Technos dot-7

by E. C. Tubb

  "This is the life," he said. "Better food than I ever had back home. Grower Westguard was a mean man with his luxuries. Mean, and it was us that used to provide them!"

  "It'll be different now," said the man at his side. "I had a girl and was due to get married. Had my grower's promise of a house and everything. Then I was chosen." He paused, digging a scrap of meat from between his teeth with a blunt finger. "At first I was sick about it but not now. Now, when I get back home, I'll have the girl and a real good house. My grower's house. I might even consider letting him work for me."

  Laughter echoed the remark. It had taken, Dumarest estimated, less than three hours to convert them from potential enemies into willing servitors.

  Chapter Five

  THE VOICE was a thin, insistent whisper impossible to ignore.

  Technos is a wonderful planet, its rulers wise, kind and understanding. It is a great thing to be able to serve Technos. Those who are chosen to do so are fortunate. Yow are fortunate. You are very…

  Dumarest rolled from his bunk and stood, head tilted, listening. The insidious voice came from all directions carried on the diffused light which illuminated the dormitory or transmitted by the metal supports of the bunks themselves. Its purpose was obvious; more conditioning to make the new arrivals obedient.

  Quietly he padded around the tiered bunks. The party had been split after taking a shower and only a fifth of the contingent was within this room. All were asleep, the sound of their breathing loud in the stillness, at times blurring the whispering voice. The wine, he decided, the brimming jugs which had been given to them after the bath. The food could have been drugged but he'd had no choice but to eat it. The wine was a different matter. He had avoided it, suspicious of the motive behind the apparent generosity, and obviously it had been drugged. Of them all he was the only one awake.

  A door broke the wall at the far end of the room. He headed toward it and cautiously tested the latch. It yielded and he stepped into a corridor. The lights were brighter here, gleaming from the scar tissue which traced paths on his shoulders, back and sides. Fainter lines showed against the olive on his forearms. He was naked but for shorts, his bare feet soundless as he moved down the corridor.

  A guard waited around the turn. He was neat in red and black, his young face shadowed beneath his helmet, unarmed but for a two-foot club swinging from his right wrist. He looked at Dumarest without surprise.

  "You want something?"

  "The toilet." The man was standing too far away for an attack to be successful. He would have time to shout before being overcome. And Dumarest was too unsure of his whereabouts to make a break. He turned, gesturing back the way he had come. "I woke-you know. I couldn't find it."

  "This way."

  The guard stepped back, gesturing with his club, the tip, as if by accident, pointed at Dumarest's stomach, A shadowed place showed in the rounded end, an orifice capable, perhaps, of spitting a numbing dart or lethal pellet. He was perfectly composed, almost as if he had expected someone to walk down the corridor, falling behind as Dumarest passed.

  "All right," he said as they reached a junction. "That door to your right. Hurry."

  He waited outside, blocking the passage as Dumarest made to return the way he had come.

  "No. This way."

  Another corridor, another turn and a door faced with a single star in glowing yellow. The guard halted, pointing with his club.

  "Go in there and wait."

  It was a bleak chamber fitted with a single long bench and an inner door. Three men sat uncomfortably on the bench. All had olive skins and were naked but for shorts. Ten minutes crawled past and the inner door opened, a uniformed guard jerking his head at the man closest to the end of the bench.

  "Inside, you. Close up the rest."

  Fifteen minutes later the same thing happened. The remaining man next to Dumarest licked his lips. His skin bore a faint sheen and he almost stank of fear.

  "What's this all about?" he whispered. "I was restless, couldn't sleep, and thought I'd take a shower. A guard grabbed me and led me here. You?"

  "Almost the same."

  "What do they want with us? That guard acted like I was a prisoner or something. I tried to explain but he didn't want to know. I-" He broke off as the door opened. "Well, I guess I'd better go."

  Twenty minutes passed and then it was Dumarest's turn. The inner room contained a wide desk, an angled spotlight, a hard chair and a panel of electronic equipment. Two guards stood like statues against the rear wall. The one who had summoned Dumarest stood just behind the wooden chair. At the desk sat a dark-haired, sleek looking individual with a thin, lined face and penetrating eyes.

  He gestured toward the hard chair. "Sit. Your name?"

  "Hgar."

  "Your grower?"

  "Yaltoun."

  "His address on Loame?"

  "Seventh decant, segment eight."

  "And you wanted to go to the toilet, right?"

  "Yes" said Dumarest, and added, "Sir."

  The officer nodded. "That is better. My name, incidentally, is Keron. Major Keron of the Security Division. You have heard of me?"

  "No, sir. I haven't."

  "No," mused Keron. "Of course not. How could you have?" He sat back and rested both hands on the desk before him. They were small, white, womanish in their slenderness. "The law of averages states that out of each thousand men some will not conform to a regular pattern. You did not drink the wine. Why not?"

  "I've a poor head for wine," said Dumarest. "And my stomach was upset. I find it unpleasant to drink at the best of times."

  "And you could not sleep?"

  "No, sir."

  "Why not? Did something wake you? A noise, perhaps?"

  "No, sir." It was safe to lie. The whispering voice had been on the verge of sub-aural diminution and the officer could not know the state of his hearing ability. "I just woke and wanted to go to the toilet That's all, sir."

  "Why?"

  Dumarest made a helpless gesture. He was an ignorant worker from Loame. How was he supposed to know what the officer was getting at?

  "You passed three ounces of urine-hardly enough to have made your visit imperative." Keron touched a control and the spotlight blazed into life. Dumarest narrowed his eyes against the glare. "Those scars, how did you get them?"

  "I fell into a patch of thorge and was pretty badly torn getting out."

  "Long ago?"

  "A couple of years, sir."

  "On your grower's land?"

  "No, sir. A crowd of us went to help another grower to the north."

  "His name?"

  Dumarest gave it, adding details, piling lie upon lie. He had worked out the story with Lemain, claiming to have worked for a grower on the opposite hemisphere, a region from which the present contingent had not been drawn. It was a safeguard against being faced with someone who should know him or whom he should know. It should pass a casual questioner but the major was far from that.

  The spotlight died, Keron leaning forward as Dumarest blinked away the retinal afterimages.

  "Take a thousand men," he said gently. "Among them, you are certain, are spies in disguise. How do you discover them? You wait. You watch. You compare behavior patterns and, sooner or later, they will betray themselves. A wolf cannot emulate a sheep-not and delude the shepherd. You understand?"

  Dumarest frowned. "I'm not sure, sir. Are you saying that I am a spy?"

  "Yes. From Cest, Wen, Hardish, or some other world with which we are having a difference of opinion. But not from Loame. Your reactions are not those of a worker. By now you should be in tears begging my forgiveness. You should have become confused and afraid. You are neither. I am intrigued." He looked beyond Dumarest to the guard standing at the rear. "Selig!"

  Dumarest turned as the man stepped forward, lifting his club.

  * * *

  He was a tall man, hard faced, teeth bared as if he enjoyed his work. He lost the smile as Dumarest spun from the
chair, straightening, catching the descending wrist and twisting savagely so that bone snapped and the club dangled from its thong. Snatching the weapon free he sprang aside and then forward beyond the desk. One of the guards standing at the rear lifted his club to block an expected blow then fell, choking on blood from a ruptured larynx as Dumarest thrust instead. Again he sprang to one side, foot lifting to kick aside the second guard's club, seeing a flash from the orifice at the end, feeling the shock as he smashed his own club at the side of the man's neck.

  The knurled grip held a stud. He pressed it as he faced the remaining guard. Selig, chair lifted in his good hand, stumbled and fell as something sprouted from his cheek.

  "Drop it!" Dumarest thrust the club toward Keren's face, aiming at an eye. "Take your hand from that drawer. Empty!"

  The officer drew a long breath. "Fast," he said. "I've never seen anyone move so fast. Where are you from?"

  "That doesn't matter." Dumarest looked around the room. The fight had been practically noiseless but there was no way of telling how long he would remain undisturbed. Nor could he be sure that Keron hadn't given the alarm. "Stand away from that desk. Quickly!"

  The officer obeyed, his eyes enigmatic. "What now?" he said quietly. "What do you hope to accomplish?"

  "Lie on the floor, face down, hands above your head." The drawer of the desk held a laser. Dumarest picked it up and held it loosely in his hand. "Don't move or try anything stupid. I've made one mistake, I don't intend making another."

  "You made no mistake," said Keron as Dumarest, the laser at his side, began to strip the uniform from Selig. The man was unconscious, the dart had been an anesthetic. "The dormitories are monitored. I knew you were not asleep. You anticipated the arrival of guards by minutes."

  Dumarest ignored him, rapidly donning the guard's uniform. They were of a size and he needed the authority it would give. One of the other guards moaned and he fired twice with the club, sending them both into a deeper sleep. Discarding the club, he picked up another, holding it in his right hand, the laser in his left. Frowning he looked about the room.

  The electronic panel was studded with signal lights, some winking, others burning with steady colors. The men who had preceded him had not left by the same door so there had to be another. He found it, almost invisible in the shadows, against the far wall.

  "This door," he said to Keron. "Where does it lead?"

  "To a monitoring room. There are guards."

  "Get up." Dumarest gestured with the laser. "This will be aimed at your back at all times. If you make a mistake or we are stopped I will burn your kidneys. Do you understand?"

  "What do you intend?" Keron showed curiosity as he rose, but he was not afraid. Almost he seemed amused. Had microphones picked up every sound?

  "We are going to leave here and get above ground. You are going to guide me. Which is the best way out?"

  "That way." Keron pointed to the door by which Dumarest had entered. "Outside into the corridor, turn right and continue until you reach an elevator. It will take you to the upper level."

  The truth? It was possible but Dumarest doubted it. The man was too much at ease and an elevator would make a perfect trap. Without warning he struck with the clenched fist of his right hand and as Keron, dazed, staggered back, he jerked open the inner door. A guard sitting before a panel began to rise. Another standing against the far wall took a step forward. Both slumped unconscious as darts thudded into their flesh.

  Dumarest reached for Keron, pulled him forward and sent him staggering across the room to the far door. It opened on a corridor, empty, the passage running to either side.

  "We want the stairs," said Dumarest. "Take me to them. Quickly!"

  There had to be stairs, for emergency use if for nothing else, and the chances were they would be deserted. Keron shook his head as he led the way, rubbing the side of his jaw, recovering rapidly from the effects of the blow.

  "Fast," he said again. "The speed of your reflexes is incredible. Do you come from a heavy gravity world?"

  Dumarest dug the laser into his spine.

  "There are no microphones here if that's what you are thinking," said the officer calmly. He seemed to have regained his full composure. "I suggest that you would be well advised to consider the advantages of complete cooperation. You are a most unusual spy. What do you hope to gain now that you have revealed yourself?"

  "I am not a spy," said Dumarest. It could be important that he made that clear. "Technos has nothing to fear from me. All I want is to get away from here."

  "And you will kill me in order to do it?"

  "If I have to, yes."

  "And then what? Such an act would be irredeemable." Keron opened a door and led the way to a staircase. Calmly he began to mount. "Once you kill me," he pointed out, "you will have no defense. Need I describe the punishment you will suffer? I assure you that it will not be pleasant. On the other hand, if you were to yield and give full cooperation, you would not only safeguard your life but also obtain rich rewards."

  Dumarest made no comment. The stairs circled a well and he looked down then up seeing nothing but emptiness. At the head of the stairs he halted before a closed door, thinking. Beyond could wait guards. Certainly there would be danger, but would it be best to face it alone or with his hostage? Alone, he decided. Keron was not a coward and had correctly judged the situation. He would take the risk that Dumarest would not kill and act accordingly. In any case, from now on he would be a liability.

  "Well?" The officer turned, smiling. "Have you decided? As a wise man I think-"

  He broke off as the dart struck the side of his neck. The anesthetic acted immediately, and he was unconscious before his knees began to buckle. Dumarest caught the slumping figure, eased it to the ground, went rapidly through the pockets. He would need money and some form of identification. He found them both in a wallet, a wad of notes and an official pass. Tucking them into a pocket together with the laser, he opened the door.

  It gave on to a hall bright with red and black: guards hurrying on mysterious errands; others standing about; still more passing through large doors at the far end.

  Closing the door he strode among them, a man busy on an official task. The large doors gave on to a second hall, this one flanked with reception counters, a bank of elevators, a scatter of tables and chairs. Guards stood before the elevators with the unmistakable alertness of men on watch. Others guided civilians to one or another of the counters and more civilians sat in chairs or talked over the tables.

  A recruiting station? A center for contractors or, perhaps, an information service? Dumarest didn't know and had no intention of finding out. More doors opened to a street bright with daylight and busy with traffic- they had landed shortly after dawn so it must be early afternoon. He reached them, passed through, ran for a cab that was just discharging a passenger.

  "You free?"

  The driver studied his uniform. "Can't you give me a break, soldier? I'm low on the take today. Hauling you will make it a bleak time."

  Apparently guards traveled free or signed a chit which took time to collect. Dumarest smiled.

  "I'm on a short leave and feeling generous. This one I'm paying for in cash. Drop me at a juicy hotel."

  "Somewhere with action?"

  "That's the idea. I've got a lot of catching up to do and I'm in a hurry to start doing it. Let's move!"

  The drive took him to a sleazy place in a back street, a thinly disguised bordello with painted faces peering from between dingy curtains. Dumarest paid him, waited until he had pulled away then moved on, walking fast for another three blocks before halting at another hotel, a twin of the first. The madam, a raddled woman with dyed hair and suspicious eyes, frowned at the sight of his uniform.

  "Sorry, soldier, but you've called at the wrong shop. This place is off limits to the military."

  "Forget that." Dumarest produced money and let her see it. "I want a change of clothes. A set of civilians to wear while I have some
fun. Can you arrange it?"

  The frown deepened. "What are you, a deserter?"

  "If I was would I be here?" Dumarest riffled the notes. "Come on, I want to relax. I can't do it wearing this gear. How about helping me out?"

  The money won. He changed in a dingy room, keeping the laser but wrapping the club in a bundle with the discarded uniform. The chances were high that the madam would report him either for a reward or in order to save her own skin, but it was imperative that he gain time, and it was an unavoidable risk. Leaving the bundle he walked from the hotel, caught a cab and had it drop him on the edge of the shopping district. A drugstore sold him certain items, a tailor supplied a new suit and underwear, a cobbler provided shoes.

  With the items in a suitcase he booked in at another hotel, ran a bath, tipped various chemicals into the water and climbed in. Five minutes later he left the tub, the olive dye dissolved from his skin. Dressing in his new clothes and leaving the case and old ones behind he left the hotel, walked a mile and booked in another.

  Only then did he dare to relax.

  With luck he had avoided pursuit. Keron would be looking for a man with a dark skin wearing a guard's uniform. He would pick up the trail and find the discarded clothes. He would quest further and then slow down for lack of positive identification. The thing now was to keep moving and get utterly lost.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed he checked the contents of the stolen wallet. The money he put to one side. The identification bore a photograph and a series of raised symbols. A credit card, he guessed, or a pass for classified areas. To be found with it could be dangerous but it might have its uses. The laser, too. He hefted it and then put it with the wallet. Both would have to be safely disposed of. The card he decided to keep a little longer. The photograph, while unmistakably not his likeness under close scrutiny, would pass a casual inspection.

  The phone rang. He picked up the receiver. "Yes?"

  "Mr. Ganish, sir?"

  "What is it?"

  "Will you be dining tonight?"