“I’d rather take my chances on getting shelter from a blast after they commit themselves than take on a batch of those monkeys in a hand-to-hand down in the basement.” His smile faded.
“It’ll be touch and go, at that. The force of an inductor blast is nothing to joke about. We can roll into the ledges and hope, but we still might get singed a little.” He sighed and spread his hands.
“Well, I asked for work. Guess I’ve got it. Sorry you may get scorched around the edges, but—”
Pete looked at the heavy wall on the other side of the outer court.
“At least, we’ve got a better chance than Uncle Harle had. They probably tied him up. And no matter—” He shrugged.
“All right, Don, let’s get those weapons.”
TO BE CONCLUDED
SYNOPSIS
As Donald Michaels sits in the school auditorium, he finds himself criticizing the program. A telecast comes on the screen. Daniel Stern, the Prime Minister and Prince Regent of Oredan, is reporting on the destruction of Harle Waern, who had allegedly been a corrupt police official.
In his report Stern refers to a long flight by Waern, which resulted in twenty deaths and a number of injuries.
The telecast shows Waern’s summer home in the foothills, where he is stated to have taken refuge. A group from the Enforcement Corps, supported by mobile artillery, are shown preparing to dislodge him.
As preparations are made for the attack, Don notes evidence of carelessness on the part of the beam-projector crew. They have left themselves open to missile attack. He watches as attempts to talk Waern out of the house fail and the projector blows the house and Waern out of existence.
Don leaves the auditorium and goes to a locker room, his post as a member of the school self-government organization, the Guardians. While he is on post, Gerald and Walter Kelton, aided by Maurie VanSickle, attempt to give Pete Waern a beating.
Don interferes, subduing the three by force of personality. Then, he questions Waern, who is a nephew of the dead police official. Pete Waern states that he has had only one previous meeting with Gerald Kelton, but implies that things like this are likely to happen since his uncle has been killed.
During the conversation, he states that his uncle was an honest police official, framed by the authorities themselves. He also says that his three attackers are members of a juvenile gang, the Hunters. He implies that the gang has official protection and warns Don that he may have trouble as a result of his interference.
Later, Don’s relief advises him that it would be wise to tear up his report slips on the affair. His comment:
“I’ve known a few guys who crossed the Keltons. Right away, they found themselves all tangled up with the Hunters. Makes things a little rugged, you know?”
Don ignores the advice and turns in a report, charging the three with group assault.
On the following day, he is called in for an interview with Dr. Rayson, the school psychologist. With Rayson is Mr. Master son, the self-government advisor.
An effort is made by Rayson to persuade Don to change his report. He appears to believe that something resembling hypnosis was used by Pete Waern to get Don completely confused and to generate a false set of memories. He says that therapeutic treatment can correct the matter.
Don rejects the explanation and refuses to alter his report. Masterson who has been making caustic remarks during the interview, then accuses him of accepting a bribe from Pete Waern.
This infuriates Don, who uses his command ability to semiparalyze the two questioners while he gives Masterson a run-down on custom and manners as practiced in the Morek mountain area. He advises him that it is a mortal insult to make a bribery accusation. He also indicates that in his opinion, Masterson himself would be far more susceptible to bribery than he, himself. After disgustedly throwing his self-government button on Masterson’s desk, he leaves.
When Rayson and Masterson recover from the paralysis, Masterson announces wrathfully that he’ll “turn that kid every way but loose.” Rayson, however, explains that it is known that some people can gin compulsory commands. He seriously doubts that Masterson could do anything to Don personally, but he adds that such people are regarded as highly dangerous and usually have to be eliminated.
When he picks up his phone to report the matter, Masterson remarks that a person identifying and eliminating such a dangerous character might get preferment. After some discussion, Rayson decides to take care of the matter personally. He leaves Masterson to gather evidence.
Don has gone home. His father takes time out from his rifle practice to listen to his story, then gets Don to try a target himself. When Don fails to make an outstanding score, he remarks about the dangers of getting emotionally upset.
After listening to the story, he explains some of the secret history of the colonization of Oredan to Don.
He explains that the colonization was quite lawless at first, and that the Stellar Guard planted a number of people—some retired, some still on the active list—to clean up the colonization.
He tells Don that these men, of whom he is one, did, pacify the border and police the undesirables. But he remarks that they failed in the case of Prime Minister Stern. Stern, he says, got himself into the Oredanian government and, by judicious murder, gained the position of Prime Minister, and then Prince Regent. Also, he says, he has managed to so confuse the royal succession that there is no claimant to the throne who would be likely to be selected by a conclave of the tribes.
“Don’t think we didn’t try to stop him,” he says. “We did. But he’s one of those people. If he tells a man to go out and shoot himself, the next thing you hear is the sound of a falling body.”
He identifies Masterson as a former Stellar Guard associate who is still on active duty. He advises Don to return to the school at Riandar and work with Masterson, saying that he thinks things are getting ready for a show-down between Stern and the Guardsmen-turned-colonist.
Masterson comments on Kent Michaels’ hobby of playing with antique “lead-tossers,” then tells Don that he deliberately antagonized him to prevent Rayson from having a chance at getting a statement from Don that Pete Waern had “hypnotized—or whatever you want to call it—him.” He says that Rayson is now dead, having crashed in his flier the previous afternoon, and that he was a secret police agent in Stern’s service.
Pete (Petoen) Waern, he adds, is a possibility Stern has overlooked until recently. Pete has a definite claim on the royal succession, and now that Stern is aware of it, he is trying to kill him.
He tells Don that he can get Pete and his father, Jasu Waern, to actively oppose Stem, and he tells Don to get the two Waernu to the mountain clans. He promises to alert the Stellar Guard in an effort to force Pete’s claim to the throne before a conclave of the tribes of Oredan. Masterson is quite confident of the outcome of such a conclave.
Don follows instructions and takes the Waernu to his father’s ranch.
But Masterson is picked up by Stern’s police for questioning in the matter of Rayson’s crash before he can alert an agent in the office of the Federation Resident Commissioner.
In the meantime, Daniel Stern is endeavoring to work out the elimination of Pete Waern. He is critical of the personnel at Riandar for their handling of the matter. He is irritated at the escape of the Waernu to the Michaels ranch.
He issues instructions to divert a previously planned Enforcement Corps operation to the ranch, instructing his aide to take personal charge of the matter.
“I expect,” he says, “to watch a broadcast showing their removal within the next three days.”
Stern’s associate, fake Gorham, remarks that Stern should question Masterson personally. This leads to a quarrel which shows Gorham to be the dominant member of a partnership. Stern is worried and uncertain, but Gorham is confident of the outcome of the affair.
He sums up, saying that they’ve got Master son as a prisoner. Kent Michaels has been shot down in the mountains by the
border patrol. And Stern’s orders will result in the elimination of the only dangerous claimant to the throne. Although Gorham acknowledges everything hasn’t gone perfectly, he says that the results are better, since they turned up Masterson and the Michaels family, none of whom had been suspected of being dangerous.
At the Michaels ranch, Don and the Waernu watch the broadcast which is designed to set the stage for their removal. Don recognizes it for what it is, but tells Pete and his father that there are shelters in the basement which are impervious to surface destruction. However, he says, he intends to offer some real resistance
He and Pete start down to the rifle range to get weapons.
PART 2
“WELL, here they come.” Don Michaels looked out of a weapons embrasure.
From the port, the advancing men were far more visible than they intended to be. One after another, they crawled and dashed through the grass, their weapons held before them. They concealed themselves from the house as best they could behind hummocks and clumps of grass. Then, weapons probing toward the house, they waited.
A couple of hundred meters from the house, a weapons carrier purred into position, wheeled to face the house, and stopped, the muted roar of its motor dying to a faint rumble.
Closer to the house, there was a hollow in the earth, a scar from some long-forgotten skirmish. Over the years, rain and wind had worked on it, softening its once harsh outlines. Grass had grown in, to further mask the crater, till now it was a mere smooth depression in the ground. From the edge of this depression, rose the slender rod of a speaker, a small, directional loud-speaker blossoming from it.
Michaels grinned and turned aside for an instant.
“Just like the big broadcasts, Pete,” he remarked. “Feel important? You’re going to have a big audience.”
“Kind of like it better if I were making a personal appearance. Be a lot nicer if I could talk to them—and they could see my face.”
“They can’t let you do that,” Don grinned. “You don’t look enough like any of those guys they’re supposed to be hunting. Spoil the whole effect that way.”
Pete looked at him thoughtfully.
“You know, they always tell people to throw their weapons out and come out with their hands in the air. What would happen if someone took ‘em up on it—like the wrong someone—like me, for instance?”
“Good question,” Don told him. “Saw a guy come out in one broadcast. Someone vaporized him. No way of telling which direction the spray came from, of course. No tracer on the beam.” He shrugged.
“Somehow, I don’t think it would lead to a long and happy life.”
“No.” Pete nodded. “I didn’t suppose it would.” He looked at the long target rifle in Don’s hands.
“You could have gotten several of them with that, while they were getting into position, couldn’t you?”
“Suppose so,” Don nodded. “But I’m saving it for a while. Got an idea, but it’s a one-shot and I’ll have to wait before I try it.” He paused as a head appeared close to the base of the loud-speaker stand.
“Well, the show’s about to start,” he added quietly. “Here’s the man with the serenade.”
The speaker disintegrated in blazing fury and Pete turned away from the glare, to look back at the house.
“Took your father years to get this place built the way he wanted it,” he remarked. “Shame you’re going to have to lose it this way.” He glanced over at his companion.
Don was stretched out in the prone position, his sling tight on his arm, the rifle extended.
“Yeah,” he said. “But maybe we won’t lose it—not just yet.”
He rolled, forcing his elbow further under the rifle.
“Look, Pete, I think I’ll wait till these guys are ready for the last act, but you better go ahead and take cover. They’ve committed themselves now. I’ll duck later, if I have to, but I’ve got an idea that just might work out.”
He laid his cheek against the stock, concentrating on his sights. The barrel moved up and down with his breathing, then stopped.
Pete examined him curiously, then looked out of his port.
The projector barrel was moving, to center its lens on target. As Pete watched, the lens barrel swung till he could see the glint of light on the outer focusing circles. As the rack with its charges started to face him, he moved back, preparing to roll into the narrow slit beneath the wall.
Now, the lens was pointing directly toward him, its iris beginning to widen. He slid off the ledge.
There was a sudden, snapping explosion near him. He looked up, to see the lens system disintegrate. The projector suddenly became a blue glare.
Pete watched as the tiny figures of the crew members flew back from their fiercely glowing weapon.
Abruptly, he realized he was in an exposed position. He ducked sideways, away from the opening, and covered his face.
There was a rumbling multiple explosion. Blinding light reflected from the walls of the house. A few tiles crashed to the court. Pete caught his breath again and risked an upward glance.
A tall pillar of flame had grown from the field outside. For long moments, it stood motionless, searching for a limit to the sky. Then it darkened. Smoke drifted toward the ranch house and bits of wreckage rained down upon house and field alike. Little puffs of smoke appeared in the sky, close by the still rising cloud.
“Pinwheel,” said Don calmly. “That’s one Dad couldn’t beat if he tried. Wish he’d been around to see it.” Suddenly, his forced calm deserted him.
“Oh, boy,” he yelled happily. “Like shooting snakes in a pit.” He shoved his rifle back through the port.
“Try to wreck our house, will you, you bums!”
A figure wobbled up from the field, weapon weaving unsteadily toward the wall. The rifle snapped viciously and the figure melted back into the ground.
There was another motion and a sudden spurt of dust followed immediately after the sound of a shot. The motion ceased.
The sound of the click of the rifle action was loud against the silence of the scene.
No more figures moved. Bright flames were growing—working toward one another, to form a widening lake of flame in the grass. Don sighed and started pulling the sling from his arm. Pete stood up, looking at him.
“I’m a little confused,” he said slowly. “I thought that weapon of yours merely threw a solid missile. The way you described it, I thought it was just . . . well, something like a long-range throwing sling.”
He looked out the port again, then pointed.
“But that weapons carrier was shielded. I didn’t think you could touch one of those with anything but another inductor.”
Don leaned the rifle against the wall.
“That’s the way they figured it, too,” he remarked. “But they forgot something.
“You see, rifles have been obsolete for so long everybody’s forgotten their capabilities. Everybody, that is, except a few crazy hobbyists. And no one ever thinks in terms of long-range missile throwers.”
“So?”
“So, I’ve been watching these clay pigeon shoots of theirs for a long time. They’ve had a lot of them on broadcasts, you know. And I noticed they always operate the same way. Actually . . . well, you saw them. They’re not too careful.” He smiled.
“Remember you remarked that I could have potted a few of them while they were getting into position? Only reason I didn’t was that I didn’t want to give them a warning.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
“You see, they know they’re going to use that projector. The rigged speaker just makes it look good—as though the blast were necessary and unavoidable. That way, the public is convinced that the whole affair is a heroic battle against evil. See what I mean?
“So, they have everything all set up. Safeties are off. Activators are hot. Everything’s lined up so they can look sharp. Snappy operation.”
He shook his head with a smile. “But actually, they’re a litt
le overconfident. Their field screen will stop any heat ray. No khroal charge can get through—it’d get damped. The screen will ground out a Nerne-Herzfeld couple, and no bunch of fugitives is going to be lugging an inductor around with them. So there can’t be any counter-battery fire. Result? The projector crew feels perfectly safe.”
His smile widened. “But that isn’t enough. They want to be comfortable, too. It’s hot inside a deflector screen and they’d get their uniforms all sweaty and out of press. Besides, the screen draws a lot of power and they’d have to rev up their motor. The noise would make it rough for the sound crew. Catch?”
Pete moved his head. “I begin to get the idea,” he said. “The inductors are real touchy when they’re armed. They can arc over and flare back in a real hurry if things get in their fields. That’s why the safety lens—and the iris.”
“Sure.” Don nodded. “Sure it is. And it keeps the beam tube nice and unobstructed. Dry, too. As I said, they’re pretty safe. Just like pigeon hunters.” He looked out at the field.
“Sort of funny how things can add up,” he added. “Here’s a guy who makes all sorts of plans. He’s got everything figured out and tied up with a ribbon. He’s got the whole Galactic Federation standing around, just watching. Not a thing they can do to him legally. And he’s got all Oredan in his pocket—all but one family and a few odd yokels he doesn’t even worry about. So he’s about to fix the family.
“Then someone else starts planning. And some little guy goes and slips a little chunk of fast moving lead down a lens barrel that nobody even thought of protecting. And everything goes wrong. All kinds of things happen. Like investigating patrols ordered in by the Stellar Guard. And conclaves.” He grinned and looked at the sky to the west.
“So,” he added, “a few little things add up. One family. One little piece of lead. One house that didn’t get blown up. One flight of—” He let his voice trail off and looked at his watch.
Complete Fiction (Jerry eBooks) Page 52
