Money had again become a real medium of exchange. Now it was something that did away with going to the store for an egg’s worth of mustard.
So Cal Blair felt a letdown. With his problem solved, there was no more to it, and that was that. He smiled. He’d send the Key to Murdoch’s Hoard to the museum.
And furthermore, let men seek Murdoch’s Hoard, if they wanted to. Doubtless they would find some “uniques” there. A pile of ancient coins would be uniques, all right. But the ancient papers and coins and jewels would not be detectable from any of the duplicates of other jewels and coins of that period that glutted the almost-abandoned museum.
-
Benj Blair snarled at the man in front of him. “You slinking dupe! You can’t get away with that!”
The man addressed blanched at the epithet and hurled himself headlong at Benj. Cal’s twin brother callously slipped a knife out of his belt and stabbed down on the back of his attacker. It was brutal and bloody. Benj kicked the dead man back with a lifted knee and addressed the rest of the mob.
“Now look,” he snarled, “it is not smart. This loke thought he could counterfeit. He’s a dead idiot now. And anybody that tries to make identium in this station or any place that can be traced to any one of us will be treated likewise. Get me?”
There was a growl of absolute assent from the rest.
“Is there anyone who doesn’t know why?”
“I’m dumb,” grinned a man in the rear. “Make talk, Benj.”
“O.K.,” answered Benj. “Identium is a synthetic element. It is composed of a strictly unstable atom that is stabilized electronically. It starts off all right, but at the first touch of the scanning beam in the matter converter, it becomes unstable and blows in a fission-reaction. Limpy, there, tried it once and it took his arm and leg. The trouble with identium explosions is the fact that the torn flesh is sort of seared, and limb-grafting isn’t perfect. That’s why Limpy is Limpy. Then, to make identium, you require a space station in the outer region. The manufacture of the stuff puts a hellish positive charge on the station, which is equalized by solar radiation in time. But the station must be far enough out so that the surge inward from Sol isn’t so high that the inhabitants are electrocuted by the change in charge.
“Any detector worthy of the name will pick it up when in operation at a half light-year—and the Patrol keeps their detectors running. That, plus the almost impossible job of getting the equipment to perform the operation. I’ll have no identium experiments here.”
A tiny light winked briefly above his head. It came from a dusty piece of equipment on a shelf. Benj bunked, looked up at the winking light, and swore.
“Tom!” he snorted. “What in the name of the devil are you doing?”
The technician put his head out of the laboratory door. “Nothing.”
“You’re making this detector blink.”
“I’m trying to duplicate an experiment.”
“Trying?”
Tom grinned. “I’m performing the actual operation of the distillation of alcohol.”
“That shouldn’t make the detector blink.”
“There’s only one thing that will do that!”
“Not after all this time.”
“It’s not been long. About ten years,” Tom objected. “Look, Benj. Someone has found the Key. And not only that, but they’ve made it work.”
“I’d like to argue the point with you,” said Benj pointedly. “Why couldn’t you make it tick when we had it seven years ago? You were sharp enough to make a detector, later.”
“Detecting is a lot different from generating, Benj. Come on, let’s get going. I want to see the dupe that’s got the Key.”
-
Had Cal Blair been really satisfied just to make his gadget work, he might never have been bothered. But he tinkered with it, measured it, and toyed with it. He called Tinker Elliott to boast, and found that she had gone off to Northern Landing with her illustrious brother to speak at a medical convention, and so he returned to his toy. Effectively, his toying with the Key gave off enough radiation to follow. And it was followed by two parties.
The first one arrived about midnight.
The doorbell rang, and Cal opened it to look into the glittering lens of a needle beam. He went white and retreated backward until he felt a chair behind his knees. He collapsed into the chair.
“P-p-p-put that thing away.”
“This?” grinned the man, waving the needle beam.
“Shut up, Logy,” the other snapped. To Cal, he said: “Where is it?”
“W-w-w-where is w-w-w-what?”
“The Key.”
“Key?”
“Don’t be an idiot!” snarled the first man, slapping Cal across the face with the back of his hand.
Cal went white. “Better kill me,” he said coldly, “or I’ll see your identity taken!”
“Cut it, Jake. Look, wiseacre, where did you get it?”
“The Key? It came in the mail.”
“Mail, hell! That was mailed ten years ago!”
“It got here six weeks ago.”
“Musta got lost, Logy,” offered Jake. “After all, Gadget’s been gone about that long.”
“That’s so. Those things do happen. Poor Gadg. An’ we cooled him for playing smart.”
“We wuz wrong.”
“Yep. So we wuz. Too bad. But Gadget wasn’t too bright—not like this egg. He’s made it work.”
“Logy, you’re a genius.”
“So we chilled Gadget because we thought he was playin’ smart by tryin’ to swipe the pitch. He didn’t lam wit’ the Key at all.”
“How about this one?” asked Jake.
“He ain’t going to yodel. Better grab him and that pile of gewgaws. The rest of the lads’ll be here too soon.”
“Rest?”
“Sure. The whole universe is filled wit’ detectors ever since Ellswort’ made the first one.”
“Get up, dope,” snapped Jake, motioning to the door with his beam.
Blair walked to the door with rubber joints in his knees. Logy lifted the equipment from the table and followed Jake. “He ain’t made no notebook,” Jake complained.
“He had some plans,” said Logy, “but the fool set the stuff on ‘em and they’re all chewed up. He can make ‘em over.”
“O.K. Git goin’, loke.”
Blair could not have protested against the pair unarmed. With two needle beams trained on his back, he was helpless. He went as they directed, and found that his helplessness could be increased. They forced him into a spacecraft that was parked on the roof.
The autopilot was set, and the spacecraft headed across the sky, not into space, but making a high trajectory over Terra itself. Once into the black of the super-stratosphere, they turned their attention back to Cal.
“Gonna talk?”
“W-w-w-what do you w-w-want me to s-s-say?” Cal chattered.
“Dumb, isn’t he?”
“Look, sweety, tell us what’s with this thing.”
“It’s a c-c-cavity resonator.”
“Yeah, so we’ve been told,” growled Logy. “What makes?”
“B-b-b-but look,” stammered Cal. “W-w-what good’ll it do you?”
“Meaning?” Jake snarled.
“Whatever treasure might be there is useless now.”
Jake and Logy split the air with peals of raw laughter.
Jake said: “He is dumb, all right.”
“Just tell us, bright-eyes. We’ll decide,” snapped Logy—
“W-w-well, you send out a signal with it and then stop it and switch it to the detecting circuit. You listen, and the signal goes out and starts the other one going like tapping a bell. It resonates for some time after the initial impulse. It returns the signal, and by using the directional qualities, you can follow the shock-excited second resonator right down to it. Follow?”
“Yeah. That we all know,” Jake drawled in a bored voice. His tone took on that razo
r edge again and he snarled: “What we’re after is the how, get me? How?”
“Oh, w-w-w-well, the trick is—”
“Creeps!” Logy exploded. He crossed the cabin in almost nothing flat and jerked upward on the power lever.
The little ship surged upward at six gravities, making speech impossible. Blair wondered about this, sitting there helpless and scared green, until a blast of heat came from behind and the ship lost drive. A tractor beam flashed upward, catching the ship and hurling it backward. The reaction threw all three up against the ceiling with considerable force, and the reverse acceleration generated by the tractor’s pull kept them pasted to the ceiling. Another ship was beside them in a matter of seconds, and four space-suited men breached the air lock and entered, throwing their helmets back.
“Jake Jackson and Freddy Logan,” laughed the foremost of the newcomers. “How nerce of you to meet us here.”
“Grab the blinkers,” said the one behind.
“Naturally. Naturally. Pete and Wally take Blair. Jim and I’ll muscle the gripper.”
Two of them carried Cal to the larger ship. The other two scooped up the equipment and carried it behind them. Once inside, the tractors were cut and the smaller ship plummeted toward Terra. With no concern over the other ship and its two occupants, the newcomers hurled Cal back against the wall and put his apparatus on the navigator’s table.
“Very nice and timely rescue, eh, Cal?”
Cal whirled. “Benj,” he snarled. “Might have known—”
He started forward, but was stopped by the ugly muzzles of three needle beams that waggled disconcertingly at the pit of his stomach. He laughed, but it had a wild tone. “Go ahead and blast! Then run the Key yourselves!” he hurled at them. But he stopped, and the waggling of the three weapons became uncertain.
“Hellfire,” Pete snorted, looking from one to the other. “They’re duplicates!”
Cal leaped forward, smashed Pete’s beam up, where it furrowed the ceiling. His fist came forward and his knee came up. Beneath Cal’s arm flashed a streak of white. It caught Pete in the stomach and passed down to the knee, trailing a bit of smoke and a terrible odor. Cal dropped the lifeless form and whirled. Benji stood there, his needle beam held rock-steady on the form that lay crumpled beneath his brother’s feet.
Benj addressed the other two. “My brother and I have one thing in common,” he said coolly. “Neither of us cares to be called a duplicate!” He bolstered his weapon and addressed Cal. “Where is it?”
“Where is what?” asked Cal quietly.
“Murdoch’s Hoard.”
“I haven’t had time to find out.”
“O.K. So tell us how to make this thing run,”
“I’ll be psyched if I do.”
“You’ll be dead if you don’t,” Benj warned.
“Someday, you stinker, I’ll take the satisfaction of killing you.”
“I’ll never give you cause,” sneered Benj.
“Stealing my identity is plenty of cause.”
“You won’t take satisfaction on that,” taunted Benj.
“Because you’d have to call me, and I’ll only accept battle with beams.”
Cal considered. Normally, he would have been glad to demonstrate to anyone the secret of the Key. But he would have died before he told Benj the time of day. Then another consideration came. The Key was worthless—and less valuable would be the vast treasures of Murdoch’s Hoard. Why not give him the Key and let him go hunting for the useless stuff?
Wally waved an instant-welder in front of Cal’s nose. The tip glowed like a white-hot stylus. “Might singe him a bit,” Wally offered.
“Put the iron down,” snapped Benji. Wally laid the three-foot shaft on its stand, where it cooled slowly. “Cal wouldn’t talk. I know. That thing would only make him madder than a hornet.”
“So what do we do with the loke?” asked Wally.
“Take him home and work on him there,” said Benj. “Trap his hands.”
-
No more was said until they dropped onto Cal’s rooftop. He was ushered down the same way he had gone up—with beams looking at his backbone. They carried his equipment down, and set it carefully on the table.
“Now,” said Benj. “Make with the talk.”
“O.K.,” said Cal. “This is a cavity resonator—”
“This is too easy,” Wally objected. “Something’s fishy.”
Cal looked at the speaker with scorn. “You imbecile. You’ve been reading about Murdoch’s Hoard. Vast treasure. Money, jewels, and securities. Valuable as hell three hundred and fifty years ago, but not worth a mouthful of ashes today. Why shouldn’t I tell you about it?”
“That right, boss?” asked Wally.
“He’s wishful thinking,” snorted Benj.
Cal smiled inwardly. His protestation of what he knew to be the truth was working. The desire to work on Benj was running high, now, and Cal was reconsidering his idea of handing the thing to Benj scot-free.
“Let me loose. I’ll show you how it works,” he said.
“Not a peep out of it,” warned Benj. “Wally, if he touches that switch before he takes the Key out of the reflector, drill him low and safe—but drill him!”
Cal knew the value of that order.
His hands were freed, and he stepped forward with tools and removed the Key. “Now?” he asked sarcastically.
“Go ahead,” said Benj.
“Thanks,” he grinned. “That I will.”
He took three steps forward and went out of the open window like a running jackrabbit. His strong fencer’s wrists caught the trellis at the edge and he swung wide before he dropped to the ground several feet below. He landed running, and though the flashes of the needle beams scored the ground ahead of him, none caught him. Plowing through a hedge, he jumped into his car and drove off with a swaying drive that would disrupt any aim.
He drove to the Solarian Medical Association, where he found Dr. Lange in charge. In spite of the hour of the morning, he went in and spoke to the doctor.
Lange looked up, surprised. “What are you doing here at this hour?” he asked with a smile.
“I’ve got a few skinned knuckles that hurt,” said Cal, showing the bruises.
“Who did you hit?” asked Lange. “Fisticuffs isn’t exactly your style, Cal.”
“I know. But I was angry.”
Lange inspected Cal’s frame. “Wouldn’t like to be the other guy,” he laughed. “But look, Cal. Tinker will be more than pleased.”
“That I was fighting? Why?”
“You’re a sort of placid fellow, normally. If you could only stir up a few pounds of blood pressure more frequently, you’d be quite a fellow.”
“So I’m passive. I like peace and quiet. You don’t see me running wild, do you?”
“Nope. Tell me, what happened?”
Cal explained in sketchy form, omitting the details about Benj.
“The Key to Murdoch’s Hoard?” asked Lange, opening his eyes.
“Sure.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Send it back to the museum. They’re the ones that own it.”
“You’ll give them Murdoch’s Hoard, if you do.”
“Granting for the moment that the Hoard is valuable,” laughed Cal, “it is still the property of the museum.”
“Wrong. The law is a thousand years old and still working. Buried treasure is his who finds it. The hoard is yours, Cal.”
“Wonderful. About as valuable as a gallon of lake water in Chicago. And about as plentiful.”
“May I have the Key?” asked Lange eagerly.
Cal stopped. This was getting him down. First, that pair of ignorant crooks. Then his brother, trying to steal from him something that both knew was worthless—just for the plain fun of stealing, he believed. But now this man. Dr. Lange was advanced in years, a brilliant and stable surgeon.
Was he wrong? Did the Key really represent something worthwhile? I
f so, what on earth could it be? A hoard of treasure in a worthless medium of exchange and with duplicates all over the System? What could Murdoch’s Hoard be that it made men fight for it even in this day?
“Sorry,” said Cal. “This is my baby.” He said no more about it.
-
Whatever the Hoard might be, it was getting Cal curious. That and the desire to get the best of Benj worked on him night and day during the next week. He was forced to hide out all of that time, for Benj was looking for him. The equipment still required a knowing hand to run it—any number of technicians had concocted the same circuit to drive the Key—but it was the technique, not the equipment, that made it function properly.
He toyed with the idea for some time. The desire to go and see for himself, however, was not greater than his aversion to space travel. Cal had an honest dislike; he had tried space travel three times when business demanded it. He’d hated it all three times.
But there it was—and there it stayed. The whole affair peaked and then died into a stasis. Murdoch’s Hoard was something that Cal Blair would eventually look into—someday.
The one thing that bothered him was his hiding out. He hated that. But he remained under cover until Tinker Elliott returned, and then sought her advice. She made a date to meet him at a nearby refreshment place later that afternoon.
-
The major-domo came up with a cheerful smile as Cal sauntered into the chromium-and-crimson establishment. “At your service,” the major-domo greeted him.
“I’m meeting a friend.”
“A table will be reserved. Meanwhile, will you avail yourself of our service in the bar?”
Cal nodded and entered the bar. He climbed up on a stool and took cigarettes from his pocket.
The bartender came over immediately. “Your service?”
“Palan and ginger,” said Cal. He was still working on the dregs of his first glass when Tinker came up behind him and seated herself on the stool beside.
“Hi, Tink,” he smiled.
“Hello. What are you drinking?”
“Palan and ginger.”
Complete Venus Equilateral (1976) SSC Page 49
