The Planet Killers: Three Novels of the Spaceways (Planet Stories (Paizo Publishing) Book 32)

by Silverberg, Robert

  The dying man muttered something incoherent, stretched his limbs taut, held the spreadeagle for a moment, and went limp.

  “He is dead,” the Lurioni said calmly. “I have undertaken blood-guilt for you, Earthman.”

  “I didn’t ask you to kill him, only to stop him from getting away.”

  “You said he was a thief. A thief’s life is forfeit, is it not? I have saved the government money.”

  On this planet all lives are forfeit , Gardner thought. He stared down at the grotesquely twisted form lying sprawled on the pavement. Several strollers had paused on the far side of the street to watch. There was no sign of a Lurioni policeman anywhere.

  The killer stooped and casually wrenched his blade free from the body. Looking down at Gardner from his enormous height, the Lurioni said, “This was no affair of mine. You must buy me free of it.”

  “How much do you want?”

  “A thousand units,” the Lurioni replied immediately. “It is the usual price.”

  Gardner scowled, wondering if he ought to try to haggle. He decided against it. The money meant nothing to him, and the sooner he extricated himself from this nightmarish incident, the better. He took out his wallet and surrendered ten hundred-unit notes.

  “Is that all?” he asked.

  “You must pronounce the formula. Say, ‘I take upon myself the blood-guilt for the man slain at my request by Binnachar dur Sliquein.’”

  “I take upon myself the blood-guilt for the man slain at my request by Binnachar dur Sliquein,” Gardner repeated. “Is that all?”

  “That is all. I am absolved.”

  “What about me, though? What happens to the body, now?”

  Binnachar shrugged elaborately. “What concern is that of yours or mine? The man was a thief; you said so yourself. Since he is an Earther, he probably will not have relatives here to seek for his body. Leave him for the carrion-pickers.”

  “But the police?”

  “The death of thieves does not interest the police.” Binnachar knelt again and wiped his blade clean on Archer’s jacket after which he replaced the knife in his own tunic. “I am grateful to have been of service to you, ser Earthman. A pleasant night to you.”

  Gardner remained where he was for a moment, still shaken by the swiftness, the brutality of the incident.

  And no one seemed to care. Perhaps that was the worst of it. The knot of watchers was gone; Binnachar dur Sliquein, having received his blood-fee and having been absolved of blood-guilt, had probably already begun to forget the incident; the police had never even shown up on the scene. The only ones at all interested were the animals that clustered in the gutter, sipping the warm blood that runneled from the gash in Archer’s breast. No doubt when they tired of drinking the blood, they would devour the body. Gardner shuddered.

  The longer he remained here, he knew, the greater was his chance of finding trouble. Turning, leaving the body where it lay, he retraced his steps until he reached the hotel.

  The desk clerk woke once again from his slumber to ask, “Did you find him?”

  “Yes,” Gardner said.

  He rode upstairs.

  To his relief, he saw that no one had attempted to enter his room during his brief absence. He sank down wearily on the bed, bitterly regretting the fact that he had thrown away the khall bottle. He needed a drink badly. He was shaken to his core.

  The computer had failed again, he thought. And this time it had failed in a way that threw doubt on the validity of any of its predictions. Somehow it had managed to send out one who was rotten within, who had chosen to betray Earth instead of work for Earth’s safety. How could such a thing happen? Security agents went through fine screening. Those chosen for this particular assignment were screened even more thoroughly. And yet Archer had passed through the net, a traitor.

  The computer, Gardner thought, is only a machine. It takes the facts as given to it, weaves in a dollop of random variables, and produces a prediction. But it can’t see into the human brain. It had proved unable to peer behind the bland exterior of Damon Archer and detect the traitor lurking within. Archer had fooled the computer; or, rather, the computer had failed to predict his behavior accurately. It had similarly bungled the first expedition to Lurion.

  There was no escaping the fact now, Gardner thought. The computer’s judgment could not be trusted. It had failed on a short-range prediction, the reliability of one man; how could its word be accepted for such a mighty extrapolation as the coming galactic war?

  Gardner realized dully that he was on the edge of turning traitor himself: traitor to Security, traitor to Earth, traitor to the computer; all this, but, perhaps, not a traitor to himself.

  Very carefully, Gardner took the dead man’s recorder and touched the playback stud. The reel had been completely erased. But there were ways, he had heard, of compelling an erased tape to yield some of its secrets. Just to be absolutely certain, Gardner opened the mechanism, worried out the tiny reel of tape, and shredded it between thumb and forefinger. Then he stuffed it thoughtfully in the disposal chute, following it a moment later with the crushed casing of the recorder itself.

  So much for Archer’s spying, he thought.

  The visi-screen bleeped. It was Leopold, calling back, no doubt. Gardner still felt shaky. He was on the threshold of an important decision, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone till the decision was complete. But he couldn’t very well ignore the screen.

  Gardner activated the set. Yes, it was Leopold. The bearded man looked agitated.

  “What happened?”

  “He was making a tape of our conversation,” Gardner said. “I guess he was planning to peddle it to some third party after the project was complete.”

  “The little worm,” Leopold muttered. “Where did he go?”

  “He woke up, knocked me over, and made a break for it. About three blocks from here he ran into a Lurioni with a long knife.”

  “Dead?”

  Gardner nodded. “I left him in the street. He won’t be making any little deals.”

  “But what about—?”

  “The project?” Gardner’s face darkened. “I don’t know. I don’t know at all, right now. Just stay in touch with me, and I’ll keep you posted on the developments.”

  “Will do.”

  The screen went blank. Gardner pounded one fist into the palm of his other hand.

  Assuming he still wanted to go through with the project, there would have to be a replacement for Archer. And perhaps a second replacement would be needed. Smee, cracking slowly under the psychological strain of the assignment, was obviously on the verge of a complete burn-out. He might not last out the time it would take to get Archer’s replacement to Lurion.

  Gardner put his head in his hands. Killing a planet was no matter for weak men.

  He wondered about Archer. No doubt Archer had had some grand idea of collecting damning and unchallengeable evidence and peddling it. “The Confederacy of Rim Stars,” Archer had said. Yes, that loose linkage of second-rate worlds would pay well for anything that might tear down Earth’s interstellar prestige.

  But Archer had panicked guiltily, and now he would do no betraying. His act might yet save a world, Gardner thought.

  Weary, his head throbbing, Gardner rose and pushed Archer’s suitcase into the closet, slapping the seal on the closet door. They’d have to rip up the walls before they found it.

  What to do now? Send back to Earth for replacements? Continue as scheduled? No, Gardner thought.

  He remembered Steeves and his two earnest young Lurioni “philosophers.” He had to have another talk with Steeves. Then, perhaps, he could frame his decision. Meanwhile, he would have to stall off Smee, Leopold, and Weegan on the matter of asking for a replacement for Archer.

  Gardner restored the room to a semblance of order. Then, knowing that the best thing he could do now was to get some sleep, he began to undress.

  Chapter Twelve

  There were calls from Smee a
nd Weegan in the morning, wanting explanations of the delay. As clearly as he dared, Gardner told them the story: that Archer was dead, and that they would all have to hang fire until a replacement arrived. He let them infer that he had already sent the coded distress signal to Earth that would get a replacement on his way.

  Weegan took the news philosophically enough. He hadn’t been on Lurion long enough for the assignment to have gotten under his skin.

  But Smee was expectably agitated. “I can’t take much more of this, Gardner. Any day now I’m going to blow my stack. If there’s any more delay …”

  Gardner calmed him, avoiding Smee’s eyes as he assured him soothingly that everything would proceed on schedule, that in a very short time the project would be completed. Smee seemed to accept the balm, although reluctantly. Gardner realized that Smee could not be counted on much longer.

  There was no sign of Lori in the dining room when Gardner finally got off the screen and could go down for breakfast. After eating, Gardner repaired to the jewel exchange and looked around for Steeves.

  Since the abortive luncheon date, Steeves and Gardner had seemed to avoid each other by unspoken mutual consent. The abrupt end of the little meeting had been too embarrassing. Gardner reddened now in memory as he approached Steeves’ trading area.

  “Steeves, can I talk to you for a moment. Not on business.”

  The older man frowned. “What is it?” he said impatiently.

  “It’s about that lunch we had, I want to say I’m sorry for charging out that way. I was … upset.”

  “Well? What of it?”

  “I’ve been thinking things over, Steeves. I’d like a chance to meet those two again.”

  “Why? Planning to peddle them to the government?”

  “You know I’m not an informer,” Gardner said sharply. “I want to talk to them again. I think I might be able to make them an offer of support. A considerably larger offer than you might expect me capable of.”

  Steeves was thoughtfully silent. At length he said, “All right, Gardner. Tonight, at my place. The address is 623 Thuurin Square. But I warn you, if this is some kind of trick—”

  “I’ll see you tonight. And thanks for giving me the second chance.”

  Gardner walked rapidly away.

  The day passed slowly. Gardner made, broke, remade his decisions a hundred times. He remembered how Karnes had said, “ I might as well tell you that I don’t think you’re the man for the job. But the computer does, though .” Chalk up another error for the computer. Karnes, with his merely human abilities, had been a shrewder judge of character.

  He left the exchange early and returned to the hotel. A close, dank fog hung low over the city, blanketing the streets; and a warm, muggy rain was starting to fall. It was the kind of weather, Gardner thought, that caused rot—of clothing and of men’s souls.

  The visi-screen was bleeping when he walked in. Quickly Gardner activated it.

  It was Smee again.

  This time Smee looked more upset than ever. His face was pale and shiny with sweat, and the few strands of his hair seemed glued to his scalp by perspiration. His hands, just visible in the lower corner of the screen, were quivering visibly.

  “What is it?” Gardner asked. “Are you going to keep calling me every couple of hours?”

  Smee’s face was piteous. “Listen, Gardner,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “I’m coming apart at the seams. I can’t take it any more.”

  “You’ve lasted this long, Smee. Can’t you hang on a little while longer?”

  “It’s been six months of hell. I … I nearly killed myself half an hour ago.”

  “ Smee! ”

  Gardner wanted to reach out into the screen, seize the other man by his thick shoulders, and shake him back into sanity. Smee’s head was bowed, his eyes downcast and weary-looking.

  “I’m fighting it, Gardner. I want to do my part in the project. But, dammit, can’t you understand what this sort of life is doing to me?”

  “Look, Smee, the replacement for Archer will be here soon,” Gardner lied. “A few days …”

  “Weeks!”

  “But the man is coming . Take hold of yourself, Smee. Don’t wreck everything for the rest of us. Try to hang on a little while longer.”

  “It’s hard, Gardner.”

  “Try.”

  “I’ll … try.”

  Gardner smiled. “Good man. Ease up, now. Call me again, if you have to. Remember, it’ll all be over soon.”

  “I hope so,” Smee said. His voice was a harsh, doleful croak.

  After the screen had cleared, Gardner sat back, anxiously knotting his hands together. He was dripping wet, as much from his own state of tension as from the mugginess of the weather.

  Tonight, he thought, would see the tale told. Either he would throw up the project entirely, or he would proceed as ordered. In the latter instance, he would have to ask for replacements: a replacement for Archer and probably one for Smee. The man might possibly hold together for the weeks it would take for a new agent to arrive, but it was doubtful. Smee was going to pieces in a hurry. He would be no good for anything except a pension, whenever he did get off Lurion. No executioner, Gardner thought, should be required to hold the gun at his victim’s head for six, almost seven, solid months before pulling the trigger.

  Someone knocked unexpectedly at the door.

  Gardner glanced up, startled. “Who is it?”

  “Lori. I want to talk to you, Roy.”

  He opened the door. The girl looked tense and distraught. She was dressed in prim, unseductively severe clothes, in sharp contrast to the way she had looked the last time she had knocked on his door.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in, Roy?”

  “I … suppose so.” He held the door open uncertainly. “But … I thought we had agreed not to see each other any more after last night, Lori.”

  “That was our agreement. And maybe I shouldn’t have broken it. But, I think you owe me some explanations, Roy. That’s why I’m here.”

  He remained standing, and so did she. “What sort of explanations?”

  Her eyes did not meet his. “It was the wrong thing for me to do, I know,” she said in a hollow voice. “Call it schoolgirl jealousy, call it whatever you want. But I went to the Customs Office this morning and checked your immigration records.”

  Gardner felt as though he had been butted in the stomach. But he said nothing.

  Lori went on, in the same remote tone, “I told them I wanted to know if you were married. They didn’t like the idea of showing me your papers, but when I told them how you … you had …” She paused. “When I told them, and gave them some money besides, they were willing to let me look. Your entrance papers say you’re not married. Why did you tell me you were, Roy? Did you want that badly to get rid of me?”

  Gardner was dumbfounded. He said lamely, “I never thought you’d check the records, Lori.”

  “It’s terrible of me to come in here and accuse you like this. The ladylike thing to do would be to swallow my pride and forget the whole affair. But, Roy, how could you lie to me that way?”

  “I had to.”

  “To preserve your precious bachelorhood? I wasn’t going to entrap you forever,” she said bitterly. “You didn’t have to think I would spin a web around you and suck your blood.”

  “It wasn’t anything like that,” Gardner said thickly. “I have … had … professional reasons for not wanting to get emotionally involved with anybody on Lurion.”

  “ Professional reasons?”

  He nodded helplessly. The girl stared strangely at him. Quietly she said, “I wonder just what your profession is.”

  “I’m a jewel-trader. You know that.”

  “I’m not so sure. The hotel people whisper a lot about you, you know. They say you have strange friends, that you get visi-screen calls from distant continents. And last night there was a fight in your room.”

  “How do you know that?”


  “I came up here late last night just to tell you how sorry I was to have caused you trouble, you know. I still thought you were a married man. I heard the sound of a struggle going on in here. There was another man, and he said something about the Confederacy of Rim Stars paying highly for information he could give them, and you were talking about torture, and Security, and then there was the sound of furniture breaking …” She stared at the floor. “I was frightened. I ran away. And then, did you know, this morning they found the dead body of an Earthman named Archer a few blocks from here? He had been knifed. He was the man you were fighting with in your room, wasn’t he? Roy, what are you? ”

  Gardner felt a knot of tension tightening in his belly. The girl’s face, frightened, accusing, hovered before him. He knew that what he was about to do violated all precepts of Security. Yet he had to do it. He had to unburden his soul of the massive weight it bore.

  “You want the truth?” he said. “All right. I’ll give you the truth. But you’ll have to keep it locked up in your own skull. No one will believe you if you blab it, anyway.”

  “Roy, I don’t understand.”

  “Quiet, and listen to me.” Gardner’s face was set in a stern mask. “Archer, the dead man, was part of a team of five men sent out by Earth Central to do a job here on Lurion. Then Archer sold out, or was planning to as soon as he had a confession from my lips. He didn’t get it.”

  “What kind of job?” Lori asked.

  “We were sent here to destroy Lurion.”

  The girl’s eyes widened for a moment, then focused on him in a bewildered glare.

  “ What? ”

  He told her. Speaking slowly, dragging each word out from where he had hidden it so long, Gardner told her about Karnes and about the assignment. And why he had felt it necessary to pretend he was married. His heart felt lighter with each word of the bizarre confession.

  When he was finished, she forced a little lopsided smile and said, “And I was studying cruelty on Lurion! I could have stayed at home and done a better job.”

  He shook his head. “Look at it through the computer’s eyes. From the data given, the computer determined that there would be nothing cruel about what Earth would do to Lurion. We would be killing three billion people, destroying an entire culture. But we would be removing a filthy plague spot from the universe. We would be saving Earth and we would be protecting the rest of the civilized galaxy.”