[Jan Darzek 02] - Watchers of the Dark

by Lloyd Biggle, Jr.

  The beauty of Primores O had been ruined for Darzek. Those gleaming lakes were perhaps solar power intakes, the symmetrical hills existed only because they conformed to some humped requirement of Supreme, and the brilliant orange vegetation was a heat absorbent with the crucial mission of keeping Supreme’s feet warm.

  Even the rainbow atmosphere that hung about the planet like a shimmering halo had been appended as an afterthought. The domed parks were proof that the planet’s surface had once been airless.

  He turned away from the spaceship’s viewing screen, and said to Gul Kaln, “I think there should be some smoke.”

  “Smoke?” Kaln echoed blankly.

  “Colored smoke, with a whiff of exotic scent. Could you manage it?”

  “The chamber would fill up with smoke,” Kaln protested.

  “The idea is to lend a touch of mystery, and also to screen the interior. Couldn’t the doors be moved in, and smoke placed outside each end?”

  “Yes. I could do that. How many chambers will you need?”

  “No idea. Whatever it will take to pass a million million people through in a reasonable time.”

  Kaln shuddered. “Thousands. Maybe millions.”

  “Then that’s how many we’ll need. Get to work on it. You have unlimited solvency.”

  Kaln waved his arms despairingly and stepped into the transmitter.

  E-Wusk stirred from a meditative tangle of arms and legs and remarked, “These are bitter times, my friend, and my mind is confused. The thing that you showed to me was not the Rhinzl that I knew.”

  “Supreme has confirmed that no such life form is known to this galaxy,” Darzek said.

  “I am sure that you acted wisely, but I cannot help regretting that you killed him. There is much that he could have told us.”

  “And nothing that he would have told us. I’m not so sure that what I did was wise, but it was necessary. I didn’t know what weapons that tangle of living tissue concealed.”

  “Or what powers?” E-Wusk suggested. “Of course he had the power to make us see him differently from what he was.”

  “Yes. His true shape was so gruesome that even in a galaxy of gruesome shapes he would have been a thing apart, and therefore instantly suspect.”

  “And yet the Dark’s mental weapon must be a different kind of power.”

  “Entirely different,” Darzek agreed. “Primores may be safe for the moment, but unless we identify that power and learn how to contain it, the Dark will engulf the rest of the galaxy.”

  Miss Schlupe stumbled from the transmitter, and liquid sloshed over the brim of the goblet she was carrying and slowly settled to the deck. “Dratted transmitters!” she muttered.

  Darzek took the goblet, tasted, licked his lips thoughtfully. “It’s almost too good. I don’t suppose you could make some that would be tasteless.”

  “I’m afraid not. How much do you need?”

  “That depends on how susceptive the Primorians are to mass psychology. Make the stuff as fast as you can, and let’s hope there’ll be enough. Any news of my friends the proctors?”

  “They’re hueing and crying all over the planet. Five of them are still camped in our apartment. I told them I thought you’d done away with yourself in a fit of remorse, and they politely asked me where the body was.”

  E-Wusk said bewilderedly, “The proctors are searching for you?”

  “Why did you think I was hiding out in space when there’s so much work to be done? I got tired thinking up new identities for myself. ‘Pardon, Sire, but I was wondering if you were the elusive Gul Darr, whom you most strongly resemble.’ Certainly not. My name is John Wellington Wells, I’m a dealer in magic and spells. Bah! Every transmitting exchange, every park and public building is infested with proctors looking for me.”

  “But why?”

  “I committed a dastardly crime: to wit, I caused the death of that eminent and widely respected trader, Gul Rhinzl. The proctors have also linked me with some Quarmers who were found dead under highly suspicious circumstances a long time back. They can be surprisingly efficient when they put their minds to it.”

  “But if you’re really an agent of Supreme—”

  “Don’t mention Supreme to me. If I knew how, I’d blank out all of its memory circuits and make it start over, cum tabula rasa. No sooner did I report that I had disposed of Rhinzl, who was undeniably an agent of the Dark if not the Dark itself, when some remote transistor figuratively ran up a red flag and every proctor on the planet wanted me for that most horrible and rare of crimes, inflicting death, ursGwalus has been trying every way he can think of to convince Supreme that I acted in the line of duty, and Supreme absolves me of responsibility at the same time that it deputizes another army of proctors to track me down. Supreme needs someone to tell it what to do. That’s why I wanted to see you.”

  “Excuse me,” Miss Schlupe said. “I have fifty vats of beer cooking.”

  Darzek absently waved her away, and she tiptoed into the transmitter.

  E-Wusk looked after her thoughtfully. “I feel sorry for Gula Schlu. She was fond of Rhinzl. This must have been a painful shock to her.”

  “In a way. It pained her to realize that he wanted to marry her so he could find out what she and I were up to. She thinks I shouldn’t have killed him, but only because that deprived her of the pleasure of kicking him to death.”

  E-Wusk managed a bewildered laugh.

  “We desperately need a new Council of Supreme,” Darzek said. “I think you should be one of the members. I’m going to tell Supreme to appoint you as the Council’s expert in trade.”

  E-Wusk stared. “You couldn’t! No one tells Supreme whom to appoint to the Council!”

  “It’s time someone did. Supreme’s last choices didn’t turn out well. I want a Council made up of members who are competent, trustworthy, receptive to new ideas, and willing to work.”

  “At least I qualify as to my willingness to work.”

  “I’ll chance the rest of it,” Darzek said. “I’ll be in touch with you. And if the proctors come asking for Gul Darr, tell them this is the season when his kind goes into hibernation.”

  Miss Schlupe squared her shoulders, gazed down at the front of her new dress, and announced, “I look matronly.”

  “You look like yourself in a padded dress,” Darzek said. “I still have my doubts about this.”

  “A little purgative never hurt anybody.”

  “I’m not worried about making a few people sick, though I wish we didn’t have to. I’m afraid we’ll be too successful and create a monster. There’d be small profit in saving people from the Dark by panicking them into destroying themselves.”

  “We’ll keep it under control. Did anyone ever tell you that you’d make an excellent astrologer? The beard accentuates your classic profile, and the robes add just the right aura of mystery. The skull cap was a mistake, though. You need a pointed hat.”

  “I still think the beard would have been disguise enough.”

  “I still think you didn’t have to come. Well—here goes.”

  She approached the next table, genuflected, and with her left hand held out a small medallion. Her right hand concealed a bulb, from which a tube ran up her sleeve and connected with the liquid-filled container that amplified her figure. Darzek hoped it wouldn’t gurgle as it emptied.

  “I found this near the transmitters,” she said, waving the medallion. “Did you lose it?”

  The diner, a gaunt Sqoffer, withdrew his proboscis from a goblet of liquid, scrutinized the medallion, and replied in the negative. “Have you ever seen it before?” Miss Schlupe persisted. “Do you know who could have lost it?”

  Another negative. Miss Schlupe repeated the formula with his dining partner, and then moved to the next table.
She left behind her two goblets generously laced with the synthetic rhubarb beer that she had manufactured from a Primores II herb.

  The Sqoffers absently returned their proboscises to the goblets, and resumed their contemplation of the Primorian landscape. Darzek watched them tensely. The project turned on the question of how diluted the beer could be before it lost potency. The Sqoffers noticed nothing wrong with their drinks, which was favorable; but they were showing no ill effects, which was a pity.

  Miss Schlupe was four tables away, and performing her routine with the practiced and engaging nonchalance of a hussy administering knockout drops. She zigzagged across the room, reached the far side, turned back. Darzek continued to watch the Sqoffers.

  Someone screamed.

  At the center of the room a native Primorian had lurched to his feet. He stood doubled up in agony, moaning softly. The diner who had screamed lay threshing on the floor nearby. The room was suddenly silent, except for moans and a widely scattered retching.

  “I think it’s time we got sick,” Darzek said, as Miss Schlupe quietly returned to her chair. He clutched at his stomach and moaned, and Miss Schlupe, whose figure was now somewhat less matronly, produced a highly realistic abdominal spasm.

  Abruptly the two Squoffers made a break for the transmitters, proboscises flailing, gaping mouths spraying vomit. Others followed, and the departures became a stampede that swept Darzek and Miss Schlupe along with it.

  Minutes later they were in another dining room, and Miss Schlupe, again with a matronly figure, approached the next table. “I found this near the transmitters. Did you lose it?”

  The chief proctor’s pallor was ghastly. Even his bulging hump was a pasty white. Through a stroke of sheer good fortune Miss Schlupe had encountered him a short time before in a transfer station dining room, and maliciously administered a double dose of beer.

  “Plague?” he wheezed feebly. “A plague—on Primores?”

  Darzek, smugly secure behind his artificial beard, said gravely, “I have seen the symptoms. I have experienced them myself. Earlier today, in a public dining room, I and many others were seized with violent illness.”

  “Such a thing has never happened on Primores,” the chief proctor wheezed. “It couldn’t happen on Primores. Who are you?”

  “Gul Zek. Chief medical officer of the planet Guaar. At your service.”

  The chief proctor slumped lower in his chair. “Then it’s true? You couldn’t possibly be mistaken?”

  “I couldn’t possibly be mistaken.”

  The chief proctor fluttered his hands helplessly, and then covered his face with them. “A plague—on Primores!”

  “This plague,” Darzek said authoritatively, “is known in our local medical circles as Guaarer Disease, because it first appeared on my planet. It is characterized by sudden abdominal pains and cramps, nausea, constriction of the limbs, and perhaps a regrettable voiding of the stomach and digestive tract. It passes, and the victim—” Darzek gazed intently at the chief proctor. “The victim is left in a state of pallor, experiencing extreme weakness and lassitude and a loss of appetite. He soon recovers—”

  The chief proctor brightened.

  “—until the next attack, of course. The attacks continue, the victim is finally unable to retain food of any kind, and in the end he starves to death.”

  The chief proctor covered his face again and moaned softly. “What are we to do?”

  “Fortunately the plague, or Guaarer Disease, is easily arrested. One has only to pass the population of the planet through purification chambers.”

  “Ah!”

  “But the plague will return at once if its carriers are not identified and isolated.”

  “Carriers? Plague carriers?”

  “Unfortunate individuals who harbor the plague germs. They may not be ill themselves, but they carry death wherever they go. They must be identified and isolated, or the population of Primores is doomed.”

  “How is this to be accomplished?”

  “With the purification chambers. These purify the innocent victims and detect the carriers who are spreading the plague.” Darzek gestured grandly. “I have saved five planets from Guaarer Disease, and I can save another. On my own responsibility I placed an initial order for purification chambers as soon as I identified the disease. You have only to put your chief medical officer under my orders, and I’ll guarantee to arrest the plague promptly.”

  Miss Schlupe was incredulous. “He swallowed it? All of it? Didn’t he even ask to see your credentials?”

  “It was almost suspiciously easy,” Darzek admitted. “You’d better keep making the rounds, just in case he changes his mind. How’s the beer holding out?”

  “I have a new batch almost ready.”

  Darzek strode to the nearest chair and sat down. “All right. Let’s have it.”

  “Have what?” she asked innocently.

  “You cannot keep a secret from me. Your nose twitches when you try. What’s happened?”

  “Nothing, really, except that Gud Baxak finally brought in that agent of the Dark that his captain picked up. Do you want to see him?”

  “I suppose I’d better. Where is he?”

  She opened the door to the next room and stepped aside, shaking with laughter. The agent of the Dark moved forward. Darzek stared, and then leaped to embrace him.

  “Smith!”

  Smith pulled free and backed away, and Darzek’s first surge of delight faded quickly. He fixed his eyes on Smith’s familiarly hideous face, and said to Miss Schlupe, “Is that what Smith is? An agent of the Dark?”

  “Nonsense!” Smith said angrily. “I am supervising inspector of certification groups. I was making my scheduled inspection of uncertified worlds, when your captain—”

  “What were you doing inspecting uncertified worlds in the Dark’s territory?” Darzek demanded.

  “The Dark has not molested the uncertified worlds. Our certification groups are still functioning on all of them, and of course they must be supplied and supervised.”

  “Sit down,” Darzek said. “Talk.”

  “There is nothing to talk about,” Smith protested.

  “There’s plenty to talk about. Why would the Dark bite off huge chunks of the galaxy and scrupulously avoid the uncertified worlds? Do you think the Dark would pay any attention to that silly quarantine of yours?”

  “I know no more about the Dark than what I told you during your indoctrination,” Smith answered stiffly. “I only know that the uncertified worlds are the responsibility of the certification groups, and the Dark has not molested them.”

  “That’s very interesting. It might even be significant. As soon as I’ve purified a million million people, I’ll look into it.”

  “May I return to my work now?” Smith asked.

  “You may not. We’ve needed your help all along, and if you try to run away now we’ll have you quarantined as a plague carrier. Come with me, and I’ll tell you what’s been happening.”

  Gul Kaln was setting up a row of purification chambers in the main transmitting exchange. Already there were Primorians waiting patiently in line, many of them marked with the pale ravages of an involuntary beer binge. The chief proctor hadn’t wasted any time in getting his orders out, and he was waiting himself, at the head of the line.

  “Monstrous!” Smith muttered. “And to think it was I who brought you from Earth!”

  “Insult me all you like, but keep it in English.”

  Gul Kaln approached them cheerfully. “We’re almost ready. Would you like to be first?”

  “Come on, Smith. Let’s get purified.”

  “I refuse to take part in such imbecile proceedings.”

  “Suit yourself. But in a very few days anyone on this planet who can’t sh
ow a purification mark will be subject to instant incarceration.”

  Sputtering protests, Smith trailed after him.

  Darzek stepped through a thin screen of rainbow smoke at one end of an enormous, rectangular box. A door dropped open before him, and he moved into the eerie blue half-light of the interior. Lights flashed in sequence, sending his shadow leaping in all directions. His bearded image leered back at him from reflecting walls. Finally a door dropped open at the far end, and he emerged through the second screen of smoke and extended his hand to receive the purification mark.

  “Very nice,” he said to Gul Kaln. “Perfect, in fact.”

  Smith stumbled out of the smoke, coughing and snarling, though he was careful to do the snarling in English. “What do you expect to accomplish with this hocus-pocus?” he demanded.

  “Sssh!” Darzek wagged a finger. “The natives believe in it.”

  “Of course they believe in it! This isn’t an uncertified world. They aren’t accustomed to liars such as you, so they believe.”

  “You weren’t here when the rabble-rousers were functioning, or you’d have heard these certified paragons doing an inordinate amount of lying themselves. But never mind. I have work to do.”

  “What are you trying to accomplish?”

  “Rhinzl had the power to make us see him other than as he was,” Darzek explained. “Fortunately it was a limited power, and he didn’t fully trust it. He remained in darkness as much as possible, and he never became aware of shadows. Probably he couldn’t see them himself. The scientists think his vision was somehow based upon infra-red light.”

  “Then you killed him because you saw his shadow?”

  Darzek nodded. “That was the second time I’d seen it. The first time was on Yorlq, but there it passed so quickly, and I had so many other things on my mind, that I didn’t realize what I’d seen. In the tunnel the sudden flash of light from Supreme’s defenses took him by surprise. For a split second I saw the real Rhinzl. Then he exerted his power, and his appearance changed. His shadow didn’t.”