Mission: Earth Villainy Victorious

by Ron L. Hubbard

  "The ships might not have started the same night," said the Countess, "but they could have left within the next twenty-four hours."

  "Was it at the new mayor's reception that Bury gave me the news about the last refinery being decontaminated? Or was it at the engagement party?"

  The Countess Krak sighed. What a trial that engagement party had been! Madison Square Garden, three bands and a symphony orchestra, five chorus lines from Broadway shows. And Babe Corleone, despite Jettero's instructions, had stepped up to the microphone and said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to announce the main engagement: My son, Jerome Terrance Corleone is going to up and marry no less a personage than the Countess Krak. How about that?"

  And afterwards, when bands were playing and thousands were dancing, Mamie Boomp, who had come up from Atlantic City, said to her, "She really got the intelligence services screwed up about your sailor. Almost every delegate at the UN knew him at the Gracious Palms as a mysterious prince and then they found out he was really Rockecenter's son, which was fine, but when she made that announcement a while ago it threw them in a spin. They approached the Crown Prince of Saudi-Yemen, thinking I might be able to shed some light on it, and I set them straight. It's obvious that Rockecenter was secretly married to Babe Corleone. That made them happy. I like to keep these genealogical matters straight."

  That wasn't the only genealogical matter that had been gotten straight. Jettero had had Professor Stringer revise Babe's family tree and put Prince Caucalsia at the head of it. She had been bowled over and would have accepted it even without the thick album of evidences he had put together for her, tracing the descendants of the Manco refugees through Atlantis, to the Caucasus and finally to Aosta in the Alps where Babe came from. And it was true that she had the same blood type, a bit dif­ferent from the usual lines of Earth, that Krak, from

  Manco, had. Jettero had given Babe the tiara with the Manco arms that he had had made at Tiffany's and Babe had worn it in public ever since. It was one of the reasons the press referred to her constantly as "Queen Babe."

  But it was the TV crews and cameras that worried the Countess Krak. With all the exposure they were getting, if Lombar Hisst had a single agent operating on Earth, he would have no trouble whatever in finding Jettero. And all during the weeks that followed Krak's arrival in New York this last time, she had had more than an uneasy feeling that they were going to get hit and hit hard.

  "Well," said Jettero. "I think that brings it up to date. Babe will address the UN next week and get nuclear bombs outlawed. Congress in its fall session will decriminalize drugs and take the profit out of the scene. The fuel situation is handled and will gradually phase over. The atmosphere is cleaning up and the poles are stable. It's been a lot of work to clean up this planet, but I think it's nicely on its way."

  "I don't like it," said the Countess Krak.

  "What? It's a very nice planet. A little goofy with its fake psychiatry and psychology, but now that Rockecenter interests aren't organizing and financing them to keep the people down, even that may someday come straight."

  "I didn't mean I didn't like the planet," said the Countess Krak. "I don't like the situation. We're sitting ducks."

  "Well, I must say," said Heller, "that you're a very pretty duck. Don't you think so, Mister Calico?"

  The Countess Krak was just drawing her breath to tell him she wished she had his iron nerve when Balmor, the butler, came to the terrace. "Sir," he said, "that special phone in your study keeps buzzing and buzzing. I know you told me not to answer it but I think, sir, it needs attention."

  Chapter 2

  It was Faht Bey on the viewer-phone. He looked very agitated. He was calling from the Turkish base.

  "Sir," he said, "I think you better come over here at once."

  "What's the matter?" said Heller. "Has Prahd's patient taken a turn for the worse?"

  "No, Prahd says there is no change. It's something else. I've got some news from home and I think you better come over here and do the interrogation yourself."

  Heller looked at the sweating face. The Emperor wasn't dead. It was too soon by three or four days for even a scout vessel to get here from Voltar. Obviously Faht Bey didn't want to discuss it on the viewer-phone because other members of the base there could be moni­toring.

  "All right," he said. "Expect me."

  He went back to the terrace. "Dear," he said to the Countess Krak, "I'm going to take a Mach 3 to Turkey."

  "I knew it!" said the Countess Krak. "Something has happened."

  "Nothing has happened. It's just that Faht Bey wants me there for a talk."

  "I'll get packed. I'm coming with you."

  "That's my pleasure," said Heller.

  Shortly after dawn in Afyon, Turkey, Heller, the Countess Krak and Mister Calico debarked from the Air Force plane and got into the waiting Daimler-Benz.

  Having left the Countess and the cat at the villa, Heller was shortly afterward sitting across the desk from Faht Bey in his office.

  "Thank Gods you got here," said Faht Bey. "I think we're in for trouble." And he passed to Heller a demand despatch from the Apparatus General Staff.

  "It's the Blixo" said Faht Bey. "She came in last night."

  "But the ship must have left a couple days before I made my call on Voltar," said Heller. "Nothing had happened there at the time the Blixo departed. And she wouldn't have picked up anything in passage. She's just a freighter."

  "Well, Gris had couriers that travelled on the Blixo. Two catamites that alternated. This one is Odur: we've got him in detention and he's scared to death. He had that despatch for Gris: at the time, nobody on Voltar sus­pected that Gris was no longer here. You better read it."

  Heller sighed. A demand order for information was not much to be alarmed about. He read it:

  APPARATUS GENERAL STAFF

  To: Soltan Gris

  Secondary Executive Section 451

  You are hereby and herewith directed to furnish any and all current information on the defenses of the planet Blito-P3, local name, Earth.

  You will diligently compile, at once, without delay, numbers of troops and populations to be slaughtered.

  You will give us your estimate of potential pockets of resistance that might form and have to be obliterated.

  Your viewpoint for the information required shall be the assumption that only Apparatus forces will be used in the all-out assault, so accuracy is mandatory without any allowance made for reserves or reenforcements from Voltar of Apparatus troops.

  Authority for this demand is contained in Chief of Apparatus Order 345-nb-456-Blito-P3 attached.

  Captain Maulding

  Secretary to the General Staff

  OFFICIAL

  Heller leafed over to the next sheet:

  EXTERIOR DIVISION

  CHIEF OF APPARATUS

  To: General Staff, Apparatus

  345-nb-456-Blito-P3

  It has been determined that forces are internally at work on reference planet inimical to our interests.

  If at any time the supply of opium, heroin or amphetamines ceases to arrive from reference planet, you are to withdraw all Apparatus forces from the Calabar revolt and proceed forthwith to reference planet Blito-P3 and launch a full-scale Class One assault, destroying its defenses and populations but taking care to preserve only the inhabitants of Afyon, Turkey, and that opium-producing area and the I. G. Barben factory complexes in New Jersey, United States.

  Ignore the Invasion Schedule.

  Plan without cooperation of the Army or Fleet.

  This is your highest priority. Get it in the planning stage at once.

  LOMBAR HISST

  Chief of Apparatus

  OFFICIAL

  "Well," said Heller, "you have been holding incoming freighters, but as of this moment, since not enough time has elapsed for him to know they will not return, he isn't aware of any curtailment of shipment. This planning– – "

  "You better talk to the m
an we're holding in the next room, sir." Faht Bey pushed a buzzer.

  Captain Bolz was brought in by two guards. His hairy chest was heaving with indignation.

  "Bolz," said Faht Bey, "this is Royal Officer Jettero Heller, a combat engineer of the Fleet operating on his own cognizance and therefore officially. You had better tell him what you told us."

  "I got plenty to say!" roared Bolz. "As a blasted Royal officer, I know you can have me exterminated, but I'm going to have my say anyway! I come in here, innocent as a virgin, doing my duty as an Apparatus freighter captain, two days ahead of schedule after a competent passage and what do I find? A whole base wearing Fleet insignia! An order putting my ship under detention! I think you've all gone crazy!"

  "Quite likely," said Heller. "And I am sorry for any inconvenience. Now, what was this information you had?"

  Bolz lost a lot of his glare. He looked down at his big feet and shifted them uncomfortably. "Well, these fellows here know well enough that I was carrying contraband Scotch whisky and they probably already told you. A captain that never gets paid has to have a little profit– – "

  "The information," said Heller firmly.

  "Well, I didn't have room for a cargo of I. G. Barben amphetamines once I had the whisky aboard, so I left them in the storeroom here."

  "And when you arrived on Voltar somebody noticed it?" said Heller.

  "The amphetamines were on the manifest," said Bolz, "but they weren't aboard. I happen to know that Hisst always checks the drug shipments against the manifests, because every time I try to pinch a little cargo, he has appeared personally to scream."

  "Then there has already been a cessation of shipment," said Heller, looking back at the Apparatus General Staff order. "Now, where is this catamite?"

  Faht Bey led the way down the tunnels and they came at length to the detention cell.

  There sat Oh Dear, his pretty, made-up face streaked with tears. He recognized, from Voltar press photos of yesteryear, Jettero Heller. "Oh," he sobbed. "A Royal of­ficer. I have one request before you kill me: take the magic mail card back so they don't kill my mother."

  "You're not going to be killed," said Heller with a trace of disgust. "All I want from you is any other information you might have had for Gris."

  "Where is Gris?"

  "Apparently dead," said Heller.

  "Not really?" said Oh Dear. "Oh, what utterly marvelous news. Oh, I just can't wait to tell Too-Too! We'll have a celebration party! I'll buy ribbons– – "

  "The information," said Heller.

  "That the General Staff despatch was very urgent," said Oh Dear, "and that I was to keep Gris up day and night to compile it and that I was to return with it."

  Faht Bey said to Heller, "That means at least three months until they hit. Six weeks going back, six weeks for the Apparatus invasion fleet to arrive here. Add the time it takes them to assemble and board."

  Heller said to Oh Dear, "Is that everything you had?"

  "There was a message that Gris was assured he'd be the next Chief of the Apparatus only if there was no halt in drugs."

  "A promotion?" said Heller. "But Hisst is the Chief of Apparatus."

  "Well, you see, the plan is that Hisst will be moving up to Emperor. Any time now. And that's all I had, I swear it."

  He was too shaking-scared not to be believed.

  As Heller left he saw the Countess Krak at the end of the corridor. She was coming out of the cell that still held Utanc-Colonel Gaylov.

  "Dear," said Heller, "your woman's intuition seems to have been right. The Apparatus has a plan on foot to use its own forces to smash this planet. Hisst is crazy insane."

  "Then we've got to get off it right away," said the Countess. "We and you-know-who must not be here when they crack it up."

  "And waste all the work I've been doing for a year?" said Heller. "This is a nice planet."

  "Opinions differ," said the Countess Krak. "Psychology, psychiatry, perversions beyond belief and a population that doesn't even raise its voice when some nut like Rockecenter is ruining it. It's not worth saving, Jettero. We'd better get a move on."

  "We've got time," said Faht Bey. "It will take more than three months for them to make the voyages and hit the place."

  Heller shook his head. "How long ago did you stop the first freighter?"

  "Oh, that's been about four weeks now," said Faht Bey.

  "Then they will know for sure, within a couple weeks, that it didn't come back. But it was Bolz that triggered it. You haven't got three months. You may not even have five days."

  "What are we going to do?" said Faht Bey. "When they find out we stopped the drugs, they'll slaughter us to a man and go right on with their invasion. We won't have anything left to stand on even if they miss us."

  "Steady, steady," said Heller. "I admit this is quite a problem. We've got to make sure Prahd's patient is secure, we've got to move this base and we've got to safeguard this planet."

  "What?" said the Countess Krak. "Try to stand off the whole Apparatus fighting force? Please, Jettero, please. Don't try to save this planet!"

  "I'll come up with something," said Heller. "And make no mistake. Whatever else happens, I am going to make every effort to save this planet."

  "Oh," said the Countess Krak in a voice of despair, looking at the set expression on Heller's face.

  None of them knew that none of their estimates were correct. Just four days short of arriving, an Apparatus Death Battalion was approaching with orders to find any hostile influence at the base and destroy it. That happened to include, at that instant, every Voltarian on Earth excepting only the Blixo, its crew, Captain Bolz and Oh Dear. This was no major invasion, not yet, but it could be the preliminary of mass slaughter. Lombar would go crazy for revenge against the planet for getting in the way of his ambitions.

  The wings of death hovered over Earth.

  Chapter 3

  In the coolness of the patio at the villa, Jettero Heller paced up and down. His mood of grimness did not match the tinkle of the fountain.

  For weeks the Countess Krak had been after him to give some serious thought to their plight but had made no penetration in his easygoing attitude. She was learning something about trying to live with a personality like his: with peril a constant companion, a combat engineer took joy in life when he could and tended to shrug off dangers he considered minor. But once he conceived that something should be done about a situation, his dedication to getting it handled was a little awe-inspiring.

  She had thought he would simply shrug and leave the planet to its fate. His carefree attitude did not carry over into his suddenly confronted tasks.

  She sat on the fountain's edge, hopeful that at any moment he would simply turn and say, "You're right. It is too much for us. We'll just put the Emperor in the tug and go someplace nobody ever heard of."

  He turned all right. But he didn't say that. He said, "What do we know of Prince Mortiiy?"

  She chilled. Calabar was writhing in the toils of raw, red war. What he inferred was even worse! But she said, managing a calm voice, "Nothing good, I'm afraid."

  "Good, bad, what does it matter?" said Heller. "I need information."

  He was asking her because she had lately been entertaining him with bits of Royal history she had read in the books Gris had left in her cell during her captivity. Suddenly she grasped an opportunity to discourage him from some mad course that could end in their destruc­tion. He wouldn't believe her unless he saw it himself in print. "Wait right there," she said. "I'll get the books."

  She returned in minutes with the latest supplement of the Compendium she could find. It was only a year old. She fluttered pages. There it was and she showed him, reading aloud:

  MORTIIY, ex-Royal Prince. Proclaimed rebel Denied succession by Royal Proclamation. Banished from Royal family.

  Mortiiy, the youngest of three Royal sons of Cling the Lofty and the late Empress Fohl, was considered so distant from succession in his youth that he was
permitted to follow his chosen career as an officer of the Fleet. Graduated from the Royal Academy rather than Protocol School at Palace City.

  Served with the Fleet with no very notable distinction: three times excused courts-martial; striking and, in one instance, killing an officer superior in rank; not tried due to Royal lineage. Much given to brawling.

  At the age of seventy, some ten years ago, Mortiiy's oldest brother, heir to the throne, was killed in an air-limousine accident. As this left only one heir at Palace City, the Grand Council ordered Mortiiy to return from the Fleet and assume his princely duties, which he did.

  For a time, Mortiiy behaved himself and supported his brother Glit, who had become the heir and of whom Mortiiy appeared very fond.

  However, during a banquet Mortiiy, possibly stimulated with strong drink, took his father, Cling, to task on the outrageous accusation that Cling, not liking the eldest brother, had connived to have him murdered under the apparency of the air-limousine accident. Mortiiy advanced the weird theory that a technician had tampered

  with the machine. His father, Cling, despite this grave provocation, did yet speak to him further and demanded that if this was true, the technician be produced. Alas for Mortiiy, he had killed the offender in a rage of grief over his brother's death.

  Mortiiy was placed under house arrest for a considerable period, becoming very gloomy and surly, refusing to apologize.

  When, five years ago, the heir to the throne, Glit, was found dead in his chambers after a short illness, two Lords approached the palace of Mortiiy to inform him that he was now the heir to the throne.

  Instead of receiving the news graciously, Mortiiy flew into a rage, grievously injured both of them, raced to his father's palace, shot down the guards and gained audience.

  Mortiiy accused Cling before the entire court of being a murderer of his own children, renounced any succession to "a throne drenched in family blood," fired a shot which narrowly missed Cling and then, killing several, seized an air-tank outside and made his escape.

  Proclaimed now by Cling an outcast from the Royal family and with no right to succession to the throne, Mortiiy turned up at the Royal estates on Calabar. He subverted the guards and raised the standard of revolt. He was proclaimed a rebel by Cling.