Mission Earth Volume 1: The Invaders Plan

by L. Ron Hubbard

  Oh, my Gods! Was this an engineer? A hard-minded, rock and metal and explosives engineer?

  “Besides,” said Heller, piling illogic upon illogic, “she likes it.”

  The Countess Krak nodded very emphatically.

  Conversation had ceased. I thought at first it was because I had put my foot wrong with them. They were just sitting there looking at me. Gradually I got the feeling that I was an unnecessary part of the scenery.

  “Are there any empty cubicles along the passageway where you could sleep?” Heller said to me.

  A shock ran through my head. If one of the sporadic guard patrols did a room check tonight, three heads would roll, including mine.

  There weren’t any other rooms cleaned or made up, though almost all of them were empty.

  They continued to stare at me. In fact, they almost pushed me out with their eyeballs. I closed the door behind me and stood in the dim passageway.

  The two guards were sitting to the right and left of the entrance, hunkered down against the floor, smoking puffsticks. I could tell by the smell they were an expensive brand. Money had been passed out and I wondered if Snelz would remember my cut.

  I leaned against the wall and after a while absent-mindedly sat down. There was no moral indignation involved in my reaction: as you know, it is customary with many of the Voltarian Confederacy races for a male and female to live together two or three years before they get married. No, it was the danger of the thing. They say there is a very narrow line between a brave man and a fool. In my estimation, their daring had entered the world of (bleep) foolishness.

  It was at that moment I realized that I had had them both agreeing in principle that the mission should be done and I recognized I had taken no advantage of it. Was it the pink sparklewater?

  I heard some very small sounds coming from that room behind the closed door. Whispers? My eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom of the passageway and I looked toward the two guards. I would have expected to have found lascivious expressions on their faces, the look soldiers get when they hear about sex. But no, these two guards looked more like the relatives of the bride and groom, serious, hopeful. They sure had their ears glued to that door. They were communicating with each other by looks.

  Inside, chairs scraped, plainly heard above the soft music. Then a long silence. A buckle clinked on the floor.

  In espionage there are four types of operation: overt, clandestine, covert and secret. Those two in there apparently had no inkling of even common sense. They were engaged in something secret and they had it graded overt! They hadn’t even turned up the music to muffle the sounds.

  My imagination was running amok on what they were doing. The guards, from their looks, had some idea of the progress being made in there: they were sort of reassuring each other.

  There was a creak of the bed. Then some more creaks. The soft music played on. Knowing what the Countess had done to that special agent that had touched her, it would not have surprised me to have had to rush in there with a stun gun to save the last of Heller if I could. I felt there was no predicting the Countess.

  Then her voice, plainly heard, “You will have to be careful with me, darling. I have never had a man before.”

  A reassuring murmur from Heller. Who was he to reassure? By his record, he had never had a female before! But races do continue and babies do get born. I stiffened in alarm. What if he made her pregnant! But I relaxed, we would be long gone by then.

  There were rhythmic creakings then. They went on and on and on.

  Then the Countess’s voice, “Oh, Jet.” She repeated it. She said it faster and faster, “Oh, Jet, oh Jet, oh Jet, oh Jet. Oh JET!” And there was a shuddering moan from Heller.

  The two guards instantly leaped to their feet, totally silent! They shot their arms above their heads the way people do in a bullet ball game after a winning hit. They beat their fists together and jumped up and down. They had ecstatic expressions on their faces. They turned to each other and enthusiastically shook hands. And all without the tiniest sound! My, they were pleased!

  At length the guards sat down and lit new puffsticks. The soft music flowed on inside.

  Once more the bed began to creak in rhythm. It went on and on. Then the same shout and groans inside. The same performance from the guards.

  Quiet once more. It came to me that those two in there were young and very strong and very much in love and that this was quite likely going to go on most of the night.

  Another thumping distracted me. It seemed to be right under me. I looked down. Good Gods, I was sitting on the dolly box and the zitab snake had come to life!

  I leaped clear across the passageway!

  The guards snickered.

  I went into another cubicle. I lit the lights. It was dirty and a mess. It didn’t even have a bed. Wearily, I closed the door, turned off the glowplates and with my cap for a pillow, lay down on the floor to get some sleep.

  Some writer has said that all the planet loves lovers. It might include the guards, but it sure did not include one Soltan Gris.

  What was going to become of Mission Earth?

  PART FOUR

  Chapter 6

  If the “rescue of Prince Caucalsia’s colony” was so important, Jettero Heller and the Countess Krak certainly showed no signs of it. It wasn’t that they, like me, considered the possibility that there had ever been a Prince Caucalsia to be farfetched and even preposterous. They had other things on their minds. And following more or less the same routine—daytime study in the training hall but nights in my room—they let one day follow another, beautifully happy in a world of their own.

  My urgency to get Heller off Voltar was growing. And there were things to get done that weren’t getting done. One of them consisted of getting him operated on to install a “body bug”: unless I could keep track of his every minute on Earth, I would be unable to control him; that required that a device be put into him that he would not suspect; and that required that he be gotten onto a cellular surgery table. But as soon as I started planning this step, I got ill again: not violent all the time but very nagging and very uncomfortable. I was miserable.

  If I could get him moved into town, I might be able to find a cellologist and get to work on him. But get him out of this fortress and away from the Countess Krak? All systems stop!

  Five days went by. The shadow of Lombar seemed to loom closer and closer. Yet I had not yet come up with a single idea.

  One afternoon I heard that Lombar was going to spend the next couple days at Endow’s palatial country estate. He would be secretly absent. The next morning I used the fact to pretend I had to see him in his office. Of course, he wouldn’t be there and, of course, the clerks would not be allowed to tell me so: I could use the pretended wait to get a crack at the master console.

  The old criminal clerk would have suspected his mother of high treason had she even ventured to say “hello” to him. So when I sat down at the button board, he went into his usual flap. But, as he did not dare say when Lombar was expected and I pretended to believe Lombar would be back any moment, the old clerk was blocked.

  I wanted to know if I had really been appointed. So I slid my identoplate into the slot and fed in my own name and punched,

  PRESENT POSTS?

  And the screen rattled off:

  SECTION CHIEF SECTION 451 ON VOLTAR;

  HANDLER FOR SPECIAL AGENT/AGENTS OF MISSION EARTH;

  IN CHARGE, MISSION EARTH;

  INSPECTOR GENERAL OVERLORD ALL OPERATIONS AND ACTIONS OF BLITO-P3 FOR THE EXTERIOR DIVISION AND COORDINATED INFORMATION APPARATUS.

  The screen might be blinking but I really blinked! Four paychecks! Lombar really was doing me up beautifully. And as he said, there would be all the kickbacks and commissions and rake-offs. I could see myself coming out of this quite well off: maybe a cottage in the Vaux Mountains, maybe even a hunting preserve!

  Then the computer rapidly added a string of letters saying,

  ALL APPO
INTMENTS MADE AT THE INSISTENCE

  OF SAID OFFICER SOLTAN GRIS

  ROUTINELY RATIFIED BY THE CLERICALSECTION.

  It puzzled me for a bit and I sat there staring at it. It sort of meant that neither Endow nor Lombar Hisst had forwarded or ratified the appointments. But it made me totally responsible personally for everything that went on anywhere concerning Blito-P3. A little overwhelming. But I brightened: I was, in effect, in total charge of Earth!

  The screen had begun to blink a warning that I was about to be cut off due to delay in use.

  “You going to pay for the chairs you wear out?” snarled the old clerk.

  I hastily pushed the “Deliver Copy” button and “10” to keep the machine busy for a moment and also to have the sheet to use as authority pending the routine delivery of the appointments on other channels.

  What could I do with this thing to help my dilemma? Maybe if I fed Heller data about Blito-P3 he would get more interested.

  As soon as the printer had finished spitting out ten copies of the appointments, I punched in,

  BLITO-P3 PRINCE CAUCALSIA.

  The screen promptly said,

  IN THE MISTS OF TIME, FOLK LEGEND 894M.

  Well, (bleep), I knew that.

  “Console time,” said the old criminal clerk, “is charged double to idiots.”

  I hastily tried to think of something else. Ah! I punched in,

  ROYAL SUCCESSIONS. PRETENDERS.

  The machine said,

  REALLY? YOU REALLY WANT 125,000 YEARS OF THREATS TO THRONE?

  I hastily punched in,

  FORTRESS OF DAR, MANCO AND ATALANTA, MANCO.

  The screen started to roll up lists so fast I couldn’t follow them. Good Gods, had there been that many revolts and pretenders in just one area of one planet? I remembered the poet’s quote, “Shot full of holes is the head that wears a crown.” I couldn’t track with the speed frames. I pushed “Deliver Copy.” The machine promptly began to spit out paper. Yards of it.

  That gave me time to think of something else. So when it finally halted, I pushed,

  NEPOGAT.

  The screen said,

  IN THE MISTS OF TIME, FOLK LEGEND 894M.

  (Bleep). Right back where I started.

  I quickly punched,

  APPARATUS RECORDS, FORTRESS OF DAR, RELATING TO INTERROGATION OF CREWS OF TWO FREIGHTERS RETURNED FROM BLITO-P3.

  It said,

  IN THE MISTS OF TIME, FOLK LEGEND 894M.

  I quickly punched,

  FORTRESS OF DAR, MANCO.

  The computer said,

  IF YOU ARE SO INTERESTED IN FABLES WE SUGGEST YOU CONSULT A COMPETENT POET.

  One way of saying it wasn’t going to flash In the Mists of Time anymore for this operator! And that also meant it was going to go off!

  I had to get something that might interest Heller. I punched,

  ALL SURVEYS AND SURVEILLANCES BLITO-P3 PRIOR TO ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

  Ah, a speeding roll! They had been surveying it for a long, long time! With a sigh of relief, I punched “Deliver Copy.” Promptly a series of papers started to spit out. And they spit out and they spit out! I hastily started to corral them before they inundated the whole console. It went on for minutes!

  “You there!” screeched the old clerk. “You’re going to run us out of paper! Quit it!” He stood over me positively squeaking! But there is no way of shutting the contraption off once it starts: computers can do no wrong.

  I was busy baling up the spit-outs. Gods, I would need a dolly!

  Finally it quit. I thought the old clerk was going to hit me. But it had given me time to think. It’s all very well to tell operators that they should know what they were going to ask before they begin to work a console. That doesn’t allow for inspiration. And I had one!

  It was money that made it possible for Heller to delay leaving. So long as he could buy guards, he had me at bay. If there was some way to run him out of money . . .

  I held the old clerk off with one hand. I punched in,

  JETTERO HELLER. FINANCIAL STANDING AND CREDIT.

  The screen promptly flashed,

  FLEET OFFICER PAY. ENGINEER PAY. COMBAT DANGER PAY. SEE TABLES.

  Ow, I thought. I don’t need any tables. Heller, by just those items, received ten times my old General Services pay.

  The machine said:

  MONEY DISPOSITION: DOES NOT SPEND MUCH AS USUALLY ON COMBAT MISSIONS. SENDS HALF HIS PAY TO MOTHER AND FATHER FOR THEIR SUPPORT BUT THEY ARE MODERATELY WELL OFF AND MOTHER PUTS IT IN TRUST ACCOUNT FOR HIM: MOTHER DOES SAME WITH MONEY SENT BY HIS VERY WEALTHY SISTER HIGHTEE HELLER THE HOMEVIEWSTAR: ROOMS AT OFFICERS´ CLUB GRATIS.

  Ow, ow, I thought. Lots of money, far beyond the average junior officer.

  CREDIT: VERY HONORABLE ABOUT PAYING BILLS. NO KNOWN DEBTS. TOTALLY TRUSTWORTHY.

  Ow, ow, ow, ow! I thought. Bad show for me.

  And then the computer said something astonishing.

  CREDIT RATING: ZERO! DO NOT EXTEND ADVANCES OR CREDIT TO THIS OFFICER.

  I was really startled. The machine looked like it wasn’t going to say any more so I pushed “Query.”

  It said:

  ZERO. HAZARDOUS LIFE COMBAT ENGINEERS HAVE AVERAGE PROFESSIONAL LIFE EXPECTANCY OF TWO YEARS SERVICE SUBJECT HAS EXCEEDED THIS BY TRIPLE; STATISTICAL DEMISE GROSSLY OVERDUE; FLEET PAYS ONLY TERMINAL PAY FOR SYMBOLIC FUNERAL.

  Well, that didn’t leave me much option. I couldn’t kill him here. And it didn’t solve my problem as he was still alive and he did have money.

  Ho, ho! Big thought. If I could get the money he had away from him he would be broke.

  The old clerk had sort of gone into apathy and wasn’t struggling so much so I punched in,

  ANY BAD FINANCIAL HABITS?

  I wasn’t very hopeful due to what the computer had already said. The machine flashed:

  GAMBLES ON OCCASION. DICE AND OTHER GAMES. COMMON TO OFFICERS IN DANGER CATEGORIES. NOT LISTED AS A NEGATIVE BECAUSE BY TAX RECORDS HE USUALLY WINS GAMES OF CHANCE.

  I had it! Right there! Heller gambled! Aha!

  Some guards had come in by that time to see what the commotion had been all about. I gave them a masterly handling. I said, “I’m leaving at once!”

  PART FOUR

  Chapter 7

  I was utterly elated. I was sure I had found Heller’s fracture! Gambling!

  If I could get all of his money away from him, he wouldn’t be able to bribe the guards, the Countess would no longer be brought to my room, he would simply leave for the mission in disgust. No threat from Crown inspectors, no further danger from Lombar. Perfect!

  I broke all records getting to my town office. I went tearing through my desk and there it was, in the bottom under the secret panel.

  Two months before, one of the Section 451 clerks had been killed in a gambling row. He was trying to bet with counterfeit money but in going through his effects I had found a little dice bag. I had almost passed it by but, knowing the clerk, I examined them.

  The six twelve-sided dice appeared perfectly normal. But they were hollow. A densimeter showed that the hollow was lined with a sticky substance and contained a lead pellet. By turning upward the number you wanted and giving the die a slight jolt, the lead pellet was momentarily stuck in the goo. When you threw the die, of course, the weight would make the chosen number come up.

  Old Bawtch, the chief clerk, wanted to know what I was doing there. I gave him a copy of my new appointments and instead of congratulating me, he shook his head sadly. He said, “Now I know everything is going to Hells.” Nobody can get along with Bawtch.

  The roaring heat of the Great Desert scorched my airbus but I did not even mind. I landed in an explosion of dust at Camp Kill. I sprinted to Snelz’s cave. I was running so fast his door sentry hardly had time to leap up. But it was daylight and he let me by.

  Snelz was lying back on his bed, hands folded behind his head. A not too bad-looking prostitute was putting some food on the table
: she had on a new dress and looked like she was a permanent fixture. Food, his own woman; Snelz was doing all right for himself!

  They both flinched when they saw who it was.

  I pointed at the prostitute. “Get outside and don’t listen at the door.”

  “Don’t break my hand!” she said. But it was more a sneer than terror. The camp riffraff never learn. She spat on the floor in front of me and left. Maybe the other whore had been a friend of hers. Funny people, whores.

  “Snelz,” I said, “you are doing all right now, but you are going to be wealthy.”

  He was instantly on his guard.

  “How much money does Heller have left?”

  “Oh, no,” he said. “He’s a nice guy. Don’t seek my help in robbing him.”

  “No, no. Just tell me.”

  He figured for a bit. “He hasn’t spent much really. A credit goes a long way here. He’s only spent about two hundred credits.”

  “Means he must have eight hundred left,” I said. “And you are going to win it off him.” As an afterthought, I said, “And split with me, of course.”

  Snelz has a very suspicious mind. I got out the bag of dice. I arranged them in my palm so the twelves were all up. I gave my knuckles a rap on the table and threw them. They all came up twelve.

  Snelz said, “Weighted dice! And what happens to my head after he knocks it off? That guy can fight! Also, if you have a set of dice weighted to always come up twelves, you have to do an under-the-table switch with another set and I’m not that good at palming.”

  “Snelz,” I said, “this is a modern world. Science advances. Don’t you trust me?”

  “No.”

  I picked up the six dice, cupped my palms over them and shook them and then threw again. The lead pellets inside had let loose, of course. I threw. The dice came up with random numbers.

  The platoon commander looked at them in confusion. He thought I must have palmed in another set. So he did it. He put them, all twelve up in his palm, knocked the back of his knuckles, threw and got all twelves. Then he shook them and threw and got random numbers.