The Randall Garrett Megapack

by Randall Garrett

  “Yes. We’ve captured plenty of them.” Tallis thumbed the stud that allowed the magazine to slide out of the butt and into his hand. Then he checked the mechanism and the power cartridges. Finally, he replaced the magazine and put the weapon into the empty sleeve holster that MacMaine had given him.

  MacMaine let his breath out slowly. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  * * * *

  He opened the door of the cell, and both men stepped out into the corridor. At the far end of the corridor, some thirty yards away, stood the two armed guards who kept watch over the prisoner. At that distance, it was impossible to tell that Tallis was not what he appeared to be.

  The guard had been changed while MacMaine was in the prisoner’s cell, and he was relying on the lax discipline of the soldiers to get him and Tallis out of the cell block. With luck, the guards would have failed to listen too closely to what they had been told by the men they replaced; with even greater luck, the previous guardsmen would have failed to be too explicit about who was in the prisoner’s cell. With no luck at all, MacMaine would be forced to shoot to kill.

  MacMaine walked casually up to the two men, who came to an easy attention.

  “I want you two men to come with me. Something odd has happened, and General Quinby and I want two witnesses as to what went on.”

  “What happened, sir?” one of them asked.

  “Don’t know for sure,” MacMaine said in a puzzled voice. “The general and I were talking to the prisoner, when all of a sudden he fell over. I think he’s dead. I couldn’t find a heartbeat. I want you to take a look at him so that you can testify that we didn’t shoot him or anything.”

  Obediently, the two guards headed for the cell, and MacMaine fell in behind them. “You couldn’t of shot him, sir,” said the second guard confidently. “We would of heard the shot.”

  “Besides,” said the other, “it don’t matter much. He was going to be gassed day after tomorrow.”

  As the trio approached the cell, Tallis pulled the door open a little wider and, in doing so, contrived to put himself behind it so that his face couldn’t be seen. The young guards weren’t too awed by a full general; after all, they’d be generals themselves someday. They were much more interested in seeing the dead alien.

  As the guards reached the cell door, MacMaine unholstered his pistol from his sleeve and brought it down hard on the head of the nearest youth. At the same time, Tallis stepped from behind the door and clouted the other.

  Quickly, MacMaine disarmed the fallen men and dragged them into the open cell. He came out again and locked the door securely. Their guns were tossed into an empty cell nearby.

  “They won’t be missed until the next change of watch, in four hours,” MacMaine said. “By then, it won’t matter, one way or another.”

  Getting out of the huge building that housed the administrative offices of the Space Force was relatively easy. A lift chute brought the pair to the main floor, and, this late in the evening, there weren’t many people on that floor. The officers and men who had night duty were working on the upper floors. Several times, Tallis had to take a handkerchief from his pocket and pretend to blow his nose in order to conceal his alien features from someone who came too close, but no one appeared to notice anything out of the ordinary.

  As they walked out boldly through the main door, fifteen minutes later, the guards merely came to attention and relaxed as a tall colonel and a somewhat shorter general strode out. The general appeared to be having a fit of sneezing, and the colonel was heard to say: “That’s quite a cold you’ve picked up, sir. Better get over to the dispensary and take an anti-coryza shot.”

  “Mmmf,” said the general. “Ha-CHOO!”

  Getting to the spaceport was no problem at all. MacMaine had an official car waiting, and the two sergeants in the front seat didn’t pay any attention to the general getting in the back seat because Colonel MacMaine was talking to them. “We’re ready to roll, sergeant,” he said to the driver. “General Quinby wants to go straight to the Manila, so let’s get there as fast as possible. Take-off is scheduled in ten minutes.” Then he got into the back seat himself. The one-way glass partition that separated the back seat from the front prevented either of the two men from looking back at their passengers.

  Seven minutes later, the staff car was rolling unquestioned through the main gate of Waikiki Spaceport.

  It was all so incredibly easy, MacMaine thought. Nobody questioned an official car. Nobody checked anything too closely. Nobody wanted to risk his lifelong security by doing or saying something that might be considered antisocial by a busy general. Besides, it never entered anyone’s mind that there could be anything wrong. If there was a war on, apparently no one had been told about it yet.

  MacMaine thought, Was I ever that stubbornly blind? Not quite, I guess, or I’d never have seen what is happening. But he knew he hadn’t been too much more perceptive than those around him. Even to an intelligent man, the mask of stupidity can become a barrier to the outside world as well as a concealment from it.

  * * * *

  The Interstellar Ship Manila was a small, fast, ten-man blaster-boat, designed to get in to the thick of a battle quickly, strike hard, and get away. Unlike the bigger, more powerful battle cruisers, she could be landed directly on any planet with less than a two-gee pull at the surface. The really big babies had to be parked in an orbit and loaded by shuttle; they’d break up of their own weight if they tried to set down on anything bigger than a good-sized planetoid. As long as their antiacceleration fields were on, they could take unimaginable thrusts along their axes, but the A-A fields were the cause of those thrusts as well as the protection against them. The ships couldn’t stand still while they were operating, so they were no protection at all against a planet’s gravity. But a blaster-boat was small enough and compact enough to take the strain.

  It had taken careful preparation to get the Manila ready to go just exactly when MacMaine needed it. Papers had to be forged and put into the chain of command communication at precisely the right times; others had had to be taken out and replaced with harmless near-duplicates so that the Commanding Staff wouldn’t discover the deception. He had had to build up the fictional identity of a “General Lucius Quinby” in such a way that it would take a thorough check to discover that the officer who had been put in command of the Manila was nonexistent.

  It was two minutes until take-off time when the staff car pulled up at the foot of the ramp that led up to the main air lock of the ISS Manila. A young-looking captain was standing nervously at the foot of it, obviously afraid that his new commander might be late for the take-off and wondering what sort of decision he would have to make if the general wasn’t there at take-off time. MacMaine could imagine his feelings.

  “General Quinby” developed another sneezing fit as he stepped out of the car. This was the touchiest part of MacMaine’s plan, the weakest link in the whole chain of action. For a space of perhaps a minute, the disguised Kerothi general would have to stand so close to the young captain that the crudity of his makeup job would be detectable. He had to keep that handkerchief over his face, and yet do it in such a way that it would seem natural.

  As Tallis climbed out of the car, chuffing windily into the kerchief, MacMaine snapped an order to the sergeant behind the wheel. “That’s all. We’re taking off almost immediately, so get that car out of here.”

  Then he walked rapidly over to the captain, who had snapped to attention. There was a definite look of relief on his face, now that he knew his commander was on time.

  “All ready for take-off, captain? Everything checked out? Ammunition? Energy packs all filled to capacity? All the crew aboard? Full rations and stores stowed away?”

  The captain kept his eyes on MacMaine’s face as he answered “Yes, sir; yes, sir; yes, sir,” to the rapid fire of questions. He had no time to shift his gaze to the face of his new C.O., who was snuffling his way toward the foot of the landing ramp. MacMai
ne kept firing questions until Tallis was halfway up the ramp.

  Then he said: “Oh, by the way, captain—was the large package containing General Quinby’s personal gear brought aboard?”

  “The big package? Yes, sir. About fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Good,” said MacMaine. He looked up the ramp. “Are there any special orders at this time, sir?” he asked.

  “No,” said Tallis, without turning. “Carry on, colonel.” He went on up to the air lock. It had taken Tallis hours of practice to say that phrase properly, but the training had been worth it.

  * * * *

  After Tallis was well inside the air lock, MacMaine whispered to the young captain, “As you can see, the general has got a rather bad cold. He’ll want to remain in his cabin until he’s over it. See that anti-coryza shots are sent up from the dispensary as soon as we are out of the Solar System. Now, let’s go; we have less than a minute till take-off.”

  MacMaine went up the ramp with the captain scrambling up behind him.

  Tallis was just stepping into the commander’s cabin as the two men entered the air lock. MacMaine didn’t see him again until the ship was twelve minutes on her way—nearly five billion miles from Earth and still accelerating.

  He identified himself at the door and Tallis opened it cautiously.

  “I brought your anti-coryza shot, sir,” he said. In a small ship like the Manila, the captain and the seven crew members could hear any conversation in the companionways. He stepped inside and closed the door. Then he practically collapsed on the nearest chair and had a good case of the shakes.

  “So-so f-f-far, s-so good,” he said.

  General Tallis grasped his shoulder with a firm hand. “Brace up, Sepastian,” he said gently in Kerothic. “You’ve done a beautiful job. I still can’t believe it, but I’ll have to admit that if this is an act it’s a beautiful one.” He gestured toward the small desk in one corner of the room and the big package that was sitting on it. “The food is all there. I’ll have to eat sparingly, but I can make it. Now, what’s the rest of the plan?”

  MacMaine took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. His shakes subsided to a faint, almost imperceptible quiver. “The captain doesn’t know our destination. He was told that he would receive secret instructions from you.” His voice, he noticed thankfully, was almost normal. He reached into his uniform jacket and took out an official-looking sealed envelope. “These are the orders. We are going out to arrange a special truce with the Kerothi.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what it says here. You’ll have to get on the subradio and do some plain and fancy talking. Fortunately, not a man jack aboard this ship knows a word of your language, so they’ll think you’re arranging truce terms.

  “They’ll be sitting ducks when your warship pulls up alongside and sends in a boarding party. By the time they realize what has happened, it will be too late.”

  “You’re giving us the ship, too?” Tallis looked at him wonderingly. “And eight prisoners?”

  “Nine,” said MacMaine. “I’ll hand over my sidearm to you just before your men come through the air lock.”

  General Tallis sat down in the other small chair, his eyes still on the Earthman. “I can’t help but feel that this is some sort of trick, but if it is, I can’t see through it. Why are you doing this, Sepastian?”

  “You may not understand this, Tallis,” MacMaine said evenly, “but I am fighting for freedom. The freedom to think.

  THE TRAITOR

  Convincing the Kerothi that he was in earnest was more difficult than MacMaine had at first supposed. He had done his best, and now, after nearly a year of captivity, Tallis had come to tell him that his offer had been accepted.

  General Tallis sat across from Colonel MacMaine, smoking his cigarette absently.

  “Just why are they accepting my proposition?” MacMaine asked bluntly.

  “Because they can afford to,” Tallis said with a smile. “You will be watched, my sibling-by-choice. Watched every moment, for any sign of treason. Your flagship will be a small ten-man blaster-boat—one of our own. You gave us one; we’ll give you one. At the worst, we will come out even. At the best, your admittedly brilliant grasp of tactics and strategy will enable us to save thousands of Kerothi lives, to say nothing of the immense savings in time and money.”

  “All I ask is a chance to prove my ability and my loyalty.”

  “You’ve already proven your ability. All of the strategy problems that you have been given over the past year were actual battles that had already been fought. In eighty-seven per cent of the cases, your strategy proved to be superior to our own. In most of the others, it was just as good. In only three cases was the estimate of your losses higher than the actual losses. Actually, we’d be fools to turn you down. We have everything to gain and nothing to lose.”

  “I felt the same way a year ago,” said MacMaine. “Even being watched all the time will allow me more freedom than I had on Earth—if the Board of Strategy is willing to meet my terms.”

  Tallis chuckled. “They are. You’ll be the best-paid officer in the entire fleet; none of the rest of us gets a tenth of what you’ll be getting, as far as personal value is concerned. And yet, it costs us practically nothing. You drive an attractive bargain, Sepastian.”

  “Is that the kind of pay you’d like to get, Tallis?” MacMaine asked with a smile.

  “Why not? You’ll get your terms: full pay as a Kerothi general, with retirement on full pay after the war is over. The pick of the most beautiful—by your standards—of the Earthwomen we capture. A home on Keroth, built to your specifications, and full citizenship, including the freedom to enter into any business relationships you wish. If you keep your promises, we can keep ours and still come out ahead.”

  “Good. When do we start?”

  “Now,” said Tallis rising from his chair. “Put on your dress uniform, and we’ll go down to see the High Commander. We’ve got to give you a set of general’s insignia, my sibling-by-choice.”

  Tallis waited while MacMaine donned the blue trousers and gold-trimmed red uniform of a Kerothi officer. When he was through, MacMaine looked at himself in the mirror. “There’s one more thing, Tallis,” he said thoughtfully.

  “What’s that?”

  “This hair. I think you’d better arrange to have it permanently removed, according to your custom. I can’t do anything about the color of my skin, but there’s no point in my looking like one of your wild hillmen.”

  “You’re very gracious,” Tallis said. “And very wise. Our officers will certainly come closer to feeling that you are one of us.”

  “I am one of you from this moment,” MacMaine said. “I never intend to see Earth again, except, perhaps, from space—when we fight the final battle of the war.”

  “That may be a hard battle,” Tallis said.

  “Maybe,” MacMaine said thoughtfully. “On the other hand, if my overall strategy comes out the way I think it will, that battle may never be fought at all. I think that complete and total surrender will end the war before we ever get that close to Earth.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Tallis said firmly. “This war is costing far more than we had anticipated, in spite of the weakness of your—that is, of Earth.”

  “Well,” MacMaine said with a slight grin, “at least you’ve been able to capture enough Earth food to keep me eating well all this time.”

  Tallis’ grin was broad. “You’re right. We’re not doing too badly at that. Now, let’s go; the High Commander is waiting.”

  * * * *

  MacMaine didn’t realize until he walked into the big room that what he was facing was not just a discussion with a high officer, but what amounted to a Court of Inquiry.

  The High Commander, a dome-headed, wrinkled, yellow-skinned, hard-eyed old Kerothi, was seated in the center of a long, high desk, flanked on either side by two lower-ranking generals who had the same deadly, hard look. Off to one side, almost like
a jury in a jury box, sat twenty or so lesser officers, none of them ranking below the Kerothi equivalent of lieutenant-colonel.

  As far as MacMaine could tell, none of the officers wore the insignia of fleet officers, the spaceship-and-comet that showed that the wearer was a fighting man. These were the men of the Permanent Headquarters Staff—the military group that controlled, not only the armed forces of Keroth, but the civil government as well.

  “What’s this?” MacMaine hissed in a whispered aside, in English.

  “Pearr up, my prrotherr,” Tallis answered softly, in the same tongue, “all is well.”

  MacMaine had known, long before he had ever heard of General Polan Tallis, that the Hegemony of Keroth was governed by a military junta, and that all Kerothi were regarded as members of the armed forces. Technically, there were no civilians; they were legally members of the “unorganized reserve,” and were under military law. He had known that Kerothi society was, in its own way, as much a slave society as that of Earth, but it had the advantage over Earth in that the system did allow for advance by merit. If a man had the determination to get ahead, and the ability to cut the throat—either literally or figuratively—of the man above him in rank, he could take his place.

  On a more strictly legal basis, it was possible for a common trooper to become an officer by going through the schools set up for that purpose, but, in practice, it took both pull and pressure to get into those schools.

  In theory, any citizen of the Hegemony could become an officer, and any officer could become a member of the Permanent Headquarters Staff. Actually, a much greater preference was given to the children of officers. Examinations were given periodically for the purpose of recruiting new members for the elite officers’ corps, and any citizen could take the examination—once.

  But the tests were heavily weighted in favor of those who were already well-versed in matters military, including what might be called the “inside jokes” of the officers’ corps. A common trooper had some chance of passing the examination; a civilian had a very minute chance. A noncommissioned officer had the best chance of passing the examination, but there were age limits which usually kept NCO’s from getting a commission. By the time a man became a noncommissioned officer, he was too old to be admitted to the officers training schools. There were allowances made for “extraordinary merit,” which allowed common troopers or upper-grade NCO’s to be commissioned in spite of the general rules, and an astute man could take advantage of those allowances.