“Hah! Drugged and abducted, by Beelzebub! Someone shall pay for this.” Friendly was awake, sitting up and glaring about him as though wondering who to attack first.
“Ah, it’s the blind man,” Kidnaper-in-chief said dryly. “Welcome to the land of the conscious—and, it would seem, the sighted.”
Friendly stuck his nose forward pugnaciously, which was the best he could manage, and glowered at his captor. “Who the devil are you?” he demanded.
“Mr. Hing, by name. I assure you sir that I will trouble you as little as possible. However, at the moment I have need of your aid.”
“I’m in the phone book,” Friendly told him. “Call anytime—during business hours.”
Hing smiled broadly to show that he could appreciate a joke. “You inquired about silver ice,” he said. “I suspect your motive, and I must ascertain what information you have on the subject. Therefore, I am going to introduce you to the object of your inquiry. Have any of you taken the drug before? You, little girl? Well, I assure you it is harmless. You will dream great dreams for five or six hours. More than dreams, I am told; you will experience the drug-induced events fully as though they were real. You will live great lives, some phrase it. Then, at one point as you drift back toward consciousness and reality, a point ascertainable externally by means of brain-wave patterns, you will answer truthfully any questions that may be put to you. You will enjoy talking; no coercion is necessary. Some say that a small percentage of those who use the drugs develop a sensitivity to the brain patterns of others. They become able to, one might put it, read minds. Fascinating if true, but of no concern to us at the present moment.
“I tell you all this so that you will not be apprehensive about the coming, harmless, experience. I would not want any of you to have bad trips.”
“So thoughtful the man is,” Friendly said. “What happens after that?”
Hing shrugged. “Unto each day,” he said, “let us reserve the problems thereof. That is tomorrow. The rest of this night you will spend traveling, limited only by the bounds of your own imaginations. Gentlemen, Miss, I envy you. I shall leave you for the next five hours to get some much-needed sleep. But first, let me wish you each bon voyage!” He walked first to Friendly, then to Leah on Friendly’s left, then over to Robert, and squirted them each in the face with a small rubber-bulbed insufflator.
*
Insufferable, Robert thought. And then he tumbled through the portal of infinity, which opened beneath him, and gazed upon the bright-specked, swirling blackness of the near universe. It was a sight that filled his mind with wonder and his soul with awe, and he stood watching it for some time, until he felt a pluck at his arm.
“It affects us all like that the first time,” Major White said over the suit phone. “You’d better come inside now, sir. The official installation ceremony is due to start in Fort Ley in half an hour, and the key car will take fifteen minutes to get back.”
“That’s right,” Colonel Robert Burrows agreed, turning his head away from the view of the Martian night. “Turn on the spotlight in the ground bouncer, will you?” The driver of the ground bouncer switched on the double headlights, accidently catching Robert full in the beam. His faceplate automatically darkened for a second, and then cleared as the lights were refocused on the ugly, squatting spider shape that was the ship in which his father had first landed on Mars. Now it stood over his father’s body, on guard against eternity. The clear aluminum plaque with the inset copper letters glared so strongly that Robert had to flip in his polaroid filter to read it.
C O L O N E L A L E X A N D E R B U R R O W S
1966 = = 2012
E A R T H
M A R S
M O O N
A M A L T H E A
10
E U R O P A
G A N Y M E D E
H A D E S
he fought the common enemy of mankind
ignorance
and won
A D A S T R A
U . S . A . F . S . S .
“Your father would have been proud of you, sir,” Major White said.
“That’s all I ever really wanted,” Robert said softly to himself. “You know,” he told White, “I have a framed photograph of this which hung in my room when I was a kid, but I’ve never actually been here before.”
“This assignment must mean a lot to you,” Major White said.
“I’ve dreamed of it since high school.”
They climbed back into the ground bouncer and returned to the key car station.
The garrison at Fort Ley was lined up for inspection when he arrived. He walked down the rows of neatly-uniformed, eager, intelligent-looking young men until he reached the front of the line, and then did a snappy about-face and stood at easy attention. Major White, the base adjutant, then officially opened and read the orders.
The official phrases which put Colonel Burrows, U.S.A.F.S.S, in command of Earth’s first line of defense rolled easily off the adjutant’s tongue. “Hereby request and require. . . . by authority of the Joint Earth Command. . . . As authorized in United Nations Service Memorandum Fourteen. . . . shall have absolute and complete jurisdiction. . . . such orders and commands as he shall lawfully issue. . . . for the duration of the present emergency or until and unless he shall be killed, grievously wounded, or otherwise rendered unfit for command duties; or shall be lawfully relieved of command by the order of the Space Executive, United Nations Service.”
White folded the orders and handed them back to Robert. Complete, almost tangible, silence enveloped the field. Robert had a sudden flash of déjà vu, and recognized the scene from his childhood daydreams. But this time it was real. Or a much better done dream, he amended for what he fancied were philosophical reasons. He was suddenly conscious of himself as a dot in the middle of a field surrounded by a puddle of oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere capped by a transparent hemispherical dome on the meteor-pocked face of a dead planet circling a type G star far out along a small arm of a minor spiral galaxy in an unimportant corner of a forgotten universe. From that perspective, it made little difference whether he was awake or dreaming.
“At ease!” Major White barked, bringing Robert out of his reverie. “Gentlemen, I give you Colonel Robert Burrows, your new Commanding Officer!”
The traditional three cheers roared from the throats of the men with such gusto that Robert could only assume that they were genuinely glad that he was taking command. He stood facing them until they once again grew silent. “Gentlemen,” he said in his turn, “I have nothing to offer you but pain, danger, and sudden death. We face a relentless foe who strikes without warning, destroys without compunction, and kills without pity. We stand, a thin gray line, between Earth and the Vetch. We cannot falter; we must not fear; we shall not fail! That is all.”
The men cheered again, as though he were offering a popular program. These, indeed, were Earth’s finest, and Colonel Robert Burrows was proud to lead them. He saluted them. “Major White, dismiss the men!”
“Yes, sir. Squadron, ten-shun! Dis-missed!”
The men broke formation and clustered in little groups about the field. Probably, Robert thought wryly, discussing their new commander. This was Earth’s first line: its bravest, its strongest, its fastest. On their shoulders quite possibly rested the fate of the Earth and the Human Race. And he commanded them. “They are so young,” he muttered to himself, “so very young!”
“What’s that, sir?” Major White inquired.
“Nothing, Major. Just the grunts of a momentarily out of breath and tired old man.” They walked into the Duty Office.
“Old, sir? But you’re not quite forty yet, are you?”
“No, Major. By civilian terms I’m still approaching middle age, but compared to those boys out there—”
“I know how you feel, sir. My son’s on Ganymede.” White sat down, a bitter look on his face. “We were all set to conquer the universe, humanity was. Spreading through the solar system, and getting re
ady for the next big step. Nothing could stop us. Then, two years ago, the Vetch! And now my only son’s holed up in a fort on Ganymede. A secret underground fort where we once had a colony. I tell you, sir, it’s more than a man can take!”
“Buck up, Major,” Robert said. “You’d be surprised how much a man can take.”
“I wish I had your enthusiasm and confidence, sir,” White said. “Although neither will do you much good when you’re in a one-man scout facing the Vetch. Their ships are just better than ours, that’s all. And that inhuman laugh!”
“Wait till I get a chance to try that new fighter I brought out here,” Robert said, a gleam in his eye. “We may be able to give the Vetch a surprise—a nasty surprise.”
“I certainly hope so, sir,” White said, looking doubtful. “Is it good?”
“It might make the difference,” Robert said soberly.
FEEPFEEP
FEEPFEEP
FEEPFEEP
FEEPFEEP
“The alarm!” Robert jumped up and grabbed for his flight jacket.
“But you just arrived, sir,” White said.
“The Vetch don’t care about that. Where’s the plotting room?”
They made the plotting room at a dead run and burst through the door. “The old man!” someone yelled, and the men in the room jumped to attention.
“At ease, damn it!” Robert snapped. “We’re here on business.”
“Quite,” The RAF commander at the great plot board in front of the room knocked the ashes from his pipe and calmly turned back to the board. “Now here’s the situation as relayed to us from our Dover and Eddystone radars,” he said, picking up his pointer. “The bogies are coming in four waves, in their usual, unimaginative box formation. Vector three-five-two decimal naught-nineteen stroke five-six decimal two-nine-seven. Estimated air speed, two hundred knots. Remember, come in high and go after the bombers. Let the fighters come after you if they want you. The important thing is not to let any bombs fall on the Vickers airframe factory at Leeds. Those of you with wing cameras, remember to turn them on before the combat starts. Any final thoughts, Colonel?”
“Give ’em hell,” Robert said quietly. “I’ll be up there with you in a new type of ship.” He held out his fist, thumb down. “Down the Vetch!”
“Down the Vetch!” the squadron echoed.
“Quite right, fellows,” said the RAF commander. “Well, best get going. Cheerie-ho! Never so many, and all that rot. Blast one for the gipper. Earth expects every man to do his duty.”
The cockpit in Robert’s ship was small and dark, with a minimum of controls. He ran through the memorized check-out procedures rapidly and pushed the “ready” button.
“T-twelve, this is control,” the tinny female voice sounded in his ear. “You are on a launch count of fifteen seconds—starting—now!” The red warning lights started blinking and the acceleration boostpads inflated. At five seconds to launch Robert heard the high whine of the gravetodyne generators, and then his stasis blanket flipped on and the power of an exploding sun kicked him toward Galactic Center.
His waist-gunner spotted them first. “Bandits, Skipper; ten o’clock, damn high, and coming in fast.”
Damn! They were just about over the formidable defenses of Baden-Baden. A field of exploding flak rode just below their wings, and to lose any altitude now would be suicide. “Can you keep them off, Sergeant Cohen?”
“Not for long, Skipper.”
“Well, then, I’ll just have to take this bird where they won’t follow.” Robert kicked the rudder and twisted the wheel savagely, wheeling the superfortress around to the right, and put the ship into a torturously steep power-dive.
“What are you doing, Captain?” The copilot yelled. “For the love of God, have you gone off your rocker?”
“I saw a hole there,” Robert yelled back. “And if we hit it just right we’ll be below the flak before we get hit.”
“And if we don’t?”
“You want to live forever?”
“I had something like that in mind.”
B L A M ! !
The big ship rocked and bucked as pressure waves from acres of expanding gases passed through the hull. Then it dropped several hundred feet with a stomach-turning lurch before catching itself in a layer of saner air. “We’re through,” Robert announced calmly over the intercom. “Nothing but clear space between here and the Astroids. You can get out of your nullgee suits now. Condition red is cancelled. Secure from battle stations. Undog the master hatches.”
Robert pulled himself out of the pilot seat and went back into the narrow corridor behind the cockpit where he could strip off his flight suit and hang it up.
Leaving the corridor, he pushed open the heavy side door and went out into the alley. Hilda was waiting for him, as she had promised. “Good to see you, kid,” he said.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Sam,” she said, snuggling against his arm. They left the alley and headed down the steep, narrow street. An ocean fog swept in across the Bay from the Pacific, and Robert buttoned the top button of his trenchcoat. “Are you sure the boodle is in this apartment?”
Hilda pressed herself against him, the tap-tap of her high heels echoing off the buildings along the deserted street. “Have I ever lied to you, Sam?” she asked.
“I’m beginning to lose confidence in you, kid,” he growled. “My name’s Robert. My friends call me Bob.”
“The statue is there, Bob. My word on that. We’ll have a rough time keeping it away from the fat men.”
“He and his gunsel don’t make me nervous. That dodo is as good as ours right now. Stop massaging my bicep.”
She turned away with a pout. “Most men are complimented when I pay attention to them.”
“If I was most men you wouldn’t have hired me. I don’t need compliments, I need to feel that I can trust you. You’re not leveling with me, kid.”
“Bob,” she said, blinking her long lashes up at him, “what makes you say something like that?”
“The guy behind us who’s been following us for the past six blocks.”
“Bob!” Clutching his arm convulsively, she glanced around in time to see the short, dark-coated figure dart into a doorway. “Let’s get out of here,” she said. “Find a taxi, turn a corner, do something!”
“You know who he is.” It wasn’t a question.
“His name is Lorre. He is the most dangerous man on three continents. Please, Bob, let’s get out of here.”
Just at that moment a taxi pulled around the corner, and Bob stepped out of the shadow to hail it. It screeched to a stop, splashing water over the front of Bob’s trenchcoat. Hilda raced across the sidewalk, her heels tapping a staccato of fear on the wet pavement, and climbed into the back seat. Bob slid in after her and slammed the door. “The Embarcadero,” he told the driver, “and move out!” He watched through the rear view mirror as the short man raced out into the street, his arms flailing, trying to flag down a cab. He was still trying as they pulled out of sight over a hill.
“This is it,” the driver announced, pulling over to the curb. “That’s a buck forty.”
“You’re a block away from it,” Bob said.
“That’s right, bud. You won’t get me to go no closer, neither. Not to the Embarcadero; not on a bet!”
Robert sneered and handed the driver two silver cartwheels. “Keep the change.” He and Hilda got out and started down the street. A large sign halfway down the next block rippled EMBARCADERO in hundred-watt bulbs once a second. The street was empty as they approached. When they crossed the street a crippled newsboy came out of a doorway. “Paper, sir?” he asked, tipping Bob the wink.
“Of course,” Bob said, slipping the boy a coin and tucking the paper under his arm.
A blind man tapped up the street toward them as they continued. “Watch it, sir,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth as he passed. “I seen Big Slim go in about ten minutes ago. Tricky Dick’s about too. Inspector Garth say
s he’ll have the Flying Squad here by ten.”
“Good work, Sergeant,” Robert whispered back. “See that he doesn’t start the raid until I give the word.”
“Right-ho, Major.” And the blind man went tapping off.
“What does this mean?” Hilda asked, looking up at him with her large blue eyes. “What do you have to do with Inspector Garth?”
“You didn’t really suppose that I was a crook, did you?” Robert asked, smiling down into those eyes.
“I didn’t want to,” she said, “but you left me little choice. Then you’re not really? And that man—is he a police sergeant?”
“No,” Bob told her. “He’s my old divisional sergeant-major from the recent fracas. Saved my life more than once, he did. And I his, if it comes to that. He’s my man now; we work together. Sometimes I think he’s the better man, really.”
“Then that’s why he called you ‘Major’! Now I understand.” Her eyes glowed. “You did it all for me!”
Robert stopped and took her by the shoulder. “Now listen,” he said with an intensity that made her shake inside. “I’m doing this for that new and better world that everyone talks so much about and does so little for. I’m doing this to head off a second—and infinitely worse—world war that will be upon us before we know it unless brave and honest people from all the world get together now and apply the brakes. And I’m doing this because I can’t sit home and do nothing. That was bred out of me at Ypres and Dunkirk and Le Mans.
“I wish I could say I’m doing this for you. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. But this I am doing for myself; and after this chapter is over the story will go on until I find a sticky end for myself at the wrong end of some blighter’s gun or knife. I do this because I must—there is nothing else.”
“Robert,” Hilda said softly. “Oh, Robert! I understand. Really I do. I’ll never ask anything of you that you aren’t prepared to give. And, when it comes down to it, I’m a pretty fair fighter myself. I’d go through Hell for the man I love.”
“I’m sure you would,” Robert murmured, his lips meeting hers. “You’d better wait out here now. There’s no way you can help me inside.”
Psi Hunt Page 8
