The Planet Killers

  Whatever happened now, he wanted to make sure that he would be sober.

  He paced round the room, hands tightly clenched into fists, feeling the frustration of knowing that there was absolutely nothing he could do now but wait. Archer was somewhere on Lurion; Archer knew the name of the hotel where Gardner was registered. Gardner could not contact Archer, it had to be the other way around. Gardner waited.

  Fifteen minutes later, the visi-screen emitted a double buzz. Gardner sprang toward it, yanking down the activating switch. He felt coldly apprehensive as he watched the swirling colors take on form and coherence.

  The face that appeared was bland, mild, undistinguished and unmemorable in anyway. Weak, watery-looking eyes stared outward, not attempting to look straight forward but shying diffidently off to one side. It was Damon Archer. He was smiling uncertainly. His chin was weak, his hair a mousy brown, his lips thin.

  “Hello,” he said in a voice that matched his physical appearance. “I’m Damon Archer.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re Gardner.”

  “That’s right,” Gardner said. “I knew you were here, of course. I suppose you’re getting in touch with me about the matter of your early arrival.”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  Gardner frowned suspiciously. The plan called for Archer to be on the planet’s northernmost continent, a good thousand miles from here, but he had made a local call. Something must be very wrong.

  “Where are you now?” Gardner asked.

  “I’m at the spaceport. I’ve just checked through customs, and—”

  “What? But your assignment from the Company specified that—”

  “I know, Mr. Gardner,” Archer cut in with uncharacteristic sharpness. “But there’s been a slight alteration in schedule. I’ll have to see you immediately. I want to talk privately with you before we go ahead with anything that’s been planned.”

  Gardner tensed. He said, “All right, I suppose. How soon can you be here?”

  “Within the hour.”

  “I’ll be expecting you,” Gardner said.

  About forty-five minutes later, Gardner opened his door in response to a sharp triple knock, and admitted Archer. Archer was taller and a little leaner than Gardner had anticipated, but otherwise the man had a curiously nondescript quality that Gardner found morbidly fascinating. Archer was a blank, a cipher, a nothing.

  Once inside the door, Archer looked quickly all around the room, noting the sonic generator in its place on the dresser, the pouch of jewels, the drinking-glass with its murky little residue of khall . Then he gestured to the doorseal that Gardner had replaced on the inside of the door.

  “Do we need that here?”

  “It protects us,” Gardner said. “I keep it up all the time.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d remove it while I’m here,” Archer said. He shivered lightly and looked shame-faced. “It’s … ah a sort of phobia of mine. Modified claustro, you see.”

  Gardner shrugged. “I guess we’ll be safe enough in here without it.”

  He hid the generator and the jewel pouch carefully in the closet, then removed the seal from the room door and affixed it over the closet door. Archer’s request struck him as curious; the man seemed too ordinary, too washed-out, to have any phobias. But it was his right as a guest to ask for the seal’s removal, and Gardner saw no point in insisting on keeping it there.

  “I’d offer you a drink,” Gardner said, “but there isn’t any left.”

  Archer flicked a glance at the drinking glass on the table. He said softly, “You needn’t worry. I never touch alcohol.”

  “You’re a wise man,” Gardner said. He leaned forward, “Now, then. You’ve arrived a week early. May I ask how come? Also why you’re here, instead of at your assigned post?”

  “May I speak freely in here about the nature of … ah … the project?” Archer asked, eyeing the dirty walls furtively.

  “If you must,” said Gardner. “I’ve checked for spy devices. This room’s safe, unless there are some ears in the hallway. Wait.”

  He rose and rapidly crossed the room, yanking the door open. The corridor outside was deserted. And there had not been time for any eavesdroppers outside the door to have hidden themselves.

  Gardner closed the door. “It looks clear. Say what you want to say.”

  Archer folded his legs and tapped the suitcase he had carried with him.

  “My generator is in here. Yours, I think, is in that closet. Are all five members of the team here on Lurion now?”

  “Look at your indicator band!” Gardner said, surprised at the question.

  “Of course.” Archer laughed hollowly. “All five are here, aren’t they? Now, my instructions from Earth Central require me to have a full recapitulation of the nature of our mission from your lips before we can act.”

  “What the hell for?” Gardner asked, bristling. “Just to give my mouth some exercise?”

  Archer smiled apologetically, holding up one hand to stay Gardner’s outburst. “As, pardon me, a check on your stability.”

  “ What? ”

  “Karnes has had some misgivings about you . The computer has been called into use again. It revealed that your attitude was likely to deteriorate progressively, and that if we waited the allotted three weeks of the project, the probability was high that you would no longer be capable of carrying out your part.”

  Gardner’s jaws tightened. What Archer was saying cut deep. “So you were sent early because they wanted to get the project taken care of before I blow my trolley completely, eh?”

  Archer shrugged. “It was thought advisable to speed up the schedule. And now I must have a complete verification of your comprehension of the project.”

  Still simmering, although everything Archer had said so far had the ring of truth, Gardner muttered, “What do you want me to tell you?”

  “A recapitulation of the nature of our mission,” Archer said.

  “Okay. Here’s your summary: we’ve been sent here as a team with the assignment”—Gardner lowered his voice—“of destroying Lurion. It takes five of us to do it, each equipped with a sonic generator that will set up a resonating vibratory pattern when tuned in at the proper geographic locality. I’m in charge.”

  “Who picked you for the job?”

  “Karnes. Chief of Security at Earth Central. I was picked with the aid of the computer, of course.”

  Archer nodded. As if rehearsing a catechism, he asked, “And why is it considered necessary to destroy Lurion?”

  “Computer prognostics have it that militaristic forces on Lurion will organize and launch a destructive attack on Earth some time within the next two generations or so. We have to strike first.”

  Archer sat back, smiling quietly. “All right. You’ve got it all down well enough. Just one thing remains to be settled.”

  “Which is?”

  “Are you willing to carry out your share of the assignment?”

  Gardner was silent a moment, staring at the bland face opposite him. He moistened his lips.

  “Yes,” he said finally. “I’m ready and willing.”

  “Okay, then. I guess we can proceed.”

  “I’ve passed the test?”

  “You have. And now you’re in charge again. When’s the event due to take place?”

  “As soon as you get up north where you belong,” Gardner said. “There’s no other reason for delay, now. Give me a call when you reach your assigned position, and I’ll transmit the initiating signal.” Gardner realized now that he had no more doubts, no hesitation whatever about bringing the project to its culmination.

  “Very well, then. Now that we’ve got everything cleared up, I’ll leave at once,” Archer said. He rose, tugging his jacket-snaps together and sealing them. Gardner watched him, brows furrowed.

  The visi-screen chimed again, the long-distance chime this time.

  Gardner activated it and a round, bearded face appeared; it was that
of Kully Leopold, the only member of the team Gardner had yet to hear from.

  “I guess I’ll be going now,” Archer said, a little hurriedly.

  “Stick around,” Gardner told him. “Let’s both hear what our friend Leopold has to say.” He returned his attention to the visi-screen. “You are Kully Leopold, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right. And I wanted to find out whether there’s been any change in—Hey! He’s leaving!”

  Gardner whirled and was surprised to see Damon Archer, suitcase in hand, fumbling annoyedly with the intricate Lurioni doorlatch. A number of seemingly irrelevant but actually interrelated facts suddenly fit themselves together in Gardner’s mind.

  “Where are you going, Archer?” he demanded.

  “I’m—” Archer got the door open at last and, without bothering to finish the sentence, started to slip out.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gardner moved rapidly. He jumped forward, getting between the door and its jamb before Archer could slam it in his face. Reaching out into the hallway, he grabbed the fleeing Archer by the shoulder and spun him back into the room; the door slammed shut.

  “What’s your hurry?” Gardner demanded. “I told you to stick around.”

  Instead of answering, Archer crashed a fist into Gardner’s midsection. Gardner gasped and doubled up, but as Archer confidently brought his fist round for another blow, Gardner grabbed it suddenly, pivoted, and flipped Archer over his shoulder.

  The thin man shot backward, landing heavily against the wall with a sharp crack. He scrabbled to his feet, but by that time Gardner was on top of him. Archer’s eyes were glaring desperately; his mild face had come to life in a startling way. He strained to roll over, clawed at Gardner’s arms, tried to force the weight of the heavier man off him.

  He succeeded. Archer was thin, but he seemed to have the tensile strength of beryllium steel. He forced Gardner off him, and then sprang up. Archer was quick on his feet. He ducked back and lunged at Gardner. Gardner left his guard open, rolled with a soft punch under the heart, and sent Archer rocking backward toward the wall with a stiff jolt to the chin.

  Gardner followed it up with a barrage of light punches and a swift crack across Archer’s exposed throat. It was dirty fighting, no denying it, but such niceties didn’t matter now.

  Archer gagged and started to topple. Gardner caught him, slapped him twice, just to loosen him up, then thumped his skull hard against the wall. Archer’s eyes glazed and closed.

  Puffing for breath, Gardner turned back to face the visi-screen. Leopold, who had watched the entire encounter, peered out of the screen, eyes wide in the puzzled oval face.

  “That was Archer, wasn’t it?” Leopold asked. “What in blazes is happening?”

  “I don’t know,” said Gardner, nursing bruised knuckles. He glanced at the unconscious Archer. “But he made me take the doorseal down, and then he maneuvered me into dictating what amounted to a full confession of … of the Company’s trade secrets. And then when you called he tried a quick getaway. I’m going to look through his suitcase. Suppose you call me back in about ten minutes, eh?”

  Gardner broke the contact. He didn’t think it would be very wise to have the contents of Archer’s suitcase sent out over public beam.

  Archer was still unconscious. Good, Gardner thought. Working hastily, he slit the suitcase open with a penknife and looked inside.

  Much clothing. A small package containing the sonic generator. And …

  Gardner dragged a little device out from where it nestled between two layers of shirts, and peered grimly at it. A pocket recorder! One of those devilish little subminiaturized devices that could record for an hour on a single reel, one that picked up a good clear signal even when hidden in a suitcase.

  Gardner depressed a stud and heard a tinny simulacrum of his own voice say, “ Okay. Here’s your summary: we’ve been sent here as a team of five with the assignment of destroying Lurion. It takes five of us to do it, each equipped with a sonic generator that … ”

  Smiling coldly, he set the tape back to its beginning and pressed the erase stud. Checking again, he found that the tape was now blank. He tossed the little recorder down on the bed.

  Then he drew a glass of cold water and tossed it in Archer’s face. The man on the floor shook his head, sputtered, coughed, and opened his eyes.

  Gardner knelt next to him. “I’ve just played back that tape you made,” he said. “Who are you working for, Archer?”

  Archer looked dazed. His head lolled to one side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gardner.”

  “Don’t bluster your way clear. It won’t do you any good. Who paid you to wiggle a confession out of me?”

  “Don’t be crazy. First you attack me like a wild man, then you insinuate—”

  Gardner slapped him. The big man’s eyes blazed. “I suppose you were making that tape for yourself as a souvenir of this mission!”

  Archer made no reply. After a moment’s silence, Gardner said, “If you’re really a Security man, you know that we don’t draw the line at torture if we think the means is justified by the end. I’d hate to have to act uncivilized, Archer, but—”

  Archer grinned confidently. “You wouldn’t torture me. I’ve seen your psych report. You’re soft inside, Gardner. You try to talk tough, but your mind is just a mass of doubts and contradictions and softbellied evasions—”

  Gardner slapped him again, to shut him up. “Who’s paying you?”

  “No one, yet,” Archer said quietly. “But I imagine the Confederacy of Rim Stars will be interested in the way Earth lives up to its high ethical pronouncements. Don’t you think so?”

  And Archer rose abruptly from his sitting position. His foot lashed out at the squatting Gardner. The heavy boot caught Gardner square in the chest and he toppled over, more stunned with surprise than injured. The attack had been wholly unexpected.

  As Gardner came dizzily to a half-sitting position, he saw the other man open the door—this time Archer had no trouble with the latch—and race out into the hallway. Gardner gasped for breath, feeling a dull throbbing under his breastbone where Archer had kicked him. He forced himself up.

  Gardner made his way into the corridor, pausing only to lock his door. Even in emergency, it was wrong to leave the room open to any plunderer who might choose this moment to come along.

  By the time Gardner had finished locking up, Archer had disappeared into the lift-shaft. Cursing, Gardner streaked down the hallway just in time to see the lift begin to lower itself groundward. Gardner pounded impotently on the door, to no avail.

  Other residents of the hotel, their early-evening slumbers disturbed by the fighting and chasing about, now began to open their doors and give vent to their complaints, loudly and in a variety of languages. Gardner ignored their protests. There was still a chance he might catch the fugitive Archer, after all.

  Remembering how slowly the lift-shaft operated, Gardner made for the stairs. The staircase was poorly lit, a deepening spiral illuminated only by a sputtering glowlamp near each landing. Gripping the bannister tightly, Gardner sprang down two and three steps at a bound, half expecting to come fetching up against the curved Lurioni blade of some lurking looter crouching spiderlike on the staircase, waiting for just such an occurrence.

  But he reached the lobby unhindered. The desk clerk looked up, blinking.

  “Did an Earthman just leave the lift-shaft?” Gardner demanded.

  “Why … yes … that is …”

  Gardner did not pause for details. Negotiating the steps of the hotel in one sprawling leap, he landed upright on the street and looked around.

  It was late, only an hour till midnight, and the streets were far from crowded. That made it that much harder for Archer to escape. Gardner caught sight of the fleeing spy, half a block away, and gave pursuit.

  Archer moved swiftly, but Gardner had the benefit of the same kind of training, and kept pace. That was all, though; the half-block gap betwe
en them remained constant, and no expense of effort on Gardner’s part seemed to close it. Archer turned down a twisting side street; Gardner followed. But at any moment the fugitive might think to duck into one of the numerous doorways, and then he could lose himself forever.

  Obviously Archer was panicking, or he would have evaded Gardner minutes ago. Gardner pressed forward dodging round the few passersby.

  But there seemed no hope of catching him—unless there were help.

  On a sudden impulse, Gardner shouted, “That man’s a thief! Stop him! Stop that thief!”

  A massive Lurioni, rounding the corner in front of Archer, heard the outcry and looked quizzically at the approaching man. Gardner waved frantically and called, “Yes, that’s him! Catch the thief!”

  The Lurioni extended one broad hand and Archer ran squarely into it. The Earthman rebounded, turned, saw Gardner gaining on him.

  Gardner watched Archer fumble in his pocket, as if hoping to bluff the Lurioni with a weapon. The alien’s reaction was swift and decisive. Producing the short, wickedly curved Lurioni blade that no free citizen seemed to be without, the tall being stepped forward, passed the knife with blinding rapidity from one hand to the other several times, and deftly plunged it into Archer’s breast.

  Gardner stopped short, ten feet away; panting for breath. The Lurioni was smiling benignly.

  “The thief has been stopped.”

  “You killed him!”

  “What better way to stop a thief?”

  Archer was on his knees, now, writhing in his last agonies. His face was a blank mask of pain; his hands clutched at the hilt of the blade, but his efforts to remove it only drove it in deeper. He had been slashed from belly to breastbone. Great gouts of blood welled out, trickling across the pavement into the gutter. Already, smelling the blood, inquisitive dog-like creatures were beginning to gather.

  The dying man muttered something incoherent, stretched his limbs taut, held the spreadeagle for a moment, and went limp.

  “He is dead,” the Lurioni said calmly. “I have undertaken blood-guilt for you, Earthman.”

  “I didn’t ask you to kill him, only to stop him from getting away.”