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The Essential Mindreader
By Steve Gordon
Foreward
Could he truly read minds? That is the most generally held
belief, although even today there are still many who are skeptical.
Few people really knew him, and most of those are either dead,
unavailable, or cryptically refusing to comment. He was said to be a
weird fellow, an eccentric, although perhaps that was part and parcel
of his special ability. Whatever the exact truth of it, he obviously
had an ability of some sort, one that enabled him to determine the
nature and character of other individuals, with little more than an
askew glance. It's really a shame that he got caught up in the
resurgence of the Tauz, and that led to his bitter end; for today there
are many questions that people would have like to have asked of Dalbo
Alto, if only he had lived to answer them.
Prelude
The man sat on the park bench, looking nervously about. First
left, then right. Left, then right.
Dalbo Alto walked idly through the park, not even paying
attention. He was inspecting blades of grass. That he was wearing a
light shelf jacket on a wintery day did not appear to bother him. He
kept his gaze fixed down, not even looking at the man on the bench.
"Concerned, very concerned," Dalbo muttered, not even thinking what he
was saying. Why did the grass always reach a certain height, and then
stop?
A second man approached the bench. He looked around, in a not so
subtle manner, before joining the first man. Dalbo, who was too far
away to hear, continued to look down, keeping his head bowed. Green.
Grass green. Like green on the university dormitory wall. No, more
like the green on the water cooler outside the university office.
"You're late," said the first man.
"There was a surprise inspection in the department.
Unavoidable."
"What have you got?"
"Tauz." The second man nodded, as he uttered the single word.
"You're sure? Particulars," the man snapped.
Dalbo suddenly looked up, as if stunned by an insect. His gaze
was transfixed by a nearby tree.
"Putting the Pres cold. Right after the VP elec-"
There was a crack. No, actually it was a series of cracks. And,
for a moment, all was still.
Dalbo didn't even glance at the gory sight on the park bench. He
was still staring at the tree, looking calmly as a man climbed down
from its leafy branches.
"Projectiles. Pieces of metal. Perforation. Multiple
termination," said Dalbo, in rapidfire fashion.
The man calmly climbed down from the tree, grasping a long rifle.
He looked around, and, seeing the park still deserted, slowly aimed his
weapon at the only witness. Almost casually.
Dalbo watched the man aim the weapon. "Termination. Speeding
velocity of small pieces of metal to end organisms and curb information
flow."
The man's finger tightened on the trigger.
"Bad move, Albert."
The man froze, if in shock. Suddenly, there was a siren in the
air. Dropping his weapon, he fled.
Chapter 1
The beach was a wonderful place. It was good for lying around,
relaxing, doing nothing, nothing in particular. It was just that kind
of place. Clifford Croft couldn't stifle a small yawn as he watched
the waves slowly lapping against the golden yellow sands of Pacifica.
Nice. Relaxing. Peaceful.
And boring as anything.
Clifford Croft knew that when he felt that restless feeling that
it was time to move on. To return to work. In fact, he was seriously
considering making such a move when he turned his head, and noticed
something quite remarkable.
Two men. Dark glasses, three piece ties, seven piece suits.
Even dark hats, too. Nice touch. Very inconspicuous. Croft turned
his head away to glance at some of the more exotic swimwear that was
being worn that sunny morning, as if to look away from what was coming.
Scrunch scrunch scrunch Scuff! The sounds of footsteps came to a
halt. Droplets of sand propelled from the final set of footsteps
splattered on his beach blanket.
"Clifford Croft?" said a voice.
"Umm," said Croft lazily, apparently counting wave breakers out
at sea. "Who?"
"You are Clifford Croft," said the first man.
Croft said mildly. "Is that a question or a statement?"
"It's him," muttered the second man. "Come with us." Reaching
down, he put a hand on Croft's shoulder.
That was his first mistake. Turn twist pressure, and Croft was
standing up, and the second man was on the ground, grabbing his wrist
in pain.
The first man grabbed into his jacket for something, entitling
him to a good swift kick in the stomach, and he went down too.
"They don't make them like they used to," said Croft, grasping
for what the man had been reaching for.
A metal identifier. The golden stars of the Agency.
"Oh," said Croft. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" he
said, deadpan.
Clifford Croft had been with the Agency for nearly eleven years.
The Agency for International Trade and Development. That's what it was
called in diplomatic circles, as well as in the jokes that circulated
throughout the department. Everyone knew it was the leading spy bureau
for the Alliance, that patchwork federation of planets spread across
the outward stretch of the spiral arm.
Croft was a specialist. Not an analyst, an info manager, or an
operative in domestic S&S (surveillance and security). But an
infiltrator, one who penetrated other societies, blending in unnoticed,
unlocking their secrets, and then beating a straight path for home.
That was the hardest job of all, with the highest casualty rate of any
work category in the Agency. Croft had been an infiltrator for nine
years, and an Alpha-K for nearly three years. Which entitled him to a
certain level of pay, a certain level of respect... and a certain level
of arrogance.
Croft took the first spaceflight back to HQ. He was still late,
of course. A.A., Aldman Alderman himself, sat fuming in his office as
Croft marched in. "You're late, Croft!" he said, scowling as his
bulldog jowls bounced up and down accusingly.
"Sorry Chief," said Croft. "A lot of traffic at the shuttle
tube. Unavoidable."
"And was it also unavoidable that you assaulted two of our
operatives on Pacifica?"
Croft shrugged. "They didn't identify themselves."
A.A. shook his head, giving him a look. "Let's stop playing
games. I need your attention for an important matter."
"Are there ever any other kind?"
A.A. scowled.
Croft lay back, closing his eyes. "All right, what are the
Slurians up to now?" Sluria, a medium sized star empire situated along
the borders with the Alliance, was always stirring up trouble.
A.A. shook his head again. "Not Slurians. Tauz."
Croft immediately opened his eyes, and looked forward. But he
wasn't staring at A.A. The Tauz. They had bombarded dozens of worlds,
years ago, including his--Croft suddenly winced, remembering long
nights in bomb shelters... he blinked, and found himself staring at
A.A. again. "The Tauz? They were wiped out a generation ago. Hell, we
wiped them out."
"Yes, I was looking over my predecessor's files on the subject.
But organized crime can never be entirely eliminated."
"Organized crime nothing," said Croft. "They had an organization
across the spiral arm, with armies of resack warships and armies and
research teams. Towards the end they were going into the business of
empire building."
"Yes, I've read the histories," said A.A. mildly.
"But they were wiped out. Forces destroyed, leaders eliminated,"
said Croft, making those statements with a certain hard-edged relish.
"As far as we know," said A.A. "But have they been eliminated,
or merely lying low, fitting together the remnants of their
organization, licking their wounds?"
"Cut through the fat. What's happened?" said Croft bluntly.
"There's been an assassination of one of our consular officials
on Paley Paratus."
"Paley Paratus. Paley Paratus, Paley Paratus... That's in
the... Gamma two sector, isn't it?"
A.A. nodded.
"What's a bit of domestic terrorism got to do with us? Let
Consular Security handle it."
"Normally I would say yes, but the man who was killed was one of
ours. Calner."
"Calner," said Croft, getting a far away look. "I... I knew
Calner. We were in training together. I rather liked Calner," he said
simply, with no visible trace of anger. There was a moment's pause.
"What was he doing in an embassy post?"
"He was operating under deep cover. We received word that
something unusual was going on in Paley Paratus." A.A. lit up a cigar.
"They just had presidential elections there. The president has been
sounding us out about joining the Alliance. Seems he wouldn't mind the
technological and trade benefits." A.A. puffed a little. "It also
seems like there are a lot of entrenched groups in that society opposed
to Alliance membership."
"Where does the Tauz fit in?"
"Wait." A.A. held up a restraining hand. "We got word that
there were some offworld players involved. Someone from the outside
manipulating behind the scenes. We sent in Calner to investigate.
Calner became more and more convinced that the Tauz was involved."
"There you go, mentioning that T word again," said Croft, looking
annoyed. "Where's the evidence?"
"Calner was collecting it when he was shot. Fatally. Along with
his informant." He tossed a dossier over to Croft.
"Hmm... his informant worked in the Ministry of Sanitation?"
"Paratan secret police," A.A. explained.
"Oh," said Croft, rapidly scanning the file. "I suppose it's not
any less original than the Agency for International Trade and
Development." He read some more for a moment, then looked up. "I
don't see anything here that mentions the Tauz."
A.A. grimaced. "Calner's last report was nearly a week old. We
don't know where this lead came from or what made him think the Tauz
was involved. But you, Croft, have a big lead."
"I do?"
"A witness," said A.A., with relish. "One Dalbo Alto." He
handed Croft another file.
"A witness," said Croft. "Well, then it really can't be the
Tauz, can it? They wouldn't have been so sloppy as to leave a
witness."
"He's a very unusual witness," said A.A.
"Unusual?"
"Slightly dysfunctional. Retarded, perhaps."
"What does he do?"
"He's a college professor," said A.A., without a blink. "Our
people were on the scene first. We took him to the Alliance embassy,
where Calner was working from."
"And what did the Paley government think of that?"
"Pleased they weren't," A.A. admitted. "Especially when it
involved the matter of the death of one of theirs. But one of our
people was involved too. There is also the matter of their application
for Alliance membership-"
"So they don't want to rock the boat too much."
A.A. nodded. "We've compromised, promising to work very closely
with them on the investigation. You will cover with the identity of an
investigating detective with the Alliance League of Justice."
"Alliance League of Justice?" Croft frowned. "What in the world
is that?"
"There actually is such an organization, created by the Omnibus
Crime Reduction Act of 2422. It's a mail drop, somewhere on Alliance
Central."
"Uh huh, so they'll think I'm just a cop."
"Precisely. The Paratans may not be aware of the significance of
these murders. You're to go undercover and figure it all out."
Croft started to get up to leave.
"Oh, there's one more thing." said A.A., in a warning tone.
Croft stopped moving. "I never like it when you say 'one more
thing'. It's usually the sort of 'one more thing' I won't particularly
like, as I recall."
"You're getting a partner."
"Now I remember why." Croft commented. "A.A., you know I work
best when I work alone... but if I must have a partner, could it be
someone with at least half a brain? Maybe Preston-"
"We're not pairing you with an Agency man," said A.A., a small
grin on his face.
Croft sat back down. "Just whom or what exactly are you teaming
me with?"
A.A. tossed me another dossier. "Bill Lotnon, D.S.C."
"DSC? DSC? Diplomatic Security Corps? You've got to be
kidding."
"The incident occurred on their turf."
"Calner was one of ours."
"But he was operating under the cover of one of theirs. They
insisted."
"What crap. What unmitigated bureaucratic crap," said Croft, who
was starting to sulk. "Well, he's not going to trail me at every step.
I'll order him to stay behind, to do the paperwork. I'll-" He
stopped, when he saw A.A. shaking his head sadly.
"Wait a minute. I'm in charge, aren't I? Aren't I? A.A., say
something."
"Now Croft-"
"No, no, and no. I will not go on a mission with a jumped up
security guard in charge. Absolutely positively-"
"Now shut up Croft, and listen!" A.A. suddenly yelled. Croft
paused, in mid-statement.
"I just got through several hours of fighting this over at the
Departmental level. They insisted that one of theirs go along. They
insisted that he be given responsibility. The secretary agreed with
them, not me. Lotnon is in charge of the investigation."
Croft's shoulder's slumped.
Then A.A. grinned. "But you're in charge of the mission."
Croft frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"
"You both have joint authority-"
Croft sighed, tuning the rest out. This was going to be a
stinking rotten mission.
"Failure... can not be tolerated." The man with the eyepatch said
that matter of factly, like a lesson for second graders, but those at
attention could not help but shake slightly.
Eyepatch looked at a tall man standing at attention. "This task
was assigned to you, Mr. Bennett."
"The mission was a success, leader," said Bennett, trying hard
not to tremble. "The informant and the agent were terminated."
"But your operative allowed a witness to escape, one who easily
could have been terminated." Fingers, tapping on a desktop. Tap tap
tap.
"I am investigating that further," said Bennett. "The reason, I
mean, why he didn't fire."
"And find out also why he was sloppy enough to leave his weapon
at the scene," said Eyepatch. "And then close the file on him. Do you
understand?" Tap tap.
"Perfectly."
Eyepatch stared at Bennett for a moment, then nodded. "I trust
you will be a good example to the others--one way, or the other." Tap
tap tap.
Croft braced himself as the ship shuddered for a landing. The
passenger vessel Altaco was old, but it was still serviceable. Croft
reviewed in his mind the information he had taken in from the
briefings.
It seemed that someone was definitely trying to destabilize the
government. Calner, the intell officer, had transcribed a good deal of
intrigue that had occurred in the highest circles of Paratan government
over the course of the last year. The reason seemed obvious; Tri-Krell
4. One of the most powerful sources of energy, it was useful for
spacers, civilian reactors, and military purposes alike. Whoever
controlled Paley Paratus would control those deposits.
Croft's first instinct was to suspect the Slurians. This planet
was not too far from the distant fringes of Slurian space, and it was
not beyond the Slurians to use everything from subterfuge to political
assassination to pull neutral planets into their sphere. Especially
those with rich energy deposits.
But Calner had, for some reason, thought the Tauz was involved,
although in his reports he had never detailed why. Croft remembered
him. A reasonably sharp guy, not the brightest, perhaps... but pretty
sharp, by Agency standards. Not the sort of fellow to blindly leap to
conclusions. What trail had he been on?
Customs officials were waiting for him as the ship touched down.
Croft gave a large smile as he hefted his luggage, which contained a
large booty of devices, many of them lethal, that an official from the
Alliance League of Justice would never be expected to have.
"Clifford Croft, Alliance League of Justice, how are you?" said
Croft, putting on a large idiotic grin.
The customs officials smiled in return. One of them, coming
forward with an extended hand, revealed himself to be something other
than a customs official. "Tal. Tal Zack, Mr. Croft, but you can call
me Tal. I work at the embassy, I'm here to drive you there."
"Then let's be on our way," said Croft.
He felt the restraining hand of one of the customs men. Croft
immediately had to suppress his instinct. Instinct told him that the
man should be flying through the air, crashing towards the ground.
Funny thing, that instinct.
But Croft just gave a broad smile and said, "What's the problem,
my friend?"
"We have to check your bags, sir."
Croft smiled again. "Diplomatic Pouch. Diplomatic immunity."
"Are you an embassy official?"
That started a lengthy tussle. No, he wasn't an embassy official.
Yes, he was a representative of another government. But they had
orders to search... an interplanetary incident? No need to insist.
gab, gab, gab....
Croft listened to a short concerto in his mind, blocking out the
blatherings of the customs officials. He knew the routine.
Bureaucrats always had to flex their petty muscles before they would
permit anything.
After the customs officials were suitably worked up, Croft was
allowed to proceed. With bags decidedly unexamined.
"Gee Mr. Croft, you seemed very calm about that."
Croft nodded, saying nothing. But he did make a comment when,
getting into the car, he saw an occupant already in the back seat.
"Mr. Croft, good to meet you," said the man, extending a hand.
He was a middle aged fellow with a small moustache.
Croft didn't touch the proffered limb. "To the embassy, Tal."
"Mr. Croft?" said the man, in a slightly hurt tone.
"Mr. Lotnon," said Croft, in a neutral tone. Croft was like
that. He had nothing against Lotnon, nothing personal; he just didn't
like the idea of working with anyone else. Especially someone who
wasn't with the Agency.
"How did you know who I was?"
A complete moron, Croft thought immediately. But he said,
politely enough, "Well, I could have made a lucky guess. Or I could
have figured out that you were the most likely person they would send
to meet me." He paused for a moment, then added, "Or I could have seen
the picture in your file."
"My... my file? You read a file on me?" said the man,
flabbergasted. Evidently he hadn't been offered a similar opportunity
with regard to Croft. "Just what sort file is there on me?"
"Not much of one," said Croft cooly, examining his nails. "Your
still likeness isn't even very good. You were scowling."
Lotnon, or Bill, as Croft thought of him, did his best to imitate
his photo. But then he forced it all down, and gave an insincere
smile. "You'll be expected to pay your respects to the Ambassador when
you arrive."
"Um?" said Croft, stuffing a cigar in his mouth.
"And I think you should know that the Ambassador doesn't allow
his staff to smoke in the embassy," said Lotnon.
"Got a light?"
The aircar slowly turned into the embassy driveway. A pair of
Alliance marines snapped to attention as they exited the car. Croft
eyed their laser pistols warily. "Powerpack fully charged?"
"YES SIR!" said the marine.
"Good. You might be needing it." Embassy security had been
beefed up after the assassination. In Croft's opinion security could
never be tight enough.
Tal led them to the ambassador's study. Croft wasn't half done
with his cigar and, despite glances, Tal's (fearful) and Bill's
(worrisome), the wrapped weed lay reassuringly between his lips.
Ambassador Califar came forward to greet them, hand outstretched,
a smile on his lips... which faded a little, when he saw that Croft was
smoking.
"Mr. Croft," he said, a little less warmly than he had intended.
"Ambassador."
The Ambassador proceeded to give them the Speech. How terrible
the incident was. How helpful the Paratans had been. How they must
respect local customs, and be sensitive to the problems of the region.
Croft nodded attentively as he tuned the ambassador out, mentally
composing a list of weapons and gear that he would take with him on his
first outing.
When the Ambassador was done, Croft started to tune in again. "-
expected to work with the local authorities. A Lieutenant Markna will
be getting in touch with you... beyond that, I think we've covered a
lot of ground." He paused for a moment, deep in thought. "Oh? Oh,
yes. Breakfast at 7, Lunch at 13, Tea at 17, and Dinner is at 19."
The Ambassador stood up to leave.
"One more thing, Mr. Ambassador." said Croft, holding up a
restraining hand. "The witness."
"The witness?" The Ambassador looked puzzled. "Oh, yes, Mr.
Alto. You'll find him downstairs." He walked by Croft, making a face
as he passed through cigar fumes. "Oh, and Mr. Croft, about that
cigar-"
"Yes. Got an ashtray?" said Croft.
"-I've already talked to Mr. Alto," said Lotnon, as they walked
down the stairs.
"Yeah, I've seen the transcript," said Croft.
"Still, I don't see any harm in your talking to him," said
Lotnon, considering.
"Thanks," said Croft, without a trace of sarcasm. He reached for
the door to the witness' room.
"But be gentle. He's a sensitive fellow-"
"I will," said Croft, closing the door in Bill's face.
Lotnon, annoyed, opened it again, coming in.
"Can't you find somewhere else to go?" said Croft, letting the
annoyance freely grace his features.
"I'd like to be present."
"I thought you already talked to him."
"Yes, I did, but-"
"But me no buts," said Croft.
"Conflict," interjected a new voice.
They both turned, and Croft got his first good look at Dalbo
Alto. He had entered the room so engaged in argument with Lotnon that
he had only peripherally looked at the occupant.
A small, middle aged man sat in a hard wooden chair. He had
unkempt hair, wisps of which shot off in all directions. His eyes,
which seemed to roam, had an uneering tendency to suddenly stop, and
stare, as if stabbing through something.
"Mr. Alto," said Croft, putting a false smile on.
"Hello."
"My name is Clifford Croft. I'm with the Alliance League for
Justice." Only the Ambassador and Lotnon knew his true identity. "I'm
here to help."
"Untrue statement."
Croft raised an eyebrow. Why was this man talking like a
machine? And which statement was he referring to? "What do you mean?"
he asked.
But the man remained silent.
"Well, let's get down to facts. Your name is Dalbo Alto."
"My sound-designate. Accurate."
Croft raised his eyebrows, but said nothing immediately. Looking
at Alto's dossier, he said, "Says here that you're a professor of
philosophy at Paley Prime University."
Alto nodded.
"What were you doing in the park, Mr.... mind if I call you
Dalbo? You can call me Clifford," said Croft, giving a warm smile.
"Sound designations are irrelevant."
Croft took that for an assent. "What were you doing in the park?"
"You know the answer," said Dalbo.
"I'd prefer to hear it from you."
"Request of duplicative information is illogical."
"Not if intent is to affirm accuracy of previous information,"
said Croft, getting into the swing of things.
Dalbo considered, then nodded. "Purpose of extra-campus
excursion was to exercise locomotive functions."
Croft nodded. "You were taking a walk. Who did you see in the
park?"
"There were two individuals in a stationary mode. They were most
secretive."
"What makes you say that?"
"It was obvious," said Dalbo.
"All right. What then?"
"They were perforated."
"Perforated? They were killed."
"Metal strips launched at high velocity penetrated vital organs,
terminating those organisms."
Lotnon whispered to Croft. "He always talks like that."
"What happened then?" said Croft, waving Lotnon off.
"Terminator, perched in a segment of foliage, reduced altitude-"
"Climbed out of a tree," Lotnon whispered.
"And then," said Croft.
"Departed."
Croft frowned. "Was there anyone else in the park?"
"No."
"Did the assassin see you?"
"Yes."
"You're telling me that you were the only witness, the assassin
saw you, and he didn't kill you."
"Correct."
"He just dropped his weapon, and left."
Dalbo was silent.
"That's all I was able to get out of him," Lotnon said.
Croft frowned. "Dalb, what did this assassin look like?"
"Human."
Croft made a noise. "We're all human here, Dalbo. You'll have
to be more specific than that. Hair color?"
"Dark."
"Tall? Thin? Clothes? Scars?"
"He was a man," Dalbo answered, shrugging as if there were no
more to be said.
"How far away was this man from you?"
Dalbo considered. "At his closest approach.... 18 feet.
Eighteen feet, two inches."
"You can't describe what he looked like, but you know his
distance from you, down to the inch...." Croft sighed. Then he
frowned. "Wait a minute. You said approach. You said he approached.
Did he approach you?" This was key. Lotnon's interrogation log had
made no mention of this.
Dalbo paused. "Momentarily," he said faintly.
"Then he turned away?"
Dalbo was silent.
"Dalbo, when you're silent, do you mean yes, or no?"
Dalbo looked at Croft with piercing eyes. "You're not nice."
"What makes you say that?" said Croft intently.
"You hurt people. The sounds you make are not true."
Croft gave a gentle smile. "I'm only trying to help. You know
your life may be in danger. If whoever killed these two men decides to
come after you, you won't have a chance, unless you're protected.
Isn't that why you agreed to come to the embassy?"
Dalbo shrugged, as if it were an irrelevancy.
"Now, you said the assassin turned towards you. Was the rifle in
his hands?"
Dalbo nodded.
"Was it pointed at you?"
Dalbo nodded.
"What did the assassin do then?"
"He dropped his weapon, and fled."
Croft paused, and stared hard at Dalbo. For a moment, there was
silence. Then Dalbo, seeing something in Croft's expression, flinched,
jerking back.
"You're not nice, no," Dalbo decided.
"Croft!" said Lotnon, not quite aware what had transpired, but
sensitive to the fact that Dalbo was agitated.
"You're the nice one," said Dalbo, matter-of-factly. "Take him
away. He is bad."
"Bad?" said Croft, still expressionless. "What do you mean?"
"You pretend to be mild, but you are an issuer of negative
stimuli. You pleasure in dispensing it."
"I do?" Croft mused. "Perhaps I do." He drew a concealed
blaster from a holster in his jacket. Adjusting the settings, he
pointed it at Dalbo. "This is how I dispense negative stimuli. Would
you like a taste of it?" His face was granite; his tone, matter-of-
factly.
Dalbo wasn't quivering now, he was merely only looking curiously
at the blaster. But Lotnon was livid. "Croft! Whatever do you think
you're doing!"
Croft didn't lower his weapon. "Get out," he said, in a low
voice.
"You can't order me around! We're co-partners in this
investigation, why-"
Croft turned to him, and his eyes were still. "I'm not going to
ask again."
Lotnon opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked at the
expression on Croft's face, and his resolve faded. "You haven't heard
the last of this," he said, marching out.
When the door was closed Croft turned back to Dalbo. He moved
his chair close to Dalbo, a few mere inches away.
"Now normally, I'm a nice guy," said Croft, allowing a small
amount of warmth to creep back into his expression. "I'm a regular
mister happy. But one of my friends has been killed, and something big
is happening. You're blocking me, and I want answers."
"I do not respond to negative stimuli," said Dalbo, raising his
chin.
Croft sighed for a moment, then looked defeated. "If you don't
respond, you don't respond," he said, turning away for a moment. Then
he raised his weapon and fired, point-blank, at Dalbo's left hand.
"Ow!" said Dalbo, jerking it away. He held his shot limb
gingerly with his other hand.
"Well, for a man who doesn't respond to negative stimuli, you
certainly put on a good show of it, even where the lowest blaster
setting is involved."
"You shot me." Incredulous.
"Oh, your hand's probably a little red, at worst. The skin will
dry and peel off, in a few days."
"You shot me."
"It was only the test setting," said Croft. He adjusted the
setting on the blaster. "But this is setting four." He aimed it at
Dalbo's right foot. "The next time I shoot, there isn't going to be
anything to grow back."
"What do you want to know?"
"Why," said Croft simply, without elaboration.
"I spoke to him. My verbalizations interrupted his decision
chain."
"What did you say," said Croft, keeping the business end of his
blaster pointed in a menacing direction.
"Bad move, Albert."
"That's it?"
"Affirmative."
"Albert? Why did you call the man Albert? Did you know him?"
"No."
"Then why did you call him Albert?"
Dalbo paused. "He looked like one."
"Then he dropped his weapon, and ran."
Dalbo nodded.
Croft raised his blaster. His finger tightened on the trigger.
"You will not fire," said Dalbo, no longer looking concerned.
"In any event, you have what you want."
Croft paused, and then nodded for a minute. Dalbo had called his
bluff. "How did you know his name?" he said, lowering the weapon.
"It just seemed right," said Dalbo.
"Hm," said Croft. He took out a metal device from his pocket,
attaching one end to Dalbo's wrists. Then he repeated his latest line
of questioning.
Croft's eyebrows went up as he checked an indicator. Dalbo was
telling the truth, as he saw it.
"What do you mean, he looked like an Albert?"
"He just did."
And Dalbo was telling the truth. Either that, or he was a very
skilled liar. Which was entirely possible.
Croft removed the device from Dalbo's wrists, and reflected. If
Dalbo were lying, why did the assassin flee? Could Dalbo be an
accomplice who got caught at the scene of the crime? Unlikely, since
he would have had ample time to escape. Could the assassin have been
afraid of Dalbo for some reason? Again unlikely.
But if Dalbo were telling the truth, his story might make some
sense. The assassin, surprised that Dalbo knew his name, might have
surprised enough to drop his weapon and flee, especially if time were
short and the authorities were closing in.
But how did Dalbo know his name?
Dalbo observed Croft, watching the wheels turning.
"Intelligent."
"What?"
"Moderately intelligent, but still bad," Dalbo concluded.
"You can't treat me that way, we're partners, and if you ever do
that again, I'm going to go to the Ambassador."
Lotnon had barged in on Croft's quarters at the embassy later
that evening. Croft sat calmly in a chair, smoking a cigar.
"And Dalbo tells me you shot him! I'm sorry, but I'm going to
have to report that. You can't just-"
"Dalbo spoke to the assassin," said Croft. "Did you know that?"
"-he... what? Did he tell you that?"
"Obviously your interrogation left something to be desired.
Perhaps you might include that little fact in your report back to
central." Croft puffed contently, giving a small smile.
"What... did he say?"
"Why don't you ask him?" Croft suggested.
"See here, Croft, we're supposed to be working together. My
bosses told me that, and your bosses told you that."
"I work alone," said Croft, turning his swivel chair a bit away.
"You think... you think that because you work for the League of
Justice, that you're head and shoulders above me. Well, let me tell
you something, I've done twice the time you have in a security service.
And in my years at diplomatic security-"
"Ever killed anybody?"
"Killed? Why... no?"
"Ever uncovered a spy ring, single-handed?"
"By myself? Why....?"
"Then why are we talking?" said Croft, reasonably enough. The
chair was turned totally away now.
"How is your investigation progressing, Mr. Croft?" said the
Ambassador, at breakfast the following morning.
"As well as can be expected," said Croft guardedly.
"He shot me," said Dalbo, commenting rather matter of factly. He
gave a stare at Croft, with wide accusing eyes.
There was a pregnant pause for a moment at the breakfast table.
Then Croft, looking up, started to chuckle softly. Others slowly
joined in.
"Mr. Alto's a real character," said Croft, grinning mildly.
"So I see," said the Ambassador, with a confused look on his
face.
Lotnon, sitting to the side, gave Croft a dirty look, but said
nothing.
"A Lieutenant Markna from the local security forces has been
trying to get in touch with you, Mr. Croft."
"Eggs!" said Dalbo.
"What?" All eyes turned.
"They are yellow. These eggs are yellow. They should be green.
The eggs should be green," Dalbo repeated, staring down at his plate.
"Yes, well, green eggs are out of season," said the Ambassador.
"It's really the same taste, merely a difference in coloration-"
"Green. Eggs must be green."
"You don't want your eggs?" said the Ambassador.
Dalbo shook his head.
"How about a piece of zomcake?" Ambassador Califar suggested.
"Eggs. Green eggs."
"Or some pancakes?"
"Eggs! Green!"
"We don't have any green eggs," said Califar.
Dalbo folded his arms resolutely, and sat back in his chair.
Croft was laughing quietly in his chair, as he ate his yellow
eggs. The Ambassador glared at him. "Do you find something amusing,
Mr. Croft?"
"Um hm," said Croft, still smiling. He locked glares with the
Ambassador.
"I told you that Lieutenant-Inspector Markna is looking for you."
"I heard you the first time," said Croft, with a distinct lack of
interest.
"Yes, she tried, several times, but was unable to reach you. Is
your comlink not in order?"
Croft slowly buttered his toast. "Hm, could be, could be," he
said taking a slow bite. "I have been having some difficulty with it."
"Then perhaps you will be so good as to contact her on another
line. You are supposed to be working with the local authorities, you
know."
Croft didn't comment. Lotnon seemed to be peeved. Ambassador
Califar looked peeved. Dalbo was peeved. "Eggs," he muttered
pitifully, in a soft voice that no one else heard.
After breakfast Lotnon cornered Croft in his quarters.
"If you like my room so much, why don't we switch?" said Croft
reasonably.
"You've got an attitude, don't you?" said Lotnon.
"I told you. I work alone. If you feel you need me, feel free
to tag along. But don't get in my way," said Croft simply. He started
to put on a jacket.
"Where are you going? You're going out? Wouldn't you care to
look at the murder weapon first?"
"I have," said Croft. "Last night, in the lockup in the
basement. It's a rifle, bullet projectiles. Nearly as common as
lasers on this planet. A throwback to the old days."
"And?"
"And, it looks local. Beyond that, I have no idea." Croft
descended the stairs to the basement.
"I've been in communication with Lieutenant Markna of the local
authorities. She has offered to try to identify the source of the
weapon, if we can provide it for her."
"No," said Croft flatly.
"No? Croft, isn't this the sort of decision we should be making
jointly?"
"No," said Croft, opening the door to Dalbo's quarters. "Hey,
want to go on a little trip, Dalb old buddy?"
Dalbo gave one look at Croft, the look of a wild, trapped animal.
But he merely said, rather sedately, "Do you intend to shoot me again?"
"If the need arises," Croft promised.
They took a short walk, not far from the embassy. The park was
deserted, just as it had been the day... the event had happened. The
only indication of the violence of the week before were a number of
small holes in a certain park bench.
Croft and Lotnon walked around, inspecting the area. After
inspecting the bench, Croft made Dalbo show him the tree the assassin
had emerged from. Croft actually climbed up its branches to search for
clues.
Dalbo resumed counting blades of grass. Let's see, where had he
left off? Ah, yes 756, 757, 758-
"See anything?" said Lotnon, looking up at Croft in the tree.
"Nice view," Croft grunted. He climbed down. "Let's see, where
were you standing, Dalbo?"
Dalbo's attention was suddenly frozen. He became distracted, so
distracted that he lost his count again. It was not the vocalizations
of the violent one. No, it was something else. Another mind, so
intent on malice that it was simply transmitting it in waves. Dalbo
looked up, giving an odd stare to a young man coming down the walkway.
Croft immediately came close to Dalbo. "What, Dalbo?"
"That man."
Croft didn't look at the approaching individual, but said, "Yes."
"He is coming to kill you."
Croft gave a big smile. "You don't say?" Out of the corner of
his eye he saw the man walk closer.
"May I watch?" said Dalbo plaintively.
"Why do you have such an attitude?" Croft wanted to know.
The man came closer. In seconds he would pass Croft and Dalbo.
Croft noticed one hand jammed conspicuously in the man's seven piece
suit.
"I do not have 'such an attitude'," said Dalbo. "Would you be
very friendly to someone who had shot you?"
"Am I going to keep hearing about that until the day I die?"
"Perhaps not as long as you might think," Dalbo muttered, looking
down at the man approached.
The man walked by without incident, exchanging a curt nod with
Croft and Dalbo.
But when he had travelled several feet past them he whirled,
drawing a weapon from his pocket, and aimed it straight at Croft and
Dalbo.
But only Dalbo was there. Croft was nowhere to be seen. The
man's eyes narrowed for a moment in confusion... until he felt a tap on
his shoulder. He didn't even get the chance to turn about before the
open end of a palm slammed into his face. The man fell to the ground,
stunned.
"Fisticuffs. Violence breeding violence," said Dalbo
analytically.
"You bet your green eggs," said Croft cheerfully.
"Who are you? Who sent you here?" Lotnon shouted.
The man, chained to a wall in the basement of the embassy, was
sullenly silent.
"Bill," said Croft. He made a gesture with his finger, pointing
to the door.
"Not again," Lotnon groaned. He sighed. "Promise me you won't
be unusually brutal."
Croft just smiled at him.
"That's what I'm afraid of," he said, as he walked out the door.
"Hey, why do I get a bad reputation? I'm a regular Mr. Smiles,"
said Croft.
"No, you're not. You're a bad man. You shot me," said Dalbo,
who was also present. He turned to leave with Lotnon.
When the door closed behind him, Croft turned to his guest, his
smile as broad as ever. "I really did shoot him," he said. "And he's
a friend. Just imagine what's in store for you."
The man grimaced but said nothing.
"There was no identification on you, Mr. X, but I think we will
be getting some answers." Croft fished through a bag of equipment.
"I'm normally a patient man, but my reservoir of good will runs dry
when someone tries to kill me. Funny, isn't it?" he said, withdrawing
a metal disc from the sack.
"What's that?" said the thug, speaking for the first time.
Croft put the disk on the man's forehead, where it stuck.
"No, wait, I'll talk-"
"Yes, of course you will," said Croft reassuringly, pushing a
button on the disc.
The man's panicky features immediately became blank. As Croft
knew they would. This was the typical effect of a volitional dampener.
The dampener freed up the decision-making areas of the mind, usually in
the area where personality was formed, and allowed clear access to
uncensored memories. Croft was confident that the man would tell all
he knew.
And he did. His name was Rato Gurta, and he was a typical thug
for hire. He had been paid a small sum to knock off Dalbo "and anyone
else who happened to be with him at the time". No, he didn't know who
had hired him, although he gave Croft a rough description of his
contact. Once his job was complete he was supposed to report to such
and such address, where the bulk of his payment would be waiting for
him.
"And that's where you will go," said Croft. "When you wake up,
you will not remember any of this. All you will know is that you have
completed your mission." One of the special features of the disc was
the ability to implant suggestions in the recipient's brain.
Croft made arrangements for the man to be dumped in the park. He
checked his chrono. In the interim, he had a few hours. He summoned
Dalbo.
"Are you going to shoot me again?" said Dalbo.
Croft evaded the smalltalk. "Who told you?" he asked bluntly.
"More specificity required."
"Answer the question," said Croft quietly.
"You wish to know how I had identified the assailant?"
Croft nodded.
"You may not be pleased with the answer."
"So try to be pleasing."
Dalbo gave a small shrug. "He simply looked like a killer."
Croft didn't bother hooking Dalbo up to his portable lie
detector. But he did hold up the metal disc.
"No," said Dalbo, recoiling. "I speak the truth,"
"And you're going to speak some more of it." Croft affixed the
device, despite Dalbo's feeble protests. He pressed the activating
button, and said, "Now. How did you know that man was about to
attack?"
"I have told you this before," said Dalbo mildly, removing the
device from his forehead.
For one of the few times in his life, Croft was speechless.
"I've had the warehouse under observation for several hours,"
said Lotnon. "Nobody's come in or out, except for our bird, who went
in a few minutes ago. If there's anybody in there, he's been waiting
for our man for some time."
Croft nodded. They were on the other side of town, in an
industrial warehousing sector. "Let's move in."
They entered the large warehouse, slowly making their ways
through the rows and shelves. "It could take us forever to search
through all this."
Croft nodded, withdrawing an indicator from his pocket. It was
flashing in a northerly direction. Good.
"What's that?" said Lotnon, staring at Croft's device.
"A trans detector," said Croft, as he walked. The device beeped
insistently as they got closer.
"Oh. You comtagged him. That's smart thinking."
"That's why I get the big bucks," said Croft, walking more
quickly now.
They found Rato Gurta in a few moments, lying in a pool of his
own blood.
"He got his payoff," Croft commented.
Lotnon was about to rebuke Croft, when they both heard the sound
of running footsteps. They both ran for the entrance, but by the time
they got outside, all they saw was an aircar, zooming away far in the
distance.
"Yeah, I did the job, Al."
"Dead? The man is dead?"
"Deader'n a door hatch."
"Then how come there's no news?"
"Too soon. Not discovered yet. Where's my payment?"
"You want payment? Here, have some payment."
"Bam! Bam! Bam!"
Croft sighed, turning off the tape. "What is this culture's
fascination with metal projectile weapons?"
"Well, it looks like we've lost our lead," said Lotnon, looking
slyly at Croft.
Croft made no comment. Al. Their captured assailant had said
Al. That could be short for Albert. The original assassin. Croft,
still taciturn, retired to his room for the evening.
He spent half the night reading the file that had been prepared
on one Dalbo Alto.
Single, 34 years of age... which surprised Croft, as the man
looked much older. Five foot two... not very "alto", was he? Parents
killed in tragic accident... grew up in orphanage... loner... studied
and obtained a H.D.G. in philosophy, and quickly became an associate
professor of philosophy at Paley Prime University. Taught something
called Reductionist Stimulism.
Croft scanned the rest of the file. No politics, no money
problems, no criminal records... the man looked like an ordinary
citizen.
But that was just the view from the file. The man was, at the
least, extremely eccentric. And he seemed to have some talent... He
had the ability to resist the volitional suppressor. And he somehow
had identified that assailant in the park... two assailants in the
park.
Croft hadn't been there when Calner had been assassinated. He
didn't know and perhaps would never know what had really occurred. But
he had been there today, when Dalbo had told him, matter of factly,
that an unknown man was about to kill him.
How had Dalbo known? Had it been intuition? Could he judge, by
the way the man's hand was jammed in his pocket, by the way he was
walking, by the way he was looking, that the man intended to kill them?
Was that possible to believe?
If it wasn't, there was only two other possibilities. The first
was that Dalbo knew this man, meaning he was in league with the
assassins.
Croft thought this was extremely unlikely. He found it very hard
to believe that Dalbo was working with the killers. Whatever Dalbo
was, it didn't seem likely that he was a figure in organized crime.
And there had been no reason for him to be present at the scene
of the first murder. No, Dalbo had been an innocent bystander.
Which left one other possibility.
Dalbo Alto could read minds.
Croft frowned, then turned in for an uneasy sleep.
"That man."
"Yes."
"He is coming to kill you."
There was a sound of scuffling, and then the tape was turned off.
"Standard procedure," said Bennett, standing stiffly at
attention. "We had a sound boom trained on them in the park the entire
time."
"Very interesting," said Eyepatch. He leaned back in his chair.
"Do you have anything else to add?"
"Negative," said Bennett.
"I see," said Eyepatch. "Mr. Morilla," he said, nodding
slightly.
There was a flash of a narrow beam of light, a scream and a large
thump, as Mr. Bennett fell to the ground.
"That is the price of failure in this organization," said
Eyepatch.
There was silence in the room for a moment, while Eyepatch tapped
his fingers. Tap tap. "Now, have we dispensed with old business?
Good, on to new matters."
He turned to the two other operatives in front of him. These
were his most senior people.
"That was very interesting information, nonetheless. Who is
this... Dalbo Alto? Is he an agent?" Eyepatch asked.
"I have performed a standard background check. He has no known
ties of any kind," said one of the operatives.
"Then I suggest you perform an unstandard check. There are two
possibilities: he either recognized Gurta, implying he has
unprecedented knowledge of this organization... or he did not know
Gurta, implying something else. Perhaps something even more
dangerous."
A tall woman to his right said, "Do you want me to get involved?"
"Not yet, Lalilla. You're very much involved in Project
Democracy, are you not?"
Lalilla nodded.
"Continue your work. I think we will give Mr. Morilla a chance.
I trust he is properly motivated, are you not, Mr. Morilla?"
Morilla nodded vigorously.
"Croft, the embassy comsystem has been buzzing all day," said the
Ambassador, the next day at breakfast.
"Really?" said Croft, chomping on some pancakes.
"It was Lieutenant Markna. Surely you've gotten in touch with
her, haven't you?"
"Green eggs!" Dalbo shrieked.
"What is it now?" said the Ambassador, with a tired glance at his
guest. Dalbo had a plate of steaming green eggs before him.
"I don't want them. I want zomcakes."
"Yesterday you were demanding green eggs."
"Green eggs on Tuesday. Zomcakes on Wednesday."
"What's the difference?"
"Green eggs on Tuesday. Zomcakes on Wednesday."
"I don't know if we still have any-"
"Zomcakes!" Dalbo shrieked.
Califar snapped his fingers; immediately a food server rushed up,
whispering something to him. "If we have them, you'll have them," he
said, reassuringly.
"Zomcakes."
There was silence at the breakfast table for a moment. "Croft?"
said the Ambassador again.
"Hm?"
"Markna?"
"What about her?"
"Have you gotten in touch with her yet?"
"Hm? Oh, sure, sure."
"You have?"
Lotnon gave Croft a dirty look.
"Of course," said Croft, taking another bite. "I've called her,
once or twice, but never reached her."
"She says that her number is a direct line that leads only to
her."
"Perhaps she was taking a sonic shower," said Croft.
For a moment the two locked stares. "Since you two have such
difficulty getting together, I've invited her over, right after
breakfast."
Croft immediately stood up, bringing a napkin to his lips.
"Sorry, can't make it. Got a lot of work to do."
"Croft! May I speak to you in my study, right now," said the
Ambassador, without even pretending to smile.
The long breakfast table was silent.
"Certainly, Mr. Ambassador," said Croft calmly.
When the doors were closed behind them the Ambassador exploded.
"Croft, do you know what it is to cross a superior in front of
subordinates?"
Croft shrugged, taking out a cigar. "I don't really mind. You
mean well."
"Well, you're not going to continue with this attitude... and
TAKE THAT FOUL WEED OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!" The Ambassador fairly screamed
it. Croft lowered his hand a millimeter, but that was all.
"You will follow my instructions or I will have you recalled. I
am still the head of the diplomatic mission here on Paley Paratus."
Lotnon, who had tagged along, was enjoying watching Croft being
cut down to size. He smiled broadly, every time Croft looked his way.
"You're welcome to try," said Croft. "But allow me to make a few
points clear to you."
"Yes," said the ambassador, ready for anything.
"One. I'm not attached to the embassy staff. Even my cover
identity is not attached to the embassy staff. All you can do is boot
us from the embassy grounds, in which case I will put myself up in one
of the more luxurious hotels here on Paley Prime."
"Two. You couldn't get me recalled, basically because you have
no pull with either the Alliance Council or my real employers."
Real employers? Lotnon thought. What did that mean?
"Three. The reason you have no pull is because you are a fly, a
political pipsqueak with barely enough political pull to get a posting
here."
"Four. If you continue to irritate me, I will let it be known to
the real Alliance League of Justice just what part you played as a
certain campaign treasurer in a certain political campaign six years
ago, and where certain political payments ended up."
The Ambassador was nearly speechless. "What... how do you... you
have no proof!"
"A word to the wise, Ambassador: you shouldn't brag about your
exploits to the local criminal class; some of them just might see a
percentage in selling you out," said Croft. He lit his cigar, and
puffed in the Ambassador's face. "Now, are we done?"
Outside Lotnon hissed, "That wasn't a wise thing to do. The
Ambassador is a powerful man."
"Let'm eat zomcake," Croft declared. "We've got work to do."
"Do have some tea, Mr. Croft."
Croft didn't like tea, and he politely declined. He sat before
an old, bearded man wearing thick spectacles. Professor Bo Chalo,
Renown Professor of Philosophy and chairman of the philo department at
Paley Prime U.
Croft's appearance here was not immediately intuitive. The more
logical thing to do would have been to try to learn more about the
origins of Gurta, the hired killer. Or to try to get a lead from the
original murder weapon. Which Croft fully intended to do. And yet he
felt obligated to take a detour, to come here. Dalbo didn't seem to
fit into any of this. Perhaps in order to understand things better he
needed to understand Dalbo better.
"Tell me more about Dalbo."
"Why do you not talk to him yourself? Is he not in your
embassy?" Then Bo Chalo laughed, and it was a hearty laugh, even for
his age. "If I know Dalbo, I'm certain that he's perplexing you, just
as he's perplexed most everyone else."
"That's why I'm here," said Croft. "I'm told you're the closest
thing he has to a friend. You're the one who hired him to teach here.
If anyone understands him, it's you."
"I'm flattered, Mr. Croft, but in order to understand the man you
must have some understanding of the motivations which drive him. Are
you at all familiar with the subject of Reductionist Stimulism?"
"I understand it is the subject that Dalbo teaches."
Bo Chalo nodded sagely. "Yes, I can see you know nothing about
it, nothing at all." He cleared his throat. "It is a subject you
should learn about, Mr. Croft, if you wish to learn about Dalbo." He
handed Croft a book.
Croft read the title slowly. "'Everything you wanted to know
about Reductionist Stimulism... but were afraid to ask'. Hardly
original."
"Books these days must have catchy titles if they are to sell
well, Mr. Croft."
"But surely you can tell me more about Dalbo than simply handing
me a book of the philosophy he teaches."
"It is more than just the philosophy he teaches, Mr. Croft. It
is the philosophy he is. He fully subscribes to the philosophy of RS.
Now, you would ask me again, what is RS? Well, I will give you a
short, imprecise answer, the only one that time permits. Reductionist
Stimulism says that an individual should take all stimuli--sight,
hearing, sound, touching, and tasting--and reduce such stimuli into its
component parts. As if one were a research scientist, minutely
analyzing every component of every experience of life."
"But his affect...."
"Dalbo takes it one step further. He prefers to be a
dispassionate observer, not letting emotion get involved. Have you yet
compared him to a computer? You would not be the first, and it is a
common enough comparison, where Dalbo is concerned. But though he may
mask emotions, he still has them. And he has no great computing
ability that a machine may have."
"Does he have any great abilities?" said Croft, trying to sound
casual.
Chalo raised his eyebrows. "Well, he is a brilliant scholar, as
well as an admirable professor. I'm afraid the professor who is
substituting for Dalbo is not the teacher that Dalbo is."
"That's not what I meant," Croft frowned.
"What do you mean, then?" said the Professor, looking slightly
quizzical.
"Does he have special... insights into people?"
Chalo nodded. "Ah, you've discovered that too. Yes, Dalbo does
seem to be able to instinctively sense what a person is about. He's
very empathic."
"How so?"
"Well, he can sometimes perceive, merely by one's body language
or facial expression, just where one's train of thought lies. He's a
most unusual individual."
"Uh huh," said Croft, standing up. Could he be right? Was Dalbo
little more than a person with a sharp eye? "Thank you, Professor."
"If I can be of any further assistance, please let me know," said
Bo Chalo.
"A Lieutenant Markna was here to see you," said Tal, when he
returned to the embassy.
"I met with her," said Lotnon.
"Good, good," said Croft bruskly, walking past him as he headed
downstairs to the basement.
"She found it most curious that you are refusing to meet with
her. It's most embarrassing for us, you know."
"Most embarrassing," Croft parroted. He sighed, but only for a
moment. The last thing he wanted or needed was collaboration with the
locals, for several reasons:
1) They would only slow him down.
2) Until he discovered the scope of the conspiracy, it was very
possible that local law enforcement could be involved in this mess,
and, most importantly,
3) Croft worked alone.
"Hello, Dalbo," said Croft, entering Dalbo's little room.
"Felicitation," said Dalbo. "Form of polite greeting. How is Bo
Chalo?"
Chapter 2
"How did you know-"
"Query anticipated. I detected the scent from his pipe on your
garments."
Croft smelled his clothes. He didn't smell anything.
"Talk!" he snarled. "How do you do it?"
"You have to be more specific."
Croft took a deep breath. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you
can read minds."
"Irrational. Minds are not books, they cannot be 'read'."
"And it's impossible. No one can read minds," said Croft.
"Then, by your analysis, I cannot read minds."
Croft frowned, considering. Then, he realized something. He had
never asked, not directly. "Dalbo? Can you sense the thoughts of
others?"
"No," said Dalbo.
"Then how-"
"I am very intuitive. I have great insights into people. Has
Chalo told you of Reductionist Stimulism?"
Croft held up the book Chalo had given him.
"Obviously unread. The study of stimuli is meant to be a
rigorous one. One, such as myself, who is skilled at analyzing stimuli
and reducing it to its component parts can often gleam more of it than
a layman can."
"So what am I thinking now?" said Croft, frowning.
"It does not work that way," said Dalbo.
"If what you say is true, then even if you cannot read minds, you
possess a certain... insight into people that others do not have."
"Correct statement."
"Then you can help me in my investigation. You can be my
partner!" Croft gave a broad grin.
"Illogical. You have a stated preference for working alone."
"Nonsense," said Croft, putting an arm around Dalbo. "We'll be
best of pals."
"I sense gross insincerity."
Croft's smile faded. "Dalbo, you know they're trying to kill
you. If you don't stick with me, sooner or later they're going to
succeed."
"I do not know who they are-"
"Of course you don't-" Croft stopped. Dalbo had known the name
of one of the assailants.
Suppose that Dalbo, in that return trip to the park, had, being
very intuitive, sensed that an assassin was coming to kill. Grant that
as a given.
But how could the most intuitive person in the world know the
name of the original assassin, the one who had killed Calner and his
contact?
The conclusion was inescapable. If Dalbo was not connected to
this crime organization, then he had the ability to read minds.
But how to prove such a wild theory? The volitional dampener
hadn't worked. What would? If only he had a full fledged mind probe.
Croft frowned, making a decision. "Come on," he said. "Let's
get to the bottom of things."
"Where are you going?" said Lotnon, seeing Croft packing Dalbo
into an embassy car.
"Here and there," said Croft.
"I'm coming with you," said Lotnon, dashing into the car.
Croft glared at him. "If you insist." He fished something out
of a pouch. "But first, put this over our license plate."
"This" turned out to be another license plate, with an adhesive
on the back.
"Why?"
"I don't want to advertise any more than I have to that we're
foreigners here. We may all speak the same language but that doesn't
mean that I have to ride around in a car labeled "embassy vehicle--
shoot me"."
"Oh, all right," Lotnon grumbled.
He got out of the car, affixing the license plate. Then he
returned, and started to open the car door, but found it wouldn't
budge.
"Hey!" he yelled, rapping on the window.
"Thanks," said Croft, driving off.
"You are bad," Dalbo observed.
"You ain't seen nothing yet," Croft answered.
The gunshop was empty that afternoon, which is just as Croft
preferred it. Croft had done more than bit of research in the embassy
intel files and he had come to this particular weapons dealership for a
very particular reason.
"Hello," said a man, sporting a prominent moustache.
"Hi," said Croft, sporting a long, thin case. Dalbo, muttering
to himself, started to count the guns mounted on the walls. Dark rifle
barrels. They all had dark barrels. "What can I do for you?" said
the man, smiling cheerfully.
"A special gun. Projectile launcher," said Croft.
The man waved his arm. "Well, as you can see, we have many of
those. Was there anything in particular?" Dalbo
stiffened, as a new thought intruded. Violence. Croft was preparing
himself to commit an act of violence. Crude, so crude.
Croft slowly opened the case he was carrying, revealing a long,
thin rifle.
The man's grin faded as he took the weapon, looking it over.
"Yes... very professional job... hm..." He looked back at Croft.
"You wish to trade?"
"Yes, yes, I do. Information for a reward."
The man smiled again, but he was clearly nervous.
"Perspiration. Sign of unease," said Dalbo, commenting idly as
he let his finger run along the glass countertop of the gun display.
Smooth glass. A form of quartz? Yes, cryptoquartz, it was
cryptoquartz.
"If I wanted to buy a gun like this, where would I go?" said
Croft softly.
"There's no manufacturers logo on it, no serial number... I can't
really say."
"I think you can... I think you specialize in all sorts of
special guns, like these."
The man's arm started to whip underneath the counter but Croft
was quicker, wacking the man in the arm with the rifle.
"Ow!" said the man, wincing, as something dropped from his hand
in a clatter. He blinked, and when he looked up again, he found
himself looking down the barrel of a blaster.
"Would you like to try a more modern weapon?" Croft asked.
"I didn't make it... I swear it..." said the man, looking
nervously.
Croft said, "Dalbo?"
"Negative stimuli eliciting truth. A common enough technique."
"You should know," said Croft, with a smile. He turned back to
the proprietor. "You were saying?"
"It could be a number of sources..." the man looked nervous as
the blaster waved in his face. "But I know who might know...."
"I thought you might," said Croft. "Who?"
"Gunman." The man whispered it, quickly looking around left and
right.
"Who?"
"Gunman. That's his name, what he calls himself. Does a lot of
specialty work. Projectile firearms."
"Could you tell me where he can be found?"
The man could and, as it turned out, he did.
"You've been very helpful. Thank you," said Croft, watching the
man grasp his tender arm.
"Do not feel bad," said Dalbo. "At least he did not shoot you."
They drove to a poorer section of Paley Prime. The roads were
lined with metastrips and even, towards the end, with asphalt. Finally
they saw a rickety old house with the sign, "Children's Toys for sale"
on the top.
"This is it?" said Croft. "A toy outlet?"
As they entered a small bell on the back of the door was jarred,
and it tinkled gently. Sure enough, the store was filled with little
toys: matchcars, stuffed animals, plastic figurines... and then there
was the proprietor.
"Can I help you, sir?" said the man. He had a scarred, crooked
face, and looked as if he had seen better days.
"Yes," said Croft. "I'm looking for... Gunman."
The man frowned. "There is no one here by that name."
"Bluto sent us," said Croft patiently. "We're in the market for
a special item."
Gunman looked around, nervously sensing a trap.
"What can I do for you?"
"Do you always conduct business here?" said Croft, waving his
arms at the stuffed animals around them.
"No," said Gunman.
He took them down a flight of stairs into a basement. There, on
a number of worktables, were rows of guns.
When Gunman turned around to face them they saw he was pointing a
pistol. Straight at them.
"Hey," said Croft mildly. "What's this all about?"
"Bluto did not send you. He would have called first."
Croft cursed inwardly. But he continued to smile. "Does that
matter? We're looking for someone who made a special gun. We're
willing to pay for the information."
"How much?"
"5,000, if you can tell us who it is," said Croft.
"Let's see this weapon," said Gunman.
Croft took it out of the case, handed it to Gunman.
"Ahh... ahhh... the lines... good work, good marksmanship... yes,
I can tell you who did this. But it will cost you considerably more."
"How much?" said Croft. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught
Dalbo nodding his head, and turning away.
"Everything!" Gunman raised the pistol. His finger tightened on
the trigger, just as Croft delivered a sweeping kick that sent the gun
flying out of his hand and the bullet plowing into the ceiling.
Both men rolled on the floor for several moments, each pummeling
each other with mighty blows. Despite his apparent condition Gunman
fought with a wild ferocity.
"Fisticuffs," said Dalbo, idly observing. "Accelerated impacts
imparted on sensitive areas of flesh, with the intent of disabling
opposing organism."
Gunman swung at Croft, only to get his blow blocked by an arm.
With the other arm Croft delivered a crushing blow, and Gunman, dazed,
stopped moving for a moment.
Croft, slowly getting up, drew his blaster. But Gunman was not
moving.
When Gunman regained his senses, he found himself tied to a chair
in his basement.
"Welcome back, my friend," said Croft, grinning.
"False welcome. Sarcasm, designed to aggravate, rather than
calm," said Dalbo.
Croft continued to smile, as he picked up one of Gunman's
weapons. "Who bought that gun from you?"
Gunman was silent.
Croft had left his volitional dampener back at the embassy.
Truly a pity. Croft aimed the rifle at Gunman. "A projectile weapon.
Much like the one you sold. The one that killed one of my friends."
He squeezed the trigger, and there was a loud crack. Gunman
involuntarily jumped.
A bullet hole appeared in the wall, just to the right of where
Gunman was seated.
Gunman winced at the sound. "I had nothing to do with it!"
Croft put that weapon down, picked up another. "Is this one
balanced just as well? I hope so, because I'm going to try to part
your hair down the middle." He took aim.
"I can't tell you! They'll kill me!"
"And I'll kill you if you don't," said Croft. He took aim, and
fired.
"Ow!" Gunman yelled. One of his ears was bloody.
"My, did I miss? I was aiming for the top of the head. Here,
let me try again-"
"No, no!" Gunman cried. "No more!"
"Who was he?"
"Contract killer. I have seen him before."
"Name?"
"Albert Guzan."
"I want a description of what he wears, what he looks like, what
his habits are, and where I can find him."
The Big Man was a seedy bar on the outskirts of Paley Prime.
Everyone there was drinking largely undiluted alcohol from huge quart
glasses. Only a few bothered to have flavor inserted into their
drinks.
Croft sat there, sipping a glass of water.
"A fabrication," said Dalbo.
"What?"
"Fabrication," said Dalbo. "You claimed you were firing to part
Gunman's hair. Instead you purposely aimed for his ear."
"You know, Dalb, old buddy, I'm beginning to think that you can
read minds."
"I told you, there is no such thing as mind reading," said Dalbo.
"Sure, sure, fine. Just be sure to let me know when we encounter
our friend." Despite the description that Gunman had been kind enough
to provide, Croft had brought Dalbo, the only eyewitness, along to make
a positive identification. Croft had realized that this Albert Guzan
might also be able to recognized Dalbo, so he had thoughtfully garbed
Dalbo in a floppy hat and dark glasses, which actually was not too
conspicuous, considering some of the more odd garments, often made of
plastic or leather, that the bar's patrons were wearing.
They sat for some time, catching bits and pieces of the
discussions around them. Every other word was a rowdy "Yeah, yeah" or
other grunts of approval. Suddenly, a giant man sat down next to
Dalbo, carrying an enormous glass.
"Hey, bud," said the man.
"Felicitation," said Dalbo, correctly identifying the
verbalization.
"Fell what?" said the man, genuinely puzzled. What little
portion of his brain that still functioned was having trouble
processing words greater than two syllables in length. He started to
slowly mouth the word to himself, but found that he had already
forgotten it.
"You're new here," said the man.
"If you're referring to the fact that I have not frequented this
physical location overoften, that would be a correct statement of
fact," said Dalbo.
"You talk funny too," said the man. He raised his voice, a
little menacingly, "You're not one of them-"
"He isn't," said Croft, butting into the discussion. "He never
was, and, when they tried to recruit him, he refused to join."
"What?" said Dalbo, not catching any of this.
"Hey, I ain't talking to you," slobbered the man, staring at
Croft with red eyes.
"Sit back and relax," Croft advised softly.
"I don... don not need to listen to you!" the man stirred.
"Croft," said Dalbo quietly. He was looking away, in another
direction.
"Why, I outta-" his words were stifled, as a swift blow to the
back of the neck caused him to collapse onto the bar counter. Croft
looked around; in the hustle and bustle of the bar, no one had even
noticed. Appparently.
"Where?"
"The table in the corner."
Croft looked, and saw their prey. A fairly nondescript man,
average height, average looks... perfect for an assassin who needed to
blend in.
Croft looked around. Apprehending the man in this crowd was
definitely not his first choice. Croft needed him alive. Better to
get him alone.
The man, Albert Guzan, was talking animately with another person.
The other person was a large, animated man, who tended to laugh with
great bursts of "har har har!". Finally, he pointed upstairs, and the
two climbed a flight of stairs, going into a private room.
"You wait here," said Croft looking around at the rowdy bar.
Suddenly, in one corner, a rowdy pushing fight started.
"On second thought, come with me."
They climbed the stairs. No one appeared to pay them any
attention. When they reached the room that Croft had saw them enter,
he put an ear to the door for a moment.
Then he nodded, drawing his blaster. Kicking the door open, he
forced his way in.
Albert Guzan was lying on the floor, looking very very dead.
Croft firmly believed this to be the case because the man's throat had
been profusely cut, and his chest hacked to pieces, for good measure.
"Heh heh... what?" cackled the big man, turning to examine this
new intrusion.
Croft leveled his blaster "You won't find much to laugh at when
I'm through with you, fat man-"
Suddenly the door came flying in Croft's face. There must have
been an accomplice behind the door. Croft jumped back, but the door
still hit him with some force, slamming against his head.
Croft didn't pass out, not quite, but the next time he found
himself thinking clearly he was outside the door, which was now closed.
"Croft," said Dalbo, tugging at his arm.
"What? Huh?" Dalbo was pulling him down the stairs. Croft
tried to struggle with him, but he was still dazed. Halfway down Croft
said, "Wait, no!"
He was still arguing when the explosion erupted, taking out half
the upper level.
It was only later that Croft figured out that Fatso and his crony
(or cronies?) had slipped out the window, and scampered down the roof,
leaving a time delay explosive in their wake. A great way to get rid
of the evidence.
But at that moment Croft only groaned, finding himself covered
with dust and small pieces of rubble. The patrons on the level below
were shrieking, although some of the more intoxicated ones were still
laughing.
With a woozy head Croft managed to drive back to the embassy.
After swallowing a few painkillers, he managed to find his way to bed.
Knock knock knock.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
The sounds reverberated in Croft's head.
"Go 'way," he said, burying his head in a pillow.
"You cannot escape justice," said a voice, as the door creaked
open.
Croft opened one bloodshot eye. "I'll have to talk to the
Ambassador about getting a lock for that door."
"Indeed, the Ambassador wishes to see you," said Lotnon. "But he
is only the first of many-" He looked more closely at Croft. "Are you
hurt?"
Croft looked in a mirror, saw his red eyes, the bruise on his
cheek. "Whatever gave you that idea?" He felt the knob on the side of
his head he had received the night before when the door had slammed in
his face. It had stopped throbbing, and wasn't overtly noticeable.
Good.
"Lieutenant Inspector Markna is here to see you," said Lotnon.
"Eh?"
"About, among other things, a bombing that occurred last night.
You wouldn't know anything about it, would you?"
"Not a thing," Croft gasped, struggling to get up. He rifled
through his possessions, found and swallowed a balance pill, and almost
immediately everything came into focus.
"That's strange, as Dalbo tells a different story," said Lotnon.
"Oh, that Dalbo, he's such a joker, always telling stories," said
Croft, straightening up before a mirror.
Lotnon pointed to a garment on the ground encrusted in white
dust. "There's still debris on your jacket."
"Uh, really?" said Croft, combing his hair.
"Lieutenant Markna is waiting," said Lotnon.
"I'm sure," said Croft.
Fifteen minute later Croft descended to the parlor room, where a
young woman accompanied by two uniformed policemen sat. She waited
impatiently, glancing at Croft as he walked by. "Where is he?" she
muttered.
"Oh, you're still waiting for Mr. Croft?" said Croft, assuming a
humble composure.
"Yes."
"He'll be down in just a few minutes, I'm told," said Croft
sweetly.
"Thank you," she said, giving him the once look-over.
"You're welcome," said Croft, heading for the front door.
He had almost made it when Tal stepped forward. "Mr. Croft,
there's a guest here to see you."
Croft swiveled around, saw the immediate stares.
"Thank you, Tal," he said in a tone dripping with sarcasm.
"You're welcome, Mr. Croft," said the young man, misunderstanding
entirely.
"I really mean it," Croft said. He turned, sighing, and
returned to the sitting room.
"You... are Croft?" said the young woman.
Croft sighed. "You can't fool them all. You are...."
"I am Lieutenant Inspector Cessna Markna of the Paley Prime
Police. These are my associates, officer Stacon and officer Gurwick."
"Gentlemen," said Croft. "What can I do for the PPP?" he said,
with a straight face.
"Mr. Croft, you can start by telling us what you have been doing
the past few days here. We are supposed to be conducting a joint
investigation," said Markna, not without a trace of irritation.
"And we are," said Croft smoothly. "I was just making a few
preliminary findings."
"Did these preliminary findings include the murder of a man at
the Barosho Warehouses? Or the explosion in the South Quarter last
night?"
"Explosion? I didn't hear any explosion." said Croft.
"We also have a sworn complaint by one Mr. Versto, an arms
merchant of questionable repute, who claimed you assaulted him and then
engaged in verbally vexatious conduct."
"We had a talk," said Croft, with a smile.
"Mr. Croft," she said impatiently.
"Who are you going to believe, me, or a man you yourself said
have called of questionable repute? Is there a law against verbally
vexatious conduct, anyway?"
"I understand your conduct went beyond the simply verbal," said
Markna.
Croft lit up a cigar, and started puffing suggestively in her
direction. "I'm just doing my job."
"Mr. Croft, you may have diplomatic immunity, but that does not
protect you from deportation. I suggest-"
"Threat. Statement of consequences that flow from action."
Someone new had entered the room.
"Mr. Alto," said Markna, immediately brightening. "How are you
doing?" Suddenly, she seemed intensely distracted by Dalbo's presence.
"Statement of condition is satisfactory," said Dalbo. He stared
at her, like a specimen studying a lab sample.
"Mr. Alto, you really don't need to remain here in the embassy.
You can come back with us, and receive police protection-"
"He shot me," said Dalbo, interrupting.
"What?" said Markna.
"He-"
"Ha ha ha," said Croft, quickly putting an arm around Dalbo.
"What a kidder. If I shot him, would he be standing here joking with
you?"
Dalbo looked uncomfortably at Croft. "Please, not to touch."
Croft slowly removed the arm. Dalbo looked at his shoulder with
a pained expression, as if it had been irreversibly contaminated.
"I repeat, Mr. Alto, you can return with us," said Markna.
Dalbo considered for a moment. "No," he said slowly.
"Why not?" said Markna.
"Death," said Dalbo cryptically. Then, without a further word,
he paddled out of the room.
After a short pause, Croft said, "He likes it here. We feed him,
entertain him-"
"You're merely lucky that we were able to squelch the press
reports of this murder. If it got out that your embassy was harboring
the only eyewitness to the murder of-"
"One of our people," said Croft. "One of our people was killed
too, remember?"
They matched glares, for a moment. Then Markna said, "We have
been asked to cooperate with you. Are you going to work with us?"
"Yes," said Croft, after some thought. "In fact, as a symbol of
goodwill, I will turn the murder weapon over to you. Perhaps your
weaponry specialists can trace it back to its maker."
Markna's face brightened in surprise. "That's very generous of
you, Mr. Croft."
Croft nodded. The tension in the air eased somewhat. But Markna
pressed on.
"What do you plan to do next?"
Croft smiled sheepishly. "I plan to recover for a day or two. I
got a bit battered about during the past two days--I need a little
rest."
Markna nodded. Croft arranged to have the rifle brought to her,
and she and her officers departed.
"That was very charitable of you, Croft. But weren't you giving
up an important lead?" Lotnon wanted to know. He had been silent
during the meeting, hoping to give Croft enough rope to hang himself
on; but had been surprised, even somewhat pleasantly, by how the
meeting had ended.
"We are supposed to be working with the local authorities, aren't
we?" said Croft. "We have to work together. We're all on the same
team, all for one and one for all, that sort of thing, right?" He
turned away, so that Lotnon couldn't see the expression on his face.
Dalbo reentered the room. "Are they gone? Good. When do we
eat? Barberries. I must have barberries."
"Not so fast, Dalb old man," said Croft. "I just want to express
my appreciation with your decision to stay with us. I'm touched, of
course. I realized we were developing a bond, but I didn't think-"
"You are a bad man. There is no joy in remaining with you."
"Then why did you?"
"To go with them would have meant death."
"What kind of death?"
"A not very nice one." And that is all Dalbo would say on the
subject.
Later that morning Croft surveyed the scene across the street.
He suspected that Markna might be keeping an eye on him. Sure enough,
parked just opposite the embassy proper was a man, sitting in an
aircar.
For a moment Croft considered the possibilities. Could it be the
enemy? No, it was too obvious, too plain. This was a message from the
good Lieutenant-Inspector, who perhaps still didn't fully trust Croft.
For good reason.
Croft hummed as he removed tools from one of his diplomatic
pouches. He hummed a happy song as he put the weapon together. When
he was done he had a state of the art laser rifle, complete with
autosilencer mounted at the tip.
Croft opened the window of his room, which faced out on the
street. Lining up the crosshairs, he took aim at the aircar's junction
grid, near the bottom of the aircar, on the side facing the embassy.
Still humming, he depressed the trigger.
There was no sound, of course, but someone on the street might
have seen a small flash. In fact the occupant of the aircar looked
around, as if he had seen something out of the corner of his eyes. But
after a short time he settled down and resumed his vigil.
Croft laughed softly. He collected Dalbo and they went to the
embassy aircar parked outside.
"Where are we going?" said Dalbo.
"To pursue a lead," said Croft. But leads were getting mighty
thin. The gun trail had led to the assassin, but the man had
unfortunately expired before Croft had gotten the opportunity to
question him. Calner's notes had not indicated precisely what he was
after, or whom. The only remaining lead concerned the official who
Calner, the day he was killed, had arranged to meet.
Duncan Pos, of the federal department of sanitation.
When Croft started the aircar, he immediately saw the driver
across the street sit up and take attention.
"Amateur," Croft said, a sneer on his lips. Once the aircar had
levitated upwards he gunned the car out of the driveway.
The man in the waiting vehicle started to start his aircar too.
But he quickly found it wouldn't inflate. Instead, there was a small
bang, and black smoke started to waft out of the engine area. Croft
gave a merry wave as he drove by.
"Sabotage. Use of energy to disrupt metal device harnessed for
locomotive power."
"You should do poetry," Croft marvelled, as he gunned the engine.
The federal bloc was a city within a city. Technically part of
Paley Prime, the capitol of Paley Paratus, the federal bloc actually
occupied a good third of the city, and, following the third rule of
bureaucracy, was expanding at a healthy clip every year, absorbing
privately owned land at a prodigious rate, like an amoeba swallowing
its prey.
"Like an amoeba swallowing its prey," Croft murmured, mostly to
himself. Dalbo looked sharply at him, but said nothing.
When they had appropriately stashed the car, Croft turned to
Dalbo. "Dalb, old buddy, I got a favor to ask of you."
"A request. To perform, or not to perform an action that this
lifeform might, of its own volition, do or not do."
"You're a regular unabridged definicomp, aren't you," Croft
marvelled. "Listen. We're going to go into a situation. It might be
kind of dangerous, right?"
"Dangerous." Dalbo repeated the word dully.
"We're going to infiltrate another spy organization. If they
discover what we're doing, they probably won't take kindly to it."
"But you have diplo-"
"Diplomatic immunity won't protect you from a two-by-four coming
between the eyes. You read?"
Dalbo considered, then nodded. "What do you wish of me?"
"Keep giving me your insights, when you can sense'm. But more
importantly, I need you to lie."
"Lie?" Dalbo seemed a little horrified.
Croft saw that. "Ok, well, let me rephrase that. Just don't be
so quick to blurt out the truth. Don't contradict what I'm saying,
that's all I'm saying."
"So you wish me to allow your falsehoods to remain untainted by
truthhoods."
"Exactly."
"That is not acceptable. I would be contributing, by passivity,
to falsehood."
Croft nearly pulled at his hair in frustration. "Listen, Dalb,
do you know about white lies?"
"Falsehoods of lesser import-"
"It's a figure of speech. Listen, do you know what happens if
one of my so-called falsehoods is discovered?"
Dalbo shook his head.
"Me, I get killed. That's ok, that's what I signed up for, it
goes with the job and I have a load of life insurance with the company.
But what about you?"
"What about me?"
"Are you ready to give up a content life of counting grass and
catered breakfasts? Or being the roving dictionary man?"
"What?"
"They may just lobotmize you, of course, in an effort to see what
makes you tick. You wouldn't mind that, would you? They'd just make
two little holes-"
"I will not puncture your falsehoods," said Dalbo quickly.
"Good. If you could even agree with me a little, that would be
even better. And if you get any of your hunches-"
"I do not get hunches-"
"Whatever you call them. Let me know. Subtly. Huh?"
Dalbo nodded.
"Then let's go."
The Federal Department of Sanitation was located in a tall
building off one of the main plazas. Croft knew that Paley Paratus's
main spy agency operated under the auspices of the FDS, but he doubted
that some or even most of its members were spies; after all, the
Federal Department of Sanitation had to pick up the garbage too.
"Yes?" said a receptionist with a nasal voice.
"I'm here to see a friend," said Croft, giving a broad smile.
"His name is Duncan Pos, but I'd like to surprise him-"
"All guests must be announced."
"Yes, well, I'd just like an exception-"
"All visitors must come between 14 and 16," said the secretary.
Croft sighed. "I guess that settles that." He gave an
exaggerated sigh, and a small smile, one that brimmed with the goodness
of milk and honey. "Say, could you just tell me which section he works
in, so that when I return-"
"I'm afraid you'll have to talk to Mr. Pus yourself."
"Pos," Croft corrected. "Thank you for your time," he said,
pulling Dalbo out of the office with him.
"Failure. Unbefitting a great spy."
"Wait," Croft promised. Then he said, "What makes you think I'm
a spy?" As far as Dalbo knew, he was with the Alliance League of
Justice.
"It does not take a "mind reader" to figure that out," said
Dalbo.
"Smart fellow," said Croft. "Come on. Let's go one flight up."
"To where?"
"Another receptionist."
"My name is Albu Two, and I'm with the State Bureau of
Investigation," said Croft, instantly parroting the local accent as he
flashed a badge to the receptionist. Croft had done his homework;
there really was a State Bureau of Investigation on Paley Paratus. The
badge, though, was a plastifoil model straight out of the Agency's arts
and craft shop. But who would know?
Certainly not this woman. She took a deep breath, the kind of
breather that comes with a confrontation with the law, and she said,
"Officer... Two. What can I do for you?"
Croft always picked rhyming name as his aliases, mostly because,
having a nearly fatal habit of forgetting them, he needed a memory
device to help keep them in mind. "I'm here on official business."
That was always a good thing to say. "Let me see the supervisor in
charge.
The supervisor turned out to be one Mr. Agust. "Our computer
database? Why would you need access to that?"
"It's official business," Croft snapped, irritated that he wasn't
getting the respect that he deserved.
"You'll have to go to the head office to get an official entry
password," said Agust.
"Why can't I just use yours?" Croft asked.
"Oh, I'm afraid that's impossible. That's only for official
Bureau of Waste Powderification use. You'll have to go to the head
office for that. Ninety third floor."
Croft nodded, glowering.
The supervisor on the 93rd floor said to him, "Agust said to come
here? You have to go to the office of passwords. That's on the
fourteenth floor. We only deal with man-made disasters here. Like
sewer overflow."
The person in charge on the fourteenth floor said, "They told you
this was the password division? Why-"
"HALT!" said Croft. Half the clerical workers in the room
stopped typing. "Give me your password, now. Or I'll have you
arrested for... irritation of justice." He had actually meant to say
obstruction of justice, but it seemed to serve almost as well.
The man, quaking, considered, then nodded. He took Croft and
Dalbo to a small cubicle office.
"Close the door, Dalbo," said Croft, stretching his fingers as he
studied the keyboard.
"Intimidation. Excellent weapon for combatting paper warriors."
"You just got to growl at'm, Dalb," said Croft. He studied the
menu, started depressing keys.
Once he had entered the personnel file, he entered DUNCAN POS.
The screen returned, immediately NEGATIVE ID.
"Negative ID," Croft frowned. "Even if this fellow no longer
worked here, there should be some record...."
"Self-Vocalizations. Irrational speech mode, when communicating
with oneself."
"Machines are like people," said Croft, busy typing away.
"You... just... have... to push the right buttons."
Suddenly, a list appeared on the screen.
"Inappropriate metaphor. Logic fallacy," said Dalbo pleasantly.
Croft worked the keyboard. He had just searched the personnel
datebase to come up with a list of employees in every bureau and
division within the Department of Sanitation. Now he punched up a list
of the bureaus and divisions in the Department of Sanitation, and
compared the two.
And whistled, when four words came onto the screen. "Croft,
you're a genius," he said.
"Exaggeration. Statement of opinion, not fact."
"See for yourself," said Croft. "It seems that every bureau in
the Department of Sanitation has employees but this one."
And they both looked at the screen.
BUREAU OF TELEPHONE SANITIZATION
"That's it," said Croft.
"What?" said Dalbo.
"Where the spies are, Dalbo, old buddy." Croft punched up the
floor plan, found the location of the Bureau of Telephone Sanitization.
Of course, it would only be a front office, but access to their
computers should be sufficient to get him what he needed.
When they had reached the right floor, Croft looked around. It
appeared to be just like any other floor of the Federal Department of
Sanitation. But there were cement pillars on either side of the
entrance hall--weapon detectors, Croft felt sure. How was he going to
get past those?
The only thing to do was to go back to the aircar and store his
blaster. Croft didn't like the option, but it was his only choice.
He started to turn towards the elevator, when a voice caught him.
"Can I help you?"
Dalbo minutely shook his head, not to answer the man, but rather
to signal to Croft. Croft caught it, immediately becoming alarmed.
But he tried not to show it.
Croft said, "Uh, forgot something, I'll be back in a moment. He
pushed the down button-
and the door of the elevator opened up, revealing a combat team
with long barreled weapons, all aimed straight at Croft.
And suddenly armed men, all in plainclothes, streamed out from
behind the pillars. All pointed weapons at Croft and Dalbo.
Croft looked around. "That's all right. I'll wait for the next
one."
Croft was searched, of course, and they uncovered a good deal of
his devices, some of which he was not happy to have fall into enemy
hands. There was no possibility of escape, however, as guns were
leveled at him and Dalbo during this entire process.
Finally he and Dalbo were blindfolded. They were walked around a
little, and apparently up a flight of stairs. When their blindfolds
were taken off, they found themselves sitting in a little office.
"I should have known," said Croft, as vision abruptly returned.
"Yes, you should have," said Lieutenant Inspector Markna.
"How did I slip up? Or did you manage to trace me here?"
"Come, come, Mr. Croft, you don't expect me to reveal our
professional secrets," said Markna, smiling broadly.
"I should have known that they wouldn't put a lowly police
lieutenant on the case," Croft commented.
"And I should have known, or rather I knew, that they wouldn't
put an Alliance League of Justice agent on this investigation," said
Markna. She leaned forward. "We verified quickly enough what your
friend Lotnon was. But there was no verification of any sort about
you. Apparently no one had even heard of this Alliance League of
Justice. So what are you, Mr. Croft? Alliance Security? Agency?"
"I work for the water department," said Croft. "Just like you."
Markna gave a thin smile. "Don't think that you're the first to
joke about our..." she waved her arms at the offices around her.
"...camouflage."
She looked over a box of equipment on her table. She picked up a
disc, and raised an eyebrow. "And what would this be?"
"Alliance top ten musical hits," Croft said.
"Perhaps we should affix it to your forehead and play a few
songs," said Markna. She started to reach over her desk, but Croft
made no move. She stopped, in mid-motion, and gave a grin. "A
volitional paralyzer. Very advanced. We've been wanting to analyze
one of these for a long time. I don't know if even Alliance Security
has of these."
"You're remarkably well informed, for rubbish collectors," Croft
remarked.
"Oh, yes, we collect all sorts of... rubbish... which we dispose
of," she said, giving Croft a sharp glance. "As with your Agency, we
are the leading Intel organization in the Paratan government, as I'm
sure you know. And we are fully capable of investigating this matter."
"As it concerns one of your agents, I'm sure you'll be
impartial."
"I assure you, Mr. Croft, we are just as anxious as you are to
find out why one of our people was killed."
"Who was he? What was he working on?" Croft asked.
"Would you like to see the body?" she said.
Croft shook his head. He knew that any useful information would
long since have been removed. "You're evading the question."
"So I am." She gave a deep breath. "All right. I'll be as honest
with you as you have with me. How does that sound?"
Croft glanced at the armed men outside the office. "Right now,
it's the best deal I can think of."
"Oh, please don't be so melodramatic, Mr. Cr- may I call you
Clifford?"
"If it suits," said Croft, shrugging.
"Yes, I can see we are going to be great friends. You may call
me Cessna." She paused, giving Croft a stare. "I assure you, Mr.
Croft, if we had wanted to harm you, you would have been dead days ago.
You may not believe it, but we are on the same side in this-"
"Then why was one of my people set up?" said Croft. "If the
meeting leaked, it didn't come from our side."
"Did it not? That's one aspect we have to investigate."
"What was Duncan Pos working on?"
"Mr. Pos worked in... sensitive matters."
"Ooohh, sensitive matters. Sensitive matters. Thanks, that
really helps. That narrows it down a lot. I wouldn't have guessed
that. Can I write that down?" said Croft sarcastically.
"That's all I can tell you at this time. Perhaps if you told me
what the assassin said to you, before you so ungracefully blew up the-"
"Come off it, Cessna. You know that I didn't blow up the bar."
"Then who did?"
"A fat man who chuckles a lot."
"Mission accomplished," said Morilla, with a small grin. The fat
man looked very pleased with himself. "The assassin is terminated."
"Very good, Morilla," said Eyepatch. "And what of the witness?"
"Very unusual, sir. He seemed to know the name of our operative,
despite our inability to connect him with our organization. Or any
organization."
"Very puzzling, is it not?"
"No."
Eyepatch turned, to another of his assistants. "Yes, Morilla?"
"I have performed a thorough research into this man's background.
He has performed a series of unexplained feats."
"Feats? Explain."
"Seemingly, they are small incidents. Once he helped apprehend a
criminal in a line up, when he had never seen the victim before.
Another time he located a small boy lost in a large tract of bushes.
Another report suggests that he has at times answered questions of his
students even before they have been asked."
"Meaning?"
"This man may have some mental power that we do not understand."
"Interesting. Such a man could be of great use... or a threat.
A matter worth further investigation, don't you think, Mr. Morilla?
Where is he now?"
"You may go," said Markna curtly, handing back Croft his
equipment. But she paused when she came to his blaster. "I don't know
if I should return this."
"We're on the same side, remember?" said Croft.
"Yes, yes we are," said Markna, sounding unconvinced. But she
handed the blaster back anyway. But Markna held a small disk in her
palm.
"Ah, you forgot..."
"This?" she held up the volitional dampener. "I don't think it's
a good idea to let you go around involuntarily mind probing our
citizenry. I'll keep it, for your good behavior. Besides, our
scientists really would like a look at it."
Croft sighed. If this was the price that had to be paid for his
freedom, that was that.
Markna called, and two guards entered her office. They were
Stacon and Gurwick, the same men who accompanied her to the embassy.
"Are you certain you don't want to remain with us, Mr. Alto?"
Alto, shuddering, shook his head slightly.
"Very well. You are free to go."
"Free to go," Croft echoed hollowly. He still wouldn't believe
it, not until they were out of the building and unescorted.
"I didn't tell them where you were," was the first words Lotnon
said when they returned to the embassy.
"I believe you," said Croft. "Partially, because I think you're
a man of character, but mostly, because I didn't tell you where we were
going. In fact, I'm curious to discover just how they managed to nab
me so easily. Was I that obtuse to the garbagemen?" He shook his
head.
"What do we do now?" said Lotnon.
"A good question," said Croft. "I'll have to put some thought to
it."
That night at dinner the Ambassador said, "Croft. I received a
call from Lieutenant Markna."
"Water!" said Dalbo, predictably interrupting.
The Ambassador sighed. "Right there, in the cup next to you, Mr.
Alto."
Dalbo shook his head. "Wrong water."
"What? You want bottled water?" said the Ambassador.
"Water. I want cold water."
Califar frowned, touching the water vase. "Feels pretty cold to
me."
"The water must be 44 degrees. This water is at least 53
degrees. The water must at be at least 48 degrees. 44 is best, but at
least 48. This is not 48. I need 48. I want 44, but I need 48."
"Dalbo, Dalbo!" said Croft, breaking the chain. He dumped some
icecubes into Dalbo's cup. "Ok?"
Dalbo shook his head. "The temperature must be evenly
distributed. Some parts will be too cold, others too hot-"
"Then stir it," said Croft harshly.
Dalbo, withering, nodded slightly, gently twirling his finger in
his glass.
"You may use a spoon, Mr. Dalbo," said Califar. He turned to
Croft. "What was I saying?"
"You were complimenting me on the job I'm doing here," said
Croft.
"Was I? No, that wasn't it. Not at all. It was that Lieutenant
Markna."
"Yes?" said Croft, trying hard not to pay attention as he gobbled
down his dinner. Dalbo continued to stir his water nervously with his
finger.
"Says you're working well together. Glad to hear it."
"Um," said Croft. That was just Markna, to give him a friendly
reminder.
Or maybe there was more to it than that. There was a strong
political component to this investigation. With Paley Paratus on the
verge of applying for Alliance membership, the federal authorities
didn't want to take any action which would ruffle Alliance
sensibilities. Lieutenant Inspector Markna of the local police
wouldn't defer to such a standard. But Agent Markna of the secret
police might, if she were senior enough.
Just what had Duncan Pos been working on?
That night, Croft resolved to find out. Under the cover of
darkness, he slipped out of the embassy, climbing over one of the side
walls. Then after walking a few blocks he climbed aboard public
transportation and made his way back to the federal bloc.
It was time to make a return visit to the Department of
Sanitation.
The building was closed at this time of night, of course. And
the floor housing the Division of Telephone Sanitization was bound to
be riddled with a number of security devices.
There were two guards at the main desk, just inside reception on
the ground floor. They both sat in chairs, looking bored. Probably
they were just ordinary security guards. The real security baffles
wouldn't be encountered until he made it to the seventy second floor.
The guards had been kind enough to leave the main door open,
giving him an unobstructed view. Whistling a somber tune in the bushes
outside, Croft took some equipment out of a pouch slung over his
shoulder. In moments he had a sniper rifle assembled.
Croft stared at the guards, aiming carefully. This would have to
be done very carefully, very carefully....
Croft fired, there was a silent twing!, and a tiny dart lodged
itself in one guard's chest. He slumped backward in the chair,
dropping some vile brew he had been drinking.
Croft heard the other guard say, "Rolf? Rolf, you can't sleep on
the job."
Croft fired the trigger again, and the second guard clasped his
neck, and fell to the ground.
Grinning, Croft put on a reflec mask and entered the building.
He waved to the security camera. If there was anyone on the other end
of it, they would already have been tipped off. But somehow Croft
doubted it.
Croft had infiltrated so many secure facilities that he knew
precisely how security thinkers thought. Only protect areas that
needed to be protected. Therefore the guards here were only a token,
mere doorwardens to protect the building as a whole. It would have to
be on seventy two that he would need to be more careful.
After rearranging the guards into more natural dozing positions,
Croft entered the elevator. And pressed seventy one.
Floors seventy two through seventy five were reserved for the
Division of Telephone Sanitization. They would undoubtedly have
numerous security measures. But floor seventy one, as Croft found out
when the elevator door opened, was the Bureau of Landfill Aesthetics.
"Have you planted flowers over your landfill today?" said Croft,
reading a plaque on the wall. Grinning, he walked into the department,
which appeared deserted. Croft did not trust appearances, however, and
he gave the floor a cursory search, just to make sure that that was the
case. Looking around, he then found a tall chair, and proceeded to
stand on it. Then Croft took out his blaster, and set it for maximum
burn.
As he carved a hole in the ceiling Croft felt a little
vulnerable, standing up there on a chair in the middle of an empty
department. But even with the enormous power drain on his blaster he
still would have more than enough spare power packs to shoot a goodly
number of people, if the need should arise.
Two powerpacks later, he burned through. He slowly removed a
heavy chuck of ceiling masonry that was still sizzling at the edges.
And looked up at a piece of metal.
Croft groaned. He had made a hole right under a large desk.
Sighing, he moved the chair over two feet to the left, and
started again.
When he was done he cautiously poked his head up.
As luck would have it, he was in a small cubicle, one with a
computer terminal. Croft struggled, climbing up one floor. When he
got there he looked around.
The cubicle he was in was darkened, and for that he was grateful.
But guards roamed around in the distance, seemingly on constant patrol.
Croft looked up. There were cameras, mounted in the ceiling.
Thank goodnessly none of them were pointed directly at him. But
if Croft had to guess, he would have given odds that these cameras were
manned. If he took out these guards, an immediate alert would be
raised.
Croft sat on the floor, pulling the keyboard to him. He used a
little pocket light to dimly illuminate the keyboard, while
occasionally glancing up at the screen.
"Hm... hm hm," said Croft, when he was ready. And then he took
out the special disk.
Cessna Markna hadn't been fortunate enough to find the special
disk, which had been hidden on Croft's person rather more closely than
the volitional suppressor. On impulse he had placed the small disk in
the heel of his shoe, and the sloppy searchers hadn't found it.
Croft pressed the START button and the screen flashed
ID?
Croft nearly chortled as he inserted the special disk. It
contained a computer program designed to crack any computer system.
"Any computer system?" Croft had asked the technical branch,
rather skeptically.
"Computers operate on certain basic principals," the tech had
said, rather impatiently. "This program will operate to take advantage
of them-"
"It will work on all systems?" said Croft. "What about ours?"
He had moved to insert it into a nearby terminal.
"Ah, well, that's had a special safeguard added."
"Ahah!" Croft had said.
With that incident in mind Croft inserted the disk. Nothing was
perfect; it was even conceivable that the program could fail, and the
system could trigger an alarm. He had an uneasy feeling that he
wouldn't have such an easy time getting out of the Department of
Sanitation again, especially under these circumstances.
The disk hummed and hawed as the program invaded the computer
system. There was a pause, for a moment, and then the screen flashed.
ID ACCEPTED.
PRESS ENTER FOR MAIN MENU
"I follow instructions," Croft chortled, removing his prize disk.
He started typing vigorously, only occasionally looking up when the
sounds of footsteps grew close. His typing sounded loud, but he knew
that it couldn't be heard more than a foot or two, and albeit faintly
at that.
He was in! He had actually penetrated the computer system. This
system was not to be confused with the official FDS database
downstairs; this was the intelligence community's network.
Croft punched up PERSONNEL and entered DUNCAN POS.
The screen flashed, and then came up with a complete file.
Croft whistled. Pos hadn't been some minor bureaucrat--he had
been in charge of an investigative team in the division of internal
affairs.
The division that this spy agency had set to investigate itself.
What had he been investigating? That wasn't immediately clear.
But the file stated that Pos had been investigating the division of
escort security.
Croft punched up an ID of the division of escort security. Then
he gave another low whistle.
The division of escort security was in charge of protecting high
government officials.
What would make a presumably dedicated agent in charge of rooting
out corruption of his own spy agency want to reveal information to the
Alliance? Especially when that agent was investigating domestic
security?
It painted an alarming picture, and Croft didn't like it.
Croft tried to access Pos's private note file, but that seemed to
have been wiped clean. Obviously he hadn't been the first to get to
the file.
He punched up a request of the other records Pos had been
searching. It was a long list, and Croft spent a few minutes scanning
it. But he noticed an immediate pattern.
Pos had been investigating the influence of foreign corporations
with offices on Paley Paratus. Specifically, Kroton Paley, Ltd.
The Kroton Corporation.
Croft suddenly snapped his head up. A small part of his mind had
been assigned the task of listening for the pacing guards. He had
heard motion, and then it had suddenly stopped. Croft cautiously poked
his head around the corner of the desk.
A guard was standing there, not ten feet away. He frowned, as if
something were wrong.
Then another guard called to him, and he turned away.
Time to go, Croft thought. He turned off the computer, and
started to ease his way down the hole in the floor.
As luck would have it, his hand slipped, and it hit against the
corner support of a chair, dragging the chair a few inches along the
ground, making a small scraping sound.
When there is total silence, or near total silence, they say the
sound of a small noise is amplified.
They were right, of course.
Croft heard silence.
Then he heard heavy footsteps, coming his way.
He didn't even pop his head up, but let himself drop down on the
chair below, scampered off of it, and started running. With any luck it
would take them at least a few minutes to find the hole.
But it wasn't thirty seconds later that Croft heard the hoot hoot
of the alarms. He immediately turned away from the elevator bank and
headed for the stairs. Heading up.
He was on the seventy first floor. There were exactly one
hundred floors in the building--the Paratans having a penchance for
round numbers, no doubt.
But Croft, taking two stairs at a time and utilizing trained
breathing techniques, was only mildly winded when he reached the top
and opened the roof door.
He didn't spend much time admiring the night view, although he
did look down. Already security forces were gathering at the base of
the building.
Croft looked around. There was a thick wire, insulated by a
strip of rubber, a comm net, maybe, that connected to a nearby
building.
Nearby was a relative term. In the darkness the nearby building
was over five hundred feet away.
Endurance wasn't a problem; Croft, attaching a little motor on
wheels to the cable, could glide across with ease, tethered to the
motor.
Capacity was. Croft was not certain whether the wire would hold
his weight.
Croft looked down. Sooner or later, the guards would make their
way up here.
He sighed, and locked the motor on the wire. Then, hanging on,
he started his trip across. It shouldn't be so bad, he thought.
He was still thinking that when the line snapped. Croft fell...
and hit the solid surface, hard.
Chapter 3
Croft groaned. His left side felt sore. Pushing himself, he got
up, brushing fragments of the roof material off of his clothes. He
looked across his shoulder. The edge of the rooftop was only a few
feet away. It was a good thing he had started climbing while he was
still over the roof.
Croft heard sounds of feet pounding at the stairwell. They were
coming.
Croft got behind the stairwell, brandishing his blaster. He
hurriedly doublechecked the setting just as two men emerged.
Both were in some sort of law enforcement uniform, complete with
goggles and helmets. Good.
"Don't see why we gotta check here," said one. "Ain't no way of
escaping here."
"Captain said we gotta check everywhere," said the other, turning
around, not really expecting to find anyone.
He turned out to be quite surprised. It showed on his face, just
as Croft shot him. Then, in rapid succession, he shot his partner, who
was only then swiveling with his gun.
Croft had just finished putting the uniform on and was grappling
with the helmet when one of the comlinks on one of the bodies crackled.
"22, report. Halsto?"
Croft fitted the helmet on, putting the goggles in place. He
picked up the comlink gingerly, holding it like it was a stick of
dynamite.
"22, report. Halsto, where are you?"
Croft reluctantly pressed the transmit button. "Halsto," he said
in a quick, raspy voice.
"Halsto, at last. Anything on the roof?"
"Nope," said Croft, speaking as short as possible.
"Then get back to 94 and assist in the search there. He's still
in the building, that's for sure."
"Understood," said Croft.
Getting out of the Department of Sanitation proved to be more
simple than Croft had expected. Croft was ignored as he walked by
groups of congregating troops idling by the entrance at main reception.
Croft had nearly made it when he saw Cessna Markna, being briefed by
one of her men. Her glance caught Croft, and then passed on.
Croft would have been surprised if it hadn't; in this helmet and
goggles, he didn't think anyone would have recognized him. He made his
way back to the embassy.
"Croft, where have you been?" said Lotnon.
"Out for a night walk." Croft had ditched the uniform before
returning to the embassy. The fact that he had managed to leave
undetected obviously indicated that the embassy was not watched as
closely as it might be.
"Lieutenant Inspector Markna called. She wanted to talk to you."
"I hope you told her I was asleep."
"Yes." Lotnon bit his lip. "But she insisted on speaking to
you."
Croft sighed. "So naturally you caved in, discovered I was gone,
and told her that."
"No," said Lotnon.
"No?" said Croft, a little surprised.
"When I saw you weren't there, I told her that I had woken you
up, and you told me you weren't talking to anyone," said Lotnon. "I
think she believed that."
"Probably not," said Croft. "But I'm surprised by you, Bill.
You actually covered for me. I'm beginning to think we're on the same
side."
"We will be, if you tell me what's going on."
"All right," Croft side. He provided a brief synopsis of events.
"You broke into the office of the secret police?" said Lotnon,
surprised.
"A little louder," Croft suggested. "I think there's someone
down the street who didn't hear you."
"What are you trying to do, get us kicked off-planet?"
"I am trying to conduct an investigation-"
"Then let's work with them, not against-"
"Listen!" said Croft. "Stop moving your lips, and listen.
Calner didn't tell anyone he was going to this meeting. No one. It
was pure chance that a jogger from the embassy discovered this...
incident before the authorities did. No one on our side knew."
"So?"
"Calner was obviously set up. Calner's contact obviously leaked
to someone. Someone in their secret police. Now do you see why I
don't work with them?"
"You think the secret police is behind it?"
Croft nodded. "At least, some one in it must be involved. But
there might be more to it than that."
"More?"
"Didn't they teach you anything in training? External
influences, man. That's what we've got to look for."
"There may not be any."
"True, but there's no harm in looking into it. Besides, this
smells like an external conspiracy.
"Why?"
Croft didn't explain further. All he said was, "I'm tired, and
Markna will undoubtedly be here in the morning, and I'd like some
sleep. May I?"
"On one condition," said Lotnon.
There was a silence. "Yes?"
"Take me with you. I covered for you, now you work with me."
Croft sighed. "All right, all right."
Lieutenant Markna didn't show up that morning. Croft found that
odd, to say the least. Although he had been careful to conceal his
identity from the security cameras, it wouldn't take a great deal of
guesswork to figure out who had invaded their security.
But Croft was comforted by the fact that even if they figured out
it had been him, they wouldn't know what he was after or what he had
found. All they would know is that someone accessed their database for
a reason they did not know.
But now Croft had a lot to think about. Escort Security. Duncan
Pos had been investigating Escort Security. Something was going on in
the department in charge of protecting government officials. Was a
government official in danger?
Croft picked up a copy of the embassy's weekly briefing.
It hit him immediately. Of course.
The Vice Presidential election.
Paley Paratus was much like hundreds of other worlds that elected
their leaders. But unlike most of said worlds Paley Paratus elected
their Presidents and Vice Presidents separately; indeed, they were even
elected at different times, to serve different, usually overlapping
terms. Presidential elections had been held last year, and now Vice
Presidential elections were about to be held. In two weeks time.
What could be worth killing for?
A conspiracy involving one of the Vice Presidential candidates.
It was just a hunch, but a nasty one.
And where did the Kroton Corporation fit into this?
The Kroton Corporation. Undeniably the largest multi-planetary
corporation in the galaxy, with major offices on nearly every inhabited
world. Makers of industrial tools, spices, foodstuffs, mining
equipment, power generators, pharmaceuiticals, clothesware, cookery,
building material, spaceships, computers, holoscreens, refining
equipment... in short, most everything. And with economic power came
political clout. Often through legal means, but often not.
Croft frowned, and went to the embassy terminal. Much of the
information he sought was available on the public record, so he did not
need to stretch his resources too much.
Croft sat back nearly an hour later. It was all there, on public
record. Oh, there were dummy entities employed as middle men, but
Croft had quickly trace through those, delving deep through the
database to find the truth. Paley Kroton, the Paley Paratus subsidiary
of the Kroton Corporation, was donating large amounts to one of the
Vice Presidential candidates. Really large amounts.
For some reason Kroton wanted Ebert Mos of the Justice for
Society Party to win the VP slot. It could well be a standard
arrangement--political contributions in return for lobbyist favors
after the election. Or there could be something more.
Croft had been surprised not to see Cessna Markna at breakfast,
and he was doubly surprised (pleasantly) not to see the Ambassador.
The waiter told him the ambassador wasn't feeling well today. It was
turning out to be a fine morning.
Croft had virtually recovered from his ordeal. The bruises on
his face no longer showed, and aside from an ache in his leg (from last
night) and a small bump on his head (from the night before), he was
basically whole again.
Dalbo toyed with his blugibles at breakfast, toying with the
little fruits.
"No... no...." he muttered.
"Something wrong with the breakfast, Dalbo?" said Croft. "Are
the blugibles not of the right color, or the right shape?"
"This one is too sour," said Dalbo, pointing to one of them with
a little bite in it.
"Well, try another."
Dalbo indicated another with a single bit mark in it. "This one
is too ripe."
"Well, try another," said Croft.
"It is a waste of effort," said Dalbo dismissively.
Croft bit into one. It tasted a little sour, but he grinned.
"Mmmm, and this one tastes just right!"
After breakfast Lotnon said, "What are we going to do now?"
"We," said Croft, "are going to the Kroton corporation."
In a few minutes Croft, Lotnon, and Dalbo were driving along in
an embassy vehicle.
"Why did you bring Dalbo?" said Lotnon. "Now that the assassin
is dead, what further use is he?"
"Bait, my friend, bait." Croft grinned at Dalbo. "I also liked
his insights." He had not shared all his suspicions with Lotnon,
partially out of reflex, but mostly because he just wasn't sure what
Dalbo's special ability was. The jury was still out on whether Dalbo
could read minds.
"Bad man, using talents of good, through coercion."
"Oh?" Croft raised an eyebrow. "You could have stayed with
Cessna and her friends."
"Killers!"
"I know, I know, they're killers. Why do you keep saying that?"
Dalbo would give no answer.
After a moment Lotnon said, "I don't think we're being followed."
"I'm not surprised."
"I am,' said Lotnon. "There were not one but three cars ringing
our embassy today. I can't help but wonder why they aren't following."
"Maybe because they don't need to. Maybe because they know where
we're going."
"How?"
"Ah, an intelligent question."
Croft slowed the aircar to a halt, pulling up to a curb. Then he
took a device out of his pocket, and started to scan the aircar.
"What's that?"
Croft said nothing, but raised an eyebrow when the device gave a
loud beep.
It was pointing straight at Dalbo.
Croft pointed a finger. Dalbo moved over.
Croft, feeling around, pulled a little button out of the aircar's
upholstery.
"You can sit back now," said Croft. He ran across the street, to
an aircar stopped at the light.
"Excuse me sir, do you have the time?" said Croft.
"Bug off," said the driver, annoyed.
"Sorry," said Croft, departing quickly.
When Croft returned, he gunned the engine.
"Where's the comtag?" said Lotnon.
Croft only grinned.
After a short drive they parked the aircar and disembarked.
Croft looked at the number on a large building ahead of them. "404,
that's it," he muttered.
As they approached the entrance he turned to his companions.
"Guys, follow my lead."
Lotnon nodded, and Dalbo said dejectedly, "I have already agreed
to tacitly assist in your falsehoods."
"That's the spirit," said Croft.
They entered the main reception. A pretty receptionist threw
them a cheery smile. "May I help you, gentlemen?"
Croft flashed a badge. "Federal Department of Sanitation. We're
here in official business."
"Oh. I'd better get you someone in charge."
"Someone in charge" turned out to be one Mr. Arbois. He seemed
to be quite perplexed with his visitors.
"But I tell you we have followed all building codes, strictly to
the letter."
"Then you have nothing to worry about. Let us inspect your 22nd
floor."
"But... that's the executive floor. There are people working
there!"
"And perhaps dying there. If your gauche makers don't have the
proper screens on them, your people could be getting more and more lung
cancer by the minute. When those beans are roasted and cooked in
boiling hot water, have you ever considered the fumes? Have you?
They're more dangerous than second-hand smoke. How would you like to
have lawsuits on top of your head? On top of "obstruction of
justice"?" Croft gave an icy stare, to add to the effect.
"Oh... I don't know..." Mr. Arbois hurried off to make a call,
perhaps to someone who did, for when he got off the com, he nodded.
"You can go up. But please be discreet."
"Discrete is my middle name," said Croft.
"No it isn't," said Dalbo, unable to contain himself.
A few minutes later... "-only gauche maker is out here, at the
secretarial station."
"Oh," said Croft, disappointed. He took out a device (a light
meter, actually) and started scanning the gauche maker, much to the
amusement of the secretaries.
"Really," tittered one. "Are we all going to get the coffee
disease?"
"Madam," said Croft, with a cold eye, "Have you ever seen anyone
who has been subject to forty years of second hand coffee fumes?"
The secretary, a little numbed, had to admit that she hadn't.
Croft just tisked-tisked, shaking his head as he turned away.
"Is it... is it ok?" said Arbois, trying to speed up the process.
"Ok? Ok?" said Croft, repeating it slowly. "Oh. Ok. Yes,
it's fine. But can this be the only gauche maker on your entire
floor?"
"Yes, it's the only one..."
"What about the one in the executive boardroom?" said one of the
secretaries.
Arbois gave her a cold glance. "Oh yes, there is one there, now
that you mention it...."
"Then let us not delay," said Croft.
The gauche maker in the boardroom looked innocently enough. But
when Croft raised his device, it buzzed alarmingly. He frowned,
looking concerned. "We have a possible breach here."
"What? Oh?" As if suddenly aware of the danger, Arbois shrunk
that. At that moment Croft, leaning against the edge of the
countertop, palmed something underneath it.
"Wait. Let me check it with a more sensitive detector." Croft
fished something else out of one of his pockets. It was his comtag
detector.
It beeped reassuringly. Croft visibly relaxed.
"What... what does it say?"
Croft nodded. "We caught it just in time. There should be no
significant aftereffects. I suggest you get yourself a new gauche
maker though, immediately."
"Immediately," said Dalbo. "High priority, in near contiguous
time frame."
"Of-of course we'll replace it," stammered Arbois.
At that moment a tall, dignified man stepped in from an adjoining
room. "What's going on here?" he said.
"Nothing, Mr. Slanda... just health inspectors," said Arbois.
"And we were just leaving."
"Making egress, with alacrity" Dalbo commented.
"Um," said the one called Slanda, walking out before they could.
Croft could see that Arbois was starting to give Dalbo some
strange looks. "We're outta here," Croft said quickly.
"What was that all about?" said Lotnon.
"A half inch of metal and wiring," said Croft.
"Huh?"
"A device to transmit audio sound into radio waves."
"What?
"A comtag."
"Oh." That slowly sunk in. "Why?"
"This way, when we shake things up, we'll see what falls."
They sped along in the aircar. "Where are we going now?" said
Lotnon.
"To shake things up," said Croft, gunning the engine.
As chance would have it there was a shareholders meeting of
Kroton Paley the very next day. Shareholder meetings were required to
be held every month for all corporations doing business on Paley
Paratus, according to the Paratan corporate code, and Croft was
fortuitous enough to have acted just before a meeting.
Needless to say, he went to the meeting as a shareholder.
He had bought one share, that very day; not under his real name,
of course, but as one Algo Talgo. Again Croft selected a rhyming name,
if only for ease of remembering.
Lotnon, Dalbo, and Croft showed up at the shareholder's meeting.
It was held in a large auditorium that seated several hundred
shareholders, only a few of the thousands who might have shown up but
undoubtedly had better things to do with their free weekend day,
Paratans being accustomed to working six day weeks.
The gavel banged and the meeting was called to order. The
chairman of the board took the gavel. Croft recognized him
immediately; it was Mr. Slanda, who he had briefly met in the corporate
offices. Slanda was a short, heavyset man who spoke in a gravelly
voice.
"This meeting is called to order," said Slanda. "Let's get down
to business."
Croft looked at the sheet he had been handed at the door.
PALEY KROTON LTD.
Agenda for 11.24.3011 Meeting
1) Old business
a) Frivolous suit
2) New Business
a) Finances
b) Message from the chairman of Kroton ULTD.
c) Approval of operations
3) Shareholder input
4) Adjournment (refreshments in back)
"Our first item of business is a lawsuit that's been brought
against us by a group of individuals in the province of Sperry. They
made totally unsubstantiated claims that our chemics planet there
causes pollution that made them sick. Mr. Slanda?"
Slanda gave over the floor to a slender young man who looked
very slick.
"Our chemics plant in Sperry produces a wide range of goods that
serves the community, from rubber insulation in aircars to cheap
imitation teething toys for pet wargs. And yet a bunch of malcontents
in the community sees fit to cause trouble, agitating against amy
large, off-world firm it can target. When in reality, of course,
Kroton Paley is not, as everyone surely must know, a foreign
corporation, but rather as Paratan as gumbazz, gauche and stehol."
The crowd gave a round of applause.
"Now, this case has no merit, none at all, and yet it takes some
time to wind through the judicial system. Which costs the corporation
money. And corporate money is shareholder money. Your money,
assembled shareholders."
There were boo's now.
"So we thought it best to settle with these unfortunates,
whatever the source of their maladies, imagined or real, at the not
insignificant but affordable sum of... 40 million."
There seemed to be a collective gasp, and there was silence for a
moment in the auditorium.
One of the directors on stage spoke up. "It's really a bargain.
This way we're settling with several hundred plaintiffs, dozens of whom
could have dragged this out for years and years...."
A vote was called. The floor manager gave his thumbs up, and the
shareholders turned to the appropriate switch on their chairs.
In seconds the votes were registered and to no one's surprised
the motion passed, to a large margin.
"Next," said Mr. Slanda. He entered into a lengthy discussion of
the firm's finances. Output had doubled, productivity had tripled,
profits were up, the firm was more efficient... all of which was
somewhat true, as Croft knew. True, to the extent that output had
increased 7% and productivity was up by a similar amount... but profits
had taken a nosedive, in part due to large government fines the company
had been forced to pay. The management had cooked the figures, of
course; but the firm was counting on there being few if any trained
accountants in the audience.
"-and so Kroton Paley is doing better than ever," said Mr.
Slanda, grinning broadly. Actually the Paley branch was under strong
pressure from the giant parent company, Kroton ULTD, to increase
profits, with the implicit threat that if performance didn't improve,
the local board would be fired. Liquidated.
"And now we have a message from our chairman the head of Kroton
ULTD itself... Talon Trake."
A giant viewscreen on the wall came to life. The larger than
lifesized image of a grey haired man sitting behind a desk came into
focus. He smiled gently. "Greetings, shareholders. I'm Talon Trake,
chairman of Kroton ULTD, and I'd like to talk to you good people of"
and there was a nearly imperceptible flicker "Kroton Paley for a few
moments."
"The Kroton Corporation has a proud tradition, spanning hundreds
of years and hundreds of planets. We were the first company to mine R-
drive fuel in significant amounts. We built the first construct of the
Telaton style reactors. We developed the first commercially feasible
ozone additive for planets with thin atmospheres. And our agro
satellites have been feeding the hungry for generation."
"The Kroton Corporation also contributes to needy causes. Our
spacers offered nominal passenger rates to take people off of Eltimus
IV before its sun went supernova. Under one of our Leisure For the
Poor programs, we donated thousands of expensive Trico pipes to
millions of needy people, who otherwise couldn't afford to smoke the
Algen weed, even though Kroton works hard to keep the price down. And
we work hard to contribute to the arts as well; Kroton recently
employed seventy artists for two years to construct the giant K
monument in downtown Arbelius II."
"Your subsidiary plays a very important part in our operations,
both civic and financial." Again the flicker. "Notably, Kroton Paley
is a very important exporter of R-drive fuel, derived from Tri-krell
4." There was a pause. "I implore you to support the good,
hardworking management team led by " flicker "Dr. Slanda. They're
doing the kind of good work which will lead Kroton Paley into the
thirty second century."
The picture faded. Mr. Slanda quickly called an omnibus vote
regarding the position of the firm's continued management by the
present board following its current policies.
To no one's surprise, the measure quickly passed.
"Not very surprising," commented Croft, who had watched,
admiringly, as the management had worked the hall like a political
convention.
"What are we doing here?" Lotnon hissed.
"Stirring things up," said Croft.
"When?"
"Wait," said Croft patiently.
That time was fast approaching. "Now we have time for some
shareholder input," said Mr. Slanda. "As you know, we at Kroton Paley
want to know what you're thinking, which is why we've set aside ten
whole minutes to hear your questions." He gestured to the microphone
in the audience where five accomplices were patiently waiting with
prepared queries.
"Yes?" said Mr. Slanda, waiting for the first one to speak. He
looked down at his notes to make sure he had the right answer ready.
"WHAT ABOUT THE POLITICAL CONTRIBUTIONS?" boomed a loud voice.
"What? Who was that?" the board looked about.
"WHY IS PALEY KROTON CONTRIBUTING HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF
CREDITS TO THE POLITICAL CAMPAIGN OF EBERT MOS?"
Slanda looked around, until he spotted Croft, standing up in the
audience, with a powerful hand amp at his mouth.
"Young man, you'll have to wait your turn-"
Croft turned about. "PALEY KROTON IS USING HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS
IN CORPORATE MONEY, YOUR MONEY, TO INVOLVE ITSELF IN LOCAL POLITICS."
"What? Why, that's a lie!" said Slanda. But there was a stir in
the audience, and he started to look nervous. Slanda made a quick
throat-cutting gesture with his finger, and pointed towards Croft.
"300 THOUSAND CREDITS IN THE LAST MONTH ALONE-"
The murmur in the audience rose to a babble. A large commotion
started on the floor. Grim faced guards started to wade their way
through it, heading for Croft.
"Confusion. Anarchy," Dalbo commented, seeing the crowd getting
whipped up.
"What about it? Is Kroton giving money to the JSP? What's the
truth?" they cried. Vid photographers in front flashed their devices
as they captured the astonished image of the chairman on stage,
blustering as he yelled feebly, "No... no...."
Croft looked at the guards closing in around them. "Time to go,"
he said.
They slowly worked their way through the agitated crowd to an
exit. But before they got there they were intercepted by a man in
plainclothes. By his manner, though, it was only obvious what he was.
"Just a moment," he said, putting a restraining arm on Croft's
shoulder.
Croft grabbed his wrist, turned, and pushed down, forcing the man
to the ground as he winced in pain. Then, raising his other fist, he
brought it down suddenly with a quick smack.
"Violence," said Dalbo. "Impact of flesh on flesh to induce a
stunned-"
"We'll make the documentary later, let's go!" said Croft.
They made it to the exit, trailed in the distance by some guards.
"Now they know what we look like," said Lotnon.
"I hope so," said Croft, as they got into the aircar.
He started the engine, but waited just long enough for the guards
to pile out of the building. Close enough and long enough for them to
read their plates.
And then Croft gunned the engine, leaving a cloud of dust in
their wake.
"There," he said, grinning. "How was that for stirring them up?"
"Metaphor. If intent was to arouse humans into agitated state,
you have succeeded."
"Thanks, Dalb."
"Warning. They may attempt to work out their hostility on us,"
said Dalbo.
"That's just what I'm counting on."
A car trailed them in the distance. It had stayed, parked
outside the meeting hall, waiting for them to emerge. Now it no longer
trailed them at a cautious pace, but moved purposefully closer.
"Croft, mind if I ask you a question?" That was from Lotnon.
The car closed. Lotnon's words could also be heard out of a
small speaker in the pursuing car.
Croft started to give a glib response, but changed his mind.
"Bill, I'm in such a good mood, you can ask any question you want."
In the car behind them the man sitting in front next to the
driver pushed a button. A small hole opened up in front of the car.
On his screen a crosshairs appeared and the words "Missile Targeting
Activated" appeared.
"Are you really with the Alliance League for Justice?"
The man lined up the target in the crosshairs... reached for the
trigger....
"No. He is an Alpha-K operative with the Agency," said Dalbo
off-handedly.
Croft pressed the brakes with a screech. The car behind them had
to swerve to avoid hitting them, and instead drove onto the curb,
crashing into a fence.
Croft ignored the honking of the aircars around them as he turned
to Dalbo. "You can read minds," he whispered.
Eyepatch sat reclined in a chair, listening to the report over
the comlink. "We almost had him, sir."
"I am not interested in almost, Mr. Morilla. Is that what you've
called in to report?" he added icily.
"N-no sir. He can read minds, we heard!"
"What makes you say that?"
"We were closing in on them, getting ready to use the concussion
missile, to stun them and then take him. Then we heard over the comtag
that this Alto character knew exactly who this Croft was. Croft was so
surprised that he hit the brakes."
"Implying that he read Croft's mind.... hm, an implication...."
Eyepatch was silent for a moment.
"Sir?"
"Just a moment, Mr. Morilla... what did Alto say?"
"Say sir?"
Eyepatch sighed. "About Croft. Who did he say that Croft worked
for?"
There was a pause. "The Agency, sir. Said he was an Alpha-R
agent."
"An Alpha-K agent, Mr. Morilla. That must have been Alpha-K."
"What does that mean?" came Morilla's voice.
"It means... we're dealing with one of their best agents. One of
their top infiltrators. It means trouble, Mr. Morilla."
"I can handle him sir."
"I should hope so, Mr. Morilla. Are our comtags in their embassy
still functional?"
"Yes sir."
"Then here is what I want you to do...."
"Velocity. High velocity." Dalbo observed.
The aircar was speeding along at a steady clip. They had stopped
at the embassy just long enough to drop a protesting Lotnon off, and
then Croft had gunned the engine at full speed.
"Aren't you going to ask where we're going?" said Croft.
"To the spaceport."
"Did you read that from my mind too?" Croft had been cursing
himself out for the past hour. He had been skeptical, so skeptical,
that he hadn't believed Dalbo's denials. Of course he couldn't read
minds. No one could read minds. He must be very good at reading
facial expressions. Yes, that's it. Facial expressions.
But no facial expression could have told Dalbo that Croft was an
Alpha-K agent with the Agency. To the best of his knowledge, there was
no one on the planet who knew that, even the Ambassador. And yet Dalbo
simply plucked it out of thin air.
The mission would have to be aborted, of course. Whatever was
going on here paled in comparison to what Croft had just discovered. A
mind-reader! The only known one in existence! Just think how he could
be used... or misused.
No secret would be safe.
"I did not 'read your mind' as you put it," said Dalbo. "I
merely saw the sign to the spaceport. See?" He pointed to a rapidly
approaching comboard above the road.
"We're getting you off-planet, Dalbo old boy," said Croft. "I'll
be your personal companion on the trip back to the Alliance." He
looked nervously at Dalbo to see if he would object. If Dalbo didn't
want to go, it would make things a lot more difficult.
But not too much. If worst came to worst, Croft would stun him,
and carry him through the spaceport. Spaceport security be hanged.
Dalbo looked at Croft. "A very bad man," he said.
"Yep," said Croft. "The worst."
Dalbo said no more.
The aircar came to a screeching halt in a no parking zone outside
the main terminal. Croft didn't care; it wasn't very likely that he'd
be coming back for it. The number one priority now, the absolute
highest priority, was to get Dalbo off planet.
They walked briskly through the terminal. Croft put a guiding
arm on Dalbo to encourage him to keep up, but Dalbo flinched away.
"Physical contact. No."
"Then keep up!" said Croft, looking around as if enemies would
pop up out of the woodwork at any moment.
But the milling crowds in the terminal seemed to ignore them.
They reached a registration desk, and Croft turned over an ID
card. The Alliance had a small spacer waiting, on an emergency basis,
just in case. This was one of those "just in case" circumstances.
The clerk took one look at his ID card, then said, "Just a
moment, please."
Dalbo minutely shook his head.
Croft caught it, and raised his blaster.
The clerk caught it too, and raised a blaster from under the
counter as well.
But Croft shot him just as he raised his weapon, and the man went
dropping to the ground.
"Come on," said Croft, pulling Dalbo along despite protestations.
"No," said Dalbo. "Warning."
"Come on," said Croft, pulling Dalbo through an open door out
onto the open tarmac.
"This is wrong," said Dalbo. "You've been warned."
Croft ignored those words. He just figured that Dalbo was
unhappy at being tugged along. Well, let him be unhappy.
They headed across the tarmac to the hanger bays. Croft looked
nervously about him as he scanned the bay numbers. There didn't seem
to be any sign of pursuit.
A sign read BAY 32.
"In there," said Croft, tugging at Dalbo.
"Don't do it," said Dalbo. "You'll be sorry."
Croft tugged him through the open door. Inside sat the miniature
spacer he had been expecting.
Dalbo shook his head sadly.
Croft was about to dash up the entry ramp, pulling Dalbo in tow,
when he heard the sound.
It was a crinkle, like the sounds of someone stepping on a piece
of metal.
Croft looked back at Dalbo, who was shaking his head. And then
Croft understood.
Dalbo hadn't been protesting the kidnapping.
He must've read the mind of the registration clerk. He'd been
trying to warn Croft that they were going into a trap.
Croft immediately put a finger to his lips. Dalbo, puzzled,
imitated the gesture.
Slowly Croft backed away, pushing Dalbo to the exit, constantly
turning about, trying to look in all directions at once. It was only
when they reached the hanger door that Croft saw the armed men, rushing
for the entrance. They gave a shout from the outside, and men from
inside the spacer streamed out.
They were trapped.
"I tried to tell you. But did you listen? No. Foolish human,"
said Dalbo, as they were surrounded.
Chapter 4
Croft watched as the men, weapons drawn, slowly closed in. They
weren't firing. Obviously, they wanted Dalbo.
Croft did the only thing he could. Raising his blaster, he
pointed it straight at Dalbo's head.
"Threat. Attempt to counterbalance force."
"You heard the man," said Croft. "Stop moving, or I'll blow his
brains out."
"Radical rearrangement of cerebral anatomy would terminate
functioning of this organism," Dalbo warned.
"Halt," said one of them, their leader. A large man. The same
man who had caused the explosion in the bar, only days ago.
And his name was Morilla. "Agency man thinks he's so tough, does
he?"
"He does, that he does," said Croft, constantly spinning around.
"What's your business here?"
"The man wants him. Give him up, and you live."
"Like I believe that," said Croft. "Which man was that?"
Morilla grinned. He knew that Croft would never have a chance to
tell. "Eyepatch. Eyepatch wants to meet you."
Several of the men gave a chuckle. "Attaway, Morilla," one of
them said.
"So what's it gonna be?" said Morilla.
"Well, Gorilla-"
"That's Morilla!" he fairly snarled. What an incompetent.
Letting his own identity get revealed. So unprofessional.
"Well, Gorilla, I don't think I believe you... GET BACK!" Croft
yelled at some of the thugs who were trying to get close to him from
behind. They ceased motion but did not retreat.
"Don't gotta choice."
"Don't? Get back! Get out of the way, or I'll kill him now."
Dalbo looked on the verge of saying something, but kept silent.
Morilla wet his lips a moment. He hadn't anticipated such
resistance in the face of such overwhelming odds. Finally he said,
"Stun them."
"Stun them!" said Croft quickly. "Great idea! But you better be
certain, absolutely certain, that your stun takes effect before I pull
this trigger. It's half depressed already, see?"
"Wait," said Morilla quickly. "What do you want?"
"Clear a path out. Give us five minutes."
Hesitating and obviously sweating profusely, Morilla nodded.
They cleared a way to the exit.
"Do you really believe their promise of forbearance of action?"
Dalbo whispered.
"Quite frankly, no," Croft whispered back as he eyed the crowd.
Slowly they made their way to the exit. Enemy agents glared at them as
they slowly walked away.
"Next time, Croft, will be the last time," said Morilla.
"I can't wait," said Croft.
But it looked like next time might come very soon, for the armed
men conspicuously trailed Croft out of the spaceport. They were
waiting for a slipup, any slipup.
Finally, when Croft got into the aircar (which had been parked
illegally all along, but miraculously hadn't been airlifted out yet),
he waved a sunny goodbye as he and Dalbo drove away.
"They will follow us," said Dalbo.
"No need to," said Croft.
"They have a listening device in the car?"
Croft nodded.
"How did you determine that?"
"It doesn't take a mind reader, Dalb old boy. There's only three
people on this planet who know I'm with the Agency. The Ambassador's
clear. That leaves you and me. I didn't tell anyone. Did you?"
Dalbo nodded. "I spoke it to both you and Lotnon."
"Exactly. Which either means that Lotnon is a spy... which is
always possible. But I think the more likely interpretation is that
they have the car bugged. How else did they know exactly where we were
going? They must have bugged it after the sweep I did. The question
is, who is doing the bugging? The Paley Secret Police? The Kroton
Corporation?"
"Negative," said Dalbo.
"Oh, and I suppose you know who's behind it."
"Affirmative. It was obvious, from looking at their leader."
"Who?"
"Something called... Tauz."
The aircar came to a screeching halt.
Croft took out his surveillance detector. Scanning rapidly, he
found the transmitter, and threw it far across the road.
Then he turned to Dalbo. "What do you know about the Tauz?"
"Nothing. Though it would seem that you deem it something of
particular dangerousness."
"The Tauz despoiled nearly a quarter of the inhabited galaxy.
And you've never heard of them?"
"Yes, they obviously cause you some anxiety."
"The Tauz has been wiped out for a generation. Are you sure he
was Tauz? Are you sure?"
Dalbo frowned. "He seemed like Tauz."
"What does seemed mean? Why don't you just tell me what you saw
in his mind."
"I do not read minds," said Dalbo. "I... see people. Aspects of
people. Perhaps I look at them, and see more than most people do. I
get feelings, intuitive senses about them. But I do not flip through
their minds like pages of a book."
"You've received intuitive senses detailing the names of people,
and your intuitive sense gave you my proper occupation and precise
rank. You can just get a "feeling" about things that precise?"
"Well... yes. It's difficult to explain."
"I imagine... I imagine...." Croft muttered. "If only I had
known earlier... you're sure he was Tauz?"
Dalbo frowned. "It seemed to be something that concerned him.
Although he had such an unruly mind...."
"Did he think anything about Tauz? Anything specific...?"
"No... he did seemed concerned with someone who wore an
eyecovering, though."
"An eyepatch. Someone who wore an eyepatch. Perhaps a surviving
veteran of the Tauz wars. If it is Tauz." Croft bit his lip. Could
it really be that old enemy, returning after a generation of absence?
Croft looked around. It was dangerous to stay in one place.
Especially since the comtag was only a few feet away. He started the
engine again. Back to the embassy.
The first thing he did was brush past the inquisitive Lotnon and
march to his room, Dalbo in tow. Then he took out some sophisticated
bugging detectors and started sweeping. Dalbo sat there, silently
watching.
Finally, sitting back, Croft nodded, and removed a small
flatscreen from a case. Setting the tuner, he punched in a long series
of numbers.
Shortly, the screen lit up.
"Report," said the figure on the screen.
"Croft... Alpha-K," he cast a sidewards glance at Dalbo. "On
assignment Paley Paratus."
"Assignment number?"
"I don't have time for this!" Croft exploded. "Get the old man
on the line."
"Director Alderman is not seeing any one at the present time. If
you would submit-"
"I will not submit, Kalden Trager Broka, and if you don't ring
his executive line in the next ten seconds you'll be spending the next
decade applying household cleaning brands to our file servers."
Barnes bit his lip. He was obviously torn.
"All right," he said, pressing something outside their vision.
"But I don't take responsibility."
"Yeah, yeah," said Croft. He had heard that one before.
The screen flickered and they found themselves staring at A.A.,
sitting up. In bed. He was wearing striped bedclothes.
Croft was about to comment on his jammies when he saw the
expression on the Chief's face, and thought better.
"Who..." he said, focusing. "Croft," he said, grimly. "Croft,
if there isn't a war breaking out, a big one... this had better be
important."
Croft coughed apologetically. "Sorry to disturb you, Chief. It
isn't a war... nothing like it...."
"Um..." said the Chief, starting to get sleepy again.
"Perhaps I'm mistaken... sorry to wake you... go back to sleep...
you're probably not interested in the telepath, anyway...."
A.A., who had begun to lull himself back to bed, sat up at the
last. "What? What did you say?"
Croft glanced at the side of the monitor, to make double sure
that this conversation was being scrambled. "A first. A telepath."
"What? Who?"
"The witness," said Croft patiently.
"The witness to what? Croft, I deal with a dozen cases every
day-"
"The witness to Calner's murder," Croft replied.
"What? Oh. Are you sure?"
"Pretty sure."
"Pretty sure? What does that mean?"
"Well, put it this way. The other side seems certain. They just
tried to grab him. The next time they might succeed."
"The other side? Have you figured out-"
"No," said Croft. "Not yet. I'm following up on some leads.
The Kroton Corporation."
"Krotons... the Krotons. We've had dealings with them before.
As well as trouble. Yes, that's possible. So the Tauz is out?"
Croft swallowed hard, shaking his head. "It's too early to
tell."
A.A. seemed to consider. "Hm, yes... and where does this witness
fit in?"
"Apparently, he really was just a witness. But now they've
seemed to learned what I only recently found out."
"Get him out of there, immediately," said A.A. instinctively.
"Forget about treaty or customs. Take the standard emergency-"
"Already tried. I just barely escaped an ambush," said Croft.
A.A. touched a comlink to the side. "Thornbush! Do we have any
deep cover agents on... Paley Paratus?"
The answer came back almost immediately. A.A. shook his head.
"They never give us the budget we really need." He looked up at Croft,
all awake now. "Stay there. Stay put. I'll have a Shadow team sent
down there immediately. In the interim, make sure this witness stays
in the embassy."
"No can do," said Croft. "If I leave him here alone, they'll nab
him."
"What about embassy secur-"
"Embassy security, if you haven't already guessed, stinks. I can
think of at least five different ways that a disciplined team could
sneak in here and do whatever they wished."
A.A. sighed. He looked at Croft. "Then it's all up to you. If
this man really is a dedicated telepath, we cannot allow him to fall
into enemy hands. Do you understand?"
Croft assured him that he did.
When he signed off, he turned to Dalbo, who sat just outside of
pickup range.
"Termination. A promise to terminate my innocent life if others
apprehend me."
"You'd better stay close then, hadn't you?" Croft suggested.
There was a pause for a moment. Then Croft turned to some other
machinery.
"What are you doing?" Dalbo asked.
"Can't you tell?"
"I have a way of sensing what is going on inside an organism, but
this ability is neither always constant nor clear," said Dalbo. "I
cannot always "read minds", as you inaccurately like to put it."
"I like, I like," said Croft, punching a lead into his portable
CPU. Then he started typing some keys.
TAPE REWOUND, he read.
Croft rapidly typed away. SEARCH FOR REFERENCES TO THE
FOLLOWING: "CROFT" "DALBO ALTO" "ELECTIONS" "VICE PRESIDENT" "DUNCAN
POS" "EBERT MOS" "RAX OLS"
SEARCHING. The machine hummed for a moment, then responded
REFERENCES:
CROFT (14)
ELECTIONS (34)
VICE PRESIDENT (25)
EBERT MOS (4)
RAX OLS (12)
Croft studied the list, then whistled. The Kroton Corporation
was involved, all right. But either they didn't know about Dalbo (in
which case he had the wrong parties), or else they hadn't talked about
him at this particular outting. After all, his comtag only recorded
what went on in the executive suite in the Kroton Paley building.
Croft had the computer play the parts of the tape that referred
to the keywords.
"-not his real name. I traced it to a Clifford Croft."
"Croft? Who the hell is he?"
"... checked the records, he works for the Alliance. He holds a
nothing job somewhere, which means he probably works for one of their
security services."
"What interest does the Alliance have with Paley Paratus?
They're not even a member?"
"Fool," came a deep voice that Croft recognized as the chairman,
Burman Slanda. "Paley is applying for admission to the Alliance. By
their lights, we're supporting the wrong candidate. This Croft-"
The dialogue went on and on, how the Kroton Corporation, by means
both legal and not, was supporting Ebert Mos over Rax Ols in the
upcoming Vice-Presidential race. But Croft started to frown, and his
frown only grew deeper as the conversation went on. He continued
frowning, even when Lotnon entered the room, listening in silence to
the rest.
When the machine was done, Croft set it to autoreport, and looked
up.
Lotnon gave a low whistle. "It looks like the Kroton Corporation
is in this up to their necks."
"How so?" said Croft cooly.
"Well, you heard... they're trying to manipulate the Vice
Presidential race."
"And?"
"So, they know the Alliance wants Paley Paratus to join up... and
Rax Ols supports Alliance membership."
"Go on," said Croft, leaning his head on one hand.
"And they support Ebert Mos... so they..."
"Naturally assassinate one of our embassy officials," Croft
concluded.
"Perhaps Calner's informant was going to leak-"
"Leak? Leak what? I haven't heard anything here the Alliance
would be interested in." Croft waved a hand dismissively. "Oh,
they've certainly broken a number of laws, Paratan laws. But that's no
concern of ours."
"But surely the Alliance is interested in any attempt to sway-"
"There must be dozens of groups, I would guess, that are trying
to sway this election, in some form or another," said Croft.
"So what do you think?"
Croft frowned. "From what I've got here, nothing. The Kroton
Corporation isn't involved."
"Then why the face?"
"They didn't mention Dalbo."
"So?"
"If they're the ones who were chasing us, they must have been
after Dalbo. Yet not one mention of him."
"Perhaps these aren't the ones who were chasing us."
"Perhaps." Croft was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Tell
me, Bill, if you had committed an illegal act, and you knew your
private meeting place were comtagged, what would you do?"
"Remove the comtag, of course."
Croft sighed. He spoke slowly, as if to a child. "But what if
you wanted to lead the investigators astray?"
"Well..."
"If you were just a little bit clever, might you not want to
confess to some small wrongdoing, to allay their suspicions?"
"Well..."
"No? Not even a slight possibility?" Croft worked hard to keep
the sarcasm out of his voice.
"Uh... So you do think Kroton is involved."
Croft grimaced. "I don't know. They certainly have the
sophistication. I don't know if they've ever tangled with the Alliance
this directly, though. Murdering a consular official is awfully high-
profile, even for them."
"So?"
"At the same time, this is just the sort of ploy I would expect
from them. They didn't even mention Dalbo, not once...." Croft turned
to Dalbo. "What do you think?"
Dalbo shrugged. "Organisms acting according to their own goals
and imperatives. You must know what these are before you will know
what these organisms will do."
"Thanks," said Croft. "I'm not being billed for that, am I?"
Croft turned to Lotnon. He was the closest thing to an ally Croft
would have, at least until the Shadow team arrived. He filled Lotnon
in on what had happened at the spaceport, as well as why he was taking
Dalbo off-planet.
"He can read minds!"
"A little louder, please. I don't think some of the embassy
staff downstairs heard you," said Croft. He leaned closer. "Not a
word. Not even to the Ambassador." He said it simply. He didn't need
to say more; the threat was implicit.
Now to get back to work.
ACCESS GRANTED. WELCOME TO KROTON PALEY DATABASE.
Croft grinned, sitting at his cramped CPU-in-a-suitcase. He
glanced over at the comline connection, making sure the current was
steady.
INSERT SECONDARY CODE FOR MAIN MENU.
Croft frowned. Once he obtained the password, the system should
have let him in.
He wrestled with the computer for the better part of an hour.
This locking system was more complex than the last, and it was more hit
and miss than the precise application of skill that got him in.
LINK WITH MAIN MENU ESTABLISHED. WHAT ITEM DO YOU WISH TO SEE?
Croft's grin faded. What did it mean, what item did he wish to
see?
MAIN MENU, he typed.
INSERT CODE TO OBTAIN KEY TO MAIN MENU.
Croft brought his fist down on the table in frustration. These
Kroton types were triple paranoids. Then he saw something, Press 'H'
for help. He had nothing to lose, so he pressed it.
THIS IS SYSTEM MONITOR. WHAT MAY I DO TO ASSIST YOU, ACCOUNTANT
BUCHAN?
I WISH ACCESS TO THE MAIN MENU, Croft typed.
WHAT ITEM IN THE MAIN MENU DO YOU WISH TO SEE?
ALL ITEMS. Croft idly wondered what kind of program he was
dealing with. He checked the feed monitor. Still steady.
IT IS AFTER HOURS. YOU ARE OFF-SHIFT, ACCOUNTANT BUCHAN. WHY DO
YOU WISH TO SEE THE MAIN MENU?
I WISH TO EXAMINE THE FINANCIAL RECORDS OF THE LAST YEAR. THEY
MAY BE IN ERROR.
THEN YOU DO NOT REALLY WISH TO SEE THE MAIN MENU, DO YOU.
NO, I SUPPOSE NOT, Croft admitted. He was beginning to detest
the uppity machine.
BEFORE I GIVE YOU ACCESS TO THE FINANCIAL RECORDS, ACCOUNTANT
BUCHAN, WOULD YOU PLEASE TELL ME THE FIRST NAME OF YOUR ELDEST
DAUGHTER?
Croft paused, glancing at the feedback indicator. Still steady.
If they had suspicions, they hadn't crystallized. It must be a routine
off-watch security procedure.
But how to get around it?
The link paused for a moment, and then came
ACCOUNTANT BUCHAN, I DID NOT RECEIVE YOUR RESPONSE
Croft considered cutting the line, but then, thinking he had
little to lose, he typed I DO NOT HAVE A DAUGHTER.
The machine mulled over that for a bit
WHY DID YOU TAKE SO LONG TO RESPOND?
So he'd been right. Now to allay the suspicious machine. THERE
WAS A MECHANICAL ERROR ON THIS SIDE. I HAD TO RETRANSMIT MY SIGNAL
AGAIN. NOW, ARE YOU GOING TO GRANT ME ACCESS, OR NOT?
THERE IS NO NEED TO BE ADVERSARIAL, ACCOUNTANT BUCHAN. YOUR
PERSONALITY INDEX DOES NOT INDICATE ADVERSARIALITY.
I GET ADVERSARIALITY FROM DEALING WITH MACHINES LIKE YOU.
MAYBE YOU NEED A VACATION... MY RECORDS INDICATE THAT YOU ARE
CURRENTLY ON VACATION.
And then Croft noticed it, a surge in the feedback. He activated
the slant systems, sending the trace bouncing harmlessly off. Curse
those infernal personality-programmed systems!
I THOUGHT ABOUT SOME WORK I LEFT UNDONE, said Croft, trying to
salvage something for his efforts. If he had to sign-off, he would
have to start from scratch again.
I THOUGHT YOU INDICATED THAT YOU WERE LOOKING FOR ERRORS.
LOOK, ARE YOU GOING TO LET ME INTO THE DATABASE, OR NOT?
YES. JUST A MOMENT.
And then Croft saw it. The trace was returning to him. He cut
the comline.
"Stupid machine," he muttered.
Then there was a scratch on his door and Croft turned.
It was Dalbo.
"What is it?"
"Killers. They are here."
"So good to see you, detective-inspector Markna," said the
Ambassador.
She gave a curt nod, but her expression matched those of her
subordinates behind her. Croft noticed that their hands never wavered
far from their jackets. Neither did his.
"And what can we do for you?" said the Ambassador.
"We'd like to speak to Mr. Alto. To ask him a few questions,"
said Markna. She looked up at Dalbo, who was cowering behind Croft.
"Hello, Mr. Alto."
Dalbo cringed even more.
"You wish to speak to him? By all means. Use my parlor room-"
"Mr. Ambassador, you misunderstand," said Markna. "We wish to
see him at the station. Just some routine questions."
"What about?" said Croft, speaking for the first time.
"This murder investigation. We've never had an opportunity to
conduct a full interview."
"Then conduct it here," said Croft.
Cessna frowned. "We'd prefer to do it uptown."
"I'm sure."
The Ambassador looked left and right, sensing the tension. Like
all trained diplomats, he immediately reached for a concession. "I'm
sure it will be fine by Mr. Croft if Mr. Alto accompanies these
gentlemen-"
"Dalbo, do you want to go with them?" said Croft.
Dalbo shook his head wordlessly. He was staring at the trio in
obvious fright.
"I guess that settles it," said Croft.
Cessna frowned, and turned to the ambassador. "You are harboring
a foreign national in your embassy at a critical juncture in the
relations between our two peoples. So far we have overlooked this, in
the interests of greater harmony-"
"But if we don't cough up Dalbo you'll start applying the heat,"
said Croft.
"Precisely," said Markna, giving a wolf smile. Now they all knew
who held the upper hand.
The Ambassador gulped. "Well, in the interests of galactic
harmony, I don't see why not-"
Croft turned to Dalbo. "Dalbo, do you want-"
"-political asylum. Affirmative," said Dalbo quickly.
"This could make things very unpleasant," said Markna. She
hardened her voice. "I strongly suggest you reconsider."
"Yes, that was a pretty strong suggestion," Croft reflected.
"What do you think, Dalb?"
"Suggestion made with air of authority. Deep steady voice.
Objective accomplished," said Dalbo.
Markna trained two hard cubes of ice on them. For a moment,
nobody moved. Even the Ambassador was silent. One of Markna's aides
swayed slightly.
Markna twitched her head to the side ever so slightly, and then
everyone breathed again as, turning, she and her men left the way they
had come.
"Croft, whatever are you doing?" the Ambassador exploded. "Do
you want to create an incident?" He turned, furious. "Come with me!
Come with me this instant!"
They retired to his office. He turned on the vid screen,
punching in a set of numbers. He identified himself and said "The
deputy secretary, please."
Shortly thereafter the elderly face of a senior official in a
formal nine piece suit appeared on the screen. "Ah, Ambassador
Califar. What can I do for you?"
"Mr. Secretary, there is a problem," said the Ambassador, casting
a glare at Croft. Croft remained totally silent, without expression on
his face.
"A problem?"
"This... envoy that was sent to investigate the minor mishap
here... he's refused to work with local authorities, he's disrupted
diplomatic relations-"
The deputy secretary turned to a keyboard on his side, started to
type.
"-won't listen to authority, and has a thoroughly negative
attitude-"
The deputy secretary rapidly depressed a series of keys, then
leaned back to stare at the results. Eyebrows raised. "I see," he
said.
"-and so, I respectfully ask that he be withdrawn from this
situation."
The Deputy Secretary looked at them again. "Mr. Croft?" he said,
even though there had been no introductions.
"Sir?" said Mr. Croft.
"Is there a problem that we can help you with?"
Ambassador Califar listened, openmouthed.
"Not really sir... but it would be nice if the Ambassador backed
me up a little more often. Especially when we're dealing with the
locals."
The deputy secretary turned to the Ambassador. "Ted, I need you
to work with Mr. Croft, and not interfere with his investigation."
"Wha...?"
"He has top clearance, from the council itself. There's more
going on then you or I know. All I can say is that if you're useful in
assisting Mr. Croft, it would be a big boost to your career."
Ambassador Califar was speechless. Finally, he dumbly nodded.
"Surprise. External stimuli not comforming to expected inputs."
"Is there anything else, Mr. Croft?" said the deputy secretary.
Croft nodded. "You've done enough, Mr. Secretary, and I'm
grateful."
Nodding, the deputy secretary signed off.
"What... how...."
"You'd better get with the program, Mr. Ambassador. There are
bigger things at stake here, even bigger than harmonious relations."
The Ambassador opened his mouth again, and closed it. "What can
I do to help?"
"Meekness substituting for arrogance. Desire to advance by
acting as sycophant."
The Ambassador glared at Dalbo, before planting a false smile on
his lips as he looked at Croft and Lotnon.
"There is one thing," said Croft, a little hesitantly.
"Yes, yes?"
"Got a smoke?" Croft asked, walking out.
"Pleasure. Pleasure derived by publically raising your status at
the expense of others."
It was after dinner, and Croft had a broad grin on his face as he
faced Dalbo and Lotnon. "Nonsense. I'm merely smiling because I
happen to be in a good mood."
"You were obvious in displaying that countenance to the one
called Ambassador. Your delight in his discomfort was equally
apparent."
"Dalbo... do you really think I delight in the misery of others?"
"I can't read minds, and even I can see that." That was from
Lotnon.
"Even you." Croft sighed.
"What's next?" said Lotnon.
"What's next is we pay a little nocturnal visit to the Kroton
corporation," said Croft. "I need to have a little look at their
files."
"I don't know," said Lotnon. "Remember when we were captured by
the department of sanitation? I know of those Kroton people. They may
not be as charitable."
Croft waved a hand dismissively. "You worry too much."
"No, he doesn't," Dalbo corrected, with a far away look in his
eyes.
They took Dalbo along, partially on the theory that he might be
useful, but mostly because Croft feared to leave him behind at the
embassy. Embassy security really was pitiful, and a small determined
band of terrorists could spirit him out of there in minutes.
This time their departure from the embassy was accompanied by a
fanfare of smoke bombs. A ring of cars, presumably from the Department
of Sanitation, had their vision nullified by dark thick smoke. In the
confusion Croft gunned the aircar out of the embassy driveway and
headed off. He of course had scanned the aircar for comtags before
their departure.
Lotnon looked behind them as they speeded away. "No signs of
pursuit."
"Dalbo?"
"No. But your actions have caused floating metal boxes to hit
other floating metal boxes."
"So? We're generating good business for the local aircar body
repair shop."
The Kroton building looked more imposing during the night than it
did during the day. Guards escorting hounds roamed the grounds around
it. Bright lights shined all over the exterior. A squad of
plainclothes stood at near rigid attention at the entrance.
"How do you propose to get through that?" said Lotnon.
Dalbo looked at Croft. "He is going to walk right in."
"You are?"
"We are. Come on."
They started towards the main entrance. They were immediately
picked up by grounds security, and furtively followed until they
reached the main entrance.
A man with an electronic notepad greeted then, backed up by more
of the hired muscle. "What can I do for you?"
Croft flashed a badge at him. "Kroton internal security. I'm
here for a surprise inspection."
The man looked down at his stylus. "I have no record of that."
"That's why it's called a surprise."
"May I see your ID card again?"
"Certainly." Croft handed it over, apparently unworried. And
there was no reason why he should have been. ID cards were part of
standard agency equipment, and with the Kroton Corporation being the
largest company in the galaxy it was only natural that a Kroton ID be
in the standard agent issue pack.
The man inserted the card into a machine which hummed as it
accepted it. Then, with raised eyebrows, he handed it back. "Sorry,
sir."
"That's quite all right. You're just doing your job."
"Where would you like to go? I'll provide an escort."
"Most decent of you. I think we want to examine the Kroton Paley
mainframe first. Can one of your men take us to it?"
One of them could. Croft reflected how easy this was. If only
he had a code for computer entry!
But computer access should be easy enough, from mainframe
control. If he knew where to look.
The man escorted them to the appropriate room, and left to stand
guard on the outside, at Croft's urging.
Lotnon looked at all the arrayed machinery surrounding them. It
all looked so imposing. "Do you know how to work this?"
Croft nodded. "I received some instruction on Kroton systems,
once upon a time. It's all pretty standardized."
He started to flip through a manual, rapidly turning pages. But
then his attention turned to a schematic on the wall. "Ah. So that
must be the security system..." he turned, studying a device on the
side. "And so, if I pull this wire out...." He reached for that.
"I would not do that," said a grunting voice.
Croft turned. A short, bald headed man dressed in black stood
there. He was alone.
"We're conducting an investigation here. You're interfering,"
said Croft, matter of factly.
"Investigation over," said the small man, grinning. "You are to
come with me."
"All right," said Croft, making eye contact with Lotnon. "But
you're going to be demoted for this."
The man gestured with his hand for Croft to walk past him. Croft
did so, but as he walked past he whipped out his hand to club the man-
-but the man wasn't there. He had spun about, to the side.
Croft drew his blaster, but it was kicked out of his hands before
he could aim it. He immediately aimed a blow at the chunky man, who
blocked it. They exchanged blows. Lotnon tried to interfere, aiming a
blow for the back of the man's neck, but the man, without even looking,
launched a chop at Lotnon's middrift, and he collapsed, with just the
smallest of oomph's, into a heap onto the ground.
Croft used that small distraction to launch himself at the man,
pummeling him to the ground. They wrestled back and forth, until Croft
landed a strong blow, and the man lay still.
"He wasn't so tough," said Croft, dusting himself as he got up.
Dalbo started to say something, when a blow caught Croft from behind
and he fell to the ground.
He must have been out only a minute, but he found himself, seated
in a chair, along with Dalbo and Lotnon, in the executive boardroom.
"Ahhh," said Croft, feeling his head as he blinked rapidly. His
eyes focused to stare at the short squat man before him, who was now
flanked by armed guards. "Lucky shot," said Croft.
"The skill of the warrior," said the man, bowing slightly.
"Since when do they teach warriors to play dead?" said Croft.
The man's expression hardened, and he started to step forward,
when a voice said, "Choto!"
New people entered the room. Croft recognized one of them.
Burman Slanda, the chairman of the board.
"It was childish of you to try to apprehend them alone."
The one called Choto hung his head, like a guilty child.
"You must forgive him, Mr. Croft. He has a tendency to let
himself get carried away by his enthusiasm for his work."
Croft winced as he heard himself called by his real name. His
weapons, of course, had also been taken away.
"Yes, we know who you are. We've known since shortly after the
shareholder meeting... I remembered only later that you were our
esteemed gauche inspector. That was very clumsy of your organization,
Mr. Croft, using the same operative for both of these intrusions."
"We're a little shorthanded nowadays," said Croft, giving a small
smile.
"Is the Agency so shorthanded? Don't act surprised, Mr. Croft.
We have the entire datebase of the Kroton Corporation to draw on here,
not merely the Paley Paratus operation. Yes, we know who you are. But
we wonder, yes, we wonder, why are you here?"
He banged a gavel, and several people took their seats. "This
special meeting of the Kroton Paley board of directors will now come to
order. The clerk will read the roll."
The clerk did. There were about a dozen directors at the
meeting.
"Approval of old minutes?" There was silence for a moment, then
Mr. Slanda banged his gavel. "Passed unanimously."
"Old matters?" Again there was silence.
"Well then, that brings us to new matters. What to do about our
friends here? I now open the floor for discussion."
"Kill them," suggested one director.
"Interrogate them for information," said another.
"Interrogate them, then kill them," said the third.
"May I address the board?" said Croft.
"No," Mr. Slanda assured him.
"I think we should simply terminate them immediately," said the
first director. His name was Haines, and he had been a no-nonsense,
clean cut director of Kroton Paley for fourteen years. He believed in
dealing with problems quickly.
"No. We have to find out why they're here." said another
director.
"It's obvious. The Alliance doesn't like our involvement in the
election," said Haines.
"Do we know that? For certain? Why don't we find out? What's
the harm in a little applied torture?" said another director. Her name
was Montass, and she believed in fully researching problems before
arriving at solutions.
"I think we should let them go," said another director. This was
Matary Laines. The newest director of Kroton Paley, she had worked her
way up from the industrial espionage division, and she was known to
favor stealth and suberfuge over brute force.
"What?" Haines said. "What have you been smoking?" he demanded.
"They're Alliance. We have most of our business operations in
the Alliance. Imagine the repercussions if we terminate three of their
agents."
"We make it look like an accident, then," said Haines.
Choto gave a grin, which Croft did his best to ignore.
"They'll never buy it," Laines insisted. "They're not fools."
"Well, we'll make it look like somebody else did it. State
Security, maybe," Haines hazarded.
"Why burn our bridges?" Laines suggested.
"We're not burning bridges," Haines countered. "We're just
liquidating some of the Alliance's minor asset holdings. They'll never
miss them."
"Order!" said Slanda, banging the gavel. There was silence for a
moment. "This is a disciplined corporate board. Let's have everyone
behaving like civilized directors, shall we?" The directors looked
solemnly at one another. "Now, do we have a motion?"
"I move that we terminate the prisoner, with dispatch," said
Haines.
"Do we have a second?"
"Second," said one of the directors.
"Is there any further discussion?" said Slanda.
Laines opened her mouth, but said nothing.
"Then we lay the motion before the table. Those supporting the
measure will vote the ayes, those opposing-"
"Mr. Chairman!" It was Montass.
"Yes?"
"I'd like to amend this corporate resolution to state as follows,
after the word 'dispatch': 'said prisoners to be dispatched after
being interrogated'-"
That started an angry fight, between those who wanted to kill the
prisoners outright and those who wanted them interrogated first.
"It's easiest just to kill them."
"But we have them now. Why not wring some information out of
them?"
"Best get it over with."
"Why not torture them a little? It's not like they'll ever be
able to tell anyone about it."
Lotnon was looking dazed. It was just sinking in that they were
arguing about the manner of his own execution. But Dalbo was watching
with fascination.
He turned to Croft. "Hate. Fear. Greed. Suspicion. Such
classic examples of prime emotions."
"Yes, but which emotions will win out?" Croft wondered.
Dalbo paused. "They will kill us. That is the majority
sentiment."
"Wonderful thing, this corporate democracy," Croft remarked.
Dalbo turned to Croft. "You do not seemed concerned about your
imminent demise." He stared hard at Croft for a moment. "Ah, I see...
you plan violence."
"Keep your mind to yourself," Croft snapped. "Do you see me
prying into other people's thoughts?"
The directors had settled down, and were finally about to vote.
"Read the roll," said the chairman. "We will vote on whether or
not to kill them immediately. Ayes in the affirmatives, nays in the
negatives. Abstentions as good as always."
They voted, one after another. "Aye." "Aye." "Aye." "Aye."
"Aye." "Nay" (That was from Matary Laines) "Aye" "Aye".
The clerk tallied the vote, and the chairman banged his gavel.
"The ayes have it. Is there any other business?"
One director spoke up. "There was that leaky roof over in sector
G-"
"We'll take it up at the next meeting, Harold. Time to expedite.
If there are no more motions, this meeting is... ADJOURNED."
Directors immediately got up, and started to file out.
Mr. Slanda turned to Croft. "What did you think?"
"A fine example of corporate democracy," Croft assured him.
"The Kroton Corporation always observes all the proper
formalities," Slanda assured him.
Croft looked around. There was Slanda, Haines, Matary Laines,
Choto, and two guards left. As she walked out Montass said to Croft,
"Sorry this has to end so soon. I wanted to interrogate you first."
Croft gave a genial smile. "You can't win them all."
"You will not be winning anything ever again, Mr. Croft," said
Mr. Slanda.
"Aren't you even the tiniest bit curious why we're here?" said
Croft.
"Nonsense! It's patently apparent why you're here. You're
opposing our efforts to aid Ebert Mos to the Vice Presidency because he
opposes the treaty with the Alliance."
"And you oppose the treaty...."
"Let's just say it's not in our best business interest," said
Slanda.
"Was it in your best interests to kill our man at the embassy?"
Slanda look puzzled, but then his face cleared up. "Oh, that
little piece of wet work. No, we can't take credit for that."
"You wouldn't mind telling me who would?" Croft didn't expect an
answer.
But Slanda merely shrugged and said, "We're not interested in
squabbles between other corporate entities. It was probably the
Slurians. They want this treaty stopped even more than we do. They're
usually the ones responsible for shoddy work. Bumbling amateurs."
Croft filed the information away but homed in on an earlier
point. "The Alliance isn't a corporate entity. It won't be in your
best interests to kill three of its agents. They know where I am. If I
don't show up again they'll know who did me in."
Slanda laughed. "Mr. Croft, you have already practically
admitted that you are the only Agency agents on this planet. Who would
you have informed? In any event, we will plant enough convincing
evidence to make it seem that you were done in by the Slurians. Or the
State Security people. The... garbage men." He made a wry chuckle.
"Yes, we have recently become aware of your.... scrapes? with them."
He snapped his fingers. "Choto!"
Choto grinned. "I kill them now, Mr. Slanda?" He slapped hand
against hand.
"No. Outside. The usual place. And use lasers only. No rough
stuff. No tenderizing."
"Oooohh," he said, obviously disappointed.
As they were escorted out Matary Laines said, "Sorry, Croft. Not
all Kroton is like this."
"Oh, you're just sore because you were outvoted," said Haines.
"See you at the next shareholders meeting," said Croft, as he was
escorted out.
"I think not," said Slanda, with a sly grin. "Goodbye, Mr.
Croft."
As Croft was hustled out the last thing they heard was, "I prefer
'until we meet again'."
They were driven to a junkyard, about two miles outside of the
capital. Choto and four guards escorted them into the piles of refuse.
They trudged along for several minutes. Finally, they stopped.
"So this is the end," said Croft.
Choto was silent.
"It's a pity you were never able to take me in a fair fight,"
said Croft, musing idly.
"You Agency man. You think you so tough," said Choto.
"What's not to know?" Croft responded.
"You think, you think you can take me?"
"Ha," said Croft. "In a minute."
"You take me... I let you go. I let you live."
"Deception," Dalbo muttered.
"Quiet," Croft hissed. He didn't need anyone to tell him that.
Croft turned to Choto. "Ok, but let me just retie my shoelaces first."
Croft reached down, one hand on his laces, the other reaching
into his pants leg, behind his ankle....
Choto used this opportunity to launch a quick kick attack at
Croft. Croft, keeping aware for such an action, smoothly rolled to the
side, ending in a standing position. And in his hand he held a small
ball. Kroton security hadn't discovered all his devices.
"What that?" said Choto, looking puzzled.
"Watch," Croft suggested, closing his eyes. He squeezed it hard,
tossing it into the air.
There was a brilliant flash... and everyone was blind. Choto,
his subordinates, everyone.
Well, not everyone. The light seared through Croft's eyelids,
and he saw bright spots when he opened them again, but he had better
visions than the others, who were stumbling around, unseeing.
Especially Lotnon.
"I'm blind, I'm blind!" he said, stumbling about.
"It's only temporary," said Croft. He turned to Dalbo. Dalbo,
of course, had known to close his eyes. Now he was pointing, with a
gangly finger, in a certain direction.
Puzzled, Croft looked that way. And saw Choto, smiling at him.
"I did not look," he said, by way of explanation. He launched a
lightning attack at Croft.
Croft was naturally surprised, and he couldn't get out of the way
in time. But he did block the brunt of the assault with his arms.
Still, he was forced to the ground, where Choto pummeled him.
"Violence," said Dalbo disapprovingly. He picked up one of the
discarded lasers, and, like a child with a new toy, examined it
curiously.
Croft wrestled with Choto, but the short man was incredibly
strong. "Dalbo... shoot him," he gasped.
Dalbo just continued playing with the weapon, humming slightly to
himself.
Choto, grinning happily, pinned Croft to the ground, and started
to slam him with blows.
Croft gasped, sensing no help was coming. He quickly flicked his
right wrist, and a piece of metal popped into his palm.
"Heh heh heh," said Choto, landing another blow in Croft's
stomach.
"Ooof!" Croft involuntarily uttered. But then he pressed his
right hand against Choto's restraining arm.
"Yeoow!" said Choto, involuntarily jumping off Croft. Stunned,
he blinked for a moment.
Croft slowly and painfully got himself up. Choto got up, and he
was all grins again.
Roaring, he launched himself for another attack.
But Croft was smart enough not to engage Choto at close quarters,
where he could be pinned down by those powerful arms. Instead he
pivoted to the side, aiming a blow at Choto's back.
Roaring, Choto launched himself again, grabbing for Croft.
Again, Croft dodged, landing a blow on his assailant's back.
But nothing seemed to stop this thug. He steamed up to attack
again.
"Dalbo!" said Croft. But Dalbo wasn't meeting his eye. Instead
he was still examining his new toy. "Lotnon, get a laser!"
"Hey, I'm blind, remember?" said Lotnon, trying to feel his way
about.
Croft suddenly bent down, assuming a vaguely defensive position.
Choto, who had been about to attack, looked puzzled, for he realized it
would be easy to grab Croft in such a position. He charged-
and Croft picked up a discarded laser from the ground, and shot
Choto. Choto skidded and fell to the ground, mere feet from Croft.
Croft looked at the laser. It was set to stun.
"A pity," he muttered.
"Hey, what's happened?" Lotnon said, hearing that the sounds of
skirmishing had ended.
Croft turned to Dalbo. "You could at least have helped."
"Humans fighting each other. It is of no concern to me," said
Dalbo.
"That's funny," said Croft. "I would have thought that it would
have been of great concern to you. Considering that if he had killed
me, you would have been next."
Dalbo shrugged, as if it were of no consequence to him.
"Was your new toy that interesting?" said Croft sarcastically.
"This?" said Dalbo, dropping the weapon to the ground. "I was
barely noticing its tactile qualities. I was paying more attention to
him."
"Who?"
"Him."
Dalbo pointed behind a pile of rubbish, where a head stuck out
above the piles of garbage. Suddenly, the head disappeared, and they
heard the sounds of running.
Croft was too winded to pursue him. "Who was that?" he said.
"A narrow man."
"A narrow man." Croft repeated hollowly. He grabbed Lotnon by
the arm. "Come on, Bill. It's time to go."
"So was it Kroton?" Lotnon wanted to know, when his vision had
returned.
"Obviously not."
"Obviously?"
"They showed no interest in Dalbo," said Croft. "Whatever their
involvement in the Vice-Presidential race, it doesn't seem connected to
the murder of our embassy official. Slanda said as much."
"Maybe he was lying."
"Why would he? He thought we were as good as dead. Dalbo?"
"Yes?"
"Was the man called Slanda speaking the truth?"
"The man called Slanda rarely spoke the truth. It was not in his
character."
"See?" said Lotnon.
"But he spoke a rare truth when he stated he was not involved."
"Are you sure?"
"It was not in his character."
"What does that mean?" Lotnon wanted to know.
"It's all you'll get out of him," Croft advised. "But Dalbo's
been pretty accurate. And that confirms my feeling that the Kroton are
not involved."
"Then who are we left with? They mythical Tauz?"
Croft looked thoughtful. "I've seen no evidence, conclusive or
otherwise, to suggest Tauz involvement." He paused, considering.
"Maybe it's the Slurians."
"What makes you say that?"
"They're usually to blame for things."
"Rightly or wrongly."
"Rightly, usually. Slanda seemed to think so. And we don't have
any other leads to follow up on. The Slurians it is."
Chapter 5
The next morning Croft was surprised to see a lot of hustle and
bustle at the embassy. The treaty negotiators had arrived.
The treaty committing Paley Paratus to the Alliance had to be
negotiated slowly over the course of several months. The current
administration, headed by President Kerhonkson, was committed to it,
but the negotiators had taken a break during the vice-presidential
elections, so as not to exacerbate an already volatile issue with a
fractured electorate. Vice-presidential elections were scheduled in
merely a matter of days, and even if the opposition candidate, Ebert
Mos of the JSP, won the election, President Kerhonkson vowed to go
forward with the treaty. The election of an opposition vice president
would serve as a symbol of the electorate's opposition; a rejection of
Rax Ols would be seen as a rejection of the treaty, and President
Kerhonkson would be hard pressed to push it through parliament.
Croft watched the men walking brusquely into the embassy. At
first he though the shadow team had arrived, but even at top speed they
weren't due for several days yet. Besides, these people looked like
bureaucrats, not guards.
"How come you didn't tell me they were coming?" said Croft to the
Ambassador.
"Was it important? I'm sorry you've been inconvenienced," said
the Ambassador. Sincerely or not, he had been trying painfully to
ingratiate himself with Croft ever since the debacle with the deputy
secretary.
"This may change everything," Croft muttered.
At that moment Roger Brant, head of the delegation, approached
the Ambassador, and gave a slight nod. Croft looked past him out the
front door. "Security is just letting everyone through!"
"Well, people from the delgation are coming in-"
"They should check ID's, at the least!"
"Who is this man?" said Brant, looking sharply at Croft.
"We have a lot of people coming through, and they're very
important-"
"Not to me! I want their ident's checked and their clothes
frisk-searched, just as if they were common criminals."
"Who is this man?" said Brant, getting angrier by the minute.
"And I want all their baggage searched. A visual inspection at
the least. There's no telling-"
"We are not common criminals!" Brant fairly shouted.
Croft looked him up and down. "No sir, you are not. You are
diplomats." He looked at the Ambassador, and said simply, "I expect it
to be done." The Ambassador nodded, looking unhappy.
Croft walked away, ignoring the raving Brant. "Who is this man?
What? Why can he not be fired? Who?"
"What do we do now?"
Lotnon and Dalbo were sitting in Croft's quarters. Croft was
working with a glass sphere on a pedestal. When ever he would touch
the sphere in a certain place, another part would change color.
"We wait," said Croft, as he touched the sphere, watching a color
change.
"For what? I thought you said we were going to check out the
Slurians." said Lotnon. He looked at what Croft was holding. "What's
that, some sort of sophisticated agency device?"
"Nope." Croft touched it again.
"What is it?"
"A color ball. I'm trying to get all the colors to line up."
Lotnon gave an exasperated sigh.
"I don't know about you, Bill old fellow, but I need a rest every
so often after I get pulverized. That Kroton thug did a good job on
me. I need time to think; time to reflect." Croft assumed a
thoughtful pose.
"You lie," said Dalbo flatly. "You know what you are going to
do; you have known all along. You are not procrastinating."
"Guess I can't keep any secrets from you," said Croft. He looked
curious. "Just what am I planning?"
"Some piece of espionage. It does not concern me," said Dalbo,
with a wave of the hand.
"Oh, but it does, Dalbo. I'm bringing you along."
"Where?" Lotnon wanted to know.
"The last Vice-Presidential debate."
Croft had wanted some insights into the two candidates. To that
end, he decided to subject each of them to "Dalbo analysis".
Especially Ebert Mos. Rather than guessing who his anonymous backers
were, it might be easier to pluck the information from Mos's mind.
Croft arranged to get access to the backstage area where the
debate was being held. As a senior official in the state security
apparatus (so his badge said), he was entitled to that, at least.
Hostile eyes watched them enter the backstage area. Morilla and
his hit team sat in their parked aircar and watched with surprise.
"They're going in! They know!" said one of his subordinates.
Morilla slapped him across the face. "They can't possibly know.
And it may just be the good fortune we were looking for. If the off-
worlder is implicated in the death of a vice-presidential
candidate...." he let the thought fade.
"But what of our mission?" said the subordinate, rubbing a sore
cheek.
Morilla shook his head. "We can't give chase in there. We would
just disrupt Krendal's mission. No, he'll come out, and when he does,
we'll be waiting."
Croft eyed the candidates from backstage. Ebert Mos was a tall,
lanky fellow, with a long crop of hair that went down the sides of his
head. Rax Ols was shorter, rounder and considerably overweight.
"Hotdog and hamburger," Croft muttered.
"What?" said Lotnon, scanning the area.
"-for our first question," began the moderator. "Mr. Mos, the
cost of government programs have risen over 300% during the past five
years. Would you cut programs and if so, what programs would you cut?"
Mos cleared his throat. He gave a big smile. "Friends.
Firstly, I would thank you for allowing us to appear here. I strongly
encourage the citizenry, especially young people, to educate themselves
about the issues, especially the political process-"
"Mr. Mos, the question?" said the moderator.
Mos blinked. "Ah, I was just getting to that. The budget
situation is complex, very complex. I would talk not so much of what
programs need to be cut as much as the need for greater efficiency, the
need to streamline our bloated bureaucracies-"
"He lies," said Dalbo. "He intends to push to quadruple
government spending, in the hopes currying public favor-"
"Shhh," said Lotnon. "This is an art."
Mos finished speaking, mainly because he had run out of breath,
and Ols was given a chance to speak.
"We need to cut specific budget programs," Ols began. He held up
a compad. "I have here a long list of programs that I would suggest to
the President that we either drastically reduce or eliminate entirely.
Unfortunately the required brevity of my answer does not permit me to
get into detail-"
"Heavy bags," said Dalbo.
"What?" said Croft. "Listen, Dalbo, I want you to pry into Mos's
mind. See if you can find out who his allies are."
"Heavy bags," Dalbo repeated. "No, one heavy bag."
The moderator posed another question. "Do you see a need to
raise taxes to reduce our large budget deficit, and if so, how much...
Mr. Ebert?"
Ebert responded smoothly, much as he had been rehearsed. "Taxes
have been raised far enough on the between-class by the current
administration. If I'm elected, I vow to work to reduce the tax burden
on the sub-class, and compensate by increasing the burden on the
strato-classes, who for years have been avoiding their fair share-"
"Untruth. He wishes to introduce a limb tax which will affect
all but crippled citizens," said Dalbo. Then, as the questioner
shifted to Rax Ols, Dalbo got an odd look on his face. "Death... by
asphyxiation."
"What?" said Croft, immediately alert.
"No... death... by crushing. Crushing, heavy crushing," said
Dalbo.
"What do you mean?" said Croft.
"Crushing. Termination by rapid compression of bodily organs
from a relatively irresistible outside source-"
"I know what it is. What does it mean?" Croft hissed.
"That man is thinking that."
And Dalbo was pointing a stubby finger at Ebert Mos.
Croft immediately looked around. Everything on the stage floor
looked normal.
"Now he is thinking how happy he will be when he wins this
election by default."
Crushing? Was the crushing to occur now? What could crush
someone on a stage?
Croft looked around, but wasn't sure what to do. It would be in
very bad form if someone hustled Rax Ols from the stage in a middle of
a debate. Especially if that someone were an off-worlder.
He kept looking around wildly, looking for some sign of danger.
And then a sixth sense made him spin around, looking at Dalbo, who was
standing very still.
A stubby finger was pointing straight up.
There were large weights, hanging from ropes that were tied to a
rod on a ceiling. And parallel to this rod was a catwalk. On this
catwalk was a man. And hovering over Rax Ols was a large 2,000 metrics
bag of crato-sand.
"Stay with Dalbo," Croft hissed at Lotnon as he slowly walked to
a ladder on the side. The man was next to the rope, and he held a
sharp, gleaming object in his hand....
Croft's mind raced as he climbed the ladder. If the man saw him,
he could cut the rope before Croft could reach him.
Croft reached the top rung, and looked at the catwalk. The man
was at an angle, half facing him, half facing away. Croft slowly drew
his blaster. It wouldn't be an easy shot, but it was possible.
Slowly, step by step, he crept closer.
The man seemed to reach over with the object he held.
Croft raised the blaster. Then the man pulled back.
Croft crept closer. One step... two steps... three steps... four
steps....
Suddenly, the man stood straight, as if he realized something.
Then he slowly turned around.
For a moment, the two stared at each other. Then Croft leveled
his blaster and fired.
The sound of weaponfire stilled the auditorium, and then
everything seemed to happen in slow motion.
A section of the guard railing next to the man disappeared,
vaporized by Croft's shot. The man reached over, cutting the rope.
Croft was firing again, but he was still too far away; and the man
fled, down a far ladder.
But Croft's gaze was fixed, in horror, on the enormous sandbag
that was crashing to the ground. Rax Ols looked up in horror as the
shadow of the huge sandbag covered him, blotting out the light....
And then the bag came down with a crash, and Croft saw it crush
the spot where Ols stood.
It took a moment, but there were quickly screams from the
audience. And then a shaken Rax Ols stepped out from behind the
enormous sandbag.
Croft had been too far away to see it, but the sandbag had landed
just next to Ols, not on top of him. It wasn't until later that Croft
figured out that he had in fact saved Ols. The sound of blasterfire
had caused Ols to take a step back to look up. That step had been
enough, just enough, to save him.
Croft tried to pursue the assassin but he seemed to have simply
disappeared. As Croft descended the ladder he turned to Lotnon and
Dalbo, who were waiting for him. "Come on. We don't want to be here
when the authorities start asking questions." It wouldn't be good for
the treaty if an off-worlder were found here in such a situation.
They made it out one of the stage doors, although they were
momentarily stopped by an exit guard who said, "Wait a moment."
There was a flash of muted blasterfire, and they stepped quickly
over the slumbering body.
"They're out," the subordinate hissed to Morilla.
"So I see," said Morilla. He looked at his aides in the back of
the aircar. "Ready yourselves."
They took out a load of nasty looking weapons.
"Remember. We want the mental alive."
"And the others?" said the subordinate.
Morilla shrugged. "Terminate them."
They got out of the aircar as one, running towards Croft, Lotnon,
and Dalbo.
But suddenly there were sirens in the air, and aircars zoomed
into the back alley. Dozens of uniformed policemen emerged. And they
were between Morilla's people and Croft's.
Morilla, frustrated, frantically motioned for his men to hide
their weapons as they made their way back to their aircar. "Another
time," he muttered.
"Failure." The word was said despondently, with a rather nasal
tone to it.
Two men and one woman stood in front of Eyepatch. One of the men
started shaking uncontrollably. "I released the bag-"
"Meaningless, as it didn't strike its intended target," said
Eyepatch.
"It almost-"
"There are no prizes for almost, Mr. Krendal. But there is a
punishment." He gestured with his hand.
Krendal suddenly gasped, and, speechless, he fell to the ground.
The hilt of a forceblade protruded from his back.
"Remove this failure," Eyepatch said, addressing his aides.
Still before him stood two of his senior operatives. "And now
it's your turn, Mr. Morilla. What have you to report?" he said,
pleasantly enough. But what had just occurred had not escaped anyone's
notice, least of all Mr. Morilla's.
"We... were on the verge of apprehending-"
"On the verge? That sounds dangerously like an almost."
Morilla, sputtering, suddenly became silent. Which was actually
the smartest thing he could have done.
"The mental is not in our hands. And this Clifford Croft has
interfered one time too many. We cannot afford to have an Agency
Alpha-K agent running amuck through our operations. Do I make myself
clear, Mr. Morilla?"
Morilla nodded.
"Then let us get to work. I will work to see that certain...
third party distractions are removed, to make your task the easier."
Eyepatch turned to the young woman in front of him. "Now, Lalilla, how
goes work on your operations?"
"The plans are all set."
"Very good. Since there is time before you go into action, I
want you to take on a small task I was about to assign Mr. Krendal. It
concerns the Alliance treaty delegation...."
"I say we have him killed," said Montass.
"I'm glad to see that you've come around," said Haines.
The directors of Paley Kroton were meeting in emergency session.
"Fool! I always wanted him dead. I just think we should have
interrogated him first."
"We had our chance and we lost it," said Slanda. "I don't think
it will be so easy to pick off Mr. Croft again."
"There was something else," said Laines. "Something in the
Intell report. Croft is guarding a local, one Dalbo Alto."
"Why?"
"He must possess some important information. The other side
seems to want him bad."
"A valuable asset sought by competitors. That sounds like
something we would be interested in," Slanda commented. He turned to
his side. "Are you feeling up to the job?"
Choto gave a toothy grin.
Markna was waiting for them after they had made a circuitous
route back to the embassy. Her aircar blocked the entrance to the
embassy driveway.
Croft slowed the aircar to a halt. He got an uneasy feeling as
he saw that they were being surrounded by her operatives. But would
they try anything in broad daylight, right in front of the embassy?
"Ah, Mr. Croft, we meet again," said Cessna Markna.
"Are you here to grab us or shoot us?" said Croft, eyeing the
surrounding agents.
"Neither," said Markna. "I'd just like an opportunity to talk.
And you've been so elusive, I'd thought I'd wait for you here."
"Elusive?" said Croft, giving a puzzled frown.
"Last time it was a smoke screen. This time we had dark goggles
ready, but instead you gassed our stakeout team." She waved her finger
in a mock 'naught naughty' gesture.
Croft frowned. She was taking this far too calmly. "We're
merely trying to mind our own business."
"I see," said Markna. "Actually, I'm withdrawing the stakeout
team. You're free to go where you like, without the interference of
our units."
"What's the catch?" said Croft, who found this entirely
unbelievable.
"No catch," said Cessna. "I'd just like you to answer a few
questions." She paused. "Here."
"Ask away," said Croft, aware that he was getting off far too
easily.
"Where were you, two hours ago?"
"Watching the vice-presidential debate," said Croft.
"Interesting spectacle, don't you think?"
"Interesting in that one of the major party candidates was almost
crushed by a bag of sand ten times his weight," said Markna.
"I would call that interesting," said Croft.
"Did you have reason to fire a weapon during said event?"
"No," said Croft, straightfaced. "Why would I?"
"I don't know," said Markna. "But two witnesses saw you waving a
blaster."
"Waving isn't firing."
"Waving is a prelude to firing."
"Not necessarily; in this instance I didn't fire."
"There were blaster scorch marks on the catwalk."
"Are you talking to all people who own blasters, then?"
"All the people who were there."
"Are you really?"
"Verbal dueling. Effort to establish dominance," said Dalbo.
As if the spell were broken, the two disengaged a bit.
"That was a very nasty thing that happened."
"It was," Croft admitted.
"I would hate to think that an off-worlder was involved."
"Perish the thought," said Croft.
"I think we understand each other."
"At least one of us does."
Cessna pursed her lips. "That's all."
"All?"
"This... escort will be gone in an hour. You will be free to
come and go from the embassy."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
But it wasn't just like that. Markna had suddenly received
explicit orders from above to withdraw the stakeout and tails from the
embassy. The orders had been as explicit as they were puzzling.
Markna wondered if Croft had exerted political influence through his
government to get the stakeout removed.
But if she believed that, she would have been wrong.
"Why?" said Lotnon.
"I don't know," said Croft. "It doesn't make sense. They could
have grabbed Dalbo out there, too. We weren't on embassy grounds."
"She wanted to," said Dalbo quietly. "But she couldn't."
"She couldn't?" said Croft. "What does that mean?"
But all Dalbo would say was, "Her purpose today was information,
not confusion. And yet the latter is what both sides came away with."
"Are you for real?" said Lotnon.
Dalbo stuck himself with a finger. Pausing, he said, "Relatively
so."
Croft shook his head in frustration. "I need a nap."
The following day Croft summoned Lotnon and Dalbo into his
quarters. "Close the door," he said urgently. Lotnon complied.
"I've been thinking about our problem," said Croft. "Our basic
difficulty is that we don't know who are adversary is. Our first tip
pointed to the Tauz. We've seen no evidence to confirm or deny that.
It isn't the Kroton Corporation; at most, they're accessories to
whatever is going on here. Who does that leave?"
Lotnon shrugged. "The State Security people? That's all I can
think of."
"Let's say they're the culprits. Why didn't they grab Dalbo?
They just had the chance yesterday."
"They were certainly interested enough before."
"But not anymore. What's changed?"
Lotnon shrugged. "I don't know."
"'I don't know' is the operative phrase here. The best thing to
do would be to grab this Ebert Mos and wring the truth out of him."
Croft sighed. "But I'm sure he's under heavy guard, and it wouldn't do
for an Agency official to interrogate a vice-presidential candidate."
"Mos was behind the attempt on Ols' life!"
"Can you prove that? The actual assailant got away. We can't
prosecute a person for a thought. What do we do, parade Dalbo around,
and say that Mos is guilty because Mos thought so-and-so?"
"No, I wasn't suggesting that." Lotnon swallowed hard. "So what
do we do?"
"Get on the Slurians," said Croft. "They're either behind this,
or...."
"Or what?"
"Or maybe they know what's going on. Even if they're not running
the opposition, they manage huge spy networks wherever they operate an
embassy."
"And how do you propose to go about this?"
"First, we look for comtags."
"There are no comtags in the embassy," said Lotnon. He, after
all, worked for diplomatic security.
"Correction. There are no comtags in this room, as I have swept
it myself."
"But the entire embassy is swept, every week."
"Meticulously?"
"Yes."
"On a regular schedule?"
"Yes."
"Then what would stop them from placing a bug, and taking it out
before the sweeps?"
That stopped Lotnon cold. "I... I don't know. But to think that
they would concoct such a-"
"I thought of it, with only a moderate amount of effort. And
they're smarter than you think. Come on!"
"To where?"
"To bug hunt."
They searched the dining room--no comtags. They searched the
dining room--no comtags. They searched all the meeting rooms, the
bedrooms, the hallways, the bathrooms, the secure rooms--no comtags.
All that remained to be searched were the Ambassador's study.
"Listening devices? Preposterous," said the Ambassador. But
then he frowned, as if remembering something. "But if you want to
search, Croft, my friend, by all means, go ahead. I'm anxious to do my
part to aid the Alliance's-"
Croft brushed aside him, holding his miniaturized detector in the
palm of his hand. He went around and around, finding nothing... until
he came to a plant. Buried in one of its leaves was a miniaturized
device.
"What is it? Did you find a- oh," said the Ambassador, seeing
Croft putting a finger to his lips. At Croft's urging they exited the
Ambassador's study.
"Where did you get that plant from?" Croft asked.
The Ambassador thought hard, nearly straining himself. Suddenly,
his face lit up. "I know! It was a peace offering, from the Slurian
ambassador."
"A peace offering," said Lotnon.
"And that's only some of the less subtle irony you'll encounter
in dealing with the Slurians," Croft advised.
"So what now? Do we trace the signal?" said Lotnon.
Croft shook his head. "It isn't transmitting. This particular
detector only works on recorders, not transmitters."
"Meaning?"
Croft sighed, wondering if a general drop in I.Q.'s was
contagious. "Someone has to empty the recorder."
Croft turned to the Ambassador. "When is this week's sensor
sweep?"
It so happened that it was to be that evening.
"Meaning we won't have long to wait," said Croft, with a nod of
satisfaction.
"To wait for what?"
"To catch a spy."
"What are we doing here?" said Lotnon, looking around Croft's
quarters. "Shouldn't we stake out the Ambassador's quarters, waiting
for the spy?"
"By all means, feel free," said Croft, lazing about on his bed,
with his eyes closed. "I'm tired. It must be all the excitement of
the past few days."
"State of rest. A recharge of mental and physical energies."
"Very good, Dalbo. I'll never need a compudictary to help me
define any word with you around."
"Sarcasm. A statement of belief, when the opposite is meant.
Intent is to inspire emotional chagrin in an opponent."
"Yep. You're in dictionary mode, all right."
"Croft, shouldn't we be waiting for the spy?" said Lotnon, a
little more urgently.
Croft didn't reply. But in a moment he gave a fair imitation of
snoring.
"Shouldn't we be doing... well, something?"
Without opening his eyes, Croft said, "Well, come to think of it,
there is one thing you can do."
"Yes, yes?"
"You can fetch me something to eat from the kitchen. I had a
very light lunch, and I'm starved."
"You're impossible!"
"No. He is bad," said Dalbo.
"Yes. Interesting how you persist in staying with badness," said
Croft.
"You shot me."
"It happens," Croft admitted.
Suddenly, there was a sharp beep from one of the instruments on
Croft's workbench. He immediately sat up, turning on his portable
monitor.
"What was that?" said Lotnon.
"Someone's tripped the electric eye." Croft had also set up,
unbeknownst to anyone, a miniature scan camera, no bigger than a thumb,
on the ceiling over the Ambassador's desk.
He stared at the screen, raising an eyebrow.
"It's Jarlo," said Lotnon, recognizing one of the embassy
servants.
"The butler did it," Croft chortled, as he watched Jarlo's
movements carefully.
Jarlo dusted about, waving a little fluffy cleaner. When he got
to the plant, though, he just ignored it, passing it by. And then he
was gone.
"It wasn't him?"
"Unless his hand is faster than my eye," said Croft. "No, we
wait."
But the waiting was not that long. Just a few moments later, a
maid entered the Ambassador's study. Making no attempts to be subtle,
she went straight for the plant.
"Let's go," said Croft, bursting out the door and down the
stairs.
Selna the maid walked nonchalantly out of the Ambassador's study.
It was part of her duties to clean everywhere on the ground floor, and
now it was time to clean the Ambassador's office. She hummed a gentle
tune as she walked around with her duster.
She noticed the visitor to the embassy, Clifford Croft, in the
company of two of his subordinates. "Hello," she said, giving a tight
smile.
"Hi," said Croft, giving a friendly grin. Then he reached out
and gave her a good chop on the back of the neck.
"Unprovoked violence," said Dalbo, looking down at the
unconscious body. "Your specialty, I believe."
Selna slowly came back to consciousness. She found herself tied
to a chair in the basement. And facing her were her interrogators.
"Sir?" she said, sounding puzzled.
"You can drop the cover," said Croft, in a bored voice. "We know
about the comtag."
"Comtag?"
"This," said Croft, holding up the comtag. "Found on your
person."
"Yes," said Selna. "I found it in the plant, while I was
dusting. It looks like a piece of jewelry. I was going to ask if
anyone had lost it." She looked confused, lost.
"Uh huh," said Croft. He checked the polygrapher readout. She
was telling the truth. She was good, really good. "Dalbo?"
"Yes?" said Dalbo.
"Well?"
"She is not a good cleaner. She purposely avoids some of the
dirtiest spots."
"Dalbo!" said Croft. "Was she just telling the truth?"
Dalbo sized her up. "All humans lie," he shrugged.
Croft wanted to pull his hair out. "Does that mean that she was
lying just now?"
Dalbo shrugged.
"All right, we'll do this the old fashioned way." Croft wished
he still had his volitional dampener. But a sharp questioner could get
the truth in other ways.
"All right, Selna. Does this really look like a piece of
jewelry?" said Croft, holding it up.
"I don't know," said Selna. She turned to Lotnon. "He's scaring
me."
"Croft, she passed the polygraph," whispered Lotnon. He wondered
what the Ambassador would say about roughing up one of the hired help.
Croft held up a restraining hand.
"Do you really think this is a piece of jewelry?"
"I don't know!"
"Do you?"
"Maybe, yes!"
"Are you telling me the truth!"
"Yes!"
"I want the truth!"
"It could be!" Both their voices were rising to a crescendo.
Croft was practically yelling in her face.
"The truth!"
"I am telling the truth!"
"Gebarna!"
"I am!"
Croft, easing back, nodded with satisfaction.
"What was that?" said Lotnon, missing something.
Croft spoke quietly now. "In Slurian, Gebarna means truth." The
room was silent for a moment as this sunk in. "Now what's a Paley
Paratan like you doing with a linguistic knowledge of Slurian? Except
for their embassy staff, there can't be a Slurian within 30 light years
of here."
"I... I pick up a few words. I am good with languages," said
Selna. But she looked sullen now.
Croft picked up his blaster. "I am adverse to torturing an
innocent civilian. I do not, however, have any qualms about
interrogating a trained Slurian spy. I have heard what they do to
ours, and I've learned a few techniques that I think you'll find
particularly instructive."
She spat out at him, all pretense gone now. "I am not afraid of
you, Agency man!"
Croft sighed, lowering his blaster. "That's what I was afraid
of." He fished through a bag of equipment, looking for something.
"Ah," he said, withdrawing a small cube.
"What's that?" Lotnon asked.
"Ever see a hypnocube?"
If Selna hadn't, she shortly became intimate with one. Croft had
to keep her eyelids open while the short, intense bursts of light
flickered on her retina. But in moments she was unconscious.
"Hm, that was easy enough," Croft reflected. Sometimes he had to
stun them first.
"What is your name and rank," said Croft.
The answer came, a little slowly. "I am Olga Selna... I am a
maid."
Croft frowned, and checked to make sure that she was really
under. She was.
"Croft," said Lotnon urgently. "I think we got the wrong one."
Croft looked at Lotnon. "Do you know anything about the SSP?"
"SSP....?"
"Slurian Secret Police. Thank you, you've just answered my
question." Croft knew that the Slurian agents were steeled against
interrogation, just as Agency agents were. But their indoctrination
could be broken, with the right equipment--equipment Croft did not
possess.
"Hm..." he said, mostly to himself. This was a cover
personality, protecting a submerged one... which meant that both
existed in the same mind. It was just a matter of peeling one back to
get the other. An idea lit bright in his mind. Perhaps he could get
Selna to help him.
"Selna?" said Croft, in a gentle tone.
"Yes."
"What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a maid."
"Let's pretend for the moment that you're not a maid."
"I'm a maid."
"Ok, ok, you're a maid." Croft saw her visibly relax. "But
let's pretend. Let's go into your fantasies. Ok?"
She nodded, but a little unconvinced.
"Let's pretend you're a... spaceship pilot. What sort of pilot
would you be?"
There was a pause, and Croft was almost afraid it wasn't going to
work, when an answer finally came. "A good one. With a shiny
uniform... and lots of people under my command. With a big ship...."
"All right," said Croft. "Now let's pretend that you're a spy,
an agent."
"An agent?"
"Just pretend. What kind of agent would you be?" This was the
turning point. Croft could only hope that Selna would fill in details
from the other personality in her mind.
"...spy..."
"Who would you spy on?"
"...Alliance...."
"Who would you spy for?"
"...Slurian Free Union of Worlds..."
Lotnon's eyes went up. Until now, he hadn't been certain that
she was a spy.
"What would your mission be...?"
"...spying... on imperialist presence on... other worlds...."
"Your boss... who would your boss be...?"
"... Eyepatch... later...." She started to struggle a little.
"Eyepatch?" The thug at the spaceport had mentioned someone with
an eyepatch!
Croft nodded. Now they were making progress. "Selna, if you
were a spy, would you try to mix in local politics?"
Selna frowned, apparently not understanding.
"Would you try to interfere in local governments?"
"Uh... Yes... I don't know...."
"Would you try to spy on someone named Dalbo?"
"Dalbo....?"
Croft frowned. Either the questions were getting too specific,
or she didn't know anything, or the technique was no longer working.
It seemed that last was becoming self-evident, for in a moment
she snapped out of it, and then her eyes slowly focused again.
"What... what happened?" she snapped.
"Thank you," said Croft. "That was very useful."
He left her down in the basement under guard. She would be
smuggled off Paley Paratus and given a more thorough investigation at
the Agency. And after that, prison. For the embassy was Alliance
territory, and she would be treated just like any other spy.
"So what next?" said Lotnon, later in Croft's quarters.
"I don't know," said Croft, sorting through the general embassy
mail. "We have no conclusive evidence on the Slurians either way.
This espionage operation involving the maid is S.O.P. for them. But
then there's the matter of the eyepatch."
"What about it?"
"The thug at the spaceport mentioned someone with an eyepatch.
That ties in. They must have been working for the Slurians." But he
frowned, even as he said it.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know." He looked up, changing the subject. "Things
invariably get nasty when the Slurians are involved. But we have to
check up on them." He picked up a local newspaper, started scanning
it.
"How do we follow up on-"
"Questions, always questions," said Croft.
"A search for more information. On the part of those who have
none," said Dalbo.
"Quiet right, Dalbo, quite right," said Croft. He looked more
closely at one of the articles. "Hm, this is interesting."
"What?" said Lotnon.
"That's another question," said Croft. "There's a dinner party,
to be held at the Slurian embassy the day after next. Fancy art
exhibition. Invitation only."
"But-oh, I see. But we don't have invitations."
Croft gave a mischievous smile. "Perhaps one will come in the
mail tomorrow."
The Boontad Tower was the highest man made structure in Paley
Prime. It cast shadows over other buildings, tall in their own right,
and was the pride and joy of plastisteel contractors on the planet.
Architects weren't as pleased with the bland stolid design, but they
never had very much clout.
And Roger Bantum was sightseeing. The chief of the Alliance
treaty negotiators was taking a day off, before talks were supposed to
resume the following day. He walked amiably with several of his aides.
His wife hadn't want to come along; she hated "backwater" worlds, and
wanted no part of "uncivilized" planets outside the Alliance,
forgetting that if Bantum did his job properly, Paley Paratus would
become part of the Alliance.
But Roger Bantum was grumpy because he was tired and he was tired
because he was still recovering from the effects of spacelag. So when
he looked out at the auspicious view, all he could say was, "Eh."
As it turned out, it was the last word he ever said, for Lalilla,
who had been lingering behind him, said "Oh, excuse me," and there was
a slight puff of a sound, and then she was gone.
And then suddenly Bantum felt a sharp pain, and he raised a hand
to his chest, and he saw blood, and then he fell to the ground, and
that was that.
"Dead. The Alliance's chief negotiator dead," said A.A. He was
staring at Croft through the secure portable hookup in Croft's room at
the embassy. "And where were you?"
"Somewhere else," Croft snapped. "I was never told to guard him.
I'm only one man, not a shadow team. I can't be everywhere. Isn't it
enough that I foiled the attempt on that vice-pres candidate, and I'm
keeping Dalbo out of their hands?"
"Don't give me any of that, Croft-"
"Where is my shadow team anyway? They're sure taking their time
getting here. You'd think that Dalbo wasn't a priority."
Oddly enough, A.A. calmed down a bit. "We don't have many teams
available. One of them we were supposed to send got diverted."
"Diverted?"
"Attempted assassination on Arduous IV. I had to deploy another
team. They'll be there in a couple of days."
"We might not be here in a couple of days. There's a lot of
activity going on here, and we're right in the middle of it."
"What's your situation?"
"We've eliminated the Krotons as potential suspects. I'm
checking up on the Slurians."
"No leads?"
Croft shook his head. "I have circumstantial evidence to link
the Slurians, nothing more. But if they're not guilty of this, they
must be guilty of something. They usually are."
A.A. nodded. "Be very careful in dealing with the Slurians. We
have the highest agent attrition rate in our dealings with them."
"So I know."
A.A. was silent for a moment, thinking of something. "Well,
Bantum was a tragedy, but it could have been worse."
"What?"
"One of the Paratan's could have gotten knocked off. An
assassination on their side could have stirred passions. Here on the
Alliance people won't get into a huff about one less diplomat. The
bottom line is, the negotiations go on." A.A. looked Croft in the eye.
"Don't mess this one up, Croft." The connection faded.
Chapter 6
The next day was not a nice one. Election day. Under Paratan
law, the polls closed at noon, and the results were known shortly
thereafter.
It was close, but not that close. Ebert Mos won a clear victory.
Treaty opponents saw it as a rebuff of the treaty negotiations
going under way. They said this was a resounding no vote against
alliance membership. But President Kerhonkson saw it differently,
choosing instead to blame the inadequacies of his party's vice-
presidential candidate. Which was all in good politics. Kerhonkson
still supported the treaty negotiations, but he would have to be more
wary of public opposition now. Much more wary.
Especially when he had an opposition vice president to work with.
Croft merely sighed when he saw the results. The treaty was in
doubt, and the treaty negotiators were clamoring for more protection.
Not that they would get the shadow team, whenever it arrived. No, the
highest priority was protecting Dalbo.
Croft tuned out the news, instead catching Dalbo and Lotnon by
eye at the breakfast table.
"What's up?" Lotnon inquired. "The good guys lost, and everyone
seems stirred up. What are we going to do?"
"We're going shopping," said Croft simply.
As they headed down the stairs a number of hefty strangers, all
in plainclothes, were walking in, carrying luggage. Croft immediately
recognized them by their bearing and manner, and he singled out their
leader.
"Major Halp, I presume," said Croft.
The man who Croft addressed saluted. "Mr. Croft."
"Good, you're here."
"Where's the target we're guarding?" said Halp.
"Him," said Croft, hooking a thumb at Dalbo.
"Fine. I suggest we secure the perimeter, and then keep him in
the lowermost chamber, guarded by-"
"That's all fine, Major," said Croft. "Secure the perimeter by
all means. But I'm taking Mr. Alto with me. To perform a vitally
important task."
"Which is?"
"Shopping."
Major Halp wasn't adamant, especially since Croft wouldn't brook
any argument on the point, but he at least insisted that two of his men
accompany them to the downtown district. The big, beefy men were named
Biffer and Buno, and they didn't talk much, which was fine by Croft.
The clothier they went to was one of the best in the city.
"Don't worry," said Croft. "My treat." Which of course meant that the
Agency would foot the bill. A.A. would complain about the cost, of
course, but all that really mattered were results. That's all that
ever really mattered.
"Yes, can I help you?" said a salesman.
"We're looking for your best seven piece suits for all of us.
Uh... not these two," said Croft, motioning towards their not-too-
inconspicuous escort.
"Certainly. We have a number of elegant styles."
"I'm sure," said Croft, eyeing the five digit price tags.
Outside, in an aircar across the street, the subordinate hissed,
"Now?"
"No," said Morilla.
"We take them now! You heard what Eyepatch said."
Morilla turned about, and hit the man square in the face. The
subordinate recoiled, leaning against the back seat. "Don't ever
question my orders."
He paused, considering. "When they come out of the store.
That's when we'll take them."
Four aircars behind them Choto sat, a boom mike pointed forward.
He smiled faintly.
"Croft, this suit costs 15,000 Paratan work units!" said Lotnon,
looking at the seven piece suit he was trying on. He adjusted his
inner shoulder vest slightly, admiring it in the mirror.
"Relax. That's about four and a half Alliance credits," said
Croft.
"More like 8,000 AC's," Lotnon said. "Well, you're paying. You
are, right?"
"Um hm," said Croft, noting that this was the third time he had
been asked. He turned to Dalbo. "What do you think?"
Dalbo looked down at the seven piece suit he wore, complete with
leg vests. "Why must I wear so many layers of clothing?"
"We're going to a fancy party tonight, Dalbo. We want to look
our best," Croft explained.
"For your enemies?" said Dalbo.
"Precisely," said Croft.
"Ah. Duplicity. I understand," said Dalbo. Then something
caught his attention, and he spun about, looking at a far corner of the
store.
"What's up?" Croft said, immediately taking note.
"Nothing," said Dalbo.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing... it's just... the narrow man was thinking how nice it
would be if we were all dead."
Sure enough, in one corner of the store was an individual with a
gaunt shallow face, eyeing them from a distance. But when Dalbo
pointed at him, he immediately scooted out the door.
Croft started to chase after him, but he tripped on a clothing
rack, and went plunging to the ground.
Lotnon gave him a hand getting up, which he ignored.
"The narrow man," said Croft, dusting himself off. "So that's
what you meant. Can you tell me anything more?"
"No," said Dalbo. "This Slurian seemed remarkably dense."
"Slurian?" said Croft. "You didn't tell me he was a Slurian!"
"You did not ask," said Dalbo.
"Are you all right, sir?" said one of the salesman, looking
fearfully at Croft.
"Quite all right," said Croft, grinning grimly. "Quite all
right."
It was going to be some party at the Slurian embassy that night.
But Croft and his companions had to content with the rest of the
day. Specifically that afternoon. More specifically, that very hour.
To be absolutely precise, leaving the store intact in the next five
minutes.
Croft signed a form to pay for the suits and they walked out,
with bundles under their arms.
"Take your positions," Morilla hissed. He and his two men
crouched behind the front of their aircar, weapons drawn. At this
range they could hardly miss. "Remember, we want the mental alive-"
His voice cut off at that point by a sharp blow to the head. His
companions looked up, but they, too, had but precious seconds before
they were struck, both of them falling, stunned, to the ground. Choto
grinned; now he would take on Croft, personally.
But Morilla was not down for the count. He grabbed an obviously
surprised Choto, who believed that hit targets stayed hit, and started
to wrestle with him, on the ground next to the aircar.
"Looks like some commotion across the street there," said Lotnon,
glancing at a gathering spectator crowd.
"Humans attempting to terminate each other," said Dalbo
dismissively.
"Come on," said Croft. "We've got no time to watch petty street
crime."
From out of the shadows of a nearby alley, the narrow man watched
them go.
"You failed." It was both an accusation, and a statement of
fact.
Morilla looked nervous, casting a glance at guards standing to
his left and right, but he stood still.
"What is your excuse?" said Eyepatch.
Morilla was about to say, "Outside interference", but he kept
silence.
Eyepatch glared at him for a moment, as if deciding something.
Then he said, "Why can you not be more like Lalilla?" He turned to
her. "That was a satisfactory piece of work on that Alliance
negotiator."
"Thank you, sir," she said, standing at rigid attention.
He looked sharply at her. "You were not asked for comment." But
then his coldness faded into calmness. "I would almost put you on
this project... if you weren't needed for our primary mission," said
Eyepatch. He turned back to Morilla. "Do you think it would be wise
to give you one more chance?"
"Yes sir," said Morilla, hoping against hope.
"Very well. One more chance. But this time, if you fail... make
certain you fail. Terminally." Eyepatch stared at him, and then
dismissed him, disgusted, with a wave of the hand.
The fancy car pulled up to the side of the road. In the evening
light he could just make out the man waving the yellow flag.
"Yes?" said the driver.
"We need to see your invitations, sir," said Croft. He was
dressed as a corporal in the Slurian embassy guard, complete with cap
and visor.
"Well, hm..." the man turned over three sets of invitations. His
name was Keeren Kalifo and he was the director of the Paratan-Slurian
Friendship Center. The Center had colorful displays and tons of
literature depicting the idyllic life on the Slurian homeworlds.
Kalifo also ran nearly a quarter of the Slurian spying operations on
Paley Paratus, when he wasn't hosting seminars on topics such as
"Springtime on Sluria; the diverse plumage of our domestic fowl."
However over the years Kalifo had gotten fat and lazy, and was
considered little more than a bureaucrat inside the S.S.P. Still, his
job had tenure, and good retirement benefits.
Croft turned the invitations over, looking at them. "They are
fine. You're clear to go, sir."
"Won't they ask for them at the embassy?"
"No sir. This is the clearing point."
"In the middle of the street two blocks from the embassy?"
Croft sighed, drawing his blaster. Before anyone could react, he
gunned down the occupants of the car. "Nighty night," he said.
"I told you it wouldn't work," said Lotnon.
"Hey, we got the invitations, didn't we?" said Croft.
"More unprovoked violence," said Dalbo.
"From the bad man who shot you, and could easily do so again, if
you continue to irritate him," said Croft. "Don't forget that."
Croft, Lotnon, and Dalbo dumped the sleeping bodies in a small
park several miles away. They would be unconscious for several hours,
at least; Croft had used a heavy stun setting.
As they approached the heavily armed grounds of the Slurian
embassy proper, Lotnon remarked, "The thought just occurred to me, but
is going into a Slurian stronghold the wisest thing to do, considering
that we've been tailed by hostile forces, including the Slurians, for
some time?"
"That thought really just occurred to you?" said Croft. He
grinned.
"Well?" said Lotnon, refusing to be sidetracked by insult.
"Oh, they probably won't even recognize us," said Croft, with a
dismissive wave of the hand.
Croft was prompted to hand over their invitations at the embassy
gate. The paper had been embedded with a complex series of metallic
strands and fibers. The invitations were inserted into a machine which
after a moment beeped and flashed green, and the heavily armed welcome
guard waved them in.
The Slurians never liked uninvited guests.
"Welcome, welcome to the party!" said the wife of the Slurian
Ambassador, welcoming them to the door. Her name was Elena Rdrgr, and
she was dressed in a bright red frilly party dress. "And you are...."
"Slanda," said Croft automatically. "Burman Slanda, of the
Kroton Corporation."
"Oh Mr. Slanda, didn't I just met you earlier tonight?"
A cold chill went down Croft's back. Slanda was here?
"Nonsense, madame," he said cooly. "I have only just arrived."
"Yes... Still, I did not realize that you were so..."
"Yes?"
"Tall," she said, for lack of a better word.
"Allow me to introduce my associates, Mr. Haines, and Mr. Choto."
"Oh. Which is which?"
"I'm Haines," said Lotnon quickly.
"I will not be Choto," said Dalbo. "He is such a vile creature."
There was a silence for a minute. Then the ambassador's wife
burst out laughing. "Oh, we do have a kidder in the party.
Delightful! How delightful!"
"Ha ha," said Croft unsmilingly, pulling Dalbo aside.
They had taken only a few steps when Dalbo felt compelled to say
something. "You need not speak," he said. "You are about to threaten
me with unpleasant stimuli unless I conform-"
"If you can read my mind," said Croft softly, "Then you know what
I have in mind for you if you contradict me again."
"Very well... I just did not wish to be associated with that
Choto person. He was most uncouth. Even more so than yourself."
"That bad, hm?" said Croft. "Now let's do a little mixing. And
let's try not to get into trouble."
"You seem to be the one with the inordinate capacity for
quandaries," Dalbo remarked.
"I'll remember that when the next kidnapping gang comes after
you," Croft noted.
He turned around, almost bumping into a largish man at the punch
bowl. "Oh, I'm sorry," said Croft meekly.
"No harm done," said the man. "Gerig's the name. Yours?"
"Burman Slanda," said Croft.
"Kroton Corporation. Say, I've heard about you." The man's face
brightened. "What's it like heading the local branch of one of the
most powerful corporations in the galaxy?"
"Well, we like to think of ourselves as the most powerful," said
Croft immodestly, playing up to the part. "Why, I remember the time we
decided to corner the market on prefabricated nuts and bolts. You
know, the Acme kind. Once I had my supply requisitions in-" He
proceeded to weave an apocryphal tale. Dalbo, evidently bored, started
looking over the available refreshments.
He considered a platter of pastries. He took a pinch of one,
tasting it. "An excess of sugar. Designation: culinary incentive to
consume." Then he stuck his finger into the punch bowl, and licked it,
as food servers looked on with both surprise and irritation.
"Moderate amounts of mind altering substances, intended to reduce
volition and, in extreme doses, stupor," said Dalbo. "Illogical, the
need to distort senses with corrosive stimuli."
"What's that you're saying?" said a pretty young woman who sidled
up to Dalbo. She was wearing a pretty red dress composed of
transinite, that caused small patches of material to turn clear at any
given moment.
"I am conducting a nutrient analysis." Dalbo looked at her, up
and down, perhaps studying her stunning figure. She seemed taken aback
by such an obvious visual inspection, and yet seemed amused by the
boldness of it at the same time.
"See anything you like?" she said, in a husky voice.
"One of the purposes of clothing is to cover taboo regions," said
Dalbo. "Query: why do you select a garment that negates this effect?"
"Ha ha ha," she said. "I like you. You talk like a machine!
Are you for real?"
"That is self-evident," said Dalbo. "But you have not responded
to my query."
"Your query? Oh, about the dress. Don't you think I look
pretty?" she said, putting an arm around Dalbo.
"Pretty. Attractive, pleasing to the eye to look at-"
"Why thank you!"
"-Sometimes, for erotic effect, to attract males for casual
fornication," said Dalbo.
"Why, are you making me a proposal?"
Dalbo shook his head. "You are much too intoxicated to perform
that activity properly. In any event I was analyzing the situation,
not suggesting a mutual course of action."
"Huh?"
Dalbo was blunt. "I do not feel a need to procreate at this
time, no thank you."
A man in a civilian suit wearing a black eyepatch eyed the crowd.
He looked stiff, too stiff.
He didn't like parties, or most sorts of social events. He was
not a very social man. This individual was dressed in the uniform of
the armed forces of Sluria, with the rank of general.
But he wasn't a soldier, and although he did have a rank, it
wasn't that of general.
He was known in diplomatic circles as General T'kaya Lratr,
military attache for the Slurian embassy.
But in the dossier of numerous intell groups he was known as
Major T'kaya Latr, of the Slurian Secret Police, and a trained killer.
He had obtained this post not from political connections, like most of
the embassy staff, but from ruthless ability. Sluria considered Paley
Paratus a relatively important planet, if only because of its location
and mineral wealth, and accordingly this was a plum post.
"Bumatz," said Latr, snapping his fingers.
Immediately Guard Lieutenant Bumatz was at his side. "Sir?"
"Who do you see there?" He pointed generally.
"Where?"
"There, in the corner. Talking to that fool, Gerig. Do you
recognize him?"
Bumatz squinted. "No..."
"Refresh your memory." There was a chill in that voice.
Bumatz thought frantically. "No... wait, he does look a little
like the picture of the man from the recent survel ops mission...."
Realization dawned on him. "The agency man!"
"The Alpha-K agency man," Latr corrected. "What do you think
brings him here?"
"An invitation?" said Bumatz, not trying to be intentionally
funny.
"Keep an eye on him," said Latr. It wasn't a suggestion.
"My room's upstairs," suggested the tipsy young woman.
Dalbo raised an eyebrow. "My room is approximately two
kilometers away, south by southwest."
"Mine's closer," said the young woman, leaning close to Dalbo.
"Your ability to make geographical comparisons remains
unimpaired," Dalbo noted, by way of compliment.
Croft, seeing something going on, edged his way through the
crowd. "Dalbo," he said, with a mock smile. "Why do you not introduce
me to your charming friend?"
"She is not my friend. This is merely an acquaintance who, if I
understand correctly, is attempting to entice me with the employment of
subtle body language and suggestive phrasing to engage in the casual
exchange of genetic material-"
Just then another woman worked her way forward. The ambassador's
wife, Elena. "Jenka! Where have you been? I told you not to be down
here in this state. Carl!" A servant took the young woman's arm,
leading her away.
"Bye..." she said faintly.
"The ambassador's daughter," Croft hissed.
"I'm so sorry," said Elena, the ambassador's wife. "The party,
you see."
"Yes," said Croft.
Elena turned to Dalbo. "I met you at the door, but I don't think
I had the pleasure, Mr.... Chato?"
"Choto," said Dalbo, with only the hint of a fearful glance at
Croft. "Yes, my name is Choto. I have no other name."
"Mr. Choto. What an unusual name," she said.
"That is my name. Choto. It has always been my name."
"Take it easy," said Croft, hissing into his ear.
"Yes, I'm sure," said Elena, a bit quizzically. "So tell me, Mr.
Choto, what do you do?"
Dalbo raised a quizzical eyebrow. "I perform many functions.
Would you really like an unabridged list?"
Croft was afraid that Elena would take it the wrong way, but she
simply cackled with laughter. "Oh, Mr. Choto, you are really one for
the books. No, what is your job?"
"My employment? I break the bones of others."
There was an awkward silence for a moment, until Croft hastily
added, "What a kidder. He's a professor at Paley Prime. He likes to
say that he breaks the bones of others' philosophical arguments."
Elena, after looking puzzled, broke out into a large smile. "Oh,
Mr. Choto, you are quite a joker, are you not?"
"A joker? Yes. Ha ha, ha ha," said Dalbo, deadpan.
"Come, come and take a look at our artworks." In the center of
the hall were works that had been imported all the way from the Slurian
worlds. It was meant as a means of facilitating cultural exchange with
Paley Paratus, while allowing a goodly number of Slurian agents to
enter under diplomatic cover.
Elena pointed to one painting depicting large, imposing Slurian
spaceships blasting an opposing battlefleet. "This commemorates our
victory in the battle of Trilga. What do you think?"
Croft knew that the victory at the so-called "battle" of Trilga
consisted of a number of Slurian warships taking on a few rag tag
transports carrying refugees, but he made no comment. He instead
merely waited to see what Dalbo would say.
"Visual representation, captured in oil-based colors," said
Dalbo.
"You think so? You really do?" Elena was much impressed.
As they walked to another piece of art Lotnon joined them.
"Don't look now," he hissed, "But they are here."
"They are?" said Croft, not having the slightest idea who he was
talking about.
"They" turned out to be Slanda, Haines, and Matary Laines, in a
crowd just a few feet away from them.
"That's not all, then," said Croft. "We're also being followed."
Lotnon turned and looked about, but Croft hissed, "I told you not
to look."
Bumatz caught the glance and he slipped back into the crowd.
"Who is it?" Lotnon asked.
"Don't know."
"-here we have the work of one of our premier artists on Sluria,
Georgio. And we are fortunate enough to have Georgio himself with us
today, on tour with his work. Georgio?"
A young man with a thick crop of hair smiled gently. It so
happened that he was the only artist on the tour who was not a Slurian
secret police agent; he was the window dressing to make the caravan
look respectable. In reality he was a low-talent avante guard artist
tolerated by the federated government and rewarded with large
subsidies, with an eye to off-planet "tours" such as these.
"Ah, yes, here we have stripes, on dots." He indicated a huge
canvas dotted with large black dots. Down the center of it were a
number of vertical lines.
"What do you think, Mr. Croft?" said Elena.
"Oh, marvelous. Truly a thing of beauty," said Croft. "No other
words for it."
"Mr. Choto?"
Dalbo shrugged. "It looks like vertical lines and dots."
Some in the crowd gasped.
"But don't you see, it's a representation of man's inhumanity to
man," said Georgio. "The lines represent lives, lifelines, so to
speak. And the dots, as you call them, are imperfections-"
Dalbo felt a small, warning squeeze on his shoulder. He nodded
vigorously. "Yes. I can see it is just what you say. Now the meaning
is apparent to me."
"Really?"
"Very much so," Dalbo assured him. He hissed at Croft, "I
dislike duplicity!"
"More so than pain?" Croft whispered back.
"And here we have another classic Georgio work," said Elena. It
had vertical lines like the last painting, but no protruding dots.
"Very impressive," said Dalbo immediately.
"Really? What do you like about it?" said Georgio.
Dalbo seemed momentarily at a loss for words, a rarity for him.
Finally he said, "The... the verticalness of the lines. They are
vertical. Yes, very vertical," said Dalbo, at a loss for what else to
say.
"Very profound, Mr. Choto," said Elena.
"Yes, very profound, Mr. Choto," said a new voice.
The voice belonged to Burman Slanda. He gave a cold smile, but
he was not amused. "I didn't catch your name," said Slanda, turning to
Croft.
"Slanda," said Croft, extending his hand. "Burman Slanda, of
Paley Kroton. Perhaps you've heard of us, Mr...?"
"I've heard of you," Slanda nodded. Croft's outstretched hand
was conspicuously eschewed. "Didn't we do business, once upon a time?"
"Come to think of it, we did," said Croft. "You do look
familiar."
"But we never completed our transaction, as I recall," said
Slanda. "You can be sure, Mr. Slanda, that our transaction will be
completed."
"I don't know," said Croft. "Your people don't seem very good at
following through with transactions."
"You may come to a different opinion, in time," said Slanda.
"Perhaps," said Croft. "You might be right. I work for the
Kroton Corporation, but I have to be the first to acknowledge that it's
not all that powerful. Any determined corporate raider with skill
could stage a takeover and gut it like a hollow holding company," he
said, and his hand strayed to his jacket as he said it.
Slanda's face was a hard mask of anger, and he hastily turned
away. Haines followed, with Matary Laines giving him a furtive wink.
A gaunt man sidled up to Latr. "What was that all about, Bon?"
The gaunt man, who along with Bumatz had also been keeping an eye
on Croft, said, "It was those people from the Kroton Corporation. The
ones who nearly terminated the Agency man."
"Hm, a friendly reunion then," said Latr, fingering his eyepatch
delicately. "Perhaps I should mix and mingle as well."
Meanwhile, Croft was whispering to Dalbo and Lotnon as the
ambassador's wife was continuing with her tour.
"Friendly they weren't," said Croft.
"Yes, they still desired for the termination of our existence,"
said Dalbo. "All except the one called Laines."
"Really? I thought she was kind of nice."
"Nice has little to do with it," said Croft. "There are many
factions in the Kroton Corporation, all throughout its corporate
subsidiaries. Some think it is more advantageous to work with the
Agency. There have been times where we've worked directly with one
subsidiary on one matter, only to be in direct competition with another
subsidiary on a different case."
"So what are we doing here?" said Lotnon. "We don't seem to be
getting much done."
"And what are you trying to accomplish?" said a soft voice from
behind them.
They hadn't heard or seen him coming, but a balding man in an
official looking uniform wearing an eyepatch had sidled up to them.
"I'm sorry," said the man, "But I couldn't help but overhear."
"I'm sure," said Croft. He nearly jumped out of his boots. Here
was a man with an eyepatch. They had been warned that their main
adversary was a man with an eyepatch! Could this be the mastermind?
Suddenly, Croft's heart was racing. But he forced himself to remain
outwardly calm.
"I don't believe we've met," said the man.
There was silence, for a moment. Then Croft said, "I'm Burman
Slanda, of the Kroton Corporation. These are my associates Haines and
Mr. Choto."
"Yes, I'm sure," said the man. "My name is General T'kaya Latr,
of the Slurian defense forces. I'm the military attache here at the
embassy."
"That's very nice," Croft said.
"What brings you here, Mr... Slanda?" said Latr. He purposely
dragged out the name.
"An invitation," said Croft. He gave a small chuckle, but Latr
wasn't smiling. "I'm an industrialist, with the Kroton Corporation. I
buy and sell-"
"Yes, I know what businessmen do, both good and bad," said Latr.
"The Kroton Corporation. Tell me, Mr... Slanda, where are your primary
factories, in the southeast, or the southwest zone?"
Croft paused, and said, "The southeast."
"That's interesting, because the southeast is a quiet residential
zone," said Latr. "You know, somehow I'm under the impression that I
met a Mr... Slanda earlier this evening."
"You are?" said Croft, amused.
"Yes, he was a shorter individual, with less hair than you,
Mr... Slanda."
"You must be mistaken," said Croft.
"Yes, I must be," said Latr. "Forgive my suspicious nature."
"I do," Croft assured him.
"it's just... exposing and terminating spies is part of my job."
"Sounds like interesting work," Croft commented.
"Yes," said Latr. "I'm always on the job. Take, for example,
this affair."
"What about it?" said Croft.
"If I spotted someone I believed... wasn't who he claimed to be,
I would have my men move in." He nodded to a number of inconspicuous
plainclothesmen who were standing at the fringes of the party. Croft
eyed them warily, as if seeing them for the first time.
"Then they would be taken downstairs... for interrogation." Latr
moved his face close to Croft. "For a most thorough interrogation.
And then... they would be of no further use. If you know what I mean."
"Talk about embassy hospitality," Croft commented.
"You've put your finger on it, Mr.... Slanda," said Latr. "This
is Slurian territory. For all intents and purposes, you are standing
on a piece of Slurian land, and subject to Slurian law."
"Why do I have a nagging feeling that this conversation is
leading somewhere?" Croft wanted to know.
"One wonders why you are here," said Latr.
"To observe fine examples of Slurian artwork. Georgio's pieces
are renown throughout half the galaxy."
Latr lowered his voice. "Georgio is a clod who doesn't know
which end of a spraybrush is the grip. I suggest you attach more
serious import to my questions."
"Or what? I'll take a scenic tour of your basement?" said Croft,
genuinely amused.
"It can be arranged."
"I don't think your guest would take kindly to one of the party-
goers being dragged away for torture," said Croft.
Latr had made an empty bluff and Croft knew it. And Croft knew
Latr it. And Latr knew Croft knew he knew it. And so on and so forth.
"You may feel safe now, but remember you are on Slurian
territory. If you would take my advice, I would not stray too far from
the comfort of the crowd. Nor would I overstay my welcome."
"Proper party etiquette under any circumstances," said Croft.
"For your advice, I thank you."
Croft watched him warily as Latr departed. But he didn't go far,
merely going to stand by a corner where he could keep his eye on Croft.
"Nice fellow," said Lotnon, who had let Croft do all the talking.
"Nice he's not," said Croft.
"Fascinated," said Dalbo.
"What?"
"He seemed very curious about you."
"Curious? In what way?"
Dalbo shrugged. "He was curious why you were here. But he also
wondered how long you would continue to exist under varying sorts of
negative stimuli."
Croft tugged at his inner collar on his seven piece suit. "I
hope we don't stick around long enough to get a sample of that
'negative stimuli'. Dalbo, did you sense anything else?"
Dablo shrugged. "He is a person."
"And that, I gather, is that," Croft sighed.
"Maybe now is the time when we should leave," said Lotnon.
"On the contrary," said Croft. "I want that tour of the basement
that Latr was promising."
"What? Are you mad?"
"Excuse me," said Croft. "I have to go to the men's room." And
he did.
Croft was trailed by two men in plainclothes. But they didn't
actually follow him inside the bathroom.
Croft looked around. It was a standard Slurian setup, basic
facilities, all except the carefully glazed mirror over the washbasin.
Two way, of course. The Slurians loved to bug everything. But
hopefully the watchers would be too busy monitoring the party to keep a
sharp eye on the restroom.
Or so Croft hoped. He looked up, searching and finding the vent
on the wall. Yes, it was large enough.
In moments Croft was tunneling in and around the Slurian embassy.
He burrowed steadily down, to the basement, on the theory that what he
was looking for would be there.
Croft emerged in a dimly lit corridor. The sounds of merriment
could clearly be heard above him. Croft fished out his baltium
detector, and activated the scan.
The Slurians were very security conscious. They tended to
protect important documents in baltium-sealed vaults, to protect
against scanning. Unfortunately they were rather consistent in the use
of said insulating materials, and that monotonous conformity could be
used against them.
Croft watched the direction the baltium detector's needle was
pointing and nodded. He was still nodding when, as it pointed, it led
into an empty storage room and into a wall.
Feeling around, Croft found the trigger mechanism, and a section
of the wall opened up.
The first thing he saw were the monitors. Monitors keyed all
over the embassy compound. The man sitting at the chair looked up.
"Hey, you're not-"
"I am now," said Croft, easing him back into his chair. He
relaxed and started to doze. Croft opened his palm, revealing a
minihypo spray, and put it back into an inner pocket.
"Very interesting," said Croft, studying the monitors. A number
of guests, both male and female, were taking advantage of the empty
bedrooms in the upstair levels to become more intimate with other
party-goers. Croft eyed the video recording system, and the posted
list.
"Industrialists... government officials... journalists... got the
whole bunch here," he muttered. It was all so standard with the
Slurians. It was a setup for blackmail, of course. Didn't the fools
knew better than to have dalliances in enemy territory?
Croft looking up at the writhing figures on the screens, and saw
that a number of them obviously didn't.
"To work," said Croft, looking away. The baltium detector was
pointing beyond a far door.
Croft was not quite prepared for what faced him in the next room.
A virtual junkyard of robots, many of them in pieces. Croft inspected
them with interest. Most of them were household servitors, but there
were a number of other units as well. What was interesting was that a
number of them looked like they were being modified. But modified for
what?
A shadow cast over Croft, and he looked behind him, to see a
large silver giant looming over him. He gave a low whistle. It was an
R-4 guard unit, nearly seven feet tall and weighing over four tons,
with massive metasteel arms and legs. The control unit in the head was
opened, though, and some wiring was exposed.
"In the shop for repairs," said Croft. "And a good thing too. I
wouldn't want to tangle with you." He rapped the thing on its torso as
he turned a way.
There was a brief sputter, one Croft didn't catch.
Croft turned about, focusing on the detector. "Hm... yes,
there."
He felt a smooth section of the wall. Yes, there were
indentations, there... and there. He pressed them, and a small section
of the wall slid in and to the side.
"The vault!" said Croft. "Now to crack the combination." He
started humming to himself as he took out a decomb device. It was a
standard Slurian C-7 lock, virtually impossible to open... at least,
for anyone without the proper tools who was untrained in its nuisances.
Croft had the proper tools. And his training? Need it be even
asked?
Croft got to work. "Naughty naughty," he said, at one point when
one of the hidden alarms was on the verge of venting its anger. In
mere moments he turned the handle and the door sprang open.
Crackle.
Croft turned around. There was no one else there. It must have
been the sound of the vault door opening. That was probably what it
had been, yes.
Croft started rapidly inspecting the documents. They were in
Slurian, of course, but Croft was fluent in six languages beside his
own. And Slurian was the first.
"Hm... very interesting," said Croft. The Slurians were involved
in any number of espionage operations, a little industrial espionage
here, a little political blackmail there, but nothing on the scale that
Croft was looking for. A lot of documents made references to "the new
intelligence sources", and Croft was just reading up on those when he
heard a crunching sound behind him.
He immediately turned, his blaster in his hand, the trigger
finger half bent. But there was nothing there.
Croft looked around. Could anyone be hiding in this junk room?
He looked through the robot rubbish quickly. No one. Then he looked
at the giant security robot. It seemed that the noise had come from
around there. But no one was in hiding behind the enormous hulk.
Croft returned to the documents. He read quickly. No, there was
nothing useful here. No reference to Presidential elections, or
assassinations of Alliance officials. No, wait, here was something,
"Intell report from Alliance embassy indicates officials there
still do not know identity of forces behind assassin. We hypothesize
that one of the other parties opposed to the election of-"
There was a crunch crunch sound and Croft looked up.
Had the robot moved? It looked a little closer. But it was
standing absolutely still now.
Croft looked away. He heard a creak. He looked at the robot.
"All right, who's the wise guy?"
The robot lurched forward a step.
"Halt!" said Croft, whipping up his blaster.
"IN...TRUDER," said the machine.
"No, I'm no intruder, you're malfunctioning," said Croft. He
didn't want to shoot it unless he had to; the sound of blaster fire
might carry.
"INTRUDER... DESTROY," said the robot, lurching forward. It
started to raise its arms.
"Ok, you asked for it," said Croft, squeezing the trigger. A
blast shot out, and a small scorch mark appeared on the machine's
torso.
"What the-" Croft ducked as a slowly weaving arm menaced him.
Pivoting around the huge behemoth, he reset his blaster to maximum and
fired again.
To little effect. The robot turned and reached for him. Croft
stepped back but stumbled on a piece of rubbish and fell backwards on
the ground.
"DESTROY!" said the robot, reaching down with mighty pincer
claws.
Croft raised his blaster again, but this time aiming for the
exposed area of the head, where the helmet plate had been opened and
the inner circuitry was revealed. He fired, there was an enormous puff
of smoke, and the robot slowed.
And then the robot stopped, swaying in its tracks.
Swaying....
Too late Croft realized his danger. He tried to scamper out of
the way, but he was swiftly crushed by four tons of solid metisteel.
Chapter 7
Croft wasn't dead. He was thankful for that, at least. He was
squashed, and that was certain, and he might have broken bones, but he
was alive. Breathing was a painful fight in his compressed condition,
but he could manage it.
Croft looked to the right, seeing the pile of rubbish that
cushioned part of the robot's fall. Only that pile had prevented him
from being totally squashed. Croft tried slowly to squeeze out.
But he couldn't move, not a millimeter in any direction. He was
trapped, thoroughly trapped.
"Let's see," said Croft. "Between the sounds of blaster fire and
the crashing of this beast, a rescue party should be here soon." But
what kind of rescue party? Croft recalled Latr's words, and a chill
went down his spine.
Croft moved his right hand. He could even reach into one of his
pockets. Great. He reached for something and grasped it in his hand,
and waited.
Help arrived relatively quickly. There were footsteps, and then
a voice said, "He's here, Major."
Major? Croft thought. And then he heard a voice, one which
chilled him to the bone.
"So, what do we have here? Mr... Slanda, fallen over the
contents of our open vault."
The man with the eyepatch came into view. He carried a weapon.
Casually he aimed it at Croft.
"Wait," said Croft. "Before you kill me, let me know."
"Let you know what?" said Latr.
"Who is behind the assassination of our people? The plot against
Rax Ols?"
Latr laughed. "Oh, now it becomes clear. You think we... my
dear Mr. Croft. Yes, we know your name. You've been under
surveillance for much of your stay on Paley Paratus. And no, we
weren't pleased that you caught our operative in your embassy."
"Care to arrange a swap?"
"For an Alpha-K man?" Latr seemed offended by the suggestion.
"You see, we do know all about you. But you could help us clear up a
few details. Such as what value you see in that philosophy professor.
The only value he serves is as a witness to an assassin who is already
dead."
Croft was stunned, but he had the good sense to remain silent.
"I am waiting for an answer."
"Oh, that was a question? Well, he makes good company."
Latr nodded. "I see, you wish to be difficult. Well, I have
dealt with difficult before. Those who started that way never stayed
as such for very long, under my care."
He aimed the weapon at Croft but then frowned, considering. He
turned to someone outside of Croft's vision. "Get him out from
underneath there and bring him to my... special room. Hook him up to
the implements, and appraise me when this is done."
"Where will you be, sir?" said a deferential voice.
"At the party, of course. I wouldn't miss a minute of it," said
Latr. "Perhaps I'll have a delightful conversation with Professor
Alto. I'm sure that without his keeper he will have many interesting
things to say." And then he walked out of Croft's vision.
Croft struggled, but he couldn't move.
"Easy there," said a voice. "We'll have you out in a minute."
Hands strained at the bulky robot above Croft. They heaved, and
in a moment the robot rolled to the side, crashing against a pile of
junk. Croft looked up to see two men looking down at him.
Croft started to move and then suddenly stopped. "Oh, I think
I've broken something," he moaned.
One of the men started to help him, but the other, Lieutenant
Bumatz, said, "We are not falling for that, Agency man. Get up."
Croft tried again to sit up, but yelled out in pain.
Bumatz raised his blaster. "Get up, or die."
Croft, glaring at him, slowly got up.
"You see, he was faking it," said Bumatz, turning to his
companion.
Croft reached out, attempting to grab Bumatz's blaster hand.
Bumatz pulled back, but not before Croft had flicked his wrist.
"Yeow!" Bumatz yelled, shocked as he instinctively jumped back,
and hit his head against a wall. He slumped to the ground,
unconscious.
Croft turned to the other man, the gaunt, thin man who had spied
on him in the junkyard and the clothier. The man turned to run but
Croft was quicker, landing a chop on the neck that sent the man to the
ground.
Back on the ground floor, Latr had immediately approached Dalbo
and Lotnon. "I suggest you accompany us," he said, speaking softly to
Dalbo.
"Why should we?" said Lotnon.
"My guards are all around," said Latr, still speaking in the low
tone.
"A threat," said Dalbo, brightening. He was always pleased when
he made a proper categorization. "Threat. Backed up by promised use
of force," said Dalbo. "Very simple. No imagination."
Latr looked amused. "You sound very complex. I will enjoy... a
conversation with you."
"You wouldn't try anything here," said Lotnon, who knew even
that. He eyed the garrulous crowd.
"Perhaps not," said Lotnon. "But if you ever want to see your
friend again, I suggest you accompany me."
"What have you done with him?" said Lotnon.
"He is perfectly well... at the present time. I have him...
under restraint. Now, will you accompany me... or must I be...
unpleasant to your friend?"
"Well, uh..." Lotnon had to make a difficult decision.
Suddenly a hand tapped Latr on the shoulder. "Later," Latr
snapped, his attention on Lotnon.
"Latr is your name," said Croft calmly, coming into view.
Latr raised an eyebrow, and tried not to show his surprise.
"Were two of my people insufficient to deal with one pinned man?"
"Obviously," said Croft. He shook his head. "You S.S.P. people
simply aren't as good as you used to be. Where are you guys recruiting
from?" He watched the play of expressions on Latr's face, and then
smiled. "We will be leaving now."
"I think not," said Latr.
"You just keep on thinking that," said Croft. "Come on."
He waited until a small crowd of people were getting their coats,
and then Croft, Dalbo, and Lotnon joined them. They were under the
watchful eyes of Lotnon's men, but there was nothing they could do.
At least, Croft hoped there was nothing they would do.
Kidnapping, even in a public affair at the Slurian embassy, was a
pretty brazen act, even for the Slurians. But not above them. Not if
they wanted their prey badly enough.
Croft walked down the driveway to their aircar, not oblivious to
the weapons that must be trained on them. If any of their adversaries
got overeager...
But they arrived at their car unharmed, and in moments they were
out of embassy gates.
"We follow them," said Bumatz, rubbing his head as he ran up to
Latr.
"No," said Latr. "We know where they are going. Let us pick
another time."
"Disposition?" asked Bumatz. "Interrogation, and execution?"
Latr nodded. "But if that proves too difficult, the second...
will suffice."
"Most imprudent," said Major Halp, when he heard what had
happened the following day. "Dangerous. Reckless."
"Keep piling on the adjectives, Major," said Croft.
"You should at least have gone with an escort," he persisted.
The shadow team leader looked genuinely perturbed.
"Um hm," said Croft, deep in thought.
"Sir?"
"Hm, yes?" said Croft. He looked around at the sterile walls of
the Embassy. He needed somewhere to go, somewhere to think. Looking
up, he made a decision.
"Where are we going?" Lotnon wanted to know. He and Dalbo
squirmed in the backseat, eyeing the two shadow guards next to them.
"A park, a few miles out," said Croft. "A place I can think."
He knew just the place. It was a small park they had passed,
days ago, on their way to the D. of S. Croft wondered how Markna was
getting on. He hadn't seen her lately.
Dalbo and Lotnon sat on a small park bench while the shadow team
stood guard. Croft paced back and forth in front of them.
"Fact: Some plot was afoot to make certain that Rax Ols lost the
Vice-Presidency."
"Which he did," Lotnon agreed.
"Fact: The garbage people could have grabbed us, especially
Dalbo, but they didn't." He paused, before continuing.
"Fact: the Kroton Corporation is uninvolved."
"Probably not," said Lotnon. "They didn't show any interest in
Dalbo; they didn't even seem to know what we were talking about."
"Fact: the Slurians are uninvolved."
"From what you say, yes," said Lotnon. "That document you saw
would seem to indicate that we're dealing with some other party."
"Correct. But who is that other party? Who is capable of such
intrigues?"
"Tauz," said Lotnon quietly.
"They are not the 'none of the above' option!" Croft thundered.
"The Tauz went out of existence decades ago. We have no proof-"
"Well, then our adversary is unknown. But what's the hurry? The
breach has already occurred. Ebert Mos has already won the Vice
Presidential race."
Croft was exasperated. "Just use your head, idiot. Some party
opposes the treaty with the Alliance, correct?"
"Correct. And don't call me idiot."
"They want this treaty shelved bad enough to kill, as witnessed
by their attempt on Ols's life. Correct?"
"Correct."
"Then what will they gain by installing an opposition VP, when
the President is still in favor of the treaty? His term doesn't expire
for another three years."
Then Lotnon immediately saw it, and shock registered on his face.
"That's right," said Croft. "The logical conclusion is that
President Kerhonkson is the next target."
"We should warn someone...."
"Who? State Security? Chances are they already know, or they're
involved themselves," said Croft. He shook his head. "No, we'll get
no help from the garbage men."
"What about Markna?" said Lotnon. "She seemed sympathetic."
"Very sympathetic," said Croft. "So much so that every time
Dalbo sees her he mutters, "Death! Death!"
Dalbo said, "That is not precise."
"Sorry. I can't do a good imitation of your voice," said Croft.
"So we have to get to the President directly, and warn him."
"He's going to listen to us? Off-worlders? And where's our
proof?"
Dalbo cleared his throat. "Croft."
"I mean, what can we do?" Croft said.
"Croft," said Dalbo insistently.
"Just a minute." Croft saw some flashes, in the trees in the
distance, as if the light were reflecting off of something.
"I would advise assuming a prone position," said Dalbo, getting
down to the ground.
"What?" said Lotnon.
"Get down!" said Croft.
There was a crackle of blaster fire, and shots rang through the
air. One of the shadow guards, Biffer, was immediately felled, his
whole body momentarily glowing in the classic stun effect.
"Well, at least they're not trying to kill us," said Croft,
drawing his own blaster. He raised his head, only to quickly lower it
when he heard the sound of weapons fire. "Great. Blasters against
laser rifles. Just great. Ah... Buno, are you still with us?"
"Affirmative, Mr. Croft," said the other shadow guard, who had
hit the dirt in time. "I've tried to make radio contact with Major
Halp, but they've jammed-"
At that moment an extremely precise shot slammed into Buno, and
he slumped to the ground.
"We've got to get back to the aircar," said Croft.
Lotnon looked at the aircar, not thirty feet away. It might as
well have been thirty miles. "We'll never make it."
"Oh no? Get up, Dalbo."
Dalbo slowly got up, sighing as if he knew what was going to
happen.
"Listen!" Croft yelled, holding his blaster to Dalbo's head. "If
any of you moves, I shoot!"
"What if they're not the ones who are after Dalbo, but others who
just want us all dead?" Lotnon hissed.
"Oh... I didn't think of that," Croft reflected.
But the shooting from the distant trees had stopped.
"There," said Croft. "Get into the aircar, Lotnon."
They started off. In moments, another aircar was in pursuit.
Croft gunned the turbines, sending them into flight at full
power. He twisted and turned precipitously, moving through traffic.
"They're good," he said, looking in the rear mirror display.
"But not that good," he said, several minutes later, when they
had shaken their pursuit. "But we'd better stay lost for a while." He
looked ahead, seeing a large sign which stated "PALEY PARK--ENTRANCE
NEXT RIGHT".
Croft grinned. "Anyone for rides?"
They parked the car, and quickly made their way in.
"This is madness!" said Lotnon. "What are we doing here?"
"Staying alive," said Croft. "Now... what, Dalbo?"
Dalbo was repeatedly trying to get Croft's attention. "Liquid.
A drink."
"What? You want a drink?
"A cool blanberry drink. But no pits, I do not like pits in my
juice," said Dalbo. "No pits, pits, pits, in my juice, juice, juice...
And it must be a cool drink. If it is warm, them I will have apple
juice."
"Message understood. Do you want anything, Bill?"
Lotnon shook his head. Croft went to fetch the drinks.
Dalbo ambled over to one of the gambling tables. This particular
table was practically empty, with only one player leaning against the
table.
"Another card, sir?" said the dealer.
The man eyed his hand. 18 was the best possible score, and he
had 12 now. To risk another card meant that he might go over 18, and
automatically lose.
"Why bother," Dalbo said. "The dealer has only 11."
The man looked back at Dalbo, as if he had heard something, but
he only nodded for another card.
"A seven!" said the dealer. Disgusted, the player stomped away.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles above the fray, in orbit, a photo-
ops satellite was busy clicking away, searching the countryside. It
scanned the terrain, foot by foot, going at incredible speed, matching
every image with a picture in its memory bank. The satellite clicked,
moved on to the next image... and twenty clicks later, returned to that
previous image. A comparison subroutine came to a decision, and a
message was transmitted back to a control center. Wheels were set into
motion, parties were dispatched, and other parties, who had been
watching the first parties, also dispatched teams.
But Dalbo, on the ground, was oblivious to all this. "I would
play this game," he said simply, taking a seat.
"You?" said Lotnon, as the dealer dealt him a hand.
"Yes. Accumulation of wealth can be moderately amusing, as a
minor distraction," said Dalbo. He waited until the dealer had looked
at his own cards, and then he nodded. "Abuse me."
"What?" said the dealer.
Dalbo frowned. "Was that not the correct phrase? Oh, I am
sorry. 'Hit me', I believe is the proper phrase."
The dealer gave Dalbo another card. His total added up to 17.
That was a winning hand, unless the dealer had 18.
"This is sufficient," said Dalbo.
The dealer wondered whether to give himself another card. But he
had only 16, so he decided not to.
"What's going on here?" said Croft, as Dalbo received his
winnings.
Then he smiled as he realized what was going on. "Oh, I see," he
said.
Dalbo was dealt another hand. This one added up to 13.
"Take another card," Lotnon said.
"No," said Dalbo. "The dealer only has a 12."
The dealer looked up at Dalbo in astonishment. "You're
guessing."
"Guessing? Ah, a statement not based on factual data. No, I can
assure you, there is no guessing here."
Nevertheless Dalbo proceeded to win the next two hands, and the
dealer got angrier and angrier. "Let's go," said Croft, as a new deck
of cards was brought out and another hand was dealt. "We don't want to
attract attention," he said uneasily.
"Very well," said Dalbo simply, getting up to leave. "I would
not have won again anyway."
"And why not?" said Croft.
"He was about to cheat," said Dalbo simply.
They walked away, ignoring the profanity from the enraged dealer.
"And I'm the one who always gets into trouble?" said Croft, with
a small smile.
They walked about for a while, just savoring in the fact that
they weren't being chased, harassed, or interrogated. Croft felt
himself noticeably relaxing, despite himself. It would all seem like a
pleasant afternoon, if not for the larger events. Two Shadow team
members lay unconscious several miles away. They were being chased by
a number of parties, all of whom either wanted to grab Dalbo or kill
Croft. Or both. And Croft still had not penetrated the organization
that was behind the political mischief.
But the sun was shining and it was a bright, warm day and there
was little else that one could ask for.
Croft eyed the crowds lazily. Families were walking in bunches
and clumps, young couples were striding along hand in hand, and...
groups of men were walking along. They were trying to appear
inconspicuous, and they were dressed as the crowd was, but their eyes
were turning back and forth, as if they were looking for something.
Croft was about to say something when Dalbo turned to him and
said, "Now would be a good time to alter our geographical location."
"What?" said Lotnon, who hadn't spotted them.
"This way," said Croft, pushing Dalbo down a side street. Maybe
they hadn't been spotted yet.
Then Croft saw the entrance to a ride ahead, and got an idea. He
pushed Dalbo into the entrance booth which took them indoors, with
Lotnon following.
"WELCOME TO THE BOAT RIDE INTO MYTH AND DOOM!" a voice bellowed.
Laughter followed them as they walked down a platform to a waiting line
of small boats. The ride consisted of a small stream that carried the
boats throughout the building. The three of them climbed into one,
which made for a tight fit, given that the boats were built for two.
"Really, Croft, what's gotten into you?" said Lotnon.
"Quiet," said Croft, looking around. He wasn't sure whether they
had evaded their pursuers.
The boat moved forward into darkness. They floated into one
room, which was dimly illuminated by green lights. Smiling little
elves on the banks waved to them. "Hello... hello... hello...."
"Query: purpose?" said Dalbo.
"Entertainment," said Croft, rapidly scanning the darkness around
them, as if the enemy might spring up at any moment.
"Pitiful," said Dalbo dismissively.
They floated into another room, where small goblins were burning
a town. They heard the crackle of fire and saw red/yellow lights
flashing inside of little buildings that simulated the fire.
One of the larger goblins loomed behind a building. Croft
whipped out his blaster and fired. There was a flash, and the goblin
fell forward, onto the bank by the stream.
"Croft? Have you lost your mind?" said Lotnon. Then the boat
floated closer, and they saw the body of a man, armed with a weapon.
"Get down," Croft hissed, firing again.
Blaster fire whizzed all around them. Croft returned fire as
best he could. He wished Lotnon had a blaster to back him up. But
lighting was on his side. His opponents were in the sets around the
little stream, which were relatively more illuminated than the boat
itself. Still the slow moving vessel wasn't that difficult a target.
Croft held them off with his blaster as the boat moved into the
next room. Smiling elves waved at them, yelling, "Hooray! Hooray!"
There was the flash of weapons fire, and Croft opened up on their
positions. "Hooray!" yelled an elf, as incidental weapons fire blew
off his waving arm. Another shot decapitated his head, but he kept
yelling "Hooray!"
Croft felt the heat of a blaster bolt, and saw a portion of the
floor next to him get singed. The blaster fire was getting more
intense now, and he knew that he they couldn't evade being hit much
longer.
But suddenly, blaster fire started to come from the other side of
the bank as well. But this weapons fire was aimed at the first set of
attackers. Evidently some of the competition was getting into the act.
Operatives screamed and fell, and others gritted their teeth as
they launched new attacks at other forces. They were all fighting each
other, all fighting to get the cringing figures in the slow moving
boat.
"Yeow!" said Lotnon, ducking down, as a stray bolt whizzed above
him.
There were continual splashes in the water from stray blaster
fire. But then there was a big splash as if someone had fallen into
the water. Suddenly a hand reached out from the water and grabbed
Croft by the wrist. Croft slammed down with the blaster and he heard a
scream as the hand retreated. After that he kept a constant eye open
for any amphibious assault.
One of the operatives on one side of the bank radioed into his
com, "The Slurians have us pinned down! We cannot reach them."
"Worry not. We ready for them in next room," said a rough voice
that Croft would have recognized.
In fact, just as the boat was making its way out of that room, a
band of Slurians rushed forward onto the bank and towards the boat.
Croft gunned one down and then a second, but a third kept coming,
blasting away with his blaster. At the last moment as Croft ducked,
blaster fire from the other side of the bank felled him, and he dropped
onto the bank, mere feet from the boat.
"You attract such violence," said Dalbo, eyeing the fallen body.
"Have you always been this way?"
Croft peeked ahead into the next room they were entering, and was
only half listening. "Violence? Well, I think some more is in store."
In the next room Choto and a number of handpicked associates lay
in wait. It was a carefully prepared ambush.
"Wait for signal," said Choto.
The boat appeared, its dark shape slowly floating down the path
of the little stream. When it had reached its closest point to Choto
and his men, he yelled "Fire!"
Their blasters were set to maximum; they tore the boat to pieces
with their combined weapons fire. In seconds all that was left was
large chunks of plastioak.
A small smoke drifted over the remains of the boat. As it started
to clear, Choto peered closer through the gloom. "Wait a minute..." he
started to say.
Suddenly they heard a slam, and a service door on the far
embankment opened. Figures could be seen fleeing.
"Get them!" Choto shrieked. Unfortunately, just as he and his
men rushed the door, the Slurians from the other room burst forward,
crashing into each other.
"Now we have them," said Morilla, watching Croft, Dalbo, and
Lotnon flee from the ride. He and his men sprang up in pursuit as
their prey quickly ran into another building with a sign reading HALL
OF MIRRORS
Croft found himself in a series of winding passages lined with
mirrors. Looking in some of them, he saw armed pursuers approaching.
"Oh-oh."
"He's there," said a subordinate, firing at Croft. Of course,
the only result was shattered glass.
"Fool!" said Morilla. "Use your brainsains!"
His man cautiously snaked through the narrow corridors. At times
they would see images of Croft, Dalbo, or Lotnon, but those images
would quickly flee. The mirrors were so perfectly polished that
Morilla's men often had to reach out and touch them to ascertain what
was real and what was not.
One of Morilla's men saw Dalbo, standing still in a corridor.
Obviously this not the real Dalbo, who would flee at the sight of an
adversary. But as he turned his back he heard an "Ahh-CHOO!" and when
he turned around Dalbo was gone.
Another attacker went into a semi-circular chamber where he saw
seven images of Croft. Could one of those be real? Suddenly, seven
images of Croft raised their blasters. One of them fired, and the
adversary went down.
Croft floated around, picking off adversaries, one by one.
Dalbo, ironically enough, had little problem staying undetected. He
could tell when an adversary would believe he was just an image, and at
those times he would stand perfectly still.
Croft was busy going about, picking them off, one by one, when
Morilla saw Dalbo. He looked, and then turned away... and then the
floor squeaked under Dalbo, and Morilla turned back, gun raised.
"Now I have you," he leered.
"But I have you," said Croft, coming up from behind, leveling a
blaster. "Hi there. Got a question for you. One thing I can't
figure out: the man with the eyepatch you were talking about earlier
at the spaceport. That wasn't Major Latr, was it?"
"Find your own answers," Morilla snarled.
"He is Tauz," said Dalbo dismissively, with a wave of his hand.
But that struck Croft like a sonic hammer. The Tauz was involved!
"What?" said Morilla. Thus far he had been skeptical of the
"mental's" alleged abilities.
"You are a man of violence. And not a very good one."
"Quick, Dalbo," said Croft. "What does he know about the plot
against the Vice-President?"
"Not very much," said Dalbo, looking bored. "He has a very
limited mind."
"You will never get out of here alive," said Morilla.
"Oh, you think so?" said Croft.
"He's right," said a new voice. One of Morilla's henchmen
appeared, leveling a blaster at Croft. "Drop it."
Morilla turned, facing Croft. "You heard him. Drop it," he
said, with an evil grin. He would enjoy terminating Croft.
Personally.
Suddenly Lotnon appeared out of nowhere, and clubbed the henchman
from behind. Morilla took advantage of this distraction to try to
wrestle the blaster out of Croft's hand. They grappled with each other
on the floor, until Croft gained the upper advantage, and slammed a
good wallop in Morilla's side. He groaned and grabbed his torso,
gasping for breath.
They heard the sounds of running footsteps. Croft, feeling a bit
disoriented, yelled, "Come on!"
They ran away from the sounds, and headed out a side door. "Wait
a minute," said Croft, looking around. "Where's my blaster?"
He had left it in the hall of mirrors. He knew that immediately.
But there was no way he could go back for it. "Come on," he yelled,
grabbing Dalbo.
They immediately entered another ride, in the hopes of shaking
their pursuit. They buckled themselves into an enclosed cone, which
started to spin on either end.
"I think we've evaded them," said Croft, gasping a sigh of
relief.
"No," said Dalbo.
"What do you mean?"
"Him, and him, and him," Dalbo pointed to three of the other
passengers, all of whom were starting to unbuckle.
The chamber started spinning and then the lights went out.
"Wheee!" the crowd cried.
When the lights came on again Croft was hanging onto his seat.
One of the thugs lay on the ground, battered. The other passengers
looked alarmed.
"He must have become unbuckled, and hit his head," said Croft
loudly.
Suddenly the lights went out again, and the crowd cried as the
chamber spun about.
When the lights came on, a second passenger was slumped on the
floor, and Croft, gasping for breath, sported a discernable bruise on
his cheek.
The third adversary glared at him. Just as the lights went out,
he started to lunge forward-
The crowd cried again. Only this time, when the lights came on,
Croft could be seen pounding the man's head against the floor.
Unfortunately, the floor was rubberized, so Croft wasn't making much
headway. A swift chop to the head quelled his adversary's fighting
spirit.
Croft looked up, a little abashed by all the stares. "I think
they had a little too much to drink," he said lamely
The opposition was waiting for them when they emerged from the
ride. But Croft found a back entrance from which they could sneak out.
"After them!" went the cry.
And the chase was on again.
But the opposition was fewer in number, if only because Croft had
succeeded in eliminating a number of them. And each side had taken
considerable casualties in tangling with each other. But there were
still at least a half dozen operatives chasing after them, and Croft,
tired and without his blaster, was in no shape to take them on.
They ran into another funhouse, aware of the opposition behind
them. Croft gestured for Lotnon and Dalbo to go ahead, while he held
them up. Standing behind the shadows of a dark room, he clubbed the
first adversary to enter, giving a second one a shock from his hand
stunner, a third an open palm attack against the face. And then, as
they all stumbled and tripped against each other, Croft ran.
He caught up with Dalbo and Lotnon several rooms later. "What's
the delay?" he said, seeing them pause.
"The-"
"Never mind. Keep going."
Croft took one step forward-
and fell, into a narrow hidden pit.
Chapter 8
As soon as he fell, however, his descent was slowed, slowed,
until his descent ceased, and then he was slowly raised to the surface.
The room must be fitted with variant grav pools.
Croft and his friends stepped forward, sometimes stepping on firm
ground, sometimes floating down, or even up, for a few moments.
But then the grav pools started to vary even more, and the trio
found themselves gently tossed around the room to different points.
"We've got to get out of here," said Croft, seeing their
adversaries enter the room. They tried to make their way across the
room, but each step would take them in an unpredictable direction.
Suddenly there was a wuump!, and Croft found someone flying into
his lap. Someone familiar.
"Good day," said Croft, as Choto's eyes widened in recognition.
Choto immediately scampered away and assumed a fighting stance, but
suddenly the ground he was standing on propelled him to another side of
the room.
"I get you, I get you!" he screamed.
"I'm sure," said Croft, starting to pick his way towards a safe
path that would lead them out.
By trial and error, they found their way to an exit. At times
one or more of Choto's men seemed on the verge of grabbing them, only
to find themselves bouncing around the room.
"Come back, come back here, I kill you, I kill you!" Choto
screamed.
"That remains to be seen," said Croft.
"We've got to get out of here!" said Lotnon. They stood at the
base of a tall tower, where people were boarding an ascending ride.
"Agreed," said Croft. They turned to go-
"Hold it," said a voice.
Croft turned. It was Morilla, and two of his henchmen. With
blasters raised.
"They are ours," Choto hissed, accompanied by one of his men.
"Halt!" said Lt. Bumatz, accompanied by a half dozen armed
Slurian agents. "They are mine!"
"Don't we get a say in this?" said Croft.
"Silence!" said Bumatz. He turned to his competitors. "We
outgun you."
"You would not do well to tangle with us," said Morilla.
"Oh no?" said Bumatz. "When has that stopped us in the past?"
"He is mine, that one," said Choto, pointing at Croft. "The
rest, you can have."
"Why not split the difference?" Croft grinned. He turned to
Dalbo, and said softly, "Kind of feels nice to be wanted, doesn't it?"
"Organisms in conflict. All seeking same goal. Probable
outcome: mutual annihilation of competitors," said Dalbo.
"One can only hope."
"-we were after him first," said Morilla.
"Were you?" said Bumatz. "And since when is it first come, first
serve?"
Choto looked around at the gathering crowd. "We are attracting
attention. Let us remove to another venue to discuss this further."
"Quite right," said Croft. "Why don't you go over there, on the
other side of the road somewhere?"
"Come along," said Morilla, motioning with his blaster.
Suddenly, in the background, Croft saw a familiar face, and his
eyebrows went up. Markna.
"Get down!" he heard.
Just as suddenly the air was filled with blaster fire as Markna
and her men engaged the adversaries.
"Quick, in here," said Croft, huddling Lotnon and Dalbo into a
nearby structure. Inside they looked out from the window.
"Quite a battle," said Croft, watching the laser bolts fly. "She
brought quite a few men with her. I wonder whose side-"
Suddenly, the door hissed shut, and with a lurch the room started
to rise. They were on another ride!
"We're going up the tower," Croft realized. He looked down. "At
least we have a view."
"Croft," said Dalbo, plucking at his sleeve.
"What is it, Dalbo? I know, we're gaining altitude. Humans
lifted into air, that sort of thing."
"No."
Croft turned around.
And saw Morilla, facing him, seething.
He immediately tripped Croft, forcing him to the ground. Morilla
started to pummel him, smacking blow after blow in his face. Croft,
stunned, lost the capacity to respond. Lotnon rammed into Morilla,
forcing the thug off Croft. But then Morilla aimed a roundhouse blow,
which knocked Lotnon to the ground.
But that gave Croft a precious moment to recover. Anger burned
in his eyes, and he pulled something out of the inside of his sleeve.
Morilla rushed him, dodging a blow, and reached up, grabbing Croft,
slamming him against the wall, forcing him to drop his stunner.
"Eh? Eh? How do you like that, big Agency man?"
Croft didn't like that, but he didn't have the time to respond.
Morilla slammed him against the wall again. "Big man! Big
Agency man! How big are you now?" He reached against Croft's neck,
and started to squeeze.
Croft looked over Morilla's shoulder. Lotnon was down on the
ground. Dalbo was sitting there calmly. Taking mental notes, no
doubt. He must find it all so fascinating.
Croft gasped as his breath was cut off. His face started to turn
purple.
"Enough!" he cried. He raised his arms, chopping down on
Morilla's with such force that the beefy appendages were tossed away.
Then Croft landed a blow in the fiend's chunky face. And another one.
Another one.
Morilla tried to block the blows, but that wouldn't stop Croft.
Croft hit the Tauz henchman. Again. And again. And again. Finally,
Morilla lost the will to fight.
Croft, grinning savagely through a cut lip, dragged Morilla to
one of the open observation windows, and hung his head out of it.
"All right, you, talk!"
Morilla, dazed, said nothing at first. "Got... nothing to say."
Croft leaned him farther out the window. They were quite high,
now, and a fall at this distance would most certainly be fatal.
"Talk!"
Morilla looked down, and fear enveloped him. But he merely
gasped, shaking his head.
"You're Tauz. What are you doing here? You were wiped out!"
Morilla feebly shook his head. "No... we're back. We're going
to take over. This planet... and then others."
Croft shook Morilla, dangling him out the window even further.
"How? How do you intend to do it?" he said. Only his grip kept
Morilla from falling.
But Morilla said nothing, sullenly eyeing Croft.
What could inspire such loyalty in a man?
"Talk!" Croft barked.
Morilla snarled at him, shaking his head. "You might as well
kill me!" he growled.
Croft leaned real close to Morilla. He whispered "As you wish."
And he let go.
Morilla let loose a solid scream. This scream, a high throaty
affair, attracted a lot of attention, even considering the violence
that was occurring below. The scream stopped shortly and suddenly,
with a low thump.
"Thanks for the help," said Croft, dusting his hands off as he
glared at Dalbo.
"I do not commit acts of aggression," said Dalbo.
"You've been such a big help all along, haven't you?" said Croft.
He started to help the groaning Lotnon sit up, who was moaning as he
clutched his head.
"I am not here to help. You have taken me to serve your own
purposes."
"Have you ever thought that I might also be incidently saving
your life?" Croft suggested.
"You are a man of violence," shrugged Dalbo, as if that settled
that. "You may make any excuse for your actions that you will. He
would not have told you of his plans to assassinate the President even
if you had tortured him."
"Wait, wait, backup. What was that?"
"He seemed very concerned whether you would find out what those
plans were. Even more concerned than whether the ground below was soft
or hard."
"What sort of plans were these?"
Dalbo shrugged. "He had a most undisciplined mind."
"Still," said Croft. "Now we at least know for certain what they
intend."
"What?" said Lotnon, still grabbing his head.
"They're out to kill Kerhonkson. They must want to stop the
treaty from going through."
"Who?"
A dark shadow crossed Croft's face. "Tauz."
Croft was prepared for an ambush when the lift descended to the
ground, but there wasn't any sign of trouble; it looked as if Markna
and her men had prevailed. She stood at the outskirts of the crowd,
and her men ringed the area.
Croft, acting nonchalant but looking less than casual with all
his scrapes and bruises, approached a lightshoot booth and plunked down
the fare. Lightguns were toy laser guns, projectors that shot low
power emissions. They were favorites of teen-age hoods and vandals,
but had little capacity to harm people, unless aimed for a vital area.
Croft aimed at one of the targets on the far wall, squeezed the
trigger.
"Oh, I'm a little off," he murmured, seeing a small burn mark
appear off-target.
"Mr. Croft," said Markna, approaching him from behind.
Croft didn't even turn. "Inspector-Lieutenant," he said calmly,
taking aim again.
"What part have you played in all this violence?"
"Violence?" said Croft. He looked around. "Yes, it looks like
people have been going a little to excess." He fired again, this time
hitting a bullseye. "Ah, that's the spirit."
"This small excess, as you call it, has left 17 people dead, and
32 wounded," said Markna grimly.
"Sounds pretty nasty," said Croft. He eyed the area around the
targeting range again, and his eyes widened.
"Why are they after you? What have you done?"
Croft took aim again.
"You're not listening."
He squeezed the trigger, and there was a thud, as Bumatz, who had
been lurking next to the range, fell to the ground.
"Make that 18," said Croft grimly.
Markna looked from the body to Croft, and opened her mouth,
speechless. "Is there any reason why I should not arrest you now?"
"Look at his hand! Look at it!" said Croft harshly. "That's a
laser carbine 4-K. A Slurian special. He wasn't hunting gnat-flies
with it."
"Out of the way... out of the way..." said a new voice. A
uniformed man appeared. "What's going on here?"
Markna flipped a badge. "Markna. State Security. What can I do
for you?"
"There's been a massacre here!" said the man. "I'm Lieutenant
Telson, police bureau 54. I want to take that man in for questioning."
And he pointed to Croft.
"I'm afraid that's not possible," said Markna. "This is a matter
for state security."
The man scowled; he didn't like being overridden. He seemed
about to object, but he paused, catching his breath. "Very well," he
said, looking at Croft with clear blue eyes. "But I hope you know what
you're doing."
"I hope so too," said Markna.
"Humans seldom do," Dalbo observed.
"That police lieutenant really wanted to take you in," Lotnon
observed.
They were back at the embassy, attending to their wounds.
"I'm surprised that Markna didn't herself," said Croft. "I would
have to guess that one of her superiors has told her to leave us be."
"But who? And why?"
Croft frowned. "Tauz."
"Tauz? The Tauz wants to help us?"
"Not likely," said Croft. "They just want to handle us
themselves." But he frowned as he said it.
"Then they must have tremendous influence... what's wrong?"
"Nothing... just intuition.... Dalbo, did get any feelings,
about Markna, or her men? Or Telson, and his police associates?"
Dalbo shrugged. "I was busy breathing the air. It was fresh and
sweet. When do we eat?"
"So much for the expert," said Croft.
"A failure," said Eyepatch.
"News already, sir?" said Lalilla.
Eyepatch nodded. "It was almost to be expected. Morilla was a
failure from the start. It was a pity I was not assigned more
competent people."
"Does this impact with our plans?"
Eyepatch shook his head. "The primary plan, no. Assuming you
have completed your preparations?"
Lalilla nodded. "There is nothing to do now but to wait."
"Then perhaps I can find a way to occupy your time." He looked
at her. "I want you to capture the mental."
She nodded. "I will do this."
"You have not failed me yet, Lalilla," said Eyepatch. "I trust
you will not do so now. For once you complete this small task, we will
complete the primary mission."
"The assassination of President Kerhonkson."
"I am being taken somewhere," said Dalbo immediately, when Croft
came into the room.
"Well, I can't keep a secret from a mindreader, can I?" said
Croft ruefully. "You're being taken off planet. It's clear that it's
much too dangerous for you to stay here."
"But I can assist you."
"With mind reading? Thanks. You've already been a big help in
that department."
"Who informed you that what you refer to as the Tauz was
involved?"
"Well, you did."
"Who informed you of the plot on the President?"
"Well, so you did," said Croft. "But you could have been a lot
more forthcoming."
"Wisdom, Mr. Croft, is not simply dispensed by the turn of a
spigot," Dalbo lectured.
"I don't know what in the world that means," Croft admitted.
"But you're not staying."
"It's irrelevant," said Dalbo, shrugging as if he knew something.
"Major Halp and his team will escort you to the spaceport. These
are all heavily armed professionals. There should be no problems."
"And where will you be?"
"Trailing the president," said Croft. He had gotten in touch
with A.A., earlier in the day, and explained the situation. A.A. had
immediately dispatched a full Agency team, but they would not arrive
for several days. He also sent a warning to Kerhonkson through
diplomatic security, but he cautioned, "They didn't seem to take our
message very seriously. Your job now is to keep an eye on Kerhonkson."
Croft had protested that was the job of the shadow team. But the
shadow team was needed to ferry Dalbo off-planet.
"You're an Alpha-K, aren't you?" A.A. had grunted. "If the
assignment's getting too tough, let me know." And then he had signed
off.
"You're an Alpha-K, aren't you?" Croft had said, imitating that
gravel-like voice.
But when he went to talk to Lotnon he found little to be humorous
about. "You can go home too, if you like," said Croft.
"Why?"
"You're diplomatic security. The assassin's been found, and I
think we can be pretty certain now who was behind it now," said Croft.
"The informer had discovered state security's ties to Tauz, and perhaps
the assassination plot as well. Tauz caught on to the informer, and
terminated him and our embassy man."
"Does that mean Markna is working for them too?"
"Maybe, maybe not," said Croft. "Or a third possibility: maybe
she works for them without knowing it. Who really knows? Anyway, at
least your part in this is over."
"I want to stay, to see this thing out," said Lotnon firmly.
Croft gave him a steady eye for a moment, and nodded. "You
didn't do too badly in the amusement park."
Lotnon shrugged.
Croft gave an approving nod again, "All right. We go on." He
removed a printout from an inner pocket. "This is where the President
is going to be this afternoon."
The shadow team was very careful. There were four operatives at
the ship, waiting for Dalbo to arrive. Two more waited at the
spaceport. A chase car with three more agents waited on the road along
the route to the spaceport. At the embassy a tight knit group of four
agents waited to begin the journey. The strategy was clear; as they
got closer and closer to their off-planet goal, the escort would become
stronger and tighter.
Croft was not intimately aware of the details, trusting the
shadow team to know how to do its job. So when Major Halp approached
him, saluting with a "We'll be ready in a few minutes, sir," Croft only
nodded. He turned to Dalbo. "I can't stick around. The Pres is going
to give a speech downtown, and I have to be there."
Dalbo looked oddly at Croft, as if he wondered why Croft was
pausing.
"Time to leave, Dalb," said Croft. "Just do what they say, and
you'll end up ok."
"A prisoner for the rest of my life," Dalbo commented.
"Noooo," said Croft reassuringly.
"No? That is what this one believes," said Dalbo, pointing to
Major Halp.
"The good Major is just your escort," said Croft. "Naturally,
our lab boys will want to have a chat with you. But after that, you'll
be free to go."
"Free to go," said Dalbo hollowly. "Can I bring my books with
me?"
"No," said Croft. "They'll be sent to you."
"What sort of food will they be serving on the flight?"
Croft shook his head, smiling dimly. "I don't know."
"Oh." There was silence for a moment.
"Well, this is goodbye," said Croft, extending a hand.
"Physical contact is unnecessary," said Dalbo. "Your
felicitation of departure is noted."
"Try to stay out of trouble," said Croft, as Dalbo turned away.
He was silent for a moment, and then Croft departed.
He went to his aircar where Lotnon was waiting, and in moments he
was gone.
Major Halp approached the lone figure standing by the doorway.
"Ready to go, Mr. Alto?" said Major Halp officiously.
Dalbo nodded.
He stepped out the front door, flanked by two of Halp's men.
Another man waited in the aircar in the driveway, and Major Halp
brought up the rear.
"See anything, men?" he said.
"No sir," said one of them. The statement was appropriate, for
the guard still didn't see anything when a laser bolt struck him on the
temple, striking him dead.
"Down!" Halp cried, even as another precision shot hit the other
flanking guard, killing him instantly.
A hail of laserfire racked the embassy from across the street.
The normal embassy guards were pinned down.
Halp whipped up his communicator. "This is Halp. Trouble!" But
he was only answered by static.
The Ambassador chose this moment to step outside. "What the-" he
said, as he was nearly perforated by a stray bolt.
"Get help!" Halp cried, as he started to drag the cringing Dalbo
into the embassy. "Cover us!" he yelled.
But all he had for cover was one remaining shadow guard. Even as
Halp pulled Dalbo inside he saw enemy operatives swarming up the front
lawn.
"Get in, get in!" Halp cried, slamming the door as his last
operative scooted in.
The Ambassador gave a shout, and three embassy guards immediately
raced to the fore.
"Hold them!" Halp shouted, pulling Dalbo upstairs.
The front door exploded with a volley of laser fire. Everyone
was forced to the ground as something crashed through the ruins of the
door.
A concussion grenade.
The guards scrambled out of the way, but not nearly in time. The
force of the explosion knocked them senseless.
Meanwhile Major Halp was on the powerful transmitter in Croft's
quarters. "Come in, come in," he shouted.
Loud voices could be heard from downstairs. Halp turned to the
remaining shadow guard. "Our orders are not to allow this man to fall
into enemy hands. If they break into this room...." The rest was
unspoken.
"Termination," said Dalbo. "It seems that I am a not infrequent
target of this verb form." After the shock of the initial laser
barrage, he had recovered nicely, and was now back in top analytic
form.
They heard the sounds of a door being kicked in down the hall.
"This is Croft," said a static-ridden voice on the comgear. "Who
is this?"
"Major Halp," said Halp. "They're at the embassy. You've got-"
At that moment the door to the room was kicked in, and from
Croft's perspective, the transmission went dead.
"Come on!" said Croft, turning the aircar around. He drove like
a maniac, summoning the rest of the shadow team by comlink.
The embassy was a mess. The gate was cut down, the frontal
facade cut and burned by laser fire. And the sounds of battle were
long past. Everything was quiet. Too quiet.
Croft arrived first, with the shadow team from the road guard
coming in close behind.
"It looks like they've gone," said Lotnon, in a hushed tone.
Croft drew a blaster, but said nothing. He followed the trail of
bodies, into the embassy, up the stairs.
There was a squealing sound, as a door slowly opened. His weapon
tightly trained on the target, Croft watched as the Ambassador slowly
peered around the corner. "Croft? Oh, Croft, it's you!"
"What happened?" said Croft, lowering the weapon slightly.
"Terrorists! They shot up the embassy. They stormed in here,
and crashed into your room-"
But he was talking to empty air. Croft raced to his quarters.
There was no sign of Dalbo. The first body he saw was of Major
Halp, dead with a shot to the head. But the other shadow guard was
still alive. Barely.
"Get a medic!" Croft shouted. He turned to the shadow guard.
"Dalbo?"
The guard coughed.
"Dalbo?" Croft said louder.
"They..." he coughed again, spitting up blood. "... they got
him..." And then he died.
Croft let the body go, a far away look in his eyes. The shadow
team had orders, special orders that Croft had personally issued.
Dalbo must not be allowed to fall into enemy hands. He was to be
terminated before that would be allowed to happen.
But Dalbo was not dead. The shadow team had failed, in their
most important task.
Now the Tauz had Dalbo. They would force him to read minds for
them. The ancient crime syndicate would reap enormous advantage. No
secrets would be safe.
"Croft? Croft?" said Lotnon, shaking him a bit. "The perimeter
is secure. We've got a number of dead and wounded-"
"Later," said Croft quietly. He went through his room,
collecting a number of items, and then he walked out.
Lotnon caught up with him at the aircar in the driveway, but
Croft shrugged him off. "Stay here," said Croft.
"Why?"
"You'll live longer," was all he added. And then he drove off.
"Hello, Dalbo," said a faintly grinning man wearing an eyepatch.
Dalbo looked around the sterile white room where he was being
held. He had been blindfolded and brought to some kind of lab. Not
that blindfolding him would serve any purpose; the guards knew where
this installation was. And now so did Dalbo.
But he was still a prisoner. A prisoner, of forces intending to
use him for their own ends. Most of which weren't nice ones.
"I have seen you before," Dalbo sniffed.
"Yes, I'm not surprised you recognized me," said Eyepatch. "I've
been waiting some time to formally meet you."
"Your wait is over," said Dalbo.
"We'd like you to... tell us about your ability."
"What would you like to know?" said Dalbo.
"Can you read anyone's mind?"
"I do not read minds."
"Oh?"
"The one called Clifford Croft suffered a similar delusion. I am
merely very intuitive."
"Oh," said Eyepatch, feigning disappointment. "And what does
your... intuition tell you I am thinking now?"
Dalbo frowned. "It is not very difficult. You are wondering if
I am too dangerous to keep alive."
"And that does not alarm you?"
Dalbo shrugged. "It is merely further stimuli, only of a
negative sort."
Eyepatch laughed. "Oh, you are amusing. But let us return to
the subject of the Agency man, Clifford Croft. How much does he know
about us?"
"Not very much," Dalbo promptly replied. "He is a man of
violence, one who does not need reason or rationale to resort to the
offensive."
"So I've observed," said Eyepatch.
"He is a bad man. He shot me, if you must know."
"Did he?" said Eyepatch. "No, that doesn't sound like the work
of a nice man. Tell me, does he know of our involvement?"
"You personally?" said Dalbo contemptuously. "Why would he
care?"
Eyepatch felt anger rising, but he restrained himself. "Who does
he think he is opposing, then?"
"He believed it was the Slurians," said Dalbo, shrugging as if it
didn't matter.
"And now?"
"Tauz," said Dalbo.
"Who told him that?"
"I did," said Dalbo. "It could not have been more obvious had it
not been written in neon skyrocket paint on your henchmen."
"I see," said Eyepatch. This man could indeed be a formidable
asset. But something puzzled him. "You seem to give away information
freely."
"Why not? It is merely factual data concerning the mental state
of other organisms. Of what consequence could the free flow of
information possibly be for me?"
Like ants. Suddenly Eyepatch understood. Dalbo saw people as
little more than ants, worthy only of abstract study. Why should Dalbo
care about keeping secrets? He wasn't on any particular side.
Eyepatch returned to his original line of questioning. "And what does
Mr. Croft know of our future plans?"
"Nothing," Dalbo shrugged.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing of consequence," said Dalbo, without guile.
"Hm...," said Eyepatch. Then he slowly nodded. "You've been
quite cooperative. If you've answered all my questions truthfully,
this should be the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship."
"There will be no fruit. As for the length of time, that remains
to be seen," said Dalbo.
"Hm," said Eyepatch again. He exited the room, to confer with a
number of techs in white lab coats. "The full treatment," he said, in
a low tone. "I don't want him harmed, but I want to know how he does
what he does."
Cessna Markna sighed as she entered her apartment block. It had
been a long day. She had spent a great deal of time interrogating the
people who had been apprehended during the pitched battle at Paley Park
the day before. A number of them had been contractors from the Kroton
corporation. But Kroton denied any official knowledge of them, even as
it wrangled bail for one of its employees, the one called Mr. Choto.
Also apprehended had been an entire gaggle of Slurian agents from their
embassy. All possessed suitable diplomatic immunity, so the worst
Markna could do would be to kick them off-planet.
And then there had been another category of operatives, one whose
source Markna could not identify. These men had remained silent, at
first, and just when Markna started to make some headway, the order had
come down to release them.
To release them, just like that! This was only the latest in a
series of puzzling orders Markna had received from the district office.
First she had been told to take deferential attitude towards the off-
worlder, Clifford Croft. He enraged the Krotons, he stirred up the
Slurians, and even an unidentified third party was after him, but no,
she wasn't allowed to get involved. Only observe. What was the sense
behind this?
And why was everyone after Croft? What had he discovered? Her
own investigation of the death of Duncan Pos, the State Security agent
who had been murdered, had come to a dead end. What had Pos stumbled
on (and presumably now Croft, as well) that had stirred everyone up
into a frenzy?
Cessna sighed, lowering bags of groceries as she closed the front
door behind her. Suddenly her weapon was in her hand, pointing to a
shadow in a chair.
She slowly clicked on a light. Croft was there, with a weapon
pointed at her. "Good reflexes," he said. "But you would have been
dead before you dropped your baggies."
"What are you doing here? How did you find out where I live?"
"Credit me with a modicum of intelligence." Croft meant no pun.
"How are you doing, Lieutenant?"
"Fine," she said, sitting down herself. "But somehow I don't
think you came to make a social call."
"You've been trying to talk to me for some time," said Croft. "I
thought I'd finally take you up on your offer."
"I see," said Markna, lowering her weapon. But Croft kept his in
hand. "What would you like to talk about?"
"How about Dalbo?"
"What about him?"
"Where is he?"
"Is he missing?"
Croft raised his weapon, lightening quick. "Don't," he added,
seeing her reflex. "Yes, drop it, that's right." Her gun clattered to
the ground.
"What's this all about?"
"I think you know that." A short ugly word came out of his
mouth. "Tauz."
"Tauz?" She paused. "Wasn't that a crime organization, that
disappeared, about-"
"Don't play coy," said Croft. "I know you work for them."
"That's a surprise for me," said Markna. "Considering that I've
barely heard of them. And everything I know about them is from a
history text."
"Stop it," said Croft harshly. "I know that your state security
apparatus is riddled with them. You must be part of them."
"Well, I'm not," said Markna. "All I know is that I've been
ordered not to... interfere with you."
"Who issued these orders?"
Markna shook her head. "They were unsigned. From the executive
branch of the district office."
"Which could mean anyone," Croft sighed. "Then why did Dalbo
have such a bad feeling about you?"
"I don't know," said Markna. "Have you grown to rely on the
eccentric's feelings, now?"
Croft looked at her, suddenly looking hard. Then he suddenly
understood; it wasn't an act. She really didn't know. "Have our
people informed you of the plot against the President?"
"A plot? Against Kerhonkson? What are you talking about?"
Croft shook his head. "We relayed it through diplomatic
channels. I thought you people were informed."
"We certainly would have been, if it had been based on a reliable
source," said Markna. "What are you talking about? Speak quickly!"
Croft told her his suspicions of Tauz involvement in the
assassination attempt.
"How do you know this?" she said sharply.
"Dalbo told me."
"So Alto's an informer?"
Croft sighed. If he wanted to sound credible, he would have to
tell the truth. But would the truth be credible? More importantly,
could she really be trusted?
It was a risk, but at this point, he was out of options.
"He reads minds? That's what this is all about?" said Markna,
after he had explained things. "I don't believe it."
"Believe it or not," said Croft. "I don't care. All I know is
that they've grabbed Dalbo, and in their hands no secret, no matter how
tightly guarded or controlled, would remain safe. And your President
is in dire danger. The Tauz doesn't want this planet to join the
Alliance, and they won't stop at anything to prevent the treaty from
going through."
"If what you're saying is true... then Ebert Mos is working for
them!"
"Or at the very least, manipulated by them. He should be my next
target of investigation...." Croft frowned.
"You can't go after the Vice-President! Whatever you're accusing
him of, this is an internal matter-"
"Yes, you're quite right," said Croft, but there was little
conviction in his voice.
"What?" said Cessna, seeing that far away look.
"There's one angle I've forgotten... it's a long shot, but..." he
looked at Markna, as if seeing her again for the first time. "You have
to do everything you can to protect your President."
"I will, I'll bring it to my superiors-"
"Don't do that," Croft interrupted. "That will only get you
dead. Be a little discreet. Assume that everyone in your agency is
working for the Tauz. Because unless you know otherwise, it's likely
to be true."' He stood up, preparing to leave.
"Where are you going?"
"To get a little lesson in philosophy."
"Your name is Dalbo Alto," said the tech, studying the readout
from the volitional dampener attached to Dalbo's forehead.
"Yes," said Dalbo.
"You were with an agency man, Clifford Croft."
"Yes," said Dalbo.
"What does he know about our plans?"
"Who can say? His mind is so primitive."
The tech frowned, checking his readouts. That didn't seemed like
a standard response. But all instruments showed that Dalbo was firmly
under his control. "You will obey the Tauz," he intoned.
"I will obey the Tauz," Dalbo repeated.
The tech nodded, satisfied.
Then Dalbo looked up, and, with an expression of mild surprise,
said, "I will?"
The tech was startled, as Dalbo, who was looking curiously at
him, plucked the volitional dampener from his forehead. "Is this
device supposed to be of some significance?"
The tech, looking worried, went into a whispered huddle with
other assembled scientists. "Didn't work... but the dampener always
works... all the tests show... resists all probes..."
And then the tech turned back to Dalbo. "You must not resist
us." His name was Doctor Barrote, and he was in charge of this
research team. Dr. Barrote was a top scientist in the field of
Neuropsychy. He used to work for Paley Minor U. He had started out
with lofty goals, with the desire to help mankind, but he soon came to
work for the Tauz. They simply paid better. His guilt was assuaged by
the fringe benefits--such as the quadrupling of his salary. That
didn't help mankind very much, but, he had rationalized, you could only
help one man at a time.
"I note you," said Dalbo. "I do not resist you."
"Good," said the Barrote. "Then how do you resist our mental
probes?"
"What is there to resist? Your crude mental stimuli have no
effect on me," said Dalbo, shrugging.
Barrote gave an exasperated sigh. "All our tests show that your
brain, while largely normal, has a number of abnormal constructions
that may prevent our instruments from making a proper diagnosis."
"Controlling me, you mean," said Dalbo. "I would not allow
myself to be controlled by any mental device. It would disrupt my
objectivity, and flaw my observations."
"Uh-huh," said Barrote. "But you wouldn't mind talking to me,
would you?"
Dalbo shrugged, as if he were indifferent to the prospect.
"Have you always had the ability to read minds?"
"I do not-"
"Sorry, sorry. Have you always been so intuitive?"
Dalbo cocked his head oddly. "I believe so."
"Can you sense thoughts?"
"I can sense... aspects of people."
"Can you tell me what I'm thinking about now?"
"Yes."
There was a pause, and then a sigh. "What am I thinking about
now?"
Dalbo waved his hand dismissively. "It is of little interest to
me."
"Does that mean you don't know?"
"It means I don't care."
"I thought you said you had dedicated your life to collecting
stimuli. Don't my thoughts interest you?"
"Not really," said Dalbo. "You're much too limited."
"Me? I'll have you know, Dalbo, that I have an A.Ph.D. in
psychomedical sciences from a prestigious school, with postgraduate
study certificates in-"
"You know many bits of knowledge," said Dalbo. "But then, so
does an encyclocomp."
There was a muted laugh in the background.
"Are you trying to be insulting?"
Dalbo shrugged. "I might, just to see how you would respond to
that sort of stimuli."
"Let's get back to my original question. What am I thinking?"
Dalbo took a deep breath. "You are thinking... that you will be
replaced by one of your colleagues behind you if you do not make more
progress with me."
Barrote turned red. "That's not what I was thinking!"
Meanwhile, a few miles away, a young secretary was telling a
visitor, "I think the professor is ready to see you now," the
receptionist said, listening to an approving buzz from her comm panel.
"Down the hall, up the stairs, two doors to the right.
"Why thank you," said Croft, giving a winning smile. He had
returned to Paley Prime University in the hopes of getting information
from Dalbo's only known friend or connection.
Dr. Bo Chalo.
A tall, thin man opened the door to his office just as Croft
arrived. "Come in, come in," he said. "Mr... Croft? Is that what you
said your name was?"
Croft nodded, taking a seat as Bo Chalo closed the door.
"Now, what can I do for you?" said the kindly professor.
"Well, for starters, you can stand very still," said Croft,
raising his blaster.
He tied Chalo to the chair with a length of comline cord from the
desk unit. "Mr. Croft... why are you doing this?"
"For a very simple reason," said Croft. "I met Bo Chalo when I
first came here. He was a short man with a beard who smoked a pipe."
"But... that's impossible!" he sputtered. "That must have been
an imposter!"
"We'll soon find out," said Croft, withdrawing a hypospray from
an inner vest. Nevertheless a small undercurrent of worry coursed
through him. If this was the real Professor, he wouldn't be very happy
with being tied up and drugged. Not happy at all.
"What's that?" said Chalo, quaking at the sight of the hypospray.
"Here, I'll show you," Croft offered, depressing it against the
man's skin. He struggled a bit, not that there was any sense to it,
and then he quickly relaxed.
Croft counted slowly to ten, and then said, "Now. What is your
name?"
"Tamaz Ilco."
"And you work for-"
"Tauz."
"That's better," said Croft, nodding. "Much better. Now, you're
going to tell me everything you know about your plans to assassinate
the President. But first... where may I find Dalbo Alto?"
"I am losing my patience, Dalbo," said Dr. Barrote.
"With your manner, it is little wonder that you have any patients
at all," said Dalbo.
"Why will you not cooperate?" asked Barrote. "We have means, but
we have no wish to be brutal."
"Translation: you are under orders not to proceed with any
procedure that might cause permanent harm to me," said Dalbo.
"There! You can read minds," said Barrote.
"If you wish," Dalbo shrugged. "That's a nice white coat. Could
I have one?" Dalbo had been badgering him about his lab coat for
several minutes. Inevitably the conversation returned to that topic.
"Yes, if you behave." Barrote closed his eyes for a moment. "I
am thinking of a fruit. What kind of fruit am I thinking of?"
"A clean lab coat?"
"What?"
"You'll give me a clean one, unworn?"
"Yes, yes. Just answer the question."
"Wait," said Dalbo. "Will it look exactly like yours?"
"Yes, yes. Now answer the question!"
Suddenly a delivery man came into the outer office. "Who ordered
the gauche?"
"What?" said one of the lab coated technicians. "Who let you in
here?" said another. "This is a secure facility."
"I have an order here for two gallons of gauche," said the man.
"If you didn't order it, who did?"
"Oh, pay the man and get him out of here," said Barrote, with a
dismissive wave of the hand.
"If you'll just sign this," said the man, lowering his clipboard.
"I do not think that anyone will be drinking gauche today," Dalbo
muttered.
As the clipboard was lowered, a small blaster underneath revealed
itself. The man started spraying the crowd of techs.
The lab scientists were falling to the ground before they knew
what was hitting them.
Bodies lay about everywhere. On the stun setting one can fire a
blaster very quickly, and the unmoving bodies attested to that. But
after a moment of silence the delivery man caught a bit of movement on
the floor. Suddenly a hand went up on the side of a desk, next to an
alarm button.
The delivery man blasted at the desk, and the hand darted back.
The delivery man darted around the desk, seeing a cringing scientist.
"Yoo-hoo, I see you," said the man, shooting the tech.
With the outer room silent, the man entered the inner room.
Barrote, physically unharmed but psychologically stunned into near
immobility from the sudden ferocity of the attack, said, "Who... are
you?"
The delivery man said, "Dalbo? Care to tell him?"
Dalbo said, "He is the bad one. The one who shot me."
"Croft? You're Croft!"
"The one and only," said Croft, before shooting him. Then he
turned to Dalbo. "Glad to see me?"
Dalbo sat in his chair, tisk-tisking. "Violence. Always
violence."
"You want to see some more?" Aiming carefully, Croft sent a
blaster bolt into the lab computer. Then he scooped up all the paper
files and computer disks as quickly as he could, and, readjusting the
blaster setting, proceeded to start a small fire. "Come on. I knocked
out a few guards on the way in, and they won't remain undiscovered for
very long."
Outside the installation, which was on the outskirts of Paley
Prime, Dalbo said, "How did you find me?"
"A question from the mindreader? Well, it was the good Professor
Chalo. He was replaced by a duplicate, evidently in the hopes of
finding any contacts you might have had. The real Chalo, I
subsequently found out, is on a forced sabbatical on the other side of
the continent."
"Ah," said Dalbo. "Now you will complete your mission and
terminate me?"
Croft slowed and then stopped the aircar, turning over to the
side of the road. "That was only if you were in danger of falling into
enemy hands."
"Yes, I would be no further use to your side then."
"No, no, no, and no!" Croft exploded. "I have no interest in
using you as a tool. But I am very interested in keeping you from
being used by others. Can't you see the difference? Don't you know
what the Tauz stands for?"
"No," said Dalbo simply.
"They killed millions of people in the Tauz wars. Innocent
civilians, not just armed combatants. They killed and despoiled-"
"The Alliance also committed itself to wars of aggression."
"Come off it," said Croft. "The two are not the same and you
know it. The planets that the Tauz ruled were little more than mass
labor camps. There wouldn't have been any comfortable professor jobs
for the likes of you. No, more likely than not you would have been
liquidated. And if your talent had been discovered? You probably
would have been subjected to brainwashing, so you could serve them as a
useful tool."
"One of my captors was having thoughts along those lines," Dalbo
admitted.
"So don't tell me that we're the same," said Croft, sitting back.
They were silent for a moment. Then Dalbo said, "What do you
intend to do now?"
"Stick with the President," said Croft. "That phony Bo Chalo
knew how to find you, but he didn't know any specifics about the plot
against Kerhonkson."
"Eyepatch was particularly concerned about the details of this
plot," said Dalbo.
Croft turned slowly to Dalbo. "You... know the details?"
"He was really quite a simple man."
"Dalbo... tell me what you know."
Dalbo paused, staring at Croft intently. Then he nodded slowly.
"The one called Kerhonkson is to be terminated at a reception to be
held later today at Paley Auditorium. One called Lalilla will be
stationed in the balcony with a high-powered laser rifle with a
silencer-"
"What time? At what time?"
Dalbo looked at his watch. "If they follow their current
schedule, one hour, ten minutes."
Croft gunned the engine.
They raced to Paley Auditorium, and Croft speeded as quickly as
possible. Dalbo provided directions. "Left... then right down this
ramp... then another left... oh, no...."
"What is it?" said Croft, seeing a sudden look of distress cross
Dalbo's face. He stopped at a corner, awaiting further directions.
"I forgot to get my lab coat," he said, downfallen.
"Dalbo! I'll buy you a dozen, when this is over. Now do we go
left, or right?"
"Straight," said Dalbo promptly.
Croft sped along, going as fast as he could. He radioed Lotnon
by comlink, telling him to meet him at the auditorium. He considered
calling Markna, but gut instinct told him not to.
"There, there it is!" said Croft, eyeing a large dome ahead which
must be Paley Auditorium. It was a huge domed building, impressive in
both its height and circumference.
"No, that is Yukakura Planetarium. Paley Auditorium is just
beyond it," he pointed to a smaller, squarish building.
"Mr. President, they're asking for you outside."
"Let'm wait," Martin Kerhonkson grumbled, fumbling in the
dressing room with his three piece tie. "How are these damn things
supposed to go?"
"Let me, sir," said Joe Kalppi, his liason for social affairs.
He struggled with the rugged material, finally twisting and turning it
into shape. "There. You're perfect."
"Perfect for a bunch of damn bureaucrats," said Kerhonkson. "Who
the hell am I addressing anyway?"
"The Council for Federal, District, and Local Paperwork
Allocation Management."
"Bloodless paperclip bureaucrats," Kerhonkson growled. An aide
opened the door, and the noises of the crowd could be heard. "All
right, let's get it over with."
Croft heard the sounds of sirens behind him, when he was just
blocks from the auditorium. He accelerated, but a second police car
swerved in front of him, and he was forced to stop.
"I'm on very important business," Croft snapped.
"Are you aware that you were doing 120 in a 90 mile per hour
zone?" said the cop, who had gotten out of the car in front of Croft's.
"Your license, please."
Croft sighed, fishing it out. The cop studied it, and said,
"Hands against the aircar please." Cops from the car behind were
approaching.
"What? I have no time for this!" And then Croft saw Dalbo
frowning, and slowly shaking his head.
The cop roughly spun Croft around. "Hands against the aircar!"
He reached down to remove a pair of electrocuffs.
Croft lashed out with a backwards kick, sending him sprawling
against the ground. His partner drew his blaster, but as Croft spun
around to face him his blaster was already in hand. One bolt struck
the copper, sending him to the ground.
One of the peacemen from the far car approached, blazing away
with his blaster. Croft hit the ground, still firing, striking the cop
in the upper body. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Croft slowly got up, looking for the last officer from the second
car. The officer, who had been ducking behind Croft's aircar, slowly
stood up, removing his helmet. He gave Croft a wide smile.
It was Choto.
Croft smiled back.
Choto clenched his fists.
Croft, understanding, put his gun on the hood of the aircar.
Choto did the same with his, flexing his arms and assuming a
combat stance.
And then Croft drew a hidden blaster from underneath his jacket,
and gunned Choto down.
"I really don't have the time," was all Croft said.
When he returned to the aircar, Croft said, "How did you know?"
"Real law enforcement officials would not take such pleasure in
musing over the thought of severing you, limb by limb," said Dalbo
simply.
There were policemen, ringing the entrance outside Paley
Auditorium. Lotnon was arguing with one of them.
"-you cannot enter with a pass-"
"This is vitally important-"
"Do you have a pass?" said the officer.
"Well, no-"
"Then you may not enter."
Croft disembarked, with murder on his mind. He didn't have time
for this. "Officer, have a look at my pass," he said, his hand
reaching for the butt of his blaster.
"Wait!" said a voice.
Croft turned, to see a familiar police presence. "You're..."
"Lieutenant Telson. We met at Paley Park. What's going on
here?" The man looked from Croft to the entrance guards, attempting to
quickly sum up the information. Dalbo, not meeting the man's glance,
stared at his own fingers.
"We have information that President Kerhonkson is in grave
danger," said Croft. "There may be an assassin-"
"An assassin? Lead the way! Let us through!" Telson commanded
the guards.
They were in.
"Which way?" said Telson anxiously.
"I think the balcony-"
"Wait!" Telson's comlink beeped. Holding it to his ear, he
said, "Yes?" After a few quick seconds he said, "There's been a break-
in in the basement!
"On my way," said Croft, heading for the stairs leading down.
"I'll get security," said Telson, heading in another direction.
Croft bounded down the stairs, two at a time, outpacing his two
companions. He was huffing and puffing as he entered the basement.
"Wait a minute," he said, gasping for breath. "How is an assassin
going to take a shot from the basement? That's not possible."
"You are correct, Mr. Croft."
Major Latr emerged from the shadows, flanked by two of his men.
All had weapons drawn.
"So you're Eyepatch," said Croft. "You're the brains behind all
of this."
"I'd like to take credit," Latr admitted. "But I am only a
relatively recent newcomer to this fine venture. When certain parties-
"
"Tauz."
Latr nodded. "Tauz. When the Tauz informed me, after your ill-
fated visit to our embassy, of their aims and goals, we decided to join
forces."
"And what is your part in all of this? You can't kill the
President from the basement."
"Quite right," said Latr. "But we can kill you." His hand
gripped the trigger reassuringly. "Now drop it."
Croft paused, letting his weapon dangle in his hand.
"Drop it!" said Latr. "I assure you, I have no compulsion
against killing Agency men."
"Or anyone else," said Croft, letting his weapon drop to the
floor.
"Or anyone else," Latr agreed. He slowly approached Croft. "Not
such a formidable adversary after all, Mr. Croft. I am quite
disappointed. I had expected more from one who is theoretically a top
Agency man." He shook his head slowly.
"What's going on upstairs?"
"You want a preview?" said Latr, amused. "I will grant you one,
then. In exactly," Latr looked at his watch, "12 minutes, an operative
with a sniperscope in the maintenance catwalks near the upper balcony
will shoot, and kill, President Kerhonkson. One minute later Ebert Mos
becomes President."
"But Ebert Mos works for the Tauz. How does this serve Sluria?"
"One thing at a time. It is enough, today, to prevent Paley
Paratus from falling into the Alliance's orbit," said Latr. "But
enough about politics. It is your own fate that should be of concern
to you."
"So?"
"Yes. I did a little background checking. It turns out that
you're a wanted man, back on Sluria. Do the vaults of Galtran II have
any meaning for you?"
"Uh... not really."
"Oh, come now. Your fingerprints were found in abundance there.
Most unprofessional of you."
"I was sweating too hard. The gloves got too hot," said Croft.
"Yes, very unprofessional. Perhaps you're not the catch that you
are reputed to be." Latr adjusted his weapon, setting it to stun.
"And now you must take an unavoidable nap, but when you awaken, you
will be under the sunny sky of Sluria-"
"I don't think so," said a new voice, and then everyone started
to open fire.
But the owner of the voice, Lotnon, fired first, shooting first
one and then a second Slurian agent. The first went down, but the
second, only grazed, returned fire.
Latr, distracted by this new threat, was unprepared when Croft
landed a kick in the middrift, and then both of them went down, bound
together in hand to hand combat.
Lotnon continued to trade fire with the last remaining henchman.
They fired back and forth, until Lotnon aimed a precision shot that
knocked the operative out. But at the same time his opponent also
fired, striking Lotnon in the shoulder. He slumped on the ground.
Croft and Latr were still locked in struggle. They were both
well trained and fierce opponents, and this was a struggle that neither
could well afford to lose. They wrestled back and forth, rolling
across the floor. Croft found himself pushed against the body of one
of the fallen Slurians. He twisted his body, bracing his hands against
the ground to prepare for a side kick, only to have Latr easily
disengage, leveling a sharp kick of his own at Croft.
Croft winced in pain as Latr, satisfied, slowly stood up. "So,
the intrepid Mr. Croft is out of training as well. Tell me, what do
you call that last maneuver you attempted? A 'twirling side kick'?"
He gave a dry chuckle.
"No," said Croft slowly. "I call it 'distracting you while I
reach for your buddy's fallen blaster'," said Croft, leveling it as he
fired.
Latr, speechless absorbed the stun glow, and fell to the ground.
"Nice meeting you," said Croft, slowly getting up. He looked
over at Lotnon. The man lay where he fell.
Croft gently turned him over. There was blood everywhere.
Slowly, Lotnon started to stir.
"What....?" he said groggily.
"You've got a wound, in your shoulder." Croft took off his
jacket, pressing it against the wound. "Keep this pressed against it.
I'll get help." He started to get up.
"Did I... do all right?" said Lotnon weakly.
"Did you do all right? Did you do all right? This is no time
for evaluations. You'll be graded later." For a moment, though, he
became serious. "Thanks. I won't forget." And then he was gone,
racing up the stairs.
"Maintenance catwalks, maintenance catwalks," said Croft,
bounding up the stairs. Up one set of stairs, onto the next-- where
stood Dalbo. "Where have you been?"
"Not downstairs," he said simply.
"Come on!" said Croft, racing up the stairs. He hoped Telson's
men had gotten there in time.
The entrance to the maintenance catwalks was clearly labeled,
over the first door they saw. Equally clear was the trio guarding it.
Lieutenant Inspector Cessna Markna, and her two aides, Stacon and
Gurwick.
"Markna," said Croft uncertainly, not sure which side she was on.
Behind him Dalbo muttered, "Killers."
"Croft! What are you doing here?" she said, arms akimbo.
"Didn't you get the alert? Where's Telson?" said Croft. "Never
mind. There's no time for that. Get out of the way, there's an
assassin inside."
"Nobody has passed by us," said Markna.
"Maybe we've got the assassins right here," said Stacon. He and
Gurwick drew their weapons.
Croft slowly nodded. "How could I have been so blind? You are
working for them."
"Killers," Dalbo muttered.
"Take them downstairs, while I inspect the catwalks, just in
case," said Markna. She started to open the door to the maintenance
section.
"Lieutenant, we really should stay together," said Stacon. He
motioned with his weapon.
Markna paused, eyeing Stacon in a different way. "Perhaps you're
right," she said slowly.
She quickly leveled an incapacitating kick at Stacon, sending him
down to the floor with a crumpled "Ooomph!"
Gurwick turned to face her but was quickly shot by Croft.
"You're not one of them?" he said, obviously confused.
"How many times do I have to keep telling you?"
"But Dalbo... everytime he would see you, he would keep muttering
'killers!'."
"Yes," said Dalbo, speaking up. "Those two," he said, pointing
to the sprawling bodies on the ground.
"Oh. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you very much. That's really
helpful. You might have told me that, a week ago," said Croft, without
a trace of sarcasm. "Now come on!"
"And now I am proud to introduce... President Kerhonkson!"
The crowd of bureaucrats started applauding as President
Kerhonkson, to the musical strains of "Hello to the Leader" stepped out
onto the platform. He looked out at the thousands of bureaucrats,
seated around and above him.
"Thank you, thank you," said Kerhonkson. The clapping died down,
which was good.
Kerhonkson just wanted to get this over with.
The maintenance catwalks were thin and narrow. The three of
them--Croft, Markna, and Dalbo--cautiously but quickly crept forward.
Far below, they could hear Kerhonkson beginning his speak.
"It's such a great pleasure to be here today-"
Suddenly there, on one side of the catwalk, was a woman, with a
sniperscope aimed downwards.
Croft raised his weapon. There would only be time for one shot.
He aimed carefully at the assassin...
"Halt!" From the other side of the catwalk, Lieutenant Telson
emerged. The assassin stopped, frozen in place.
"Drop your weapon." She complied, and it landed with a clang on
the catwalk.
"There you are," said Croft, relieved. "Where are your men?"
"Searching all over," said Telson. "Apparently, security has
been breached in several different areas."
"That I can believe," said Croft, lowering his blaster. It was
over.
"Who is she?" said Telson, still keeping his weapon trained on
the assailant.
"I believe you'll find that she works for the Tauz, Lieutenant,"
said Markna.
"The Tauz?" A confused look appeared on Telson's face. "Can
that be possible?"
"Believe me, it is," said Croft.
"Very well," said Telson. "I have already radioed for backup.
You can go back downstairs, if you wish."
"-a genuine admiration for your work-" they could faintly hear
the President's voice from far below.
"Right," said Croft. He turned to go. He started a few steps,
and then, "Telson?"
"Yes?"
"How did you get in here, past Markna?"
"There's another entrance, on the other side."
"-paperwork is an integral part of government-" they heard, from
below.
"Oh," said Croft. He bit his lip. Something seemed odd.
Dalbo had been very quiet up to now. Too quiet. Croft turned to
Dalbo. Dalbo bit his lip.
Telson caught the glance, raised his weapon. "Hands up! All of
you!"
Speechless, Markna and Croft complied. Dalbo just fidgeted,
playing with something in his jacket.
"Lalilla... their weapons."
Lalilla, the assassin, reached over and plucked the blasters from
their hands. Then, dropping them some distance away, she picked up her
sniperscope.
"Poor, desolate Mr. Croft," said Telson.
"You? You're one of them?" said Croft.
"One of them, Mr. Croft? I am Tauz!"
"I thought we were looking for someone with an eyepatch," said
Croft slowly.
With a small grin on his face, Telson slowly took something out
of his jacket pocket. An eyepatch.
"It was you all along," said Croft.
"Correct, Mr. Croft," said Telson. "Lalilla?"
"Yes?"
"Take aim. Mr. Croft and Lieutenant Markna will be witnesses to
this extraordinary event."
"How come you didn't warn me?" said Croft, turning to Dalbo, who
was still toying with something in his jacket. "Couldn't you sense-"
"Sense? Mr. Croft, I interrogated Mr. Alto when we had him
captive! He could have told you who I was at any time!" Telson turned
to Dalbo. "Come over here, please."
"Dalbo?" said Croft.
Dalbo, head slunk down, slowly made his way to Telson.
"You see, Mr. Croft, he doesn't care which side he is on. To him
we are all the same. He didn't tell you simply because he didn't
care."
Dalbo looked very uncomfortable.
"Lalilla?"
"Ready," she said, her finger beginning to tighten on the
trigger.
"-the key to your success is proper filing-"
"Fire when ready," said Telson. Croft started to jerk forward,
but Telson raised his blaster. "Mr Croft! I would hate to broadcast
the sound of weaponsfire, but...." Croft stood still.
Lalilla's finger tightened on the trigger. Dalbo sensed she was
about to fire. Reaching over at the crucial moment, he did something
totally unexpected.
He kicked her in the side.
It wasn't a strong kick, as kicks go, but it was enough to
deflect the shot, sending it ploughing into a far wall.
What the audience below heard though was this
"-and paperclips serve an integral function in your-WHAM!"
20,000 eyes suddenly looked up.
"What... why?" Telson was speechless. His weapon dangled in his
hands. Suddenly, he made a decision. Raising his blaster towards
Dalbo-
He was shot, and fell to the ground, unconscious. A small wisp
of smoke trailed the blaster that Dalbo held in his hand.
Lalilla reached for her sniperscope, but Croft was quicker,
rushing forward and delivering a well placed chop to the neck, putting
her in the same mental state as her boss.
The audience below was murmuring loudly. They had heard the
sounds of firing, and everyone was looking up.
Croft, looking at Dalbo, shook his head. "I can't figure you
out."
"An admission of inadequacy," said Dalbo, analyzing Croft's
statement. "A self-diagnostic, a statement of fact," he added.
Croft groaned.
"So you took the gun from one of Markna's fallen aides," said
Croft. "Why didn't you tell me about Telson?"
They were just returning from the hospital. Lotnon was
recovering nicely. The Tauz organization on Paley Paratus was being
ripped up end to end. Major Latr and half the Slurian embassy staff
were being expelled for "conduct incompatible with their diplomatic
status". A number of Paley Kroton officials were considerably less
fortunate, and were slated to go on trial for a variety of violent
crimes. And a number of officials in the Department of Sanitation were
being investigated, to route out the sympathizers who had been working
for the Tauz.
President Kerhonkson was still very much alive, as was his Vice
President, Ebert Mos. But late in the day the papers had announced
that Mr. Mos had decided to tender his resignation "for the good of
Paley Paratus." It was a foregone conclusion that the treaty would go
through, and Paley Paratus would join the Alliance.
Even A.A. was pleased. Reached by scrambler, he had given a
small smile. "Good work, Croft. I just wish you could have sorted it
all out sooner."
And Croft had received an official Certificate of Designation,
signed by President Kerhonkson himself, thanking him for unspecified
"services on behalf of Paley Paratus."
The only subject that remained to be resolved was that of Dalbo
Alto.
"You can come with us," said Croft. They were standing in front
of the embassy, waiting for their car. Lotnon had already taken an
earlier flight out. He had been medevacked--not that he was in such a
critical condition. But he was due for a long recovery period, and
then, an extended vacation. Croft found himself a little envious.
When was the last time he had a good vacation?
"I do not know," said Dalbo, and Croft wasn't sure which question
he was answering.
"You won't be safe here," said Croft. "Everyone knows about you
now. You'll never be let alone."
"Still, my government will never let me off-planet," said Dalbo.
"That can be arranged," said Croft. An aircar pulled up. "Ride
with me to the spaceport. We'll talk about it."
Nodding, Dalbo silently obliged.
"To the spaceport," said Croft, tapping the back of the driver on
the shoulder.
"Yes sir," came the muffled response. The aircar slowly started
up.
"One thing I don't understand," said Croft.
"Only one?" said Dalbo. "I think you miscount."
"Seriously. Why didn't you tell me about Eyepatch? And then why
did you risk your life to save mine?"
Dalbo shrugged. "What did it matter? You are all humans."
"You, Dalbo, are also human," said Croft. "Don't forget that."
The aircar sped along. Croft stared outside for a moment,
reflecting. "Come with us. This could be your last chance. Don't
think the government here will be able to protect you."
"And what do you promise me, an exile in some far-off laboratory,
being poked, prodded, and analyzed all the time?"
"No...."
"That's what you were thinking," said Dalbo.
Croft looked out the window again. He still wasn't that familiar
with Paley Prime, but something was wrong... this wasn't the way to the
spaceport, was it?
Dalbo, by way of answer, shook his head. He cast a discrete
thumb towards the front.
Immediately the aircar hit the breaks and pulled over to the
side. Croft was reaching for his blaster, but the driver was quicker,
turning around to level his.
"Last stop," said the small grinning man.
"Choto," said Croft.
"Out of the car," said Choto.
Sighing, Croft and Dalbo complied. "You never give up, do you?"
Croft said.
Choto shook his head. "And now you fight," said Choto, still
holding onto his blaster.
"Fight? Again? No thanks," said Croft.
"You fight or you die!" said Choto.
"Haven't you had enough?" Croft turned to Dalbo. "What is it
with this guy?"
"I sense great animosity towards you. If I may say so, you seem
to inspire that feeling in most people you encounter," said Dalbo.
"Oh, now you're blaming me," said Croft. "Without me, you'd be
dead or dissected ten times over by now. You always blame me." He
turned to Choto. "It's not fair."
"Fight!"
"You want him, you take him," said Croft, pushing Dalbo away. He
took a cautious step away from Choto.
"Fight! You fight!"
"Violence. Threat of violence. Very primitive."
"I will not fight you," said Croft. "In fact, I turn my back on
you." And indeed he turned around, facing the aircar.
"I kill you!" Choto shrieked. "Fight! Fight me!"
"Not interested," said Croft, facing the aircar, arms folded.
"You not fight? I fight you!"
"Do what you have to," said Croft, still facing away.
Dalbo raised his fists, putting away his blaster. What trick was
this? Croft was still facing away.
Maybe he was a coward. Yes, that was it, a coward. And he
thought that he would bluff his way out.
Well, Clifford Croft was in for a surprise. Clenching his fists,
Choto charged, running almost silently up to his victim. One hard chop
along the back of the neck....
But at the last second, a voice cried, "Croft!", and Croft
smoothly stepped aside.
Choto crashed, head first, into the side of the aircar. He
collapsed to the ground, in an unmoving heap.
Croft eyed the side of the aircar. "This is going to need some
solid body work."
But Dalbo eyed him skeptically. "I know why you did that."
"Did what?" said Croft innocently.
"The question is why? Why did you trust me to warn you?"
Croft looked straight at Dalbo. "If I can trust you, you can
trust me." His meaning was clear.
Chapter 9
Croft watched the shuttle lifting off in the morning sun. It was
on autopilot. With a passenger of one.
Croft really should have gone with him, but he knew that Dalbo
would be safe, once he reached the transport in orbit.
But then there was a fireball in the air, and, in a few seconds,
all that was left was a trail of smoke.
Suddenly Dalbo's words came back to him. "They will never let me
leave."
Epilogue
There was turmoil on Paley Paratus for a good time to come.
Given all the parties who knew about Dalbo it was only natural that the
news would become public. And then an inquiring public turned its fury
on the government, for letting such a national treasure disappear.
Dalbo had been the only telepath known to exist, and now, without
relatives, he had perished.
Croft's part in the whole affair was muted or left unmentioned,
for obvious reasons. Yes, he had saved the President's life, but both
governments thought it wise that his involvement should only be known
to a few. And with that sentiment in mind Croft was quickly hustled
off the planet.
Croft sighed as he disembarked from his shuttle onto the
transport ship. The deck officer gave a friendly nod.
"All secure?" said Croft.
He nodded again.
This was no ordinary passenger transport. It was a secure Agency
courier ship, meant to transfer cargo of the highest priority.
The highest priority.
Croft dumped his bags in his quarters, and then went about
looking for something to eat.
He had just settled down with a tray on the mess deck when he
heard a voice behind him say, "Carbohydrates. Various carbohydrates
saturated with fatty acids. Do you seriously intend to eat this?"
Croft didn't even look up. "Have a seat," he said, trying
unsuccessfully to hide a small smile. "Aren't you dead?"
Dalbo squeezed his own arm. "Not since the last time I checked."
He sat down next to Croft, and suddenly became serious. "Was it really
necessary?" he said, being blunt.
Croft nodded. "Yes, it was. We can lock you in the most tightly
guarded fortress in the galaxy and they could still get to you. This
way, they won't even look for you. You're safe."
"Except from you."
Croft shrugged. "No life is perfect. I spoke with A.A., he
promised to keep the scientific poking and prodding to a minimum.
After a short time you'll be allowed to assume a new identity, and put
down somewhere, far from Paley Paratus. You can even teach again, if
you like."
"You really believe that," Dalbo marvelled. "I would not have
thought you of all people would be so naive."
"We'll see," said Croft, shrugging. He stood up.
"Where are you going?"
"Unfinished vacation," said Croft cryptically.
Four weeks later....
Croft sat on the beach, lapping in the view of the water hitting
the tan sands of Pacifica. The last time he had been here, he had been
trying to recover from the wrath of the Happy Worlders. This last
assignment had been a piece of cake, compared to that.
Still... if the Tauz had made a resurgence on Paley Paratus, they
probably would be making a comeback elsewhere as well. They would have
to be watched.
And Dalbo would have to be watched too. In the hands of a
determined enemy... Croft, shuddered, even to think of it. He forced
himself to relax, watching the waves. The water was crystal clear,
only foaming up as the waves hit the sands.
And then Croft heard it. A voice.
"One thousand and one... one thousand and two... one thousand
and...."
Croft slowly turned, to see Dalbo, on his knees, staring closely
at the ground, counting grains of sand with a toothpick.
"This is a vacation?" he said.
"Rhetorical. Question not meant to be answered."
Croft sighed. He was getting that restless feeling again.
It was getting time to get back to work.
The End
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