Dean Ing & Mack Reynolds

by Deathwish World(lit)

  Frank Pinell's eyebrows went up in shock. He said, "How the hell would you know a thing like that?"

  "I own the bank," Hamp said. "Now, look, I want to talk to you but I have something else on the fire right now. Where are you staying?"

  "At the Drake, but."

  "Wizard. That's where I'm going right now. In fact, maybe I'll register myself. I'll see you later tonight. What name did you say you were going under?"

  "Merson," Frank said weakly.

  "See you later," Hamp returned to where Roy and Forry and the bodyguards were waiting.

  Forry, ever suspicious, said, "Who the hell was that?"

  Hamp granted amusement. "A guy the Graf sent to finish me off. Maybe I'll tell you about it someday."

  Some of the delegates were still arguing out in the hall as the group of them headed for the elevator. Max said to Hamp, "I've got some things to do tonight, including a report to the Executive Committee. I'll meet you in the morning."

  "Great," Hamp told him. "I'll register at the Drake."

  The guards took over again at the elevator. Billy and Ron went down first to check out the lobby. When the elevator returned the five remaining guards, plus Roy, Forry, Hamp, and Max, all crowded in. So did several of the other dele-gates, two of them still arguing. Forry began to remonstrate about their coming along in this elevator load, but Roy shook his head wearily and the little ex-newsman shrugged it off.

  Halfway down, Roy's business manager gave a startled cough. Max darted a look at him. "For Christ's sake," he blurted. "What's wrong?"

  The small man's face was wet and shiny and gray of color. He had both of his fists clamped tight against his chest. His jaw was going up and down as if he was trying to say something that wouldn't come. Les blurted, "He's having a heart attack!" Two of the guards grabbed the stricken man by the arms, supporting him. The elevator came to a halt at the ground floor and the group emerged, hauling Forry Brown with them. They headed for a chair.

  Hamp yelled at the top of his voice, "A doctor! Get a doctor from that police ambulance across the street!"

  Forry Brown's eyebrows were high, his eyes bulging as though in surprise. His jaw continued to move, soundlessly. And even as they lowered him into the chair, he passed out. Two white-jacketed young men, Red Cross bands around their arms, came hurrying in with a stretcher. They expertly snaked the stricken man onto it and trotted from the lobby with him.

  Ron said, "I'll go along," and followed after. Les was the first to recover from surprised confusion. He said to Roy, "Let's get out of here. They'll take him to the hospital. There's nothing we can do and meanwhile, for all we know, there are a couple of the Graf's boys waiting outside."

  Roy nodded dumbly.

  Hamp said, "Under the circumstances, we'll have to call off our get-together."

  But the Wobbly organizer shook his head. "No, if we've got anything to say to each other, we might as well do it. There's no guarantee I'll last the night."

  The six remaining guards stationed themselves around Hamp and their charge as the body of them moved out the door and made a beeline for the limousines. Roy, Hamp, and Billy got into the rear of one, two of the guards into the front. Then the three remaining got into the lead car. Hamp looked out the window. The crowd had grown considerably larger and the teenage kids with their baseball bats held it back, very businesslike. A half-drunk prole waved one hand high and yelled, " 'Ray for Deathwish Wobbly!"

  "Yeah," Roy muttered as they took off.

  Tbe bodyguards of the Wobbly national organizer had their parts down pat by this time. They moved with precision and cool efficiency. The limousines smoothed up to an entry in the area of the Drake Hotel. The three in the lead vehicle popped out and scouted the vicinity, two of them going into the hotel. Then the three returned to the second limousine and stood alert while its occupants emerged. Then all moved into the hotel and took the service elevator.

  All of Cos's basic crew were accommodated in one large suite, Hamp was introduced to Mary Ann Elwyn and Ferd Feldmeyer, and Roy went over to the bar while Les told the secretary and speech writer what had happened.

  "Damn," Feldmeyer said, his plump little mouth looking petulant. "Those cigarettes. How bad did it look?"

  "Bad," Billy said in disgust. "He passed out. But the medics were there immediately. Nowadays they ought to be able to do something. A man no older than Forry usually doesn't die from his first heart attack."

  Roy had knocked back a first drink. He said, looking at Ferd, "Had he ever had one before?"

  "Not as far as I know. I've known him for years and he never mentioned any heart trouble."

  When the drinks had been distributed, Roy Cos looked over at the black. He said, "Well, we should hear about Forry within the hour. Meanwhile, what did you have in mind, Hampton?"

  Hamp half emptied his glass. He said, "As you know, I'm from the Anti-Racist League. That's my prime interest. I wondered what you thought of the World Club. The story is beginning to surface that they're in favor of establishing a World State. They're behind bringing all of Latin America into the United States, and now Australia and New Zealand. I suspect that the Common Europe countries will be next and I also suspect that such nations as Spain, Portugal, and Italy will line up overnight, and the rest soon after. Hell, even commie countries, beginning with Cuba and Yugoslavia, wouldn't be far behind."

  Roy said, "And?"

  The black regarded him questioningly. "It would seem to me that under a World State racism would disappear."

  Roy shook his head very emphatically. "Why? Suppose we had a United States of the World. Why would that end racism? It hasn't been ended in the United States, so far. Sure, if it was a world government under the Wobbly program, there'd be no reason for racism. But under the status quo? Suppose the World Club took over and made the United Church the state religion. The Prophet does precious little to hide his anti-semitism. That reactionary Harrington Chase is hand in glove with him. The Jews aren't about to join up with the United Church, like so many other smaller religions are. Most of them, these days, are agnostics or atheists and won't support any organized religion. Those who are still Orthodox cling to the faith that's held them together for three thousand years. So the Prophet's down on them, and if his outfit ever becomes the state religion, Jews will be in trouble."

  Hamp didn't like that but he accepted it. He said, "That's only the Jews."

  Roy made a gesture of contempt. "It'd be a lot of others, too. Racism isn't an accident, it's deliberately fostered in a class society. When there aren't enough good jobs to go around, then it's handy for a ruling class to have the proles fight among themselves. Supposedly the reason the blacks can't get decent jobs is because the whites take them all, and whites say they can't get jobs because the blacks are moving in on them, or the Chicanes, or the Orientals, or whoever. Divide and rule. Keep the proles at each other's throats so they'll never sit down and figure out that they have a common enemy."

  Hamp said in disgust, "You people have one-track minds. Whatever's wrong, you blame it on the socioeconomic system."

  "That's where the blame usually is," Roy said, obviously too soulweary to want to argue. "The proles go out to fight their war, division by division. One division carries a banner inscribed Pacifism, another Women's Lib, another All Power to the Worker's Councils, another Down with Racism, another Clean Up the Environment, End Pollution, and on and on.

  None of them seem to see that basically it's the same war and that if they unite their divisions they'd have an army, instead of going out separately-and down to defeat."

  Hamp said, "Probably a good simile. But now we get to the real reason I came up here tonight. That Deathwish Policy of yours. Are there any provisions restricting your travel?"

  Roy looked at him and shook his head. "None at all. I can go anywhere in the world that I want."

  "I wasn't thinking about the world. I was thinking about Lagrange Five, or, better still, the Asteroid Belt Islands."

&
nbsp; All of them were gaping at him now.

  Hamp said to Roy, "Look, basically you've done what you started out to do. You've brought to the attention of the whole world the program of the Wobblies. People are digesting it. Whether or not they'll buy it is another thing. I'm inclined to doubt it. As it stands now, your time is probably limited to hours. The Graf's hit men are the most experienced on Earth and now, I believe, they're all concentrated on you-all of them in this country, at least. So you take off from the Space Shuttleport in New Mexico for Space Station Goddard. There you transfer to a shuttle headed for Island One of the La-grange Five Project. From there you take the next ore freighter to the Asteroid Belt, select an Island most suited to your needs, and spend the rest of your life there, probably bankrupting whatever damned company signed that Deathwish Policy of yours."

  Billy said doubtfully, though liking it, "Okay. But then he doesn't get the message over."

  Hamp glowered at him. "Damn it, he's already got the message over. But he can continue spouting his propaganda from the Belt! All he has to do is tape his talks and beam them back Earthside for broadcasting. Besides that, he'd have lots of time on his hands. He wouldn't be leading the life of a hunted animal. He could write a book about the Wobbly program. He could turn out a raft of pamphlets and articles."

  "Good grief," Mary Ann said, her eyes wide. She looked at her lover, who was still staring at the black man. There was hope in her face.

  Hamp said, urgency in his voice, "Don't you see? You'd be safe out there. Among other things, there are no hit men flitting around on the Islands. It takes all the clearance in the world to get into space at all. And it takes a full year for a spacecraft to get from Lagrange Five to the Asteroid Belt, which is halfway to Jupiter. If one of the Grafs men tried to get through to you, they'd have him spotted months before he ever arrived. And he'd be well aware of the fact that even if he did get through and did you in, there'd be no way he could get safely back. Lagrangists are a rough and ready lot."

  Billy said, "If Roy goes, Les and I go too, and probably Ron, just to be sure."

  Mary Ann nodded. "And so do I."

  Roy took a deep, tired breath and said, "None of us goes." He turned his eyes to Hamp. "Thanks for the good intentions but the restrictions on going into space are endless. You've got to have some ability that they need out there. You've got to be a scientist, or some kind of technician or highly experienced worker in construction, or electronics, or whatever. I don't have any such ability, and I doubt if any of the rest of us here do. One of their strictest requirements is that you have an I.Q. of at least 130. I don't. You have to have a far above average Ability Quotient. I don't. I'd be a parasite out there, even if they'd let me come, which they wouldn't."

  All eyes went back to Hamp. Mary Ann's were sick, as though he had overfed a false hope.

  "That's where I come in," Hamp said. He brought forth his pocket transceiver, activated it, and said, "Information? Put me through to Ian Venner of the Lagrangia Asteroid Belt Federation. He is now in New York as their representative."

  He waited long moments for the connection to be put through. Silence permeated the suite's living room.

  There came a tiny voice from the transceiver and Hamp said, "Venner? This is Auburn. I'm calling you about that favor sooner than I had expected."

  He paused, then said, "Good. I am in the company of Roy Cos. Perhaps you have heard of the Deathwish Wobbly. Yes, that's him. I want him, and several of his friends, to become space colonists in the Belt. They won't meet your usual requirements. They will undoubtedly remain for the rest of their lives, unless some very basic changes take place here Earthside."

  He listened for long moments, then said, "Wizard. Oh, Venner? I consider your obligation to me now terminated. Thanks and goodbye."

  He switched off the communicator and looked back at Roy. He said softly, "If you can make it to the Shuttleport, Venner's people will take over there."

  The Wobbly organizer's lips were pale.

  It was then the phone screen buzzed. Mary Ann, in a daze, went to it. She said blankly, "It's Ron, at the hospital."

  Billy got it out first. "How's Forry?"

  But Mary Ann was listening, shaking her head as though in disbelief. Finally, she switched the screen off.

  She turned back to them and said simply, "He-didn't make it. And then, "It wasn't a heart attack. It was murder."

  "It couldn't have been," Roy blurted. "I was right there!"

  Mary Ann said emptily, "Something long, very thin, very sharp. Something like an antique woman's hatpin. Stuck up through the diaphragm, perforating the heart and flooding it with blood."

  "He would have yelled," Les said in utter disbelief.

  She said, "Maybe. But from what the doctors told Ron, at first he'd only feel mild discomfort, and especially if he had any lung or stomach or digestive disorders, he wouldn't particularly have noticed the pain. But then the pressure would slow the heart down until it stopped. He'd feel faint, breathless, dizzy, as though he'd had a small aortal attack. He'd be dead in five minutes."

  Roy said emptily, "It was meant for me."

  Hamp stood up and looked at the Wobbly organizer. "No. It was meant for Forrest Brown. The guards were too tight around you. It's gotten to the point where the Graf's men are out to get anybody associated with you, anybody helping you." He looked at Roy Cos's secretary. "Including Ms. Elwyn. That's why you'd better make a beeline for that shuttleport in New Mexico, Cos."

  Roy Cos stood too, and said, "What's all this to you, Hampton? I don't even know you. Certainly, you're no Wobbly. But you've gone far out of your way to extend a life I'd given up."

  Hamp tossed his head, brushing it off. "You're a man, Cos, and I believe in a man having a chance to have his say.

  What was the quote of Voltaire? 'I disagree with what you say but will defend with my life your right to say it.' A lot of your program doesn't come through to me. For one thing, I think you're out of the times. Maybe, up there in the Belt, you'll learn some things and update what you stand for. And maybe-just maybe-they'll learn some things from you."

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Jeremiah Auburn_____

  Hamp stood before the identity screen on the hotel door and looked at it sardonically. The door buzzed open and he entered. The room was on the small, austere side considering that this was the age-old prestigious Drake.

  Frank Pinell was seated, watching a news commentator. Now he took in the chocolate features of the newcomer without expression. Without waiting for an invitation, Hamp went over to the autobar and dialed himself a double brandy. He brought the snifter glass back and settled himself into the room's second chair.

  Frank reached over to click the screen off but Hamp said, "No, just a minute. What's he saying?"

  The commentator was saying, ". and if the victim's identification is genuine, the notorious Luca Cellini, long suspected by the IABI to be Lothar von Brandenburg's top representative in the Americas, has been shot to death on the streets of New York."

  "I'll be damned," Hamp said. "Peter Windsor is even more efficient than I thought."

  The younger man had been staring bug-eyed at the commentator. Now he shakily reached out and turned down the audio. He sucked in air before saying to the black, "You know Peter Windsor?"

  "Yes. One of the most competent snakes this side of the Garden of Eden. How he learned that Cellini had sold out, I'll probably never know."

  "Sold out?" Frank said. "I. I was just talking to him a few days ago."

  "Yes, I know," Hamp said, taking an appreciative sip of his cognac. "He was how I found out that Windsor and the Graf had sent you to finish me off."

  Frank said, a touch of irritation in his voice, "If you knew that, why in the devil have you come here? Aren't you afraid I'll carry out the assignment?"

  "No," Hamp said. "Why did they send you?"

  "I'm not too clear about the details. Evidently, it was more or less a standard assignment. Somebody in the World Club wanted
you eliminated."

  Hamp stared at him. "The World Club! Wanted Horace Hampton eliminated?"

  "Yes. If I understand correctly, they're becoming increasingly conscious of the part the Anti-Racist League might play when the World State begins to embrace third-world countries."

  "But why me? I'm not even a member of the Executive Committee. Just a field worker."

  "If I have it right, there are some strange angles to your Dossier Complete. You're kind of a mystery figure. You're also said to be the Anti-Racist League's most efficient man. Somebody figured that if half a dozen of your key members were eliminated, it would be considerably easier to control the organization."