The Enemy Within

by L. Ron Hubbard

  Aha. I had it. He suspected that as soon as we got the report we'd kill him. That was it. He wasn't going to give me the report! That raid on the Gracious Palms suite had tipped him off!

  I better calm his fears! "Look, I didn't have anything to do with the ransacking of your suite at the Gracious Palms. That happens all the time in New York. They were probably just looking for money. You can have every confidence in me, Jettero. You can trust me to faith­fully mail that report for you. You can go in another room and write it. I won't look."

  He was writing out a lot of figures on a new blank sheet of paper. Suddenly he handed it to me. It was the order for the replacement of Box Number 5. It had the manufacturer's name and address on it.

  "Oh," I said. "I'll get this right off. Now, if you give me your monthly report..."

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out two large envelopes.

  The report! It was addressed to Captain Tars Roke!

  The other one was addressed to Snelz!

  "Oh, I'll get these right off for you," I said. Then my eye caught sight of the old glass jars. "Listen, I know this has been very upsetting for you. I'll make it up to you. I'll go in the crew's galley of the tug and get you some hot-jolt powder. Now you just sit there. We don't want too much activity outside. Look, I'll even thrash around and see if I can find some canisters of sparkle-water in the crew's stores—no reason to open up your own quarters in the back of the tug. I know how tired you are of drinking Seven Up. You wait right there. Let me be some help for a change."

  I raced out.

  With any luck, I had it and Heller would be dead in minutes! And my worries would be over!

  Chapter 7

  Aboard, I tore into my old cabin. I locked the door. I got out the tools necessary and in seconds had the Tars Roke letter open.

  I read it avidly:

  Dear Captain Tars,

  Well, things are going along fair. It's a nice planet. It's too bad they don't appreciate it more.

  I am mostly involved currently with basic setup. They use a fossil fuel in a most inefficient manner, even though I am certain that, even with their primitive technology, they know better. I think they may even hide efficiency inventions, as nobody could be that stupid.

  It is the wasteful method of using this fuel that is causing the bulk of their atmospheric and regolithic contamination. It is also, strangely enough, the basic cause of their financial inflation, which is planetwide. I am working on this. Techni­cally, the fuel problem is simple.

  The people are a lot of them very nice people. They do have rather odd leadership and seem to easily let themselves be led into false technologies. They have a thing called "psychology" which is ridiculous. They even force schoolchildren to learn it. You won't believe this, but they think matter created life. This somehow tends to make them immoral and without honor. I have to be careful in dealing with them to keep my own honor clean. But I am making progress with people.

  The political and economic aspects are under study. The job does not seem impossible. So please don't recommend the second alternative unless you cease to authentically hear from me or I have obviously failed.

  But speaking of study, do you recall Isto Blin? He said there was nothing wrong with learn­ing a dead mathematics except it was liable to take him to the tomb with it.

  Please remember me to your dear wife.

  I trust Their Royal Majesties are well and that the State prospers. With courteous salute,

  Jettero Heller

  It was written with uneven lines. Some of the words were cramped, some extended. A definite platen code.

  I quickly got out the first letter copy. It was dupli­cated in the exact size. I laid the two large sheets over one another. I studied it for duplicate words and match.

  I did it again.

  I did it backwards.

  I did it upside down!

  Nothing matched!

  My head was in a whirl. What was I holding here?

  It was a platen code. But... Then I realized with a beaten sag that Heller was using a sequence of platens! He had a whole pad of them! I looked carefully into a corner. Yes, there it was! A number. It said 2. So faint I could barely make it out in strong light.

  Those Devils at the departure party had made up a series of platens!

  Listlessly, I opened the second letter addressed to Snelz. It had, as I suspected, a letter in it to the Countess Krak. I scanned it without interest. Just a mushy love let­ter. He was looking forward to the moment they were reunited. Just mush.

  A scratching came at the door. I quickly hid the letters and opened it.

  Captain Stabb was there. "He's come out on the porch over there. He's a perfect target. Can we kill him now?"

  I sighed. And I really was disappointed. "There's been a hitch. It will have to wait until next time."

  That didn't sit well with him at all.

  I myself was so upset I almost forgot the glass jars. I went to the airlock door and emptied their moldy con­tents on the ground. I went back to the crew's galley and found some packaged sweetbuns and some jolt powder. I put them in the jars.

  Trying to seem cheerful, I went back to the road-house.

  He was on the porch. I handed him the jars.

  "I am sorry it was an upsetting trip," I said. "Possibly this will help make up for it."

  He didn't say anything.

  "On my honor, I will send your letters, order you another box and a cellologist," I said. "I certainly wish you every success in the mission. And I will be more attentive in the future." I could have killed him with every word.

  He didn't say anything. He was looking out at where the tug was, just a blacker blackness, only a faint glow where the airlock was open.

  "Then it's good-bye for now," I said.

  I raced back to the ship. I jumped in the airlock.

  Stabb took off at once. He didn't even sweep the grass upright. I knew he was making Heller do that.

  In the flight deck, even though I got in their way, I threw a spare viewscreen into the night band. I couldn't see the house or porch or Heller because of the trees.

  We soared on upward at speed, a blackness in the blackness.

  What an unlucky trip! I wished to the Gods I had been able to add his ghost to those which must be haunt­ing that place.

  To say that I was upset was an understatement.

  When I had fastened myself into a gimbal bunk, I tried to take an assessment of my situation.

  Although the nights were much longer than they had been a month before, and although we had plenty of time to get back while it was still dark in Turkey, Captain Stabb had the tug going at a savage speed. And jerking it about, too! He was in no pleasant mood. He had been denied his prey. I would somehow have to cope with that.

  In a minor way, however, I had been successful. I cer­tainly, on no account, would send for any replacement box. I had stalled him to that degree, whatever he had planned to do.

  It was only then that I began to worry about his atti­tude. He had been busy with figures, true. But he had not said good-bye. Was his attitude one of hostility? Or was it just one of preoccupation?

  Of course, the denial of that box had upset his plans. Had he just been making new plans or was he antago­nistic to me?

  Did he suspect something?

  I began to shiver. Suppose he had seen through it all! Suppose he had realized we intended to kill him. Would that make him act that way?

  But no. He had not been armed. He hadn't even worn those deadly spikes.

  He had stood on the porch and he must have known that with a night sight he would have been an easy tar­get. So he didn't know.

  Or did his silence mean that he DID know?

  Speeding back against the dawn to the base in Tur­key, I vowed to carefully watch what he had done after we had left. Maybe that would give me a clue. I HAD to know!!!

  Chapter 8

  Safely landed down through the mountaintop in the dark, I mad
e speed through the tunnel to my secret room.

  Stabb had really pushed it. It was well before dawn. But in the United States, by Eastern Standard Time, it was only 9:00 P.M.

  I was very anxious to gauge his reactions. Did he know?

  I ignored the current picture and backtracked to the moment of our departure. I proceeded with spot checks, ignoring unimportant bits.

  He had gone inside and locked the door. With a dolly he had taken the boxes one by one into the bar. With a little block and tackle, he had lowered them through the concealed trap at the end of the bar and down into the old mine.

  Evidently he had been working there before we arrived. There was a precisely measured hole in one of the galleries. Into it, he put all boxes but one.

  He took two small objects out of one box and put them in a rucksack. Then he added that box to the rest. Bad light. I couldn't see the number.

  He threw down the canvas and covered it with dirt. He took a machine and made some cobwebs over that gal­lery and one or two others.

  Heller was working very fast. I could hardly follow what he was doing. The light was awful. But it showed he was being very secret. It was a bad sign. He did sus­pect something!

  With water from a bottle, he put out the fire in the iron stove. He turned out the kerosene lanterns. He locked everything up. The care with which he did that indicated to me that he probably knew.

  Playing a light over the landing place, he found a couple of weeds that had been crushed. He simply pulled them up.

  He ran up the road about a hundred yards. There was an old white van standing there. Aha, he had had an escape route planned! So he did have suspicions!

  He tossed the rucksack into the front seat. He got into the van and began to drive rapidly back to the road. The speed he was going showed his anxiety.

  The van eventually came out on the highway. He turned south. Very shortly, his lights picked up the sheriff's car. He swung in. Aha! He had had them posted as a trap!

  He got out and leaned into the window of the sheriff's car. It was Ralph and George. They looked half asleep. Deceptive!

  George said, "Everything go all right, young fel­ler?" Aha! So they had been alerted!

  Ralph said, "You get your measurements?"

  "Yes," said Heller.

  George said, "You know, you can drive down there. You don't have to leave your car at the highway and walk. You can get a car all the way in there—I didn't know it myself until t'other day."

  Ralph said, "Say, young feller, you being an engi­neer and all, deer season is coming right up. Sometimes we like to hunt over that way. Do you suppose the consul would mind if we hunted across that property?"

  "I'm sure he'd be quite happy about it," said Heller. "He spoke very highly of you both."

  George said, "You can tell your boss, Rangletangle Bowja, we're on the job."

  Aha. Heller was suspicious that we'd been there to kill him. He had cunningly arranged to get the place patrolled by sheriffs posing as deer hunters! Oh, we'd bet­ter stay away from there!

  When Heller pulled away, heading south, the sheriff's car pulled out and headed north. He had even arranged a rearguard action!

  Suddenly I realized I had neglected another clue. I scanned back. In my hasty perusal the first time I had missed an important point. The glass jars!

  He had put them down on the counter in the dance hall when he first reentered the house. Just as he removed the last box, he had picked them up and looked at them and then scraped at the inside mold. He had dumped the contents in the old iron stove. That was why it was blazing so when he had put it out. Very signifi­cant! He had been sure we were trying to poison him!

  Well, there was not much need to look any further. But I did.

  He had gone off the highway again and come to the old lady's house. He had put the van in the garage. He had taken off his blue coveralls. He had put on his spikes. That showed he was expecting trouble, perhaps thinking we would ambush him.

  The blind old lady came out belatedly. She was carry­ing a shotgun. Very significant. He had tipped her off he might be pursued and have to fight a gun battle.

  She said, "Oh, it's you, the young man." She offered him a cup of coffee. He apologized for disturbing her so late and she said, "That's all right."

  He put on a leather taxi driver's hat, got in the old orange cab and drove away.

  Only one more thing happened and was happening right this minute. He had stopped at a shore seafood res­taurant and was eating two lobsters broiled in butter. Very significant. They say a condemned man is always fed a last meal. Even though he was having his late, it showed that he knew he had been condemned.

  I sat back.

  The conclusion, based on these collective actions of his, showed without a shadow of a doubt that Heller knew we had come there to kill him.

  It must be puzzling to him why we had not done so. Yes. The way he was worrying away at a lobster claw, try­ing to get the meat out, showed he was under strain.

  He had been alerted to my real intentions.

  That meant I would have to be very careful and plan in a much more deadly way.

  Tonight we had failed to do more than alert Heller.

  Now I had real problems.

  A wary Heller would be much more dangerous. Therefore, I had to be much more cunning.

  Certainly, I could not let him go on. If he actually succeeded in this mission, Lombar would be ruined. If he didn't succeed, Earth would be ruined.

  It made my head ache.

  I desperately needed to untangle all this.

  But how?

  PART TWENTY-THREE

  Chapter 1

  The next day, although I should have known better, I went from my secret office through the tunnel to the hangar. My object was actually to see if the secret alarm system was going to work.

  What I intended was to carry out a drill. Now that Heller suspected we had been there to kill him, we had better be prepared in case he attacked us.

  Faht Bey was in the hangar. I told him I wanted a drill. He argued with me, saying it would interrupt everybody's work. I was just trying to explain to him that we were now in danger from Heller when Captain Stabb, seeing us shaking our fists at each other, came over.

  I thought the Antimanco was going to take sides and defend me. But he was in a very sour mood. He paid no attention to what we were talking about.

  Captain Stabb said, "I'm facing a mutiny!"

  Faht Bey didn't want anything to do with mutinies and he cut out of there at what speed his fat hulk was capable of, leaving me to face Stabb.

  "You're a good officer, Gris, if there is any such thing as a good officer. But you can't hold tidbits up in front of a crew and then tell them they can't have them. That ain't right. You as good as promised them they could kill that Royal officer and no questions asked, and then you call it off, just like that. It's ruined morale, that's what it's done. And besides, it isn't fair."

  "What can I do?" I said.

  "They're standing up for their rights. If they don't get them, I can't answer for it. So you better agree to their demands."

  "What are their rights?"

  "To go pirating, of course."

  "Look," I said. "Be reasonable. Those assassin pilots get nervous when you take the tug out."

  "Oh, that thing," said Stabb, dismissing the tug with a flick of his thick hand. "It ain't armed. It won't carry loot. Who's talking about that tug?" He beckoned.

  I followed him to a recess in the main hangar. It was really a storeroom where decades of junk and crates had accumulated.

  Stabb steered over to one side of the vast hill of debris. He pointed at some very large, age-discolored cases. There were an awful lot of them.

  "You know what that is?"

  I hadn't the faintest idea.

  "That's a 'line-jumper.' Now, I been busy while cer­tain others neglected their duty and I looked up how it came to get here. It was totally dismantled, crated and freig
hted here from Voltar. And," he added impressively, "it ain't never been assembled."

  "What," I said, "is a 'line-jumper'?"

  "It's a blazing wonder, that's what it is. They were developed by the Voltarian Army. They use them. They can pick up a hundred-ton piece of artillery, jump the enemy lines and set it and its ammunition down way back of the enemy lines and bomb them from the rear."

  I was all adrift. We had no enemy lines to jump, no artillery to move.

  "I think," said Stabb, "that somebody in your Appa­ratus office, maybe even your chief, had one of those bright ideas that officers get sometimes and figured this could be used to shift huge quantities of drugs across borders on this planet. So they got one from the Army and shipped it down here in pieces."

  "Sounds like the very thing," I said, looking at the discolored cases with new respect.

  "Yeah," said Stabb, "but like a lot of officers' ideas that get men killed and foul up operations, it wouldn't work. It lifts its cargo on traction beams and carries it. The cargo is totally exposed and can be picked up by the most primitive radar. It only operates in atmos­phere—there's minimal pressure protection in the flight deck—and it can't go up very high. So they never assem­bled it."

  "Then it's worthless," I said.

  "Oh, no," said Captain Stabb. "It's just about the greatest pirate tool you ever heard of. It could pick up a whole village on its tractor beams and fly off with it. You could pick up a whole bank, loot it at ten thousand feet and just drop the rubbish. If it ain't carrying cargo, it is undetectable. So it ain't worthless. It's priceless!"

  He patted a box. "I could even devise a curtain to cover cargo and it could be used to run guns to revolu­tionaries. There's a fortune in this thing! But no officer ever asked no bright, dedicated subofficer what could be done with it. The Army sprayed the artillery with absorbo-coat. I don't think the Apparatus knew that. It wasn't in the directions. Experience is what counts in the long run. Not book learning."

  I had a marvelous inspiration on how to end this mu­tiny. "How long will it take to assemble this thing?"