There was a city park ahead, a pitiful little thing of broken fountains and root-cracked walks and Ole Doc saw two dogs slinking through it, wary like hunted beasts, sniffing hungrily at refuse.
The town, he realized with a start, was starving. The children he saw in a doorway were bloat-bellied and unpleasant. Ole Doc turned toward them and they made a sorry effort to run away. He peered into the interior of the rickety dwelling and saw that they were now clustered around the bed of a woman who might, in other stages of economics, have been comely.
She saw his shadow and turned. Warily she tried to motion him away. “No. No more . . . I can’t . . . I can’t pay.”
This was definitely his business but he thrust it aside. “Madam, I am not trying to collect money. Here is a gold coin,” and he dug one from his money pouch and placed it courteously on the table. “I want to find a man, an extraracial being of four hands, named Bestin Karjoy. Direct me to someone who will know and you shall have my deepest thanks.”
She managed to understand this and then made a motion at her eldest boy. “Go, Jimmy. Go show him what he wants.” But she looked suspiciously at the coin as she picked it up.
Ole Doc winced when he saw how close to the skin her bones were. He pulled a small hypo gun from his pocket, fumbled in his kit and loaded it with slugs. The jet it shot penetrated without pain and he triggered it six times before he left the room. They didn’t know they had been force-fed and only stared in awe at the small gun, afraid it might be a blaster.
Ole Doc motioned to the eldest and went back into the street. But he might have found the place himself.
It was a great gold-fronted building before which lounged Persephon guards. And over the top of the door was the mighty legend Air, Limited and on the panel, Big Lem Tolliver, Savior of Arphon.
Ole Doc gave the boy another gold coin and then breasted the guards. They stopped him with guttural grunts and were about to argue in earnest at his pressure when they both came up rigid, staring straight ahead. Ole Doc put the hypo gun back into his pocket, looked hard at the guards to make sure the rigor had set good and hard and would stay for a while and walked on in.
A clerk came up. “This is a private office, sir. The general entrance for the payment of taxes, rentals and bail is next door. Besides—”
“I want to see your records,” said Ole Doc. “I am looking for an extraracial man named Bestin Karjoy and no second-rate town like this is going to stop me. Where are your records?”
Fatally, the clerk had new objections. There was a small snick and Ole Doc put the gun back into his pocket. “You are a trained clerk and obedient to one Lem Tolliver. It is the will of Tolliver that you find the name Bestin Karjoy in your files and give me the address.”
The narco slug had bitten straight through the modish waistcoat and pink silk undershirt. “Yes, sir. Coming right up, sir. Won’t keep you waiting a minute, sir. What Big Lem wants—”
“Who says Big Lem wants anything?” came hugely from the door. “I,” he said, waddling closer, chin outthrust, “do not like gents who go around spieling off orders I ain’t issued. Now, whoever you are, let’s hear just why you impersonate a messenger for me.”
Ole Doc looked at him rather wearily. He gripped the hypo gun in his pocket, but he never got a chance to use it. Some sixth sense told one of Tolliver’s bodyguard that an attack was imminent and Ole Doc was seized from behind and held hard while the contents of his pockets were turned out by Tolliver.
The small meters and instruments, the minute boxes of pellets, the hypo gun itself, these meant nothing to Tolliver or anyone around him. But the gorget meant something—the solid gold ray rods of the UMS which were chained to Ole Doc’s throat in such a position as to protect the most vulnerable point of the jugular. Tolliver tried to yank it off, failed to break the chain and so had to stare at it.
“UMS,” said Tolliver. “Huh.”
A clerk had come in to aid his fallen brother of the files and inkpots, for the first one, under the stimulus of the narco slug and crossed orders, had quietly fainted away. “Universal Medical Society,” said the new clerk. And then he realized what he had said and jumped back, letting his brother clerk fall. He stared, mouth agape, at Ole Doc.
“Univ—” began Tolliver. And then his face went a little white. He bent as he stared at Ole Doc. Then, dismissing it, “He’d imitate a messenger. He’d pretend anything. He ain’t no Soldier of Light. Where’s the crowd with him?”
“They . . . they operate alone,” said the second clerk. “I . . . I read in the Universal Weekly that they—”
“Bosh! What would they care about Arphon? UMS,” blustered Tolliver, “is strictly big time. He’d never land here. Listen, you whatever-you-call-it, don’t give me no stuff about UMS. You’re here for graft and I’m on to your game. Now, let’s see how good you are at crawling out of your lie. Go on, crawl!”
Ole Doc sighed. He had seen such men before. “I suppose I am addressing Lem Tollander.”
“Tolliver!”
“Lem Tolliver, then. President or some such thing of Air, Limited.”
“Correct. And you come here for a shakedown. Listen—” And then he stopped and looked at a new thing in the contents of the pockets. It was a slave ear tag. “Ah,” he said, snatching it up from the desk, “you’ve been tampering with company property already. Oh, yes. That girl—so you were in that ship we blasted a few miles east of Minga, huh? Say, buddy, don’t you know where to stop? A guy’d think you were kind of confused. You’ve already lost an old tub of a space tramp, and lucky you got out with yourself in one chunk. What kind of nerve is this—”
“Oh, do be quiet,” sighed Ole Doc.
The flood of speech was suddenly dammed. It had been years and years since anyone had said such a thing to Big Lem Tolliver. Judging from the attitudes struck by the men in the office at this blasphemy, it was going to be years and years before anyone tried to say it again, too.
But Big Lem was a man of many convictions and foremost amongst them was a decided prejudice in favor of his own vast greatness. He had been honeyed and buttered and syruped so long by fawning menials that he had forgotten there were other ways to talk.
Big Lem looked more closely at Ole Doc. “Who are you anyway?”
“You seemed convinced of something else a moment ago. I’m a doctor.”
“Ah,” said Big Lem. He brightened and rubbed his huge paws together. “A doctor. A crooked doctor impersonating a UMS Soldier. Ah.”
The whole thing was opened to a page he could read. He scooped up the print. This fellow had come here for a shakedown, impersonating a Soldier of Light. And because men are likely to best understand what they themselves actually are, Big Lem Tolliver was utterly satisfied.
Grinning, the president of Air, Limited had his men search the visitor for other weapons and equipment and then, with every cordiality, ushered Ole Doc into an office big enough for a ballroom and ten times as fancy.
“Sit down, sit down,” said Big Lem, sprawling into the oversize chair behind his king-size desk. “Know very much about doctoring?”
Ole Doc played it patient, stilling the urgency he felt now that his small pack radio had been taken from him. He sat down in a high-backed leather chair. “Others no doubt are much better informed,” he sighed.
“Where and when did you pick it up?”
“Well . . . a very long time ago. I may not know as much about modern medicine as I might.”
“Went to school maybe?”
“Yes. But it was a long time ago.”
“Sure, sure. And probably got kicked out of the profession for some . . . well, we all make mistakes and recovery isn’t possible unless one uses his wits.” He winked ponderously and laughed much beyond the need of it. “I tell you, Doc, you wouldn’t think to look at me that I was just a typical trans-system tramp once. Look around. Them hangings cost a fortune and them pictures is worth a cold five million. They’re originals and if they ain’t and I ever
find out about it, God help my agents.” He laughed again. “Well, Doc, I guess you’re wondering why I’m being so great about this thing, huh?”
“Somewhat.”
“You’re a cool one. I like that. I like it very much. Well, I tell you, I could use a doctor. I don’t need a good one, see. You’ll do just fine if you know anything at all.”
“I thought there were doctors here.”
“Them that was here up and went away.” He enjoyed a brief chuckle and then sobered. “I had a doc as partner. He’d been a good one in his day but drink and women had got too much for him. He died about five years back and we been kind of isolated for some time, like. So, I can use a doctor. A doctor that ain’t all knocked around by professional ethics.”
“And what’s in it for him?”
“Thousands and thousands and thousands. Oh, I can pay all right. And pay very well indeed. Taxes, fees, sales . . . I can pay. Air, Limited is just about as sound a concern as you’ll ever find, my friend.” He beamed jovially. “You give me quite a turn with that thingamajig on your throat. The UMS— Well, you knew how to back up a play. If I thought you was on the level, you wouldn’t be sitting there, but I know you ain’t. Not an honest pill in your pockets. No stethoscope. A blaster. Oh, I can tell a thing or two.”
“Where’d I slip up?” said Ole Doc innocently.
“Why, the blaster, of course. The UMS is death on violence. Oh, I’ve studied up, I have. And I figure the chances of one of their big patrols coming this way is about ten million to one at least in this century. We ain’t nothing on Arphon, and Sun12 is gone to pieces as a confederated system. We don’t spread no germs around and we ain’t in any kind of quarantine. So they won’t come. But if one of them big gold ships with the hundred-man crews come around, why, I want to be reasonable. So that’s where we talk business. You seem to know the ropes.”
“Yes,” said Ole Doc. “One has to understand his fellow man to get along. Just why are you worried?”
“Well, Doc, it ain’t so much the UMS. Them Soldiers would never come here and wouldn’t stay if they did. No, it’s the way taxes have fallen off. I want you to do something about it. People don’t pay their taxes. And then there’s the fees—”
“Wait. Are you the government?”
“Well, in a way, yes. At least there ain’t any other government on Arphon just now and we’re a big commercial outfit. So, well, we collect taxes for the machines.”
“What machines?”
“The health machines, of course.” And here Big Lem began to laugh again.
“Maybe we can do business of one kind or another,” said Ole Doc. “But there’s one thing I’ve got to fix up. I want to get hold of an extraracial being named Bestin Karjoy. You let me find him and then I’ll come back—”
Big Lem looked sly. “Some old partner in crime, eh? Well, Doc, if that’s what you want, you’ll get it.”
“Now,” said Ole Doc.
“When we’ve settled a thing or two,” said Tolliver. “You’ll work for me?”
“We’ll settle this when you’ve found this Bestin Karjoy for me,” said Ole Doc. “It won’t wait.”
“I’m afraid it will, my friend. Will you sign on?”
“I’d have to know more,” said Ole Doc, restraining a blowup with difficulty and holding on to his cunning.
“Such as—”
“What taxes? What air? What are you doing?”
“We sell air,” said Tolliver. “We sell it in small bombs or in cans and we get a hundred dollars for a flask big enough to keep a man a month. Now that’s legal, isn’t it?”
“Why air?”
“Why not?” said Tolliver. “Men have to breathe, don’t they?”
“What taxes then?” said Ole Doc.
“Why, the taxes to keep the machines running. Didn’t you see the big machine central when you came into town?”
“I wasn’t looking closely,” said Ole Doc.
“Well, that’s just one. We got hundreds all over the planet. And we keep them going so long as the citizens pay the tax. And when they refuse to pay it, well, we get ’em to put up a bond. And—”
“What kind of a bond?”
“Personal liberty bond, of course. If we don’t collect when it’s due, then the man’s liberty is over and he’s repossessed by us.”
“Why do you want him?”
“Slaves, of course. Nine-tenths of the people on this planet would rather be slaves than have the machines stop. So there we go.”
“You mean nine-tenths are slaves by this action. See here, Tolliver, what do the machines do?”
“Why, they keep the outer spacial gases from settling down and killing people. The gases ruin the oxygen content of the air. So we run the machines and keep the gases going up, not down. That’s simple, isn’t it? And the air bombs we sell let men breathe when they’ve been hit by the gases too much.”
“What kind of gases?”
Tolliver looked shrewdly at Ole Doc. The crook, thought Tolliver, was pretty intelligent. Well, all the better. “That’s where I need an expert,” said Tolliver. “Now if you’ll just join up and take orders—”
“Let me look this thing over first,” said Ole Doc. “Money is money but it just may be that I can’t do a thing about it.”
Suspicion was a fine quality to find in a man. Tolliver reared up and was about to call when Tinoi, sweating hard from his walk, scuttled in. He saw Ole Doc and left his prepared report unsaid.
“New recruit,” said Tolliver. “They all get here, Tinoi?”
“About twelve died on the way in,” said Tinoi. “Them Persephons don’t have good sense when it comes to driving—”
“How much did you get?” said Tolliver.
Tinoi look aggrieved and his boss laughed.
“Well, put them in a stockade and . . . no, wait. Here. Take this man around and let him look the place over.”
Tinoi twisted his head sideways at Ole Doc in suspicion, and then he caught a secret gesture from Tolliver which said, “Watch him, don’t let him see too much, kill if he tries to get away.”
“I need this man,” added Tolliver.
Ole Doc rose. “If you’ll let me know where I can find Bestin—”
“Later, later. Take him along, Tinoi.”
Outside Ole Doc tried to regain his weapons and was refused. He would have made a stronger bid if he had not just then seen the slaves waiting before the door.
They were groveling in the dust, lying prone with exhaustion or looking in dumb misery at the huge gold office building which was their doom. These were the same slaves Ole Doc had seen earlier, for there was the same grizzled ancient, coughing and whining in their midst, “Air! Air!”
Ole Doc took half a dozen strides and was outside. He saw what he was looking for and went sick inside. There she was, lying on a litter, moaning in semiconsciousness, twisting with fever. The beauty of her was spoiled and her spirit was shredded with pain.
With another pace, Ole Doc tried to approach her. He knew how she had been burned, why he had been lying outside in the grass. Connoly was standing hugely in his way, lordly drunk but very positive.
“Nobody gets near them slaves,” said Connoly. “Orders.”
“Come back here, you,” said Tinoi. He scuttled down the steps and grabbed Ole Doc from behind.
Ole Doc offered no fight.
“Who’s this bloke?” asked Connoly, when they had him back at a decent distance.
“Recruit, the boss said. Just what we don’t need is a recruit,” grumbled Tinoi. “Too many splits now. Too big a payroll. Connoly, you run these pigs into the stockade. I got to play nursemaid to this kid here. Never get to rest. Never get a drink. Never em——” he trailed off. “Come on, you. What are you supposed to do?”
“I’m supposed to repair the machines,” said Ole Doc.
“Well, come on then.” He scuttled away and Ole Doc followed.
The machine was above eye level which was why O
le Doc had missed it. It was a huge gold drum and it stood squarely on top of the office building. They went up to it in an elevator and found it humming to itself.
Ole Doc had pulled his helmet on from some instinct. But he was surprised to find Tinoi getting quickly into a mask before he stepped out of the elevator.
“What’s wrong with it?” said Tinoi.
Ole Doc spoke at urgent random. “The rheostats.”
“The . . . well, you know your business, I guess. There’s the port and there’s the vats. You work and I’ll stay here and rest. Walk a man’s legs off and then don’t even let him drink. Keep your hands out of the vats, now.”
“I’ll need some of the things I left in the office,” said Ole Doc.
Tinoi went to the phone and called and presently a clerk came up with them in a paper bag. No pellets, no hypo gun, no blaster— Ole Doc spread out his small kit.
“Don’t look like tools to me.”
“I’m a chemist,” said Ole Doc.
“Oh, I get you. I told him the mixture was too strong. I even get it.”
Ole Doc smiled and nodded. “We’ll see.”
He gingerly approached a vat in the dark interior. On looking around he found a simple arrangement. There was a centrifuge in the vat and a molecularizer above it and then there were ports which carried ionized beams out into the surrounding air. He stepped up and saw that a constant stream of fluid in very tiny amounts was being broadcast through the jets to be carried by the wind all around the countryside. He went back to the vats.
With a drop of the mixture on a filter, he rapidly ruled out virus and bacteria with a pocket analyzer. Intrigued now, he made a rapid inspection for inorganic matter and was instantly in the field of naturally produced plant secretions.
He took a bit of “synthetic skin” from his case and got a very violent reaction. On the grid, the thing was an allergy product of a plant. And when he had run through twenty alkaloids, working slowly because of his impoverishment in equipment, he knew what it was.
Ole Doc Methuselah Page 12
