The Enemy Within

by L. Ron Hubbard

  It tipped the scales utterly.

  I made up my mind.

  I woke up Karagoz. He told me the Ford station wagon was able to run.

  I was too shaky to drive. I made him get in, ignoring his plea that he had no pants or shoes on, and forced him to drive me to the hospital.

  On those inventories I had seen a hypnohelmet. When I had asked Zanco for all the other new bits they had, that appeared to have been one of them.

  At the hospital I pushed my way right by the old woman asleep at the desk. I made my way noisily to Prahd's bedroom.

  I was not noisy enough. He was in bed with Nurse Bildirjin. Their heads popped up.

  "My father!" said Nurse Bildirjin.

  "It's not your father," said Prahd. "Sultan Bey, I think you have met Nurse Bildirjin? Please don't blow up the hospital."

  Nurse Bildirjin professionally started to get into her uniform. "You should register at the outer desk. The first examination is three hundred lira."

  I kicked her out. "Where are the inventories?"

  Prahd got some pants over his skinny legs. He got on a doctor's coat, and barefoot, led the way to his office. He had the inventories in a safe.

  I looked at them. There were two lots. It took me a while.

  Then I was chilled. There were sixteen hypnohel­mets in these shipments! My own horrible experience with them made me shudder. Sixteen of those things on the loose! I only wanted one. But fifteen more were going to go out of circulation right away!

  Well, the problem was that Prahd had not had time enough to list the boxes per room. He and the hangar crew had only managed to change the labels.

  I made Prahd do most of the work. It was hard to get through and between things, hard to lift up and look under things. Ward after ward crammed full of boxes.

  One after another, however, due to my persistence, we unearthed them. The last one was in a bigger box along with electric slicing machines.

  It was a chilly night but Prahd was really sweating when he finally had sixteen hypnohelmets in a stack out by the station wagon.

  "But what are they?" Prahd pleaded as Karagoz stuffed the boxes into the wagon.

  "The most deadly contrivance known to any sen­tient species," I said. "The thermonuclear bomb is nothing compared to them. And there you had them right in plain sight!"

  He didn't look contrite enough.

  "Because of this insecurity, I am not going to start your pay yet."

  That made him look pretty contrite. Sort of gnash­ing his teeth. It would have to do.

  I drove off and went back to my villa.

  I have a vault opening off my bedroom that nobody knew about. I sent Karagoz back to bed. I carried the boxes in there myself, all but one.

  I got it out of its carton. It smelled very new. I checked its power supply. I was careful not to be any­where near it and I did it with a stick. It was live.

  I sorted through its spares. I found the recording-strip blanks.

  With great care, I put a recording strip in my machine and made the suggestion-command. I got it all ready to slide into the slot of the helmet.

  I then sat down and wrote a letter to Lombar. I did not say too much. Only cheerful generalities. And then one request.

  I wrote another letter to Snelz.

  With great care I packaged them with Heller's last report so they would all go on the Blixo.

  Now I was ready for the next stage. If this all worked, it would save my life in more ways than one.

  I felt confident.

  I was going to combine both the cunning skill of Earth psychology with the police techniques of the FBI. How could I miss?

  Chapter 9

  It was time I turned against fate.

  I phoned the taxi driver. He was in bed.

  "You know that fat, dirty old whore that lives north of town—Fatima Hanim? Get her and bring her here at once." It greatly alarmed him. "Hey, what's the matter with you know who?"

  I couldn't let him think there was anything wrong with my own sexual prowess or ability to control women. "She's wonderful. Fatima is for somebody else."

  "I'm so relieved. There's no money-back guarantee, you know. I'll be right there with Fatima."

  I opened up a spare bedroom. I threw some pillows on the floor. I fixed some lamps just right. Then I went to my lockers and got a strip camera. I put it in the corner of the room, hooked it to remote and put the remote switch in my pocket.

  I picked up the hypnohelmet and went through the tunnel to the hangar.

  The guard officer let me into Too-Too's cell.

  Too-Too woke up. "Oh, no!" he screamed just at see­ing me.

  "Be calm," I said. "It is going to get worse. Put this on."

  "NO!" he screamed.

  The guard officer and I got it on him and chained him down.

  I took the guard officer outside. "What's that we put on him?" he asked.

  "Something to muffle the screams," I said.

  "Oh," he said. "It's about time!"

  "Now listen," I said. "What base personnel has been disciplined for molesting small Turkish boys?"

  "Half a dozen," he said.

  "The worst one," I said.

  "Oh, he's doing ninety days right this minute. Cell thirteen."

  We went to cell thirteen. The fellow sat up groggily when we put the glowplates on. He was a huge, hulking monster, with muscles like balloons.

  "You do exactly what I tell you," I told him, "and your sentence is finished."

  "What is it?"

  "Sex," I said.

  "I won't have nothing to do with girls," he said.

  "Not girls," I said. "Is it agreed?"

  "Okay," he said. "You want to do it here, right now?"

  I almost slapped him. I hate homos. But I had more important things to do.

  "Keep him right here," I said to the guard officer.

  I went back to Too-Too's cell. I put the recorded strip in the helmet slot. I took a stick I had brought and standing well away from any field from it, I turned the helmet on.

  Too-Too stopped threshing about.

  I took the stick and turned the helmet off.

  I undid his chains.

  I removed the helmet from his head. I took out a Colt Cobra. I marched him out into the corridor.

  From my pocket I took two bandages. I told the guard officer to blind their eyes. He did.

  At a pistol point I made them walk up the tunnel, through my secret room, through my bedroom, across the patio and into the prepared spare room.

  "Sit down on the pillows," I said. "Don't take those bandages off. I'll be right back."

  I went outside. The taxi driver was there with Fatima Hanim. I told the driver to wait in his cab.

  Fatima Hanim was mostly quivering flesh and stink. I said, "You do exactly what I tell you and you get paid five hundred lira."

  "On the grass here?" she said.

  I shut her up. I told her what she was supposed to do. She was a bit puzzled but nodded.

  I took her in the spare room.

  I had trouble. The big brute had slipped his bandage and was trying to get the clothes off Too-Too.

  At gun point, I made the huge bird stand back. And it took a lot of gun pointing!

  "Now, Too-Too," I said, bending over and whisper­ing in his ear, for he only spoke Voltarian, "you get your reward for being such a good messenger."

  I stood back and motioned to Fatima.

  I went outside and pushed the remote button that started the camera.

  From behind the closed door, I heard Fatima begin to croon a soothing lullaby:

  Poor little baby,

  Hungry as a cat.

  Come to mama, darling,

  So she can fix that.

  Put your little fingers

  In hair as fine as silk.

  Mmm, mmm, mmm,

  Mmm, mmm, mm!

  Inhale mama's milk!

  There was a sudden screech from Too-Too!

  A c
urse came from the big bird, an order to lie still.

  I curled my lip in disgust as Too-Too began to moan.

  The lullaby started up again. It went on and on.

  Then there was an explosive curse from the big bird.

  Too-Too screeched in ecstasy.

  Then I heard a scramble and a loud kiss!

  "Oh!" came Too-Too's voice in Voltarian. "You are ever so much better than Endow!"

  Instantly, I shut off the camera-recorder.

  I opened the door.

  Too-Too was standing there with his arms around the big brute.

  Too-Too looked stunned. "Why did I say that?" he said. "It isn't true. You're not better than Endow!"

  I smiled thinly. He had said that because he had been told to on the hypnostrip.

  "Time's up," I said.

  "What language is he speaking?" said Fatima.

  "Baby talk," I said.

  "Oh," she said. Then, "Isn't anybody going to take me?'

  I got her out of there. I gave the taxi driver a thou­sand lira to pay himself and her.

  I went back.

  The brute was pawing Too-Too again, who wasn't complaining. I kicked them apart. I hate homos.

  Punching them with the Colt Cobra, I got their clothes and the bandages on them. I marched them back through and down to the hangar and the detention cells in the passage to the right.

  "Go okay?" said the guard officer.

  "Just fine," I said.

  We started to put Too-Too back in his cell.

  I said to the hulking brute, "You can go now. You're free."

  "Can't I do another ninety days with him?" said the brute, trying to get past us.

  I made the guard captain take him away to the bar­racks.

  I set Too-Too down on the ledge. He was still drool­ing.

  "You've had your fun," I said.

  "Oh, yes," he said, rolling his eyes.

  "Now there's a price."

  He went wary. "You said it was a reward."

  "The reward was the woman. You haven't paid for the man. Now listen carefully."

  I took three objects out of my pocket, chosen from my routine Apparatus kit. "You often serve the office staff their hot jolt and a sweetbun in the morning. Here in my palm you see three capsules. Each of these contains a concentric molecular powder. The core is a molecule of a deadly poison."

  He quivered and his eyes shot wide in horror. Psy­chology is right. What you say to them right after inter­course is itself hypnotic.

  "This molecule of poison," I continued, "is enclosed in a molecule of copper which shields it. The molecule of copper is enclosed in a molecule of sugar. When these arrive in a person's stomach, it takes two hours for the stomach acid to eat away the copper. Then the person dies. Do you understand?"

  He did. But just to spite me, he fainted. There was a water can in the cell. I threw some in his face and brought him around.

  He moaned, "Give them to me. You are going to order something terrible. I will take all three at once!"

  "No," I said patiently. "The poison produces one of the most painful and agonizing deaths ever devised. It took Apparatus chemists years to develop something this painful. So you would never be able to survive taking them."

  He was beginning to cry so I slapped his face to get him back on the subject.

  "Now pay heed," I said. "You know the two forgers in Section 451."

  He groaned.

  "You are to serve their snack. You are to empty one of these capsules into each of their sweetbuns and cover it so it just looks like more sugar."

  "Oh," he moaned. "You are proposing murder!"

  "Stop quibbling," I said. "When you have served the two forgers, you are then to serve Bawtch. You are to put the third capsule in Bawtch's..."

  "BAWTCH?" he cried and fainted.

  I threw more water on him. I got him around even­tually.

  "Now," I said, "if you do not do this, I will not give Oh Dear your magic mail card when he comes in three months. The Commander of the Knife Section on Mistin will get an order. And that will be the end of your mother."

  He fainted again. There was no more water so I kicked him back to life.

  "One more thing," I said. "I have written some or­ders to Lombar but I want to make sure. You are to make very certain, using all your influence with Endow, that two people come with Odur next trip—without fail. They are to arrive here, straight up, happy and intact. The first of these persons is the Countess Krak. The sec­ond of these persons is Doctor Crobe."

  He was crying and wailing and threshing about, beat­ing his fists on the ledge. I knew this would be his effort to refuse. I was ready for it.

  I took a small viewer from my pocket. I set it up. I held his head so he would have to look at it.

  The whole sex scene ran off. It ended with the kiss and the classic remark he had been made to make by post-hypnotic suggestion. "Oh, you are ever so much better than Endow!" We psychologists know our business.

  "Endow will kill me! He'll imprison me for life! With maniacs!"

  "Precisely," I said. Yes, indeed, we psychologists know our business. "And if those three people on Voltar aren't dead and if the two named do not arrive with Odur, these strips go straight to Endow! Understood?"

  When I got him conscious again, he understood.

  After, with some trouble, I had made him rehearse it over and over, he had fainted one more time. His heart palpitations had been getting worse. I couldn't think of any other way to torture him at the moment, so I left.

  It was a masterly stroke!

  Heller had asked for a cellologist. Crobe had been aching to ruin anybody as good-looking as Heller. So I would give him Crobe.

  The Countess Krak was wearing those two forgeries on her body. When she arrived, I would simply pluck them off with suitable guise.

  The Countess Krak would rave at Heller and upset him so for living in a whorehouse that he would never get anything done. She would slow him to a walk and maybe, as I had told Lombar, she would kill Heller. Lom­bar would listen to my needing a hit woman.

  And when I finished off Heller, however it was done, there would be no Countess Krak waiting to take revenge at the other end. I would see to it that she never left Earth once here.

  All witnesses dead. The forgeries of the Emperor's name safely in my hands. Really a masterly stroke!

  I knew that Earth psychology had not failed me and the use of FBI evidence-gathering, frame-up know-how had been flawlessly executed.

  I went to bed comfortable for the first time in many, many days.

  PART TWENTY-FOUR

  Chapter 1

  For some reason, possibly understandable, I wanted to see the Blixo unquestionably gone. Other ships come and go but the Blixo apparently had its own brand of cargo—bad news. Accordingly, when I awoke from my well-earned sleep, I tackled two hundred pounds of papers that had to be stamped. Captain Bolz could take them away, thank you.

  It was too much to ask of one to read them so I sat in my office and stamped away. My arm got tired. How, in just ten days, could Bawtch accumulate so much paper to be stamped? But, oh well, he was cared for. In another few weeks they would give him a nonmilitary funeral— probably the coffin would be carried between two lines of clerks making an arch with pens, and his tombstone would read STAMP HERE.

  I tried to tie the identoplate to my foot but my back got tired bending over to change the sheets. I toyed with the idea of going out and finding a blind beggar to do the stamping—but they whine so and I had had my fill of whining lately.

  It was ten o'clock in the evening when I finished. I got a dolly and pushed the papers down the tunnel from my office and into the hangar. A couple of hangar men loaded them into the ship.

  Bolz had a terrible hangover, fortunately, and there was no social chitchat. He had encased Too-Too in irons and locked him into a strongroom to which there was only one key. He had made sure the cartoned balls of opium were lashed down, the heroin
bags wouldn't leak or roll about and that the cases upon cases of I. G. Barben speed wouldn't crush at high acceleration. He gave me a wincing farewell—I shook his hand too hard (I was so glad to see him go)—and went to his flight deck. The trundle dolly rolled. The airlocks clanged shut. The Blixo lifted its skinny, battered length up through the mountaintop illusion and was gone into the dark night. Six weeks from now it would, I hope, land un­eventfully on Voltar and my main troubles would be solved.

  Exhausted from my stamping labors, I went back to bed and slept the sleep of the cunning and the just.

  It was almost ten o'clock the next morning when I got around, much refreshed. I lolled over breakfast in my room, and when the waiter had gone, I decided to take a turn in the yard.

  I was expecting nothing. My mood was optimistic. As I looked up from the patio at the open sky above, I could see that it was a fine autumn day.

  The door from the patio to the yard was shut. It had a small port in it—the Romans were cautious people. More from habit than from fear, I glanced through the small port before I opened the yard door.

  I froze!

  Sitting on the grass! Sitting on the grass, tossing an object into the air and catching it! Sitting on the grass was GUNSALMO SILVA!

  I flinched back!

  My world went topsy-turvy!

  What was HE doing there? HE was supposed to be DEAD!

  I peeked cautiously. He had not seen me. He was

  just sitting there tossing whatever it was. But what was it? It was about fourteen inches long, it was narrow, it was black.

  A sawed-off shotgun! I think they are called a "leop­ard" by U.S. gangsters. They saw off the barrel and they saw off the stock and it leaves a sort of pistol. But what an awful pistol! A double-barrelled, twelve-gauge smooth­bore! It could blow a hole in a man a dog could jump through and do it twice!

  What was he doing here?

  Only one conclusion could be reached. He knew I had put the finger on him and he had come here to kill me!