Wildeblood's Empire

by Brian Stableford

Put like that, it looked like two and two adding to four. It had its weak points. The stolen flashlight and the watch didn’t mean a thing. And no one could prove that either of us was heading for a midnight tryst. But the two parts of the coded message....

  Zarnecki, at any rate, thought I was a dead duck. He wasn’t even bothering to wake Philip. Come morning, the whole thing would be fait accompli. And Nathan was really going to have to put in some work to try and get me off.

  If the duel had been one up to us, the score was level now, and no mistake.

  “Come on,” said Cade.

  I went.

  “What’s the penalty?” I asked, as we went down the staircase.

  “We’ll settle for exile, I think,” said Zarnecki.

  I wasn’t surprised. I also wasn’t confident that he wouldn’t get away with it. In all probability, Nathan and Pete Rolving would figure that retirement from the scene was the only way out. The situation on the mainland—Conrad’s priorities—wouldn’t count for much now.

  They took me to jail in a closed carriage. I didn’t enjoy the ride. The sun was getting up and the sky was cloudless. It looked like another fine day. I didn’t suppose I’d get much joy out of it where I was going.

  The jailhouse was a squat, square stone building that seemed a little lonely, set somewhere out to the west of the town, hidden from the road by an embankment. There wasn’t much inside except half a dozen cells with dirty walls and iron bars set in the heavy doors and the windows.

  I judged that the local crime rate wasn’t a severe problem. Only one of the cells was occupied, and that was by a tall man with an outsize pointed nose.

  They put us in together.

  I wasn’t quite sure how to play it. Should I admit that the game was up and acknowledge him, or keep my cards closed despite the fact that they knew what kind of hand I held? He didn’t give me any lead, and I could feel his eyes watching me from behind even after the bolts slid home.

  In the end, I decided to stick it out.

  “Hi,” I said. “Are you the guy they caught with my watch and torch or are you the local horse-thief?”

  He gave me a dirty look and didn’t answer.

  I couldn’t figure out whether he was acting or whether that was his authentic reaction. Probably both.

  The room had three bunks—two doubled up and one set at right-angles under the window. He was lying on the odd one. I sat down on the bottom one of the pair, testing it for comfort. It was hard—the mattress was filled with straw—and didn’t seem the ideal spot for catching up on a bad night. I stayed sitting.

  The faces beyond the iron panel disappeared, and I heard the footsteps marching all the way along the stone corridor to the door. Unless they’d left an eavesdropping dwarf outside we were alone.

  The wandering minstrel apparently figured we could talk safely now.

  “They came with a pack of dogs,” he said. “I couldn’t get to the town or the big wood. Did they know where I was?”

  “I don’t think so,” I told him. “They intercepted me before I got out of the grounds. They mounted a big operation—they had the countryside covered for miles around. I guess they knew anyone I was going to meet couldn’t be too far away. I didn’t tell them anything, but Zarnecki was already suspicious. Maybe he spotted the robbery was a phony.”

  “It was too soon,” said the big man.

  I agreed with him. His voice wasn’t accusatory, but I knew it was my fault. I’d hustled for the rest of the code. If only we’d had time in hand....

  “What happens now?” I asked.

  “They’ll send me to a coal mine somewhere,” he said. “I’ll get away. Then I’ll carry on. I can get help. People will hide me, feed me, supply me.”

  He didn’t mention me. I don’t think he cared. He’d already accepted that he’d lost this round, and that the next would have to take place on the same old ground. He’d written off this particular ploy to experience.

  I was grateful that at least he wasn’t angry.

  “Ah well,” I said. “Time on my hands at last. If I still had the code I could have another go at cracking it. But Zarnecki took it all. I take it your people have another copy?”

  “We can get one,” he said.

  “Zarnecki wanted us to bust the code for him, too,” I remarked, conversationally. “He gave Nathan the first few numbers...just about as much as you gave me.”

  He didn’t seem surprised. “Why didn’t you ask him for the rest?” he asked, a little sourly.

  “He didn’t give the impression of wanting the answer that badly,” I replied. I was thinking, meanwhile, that Nathan might well ask to see the rest. And if he could decipher it then maybe we still had something left to bargain with.

  “I still don’t understand this business about the code,” I said, after a pause. “It seems such a crude and stupid thing for a man like Wildeblood to have done. How did he ever expect the eventual decoding to be done? Obviously it’s immune to trial and error or someone would have got it years ago. There’s obviously a trick to it. But what’s the point of using a trick unless you’re pretty confident that whoever it’s intended for will be able to spot the trick? None of it makes sense.”

  I was just talking for the sake of talking, filling in time while I reflected on what a sad and sorry business it was all round. It didn’t make any sense.

  Then a thought struck me.

  It was a silly thought, but it suddenly seemed a little less than silly. Because, in a way, it did make a strange kind of sense.

  Suppose that the message was intended for me.

  Not me personally, of course...but someone like me. Someone from Earth. Someone come to check up on the colony, see how it was getting along. Someone with the same kind of background and knowledge as James Wildeblood.

  After all, he had made his message secret. It was secret even from his family. I didn’t believe that crud about it being the secret of the wonder drug, deliberately half-betrayed to incorporate a modicum of built-in obsolescence to his dynasty. That wasn’t credible. But suppose that there was something that James Wildeblood wanted to report back to Earth. Something about the colony that the colony didn’t want to know...and that he didn’t want the colony to know. It had made everybody curious, my nameless friend and Philip’s crew both, but they hadn’t been able to find the trick. Maybe it wasn’t the kind of thing that was incorporated into their practical brand of education.

  I couldn’t for the life of me imagine what such a message might contain. But I did guess, almost immediately, the kind of code he might have used.

  The only trouble was that I no longer had my copy.

  “Hey,” I said. “You’ve lived with the damn code for years. What was the first number?”

  “688668,” said the big man. “Why?”

  I thought hard. I turned over on the bunk, and scratched the number on the dirt that was all over the wall with the end of my thumbnail.

  Right, I thought. C-double-O-double-C....

  But that was wrong. Silently, I tried C-R-A-C, then put in a D-Y- instead of the second C...but still it wasn’t there.

  Then I tried again, and got C-O-R-N-E-R, and I knew I’d cracked it.

  It was one hell of a messy code, but it worked. “Give me the next one,” I said.

  “Why?” he repeated.

  “Just tell me what it is.”

  But he sat up now. There wasn’t going to be any fooling him. And it was too late to back down. “You know it,” he said.

  I didn’t see any point in denying it. In truth, I didn’t want to deny it. I wasn’t feeling too fond of Zarnecki at that particular moment. Why the hell, I asked myself, should I keep secrets just to spite their opposition? And in any case, I no longer believed that the answer might be as useful to the big man as he hoped.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll trade you. Give me as much as you remember and I’ll tell you what the words mean. The first one is ‘corner’. Now what’s the second number?�
�

  “585775,” he told me. He was watching me like a hawk, no longer relaxed in acceptance of the situation.

  It didn’t take long to figure out that that one didn’t work whichever way I combined the numbers. I opened my mouth to tell him his memory was all to cock, and then I remembered the limitations of the code. Not every combination of letters could be translated. To get his message over he’d have to take some liberties with spelling.

  “That’s ‘cellar’,” I said, thinking back. “It’s spelt C-E-L-A-R-E, but it’s ‘cellar’ all right. Next.”

  “971875.”

  That one was a bastard. I finally worked it out as ‘floor’. Spelt F-L-U-O-R-E. Personally I’d have put an extra 8 in to help potential decoders, but that wasn’t important. I gave my progress report to the big man, and he gave me two numbers: 7 and 74. They were easy, and quite unambiguous.

  “They’re just letters,” I told him. “N and W.”

  He didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that N and W stood for northwest. It was coming out nicely. But then the catch came.

  “I’m not going to tell you any more,” he said. “Not until you tell me how you’re doing it. I want the key.”

  It was a pretty logical move. In his place, I’d have done the same.

  “Tell me the entire message,” I said, “and I’ll decode it all. What does it matter what the key is?”

  “I want the key,” he said, flatly.

  “But if I give you the key,” I pointed out. “You wouldn’t need to give me any more numbers. You didn’t want to give me the whole code in the first place.”

  But now he was angry. He got off his bunk and leaned against the one above mine. He peered down at me, and his bulk seemed to fill the space that side of the bed.

  “I trusted you,” he said. “It’s because I trusted you and because I took a risk to bring you the rest of the message that I’m here. Now give me the key!”

  I could see his point. In fact, I sympathized. The hell with it, I thought.

  “The key,” I said, “is something called the periodic table of the elements. Chemical elements have symbols that conventionally represent them—one letter or two. They also have atomic numbers varying between one and a hundred-and-thirty-odd. Wildeblood just transcribed his message into atomic numbers, buggering about with the spelling wherever he couldn’t get an accurate transcription. Theoretical chemistry isn’t taught in your schools—not even to the privileged. But the table is in the material that was brought from Earth...in virtually every text on chemistry. All you have to do is find it. You won’t have any trouble stealing it...Zarnecki and company don’t know what to protect...and they can’t hide or destroy it without locking away or burning a whole section of the library tapes—one of the ones that’s potentially most valuable. Anyone could have cracked the code during these last hundred years and more, if only they’d known where to look, if they’d only known what sort of thing to look for. Now...what’s the next number?”

  “I can’t remember,” he said.

  “Come on,” I said. “We’re trusting one another, remember?”

  “I don’t remember,” he insisted. “I just don’t know. Sure, I’ve looked at the thing countless times. But all that sticks in my mind is the first few....”

  I had to accept it. It was very probably true.

  I went back over what I already had. Corner cellar floor northwest. It wasn’t a lot. Even the punctuation could go one of three ways. But with what I already knew or suspected it had to refer to the house. A corner of a cellar floor at the northwest of the cellar complex underneath the house. It looked possible. The west wing, where nobody went....

  “All right,” I conceded. “Then that’s it. You have your key. I hope it’s useful. I really do. Have a nice revolution, when they let you out....”

  After that, there seemed to be little else left to do, for the time being. He moved back to his own bunk, and lay down. I let myself relax, wondering futilely what James Wildeblood could possibly have wanted to say—to us—or possibly to any man, local or stranger, who knew a little science.

  It must have been a stupid question, because it put me to sleep.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I didn’t sleep deeply, but remained suspended between consciousness and unconsciousness, half aware of noises outside the building and the rustling every time the big man turned over on his bunk. A long time passed, though, before I realized that he was turning over a little more often than seemed wholly reasonable. When the knowledge of his agitation did dawn on me, I lifted my head from the pallet to look at him.

  He was lying on his back, with that great jutting nose pointing up into the empty air. There was a lot of sweat on his face, and his breathing was ragged. He didn’t actually look tortured, but he was far from comfortable.

  At first I thought he might be ill, but then I remembered the drug. He probably hadn’t had his dose for some time. He was exhibiting withdrawal symptoms.

  I got up and banged on the cell door. But the sound of the banging simply echoed in the corridor, drawing no sign of response. I didn’t even know whether there was anyone in the building...they seemed to take a rather casual attitude to their prisoners in these parts.

  There wasn’t much I could do to help him. But I didn’t like to go back to sleep. I sat on the edge of the bunk and watched him. He didn’t get any worse, or any better. He glanced my way a few times, but didn’t say anything. I guessed that he had been through it before. He knew what was ahead of him. It occurred to me that this might well be part of the routine softening-up process. So far, they hadn’t shown much interest in him...but it seemed likely that they might start soon. When he got into a situation of some desperation, delivered there by convenient circumstance, they might easily persuade him to relinquish a little information about who he was and how far his anti-establishment activities extended.

  Eventually, the long-anticipated footfalls in the outer corridor were heard. I was off the bed waiting when the door opened. Four men came in. One was Cade, and two were gendarmes. The fourth was Nathan.

  Cade went over to the bed, looked down at the big man briefly, then signaled his two companions and went out again. I moved to protest, but I was looking at Nathan and he signaled to me to be quiet. I didn’t want to, but I did as I was told. I didn’t want to jeopardize my own chances of getting out by making a fruitless demonstration.

  They closed the door behind them, but didn’t bolt it.

  “Well?” I said, to Nathan.

  He didn’t waste time with recriminations. He knew what I’d been doing and he knew that my getting caught was just a bad break.

  “I think I can get you out,” he said. “Philip’s a reasonable man, and so’s Zarnecki now that he thinks he has command over the situation. All that they’re demanding is that we go—as soon as humanly possible—plus a few assurances that they and I both know to be fairly meaningless. They’re satisfied that we’ve done enough here to be able to take a fairly full report back to Earth—a report which will show this colony in a favorable light. They’re satisfied that they haven’t clamped down on us so hard as to make it clear that there’s something here they’re very keen on keeping a secret. They know we have nothing but a bagful of suspicions.”

  I wanted to tell him that maybe we had more than that now, but I didn’t dare. Cade was just outside the door, eavesdropping dutifully. I daren’t broadcast to the world that we had the key to the code. Nathan might be able to use the information later, after I’d been released. There was no hurry.

  Or so I thought.

  “How long is it going to take?” I asked.

  “Not long,” he assured me. “They aren’t interested in keeping you here just for the fun of it. But they want me to recall Conrad’s party now, and they don’t want any stalling. I think they’ll hang on to you until everything else is set and we’re ready to depart.”

  It wasn’t very welcome news. The cell wasn’t the place I’d have s
elected to stay for my last few days on Poseidon. And with all due respect to my nameless acquaintance the company wasn’t up to much either.

  “I suppose I do get fed?” I said.

  “You’ll be okay,” he assured me, serenely. “I’m sorry about the way it’s turning out, but there don’t seem to be many options open. They’d have found an excuse...one way or another.”

  “Could you possibly negotiate for my removal to slightly less unpleasant surroundings?” I asked. “Surely they don’t need to keep me here. After all, where would I escape to? They’ve got what they want.”

  “I’ll try,” he promised.

  I thought it was about time I took a risk. If they weren’t going to turn me loose without persuasion then it seemed a good idea to give Nathan a little leverage. I pulled him forward slightly, towards the corner of the cell remote from the door.

  “Look,” I said, loudly. “That’s not good enough. You have to do something about this. I don’t want to hang about here for another week.” Rapidly, and in a low whisper, I followed this statement with: “The code is in atomic numbers.” The people outside couldn’t have heard. But Nathan understood.

  He nodded, and then looked, down. We were standing very close to the big man’s bunk, and his eyes—slightly bloodshot—were staring up at us. He’d heard, too.

  “Be reasonable, Alex,” said Nathan, clearly. “I know you haven’t done anything. But Zarnecki thinks he has a strong case.” Meanwhile, he directed a significant glance at the man on the bed, and raised an eyebrow.

  He knows, I mouthed, without making any, sound.

  Nathan pursed his lips, but he nodded.

  “Make Zarnecki show you the so-called evidence,” I said. “Look it over very carefully. I think you’ll find that it’s pretty damn slim.”

  Privately, I didn’t think there was much chance that Zarnecki would surrender the whole message. But it might be worth a try.

  There wasn’t much point in dragging out the fancy charade much further, and Nathan was about to put an end to the interview. But he didn’t get a chance.

  There was an almighty crash in the corridor outside, as of a heavy body being very firmly felled to the ground, and then the sound of struggling.