* * * *
It was easy to forget that Kankad had four arms and a rubbery, quartz-speckled skin, and a face like a lizard's.
"I want Little Me, when he's old enough to travel, to visit your world,” Kankad said. “And some of the other young ones. And when Little Me is old enough to take over the rule of our people, I would like to go to Terra, myself."
"You're going,” von Schlichten assured him. “Some day, when I return, I'll see that you make the trip with me."
"Wonderful, Von!” Kankad was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, it was in Kragan, and quickly. “If we live so long, old friend. There is trouble coming, though even my spies cannot find what that trouble is. And two days ago in Keegark, two of my people died trying to learn it. I ask you-be careful!"
Then he switched hastily back to the language Paula could understand, apologizing. It gave von Schlichten time to wipe the worry from his face before she turned back to him, though it was worse news than he had expected. If Kankad thought things were bad enough to add his own spies to those of the Company, things couldn't be much worse. In fact, anything that brought whatever it was out into the open would be better.
He was still fretting over it as they said their good-byes to Kankad and boarded the Aldebaran for Skilk.
CHAPTER V
The last clatter of silverware and dishes ceased as the native servants finished clearing the table. There was a remaining clatter of cups and saucers; liqueur-glasses tinkled, and an occasional cigarette-lighter clicked. At the head table, the voices seemed louder.
"...don't like it a millisol's worth,” Brigadier-General Barney Mordkovitz, the Skilk military CO, was saying to the lady on his right. “They're too confounded meek. Nowadays, nobody yells ‘Znidd suddabit!’ at you. They just stand and look at you like a farmer looking at a turkey the week before Christmas, and that I don't like!"
"Oh, bosh!” Jules Keaveney, the Skilk Resident-Agent, at the head of the table, exclaimed. “If they don't bow and scrape to you and get off the sidewalk to let you pass, you say they're insolent and need a lesson. If they do, you say they're plotting insurrection."
"What I said,” Mordkovitz repeated, “was that I expect a certain amount of disorder, and a certain minimum show of hostility toward us from some of these geeks, to conform to what I know to be our unpopularity with many of them. When I don't find it, I want to know why."
"I'm inclined,” von Schlichten came to his subordinate's support, “to agree. This sudden absence of overt hostility is disquieting. Colonel Cheng-Li,” he called on the local Intelligence officer and Constabulary chief. “This fellow Rakkeed was here, about a month ago. Was there any noticeable disorder at that time? Anti-Terran demonstrations, attacks on Company property or personnel, shooting at aircars, that sort of thing?"
"No more than usual, general. In fact, it was when Rakkeed came here that the condition General Mordkovitz was speaking of began to become conspicuous."
Von Schlichten nodded. “And I might say that Lieutenant-Governor Blount has reported from Keegark, where he is now, that the same unnatural absence of hostility exists there."
"Well, of course, general,” Keaveney said patronizingly, “King Orgzild has things under pretty tight control at Keegark. He'd not allow a few fanatics to do anything to prejudice these spaceport negotiations."
* * * *
"I wonder if the idea back of that spaceport proposition isn't to get us concentrated at Keegark, where Orgzild could wipe us all out in one surprise blow,” somebody down the table suggested, and others nodded.
"Oh, Orgzild wouldn't be crazy enough to try anything like that,” Commander Dirk Prinsloo, of the Aldebaran, declared. “He'd get away with it for just twelve months-the time it would take to get the news to Terra and for a Federation Space Navy task-force to get here. And then, there'd be little bits of radioactive geek floating around this system as far out as the orbit of Beta Hydrae VII."
"That's quite true,” von Schlichten agreed. “The point is, does Orgzild know it? I doubt if he even believes there is a Terra."
"Then where in Space does he think we come from?” Keaveney demanded.
"I believe he thinks Niflheim is our home world,” von Schlichten replied. “Or, rather, the string of orbiters and artificial satellites around Niflheim. Where he thinks Niflheim is, I wouldn't even try to guess."
"Yes. After he'd wiped us out, he might even consider the idea of an invasion of Niflheim with captured contragravity ships,” Hideyoshi O'Leary chuckled. “That would be a big laugh-if any of us were alive, then, to do any laughing."
"You don't really believe that, general?” Keaveney asked. His tone was still derisive, but under the derision was uncertainty. After all, von Schlichten had been on Ullr for fifteen years, to his two.
"Any question of geek psychology is wide open as far as I'm concerned; the longer I stay here, the less I understand it.” Von Schlichten finished his brandy and got out cigarette-case and lighter. “I have an idea of the sort of garbled reports these spies of his who spend a year on Niflheim as laborers bring back."
* * * *
"You know the line Rakkeed's been taking, of course,” Colonel Cheng-Li put in. “He as much as says that Niflheim's our home, and that the farms where we raise food, here, and those evergreen plantings on Konk Isthmus and between here and Grank are the beginning of an attempt to drive all native life from this planet and make it over for ourselves."
"And that savage didn't think an idea like that up for himself; he got it from somebody like Orgzild,” the black-bearded brigadier-general added. “You know, the main base off Niflheim is practically self-supporting, with hyproponic-gardens and animal-tissue culture vats. And it's enough bigger than one of the City ships to pass for a little world. Yes; somebody like Orgzild, or King Firkked, here, could easily pick up the idea that that's our home planet."
"The Company ought to let us stockpile nuclear weapons here, just to be on the safe side,” another officer, farther down the table, said.
"Well, I'm not exactly in favor of that,” von Schlichten replied. “It's the same principle as not allowing guards who have to go in among the convicts to carry firearms. If somebody like Orgzild got hold of a nuclear bomb, even a little old First-Century H-bomb, he could use it for a model and construct a hundred like it, with all the plutonium we've been handing out for power reactors. And there are too few of us, and we're concentrated in too few places, to last long if that happened. What this planet needs, though, is a visit by a fifty-odd-ship task-force of the Space Navy, just to show the geeks what we have back of us. After a show like that, there'd be a lot less znidd suddabit around here."
"General, I deplore that sort of talk,” Keaveney said. “I hear too much of this mailed-fist-and-rattling-sabre stuff from some of the junior officers here, without your giving countenance and encouragement to it. We're here to earn dividends for the stockholders of the Ullr Company, and we can only do that by gaining the friendship, respect and confidence of the natives...."
* * * *
"Mr. Keaveney,” Paula Quinton spoke. “I doubt if even you would seriously accuse the Extraterrestrials Rights Association of favoring what you call a mailed fist and rattling sabre policy. We've done everything in our power to help these people, and if anybody should have their friendship, we should. Well, only five days ago, in Konkrook, Mr. Mohammed Ferriera and I were attacked by a mob, our native aircar driver was murdered, and if it hadn't been for General von Schlichten and his soldiers, we'd have lost our own lives. Mr. Ferriera is still hospitalized as a result of injuries he received. It seems that General von Schlichten and his Kragans aren't trying to get friendship and confidence; they're willing to settle for respect, in the only way they can get it-by hitting harder and quicker than the natives can."
Somebody down the table-one of the military, of course-said, “Hear, hear!” Von Schlichten came as close as a man wearing a monocle can to winking at Paula. Good girl, he thought; she's started
playing on the Army team, and about time!
"Well, of course.... “Keaveney began. Then he stopped, as a Terran sergeant came up to the table and bent over Barney Mordkovitz’ shoulder, whispering urgently. The black-bearded brigadier rose immediately, taking his belt from the back of his chair and putting it on. Motioning the sergeant to accompany, he spoke briefly to Keaveney and then came around the table to where von Schlichten sat, the Resident-Agent accompanying him.
"Message just came in from Konkrook, general,” he said softly. “Governor Harrington's dead."
It took von Schlichten all of a second to grasp what had been said. “Good God! When? How?"
"Here's all we know, sir,” the sergeant said, giving him a radioprint slip. “Came in ten minutes ago."
It was an all-station priority telecast. Governor-General Harrington had died suddenly, in his room, at 2210; there were no details. He glanced at his watch; it was 2243. Konkrook and Skilk were in the same time-zone; that was fast work. He handed the slip to Mordkovitz, who gave it to Keaveney.
"You from the telecast station, sergeant?” he asked. “All right, in that case, let's go."
As he hurried from the banquet-room, he could hear Keaveney tapping on his wine-glass.
"Everybody, please! Let me have your attention! There has just come in a piece of the most tragic news...."
* * * *
A woman captain met him just inside the door of the big soundproofed room of the telecast station, next to the Administration Building.
"We have a wavelength open to Konkrook, general,” she said. “In booth three."
Another girl, a tech-sergeant, was in the booth; on the screen was the image of a third young woman, a lieutenant, at Konkrook station. The sergeant rose and started to leave the booth.
"Stick around, sergeant,” von Schlichten told her. “I'll want you to take over when I'm through.” He sat down in front of the combination visiscreen and pickup. “Now, lieutenant; just what happened?” he asked. “How did he die?"
"We think it was poison, general. General M'zangwe has ordered autopsy and chemical analysis. If you can wait about ten minutes, he'll be able to talk to you, himself."
"Call him. In the meantime, give me everything you know."
"Well, at about 2210, the Kragan guard-sergeant on that floor heard ten pistol-shots, as fast as they could be fired semi-auto, in the governor's room. The door was locked, but he shot it off with his own pistol and went in. He found Governor Harrington on the floor, wearing only his gown, holding an empty pistol. He was in convulsions, frothing at the mouth, in horrible pain. Evidently he'd fired his pistol, which he kept on his desk, to call help; all the bullets had gone into the ceiling. One of the medics got there in five minutes, just as he was dying. He'd written his diary up to noon of today, and broken off in the middle of a word. There was a bottle and an overturned glass on his desk. The Constabulary got there a few minutes later, and then Brigadier-General M'zangwe took charge. A white rat, given fifteen drops from the whiskey-bottle, died with the same symptoms in about ninety seconds."
"Who had access to the whiskey-bottle?"
"A geek servant, who takes care of the room. He was caught, an hour earlier, trying to slip off the island without a pass; they were holding him at the guardhouse when Governor Harrington died. He's now being questioned by the Kragans.” The girl's face was bleakly remorseless. “I hope they do plenty to him!"
"I hope they don't kill him before he talks."
* * * *
"Wait a moment, general; we have General M'zangwe, now,” the girl said. “I'll switch you over."
The screen broke into a kaleidoscopic jumble of color, then cleared; the chocolate-brown face of M'zangwe was looking out of it.
"I heard what happened, how they found him, and about that geek chamber-valet being arrested,” von Schlichten said. “Did you get anything out of him?"
"He's admitted putting poison in the bottle, but he claims it was his own idea. But he's one of Father Keeluk's parishioners, so...."
"Keeluk! God damn, so that was it!” von Schlichten almost shouted. “Now I know what he wanted with Stalin, and that goat, and those rabbits! Of course they'd need terrestrial animals, to find out what would poison a Terran! Who's in charge at Konkrook now?"
"Not much of anybody. Laviola, the Fiscal Secretary, and Hans Meyerstein, the Banking Cartel's lawyer, and Howlett, the Personnel Chief, and Buhrmann, the Commercial Secretary, have made up a sort of quadrumvirate and are trying to run things. I don't know what would happen if anything came up suddenly.... “A blue-gray uniformed arm, with a major's cuff-braid, came into the screen, handing a slip of paper to M'zangwe; he took it, glanced at it, and swore. Von Schlichten waited until he had read it through.
"Well, something has, all right,” the African said. “Just got a call from Jaikark's palace-a revolt's broken out, presumably headed by Gurgurk; Household Guards either mutinied or wiped out by the mutineers, all but those twenty Kragan Rifles we loaned Jaikark. They, and about a dozen of Jaikark's courtiers and their personal retainers, are holding the approaches to the King's apartments. The native-lieutenant in charge of the Kragans just radioed in; says the situation is desperate."
"When a Kragan says that, he means damn near hopeless. Is this being recorded?” When M'zangwe nodded, he continued. “All right. Use the recording for your authority and take charge. I'm declaring martial rule at Konkrook, as of now, 2258. Tell Eric Blount what's happened, and what you've done, as soon as you can get in touch with him at Keegark. I'm leaving for Konkrook at once! I ought to get in by 0800.
"Now, as to the trouble at the Palace. Don't commit more than one company of Kragans and ten airjeeps and four combat-cars, and tell them to evacuate Jaikark and his followers and our Kragans to Gongonk Island. And alert your whole force. These geek palace revolutions are always synchronized with street-rioting, and this thing seems to have been synchronized with Sid Harrington's death, too. Get our Kragans out if you can't save anybody else from the Palace, but sacrificing thirty or forty men to save twenty is no kind of business. And keep sending reports; I can pick them up on my car radio as I come down.” He turned to the girl Sergeant. “Keep on this; there'll be more coming in."
* * * *
He rose and left the booth. If we can pull Jaikark's bacon off the fire, he was thinking, the Company can dictate its own terms to him afterward; if Jaikark's killed, we'll have Gurgurk's head off for it, and then take over Konkrook. In either case, it'll be a long step toward getting rid of all these geek despots. And with Eric Blount as Governor-General....
The inner door of the soundproofed telecast-room burst open, three men hurried inside, and it slammed shut behind them. In the brief interval, there had been firing audible from outside. One of the men had a pistol in his right hand, and with his left arm he supported a companion, whose shoulder was mangled and dripped blood. The third man had a burp-gun in his hands. All were in civilian dress-shorts and light jackets. The man with the pistol holstered it and helped his injured companion into a chair. The burp-gunner advanced into the room, looked around, saw von Schlichten, and addressed him.
"General! The geeks turned on us!” he cried. “The Tenth North Ullr's mutinied; they're running wild all over the place. They've taken their barracks and supply-buildings, and the lorry-hangars and the maintenance-yard; they're headed this way in a mob. Some of the Zirk Cavalry's joined them."
"Have any ammo left for that burp-gun? Come on, then; let's see what it's like at Company House,” von Schlichten said. “Captain Malavez, you know what to do about defending this station. Get busy doing it. And have that girl in booth three tell Konkrook what's happened here, and say that I won't be coming down, as I planned, just yet."
He opened the door, and the rattle of shots outside became audible again. The civilian with the burp-gun knew better than to let a general go out first; elbowing von Schlichten out of the way, he crouched over his weapon and dashed outside. Drawing his pistol, von
Schlichten followed, pulling the door shut after him.
* * * *
Darkness had fallen, while he had been inside; now the whole Company Reservation was ablaze with electric lights. Somebody at the power-plant had thrown on the emergency lights. There was a confused mass of gray-skinned figures in front of Company House, reflected light twinkling on steel over them; from the direction of the native-troops barracks more natives were coming on the run. On the roof of a building across the street, two machine-guns were already firing into the mob. From up the street, a hundred-odd saurian-faced native soldiers were coming at the double, bayonets fixed and rifles at high port; with them ran-several Terrans. Motioning his companion to follow, von Schlichten ran to meet them, falling in beside a Terran captain who ran in front.
"What's the score, captain?” he asked the panting captain.
"Tenth North Ullr and the Fifth Cavalry have mutinied; so have these rag-tag Auxiliaries. That mob down there's part of them.” He was puffing under the double effort of running and talking. “Whole thing blew up in seconds; no chance to communicate with anybody.... “A Terran woman, in black slacks and an orange sweater, ran across the street in front of them, pursued by a group of enlisted “men” of the Tenth North Ullr Native Infantry, all shrieking “Znidd suddabit!” The fugitive ran into a doorway across the street; before her pursuers were aware of their danger, the Kragans had swept over them. There was no shooting; the slim, cruel-bladed bayonets did the work. From behind him, as he ran, von Schlichten could hear Kragan voices in a new cry: “Znidd geek! Znidd geek!"
The mob were swarming up onto the steps and into the semi-rotunda of the storm-porch. There was shooting, which told him that some of the humans who had been at the banquet were still alive. He wondered, half-sick, how many, and whether they could hold out till he could clear the doorway, and, most of all, he found himself thinking of Paula Quinton. Skidding to a stop within fifty yards of the mob, he flung out his arms crucifix-wise to halt the Kragans. Behind, he could hear the Terrans and native-officers shouting commands to form front.
The Second H. Beam Piper Omnibus Page 44
