Mission Earth Volume 3: The Enemy Within

  I went out. I had no car so I walked through the chilly night to the archaeological workers’ barracks. I got the duty officer and we entered the hangar.

  At the cell, the guard officer said, “You want me to stay? They brought him in, in chains. He must be pretty violent.”

  It was an opportunity to show how tough I was. “I can handle him,” I said. “I’m heavily armed.”

  The officer unlocked the cell door for me and left.

  I turned on the cell glowplates.

  Too-Too woke up, saw me and started crying.

  He was pretty rumpled. “Six horrible weeks in a horrible spaceship with a horrible crew trying to get at me,” he said. “And now you!” The tears streamed down his pretty face.

  I slapped him. I hate homos. They make me sick at my stomach. The very thought of a man making love to a man makes me turn green!

  “I’ve got two postcards,” I said. “One for you and one for Oh Dear. If you don’t mail them on return, your mothers will automatically be killed.”

  The tears turned into rivers.

  “So if you want those cards to continue to hold the magic mail,” I said, “you will stop blubbering and tell all—clearly and distinctly.”

  He begged permission to go to the toilet.

  There is not much privacy in a detention cell. He made me turn my back.

  Finally, he composed himself on the stone ledge—which is to say, he sat there drawing long, shuddering sobs.

  Now that he was relaxed, I said, “I want to know everything Lord Endow has been saying or doing since I left. Start talking!”

  “I was only there ten days after you left!” he wailed.

  “No equivocations. Begin!”

  “The minute he saw me, he said, ‘Oh, how darling!’ Then he said, ‘Your trousers seem a little tight. Come into my bathroom so I can . . .’”

  “No, no, no!” I stormed at him. I hate homos! Men making love to each other curdles my blood! “I want you to tell me the essentials! The important information!”

  “Oh. The important things. He said I was much more beautiful than his orderly so he transferred the fellow back to the Fleet at once. And I am lovely! Endow said one night . . .”

  “Too-Too,” I said in my most deadly voice. “Political. I want political, not homosexual, data!”

  He started crying again and I had to slap him.

  Finally, with my knee on his chest and him lying back on the stone ledge and a stun gun held to his throat, I began to get data.

  It seemed that Lombar, through Endow, had begun to get several of the Grand Council on uppers and downers—methedrine and morphine—to “help their rheumatism.” The physicians in Palace City were all pushing drugs and success was looked for.

  With a few more slaps and jabs, I got more data. Lombar had heard of the US Congress’ Harrison Act of 1914, Earth date, which regulated narcotics, and was pushing it to get it passed by the Grand Council so that anybody else pushing drugs that hurt Lombar’s monopoly would be instantly jailed. The growing of poppies on any planet in the Voltar Confederacy would be punishable by total confiscation of the land, the poppies, heavy fines and imprisonment for life. Synthesizing speed or any other such drug would carry the death penalty. There would be one license for all types of drugs and that would be Lombar’s.

  Very smart. Just like IG Barben and Rockecenter had done. Lombar had studied the primitives very well.

  Aside from some odds and ends, that was really all Too-Too knew about the Grand Council.

  I let him up. I was almost reaching for the postcards when a sudden suspicion took me. He looked smug, the way homos will. I hate homos. You can’t trust them.

  I took out the cards all right. And then I put my hands on them in a position that indicated I was about to tear them up.

  “No!” he screamed at me.

  “You know more,” I said.

  He thought wildly. Then he said, “All I can think of doesn’t concern the Grand Council or Endow. It’s only Bawtch.”

  Aha! He was holding back. I made my hands look tense.

  “No, no,” he screamed. “I’ll tell you! Just the day after you left, I saw Bawtch sitting in his office. He was laughing to himself. And he said something.”

  Good Gods! Bawtch laughing? That silly old chief clerk never laughed in his life. This must be something terrible! “What did he say?”

  “It didn’t make any sense to me. But it concerned you. Bawtch said, talking to himself, ‘Forgery. Oh my. Oh my. It’s wonderful. Forgery! They’ll execute Gris for it!’”

  I went cold. What did Bawtch have on me?

  The only forgery you could instantly be executed for was forging the Emperor’s name on a document!

  And then it came to me. Those two (bleeped) forgers in Section 451 had talked!

  They had told Bawtch about those two documents I had used to con the Countess Krak into persuading Heller to leave!

  Yes! They could execute me!

  Bawtch was getting his jealous revenge!

  What could I do?

  Those two documents, the only copies, were on the body of the Countess Krak!

  The deadly Countess Krak, that would let nobody touch her! That killed, if anyone but Heller reached toward her.

  My head was in a whirl.

  I needed time to think!

  I put the two postcards back in my pocket.

  Too-Too screamed in anguish.

  I left the cell. The guard officer was waiting. He said, “Devils! I’ve heard some brawls in my time but that one in there . . . No wonder they brought him in chains!”

  I said, “Lock him up again but hold him ready.”

  I went up the tunnel to my room. This was a real emergency. Fate had just been playing with me until it hit me with an axe!

  What could I do?

  PART TWENTY-THREE

  Chapter 8

  My old Apparatus school professor in Wits Utilization used to say, “When the natives have you lowered in boiling oil and are sticking spears into you, it’s time to accumulate data.” I heeded his advice.

  The night was getting on. I sat there trying to think. My eye was attracted to the viewscreen.

  The interference was off in the suite. I usually kept the sound off when I was away. I turned it on.

  Vantagio, Izzy, Bang-Bang and, of course, Heller were lolling around in Heller’s suite. It must be just before dinner there.

  Vantagio had a huge atlas on his lap. He had it open to a map of the world. At first I just thought he was riding his hobbyhorse—political science.

  “. . . so that’s what the ‘democratic process’ is: the politicians give the people things the politicians don’t own in order to get elected. Got that, kid?”

  Heller nodded. Bang-Bang said he wished they had some Scotch.

  “Now, communism,” continued Vantagio, “is where the people are forbidden to own anything so the commissars can grab it all for themselves. These are the essential differences between democracy and communism. You got that, kid?”

  Heller said, “Yes. Political science is a wonderful subject.”

  “Yes,” agreed Vantagio. “Politics is mostly grabbing and political science gives you a good chance to grab first.”

  Izzy looked around at them apologetically. “Could we please get back to the Master Plan?”

  I became alert. Spinning though I was, the “Master Plan” was something I knew I had better know about. I had missed it before.

  Izzy continued. “How many of these countries have to depend on voter appeal?”

  Vantagio picked up the atlas and turned it toward them. He pointed. “Let’s take England first. . . .”

  On went the interference. Some (bleeped) diplomat was reliving his youth in hot, synthetic sunlight on artificial grass! I hoped he got sand in his hair!

  I turned off the sound and was about to throw a blanket over the viewer when the import of what I had heard struck me.

  You understand that I wa
s in a very nervous state. I was in the hands of Bawtch, which was bad enough, but I conceived that I was also in danger of being executed by the Emperor. One might have thought these were sufficient threats for one night. But here, I realized abruptly, was another one!

  Heller could get at me!

  They were actually conspiring, there in that suite. Heller was studying political science and there could only be one reason. If they were taking over every country in the world—and Vantagio had clearly stated they were about to take England—Heller could then control the combined military forces of the planet, and now that he knew I had tried to kill him, he would use them for only one purpose—to capture me!

  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?

  PART TWENTY-THREE

  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 tryi
ng to get the clothes off Too-Too.

  At gunpoint, 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, mmm!

  Inhale mama’s milk!

  There was a sudden screech from Too-Too!

  A curse 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.