The Alien Web (Masters of Space Book 2)

by Robert E. Vardeman

  Humbolt glanced from Cameron to the robot patiently hovering, then back to its creator. “Call it off.”

  “It only protects us, Kenneth. Don’t worry. Unless you have a weapon and make a sudden movement. Its discriminator circuits are very sophisticated for such a small robot.”

  “What — ” Humbolt took a deep breath and calmed himself. “What happened here? With the crates?”

  Cameron looked innocent. “I can only reconstruct the incident, now that Rogoff has committed suicide on us. Damned inconsiderate, don’t you think?”

  “The crate. What of it?”

  “Ah, yes, the crate with the brain burners. I suspect a Bizzie gained entry, took a device out and used it. Some workers found him. Rather than handling the matter in an efficient, sane manner, they beat the arachnoid to death.”

  “The stains on the floor?”

  “And the crate and in several other unlikely spots, many very high up.”

  Cameron craned his neck back, felt the inertial collar hidden beneath the fox fur and stopped his inspection. “They dragged the Bizzie over there, possibly putting the body in the plasma torch for disposal. The corpse, at any rate, is no longer on the premises.”

  “That was smart. No trace of the body left.”

  Cameron snorted derisively. The body might have been reduced to atoms but the evidence remained, evidence they had been too stupid to remove. The entire operation on Zeta Orgo teetered on the verge of disaster. It was good that Chairman Fremont had ordered him to take whatever measures led to success.

  “This is a bit of good luck for you, Kenneth,” said Cameron, watching the director closely.

  “What? How can you say that? Rogoff might have breached security on this part of the Plan so badly that the Bizzies have learned about it!”

  “Hardly,” said Cameron. “Careless, yes, that he was. But the Bizzies would have lasered the warehouse to the ground by now if they suspected. No, you are lucky. You can assume Mr. Rogoff’s duties and personally ensure the completion of the Stellar Death Plan on Web.”

  “Become supervisor? A director?”

  “It would be only a temporary assignment, of course. But to promote a local employee who might have been responsible for this…” Cameron’s hand swept the scene that glowed brilliantly when he shone the ultraviolet light on the alien blood spots.

  “I see what you mean. I’ll find out who’s responsible and take care of them.”

  “Good,” said Cameron, his mind already diverted to other matters. “I’ll continue my inspection. Have someone see about removing the late Mr. Rogoff. He’ll begin to stink soon. That’s an unfortunate aspect and one which will have to be researched further. The poison accelerates decay, I fear.”

  Cameron strode off, his goggles constantly being adjusted to new and different frequencies. The Bizzie had penetrated Rogoff’s security. Who had accompanied the spider being? Cameron found minute traces of another. But another Bizzie?

  Cameron did not believe so.

  He stood in front of the hidden doorway leading to the underground tunnel and simply stared at it.

  “Ah, my good friend, you do live!” Cameron said. He spun and returned to see what trouble Humbolt had created. After dealing with it, there would be time to track down Barton Kinsolving.

  CHAPTER IX

  Barton Kinsolving clutched the data recorder close to his body to keep it from being knocked from his hands as he pushed through the crowd. The arachnoids wobbled and cavorted but never — quite — touched him. This did not keep him from jerking away when a heavy body or a hairy leg seemed to be on a collision course with his face.

  He studied the recording he had made inside the Interstellar Materials warehouse. “Proof,” he muttered to himself. “This is enough to launch an investigation, enough to show that IM is trafficking in illegal electronic devices.”

  Even as he spoke, Kinsolving heard the hollowness of his words. Investigation? Who would investigate? Those of the Web Will? Kinsolving had no idea how to contact them, or even if they were policemen in the strictest sense of enforcing interworld laws. The arachnoid had spoken of them more as priests, as those beings responsible for maintaining the righteousness of the web and the spiders dangling from it.

  Kinsolving put the small data recorder safely into his pocket and stared around. He had left the landing field and walked for what seemed hours. The weather proved surprisingly mild for what he assumed to be midwinter. The heavy storm clouds in the sky, the sudden chill from a gust of wind, the condition of the plants had all hinted at winter. But along the city streets he found only warm breezes and not a single snowflake falling on him.

  He openly gawked at the tall-spired buildings as if he had never seen anything like them before. Kinsolving smiled wryly. He felt like a child brought into the big city from out in the country. The buildings he had seen before, on Earth, on Gamma Tertius, on several other planets. But never had he imagined the way the natives of Zeta Orgo used those buildings.

  Huge cables dangled between the uppermost spires, swaying in the wind until Kinsolving got dizzy watching. Along those cables scurried the arachnoid inhabitants of the world. Now and then he would see a spider, hardly more than a dark dot, release from a cable and plummet down. The first time Kinsolving saw this happen, he thought the spider being had somehow slipped or been blown off by the high winds.

  The creature deftly played out web behind it, coming to a gentle halt at a window entrance three stories above ground level. The spider swung about, paused for a few seconds to cut free of the strand, dropped through and vanished from sight.

  A coldness began in Kinsolving’s belly when he realized that elevators might not exist on this world. He craned his head back to stare up at the sky-gutting spires. If the people he sought had their offices high up in the immense buildings, he might never be able to reach them. Waiting on the street until they chose to descend did not seem a good course of action, either.

  The way the arachnoids went from one building to the other along their aerial highways hinted that some might never descend to the ground. Like the gods in Valhalla, they ranged across the sky and seldom deigned to notice human endeavours.

  “Still,” Kinsolving said to himself, “there are enough of the natives who do choose to walk.” He wondered why. Very few vehicles were in use, and those carried cargo too heavy for a single arachnoid to carry easily. Finding out the reasons for a society doing what it did lay far beyond his ability. A xeno-sociologist might spend a lifetime studying these strange beings and never get more than an inkling of why the aliens built and acted and lived the way they did.

  “And we’re as strange to them,” Kinsolving said. As if to prove his point, a passing arachnoid stared at him curiously, the head moving in impossible directions. The spider creature lumbered on, mandibles clacking and talons whispering along the hard pavement.

  Kinsolving slipped down a wall, his back aching and his feet ready to give out. The spiders managed to step over him. Most never seemed to notice the human obstacle in their path, getting all eight legs around him without touching.

  He had been running too long. It was time to think. He did not have money or credit on the planet, he could not remember the last meal he’d eaten, and worst of all he did not know how to proceed with the damning evidence he had accumulated in the Interstellar materials warehouse.

  Finding Those of the Web Will might be an approach, but Kinsolving knew that the arachnoids would not accept his unsubstantiated word for anything. Even the recordings he had made of the spider shaking and quivering as he activated the brain burner would not be convincing enough for alien authorities. He cursed himself for not having brought along a few of the illicit devices as evidence.

  Then Kinsolving realized it was for the best that he had not. To be caught with contraband on Web would reveal that he had escaped the prison world. Even if the authorities on Web did not find him guilty of a crime, they would probably notify the Lorr, who would take hi
m back to exile on the prison planet.

  “No alien police,” he said. “Forget Those of the Web Will.” Then who might aid him? Kinsolving sagged. He had run through most of those likely to want to stop the importation of the deadly Boxes of Delights. That left only the humans on Web.

  He could not run to the IM planetary supervisor. It seemed impossible that supervisor level would not know of the smuggling. The details of the Stellar Death Plan might not be revealed fully, but the supervisor had to authorize the fake shipments and doctor the records. Kinsolving had heard hints that other corporations gave aid — or had a hand in formulating the Plan — so he dared not seek out help from that quarter.

  “The Earth consul. That’s the only choice left.” Kinsolving heaved himself to his feet and started off, alert now for a city guide that give directions to “alien” businesses and consulates. He found it, a small mushroom-topped kiosk less than a meter in diameter, but hunt as he might, no controls were apparent.

  Kinsolving jumped back when the kiosk suddenly lit. He saw the top flicker — and above this hung a spider on a web strand. Whatever the arachnoid saw on the top satisfied him. The alien continued his swing and vanished through a fourth-story window.

  Kinsolving looked around and decided that the controls must be on the top. He scrambled up the smooth-sided pillar and stared at the rounded dome.

  A high-pitched squeaking drew his attention. Five metres above him swung another spider being chittering at him to get out of the way. The legs worked against the strand of web stuff while the tiny pink hands made gestures at Kinsolving that could not be anything but obscene.

  “You, silly human thing. Get away from the guidance device.”

  “This?”

  The arachnoid squeaked until Kinsolving’s eardrums threatened to burst. But he saw how the information kiosk worked. The display rose in a tri-vid column, a golden arrow pointing. Strange runelike markings floated in the air above it. The arachnoid chittered again. The arrow altered direction slightly, sank, and a new set of runes appeared. A final screech sounded at a frequency only an Earthly bat could appreciate and the entire display vanished.

  Kinsolving slipped to street level and watched in fascination. From this vantage point, he could not see any of the hologram. Only from above could they be read.

  He again climbed the kiosk, balancing precariously on the dome. A few arachnoids avoided this information kiosk, but enough others ignored his antics for him to get an idea how the guide worked. The golden arrow pointed in the direction. The elevation of the arrow — above the kiosk or above the ground? — showed what level of building. The writing must tell distance.

  None of this revelation helped him use the kiosk.

  “Out of my line of vision, human one.” Another arachnoid dangled above Kinsolving, ready to use the information kiosk when he got out of the way.

  “Can you help me?” called up Kinsolving. “I can’t activate the computer.”

  The arachnoid shrieked and got his directions, then paused. One eye studied Kinsolving. “Where do you wish to go, voiceless one?”

  “The Earth consulate.”

  Chirping. Squeaks. A bark. Kinsolving saw the golden arrow appear level with his knees as he stood atop the dome.

  “That direction. Travel for one-ninetieth of a planetary rotation.”

  “Is it ground level?”

  “Of course.” The arachnoid’s tone left little to wonder about. The alien ridiculed any other beast unable to make use of the cable system hanging between buildings.

  “Thank you.” Kinsolving wanted to ask more, but the spider creature spun away, sucking in the web he had spun and ascending with a speed more terrifying to Kinsolving than the descents he had witnessed. He had noted the direction shown by the golden arrow, but had no idea how far to travel. Dropping to the ground, he set out grimly toward the consulate. How long he would have to travel, he did not know. For the first time, Kinsolving regretted having erased the information that Lark had copied onto the data recorder.

  He patted the pocket with the device and shook his head. No, he did not regret it. He would walk for a year, if necessary. The spiders were abrupt, curt, intolerant of humans, and why not? He had learned so little of their ways. Why should any of them take the time to instruct him when he had failed to provide for his own education?

  In less than an hour of weaving through the buildings and trying to maintain the proper vector, he found a small blue-and-silver crest mounted on the door to what appeared to be a store.

  “This is the consulate?” he wondered aloud. It might have been a specialty store for its size. Kinsolving stood and stared and worried anew. Would he find help, or would the consul side with Fremont and the others involved with the Plan? Kinsolving made the decision. He had no choice. Without allies, without resources, he had to trust someone. In general, the tone on Earth was not that he found among the corporations. The educators, the governments, even the general populace looked on the aliens with neutrality if not favour.

  That did not mean the consul was not in the pay of IM. That didn’t mean that he might not agree with the Plan’s purpose.

  Kinsolving forced such thoughts out of his head. He had no way of checking; he needed help in stopping the distribution of the brain burners. If nothing else, he would determine quickly where the Earth’s representative stood on the matter.

  He strode up to the door, then went inside. For a moment, Kinsolving thought he had been transported back to Earth. A green valley stretched in front of him. The Shenandoah? Fog-shrouded purpled mountains rose on either side. A blue ribbon of river traced its way through the valley floor. Most convincing of all was the soft breeze blowing in his face carrying the scents of Earth, of the Appalachians, of growing trees and spring and times long past.

  He shook himself out of the reverie and looked out of the corners of his eyes for a hint about what he had gotten himself into. Peripheral vision showed a small com unit on a plain desk. The tri-vid display was so real, though.

  “I’d like to see the consul,” he said, toggling the com unit.

  “You’re from Earth!” The voice sounded startled. Kinsolving smiled. Well that the consul should be surprised. He had bulled his way onto Web without the proper visas and notification.

  “This is a matter of the utmost importance. How do I get past the tri-vid?”

  “Sorry. I’m alone most of the time. The view keeps me from going crazy.” The display winked off, showing a plain room barely wide enough for Kinsolving to walk through without brushing his shoulders on the walls. At the end of what amounted to a wide corridor stood a plain door, again bearing Earth’s blue-and-silver crest.

  In the room lounged a smallish man with greying hair and a harassed expression on his face.

  “Mr. Consul?” asked Kinsolving.

  “Name’s Andrianov. Garon Andrianov. Pleased to meet you.” Kinsolving introduced himself. The consul took Kinsolving’s hand and pumped it until the circulation faded. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to do that. Gets lonely here. I mean, there’s the paperwork and all, but nothing more. Seldom see another human, unless I go to the landing field. And they don’t want much to do with me. Think I’ll meddle in their affairs, I suppose.”

  “You don’t have a staff?”

  “All computerized. Not much to do on Web. Not much.”

  Kinsolving had the sinking feeling in his gut again. This consulate ranked so low that Earth sent only one diplomat?

  “Don’t remember processing you through. I flag the files of all Earthers who land. When did you land?”

  “Not long ago,” said Kinsolving. He stared at the small, intense man. No option remained. He had to trust Andrianov.

  Andrianov silently motioned him to a couch. No desk existed that Kinsolving saw. He guessed that most of Andrianov’s work went through the computer and the consul did little but approve the programming.

  “This isn’t easy for me to say,” Kinsolving started.

&nb
sp; “Tea?” asked Andrianov. “Sorry for interrupting, but I have so few human visitors. And I do get tired of dealing with the natives. Their ways are, well, odd to one from Earth. I’m from Novosibirsk. It’s our turn to supply personnel for the consulate. I replaced an Argentinian who left the lovely tri-vid you saw when you came in.” Andrianov sighed. “Wish I could have one of the Ob River. Such loveliness.”

  He shook himself from his memories of distant Earth. “Sony. So sorry. I hope you do understand. Seeing only the arachnoids…”

  “Do you like them?” asked Kinsolving.

  “What? Well, yes, of course. On the whole, I must or

  I’d go quite crazy. Lonesome job, this one. Lonesome. And tedious. So seldom do I see anyone from the field. There’s not much of a human community here, as there is on other alien planets.”

  “The Bizzies — ” Kinsolving started.

  “Please, sir. That is an offensive term. I understand that human palates cannot form the proper name for Web’s inhabitants, but do try to remain civil.”

  “Good.” Kinsolving relaxed. He launched into his story, showing Andrianov the data recorder of the arachnoid and the brain burner, of how he had stumbled onto the Stellar Death Plan, of how Hamilton Fremont and others on the board of directors of Interstellar Materials had concocted the genocidal scheme, everything — except the problems he had encountered on Deepdig that had resulted in his exile to the prison world. Kinsolving knew that revealing this would prejudice his case.

  “You are in a dangerous position, Barton,” said Andrianov. “IM certainly wouldn’t like you snooping about their warehouse, no matter what the circumstances. This is not evidence acceptable to a court, you know.”

  “I understand. What I have to do is convince you that a problem exists, a serious one threatening billions of lives. Then we can worry about legality and proof.”