by Ron Hubbard
"What are those boxes I saw being hauled in?" he demanded. "He's got things there I am sure he's going to use to try to make this mission a success. You know very well it must fail. I have told you time and again we cannot possibly let it succeed." He did not want any answer. He considered for a moment. Then he said, "Very well. In two days I will bring a special crew in here. You will distract Heller to some other place and we will inspect what he is taking." Through a crack in the crates we could see the tug.
Heller slid down a rope and dropped lightly to the pavement. He beckoned and five Apparatus hangar people came over to him swiftly. They listened to him interestedly and laughed a couple of times and then sped off, quite unlike Apparatus personnel, to do what Heller had asked.
I glanced at Lombar. He had his upper lip raised in an expression of the purest hate. His eyes began to smolder. Under his breath he was muttering about "athletes" and "Royal officers" and "snobs," a stream of profanity mixed in. There was no doubt that he hated Heller and all his kind.
Lombar suddenly turned to me. "You are going to have crew trouble. That (bleepard) will get around them. He'll breed loyalty. He'll undermine your control of any crew unless I handle it." He thought for a moment. "Yes, yes, that will do it. I'llput the captain and crew aboard that tug the day she leaves." For the first time, I found courage to speak. I squeaked, "She has Will-be Was main drives. She is very quick and sudden. She is a dangerous ship!"
"All the better," said Lombar. He had heard me! "Will-be Was main drives. That will be a little harder but I will find and fix up a crew!" I was still gripping the newssheet. He snatched it back from me and put it in his pocket. "That's another thing. Have you heard any clues as to who leaked that original story about Heller and the mission? I thought not. I'm looking. I'm looking. I have to do everything myself but I'll find whoever it was!" Heller was guiding down a piece of plating. Lombar looked through the crack at him. He swore again. It made him savage.
Lombar turned and seized my tunic lapels. He snapped me very close to him. From nowhere the stinger had appeared and he cut painfully at my leg to punctuate his speech.
"You are going to get this mission out of here by my deadline! If you don't we really could have Crown inspectors all over this hangar and there would be Hells for everyone! The whole Blito-P3 project is threatened by this mission! Twenty-four hours before departure, you and I will have another meeting! So you get this moving. You get Heller going! You get him off this planet! And if you don't make it by deadline, I will kill you very slowly with my bare hands!" The stinger struck again. "And one more last thing: As a punishment for attempting to privately short-circuit this rake-off to yourself, you are not going to get a single credit of the additional allocation! You are a thief!" He dropped me and I staggered. I stood there for a little while, numb and hurting. Finally I realized Lom-bar had left: an old disguised airtruck was flying away.
Once more I started breathing. I got my legs working and made it over to the pile of rusty plates. I sank down. I was surprised to still be alive, to still have four paychecks. I had almost begun to cheer up when a horrible realization hit me.
He had said "deadline." That we had to be gone by his deadline. But he had not said when that deadline was!
I tried to make some estimate. Twenty-seven million had been added to the allocation. That meant it would take a couple days for him and Endow to dream up some fake companies and register them, maybe a couple days more, for appearances' sake, to date their billings and get them stamped. I knew they would not be careless about these details. Only the chance for a rake-off, personally, of twenty-seven million credits had saved my life: I had no illusions about that. But when was this deadline?
Then another horrible thought hit me. I doubted very, very much that I could prevail upon Heller to wind up his refit, finish the tug and get going. That was the main problem! That is what I had to work on.
And the very thought of pushing him made me feel ill!
PART NINE
Chapter 1
Probably I should have waited until I was less in shock from Lombar's visit. But I knew I had to act while spurred with anxiety, newly freshened, to get off this planet.
To get Heller really going I had to pry him apart from Krak!
My screaming necessity was so great that it thrust into my mind a vital fact about Heller I had not used. He had been disciplined early in his career for refusing to let his crew be electric-shock trained. He had been quite violent about it, he detested electric-shock training. He had even said he wouldn't use a crew with "fried brains." Yet here he was all involved with a female trainer who must use nothing else!
I saw Heller go into the tug.
Now was the time!
I straightened up my tunic. I made sure my stungun was loose in its holster in case I had to draw.
With determination, I entered the airlock.
Heller was in the flight deck. Workmen had more or less reassembled the panels and controls and Heller was checking the size of the base mount on the maneuvering sight in front of the astropilot's chair. He had a little rule out and was measuring away.
My back was to the passageway. There was no one else about. I had to get this over with.
"Heller," I said, "there is something you do not know."
"Probably a whole universe full," he said, going on with his measuring.
"Do you remember," I said, "coming within a hair of being court-martialled because you refused to let a training officer electric-shock train your crew?" I had his attention now. He was turned slightly toward me, a frown of curiosity on his face.
"There is something you must know. You hate electric-shock training. Krak has you fooled! She uses nothing else! She is just a dirty cheat that is . . ." The back of his hand moved so fast I did not even see it coming!
It cracked against my mouth!
I went backwards as though I had been hit by a zipbus, skidding down the passageway.
He was stepping quickly in my direction. From the expression on his face, I was certain he was going to kill me!
I grabbed the butt of my holstered gun.
My arm would not pull it!
I tried again. I could notget the muscles of that arm to function!
It was as though I had abruptly become totally paralyzed from the shoulder to the fingertips!
I was still certain he was going to kill me. He knelt down in front of me.
"There is something youdon't know!" he said. "That very first day I went into the training room, I saw those brutal, shock-training machines. I went around to them one after the other. I checked their connections and control panels.
"Not one of those machines had been used for years! They were totally inoperational!"His voice went very hard. "You had better be very careful of spreading lies about the Countess Krak!" I was more certain than ever that he was going to kill me. I strenuously tried to pull my gun. My arm just plain wouldn't work!
Those eyes, blue as gas flames, felt like they were scorching holes in my skull.
His hand moved toward one of his inside breast pockets.
I was certain he was going to take out a blastick or knife and finish me off.
I made a frantic effort to pull my gun. My hand and arm just plain wouldn't obey me!
He had a paper in his hand. No, a copy of a clipping from a newssheet.
"I had this case looked up in the newssheet files. It concerns the deathbed confession of the former Assistant Lord of Education for Manco. See for yourself." He turned it to me. I saw it. That's what it was. But my eyes switched back at him in terror.
Once more I tried to pull my gun. My muscles again would not work!
Heller was looking at the sheet. "It clearly states here that the Manco Domestic Police interrupted a burglary and shot someone when he fled. That someone turned out to be the Assistant Lord of Education for Manco!
"He was dying of wounds. He wanted to make a confession and he did. He said that he had noticed one of his
new university graduates was extremely skilled in training. Her father, the stage magician, Count Krak, had been killed recently in a plane crash. The mother, a noted trainer named Ailaena, had gone into seclusion from sorrow.
"This Assistant Lord of Education confessed that he had been about to be ruined with gambling debts. He conceived a plan. He kidnapped Ailaena. Then he told the daughter, Lissus Moam, that he would torture her mother to death unless Lissus trained forty-three children he would select from poor houses.
"He said he told Lissus Moam that it was a government project, ordered by the Apparatus. They wanted small operatives that could penetrate enemy strongholds and bring back information. He promised that if she did this, he would release her mother, Ailaena, unharmed.
"When he finally had the children trained, he put them to work robbing banks. He was very afraid there would be witnesses to these robberies. He himself gave the children weapons and told them they must murder every guard. When the children did not want to do this, he capitalized on the fact that the children loved Lissus. He told the children that if they did not murder all guards, he himself would murder Lissus Moam. The children were certain he would. He told them that if they talked or ever mentioned his name, he would kill Lissus Moam with torture.
"When Lissus had finished the training, this insane fool killed her mother. He held Lissus prisoner in case the children were caught.
"The children were eventually caught, probably due to his faulty information or greed. He was able to produce and denounce Lissus Moam as the instigator and got off himself without suspicion.
"The children were executed. Lissus Moam was sentenced to die but, due to her skills, was spirited away by the Apparatus and some criminal was executed in her place.
"The Apparatus has been holding an innocent person for nearly three years! You have not even been decent enough to tell her!" I was quite certain I myself was going to die in the next few seconds or minutes, such was the expression in those eyes!
Valiantly, I once again attempted to make my arm work. It would not function!
"I," said Heller, "am going to put this in the hands of legal counsels. I am going to clear her name. And I am going to marry the Countess Krak!" He reached toward me. I was certain he was going to kill me.
I once more tried to pull my gun.
But he got me to my feet and into the crew salon. He sat me in a chair. He went to a locker and got a napkin and then he dampened it at the water bar.
His back was turned to me so I once more tried to draw my gun. It was futile. I couldn't make either hand or arm work. I was paralyzed!
He came back and began to sponge the small spot of blood at the side of my mouth. "I am sorry I hit you. I wasn't thinking. I just suddenly reacted. I assure you, that isn't like me. I was just trying to shut you up, not trying to knock you down." Gods help me if he had really hit!
"I just got this this morning," he said. "I was going to tell her tonight as a surprise and ask her to marry me. We can certainly delay this mission long enough for a proper clearing of her name and a wedding. The mission isn't that urgent. Planets don't go to pieces in a day." Perhaps it was the cool water. Perhaps it was his softer tone. But, faced with this further threat of delay, I found courage enough to talk.
"No, no, no," I said. "You mustn't start action to clear her name." He drew back.
"You don't understand the legalities," I babbled.
"When a person is listed as dead, they destroy all the records! Right in the master data file, she is no longer listed. That Assistant Lord of Education for Manco is also dead. That confession applies to people who are dead. The Domestic Police will have destroyed all those records. You are dealing with a nonperson. Lissus Moam and the Countess Krak do not exist in the world of the living! It says so right in the master files. I have checked!" His perplexity encouraged me. They don't educate the Fleet in civilian legal procedures. But what I said was true.
I plunged on. "Legally, you cannot raise the dead. Legally, you can get no papers or status for the dead. Legally, you can't marry the dead! And the only evidence you have is that newspaper clipping – and it is not legal evidence!" What I wasn't telling him was that at the slightest hint that a Spiteos prisoner would be released to the world, that prisoner would be killed. In fact, Heller was lucky himself to know of Spiteos and still be alive: it was only permitted because Lombar had thought he would soon be gone to Blito-P3 and the Grand Council's familiarity with his name. He was luckier than he knew!
He was hesitating. If I could get him off this planet, he would never again be in a position to worry about the Countess Krak. I added a brilliant stroke.
"I am trained in these things and you are not," I said. "If you leave as soon as possible on this mission, I give you my solemn oath that when you return, I will help you in this. I will guide you through it. And without my help, you could not possibly free her and restore her to the world." It was a safe oath. He would never come back. I wondered why I was suddenly feeling sick at my stomach. The blow, probably.
He looked at me. He was perplexed, doubtful. He said, "I will think it over." I saw that that was all I could get. I still was afraid of him. My hand still gripped the butt of my gun.
I got out of there as quickly as I could! I had found myself defenseless in the face of death. It was terrifying!
Chapter 2
Outside, in the dimness of the hangar, I tried to move my arm. It was totally unresponsive. It would swing and dangle but the elbow and wrist would not bend at my command. The fingers would not flex. I felt I was done for!
Considerations that the mission was again stalled, that I was under threat of death from Lombar, that I could lose my paychecks and be cashiered and wind up as a gutter bum in Slum City were all acute enough. But they momentarily took second place to this arm.
One doesn't get personal care or disability in the Apparatus. When one is injured or becomes physically incapable of doing his job, that's it. He isn't retired. If he has held a security-sensitive post, he isn't dropped. He is simply shot in the head and the body dumped in any handy ditch.
The sensation of being hemmed in by a pack of wild beasts and having no chance of defending myself was pushing me toward panic. If I could not draw and fire a gun, I was at the total mercy of any Apparatus personnel I chanced to meet. I knew too many who would like to see me out of the way.
I disguised the disability as best I could and crept toward my airbus.
It was late afternoon, work in the area had slacked off, there were not many about.
My driver had apparently had a hard day running around on Heller's errands. Ske was sprawled out in the back, taking a nap. I stood there for a moment, looking at him through the open window. I was on the verge of opening the door and telling him to take me somewhere when a new thought stayed my left hand.
I had no money!
Obviously, I needed physical attention from a doctor. I vividly recalled the abrupt departure of the prostitute practitioner when he found I had no credits.
If Ske had been running errands, then he had money on him. With my left hand I silently opened the door. Without making the vehicle tilt, I leaned over him.
With practiced lightness I went through his uppermost two tunic pockets.
Luck!
My trained fingers drew out a ten-credit note!
I backed up, ready to leave.
"Wait a minute!" said Ske in a plaintive voice, "that ain't my money! It was the deposit on the comedy cop uniforms! I've got to return it to Officer Heller!" He was lying. He always lies. I hoped that he hadn't noticed my right arm was disabled. He might attack me. I backed away so that I was well clear of him.
My problem now was where to find a doctor. I must not get one that could report this disability. I was racking my wits about it when my attention was drawn to a transport spaceship.
A huge, wheeled gantry was standing outside the hangar, gripping the vessel in its launch claws. The tall ship rose about four hundred
and fifty feet as it sat on its tail. It was black, old, dented and shabby. An Apparatus troop carrier! When they were fuelled or repaired or whatever else they did to them in the hangar, their gantries were pushed out into the leaving zone. This was usually done toward sunset: the ship's crew was brought from barracks and put aboard and were supposed to spend the night readying their craft for takeoff in the dawn.
This one was outward bound for some planet of the Confederacy. She would have about fifty crew. Before sunrise, anywhere from two to five thousand Apparatus guard troops would be paraded out there and then file aboard to be packed like corpses into the personnel racks for the voyage. That ship would be gone for months and, with luck, within those months I, too, would be gone.
They would have a health officer on board!
It was my best bet. I would get him to fix this arm and no one would be the wiser.
I approached the gantry. The monstrous vessel loomed above me. There was a guard at the personnel loading airlock, a bored specimen. He blocked my way.
"I must inspect the vessel prior to its departure," I said and fished with my left hand for my identoplate.
The guard didn't bother to look at it. I entered the airlock. The stink of an Apparatus vessel hit me. Getting it ready for a voyage didn't include washing its interior: weightlessness can bring nausea and this vessel probably had troop vomit left over from its maiden voyage centuries before.
When they stand in gantries, their passageways are vertical. I had to climb and it was difficult with only one hand to hold to the bars. And even this was complicated by the many switchovers caused by branching passages.
Any crew or ship officers' cubicles would be way up toward the nose. It was easy to get lost inside these gigantic, fat-bellied things. The direction arrows were mainly filthed into obscurity and the signs and labels could not be read. I struggled along and then was glad to hear a distant sound far above me.
