The Mack Reynolds Megapack

by Mack Reynolds

  * * * *

  They ran into a minor difficulty upon arrival at New Delos. The captain called both Ronny Bronston and Tog Lee Chang Chu to the bridge.

  He nodded in the direction of the communications screen. A bald headed, robed character—obviously a priest—scowled at them.

  Captain Woiski said, “The Sub-Bishop informs me that the provisional government has ruled that any spacecraft landing on New Delos cannot take off again without permission and that every individual who lands, even United Planets personnel, will need an exit visa before being allowed to depart.”

  Ronny said, “Then you can’t land?”

  The captain said reasonably, “My destination is Merlini. I’ve gone out of my way slightly to drop you off here. But I can’t afford to take the chance of having my ship tied up for what might be an indefinite period. Evidently, there’s considerably civil disorder down there.”

  From the screen the priest snapped, “That is an inaccurate manner of describing the situation.”

  “Sorry,” the captain said dryly.

  Ronny Bronston said desperately, “But, captain, Miss Tog and I simply have to land.” He reached for his badge. “High priority, Bureau of Investigation.”

  The captain shrugged his hefty shoulders. “Sorry, I have no instructions that allow me to risk tying up my ship. Here’s a possibility. Can you pilot a landing craft? I could spare you one, then you and your assistant would be the only ones involved. You could turn it over to whatever Space Forces base we have here.”

  Ronny said miserably, “No. I’m not a space pilot.”

  “I am,” Tog said softly. “The idea sounds excellent.”

  “We shall expect you,” the Sub-Bishop said. The screen went blank.

  Tog Lee Chang Chu piloted a landing craft with the same verve that she seemed to be able to handle any other responsibility. As he sat in the seat next to her, Ronny Bronston took in her practiced flicking of the controls from the side of his eyes. He wondered vaguely at the efficiency of such Section G officials as Metaxa and Jakes that they would assign an unknown quality such as himself to a task as important as running down Tommy Paine, and then as an assistant provide him with an experienced operative such as Tog. The bureaucratic mind can be a dilly, he decided. Was the fact that she was a rather delicately constructed girl a factor? He felt the weight of the Model-H gun nestled under his left armpit. Perhaps in the clutch Section G preferred men as agents.

  They swooped into a landing that brought them as close to the control tower as was practical. In a matter of moments there was a guard of twenty or more sloppily uniformed men about their small craft.

  Tog made a move. “Welcoming committee,” she said.

  * * * *

  They climbed out the circular port, and flashed their United Planets Bureau of Investigation badges to the youngish looking soldier who seemed in command. He was indecisive.

  “United Planets?” he said. “All I know is I’m supposed to arrest anybody landing.”

  Ronny snapped, “We’re to be taken immediately to United Planets headquarters.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. I don’t take orders from foreigners.”

  One of his men was nervously fingering the trigger of his submachine gun.

  Ronny’s mouth went dry. He had the feeling of being high, high on a rock face, inadequately belayed from above.

  Tog said smoothly, “But, major, I’m sure whoever issued your orders had no expectation of a special delegation from the United Planets coming to congratulate your new authorities on their success. Of course, it’s unknown to arrest a delegation from United Planets.”

  “It is?” he frowned at her. “I mean, you are?”

  “Yes,” Tog said sweetly.

  Ronny took the hint. “Where can we find a vehicle, major, to get us to the capital and to United Planets headquarters? Evidently we arrived before we were expected. There should have been a big welcoming committee here.”

  “Oh,” the obviously recently promoted lad said hesitantly. “Well, I suppose we can make arrangements. This way please.” He grinned at Tog as they walked toward the administration building. “Do all girls dress like you on Earth?”

  “Well, no,” she said demurely.

  “That’s too bad,” he said gallantly.

  “Why, major!” Tog said, keeping her eyes on the tarmac.

  At the administration building there was little of order, but eventually they managed to arrange for their transportation. Luckily, they were supplied with a chauffeur driven helio-car.

  Luckily, because without the chauffeur to help them run the gauntlet they would have been held up by parades, demonstrations and monstrous street meetings a dozen times before they ever reached their destination. Twice, Ronny stopped short of drawing his gun only by a fraction when half drunken demonstrators stopped them.

  The driver, a wispy, sad looking type, shook his head. “There’s no going back now,” he told them over his shoulder. “No going back. Last week I was all with the rest, I never did believe David the One was really Immortal. But you was just used to the idea, see? It’d always been that way, with the priests running everything and we was used to it. Now I wish we was still that way. At least you knew how you stood, see? Now, what’s going to happen?”

  “That’s an interesting question,” Tog said politely.

  Ronny said, “Possibly you’ll have the chance to build a better world, now.”

  The driver shot a contemptuous look over his shoulder. “Better world? What do I want with a better world? I just don’t want to be bothered. I’ve been getting my three squares a day, got a nice little flat for my family. How do I know it’s not going to be a worse world?”

  “That’s always a possibility,” Tog told him. “Do most people seem to feel the same?”

  “Practically everybody I know does,” he said glumly. “But the fat’s in the fire now. The priests are trying to hold on but their government is falling apart all over the place.”

  “Well,” Ronny said, “at least you can figure just about anything in the way of a new government will be better than one based on superstition and inquisition. It couldn’t get worse.”

  “Things can always get worse,” the other contradicted him sadly.

  * * * *

  They left the cab before an impressively tall, many windowed building in city center. As they mounted the steps, Ronny frowned at her. “You seemed to be encouraging that man in his pessimism. So far as I can see, the best thing that ever happened to this planet was toppling that phony priesthood.”

  “Perhaps,” she said agreeably. “However, the man’s mind was an ossified one. A surprisingly large percentage of people have them, especially when it comes to institutions such as religion and government. We weren’t going to be able to teach him anything, but it was possible to learn from him.”

  Ronny grunted his disgust. “What could we possibly learn from him?”

  Tog said mildly, “We could learn what people of the street were thinking. It might give us some ideas about what direction the new government will take.”

  They approached the portals of the building and were halted by an armed Space Forces guard of half a dozen men. Their sergeant saluted, taking in their obvious other-planet clothing.

  “Identifications, please,” he said briskly.

  They showed their badges and were passed on through. Ronny said to him, “Much trouble, sergeant?”

  The other shrugged. “No. Just precautions, sir. We’ve been here only three or four weeks. Civil disturbance. We’re used to it. Were over on Montezuma two basic months ago. Now there was real trouble. Had to shoot our way out.”

  Tog called, “Coming Ronny? I have this elevator waiting.”

  He followed her, scowling. An idea was trying to work its way through. Somehow he missed getting it.

  Headquarters of the Department of Justice were on the eighth floor. A receptionist clerk led them through three or four doors to the single offi
ce which housed Section G.

  A red eyed, exhausted agent looked up from the sole desk and snarled a question at them. Ronny didn’t get it, but Tog said mildly, “Probationary Agent Ronald Bronston and Tog Lee Chang Chu. On special assignment.” She flicked open her badge so that the other could see it.

  His manner changed. “Sorry,” he said, getting up to shake hands. “I’m Mouley Hassan, in charge of Section G on New Delos. We’ve just had a crisis here, as you can imagine. The worst of it’s now over.” He added sourly, “I hope. All my assistants have already taken off for Avalon.” He was a short statured, dark complected man, his features betraying his Semitic background.

  Ronny shook hands with him and said, “Sorry to bother you at a time like this.”

  They found chairs and Mouley Hassan flicked a key on his order box and said to them, “How about a drink? They make a wonderful sparkling wine on this planet. Trust any theocracy to have top potables.”

  Ronny accepted the offer, Tog refused it politely. She sat demurely, her hands in her lap.

  Mouley Hassan ran a weary hand through already mussed hair. “What’s this special assignment you’re on?”

  Ronny said, “Commissioner Metaxa has sent me looking for Tommy Paine.”

  “Tommy Paine!” the other blurted. “At a time like this, when I haven’t had three nights’ sleep in the last three basic weeks, you come around looking for Tommy Paine?”

  Ronny was taken aback. “Sid Jakes seemed to think this might be one of Paine’s jobs.”

  Tog said mildly, “What better place to look for Tommy Paine, than in a situation like this, Agent Hassan?” Her eyebrows went up. “Or don’t you think the quest for Paine is an important one?”

  The other subsided somewhat. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “I’m deathly tired. Do whatever you want. But don’t expect much from me.”

  Tog said, just a trifle tartly, Ronny thought, “We’ll have to call on you, as usual, Agent Hassan. There’s probably no single job in Section G more important than the pursuit of Tommy Paine.”

  “All right, all right,” Mouley Hassan admitted. “I’ll co-operate. How long have you been away from Earth?” he said to Ronny.

  “About one basic week.”

  “Oh,” he grunted. “This is your first stop, eh? Well, I don’t envy you your job.” He brought a cool bottle from a delivery drawer in the desk along with two glasses. “Here’s the wine.”

  Ronny leaned forward to accept the glass. “This situation here,” he said, “do you think it can be laid to Paine?”

  Mouley Hassan shrugged wearily. “I don’t know.”

  Ronny sipped the drink, looking at the tired agent over the glass rim. “From what we understand, check has been kept on all persons leaving the planet since the bombing.”

  “Check is right. There’s only one ship that took off and it carried nobody except my assistants. If you ask me, I still needed them, but some brass hat back on Earth decided they were more necessary over on Avalon.” He was disgusted.

  Ronny put the glass down. “You mean only one ship’s left this planet since the God-King was killed?”

  “That’s right. It was like pulling teeth to get the visas.”

  “How many men aboard?”

  Mouley Hassan looked at him speculatively. “Four-man crew and six Section G operatives.”

  Tog said brightly, “Why, that means, then, that either Tommy Paine is still on this planet, or he’s one of the passengers or crew members of that ship.” She added, “That is, of course, unless he had a private craft, hidden away somewhere.”

  Ronny slumped back into his chair as some of the ramifications came home to him. “If it was Tommy Paine at all,” he said.

  Mouley Hassan nodded. “That’s always a point.” He finished his glass and looked pleadingly at Tog. “Look, I have work. If I can finish some of it, I might have time for some sleep. Couldn’t we postpone the search for Tommy Paine.”

  Tog said nothing to him.

  Ronny came to his feet. “We’ll get along. A couple of ideas occur to me. I’ll check with you later.”

  “Fine,” the agent said. He shook hands with them again. He said, somehow more to Tog than to Ronny, “I know how important your job is. It’s just that I’ve been pushed to the point where I can’t operate efficiently.”

  She smiled her understanding, gave him her small, delicate hand.

  In the elevator, Ronny said to her, “Why should this sort of thing particularly affect Section G?”

  Tog said, “It’s times like this that planets drop out of the UP. Or, possibly, get into the hands of some jingoistic military group and start off halfcocked to provoke a war with some other planet, or to missionarize or propagandize it.” She thought about it a moment. “A new revolution, in government or religion, seems almost invariably to want to spread the light. An absolute compulsion to bring to others the new truths that they’ve found.” She added, her voice holding a trace of mockery, “Usually the new truths are rather hoary ones, and there are few interested in hearing them.”

  * * * *

  They spent their first day in getting accommodations in a centrally located hotel, in making arrangements, through the Department of Justice, for the local means of exchange—it turned out to be coinage, based on gold—and getting the feel of their surroundings.

  Evidently Delos, the capital city of the planet New Delos, was but slowly emerging from the chaos that had taken over on the assassination. A provisional government, composed of representatives of half a dozen different organizations which had sprung up like mushrooms following the collapse of the regime, had assumed power. Elections had been promised and were to be brought off when arrangements could be made.

  Meanwhile, the actual government was still largely in the hands of the lower echelons of the priesthood. A nervous priesthood it was, seemingly desirous of getting out from under while the going was good, afraid of being held responsible for former excesses.

  Ronny Bronston, high hopes still in his head, looked up the Sub-Bishop who had given them landing orders while they were still aboard the Space Forces cruiser. Tog was off making arrangements for various details involved in their being in Delos in its time of crisis.

  A dozen times, on his way over to keep his appointment with the official, Ronny had to step into doorways, or in other wise make himself inconspicuous. Gangs of demonstrators roamed the street, some of them drunken, looking for trouble, and scornful of police or the military. Twice, when it looked as though he might be roughed up, Ronny drew his gun and held it in open sight, ready for use, but not threateningly. The demonstrators made off.

  His throat was dry by the time he reached his destination. The life of a Section G agent, on interplanetary assignment, had its drawbacks.

  The Sub-Bishop had formerly been in charge of Interplanetary Communications which involved commerce as well as intercourse with United Planets. It must have been an ultra-responsible position only a month ago. Now his offices were all but deserted.

  He looked at Ronny’s badge, only vaguely interested. “Section G of the Bureau of Investigation,” he said. “I don’t believe I am aware of your responsibilities. However,” he nodded with sour courtesy, “please be seated. You must forgive my lack of ability to offer refreshment. Isn’t there an old tradition about rats deserting a sinking ship? I am afraid my former assistants had rodentlike instincts.”

  Ronny said, “Section G deals with Interplanetary Security, sir—”

  “I am addressed as Holiness,” the other said.

  Ronny looked at him. “Sorry,” he said. “I am a citizen of the United Planets, not any one planet, even Earth. UP citizens have complete religious freedom. In my case I am unaffiliated with any church.”

  The Sub-Bishop let it pass. He said sourly, “I am afraid that even here on New Delos, I am seldom honoured by my title any more. Go on, you say you deal with Interplanetary Security.”

  “That’s correct. In cases like this we’
re interested in checking to see if there is any possibility that citizens of planets other than New Delos are involved in your internal affairs.”

  The other’s eyes were suddenly slits. He said, heavily, “You suspect that David the One was assassinated by an alien?”

  Ronny had to tread carefully here. “I make no such suggestion. I am merely here to check on the possibility. If such was the case, my duty would be to arrest the man, or men.”

  “If we got hold of him, you’d have small chance of asserting your authority,” the priest growled. “What did you want to know?”

  “I understand that no interplanetary craft have left New Delos since the assassination.”

  “None except a United Planets ship which was carefully inspected.”

  Ronny said tightly, “But what facilities do you have to check on secret spaceports, possibly located in some remote desert or mountain area?”

  The New Delian laughed sourly. “There is no other planet in all the United Planets with our degree of security. We even imported the most recent developments in artificial satellites equipped with the most delicate of detection devices. I assure you, it is utterly impossible for a spacecraft to land or take off from New Delos without our knowledge.”

  Ronny Bronston’s eyes lit with excitement. “These security measures of yours. To what extent do you keep under observation all aliens on the planet?”

  The priest’s chuckle had a nasty quality. “You are quite ignorant of our institutions, evidently. Every person on New Delos, in every way of life, was under constant survey from the cradle to the grave. Aliens were highly discouraged. When they appeared on New Delos at all, they were restricted in their movements to this, our capital city.”

  Ronny let air whistle from his lungs. “Then,” he said triumphantly, “if any alien had anything to do with this, he is still on the planet. Can you get me a list of all aliens?”

  The other laughed again, still sourly. “But there are none. None except you employees of United Planets. I’m afraid you’re on a wild-goose chase.”

  Ronny stared at him blankly. “But commercial representatives, cultural exchange—”

  The priest said flatly, “No. None at all. All commerce was handled through UP. We encouraged no cultural exchanges. We wished to keep our people uncorrupted. United Planets alone had the right to land on our one spaceport.”