A Man of Double Deed

by Leonard Daventry

  ‘Splendid.’ He was about to leave when Deenan stopped and turned and Coman saw that the eyes were soft and friendly.

  ‘Watch your step among the angers and hatreds. And don’t forget what I said about the robots.’

  Coman frowned and bit his lip. He could find nothing behind these words. They originated from no definite line of thought in his friend’s head. They came – but from where did they come?

  Deenan was now walking on, his eyes fixed upon the ground as if looking for something. He seemed to have forgotten that Coman was there, and so the latter turned and made his way across the island, past the few other habitations that dotted its four mile radius, to where one great ‘leg’ of the pier was sunk deep at the north corner. Inside this pillar a lift took him speedily upwards to the life and noise of the City.

  Coman’s most valuable quality was his ability to make decisions and to act on them with firmness and speed. He believed in the principle that there is a time for thinking and a time for action, and when he took action nothing short of death or crippling injury could stop him from attaining his end. The fact that death had not yet come to him was attributed by his enemies, and some friends, to luck. Others affected to see a Divine Providence accompanying him on his career, and a few said that he possessed a cunning which, in some unspecified manner, worked on a slightly higher level than mere cleverness or ingenuity.

  It was difficult to know how he could get in touch with Vane, guarded as he was by the opposition. There were perhaps two thugs of nominal intelligence and, of course, one of the telepaths – the other would be posted near Marst. Which one would be listening to Vane? It was too much to hope that this might be Linnel. Coman decided to take a chance and, entering a phone box, found the desk number of Vane’s address. The video circuit was separate and he used only the voice connector.

  At length the mechanism answered; ‘Class Three pension. 14 Seth Street, Soole Section.”

  ‘I wish to speak to Clar Vane. My name is Coman.’

  ‘Wait. Will see if he is available.’

  After a moment or so Coman was rewarded by the sound of a human voice: ‘Vane speaking.’

  It must have been something of a shock to Vane to learn that Coman was nearby, because, of course, he had not been forewarned. Nevertheless, his voice was calm and steady.

  Coman said: ‘I want to see you. Is it possible?’

  ‘Well, fancy you being in town. How is Charo?’

  Vane acting for someone else’s benefit.

  ‘She’s fine. Well?’

  ‘Why don’t you come over for a drink and a chat some time?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Coman replied patiently.

  ‘Room 17, this evening, about eight. All right?’

  ‘I’m coming right now. How many are watching you at this moment?’

  ‘One o’clock would be too late, I tell you.’

  Coman rang off smiling. The luck seemed too good, if you wanted to be pessimistic. He took a fast belt to No 14 Seth Street and found the place to be as shabby and down at heel as he had expected. Apart from the mechanism for receiving and sending messages, and the enforced burglar ray system, everything was in the charge of a human clerk sitting at a desk in a small foyer. There were three other people present: two of these, a man and a woman were harmless enough, but the third, a man with spaniel eyes who sat picking his teeth on a settee near the door, was clearly one of the thugs. No sign of recognition showed in his mind, but only curiosity, as Coman entered. Unfortunately there was no way of allaying this curiosity, and Coman knew that he could be heard easily as he asked the clerk: ‘May I see Mr Vane? He is expecting me.’

  The man motioned to the nearby lift. ‘Help yourself. Room 17. Second floor.’

  The lift was small, only just big enough to accommodate Coman and the thug in comfort. Neither spoke until the second floor was reached and then Coman said: ‘You really shouldn’t have bothered to come, you know.’

  As the other turned, his brain beginning to register uneasiness, Coman hit him with the point of a knuckle neatly behind the right ear and, as he sagged, caught him under the arms and dragged him through the opening gates into the corridor.

  Number 17 was not far and, as Coman had immediately come into contact with Vane’s mind as he stepped from the lift, the door opened as he reached it and the telepath helped him to drag the thug inside. Vane straightened, indicating the unconscious figure. ‘Why the dickens did you have to do that?’

  ‘I thought it necessary,’ answered Coman shortly. In fact he had felled the man in a moment of quick decision. He went on: ‘You handled my phone-call well. Is this the only guard on you?’

  ‘At the moment. The telepath, Harkor, went out ten minutes ago, probably to contact his colleague, who is with Marst. They meet once a day in a nearby café, usually round about this time, to compare notes I suppose. You just happened to ring at the right moment.’ He paused, and then added thoughtfully: ‘I didn’t know you were in the Fifteenth City.’

  ‘You weren’t meant to, old chap.’

  ‘I see.’

  Coman lit a cigarette and they stared at each other. They had met before, briefly, and for some reason were not particularly fond of each other. Perhaps it was mainly because of the difference not only in their ages but in their temperament, and in the manner in which their extra-sensory perception had flowed. Vane was still a young man and telepathy had come to him in childhood. He suffered continually from a hypersensitive horror of pain, mental and physical, and this made him of little use on a dangerous assignment. A dreamer, he longed always for a means of getting closer to the unknown Minds. Breakdown was never far away from Vane, and he made Coman uneasy in his presence. It was not difficult to imagine how simple it was for Harkor to keep tabs on him and how quickly he would have learnt of Coman’s coming if Vane had been told of it.

  Vane said now: ‘Was there any real need to knock this man out? Surely, if you have some kind of plan, this may spoil it? It won’t be long before Harkor returns …’

  Coman cut in patiently: ‘If you’re badly upset you can take the next flight out of the City. But first we’ve got to have a little talk, because you probably know certain things which may be useful to me.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ said Vane, handing him a drink. ‘You mustn’t be impatient, Coman. It’s just that you’re a man of action and I’m not.’

  He had an attractive, almost girlish face and Coman smiled wryly, knowing that when he had used the word action he really meant violence. ‘The point is that I have to see Marst before his committee makes up its mind tomorrow, so you can understand my hurry.’

  The figure on the floor stirred and Coman bent down and yanked the man to a sitting position, then, raising his hand, carefully fired a sleep-needle into the thick neck at such close range that it entirely disappeared into the flesh, leaving a tiny puncture mark only just visible to the eye.

  ‘Where can we put this character so that he won’t be discovered for a few hours?’

  Vane shrugged, then waved a hand in the direction of a wardrobe near the window, and turned away, his face pale. As Coman emptied the cupboard and pushed the sleeping man inside Vane murmured: ‘All this may be necessary, but I dislike it intensely.’

  ‘I really don’t know how you put up with this whole nasty old world,’ said Coman, shutting the wardrobe door and locking it.

  Vane preferred to take this seriously. ‘I don’t know how any of us put up with it,’ he replied. ‘Sometimes I wonder if what we do is worth the effort. And the fact that we have to become like the others, use force, kill …’

  ‘You imagine that it makes us little better than them,’ Coman finished for him, downing his drink. ‘It’s an old argument – and as meaningless as any other. Nothing really makes the kind of sense we like, Vane, and we must face it.’

  He caught the unspoken thought: Only the Unknown Minds make sense, and eventually we shall discover the way to them. Scowling, he felt the minutes tickin
g away, but knew that it was necessary at this moment to talk as if they had plenty of time.

  ‘We don’t even know if they do exist, so don’t bank too much on that hypothesis.’

  Vane turned, his face grim and drawn. ‘If they don’t, then our lives are meaningless. Don’t you believe in anything, Coman?’

  The older man smiles. ‘I believe in everything, and that’s why I don’t give a damn. While we have life we must make the most of it. Now, some questions, if you can answer them. About Harkor and the girl: how do they work together?’

  ‘I’ve only seen her once. They meet as I have said, but only Harkor stays here, and, of course, this … lump you brought in.’

  ‘You don’t know exactly where she is or what she does?’

  ‘I’m sorry, no. She’s very near to Marst, that’s all I know. Harkor watches and listens to me, and I can tell you what he’s like. He’s the worst type of joker. He believes he understands what makes a keyman “tick” and he is a natural enemy of our organisation. Besides being a sadist, and a womaniser he’s a fairly good hypnotist. Actually, I don’t believe he has a very clear idea of the root meaning of the job he’s here for – or of the people who are employing him – but he’s not particularly bothered. A small-time gangster in his own right, he is being paid a good sum by the right contracts, in order to “protect” Marst from the “wrong” influences.’

  ‘How the devil can he do that? Marst can ask to see anybody he wishes, and, in the last resort, can visit them himself.’

  The other smiled mirthlessly. ‘You’d be surprised how many people he and his strong-arm men have dissuaded and prevented from meeting Marst. He’s extremely clever, is Harkor, and so proud of his cleverness that he has kept me informed of his prowess in this field. For some reason the fool imagines that I might want Marst to vote in favour of a War Section.’

  ‘I see. You are against the idea.’

  Vane looked at him quickly, reading his thought. ‘And you are for it. Is that why you’ve come …’

  Coman nodded, and the other looked even more distressed than before.

  ‘Surely you cannot think it a good idea, Coman. Oh, I know it would constitute a blow to the criminal elements, but from any moral standpoint it is utterly wrong! Is this society so valuable that we must protect it in such a fashion?’

  Coman stared at him in silence for a moment, then nodded again. ‘I’ve made up my mind, and others among us, better thinkers than you or me, have come to the same conclusion – it must go through.’

  ‘Karns?’

  ‘Karns also.’

  ‘God’s star, I would never have believed it.’

  ‘Well, it’s so. Now you must tell me the precise state of Marst’s mind on the subject.’

  ‘I can’t. My last information was that he is practically convinced that no good purpose would be served by a War Section. There are twelve other men in the Committee besides himself, and apparently the voting is equal except for two who cannot make up their minds – and it is fairly certain that these two will be influenced by Marst.’

  ‘He has a good reputation,’ Coman observed.

  Vane nodded. ‘He is one of the few public men of absolute integrity, which is why he has been given control of this Committee – one of the most important in years.’

  ‘Quite so. None of those in authority whom we know to be connected with graft and misrule, not one of those has spoken in opposition to his election as chairman.’

  ‘I don’t quite see what you mean.’

  ‘I mean that these depend on his sense of morality to save them from what must appear to them as catastrophe of sorts, or at least a source of embarrassment.’

  Vane poured him another drink, then said flatly: ‘Perhaps you and the others are right about the situation, but how could you weed out and deport the real leaders of crime? The instigators, the fat, moneyed types who don’t even consider themselves criminals and are “above” right and wrong anyway?’

  Coman looked at him thoughtfully. ‘You’re not a simple man, Vane. None of us is simple, but we are obliged to think on many planes, sometimes at one and the same time. Surely if I tell you that there are other reasons than the obvious one why we must have a War Section – they you’ll begin to understand?’

  Vane frowned. ‘I do see that the question is altogether more involved and complex than I had imagined.’

  ‘And it needs a tortuous answer. Now tell me, if you can, what sort of guard have they round Marst?’

  ‘Well, I know that there are at least two normals of low intelligence and, of course, the girl telepath. I haven’t been able to place her exact position but no doubt she lives or works in the same hotel as Marst – that way it would be easy for her to know everything that goes on.’

  ‘How about the police?’ asked Coman.

  ‘Not evident. In this city they are particularly venal and will not step in unless Marst’s actual safety is threatened. Perhaps it would be assuming too much to say that they are actively supporting the people behind Harkor, but it would be foolish to expect help of any kind from them.’

  ‘I’d never even thought to expect any,’ said Coman. He pondered, then: ‘It is only the presence of the jokers that makes things at all difficult. One or both have to be eliminated somehow.’

  ‘You mean that you’ll … kill them?’

  ‘Not necessarily. If Harkor can be kept here after he returns, for say – an hour, I have only to deal with the girl. A moment ago I said you could clear out straight away, but if you could stay a little while longer —’

  ‘Of course. Although you may think so, I’m not a bundle of screaming nerves.’

  Coman glanced at him and smiled with a trace of ruefulness. ‘You’re a better keyman than me and we both know it. Forgive me if I seem to resent the fact. You’ve looked into my mind and you know that it was an even chance in the first place, whether I joined the organisation or became a joker. I have always had a distrust of group-making or attempts at forming secret societies and have never liked conforming to rules, written or unwritten.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you finally made the decision to come down, in your own particular way, on the side of the angels – and you must stick to it.’

  They both smiled then, and Coman rose. ‘Just stay here long enough to keep Harkor while I get past the girl to Marst. Be careful. Control your thoughts and do not think of me for one instant. I need not tell you to “forget” the man in the cupboard, in case Harkor wants him and wonders where he has gone. Can you do that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good – then there will be no reason for him to suspect anything. I’d better make sure he returns before I leave, so I’ll wait in the lobby until I see him. After that – one hour.’ He walked to the door, hesitated and then turned. ‘Something’s been bothering me ever since I came here to the City. Something about the robots.’

  Vane looked up at him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing I can put into plain language, merely a feeling as if someone or something is trying to make itself understood.’

  Vane seemed thoughtful. ‘I’ve felt something strange in the air myself. I know that something important is afoot, and that it has to do with us.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Keymen and keywomen. While I was on the Connector a friend in the 9th Section told me that one of us, an electronics expert, has just discovered new factors concerning certain types of robots, and that we shall all know about them soon.’

  Coman was startled. ‘You’ve a Connector, here?’

  ‘Yes, I brought it with me from my home, in Malay. How else could I make my report on this situation to Karns?’

  ‘Don’t use it again. Supposing Harkor heard you on it?’

  ‘I’ve only used it twice the whole time I’ve been in this hole. The second time was yesterday, just for a few minutes, while he was with the girl. It’s now in a deposit vault, to which I have the only key.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you�
�re asking for disaster.’ Coman paused and then with some bitterness went on: ‘I suppose you had to dive into the Void, that you were quite unable to stay away for long from the watching ghosts —’

  But Vane had turned away and was staring out of the window, his mind and ears closed. With a shrug Coman left him.

  Chapter VIII

  WHEN HARKOR CAME into the lobby, Coman was reading the list of house rules and he felt the newcomer’s emanations of power even before he raised his eyes to the mirror set in the wall behind the clerk. He saw a mean-featured, hang-dog face with eyes under half-closed lids glancing covertly round the place. Harkor did not look particularly dangerous: rather he gave the impression of a wretched failure in the business of living, of a man sullen and broken by the twists and pitfalls in his own character. Nevertheless to Coman it seemed immediately apparent that here was a creature to be reckoned with, someone who carried in his heart a bright, hard stone of evil. Harkor, it seemed, did not trust lifts, and as he made for the stairs Coman turned and went quickly into the street and on to a west-bound belt.

  He had decided not to cast widely with is mind for Linnel, and to make their meeting, when it came, as much a surprise to her as possible. This meant that he might use his faculties only in a limited way, but sufficient for the purpose of recognising the nearness of smaller fry, such as detectives or thugs.

  He found the hotel easily, for it was one of the three most modern buildings in that quarter, well furnished, with the most up to date electronic system, and with a gleaming and complicated robot in charge of the desk. He could sense nothing of Linnel but was immediately aware of two pairs of eyes, and two substandard brains alert and suspicious. The owners of one of these – a dark young man wearing old-fashioned glasses – came closer and picked up a magazine from the desk and pretended to look at it.

  ‘I would like to see Mr Alte Marst,’ said Coman. It was the most direct approach and perhaps the most dangerous, but time was short.