Char was regarding them sourly from just inside the door. He made as if to walk forward. Terl swept him back.
“Don’t touch anything!” commanded Terl. “As security chief, I am in charge here. Back!”
He bent over the bodies one after the other. “Anybody recognize this one?” he said, pointing to Jayed’s body.
After a moment and craning necks, “I think his name’s Snit,” from a personnel officer. “I really don’t know.”
“They’re both dead,” said Terl. “Call for some stretchers. I’ll record this.” There was a picto-recorder on Numph’s desk, as always. Terl whirred it at the room and each body. “I’ll want statements from all of you.”
Somebody had called the medical staff. They had heard the shots and were prompt. They loaded the bodies on the stretchers.
“Take them directly to the morgue unless you want to examine them first,” said Terl.
“They’re both dead,” said the medical chief. “Blast gun wounds.”
“Move along,” said Terl efficiently to the crowd. “It’s all over.”
Tomorrow morning he would write his report, all backed by witnessed statements: An agent of the I.B.I., recognized by the keen eye of Terl, had not seen fit to announce himself to the planet’s security chief but, proceeding alone, had apparently visited Numph late in the evening and possibly had attempted a foolhardy, single-handed arrest. Numph had shot him with a hidden gun and then committed suicide. Terl had now followed through, seeing whether Numph were guilty of some crime, had continued an investigation begun long since, and had found a pay swindle, papers and evidence to hand. Meanwhile, Terl respectfully submitted all was under control; a competent, experienced deputy Numph had earlier appointed was now on the job, etc. Bodies en route at next semiannual firing, Day 92.
Tomorrow afternoon, as soon as he had verified the animals were still there, he would launch the drone and obliterate “the foolish experiment Numph had been engaged upon.” All evidence would be covered, all tracks obliterated. Whatever Jayed had been after, it made no difference now.
Terl felt very calm, very cool, very masterful. He had brought off the perfect crime.
It was odd that he couldn’t sleep and kept twitching.
Part 11
1
It was the consensus of opinion at the mountain site that they all should be very visible and look busy for the fly over of the drone today.
Jonnie was very concerned. It was absolutely vital that Terl continue with his gold scheme. All their own plans depended on it utterly.
They had weighed various alternates to their own strategy but none of them was good. They could fly into the old defense base now—Angus had gotten the heliport door to work—but they only used it for supplies. It was a long way from ready. The parson’s idea that they should bury the dead there was shelved due to the magnitude of the task and their own few numbers. The parson had decided the place was really a tomb anyway. Later, perhaps, when they had freed the planet—if they succeeded in that—they could bury the dead. Now their energies must be devoted to the living and a possible future. So they really couldn’t withdraw into the old primary defense base. It wasn’t ready and they were not defeated. Not yet anyway.
Keeping Terl going on with his plan was their single hope. But Jonnie was very concerned. In that last interview he realized Terl was no longer sane, if he ever had been.
Gold was the bait in the trap for Terl. So Jonnie added to their plans.
They worked in a rush from the last passing of the drone yesterday to prepare for its passing today.
The lode core he had blasted out had hit the opposite side of the canyon and rebounded back in shattered pieces to lie upon the top of the new rockfall at the canyon bottom.
Jonnie fashioned a remote-control box for a blade scraper machine they could afford to lose.
Robert the Fox fashioned a lifelike dummy to strap into the seat. The dummy’s hands in mittens were rigged to move back and forth when the machine ran. Knowing the macabre was Terl’s favorite dish, he also wadded up scraps of discarded clothing and patterned it with steer blood.
They rigged an ore net to the end of a crane cable and filled it with white quartz from the upper tunnel. Taking what wire gold they had, they encrusted the top of the lode with the specimens.
In the black, brief period of no wind at dawn, they cabled the blade scraper down to the top of the rockfall.
An operator hidden in a cleft at the top of the cliff on the opposite side of the canyon, from which perch the blade scraper could be seen, made the scraper make a flat place (at risk of its toppling into the river) and dig into the pile.
The ore net, with its carefully prepared load, was craned down to the side of the blade scraper.
It was ready long before the drone came, so Jonnie gathered them at the top of the shaft.
“Wire gold goes in pockets,” he told them. “It says so in the old man-manuals on mining. There is a possibility that there is another pocket in this vein. It could be two hundred, five hundred feet up the vein from the cliff. It could have little gold, it could have much.
“What we’ve got to do now is reverse direction on the vein and drift along it into the mountain. It will be much faster since we can blast now.
“So rig this cage again so it doesn’t slip and get to work mining up that vein. We have about sixty days left until Day 92. Probably we will have to deliver the gold by Day 86. So get going and hope!”
“And pray,” added the parson.
2
A very masterful Terl sat in the morning sunlight of his office, pen held in claws, carefully not trembling. He was about to write the report and round off his perfect crime.
His day was efficiently planned. He would write the report, get the latest recon pictures after the drone passed over, and, if the animals were there, fire the drone. Zzt was nattering to anybody that would listen that it blocked the hangar firing gate and he could not get ore freighters in and out to service them, and so Terl would get Zzt to insist he fire it to save space. Then he would see Ker and threaten him into being cooperative as the new Planet Head.
But Terl somehow felt unhappy. This morning sunlight, dancing across his rug, even though filtered by the colored lead glass of the canopy, was a reminder he was still on this accursed planet. Gone were his dreams of a wealthy Terl, living in luxury on Psychlo. But no matter. One had to do what one had to do.
For the tenth time he started to write the report. So far, he had not gotten through the first line of the heading, much less the report. Something was nagging him.
Ah, yes! He didn’t have Jayed’s badge or badge number! The agent had been reaching into his shirt, undoubtedly to show him the badge and identification disk of an I.B.I. operative. Also, if he knew the medical department, they had just dumped the bodies on the benches and he had better put them on ledges.
By plan he would have to have ten bodies. He now had five, counting the three guards that had blown themselves up. He sighed. It had been a beautiful plan: put the gold in the coffins, ship them home, and when he returned there, dig up the coffins some dark Psychlo night, melt them down, and lord it over everyone as a very rich fellow! Well, that was all finished now. The arrival of Jayed had ended it. And the treacherous animals had betrayed him.
He needed the badge and I.B.I. identification number. He would feel better if he cuffed Jayed’s body a time or two. He picked up a breathe-mask and went out of the compound.
As he passed the cage of the females, he noticed a bundle of food and firewood had been left outside the gate. He gave it a kick and would have passed on when he realized that “psychic powers” might prematurely alert the animals in the mountains. He shut off the electrical circuit with his remote, opened the cage door, and threw the bundle violently at the two females. It landed in their fire and the small one scrambled to salvage it before it burned. He noticed the other one was holding a stainless steel man-knife from some old ruin. He went over
and wrested it out of her hand. Then, remembering “psychic powers,” he attempted to pat her on the head. She didn’t seem to like it.
Terl put the knife in his belt, went out, reconnected the juice, and stuffed the remote in his breast pocket. The younger one was saying something in man-language, something undoubtedly harsh. Treacherous creatures, these animals. Well, all that would be handled soon. After the gas drone had done its work, he’d be through with this pair. And good riddance.
He rumbled on down to the morgue, and sure enough, the medicals had just dumped the bodies and not even on a bench! He turned on the lights, closed the door, and hoisted a thousand pounds of Numph onto a shelf. Even in death the old bungler looked stupid, an expression of amazement still on his face. Not all the blood had dried yet, and Terl got it on his hands. He wiped them off on Numph’s coat.
Jayed’s body was surprisingly light, not more than seven hundred pounds. Terl plunked it down on a table and cuffed it.
“Blast you,” said Terl to the corpse. “If you hadn’t shown up my future would have been a beautiful dream.” He cuffed the face again.
Mange. The creature had mange. Terl looked at the corpse sourly. Then he reached over and, with clenched fangs, gripped its throat and choked it. He threw the head back and it hit the table with a thud. Terl cuffed it again.
He took hold of himself. He had to be calm, cool, competent. Where was the badge? He patted the jacket and couldn’t feel any lump.
Maybe Jayed had carried the badge in his boots. Hollow soles were an I.B.I. specialty. He pulled the boots off and examined them. No hollow soles.
Blast it, the fellow carried his badge somewhere! Terl patted the ragged trousers. Nothing. He stood back from the corpse. What a pitiful spectacle this Jayed was! The clothes were full of holes. The fur was diseased.
Where was it? He had been reaching for something! Terl ripped the bloodied shirt and jacket with a jerk that bared the chest. He examined the rags that had torn off in his paws. Nothing in them. Then he noticed the chest. He stared.
The three horizontal bands! The brand of a criminal.
The rags fell from Terl’s talons. He bent closer, staring at the chest.
No mistake.
The criminal brand.
He bent closer and scraped at it. No, it was actually burned in!
He gave it an expert appraisal. It was about a year old.
Hastily he turned and seized the right ankle of the corpse. Yes! The shackle scars, complete with the barb marks, of the imperial prison. A closer look. Also about a year old.
Terl backed up to the wall and stared at the corpse.
It was not an unfamiliar story. An official or an agent had committed a crime in the performance of duty or had been stupid enough to tamper with a crime committed by the aristocracy, had been drummed out of his position and thrown into the imperial prisons.
Suddenly Terl knew exactly what Jayed had done. He had used his talents to escape. He had forged papers as “Snit” and he had worked his way through the personnel lineup of Intergalactic Mining and gotten himself shipped to the farthest outpost of the company.
Jayed had been on the run!
It hit Terl like a thunderbolt. Jayed had not been investigating anything here! Jayed was in hiding. His gesture to his chest was to show Terl the brand and put himself at Terl’s mercy. And it would have worked! Terl could have used him in devious ways.
All these months of worry!
All about nothing.
Terl looked at the pitiful, mangy creature on the table. It was a good thing the door was closed because for quite a while Terl couldn’t stop laughing.
3
Once more that day, Terl was sitting at his desk. He was relaxed, at ease. There was a saucepan of kerbango there and he wasn’t even chewing on it.
His pen moved easily on the report. This changed the whole thing. It was very simple.
Despite warning Numph to be watchful—copy of warning enclosed—due to the number of criminals in the work force, a criminal whose papers said his name was “Snit” had gotten into the offices with probable intent to rob, and walked in on Numph, who had shot him. Before he died the criminal had shot Numph. Witnessed statements to hand and enclosed. The personnel department in the home office could possibly institute physical examinations as this was the second branded criminal received in recent drafts of personnel. It was, of course, necessary for the company to make a profit and understandable that this was a very out-of-the-way planet, but it had only one security officer. But the matter was actually of no great importance, and one would not venture to criticize the practices of the home office since they knew what they were doing. Situation well in hand. A recently appointed deputy had competently assumed the duties of Planet Head. The crime was simple and routine. Bodies en route at next semiannual firing.
That was that. An expansive Terl finished packaging the evidence and picto-recorder disks. Nobody would be interested anyway. He called Chirk and, with a playful paw on her rump, gave her the package to log and include in the dispatch box. She left and he glanced at the clock. He was overdue at the receiving machine. He went over to it and punched the coordinates of the pictures he wanted and they came whirring forth. He glanced at them casually: the drone firing schedule had to be confirmed. Yes, they were up there at the minesite, working with the cage. . . .
Suddenly he sat forward and spread the pictures out.
They had a blade scraper operating down at the bottom of the cliff, turning over the rubble!
Yes! A crane was raising an ore net . . . What was that in the basket?
He punched rapid keys on the machine and got a closer-view picture. He looked at it. He looked at the analysis squiggle at the side: he didn’t have to analyze that; he knew it! It was gold.
They were recovering the lode out of the slide!
He stood up and examined the pictures more closely. What was this over at the side of the slide? Ah, the mangled remains of dead bodies. They’d lost a crew in the drift and with stupid sentimentality they were also digging them out. Why bother? They didn’t have to ship them to home planet. Who cared about the corpses of animals? But wait, that meant they must have been up to the lode from behind.
And what were they doing with the cage? Still mining? Ah, pockets. They must have spotted another pocket on that vein up inside the mountain. The mining man in Terl told him that was a good possibility.
He looked at the gold in that ore net. Several hundred pounds of it? He crashed down in his chair and smiled. He began to chuckle.
That drone. He didn’t have to fire it. It could wait till Day 93. Then for sure, but not now. No, by the crap nebula, not now!
How wonderful he felt. It had been ages since his head hadn’t ached. He reached out a paw. The talons were steady as bedrock.
4
Terl bounced up, pulsing with good cheer and energy. He grabbed some equipment and packages.
He still had a schedule, but it was different.
He sailed through the compound and into the office of the Planet Head.
Attendants had finished mopping up blood, but there were some stains left. The atmosphere was a bit sharp with cleaning fluids.
There sat Ker. The midget Psychlo looked a bit funny and depressed, lost in the immensity of the chair back of the vast square yardage of the desk.
“Good afternoon, Your Planetship,” caroled Terl.
“Would you close the door, please?” said Ker faintly.
Terl took a probe out from under his arm and waved it about to make sure the place hadn’t been bugged overnight. He was almost careless about it. He felt free!
“I’m not very popular,” said Ker. “People haven’t been very polite to me so far. They wonder why Numph appointed me his deputy. I wonder myself. I’m an operations officer, not an administrator. And now all of a sudden I’m head of the planet.”
Terl, with a wonderful smile on his mouthbones, stepped closer. “Now what I’m going to tell you
, Ker, I will deny emphatically I ever said, and there is no record and you’ll forget this conversation.”
Ker was instantly alert. As a hardened criminal he knew better than to trust security chiefs. Ker wriggled in the chair that was too big for him.
“Numph,” said Terl, “didn’t appoint you.”
Ker got very alert!
“I did,” said Terl. “And as long as you do exactly what I tell you to do, without ever telling anyone I told you to do it, you will be fine. More than fine. Wonderful!”
“They’ll just send in a new Planet Head on Day 92,” said Ker. “That’s only a couple of months off. And he’ll find out if I’ve done anything wrong . . . yes, and he may find out I’m not welcome in certain universes.”
“No, Ker. I don’t think you’ll be replaced. In fact, I am very, very certain you will not be. You’re good for this post for years.”
Ker was wary and puzzled, but Terl seemed so confident that he listened cautiously.
Terl opened an envelope and fanned out the evidence he had gathered on Numph. Ker looked at it with slowly widening eyes.
“A hundred-million-credit-a-year swindle,” said Terl. “Of which Numph got half. You’re not only here for years, but you’ll be rich enough when you do go home to buy your record clean and live in luxury.”
The Psychlo midget studied it. It was a little hard to grasp at first. Nipe, Numph’s nephew, was crediting full pay to the employees of this planet, but was in fact diverting half the pay and all the bonuses into private accounts for himself and Numph. He finally got that. All he had to do was to continue to deny bonuses and pay only half-pay.
“Why are you doing this?” said Ker. “Do you get a slice of this? Is that it?”
“Oh, no. I don’t even want a quarter of a credit of it. It’s all yours. But, of course, I am really doing it because I am your friend. Haven’t I always protected you?”
“You’ve got enough blackmail on me already to get me vaporized,” said Ker. “Why this, too?”
“Now, Ker,” said Terl reprovingly. Then he decided it was time to level. “I want you to issue any order I tell you to, and to give me an order in six months to go home.”
Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000 Page 38
