The Complete LaNague

  “Is that all there is to it?” Houghton blurted incredulously. Orz could imagine the man's mind tallying and totaling, and deciding that no matter what his overhead, Ratman charged too much. “This is outrageous! I'll have nothing to do with such nonsense! We're being hoodwinked!”

  Somebody doesn't want me in his warehouse, Orz thought and was about to say something when Rabb beat him to it.

  “The League has already retained Ratman, Malcomb, and we voted to use the treasury to do so… remember? So you have, in effect, already paid for his services, and it would be foolish of you not to take advantage of them.”

  Houghton paused, considering Rabb's words, then he glanced at the cage and shrugged. “I guess I don't have much choice,” he said sullenly and turned toward his car. “Let me know when you get around to my places.”

  IT WAS LATE in the day when they finally did get around to Houghton's warehouses, but Orz had preferred it that way. He had his suspicions and wanted to see as many of the other warehouses as possible before confronting Houghton. There had been nothing suspect in the others, although Lesno's computer setups had been somewhat larger than most, but nowhere near big enough to house a subspace radio.

  Houghton met them outside.

  “I've only got a few cages left,” Orz told him, “so we'll do as many as we can and I'll get the rest tomorrow after I collect the cages I've set out today.”

  “Might as well start with the main house,” Houghton replied and led them toward the largest building of his complex. The doors slid open to reveal a huge expanse of concrete floor with crates and boxes stacked almost to the ceiling. Huge cranes – controlled by a computer that knew the exact location of every item in storage – swung from above. Looming against the far wall was a large, metal-paneled structure.

  Orz pointed to it. “Is that your computer?”

  “Yes,” the bearded man replied absently, “now let's get on with this… I haven't got all day.”

  “Mind if I take a look at it?” Orz asked and started walking toward it. This was what he had been looking for; it was big enough to house two subspace transmitters. “Rats love to nest in those things, you know.”

  “I assure you there are no rats in there so stay away from it!” Houghton almost shouted. He began to follow Orz, and Lesno and Rabb trailed along.

  Orz went to the nearest inspection plate and began loosening the screws which held it in place.

  “Get away from there!” Houghton yelled as he came up. “You don't know what you're doing. You could mess up my whole operation!”

  “Look, if I'm going to do my job right, I've got to check this out!” The inspection plate came off in his hands then and he stuck his head inside. Nothing unusual. He replaced it and went to the next plate with the same result. Four more inspection plates later he was sure there was no subspace transmitter hidden within.

  Houghton was standing behind him and tugging angrily on his beard as Orz replaced the last screw. “Are you quite through, Ratman?”

  Orz stood and faced him. “Awful big computer you've got there, Mr. Houghton,” he said matter-of-factly. He was chagrined, but refused to show it.

  “That's the computer for my whole operation. I found it easier to centralize the system: Instead of installing new units all the time, I just add to the central unit and feed it into the new buildings as they are built. It's much more convenient.”

  “More economical, too, I'll bet,” Orz added laconically.

  “Why, yes,” Houghton replied. “How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  JESSICA WAS WAITING for him back at the ship. “Don't bother telling me you didn't find anything,” she said as he collapsed in a chair. “That look on your face tells me the whole story.”

  “I was so sure it was Houghton! The way he objected to the League retaining me, the way he tried to rake me over the coals at the meeting last night, the way he blew up this morning, I was sure he had something to hide. Turns out he's only a cheapskate with a centralized computer.”

  “What makes you so sure he hasn't got it stashed somewhere else?” Jessica asked, coming over and handing him a drink.

  He accepted it gratefully and took a long slow swallow before answering. “I'm not sure of anything right now. But, if that transmitter's here – and we know it is – it's got to be in one of those warehouses. Which reminds me…” He got to his feet slowly and trudged to the rat room.

  Jessica didn't follow, but glanced out into the corridor when she heard the clang of cage doors. Furry gray and brown shapes were scurrying toward the hatch.

  “What are you up to?” she asked as Orz reappeared.

  “I had a brainstorm on my way back to the ship. We'll find out if it worked tomorrow.”

  ORZ NOTICED JESSICA IN THE CROWD outside Rabb's main warehouse. She smiled and winked mischievously, knowing he couldn't acknowledge her. The crowd was waiting to see if Ratman could live up to his claims and watched intently as he and Rabb disappeared inside. An uncertain cheer began and died as he reappeared dragging – with little help from Rabb – a cageful of clawing, squealing, snarling, snapping space rats. Having retreated to what it considered a safer distance, the crowd applauded.

  Lesno strode forward, beaming. “Well, Ratman, I knew you could do it. But what are you going to do with the little monsters now that you've caught them?”

  “Most of them will have to be gassed and killed, but I'll save a few of the best for breeding purposes… I like to keep my working stock as strong as possible.”

  They completed the rounds of Rabb's buildings, then moved on to Lesno's. The novelty had worn off and the crowd was beginning to thin by the time they got around to Lesno's third warehouse, but interest was renewed at the sound of Orz's voice calling from within.

  “Mr. Lesno! There's something you ought to see in here.”

  Lesno went in. Rabb, Houghton, and some of the braver members of the crowd – Jessica among them – followed him.

  It looked as if a bomb had gone off inside. Every crate, every package had been torn open. Even some of the computer paneling had been torn away.

  “What happened?” Lesno cried, staggered by the destruction.

  Orz shrugged and pointed to the full cage. “I don't know. There's your community, caged and ready to go. But I've never seen anything like this before.”

  Houghton was looking over the ravaged computer. “Never seen a computer that looked like this,” he muttered. “Is this some new model, Aaron?” he asked Lesno.

  Rabb came up. “Looks like part of a subspace radio!”

  “Ridiculous!” Lesno sputtered. “What would I be doing with–”

  “You're a spy!” Houghton declared. “A Federation spy!”

  A blaster suddenly appeared in Lesno's hand. “Don't insult me by linking me to the Federation!”

  Houghton shrugged. “So you're a Restructurist spy, then. Just as bad. You get twenty years either way.”

  “I'm not going to argue with you, Malcomb. Just stay where you are.”

  “You can't escape, Aaron!” Rabb warned.

  Lesno smiled. “Of course I can,” he said and pointed the blaster at Orz. “Ratman is going to volunteer the use of his ship. He's even going to come along for the ride to make sure no one gets trigger-happy.”

  Orz caught Jessica's eye. She was readying to make a move, but he shook his head. They had succeeded in destroying Lesno's effectiveness as a spy. It didn't matter if he escaped. And so, with a blaster at the back of his head, Orz preceded the little man to the truck.

  “You work for the Federation, don't you?” Lesno said as Orz drove them toward the spaceport.

  “I'm afraid I don't have time to work for anyone other than Sam Orzechowski.”

  “Come now, Ratman. I was suspicious yesterday when I saw the way you gave Houghton's computer a going over and this morning's revelation confirmed it. Why deny it?”

  Orz shrugged. “O.K., I occasionally do some snooping for the Federat
ion.”

  “How did you get on to me?” Lesno asked earnestly. “I thought I had a foolproof arrangement.”

  “Well, I wasn't sure, but Houghton's centralized setup started me on a new approach. I figured that if one man could centralize his computers, another could decentralize a subspace transmitter. Then it struck me that you'd have to take the transmitter apart in order to sneak it into town. And since it was already in pieces, why not leave it that way? At least that's what I would have done. So the next thing to do was to look for the man with the slightly larger computers. You fit the bill.”

  “But how did you manage to tear the place apart?”

  “That was easy. If you could go back to that warehouse now, you'd find a tiny, high-frequency labeler attached to the door. I have a number of vandal rats trained to be specialists in making a mess out of a building. The labeler told them where to go to work.”

  Shaking his head in admiration, Lesno remarked, “You should be working for us.”

  “But I don't want a restructured Federation,” Orz replied. “I sort of like it the way it is.”

  “But there are such inequalities in the galaxy! Some planets are drowning in their surpluses while other planets are starving, and the Federation does nothing.”

  “The Federation doesn't think such matters are within its scope.”

  “They will be when we win,” he replied righteously.

  Orz knew argument was futile and allowed a shrug to be his only reply. Once on the ship, it was evident to Orz that Lesno knew his way around freighters. He retracted the ramp, secured the hatch, and then followed Orz to the bridge.

  He gestured to the extra seat. “You just sit there and keep out of the way, Mr. Ratman, and you won't get hurt. I'm not a murderer. If all goes well, I'll drop you off at the first neutral port we reach. But I won't hesitate to shoot you if you try anything.”

  “Don't worry,” Orz told him. “My mission was to stop you, not capture you. I really don't care if you get away.”

  Lesno's eyes narrowed. This lack of chauvinism did not fit his conception of a Fed man. Something was up. His suspicions were reinforced when he found the console inoperable.

  “Where's the lock?” he demanded.

  Orz pointed across the room. “By the speaker.” But Lesno made no move. Instead his eyes roved the room until they came to rest on the red lever. His face creased into a smile.

  “You didn't think anyone would be fooled by that, did you?”

  Orz nearly leaped from his seat as the Restructurist reached for the lever. “Don't touch that!”

  “Sit down!” Lesno warned, pointing the gun at Orz's chest. “I told you before, I'm not a killer but–”

  “I know you're not.” Orz said frantically. “Neither am I. That's why you've got to leave that lever alone!”

  Lesno merely smiled and kept him covered while he released the first two safety catches. “Listen to me, Lesno! That lever sets off a special tone stimulus and releases every one of my rats! They've all been trained to attack anyone and everyone but me when they hear that tone… I installed it for use in a situation when it was either kill or be killed! This is not one of those situations!”

  Lesno was having some trouble with the third catch, but it finally yielded. “A good try, Ratman,” he said and, ignoring Orz's cry of protest, pulled the lever.

  Faintly, from far down the corridor, came a metallic clang. A loud, wailing tone filled the ship. Lesno paled and turned anxiously toward his captive.

  “Why didn't you listen to me, you fool!” Orz yelled.

  Lesno suddenly believed. Horror-stricken, he began to push and pull the lever back and forth but with no effect. He was still working at it when the squealing, gray-brown carpet swept through the door.

  Orz turned away and tried unsuccessfully to block out the screams and sickening sounds of carnage that filled the bridge. He had trained the rats too well… there would be no stopping them.

  And when all was quiet again, Orz congratulated himself on having kept his stomach in place. But then 62 leaped up to his accustomed spot on his shoulder and began with great contentment to clean his reddened claws and jowls.

  ONLY JESSICA CAME to see him off. Orz had cleaned up the rat problem and the people were appreciative, but they had either seen the corpse that had been removed from his ship, or they had heard about it. It hadn't been easy to identify it as Aaron Lesno.

  “I see the red lever's been removed,” Jessica remarked. She hadn't been near the ship since the incident.

  Orz avoided her gaze. “Yeah. I took it out… can't quite look at it.” He changed the subject abruptly. “Well, now that this thing's been cleared up, what'll you be doing with yourself?”

  “I've no intention of settling down and becoming a good Neekan citizen, you can be sure of that,” she replied. “I'm putting in for an assignment as soon as possible. There's too much going on out there for me to get tucked away on this rock.”

  Orz smiled for the first time in several days. “That's funny. I was thinking of taking on an assistant. This business is getting a little too complicated for me to handle alone.”

  He paused as Jessica waited eagerly.

  “You like rats?” he asked.

  HEALER – IV

  Find Thy Progeny

  Age 505

  Not long after the disappearance of The Healer, the so-called DeBloise Scandal came to the fore. The subsequent Restructurist walk-out led to the Federation-Restructurist civil war ("war" is hardly a fitting term for those sporadic skirmishes) which was eventually transformed into a full-scale interracial war when the Tarks decided to interfere. It was during the height of the Terro-Tarkan conflict that the immortality myth of The Healer was born.

  Oblivious to the wars, the horrors continued to appear at a steady rate and the psychosciences had gained little ground against the malady. For that reason, perhaps, a man with a stunning resemblance to The Healer appeared and began to cure the horrors with an efficacy that rivaled that of the original. Thus a historical figure became a legend.

  Who he was and why he chose to appear at that particular moment remains a mystery.

  from The Healer: Man & Myth

  by Emmerz Fent

  I

  DALT LOCKED THE FLITTER into the roof cradle, released the controls, and slumped into the seat.

  ("There. Don’t you feel better now?") Pard asked.

  "No," Dalt replied aloud. "I feel tired. I just want to go to bed."

  ("You’ll thank me in the morning. Your mental outlook will be better, and you won’t even be stiff because I’ve been putting you through isometrics in your sleep every night.")

  "No wonder I wake up tired in the morning!"

  ("Mental fatigue, Steve. Mental. We’ve both gotten too involved in this project and the strain is starting to tell.")

  "Thanks a lot," he muttered as he slid from the cab and shuffled to the door. "The centuries have not dulled your talent for stating the obvious."

  And it was obvious. After The Healer episode, Dalt and Pard had shifted interests from the life sciences to the physical sciences and pursued their studies amid the Federation-Restructurist war without ever noticing it. That muddled conflict had been about ready to die out after a century or so, due to lack of interest, when a new force injected itself into the picture. The Tarks, in an attempt at subterfuge as clumsy as their previous attempts at diplomacy, declared a unilateral alliance with the Restructurist coalition and promptly attacked a number of Federation bases along a disputed stretch of expansion border. Divide and conquer is a time-tested ploy, but the Tarks neglected to consider the racial variable. Humans have little compunction about killing each other over real or imagined differences, but there is an archetypical repugnance at the thought of an alien race taking such a liberty. And so the Feds and Restructurists promptly united and declared jihad on the Tarkan Empire.

  Naturally, weapons research blossomed and physicists became very popular. Dalt’s papers on fie
ld theory engendered numerous research offers from companies anxious to enter the weapons market. The Tarkan force shield was allowing their ships to penetrate deep into Terran territory with few losses, and thus became a prime target for big companies like Star Ways, whose offer Dalt accepted.

  The grind of high-pressure research, however, was beginning to take its toll on Dalt; and Pard, ever the physiopsychological watchdog, had finally prevailed in convincing Dalt to shorten his workday and spend a few hours on the exercise courts.

  Wearily, Dalt tapped out the proper code on the entry plate and the door slid open. Even now, drained as he was in body and mind, he realized that his thoughts were starting to drift toward the field-negation problem back at Star Ways labs. He was about to try to shift his train of thought when a baritone voice did it for him.

  "Do you often talk to yourself, Mr. Cheserak? Or should I call you Mr. Dalt? Or would you prefer Mr. Storgen?" The voice came from a dark, muscular man who had made himself comfortable in one of the living-room chairs; he was pointing a blaster at the center of Dalt’s chest. "Or how about Mr. Quet?" he continued with a self-assured smile, and Dalt noticed two other men, partly in shadow, standing behind him. "Come now! Don’t just stand there. Come in and sit down. After all, this is your home."

  Eyeing the weapon that followed his every move, Dalt chose a chair opposite the intruders. "What do you want?"

  "Why, your secret, of course. We thought you’d be out longer and had hardly begun our search of the premises when we heard your flitter hit the dock. Very rude of you to interrupt us."

  Dalt shook his head grimly at the thought of humans conspiring against their own race. "Tell your Tark friends that we’re no closer to piercing their force shields than we were when the war started."

  The dark man laughed with genuine amusement. "No, my friend, I assure you that our sympathies concerning the Terro-Tarkan war are totally orthodox. Your work at Star Ways is of no interest to us."