"," said the Professor.
"So what should I call you?" said Croft.
"The Professor, or Professor Capybara will do quite (tweatle
tweatle) nicely, young Clifford."
"Have we met?" said Croft.
"We just have," said the Professor.
Croft shook his head. "You're the alien that was in all the
holos. The first intelligent alien we've encountered. What are the odds
of your showing up in bed with me un an unregistered planet on the
night before I'm supposed to be hunted to the death?"
"Quite small," the Professor admitted. "But, as I've been
following you, since shortly before you were apprehended, the chances
are not quite as (tweatle tweatle) as one might think."
"What is your part in all this?" Croft asked. "Are you working
with the Slurians, or Studt?"
"The egomaniac downstairs? A quite unusual case. I took some
discrete (tweatle tweatle) brain scans," said the Professor. "It will
be interesting for the (tweatle tweatle) records."
"I'm sure. Would you care to answer my question now?"
"My dear Clifford--may I call you Clifford?"
"Only my mother calls me Clifford."
"Well then, Clifford, I am not in league with either the being
downstairs or the Slurians," said the Professor. "I am an explorer,
here to meet representative (tweatle tweatle) of your life form."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"Oh dear," said the Professor. "(Tweatle tweatle) I've done it
again. Your language is so simplistic, so primitive, so without nuance,
or (tweatle tweatle), that I often misexpress myself. Please forgive
me."
"Forgiven. About my question?"
"What am I doing here?" said the Professor. "To meet you, of
(tweatle tweatle) course."
"Of course," said Croft. "Now, may I ask why?"
"I am trying to meet not so much humans who are representative of
your species (I have encountered them in abundance already), but humans
who (tweatle tweatle) excel--in athletes, sciences, the military, and
other fields."
"Including intelligence."
"Lower case i, but yes, young Clifford," said the Professor.
"How did you know about me?"
"Your League President was kind enough to give me access to his
secure databases. I saw your name mentioned (tweatle tweatle)
prominently in more than a few reports in your intelligence databases.
So I wanted to (tweatle tweatle) meet you," said the Professor. "When I
learned you were being hunted, I knew I would have to hurry, before you
were killed. I was nearby when you were apprehended and followed you
(tweatle tweatle) here"
"You're here to save me? You're going to get me out of here?"
said Croft, getting visions of escape.
The Capybara chuckled, making a sort of honking noise. When the
attack subsided, the Capybara said, "No, Clifford. I am not permitted
to interfere. I simply am here to interview you before you are
terminated."
"How nice," said Croft. "Then I won't say a thing to you unless
you get me out of here."
"Oh come now, Clifford, is that the kind of attitude to have? I
have a hard enough job, why do you want to make it more (tweatle
tweatle) difficult? What will my superiors think when I hand in an
incomplete report?"
"Maybe, that you should have saved me so that I could have lived
to help you make you report," said Croft.
"No, Clifford, how little you (tweatle tweatle) understand," said
the Capybara sadly.
"Well, you can forget it, I'm not helping you or answering any
questions."
The Capybara sighed. "Well, I can't force you."
"Thanks."
"Well, of course, I could force you, but I was just being
(tweatle tweatle) polite. I'm told politeness is very valued in your
society."
"So is intimidation," said Croft. "I see you have been learning a
lot. If you're not going to help me, then go away."
"Don't you have any curiosity?"
"No."
"To meet and converse with an alien from another (tweatle
tweatle) race of beings?"
"No."
"A superior race with all sorts of information and technology and
(tweatle tweatle) that could be useful to you?"
"Somehow, when you're about to be hunted to the death, all
thoughts of advancements in xenozoology go out the window," said Croft.
"Now go away. Shoo! Shoo!"
The Capybara sighed. "Very well, Clifford. But if you somehow
survive this, will you grant me an interview?"
"No," said Croft.
"What petulance," said the Capybara, as he waddled out the door.
The next morning Studt greeted them with a laser rifle in his
hands. It was a sensible precaution, as all three of the other
"contestants" had already helped themselves to blasters. No one
mentioned anything about giant rats wandering around the halls, so it
appeared the Capybara had managed to get in, and out, without being
detected.
Before the hunt began, Studt insisted on giving them a hearty
breakfast first. He even provided each of them with light backpacks
with a compass, water, and provisions for three days.
"Thanks," said Croft. "Just put it all on my bill."
"Ah, Mr. Croft, I do appreciate your sense of humor," said Studt.
"It is so rare among my customers."
"You act like you're running a hotel," said Croft. "I don't think
the hospitality industry would give you any awards for killing off your
guests."
Studt only grinned again. It unnerved Croft that Studt
appreciated his sense of humor.
Studt let them to the front door and looked at his watch. "It is
now precisely... 8 AM. If you can survive on your own for until 10 AM
exactly three days hence, or even eliminate me, you are free to go."
"Why three days and two hours?" said Hurrow suspiciously.
"My dear Ms. Hurrow," said Studt politely. "I am giving you two
whole hours to flee."
"So kind of you," she said sarcastically.
"Thank you," said Studt.
"Ah, one more thing," said Croft. "I notice you gave us
relatively short range blaster pistols, but you are using a laser
rifle. Is that entirely fair?'
"Not entire, no," said Studt.
"Well, I'm not sure I want to play a game that's not fair," said
Croft, putting his hands on his hips. The others looked at him like he
was mad.
"You're not required to, if you wish to make Mr. Jilato's
choice," said Studt.
"Oh," said Croft.
Studt said. "It's been such a pleasure chatting with you, but you
now have only one hour and fifty seven minutes before I hunt you down
and kill you. I suggest you get moving."
They started off. It wasn't long before the three of them went
their separate ways. According to maps Studt had thoughtfully provided,
the manor was located on the southeastern tip of the island. Grady went
to the thicker jungle region along the northern coast, Hurrow went to
the mountainous inland, and Croft...
Croft walked along the beach, simply trying to put a few miles
between him and the Agonizer. A few miles, with a two hour head start,
should be sufficient for what he had in mind.
Because Croft wasn't going to play Studt's game; at least, not in
the way Studt thought he was. Obviously, Studt had hunted and killed
everyone who had attempted to hide on his island.
Therefore, Croft would not hide on the island.
Croft gathered together as many branches as he could in a
reasonable period of time. These he lashed together with vines, tying
them tightly. He worked as fast as he could, breathing heavily; it was
nearly eight hours into the day when he was done, which was
theoretically enough time for Studt to have found him.
But Croft didn't leave an easy trail, having walked in the water
for much of his journey, leaving no tracks. Also, Studt might easily be
hunting one of the others.
Still, Croft kept his eyes alert for trouble as he feverishly
finished work on the raft.
Irritation, if not trouble, appeared just as he was finishing
work on the raft.
"What primitive device are you building there, young Clifford?"
"Go away," Croft suggested, not at all surprised to see a giant
rat sneak up on him over an open beach.
"Can't you talk while you construct that crude device?"
"What would you like to talk about?"
"How about your experiences with-"
"Mouse traps?"
"Mouse traps?" said the Professor.
"Yes, giant mouse traps," said Croft. "Have you ever been trapped
in one?"
"Your attempt at humor is most feeble, Clifford."
"I do much better with non-rat audiences," said Croft, as he put
the finishing touches on the raft.
The Professor Capybara eyed his raft uneasily. "I do not think
that pitiful structure will be seaworthy, young Clifford."
Croft, ignoring him, put the small raft on the water, and sat on
it. He discovered it was only partially buoyant, as water started to
seep through the cracks. But there was no time to do better. He started
to use a makeshift paddle and pushed rapidly away from the coast. The
Capybara watched him go with dark eyes. But it wasn't the giant talking
rat he was concerned about.
Croft's eyes were on the coast the entire time. The period of
danger would only be over when he was a tiny dot in the eyes of someone
on the island.
After an hour of paddling Croft's aching arms needed a break. The
island was still large on the horizon, but hopefully he, sitting at a
distance of approximately two miles, was little more than a tiny dot.
In any event the Agonizer would be more likely to be looking on land,
not at sea, for his prey.
After a brief break Croft started paddling again. This was
necessary because the current kept slowly carrying him towards the
island. But his paddling was strong enough to overtake the current. All
he had to do was stay out to sea for three days and he would make it.
Assuming that Studt was honorable and would let him go. Croft had
a big question mark in his mind about that. Anyone who would hunt other
people for sport could hardly be considered trustworthy, but perhaps
Studt, in his twisted way, could be counted on to keep his word.
Ernst Manheim Studt walked carefully in the mountainous area of
the island. The ground was harder here, making it difficult to see
footprints.
But not impossible.
Every speck of dirt, every crushed blade of grass was a clue for
him. He was a masterful hunter and years of experience had taught him
what to look for. Besides, after hunting people on this island for so
long he knew where most of the natural hiding places were. He could
almost even predict which prey would hide in which part of the island,
based on their personalities.
Studt was saving Croft for last. He knew Croft would be the
greatest challenge, the greatest pleasure to eliminate.
For now he was after Grady.
There was a small clatter of pebbles above him.
This was almost too easy.
He raised his blaster and fired at some rocks above his intended
target. The laser fired caused rocks to cascade down, landing behind a
big boulder.
"Yipe!" said Grady, hopping out of his hiding place.
"Really, Mr. Grady, you must try harder," said Studt.
Grady raised his blaster and fired, sending shots wildly down the
hill.
"You're out of effective blaster range, Mr. Grady." Studt sighed
as the shots kept coming. He casually aimed his laser rifle, and fired
a shot that hit a boulder, missing Grady only by inches.
Grady stopped firing.
"Please try to present more of a challenge," said Studt. He
turned away, without looking back.
Studt moved throughout the jungle in the northern reaches of the
island. His eyes were open and alert for signs of every kind. He walked
for a wild, looked troubled, then saw something that made him smile. He
changed direction, still smiling, and stopped in a swampy area.
"Not bad, Miss Hurrow," said Studt. "But not very good either.
Your camouflage was excellent, but you neglected to take care not to
leave even the slightest of trails."
There was no answer.
"Please come out," said Studt.
There was still no response.
"Very well," Studt sighed. He raised his laser rifle and fired,
scorching a piece of ground some twenty feet away.
Hurrow immediately sat up, her entire body covered with dirt and
shrubs. "How?" she asked.
"You did not to a good enough job of covering up your trail,"
said Studt. "It is not enough to cover your footprints, you must also
make the area look natural."
"So now you're going to kill me?" she said, her hand tightening
on the blaster. But at this distance, with his rifle raised, Studt
could kill her easily.
"Not yet," said Studt. "But I expect you to present more of a
challenge tomorrow. Have a pleasant night." He turned and left.
Hurrow, unnerved, didn't have the guts to follow and ambush him.
But then, Studt already knew that.
Croft lay on the small raft at sea. The island was only a small
dot now in the dimming evening light, which was a good thing, since his
arms were tired. He lay there, wet on the raft. It was starting to get
cold. Well, at least he would be safe.
Suddenly, the raft started to sag. Croft turned his head and saw
the Capybara. How had he gotten out here? Did it really matter?
"Do you mind?" said Croft, pointing to the sinking raft.
"Oh," said the Capybara. He lifted himself up until he was
floating several inches off the raft. The raft regained some of its
buoyancy.
"What do you want?" said Croft.
"I thought if you had some idle time we could talk about your
exploits."
"Sorry, too busy, can't talk."
The Capybara paused, staring at him with those big eyes. "You
don't appear to be doing anything at the moment."
"Sorry, I'm all booked up for the next several weeks, " said
Croft.
"The other members of your society I met talked most freely."
"Were they in the process of being hunted to death, or freezing
on a raft in the middle of nowhere?"
"No," the Professor admitted. "I guess I should make some
(tweatle tweatle) allowances."
"Yes, why don't you?" said Croft.
"Uh oh," said the Professor, and his ears perked up, turning.
"What?" said Croft, looking out to sea. Suddenly, there was a
roar in the sky, and Croft could see a distant dot heading towards him.
Croft turned back, but the Capybara was gone. How did he do that?
The dot in the sky got bigger and bigger, until Croft saw the
Agonizer's scout ship approach.
There was nothing he could do, except sit there. He could jump
into the water, but all Studt would have to do is wait until he
surfaced. He was too far to try to make a dash for the shore.
As the scout ship moved closer, as the blaster turret moved to
cover him, Croft wondered idly how Studt had found him. He doubted the
sensors on the scout ship were sensitive enough to detect him or his
small wooden raft. And yet Studt had known exactly where to find him.
The scout ship, which was small by ship standards, loomed large
over his raft. "Ahoy Mr. Croft," came an unpleasantly cheerful voice
over the external speaker system.
"Don't look so surprised," said Studt. "I must say I am extremely
impressed by your inventiveness. No one has ever attempted to flee the
island as you have. However, the rules of the game require you to stay
on the island."
"You never said that," said Croft.
"I am saying so now," said Studt. "You must return to the island
immediately."
Return to the island?
"No, I am not going to kill you now," said Studt, obviously
knowing what Croft was thinking. "You are a far too enjoyable prey for
that."
"Then why kill me at all?"
Croft heard Studt laugh. "Ah, Mr. Croft, I shall severely regret
killing you. Now please return to the shore. If you are out here
tomorrow, I will very regretfully have to blow you apart with my pulse
cannons."
As the scout ship turned and left, Croft grimly started the slow
trip back to shore on aching muscles. He had a lot to think about. Why
hadn't Studt killed him? He obviously wanted to prolong the hunt.
That implied that he wouldn't kill Croft on the second day
either. If true, that could be useful information; if he knew he wasn't
going to be killed, he could use the second day to plan or gather
information.
"I see you, Mr. Grady," said Studt.
It was the second day of the hunt, and he was in the deep of the
jungle. Croft had camped out for the night near the manor, ready to
watch when Studt left. If Studt knew Croft was following him, he gave
no sign.
He received a splatter of blaster fire for a response. Sighing,
Studt, who had carefully stayed outside of blaster range, raised his
laser rifle and aimed carefully. There was the scream, and the sound of
something dropping.
Grady stepped out of the open, rubbing his sore hand. "That was
lucky shooting."
"That was excellent shooting," Studt corrected him.
"You wouldn't be so smug if we were on equal terms," said Grady.
"You don't think so?" said Studt. His hand fished into a pocket,
and came out with something he put into his mouth.
"Nerves?" said Grady.
"Not at all," said Studt. "Just evening up the playing field." He
dropped his laser rifle to the ground.
In the distance, behind him, Croft's eyes widened.
So did Grady's. "You're going to take me on, hand to hand,
knowing I'm a martial arts expert?"
"I am going to take you on, hand to hand, knowing you're a
martial arts expert," Studt agreed.
Grady roared forward whipping his hands around to hit Studt in
the head. But Studt blocked him, effortlessly, it seemed, and pushed
him back.
Grady attacked again doing a complicated slashing maneuver with
his fists. Studt stepped out of the way of the attack with lightening
speed, and struck back.
After a few more rounds of this, Grady was on the ground,
bleeding in several places.
"Oh, this is still so boring," said Studt. He picked up his laser
rifle. "I thought hand to hand combat would bring some excitement to
the game."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Grady rasped.
"Very disappointing," said Studt. "I have no further use for
you." He raised his rifle, aimed carefully, and fired.
Croft stood absolutely still as Studt surveyed the area around
him. After a short pause, Studt studied a device in his pocket, smiled,
and started walking in another direction.
Croft followed him. It took only about an hour to locate Hurrow.
Studt seemed puzzled at first, studying the ground around him, but when
he consulted a small device in his hand he quickly decided which way to
go. After a few more minutes Studt stood at the base of a small pond.
Whistling to himself, he opened his small backpack and took an object
out of it, which he twisted and tossed into the lake.
There was a loud explosion, and a very wet Hurrow surfaced on the
lake, a reed still clutched in her mouth.
"Very inventive!" said Studt, clapping wildly. "I approve of your
creative efforts, Miss Hurrow."
She looked at him. He had carefully positioned himself out of the
relatively short range of the blasters.
Studt several more grenades out of his pack. "How good a swimmer
are you?"
He started to toss grenades into the lake. Studt started to swim
rapidly away from each grenade. Studt purposely tossed them far enough
away so they wouldn't hurt her, but close enough so they would shake
her up.
Finally, when she stood in the shallow pond, waiting for his next
attack, he grinned, "Sorry, I am all out of grenades. But you have
provided me with so much entertainment, that I have decided to allow
you to live another day."
Chuckling, he turned and left.
Croft quickly walked in another direction. He thought he had it
all figured out now, but he needed a final test of his theory. He
quickly maneuvered to an area of boulders that wouldn't show any
prints, and leapt from boulder to boulder. After a few minutes he
dropped his blaster behind one boulder, and then went over to another
boulder some two dozen feet away.
And then Croft waited.
But the Capybara showed up first, perched on a rock. "Are you
sure you don't want to talk?"
"Positive."
"The killing human is approaching. You may not have another
chance."
"I'll pass."
"Are you sure?"
"Being hunted to death, can't talk."
The Capybara sighed, and shrugged, and waddled behind a boulder.
He didn't come out the other side.
After a few more minutes Studt showed up. He yelled out Croft's
name.
Croft poked his head behind a boulder. Studt was looking in the
direction of the boulder where the blaster was hidden. He looked a bit
startled to see Croft in an unexpected location.
But his chagrin quickly turned to forced indignation. "Really,
Mr. Croft. You must try to hide much better than this," he said.
"I'm doing the best I can," Croft said.
"I do not think so," said Studt. "When you spend your entire day
following me, how can you plot a creative ambush or find a good hiding
place?"
Croft opened his mouth.
"Don't try to deny it, you were as loud as an elephant and left
tracks as big as one. I could have dispatched you at any time," said
Studt. "In fact, maybe I should," he said, raising his rifle.
Studt killed Grady, because Grady could no longer amuse him. But
he left Hurrow alive, because he could still get some sadistic pleasure
from her. Croft felt certain that Studt was merely bluffing, to extract
some fear.
"Well, I did find a great hiding place that you will never
locate," said Croft. "I was planning on going there tomorrow."
"Really?" said Studt. "I doubt that."
"Well, you'll never find out if you shoot me," said Croft.
"Touche!" Studt laughed. "Very well, Mr. Croft, you will have one
more day. But tomorrow is the last day, so we will not have any more
playing around. And please try to be entertaining!"
"I'll try," said Croft.
He watched Studt go.
Then he made his way back to the pond. Hurrow was still sitting
there, sobbing softly. She looked startled when she heard him approach,
but relaxed slightly when she saw it was him.
"You're still alive," she said. "Grady?"
"Dead," Croft said. "I saw it myself."
"You saw it yourself?"
"I was following him."
"Why?"
"To learn a few things," said Croft. "This entire game is rigged
in several different ways. If we work together, I think we can find a
way out of this."
"I thought you don't like working with others."
"For what I have in mind, I'll need a decoy," said Croft.
"Oh no," said Hurrow.
"It will be risky for you, but on your own you stand no chance."
"Really?" said Hurrow. "Is that your objective opinion, Mr.
Column spy?"
"I'm not trying to use you," said Croft. "I'm trying, in my
limited way, to help."
"Try somewhere else," said Hurrow.
Croft shrugged. "I'll leave you with one piece of advice: get rid
of the blaster."
"Yeah, right," said Hurrow. "Keep your advice, Column spy."
Croft started to open his mouth, to say something more. But
something in Hurrow's negative attitude compelled him to stay silent.
Shrugging, he made his way back into the jungle.
He acquired a hiking partner when he was only a few hundred feet
from his destination as night was falling.
"Clifford, are you (tweatle tweatle) mad?" said the Capybara, as
the manor appeared ahead.
"At you, just a little bit," said Croft.
"I am sorry-"
"Simplistic language, I know, I heard that speech," said Croft.
"Are you going to help me escape, or not?"
"I'm sorry, I cannot-"
"Then I have nothing to say."
"Not a single word?" said the Capybara.
"No," said Croft.
"That was a word," said the Capybara brightly.
Croft stopped walking abruptly. "Listen, can't you bother someone
else? Surely there must be other members of the Eight you can
interview?"
"None who are immediately accessible. I did a lot of traveling to
meet you."
Croft made a mock sympathetic "awww" sound. "Well, maybe you can
write off the business expense on your taxes."
"Taxes. What an interesting human concept. What do you think of-"
"No opinion," said Croft automatically. He started walking
towards the manor again.
"Clifford, what can be gained by this? He will just kill you."
"I have to test a theory," said Croft. "But if you walk in with
me like a chatterbox my plan won't work."
"Oh, I am sorry," said the Capybara. "Would you like it if my
words could only be heard by you?"
"No, that wouldn't make me feel very much better," said Croft.
Croft entered the manor cautiously, confident that the Capybara
would once again disappear, which he did. He padded silently down the
hall. He heard sounds in the kitchen, and peered in from an entrance,
to see Ivan at work. Making dinner for Studt, probably. Hunting and
killing people must be hungry work--for a homicidal maniac.
Croft crept to the dining room and opened the cabinet. He counted
eight blasters. That made him smile. He looked closely at the racks,
and saw a small tiny hole across each row of racks. Croft put his hand
over one of the tiny holes.
A moment later he heard a voice behind him. "I do not think
additional blasters will help you, Mr. Croft."
Croft turned to see Studt facing him, holding a laser rifle. "I
must say, you are either extraordinarily bold or extraordinarily stupid
for attempting to assassinate me in my own home." He paused. "That was
what you were attempting to do, wasn't it?"
"Not really," said Croft. "I'm tired of sleeping in the wet
jungle, and eating this survival food junk you packed for us."
"Really?" said Studt.
"I figured if you're really going to kill me tomorrow, at least I
want to spend one last night in a real bed with real food."
"How do you know I won't kill you right now?" said Studt.
"Because you want the excitement, of the hunt," said Croft. "Why
else did you bring me here?"
"Excellent," said Studt, smiling. "You truly are a worthy
opponent." He lowered his gun. "Come, let us enjoy dinner together."
And so Croft sat down to dinner with Studt.
"Why do you do this?" said Croft. "You could have hired yourself
out as a bounty hunter, or something else-"
"I crave experience," said Studt. "After the Graftonites killed
my parents, I found I could no longer easily experience feeling. After
a while I found I could feel something, if only distantly, by hurting
myself. But then, one day, I killed someone in a fight, and I really
felt again. I tried to recreate that experience by killing again, but
the thrill kept getting fainter and fainter. I realize I needed
something to make it exciting, the idea of a hunt."
"If you're expecting sympathy, you're looking at the wrong
place," said Croft. "There are plenty of orphans out there, and even if
they take revenge on their parents' killers, they don't go on a general
killing spree of the general population."
"The Graftonites made me what I am," said Studt.
"No," Croft corrected. "The Graftonites killed your parents. You
made you what you are."
Studt's face hardened. "And what about you? You have killed
countless times for your League."
"I never killed anyone who didn't have a weapon in their hand, or
was responsible for the death of others," said Croft.
"But didn't you enjoy the thrill of the hunt, the chase, the
pursuit?" said Studt, his eyes sparkling.
Croft shook his head. "I never enjoyed it."
"Mr. Croft, I have a great deal of trouble believing that. Didn't
you? Didn't you really?" said Studt. "You hate the Slurians with a
passion. Don't you enjoy killing your enemies?"
"Not usually," said Croft. "But I will enjoy killing you."
Studt's face tightened again. "How do you propose to do that?"
"Is the ten paces option still open?" said Croft.
"Always," said Studt.
"If I were to agree to it, would we simply go down to the beach,
march for ten paces, and shoot?"
"Something like that," said Studt.
"It would hardly be fair, your using a laser rifle against a
blaster pistol."
Studt bowed his head. "I would be magnanimous," he said. He got
up. "I would walk over to this cabinet." He walked over to it. "I would
take a blaster from it." He took a blaster from it.
"I would point it at you." He pointed the blaster at Croft.
"And then I would shoot." Croft stood very still, watching the
blaster as Studt's finger tightened on the trigger.
Studt looked to see any signs of fear in Croft's face. Seeing
none, he frowned.
"Are you challenging me?" said Studt.
"No, just curious," said Croft.
"Oh." Studt, obviously disappointed, put down the blaster, and
sat at the table.
"So that's how you get your kicks, by creating fear," said Croft.
"How well you understand me, Mr. Croft," said Studt "Yes, I admit
I live a bit vicariously through my victims."
"Even when you shoot them?"
Studt's face grew tense again. "Mr. Croft, why do you persist in
provoking me?"
"I don't like a cheater," said Croft.
"What do you mean?" said Studt.
"What were you swallowing before you took on the Graftonite, and
Hurrow?" said Croft.
Studt said nothing.
"Was it some sort of drug, to speed up your reflexes?"
Studt's face was unreadable for a moment. But then he relaxed,
and gave a broad smile. "Why shouldn't you know? It's not as if you'll
tell anyone. Yes, it's a drug. Purely experimental. It rapidly speeds
up the reflexes for a short period. "
"I'm surprised that such a drug to speed up reflexes, even for a
shorter period, isn't on the market."
"There were... complications," said Studt. "The research was
suppressed. They claimed certain side-effects." He paused. "They
claimed that prolonged use made the user psychotic," said Studt. "But
that's obviously not true, since I've been using it, and it's had
absolutely no side-effects on me. Isn't that true, Mr. Croft?" He
looked hard at Croft, one hand grasping his laser rifle.
Croft gulped. Now it all fell into place. Studt was not just a
maniacal killer, he was hopped up on a drug that made him
unpredictable. Sweat started to dot his face.
Studt gave a broad laugh. "Now that's the fear I like to see! I
never thought I would see it from you, Mr. Croft, not before the end."
"So you cheated, using this drug against Jilato," said Croft.
"Cheated? I hardly think so," said Studt. "I merely leveled the
playing field. The Graftonites have been cheating by using their
advantage against us for hundreds of years."
"It's a natural advantage."
"They live there, they know what the environment does to them,
they choose to have these abilities, and so do I," said Studt, a gleam
in his eyes.
"And Grady?"
"What about him?"
"What natural advantage did he have?"
"Well, well... you could hardly have expected me to go hand to
hand against him without some edge," said Studt. "He was a martial arts
expert."
"I see," said Croft.
"But our contest will be entirely fair," said Studt.
"I'm sure," said Croft.
"In a way, it's almost a shame I have to kill you," said Studt.
"Really?"
"Really," said Studt. "But I will make sure you get a proper
burial."
"It's the thought that counts," said Croft.
There was a pause, and then Studt spoke again. "You may stay the
night. But I expect you out of here by 8 AM. I get up at 8 and start
out at 9. If you are still here, I will have to kill you."
Croft nodded.
That night, after he turned off the lights, a familiar voice
said, "Your actions are not logical."
Croft didn't bother to turn on the lights. He didn't say
anything.
"Why would you (tweatle tweatle) return here? Why would you
(tweatle tweatle) almost provoke him into a fight? For a being reputed
to be a top operative, your (tweatle tweatle) actions do not make
sense."
Croft didn't speak.
"Very well, continue with your childish game. When you get shot
it will be your own fault. Don't say that I didn't offer to (tweatle
tweatle) help you."
Croft turned on the light. "You'll help me?"
"By recording an interview for posterity," said the Capybara.
Croft turned out the light. But he didn't sleep; he got up in the
middle of the night, to run a small errand. A very small one. Only then
did he allow himself to sleep.
The next day Croft was gone when the Agonizer got up. Humming to
himself, he had a leisurely breakfast and then went hunting for Hurrow.
This time she had taken to the treetops, to avoid leaving a trail on
the ground. Not a problem for Studt. He aimed, and brought her down
with one shot. Unfortunately the fall killed her, depriving him of
extra time to toy with her.
Oh well, there was still Croft.
The Agonizer headed into the mountainous territory again. This
was an area of with a lot of hot springs that boiled from deep beneath
the surface. Croft had alluded to a really good hiding place. He was
probably referring to one of the little caves that the springs came out
of. It wouldn't be much of a challenge for the Agonizer, but he was
already thinking about the next batch of victims he would bring to his
planet.
He paused as he got close to a pit that was emitting hot air. His
tracker showed that Croft's blaster was in the pit. Could Croft have
gotten down that deep pit, with the super scalding air shooting out of
it? Almost certainly not.
And then Studt studied the ground around the hole. There were
skid marks. Skid marks!
Croft had fallen in. The irony of it! He had been killed by his
own devices. The Agonizer felt a certain anger; he had promised himself
that he would kill Croft. He felt cheated, and half wondered if Croft
had killed himself to deprive Studt of his pleasure.
Feeling in a very grumpy mood, he spent the rest of the day at
the beach. When he returned home that evening, he had dinner, went to
bed, and when he got up in the morning, found an unexpected surprise
waiting for him in the dining room.
"Croft!" said Studt. "So you are alive."
"You seemed surprised to see me," said Croft.
"Yes, I-" Studt stopped.
"You saw the skid marks, and your tracking device that you
planted in my blaster showed that I had fallen into that scalding pit."
"But you figured out the blasters had tracking devices, and threw
your own blaster into the pit," said Studt. "Ingenious."
"I thought you said this would be a fair hunt," said Croft.
"Using tracking devices is hardly fair."
"Oh, I hardly ever use them," said Studt. "And when I do, it's
just to give me a general directional bearing."
"Still doesn't seem very fair," said Croft.
"I do get bored when the hunt drags on too long," said Studt.
"Well, this one is over," said Croft.
"How do you come to believe that?" said Studt.
"Check your chrono. It's been three days, and four hours."
"So it has," said Studt.
"So I'm free to go?" said Croft.
"I'm afraid not," said Studt.
"Somehow, given all your cheating, I didn't think you'd keep your
word."
"I'm sorry, but I can't let anyone out with the location of my
secret planet."
"You could take me back without telling me where this planet is."
"Sorry," said Studt. "If you left, you would tell everyone you
defeated me."
"I could keep quiet about it."
"I don't think so," said Studt. He raised his blaster rifle.
"Wait!" said Croft. "At least give me the ten paces challenge."
"You?" said Studt. "You would want that, knowing my... special
advantage? You wouldn't stand a chance."
"Then you have nothing to lose, do you?" said Croft.
"All right," said Studt. He went to the blaster cabinet. He
reached over to pick out a blaster. Noticing the expression on Croft's
face, he reached down and picked a different one. He checked the
setting on it. It was fully charged. He put down his laser rifle,
holding onto the blaster.
"Let us go, then," said Studt.
They were on the beach again. Croft couldn't help but remember
the scene three days ago with Jilato. Jilato was an expert Graftonite
gunman. Croft saw Studt swallow a pill, presumably the speed enhancer.
Ivan, the only other person left alive on this planet, stood ready to
begin the count.
"You realize, Mr. Croft, if you have thoughts of turning around
early, Ivan will notify me immediately, and with my enhanced reflexes,
you will not stand a chance," said Studt conversationally, standing
with his back to Croft.
"With your enhanced reflexes, what chance do I have if I play by
the rules?"
"None," said Studt. "But at least you will die with honor."
"That sounds exciting," said Croft.
Suddenly Croft saw the Capybara standing on the beach, looking at
him with an expression of apparent... concern? Concern about not
getting his interview, perhaps?
"Are the contestants ready?" said Ivan.
"Just a moment, I have a question," I said. "Just out of
curiosity, do any of you see a giant rat-like creature wearing glasses
and sporting a pipe, standing right over there?" I said, pointing to
the Professor.
"No," said Studt, frowning. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason," said Croft, shrugging. "Just a random thought."
"Let us begin, then," said Studt.
"One!" cried Ivan.
Croft and Studt took a step forward.
"Two!"
They took another step.
"Three!"
And another.
Croft was completely calm. Once again, he barely noticed the
passage of time.
"Eight!"
They took another step.
"Nine!"
They took another step. This was it!
"Ten!'
They both spun around. Studt raised his blaster and fired at
Croft. The light from the blaster struck Croft squarely in the chest.
Croft gasped wordlessly for a moment, and then he fell to the
sand.
Studt smiled, as he casually walked towards Croft.
He looked down at Croft's body, and reflected. "He was the most
challenging of them all so far, wasn't he, Ivan?"
"Yes, Master," said Ivan.
"I will have to import other Column agents. I haven't had this
kind of thrill in quite some time," said Studt, walking close to the
body.
"Glad to have amused you," said Croft, getting up.
Now it was Studt's turn to gasp.
Croft slowly raised his blaster. "And thanks for coming closer.
I'm terrible at distance shooting." He fired the blaster. Studt's face
essentially disappeared. The body collapsed to the ground.
"What... how...?" said Ivan fearfully.
"His blaster was set to the test setting," said Croft. "Light
only."
"But... he checked the setting, I saw him do it myself," said
Ivan.
"I spent some time with the blasters last night, adjusting their
readout displays and settings. I had to dig into the internal circuitry
a bit, and I had to do it for all nine blasters, but it was worth the
efforts."
"But when you touched the blasters-:
"No silent alarm sounded, that's correct," said Croft. "Your
alarm beam was in front of the blasters. You counted on people not
noticing it. I simply lifted each blaster up, out of the spy beam's
path, before pulling it out."
"Very clever, young Clifford," said the Capybara, appearing
again.
"What is that?" said Ivan, shrinking back.
"You can see him now?" said Croft.
"Yes," said Ivan.
"Good. I was beginning to worry that he was a figment of my
imagination."
"I am very pleased that you (tweatle tweatle) survived, young
Clifford, and was impressed by your (tweatle tweatle) stratagem. Not
bad, for a human!" said the Capybara.
"Thanks, boss," said Croft.
"Now that your situation is resolved, I was wondering if you had
time-"
"Sorry, too busy. Interrogating." Croft turned the blaster on
Ivan, who gulped.
"Now, I want you to show me how to turn off the forcefield around
his quarters and the forcefield around the ship, and show me where his
personal terminal is, and maybe, just maybe, I won't have to kill you."
Ivan, gulping, nodded.
In two hours Croft was in space. He set a course, and had the
ship go to maximum speed.
"Why are you going to Carradine?" the Capybara asked.
Croft groaned. "I didn't see you board the ship. Can you simply
teleport anywhere you want?"
"I am not capable of teleportation, young Clifford. But your
senses are so primitive it is easy not to register on them," said the
Capybara.
"Well, I'm still not telling you anything."
"Not anything?" said the Capybara, looking imploringly at him
with those big, dark eyes. "Why are you so hostile?"
"Hm, I'm not sure. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact
that you had the power to save me while my life was being threatened."
"But you are a top agent, you had the ability to (tweatle
tweatle) defend yourself," said the Capybara. "The results proved
that."
"You may be from an advanced race, but you're a poor liar," said
Croft. "You were as surprised as Studt was that I survived."
"Yes, that was somewhat unexpected," the Capybara admitted.
"Actually, at the time, you said it was most impressive," said
Croft.
"For your race, yes," said the Capybara, qualifying his remarks.
"Has anyone ever told you that you suffer from a superiority
complex?" said Croft.
"Only those with an inferiority complex," countered the Capybara.
"Ha ha. That was very funny. Now go away," Croft suggested.
The next day the Capybara tried to engage Croft in conversation
again. But Croft wasn't interested.
"The only thing I'll talk to you about is cheese," said Croft.
"Cheese?" said the Capybara.
"Yes, you're a rat, you probably like cheese, right?" said Croft.
"Cheese... Cheese... Cheese," said the Capybara, as if he were
looking up the term. "Edible bovine extract. Why would I wish to
discuss that?"
"Because rats eat cheese," said Croft.
"I am not a rat," said the Capybara.
"You merely play one in holofilms, yes, I know," said Croft.
"You are most confusing and convoluted, even for a human."
"Thanks," said Croft.
Chapter 10 Espionage off of
Carradine
When the ship finally landed, the Capybara was nowhere to be
seen. But Croft had radioed ahead, and Preston was there to meet him.
"Cliff! I thought you were dead," said Preston.
"Almost," said Croft. "What's been happening?"
Preston brought him up to date.
********************************************************************
Several days earlier...
League Foreign Secretary Magnuson was summoned to see Director
Quick. The negotiations over Carradine had been going slowly, and then,
inexplicably, the Slurians had stopped all negotiations. Presumably, he
was about to find out why.
Quick was rapidly typing away on several keyboards when Magnuson
entered. He continued to do so, even as Magnuson stood there. Not a
good sign.
"I'm surprised you don't use a voice activated computer," said
Magnuson.
"I could, but that would mean I could only work one computer at a
time," said Quick calmly, his hands still flashing out rapidly from
keyboard to keyboard.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Just a moment." Quick typed for a moment more, then stopped.
"Ah," he said. "That's done." He turned to Magnuson, and put on a
totally different face. "Mr. Secretary, what kind of game are you
playing?"
"What do you mean?"
"While we are in good faith trying to negotiate a solution to the
Carradine crisis, we find your men engaged in acts of espionage," said
Quick.
"What do you mean?" said Magnuson again.
Quick pressed a button, and the holoimage of two dead operatives
appeared. "These are two of my security men."
"If you say so," said Magnuson.
"I do," said Quick.
Quick pushed another button. The image of Clifford Croft
appeared, followed by three operatives, a young blonde woman, and a
small man. In his hands the small man held a bulky device.
"The ones in front and back are Column operatives. The one in
front has been positively identified as one Clifford Croft. The person
in the middle is one Roger Tico, an employee in Directorate internal
security," said Quick. "And the device in his hands is a personal
decoder."
"A what?'
"A personal decoder. A device used to decode our most secure
communications."
Quick played another image. It showed Tico on the ground, dead.
The decoder was not in sight.
"Your men lured Tico to Ivory, got the device from him, and
murdered him, all the while you were attempting to negotiate a peaceful
solution here on June," said Quick, his white eyes blazing.
"I have no knowledge-"
"You may not have knowledge, but your precious President
certainly does," said Quick. "I do not know whether you personally knew
about this, but we take great offense at this kind of espionage. We
take special offense at the murder of our people."
"Director, I don't know what to say-"
"Well I do," said Quick. "You have 48 hours to get off the
planet. Carradine is ours. End of discussion."
*******************************************************************
"And right after that he announced a deal to buy 40 war cruisers
from the Slurians," said Preston. "I think this guy means business."
"A deal to buy warships?" said Croft, raising an eyebrow. "Then
we really are getting close to war."
"So what are we doing here on Carradine, then?" Preston asked.
"I tapped into Studt's personal database. I was trying to see if
I could get a clue to what provocation the Slurians would plan next."
"Did you get anything?"
"Nothing concrete, no. All I saw was one reference to "an
incident involving a Directorate ship orbiting Carradine."
"But we don't know which ship, or even what kind of incident,"
said Preston.
"Correct," said Croft.
"Well, there's an entire fleet of Directorate ships in orbit
around Carradine, facing off of our fleet off of Carradine," said
Preston. "How are we going to know which ship and exactly what they're
planning?"
"I thought maybe we'd ask the Slurians," said Croft.
The Slurians didn't yet have a consulate on Carradine, the
agreement to create one only having been agreed to a few weeks earlier.
But they did have a cultural center, which was one of the more typical
covers for Slurian agents. Croft looked forward to having a cultural
discussion with some of them.
The Slurian cultural center was located in a nondescript
building. It was filled with art, if one defined the term loosely.
There were paintings and holos of famous commissars, statues of
communitarians storming the gates, blasters raised, and other kinds of
right-thinking art.
A man wearing an open shirt with big chest hair and the smell of
vodka on his breath approached. "Yes, ken I help you?" he said, with a
distinct Slurian accent.
Croft spoke in a low voice, in fluent Slurian. "I'm here to speak
to the resident."
The resident was the code-name for the Slurian NGB agent in
charge of the facility.
"Oh," said the burly chest haired man. "I get hem. But who shall
I say is doing the asking?"
"Tell him it's the special representatives," said Croft
meaningfully.
The man's face brightened and he turned and went into another
room. Croft looked at Preston and shrugged. Preston shrugged back. It
seemed like a good thing to say. Slurians always felt self important,
and felt that as self-important people, they should have important
visitors. Chances were that they were expecting someone.
A thin, balding man entered the room. "Can I help you?" he said,
in flawless System English.
"I'm here to see someone about a piano," said Croft, in a slow,
meaningful way. He had picked the sentence at random, but he made it
sound like obvious code.
"A piano," said the man. Now the onus was on him. If this was an
important code he had forgotten, he would be punished. Better to play
along and find out who these visitors were and what they really wanted.
Then he could find out what they meant by the piano.
"Come this way, gentlemen," said the man. He led them into a
small office.
"Please identify yourself," said the man pleasantly.
"My name is Ernst Manheim Studt," said Croft.
The man frowned. "You are not Studt. You-"
Croft's blaster was covering him, and the man immediately
recognized that he had been tricked. Preston came forward and plucked
the blaster from the man's jacket.
Croft gave it a quick glance. "A Glock 34 blaster. Not the kind
that art dealers usually have in stock. Now we have some questions for
you concerning a certain assignment. You've just admitted knowledge of
this assignment, so pretending you didn't would be hazardous for your
health."
"Shoot me, and you'll be surrounded in seconds," said the man
confidently.
"Move a half inch closer to the alarm button right under your
desk, and I will shoot you," said Croft. "Pres?"
Preston pushed the agent away from his desk, and dragged him in
front of Croft.
"Talk," said Croft.
"You're not going to shoot me, so what can you do," said the man.
"What can we do?" said Croft. He opened his jacket, to reveal a
small set of hyposyrgines. "Luckily I brought my first aid kit."
In a few moments the Slurian was babbling information. Preston
set his datapad to record so they wouldn't miss anything. When they
were done Croft gave the Slurian a knockout shot.
They had arrived just in time, it seemed. The Slurians planned to
blow up one of the Directorate destroyers in orbit, and blame it on
either a League attack or League sabotage, Croft wasn't sure which.
Either way it could precipitate a war.
They hadn't been able to get the exact name of the saboteur
despite repeated questioning, but they did learn that he worked in
engineering on the destroyer in question. They also learned that this
sabotage was to occur in the next two days.
"What shall we do? Should we warn the Directorate?" said Preston.
Croft gave him a cynical look.
"Ok, ok, I was just running through the possibilities, even the
dubious ones," said Preston. "So we infiltrate aboard the ship. How do
we do that in a hurry?"
"From one of the Directorate military bases," said Croft. "But
it's likely to be a top security area, and it has to be done in a
hurry, so I'm going alone."
"Come on, Cliff."
"Really, Preston," said Croft. "You're a good agent, but-"
"Don't give me this 'you're not one of the top Eight' stuff,"
said Preston.
Croft gave Preston an appraising look. "All right. Come with me."
Croft located the local police station. He had Preston wait
outside for a moment; when Croft returned, he faced Preston.
"All right. There's a police sergeant behind the main desk. Get
me his blaster without his noticing."
"What?"
"Get me his blaster without his noticing. If you can do that,
then you can come with me."
"That's crazy," said Preston. "You're just making up something
impossible to get rid of me."
Croft sighed and reentered the police station. He was gone five
minutes, then ten minutes. But then he came out, walking calmly.
"Well?" said Preston.
Croft opened his jacket, revealing a "police special" blaster.
"All right, all right, you've made your point. What do you want
me to do?"
"Drive me to a military airbase. I got the directions from their
database while I was inside. That's why I took so long."
Preston watched from a distance as Croft angled his way through
the front gate without being seen. There were two guards there, slowly
moving back and forth, and yet Croft, waiting behind the guard house,
and moving stealthily, managed to move between them and into the base
without being seen.
In an hour he had managed to acquire both a uniform and a
shuttle. To make it official, he even filed a flight plan with the
tower and the destroyer in question, so they would be expecting him.
His manifest? "Spare parts." That was vague enough to fit anything.
When he docked in the destroyer's hanger bay he was exited the
ship, only to be greeted by a grizzled Lieutenant.
"What are you here for?" said the Lieutenant.
Croft also wore the uniform of a Lieutenant, so he couldn't order
this fellow around. "Spare parts."
"Let's see'm," the Lieutenant grunted.
"I'm here to get spare parts," said Croft.
"Get them? Who says we have any extra?" said the Lieutenant.
Croft shrugged. "Just following orders."
"Who gave you the orders?"
Croft sighed. "Come inside my ship. I'll show you the orders."
The unsuspecting Lieutenant followed Croft into the ship.
A few moments later, Croft exited the ship, rubbing a sore hand.
On to engineering.
"You're running out of time, Clifford," said an invisible voice
as Croft walked the corridors.
"What?" said Croft softly.
"They know you're (tweatle tweatle) aboard."
"Impossible," said Croft.
"Not the regular crew, but the saboteur. You were watched as you
entered the base."
"Evidently, by more than one pair of eyes."
"He's about to set the ship to overload. Not that it matters, of
course."
Croft was too busy to ask why it didn't matter. He ran the rest
of the distance to engineering...
Just in time to see an officer, hunched over a console, with two
bodies on the ground around him.
"Don't move," said Croft, pointing a blaster at the officer,
whose name, he later learned, was Lieutenant Erlingo.
"You don't move," Erlingo ordered. His finger was over a switch.
"Why not?"
"What?"
"Why shouldn't I move?" Croft asked. "If you're going to tell me
not to move, you have to give me a reason why."
"If I press this button, the ship will explode."
"If I shoot you, you won't press anything."
"I'm leaning against it, if you shoot me, the button will be
depressed."
Croft paused for a moment. "What do you want?"
"Leave this room."
"If I leave this room, you'll blow up the ship."
"I'll give you time to get to an escape pod."
Croft grinned, suddenly realizing something. "If you're going to
kill yourself anyway, why won't you do it the second my blaster is
turned."
"I'm not-" said Erlingo, stopping himself.
"Suicidal, right," said Croft. "That button will probably start a
chain reaction, one which will give you time to get to an escape pod."
"Even if that's true, do you really want me to start a chain
reaction?"
"Ah, but it's not quite the same as blowing up the ship
instantly," said Croft. "A chain reaction might be reversible."
"It's not. That's why it's called a chain reaction."
"I'm not sure we're both using the term in the same way."
"Just who are you?" said Erlingo.
"Just a guy with a blaster who happened to walk by."
"You're not one of the regular crew," said Erlingo.
"I'm irregular," said Croft.
"The time for talking is over," said Erlingo. "I'm going to count
to ten. If you're not out of here by ten, I'm pressing the button."
"Ten."
"Nine."
With each word, he waited for a reaction from Croft.
"Eight."
"Seven."
"Wait!" said Croft.
Erlingo stopped.
"You missed Eight," said Croft.
"No, I didn't," said Erlingo. He frowned. "How can you make a
joke at a time like this?"
"There may not be time later," said Croft. "All right, suppose I
accept your offer and run for an escape pod. Which exit is closest to
the pods?"
"The one behind me," said Erlingo.
"Which one?" Croft frowned.
"There's only one," said Erlingo, turning to point-
Croft raised his blaster and shot him, Erlingo crumpled to the
ground.
"Very skillfully done," said the Professor, appearing in a corner
of the room.
"Thank you," said Croft, going over to the console. He wondered
if he should attempt to undo whatever sabotage Erlingo had done.
"Unfortunately, your timing needs (tweatle tweatle) work."
"What do you mean?" said Croft. "I shot him before he-" He turned
around, but was speaking to empty air.
Suddenly, a half dozen heavily armed space marines entered the
engineering section. "Hands up!" they shouted.
"Wait," said Croft.
"Drop the blaster. Now!" A sergeant barked.
Croft dropped the blaster. "You guys are going to be so grateful
when you find out what I've done."
Quick's eyes flickered above his displays to see Pedro standing
before him.
"Yes?"
"We have captured a saboteur, aboard one of our ships orbiting
Carradine," said Pedro. "He tried to blow up a destroyer. We stopped
him just in time."
"Really?" said Quick. "Give me the data."
Pedro sent a button that launched the information from his
datapad onto one of Quick's display panels. Quick read the report
rapidly.
"A League spy. How did he get on board?"
"We're still ascertaining that," said Pedro.
Quick's eyebrows were raised. "This is Clifford Croft."
"Yes," said Pedro.
"What a busy little saboteur he's been," said Quick. "Where is he
now?"
"On his way here. Do you wish an interrogation before his
execution?"
Quick was silent for a moment; in that moment, he considered
several dozen possibilities and options, weighed them, and then
returned to the chair he was sitting him.
"Bring him to me."
"Sir?"
"I want to see the face of the man who has caused us so much
trouble. Then you may execute him," said Quick.
"Yes sir," said Pedro. He turned to go.
"And Pedro?"
Pedro turned back.
"Good work," said Quick, flashing him a smile.
"Thank you, sir," said Pedro.
After he left Madeline stepped forward from the shadows. "That's
so unlike you."
"What?"
"Emotion. Sentimentality."
"In what way?'
"Your desire to meet the saboteur. An interrogation would be more
useful."
"We already know what we need to know," said Quick. "He killed
three of our men and attempted to blow up our ship. No, I'm meeting him
because they say he's the best of the best. I'm curious to see what the
League considers to be their best."
"And what of the overall picture?"
"If the League is so desperate that they are resorting to blowing
up our ships, that's a clear precursor to war. Tell the Slurian
Ambassador we'll sign that deal to buy weapons, and that we'd like to
open urgent discussions about creating a formal military alliance."
Madeline's eyes widened. "Are you sure that's wise?"
"That may be the only thing that keeps the League from
attacking," said Quick.
Croft, wearing electrocuffs, and flanked by four armed guards,
was brought before Quick two days later. Quick was busy typing
something, using several keyboards at once. He typed for several
minutes.
"If you're busy, I can come back later."
Quick continued working for another two minutes. Then he stopped,
and looked up at Croft.
"So, you are one of the Column's best."
"I see our public relations people have been doing their job."
"I find your humor... puzzling and inappropriate, and without
purpose."
"You mean, it doesn't compute?" said Croft. "I was told that your
brain worked like a computer."
"Not so," said Quick. "My mind works more quickly than most human
minds, and more like a computer in my ability to process vast amounts
of information, but I also have vital creativity that a machine lacks."
"Really," said Croft. He looked around at the white walls, desk,
chair, and other white furniture. "I guess your creativity doesn't
extend to interior decorating."
"Why are you trying to provoke me?" Quick asked mildly.
Croft raised his cuffed hands. "Perhaps I'm just a little sore
that this is the reward I get for saving one of your ships."
"Saving?" said Quick, staring at him with those piercing eyes.
"Ah, yes, I saw the report. You claimed to be on our ship stopping a
saboteur."
"I did stop a saboteur, one Lieutenant Erlingo."
"Our report indicated that when you were found, you were using an
engineering panel set to create a reactor overload, and that the bodies
of three of our engineering staff were around you. Three people that
you killed."
"No, Erlingo killed them," said Croft. "If you interrogate him,
you'll find out the truth."
Quick looked oddly at Croft, and snapped his fingers. Pedro
entered from a side room.
"Erlingo is dead. You blasted him," said Pedro, who evidently had
been listening.
"I stunned him," said Croft.
Pedro looked puzzled. "He is dead, sir."
Quick looked at Croft.
"Dead?" said Croft, looking surprised. "Well, I didn't kill him.
If you bothered to do a blast comparison match, you'd learn that the
shot that hit him was different than the shots that killed your two
other engineers."
"We did the matches," said Pedro. "All the blast shots came from
his weapon."
"You're lying," said Croft. "My only question is, why?"
"You actually expect me to believe that you, a known League spy,
infiltrated yourself aboard our ship, in order to save it from
sabotage?" said Quick.
"Yes," said Croft.
"Forgive me, but given the state of hostility that exists between
our two governments, I find that hard to believe," said Quick. "I find
it easier to believe that a League spy came aboard to destroy one of
our own ships than one of our own officers did." His white eyes
glistened.
"He wasn't one of your own officers, he was a Slurian agent,"
said Croft. "Perhaps that's why he was killed."
"The only question is why would you want to blow up a destroyer?"
said Quick. "It would hardly affect the military balance." He paused.
"Ah. You attempt to provoke us, to attack you. That would make war more
palatable to the League."
"It's not true," said Croft. "My mission is to stop a war from
starting. The Slurians are the ones trying to manipulate you into war."
"I'm afraid, given the history between our two governments, and
the specific history of your recent activities, I have no reason to
believe what you are saying," said Quick. "You are obviously lying, and
for an equally obvious reason; to save yourself. All that you can do
now is take up more of my precious time. I deny you that." He turned to
Pedro. "Have this man executed."
"Yes sir," said Pedro. He motioned to the guards. "Take him to
the-"
"Detention," said Quick. "There's no need to do it in a hurry. I
want to do it tonight, to holovise it publicly, right at the start of
the newshour, to show what we do to spies." He looked at Croft with
those white eyes. "Hopefully, your death will serve as a deterrent to
others."
"You know, for a guy with a reputation for being a supergenuis,
you really aren't very smart," said Croft.
"Take him away," said Quick.
The guards started to drag him, unwillingly. "You're making a
mistake!" Croft shouted. "You're being used by the Slurians! Think
about it!"
And then he was gone.
Quick looked at Madeline. She was silent.
"All the forensic evidence in this report showed it was him.
Pedro uncovered no evidence of any Slurian involvement," said Quick.
Madeline raised her eyebrows, and said nothing.
"We will execute him, to send a message to the League," said
Quick, his eyes blazing.
Chapter 11 The Last
Strike
Quick met once again with the Slurian Ambassador, Kemerov.
"So we are in agreement once again, yes?" said Kemerov.
"Yes," said Quick. "Our military exchange program will begin
immediately. With advance notice, you will have the right to have up to
20 of your warships visit our ports, and we will have the same rights
as you."
"And what of the friendship treaty we discussed?"
"You mean, the formal military alliance?" said Croft.
Kemerov nodded eagerly.
Quick paused, as he watched Kemerov stand there, waiting. Quick
pursed his lips. "I'm giving it some thought. I would personally not
prefer to engage in entangling alliances, but if the League continues
its belligerence, I may be forced to reconsider."
"Well, we will be here when you do," said Kemerov, trying not to
sound concerned.
"I'm sure you will," said Quick. He made a gesture, indicating
the interview was at an end. Even before Kemerov had left the room,
Quick had already turned back to his terminals.
**********************************************************************
Croft sat behind a forcefield, looking glum.
"The situation does not look so good for you, young Clifford,"
said the Professor Capybara, as he appeared in the cell.
"You do that very well," said Croft. "Moving through forcefields
at will."
"This primitive (tweatle tweatle) electrical device?" the
Professor sniffed.
Croft changed the subject. "Let me guess, you're here to...
rescue me?"
"I told you, young Clifford, I cannot interfere."
Croft put his fingers to his forehead and momentarily closed his
eyes. "Then let me guess again... you're here for the interview before
my execution."
"Yes," said the Capybara.
"Well, you can forget it, I have no plans to be executed," said
Croft firmly.
"How will you prevent it?" said the Capybara.
"That's on a need to know basis," said Croft.
"What does that (tweatle tweatle) mean?" said the Capybara
curiously.
"That you don't (tweatle tweatle) need to know," said Croft,
making bizarre versions of the Capybara's singsong.
"You will answer my questions, you know," said the Capybara. "I
am quite a determined (tweatle tweatle) information gatherer."
"Quite an annoying one, certainly."
"If you won't answer questions about yourself, what of Quick?"
"What of him?"
"You seemed to get a different reaction than you expected."
"I thought he wouldn't be fooled by this Slurian maneuver. He's
supposed to be the smartest guy in the galaxy."
"He is actually quite intelligent, for a human," said the
Capybara.
"You're just full of those back-handed compliments, aren't you?"
"So, assuming you escape, what are your plans next?"
"Sorry, but you don't have the security clearance to hear that."
"But I obtained all your (tweatle tweatle) security clearances
from your President's database," said the Capybara.
"You're treating this as a fun mystery adventure," said Croft.
"It's not."
"I understand. If you do not perform well, your cultures could go
to war with each other. I am studying the events leading up to this
potential conflict to learn more about your human behavior."
"So you think this war will happen?"
"Not at all," said the Capybara.
"Because I'll stop it?" said Croft.
"I didn't say that," said the Capybara.
"You know something," said Croft suddenly.
"I know many things," said the Capybara. "My brain is capable of
holding nearly (tweatle tweatle) 200 times as much information as the
average human, young Clifford."
"What is really going on here?" said Croft.
"I'm sorry, but I can't-"
"Interfere," said Croft. "You should have that imprinted on your
forehead."
"Like this?" said the Capybara, and suddenly the words "Can't
interfere" appeared in bright blue on his forehead.
"Yes," said Croft wearily. "Something like that."
Suddenly the Capybara's ears perked up.
"What?'
"I hear someone approaching."
Croft listened. "I don't hear anything."
"You must understand, young Clifford, that my ears-"
"Are 200 times bigger than mine, yes," said Croft. Suddenly he
heard the footsteps too. And then a young woman stepped into view, on
the other side of the forcefield.
She looked vaguely familiar. She had been standing in Quick's
office in the background.
"Mr. Croft, my name is Madeline. Are you well?"
"One of your guards twisted my shoulder slightly and it aches,"
said Croft. "Could you be so kind as to have one of your doctors look
into it, before the execution?"
Madeline smiled. "Your file said you had an extraordinary sense
of humor."
Croft shrugged. "Then would you find it funny if I ask you if you
see a giant rat in this cell?"
"Giant rat?" said Madeline, looking puzzled, but only a for a
moment. "Do you mean a Capybara?"
"A Capybara?"
"Large, fur, whiskers, black eyes, spectacles, rectangular shaped
nose."
"So you do see him?"
"Not at present," said Madeline, looking right through the
Professor. "Why, is one here?"
"No," said Croft. "Just asking. But obviously you've seen one
before."
Madeline paused. "I don't think it would be giving away state
secrets to say that our government, like others, has been visited by
the alien visitor."
"A very annoying alien visitor."
"Really?" Madeline smiled. "I found him quite charming."
"Well, you have a lot of rats in your government," said Croft.
"That wasn't very nice, Mr. Croft," said Madeline.
"I'm always cranky right before an execution," said Croft. "And,
to finally get to a point, what brings you here?"
Madeline took a deep breath. "I'm not as convinced of your guilt
as Director Quick is."
"Really?" said Croft.
"I don't believe you staged the hostage crisis. I also believe
you were misled about the decoder. And I have doubts about whether you
really attempted to sabotage our destroyer."
"Why?"
"Let's just say that the fact pattern fits too easily," said
Madeline. "Any body of evidence has some discrepancies. But the case
against you is too perfect. My instinct tells me that you are innocent,
and that the Slurians really are trying to maneuver us into conflict
with each other."
"If your instinct tells you that, why don't you let me go?"
Madeline touched a button, and the forcefield faded.
Croft stood up, but didn't leave the cell.
"Just like that?"
"Just like that," Madeline confirmed. "I've sent the guards away.
An agent with your skill should have no problem getting out of the
complex and off-planet."
"Aren't you taking a big risk?" said Croft "What happens when
Quick finds out about this?"
"Director Quick rewards individual initiative."
"Even initiative that goes counter to his express order?"
"When the results are positive, yes." Madeline took a deep
breath. "That's why I'm counting on you to prove this Slurian
connection."
Croft's eyes narrowed. "Why are you really doing this?"
"I want to prevent the war, and I think you're our best chance of
doing this."
"Quick could have you arrested or shot."
"So he could," said Madeline. "But I'm thinking of the higher
interests of the June Directorate, of all the people who would be
killed in such a war. Senselessly, I might add."
"What do you think?" said Croft, turning to an apparently empty
corner of the room.
After a few seconds, Madeline said, "What did he say?"
"He's not allowed to comment," said Croft. "Actually, he does
comment all the time, but never in a useful or interesting way."
There was a pause.
"Yes, I really meant that," said Croft.
"You'd better get going, then," said Madeline.
Croft nodded. He walked past her and out of the cell.
"Aren't you grateful she saved your life?" said an invisible
voice.
"Yes, very grateful," said Croft. He spoke into his collar.
"Preston, did you get this?"
"Yes," came a staticy voice.
"Cancel the rescue. Meet me at the spaceport with suitable
transportation," said Croft.
"So you really had an alternate method of escape planned," said
the Capybara.
"Yes. But Madeline's actions make the situation.... a bit
clearer," said Croft.
"How so?"
"Can't talk. Busy escaping."
August.
It took Croft nearly a week to travel back to the capital of the
League, but it had to be done. He needed some clue as to what the
Slurians were planning next, and the only place he could think of to
get a clue was on August. The news networks were filled with stories
about the pending war with the Directorate. Director Quick, after
announcing the capture of the "League saboteur" who attempted to blow
up one of his ships, announced that one more such incident would be
considered an act of war.
Croft still couldn't see how Quick would be so foolish as to
start a war with the League; the League had a more than 3 to 1
advantage in ships. Unless...
Unless Quick already had a secret alliance with the Slurians. The
combined Slurian and Directorate fleet was more than equal to the
League's fleet.
And the Slurians were behind it all. Croft was sure that their
next move would spark a war. But what would that be? He needed concrete
information.
So he returned to August. And a few hours after he returned, he
reported to the offices of Stellar Intelligence.
He showed his ID to a guard, which indicated he was an operative
in Stellar Intelligence. The SI Ident patterns were easy enough to
falsify; easy enough for the Column, that is.
He went to a terminal, spent a few minutes getting around
security protocols (Stellar Intelligence's security protocols were
laughable, too), and punched up the information he wanted. Or rather,
he didn't. Croft spent a whole hour searching for what he wanted, and
didn't find it. When he was done, he gave a low whistle.
An analyst at the next cubicle looked up at him out of curiosity.
"Get back to work," said Croft.
"Yes sir," said the analyst meekly.
Croft left the offices of the SI, contacted Preston, and
immediately boarded a flight to Carradine.
When he arrived at the unofficial League diplomatic mission on
Carradine, he was joined by Preston. They immediately sought out their
SI contact, Vickery.
"Croft!" said Vickery, looking surprised. "You're alive! I
thought-"
Croft drew his blaster and shot him.
"That was rather quick," Preston remarked.
"We don't have time for chitchat," said Croft.
When Vickery awoke, he found himself hanging upside down off the
top of a very tall building. A slender rope held his leg.
"What... what's going on here?"
"We're going to have a little talk," said Croft.
Preston stood behind Croft, looking equally grim.
"Why do you have me tied upside down like this?" said Vickery. He
looked down at the ground, far, far below him, and groaned.
"Try not to look down," said Croft. "Do you have a fear of
heights?"
"Yes!" said Vickery.
"That's what your file said. I'm glad the SI keeps such accurate
records."
"Have you gone out of your mind?"
"I was always convinced there was a spy within SI," said Croft.
"After all, by my best estimates, nearly half the SI is infiltrated
with double agents."
"That's not true! That's a gross exaggeration!"
"I first realized there was a spy when the decoder we were
intercepting turned out to be something else than we first thought, and
the enemy knew every move we made," said Croft.
"We had poor intelligence," said Vickery. "It happens!"
"Yes, in the SI, I'm sure it does," said Croft. "So I went to SI
headquarters and checked the raw intelligence data in your system
computers. And guess what? There was no raw data." He paused, to let it
sink in. "You made the whole thing up."
"No! No, I really received orders-"
"From whom?" said Croft. "I also checked the SI log records while
I was there. There wasn't a single communication made to you within the
24 hour period before you came to us with this exciting 'news'."
Vickery said nothing.
"You set us up. You told us it was a device that could be used to
decode League code but in reality it could only work on Directorate
code. Stealing the device made us look like saboteurs. As a result I
was captured and nearly killed, Preston here was wounded, and two of
our agents were killed," said Croft.
"Believe me, I didn't know-"
Croft took out his blaster. "You may have noticed that you are
suspended by a thick, metal cable. I bought it from an athletics store
where I was told it would be excellent for rock climbing, that the
cable wouldn't twist or break. It didn't, however, have a blaster proof
warranty."
He set his blaster to narrow beam, and aimed carefully.
"Croft, what are you doing?" said Vickery.
Croft fired, and a small piece of cable was burned off. The line
jerked abruptly.
"Aggggghhhhh!" Vickery screamed.
"Now that I've gotten your attention, what are the Slurians
planning next?"
"I don't know," said Vickery.
"A pity," said Croft. He aimed again, and fired another shot. The
cable was now cut halfway through. It started to twist and contort.
"No!" screamed Vickery.
"What?" said Croft.
"Yes, yes, I did things for the Slurians."
"Why?" said Croft. "For money?"
"They have a more egalitarian system," said Vickery. "They're not
all credit grubbers like we are."
"Yes, everyone is equally poor, except the party bosses," said
Croft. "What are they planning next?"
"I really don't know," said Vickery.
"Then you're not a lot of use to me," said Croft. He aimed
carefully, and fired again.
Another piece of strand twisted off. The cable bounced back and
forth, and the cut part started to cut further.
"Don't fire!" said Vickery.
"I don't think I'll have to," said Croft, watching the tiny metal
fibers untangle. "At the rate this is going, you'll only have another
thirty seconds. Now, tell me what they're planning next."
"I really don't know!" said Vickery. "Well, they mentioned
something about sabotaging a League ship."
"Blowing it up?"
"Not sure," said Vickery.
"Which ship?"
The wire disentangled further.
"Which ship?" said Croft. "You must have helped the spy get
aboard.
"The Realter," said Vickery.
"Who is the spy?"
"I don't know," said Vickery. "I didn't escort him personally.
Now get me out of here!"
Croft paused.
"What are you waiting for?" said Vickery, as the wire untangled
further.
"I'm thinking."
"Thinking about what?"
"You caused the death of two Column agents," said Croft.
"I did what I thought was right," said Vickery.
"So I am," said Croft, and he stepped with his boot, hard, on the
cut part of the wire. The wire snapped, and Vickery fell, shrieking, to
the ground.
Preston looked at Croft. After a moment's silence, he said, "What
will we tell the Chief?"
"That we had bad quality rope," said Croft. "Come on."
Admiral Lafferty was in charge of the fleet assembled in orbit
around Carradine. It stood toe to toe with a similarly sized
Directorate fleet. Both claimed the planet. The situation was extremely
tense.
He received Croft aboard his flagship, the battleship Iluria.
Croft told him the details as quickly as possible.
"A spy? On one of my ships? Highly unlikely," said Lafferty.
"Or... highly likely," said Croft. "You must take action against
the Realter immediately."
"What kind of action?" said Lafferty.
"Recall the ship to August. Have it searched from stem to stern
for explosive devices. Have the crew go through extensive security
checks."
"They already have."
"Then let them be rechecked," said Croft, his eyes flashing.
"Do you understand what you're asking me?" said Lafferty. "The
Realter is a battlecruiser. There are 15 ships in this fleet, a
battleship, a battle cruiser, four cruisers, and nine destroyers and
frigates, facing an equivalently sized enemy fleet. And you're asking
me to withdraw my only backup capitol ship."
"Replace it with another one."
"That would take days, days in which we would be vulnerable,"
said Lafferty.
"Admiral, if that ship explodes, it could spark a war," said
Croft.
"We will be watching the situation carefully," said Lafferty. "In
the League navy, we can certainly tell the difference between a ship
being fired on, and a ship exploding on its own. If something should
happen, we will know what it is and not take rash action, unless we are
clearly being attacked."
"That still leaves the matter of all the crewmembers on your
precious battle cruiser who will be blown up."
"If you are so confident that there is a saboteur there, you are
welcome to go to the ship and find him or her."
"How many crewmembers are there on the ship?"
"Approximately 300, I believe," said Lafferty.
Croft took a deep breath. "I don't know who the saboteur is. It
could take forever."
"If you don't know who the saboteur is, how do you know there is
one?"
Croft opened his mouth, and then closed it. This was getting him
nowhere. "Thank you for your time, Admiral."
"You're welcome," said Lafferty.
"Thank you," said Croft, walking out backwards, still facing
Lafferty. "Thank you, thank you."
"You're welcome," said Lafferty again.
"I really mean it," said Croft. "Thanks for all the help."
Croft and Preston shuttled over to the Realter. The image of the
large battle cruiser could be seen growing in the front viewports.
"You find yourself in a very (tweatle tweatle) situation, young
Clifford," said the Capybara, appearing in a seat next to Croft.
"So I do," said Croft.
"So you do what?" said Preston, who obviously didn't see or hear
the Professor.
"Nothing," said Croft. "I'm talking to an imaginary giant rat."
"Capybara," said the Professor.
"Are you really a Capybara?"
"No," said the Professor. "But the term is so much more elegant
than rat."
"You know, if this war starts, a lot of people are going to die,"
said Croft.
"That follows," said the Professor.
"You could probably help me track down this saboteur."
"Probably," said the Professor.
"And prevent the war."
The Capybara was silent.
"All right," said Croft. "I'll give you an interview."
"Really?" the Capybara's eyes widened.
"If you help me find the saboteur."
"Sorry," said the Capybara. "I can't interfere."
"Even if doing so will save a lot of lives--and get you your
interview?"
"I am very tempted by the offer of an interview," said the
Capybara. "But I cannot interfere."
"So you're content to watch a senseless war start," said Croft.
"Cliff, who are you talking to?" said Preston.
Croft ignored him. "Well?"
"To you, this looming war may seem important," said the Capybara.
"But your limited mind has to understand, that in the larger scheme,
this is only one, very small conflict that will not last more than a
handful of years and affect only a tiny portion of your galaxy's
population."
"So no big deal," said Croft. "Then why are you sticking around?
I thought you said this was a pivotal moment in our history?"
"I thought it was," said the Capybara. "It's not anymore. Now I'm
just 'sticking around', as you put it, to observe how events play out."
"Wait a minute," said Croft. "Why is it no longer pivotal?"
The Capybara adjusted his spectacles. "You are so naive, young
Clifford." And he vanished.
When they boarded the ship they were met by the Captain, and two
of his officers. "I am Captain Hollister. Welcome aboard. Admiral
Lafferty has briefed me on the situation."
"Good," said Croft.
"I have posted guards in the engineering section."
Croft groaned.
"What's wrong?"
"Well, it's a good security move, but it will surely tip off the
saboteur that we're on to him."
"If there is a saboteur," said one of Hollister's officers.
"This man is with the Column," said Captain Hollister. "If the
Column is half as good as its reputation, I'd at least listen with an
open mind."
"Thank you," said Croft. "Let's start by looking over the crew
records."
"I'll have Commander Denby assist you," said Hollister,
indicating the officer who had spoken."
"Great."
In a few minutes Croft was sitting in a briefing room reviewing
records.
"What are you looking for?" Denby asked.
"I'll know it when I find it," said Croft.
"That won't help you, young Clifford," said an invisible voice.
"Then what will?" said Croft.
"What will what?" Denby asked. Preston, by contrast, knew by now
not to pay attention when Croft talked to himself.
"I wasn't talking to you," said Croft.
"Who are you talking to?"
"A large invisible rat," said Croft.
Denby looked at Croft like he was mad.
"That wasn't very polite. Why do you persist in (tweatle tweatle)
calling me that?" The Professor asked.
"Because you're annoying," said Croft.
"You had better hurry," said the Professor. "The saboteur knows
you're on board. You only have a few minutes to act."
"So you can't interfere by telling me who the saboteur is, but
you can tell me he's going to act?"
"Knowing that information will not affect the outcome, so it's
not interfering" said the Professor.
"We'll see about that," said Croft. He turned to Denby. "Tell the
Captain to have the engineering staff replaced immediately."
"Replaced? With the second shift?"
"With non-engineering officers," said Croft.
"But non-engineers-"
"Know enough to maintain things until I get this straightened
out," said Croft. "I've just gotten new information that the saboteur
is about to act."
"How? From where?" Denby asked.
"Don't question me, just do what I tell you," said Croft.
Denby looked at Preston, who shrugged his shoulders. Against his
better judgment, he signaled the Captain.
Captain Hollister was skeptical, but he gave the order. "What do
you want the engineering staff to do?"
"Confine them to quarters, for now," said Croft. There were 47
engineering officers and staffers in all. How to weed through them in
minutes?
And then there was the matter of the Capybara. Could he be
intentionally deceiving Croft? How did the Capybara even know what was
about to happen? Croft had another thought, an even more alarming one.
Could the Capybara be manipulating events, in order to test Croft's
reactions?
Well, Croft couldn't afford to take any chances. Despite
Lafferty's assurances, if the ship blew up, the League might interpret
that as an attack, and start the war. Also, being on board a ship that
blew up would not be very good for Croft.
Croft made his way to the bridge, followed by Preston and Denby.
"The crew is being changed as we speak," said Hollister. "Do you
have any more leads on who the saboteur might be?"
Croft shook his head.
"Sir," said one of the bridge officers, "Someone is attempting to
arm the forward lasers."
"Lock them down," said Hollister.
There was a pause. "I can't, sir," said the officer, rapidly
repressing the same set of buttons.
"The lasers," said Preston softly.
The officer checked his display. "We seem to be targeting... one
of the Directorate ships."
In an instant, the entire plot became clear.
The saboteur wasn't going to blow up the ship. He was going to
attack the Directorate. That, surely, would start the war.
Hollister toggled the comm. "Weapons room!"
There was no response.
"Weapons room, respond!" said Hollister. He didn't wait more than
a fraction of a second before turning to another officer. "Send a
security team to the weapons room."
"Yes sir," said the officer, dashing off.
"There won't be time," said Croft. "Can't you override?"
"No," said Hollister.
"Can't you cut power?"
"He's gotten the lasers fully charged," said the first officer.
"The computer!" said Hollister. He turned to another officer.
"Deactivate main computer."
"Sir?"
Hollister sprang across the bridge, paused only seconds, before
pressing a series of keys. A large portion of the bridge displays went
dark.
"He can't fire without the computer?" Croft asked.
"He can do it manually, but it will take him a minute to switch
over," said Hollister.
"Sir, the weapons room is sealed," came a report over the comm.
"We'll need more time," said Croft. "Can you move us away from
here?"
"Without the computer control? No," said Hollister.
"What about turning us around?" said Croft.
"Maneuvering jets," said Hollister. He spoke to the navigator.
"Turn us so that we're facing away from the Directorate ships."
"Yes sir," said the officer. The ship slowly started to turn.
"Let's get down to the weapons room," said Hollister.
He took off on a run with Croft and Preston following.
"Very exciting," said a mellifluous voice. "But ultimately
futile. You will not (tweatle tweatle) the overall result."
"Shut up," said Croft as he ran.
Hollister gave him an odd look.
When they got to the entrance to the forward weapon's room they
found several marines working on it with two large, industrial cutting
lasers.
"How long?" Croft asked.
"Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes, sir," said the marine in charge.
"Why so long?" Croft asked.
"This whole area around the weapons section is reinforced, so if
the ship is holed the weapons officers can continue to fight."
"Who is on duty in there?" Croft asked.
"Lieutenants Fuller and Braysh," said Captain Hollister.
"One of whom is a traitor, the other of whom is probably dead,"
said Croft grimly.
They paused a moment to watch the team slowly cutting through.
"You were right, about the saboteur," said Hollister.
"I was wrong," said Croft. "I thought it would be an engineering
officer. My information wasn't specific enough."
"Relax," said Hollister. "We can take our time cutting through.
He can fire the lasers all he likes but he's not going to hit
anything."
"Sir," came a voice from Hollister's wrist comm.
"Yes?" said Hollister.
"Ensign Kearse here, sir. We've lost contact with RCM #11."
"What does that mean?" said Croft quickly.
"He's deactivated the missile from automatic control."
'What does that mean?" said Croft again.
"He's trying to manually launch the missile himself," said
Hollister.
"Can he?"
Hollister took a deep breath. "It would require some
reprogramming and rewiring. If he knew what he were doing, yes."
"Could it be targeted to a ship we weren't currently facing?"
"Yes," said Hollister.
"How long would it take?" said Croft.
"No way to know for sure," said Hollister.
"How about for unsure?" said Croft.
Hollister took a deep breath. "Maybe 10 to 20 minutes."
"And we're going to burn through in..."
"About 15 minutes."
"Can you go any faster?" Croft asked.
"We can only fit two laser torches inside this corridor at this
point," said Hollister.
"Think!" said Croft. "Do you have any munitions that could blow
open this door?"
"No," said Hollister. "And if we did, it would blow through the
less shielded corridor behind it first."
"Your missiles have hatches, right?" said Croft. "Can you send an
EVA team out there to weld them shut?"
"A creative idea," said Hollister. "But it would take almost ten
minutes to get a team suited up, another ten to walk there from the
nearest airlock."
"So our only option is to burn through," said Croft.
"I think so," said Hollister.
They watched the laser torches cut through the steel layers
surrounding the door. Croft anxiously checked his chrono every thirty
seconds or so.
"Do you think we're going to make it?" said Preston softly.
Croft shook his head. "I'm not sure."
"Is there anything else we can do?"
"Probably not," said Croft. Then, speaking in a loud voice he
said, "If you get us inside that room, I'll give you ten interviews!"
Hollister looked oddly at him. "Who are you talking to?"
"I cannot interfere, Clifford," came the Professor's voice. "It
is very interesting, though."
"What is?" said Croft.
"What is what?" said Hollister.
"The human reaction to stress. I may write a separate paper,
based on my (tweatle tweatle) observations of you. But I have several
questions; I see the biometric effects on your body--the quickened
pulse, the perspiration, the brainwave alterations--but I would
appreciate a more subjective-"
"Shut up!" Croft snarled.
Hollister looked startled. "Are you all right?"
"The ship," said Croft suddenly.
"What about it?"
"Blow it up," said Croft.
"What?"
"How long would it take for you to evacuate the ship?"
"In our training exercises, 7 minutes."
"Do it. Then set the ship to self-destruct."
"I estimate we'll burn through in four more minutes," said the
marine officer.
Oh. Then evacuating made no sense. "Forget it," said Croft.
"Sir," came a voice over the comm. "One of our outer missile
hatches is opening."
"Override!"
"I can't, sir!"
"What does that mean?" said Croft.
"He's almost ready," said Hollister. "He could launch at any
minute."
Preston thought quickly. "We should contact the Directorate
ships."
"They'd never believe us," said Croft. "But I have a better idea.
We should contact Admiral Lafferty. Have him blow up the ship."
"What?" said Hollister.
"Or just disable us. Whatever it took to put this ship out of
commission."
"Innocent crewmen would be killed," said Hollister.
"Many more innocents will die if a war starts."
Hollister paused for a second, then nodded. He adjusted his comm.
"Get me Admiral Lafferty, priority one."
In seconds they heard the voice of the Admiral.
"Admiral, we have a saboteur in the weapons room," said
Hollister. "You have to fire on our ship, disable it."
"What?" said Lafferty.
"Fire on our ship. We're about to launch an attack on the
Directorate. You must stop the saboteur from doing so."
"Can't you stop him yourself?"
"Two more minutes," said the marine officer.
"He's sealed himself in the weapons room, we won't be able to
burn through in time. He can launch at any moment."
They heard nothing for a second. Then Lafferty said, "You can't
seriously expect me to launch an attack on an allied ship."
"Do it," said Croft, speaking into the comm. "This is your only
chance to avoid a war."
"I don't know," Lafferty temporized.
A voice cut in from the bridge. "Sir, we're detecting a launch!"
There was a rumble from underneath them as they felt it.
"Get the Directorate ships online!" Hollister snapped. "Warn
them."
There was a pause.
"Well?" said Hollister.
"Sir... the missile..."
"What about it?"
"It's just sitting there."
"What?"
"It's just sitting there, in front of the ship. It's not moving,"
said the voice of the bridge officer.
"We're almost through," said the marine officer.
"Can he launch any other missiles?" said Croft.
"Not in a few seconds," said Hollister. "He's have to rewire each
one individually-"
Suddenly there was a clang as the door collapsed inwards. Space
marines ran through. By the time Croft got into the room, a smug
looking weapons officer was being restrained by four different marines.
The body of another weapons officer, with a blaster burn through his
torso, lay on the ground.
"You're too late," said the weapons officer. "It's already
begun."
"I don't think so," said Croft. "Did you bother to check the
weapon's display?"
The traitor turned his head, which was all he was able of doing.
His eyes widened as he looked at the monitor.
"You should never attempt to do repair jobs without having a
licensed technician present," said Croft. He turned to Hollister. "I
trust you can find someplace secure to keep him?"
"Very secure," Hollister growled. He nodded to the marines. "Take
him away."
"Can you give me any idea what happened?" Croft asked.
"He must have rewired it improperly," said Hollister. "I'll know
better when we send out a bomb disposal team to examine the warhead."
A few hours later, they had more answers, but also more
questions.
"There was a fault in the warhead's memory buffer," said an
officer. "It was shorted out."
"Due to the alterations of Lieutenant Fuller?" Hollister asked.
Fuller was the officer who was the traitor.
"No sir," said the officer. "That's the odd part. It looks like a
naturally occurring flaw."
"Did you check the other missiles?"
"Yes sir. The first four missiles in the "A" launching position
had this flaw. The others did not," said the officer.
"Thank you, dismissed," said Hollister. The man saluted and left
the room.
"I guess we got lucky," said Hollister.
"There was no luck involved," said Croft. "He was right."
"Who was right? About what?"
"That our involvement wouldn't affect the outcome," said Croft.
"He was right, but in a different way than I expected."
Chapter 12: A Few
Truths
A week later, Clifford Croft entered the personal office of
Steven Quick. He noticed immediately that Madeline was standing in the
background. So was Pedro, the head of Central Directorate Security. So
were a squad of armed guards.
Those white eyes scanned him. "You are either very brave or very
foolish to come back here," said Quick.
"Or very smart," said Croft. "I personally foiled an attack on
one of your ships that was meant to start a war between us."
"So your transmission said," said Quick. "But where is your
proof?"
Croft held up a datapad. "A confession from one Lieutenant
Fuller, formerly of the League Navy, currently a spy for Sluria."
"How do we know that the confession is authentic?" said Pedro.
"This League officer, if he really exists, would say whatever you want
him to say."
"You don't trust our interrogation?"
"Not really, no," said Pedro.
"Then interrogate him yourself," said Croft. He pressed on his
wrist comm and two more people entered the room, Ensign Fuller in
electrocuffs and Preston, leading him forward.
"Thank you," said Quick. "We shall."
"Just one word of advice," said Croft. "Do not let this man
conduct the interrogation." He pointed to Pedro.
"Why?" said Quick.
"Fuller's confession implicated Mr. Gomez," said Croft.
"Apparently they were in direct communication with each other. I would
suspect that Mr. Gomez coordinated the sabotage effort on your
destroyer last week as well."
"Lies!" said Gomez.
Croft pressed a button, and a voice came out of his datapad. "-
The spy Clifford Croft is on the way. We need to accelerate affairs.
You will have to take control of the weapons room at 1400-" Croft
clicked the stop button. The voice was clearly Gomez.
"A fabrication!" said Gomez.
"Where did you get that recording from?" Quick asked.
"Our listening posts collect data on millions of conversations.
It was only sometime after the fact that we were able to descramble
this transmission. It came from this planet, and was directed to
Carradine."
"Will you provide a copy of your recording for authentication?"
Croft handed over the datapad, to a waiting guard.
"Guards!" said Quick. "Take Pedro into custody."
"Director... surely you don't believe this man-"
"Of course not," said Quick. "I'm sure we will have this cleared
up in a few hours. If Mr. Croft is lying, his execution will proceed.
Guards, take him away too."
Croft and Preston were taken away. But this time they wasn't
taken to the brig, but rather a luxurious guestroom in the palace.
Before long a server came bearing a delicious meal. Croft took that as
a good sign.
A few hours later they were called back. Everyone from the
previous encounter was present, with one addition: the Slurian
Ambassador, Kemerov. Croft noticed there were also an additional ring
of guards in the room.
Lieutenant Fuller, looking decidedly ill, stood shaking in front
of Quick's desk.
"Would you be kind enough to repeat to everyone else what you
just told me?" said Quick mildly.
Fuller, looking down, spoke in a broken, sobby voice. "I was a
spy hired by the Slurians to launch an attack on a Directorate ship."
"Lies!" said Kemerov.
"My overall goal was to start a war with the League, or at least
push the Directorate to conclude a formal military alliance with the
Slurian Union." Not once did he make eye contact with the others. Croft
wondered what kind of interrogation techniques Quick's people used.
Whatever they used, it was not only effective, but quick in getting
responses. Well, of course it would be quick.
"And Croft's role?" Quick asked.
"Croft was trying to stop me, not start the war."
"And who were your confederates?"
"The Slurian Ambassador, and agency head Pedro Gomez."
"He's lying!" said the Slurian Ambassador again.
"What do you have to say, Pedro?" said Quick, cocking an eyebrow.
"It's not true, sir, this man must be brainwashed."
"We've also verified that the voice on the recording is yours,"
said Quick.
"The voice must be doctored, sir," said Pedro.
"I see," said Quick. "Well, this is a tough issue to resolve. But
I know well how to resolve the tough ones." And with that he put Mr.
Cat on his desk.
"Say it again," said Quick.
"What, sir?"
"Tell Mr. Cat that you are innocent," said Quick. "He will know
if you are lying."
"Y-yes sir," said Pedro. He started to speak, but before he did,
Quick drew a blaster from behind his desk, and aimed it at Pedro.
"Well?" said Quick.
Pedro said nothing.
Quick stared at Pedro with those eyes of his. "Talk!" he barked.
Pedro sweated. Then he broke down. "Sir... they made me do it!"
he sobbed.
"Guards," said Quick.
Pedro was taken into custody.
"Have him taken to interrogation room 4. They're waiting."
Pedro was taken away.
Quick, putting down the blaster, and petted Mr. Cat. "They can
lie to me, but they can never fool Mr. Cat."
The others looked at him like he were mad.
Those white eyes turned on Ambassador Kemerov. "I hope you
realize that all of our military agreements are off."
"But... you signed them-"
"Now I unsign," said Quick. "If you check the wording of the
contracts, there is an escape clause due to impossibility, change of
mind, or sneakiness on the part of a negotiating partner. Trying to
manipulate me into a war with the League qualifies as sneakiness."
"But, I never-"
"I think, sometimes, you did," said Quick. "You are also hereby
declared persona non grata."
"Persona...."
"You can have one of your aides look it up for you later. Loosely
speaking, it means you have 48 hours to get off planet before we revoke
your diplomatic immunity and shoot you for spying."
"But... he is a spy!" said Kemerov, pointing at Croft.
"He's a goooood spy," said Quick, as if he were talking about an
obedient puppy. "You're a baaaaad one. Your next ambassador had better
be less blatant about it, or I won't be so kind next time."
"But what about the League?" said Kemerov.
"You let me worry about the League," said Quick. "You now have 47
hours and 59 minutes," he added. "I suggest you get going."
Kemerov just stood there, speechless. If he were sent home now,
he surely would be demoted. Or worse.
"Guards!" said Quick. "The former ambassador has forgotten where
the exit is. Please assist him."
After Kemerov left, Quick signaled for Preston, Croft, and Fuller
to leave.
"Do you still want him?" said Croft, indicating Fuller.
"Not really," said Quick, wrinkling his nose. "What will you do
to him?"
"Probably jail," said Croft.
"Then he's lucky."
They turned to leave. But as Preston, Fuller, and Croft reached
the door, they heard Quick again. "Ah, Mr. Croft, if you could stay a
moment?"
Croft turned to Preston, and nodded. Preston took Fuller and
left.
Croft walked back to Quick's desk. He eyed the guards. "I hope
this isn't about that death sentence thing."
Quick smiled. He made a gesture, and all the guards left, all but
two in the corner of the room. That left them, and Quick, and Madeline.
"I simply wanted to thank you," said Quick. "You helped us avert
a war."
"You're welcome," said Croft.
"Naturally I would be more amenable to expanding relations with
the League, if it's willing."
"I think it probably is," said Croft. "Our Secretary of Foreign
Affairs is here, and eager to see you."
"Good," said Quick. He smiled. "You have impressed me."
"Thanks," said Croft. "You probably don't say that very often."
"I don't," said Quick. He smiled again. "Perhaps we shall meet
again."
"Perhaps," said Croft. He turned to go... and turned back. "Just
one more thing."
"Yes?"
"You didn't really mean it when you just thanked me, did you?"
"Mean it?" Quick frowned. "Of course I did."
"If you meant it, what were you thanking me for?"
"Preventing the war. Uncovering the Slurian plot."
"But... you already knew about the Slurian plot."
Those white eyes stared at him. "What makes you say that?"
"A number of things. I started to get suspicious when your
assistant there let me go, in direct contravention of your orders,"
said Croft, indicating Madeline.
"I reward my people for independent thinking, when they're
right," said Quick.
"Yes, very good, that's almost word for word what she told me,"
said Croft. "It doesn't mean I believed it then or now."
"Then what do you believe?" Those white eyes stared at him.
"That she released me on your orders," said Croft.
"Why would I order her to do that? I ordered you to be executed,
you remember."
"I remember," said Croft. "I think you were play-acting."
"What makes you say that?"
"There's a further piece of evidence," said Croft, changing the
subject slightly. "Those malfunctioning missiles. We did a check, and
found that only the missiles in immediate launch position had faulty
guidance systems."
"Really?"
"Yes. That meant that Fuller could never have launched an attack
on your ships. Even if I hadn't been there, he would have been stopped
shortly after he tried and failed to launch the first missile."
"Really."
"Yes," said Croft again. "Now, what are the odds of all the
missiles in first launch position, and only those missiles,
malfunctioning?"
"Without more information-"
"Pretty small," said Croft. "Unless they were sabotaged."
"Sabotaged? By whom?"
"By your operatives, of course," said Croft. "Your military is
certainly not as big as the League's, but from everything I've heard
your intelligence arm is as good as ours or the Slurians."
"Better than the Slurians, actually, Mr. Croft," said Quick.
"You knew the Slurians were behind this operation for some time,
and you simply manipulated me so I would "discover" it," said Croft.
"An interesting theory," said Quick dryly.
"There is only one question I do not have an answer to," said
Croft.
Those white eyes were sharp. "Why."
"Yes," said Croft.
"One moment," said Quick. He nodded to Madeline. She came
forward, and removed something from under Quick's desk. She put it on
the floor, and ground it under her high heels.
"What was that?"
"A listening device that Pedro put there some time ago," said
Quick.
"So that's why you had to put on the act, to convince the
Slurians," said Croft.
"Yes," said Quick. "You really have impressed me, Mr. Croft. In
fact, you have impressed me so much that I will answer your question."
"Why?" said Croft again. "Did you engineer this entire event?"
"Engineer it? No," said Quick. "This really was initiated by the
Slurians."
"At what point did you realize the Slurians were trying to
manipulate you into a war with the League?"
"About six months beforehand."
"What?"
Quick's eyes blazed. "I anticipated such a move six months ago,
and even worked out several scenarios as to how they would set such a
plan in motion. Their plan hewed fairly closely to one of my
scenarios."
Madeline spoke, for the first time. "You have to understand, Mr.
Croft, that Director Quick's mind works so... quickly, that for him,
the present is the past. He's thinking months or even years into the
futures, considering possibilities, options, and strategies."
"So you knew from the start," said Croft. "If you knew, why
didn't you simply expose the Slurians? Why did you play along?"
"Because while I did not initiate this chain of events there was
something to be gained from letting them play out."
"Exposing the spy, Pedro."
Quick laughed. "I knew he was a spy before I promoted him to head
the Central Directorate Security Service."
"Why did you promote him if you knew he was a spy?" Croft asked.
Quick laughed again. "There is no Central Directorate Security
Service!"
"What?"
"Oh, Pedro thought there was; he saw reports on its activities,
and issued orders, and saw reports on those orders being issued. But he
had actual contact with only a handful of people, all of whom worked
for me."
"A non-existent spy agency," said Croft. "But then why-" He
stopped. "I see. To give him access to you."
"Precisely," said Quick. "And to see who he contacted. We've just
rounded them up."
"But still, you didn't need me for that," said Croft.
"No, we didn't need you for that," Quick agreed. "But we did need
you for what I couldn't find out myself."
"Which was?"
"The attitude of your League towards my Directorate," said Quick.
"As you recall, your League originally had a less than friendly
attitude towards my government."
"Seeing as they tried to overthrow it, yes."
"I wanted to see if that attitude had changed," said Quick.
"Why didn't you try for a diplomatic initiative?"
"Diplomats can lie, Mr. Croft. I wanted to hear words from inside
your bureaucracy. For example, from your military." He pressed a
button.
Suddenly, the voice of Captain Hollister could be heard
"You have to fire on our ship, disable it."
"A League captain asking for his own ship to be attacked to
prevent a war with us," said Quick. He pressed the button again.
"Do it," came Croft's voice. "This is your only chance to avoid a
war."
"A senior intelligence operative, asking for his own ship to be
blown up, to prevent a war," said Quick. "In addition, there are other
voices, like your Senator Darno or your Foreign Affairs Secretary,"
said Quick. "All of whom have helped to convince me that we can turn
the page on relations."
"So you let this play out to find out how we really felt about
you?"
"Basically, yes," said Quick.
"Hm," said Croft. "Then maybe I'm not so impressive as you
thought."
"On the contrary," said Quick. "Your ability to survive against
the likes of Ernst Manheim Studt was most impressive."
"So you know about that?"
"Yes," said Quick. "And a certain Capybara also spoke highly of
you."
"Really?"
"Yes. He actually told me, 'Not bad, for a human'."
"High praise," said Croft dryly.
"And of course, to figure out as much as you have on your own is
quite an achievement in and of itself. You have to remember, Mr. Croft,
that you were pitted between two very, very smart people."
"Two?" Croft frowned.
"I meant, of course, myself and whoever plotted this on Sluria,"
Quick quickly said.
"Of course," said Croft.
"You may go, Mr. Croft, your work here is done," said Quick.
"So you will ally with the League?"
"Ally? No," said Quick. "Ally is a strong word. I still do not
fully trust your League. There are still elements such as your
assistant secretary of humanity who are hostile. But let us say that we
have established a minimal level of trust, and that we can hope to
build on in the future."
"You almost sound like a diplomat," said Croft.
"I apologize," said Quick. "And now, I find the demands of work
are pressing on me. If you will excuse me?"
Croft nodded, and left.
After he had gone, Madeline stepped forward.
"Quite impressive," Quick repeated.
"Even with the parts he got wrong?" said Madeline.
"Even with the parts he got wrong," said Quick. "For it wouldn't
have served our purposes to reveal the whole truth to him."
"That our purpose was not to gauge the opinion of the League
bureaucracy, but to change it," said Madeline. "To use the threat of
collusions with the Slurians to prompt the League to propose closer
relations with us."
"Precisely," said Quick. "Before this turn of events, we were
simply a dictatorship, to be tolerated. Now that the League saw that we
could ally ourselves with the Slurians, they will be eager to be our
allies."
"Military allies?"
"Not yet," said Quick. "We will expand diplomatic and economic
relations. We will not rush into anything. But we have created a good
start."
"What of the Slurians?"
"What of them?"
"You did not destroy the listening device until you revealed you
had known about their plot all along. Now they will know it too," said
Madeline. "It was hardly an accident that you revealed this to them."
"I wanted to show them the futility of intervention."
"It won't stop them from trying again," said Madeline.
"They would have figured it out anyway, once they had tried the
'personal decoder', they acquired," said Quick, grinning.
Madeline nodded. "Are we going to close the newly opened
consulates?"
"By no means!" said Quick. "It gives many more venues for our
spies on their planets."
"And theirs on ours."
"Our spies are much more productive," said Quick. "Theirs we will
feed a steady diet of disinformation." He snapped his fingers. "Oh,
that reminds me."
He pressed a button. Mr. Arrity entered. The same Mr. Arrity who
had been framed by the Slurians to show Quick's "fallibility", and who
theoretically had been spending the past two months in a labor camp.
"Did you and your family enjoy your two month's vacation in my
private villa?"
"Yes sir," said Arrity.
"Good," said Quick. "Now get back to work."
"Yes sir," said Arrity, grinning.
After he left, Madeline said,"And what of our citizens on
Carradine, June, and Ivory who were killed by the Slurians?"
"Yes. I hadn't forgotten about that," said Quick, his smile
fading. "Contact Section 19. Tell them I want an equal number corpses
on Sluria, in the next 10 days, midranking Loyalty Police members,
Captains or Majors. Have them leave a card on each body with the names
of our dead, and a written message."
"I'm recording," said Madeline, holding up her datapad. "What
should the message say?"
"Next time, it will be your colonels and generals."
"I don't know if that will deter them."
"It will make them think twice about murder," said Quick. "And we
do owe them something."
"And what of the Capybara?"
"What of me?" said the Professor, suddenly appearing. His face
twitched into something that might have been a smile. "Really well
done, Steven."
'Thank you," said Quick. "Does that mean you've decided to stay?"
"Unfortunately, no," said the Professor. "I find you quite
fascinating, but since the League is the largest political entity, I
can best monitor events from August."
"They'll be delighted to have you," said Quick. "I can hear them
salivating now over all the technology you will bring to them."
"Technology?" said the Professor. "Why would they (tweatle
tweatle) think that I will provide them with that?"
"Well, you do have advanced technology. And you do call yourself
a professor, one who teaches," said Quick.
"Sorry (tweatle tweatle), it's your language again," said the
Professor. "I thought a Professor was one whose primary function was to
research, not teach."
Quick grinned. "In many of our educational institutions, it does
seem that way."
"It's been good visiting with you, young Steven." The Professor
extended a webbed paw. Quick gently took it and shook it. And then the
Capybara disappeared.
"Well, you don't see that every day," said Madeline.
Two weeks later, the announcement of the trade pact and the new
consulates with the Directorate was headlines all over the League news
dataworks. So was the settlement of the Carradine situation. The League
would acknowledge Directorate control over Carradine, in return for
giving former League citizens the unlimited right to emigrate any time
they wished. This was considered little more than a fig leaf of a
concession since in the Directorate any citizen was free to leave any
time he or she wished to. But the formal agreement cooled down tensions
on both sides.
"Well, it looks like another happy ending," said Croft, sitting
in Steadman's office.
"Good work, Croft," said Steadman.
"Thanks, Chief," said Croft.
"You're up for two weeks vacation, if you want it," said
Steadman.
"I'll take it," said Croft.
"Just one thing," said Steadman.
"One thing?" said Croft.
"I have one last assignment for you before you go on vacation."
"Chief!"
"This will only take a few hours," said Steadman sternly. "And
it's very easy."
He told Croft the assignment.
"No," said Croft.
"Croft, it's a direct Presidential order," said Steadman.
"I won't go."
"If you don't go, you'll be escorted there under armed guard."
"Then I won't talk."
"If you won't talk, then you'll be dropped from the Column," said
Steadman. "I personally don't understand your obstinacy. Most other
people would be delighted."
"I guess I'm not most other people," Croft sighed. "All right,
Chief."
In a luxurious apartment near the heart of Sarney Sarittenden, a
musical doorbell chimed. The door opened automatically, and Clifford
Croft entered to see a plush apartment with fancy furniture, carpeting
and painting.
He entered the living room to see the Professor Capybara sitting
on the floor, with a pile of datapads around him. "Ah, Clifford. I'm so
dreadfully busy, but I can always make time for you." He was chomping
on a pile of nuts.
"I can't believe this," said Croft.
"When I informed your President that I would simply love to
settle on August, he was all to happy to accommodate me, even when I
asked for a small favor."
"An interview with me," said Croft.
"Did you not remember, young Clifford, how I told you this
(tweatle tweatle) moment would come?"
"You did, you did," said Croft. He sighed, sitting down. "All
right, let's get this over with."
The Capybara looked pained, as he chomped down on a nut. "You
make it sound like torture."
Croft looked at the pile of nuts and sighed. How appropriate.
"Your plan failed!" said Colonel Chedaski.
"No," said the Great Thinker. "Your implementation failed."
"We implemented it exactly as you designed it," said Chedaski.
"You heard it from Quick himself. He knew what you were up to from the
beginning."
"He was just engaged in idle boasting because he knew we were
listening," said the Great Thinker.
"You thought you were fooling him, but he had you fooled from the
start!" said Chedaski.
"Careful, Colonel," said Chedaski.
"I don't know why we ever bothered to come to you. We should have
gone to your brother instead of you-"
Suddenly a bright light descended on Chedaski's chair and he
screamed. In seconds, he was vaporized to a crisp. The chair, made of
special plastics, was untouched.
The Great Thinker turned to an aide. "Inform Slurian Command that
Colonel Chedaski's shuttle exploded in a tragic accident. Then blow it
up."
The Great Thinker's white eyes were focused on the wispy remains
of Colonel Chedaski. He said nothing for several minutes. Then he
turned back to his data screens, as if nothing had happened. Partnering
with the Slurians had been a mistake. Even as he concentrated, a new
plan started to form in his mind....
THE END
Author's Afterwards October 7, 2003
You might (or might not) be interested to know how this book was
written. After I had a rough, 20-30 word outline of the plot events, I
wrote the very beginning, and then the end. Then I wrote the piece that
took place on Studt's planet. Then I wrote all the Capybara encounters.
Then I wrote other pieces of the plot, most out of order. Then I took
all the pieces and put them together in the right order, and read it
once over for continuity purposes, making sure it worked. I found it
easier to write similarly themed pieces, such as the Capybara
encounter, all at once, rather than to write the story strictly
chronologically.
My next book will probably be "Birth of a Super Genuis" the story
of Steven Quick. But we're not done here. "Still the Most Dangerous
Game", at a little under 57,000 words, is more than a novella but not
quite novel sized; so to make it novel length, I include, below, two
short stories called "The Race" (military action) and "The Political
Animal" (Capybara humor). See how much bang you get for the buck?
The Race
by Steven
Gordon
It was during the first war with the Slurians. The League of
United Planets, caught unprepared, was overwhelmed. Due to their
neglect of the military, they had failed to build up a fleet capable of
countering the Slurian threats.
That left military men like Command Admiral Norman North forced
to make do with what they had. (For those unfamiliar with League ranks,
Command Admirals were two star admirals; Battle Admirals were three
star admirals, and War Admirals were four star admirals). The Command
Admiral's fleet consisted of the Carrier Blue While, two battleships,
two battlecruisers, twenty two cruisers, and fourteen destroyers. He
was arrayed against a force which intelligence reports indicated had
two carriers, three battleships, four battlecruisers, eighteen
cruisers, and twenty destroyers--in other words, he was outgunned and
outmanned.
But morale was still high because the Command Admiral had already
broken up one fleet that had been sent against them, though not without
loss of life. Now this larger and more powerful fleet had been sent
against them, and the Command Admiral's fleet was all that stood
between the Slurians and this sector of League space.
Such was the situation when Lieutenant Idaho J. Took was called
to the Command Admiral's office. Took was the deputy commander of
Wildcat "B", the second most prestigious squadron on the Blue While.
The Command Admiral gestured for Took to take a seat. Took sat.
"How are you, Lieutenant?"
"Fine, sir," said Took. He looked around. He was alone. It was
highly unusual for the Command Admiral to take time to meet with a
lowly Lieutenant. What was this all about?
"We have a situation in progress," said the Command Admiral. He
pressed a button, and an image of the Slurian fleet appeared on a
holodisplay. "As you know, we've had a number of skirmishes."
"I've noticed," said Took. He had been in battle several times
this week.
"They were all probing, testing attacks," said the Command
Admiral. "After the destruction of the last fleet they sent against us,
they are much more cautious."
"So they should be," said Took.
"So they test us with these probing attacks," said the Command
Admiral. "Or do they?" He pressed a button, and a quick holoreplay of
several attacks appeared.
"What do you mean?"
"I think they only mean to appear to test us," said the Command
Admiral. "I have studied their attacks. They are without purpose."
"Are they?" said Took. "I thought they were trying to wear us
down?"
"Not really," said the Command Admiral. "Probing attacks are
meant to test our reaction times, and strategies. Their attacks, which
use the same methods over and over, do neither. I think they merely
want us to think they are engaging in probing attacks."
"Why?"
"To delay until more reinforcements arrive," said North. "They
outgun us, but not enough to ensure victory, in their estimation. In
five days, to be precise, they will be joined by two more carriers and
three more battleships."
"How did you figure that out?"
North smiled. "If you mean to ask, did I figure that out by
analyzing the battle tapes? No, I guessed that, but the exact date of
the reinforcements comes from a spy in the Slurian ranks."
Took look interested. "What else does he say?"
"Not much since his cover was blown and he was forced to flee,"
said North. "His scout ship was shot down, but we have reason to
believe he is still alive."
"Why?"
"A tightbeam pulse broadcast, just after the incident occurred,"
said North. "We have to recover him. This spy had particularly
sensitive information."
"What kind of information?" said Took, not expecting to be told.
"Information on the current shield frequencies the Slurians are
using," said the Command Admiral.
Took raised his eyebrows. "If the spy has this, why didn't he
broadcast it?"
"Because the Slurians don't know what information he was turning
over to us; if he broadcast their shield frequencies, and they
intercepted it, they would simply change frequencies before the next
battle. We need the information from him in person," said the Command
Admiral. He looked at Took. "We can delay battle for only five more
days. You must recover him by then."
"Me?" said Took. "Why are you putting me in charge? If you want a
fighter pilot, why not the commander of Wildcat "A"?" Traditionally,
the commander of the "A" squadron was considered the best pilot.
"I've been impressed by my observations of your talents. You're a
survivor and a canny thinker," said the Command Admiral. "As for why I
didn't choose Major Canbretta, he's needed here. You both are good
fighters, but you have different skills. He excells at leadership. You
excel at trickery and survival."
"Hm," said Took, unsure how to take the partial compliment.
"In any case, you won't be going alone. You'll start out with a
small detachment of the Battle cruiser Repulse and four cruisers and
three destroyers."
"If you're sending a minifleet, why are you putting me in
charge?"
"It will probably be necessary for the fleet to split up into
smaller units to distract pursuing Slurian units. They may or may not
know we're in charge of a recovery operations, but they definitely will
pursue any of our ships in this contested area." The Command Admiral
pressed a button. The image of an asteroid field appeared. "This is
where the signal is coming from. Only a small ship, like a Wildcat, can
navigate it. When it comes to the actual recovery, you'll be in
charge."
"Right," said Took.
"You can also choose one of your fellow pilots to accompany you,"
said the Command Admiral.
"Thanks," said Took. "Anything else?"
"It's vital you get us this information before the battle," said
the Command Admiral. "There's no way we can take on so many carriers
and battleships without an edge."
"Right," said Took. "No pressure."
The Command Admiral put an arm around Took. "You can do it, Iday.
I have great faith in your abilities."
"Um," said Took.
"Why me?" said Ensign Obe.
Ensign Sato Obe looked indignant as he sat on the shuttle that
was taking them to the cruiser Wayfarer.
"Because you're the best, Obe," said Took.
"Don't give me that, Iday," said Obe. "You just picked me because
I'm your friend. Well, friends don't draft friends for suicide
missions."
"'Friends don't draft friends for suicide missions'", Took
repeated. "That sounds like it would be a great sticker to put on in a
Wildcat cockpit, don't you?" He smiled. "Listen, Obe, if we're not
successful, you're not going to be safe in the fleet. We'll be creamed
by the Slurians."
"Not with the Command Admiral in charge."
"Why do you think we haven't attacked up to now?" said Took. "The
opposing forces are too large. And they're only going to get larger."
"What do you mean?"
Took said, "Don't spread this around, but there are a few more
battleships and carriers headed this way. And they're not friendly
ones."
"Even more of them?" said Obe. "How are we going to get out of
this one?"
"By completing the mission," said Took.
They boarded the cruiser Wayfarer, and were greeted by the ship's
commander, a veteran named Captain Harkness. "So you're the ones they
picked for this suicide mission, eh?" said Harkness.
Obe looked at Took with an I-told-you-so look. "Sir, I didn't
volunteer for-"
"Well relax, because I don't do suicide missions," said Harkness.
"I have great faith in the Command Admiral's plan, and if you're here
he has great faith in you."
"I guess everything will work out if we all really like each
other," said Took.
Harkness gave a cynical grin. "You'll be assigned quarters. We'll
be underway momentarily."
The small minifleet detached itself from the main fleet--the
Battle cruiser Repulse, four cruisers, one of them the Wayfarer, and
three destroyers. Took watched the image of the bulk of the fleet
recede on the screen.
"Suddenly, I feel lonely," said Took. If they encountered a
Slurian fleet of any real size their small force would be little match
for it.
"Yep," said Obe.
But as luck would have it, they didn't hear the first alarm
klaxons for a day and a half.
A small Slurian fleet was approaching. Two battlecruisers and ten
cruisers. A probing force.
"They're curious about us, what we're doing here," said Captain
Harkness. He watched the blips close on the screen.
"What are we going to do?" said Took.
"Just a moment," said Harkness. He listened in an earpiece. "I'm
in constant communication with the Battle cruiser Repulse. Once the
battle begins, the others will draw their fire and our cruiser will
escape during the battle."
"What about the other ships?"
"They'll try to disengage and rendezvous with us when we've
accomplished our mission."
"Yummy," said Took.
"I don't like it either," said Harkness. "There will be
casualties on both sides. But if this mission isn't successful, there
will be a lot more."
A few minutes later, the battle engaged. The Repulse drew the
fire of the two battlecruisers and two of the cruisers, while the other
Slurian ships attacked the rest of the minifleet.
Took watched the battle rage on the screen. "The Repulse won't be
able to take that kind of pounding for long."
"Quiet," Harkness snapped. Suddenly, the bridge shuttered
slightly as they felt something clanging against the hull. Harkness
turned to the navigator. "Now!"
The Wayfarer moved away from the battle. Two Slurian cruisers
pursuing were suddenly cut off by a League cruiser that swooped in
front of them.
"Full speed!" Harkness cried.
The Wayfarer zoomed away. Another cruiser attempted to give
pursuit, but was engaged by a League destroyer. After taking several
hits, the cruiser turned around to engage its smaller attacker.
"They'll disengage once we're safely away," said Harkness
quietly.
"If there's anything left to disengage," said Took.
"It isn't easy being in command and ordering something like
this," said Harkness. "If we had been properly armed and prepared for
this war, this wouldn't have been necessary."
No one said anything for a few minutes. Then, one of the officers
announced, "I think we're clear, sir."
"Good," said Harkness. "Resume course to the asteroid field, full
speed." He turned to Took. "Why don't you go get some rest? We're less
than a day from the asteroid field."
"Rest. Right. Yeah," said Took.
He lay down in his bunk and tried to sleep. But he couldn't. Or
could he? Took awoke, surprised to find out that he did fall asleep, to
the harsh sounds of the ship's warning alarm. He checked his chrono;
seven hours had passed.
Took and Obe ran to the bridge. "What's happening?"
"A heavy cruiser and a destroyer has picked up our trail," said
Harkness grimly.
"Do you think they know what we're after?" said Took. He wondered
if it were all for nothing. What if the Slurians had already changed
their shield frequencies?
"Impossible to tell," said Harkness. "You and your friend get to
the launch bay. The recovery shuttle and your friend's Wildcat are
already prepped. You're only an hour from the asteroid field. We'll
draw them off and return for you."
"This is starting to sound familiar," said Took. "What if
you're... ah... delayed?"
"Then you have to get back to the recovery force on your own,"
said Harkness. "But we won't be delayed. I know a few tricks."
"Ah, all right," said Took.
He and Obe ran to the launch bay.
"Do you really think Harkness can take on a heavy cruiser and a
destroyer?" said Obe.
"I don't even want to think about it," said Took. The Wayfarer
was a standard deep space cruiser; it would be somewhat outmatched
facing a heavy cruiser alone, much less a destroyer as well."
Took got into the recovery shuttle while Obe took the Wildcat.
Took would have preferred to switch places, but the Command Admiral had
specifically ordered Took to make the pickup.
The ships launched, heading to the asteroid field, before the
Wayfarer engaged the Slurian heavy cruiser and destroyer. Within ten
minutes, however, the flashes of battle could be seen aft.
"You think he'll hold them?"
"I think he'll try," said Took grimly.
Within forty minutes, however, they saw signs of pursuit.
The destroyer. Evidently it had peeled off from the attack to
follow the shuttle. Did that mean that the Wayfarer had been destroyed?
Or that Harkness had only succeeded in distracting the cruiser? There
was no way to tell. They were under total comm blackout. Well, not
total.
"Ah, Obe," said Took, toggling his comm.
"I see it," said Obe, checking the sensors in his W-41 Wildcat
fighter.
"So, ah, can you keep the destroyer distracted while I make the
pickup?" said Took.
"That's not even funny, Iday," said Obe. He checked his sensors.
"I think if we alter course 10 degrees to starboard we may just to the
edge of the field before they reach us."
"I was just doing the same computation," said Took, changing
course.
"The asteroid field will be too dense for the destroyer."
"Then we have nothing to worry about," said Took. "Isn't this
mission going well?"
Before Obe could reply, however, they both noticed two new blips
on their sensors.
Took knew what they were before he clicked the Ident button.
Slurian fighters. Since when did they put fighters in destroyer hanger
bays? Those were not big, roomy spaces. And then a third blip appeared.
A shuttle.
"It looks like they thought ahead and came prepared to follow us
in here," said Obe, watching the blips appear. "It appears they also
know we're going for something in the asteroids."
Took checked his location information. "My destination is in a
pretty thick part. I don't think they'll be able to follow me into the
center of the asteroid field."
"What about your ship?"
"I'll set down on one of the larger rocks and turn everything
off," said Took. "Hopefully that will help mask it."
"And then?"
"And then I'll use the special equipment on board to find our
friend," said Took.
They didn't have time to talk further as the two Slurian fighters
reached them. One streaked passed Obe, heading straight for Took's
shuttle, while the other engaged Obe's ship.
Obe ignored the Slurian fighter on his tail and launched after
the second fighter.
Took saw the first few asteroids appear on his sensors, and, a
few seconds later, outside the viewport. Suddenly, he felt the shuttle
shudder as a laser blast exploded near the shuttle.
He took evasive action, but another series of blasts hit the
ship. "Obe!" said Took.
Suddenly, there was another explosion, aft. Took checked the
sensors. It was the Slurian fighter.
"Got him," said Obe, immediately turning to dogfight with the
other fighter on his tail. "Go for it!"
"Roger," said Took. He dove deep into the asteroid field. In just
a few seconds the field got so thick that his shuttle couldn't get
through. Took checked the coordinates. He wasn't more than a mile away.
Took set the shuttle down on a large piece of rock. With all the
rocks out there, it would be impossible to find his way back visually.
He'd activate a short range tracer so he could find his way back.
Took was already suited up, and he moved back into the cargo area
and boarded the thruster bike. Thruster bikes were commonly used in
asteroid and deep space construction settings where one had to traverse
relatively large distances quickly. Took depressurized the hold, and
opened the bay. The site of rocks spinning outside caused him to gulp.
Tentatively, he squeezed on one of the handlebars, and the
thruster bike inched forward. He squeezed again, and it moved a little
faster.
In seconds he was out of the shuttle and flirting past rocks,
some several times the size of his thruster bike, some little more than
the size of a fist. Both could be lethal if encountered at any
significant velocity.
He scooted fast, checking the coordinates on his scanners. He
looked up barely in time to dodge a cluster of rocks heading towards
him, gunning the bike downwards to avoid it.
He had a few other close calls, and kept a tight grip on the
handlebars. He was forced to go slower now, and to veer off more
quickly, as the asteroid field became even thicker. Suddenly, he saw a
glint of light off to his right. He turned, and saw another thruster
bike behind him, closing in.
Another thruster bike?
The Slurians.
They knew about the defector, and they were coming for him.
A laser beam flashed past Took, and he took evasive action--post
evasive, since the beam had already fired, and missed.
The Slurian on the thruster bike took another shot, which missed,
but was uncomfortably close. Took, suddenly looking forward, barely
missed another rock cluster.
He couldn't watch both front and back at the same time. And he
couldn't maneuver well in this tight area.
So what should he do? In an instant, Took made a decision--he
speeded up.
The rocks were coming more rapidly now. They whizzed past him,
left and right, at ferocious speed. He felt a jarring impact as a
fragment, the size of a pen, hit a piece of the thruster, causing the
entire bike to shake. But Took held on.
The Slurian was no longer firing at him, but Took didn't know how
long he could keep this up. A rock flashed right by his face as he made
an emergency course correction. Could the Slurian be as good a pilot as
he was? Took couldn't accept that.
Suddenly, he decided he had no choice but to slow down. It was
simply too thick here. Just as he started to slow down, there was a
flash behind him. He took a quick look, and saw pieces of a thruster
bike spiraling in every direction.
Well, he was right; the Slurian wasn't as good a pilot.
Took checked the coordinates. He was only a few hundred feet
away. But the area was too thick to go in with his thruster bike. Took
dismounted from the thruster bike, and tried to choose the likeliest
route. He had a thruster pack on, and used that to propel him, albeit
at a slower speed. He used a hand scanner to keep track of his
destination.
He slowly propelled through the rock. The space between rocks was
getting smaller and smaller. And then, when his destination was only a
few dozen feet away, he got stuck. His route required him to go through
the gap between two large rocks, but he was too large to fit. Took
looked around. There didn't seem to be another way around.
Took reluctantly removed his thruster pack. It was dangerous to
be in space without thrusters. It was very dangerous to be in space
alone, without thrusters. If he couldn't get back to the thruster pack
and went spinning off into space, he would keep spinning, until he ran
out of air.
For a more he floated in space, not moving, as a feeling overcame
him. Never did he feel more alone--cut off from the fleet, the
minifleet, the cruiser, the shuttle, the thruster bike, and even his
thruster pack. He was truly alone in space, with almost no barrier
between him and the vastness of the galaxy. Took had traveled in space
for many years, but always inside large spaceships, and surrounded by a
lot of people. Now, with little more than a spacesuit and all alone, he
felt a new sensation he had never felt before, of total loneliness, in
an empty void. It didn't feel comforting.
Took cautiously climbed along one of the rocks. He couldn't
afford to float in space now, since he had no thrusters. As he climbed
around a corner he saw a small light.
And then the light became an amazing site.
It was an inlet in one of the larger rocks, sealed with some sort
of thin, plastic wall, like the kind in some space survival kits.
Inside was some equipment, oxygen bottles, and...
the Slurian defector.
"About time," said the defector, speaking on the comm. "I was
almost out of air." He already had a suit on, and started fitting the
helmet.
Took maneuvered right outside the defector's little hideaway.
"Why did you put yourself in such an inaccessible place?"
"My ship was crippled by pursuers," said the defector. "I needed
a good place to hide where I wouldn't be found. I managed to limp here,
and then when life support failed, make my way into here and send the
signal. You didn't see any Slurians on the way here, did you?"
"Ah....." said Took.
The defector closed his helmet. "I'm going to depressurize slowly
now. If I do it quickly, I'll fly back against a wall." He started to
unzip the plastic partition. "This won't take more than a minute."
"I'm in no hurry," said Took. "I could sit here in the asteroid
field all-"
"Watch out!" the defector cried.
Took turned around to see a Slurian in a spacesuit climbing
through the hole. A blaster was in his hand, but he was also using his
same hand to climb. The Slurian, seeing Took, fired, but the shot went
totally awry. Took drew his blaster and fired, but in zero g, his aim
bobbed, and he missed.
He fired again as the Slurian cleared the hole, and hit the
Slurian in the faceplace. The Slurian went limp, but Took didn't have
time to watch as a second Slurian, right behind the first one,
appeared, opening fire.
The blaster fire hit the plastic partition, decompressing the
little cave and sending the defector crashing against a wall. Took,
taking steadier aim, fired again, hitting the Slurian squarely in the
chest.
Took waited a few seconds. There were no more pursuers.
"Are you all right?" said Took. He got no answer. He risked a
look at the cave. He couldn't see inside it, from this angle.
"Hey, in there, are you ok?" Took asked again.
"Yes," came a shaky voice. "I was just shook up. I was lucky that
the cave was already partially depressurized, or else I would have
cracked my helmet."
"Let's go," said Took, as he saw the man slowly start to climb
out of the cave. "Be careful and use handholds," said Took. If the
defector went spinning into space, there would be nothing he could do
to help him.
The man nodded and moved slowly, grabbing one piece of rock after
another. Slowly he made his way to Took's position, near the entrance
to the narrow passageway between the rocks.
But as he grabbed a rock for a handhold near Took, the rock gave
way, and the defector started to fly off the rock. Took quickly grabbed
the man's flailing arm while holding himself down to the rock with his
other hand, and pulled the man back.
"T-thanks," said the defector.
"You're welcome," said Took. "Follow me through the passage."
He crawled carefully through the passage, his blaster in his
hand. If the Slurians were waiting right outside....
But they weren't. In fact, his thruster pack was still there.
Took grabbed the thruster pack but in the process let go of the
rock. He was now floating in space. If the thruster pack didn't
work....
Took calmly snapped it on, closing all the other connections
around his spacesuit. Then, aiming for the defector, who was still on
the rock, he pressed a button on his wrist panel.
A reassuring burst of thrust came out, sending him slowly towards
the defector.
"Here, grab on," said Took. "From the front." It would be awkward
to travel while hugging the man, but the defector couldn't hang on from
behind him, as that was where the thrust was expelled from.
The man grabbed on.
"So, tell me about yourself," said Took, feeling some of his old
confidence returning. "Do you come here often?"
"What a silly question," said the defector, and Took only now for
the first time noticed the Slurian accent.
"Just making conversation," said Took. "Not many people to talk
to out here."
"Just concentrate on route," said the defector. "How far is your
ship?"
"About a mile out."
"Will your thruster pack carry that far?" said the defector.
"No," said Took. "If it were one straight route, we'd make it,
but I have to constantly turn and change directions to avoid being hit.
We'll run out of juice before we get halfway there."
"And this is the one they sent to rescue me?" said the Slurian.
"Why did they not send a team?"
"Because I'm better than a team," said Took. "And because we're
heading for my thruster bike."
"Why did you not say so?" said the defector. "Where is this
thruster bike?"
"Uh... actually, I think we should have run into it a few seconds
ago," said Took. "Nothing to worry about, I have this trouble all the
time, remembering where I parked."
"You are going to get us both killed."
"I think it is around this bend," said Took. They moved around
the bend. No thruster bike.
"Where is it?" said the defector. "Can't you find it?"
"Hey, it isn't easy, all these rocks look alike," said Took. He
frowned, and tried to concentrate. Nothing looked familiar. He turned
back.
"We going back way we came!" said the defector.
"We have to find that thruster bike," said Took.
"We must go out of asteroid field, not deeper into it!" said the
defector, squirming.
"Please stay seated until the ride comes securely to a halt,"
said Took. Suddenly, he saw a branching off he had missed earlier. No
wonder, because it had been difficult to see if one came from the other
direction. He turned down it.
"You do not know what you are doing. We are going to die here in
space."
"You Slurians really know how to boost morale, don't you?" said
Took, trying not to panic. If they couldn't find that bike...
They came around a bend. The bike was lying on a rock.
"There," said Took.
They boarded the bike. It was a two seater, and the defector sat
in back. Took started it up again.
They moved cautiously out of the most congested area of the
asteroid field. As they moved into a clearer area, they spotted a
powerful headlight in front of them.
Another thruster bike.
The bike thrusted towards them. In the close channel they were
in, Took didn't have any other options but to thrust forwards as well.
What happened next could only be described best in slow motion.
They fired. The bikes got closer to each other. Took fired. The
bikes got closer to each other. They fired. The bikes got closer to
each other. Took fired. The bikes got closer to each other. They fired
again, and the blast shot singed across Took's shoulder. Took fired
again, just before they passed, and his shot hit the pilot square in
the chest, sending him spinning out of the bike, which crashed into a
rock, creating a small explosion.
"Are you ok?" Took asked.
"Yes," said the defector. "That was good piloting, good
shooting."
"Thanks," said Took. He looked down for a moment to check his
scanner for the shuttle trace-
And a sliver of a rock sliced through his right arm.
It wasn't large, perhaps a half inch in diameter, but it was
enough to puncture his suit and cause Took to howl in pain. Through his
pain he dodged another set of rocks, and then another, as he slowed the
bike down to a crawl.
"What is it? What is happening? Why are we stopping?" said the
defector.
"My suit's been breached," said Took, already feeling
lightheaded. The delay spent slowing the bike had cost him. His suit
was losing air, and if he didn't hurry, he would implode.
Took fished in a suit pouch with his left arm and came out with a
roll of space tape. He raised the tape. It took two hands to cut off a
piece. Grimacing with pain, he used his right hand to cut off a piece.
He located the hole in front, which was oozing little droplets of
blood, and patched it.
But the job was only half done. Took was gasping for breath as he
cut off another piece. Drunkenly, he felt around back, and patched the
hole where it had come out the back. He sat there, gasping for breath,
unable to think.
"What is happening? Why are you still?" came the insistent voice.
Took's foggy brain registered the noise, but he was thinking of
something else. Trying to think of something else. Can't breathe....
Instinctively, thousands of cumulative hours of training kicked
in, and he reached down to a panel on his chest, and pressed a button
marked "max".
There was a loud hiss of air as his suit was filled with air
again.
"What is happening? Why are you stopped?" the defector said
again. He was starting to shake Took now to get a response.
After a few breaths of deep air Took's mind started to clear.
Oxygen starvation. It had been a close thing.
He shook the defector away. "I'm all right."
"Then why we not go?"
"I ran out of air. I had to pause to start breathing again. Sorry
for any inconvenience," said Took.
"Are you all right?" said the defector.
"It went through my arm, but I don't think blood loss is the
primary problem. I dumped most of the air supply into the suit." Took
checked a gauge. "We have to get back to the shuttle in the next ten
minutes, or else I'm going to have problems."
"What kind or problems?"
"The running out of air kind kind of problems," said Took.
He started up the bike again. He still felt light headed but
capable of rational thought. He felt a warm sensation in his right arm.
Blood loss. There had been no way to patch the wound. Another reason to
get back to the shuttle quickly.
It seemed like hours before the shuttle came into sight.
Fortunately all Took had to do was follow the beacon, which was easy
enough for his tired mind.
He abandoned the bike and ran for the open cargo hold. The
defector followed him. Took closed the hold, and repressurized the
ship.
The green light had barely gone on before Took removed his
helmet. With his good arm, he started removing his suit.
"Is no time for that! We must go!" said the defector.
"There's a small matter of my bleeding to death," said Took. "You
don't mind if I bandage myself first, do you?"
"I will pilot," said the defector, moving towards the forward
cabin.
"You will stand very still," said Took, drawing his blaster, and
checking the setting.
"Ha!" said the defector. "What will you do, shoot me?" With the
typical arrogance of a Slurian, he started towards the forward cabin.
Took shot him. He slumped to the ground.
Took removed his spacesuit. There was blood oozing down his arm.
He quickly bandaged his arm. His arm was in flame whenever he moved it
or touched it.
He ran into the command cabin and sank into the chair, wearily
pressing the launch button.
The shuttle blasted off of the asteroid. Took headed slowly out
of the field.
Suddenly, there was a blip on his sensors. Slurians?
He pressed the ID button. It was a Wildcat 41.
"Obe?" said Took, pressing the comm.
"There you are," said Obe. "What took you so long?"
"Traffic," said Took.
"Did you get the package?"
"Yes," said Took.
"In good condition."
"Sleeping like a baby," said Took.
"Eh?" said Obe. Then, "I'm getting something on the sensors. Two
fighters."
"I thought you got those."
"I did. These are two more."
"Handle them," said Took.
"Easy for you to say," said Obe.
"What about the Wayfarer?"
"I'm in partial contact with them now," said Obe. "They're
coming."
So the Wayfarer had survived. Took idly wondered what had
happened with the battle with the cruiser and the destroyer.
The two Slurian fighters streaked into visual range, firing their
lasers. Obe destroyed one head-on, and dodged the laser bolts of the
other.
Suddenly the image of a larger ship came on the screens. The
Wayfarer? Took pressed the ID button.
It was the Slurian destroyer.
Took set an evasive course. "Obe," he said into the comm.
"I see it," said Obe.
"Ah, after you finish that other fighter, could you take care of
that destroyer for me?"
Took heard the sounds of rattling over the comm. "Obe?"
There was no response. Took checked the sensors. Still two sensor
blips nearby. And the destroyer was closing.
"Obe?" said Took again.
Suddenly there was a flash nearby.
"-got him," said Obe. "Sorry, but I've always had a difficult
time talking and shooting like you can."
"You'll get the hang of it," said Took. "Ah, the destroyer?"
"Evade. I'll run interference."
"For a destroyer?" The destroyer loomed large in his screens.
They would be in firing range in a minute or so.
Suddenly Took heard a groan, and the defector staggered into the
command cabin.
"You shot me," said the defector.
"Only a little," said Took. "On stun."
"What is happening?"
"We are about to be attacked by a Slurian destroyer."
The defector looked around. "We are still on the shuttle."
"You have a firm grasp of the situation."
The destroyer loomed larger, and Obe streaked towards it. The
destroyer didn't bother changing course. Suddenly, a new blip, larger,
appeared on their screens. It was moving incredibly fast at first, but
decelerating rapidly.
It was a cruiser.
The Wayfarer.
There was a blast as the first shot from the destroyer went wide.
Took gunned the engines to maximum as he headed towards the cruiser.
Laser bursts fired from behind burst all around the shuttle.
Took sent the engines past maximum. Red lights flared on control
panels.
"What are you doing?"
"Going faster than recommended," said Took.
"Too dangerous," said the defector.
The ship shook from a near miss, as if to prove Took's point.
"We just need a few seconds," said Took, pointing to the looming
cruiser ahead.
Meanwhile, the alarm bells continued to scream.
"Must go slower!" said the defector.
"Do you need another nap again?" said Took.
Suddenly, lasers flared in the other direction from in front of
them to behind them, as the Wayfarer opened fire on the pursuing
destroyer. The destroyer veered off.
Took moved into docking position. But as he did he noticed a
severely battered part of the hull. He hoped the ship wasn't too
damaged to get them back to the fleet.
The minute the ship landed. Took was thrown to the ground as the
cruiser accelerated. He winced in pain from his arm as he stood up.
Seconds later, Obe was at his side.
"What now?" said the defector.
"The bridge," said Took grimly.
When they got there the place was a mess of exploded circuit
boards and consoles.
"Don't worry about it," said Captain Harkness, seeing Took's
expression. "It's just superficial. A new paint job and carpeting and
we'll be as good as new."
"Sir, engineering says we can't go past 80% maximum until the
engines are repaired," said an officer.
"Do what you can," said Harkness. "Mobilize all engineering
shifts." He turned to Took. "Any problems?"
Took thought about being alone, in space, and punctured by the
rock sliver. "No, piece of cake," he said.
Harkness noticed otherwise in his expression, and saw his
bandaged wound, which was still bleeding. "You'd better have that seen
to," he said. He turned to the defector. "Welcome to the League."
The defector nodded. "I am Sergov Amato. I have complaint against
this man," he said, turning to Took. "He shot me."
"Did you?" said Harkness.
"Just a little," said Took.
"We will take appropriate action against him," said Harkness,
being deliberately vague. "Do you have the shield frequencies?"
"Yes, should transmit immediately-"
"Do they know you have them?"
"No, do not think so," said the defector. "As was saying, we
should transmit immediately-"
"And if the Slurians intercept the transmission, as they probably
will, and decode it, as they might, they'll change their shield
frequencies before the battle," said Harkness. "No, my orders are to
deliver you in person."
"But-"
"If you would feel happier, we will be happy to get the frequency
from you now," said Harkness.
"Then, once you have no further use for me, what will you do?"
said the defector.
"You'll be given asylum on August, or wherever you want," said
Harkness.
"No," said the defector. "I give frequency only to Command
Admiral North. He is only one with reputation for honor."
Harkness sighed. "Well, then at least let me have one of my men
take you below and show you to your room."
The defector nodded, and let himself be let out.
"I had to shoot him; he was getting unruly," said Took.
"I said I would take appropriate action against you," said
Harkness. He looked at Took's wound. "But I will leave it up the
Command Admiral. I will, at the very least, recommend a medal. Good
work, Took."
Took nodded.
"Now get below and get that arm seen to. Things may get rough
here before we rendezvous with the Repulse."
"The Repulse? The rest of our escort group survived?"
"We lost a few destroyers and cruisers," said Harkness grimly.
"So did the Slurians, I might add. But the rest of the battlegroup is
intact. They're heading on a roundabout course to meet us. Now get
below, you're getting blood on my bridge."
Obe followed Took to the sickbay, and waited even while the
ship's surgeon operated. When Took got out of the surgery, several
hours later, he felt lightheaded, even dazed, as the ship shook.
"We're under attack," said Obe.
"Get to the command cabin, change course," said Took.
"We're not on the shuttle any more, buddy, it's out of our
hands," said Obe.
"Let's get to the bridge," said Took.
When they arrived they heard a babble of voices. The ship had
stopped moving--the engines had failed. They were frantically trying to
restore the engines. On the screen they saw a Slurian cruiser pounding
away at them. One of them closed for an attack run.
"They've put all their strength in their forward shields," said
an officer.
"Our shields are at 50%," said another officer.
Harkness turned to the defector, who was on the bridge. "We need
to know that frequency."
"If use frequency, and word gets out-"
"We will destroy the cruiser. No word will get out."
The enemy cruiser closed on their position.
"I only tell North," said the defector.
"You can't tell him if you're dead," said Harkness. "If that ship
destroys us, you won't be able to tell us anything."
"Nyet," said the defector.
"Yes," said Harkness, drawing his blaster. "As far as I'm
concerned, we stand no chance unless we have the codes. Give me the
codes, or you're dead."
The defector said nothing.
"You don't even have the codes," said Harkness, leveling the
blaster. His fingers tightened on the trigger--
"Wait!" said the defector. "Frequency is-" he rattled off a chain
of numbers.
Harkness turned to the weapon's officer. "Got it?"
"Recalibrating laser and blaster cannons," said the weapons
officer.
The enemy cruiser loomed even closer.
"Ready," said the weapons officer.
"Fire!" said Harkness.
The Slurian cruiser and the Wayfarer opened fire at the same
time. But the Slurians first few shots hit the Wayfarer's shields; the
Wayfarer's shots sliced right through the Slurian's ship's protective
shielding as if it wasn't even there. In one pass, they managed to
cripple the Slurian ship.
"Finish it off before they realize what's happening," said
Harkness. "Hurry."
The laser and blaster cannons fired again. In seconds, the
Slurian cruiser was scrap metal.
"Thank you," said Harkness. He holstered his blaster. He turned
to the navigator. "Resume speed to the fleet, full power."
"I thought the engines were down," said Took.
"I told you, the only real problems were the paint and the
carpeting," said Harkness.
"But... ship not moving," said the defector.
"Yes," said Harkness. "We simulated an engine breakdown because
we needed to know if your information was genuine."
"You tricked me."
"To make sure you weren't tricking us," said Harkness. "Better to
find out now if the frequency works than in the heat of battle when
we're mixing it up with an entire battlefleet. This was the Command
Admiral's plan all along."
"So now you have no further use, you will kill me," said the
defector.
"This is not Sluria, we will not harm you, and we will keep our
word" said Harkness. He turned to a guard. "Take him below."
"Well, you might have told me," said Took.
"Or I might not have," said Harkness. "You were unconscious at
the time, having part of your body stitched together." He scratched his
head. "Why am I explaining myself to a lieutenant?"
In several hours they rendezvoused with the minifleet, and they
learned some ominous news.
The Slurian reinforcements had arrived ahead of schedule. The
battle would be joined four hours early.
The minifleet headed back towards the main fleet at full speed,
out of formation, each ship traveling at its own maximum speed. The
damaged Wayfarer was the slowest, so Took and Obe and the defector
transferred over to the Battle cruiser Repulse, which was the fastest.
But even the battle cruiser was still thirty minutes from the
battle when they got word: the Slurian battlefleet had been sighted on
short range sensors.
The Command Admiral's hologram appeared on the bridge of the
Battle cruiser. The transmission was scrambled but that was no
guarantee. "Do you have it?"
"Yes sir," said Took.
"Has it been verified?"
"Yes, sir," said Took.
"Then transmit it," said Admiral North.
"Sir?" said Took. "What if they intercept-"
"We're going to be in battle in five minutes," said the Command
Admiral. "There's no more time. Transmit it, using maximum encryption."
"Yes sir," said Took. He nodded to the comm officer on the
Repulse, who pressed a series of buttons.
On the bridge of the Blue While, a comm officer nodded to the
Command Admiral. "Retransmit this to the rest of the fleet,
immediately," said the Command Admiral.
"I've got to go," said the holoimage of the Command Admiral.
"We'll be there as soon as we can," said Took.
"It will probably be over by then." The image of the Command
Admiral faded.
"How long?" Took asked.
"27 minutes," said the navigator. 27 minutes!
When they got there, the battle was all but over.
Standard attack tactics dictate that carriers should stay in
back, and heavy ships should stay in front, screened closely in front
or behind by smaller ships.
The Command Admiral's fleet attacked in almost random order,
without regard to formation or structure. The first ship that came into
contact with the enemy was the fleet's second battle cruiser, followed
in its heals by one of the battleships. They absorbed the enemy's fire
without firing back, or slowing down to engage. They raced to the rear
to engage the three carriers, which were still in the process of
launching fighters.
Some of these ships started to turn to give chase to the
intruders when the second wave of League ship hit. The second wave
consisted of the other League battleship, and the rest of the cruisers
and destroyers. Destroyers engaged cruisers, cruisers engaged
battlecruisers, and the battleship engaged the other battleships,
outnumbered four to one.
And they won. Their smaller and fewer laser cannons blasted
through the enemy's hulls. Some of the enemy's fire pierced the smaller
ships' shields in certain places, but the devastation to the Slurians
was larger by an order of magnitude.
Meanwhile the League Battleship and Battle cruiser that had raced
towards the rear reached their destination, three Slurian carriers that
were in the process of launching their fighters and bombers.
The battleship and battle cruiser opened fire, cutting through
the shields of the defenseless flattops. In seconds, all three were
burning with hits; in under a minute, two of them exploded, with most
of their fighters still inside.
Some of the Slurian ships started to realize what was happening
and changed their shield frequencies. Hits that were now hitting the
hulls were hitting newly regenerated shields. But the word did not
spread widely throughout the Slurian fleet, because the Command Admiral
had taken great effort to jam the comm channels. It meant his fleet
would be acting in the dark, but they already knew what to do.
Only seven Slurian ships--a battle cruiser, four cruisers, and
three destroyers--figured out what was needed to be done and readjusted
their shield frequency. The others who didn't figure it out were either
destroyed, or fled. With the bulk of their fleet gone, the remaining
Slurian ships with shields were also forced to make a withdrawal.
Losses on the League side were minimal--one cruiser, and two
destroyers, plus several damaged. But the Slurians had lost five top of
the line battleships, three carriers and nearly all their pilots, and a
large assortment of battlecruisers, cruisers, and destroyers. The
entire sector fleet had been wiped out.
By the time Took arrived on the Repulse, it was all over, as the
Command Admiral had predicted.
"The surgeon tells me that your arm is going to be fine," said
the Command Admiral, as Took entered his office.
"Violating my medical privacy, Admiral?" said Took, giving a
small smile.
"You did excellent work," said the Command Admiral. "I know how
slow channels move around here, but I'm giving you a field promotion to
Battle Lieutenant."
"Really? Thank you, sir!"
"And Wildcat "B" is going to need a new commander. Some of our
pilots are being shifted to the Oak Ridge," said the Command Admiral.
"Do you know anyone I can recommend?"
"Thank you, sir," said Took. "It was quite a victory, wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was," said the Command Admiral. "It's a pity we were
unable to stop ships from escaping and revealing our little secret.
It's not a trick we'll be able to use again. But we've decimated nearly
an entire sector fleet. It goes a long way towards evening the scales
against the Slurians." He looked at Took.
"How was it?"
"Sir?"
"Out there?"
"Didn't you read my report?"
"You were all alone, in an asteroid field, with just a spacesuit,
with no one to help you," said North. He waved his arms around him.
"This is what we take for space travel. But when you're out there, with
only a thin fabric to separate you from the vastness of space, it's...
different, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir, it is," said Took. "How did you know?"
"Remind me to tell you of a similar experience I once had," said
the Command Admiral quietly. "After the war is over."
"I can only ask you after the war is over?" said Took. "So, shall
we schedule in lunch next week? I'm free."
"Took! Get out of here and get that armed healed," said the
Command Admiral. "We have a lot more work to do."
"Yes sir," said Took, saluting as he exited.
The End
Author's afterwards, Oct 7, 2003
I actually had this story in my mind--the idea from going to a large
fleet, to a ship, to a small ship, to a smaller and smaller unit,
fighting at each unit level, until one is alone in a spacesuit--for
many years. I'm glad I finally got the time to put it down on paper.
The Political
Animal
by
Steven Gordon
(Note: the events in this short story take place some time after "Still
the Most Dangerous Game" when Croft and the Professor have become
friends.)
Superspy Clifford Croft entered the Chief's office. "You called,
Chief?"
The Chief, Aldman Alderman himself, harrumphed. "Have a seat,
Croft. We have a most unusual situation on Ivory."
"Not Ivory," Croft groaned.
"What's wrong?" said the Chief.
"I simply HATE Ivory and their weird form of government."
"Well, it's about to get several times weirder," said the Chief.
"They're having elections now."
"So?" said Croft. "Why should we care?"
"Because it looks like one party will have a commanding majority
in the legislature."
"Good for them," said Croft. "Again, why should it matter? What
is it, a pro-Slurian party?"
"Not exactly," said the Chief.
"Chief, can you be more explicit?" said Croft.
"It's not the party itself, the Actualization Party, that's
attracted our interest. It's their candidate for President," said the
Chief.
"Someone we know?"
"I'm not really sure," said the Chief. "What do you think?" He
pressed a button, and a holo of the Actualization Party's candidate
appeared on the screen. He weighted about 250 pounds. He had straw fur.
He was four legged, with webbed feet. He had a long rectangular snout,
whiskers, big black eyes, spectacles, and a pipe hanging out of his
mouth.
"The Professor?" said Croft. "Has he left August?"
"To our knowledge, no," said the Chief. "In fact, we have
confirmed that as of this moment he is only miles from this office."
"Do you think he's running a long distance campaign?" said Croft.
"He was seen campaigning in public yesterday," said the Chief.
"Our surveillance tapes show the Professor was in his quarters
yesterday."
"He's fooled us before."
"True," said the Chief. "That's why I want you to investigate."
"All right," said Croft. Suddenly, he got an idea. "But I want to
borrow a gamma operative."
"Croft, this is not a high priority mission-"
"Then why are you sending me?" said Croft.
A.A. paused. Croft had a point. As one of the Eight, he should be
reserved for the most important missions.
"You have the most experience with these kinds of issues?"
"What kinds of issues?" said Croft curiously.
"Capybara issues," said A.A.
"Great," said Croft. "So now I'm pegged as the rat expert."
"Which gamma operative did you want?"
Croft told him.
"He can be difficult to deal with," said A.A.
Croft told A.A. why he wanted this particular one. A.A.'s
eyebrows raised. "Good idea," said A.A. "I don't know why we didn't
think of that before."
Croft held his tongue as he left.
The gamma section was in one of the most secure sections of the
Column headquarters, deep underground. Security was tight, both to keep
people out--and to keep certain ones in.
As soon as Croft passed through the final layer of security, he
was immediately accosted by a frail, pale man with wild hair.
"Yes, yes, Croft comes, but always for business, never comes to
visit," said the pale man.
"Hey Mongo," said Croft. "How are you?"
"Croft not care," said Mongo. "He pick up and put down Mongo like
set of tools. Mongo had a birthday last week. Did Croft email a card?"
Croft started to answer, but Mongo interrupted.
"No, no, Croft neeeeever emails a birthday card."
"I'm not really a birthday card kind of guy, Mongo," said Croft.
"Yes, knew you would say that," said Mongo.
"If you can see the future, you should," said Croft. "Do you also
know why I am here?"
"Yes," said Mongo. "To see retard," he said, pointing to a short
individual sitting in a lounge chair.
"That's not very nice," said Croft, watching the man stare at the
ceiling pains. "Hello, Dalbo."
"Hello, Croft," said Dalbo.
"What are you doing?" said Croft.
"Studying the ceiling sections," said Dalbo. "Their shape, their
form."
"He always is doing that!" Mongo hisses.
"No, it's changed, subtly," said Dalbo. "Would you like to know
how?"
"Uh, I'm a bit pressed for time," said Croft.
"Mongo threw dinner at the ceiling last night. It splattered
colors on some of the ceiling tiles. I'm cataloging which tiles have
which colors."
"Very exciiiiiting, yes," said Mongo.
Dalbo turned to Croft. "But you want something from me. Something
to do with a giant rat."
Dalbo Alto was a telepath.
Actually, Dalbo Alto was a telepath, with a problem.
Most gamma operatives, who had special abilities, had a problem.
Those with mental abilities seemed to have some sort of mental defect.
Mongo, who could sometimes see the future, had an inferiority complex;
he felt very unappreciated, and had an attitude problem. Dalbo, who
could read minds at times, was a believer in Reductionist Stimulatism;
that meant that he liked to study very small, insignificant things,
like blades of glass, and was very sensitive to small changes in the
environment, whether it be sound, light, smell, or temperature.
That made dealing with gamma operatives difficult at best. But
this was one situation where a gamma operative would be useful.
"Take me, take me!" said Mongo. "Mongo never get to go anywhere!"
"I'm sorry, but I need Dalbo for this one," said Croft. "Come
along, Dalbo."
Dalbo stood up, but his eyes were still on the ceiling, counting,
cataloging.
"I see bad future, if you take him, instead of me!" said Mongo.
"What?" said Croft suddenly.
Mongo was silent.
"What do you see?" said Croft again.
"Retard will annoy you, irritate you," said Mongo.
"Oh. You're just seeing the present," said Croft. He took Dalbo
by the arm.
"Not to touch," said Dalbo, shaking his grip away. But he
obediently followed Croft out of the complex.
"Yes, come in (tweatle tweatle)," said the Capybara, hearing the
buzz at his door.
Croft and Dalbo entered the Capybara's plush apartment. He was
sitting on a furry rug, puffing away at the smoke that no one ever
smelled (Croft was convinced it was all a holographic illusion), and
studying several datapads.
"Clifford!" said the Capybara, his mouth stretching into a smile.
"What a-" he stopped in midsentence, and stared at Dalbo. "What do we
have here?'
Dalbo stared at the Professor. The Professor stared at Dalbo.
"Professor, this is Dalbo Alto," said Croft.
"The mind reader, yes," said the Capybara.
"How did you-"
"I get around, I (tweatle tweatle) hear things," said the
Capybara. "Wait. You actually brought him here to read my thoughts?"
"Well, uh...." Would the Capybara get mad?
"What an excellent experiment!" said the Professor, looking
pleased. "By all means, do so!"
Croft felt relieved. "Dalbo?"
"Yes?" said Dalbo.
"What about it?"
"48," said Dalbo.
"48 what?" said Croft.
"He has exactly 48 whiskers. In this light they may be dark
brown, they may be black. Dark brown, or black."
"I wasn't asking about his whiskers. What about his mind?"
"Don't detect anything," said Dalbo.
"Are you sure?" said Croft. Suddenly, he had a thought: was the
professor really here? Maybe he was a hologram. Maybe the real
Professor was on Ivory!
"Interesting," said the Professor.
Croft reached out and put his hand on the Professor, half
expecting his hand to go through the Professor. Instead he felt the
soft, strawlike fur.
"I am not a petting zoo, young Clifford," said the Professor,
those black eyes staring at him curiously.
Croft pulled his hand back.
"What were you trying to do?"
"To see if you were really here?" said Croft.
"How would touching me help you make that determination?" said
the Professor.
"Well, if you were a hologram, my hand would pass through you,"
said Croft.
"Why is that?" the Professor asked.
"Well, a hologram is only light," said Croft.
"Your holograms, you mean," said the Professor.
"Are you saying you're not really here?" said Croft.
"Maybe I am, maybe I'm (tweatle) not," said the Professor. He
tittered slightly. "Very well, I will give you a taste, if you are
ready for it."
Those black eyes stared directly into Dalbo's. Dalbo gulped, and
fell back, clutching his head.
"Sorry!" said the Professor. "I only gave him a small sample. I
guess I overwhelmed him."
"Dalbo, are you ok?" said Croft.
Dalbo clutched his head, muttering. "Pictures... shapes...
equations... spatial relationships...."
"I hope I haven't damaged your pet," said the Professor.
"He's not my pet," said Croft, glaring. He stared at Dalbo.
Gradually, he started to return to normal.
"Are you all right?" said Croft.
"Yes," said Dalbo.
"What happened?" Croft asked.
"It was a fascinating experience," said Dalbo. "Can you do it
again?" he asked the Capybara.
"Again?" said Croft.
"Perhaps another time," said the Capybara. Those dark eyes stared
at Croft. "I sense there is another reason for your visit."
"Yes," said Croft. "I have a mission I am going on I'd like your
input on."
"Now Clifford, as you know, I cannot interfere in the affairs of
humans."
"I wouldn't dream of asking you to," said Croft. "This has
nothing to do with humans."
The Capybara looked speculatively at Croft.
"There's an election campaign being held on Ivory."
"Ivory... a minor human planet with a most archaic form of
governance," said the Capybara.
"Yes," said Croft. "We have a special interest in the
presidential candidate, and think you would too."
"Really?" said the Capybara. "Why?"
Croft pressed a button on his datapad, and the image of the
candidate Capybara at a campaign rally appeared on the screen.
The Capybara stared at the holo. "When was this taken?"
"A few days ago," said Croft. "Would you mind if I asked you...."
"If this is me?" said the Capybara. "No, I have been on August
for (tweatle tweatle) some time."
"We thought it might be another Capybara, but this one also, if
you noticed, wears spectacles and has a pipe," said Croft.
"I noticed," said the Capybara, peering at the image.
"Unless, all of you Capybaras wear spectacles and have a pipe and
calls themselves Professor...."
"We do not," said the Capybara.
"Then we have a mystery on our hands," said Croft.
"You do indeed," said the Professor. "An interesting one at that.
I think I will accompany you."
"Really?" said Croft.
"Really," said the Professor. "Just let me pack a sack of nuts
and I'll be ready to go."
"I'm sure they have nuts there too," said Croft.
"Not as good as mine, I'm sure," said the Professor, putting
together a Capybara bag. He flung it on his back, where it vanished.
"Ready."
"Some day you'll have to tell me how you do that," said Croft.
"No I won't," the Capybara corrected him.
The existence of the Professor was reasonably well known
throughout much of the League, but seeing him in person was still
unusual enough to earn him stares from passerbys. After Croft returned
Dalbo to the Column building, they went to the spaceport. At the
spaceport the Professor attracted a mob of curious onlookers. They made
their way to the Column scout ship Croft had been assigned and took
off.
As they were inflight, Croft asked, "So what do you think is
going on?"
"I do not (tweatle tweatle) know, young Clifford," said the
Capybara.
"Could it be one of your fellow Capybaras?" said Croft. "Come to
think of it, are there any others like you?"
"Not in the area," said the Professor. "I am the only
representative at this time sent to study your species."
"At this time," said Croft. "Have we been visited by Capybaras
before?"
"It is indeed puzzling," said the Professor, avoiding the
question.
"I thought your people didn't believe in interfering," said
Croft.
"We don't," said the Professor.
"Well, this Capybara is clearly interfering by running for
office." A new thought came to Croft. "Could he be some kind of rogue
Capybara?"
"Rogue Capybara?'
"You know, one who doesn't follow your rules. A criminal,
perhaps."
The Professor gave a nervous tweatle. "We have no such
individuals in our race."
"Not one? Not even one?' said Croft.
"Well, even if we did have one or two, which I'm not (tweatle
tweatle) saying we have, it would be very unlikely for one to spend his
efforts on a (tweatle tweatle) species such as yours."
"Thanks for the compliment," said Croft.
"I did not mean to (tweatle tweatle)."
"If we're so worthless, why do you 'waste your time' with us?"
Croft asked.
"To find out what went wrong," the Capybara muttered.
"What went wrong with what?" said Croft.
But the Capybara said no more.
They were fortunate enough to land on Ivory during a brief period
when the local libertarians were in power, so they weren't harassed by
the police or other citizens. When they reached the party headquarters
for the Glorification Party, they were swamped by fans as soon as the
Professor stepped out of the ground car.
"It's you, it's really you!" one fan shouted.
The Professor was mobbed with fans who wanted his autograph. They
had to settle for a paw print, which conveniently stamped a black print
on any material the Professor seemed to want it to. And yet Croft saw
no ink on the Capybara's paws, creating another minor mystery.
Gradually they made their way to the offices of the party
chairman. When they got there, they were met by a smiling woman.
"Welcome," she said. "I didn't think you would be back so soon. I
thought you and Rebecca were out campaigning on the west side."
She looked at Croft and Dalbo, as if they were out of place. "Who
are your friends."
"These are my minor (tweatle tweatle) assistants," said the
Capybara. He said, "What is your name and function?"
"Are you playing a game, professor?" said the woman.
"You are an important official in the party," said the Capybara.
"When you speak to the press, I want you to (tweatle tweatle) enunciate
correctly. Now, let me see how you state your name and function."
"Oh," said the woman. She took a deep breath. "My name is Diane
Lera, chairman of the Glorification party." Lera turned to the
Professor. "How was that?"
"Very good," said the Professor, turning to Croft.
"My name is Croft, I'm the Professor's official biographer."
"He already has a biographer," said Lera.
"I'm his official one," said Croft.
"Oh."
"I'd like to ask a few questions, for the record," said Croft.
"Well, all right," said Lera.
"How and when did the Professor come to lead the party?"
"Well, it was a few months ago," said Lera. "Right before
elections were called. We had all heard of the wondrous being called
the Professor Capybara, but we were simply floored when he made his
first appearance on Ivory."
"Really," said Croft. "What did he say?"
"He said he came from an advanced cultures and wanted to bring
the secrets of fine living to us."
"Did he really?" said Croft. "Go on."
"He attracted quite a following with his obvious poise,
intellect, and advanced compassion," she said, staring at the Professor
admiringly. "He offered us solutions, but said they would be easier to
implement if he were in control of the government," Lera added. "So we
formed a movement to draft the Professor."
"I see," said Croft. "And how is the Professor doing in the
polls?"
"Quite well," said Lea. "We could get a majority in the
legislature."
"Really?" said the Professor, his ears perking up.
"(Tweatle tweatle)," came a new voice
"Yes," said Lera. Suddenly her mouth dropped open. "Rebecca,
what's going on here?"
We turned around. A young woman entered the room, accompanied by
a large, furry animal wearing spectacles and sporting a pipe.
"Most (tweatle tweatle) interesting," said the new Capybara.
"There are two of you?" said Rebecca, the newcomer, also looking
surprised.
"Hm," said Croft's Capybara, staring at the newcomer.
"Hm," said Rebecca's Capybara. They stared at each other snout to
snout.
"Well, that's something you don't see every day," said Croft.
Rebecca spoke to her Capybara. "He looks just like you. You
didn't mention you had a... brother."
"I don't," said the Capybara.
"Perhaps we should go to the conference room to discuss this
further," said Rebecca.
"Yes, let us," said Croft.
"Who are you?" said Rebecca, as they walked along a corridor.
"Just a friend of the family," said Croft. He stared at the
Capybara. It looked and moved exactly like the Professor he knew. What
was going on here.
Rebecca entered a small but very well decorated conference room
where they all took a seat. All except the Capybaras, who sat in the
only floor space available, to the side of the conference table.
"So who are you?" Croft asked the second Capybara.
The second Capybara spoke. "I am (tweatle tweatle)"
"Excuse me," said Croft's Capybara, interrupting. "I believe I
can save some time and effort and clear things up."
"How?" Croft asked.
Croft's Capybara made a sound like a hovercar transmission
backing up, and then spat out a large, white mass. It hit the other
Capybara on the snout. For a moment, the image of the second Capybara
flickered and shimmered.
"A trick!" said Croft, reaching for his blaster.
"Yes," said Rebecca, pulling hers first.
Suddenly, the floor underneath the Professor opened up and the
Professor, giving a small shriek, skidded down a hidden chute.
When the Professor hit bottom he found himself in a new room,
more specifically on a steel platform. Clamps attached themselves to
all four of his legs and locked; and metal bars lowered down above and
around him.
"So, that was certainly easy enough," said a man with an
eyepatch. Two assistants in black jackets stood behind him.
"It would have to be simple, to be within your (tweatle tweatle)
capabilities," said the Professor.
"Sneer all you like, rat animal, but it enabled us to capture
you," said the eyepatch man.
"And who are you, and what do you (tweatle tweatle) want with my
undernourished body?" The Professor asked.
The man stepped forward. "I am Colonel T'kaya Latr of the Slurian
NGB. I was assigned the task of capturing you."
"Interesting," said the Professor. "So this entire electoral
campaign, with the crude holographic copy of myself-"
"Was meant to draw you here, exactly," said Colonel Latr. "You
were protected while you were on August. You should not have ventured
forth so rashly."
"Hm," said the Capybara. "And what do you want with me?"
"You will be transported to Sluria where you will provide us with
all the details on your advanced technology."
"Oh. That's pretty typical," said the Professor. He sighed. "Why
doesn't anyone (tweatle tweatle) want me for who I am?"
"Joke all you like, rat animal," said Colonel Latr. "But you
won't be laughing when you are put in the hands of our interrogation
specialists."
"I think not," said the Professor.
"You think the Column will rescue you?" said Latr. "By now, your
precious Clifford Croft is dead, and in moments, you will be on your
way to a quite secure installation." He lifted a hypo off a surgical
tray.
"What is that?" said the Professor.
"Something to knock you out," said Latr. "You're too dangerous to
be transported awake. The only problem is that since we are unfamiliar
with your physiology, we don't know precisely how much of the drug to
use."
"You could (tweatle tweatle) kill me," said the Professor.
"That is a risk," said Latr. "But, I've been informed, an
acceptable one. Even your dissection will yield some value, I'm told."
He started to walk to the Professor. The Professor shrank back.
"(Tweatle, tweatle tweatle)" he said fearfully.
Colonel Latr laughed. "You'll sing for us, rat." He moved to
press the hypo against the bound Capybara's hide.
"I wouldn't do that," said a new voice.
"My (tweatle tweatle) hero!" said the Professor.
Colonel Latr saw Clifford Croft, blaster in hand, enter the room.
Latr's men moved to draw their guns but Croft shot one, and then the
other, sending them spinning to the ground.
"Drop it," said Croft.
Latr dropped the hypo. "You're supposed to be dead."
"Your friend Rebecca needs some shooting lessons," said Croft.
"Once she gets out of the hospital, that is," he added. He looked at
Latr. "Wait a minute, I know you! Major Sooner, isn't it?
"Latr," said Latr. "Actually, Colonel now."
"Colonel? Did the NGB really promote you after that mess you left
on Paley Paratus?" Croft asked. He quickly glanced down at the
Professor. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. I had the situation fully in hand," said the Professor, in
a calm voice.
"Really?" said Croft. "So maybe it was Colonel Latr who was
tweatling in fear."
"I was playacting to study the concepts of control and
authority," said the Capybara.
"Really?" said Croft. "Then perhaps I should leave you to finish
your observations."
"That won't be necessary," said the Capybara. "I've finished." He
lifted his snout, and the cage lifted off him. He arched an eyebrow,
and the locks on his feet became unlocked.
Colonel Latr watched, open-mouthed. "You really could have
escaped at any time."
"Yes, I was just waiting for young Clifford to get here," said
the Capybara. He looked at Croft. "You (tweatle tweatle) like me! You
really (tweatle tweatle) like me!"
"Don't let it go to your head," said Croft. "I would have done it
for any mammal."
While they were talking, Latr was covertly moving a hand behind
his back. In a smooth motion, he whipped out a blaster. "Now we are on
even ground."
The Capybara sighed. "So disappointing." The hypo, which was at
Latr's feet, reared up and hissed against Latr's leg. Latr's eyes
rolled up, and he collapsed to the ground.
"Oh dear," said the Capybara. "I hope the dose wasn't too high.
It was a highly experimental drug, Clifford."
"Are you done having your fun and games?" said Croft.
"This is serious research Clifford, and no, I am not ready to
go," said the Professor.
"What do you mean?" Croft asked.
"I want to (tweatle tweatle) see how this election plays out."
"What election? With the holocapybara gone, who is there to run
in his place?" said Croft. He looked at the Capybara. "You? You're
thinking of running?"
"Well, technically speaking (tweatle tweatle), I am already a
candidate," said the Professor.
"You would run for President of a planet of humans?" said Croft.
"Why not?"
"What happened to 'Clifford, I can't interfere', or 'You know
Clifford, I can only observe', or 'Clifford, I am not permitted to get
involved in the affairs of humans'?"
"I'm not," said the Professor. "In fact, by running, I am
preventing myself from interfering."
"How do you figure that?"
"It was humans who proposed that I run."
"You mean Slurian NGB spies, in a plot solely designed to capture
you."
"Nonetheless the plan was created by humans, and many humans on
this planet, perhaps a majority, are looking forward to my rule," said
the Capybara. "How can I disappoint them? If I drop out of the race, I
will be interferring, by preventing a human course of action, proposing
my election, from taking its natural course."
"So you're saying, then, that if you drop out of the election,
that's interference, but if you stay, get elected, and have the power
to govern millions of people, that's not interference?"
"Precisely," said the Capybara. "You know, Clifford, I do believe
that you are benefiting from your association with me, (tweatle
tweatle) intellectually speaking."
"You are the worst four legged hypocrite I ever met," said Croft.
"You just want to go forward with the election because you'll get some
kicks ruling over humans. You'll be able to all sorts of silly
experiments to fill your electronic journals."
"My experiments are never silly," the Capybara corrected.
So the campaign continued. There were actually only a handful of
NGB agents in the Glorification party, which the Capybara weeded out
with his discerning nose. The rest were those, like Lara, who had been
duped by the Slurians, but honestly wanted the Capybara to be elected.
So the Capybara campaigned. The contents of his political
platform was not exactly clear to Croft, but it seemed to be wildly
popular with the unsophisticated Ivorians.
Croft watched with amazement the holovised debate with the other
major candidates.
The moderator turned to the Communitarian candidate and asked,
"What are you going to do to stimulate the economy?"
"We need to stimulate the economy by raising a broad range of
taxes on the business class," said the Communitarian candidate,
launching into a five minute discussion of the kinds of citizens who
didn't deserve to keep their own money.
When he was done, the moderator turned to the Professor.
"Professor Capybara, if elected, what will you do to stimulate the
economy?"
"Why must we always (tweatle tweatle) of money and finance?" said
the Professor. "What about expanding the limits of the self? That would
be much more (tweatle tweatle) rewarding and productive."
The audience broke out in spontaneous applause.
The moderator had another question, this time for the pro-
business candidate. "What do you think of the concept of retroactive
abortions where, if the mother approves, the child may be retroactively
aborted within the first two years of life?"
The pro-business candidate said, "Well, as you know, I'm a
moderate on this issue-" and he spent several minutes coming down on
all sides of it.
When the Capybara was asked the same question, he raised an
eyebrow. "You humans have too many (tweatle tweatle) unplanned
pregnancies," he said. "I would encourage you to stop pregnancies until
they are planned."
"Well, not everyone is irresponsible," said the Moderator. "Many
couples do actually plan to have children."
"Yes, but what do we mean by (tweatle tweatle) planning?" said
the Professor. "They plan for the child's clothes, and the weaning, and
the numerous manure wipes. But they do not (tweatle tweatle) plan the
child itself."
"What do you mean?" said the Moderator.
"The child is created through the random interaction of DNA,"
said the Professor. "From what I (tweatle tweatle) understand, you
humans take more care in selecting footwear than you do having a
child."
"But there's very little we can do to effect DNA," said the
Moderator. "Are you saying children should be genetically engineered?"
"Yes, I have heard of your (tweatle tweatle) experiments in this
area," said the Professor. "I was proposing something simpler. Why not
simply (tweatle tweatle) think how you want your child to be."
"Think?" said the Moderator.
"Yes, just (tweatle tweatle) think about it, and create the child
that way."
"Ah, humans aren't capable of doing that," said the Moderator.
"A pity," said the Professor. "In that case, yes, I support
retroactive abortions, the more the better."
The discussion turned to foreign affairs and the military.
"I see no need for a (tweatle tweatle) military," said the
Professor.
"But we are a small and neutral planet," said the pro-business
candidate, jumping in. "How will we protect ourselves?"
"By ourselves," said the Professor.
"What if the Slurians invade?"
"We should simply ignore them," said the Professor.
"What if they come with guns, and shackles?"
"They tried to (tweatle tweatle) me last week in a similar
manner," said the Professor. "I simply ignored them. If you give them
attention, it only (tweatle tweatle) encourages them."
After the debate was over, the Capybara waddled off stage. "Well,
I think you can say goodbye to your chances after those dopey answers,"
said Croft.
"Sir," said Lara excitedly. "The results of the snap poll are in!
77% of the viewers thought you won the debate!"
"Of course," said the Capybara naturally. "Now take me back to
(tweatle tweatle) party headquarters. I have a hungering for nuts."
"And apparently, they feel the same for you," said Croft.
The election day came, and went. And by the end of the day-
"You got nearly 60% of the vote," said Croft, stunned. "Do you
know what that means?"
"That even humans are capable of (tweatle tweatle) appreciating
quality," said the Professor admiringly.
"It means you're going to be ruling more than three days out of
every week. So you're really going to do it?" said Croft.
"Of course," said the Professor. "My rule will be (tweatle
tweatle) wise and benevolent."
"Yeah," said Croft.
"But you are free to leave," said the Professor.
"No, I am staying," said Croft. He had received special
permission from A.A. to stay and "observe" events as they unfolded. "I
can't wait to see your wisdom and benevolence."
Wise and benevolent were not the first words that came to Croft's
mind when the Capybara officially came to power. First he ordered
people to hop around on one leg for an hour at a time every day (every
day his party was in power, that is). He claimed it was proper exercise
and aided body circulation. Anyone who was seen not hopping during the
set hour every day would be fined.
Then the Professor ordered that everyone put dirt on their heads
and plant little flowers there. Hairnets were to be used to keep the
dirt in place.
"What in the world are you doing?" said Croft, going into the
Professor's office.
"Excuse me sir, you'll have to make an appointment with the press
secretary," said a guard.
"That's quite all right," the Capybara called. "Come in,
Clifford." He was standing still, with his snout stuck up, as his snout
was being dabbed with makeup, undoubtedly for an upcoming holovised
appearance.
"I don't remember your paying so much attention to your grooming
before," said Croft.
"Appearances are very important to your people, (tweatle tweatle)
Clifford," said the Capybara.
"Or important to someone," said Croft. "What in the world are you
doing?"
"What (tweatle tweatle) do you mean?"
"I mean, first with the hopping around, and now with the dirt and
plants in people's hair?"
"I am reordering society. I do not expect you to understand it,"
said the Capybara.
"Do not speak to the Professor that way!" said Lara.
Croft eyed the doed eyed interns and staff surrounding the
Capybara. They were really falling for it.
"So, what's next, growing trees on their head?" said Croft.
"No, Clifford, that would not be physically possible," said the
Capybara. "My newest initiative is for people to cut holes in their
trousers and walk around in bare buttocks."
"What? Why?"
"Your nudity taboo has always astounded me. It is something you
have to overcome."
"Something that doesn't bother a being that is covered in fur, of
course," said Croft. "They'll never go for it."
"Wait and see."
Sure enough, the next day, everyone Croft saw was walking around
with bare buttocks. Croft himself was fined twice for having them
covered up.
Over the next few days more rules were announced. Croft thought
each rule couldn't get more ridiculous but he was wrong, each was even
more ridiculous than the last. Finally, two weeks into the Capybara's
administration, there was a recall election, and his party was almost
totally tossed out of office. With only one seat left in the
legislature, they could only rule for only an hour or so a week.
"We can go now," the Capybara told Croft, ignoring the jeering
mob outside his office.
"Get out of here!" "Go away rat!" they shouted.
"We shall always miss you," said Lara tearfully. The entire staff
had broken out in tears.
"There there," said the Capybara, putting a webbed paw on her
leg.
"People just weren't ready for the changes so quickly," Lara
sobbed.
"I know, I know," said the Capybara.
"We will rebuild, and try again," she vowed.
"Of course," said the Capybara. "In the meantime, I will return
to August."
"You're leaving?" said Lara, just now understanding that fact."
"Yes," said the Capybara.
"But we need your guidance!" said Lara.
"Yes, well, I'll write you," said the Capybara.
"Thank you, oh thank you!" they cried.
The Capybara waddled to the door. "Come along, Clifford."
On the flight back Croft and the Professor sat in silence in a
compartment. Neither said anything for several hours. They just stared
at each other.
Finally, Croft said, "All right. Are you going to admit it?"
"Admit what?" said the Capybara.
"You never had any intention of governing," said Croft. "This was
just one of your little experiments."
"Why Clifford," said the Capybara, looking surprised. "Did you
only realize this now?"
"No, a few days ago, when you ordered people to wear ice under
their armpits," said Croft. "You were selecting successively more and
more foolish tasks to see what people would put up with. My only
question is-"
"Why," said the Capybara. "It was an interesting test of
obedience to authority." Suddenly a holographic pen and tablet appeared
in the air in front of his snout. The tablet started to write. "The
results should be a most (tweatle tweatle) interesting paper."
"And you used a whole planet of people, just to run one of your
little experiments."
"Well, Clifford, no one was harmed," said the Capybara. "And they
did voluntarily put me in charge. And the data that I discovered was
quite useful."
"How useful?" said Croft. "I think you did it as a joke to laugh
at us."
"Not at all, Clifford. I learned many things. Did you notice the
regulation I promulgated that got me thrown out of office?" said the
Capybara. "It had nothing to do with fashion, or customs, or anything
of the sort."
"If I recall, it was the regulation that everyone's money and
property be randomly reassigned to someone else once a week," said
Croft.
"Yes," said the Capybara. "People were willing to put up with
being uncomfortable, with nuisances, with having dirt in their hair or
washing their face with mud. But the one thing they wouldn't stand for
was losing their money. What a primitive economic and social system."
"Oh, so I suppose you don't have money in your society."
"Of course not," said the Capybara.
"So how do you buy things?" said Croft.
"I don't," said the Capybara. "Why, what would I buy?"
Croft opened his mouth, and closed it. Then he said, "You know,
you broke a lot of hearts back there."
"No human anatomy was damaged during this experiment."
"I mean your followers who you let down," said Croft.
"Yes," said the Capybara. The holographic pen started writing
more rapidly. "That may make an interesting side paper of its own."
"What?" said Croft.
"The concept of human gullibility," said the Professor.
"Well, I guess that's what they get for putting a rat in charge,"
said Croft.
The End
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