The Programmed Man

by Jean Sutton

  "Catching up on your reading?" York asked.

  "Yes, sir, just waiting to go on watch." Osborn lowered the magazine, his eyes watchful.

  "Sir? I'm not Navy." York smiled and sat opposite him.

  "I didn't know." The blue eyes searched York's face candidly.

  "But you've heard rumors, eh?"

  "Some," he admitted cautiously.

  "Such as?"

  "That you are an inspector for the Bureau of Colonial Planets," replied Osborn. His voice doubted the information.

  "What else?" York prompted.

  "That you are a Navy officer."

  "But you don't believe it?"

  "No, sir," Osborn answered.

  "What else have you heard?" he prompted.

  Osborn added reluctantly, "There's talk that you're with Empire Intelligence."

  "Where'd you hear that?"

  "Just rumor. You know how those things float around."

  "It happens to be correct, Osborn."

  "Empire Intelligence?" Osborn asked wonderingly.

  York nodded and produced his credentials. "This is in absolute confidence," he warned.

  "Yes, sure."

  "I'm telling you because I might need your help."

  Osborn considered the statement, his eyes weighing the agent frankly. York saw the belief in his face, tinged with speculation and awe. Abruptly Osborn asked, "Does the captain know?"

  "He knows. Want him to vouch for me?"

  "I can just see me asking," Osborn snorted. A grin touched his lips. "I guess you're all right. When you first came aboard you were under guard, but now they seem to let you roam around. You must be in the clear."

  York grinned back. "For the time being."

  "What kind of help?" Osborn asked cautiously.

  "We've got a murderer aboard. You know that, don't you?"

  "Murderer? You mean that gas bomb thing?"

  York nodded. "Is that making the rounds?"

  "Heard something about it," Osborn confirmed non-committally. "Can't say that I believe it."

  "Why not?"

  "Well" -- he struggled for words -- "it would have to be someone in the crew. That's hard to believe."

  "Is it?" asked York. "Do you know what happened to the Rigel?"

  "Only hearsay," answered Osborn quickly, "but we're always hearing wild stories."

  "The same thing can happen to the Draco," warned York.

  "It's true?"

  "Very much so. That's why I need your help." York leaned back, watching him. The blue eyes were troubled, and he saw the indecision in his face; at the same time it was pale and shocked. He added, "When this is over, I'll see that it gets into your service record, and, of course, I'll mention it to the Admiral of the Galactic Seas."

  "The admiral?" Osborn blurted.

  "I'm sort of a special agent for him on this job," York confided. "And for August Karsh. That's why I came to you, Osborn. I sized you up for the rugged type, the kind who isn't afraid of danger, and I'm certain I'm right."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Help me to catch a killer before he kills."

  "But you don't know who he is!" exclaimed Osborn. "I wouldn't know how to go about something like that."

  "It's easy." York let the suspense build in the other's face before he continued. "He'll try again. And when he does, we'll have to be ready."

  "Try to kill you?" asked Osborn incredulously.

  York nodded. "Or the ship. That's the big danger. Did you know that a ship can be murdered like a man? That's what happened to the Rigel."

  "I never thought of it that way," Osborn confessed.

  "But we can prevent it," York observed. "I have an idea that our killer's smart, but not that smart. At least I don't believe he is. The odds are in our favor."

  "What odds?"

  "He's desperate, and desperate men get reckless."

  Osborn's face toughened. "What do I have to do?"

  "Nothing for the moment. Just watch, listen, let me know the rumors, particularly anything related to the Rigel. And be ready."

  "Just wait?" Osborn cocked his head questioningly.

  "For now," York agreed, "but when the time comes, you'll have to act fast, and you'll be on your own. Perhaps the fate of the Draco will be at stake, and there won't be time for questions or indecision. Think you can manage that?"

  "I can do it all right." Osborn's big hand crumpled the magazine as he set his jaw in a tight line.

  "I know I can bank on you," York said smoothly. "The main thing is secrecy. Not a word of this to anyone."

  "I won't say nothin'," Osborn promised.

  "That's what it takes to be a good agent," York affirmed, "absolute secrecy. And you're an agent now."

  "Me -- an agent?" he asked disbelievingly.

  "For this trip," York promised.

  Osborn stammered, "I'll do my best, Mr. York."

  "I know you will," he answered. "I have the fullest confidence in that."

  7

  DR. BENBOW was coming from a side room, balancing a cup, as York entered the hospital. "Just in time," he greeted. "Sit down, and I'll bring you a drink."

  "Strong and black," said York. "I need it."

  When they were seated, the doctor asked, "What's the stress?"

  "Just had another session with your captain." York's face took on a rueful expression. "I don't believe he's overly fond of me at the moment."

  "Oh?" Benbow arched his eyebrows quizzically.

  York related parts of his conversation with Hull. "I tried to convince him that this was an intelligence operation, not a naval one."

  "No skipper likes to be told that his service is playing second fiddle," Benbow interrupted. "What makes you so certain that the Draco won't be ordered back to Upi?"

  "Because I'm aboard, and because this is an intelligence operation," responded York. "The captain's beliefs to the contrary, the Admiral of the Galactic Seas definitely is not in charge. I'd stake my reputation on that."

  "Heresy, York."

  "From the captain's viewpoint, yes." York grinned.

  Benbow pursed his lips thoughtfully. "There are good reasons why the Draco might be ordered to return, York. Have you considered that?"

  "Not good enough, Doc. Keeping the bomb restricted to the N-ships is good policy in fair weather, but this is foul."

  "You might have a point," the doctor acceded.

  "Do have a point," York corrected.

  Benbow lifted his cup, looking at York over the rim. "I can see the captain's perturbation. You came aboard as an inspector. Now you're an E.I. agent."

  "I didn't want to reveal that until we'd lifted from Upi," York returned. "The reason should be obvious."

  "It is now," Benbow agreed. "As I get it, you also discounted the idea that the Zuman government was involved." His tone was questioning.

  "The picture's changing, Doc."

  "In what way?"

  "Myron Terle wasn't on the loose then."

  "That bothers the skipper," Benbow reflected. "He's more perturbed over Terle than he is over a possible Li-Hu plot."

  "Has he mentioned it?"

  "He's picked my brains," Benbow admitted, "but I can appreciate his worry. Terle, a teleport, linked up with Li-Hu?" His eyes were inquiring.

  "An unproved assumption," York answered.

  "Do you believe they're working independently?"

  "They're both after the bomb, if that's what you mean."

  The doctor smiled. "I didn't quite mean that."

  "There could be an alliance." York shrugged.

  "But you don't believe so, eh?"

  He grimaced. "I'd better not make a statement. I'm notorious for wrong guesses."

  "I wouldn't suspect that," Benbow returned wryly. He took another sip of coffee before continuing. "Who do you believe is the more dangerous, Terle or Li-flu?"

  "Myron Terle. There's
no doubt of that."

  "Why?"

  "He's running true to form."

  "You lost me on that one." The doctor's eyes held a puzzled look.

  "As the captain pointed out, he's giving himself away with every move," York explained. "He's leaving a path that a blind man could follow, openly attempting to establish contact with the prince's agents. He might as well be carrying a signpost."

  "That's certainly not subtle, York."

  "But extremely effective," he declared. "That's why I say he's running true to form. Right now his actions make him completely unpredictable. The admiral might not know it, or the captain, but Karsh does. And he's compelled to follow Terle. Has the alliance been established or hasn't it? That question must have First Level in a turmoil."

  "I can see that."

  "Understanding the situation and knowing the answer are two different things," York said, "and that's exactly the situation that Karsh is in, and the admiral. They don't know which way to jump."

  "So they jump in all directions. Is that it?"

  "Just about."

  Benbow tilted his head. "He's certainly taking the spotlight off of what is happening here."

  "That's part of it," York contended.

  "Yet Karsh must know that," Benbow remarked speculatively.

  "He knows, all right."

  "Karsh must have an extreme amount of confidence in you," the doctor commented.

  York's voice was earnest as he answered. "I would like to believe that, but I'm afraid it's a case where Karsh reasons like the captain. Terle is the eye of the storm. He can't lose by focusing on him."

  "Do you believe that?"

  "Curiously, I do," York asserted. "Right now the threads are far apart, strung throughout the galaxy, but they'll draw together. When they do, that's where you'll find Terle. And it will be the eye of the storm," he added.

  "I take it that you believe he's tied in with this Rigel plot?"

  "Absolutely," York declared.

  "Is he as fantastic as they say?"

  "The teleport bit?" He nodded. "He's that, all right."

  "I'd like to see that," Benbow said. "It must be quite a sight."

  "Not really. He's there, and then he's not there; it's as simple as that." York waved his hand lightly. "No puff of smoke or loud boom or anything. He just vanishes."

  "Where? Hypertime?"

  York shrugged. "Who knows? Where was the Draco when it was in hypertime? It's just a word, Doc, but it doesn't tell us anything."

  "A ship is powered into hypertime," Benbow countered.

  "What power has the mind?"

  "The normal mind can't conceive of that, York."

  "What's normal in this universe?" he challenged. "On Klengo the worms float through the air -- big ones, up to five feet long."

  "That's not vanishing."

  "Try floating sometime," he returned.

  "You don't appear worried."

  "I'm not the worrying type."

  "I can see that," Benbow assented.

  "The worrying agent doesn't last long," York said.

  "How about the nonworriers?"

  "Luck, it's all a matter of luck." York scrunched forward in his chair and dropped his voice. "Making any headway in your little investigation?"

  "Frankly, I'm puzzled," admitted Benbow. "The gas was cyanic. I've determined that, and I've also determined that we don't use it aboard ship, don't store it. Nor do we store the type of canister that was used. Everything was spirited aboard."

  "Doesn't surprise me," York murmured.

  "No?" the doctor asked sharply. "Look at the questions that raises. If the gas bomb were brought aboard, as apparently it was, it presupposes a knowledge of what was to happen, how it was to be used. That's damning, York, especially if the incident were related to our mission -- to the Rigel."

  "Which it is," he retorted calmly.

  The doctor studied him. "Are you certain? How could anyone, even the captain, have known that the Draco would be assigned to the investigation? No one could have known that."

  "Logic," he answered, "and good intelligence. Remember, the Draco was by far the closest available ship, or was supposed to be until they uncovered the Cetus. That was a fluke the saboteurs couldn't have anticipated."

  "That still doesn't clarify things," the doctor persisted. "The saboteurs -- if there were saboteurs -- certainly would have hesitated if they'd anticipated the Draco's intervention, yet bringing the bomb aboard indicates they did anticipate it."

  "Not only anticipated it, but encouraged it," York pointed out.

  "That doesn't make sense," the doctor asserted.

  "Very little does, on the surface," he admitted.

  "What's your logic?" Benbow challenged.

  "Saboteurs clever enough to take over an N-cruiser would be clever enough to prevent the dispatch of a distress signal," he explained. "But they didn't. The signal came through loud and clear. Where does that leave us? I have scant doubt but that the saboteurs sent it."

  "You're talking riddles, York."

  "Am I?" he asked. "Consider these facts. The Rigel was sabotaged -- taken over -- in a region easy to pinpoint. Gelhart, a lone sun, just happens to have a planetary system that restricts our search to a single planet. I have Galton's word for that. Would they have made it so easy if they'd wanted to remain hidden? They could have picked the region of packed suns, or a sun with a ten- or twelve-planet system, to say nothing of a score of moons. The Rigel's sweep covers such areas. But they didn't. They chose Gelhart, a sun that stands like a signpost in the sky. All very convenient. They want us to find them," York positively declared.

  Benbow shook his head slowly. "It still doesn't make sense."

  "It would if the Draco were part of the plan."

  "You said that before," the doctor stated searchingly.

  "And I say it again."

  "I don't suppose you'd care to go into it?"

  York shook his head negatively. "Not yet."

  Benbow's square face took on a speculative look. "There's still an unanswered question," he said. "Assuming your premises are true, how could the saboteurs have known you'd show up aboard the Draco?"

  "I don't believe they did."

  "Then why the bomb?"

  "I was the unpredictable. There's always an unpredictable, you know." York paused reflectively. "My arrival panicked someone, and he lost his head, decided to get rid of me. By doing so, he tipped his hand, perhaps gave the whole plot away. At least I'm beginning to get a picture. A rather fantastic one, to be sure, and yet quite simple."

  The doctor sighed and said plaintively, "It's too abstruse for me."

  "Not really," York rejoined. "As a psychomedician, you can certainly appreciate how the mind works, how devious it can be."

  "The mind, yes, but this?" The doctor's hands fluttered helplessly.

  "A product of the mind," York stated, "with all the twists of which the mind is capable. Quite clever twists, I might add. No novice worked out this one."

  As York finished his coffee and rose to leave, Benbow caught his eye. "You still haven't accounted for the presence of the bomb aboard the Draco," he observed pointedly.

  He grinned. "Part of the plan, Doc."

  Leaving the hospital, York felt curiously invigorated. If Benbow played the devil's advocate, York found the role stimulating. Hull's worries over Myron Terle reflected the admiral's attitude, which in turn reflected August Karsh's; he had scant doubt of that. And from their attitudes, he could almost predict the next step, and the step beyond that, for attitude -- at least when applied to Karsh -- was the inevitable prelude to action. He wondered how Benbow and Hull would react if they knew the true situation. Well, they'd know soon enough. He only hoped it wasn't too soon.

  He felt a sudden impatience. For days time had seemed endless, the mission remote, but now they were deep in the Gelhart system, speeding toward the planet where almost certai
nly the Rigel had landed. It was the familiar feeling of climax, the moment when plot and plan and action would boil together, when the devious machinations of Dr. G and August Karsh and Prince Li-flu would be put to test.

  And the stakes? Contemplating them, he felt a quick awe. If August Karsh won, the Empire would go on as before -- sprawling, benevolent, a placid kingdom in which all men were equal or nearly equal; an Empire which in its benevolence had spawned an authoritarian class which ruled justly and without harshness; an Empire which grew slowly, expanding down the long galactic corridor toward the magnificent spiral nebula in the constellation Andromeda; an Empire which grew more through the inertia of thousands of years than through plan.

  If Prince Li-flu won, the Empire would be split. The restless hordes of the Alphan suns, fretting and impatient, would burst forth undeterred by the terror of the N-bomb, carving new niches in the endless sea of planets. Such a split would end the Empire as the ages had known it; like all empires of the past, it would slide into slow decline and eventual oblivion. Or it would be torn by wars too horrible to contemplate as the Alphans sought to tear off the yoke, assert their mastery. That was the thing which must be avoided above all else.

  And if Dr. G won? A new race, a new form of mankind would spread through the stars. Few in number, they would infiltrate the seats of power, infuse the Empire with new blood. But they'd do it slowly, over a long period, so that mankind, per se, would never realize that he had been supplanted; he would never know that a new being was rising from the ashes of the old.

  Those were the stakes. And the outcome, as often happened, would depend on a small action in a remote corner of the galaxy. Hull was wrong; the might of the Empire meant nothing. All its vast star cruisers were for nought, for the ultimate decision rested with a few men -- August Karsh's Daniel York, Prince Li-flu's mere handful of saboteurs, Dr. G's Myron Terle. They were meeting to determine the fate of the Empire. He wondered if Hull could appreciate that. Or Benbow.

  He'd nearly reached the end of the passageway when he felt his scalp prickle, and a warning screamed in his mind. Almost without thought he hurled himself sideways to the deck, simultaneously feeling a wave of heat brush his cheek. His feet hit the wall, and instantly he propelled himself backward through a doorway he'd glimpsed opposite him. Another heat wave seared the calf of his leg. As his hand dived to the small blaster in his pocket, a burnt odor assailed his nostrils.