The clockwork traitor, p.2
The Clockwork Traitor, page 2
But for all the horror of his appearance, Duke Fyodor was most definitely alive. Though he had contracted his rare and usually fatal illness as a child nearly thirty years ago, he did not die of it. His father, the then duke, had spared no expense to ensure his survival and the survival of the family name. Prosthetic devices of every kind known to medical science of the twenty-fifth century kept him functioning.
Because his body was too weak to stand against the normal gravity of his planet, a mechanical exoskeleton supported him. Minuscule motors powered every movement of his limbs. A pacemaker regulated the beating of his weakened heart; in fact, machines controlled the activities of virtually all his internal organs. Even his teeth were artificial, as the real ones had fallen out long ago.
As life, it was pitiful; but as survival, it was a triumph. His weak white eyes-aided by tiny, almost invisible lenses-scanned the note he had been handed and the news caused him to chuckle. It was an eerie sound, very much akin to a death rattle. "It's done," he said. "The substitution is complete." His voice was flat and buzzy, being electronically modulated; it emanated from twin speakers on either side of his head, giving authority to even his most trivial pronouncements.
The man with him, Dr. Immanuel Rustin, smiled. "Did Your Grace have any doubts about my abilities?" "None whatsoever. I knew the man who designed this hell cage that keeps me alive could devise anything. But other factors than your abilities entered into this endeavor. We're playing the game for large stakes, my friend, and every moment must be considered critical. Detection at this stage would prove fatal."
"He will not be detected." Dr. Rustin, a small man with deep set, intense eyes and a beak of a nose, made one of his emphatic gestures with his arms. "Our little creation was built to perfection, even down to fingerprints, voiceprint, and retinal patterns. Only an X ray would reveal his true nature, so stop worrying. They're not about to give him another medical exam-at least not for a while yet and by that time we'll be in a position to fake the results."
"I know, I know, we've been all over this a thousand times before. It's just that all my life has been an uphill struggle; I could never afford to take anything for granted, and I don't intend to start now."
He stopped for a minute and gazed down at his companion, his eyes seeming to burn twin holes through the doctor's soul. "There's one thought I've been afraid to voice all this time, yet has me more worried than anything. What if he's wrong about the programming?"
There was no question in Rustin's mind about the antecedent of that pronoun. Only one person was spoken about in those reverent tones-their mysterious superior, known to them only as "C." "Has he ever been wrong before?"
The Duke raised a hand to finger the little integrated circuit chip he wore on a golden chain around his neck. "No," he admitted, "it's uncanny, but he's never been wrong... yet. I don't know what his source of information is, but there are times he seems to know everything in the entire empire."
"So trust in him," Rustin soothed. "He says that the physical body plus the personality we programmed into our robot will be precisely what Princess Edna will fall in love with and want to marry. In two years she will rule the Empire-and our robot will be her consort." He smiled. "It's as I've told you on so many occasions: we're planting a time bomb against the Princess-and against the Imperial Family itself."
"But to what purpose? That's what disturbs me sometimes at night, before the sedatives put me out completely. We've worked for years getting this just right, always on his orders, and yet we have no more idea of the ultimate goal than we did when we started. For what purpose does he want to rule the Empire?"
"Why does anyone want to?" Rustin shrugged. "I know I wouldn't want that responsibility. Frankly, I don't care. We've been rewarded well so far, and we've been promised even greater rewards in the future. I shan't question it. If you're so curious, you ask him; it's almost time, you know."
"Yes, that's why I'm so nervous. Our job is technically done, now; I'm wondering what comes next."
Over against a wall, a readout screen flashed into life. The telecom unit was hooked into a computer terminal, and it was through this linkage that they received their orders. They had never seen or spoken to their enigmatic boss, and had no idea who he (or she) might be. The mechanical exoskeleton that supported Duke Fyodor's fragile body moved quickly over to view the one word that the screen had printed on it:
REPORT.
Duke Fyodor did so, as concisely and accurately as possible. His mechanically aided fingers moved slowly and uncertainly over the keyboard as he typed; his exoskeleton, while perfectly mobile, was not as dextrous as he would have liked it to be. When he finished his report, he typed in the end code and waited for "C's" response.
The answer came back within a minute. Fyodor stood over the teletype, reading each word as it printed out on the screen. Even after the message had stopped, he stood silently for a long moment, staring at the machine.
"Well," Rustin said, "don't keep me in suspense. What does it say?"
Duke Fyodor laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. "All that worry for nothing," he said, punching for a printout of the message and handing the paper to his companion. Then he walked out of the room.
Dr. Rustin took the sheet of paper and studied it, perplexed. The message written on it was simple and direct:
CONGRATULATIONS, JOB WELL DONE. THERE WILL BE NO FURTHER COMMUNICATION UNTIL AFTER THE SUCCESS OF THE PLAN.
C.
As always, Rustin burned the message.
Chapter 2
"Time Bomb"
Each of the thirty-sir. Sectors into which all of human occupied space was divided was administered from Earth, the seat of Imperial government. Since most Sectors contained several dozen inhabited planets apiece, the administrative problems were immense, requiring an elaborate bureaucratic structure to handle the myriad problems that could arise among so many peoples. Each Sector had a Hall of State on Earth staffed by thousands of civil servants.
The Hall of State for Sector Four was bigger than most. Ostensibly, the reason for this was that Sector Four had a much larger number of planets to govern-upwards of a hundred, in fact. Located in Miami, Florida, North America, the building towered ninety-three stories high, dwarfing all others around it. And while it was true that a goodly percentage of the people working there were ordinary bureaucrats, there was a much stronger reason why not only the Hall of State itself, but all the smaller buildings surrounding it for a two-block radius--buildings which supposedly housed innocuous businesses--were crammed with people and computer equipment. This building was, in fact, the top secret headquarters for the Service of the Empire, or SOTE.
Even at right, the building was well lighted, for the Service could never sleep. Being ultimately responsible for the internal security of the entire realm, it could not afford to. Lights could be seen on in offices at almost any hour -particularly in one well-appointed office on the thirty first floor.
A small jet vehicle zoomed in toward the roof of that impressive building. The edifice's defenses were such that even so small an aircraft was constantly in gunsight, but no action was taken against it. This vehicle was cleared for landing, and its occupants were two people who, for security's sake, could never be allowed to be seen entering through the front door.
The small jet--actually a Mark Forty--One Service Special camouflaged to look like a sports model Frascati ground car-landed expertly on the flat rooftop and two people, a man and a woman, got out. Without bothering to look around--they knew they were as safe here as anywhere in the Universe-they walked straight to the door of an elevator tube and stepped inside. The air solidified beneath their feet and dropped them gently down sixty-three levels, where a set of doors opened in front of them and they stepped out.
At first glance, neither Jules nor Yvette d'Alembert looked like what they actually were-the two top agents in the entire SOTE network. Neither fitted into the tall, sleek image that the words "secret agent" conveyed to the public mind. Brother and sister were short and chunky; draft horses rather than thoroughbreds. But that first glance would be deceiving.
True, both of them were shorter and more massive than normal Earthers, but that was because they came from very special stock. The d'Alembert family came from the planet DesPlaines, where the gravity was slightly more than three times as strong as Earth normal. To survive under such harsh conditions, a person had to be built close to the ground; even a slight stumble could have serious consequences in so powerful a field. Tall people just did not survive long on DesPlaines.
But even beyond the strength and quickness of reflexes they shared with other natives of their world, Jules and Yvette d'Alembert had more specialized qualities going for them-for up until a year ago, they had been the star aerialists of the Circus of the Galaxy, skilled athletes with physical agility honed to absolute perfection by a lifetime of rigorous training.
The Circus of the Galaxy was virtually synonymous with the Family d'Alembert. That clan had founded the show several centuries ago, and it had continued to be mainly a family enterprise, with nearly a thousand d'Alemberts making up the current troupe. The Circus was managed by Etienne d'Alembert, who also happened to be the duke of the entire planet of DesPlaines. Running the Circus was so much more in his blood, though, that he left the administration of his world in the more than capable hands of his eldest son, Robert.
Managing the Circus was a full-time job, for more than one reason-for in addition to being the most popular single attraction in the entire Empire, the Circus was also the most powerful and versatile weapon in SOTE's considerable arsenal. Consider: it could and did travel anywhere in the Galaxy without arousing suspicion. Most planets, in fact, were overjoyed when the Circus decided to visit them. The personnel were all extremely agile, extremely talented in any number of areas-and extremely loyal to the Empire. Almost since its inception, the Circus had been the unofficial right arm of SOTE's intelligence gathering network.
And of all the hundreds of d'Alemberts currently serving with the Circus, none surpassed in ability the two who had just emerged from the elevator tube. Yvette and Jules d'Alembert, the second and third children respectively of Duke Etienne, were, as far as the Service of the Empire was concerned, the perfect secret agents.
"Hello," Jules said as he walked through the doors of the elevator into the plush office beyond. "It's good to see you again."
"And it's good to know you've got some more work for us," Yvette added with a smile. "I hate just sitting around." The office they bad entered was obviously one belonging to an important executive. The floor was carpeted with a thick brown rug, the walls were paneled with beautifully grained solentawood and the beamed ceiling was also of that same rich wood. The large solentawood desk that faced the elevator was, as usual, nearly buried in mountains of paperwork, while behind it, inlaid in the wall and dominating much of the room, was the gold-crowned Shield of Empire. The enormous double-headed eagle cast its all-seeing gaze over everything in the room. The large picture window that overlooked Miami and the Atlantic Ocean was covered-there was no point to risking having the d'Alemberts' identities learned through telephone pictures that could be taken up to a kilometer away.
The man behind the desk stood up to greet them. He was dressed conservatively in a gray overtunic and slacks. The tunic was of the slightly-out-of-date high-collar fashion, and was fastened at the neck with an ornate platinum pin. The man's head was almost completely bald and the face was creased with lines of worry and responsibility, making him look much older than his forty-seven years. His eyes, though, were bright with life, and behind them glowed a force of intellect so strong that anyone would know this was a very special man.
And indeed he was special. He was Grand Duke Zander von Wilmenhorst, the ruler of the vast Sector Four, one-half Stanley blood, fifth in line of succession, and considered one of the most important men in the Galaxy. But what added to that importance-more than most people knew-was that he was also the head of SOTS, the man responsible for the peace and internal security of the Empire. As such, he was an intimate counselor and most trusted adviser to His Imperial Majesty Stanley Ten.
There was no trace of pomp or formality in his manner, though, as he rose to greet his two top agents. "How are you both?" he asked warmly, his interest genuine. He spoke, as they had, in Empirese, the Russian-English mixture that was the Galaxy's official tongue.
"Keeping in shape," Yvette replied. "We've had a nice rest back on DesPlaines since our last assignment, but it's been too long-and unless you give us some work, we don't have anything to do."
"There's not really even any room for us in the Circus anymore," Jules said wistfully. When he and his sister had graduated up to their present roles, their star spots were filled by their younger cousins, also named Jules and Yvette, so the outside world did not even know they had left.
The Head smiled as he came around from behind his desk to kiss Yvette politely on the cheek and shake Jules's hand firmly. "It never fails to amaze me," he said, "how eager the two of you are to risk your lives. If I had fifty more agents like you, I could retire and know the Empire was still safe. Come on in and be seated; I'll fix you something to drink."
Yvette looked around, startled. "Where's Helena? Doesn't she usually tend to details like that?"
The person referred to was the Head's daughter, Duchess Helena von Wilmenhorst, who acted as her father's girl Friday. It was Helena who normally handled the routine matters in the Head's office.
"She's been much too overworked lately, so I gave her a month's vacation," their boss told them. "It's a luxury I can never afford anymore, but she's young and there's no reason why she should stay cooped up with business matters. Let her live a little first." He moved over to the bar and filled two glasses with ice.
"What she'd really like," Yvette said, "is for you to give her a field assignment. She's dying to get out there and prove herself." She watched as the older man poured each d'Alembert a tall glass of orange juice. DesPlainian bodies did not tolerate alcohol very well and, as health-conscious as the two agents were, they were very careful what sorts of stimulants they put into their systems.
"Absolutely out of the question," the Head said, bringing the glasses over to them. "I've got plenty of field agents; what I need most is someone around the office I can depend on. You've no idea what hell it is trying to keep the Service running efficiently. Besides," he lowered his voice to conspiratorial tones, "I'm training her to take over as Head when I retire. Nothing immediate, of course-but then, she's got a lot to learn, too."
"We rather thought you had something like that in mind" Jules grinned. "I think she'll do a good job, if and when." "Please don't tell her about it," their superior cautioned them. "If she knew what she was really being trained for, she'd become self-conscious and freeze up. I want her limber enough to still learn."
"We understand," Yvette winked. "And we wouldn't dream of telling her. What else are secret agents for?" "Ah, yes." Having served them their drinks, the Head returned to the big chair behind his desk and sat down. "About that. You know I have another assignment for you; much as I like you both, I can't just go summoning you to my office anytime I like. It's another luxury I can't afford. You know, I presume, that the Princess is going on a Progress next week."
"Yes, that's no secret," Yvette said. "The newsrolls have been full of almost nothing else for weeks. Sector Twenty-Nine is hosting it this time, I believe."
"Correct. I'm glad you keep up with things. I have what may be an extremely easy and pleasant assignment for you this time-you are both to go along with the Princess and keep her safe."
Jules's eyes narrowed. "By that, I presume you are expecting that this will not be just an innocent little social affair."
"Right again, unfortunately. We have only the faintest of clues to go on, and it may mean nothing at all, but with the heiress's life at stake, we can't afford to take chances."
"I'd heard," Yvette said slowly, "that she was going to the planet Ansegria and would be staying with Baron Piers and Baroness Ximena of Cambria. I've met both of them and they're delightful people. Surely you don't suspect them of plotting anything, do you?"
"Let me start at the beginning," the Head sighed. "About a week ago, on the planet Kolokov, the local police picked up a man named Rawl Winsted on suspicion of accepting stolen property. On checking their files, they learned that Winsted was an interstellar fugitive and so, as a matter of routine, they transferred him over to SOTE's custody.
"Winsted, it seems, had quite a record. He was a jeweler by training and a crook by instinct. His normal line of business was to disguise jewelry, watches, what have you, to look like other things. Thieves would bring him their loot which is too well known to sell as is, and he would rearrange it-for a fee. Supposedly, he was an expert at working with miniature components." The Head sighed again. "We live in an age of specialization, that's for certain. As our methods for tracking stolen property become more sophisticated, so do the crooks' methods for hiding it.
"At any rate, the local branch of the Service began questioning him. They were hoping to discover as many of his previous contacts and associates as possible so that they could begin tracking down the loot he'd rearranged. Winsted was very closed-mouthed, but eventually they pried him open a little and discovered a secret infinitely more valuable than what they were seeking. There had been a hypnotic block placed in his mind concerning the reason he'd come to Kolokov in the first place."
