“Must stop the spread of these brain burners, as you call them. Boxes of Delight the natives call them. Terribly addicting. They can starve to death using them. Goes right to the cortex and stimulates the pleasure centre. Ugly death, ugly, wasting away and smiling the entire while. Or what passes for a smile.”
“Mr. Andrianov, is there any way you can impound the contents of the warehouse?”
“None. I have little authority over humans on-planet. I issue permits. I grant visas — never turned one down in three planetary years of service — I go to the occasional formal governmental function. That’s all I do.”
“Is there an ambassador? Someone with the power to investigate IM’s actions on Web?”
“No ambassador. Always going to be exchanged but never done, that sort of balls-up mess. Been a decade or longer since an ambassador resided on Web. Or one from Web went to Earth. Think it’s a mutual decision. Neither wants to maintain the pomp and ceremony and expense of a full embassy.”
“Those of the Web Will,” said Kinsolving. Andrianov’s pale eyes snapped up and held Kinsolving fixed like a bug on a pin. “What of them?”
“How do you know about Those of the Web Will?”
“The arachnoid I met in the tunnel mentioned them.”
“We dare not seek them out. All humans would be killed. All. They are terrible creatures. Reactionaries. They are the arachnoid counterpart of those authoring the Stellar Death Plan.”
“Who do we contact? If you can’t stop the flood of the brain burners, someone in the Web government must be able to.”
“The Supreme Web. They have the authority, but reaching them is difficult.” Andrianov made a funny coughing noise. “In all my years on Web, I have never seen them assembled. Don’t even know where they meet. For all I know, the Supreme Web might be a rumour or a joke played on gullible humans.”
Kinsolving sank back in the chair and closed his eyes. A terrible pounding threatened to blow apart his skull.
“Direct indictment,” Andrianov said unexpectedly. “We need to show that IM officials are responsible. Your data shows only that the Boxes of Delights are stored in their warehouse. If we can implicate someone in the company, that might be enough to get action.”
“From whom?” Kinsolving asked tiredly.
“From the Supreme Web. They must exist. Or a group like them. There’s government on Web. It’s just that I’ve never had a matter important enough to seek it out.” Andrianov made the coughing-laughing noise again. “Fact is, they discourage such things. No ceremony, no sense of decorum.”
“How do we do it?” asked Kinsolving. He dared hope again. A little.
Andrianov shook his head. “This is new for me. I process paperwork. But we’ll think of something. We must, or all arachnoids on Web will die.”
Barton Kinsolving looked at his newfound ally and shivered slightly. Andrianov was better than no ally at all.
He had to be.
CHAPTER X
Garon Andrianov leaned back in his comfortable chair and thought — hard. For three years he had been stranded on this miserable planet surrounded by miserable bugs while waiting for another assignment that would be equally miserable elsewhere.
He turned slightly, his hand lightly brushing over a control. The vidscreen flowed from the idyllic scenes of Earth to a sleeping Barton Kinsolving. The man lay on his stomach, head turned toward the camera. He slept heavily. Andrianov saw that nothing less than a major quake would disturb that slumber.
Andrianov toggled another screen and played through at high speed the data recording Kinsolving had brought. He gusted a big sigh. A miserable assignment, a miserable post, now miserable problems. The small man tried to find where his sympathies lay.
With the spiders? Somewhat. They were not too bad if you got to know them as individuals. However, so few ever wanted that kind of contact that Garon Andrianov had only two whom he called friends among the native populace. His business and diplomatic dealings hardly extended farther than that pair.
He owed the inhabitants of Web nothing. But Earth? What did he owe the plant of his birth? Andrianov toggled on a recorder.
“Diary entry, current date, the usual format.” He took a deep breath and composed his thoughts. The recorder would take appropriate action later, eliminating the stutters and mistakes and leaving only a perfect report. “Evidence has come into my hands showing illicit importation of what the natives of Zeta Orgo 4 call ‘Boxes of Delights.’ Append the recording given by Barton Kinsolving.”
He did not owe Web anything, but he did owe Earth the report and he did owe it to himself. Such a discovery — and its successful resolution — would get him a double-step promotion, perhaps back to Earth, or at least to a more suitable planet.
“I fear that this scheme by the chairman and the previously named directors of Interstellar Materials will endanger Earth security. Should the Supreme Web learn of this so-called Stellar Death Plan, military retaliation on human bases and worlds is both possible and likely. See prior reports on military capabilities of Zeta Orgo 4 and append appropriate sections.”
Andrianov sipped at his tea as he thought. The danger to Earth outweighed all else. If he thought that Fremont and the others stood even a small chance of succeeding, he would do nothing. But how could they triumph? The billions of arachnoids on Web worked against their scheme, even one this subtle.
Addiction was a problem, yes, but when it reached epidemic proportions, the spiders would find ways of halting it. They were not bound by Earthly laws. Andrianov had read of times in Web history when hundreds of millions had been sacrificed for the good of the planet. How those decisions were reached — and by whom — he had never discovered, but it proved that the arachnoids had a ruthlessness about them that made the worst of human tyrants pale in comparison.
He swallowed hard. They made the worst of humanity pale in comparison — until now. Fremont would slay billions. Planets. Entire species!
"I do not believe,” he said, picking up his report once more, “that only xenophobia drives the Stellar Death Plan. Financial gain figures prominently in the reasons for this mad scheme. Mining concessions on Web are minimal now. See appended report. Massive catastrophe to the native populace would open the way for extensive exploitation.”
Andrianov ran his finger over the toggle. “Finish and seal the report, put it in diplomatic queue and transmit at the first opportunity.” He thumbed the toggle and leaned back, feeling as exhausted as Kinsolving looked.
He had done his duty. No one expected more than a report from a minor consul without staff. But Garon Andrianov wanted to do more. To find the Boxes of Delights, to get the hard evidence implicating local IM officials, those were the ways to promotion.
Andrianov glanced up once more at the vidscreen and saw that Kinsolving had not stirred a muscle. He might be dead for all the signs of vitality he showed. Knowing his uninvited guest would not awaken for hours, Andrianov stood, adjusted his short, waist-length black, properly diplomatic jacket and left. He had more than enough time to gather the evidence he needed.
Andrianov shrugged his shoulders and made certain that the recording devices built into his jacket were ready for action. His heart pounded faster, and he stopped for a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Only when he had once more fallen into the diplomatic, expressionless calm taught in school did he stride up to the door of the Interstellar Materials warehouse.
Two guards exchanged puzzled glances. Andrianov noted with some apprehension that both carried weapons of some sort hidden under their jackets.
“What can we do for you?” asked the guard on the right.
“I wish to see the supervisor. Mr. Rogoff, I believe, is the name.” Andrianov ran his fingers along the lapel of his jacket and recorded both men’s responses. The standard-issue diplomatic equipment had lain unused in his wardrobe since he had come to Zeta Orgo. It felt good to use it.
It felt good to be doing something that would aid E
arth — and his own career.
“Rogoff’s been rotated,” the leader of the pair said. “Got a new super.”
“Indeed. I don’t have any record of Mr. Rogoff’s departure.”
“Why should you? He’s an IM employee.”
“And I am consul for this world. Exit visas are required. We need to know how many Earth citizens are on-planet at any given time.” Andrianov remembered the unpleasant repercussions on Angel 2 when the natives rioted and began killing indiscriminately. It had taken him weeks to get an order of magnitude estimate of the Earthmen on-planet. He had never been able to identify them all.
Andrianov tried to push that from his mind. In part, his handling of the aftermath on Angel had led to his assignment here.
“You’re the consul?” asked the subordinate, his eyebrows arching. “Never saw you around here before.”
“My business is with Rogoff — or whoever has assumed his duties.”
“That’d be Humbolt.”
Andrianov stiffened. From Kinsolving’s account, Director Kenneth Humbolt figured prominently in this so-called Stellar Death Plan. He tried not to keep from grinning broadly and giving away any element of surprise he might bring to bear on Humbolt.
“Director of the company, isn’t he?”
The guards eyed him suspiciously. “Let me put in a buzz for him,” the leader said.
Andrianov jumped when a soft voice at his elbow said, “Thank you, men. I’ll see to this.”
Andrianov spun about to see a gaudily dressed man, easily half a head taller, standing beside him. He had not heard anyone approach. In some way, he had the feeling that this peacock of a man had been summoned. But how?
“I am Mr. Humbolt’s personal assistant,” Cameron said. “He’s told me so much about you, Mr. Andrianov.”
The consul swelled with pride. Here was proof that his position mattered with some people.
The smile faded and was replaced by a frown. “I don’t believe your visa was processed. Nor was this Humbolt’s.”
“A slight problem, no doubt. Come, sir, come into the offices and we’ll discuss the matter at greater length, if you can spare the time from your busy schedule.” Cameron took Andrianov by the elbow and guided him into the warehouse. “The stack of authorizations can be piled a light-year deep at times. Takes a certain amount of time to filter down to your desk, I’m sure. You must be busy, very busy.”
“Not that busy,” Andrianov said. Something about this brightly bedecked man bothered him. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Cameron.” Andrianov forced himself to maintain diplomatic calm. This was the man Kinsolving had accused of the most vile crimes imaginable. Andrianov glanced around, then lightly brushed his fingertips over another toggle hidden in his clothing. No responding warmth came to his upper arm to signal the presence of robotic spy devices. His diplomatic sensing equipment was the finest the diplomatic corps could provide. Not even a demented genius like this Cameron was made out to be could thwart Earth’s most advanced microelectronics.
Andrianov relaxed, secure in the knowledge that his spy devices worked — and that Cameron had none trained on him.
“What do you have in your latest shipment, Mr. Cameron?” Andrianov asked, looking around to find the crates Kinsolving had recorded. He saw nothing suspicious.
“The usual. Quite a few cases of strain-free single crystals. We work mines on a dozen different worlds. The most profitable are those on Deepdig.” Andrianov tried not to respond to this. Kinsolving had mentioned being supervisor on this planet. “Rare earth crystals.” Cameron went on, not noticing the nervous jerk Andrianov had made when Deepdig was mentioned.
“The locals use a great deal of the rarer products in their equipment. You wouldn’t know what that use is, would you?”
Cameron shook his head sadly. “No, Mr. Consul, I don’t. Our trade agreements with Zeta Orgo 4 require us to deliver and not pry. I have been told that the natives are superb with their applications work. Just a rumour, mind you, since we’ve never seen their products. That would be a violation of myriad other agreements, of course.”
“Yes, yes, the interlocking trade agreements.”
“Those do hold back humanity,” Cameron said. “Think how we might progress if we could get the most recent of every world’s products for study instead of being relegated to only furnishing raw materials like colonials.”
“We’re well compensated,” said Andrianov. He stopped and gawked. A plastic crate lay open, its top pulled back. “Come along, sir. Director Humbolt will — ”
“A moment. Let me look.” Andrianov toggled his recording cameras as he peered into the open crate. He let out a pent-up breath he had not known he was holding when he found the inside empty.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” asked Cameron. “I’m certain we could provide it if you’d only let us know.”
“Part of my job is to regulate trade. I fear I’ve been lax. Not enough time…you realize how that can be.”
Cameron made a neutral noise that might have been agreement or derision.
An office door opened and a man Andrianov recognized from Kinsolving’s description looked out.
“You must be Mr. Humbolt.” Andrianov thrust out his hand. “I’m planetary consul, here to check on some paperwork problems I’ve encountered. Too many people coming and going without visas.”
“Cameron, what is this? A joke?”
“Oh, no, sir,” said Cameron. “He is consul.”
“Get rid of him. We’ve got work to do.”
“Sir, that wouldn’t be wise.”
“No,” cut in Andrianov, “it wouldn’t. I am the duly appointed arm of Earth on this world. I can revoke your operating permits and see Interstellar Materials thrown off-planet if you fail to comply with my lawful requests.” Humbolt looked as if he were working on some medical disorder deep within his gut. He gestured. Andrianov followed, head high.
The office lacked even the modicum of civilization found in his own. Andrianov began to feel superior. Kinsolving had overstated the problem, he was certain now. These two were not the cunning, ruthless geniuses he had made them out to be. They were just like him — harried bureaucrats.
They might do a bit of smuggling on the side, but Andrianov could not see them doing anything more dangerous. However the brain burners entered Web society, it was not through these men’s efforts. Andrianov’s recording devices had found nothing to hint at illicit storage in this warehouse, and he had specifically set his detectors for purified cerium used in the Boxes of Delights.
“What is it I can do for you, uh — ”
“Andrianov,” supplied Cameron.
“What can IM do for you, Consul Andrianov?” Humbolt had regained his composure and smiled winningly. But Andrianov had been in diplomatic circles long enough to see through such superficial bonhomie. He had relied on it himself enough times at social functions not to recognize it instantly.
“There have been massive movements of personnel on and off this world unreported to my office. Cargo has been delivered and removed without my official seal being affixed.”
“Sir, there has been some confusion in our office. Explain to him, Cameron.”
“Yes, of course, Kenneth.”
The use of the director’s first name made Andrianov sit straighter in his chair. It blossomed like a nova in his belly. Cameron toyed with the director — a man supposedly his superior. For the first time Andrianov experienced a pang of fear. The situation here was not as he had thought. If he had missed the power structure so completely, what else had he missed?
“You see, Consul,” Cameron said in an unctuous voice, “IM has had a small disaster to contend with. Supervisor Rogoff died. We acted in the best interests of humanity. We returned his body to Gamma Tertius 4 for burial. This left the position of supervisor open, but promoting someone to such an important post is not something done without thought. Chairman Fremont sent Kenneth to fill in, until
a permanent appointment can be made.”
Again came the jab, the use of the director’s first name. Andrianov knew that every word Cameron uttered was a lie. He toggled all his recording and sensing equipment. Whatever went on in this room must be fully documented so that he could study it at leisure.
“Quit outgassing, Cameron. He’s not buying a word of it.” Humbolt sank into the chair behind the simple wood desk.
“I wonder where we went wrong,” Cameron said.
“Look here, you — ” Andrianov squawked when Cameron savagely struck him. His head snapped back and for an instant he blacked out. He regained his senses slowly. A trickle of blood ran from a cut lip.
“The consulate is a solitary post on Web,” said Cameron. “He doesn’t even have a human secretary. Possibly he has a Bizzie mistress. Do you?”
“Sir!”
“Cameron, let that be. Who cares? What are we going to do with him? He obviously suspects something. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come here with all his electronics flashing.”
“What are you saying? Look, Director Humbolt — ” Again Cameron battered him to silence.
“Your standard-issue diplomatic surveillance equipment is woefully inadequate, Consul.” Cameron began a detailed description of every device Andrianov carried, including two that bore confidential ratings. “I designed better sensing devices when I was still a student in undergraduate classes.”
“Forget the bragging, Cameron. What are we going to do with him?”
“That’s easy,” replied Cameron. “The real crux of the matter is how he learned that anything was amiss. I suspect that Chairman Fremont was right in sending me to be sure of our Mr. Kinsolving’s demise. Was it Barton Kinsolving, Mr. Consul?”
“By all space, it is!” gasped Humbolt. “How did that bastard escape?”
“He’s a very capable man. More than I thought.”
Andrianov forced his way across the room and put his back against a wall. “You cannot harm me! I’m an emissary of Earth! There’ll be hell to pay if you touch me again!”
The Alien Web (Masters of Space Book 2) Page 9
