Mission Earth Volume 2: Black Genesis

by L. Ron Hubbard

  “What room is Harlotta in?” said Heller, hand poised over the elevator buttons.

  Both Stuffumo and the deputy delegate stared at him. Heller was hefting the kris. “Come, come,” he said. “At least tell me what floor. We can find her.”

  “What do you mean to do?” said the deputy delegate.

  “Why,” said Heller, “she has caused two important men embarrassment. She’ll have to be killed, of course.” And he hefted the kris.

  “No!” cried Stuffumo. “Not Harlotta!”

  “NO!” cried the deputy delegate. “Not my darling Harlotta!”

  “But I am sure it is house rules,” said Heller. “She could have caused you both to kill each other. It isn’t permitted!”

  “Please,” said Stuffumo.

  “Please don’t,” said the deputy delegate.

  “I’m afraid there’s no other way,” said Heller.

  “Oh, yes, there is!” cried the deputy delegate, triumphantly. “We can have a conference about it!”

  “Correct!” said Stuffumo. “The proper solution to all international disputes!”

  The two promptly sat down in the corner of the elevator, facing each other.

  “First, the agenda!” said the deputy delegate firmly.

  Heller pushed the out-of-operation button and walked out, leaving them in the elevator.

  One of the Italian security guards said, “Thank you, kid. That was good knife work. But you should pay attention when I tip you off. They have diplomatic immunity, you know, and can’t be arrested for anything, no matter what they do. But law-abiding Americans like you and me can be. We usually don’t stick around when that one arrives. Maybe he’ll be good now.”

  Vantagio came out. Heller handed him the kris.

  The two ex-combatants walked out of the elevator. “We have come to an accord,” said Stuffumo. “Bilateral occupation of territory.”

  “I will have Harlotta Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. He will have her Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays,” said the deputy delegate.

  “We have to spend Sunday with our wives,” added Stuffumo.

  “Vantagio,” said the deputy delegate, “may we borrow your office for the formal ratification and signing of the treaty?”

  Heller watched them until they vanished into Vantagio’s office. He yawned. He gathered up his papers, entered the elevator and exited at the top floor.

  As he passed down the hall to his room, a nearby door opened and a girl rushed out. She had on a silk robe but it wasn’t tied and her forward motion blew it back and exposed everything she had. She was a beautiful brunette!

  “Oh, there you are, pretty boy. Business is too slack tonight. Some of the girls say you have something beautifully new.” She looked at him seductively, stroking his arm. “Please, pretty please, can I come in with you and we . . .”

  My screen flashed out. The interference roared.

  But I had a lot of other things to puzzle over. He was interested in his usual hobby, speed. He was interested in an executive retreat in the wilderness. I felt I should be able to piece it together.

  But even though I labored into the Turkish dawn, I could not figure out how you would run a racing car in a tree-infested wilderness. Or why.

  PART SEVENTEEN

  Chapter 5

  It was three in the afternoon in Turkey when I arose. Not really thinking, still numb with sleep, I walked into my secret office and, like a fool, looked into the viewscreen.

  I nearly fainted!

  I was staring twenty stories straight down!

  I felt like I was going to fall!

  The people were small spots in the street below; the cars were toys!

  The strain I had been under was telling. The shock was too much. I pulled my eyes away and shuddered into a chair. After a few minutes, I got control of my stomach and dared take another look.

  What in Hells was he up to?

  He was on a cupola that crowned the Gracious Palms. Fifteen feet below him, firmly on the asphalt roof, a whore in a green jump suit was steadying a line up to him.

  He was rigging a TV antenna kit! That’s what it read on the top of the box he was steadying on his knees:

  HANDY JIM-DANDY FULLY-AUTOMATIC

  INSTALL-IT-YOURSELF RADIO-CONTROLLED

  REMOTE TV ANTENNA WITH SIGNAL BOOSTER

  He had inset the feet into the concrete top of the cupola. He was now adjusting the booster. He glanced around and it was visible that several nearby buildings had them. He must have had it sent out for the day before.

  Oho! So he was having signal trouble, too! But wait, this must mean that the TV wasn’t working when my equipment wasn’t working, so those girls in his room weren’t there to watch TV!

  He completed the upper installation and then, box under his arm, he started down a line.

  I had him. Code break! It was a spacer safety line! He was carrying Voltarian gear in his suitcases!

  He was working with a stapler, fastening the TV cable to the stone as he descended.

  He got to the bottom and turned toward the woman. There she was, a New York whore, holding a spacer safety line manufactured in Industrial City, Voltar! I watched like a hawk. Did she realize it? Everything depended on that! I could simply order him off the mission and court-martialed!

  “Here’s your clothesline, honey,” she said. “Now, what do I do?”

  He took it, gave it the snap that causes it to come loose at the top and caught it in coils around his wrist as it fell—a typical show-off spacer gesture: I don’t know how they do it.

  “You just uncoil this reel, Martha. Just walk along and I’ll fasten it down as we go.”

  “Okay, dearie,” she said. And along they went. She had a stick through the reel and Heller was snubbing it under the parapet with the stapler.

  Then, I realized something else. Heller must know where the interference was coming from. The roof he was laying the cable on was about three hundred and fifty feet long, perhaps double the building width. The antenna was outside the interference zone. I tried to plot from this where and what the interference might be, for I was not only very curious about what he did in that suite, I also had to know where he could have hidden the platen. I got all tangled up.

  The girl had come to the far end of the roof. “Now what do I do, pretty boy?”

  “You go down to my room and open the double doors and stand on the balcony and steady the safety line again.”

  She ran off. Heller tied the reel to the safety line and then paid it out so that it landed on his balcony below. The girl came out on the balcony and got the reel.

  He pegged the upper end of the safety line into the stone parapet, stepped over the edge . . .

  I turned my face away. This guy was driving me mad! He had no sense. He didn’t give a (bleep) about height or his neck. I heard the staples going into the vertical wall but I wouldn’t look. I knew I would see the tiny people and cars far too far below!

  The sound of a disintegrator drill. I dared look. He had snapped the spacer safety line loose and was putting a cable hole in the wall. With a Voltarian disintegrator drill!

  I watched intently to see if I got a reaction from the whore. There she was watching a tiny palm-sized gadget, with nothing spinning, bite the exact-sized hole through the wall. No chips or sparks. A miracle on this planet. All she had to say was “Hey, man, look at that gimmick eat up stone!” and I had him!

  She said, “I’ll go call room service to send you some breakfast, dearie.” And she went inside the living room. It depressed me.

  Heller went inside, put the base plate together and shortly had it all connected with the TV. He turned the set on. He fiddled with the radio antenna rotator. The difference in reception showed it was turning.

  “Hey, great picture,” said the whore. “We done it! They’ll send breakfast up right away.”

  Heller neated up his kit. Aha, now I would see where he stowed his gear. He certainly would hide a safety line and disint
egrator drill! And I had no interference!

  He was fastening the tool kit up. OH! Right on the face of the kit, big as life, it said:

  JETTERO HELLER

  FLEET CORPS OF COMBAT ENGINEERS

  It said it in Voltarian script but it said it, just like that!

  He tossed the kit on the sofa. It landed face up!

  He went into the bathroom and kicked off his tennis shoes and the baseball exercise suit. He stepped into the massage shower.

  The massage drops were hammering at him but I could hear somebody banging cabinets in the bathroom. All that woman, Martha, had to do was notice that kit and come in and say “Hey, what’s this writing? It looks like something not of this planet,” and he would be open to being shot!

  The shower door opened. Her hand was in view. She didn’t have her jump suit on. She was holding a cake of soap. She said, “Honey, let me wash your back before we . . .”

  The interference came on!

  I railed around. The screen simply flashed in jagged lines and the sound roared. It was actively preventing me from getting enough data on that suite and where he stowed his gear and thus blocking me from embarking on my raid for the platen and the end of Heller. The minutes stretched agonizingly into half an hour.

  Then, it was off!

  Heller was sitting on the couch drinking coffee. He was all alone in the suite.

  There was a knock on the door and Heller said, in that penetrating Fleet voice, “Come in, it isn’t locked.”

  In came a mob of tailors!

  They started displaying bolts of fine fabrics, summer silk and mohair, tweeds, gabardine, shirt silk, passing each one under Heller’s nose.

  The lead tailor, with Heller’s permission, sat down on the couch with a book of styles. He found he was sitting on something, reached under him and picked up the tool kit. All he had to do was inspect the inscription and some of those odd tools and he would know he was talking to an extraterrestrial!

  “Now, we’ve brought a throwaway suit you can wear today, young sir. But we must choose both a society wardrobe and a college wardrobe. Now, it so happens that the styles this autumn will be ever so slightly gauche. Neat but gauche. In this Ives St. Giles book, we can see that the collar . . .”

  Sickening. Who cared about all these fancy styles and the pant width in the mode. There was a gabardine trench coat with innumerable straps and a gun pocket that I liked, however. It looked very like one Humphrey Bogart used to wear. But the rest of it . . . then I realized the true source of my antipathy. It wasn’t the styles, it was the tailor. He was a homo. If there is anything I can’t stand, it’s a gay!

  “Now, could you please stand up, young sir?”

  And he was kneeling in front of Heller, measuring him for trousers. He seemed to be having trouble with his tape. He kept stretching it.

  “Oh,” said the lead tailor, giggling, “you’re really built!”

  “What’s the matter?” said Heller. “Hips too narrow?”

  “Oh, no, young sir. I wasn’t talking about hips.”

  On went the interference!

  Off went my patience!

  I stood up. I was being personally and vindictively harassed! Harassed? If I did not get that platen, I was dead!

  There was a knock on the tunnel door to Faht’s office. Another Raht and Terb message slid under. I snatched it up.

  It said:

  Have our eye on that spot offshore. We’re standing by in case he surfaces.

  That did it!

  I bolted out of the house and walked agitatedly around the garden.

  That (bleeped) screaming canary! Trilling and whistling gaily in the tree! A party to all this!

  I went inside and got a twelve-gauge shotgun. I loaded it. I saw a flutter of yellow on a limb.

  I fired both barrels!

  The roar was deafening.

  A hole had been blown through an ornamental tree.

  One solitary feather came floating slowly down in the utter silence.

  It made me feel immensely better.

  A guard car came dashing up, of course, but I laughed and sent it away.

  I felt better. I could think. I sat down on a bench.

  What did I actually know? Aha, I had learned one vital thing so far today. The whore had not had the slightest recognition that she was handling a Voltarian safety line. The tailor had even sat on a Fleet tool kit, plainly labeled, and had simply tossed it aside. The people around Heller’s place of residence were totally incapable of observation! Perhaps it would be different when he got into a college. But nobody would notice anything at all anywhere around the Gracious Palms!

  I went to my desk. I wrote a brutal communication to be transmitted at once to the New York office. I said:

  RAHT AND TERB ARE SOMEWHERE IN THE NEW YORK AREA. FIND THEM AND FORCE THEM TO REPORT IN. IF THIS ORDER IS NOT PROMPTLY EXECUTED THE ENTIRE PERSONNEL OF YOUR OFFICE WILL BE.

  SULTAN BEY

  When they reported in, I would direct them to get all plans of that building and pave the way.

  With that backup, I would get this handled once and for all. And before I myself started to show signs of a nervous breakdown.

  I phoned for a messenger and got the message on its way.

  I got a pitcher of sira and went back to the viewer.

  The interference was off. Heller was on his way downstairs in an elevator.

  PART SEVENTEEN

  Chapter 6

  Heller was wearing the new “throwaway” suit, I saw in an elevator mirror by peripheral vision. It was a light blue summer weight and it fitted for a change, but its pockets were bulging. He had on a blue shirt with a wide collar spread over the jacket lapels, the gauche look, I suppose, but it still made him look awfully young. However, whatever the tailor was trying to achieve was spoiled utterly by the fact that he still wore his red baseball cap on the back of his blond head and when he went across the lobby, I could hear that he still wore baseball spikes! He might be clean and neat, some might think him very handsome, but he still didn’t have a clue about espionage and looking the part! The baseball cap was easy to explain—he considered himself to be working. The spikes, just because he didn’t have comfortable shoes. An idiot!

  But I could be tolerant. He was a marked man.

  He went to the safes and halted before his personal one. I noted the combination.

  He spread out his money inside the safe.

  I became aware of other voices, an undertone in the otherwise quiet area. I turned up the gain. Somebody on a speaker phone! I could hear both sides! They were speaking Italian.

  ”. . . so that is no excuse to let him sleep late!” It was Babe Corleone’s voice!

  “But, Babe,” said Vantagio, “it didn’t have anything to do with the girls. Those two UN bigwigs spend half their countries’ UN appropriations in this place and it’s a good thing he didn’t let them kill each other.”

  “Vantagio, are you trying to pretend I didn’t appreciate that?”

  “No, no, mia capa!”

  “Vantagio, are you trying to stand in the way of this boy’s career?”

  Heller was counting out his money, bill by bill. He seemed to think a few of the bills were counterfeit.

  Vantagio had apparently been struck speechless. Finally, gasping, he said, “Oh, mia capa, how could you say such an awful thing!”

  “You know an education is important. You are jealous and you want him to wind up like some of these bums?”

  “Oh, no!” wept Vantagio.

  “Then please explain to me. I will listen. I will not yell at you. I will listen with patience. Answer this one question: I see in the Sunday paper two days ago, Vantagio, that Empire University began registering yesterday. And when I ask you, patiently and quietly, Vantagio, the simple question, ‘Is the boy properly registered now and starting school?’ I get a stupid answer that he slept late.”

  Vantagio tried to talk. “Mia capa . . .”

  “Now, you kno
w and I know and the good God himself knows that boys hate to go to school,” continued Babe. “You know that they have to be driven, Vantagio. You know they have to be forced. My brothers, God rest their souls, had to be beaten so there is no reason to explain that to me.”

  “Mia capa, I swear . . .”

  “So the one question I want answered, Vantagio, if you will only let me speak, is why haven’t you asserted your authority and control over this boy? Why is he not obeying your orders? Now, do not bother to argue. Just phone me up in exactly one half an hour and tell me he has started to school.” There was a sharp click. She had hung up.

  Heller had decided that just because some bills had Benjamin Franklin on them, they were not counterfeit. He had packaged the money up neatly. But he was not happy with what he had counted. He was shaking his head.

  He put fifteen thousand in his pocket, already bulging with Gods knew what. He closed and locked his safe and was about to leave the Gracious Palms when Vantagio’s voice arrested him, calling from the office.

  “Can I see you a minute, kid?”

  Heller went in. Vantagio’s brows were lowered. He looked very down. He gestured to a chair. But like any Italian, he did not come right to the point. They think it impolite.

  “Well, kid, how are you getting along with the girls?” He said it very glumly.

  Heller laughed. “Oh, it’s fairly easy to handle women.”

  “You wouldn’t think so if you had my job,” said Vantagio.

  Aha, I was on the trail of something here. Vantagio was jealous of Heller. He was afraid Heller was going to get his job!

  “Say,” said Heller. “You may be the very one I should be seeing about this.”

  “What?” he said, very guarded, very defensive. Yes, something was biting Vantagio.

  “Well, actually,” said Heller, “I’ve got quite a bit of money but I think I will need much more.”

  “For what?”

  “Well, I’ve got to do something about the planet.”

  “You mean you’re planning to take over the whole planet? Look, kid, you’ll never do that without a diploma.”

  “Oh, that’s true,” said Heller. “But also, things like that take money. And I wanted to ask you if you could tell me where the gambling is in this area.”