Sutton Jean Sutton Jeff

by The Programmed Man

  When the sermon was finished, the captain ordered Wexby to move the Rigel's landers to a safe location for future retrieval, then instructed Tregaski to destroy the cruiser.

  "Obliterate it from the face of the planet," he commanded. "I don't want a single identifiable fragment to remain."

  "Nuclear fire?" Tregaski asked.

  "Nuclear fire," he affirmed. He turned and walked in lonely silence back to the lander.

  As the pale yellow sun rose higher, the Rigel exploded into a ball of weird greenish flame; within seconds it collapsed into a molten mass which, converted into a gas, rose to merge with the nitrogen rivers in Bonoplane's yellow sky.

  With the strange fire still burning, the landers climbed upward from the dun-colored desert to rendezvous with the Draco.

  11

  AUGUST KARSH gripped the arms of his chair and exclaimed disbelievingly, "Myron Terle captured!" He stared at Clender's excited face, knowing it to be true.

  Clender nodded vigorously. "The message just came through. Got him with a stun gun before he could teleport."

  "Are you positive?"

  "Absolutely, August. There's no doubt about it. He was hiding under the name of Oak Carter. I've dispatched some of the photos York sneaked of him and have ordered a full identification, but you can rest assured that we have him, all right. I think a few questions under therapy -- "

  "Not on Grydo," Karsh snapped. "I don't want anyone to interrogate him in any way. Not till we have him here."

  "Yes, of course," Clender answered hurriedly.

  "I expect that will be soon." He rubbed his hands together confidently.

  "We'll rush him, August. It's the end of the road for that boy."

  "I can't imagine it," Karsh murmured.

  "They all stumble. Just give them time."

  Terle captured. Dr. G's top man. Karsh subsided back in his seat, sensing a flush of victory. He'd scarcely expected it to come so easily. And catching him alive! That was the real victory. Despite his vast dragnet, he'd fully reconciled himself to the necessity of destroying Grydo. But now. He leaned forward impatiently.

  "Tell me about it," he ordered.

  "He landed under the name of Dana Smithson, just as you predicted," explained Clender. "Our agents picked up the trail within a day or two of his arrival. It was no great trick, really."

  "Was he that obvious?" Karsh asked sharply.

  "Not really," Clender hastened to say, "but he stumbled rather badly."

  "How?"

  "He paid a public driver five ducals to haul him half a block. The driver remembered him, all right, and his destination. He checked in at a place called the Nahoo Inn."

  "Did he try to make any contacts?"

  "None of record," asserted Clender.

  "Catch him asleep?"

  Clender shook his head. "He checked out almost immediately, but we picked up his trail. He made a few purchases, mainly clothes. That's what tipped us."

  "Go on," urged Karsh.

  "It took a while, but we located a bus driver who remembered dropping off a stranger in an isolated farm area called Logo Valley. He seemed to fit the description, so we blanketed the countryside."

  "A strange trail," Karsh mused.

  Clender explained, "He was picking glupas."

  "Glupas?"

  "A small berry or melon or something. It's one of the local crops."

  "Terle a glupa picker?" Karsh slapped the desk. "There's irony in that."

  "We staked him out, didn't take a chance, stunned him while he was in the field," Clender said. "He never knew what happened."

  "I still can't believe it." Karsh shook his head wonderingly.

  "It's true, all right," Clender assured him.

  "Have you informed Captain Hull? I want York to know of this development immediately."

  "I'll do it right away, August."

  "Have our man on Grydo keep York posted on the situation," Karsh instructed. "It's essential that he know, Clender."

  "Without coming through this office?"

  "It's too much of a time taker," he explained. "York needs a direct line to Grydo, perhaps more now than ever. I believe that's imperative, Clender. We don't know what kind of an intelligence apparatus Dr. G might have set up there or how he intended contacting Li-Hu's men."

  "It won't do him much good without Terle."

  "Don't bank on that," Karsh warned. "Terle was the key man, yes, but we still don't know how he intended to get the bomb secret. That knowledge is essential."

  "We'll wring it out of him," Clender replied confidently.

  "Perhaps." Karsh swung around in his chair, gazing out at the golden sun as Clender waited silently. It didn't make sense, none of it. Or did it? It certainly wasn't like Terle to walk into a trap, however cleverly it was laid. And picking glupas! Could his contact have been another picker? He shook his head, thinking that he couldn't remember a time when he'd been as baffled. After a while he turned back.

  "I can't fathom his plan," he admitted. "I really can't."

  "Dr. G's?"

  "And Terle's." He nodded. "The only thing of which I'm certain is that it's well laid."

  "You seem to have it figured, August."

  "Have I? I've based everything on certain assumptions, and if they don't prove out -- " He frowned.

  "We have Terle."

  "We still can't take a chance, Clender. That's why I want York apprised of every move." Karsh leaned back reflectively. "This certainly takes the pressure off York. Without Terle to contend with, he can concentrate on Li-Hu's apparatus, clean that up. It shouldn't be much of a job."

  "York should be face-to-face with that situation now, August."

  "And undoubtedly is. Do you see what we've accomplished? This leaves Prince Li-Hu stranded, hanging in midair. It's ironical when you consider it. He managed to steal an Empire cruiser, and that's quite a feat, Clender. And along with it, he managed to steal the Empire's best-kept secret. But he has no way of getting his hands on that secret. He must find it terribly frustrating."

  "Dr. G, too."

  "Especially Dr. G."

  "I'd like to see his reaction when he hears of it."

  "Terle's capture? So would I." Karsh nodded smugly. "But do you see what this means? It gives us fresh hope. We're not finished yet. I'd allowed myself to get into a state of mind where I was beginning to believe that the people of the violet star really were invincible."

  "I never believed they were," declared Clender.

  "I still don't underestimate them," Karsh observed. "I won't rest peacefully until we have that entire crew here in the therapy chamber. When we do, we'll learn the whole story. I'll dissect Terle's mind atom by atom, learn what's brewing on that violet star, Clender. And along with it, we'll learn a bit about our good Prince Li-Hu."

  "Will the Draco return them direct?"

  Karsh nodded. "The admiral's dispatched orders to that effect."

  "It will be good to see Daniel again."

  "It certainly will," Karsh agreed. "I can't wait to hear the whole story. It should be extremely interesting."

  "I imagine," Clender replied drily.

  Karsh leaned back and closed his eyes, deep in thought. When he opened them again, he said, "From a purely psychological standpoint, I want to inform Dr. G that his agent has been apprehended in the commission of a crime against the Empire -- his top agent."

  "Tell G that!" exclaimed Clender.

  "So he won't get to believing his own invincibility," Karsh said.

  "Or so he'll recognize ours," Clender amended.

  "That, too, but I want him to know. Perhaps he'll think twice, next time, before joining Li-Hu in an act of piracy."

  "How will I send it? Through diplomatic channels?"

  Karsh shook his head. "I want this for his eyes only."

  "Then how?" asked Clender perplexedly.

  "Give it to Gilmore."

  "G
ilmore?"

  "He's one of Dr. G's agents, Clender."

  "Gilmore a Zuman agent?" asked Clender, startled. "By the stars of Eridani, August, when did you learn that?"

  "Twenty some years ago."

  "Twenty some!" Clender gaped at him. "And he's risen to subdirector in your own headquarters?" he blurted.

  Karsh nodded complacently. "Easier to keep an eye on him," he explained.

  "But, August -- "

  "He has served a purpose, Clender. It has given me a direct pipeline to G that I otherwise might not have had."

  "With all our secrets?" Clender asked bitterly.

  "We've been careful of that," Karsh said. "On the other hand, it's allowed us to feed Dr. G a lot of misinformation, and that can be valuable at times. I imagine Gilmore's picked up morsels here and there, rumors, but nothing major, Clender. I can assure you of that."

  "A double agent," Clender said wonderingly. "A double agent for twenty years, and I never knew, never even suspected."

  "It's been a well-kept secret," Karsh agreed.

  "How does he get his stuff through?"

  "He has a tie-in with another of G's agents in our sub-space communication net," Karsh explained. His lips twisted in an odd grimace. "Also a twenty-year man."

  "In heaven's name, August -- "

  "It's paid good dividends," Karsh interrupted. "If it hadn't, they would have been gone like that -- presto!" He snapped his fingers.

  "If I give him the message, he'll know."

  "Yes, he'll know. But he must have been expecting this for years, Clender."

  "Perhaps he won't send it; perhaps he'll just bolt."

  "He'll send it," Karsh assured him. "He's too good an agent not to. He'll bolt afterward."

  "He won't have a chance." Clender clenched his hands fiercely. "He won't have a chance, August."

  Karsh smiled curiously. "No, he won't have a chance."

  After Clender left, Karsh sat for a long while, staring out at the golden rays of Sol spilling over the gleaming buildings and parapets of Nyork, the capital city of both Earth and the Empire. The view soothed him, especially the ragged clouds trailing across the blue sky.

  So the story was nearly at an end. For a while the secret of the bomb had lain unmasked, in dire peril of getting into the hands of Prince Li-Hu or Dr. G. But that danger was past. The saboteurs would get short shrift, York would come home, everything would go on as before. With one exception, he thought. The Draco's captain knew the secret of the bomb also, and he was an outworlder. But he was completely trustworthy; his service record was excellent. Well, he could take care of that easily enough. He'd pass the word to the admiral. Sighing, he turned back from the window. It would have been nice to see Gilmore's face when Clender gave him the message.

  And Golem Gregor's face when he received it.

  "So Myron's been captured." Standing on the balcony outside his office, where he had been admiring the violet sunset when Zarakov brought him the news, Golem Gregor felt a quick perturbation.

  "Gilmore, also," Zarakov added bitterly.

  "Gilmore?"

  "Karsh's assistant brought in the message, plunked it on his desk and instructed him to send it via your agent on the subspace communication net. Doesn't that sound like he's caught?"

  "Karsh wanted me to know," Gregor murmured.

  "Yes, but why?"

  "To prove that his agency is invulnerable, Zed. That and a touch of pride."

  Zarakov said glumly, "There goes our future. It'll be a long winter before we get another chance at that bomb."

  "Perhaps not, Zed."

  "With Myron captured? They've probably got him under therapy on Grydo right now, Golem. They'll bleed every secret he ever knew."

  "August Karsh wouldn't allow that on Grydo," Gregor declared. "He'll have him brought to First Level for probing. He wouldn't take a chance on what Myron might know."

  "What good does that do us, Golem?"

  "It gives us time."

  "By the great violet sun, Golem, time for what?"

  "To get the secret of the N-bomb, Zed."

  "But how? Li-Hu's plot is smashed. Daniel York will see to that."

  "Fortunately for us," Gregor observed. He continued grimly, "If Li-Hu got the bomb, we'd be finished."

  Zarakov demanded, "What chance have we without Terle? Tell me that, Golem. Karsh will have a ring of steel around that planet and around Li-Hu's men as well. If you think you can spirit the secret from one of them -- " He stopped, eyeing his superior perplexedly.

  "I don't imagine we'll have the opportunity of interrogating any of Li-Hu's men," Gregor commented, "but then, neither will the prince. I imagine they'll soon disappear from the face of the universe, Zed, except for their atoms."

  "And poor Myron?"

  "I still have confidence that he will come through, Zed."

  "Escape August Karsh? Never!" declared Zarakov.

  "Patience, Zed."

  "You've said that before, Golem, but I feel that I should be doing something."

  "There's nothing you can do."

  "Nothing at all, Golem?"

  "Nothing." Golem Gregor turned, staring out again toward the violet sunset, and after a moment heard Zarakov's footsteps receding. He knew exactly how Zed felt, how he himself felt, but he had told him the truth; there was absolutely nothing he could do. Now everything was in the hands of chance, and chance, he knew, was an uncertain mistress.

  What more could he have done? Nothing, he concluded, for his own actions largely had been dictated through necessity rather than choice. From the moment he'd learned of Li-Hu's plot, he'd been guided by the principle that the plot must be smashed; the safety of the Zuman civilization demanded that. Only secondarily had he moved to get the bomb secret, free the Zuman people so that they could pursue their destiny throughout the galaxy and beyond.

  Well, the prince had lost; he would place a fair wager on that one. But he hadn't. Not yet. Despite Zarakov's bleak pessimism, the bomb plot was very much alive and just coming into its critical phase. What Zarakov couldn't know was that Myron Terle hadn't failed; he was merely buying time. But had he bought enough?

  That was the question.

  The hands of the chronometer pointed to high noon, standard time, when the Draco got underway from Bonoplane's orbit, beginning the long acceleration which would push it into hypertime. When it emerged, it would be somewhere in the solar system of the Class G sun Sol; within days it would let down in the great port of Nyork. Those had been the admiral's orders.

  Watching the planet through the star window, York became aware of a score of sounds -- murmured pulsations of the great engines coming through the bulkheads, the hum of air conditioners, whirring fans, clicking noises from within the bridge consoles; the Draco was girding itself for the big leap.

  Off to one side, Hull and Galton were bent over the star maps, plotting the intricate geometry of acceleration, time and distance. If the captain were concerned with the presence of saboteurs aboard, he didn't show it. Although his manner with York had been reserved since their inspection of the Rigel, much of the suppressed agitation York had sensed earlier seemed to have vanished.

  York moved over to Osborn, who had the watch on the communicator, and asked, "Can you stop by my cabin when you're free?"

  Osborn glanced around guardedly before answering. "I'm not allowed in that area unless on duty."

  "Wear your duty belt," he prompted. "I'll clear it with the captain if anyone asks questions."

  "Yes, sir, I'll be there," he said.

  York was waiting when his knock came at the door. York admitted him and gestured toward a chair, glancing up and down the empty passageway before closing the door behind him. Sitting on the edge of the bunk opposite Osborn, he asked, "Do you know how many were aboard the Rigel?"

  Osborn shook his head, his eyes speculative.

  "One hundred and forty-four," he said slowly. "All murd
ered but nine."

  "Murdered!" Osborn exclaimed. His face showed shock.

  "Murdered," he repeated, "and one or more of those nine men did it. The ship and its crew were murdered in cold blood, Osborn."

  "That's hard to believe," Osborn murmured.

  "Murder is always hard to believe," he answered grimly, "and mass murder is harder to believe. And it could happen here, Osborn, on the Draco."

  Osborn's eyes widened. "Does the captain know?"

  "We're going to show him, but I need your help."

  "Sure!" Osborn exclaimed huskily. His face hardened. "Just lead me to them, Mr. York."

  "It won't be quite that simple."

  "Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it," Osborn declared.

  York told him. He told him in clear, stark terms, without concealing any of his suspicions. Because everything might depend on Osborn, he described how the Rigel must have been taken over and how the Draco could fall victim the same way. He described everything except his visit to the N-bomb compartment and the torn-open door. He saw the anger flare in Osborn's eyes, the jaw muscles grow taut and corded. "So there it is," he finished. "Think you can do it?"

  Osborn gritted his teeth. "I can do it, Mr. York."

  "Remember the timing."

  "I'll remember."

  When Osborn left, he sat staring at the wall, letting the pieces fall into shape. With any luck, he'd prove the sabotage -- no, he'd prove murder! -- and reveal the killers' identities to Hull's complete satisfaction. To do it he'd have to risk the Draco, but that burden would lie with Benbow and Osborn. Considering them, he thought that he couldn't have picked better men. And afterward? He closed his eyes, wondering at the value of a day, an hour, a second, and at the vagaries of chance. The confrontation with the Rigel survivors was but the beginning.

  Afterward his own trial would begin.

  York was having coffee with Tregaski and Wexby in the wardroom when he was summoned to the bridge. He found the captain standing with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing through the star window at the great glowing bowl of the galaxy.