Mission: Earth Villainy Victorious

by Ron L. Hubbard

  Her eyes began to glow. Her bare breasts heaved with a shuddering sigh of delight.

  "So therefore," said Madison, praying that his pitch would work, "I am saving you as the star of the very first porno movie that we make."

  "A bare-(bleep) movie?" said Trotter.

  "Yes, indeed," said Madison, "with men climbing all over you and with the very best angles. A whole mob of them, fighting amongst themselves to be the first to get you, while you stand proud and stately, pushing them off with your feet until at last, you drop a golden robe, baring yourself totally to the camera and then, disdainfully with scornful finger, point to the one you will take and you do it then on a silken bed while the others grovel weeping on the floor."

  "Hot Saints!" said Trotter. "And I'm the star?"

  "Yes, indeed!" said Madison.

  "Oh, blazing batfish! I can't wait to tell the girls!"

  She rushed out, robe flying. Madison quickly figured out how to lock the door.

  This life was not without its perils. But he felt a surge of confidence. She had bought the image he had built and swallowed it, hook, line and sinker. PR had triumphed once again. But he felt no surprise. After all, it was his trade and he was a master of it!

  The movies he was going to make had nothing to do with Trotter. They would have everything to do with creating a brand-new image for Heller, one that would be stamped forever on men's minds: an outlaw! Hunted and chased by everyone! Famous beyond belief!

  He turned back to the window. I wonder, he thought sadly, where Heller-Wister is right now. Already wanted on a general warrant, he was probably alone and shivering in some dark cave, unknown and depriving posterity of his potential notoriety. Well, he thought, with a confident smile, I can remedy that. With this crew I can do anything!

  Oh my, won't Mr. Bury be proud! What a triumph for good, plain, old-time Earth PR! What an opportunity to show what he could really do!

  Chapter 3

  The crew were all bedded down, they had been bathed and fed. Being convicts, they did not care what the time of day was: it was always night in the Domestic Confederacy Prison.

  Thus, quiet reigned throughout the nearby halls of floor seventy-six. A weary Flick was just reporting all was well. Madison lay back on his own austere but ample bed.

  "They're all asleep, sir," said Flick. "You certainly got them under control, and we've got quite a gang. When I've had some rest myself, I can get busy and begin the plan how we're going to rob the upper floors. Oh, sir, you have no idea," concluded Flick in an emotion-choked voice, "how wonderful it is to have a dream like that come true."

  Madison nodded. He had his own dream. He could be tolerant.

  Flick gave Madison a single, cross-arm salute and turned to go to his own rest.

  A wail was coming from somewhere.

  It got louder.

  Someone was shouting a single word. And shouting it with panic that held the raw screech of terror!

  It wasn't a word Madison knew. It was being repeated over and over.

  Pounding feet raced toward them. A single man flashed by Madison's open door, screaming that word loud enough to hurt the ears!

  "The sealer!" cried Flick. "Come back here!"

  But the man raced screaming straight on, tearing through the berthing apartments of the crew, still screaming!

  PANDEMONIUM!

  The crew began to yell. They were chasing the sealer, trying to get him to stop, shouting to head him off as he rounded turns.

  Flick had vanished. Madison hastily climbed into his pants and raced toward the bedlam.

  They had managed to cut the sealer off and herd him back and Madison was just in time to see two roustabouts jump on him.

  The crew clustered wide-eyed.

  The sealer continued to scream the word. He was writhing around, frothing with terror.

  Madison yelled, "What's he saying?"

  The horror-story writer, from the other side of the crowd, shouted at Madison through the tumult, "He's from the back country of Flisten, from his eye shape and long fingernails. They're like monkeys, those people."

  "What's the word he's using?" shouted Madison.

  "I don't speak Gnaop," the horror-story writer yelled back, "but I know that word. It means 'ghosts'!"

  Madison imitated the syllables. They sounded like "slith-therg."He bent over and yelled it back at the sealer.

  The small man repeated the word louder and pointed with a frantic hand toward the ceiling.

  "Well, (bleep) him!" raged Flick. "He's gotten into the upper floors!"

  "What does he mean, 'ghosts'?" shouted the direc­tor. He yelled down at the man on the floor, penetrating the din, "Where'd you see these ghosts?"

  The Flisten man simply screamed louder and pointed harder upward.

  The director promptly ran off down the hallway toward the first place the sealer had appeared.

  The whole crowd went chasing after the director. Madison and Flick were left, trying to get the sealer to calm down and tell them more. He shortly began simply to sob and Madison and Flick looked up to see that the whole crew had run off. They could hear them clamoring down the hall and they sped in that direction.

  They were just in time to see a woman on the tail end of the mob vanish up a ramp which led to the seventy-seventh floor.

  "Come back!" screamed Flick. "You're cheating!"

  He and Madison rushed up the ramp.

  There was a clank right in front of their faces. They collided violently with what must be a sheet of bulletproof glass which had dropped as a barrier before them.

  They could not get through.

  From where they were hammering on the glass, they could see three corridors branching out. The crew was in there, split up into three mobs, racing along into the distance, looking into rooms and everywhere for ghosts!

  Suddenly, the group in the right-hand corridor halted.

  CHAOS!

  They began to scream and retreat.

  BLUEBOTTLES!

  With raised stingers, a squad of police was charging straight at them!

  "Oh, Gods, they were wise to us!" howled Flick. "Come back here. QUICK!"

  The group in the middle hall suddenly blew apart and began to run.

  SOLDIERS!

  They were kneeling and firing at the criminals with deadly expressions! Flame slashed and roared in the hall.

  The group in the left-hand hall heard the commo­tion. They turned around.

  Too late!

  ASSASSINS WITH ELECTRIC KNIVES WERE BEHIND THEM!

  The group fled onward in total panic!

  Madison and Flick looked anxiously back into the right-hand corridor.

  IT WAS EMPTY!

  They looked into the middle corridor.

  NO SIGN OF THAT GROUP!

  They looked into the left-hand corridor.

  NOBODY THERE!

  THE WHOLE CREW HAD VANISHED!

  A wispy, filmy shape, a ghost indeed, drifted down toward the glass barricade and LAUGHED!

  Oh, it was a horrible sound!

  Madison and Flick fled.

  Chapter 4

  In Flick's room, he and Madison looked at each other.

  It was all quiet now.

  They were scared stiff but that was not what dominated their thoughts.

  THEY HAD LOST THEIR CREW!

  Flick had managed to get his gasping under control. "Let me think. Where could they have gone? Ah, I have it! That watchman warned me there were traps. They've fallen into floor traps. I think the lights must have gone out or something because we didn't see anyone drop, but that is the only thing that it can be. The crew must be up there someplace in floor traps. We've got to go back up there."

  "I haven't got a gun," said Madison.

  "You got your bare hands," said Flick. "And they're deadly enough."

  Madison knew he would have to think fast. He did. "What about that box the watchman had?" said Madi­son. "What did you do with it?"

 
"It's in the airbus."

  "And where were all those directions they gave us, that big stack?"

  "Yes," said Flick, coming out of it. "It should tell us where the traps are. Maybe the crew is locked in somewhere."

  In short order they had the four-foot stack of directions and manuals and began to look through feverishly. They couldn't make too much out of them. But now, armed with the box, they went back up to the top of the ramp.

  Flick found the right button. The glass was one of the barriers the watchman had mentioned. It rose.

  Flick found another button on the box that said General Disarm. He pushed it and they walked into the first hall of the seventy-seventh floor.

  They didn't find anything. The place was terribly quiet except for their own footfalls. Flick flashed a torch about.

  No sign of the police.

  They walked into the middle hall where that segment of the crew had vanished.

  No soldiers. Nothing.

  They walked into the left-hand hall and even though it seemed to stretch endlessly before them in the dark, they found no assassins.

  Madison mourned. It was not only a haunted town-house, it was a hungry townhouse. It had eaten up all their crew. No wonder nobody had wanted to buy it!

  "Maybe there are some other panels somewhere," said Flick. He led the way down a side corridor.

  They seemed to be in a big room but it was terribly dark. Flick played his light through the place. It seemed to be a tavern. There were tables and chairs around on the floor and a natural wood bar, all polished.

  Flick walked over to the counter and looked under it. "A panel!" He stabbed an eager finger in.

  Abruptly the room was full of light.

  It was also full of babbling sound.

  AND AT EVERY TABLE SAT ARMY OFFICERS DRINKING TUP!

  They were deep in conversations and laughing, very friendly to each other. One group at the far end was singing an army song. They all wore uniforms of long ago that were covered with mold!

  A captain at a nearby table turned and seemed to look at them. "Come in, drink up!" he said.

  Flick fled as though pursued by demons!

  Then Flick found out those were Madison's running footfalls behind him.

  Flick stopped and caught his breath. "Comets, but this is an awful place. The ghosts of all his brother officers, long since dead, carousing in that tavern. It makes your blood run like winter ice."

  "Maybe the crew got into one of these side rooms," said Madison.

  "Oh, I don't like this," said Flick. "There's nothing like this on Calabar. That's an orderly place. When people get killed, they have the decency to stay dead. It's more gravity than here, you know. It holds corpses in their graves better. (Bleeped) Voltar! You mind what I say, Chief. You murder any people on this planet, bury 'em with WEIGHTS!"

  Madison went into a room and Flick followed him. The torch, flashing around, showed what seemed to be a bed and a chair and a table. There was a huge, black window with an easy chair over to the side, placed as though inviting one to sit in it and look through the window.

  Madison saw a square box just inside the door and went back to it. Flick was examining the bed: it didn't seem to be a bed but just a block of stone.

  "Chief," said Flick. "I seen something like this once. It was a sacrificial altar on Mistin. This place makes me nervous."

  Madison opened the wall box. There were several buttons. He pushed the biggest one.

  A ROAR OF SOUND!

  The whole window lighted up!

  Through it one could see the red and glaring flames of a Hell!

  Devils were stoking a fire!

  There was a long, drawn-out scream when two more devils threw a maiden into the scarlet blaze!

  Flick had stopped, stunned, staring at the scene.

  Madison turned around to look at the room.

  THREE RED DEVILS SAT IN THE CHAIRS!

  A dismembered man appeared, bleeding gouts of blood on the sacrificial altar! Another devil above him brought down a knife! The victim let out a scream.

  The devil in the easy chair turned to Flick and said, "Stay around. You're next!"

  Flick tried to rush from the room. He hit Madison in the door and they both went down.

  On hands and knees and then on foot they fled down the hall.

  Finally they ran out of run and stopped with shuddering breath.

  "I don't like this place," said Flick.

  Madison bolstered his own nerve. "Look, Flick, we've got to find the crew. Let's try in here."

  Flick nervously pushed his torch around this new room. It was obviously a rather posh salon. Various lounges sat in the expanse. The floor was bare and the walls were bare. It looked like somebody had half moved out.

  There was a long buffet table and Flick opened a door of it, probably expecting vases or valuables. It was a panel instead.

  "Don't touch the big one," cautioned Madison. "I don't know what will happen."

  Flick sorted down a rank of buttons and pushed one.

  The salon lights came on.

  Now that they could see it better, it was a very nice room, even though the walls and floor were bare.

  There was a big set of glass doors at the end. Flick pushed another switch and it was as if floodlights had turned on in a lovely garden. A fountain was playing out there and birds could be heard to sing.

  Emboldened, Flick touched another button.

  Suddenly, the room was beautifully decorated!

  There was a rug on the floor.

  Vases with flowers appeared on small wall tables.

  PAINTINGS APPEARED ON THE WALLS!

  Hastily, Flick turned the switch off. Vases, flowers, rug and paintings vanished!

  "OH, MY GODS!" cried Flick. "The objects of art we meant to rob are JUST ELECTRONIC ILLUSIONS!"

  Madison suddenly understood. He had seen Lombar Hisst in his red uniform step in front of a thing the Master of Palace City had had placed before the build­ing, and an apparently solid Lombar Hisst, two hundred feet tall, had appeared over the building blessing it.

  General Loop was crazy as a coot on scenery with his officers and devils and all. But he was smart as a whip on theft and security.

  THERE WAS NOTHING TO STEAL!

  Tears were running down Flick's face. With leaden steps he dragged himself away. With a sad, sad voice he muttered, "There goes my dream," and fumbled off to the seventy-sixth floor, leaving it all to Madison to find the vanished crew.

  It was a moment of agony and gloom.

  Chapter 5

  Madison had worked for hours rescuing the crew. Belts underneath the upper-hall floors had shunted them to a "prison" on the seventy-sixth floor and they had been waiting there in fear of being returned to the Domestic Confederacy Prison when Madison let them out.

  An embarrassed electronics security man had explained that he also had been taken in, for he said the devices were not of a type in general circulation outside the security forces. He recovered a spare from an electronic parts storeroom and, after he had figured it out, showed them all it was just a chip about the size of a pen point which, put in the path of a microscopic projector, gave images in the air which could move and emit sound. The spare, fortunately, was not of any ghost but of a small boy taking a pee and the crew morale had been restored, even if the laughs were weak.

  The sealer had gotten over his fright after a few convulsions, aware now that people were laughing at him and anxious to make amends.

  General Loop, they all agreed, had been purloining government property and devices, and this made him a fellow criminal and so, somehow, made it all right. Whether he had done all this just to exercise a hobby or scare his fellow officers half to death was entirely beyond their interest. Madison had another theory-that manufacturers, knowing Loop was somewhat crazy, had installed the devices in the hope of getting a contract after showing what they could do. Madison had noticed different makers' names on the activating boxes; he didn
't think any of this was in use or known to the government at all. He had not found a single Security Forces stamp on anything. If it were government property or even known to the government, it would have long since been taken out. But he didn't disagree with the crew; they needed all the solace they could get.

  The crisis was over. The crew had slept. And Madi­son now had other things to do.

  In a seventy-sixth floor briefing room which General Loop had probably used to address his own staff, Madison had assembled his gang here today for purposes of his own.

  They looked much better now: the men had shaved and cut their hair, the women were coiffed and made up. They were gaunt but good food would handle that. The prison pallor still showed through but a few days under sunlamps would turn them a more natural color. The stink was gone!

  The cooks were lounging in the doors, the rest sat on chairs and benches. And all eyes were on Madison as he stood upon the raised platform at the front of the large room.

  "I have gathered you together this afternoon," said Madison, "in order to clarify for you why you are really here. I am certain some of you have probably wondered, and the very essence of a team is a common purpose.

  "Now, I know some of you were curious as to what PR man really meant. It does not mean 'parole officer': I just told them that so I could spring you."

  The crew sat up more alertly. It made them feel better to know that they were not in the hands of just another Apparatus officer but with one who now seemed

  Madison had worked for hours rescuing the crew. Belts underneath the upper-hall floors had shunted them to a "prison" on the seventy-sixth floor and they had been waiting there in fear of being returned to the Domestic Confederacy Prison when Madison let them out.

  An embarrassed electronics security man had explained that he also had been taken in, for he said the devices were not of a type in general circulation outside the security forces. He recovered a spare from an electronic parts storeroom and, after he had figured it out, showed them all it was just a chip about the size of a pen point which, put in the path of a microscopic projector, gave images in the air which could move and emit sound. The spare, fortunately, was not of any ghost but of a small boy taking a pee and the crew morale had been restored, even if the laughs were weak.