Young Bleys - Childe Cycle 09

  "What did he mean by 'Bodies'?" asked Bleys, when he and Sam were off by themselves again.

  Sam looked at him with an unusually sober expression on his face.

  "He was talking about those who were willing to give their lives, to make sure that their Great Leader was not hurt," said Sam.

  "1 thought that was our job?" asked Bleys.

  "Our job is different," said Sam. "The 'Bodies' are simply the volunteers who offer to cluster tightly about our Great Teacher, so that their living flesh becomes a shield against any needle, power blast, or void bolt aimed at him. Our job is to stop people from firing those blasts and bolts before they start."

  "The Bodies aren't really Defenders, then?" asked Bleys.

  "They're entitled to the name, but most of them don't use it," said Sam.

  Bleys rucked that away in the back of his mind for future reference. He was learning a great deal. Gradually the organization, and something of the tactics and strategy of the Defenders, were becoming clear to .him as the days progressed. The Bodies made a living shield wall of their bodies around McKae at all-times when he was moving about in public. The Defenders spread out ahead almost as skirmishers, ready to come together in force against any enemy, before these had the chance to do anything lethal.

  It became more and more apparent to Bleys that the Defenders operated more like old pros, like veterans, in doing their job. He learned that most of them had had actual battle experience, as well, in militia drafts off-world. They operated like an army unit. They were in contact with each other at all times and their aim was to face the enemy not one-on-one, but as a unit; firing and operating together, and able to call reinforcements to their aid to outnumber an enemy.

  Their working together this way was helped by the fact that so many of them had been through this before, and like old experienced hands at any business, most of them needed only a minimum of commands'. From the way things would be developing, they could see what was best for each of them to do.

  Bleys was reminded of examples out of history. The Greek phalanx, against the Persian king's so-called Immortals, at Marathon. The Roman phalanx against the Transalpine Gauls—the Germans of their time. Caesar had written something in one of his campaign messages back to Rome, to the effect that the Transalpine Gauls were one-on-one, superb fighters, noticeably superior to the Roman legionary, in this. But the organization, discipline, purpose and strategy of the legions caused them to win battle after battle against the northerners.

  These so-called barbarians had even had superior weapons. A lot of them were working with steel at a time when the legionary's weapons, like his armor, were still only of iron. The Gauls were larger on the average, and stronger. They were extremely fierce fighters. But the Legionary stayed tightly in his phalanx, obeyed his orders, and conquered, nonetheless.

  The more he compared the two, the more Bleys became convinced that the ninjas, for all their training in all departments, could not begin to deal with the superior experience, battle-tested tactics—and, above all, unity—of these rough-clad Defenders.

  If this was so, then, finally, the pattern of things to come fell into place, like a tipped-over row of dominoes. But it would be wise to double-check that conclusion first.

  On the eighth day of his employment, which happened to be a Monday, Bleys asked to speak to Herkimer, and was given permission to do so.

  He stepped into the office, in which everything, including Herkimer's clothes, looked as if nothing had changed since he had first met the man a week before.

  "Yes, Bleys," said Herkimer, looking up at him as he came in. "Your coaches tell me they're pleased with you. What did you want to talk to me about?"

  "It's a little problem with time," Bleys said. "I've got a cousin out in the country who's being married tonight; and he'd like me to be best man. The whole thing is likely to run rather late; and I'd have trouble getting back here by six in the morning. I just might be a little worn out tomorrow. I was wondering if I could come in late, the day after tomorrow?"

  Herkimer laughed.

  "You haven't been with us long," he said, "but you've struck everybody as being a pretty steady hand. I think you can come in late the day after tomorrow. If you really feel too rocky after the night before, simply call in and I'll let you have off until the following morning. In fact, why don't you just take off when you're free until the second day after that?"

  "That's real good of you," said Bleys, "that's real good of you. I know my cousin is going to be happy to hear that."

  "Call him up now and tell him," said Herkimer, waving at the control pad on his desk.

  "Thanks," said Bleys, "but he hasn't got a phone."

  He hesitated, and went on.

  "My section leader said there was nothing really important for me to do the rest of today ..." Herkimer laughed again.

  "Oh, go on!" he said. "You can take off from now until the time I told you."

  "Thanks a lot," said Bleys, "I appreciate that."

  "We'll make you work for it after you come back," said Herkimer, still with a smile. "Now go along and let me get back to work. Oh, by the way, be sure to tell Sam on the way out about the time off I've given you."

  "I will," said Bleys.

  He left, after passing word of Herkimer's permission to Sam, who merely nodded. Once outside the hotel, he walked for several blocks and turned several corners. Sure at last that he had not been followed from the hotel, intentionally or otherwise, he used a street corner call-box to get himself an autocar and rode back to his apartment.

  He stopped there only long enough to change clothes into the ordinary, rather expensive business wear Dahno had insisted he outfit himself in after his move to Ecumeny.

  He walked down to the street instead of calling from his apartment; and from a nearby corner-box, once more called an autocar to take him to the office. There he used one of the office phones in his room to call the Hounds' Kennel and speak to the Kennel Master, Ahram Moro. The other's voice answered him within seconds.

  "This is Bleys Ahrens," Bleys said.

  "Yes, the officer of the day recognized your voice and keyed me in immediately to your call. What can we do for you, Bleys Ahrens?"

  "Well, I thought I'd drop out this afternoon and see how the Hounds are doing on this latest exercise of theirs. I'm going to be in Moseville overnight, so it struck me that I could take care of two things at once. Suppose I take them all out to dinner in Moseville tonight—unless you have some objection, of course?"

  "I . . . oh, no objection at all," said Ahram. "When'll you get here?"

  "I should fly into the local airport about one o'clock. It'll be a private plane, of course, and I don't know just to the minute when we'll get off from here."

  "That's just fine," said Ahram; "there'll be a couple of our Hounds with a car there waiting for you when you get in, Bleys Ahrens."

  "Good," said Bleys, "I'll see you all later today then." "We'll look forward to it." "Good-bye," said Bleys. "Good-bye," answered Ahram.

  Bleys switched off. He called the airport and arranged for the plane and a pilot, explaining that he would be staying overnight; and that he would want the pilot and the plane to do the same.

  It was about a half an hour after one, when he sat down finally at the Moseville airport. The Hounds were there with a large, luxurious car as promised. They brought him to the Hounds' Kennel in about twenty more minutes.

  There, Ahram insisted on Bleys having a glass of wine with him, then himself drove Bleys out to the practice ground and parked on a hill from which they could see a complete mock-up of the streets and buildings, which Bleys recognized as those of the building holding the Chamber from which McKae would emerge after his speech, eight days from now.

  Bleys watched with an almost sardonic interest as the exercise was run. It took them no more than forty minutes, from the time they first began to move into place until those playing the part of McKae and his party were all down on the ground, playing dead.
Everything had happened like a well-rehearsed play.

  Ahram drove Bleys back to the Hounds' Den.

  "What time were you thinking of taking the Hounds into Moseville for dinner?" Ahram asked, once they were seated back in his office.

  "I've got to go into Moseville just about now," said Bleys. "Send them to the restaurant of The White Horse in the Triumph Hotel. Have them there about five p.m."

  "All of them?" asked Ahram.

  "All who aren't on duty or needed here," said Bleys.

  "That means at least eighty of them—possibly ninety.

  Almost our full complement," said Ahram. "You'll want a private dining room, of course?"

  "No, I don't think so," said Bleys. "Between you and me I'd like to see them out among other people. Going to a dinner in a private dining room is simply transferring their usual dinner to a different set of walls, floor and ceiling. Just make a reservation for a half or three-quarters, or whatever section is necessary, in The White Horse's best dining room and add extra waiters. Our men should get used to being waited on. Don't you think?"

  "Well . . . I've never really thought of it," said Ahram, "but I suppose you're right. After all, in the long run, they'll all be recognized as important and be dining themselves in the best places."

  "Yes, indeed," said Bleys. He stood up. "Now, if you'll get those two Hounds with the car around in front, they can take me into the city."

  Half an hour later Bleys was registering at the Triumph Hotel. He had checked by phone from Ecumeny before coming, and with the aid of the local Civics Responsibility Bureau in Moseville, had found the kind of place he wanted.

  He had specified a hotel that was off a busy indoor plaza or concourse, with a balcony from which he could stand and look down to see the Hounds as they came in, and then with a dining room that could handle a special party up to a hundred people and still be open to the public.

  Now, he stood at the balcony after taking a look at the suite they had assigned him, and saw that the choice had been a good one. The balcony looked down on a busy floor with little kiosks, restaurants and shops, running all around the outside of it, except on two sides where huge revolving doors allowed people in and out. An escalator led from the bottom floor up to the floor that was the entrance to the hotel.

  He smiled a little to himself. The question he had been expecting—in fact that he had been sure he would hear—had come from Ahram only diffidently, just before Bleys had stepped into the car.

  "Oh, by the way," Ahram had said, "you'll be wanting the staff and myself—so on and so forth—as well as the Hounds?"

  Bleys stopped with the door open in his hand.

  "No, I don't think so," he said judiciously. "Let's give them a complete evening off without the eye of authority upon them. I'd like to make the evening as informal as possible. Oh, yes—and tell them they needn't come back till something like, say, three in the morning. I want them to have some free time to do what they want in the city, after the dinner is over."

  "If you say so, Bleys Ahrens," said Ahram. His tone was perfectly agreeable, but Bleys could feel, almost as if it was radiating from the man, a very strong dislike of the freedom Bleys was demanding.

  Now, here at last, Bleys gave over his inspection of the concourse below him and went back up to his hotel suite to lie down on the bed and plan.

  There had been no appreciable difference between the exercise he had seen run today, and what he had seen on his last visit. Theoretically, this could mean that the Hounds were at the peak of their training.

  Bleys did not believe it. Either Norton Brawley had not passed along his order that the Hounds be sharpened up, or else it had been disregarded by Ahram. The Kennel Master had stood beside him today, perhaps counting on Bleys' expertise in such armed actions as the assassination to be so slight that he would not notice that there had been no difference.

  Furthermore, the full force that Ahram had detailed to the assassination was a little under thirty of the Hounds. These would be going up against well over a hundred of McKae's Defenders—and would be outclassed, in every way, by a large margin.

  The whole situation spoke of deep ignorance in Ahram's and Norton Brawley's cases. Moreover, one or both of them had deliberately disregarded his order. This was exactly the situation he had envisioned when he had suggested to the heads of the Other organizations on the other worlds that armed retainers could be more of a danger than a benefit. The risk that was run was to give the Others a bad name—one which painted them as advocates of force, rather than reason. And an attempt to assassinate Darrel McKae would be entirely too large to be kept out of the press.

  Bleys had pointed out the disparity in numbers alone to Ahram once they were back in his office.

  "You know," he had said to Ahram, "McKae has a good two hundred of what he calls his Defenders. And you're sending a little over two dozen Hounds against them."

  Ahram had laughed.

  "Yes, Dahno found out their numbers and passed it on to us," Ahram said. "But you know they're nothing but a bunch of farmers and such, with weapons that in some cases probably haven't been used for years. They'll have no real idea of how to defend McKae. Whereas, our Hounds are trained like Dorsai, to be just the opposite—and armed with the best."

  Bleys had forborne to argue. In his eyes the Hounds going through the exercises had looked exactly as they had before— unthinking, uncaring, and more than a little bored.

  He rolled over on the bed and keyed his phone in, putting a call through to his office back in Ecumeny

  .

  CHAPTER 36

  The day before a message in special code had come to him from Dahno on Old Earth, setting a date two weeks, interstellar time, from now for the meeting there and specifying a rendezvous location.

  "This is Bleys," he said as soon as he was connected with the office. Aran's face looked back at him from the screen, looking almost annoyed.

  "You don't have to tell me that, Bleys Ahrens," she said. "It's good you phoned right now, though. We were both going to leave the office a little early this afternoon. You caught us just before we went out the door."

  "I'm glad," said Bleys, "because I want you to do something for me right away; and it's urgent. Send coded messages to all the Vice-Chairmen on other worlds with the following message:—ready—?"

  "I've turned the recorder on," said Aran.

  Bleys dictated:

  "Concerning that matter about which I informed you recently, you will be personally ready to travel so as to arrive at the destination in twelve days. The destination will be Old Earth, in a hotel called The Shadow, which is in the main Denver area of the North American continent. I want you all assembled there no later than noon, twelve days from the date of this message.

  Bleys Ahrens

  "Did you get that all, Arah?"

  "Yes, Bleys Ahrens," answered Arah.

  "It's important that those messages go out on the first vessels possible to get them to the various Vice-Chairmen in the quickest time. You'll see to that?"

  "Right this minute," said Arah.

  Bleys cut the phone connection and rolled back to lie on the bed, once more staring at the ceiling.

  There was no longer time to make sure before he acted. It was necessary to gamble that things would fall out as he had planned. True, the odds were overwhelming that they would. But the difference between the best possible gamble, and certainty, could be wide and deep enough to bury anyone.

  He was out on the balcony, looking down at the concourse, fifteen minutes before the first of the Hounds could arrive; lounging on the railing there as if he was simply waiting for someone to meet him.

  In due time, the Hounds did start coming in through the street-level doors. He watched them with a keen interest, noting how they walked, how they reacted to the strangers around them, and everything else about them which would indicate their response to the general public.

  It was very much as he had feared. They were all in ordin
ary civilian clothes; the black robes and their other uniforms and special clothing had been laid aside. That much, at least, was as Bleys had expected.

  But in spite of the change of clothes, they carried themselves with an air almost of arrogance, as if those around them should have already recognized that they were people of authority, and different.

  Bleys faded back from the balcony, before the first of them emerged at the head of the escalator to the level he was on. He went back into the hotel, and directly down to the dining room, which he had already checked out.

  The maitre d' there, recognizing him, insisted on escorting him to a table, one of twenty which had been set up to allow five each of the Hounds to dine together. The maitre d', and the hotel management itself, had been a little surprised mat he had not simply wanted one large table for his whole group, plus a sight-and-sound barrier, projected between them and the other ordinary diners.

  However, Bleys had been insistent. It was the Hounds' reaction to the rest of society he wanted to observe. He sat at his table, watching the Hounds come in, watching their reaction to the maitre d' and to the other diners, and was not at all surprised when the four top-ranking members of the Hounds came to join him at his table.

  During the dinner, Bleys chatted with those who had joined him and listened as best he could to the Hounds at the adjoining tables. They all sat ramrod-straight at first; and their chatter became louder, as the wine he had ordered began to take effect on them.

  From all the accounts he had read, they were acting exactly the way soldiers on pass had always acted, when turned loose to their own devices. Only at his table was a certain amount of protocol preserved, with the Hounds who had joined him speaking only when he spoke to them; until the alcohol began to work on them and, little by little, the conversation became general.

  They finally reached the end of the meal, which had been a sumptuous affair with ten courses and different wines for each. A good number of the Hounds were obviously half, if not more than half, drunk. However, they managed to remain sober enough so that none of them did what Bleys had told Ahram must not be done—which was for any of them to stand up and offer some kind of toast to him, their organization, Dahno or anything else.