“Too high a priority,” said Zafin. He took it back. “Here we have three wars in progress and somebody from...where?"
“Earth,” said the clerk.
“Who sent it?”
The clerk took the dispatch back and looked. “A security chief named...named Terl."
“What's his record?”
The clerk put his talons on a button console and a wall slot clattered and then spat out a folder. The clerk handed it over.
“Terl,” said Zafin. He frowned, thinking. “Haven't I heard that name before?”
The clerk took back the folder and looked at it. “He requested a transfer about five months ago our time.”
“Steel trap brain,” said Zafin. “That's me.” And he meant it. He took the folder back. “Never forget a name.” He leafed through the papers. “Must be a dead, dull place, Earth. And now a dispatch with wrong priority.”
The clerk took the folder back.
Zafin frowned. “Well, where's the dispatch?”
“On your desk, Your Honor.”
Zafin looked at it. “He wants to know what connections...Numph? Numph?"
The clerk worked the console and a screen flashed. "Intergalactic Director, Earth.”
“This Terl wants to know what connections he has in the main office,” said Zafin.
The clerk pushed some more buttons. The screen flashed. The clerk said, “He's the uncle of Nipe, Assistant Director of Accounting for Secondary Planets.”
“Well, write it on the dispatch and send it back.”
It's also marked confidential,” said the clerk.
“Well, mark it confidential,” said Zafin. He sat back, thinking. He turned his chair and looked out the window at the distant city. The breeze was cool and pleasant. It dissipated some of his irritation.
Zafin turned back to his desk. “Well, we won't discipline this what's-his-name...”
"Terl," said the clerk.
"Terl," said Zafin. “Just put it in his record that he assigns too high priorities to nonsense. He's simply young and ambitious and doesn't know much about being an executive. We don't need a lot of excess and incorrect administration around here! You understand that?”
The clerk said that he did and backed out with the box and its contents. He wrote into Terl's record, “Assigns too high priorities to nonsense; young, ambitious, and unskilled as an executive. Ignore further communications.”
The clerk grinned wickedly in his own little cubicle as he realized the description also fit Zafin. He put the answer to Terl's dispatch on it in a precise, clerkly calligraphy and didn't even bother to file a copy. In a few days it would be teleported back to
Earth.
The mighty, imperious, and arrogant world of Psychlo hummed on.
Chapter 5
The day for the demonstration had arrived and Terl went into a flurry of activity.
Up early, he had again put the animal through its paces. He had made it drive the blade machine up and down and up and down and around and around. Terl had pushed it so hard that the machine had finally run out of fuel. Well, he could fix that.
He went to see Zzt.
“You don't have a requisition,” said
Zzt.
“But it's just a fuel cartridge.”
“I know, I know. But I have to account for them.”
Terl grated his fangs. Leverage, leverage, all was leverage, and he didn't have anything at all on
Suddenly Zzt halted what he was doing. There was a flicker of a smile on his mouthbones. It made Terl suspicious. “Tell you what I will do,” said Zzt. “After all, you did give up five recon drones. I’ll just check out that blade machine.”
Zzt put on a face mask and Terl followed him outside.
The animal was sitting on the machine, collared, the lead rope firmly fastened to a roll bar. It was kind of bluish and shivering in the bitter wind of late winter. Terl ignored it.
The hood popped up as Zzt released the catches. "I’ll just make sure it's all functional,” he said, his voice muffled by his face mask and further muffled because his head was in the motor mounts. “Old machine.”
“It’s a wrecked machine,” said Terl.
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Zzt, busily pulling and pushing connections. “But you got it, didn't you?”
The animal was watching everything Zzt did. It was standing there on the top edge of the instrument panel looking down. “You left a wire loose,” said the animal.
“Ah, so I did,” said Zzt. “You talk?” “I think you heard me.”
“Yes, I did hear you,” said Zzt. “And I also heard no proper, polite phrases.”
Terl snorted. “It’s just an animal. What do you mean, polite phrases? To a mechanic?”
“Well, there,” said Zzt, ignoring Terl. “I think that will be fine in there.” He pulled out a power cartridge and shoved it into the casing and screwed on the cap. “Start it up.”
Terl reached over and pushed a button and the machine seemed to run all right.
Zzt turned it off for him. “I understand you're giving some kind of a demonstration today. I never seen no animal drive. Mind if I come out and watch?”
Terl eyed him. He didn't have any leverage on Zzt and all this cooperation and interest was out of character. But he couldn't put a talon on anything wrong. “Come ahead,” he grunted. “It’ll take place here in an hour.”
He would kick himself later, but right now he had a lot on his mind.
“Could I get warmed up?” said Jonnie.
“Shut up, animal,” said Terl, and he rushed off into the compound.
Nervously Terl waited in the outer office of Numph. One of the clerks had announced him but there had been no invitation to enter.
Finally, after forty-five minutes, he scowled another clerk into announcing him again and this time he was signaled to enter.
Numph had nothing on his desk but a saucepan of kerbango. He was looking at the mountain view through the canopy wall. Terl scratched his belt to make a small noise. Numph eventually turned around and gave him an absent look.
“The demonstration you ordered can take place right away,” said Terl. “Everything is all ready, Your Planetship."
“Does this have a project number?” said Numph.
Terl hastily made up a number. “Project thirty-nine A, Your Planetship."
“I thought that had to do with new site recruitment.”
Terl had saved himself by adding an A, which no projects had. “That was probably thirty-nine. This is thirty-nine A. Substitution of personnel-”
“Ah, yes. Transferring more personnel from home.”
“No, Your Planetship. You remember the animal, of course.”
Recollection cut into Numph's fog. “Ah, yes. The animal.” And he just sat there.
Leverage, leverage, thought Terl. He had no leverage on this old fool. He had combed the offices inside and out and could find none. The home office had merely said he was the uncle of Nipe, Assistant Director of Accounting for Secondary Planets. All this meant, apparently, was that he had his job by influence and was a known incompetent. At least that was all Terl could make out of it.
Obviously, Numph was not going to stir. Terl could see his plans crumbling. He would wind up just vaporizing that damned animal and forgetting it. And all for lack of leverage.
Behind his impassive face, Terl was thinking so hard sparks were flashing internally.
"I’m afraid,” said Numph, “that-'
Hastily Terl interrupted. Don't let him say it. Don't let him condemn me to this planet! The inspiration was on his lips in a miraculous bypass of his thinking.
“Have you heard from your nephew lately?” he said. He meant it socially. He was about to add a lie that he had known Nipe in school.
But the effect was out of proportion. Numph jerked forward and looked at him closely. It was not much of a jerk. But it was enough. There was something there!
Terl said nothing. Numph kept looking at him,
seeming to wait. Was Numph afraid? He had started to say so, but that was a figure of speech.
“There's no reason to be afraid of the animal,” said Terl, smoothly, easily, deliberately misinterpreting things. “It doesn't bite or scratch.”
Numph just kept on sitting there. But what was that in his eyes?
“You ordered the demonstration and it's all ready, Your Planetship."
“Ah, yes. The demonstration.”
"If you'll just get a mask and come outside...”
“Ah, yes. Of course.”
The Intergalactic head of the planet drank off the kerbango in steady gulps, got up, and took his face mask off the wall.
He went into the hall and signaled some of his staff to put on their breathe-masks and follow, and then, with many slit-eyed, darting glances at Terl, he walked with him to the outside air. A mystified Terl was jubilant nevertheless. The old fellow positively reeked with fear. The plan was going to come off!
Chapter 6
Jonnie sat high on the blade machine. The aching cold wind blew puffs of snow, momentarily obscuring the compound. Jonnie's attention was caught by the approaching crowd. Their combined footfalls made the earth shake.
The place chosen for the demonstration was a small plateau jutting out from the compound. It was a few thousand square feet in extent but ended in a sharp-edged cliff that dropped more than two hundred feet into a ravine. There was room to maneuver but one had to stay away from that edge.
Terl came stomping toward him through the light snow. He stepped up on a lower frame of the blade machine to put his huge face near Jonnie's.
“See that crowd?” said Terl.
Jonnie looked at them. They were gathered by the compound. Zzt was over to their left.
“See this speaker?” said Terl. He jostled a speaking-horn thing in his hand. He had used it before in the drilling.
“See this blaster?” said Terl, and he patted a belt handgun he had buckled on, a huge thing.
"If you do one thing wrong,” said Terl, “or foul up in any way, I will gun you right off that rig. You'll be very dead.
Splattered dead.”
Terl reached up and made sure the leash was secure; he had wrapped it around the roll bar and welded the end to the rear bumper. It didn't leave much room for Jonnie to move. His instructions had gone unheard by the small crowd. Now Terl approached them and turned, stood with his huge feet apart, seemed to swell, and yelled, “Start it up!”
Jonnie started it up. He felt uneasy; a sixth sense was biting him, like when you had a puma behind you that you hadn't seen. It wasn't Terl's threats. It was something else. He looked over the crowd.
“Raise the blade!” roared Terl, through the horn.
Jonnie did. “Lower the blade!” Jonnie did. “Roll it ahead.” Jonnie did. “Back it up.” Jonnie did.
“Put it in a circle.” Jonnie did.
“Now build a mound of snow from all angles!”
Jonnie started maneuvering, handling the controls, taking light scrapes of snow, pushing them to a center. He was doing better than just making a mound; he was building a square-sided pile and leveling off its top. He worked rapidly, backing up, pushing in more snow. The precisely geometric mound took shape.
He had just one more run to make inward, a run that would carry him toward the cliff a few hundred feet away.
Suddenly the controls did not respond. There had been a prolonged whirring whine in the guts of the control box. And every knob and lever on the control panel went slack!
The blade machine yawed to the right, yawed to the left.
Jonnie hammered at the slack controls. Nothing bit! The blade abruptly rose high in the air.
The machine rumbled relentlessly forward and rose up to the top of the pile, almost somersaulted over backward. At the top, it slammed down flat. Then it almost did a forward flip as it went down the other side.
It was rolling straight toward the cliff edge!
Jonnie punched the kill button time after time but it had no effect on the roaring engine.
He fought the controls. They stayed slack.
Wildly he looked back at the crowd. He got a fleeting impression of Zzt off to the side. The brute had something in its paw.
Jonnie strained at the collar that held him to this deadly machine.
He tugged at the flexirope. It was as unyielding as ever.
The cliff edge was coming nearer.
There was a manual blade control to his left, held by a hook. Jonnie fought to get the hook loose. If he could drop the blade it might stick and hold. The hook wouldn't let go.
Jonnie grabbed in his pocket for a fire flint and banged the flint against the hook. The hook let go. By its own weight the scraper blade came down in a swooping arc and gouged into the rocky earth. The machine rocked and slowed.
There was a small explosion under the hood. An instant later smoke shot up in the air. And a split second after that a roaring tongue of flame rose.
The cliff edge was only a few feet away. Jonnie stared at it for an instant through the growing sheets of flame. The machine edged forward, buckling its scraper blade.
Jonnie whirled to the roll bar behind him. The flexirope was wrapped around and around it. Pressing the rope against the metal he attacked it with the flint. He had tried it before with no success. But on the verge of being yanked in flames two hundred feet down, hope was all he had left.
His back was getting scorched. He turned to face front. The instrument panel was beginning to glow red hot.
The machine inched closer to the edge.
Small explosions sounded as instruments burst. The searing metal of the panel's upper edge was glowing with heat.
Jonnie grabbed what slack he had on the flexirope and held it against the red-hot metal edge. The rope began to melt!
It took all his will power to hold his hands there. The flexirope dripped molten drops.
The machine teetered. At any moment the blade was going to go into vacant space to shoot the machine into thin air.
The flexirope parted!
Jonnie went off the machine in a long dive and rolled.
With a shuddering groan, the last support of the blade snapped. Flames geysered. As though shot from a catapult, the machine leaped into empty space.
It struck far below on the slope, bounced, plunged to a stop, and was consumed in fire.
Jonnie pressed his burned hands into the cooling snow.
Chapter 7
Terl was looking for Zzt.
When the machine finally went over, Terl had looked around in sudden suspicion. But Zzt wasn't there.
The crowd had laughed. Especially at the last part of it when the machine went. And their laughter was like daggers in Terl's ears.
Numph just stood there, shaking his head. He seemed almost cheerful when he commented to Terl, “Well, just shows you what animals can do.” Only then had he laughed. “They pee on the floor!”
They had drifted back to their offices and Terl was now searching the transport compound. In the underground floors, he walked past rows and rows of out-of-use vehicles, battle planes, trucks, blade scrapers...yes, and ground cars, some of them quite posh. It had not struck him before how villainous was Zzt's pawing off on him of that old wreck of a Mark ll.
He searched fruitlessly for half an hour and then decided to try the repair room again.
Seething, he stomped into it and stared around.
His earbones picked up a tiny whisper of metal on metal.
He knew that sound. It was the safety slide being pulled back on a blaster.
“Stand right there,” said Zzt. “Keep your paws well away from your belt gun.”
Terl turned. Zzt had been standing just inside a dark tool locker.
Terl was boiling. “You installed a remote control when you 'fixed' that motor!”
“Why not?” said Zzt. “And a remote destruct charge as well.”
Terl was incredulous. “You admit it!”
“No witnesses here. Your word, my word. Means nothing.”
“But it was your own machine!”
“Written off. Plenty of machines.” “But why did you do it?”
“I thought it was pretty clever, actually.” He stepped forward, holding the long-barreled blast gun in one hand.
“But why?”
“You let our pay and bonuses be cut. If you didn't do it, you let it be done.”
“But look, if I could make animal operators, profits would come back.”
“That's your idea.” It 's a good idea!” snapped Terl.
“All right. I’ll be frank. You ever try to keep machines going without mechanics? Your animal operators would have just messed up equipment. One just did, didn't it?”
“You messed that up,” said Terl. “You realize that if this occurred on your report, you'd be out of work.”
“It won't occur on my report. There are no witnesses. Numph even saw me walk off before the thing went wild. He would never forward the report. Besides, they all thought it was funny.”
“Lots of things can be funny,” said Terl.
Zzt motioned with the blaster barrel. “Why don't you just walk out of here and have a nice crap.”
Leverage. Leverage, thought Terl. He was fresh out of it.
He left the garage.
Chapter 8
Jonnie was a mound of misery in the cage.
The monster had pitched him in there before going off.
It was cold but Jonnie could not hold a flint in his hands to start a fire. His fingers were a mass of blisters. And somehow, right then, he didn't want much to do with fire.
His face was scorched, eyebrows and beard singed away. Some of his hair was gone. The old Chinko uniform cloth must have been fireproof– it had not ignited or melted, thus saving body burns.
Bless the Chinkos. Poor devils. With their polite phrases and brightness they had yet been exterminated.
That was one lesson to be learned. Anyone who befriended or sought to cooperate with the Psychlos was doomed from the beginning.
Terl had not made one motion in the direction of that burning vehicle to salvage him, knowing he was tied to it. Compassion and decency were no part of the Psychlo character. Terl had even had a gun and could have shot the flexirope in half.
Battlefield Earth Page 12
