Mission Earth 8: Disaster

by L. Ron Hubbard

  Heller didn't answer. He didn't want to load Prahd with the shock of it.

  But Prahd read something from that. He went back and looked at his blood test and other readings. He fixed his bright green eyes on Heller. "This man is not just a commoner. He's a member of the nobility, the product of very selective breeding for thousands, tens of thousands of years."

  "Can you bring him around?"

  "I don't know. At the very least his mind will be clouded; his vocabulary will have dropped to a few hundred words. It takes years to recover from amphetamines and he's already so old it's doubtful if he can make it."

  "Can you keep him going?"

  "I don't know," said Prahd.

  "Basically," said Heller, "the reason he is here is humanitarian. He couldn't be left to be killed. But it's also important that he be able to talk and write."

  Prahd's eyes narrowed. He went back and looked at the unconscious old man now suspended in fluid. Something seemed to tug at his memory. Suddenly he lifted the cover of the tub and turned the top of the old man's shoulder to him. He took a brush, dipped it in a liquid and drew it across the skin.

  The symbol of a comet appeared.

  Prahd stepped back, eyes wide with shock. "The mark they put on Royal babies!" He stared at Heller. "This is Cling the Lofty, Emperor of Voltar!"

  "Yes," said Heller, "and unless you can bring him around so that he can provide evidence it was at his orders he was removed from Palace City, we'll all be executed for hiding a kidnapped Emperor."

  Prahd collapsed upon a bench. He mopped his forehead with his gown tail. "What a way to become the King's Own Physician!"

  Chapter 3

  Back aboard the tug, the Countess Krak met Heller at the airlock. "Will he live?"

  "I don't know," said Heller.

  "Poor old man," said the Countess. "When will we know?"

  "Not for several days. We may be in the soup but at least I can make sure this planet is all right."

  "You think we may need it?"

  "I doubt that. But Izzy was our friend and I better see if he is all right. I wasn't all that happy about leaving when we did and I wouldn't have except that I thought we would get home in time to alert Fleet Intelligence. We didn't."

  He got out the viewer-phone and took it down into the hangar where it wouldn't be smothered by the tug. He buzzed it.

  Nothing happened!

  The viewer stayed blank.

  It was only the end of the afternoon in New York. Izzy should be there.

  In the next two hours, he tried several times again.

  No result!

  He went up the tunnel to Faht Bey's office and put in a longdistance call and got into a snarl through the Turkish telephone exchange. For reasons he could not make out, they could not connect him.

  Heller turned to the base communication system with the base office in New York. The printouts showed they were on the job. When they realized who was on the machine they got quite excited and polite: they were very happy to be Fleet. Heller gave them the numbers in the Empire State Building and asked them to at least call on some subterfuge and ask Izzy to go into his office and respond on the viewer-phone.

  He waited. Suddenly the printout began to roll.

  THE NEW YORK INFORMATION OPERATOR SAYS THAT ALL THE NUMBERS YOU LISTED, SIR, ARE OUT OF SERVICE.

  Heller typed back:

  IS RAHT THERE?

  He got a response:

  NO, SIR, HE IS AT THE BASE.

  Heller thanked them and turned off the machine. He went out and found Raht in the hangar crew's quarters. "Do you know of anything wrong?" he asked when greetings were over.

  "No, sir. I went by there just two days ago before I came here. Everything was fine with the office. Of course, things are pretty upset in New York, just as they are here. You know, don't you, that Turkey and Sweden have both moved into the former territory of Russia and are getting ready to fight a war as to which one will annex the place. In the U.S., there's general mobilization. I don't know if it's connected with the Russian thing. When I left John F. Kennedy Airport, soldiers were all over the place. Flights were uncertain, too. Does this help?"

  "No," said Heller. "That doesn't seem to connect with Izzy. He's 4F, allergies and things. You sure he was all right?"

  "Saw him myself. He was running down a hall with a handful of papers, looking cheerful and busy."

  "Blast!" said Heller. "What could have happened to him in just the last two days? All his phones are out of service." "You want me to go back, sir?" | Heller shook his head. "What Earth day is this?" "It just was Wednesday, sir."

  "All his options will be up next Monday. If he's not active on them, he'll be in tons of trouble."

  Heller went back to the tug and climbed aboard. He got very busy in his aft quarters. The Countess Krak came in just as he finished changing into a Western summer lounge suit.

  "Listen," said Heller. "I want you to keep an eye on the Emperor and make sure that that goes along as well as it can. And keep this base in line."

  "Where are you headed for?" she said in alarm.

  "I'm going to have Ahmed and Ters drive me to Istanbul. I'm catching a dawn plane for New York."

  "Oh, no! Is Izzy in trouble?"

  "I can't be sure. I promise not to run off with any Miss Americas. I'll be back in a few days. You can reach me or leave word for me at the condo."

  He was piling things into his case. Then he went to a cabinet and got out a spacetrooper collapsible sled and some bombs.

  "Good Heavens!" said the Countess Krak. "You look like this is war!"

  "There seems to be a lot of that hanging around. But I'm just being careful."

  "Bombs? Careful?"

  Heller laughed and gave her a kiss. He went to the airlock. There was suddenly an awful yowling. Mister Calico was standing on the top of the ladder and he wouldn't let Heller descend.

  "He sees the clothes and bag," said the Countess Krak. "He thinks you're going somewhere and deserting him."

  Heller looked at the cat.

  The cat yowled forlornly.

  Heller laughed, got a shoulder satchel, threw some of Mister Calico's kit in and then lifted up the cat and dropped him in it.

  Heller slung the strap over his shoulder and Mister Calico put his paws on the edge and looked out, purring.

  The Countess and Heller said good-bye. Heller slid down the ladder. He was on his way to more war than he had imagined!

  Chapter 4

  Mister Calico thoroughly enjoyed his ride to New York. Jet was travelling on non-U.S. airlines that were not too insistent on putting pets in special boxes—after Jet talked to them—and the flight attendants let him have a spare seat beside Heller, a window seat from which one could admire the various seas and mountains. He also enjoyed the food, both in flight and in a posh restaurant during their long layover in Brussels. He also enjoyed his twin bed in the deluxe hotel.

  It was from Belgium that Heller tried again to phone Izzy. Service suspended, he was told. He switched the call to the condo. Balmor answered.

  "Do you know where Izzy is?" Heller asked.

  "Why, no, sir, Mr. Jet, but I've been wondering myself. He was up here Sunday and he was supposed to drop by yesterday to inspect some new potted trees the gardeners put in. But he didn't show. Is anything wrong?"

  "I hope not," said Heller. "It would be a real mess if he had disappeared. Meet me at JFK with the Silver Spirit. I'll arrive at 2:00 P.M., your time, Friday afternoon." And he gave him the flight number.

  "Oh, I am so pleased you're coming home. Is the madame with you, sir?"

  "Not this trip," said Heller. "But she is fine and sends her best."

  "She's such a charming girl, a real American lady. 2:00 P.M. it is, sir, at JFK."

  It was in flight across the Atlantic that Heller found that the cat wouldn't be admitted unless he were held in quarantine for several months.

  "It's their resistance to anybody landing," he told the cat. "
They fight it with tooth and claw. But we will put our heads together."

  When they debarked, Heller had the cat in the satchel, zipper dosed except for a small opening so it could get some air.

  The corpse at the immigration desk took Heller's passport, looked up in his secret book to see if Jerome Terrance Wister was wanted anywhere, pushed buttons with his knees, read secret screens and, giving no sign of anything, let Heller through.

  The U.S. Customs hand-baggage counter was just beyond. There was a crowd jam. Some old lady had been found to be carrying some smelling salts and they were sure it was cocaine. They had her spread-eagled against a wall and were frisking her: a typical American welcome-home for Americans.

  Heller, waiting in the line, bent over to tie his shoe—quite a feat since it had no laces. With the satchel scraping the floor and hidden from view by other legs, the cat stepped out.

  Heller gave a whispered command, stood up and went through the handbag customs line. "Cat food?" said the inspector. "What the hell is this? You importing American cat food? Barney, open this can and see if it's full of hash."

  The inspector called Barney did and came back eating it. "No drugs. Only preservatives. But two are listed as cancer-causing by the PDA. We'll have to confiscate the lot."

  Heller handed over the cat food. He walked ahead. The cat followed him quietly below the counter level. He went into the baggage-retrieval area, got his grip onto the counter, got it chalked, picked it up and walked out into the lobby. The cat was sitting on a waiting-room seat, washing his face.

  "You already had a criminal record as long as your tail," said Heller. "You are now an illegal alien. One day you are going to have to reform." He put the cat back in the satchel.

  The place was absolutely swarming with military personnel.

  Balmor was there and took his grip. Heller made him wait while he tried another call to the Empire State Building. Service still suspended.

  They went out to the parking lot where sat the Rolls. The chauffeur saluted.

  "I'll go to the condo and wash up and change," said Heller. "And then you can take me downtown to the office. I think I have a lot of urgent business, the way things look."

  "I hope there isn't more trouble," said Balmor from the front seat as they rode. "We were so upset about the lady. The whole staff was. And Mr. Epstein wept for days. I'm sorry Miss Joy didn't come with you. Ever since your call, we've been busy decorating the place. You'll really be surprised."

  "Did Mr. Epstein keep the whole staff on?" said Heller.

  "Oh, yes, sir. He wouldn't think of downgrading your home. I hope you'll be pleased with what you find, sir."

  They rode for about an hour through highways jammed with military convoys and all the signs of national emergency. They eventually turned off Central Park West and drove into the underground garage.

  Heller, anxious about Izzy, was first in and first out of the elevator to the penthouse. He walked across the small private lobby and opened the front door.

  He walked partway across the room.

  A voice said, "Stand right where you are!"

  Heller whirled, eyes riveted on a leveled .45 Colt automatic!

  The man who held it said, "You are under arrest!"

  Two men came in from side doors. They had carbines pointed straight at Heller.

  Jet sized them up. The first man was an army captain. The other two were white-helmeted military police.

  Balmor walked in. He dropped the grip. "Oh, sir," he cried in horror, "I had no idea!"

  "It's all right," said Heller. "Probably that bird at airport immigration alerted them."

  "You're quite correct," said the captain. "Sergeant, do your duty."

  A third MP came out of the library, putting a white-lanyarded revolver in his holster and taking some handcuffs out of his belt.

  "Wait a minute," said Heller. "What's this all about?"

  "You're an army deserter! You didn't report in when the president ordered general mobilization two days ago."

  "I had a waiver!"

  "That expired the instant a national emergency occurred," said the captain. "You're an ROTC graduate and you knew very well you were supposed to report for induction. This makes you a deserter. You'll get at least five years. Sergeant, the cuffs."

  "Hold it," said Heller. "I was out of the country. I just got back a couple hours ago!"

  "Hm," said the captain.

  "That's true, sir," said the sergeant. "We got the tip-off from immigration."

  "(Bleep)!" said the captain. "You're a barracks lawyer, Wister. I can tell that. You're going to make a case of this, aren't you?"

  "I certainly am," said Heller.

  "All that paper work!" said the captain. "Busy as I am, I just don't have time to make out some long report or appear at your trial either. I tell you what I'll do. Just as a favor, mind you, since you'll be a fellow officer. Get into your uniform and we'll take you down and get you inducted."

  "I'll get your uniform pressed," said Balmor, hurrying into Heller's bedroom. He instantly came back out. "Sir!" he wailed. "They've got the whole staff in there, tied hand and foot!"

  "Release them," said the captain to the sergeant. "This guy isn't any fighter, I can tell. But the country is going to need every man it's got. Get your uniform and get dressed, mister."

  "After I'm inducted, what will happen?" said Heller, thinking very anxiously of Izzy.

  "You're Intelligence, aren't you?" said the captain. "You'll get a chance to reconnoiter Camp Dix. And then maybe overseas. Who knows? I'm not G-2. But to be on the safe side, pack your kit. You're in the army now—or will be as soon as you raise your right hand."

  "I've been away," said Heller. "Would you mind telling me what this war is all about?"

  The captain sighed. "I don't know what use you'll be to Intelligence, not knowing that. But there isn't any war yet. This is just a presidential mobilization. This is Friday. War will be declared just as soon as Congress meets Monday. They're being real legal this time."

  "Declared on whom?" said Heller.

  "Maysabongo, you idiot! Those (bleepards) have got all our oil and the only way we can get it back is declaring war and seizing it under the Enemy Property Act."

  Heller reeled.

  He had gotten his first inkling of how Izzy was in trouble! He must be in the middle of this impending war!

  And here he himself was, in the grip of the army, and couldn't help him!

  And he knew he didn't dare stay on Earth more than another five weeks. To be here longer would be fatal to the Emperor and the base!

  Chapter 5

  Driving to the army headquarters in jeeps, there was far less traffic than usual on the streets.

  "You're awful lucky to have a ride," the captain said. "When these tanks are empty, that's it. I don't know how we're going to fight this war on no gas."

  "I thought you said we'd grab the Maysabongo supplies as soon as war was declared," said Jet.

  "I said 'oil,' not gas," replied the captain. "Maysabongo has nailed down all the reserves of crude oil and even though that's seized, it won't do us much good. It's got to be refined to get gasoline and kerosene and the refineries all went radioactive. Jesus, I don't know what use they're going to make of you in Intelligence. You don't seem to have even one brain cell in your head."

  "Well," said Jet, "it's a good thing Maysabongo is no bigger than a postage stamp. It won't take much gas."

  "It won't take any gas at all, you dumbbell. We'll use a hydrogen bomb." I

  "Then why mobilize all these men?" said Jet.

  "Questions, questions. It's not yours to reason why. Its just yours to do and die. Didn't they teach you anything at all in the ROTC?"

  "They should have taught me to keep my mouth shut," said Heller. !

  The captain seemed to find this uproariously funny. "That's the spirit. Grin and bear it. True grit. I got a feeling you'll make it after all."

  Heller was very far from laughing.
The thought of Maysa-bongo, which had been friendly to him, obliterated, put a new stress on his situation.

  The day was very hot: New York in July can be sweltering. He hadn't noticed it before, as the Silver Spirit had been air-conditioned, as had the condo. But riding in this open jeep, the city felt like a steam bath.

  They drew up and double-parked outside the armory. Jet picked up his duffel bag and they nudged him inside. They got a receipt for him from the guards and drove away to round up other deserters.

  Jet found himself in an enormous hall. They had put camp desks and folding chairs all over the drill floor. The place was crammed with perspiring people and awash with fluttering paper. The place was boiling hot.

  A guard shoved Jet into a corner of the room where some medical equipment was set up. He waited and waited, watching men go through a physical examination.

  Suddenly somebody asked him for his papers, somebody else told him to strip, somebody else told him to stand on a scale, somebody else told him to cough, another said to jump up and down and put a cold stethoscope against his chest and somebody else told him to get dressed.

  A doctor signed some papers and a guard told Jet to go over to another part of the armory. In a mob of young men he waited and waited. Then somebody lined them all up three ranks deep and started looking at their papers.

  Somebody said to Jet, "You're an officer candidate. These are enlisted inductees. You're in the wrong place."

  They indicated he should go to another corner of the armory. There was a colonel there, very old, apparently very deaf, sitting at a desk with lots of orders in front of him. Jet put his papers down in front of him.

  "Who are you?" said the colonel.

  "Wister, Jerome Terrance, it says there," said Jet.

  "What do you want?" said the colonel.

  A sergeant got up from his desk and looked at the papers. "He's in officer candidate, ROTC. He's supposed to be sworn in."

  "I don't care what he was born in," said the colonel.

  The sergeant made a sign by raising his hand.

  "Oh, sworn in," said the colonel. "All right, Blister, stand in front of the desk and raise your right hand."