Off The Main Sequence

by Robert A. Heinlein

  “Suits." Gilead dealt again:

  XXXXX

  WHYXX

  AMXXX

  XXXXI

  XHERE

  “You have the damnedest luck," Baldwin commented:

  FILMS

  ESCAP

  BFORE

  XUXXX

  KRACK

  Gilead swept up the cards, was about to “shuffle," when Baldwin said, “Oh oh, school’s out." Footsteps could be heard in the passage. “Good luck, boy," Baldwin added.

  Baldwin knew about the films, but had not used any of the dozen ways to identify himself as part of Gilead’s own organization. Therefore he was planted by the opposition, or he was a third factor.

  More important, the fact that Baldwin knew about the films proved his assertion that this was not a jail. It followed with bitter certainty that he, Gilead. stood no computable chance of getting out alive. The footsteps approaching the cell could be ticking off the last seconds of his life.

  He knew now that he should have found means to report the destination of the films before going to the New Age. But Humpty Dumpty was off the wall, entropy always increases — but the films must be delivered.

  The footsteps were quite close.

  Baldwin might get out alive.

  But who was Baldwin?

  All the while he was “shuffling" the cards. The action was not final; he had only to give them one true shuffle to destroy the message being set up in them. A spider settled from the ceiling, landed on the other man’s hand. Baldwin, instead of knocking it off and crushing it, most carefully reached his arm out toward the wall and encouraged it to lower itself to the floor. “Better stay out of the way, shorty," he said gently, “or one of the big boys is likely to step on you."

  The incident, small as it was, determined Gilead’s decision — and with it, the fate of a planet. He stood up and handed the stacked deck to Baldwin. “I owe you exactly ten-sixty," he said carefully. “Be sure to remember it — I’ll see who our visitors are."

  The footsteps had stopped outside the cell door.

  There were two of then, dressed neither as police nor as guards; the masquerade was over. One stood well back, covering the maneuver with a Markheim, the other unlocked the door. “Back against the wall, Fatso," he ordered. “Gilead, out you come. And take it easy, or after we freeze you, I’ll knock out your teeth just for fun."

  Baldwin shuffled back against the wall; Gilead came out slowly. He watched for any opening but the leader backed away from him without once getting between him and the man with the Markheim. “Ahead of us and take it slow," he was ordered. He complied, helpless under the precautions, unable to run, unable to fight.

  Baldwin went back to the bench when they had gone. He dealt out the cards as if playing solitaire, swept them up again, and continued to deal himself solitaire hands. Presently he “shuffled" the cards back to the exact order Gilead had left them in and pocketed them.

  The message had read;

  XTELL

  XFBSX

  POBOX

  DEBTX

  XXCHI.

  His two guards marched Gilead into a room and locked the door behind him, leaving themselves outside. He found himself in a large window overlooking the city and a reach of the river; balancing it on the left hung a solid portraying a lunar landscape in convincing color and depth. In front of him was a rich but not ostentatious executive desk.

  The lower part of his mind took in these details; his attention could be centered only on the person who sat at that desk. She was old but not senile, frail but not helpless. Her eyes were very much alive, her expression serene. Her translucent, well-groomed hands were busy with a frame of embroidery.

  On the desk in front of her were two pneumo mailing tubes, a pair of slippers, and some tattered, soiled remnants of cloth and plastic.

  She looked up. “How do you do. Captain Gilead?" she said in a thin, sweet soprano suitable for singing hymns.

  Gilead bowed. “Well, thank you — and you, Mrs. Keithley?"

  “You know me, I see."

  “Madame would be famous if only for her charities."

  “You are kind. Captain, I will not waste your time. I had hoped that we could release you without fuss, but —" She indicated the two tubes in front of her." — you can see for yourself that we must deal with you further."

  “So?"

  “Come, now. Captain. You mailed three tubes. These two are only dummies, and the third did not reach its apparent destination. It is possible that it was badly addressed and has been rejected by the sorting machines. If so, we shall have it in due course. But it seems much more likely that you found some way to change its address — likely to the point of pragmatic certainty."

  “Or possibly I corrupted your servant."

  She shook her head slightly. “We examined him quite thoroughly before —"

  “Before he died?"

  “Please, Captain, let’s not change the subject. I must know where you sent that other tube. You cannot be hypnotized by ordinary means; you have an acquired immunity to hypnotic drugs. Your tolerance for pain extends beyond the threshold of unconsciousness. All of these things have already been proved, else you would not be in the job you are in; I shall not put either of us to the inconvenience of proving them again. Yet I must have that tube. What is your price?"

  “You assume that I have a price."

  She smiled. “If the old saw has any exceptions, history does not record them — Be reasonable, Captain. Despite your admitted immunity to ordinary forms of examination, there are ways of breaking down — of changing — a man’s character so that he becomes really quite pliant under examination ,,, ways that we learned from the commissars — But those ways take time and a woman my age has no time to waste —"

  Gilead lied convincingly, “It’s not your age, ma’am; it is the fact that you know that you must obtain that tube at once or you will never get it." He was hoping — more than that, he was wishing — that Baldwin would have sense enough to examine the cards for one last message ,,, and act on it. If Baldwin failed and he, Gilead, died, the tube would eventually come to rest in a dead-letter office and would in time be destroyed.

  “You are probably right. Nevertheless, Captain, I will go ahead with the Mindszenty technique if you insist upon it. What do you say to ten million plutonium credits?"

  Gilead believed her first statement. He reviewed in his mind the means by which a man bound hand and foot, or worse, could kill himself unassisted. “Ten million plutons and a knife in my back?" he answered. “Let’s be practical."

  “Convincing assurance would be given before you need talk."

  “Even so, it is not my price. After all, you are worth at least five hundred million plutons."

  She leaned forward. “I like you. Captain. You are a man of strength. I am an old woman, without heirs. Suppose you became my partner — and my successor?"

  “Pie in the sky,"

  “No, no! I mean it. My age and sex do not permit me actively to serve myself; I must rely on others. Captain, I am very tired of inefficient tools, of men who can let things be spirited away right from under their noses. Imagine!" She made a little gesture of exasperation, clutching her hand into a claw. “You and I could go far. Captain. I need you."

  “But I do not need you, madame. And I won’t have you."

  She made no answer, but touched a control on her desk. A door on the left dilated; two men and a girl came in. The girl Gilead recognized as the waitress from the Grand Concourse Drug Store — They had stripped her bare, which seemed to him an unnecessary indignity since her working uniform could not possibly have concealed a weapon.

  The girl, once inside, promptly blew her top, protesting, screaming, using language unusual to her age and sex — an hysterical, thalamic outburst of volcanic proportions.

  “Quiet, child!"

  The girl stopped in midstream, looked with surprise at Mrs. Keithley, and shut up. Nor did she start again, but stood there,
looking even younger than she was and somewhat aware of and put off stride by her nakedness. She was covered now with goose flesh, one tear cut a white line down her dust-smeared face, stopped at her lip. She licked at it and sniffled.

  “You were out of observation once. Captain," Mrs. Keithley went on, “during which time this person saw you twice. Therefore we will examine her."

  Gilead shook his head. “She knows no more than a goldfish. But go ahead — five minutes of hypno will convince you.’

  “Oh, no. Captain! Hypno is sometimes fallible; if she is a member of your bureau, it is certain to be fallible." She signalled to one of the men attending the girl; he went to a cupboard and opened it. “I am old-fashioned," the old woman went on. “I trust simple mechanical means much more than I do the cleverest of clinical procedures."

  Gilead saw the implements that the man was removing from cupboard and started forward. “Stop that!" he commanded. “You can’t do that —"

  He bumped his nose quite hard.

  The man paid him no attention. Mrs. Keithley said, “Forgive me, Captain. I should have told you that this room is not one room, but two. The partition is merely glass, but very special glass — I use the room for difficult interviews. There is no need to hurt yourself by trying to reach us."

  “Just a moment!"

  “Yes, Captain?"

  “Your time is already running out. Let the girl and me go free now. You are aware that there are several hundred men searching this city for me even now — and that they will not stop until they have taken it apart panel by panel."

  “I think not. A man answering your description to the last factor caught the South Africa rocket twenty minutes after you registered at the New Age hotel. He was carrying your very own identifications. He will not reach South Africa, but the manner of his disappearance will point to desertion rather than accident or suicide."

  Gilead dropped the matter. “What do you plan to gain by abusing this child? You have all she knows; certainly you do not believe that we could afford to trust in such as she?"

  Mrs. Keithley pursed her lips. “Frankly, I do not expect to learn anything from her. I may learn something from you."

  “I see."

  The leader of the two men looked questioningly at his mistress; she motioned him to go ahead. The girl stared blankly at him, plainly unaware of the uses of the equipment he had gotten out. He and his partner got busy.

  Shortly the girl screamed, continued to scream for a few moments in a high ululation. Then it stopped as she fainted.

  They roused her and stood her up again. She stood, swaying and staring stupidly at her poor hands, forever damaged even for the futile purposes to which she had been capable of putting them. Blood spread down her wrists and dripped on a plastic tarpaulin, placed there earlier by the second of the two men.

  Gilead did nothing and said nothing. Knowing as he did that the tube he was protecting contained matters measured in millions of lives, the problem of the girl, as a problem, did not even arise. It disturbed a deep and very ancient part of his brain, but almost automatically he cut that part off and lived for the time in his forebrain.

  Consciously he memorized the faces, skulls, and figures of the two men and filed the data under “personal." Thereafter he unobtrusively gave his attention to the scene out the window. He had been noting it all through the interview but he wanted to give it explicit thought. He recast what he saw in terms of what it would look like had be been able to look squarely out the window and decided that he was on the ninety-first floor of the New Age hotel and approximately one hundred and thirty meters from the north end. He filed this under “professional."

  When the girl died, Mrs. Keithley left the room without speaking to him. The men gathered up what was left in the tarpaulin and followed her. Presently the two guards returned and, using the same foolproof methods, took him back to his cell.

  As soon as the guards had gone and Kettle Belly was free to leave his position against the wall he came forward and pounded Gilead on the shoulders. “Hi, boy! I’m sure glad to see you — I was scared I would never lay eyes on you again. How was it? Pretty rough?"

  “No, they didn’t hurt me; they just asked some questions."

  “You’re lucky. Some of those crazy damn cops play mean when they get you alone in a back room. Did they let you call your lawyer?"

  “No."

  “Then they ain’ t through with you. You want to watch it, kid."

  Gilead sat down on the bench. “The hell with them. Want to play some more cards?"

  “Don’t mind if I do. I feel lucky." Baldwin pulled out the double deck, riffled through it. Gilead took them and did the same. Good! they were in the order he had left them in. He ran his thumb across the edges again — yes, even the black nulls were unchanged in sequence; apparently Kettle Belly had simply stuck them in his pocket without examining them, without suspecting that a last message had been written in to them. He felt sure that Baldwin would not have left the message set up if he had read it. Since he found himself still alive, he was much relieved to think this.

  He gave the cards one true shuffle, then started stacking them. His first lay-out read:

  XXXXX

  ESCAP

  XXATX

  XXXXX,

  XONCE

  “Gotcha that time!" Baldwin crowed. “Ante up;"

  DIDXX

  XYOUX

  XXXXX

  XXXXX

  CRACK

  “Let it ride," announced Gilead and took the deal;

  XXNOX

  BUTXX

  XXXXX

  XLETS

  XXGOX

  “You’re too damned lucky to live," complained Baldwin. “Look — we’ll leave the bets doubled and double the lay-out. I want a fair chance to get my money back."

  His next lay-out read:

  XXXXX

  XTHXN

  XXXXX

  THXYX

  NEEDX

  XXXXX

  ALIVX

  XXXXX

  PLAYX

  XXXUP

  “Didn’t do you much good, did it?" Gilead commented, took the cards and started arranging them.

  “There’s something mighty funny about a man that wins all the time," Baldwin grumbled. He watched Gilead narrowly. Suddenly his hand shot out, grabbed Gilead’s wrist — “I thought so," he yelled. “A goddam card sharp —"

  Gilead shook his hand off. “Why, you obscene fat slug!"

  “Caught you! Caught you!" Kettle Belly reclaimed his hold, grabbed the other wrist as well. They struggled and rolled to the floor.

  Gilead discovered two things: this awkward, bulky man was an artist at every form of dirty fighting and he could simulate it convincingly without damaging his partner. His nerve holds were an inch off the nerve; his kneeings were to thigh muscle rather than to the crotch.

  Baldwin tried for a chancery strangle; Gilead let him take it. The big man settled the flat of his forearm against the point of Gilead’s chin rather than against his Adam’s apple and proceeded to “strangle" him.

  There were running footsteps in the corridor.

  Gilead caught a glimpse of the guards as they reached the door — They stopped momentarily; the bell of the Markheim was too big to use through the steel grating, the charge would be screened and grounded. Apparently they did not have pacifier bombs with them, for they hesitated. Then the leader quickly unlocked the door, while the man with the Markheim dropped back to the cover position.

  Baldwin ignored them, while continuing his stream of profanity and abuse at Cilead. He let the first man almost reach them before he suddenly said in Gilead’s ear, “Close your eyes!" At which he broke just as suddenly.

  Gilead sensed an incredibly dazzling flash of light even through his eyelids. Almost on top of it he heard a muffled crack; he opened his eyes and saw that the first man was down, his head twisted at a grotesque angle.

  The man with the Markheim was shaking his head; the muzzle o
f his weapon weaved around. Baldwin was charging him in a waddle, back and knees bent until he was hardly three feet tall. The blinded guard could hear him, let fly a charge in the direction of the noise; it passed over Baldwin.

  Baldwin was on him; the two went down. There was another cracking noise of ruptured bone and another dead man. Baldwin stood up, grasping the Markheim, keeping it pointed down the corridor. “How are your eyes, kid?" he called out anxiously.

  “They’re all right."

  “Then come take this chiller." Gilead moved up, took the Markheim. Baldwin ran to the dead end of the corridor where a window looked out over the city — The window did not open; there was no “copter step" beyond it. It was merely a straight drop. He came running back.

  Gilead was shuffling possibilities in his mind. Events had moved by Baldwin’s plan, not by his. As a result of his visit to Mrs. Keithley’s “interview room" he was oriented in space. The corridor ahead and a turn to the left should bring him to the quick-drop shaft. Once in the basement and armed with a Markheim, he felt sure that he could fight his way out — with Baldwin in trail if the man would follow. If not — well, there was too much at stake.

  Baldwin was into the cell and out again almost at once. “Come along!" Gilead snapped. A head showed at the bend in the corridor; he let fly at it and the owner of the head passed out on the floor.

  “Out of my way, kid!" Baldwin answered. He was carrying the heavy bench on which they had “played" cards. He started up the corridor with it, toward the sealed window, gaining speed remarkably as he went.

  His makeshift battering ram struck the window heavily. The plastic bulged, ruptured, and snapped like a soap bubble. The bench went on through, disappeared from sight, while Baldwin teetered on hands and knees, a thousand feet of nothingness under his chin.

  “Kid!" he yelled. “Close in! Fall back!"

  Gilead backed towards him, firing twice more as he did so. He still did not see how Baldwin planned to get out but the big man had demonstrated that he had resourcefulness — and resources.