A bertram chandler, p.4
A. Bertram Chandler, page 4
"But surely this, this defense is illegal?"
"The use of a spy beam is barely legal, even by the police department. Without influential friends, I, as a private individual, could never have gotten a license to own and operate this one. And the monitor at headquarters will have registered the fact that this one is being used right now. But the use of a blocker is absolutely legal. Anybody may use any means whatsoever to protect his own privacy."
"Then I'm surprised that more people don't have blockers installed."
"Firstly, they're very expensive. Secondly, not everybody has anything to hide from the law."
"That girl in the shower had plenty," said Liz.
"It would have been a shame to have hidden it," I said. "Men!" she said disgustedly.
"This would be a handy piece of navigational equipment," I said, changing the subject. "In many ways it would be better than radar for approach and landing."
"Yes," said Liz. "Wouldn't it? I can just see all the lecherous spacehounds in the control room peering into blondes bathrooms instead of watching a nice, clear picture of the landing field."
"What's the effective range?" I asked.
"Anywhere on Carinthia, on either hemisphere. And out as far as the Moon." "The Moon?"
He grinned. "Yes. The Moon." "Wenceslaus, you mean."
"The Moon, I mean. That's the trouble with you Earthmen—there's only one Moon with an uppercase M, and that's Luna. As far as we're concerned, there's only one Moon with an uppercase M, and that's Wenceslaus."
I said, "I've passed Wenceslaus often enough, but I've never been there."
"Feel like a trip?"
"To Wenceslaus?" I laughed. "Oh, you mean by spy beam."
"That isn't what I meant, John, but we can do just that. Now."
"Must you?" asked Liz. "After I left I.T.C. I was a few months in the Moon Rockets and saw enough of that damned dust ball to last me a lifetime."
"Then you can amuse yourself in the kitchen," said Steve. "Coffee and sandwiches would be welcome."
"I could cook us a proper supper," she said wistfully.
Steve shuddered slightly. "I couldn't impose on you, Liz. Just coffee and sandwiches will be fine."
"Toasted sandwiches?"
"Yes," he said reluctandy.
"If you'll show me where things live," she said. "All right. Are you coming through, John, or staying here?" "If you don't mind," I said, "I'd like to play with this thing."
"As you please. The controls are quite simple. And you may as well get some practice in its use, not that I think you will be using it."
"So I haven't made the grade, Steve?"
He smiled warmly. "I neither said nor implied that, John."
6
I still feel ashamed of what I did as soon as I was alone, and yet I am sure that most men in my circumstances would have done the same. The temptation was strong, and I was not strong enough to resist the temptation.
The controls of the spy beam were simple. Turning one of the knobs controlled apparent altitude. I brought the picture up from the floor upon which the Longshoremen's Union was situated, up to the level of Stefan Vynalek's apartment, then to and above the roof level. I was looking down on to the Square, to the fountains with their rainbow floodlighting around the symbolic statuary in the center, to the rank of stone spaceships with the houseflags of the companies limned in colored light.
When I had come ashore from Lightning that night, the air taxi had carried me over the Square. So, obviously, my destination had been on an extension of a line drawn from the spaceport to the Square. Fingers clumsy at first on the controls, I hunted along that line, looking for a big advertising sign that I had seen on our starboard hand, a great, tilted bottle from which a glowing, golden stream poured into an outheld glass. I found the sign at last, realizing that the taxi driver must have made a slight detour so as to treat his customer to a view of the center of the city.
Then, a little further on, there had been the floodlit towers of the university, and beyond them the darkness of the park, and, beyond that, the tall apartment houses. It was like piloting an atmosphere flier—an incredibly silent machine with
Incredibly sensitive controls. I skimmed over the park, slowed ns I approached the dimly glowing columns of the apartment houses.
Outside Greengates I hesitated, then lifted my viewpoint up the face of the building, past the row after row of windows and balconies, past the expanses of mirrorlike glass that, with their one-way vision, protected the privacy of those behind them.
The top floor, I thought. The top floor . . .
"You might as well save yourself the trouble, John," said Steve sympathetically.
I started, jumping back from the controls as though they hud suddenly become red-hot.
"But go on," he said. "You've come so far. It would be a shame to give up now. Go on."
"I—I'm not sure that I want to."
"Go on," he said again, a faint yet unmistakable crackle of authority in his voice.
After a few minutes of futile manipulation of the controls I stood up. "A blocker," I said.
"Yes, a blocker. Perhaps it's just as well for your peace of mind that there is one."
"But, she's not a criminal."
"How do you know?" He smiled tiredly. "She's not, as a matter of fact. But there are certain activities for which privacy is desirable. Look at it this way. Just try to imagine a rich, influential woman, a woman who has reason to suspect that her husband's late nights out with the boys are not entirely innocent. Just suppose that this woman knows somebody highly placed in police headquarters, somebody with access to a spy beam. And just suppose that her husband is nmong those who have contributed towards the expense of the installation of a blocker in a certain lady's apartment.. ."
"You're supposing one hell of a lot," I said.
"T know one hell of a lot," he told me.
"You must find it hard to live with yourself," I said.
"At times I do. John. At times I do."
He put the bottles and glasses that he was carrying down on a bench, asked, "More lager?" "I'd prefer something stronger."
"I thought you would." He poured two glasses of Slivovitz. "Here's to crime. Talking of crime, I'm afraid that that's just what's going on in the kitchen. Liz is a great person, but as a cook . . ."
"I know."
He said, "I'm rather sorry that I want you, John. My advice to you would be to get off this planet as soon as possible. But, as I said, I want you."
"I'm glad that somebody does," I said.
He said, "But I have to be sure before I hire you. After all, this is a job in which a certain amount of integrity is desirable. Putting it bluntly, you let down Trans-Galactic Clippers. How can I be sure that you won't let down Stefan Vynalek, Incorporated?"
"How can you be sure that anybody won't let anybody down?" I asked bitterly.
"How, indeed? But if you tell me your story, John, I shall be able to make my judgment. Unless I know all the facts of the case I shan't be able to."
I held out my glass for a refill. "All right. As you know, I was second officer of Lightning. Ilona was one of the passengers. She was at my table. We clicked from the very start. She insisted that I visit her in her apartment the one night that Lightning was in port. We . . . overslept. I missed the ship. That's all."
"That was all?"
I hesitated. "No. There's more. There was a drug, euphorine . . ."
"Euphorine," he said softly. "Infinite pleasure, infinitely prolonged. And you both took it?" "Yes."
"It's funny stuff," he said briskly. "As you know, it's no longer illegal, but it's still damned expensive. There are people who think that it's worth paying for. There are people who think that an affair should end not with a whimper, but a bang. As you know, great emotional stress can cause personality changes. It is not so well known that pleasurable (motions, almost unendurably intensified, can have a similar effect. Your Ilona, if it's any consolation to you, was acting as kindly as she knew how to. She was giving you one last, big night, after which the slate would he wiped clean, leaving both of you free to return to your normal lives without re-Hret."
"But she took an antidote."
"She did? Tell me, just what did happen?"
I told him, omitting nothing. He listened in silence, thoughtfully refilling my glass when I paused to take breath.
"An ungodly mixture," he said when I was finished. "Euphorine tends to deteriorate with age, its effects becoming somewhat unpredictable. The stuff that both of you swallowed must have been several months old. Added to the unpredictability of the drug you have the unpredictability of the female mind. But I think I can work out what happened, and you may feel a little better when I've told you."
"Go on," I said.
"The antidote," he told me, "is used by those who want lo have their cake and eat it. The euphorine gives them the big night, all in glorious technicolor, and then the antidote cancels the aftereffects.
"But try to look at things from ITona's viewpoint. She wakes up, and finds that even though there's no longer any mad passion there's no allergy. Furthermore, there's a strong feeling of responsibility. You've missed your ship, and the fault, partly, at least, is hers. She thinks to herself, All right, if I have to keep this bum I may as well love him again. So she takes the antidote, but it's deteriorated, or she's been off the stuff for so long that it doesn't have the right effect. She feels now, as she should have felt as a result of the euphorine. Do you follow?" "I-I think so."
"Good. Now, if you don't mind, tell me what your feelings are. I'm not prying, but I spent a long time on the Narcotics Squad and I picked up a deal of knowledge about the effects of various drugs. I may be able to help."
"My feelings? Oh, there's a numbness. And a loneliness. I want her badly, but not the way that a man should want a woman. That blasted stuff has killed something."
"A typical reaction," he said briskly. "A typical reaction, that is, to overage euphorine. But it will wear off."
"I hope so. But what I find really sickening, now that you've told me what must have happened, is the strong element of chance, malign chance, in it all. If the euphorine hadn't been overage; if we hadn't played around with it, anyhow; if our reactions had been according to the book; if the antidote had worked as it should have done . . ."
"If you could put the clock back," he added, grinning.
"If I could put the clock back," I agreed.
He sniffed audibly, saying, "I smell burning. Liz insisted on making toasted sandwiches. Supper will be ready soon. She'll probably bring it in here." He raised his voice. "Now, Wenceslaus, the moon of Carinthia . . ."
His skilled fingers played over the spy ray controls. In the transparent sphere of the viewer New Prague fell down and away, dwindled to a spot of luminosity, one of many, on the night side of the planet. The viewpoint abruptly changed and a gleaming crescent rushed towards us—a crescent that suddenly was a globe with a sliver of its surface brilliantly sunlit. And that sliver, with almost frightening rapidity, became a great, gleaming plain, a plain upon whose featureless surface the cities rode like ships.
"You know," said Liz, setting down the supper tray with a clatter on the bench, "I'd prefer seeing blondes having a bath to this."
"You needn't look," said Steve.
We hovered briefly over one of the cities, over the great, shallow dome broken by odd-looking minarets and cupolas. We skimmed over the dust sea towards the terminator, towards another, much smaller dome. Our viewpoint dropped rapidly down to the expanse of gleaming metal—dropped and stopped.
"Another blocker," I said cleverly.
"Another blocker," agreed Steve.
"And what master criminal lives on Wenceslaus?" I asked.
"No master criminal would live on Wenceslaus," said Liz, "unless he was doing time in the penal colony there."
"You're biased," Steve told her. "As a matter of fact, though, lhat place doesn't belong to a master criminal. It belongs to a rieh man, a very rich man. Fergus is his name."
"Fergus? There was a Fergus in T.G. Clippers—interstellar drive chief engineer. He made a series of fantastically lucky investments, made a fortune and retired."
"That's the man," said Steve.
7
When we left his apartment, Steve gave me a half-dozen of his precious books to read. "Bring them back tomorrow evening," he told me. "And then we'll talk."
I hefted the bundle in my hand. "How did you know that I'd mastered the quick reading technique?" I asked.
He grinned. "Elementary, my dear Watson. People who have to study to pass examinations become quick readers. Spacemen have to study to pass examinations. So . . ."
"You win," I said.
"Good. Tomorrow night, then. Goodnight, Liz. And thanks for coming out."
"Thank you for asking us," she said. "You must come out to the Hostel sometime, Steve, for a real meal. I can do much better in my own kitchen."
"I'm sure that you can," he agreed politely.
On our way to the station, Liz said, "You're in. He likes you, and he can use you. But I'm inclined to think that you might be better off out on the Rim."
"How do you know?"
"Oh, I know Steve. And we had quite a long talk while I was out in the kitchen fixing supper. He as good as said that even if you were a complete drongo he'd still want you, just because you're a spaceman."
"Nice to know that my qualifications are of some value elsewhere than on the Rim," I said.
"But I still don't think that you should accept Steve's offer."
"Why not? I thought that he was a friend of yours."
"Was and is. But he's a policeman. He's still a policeman, oven though he's in private practice. Policeman look at tilings different from other people, just as, I suppose, we look at things differently from planetlubbers. He's a policeman, which means that he's ruthless when he has to be, and when he doesn't have to be. He'll not care how many corns he tramples on as long as he brings a case to a successful conclusion."
"Most policeman," I said, "carefully avoid trampling on corns if the owners of said corns are good for a backhander."
"Steve," she said, "was never like that. That's one reason why he left the force."
We boarded the capsule, sped through the pneumatic tube to the spaceport station, making desultory conversation. We walked across the floodlit apron, skirting the area of activity around the big ore carrier, to the Hostel. I wondered if the boys had got their mail yet, but most of them, apart from the duty officer and engineer, would be home by now and not worrying about a few letters. Lucky bastards, I thought, with homes to go to, and with a ship to live aboard if they had no homes ashore.
Liz said, "I suppose you'll be putting in a night's heavy reading."
"I may as well get started on these now."
"All right. You get turned in and I'll make some coffee. Ill bring it in to you."
I was in my cot, making a start of the first of the books, when she came in. She was carrying a vacuum jug, a cup and a pack of cigarettes.
"Thanks, Liz," I said.
She said, "I'm pleased to be able to do something for you, Johnnie. I wish I could do more."
I looked at her. She was wearing a wrap, an almost transparent garment, and it was obvious that she was wearing nothing underneath it. Her figure, I realized suddenly, was good. Her face was lined, but there are some faces that are made beautiful by the lines of experience, and hers was one of them. I wondered how I had ever got the impression that she was middle-aged and motherly. Motherly, yes, but most men want a mother as well as a mistress.
She put the coffee and the other things down on the bedside table, sat on the bed. I could feel the nearness of her— and it did nothing to me. But, perhaps ... I put my arm around her and she did not resist. I kissed her.
I said, "I'm sorry, Liz, but it's no good."
"I can tell that," she whispered tonelessly. "I can tell that. Oh, Johnnie, Johnnie, the only way that you'll ever get that woman out of your system is by sleeping with another woman."
"I know. But-"
"But you can't," she said briskly, getting to her feet. "Never mind, it will come. Meanwhile, coffee, cigarettes. I can't give you any more."
"I'm sorry that you can't," I told her.
"So am I," she agreed.
She left me, and I was genuinely sorry to see her go. She left me, and I turned to the books for company. They were fascinating stuff, some of them better than others. In some of them the private eye solved his cases by intensive brainwork while the police stood around in admiration; in others the private eye blundered around like a bull in a china shop, guzzling whisky and seducing blondes, getting beaten up between times by both cops and crooks, and still solved his cases. What it was all supposed to prove I didn't know, but I read on.
It was very late when I put the light out and, the following morning, Liz let me sleep on. It was a little before noon when she awakened me. She said, "I'm sorry, Johnnie, but you're wanted on the phone."
"All right," I said.
I fell rather than jumped out of bed, slipped into a robe, went through to the office. I saw the plump face of the Ter-ran Consul peering out from the little screen. As soon as I was within the scope of the scanner he spoke.
"Ah, good morning, Mr. Petersen. Or should I say good afternoon? But no matter."
"Good morning, sir."
"Your, ah, contract."
"Contract?"
"With the Rim Runners. Have you decided to sign it yet?" "No. But I'll not be signing."
The Consul cleared his throat. "I called you this morning to give you good news. The Sundowner Line's Waltzing Matilda, from Nova Caledon to Faraway via Elsinore, has been diverted to Carinthia. I can arrange a passage for you in her to the Rim Worlds. If you sign the contract."
"I told you. I'm not signing."
"Then, Mr. Petersen, as agent for the Rim Government I wash my hands of you." "And as Terran Consul?"
"I shall, unfortunately, be responsible for you until you are shipped out in Delta Eridani." "Back to Earth?" "Where else?"
