The Invaders Plan

by Ron Hubbard

  They'd probably starve trying to earn a real paycheck.

  Finally, the scientist finished. "The bulk of this stuff is just odds and ends: things you make repairs with like wires and capacitors and such. He must think he's going to be remote from base and that the ship must be liable to breakdown. Spares and such. Just junk." Lombar grunted. His face said he would expect that of a (bleeped) fool like Heller.

  "Now," said the scientist, "boxes 2, 3, 4 and 5 are a different matter. They contain the essential parts to make a miniature heavy-metal conversion plant." I looked at them. Yes, it could be electrodes and metal crucible pans and small transformers and converters. They lay snugly in their packing, edges gleaming in the light, disturbed only enough to identify what they were.

  "Hm!" said Lombar. "He thinks he is supposed to give them technology for cleaner fuel. So he isgoing to do something about fuel. I was very afraid of that!"

  "Well, yes," said the scientist, easing his plumpness down on a crossbeam. "But he isn't being very clever. Blito-P3 already has atomic power. They use it to run steam engines. They have lots of uranium. They make it into bombs. Real nitwits, by the way.

  "So if he thinks he is going to make any impression by trying to teach them to convert one heavy metal to another, he is very much paddling up the wrong sewer. They don't need more uranium. They will ignore him." Lombar was actually listening to somebody. I was amazed. "Good. Good. We can forget about boxes 2, 3, 4 and 5. I know somebody down there that will kill him if he tries it. So what's box 1?"

  "Yes, box 1. I see you noticed I gave it special attention. It's box 1 that will give you trouble, Chief." I looked at it. It said:

  Educational Aids Company.

  Delight your students even if they are children. Entertainment is the backbone of Enlightenment.

  "That's just kiddie stuff!" sneered Lombar.

  "Yes, I know, Chief. But I know your intense interest in not disturbing Earth fuels. And that particular kit is 'Elementary School Kit 13'. It's the complete set needed for laboratory bench-type lectures to atomically convert carbon up two atomic numbers to oxygen or carbon down five numbers to hydrogen. And, Chief, in a primitive fire society such as Blito-P3, hydrogen and oxygen are the primary fuels." Lombar was starting to swell up, glaring at the box as though it had called him names.

  The scientist bumbled on. "On Earth they fire-ignite carbon and count on its consuming oxygen in the atmosphere. They dig up coal and drill for petroleum – that's the carbon from old fossils turned liquid – and they fire-ignite it to produce heat. ..."

  "I know that!" snapped Lombar. "Get on with this educational kit!"

  "Well, really it's just the kiddie kit that directly converts the carbon. You must have seen them in school. They have a little converter and balloons on either side of it. The teacher pours the carbon, in any form, into the top scoop and the converter whirs away. The current generated by the released atoms goes up to those two silver rods and they pop and snap with a nice big electrical display and the two balloons fill up . . . you must have seen it in nursery school."

  "Yeah, yeah," said Lombar. I wondered if he had ever gotten through nursery school. Science wasn't his forte. But Lombar was thinking. "(Bleep) it, that thing could upset everything. Particularly one certain Earth person!"

  "Precisely," said the scientist. "And I know you don't want to offend HIM!" Bam suddenly got into the conference. "So just let me fix it so when it's used it blows up, kills Heller and a bunch of kids. Elementary solution to the elementary school!" Lombar didn't laugh at the joke. He started to nod. Then he changed his mind. "No," he said thoughtfully. And then I saw the look of cunning creeping into his face, the cunning that made Lombar the genius that got him up to the top. "No," he said again. "Bam, can you fix that converter so it will run for eight or ten hours and then break down so thoroughly nothing can fix it? No blowup. Just work for a few hours and then cease to work without any visible explanation?"

  "There's two of them in there," said the scientist.

  Bam, the expert saboteur, got the machines out and began to look into one of them. "Ah, yeah," he said. "One element. With a tiny V-nick cut into its side, it will overload the adjacent elements. Every part would have to be replaced and there'd be nothing closer than Voltar where he could get the parts." He went over and checked the scientist's other box lists. "Yep, no such elements! This is easy, Chief. One tiny nick in each machine, they'll run about seven hours and then turn into fused metal."

  "Do it," said Lombar, grinning his first grin that I had seen today. "Both machines. The amount of embarrassment that can cause will finish him. That is, of course, if he gets through a few other things planned, which is impossible. So do it." Prii had already been restoring the other cases so they did not look touched, inside or out. He is an artist at it. Bam went busily to work.

  Lombar jabbed me. "Go on outside and stall Heller if he comes back too quick. Oh, yes, remember that I have a briefing for you just before your departure. So be sure to report to me." I hastily lifted a passageway plate and crawled out. Carrying my exterminator spray rod, I strolled nonchalantly back to the truck. I got inside and took off the disguising helmet and got out of the bilious yellow suit.

  Unnoticed, I slipped out of the truck and wandered over to the office and hung around.

  Suddenly I saw the contractor limousine had landed. Heller bounced out. Lombar was not out of the ship! Heller looked like he was going to race back over!

  I stepped in front of him. "I've been waiting for you," I said.

  He almost brushed me aside.

  "What?" I said. "No completed jobs to be stamped?" Heller had a few but it didn't take me very long to stamp them. Lombar was still in the ship. What could be keeping them? Heller might go inside and see the open deckplate. I had forgotten to close it! He could stumble right into them! And Lombar would tear me to pieces!

  "Think hard," I said quickly. "Isn't there anything you really want for the ship? You know, we have a vastly increased allocation. I was supposed to tell you," I lied in the hope of gaining time, "that you had to use some of it up. It won't look good on the books unspent." Fleet people evidently don't think that way. They have some weird idea of saving the government money and spending only on essentials. Dumb! If you don't spend an allocation, it lapses!

  Heller was looking at me oddly. Then he said, "Well, we haven't ordered any flowers for the going away party."

  "Oh, good," I said. "Make out an order for flowers." He looked at me very strangely. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his mouth straight. But he took out a sheaf of blank order forms, put them on a board that usually hangs on his belt, snapped a pen into his fingers and wrote a formal order for flowers. I added two or three types and a wreath and a good-luck-on-the-voyage necklace for the ship, the kind they put on ships carrying celebrities. Then that was all I could think of. I stamped it with my identoplate.

  What in Hells was detaining Lombar?

  "Now surely," I said, "there is something else we don't have." He washaving trouble with his mouth. Sore tooth? It kept quivering. "Well, we don't have any yellow, pink and purple bubblebrew for the send-off."

  "Oh, good," I said. I had never heard of yellow or purple bubblebrew. But he wrote it all down quite solemnly. I stamped it.

  Where in HELLS was Lombar?

  As Heller was about to move toward the ship, I blocked him again. "Surely there is something else!" He looked at me. He was having real trouble with his mouth. He must have bruised it leaping about the ship the way he does. "Well, we haven't ordered a tup party, complete with polka-dot cakes and blue-skinned dancing girls for the contractors and their crews."

  "Good. Good. Write it up." So he wrote that up and I stamped it.

  NO LOMBAR!

  "Oh, we must get busy, I can see," I said. "There certainly must be some other items." Heller seemed to be having trouble with his throat. But he finally said, "Well, we can't leave out all the hangar crews and hangar guards. They'd be upset i
f we favored the contractors and forgot them. Let's see," and he seemed to consider it. "How about a going away party for them with five separate dance bands, green mountain dancing bears, flitter from the roof and fireworks?"

  "Oh, good, good, write that up!" So he wrote up the order for a huge tup party. I stamped it.

  MY GODS, WHERE THE HELLS WAS LOMBAR!

  "Surely, surely," I said, "you haven't covered everything." He was having an awful time swallowing. He finally said, "We haven't ordered new dress uniforms for Snelz's platoon."

  "Oh, wonderful. Write that up!" So he wrote that all up and even added to it new boots, new bedding for all of them and a new baton for Snelz. I stamped it.

  Lombar, for the love of all the Gods in Heavens, get out of that ship!

  "Now surely," I said, "we have not thought of everyone."

  "Oh, so we haven't," he said. "A new uniform, a new pair of boots for your driver Ske. No, we'll make it two new uniforms and two new pairs of boots and a dress uniform for special occasions." He wrote it up and I stamped it as slowly as I could.

  My eyes, flicking constantly to the airlock, had seen no sign of Lombar. Oh, my Gods, how long can I keep this up?

  "Jettero," I said pleadingly, "there must be some additional item we have forgotten." He thought hard. But he did seem to be having trouble breathing. His chest kept jiggling and his mouth was very straight.

  "Well," he said at last. "Youwon't need anything as you're going along. Ah, I have it! A whole new wardrobe for the Countess Krak!" He wrote and he wrote. Boots, dresses, jumpers, a tiara, chank-pops, on and on. Finally he was done. I stamped it.

  In agony I was looking at the airlock. No Lombar.

  And then, accidentally, my eye shifted to another direction. The exterminator truck? It was GONE!

  Oh, (bleep) him, Lombar and that bunch of hoods with him had slipped out of that ship and driven off! The coast was clear and probably had been for some time! I had been doing all this stalling totally in vain! They must have left the ship right on my heels! Maybe while I was changing in the truck!

  "That's all for now," I said quickly.

  Heller took all the stamped sheets, separated the copies. He handed the former over to an order clerk and the latter to me.

  "Thank you very much, Soltan," he said. "That was very thoughtful of you. I thought you were just playing a joke at first and that I was playing a joke on you back. But halfway through, I began to see that you meant it. I'm sorry I was laughing at you. I hope they can find that yellow and purple bubblebrew. So far as I know, it doesn't exist. And neither do the solid gold-heeled lepertige leather thigh boots I put down for the Countess. But we'll let the purchasers worry about that. I thought we were supposed to leave very quietly. But obviously, that isn't required. That sure will be some going away party! So thanks again." He clickety-clacked away on his hull shoes and was shortly swarming up a rope to complete testing the plates. I watched him sourly. These Fleet guys, I had heard, did play jokes with purchase orders: sky-blue carbon black, cans of vacuum, a pound of photons, a perimeter of assorted space particles.

  And then I thought of my revenge. If and when he got as far as demonstrating that element conversion equipment, he was in for some realhumiliation. Serve him right!

  I went back to my airbus. I told my driver to go up someplace and hover. I needed some peace and quiet.

  It wasn't until a half hour later that I suddenly realized how the Finance Office would treat some of those orders. They would declare them "frivolous" and "exterior to existing allocations." And they would not do that until the orders had actually been placed and the goods delivered. You could spend millions of government money unless it was "frivolous." In a sudden panic, I started tallying up the probable cost of these bills! The further I tallied, the more frantic I became.

  If these orders were disallowed, they could be debited against the account of the stamping officer!

  Some, like uniforms, might get okayed but the rest came to about eight hundred and fifty credits! Maybe more!

  If I overdrew my account I would probably be court-martialled, even cashiered!

  Ske said, "What's the matter with you? You look like you're having a convulsion!" Finally, I managed to tell him. "Drive to the Finance Office. I've got to place nine hundred credits into my year's advanced pay account and quick!" I nearly would be broke again!

  Slumped, I gloomed over my fate as we rode along.

  And then I sat up straight with a new horror. With all those parties, fireworks and wreaths on the ship, Lombar was going to tear my guts out for violating the secrecy of the mission!

  I suddenly yelled, "(Bleep) Heller. (Bleep) him and all his kind!" It didn't help to hear Ske laughing. He wouldn't laugh if he really knew how bad it was.

  It had begun as such a beautiful day.

  Chapter 9

  I had spent the remainder of the day before tending to this and that and then had spent the night rolling around in a growing state of apprehension. Today I was somehow going to have to lure Heller to that miniature hospital and get him operated on. My main worry was the Countess Krak. If she suspected I had done something to Heller, Spiteos or no Spiteos, she would find ways to kill me. When I finally got to sleep, it was only to have a nightmare about her mistaking me for the yellow-man I had seen her stamp to pulp. In it, I kept trying to tell her that the only reason I was having a nightmare was because she had a role reversal, prompted by an elektra complex of father fixation, but she just kept on stamping. I woke up streaming sweat and for a few moments had been sure it was my blood kicked out of me. I didn't go back to sleep!

  In the morning, I approached Tug Oneafter sunrise when I was sure Krak had gone. The best tricks I could think of held firmly in my mind, I walked aboard, smiling a smile I did not feel. Heller was already up, sitting in the fancy salon, polishing off some notes. He was dressed in a white, flare-collared, work cover suit of some sparkly material. These Fleet guys certainly can put on airs. I hoped it got bloodstained before the day was out!

  "You'll have to postpone any other work you have for today," I said. "You have a physical readiness appointment." He laughed. "I think I'm ready. I'm in pretty good shape, actually. I was about to run around the hangar for a workout before the crews came this morning."

  "May I sit down?" I said and did. "Jettero, you don't understand espionage. That's why I am here to guide you. In the place where we are going, they do ALL their police records with identifying marks. If you have any identifying marks, you can be spotted, just like that!" And I snapped my fingers.

  He shook his head. "I don't have any."

  "Hah!" I said. I reached over and grabbed the glistening white cloth and pulled it aside to bare his shoulder. I secretly hoped the cloth would tear. "What do you call that?" And I pointed to where Lombar's paralysis dagger had left a small white scar. "Do you see?" I let go and the jumper sprang back in place. I looked at his face searchingly. For a combat engineer who had been through all the battles and adventures he had, he certainly had few marks on him.

  Then I found one. Just at the outer edge of his right eyebrow there was a tiny scar. The very thing! Through it one could enter between the temple and the overeye bone.

  "So," I said, triumphantly, "there's two already." And I pointed to the eyebrow scar.

  "Oh, that," he laughed. "You won't believe this but I was with a campaign on a primitive planet once. I had to get into a stockaded village. And I got hit with a stone-headed arrow! Honestly. A bow and arrow! The on-board doctor who fixed it laughed and laughed over it. I was standing there with a blastgun ready to shoot and got hit with an arrow! Hilarious. Had the whole squadron laughing. It's nothing."

  "It's an identifying mark," I said impressively. "Where we're going, they would see that and recognize at once you were from Voltar. Pick you up like that!" And I snapped my fingers to emphasize it.

  Heller exploded with laughter. "We don't use bows and arrows on Voltar! Look around, Soltan. You see any?" He th
ought it was screamingly funny. He laughed and laughed. I hoped he choked.

  I could see I was getting nowhere on that course, so I went into my second argument. I had spent hours on this project, all aspects of how to lure him into an operation. "Well, that may or may not be," I said a bit sternly. "But it doesn't get around Regulation 534279765 Part A, Paragraph 1! It distinctly states that no one with identifying marks may be landed on Earth! So there!" He had stopped laughing. "You have the regulations here to show me, of course." Well, I couldn't do that. I had just made it up. But I can think pretty fast. "You know of Book of Space CodesNumber a-36-544 M Section B, prohibiting landing and disclosure of extraterrestrial identity." He knew of that, yes.

  "The identifying marks regulation I just gave you is a secret court interpretation of it. We're bound by it, you know." Heller shook his head. "I confess I have not seen it. And if that interpretation is Apparatus, I'm Fleet. I'm not bound by it." It was plain I was not progressing. But the psychology of Blito-P3 had not yet been brought into play. This is the real standby of my personal tradecraft. Nobody ever knew, until these disclosures here, that I owed my success to it.

  A child, it says, when denied the things it wants, often goes into what is called a tantrum,which is one of their scientific terms. Adults, faced with it, usually recoil and surrender. I went into Stage One of a tantrum.

  "You," I pouted, "are just trying to make my job difficult. You are an old meany." It is a magic psychological term, an incantation phrase. Right away, I could see it was having an affect. Heller looked at me, puzzled.

  I went into Stage Two: negation."If you don't go with me for your physical readiness appointment, I WILL NOT STAMP ANY MORE COMPLETION ORDERS FOR YOU!" I shouted the last in a proper pitch and wail.