by Various
* * * * *
Retief looked at the short-barreled needler in Zorn's hand.
"I see you hedge your bets, Zorn," he said.
"We'll wait here," Zorn said, "until the excitement's over inside. I wouldn't want to attract any attention right now."
"Your politics are still lousy, Zorn. The picture hasn't changed. Your coup hasn't got a chance."
"Skip it. I'll take up one problem at a time."
"Magnan's mouth has a habit of falling open at the wrong time--"
"That's my good luck that I heard it. So there'll be no agreement, no guns, no fat job for Tammany Zorn, hey? Well, I can still play it the other way, What have I got to lose?"
With a movement too quick to follow, Retief's hand chopped down across Zorn's wrist. The needler clattered as Zorn reeled, and then Retief's hand clamped Zorn's arm and whirled him around.
"In answer to your last question," Retief said, "your neck."
"You haven't got a chance, doublecrosser," Zorn gasped.
"Shoke will be here in a minute," Retief said. "Tell him it's all off."
"Twist harder, Mister," Zorn said. "Break it off at the shoulder. I'm telling him nothing!"
"The kidding's over, Zorn," Retief said. "Call it off or I'll kill you."
"I believe you," Zorn said. "But you won't have long to remember it."
"All the killing will be for nothing," Retief said. "You'll be dead and the Rotunes will step into the power vacuum."
"So what? When I die, the world ends."
"Suppose I make you another offer, Zorn?"
"Why would it be any better than the last one, chiseler?"
Retief released Zorn's arm, pushed him away, stooped and picked up the needler.
"I could kill you, Zorn. You know that."
"Go ahead!"
Retief reversed the needler, held it out.
"I'm a gambler too, Zorn. I'm gambling you'll listen to what I have to say."
Zorn snatched the gun, stepped back. He looked at Retief.
"That wasn't the smartest bet you ever made, Mister; but go ahead. You've got maybe ten seconds."
"Nobody doublecrossed you, Zorn. Magnan put his foot in it. Too bad. Is that a reason to kill yourself and a lot of other people who've bet their lives on you?"
"They gambled and lost. Tough."
"Maybe you haven't lost yet--if you don't quit."
"Get to the point!"
Retief spoke earnestly for a minute and a half. Zorn stood, gun aimed, listening. Then both men turned as footsteps approached along the terrace. A fat man in a yellow sarong padded up to Zorn.
Zorn tucked the needler in his waistband.
"Hold everything, Shoke," he said. "Tell the boys to put the knives away. Spread the word fast. It's all off."
* * * * *
"I want to commend you, Retief," Ambassador Crodfoller said expansively. "You mixed very well at last night's affair. Actually, I was hardly aware of your presence."
"I've been studying Mr. Magnan's work," Retief said.
"A good man, Magnan. In a crowd, he's virtually invisible."
"He knows when to disappear all right."
"This has been in many ways a model operation, Retief." The Ambassador patted his paunch contentedly. "By observing local social customs and blending harmoniously with the court, I've succeeded in establishing a fine, friendly, working relationship with the Potentate."
"I understand the agreement has been postponed."
The Ambassador chuckled. "The Potentate's a crafty one. Through ... ah ... a special study I have been conducting, I learned last night that he had hoped to, shall I say, 'put one over' on the Corps."
"Great heavens," Retief said.
"Naturally, this placed me in a difficult position. It was my task to quash this gambit, without giving any indication that I was aware of its existence."
"A hairy position indeed," Retief said.
"Quite casually, I informed the Potentate that certain items which had been included in the terms of the agreement had been deleted and others substituted. I admired him at that moment, Retief. He took it coolly--appearing completely indifferent--perfectly dissembling his very serious disappointment."
"I noticed him dancing with three girls wearing a bunch of grapes apiece. He's very agile for a man of his bulk."
"You mustn't discount the Potentate! Remember, beneath that mask of frivolity, he had absorbed a bitter blow."
"He had me fooled," Retief said.
"Don't feel badly; I confess at first I failed to sense his shrewdness." The Ambassador nodded and moved off along the corridor.
Retief turned and went into an office. Magnan looked up from his desk.
"Ah," he said. "Retief. I've been meaning to ask you. About the ... ah ... blasters. Are you--?"
Retief leaned on Magnan's desk, looked at him.
"I thought that was to be our little secret."
"Well, naturally I--" Magnan closed his mouth, swallowed. "How is it, Retief," he said sharply, "that you were aware of this blaster business, when the Ambassador himself wasn't?"
"Easy," Retief said. "I made it up."
"You what!" Magnan looked wild. "But the agreement--it's been revised! Ambassador Crodfoller has gone on record...."
"Too bad. Glad I didn't tell him about it."
* * * * *
Magnan leaned back and closed his eyes.
"It was big of you to take all the ... blame," Retief said, "when the Ambassador was talking about knighting people."
Magnan opened his eyes.
"What about that gambler, Zorn? Won't he be upset?"
"It's all right," Retief said, "I made another arrangement. The business about making blasters out of common components wasn't completely imaginary. You can actually do it, using parts from an old-fashioned disposal unit."
"What good will that do him?" Magnan whispered, looking nervous. "We're not shipping in any old-fashioned disposal units."
"We don't need to," Retief said. "They're already installed in the palace kitchen--and in a few thousand other places, Zorn tells me."
"If this ever leaks...." Magnan put a hand to his forehead.
"I have his word on it that the Nenni slaughter is out. This place is ripe for a change. Maybe Zorn is what it needs."
"But how can we know?" Magnan yelped. "How can we be sure?"
"We can't," Retief said. "But it's not up to the Corps to meddle in Petreacs' internal affairs." He leaned over, picked up Magnan's desk lighter and lit a cigar. He blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. "Right?"
Magnan looked at him, nodded weakly. "Right."
"I'd better be getting along to my desk," Retief said. "Now that the Ambassador feels that I'm settling down at last--"
"Retief," Magnan said, "tonight, I implore you. Stay out of the kitchen--no matter what."
Retief raised his eyebrows.
"I know," Magnan said. "If you hadn't interfered, we'd all have had our throats cut. But at least," he added, "we'd have died in accordance with regulations!"
* * *
Contents
GREYLORN
By Keith Laumer
PROLOGUE
The murmur of conversation around the conference table died as the World Secretary entered the room and took his place at the head of the table.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," he said. "I'll not detain you with formalities today. The representative of the Navy Department is waiting outside to present the case for his proposal. You all know something of the scheme; it has been heard and passed as feasible by the Advisory Group. It will now be our responsibility to make the decision. I ask that each of you in forming a conclusion remember that our present situation can only be described as desperate, and that desperate measures may be in order."
The Secretary turned and nodded to a braided admiral seated near the door who left the room and returned a moment later with a young gray-haired Naval Officer.
"Members of the Council," said the
admiral, "this is Lieutenant Commander Greylorn." All eyes followed the officer as he walked the length of the room to take the empty seat at the end of the table.
"Please proceed, Commander," said the Secretary.
"Thank you, Mr. Secretary." The Commander's voice was unhurried and low, yet it carried clearly and held authority. He began without preliminary.
"When the World Government dispatched the Scouting Forces forty-three years ago, an effort was made to contact each of the twenty-five worlds to which this government had sent Colonization parties during the Colonial Era of the middle Twentieth Centuries. With the return of the last of the scouts early this year, we were forced to realize that no assistance would be forthcoming from that source."
The Commander turned his eyes to the world map covering the wall. With the exception of North America and a narrow strip of coastal waters, the entire map was tinted an unhealthy pink.
"The latest figures compiled by the Department of the Navy indicate that we are losing area at the rate of one square mile every twenty-one hours. The organism's faculty for developing resistance to our chemical and biological measures appears to be evolving rapidly. Analyses of atmospheric samples indicate the level of noxious content rising at a steady rate. In other words, in spite of our best efforts, we are not holding our own against the Red Tide."
A mutter ran around the table, as Members shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
* * * * *
"A great deal of thought has been applied to the problem of increasing our offensive ability. This in the end is still a question of manpower and raw resources. We do not have enough. Our small improvements in effectiveness have been progressively offset by increasing casualties and loss of territory. In the end, alone, we must lose."
The Commander paused, as the murmur rose and died again. "There is however, one possibility still unexplored," he said. "And recent work done at the Polar Research Station places the possibility well within the scope of feasibility. At the time the attempt was made to establish contact with the colonies, one was omitted. It alone now remains to be sought out. I refer to the Omega Colony."
A portly Member leaned forward and burst out, "The location of the colony is unknown!"
The Secretary intervened. "Please permit the Commander to complete his remarks. There will be ample opportunity for discussion when he has finished."
"This contact was not attempted for two reasons," the Commander continued. "First, the precise location was not known; second, the distance was at least twice that of the earlier colonies. At the time, there was a feeling of optimism which seemed to make the attempt superfluous. Now the situation has changed. The possibility of contacting Omega Colony now assumes paramount importance.
"The development of which I spoke is a new application of drive principle which has given to us a greatly improved effective velocity for space propulsion. Forty years ago, the minimum elapsed time of return travel to the presumed sector within which the Omega World should lie was about a century. Today we have the techniques to construct a small scouting vessel capable of making the transit in just over five years. We cannot hold out here for a century, perhaps; but we can manage a decade.
"As for location, we know the initial target point toward which Omega was launched. The plan was of course that a precise target should be selected by the crew after approaching the star group closely enough to permit telescopic planetary resolution and study. There is no reason why the crew of a scout could not make the same study and examination of possible targets, and with luck find the colony.
"Omega was the last colonial venture undertaken by our people, two centuries after the others. It was the best equipped and largest expedition of them all. It was not limited to one destination, little known, but had a presumably large selection of potentials from which to choose; and her planetary study facilities were extremely advanced. I have full confidence that Omega made a successful planetfall and has by now established a vigorous new society.
"Honorable Members of the Council, I submit that all the resources of this Government should be at once placed at the disposal of a task force with the assigned duty of constructing a fifty-thousand-ton scouting vessel, and conducting an exhaustive survey of a volume of space of one thousand A.U.'s centered on the so-called Omega Cluster."
The World Secretary interrupted the babble which arose with the completion of the officer's presentation.
"Ladies and gentlemen, time is of the essence of our problem. Let's proceed at once to orderly interrogation. Mr. Klayle, lead off, please."
* * * * *
The portly Councillor glared at the Commander. "The undertaking you propose, sir, will require a massive diversion of our capacities from defense. That means losing ground at an increasing rate to the obscenity crawling over our planet. That same potential applied to direct offensive measures may yet turn the balance in our favor. Against this, the possibility of a scouting party stumbling over the remains of a colony the location of which is almost completely problematical, and which by analogy with all of the earlier colonial attempts has at best managed to survive as a marginal foothold, is so fantastically remote as to be inconsiderable."
The Commander listened coolly, seriously. "Mr. Councillor," he replied, "as to our defensive measures, we have passed the point of diminishing returns. We have more knowledge now than we are capable of employing against the plague. Had we not neglected the physical sciences as we have for the last two centuries, we might have developed adequate measures before we had been so far reduced in numbers and area as to be unable to produce and employ the new weapons our laboratories have belatedly developed. Now we must be realistic; there is no hope in that direction.
"As to the location of the Omega World, our plan is based on the fact that the selection was not made at random. Our scout will proceed along the Omega course line as known to us from the observations which were carried on for almost three years after its departure. We propose to continue on that line, carrying out systematic observation of each potential sun in turn. As we detect planets, we will alter course only as necessary to satisfy ourselves as to the possibility of suitability of the planet. We can safely assume that Omega will not have bypassed any likely target. If we should have more than one prospect under consideration at any time, we shall examine them in turn. If the Omega World has developed successfully, ample evidence should be discernible at a distance."
* * * * *
Klayle muttered "Madness," and subsided. The angular member on his left spoke gently, "Mr. Greylorn, why, if this colonial venture has met with the success you assume, has its government not reestablished contact with the mother world during the last two centuries?"
"On that score, Mr. Councillor, we can only conjecture," the Commander said. "The outward voyage may have required as much as fifty or sixty years. After that, there must have followed a lengthy period of development and expansion in building the new world. It is not to be expected that the pioneers would be ready to expend resources in expeditionary ventures for some time."
"I do not completely understand your apparent confidence in the ability of the hypothetical Omega culture to supply massive aid to us, even if its people should be so inclined," said a straight-backed woman member. "The time seems very short for the mastery of an alien world."
"The population development plan, Madam, provided for an increase from the original 10,000 colonists to approximately 40,000 within twenty years, after which the rate of increase would of course rapidly grow. Assuming sixty years for planetfall, the population should now number over one hundred sixty millions. Given population, all else follows."
Two hours later, the World Secretary summed up. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have the facts before us. There still exist differences in interpretation, which however will not be resolved by continued repetition. I now call for a vote on the resolution proposed by the Military Member and presented by Commander Greylorn."
There was silence in the Council Chamber as
the votes were recorded and tabulated. Then the World Secretary sighed softly.
"Commander," he said, "the Council has approved the resolution. I'm sure that there will be general agreement that you will be placed at the head of the project, since you were director of the team which developed the new drive and are also the author of the plan. I wish you the best of luck." He rose and extended his hand.
The first keel plate of the Armed Courier Vessel Galahad was laid thirty-two hours later.
CHAPTER 1
I expected trouble when I left the bridge. The tension that had been building for many weeks was ready for release in violence. The ship was silent as I moved along the passageway. Oddly silent, I thought; something was brewing.
I stopped before the door of my cabin, listening; then I put my ear to the wall. I caught the faintest of sounds from within; a muffled click, voices. Someone was inside, someone attempting to be very quiet. I was not overly surprised. Sooner or later the trouble had had to come into the open. I looked up the passage, dim in the green glow of the nightlights. There was no one in sight.
I listened. There were three voices, too faint to identify. The clever thing for me to do now would be to walk back up to the bridge, and order the Provost Marshall to clear my cabin, but I had an intuitive feeling that that was not the way to handle the situation. It would make things much simpler all around if I could push through this with as little commotion as possible.
There was no point in waiting. I took out my key and placed it soundlessly in the slot. As the door slid back I stepped briskly into the room. Kramer, the Medical Officer, and Joyce, Assistant Communications Officer, stood awkwardly, surprised. Fine, the Supply Officer, was sprawled on my bunk. He sat up quickly.
They were a choice selection. Two of them were wearing sidearms. I wondered if they were ready to use them, or if they knew just how far they were prepared to go. My task would be to keep them from finding out.
I avoided looking surprised. "Good evening, gentlemen," I said cheerfully. I stepped to the liquor cabinet, opened it, poured Scotch into a glass. "Join me in a drink?" I said.
