The space willies, p.14
The Space Willies, page 14
"Is that so?" The Commandant registered surprise. Leeming went on, "I cannot give the same guarantee with respect to the firing squad, the officer in charge of it, or the higher-up who ordered that helpless prisoners be shot."
"We always execute prisoners who break out of jail. It is an old-established practice and a necessary deterrent."
"We always settle accounts with the executioners," Leeming gave back.
"By 'we' you mean you and your Eustace?" put in Pallam.
"Yes."
"Why should your Eustace care? The victims were not Terrans. They were merely a bunch of obstreperous Rigellians."
"Rigellians are allies. And allies are friends. I feel bad about the cold-blooded, needless slaughtering of them. Eustace is very sensitive to my emotions."
"But not necessarily obedient to them?"
"No."
"In fact," pressed Pallam, determined to establish the point once and for all, "if there is any question of one being subordinate to the other, it is you who serves him."
"Most times, anyway," conceded Leeming with the air of having a tooth pulled.
"Well, it confirms what you've already told us." Pallam gave a thin smile. "The chief difference between Terrans and Lathians is that you know you're controlled whereas the Lathians are ignorant of their own status."
"We are not controlled consciously or unconsciously," Leeming insisted. "We exist in mutual partnership, the same as you do with your wife. Sometimes she gives way to you, other times you give way to her. Neither of you bother to estimate who has given way the most in any specific period and neither of you insists that a perfect balance must be maintained, That's how it is. And it's mastery by neither party,"
"I wouldn't know, never having been mated," Pallam turned to the Commandant. "Carry on."
"As probably you are aware by now, this planet has been set aside as the Combine's main penal world," informed the Commandant. "Already we hold a large number of prisoners, mainly Rigellian."
"What of it?"
"There are more to come. Two thousand Centaurians and six hundred Thetans are due to arrive and fill a new jail next week. Combine forces will transfer more enemy lifeforms as soon as we have accommodation for them and ships are available." He eyed the other speculatively, "It is only a matter of time before they start dumping Terrans on us as well."
"Is the prospect bothering you?"
"Zangasta has decided that he must refuse to accept Terrans.
"That's up to him," said Leeming, blandly indifferent. "Zangasta has a clever mind," opined the Commandant, oozing patriotic admiration. "He is of the firm opinion that to assemble a formidable army of mixed prisoners all on one planet, and then add some thousands of Terrans to the mixture, is to create a potentially dangerous situation. He foresees trouble on a far greater scale than we could handle. Indeed, we might lose control of this world, strategically placed in the Combine's rear, and become subject to the violent attacks of our own allies."
"That is quite possible," Leeming agreed. "In fact it's quite probable. In fact it's practically certain. But it's not Zangasta's only worry. It's the one he's seen fit to put out for publication. He's got a private one, too."
"And what is that?"
"Zangasta himself originated the order that escaped prisoners be shot. He must have done so—otherwise nobody would dare shoot them. Now he's jumpy because a Eustace may be sitting on his bed and grinning at him every night. He thinks that a few thousand Eustaces will be a proportionately greater menace to him. But he's wrong."
"Why is he wrong?" inquired the Commandant.
"Because it isn't only the repentant who have no cause to fear. The dead haven't either. The arrival on this world of fifty million Eustaces means nothing whatever to a corpse. Zangasta had better countermand that shooting order if he wants to go on living."
"I'll inform him of your remarks. However, such cancellation may not be necessary. As I have told you, he is clever. He has devised a subtle strategy that will put all your evidence to the final, conclusive test and at the same time may solve his problems to his own satisfaction."
Feeling vague alarm, Leeming asked, "Am I permitted to know what he intends to do?"
"He has given instructions that you be told. And already he has swung into action." The Commandant waited for the sake of effect then finished, "He has beamed the Allies a proposal to exchange prisoners."
Leeming fidgeted around in his seat. Ye gods, the plot was thickening with a vengeance. From the very beginning his sole purpose had been to talk himself out of jail and into some other situation more favorable for sudden departure at high speed. He'd only been trying to lift himself over the wall with his tongue. Now they were taking up his story and plastering it all over the galaxy!
"What is more," the Commandant went on, "the Allies have notified us of their acceptance providing we exchange rank for rank. That is to say, captains for captains, navigators for navigators and so forth."
"That's reasonable."
"Zangasta," said the Commandant, grinning like a hungry wolf, "has agreed in his turn—providing that the Allies take Terran prisoners first and make exchange on a basis of two for one. He is now awaiting their reply."
"Two for one?" echoed Leeming, blinking. "You mean he wants them to release two of their prisoners for every Terran they get back?"
"No, no, of course not." He increased the grin and exposed the roots of his teeth. "They must return two Combine troopers for each Terran and his Eustace that we hand back. That is two for two and perfectly fair, is it not?"
"It's not for me to say." Leeming swallowed hard. "The Allies are the judges."
"Until a reply arrives and mutual agreement has been achieved, Zangasta wishes you to have better treatment. You will be transferred to the officers' quarters outside the walls, you will share their meals and be allowed to go for walks in the country. Temporarily, you will be treated as a non-combatant and you'll be very comfortable. It is necessary that you give me your parole not to try to escape."
Holy smoke, this was another stinker. The entire fiction was shaped toward ultimate escape. He couldn't abandon it now. Neither was he willing to give his word of honor with the cynical intention of breaking it.
"Parole refused," he said firmly.
The Commandant was incredulous. "Surely you do not mean that?"
"I do. I have no choice. Terran military law does not permit a prisoner-of-war to give such a promise."
"Why not?"
"Because no Terran can accept responsibility for his Eustace. How can I swear not to get out when half of me cannot be got in? Can a twin take oath on behalf of his brother?"
"Guard!" called the Commandant, visibly disappointed.
-
He mooched uneasily around his cell for a full twelve days, occasionally chatting with Eustace nighttimes for the benefit of ears lurking outside the door. Definitely he'd wangled himself into a predicament that was a case of put up or shut up; in order to put up he dared not shut up.
The food remained better in quantity though little could be said for its quality. Guards treated him with that diffidence accorded to captives who somehow are in cahoots with their superiors. Four more recaptured Rigellians were brought back but not shot. All the signs and portents were that he'd still got a grip on the foe.
Though he'd said nothing to them, the other prisoners had got wind of the fact that in some mysterious way he was responsible for the general softening of prison conditions. At exercise time they treated him as a deep and subtle character who could achieve the impossible. From time to time their curiosity got the better of them.
"You know they didn't execute those last four?"
"Yes," Leeming admitted.
"It's being said that you stopped the shooting."
"Who says so?"
"It's just a story going around."
"That's right, it's just a story going around."
"I wonder why they shot the first bunch but not the second? There must be a reason."
"Maybe the Zangastans have developed belated qualms of conscience," Leeming suggested.
"There's more to it than that."
"Such as what?"
"Somebody has shaken them up."
"Who, for instance?"
"I don't know. There's a strong rumor that you've got the Commandant eating out of your hand."
"That's likely, isn't it?" Leeming countered.
"I wouldn't think so. But one never knows where one is with you Terrans." The other brooded a bit, asked, "What did you do with that wire I stole for you?"
"I'm knitting it into a pair of socks. Nothing fits better or wears longer than solid wire socks."
Thus he foiled their inquisitiveness and kept his silence, not wanting to arouse false hopes. Inwardly, he was badly bothered. The Allies in general and Earth in particular knew nothing whatever about Eustaces, and therefore were likely to treat a two-for-one proposition with the contempt it deserved. A blank refusal on their part might cause him to be plied with awkward questions, impossible to answer.
In that case it would occur to them sooner or later that they were afflicted with the biggest liar in history. They'd then devise tests of fiendish ingenuity. When he flunked them the balloon would go up.
He wasn't inclined to give himself too much credit for having kidded them along so far. The few books he'd been able to read had shown that Zangastan religion was based upon reverence for ancestral spirits. The Zangastans were also familiar with what is known as poltergeist phenomena. The ground had been prepared for him in advance; he'd merely plowed it and sown the crop. When a victim already believes in two kinds of invisible beings, it isn't hard to persuade him to swallow a third.
But when the Allies beamed Asta Zangasta a curt invitation to make his bed on a railroad track, it was possible that the third type of spirit would be regurgitated with violence. Unless by fast, convincing talk he could cram it back down their gullets when it was halfway out. How to do that?
In his cell he was stewing this problem over and over when the guards came for him again. The Commandant was there but Pallam was not. Instead, a dozen civilians eyed him curiously. That made a total of thirteen enemies, a very suitable number to pronounce him ready for the chopper.
Feeling as much the center of attention as a six-tailed wombat at the zoo, he sat down and four civilians immediately started questioning him, taking it in relays. They were interested in one subject and one only, namely, bopamagilvies. It seemed that they'd been playing for hours with his samples, had achieved nothing except some practice in acting daft, and were not happy about it.
On what principle did a bopamagilvie work? Did it focus telepathic output into a narrow, long-range beam? At what distance did his Eustace get beyond range of straight conversation and have to be summoned with the aid of a gadget? Why was it necessary to make directional search before obtaining a reply? How did he know how to make a coiled loop in the first place?
"I can't explain. How does a bird know how to make a nest? The knowledge is wholly instinctive. I have known how to call my Eustace ever since I was old enough to shape a piece of wire."
"Could it be that your Eustace implants the necessary knowledge in your mind?"
"Frankly, I've never given that idea a thought, But it is possible."
"Will any kind of wire serve?"
"So long as it's non-ferrous."
"Are all Terran loops of exactly the same construction and dimensions?"
"No, they vary with the individual."
"We've made careful and thorough search of Terran prisoners held by the Lathians. Not one of them owns a similar piece of apparatus. How do you account for that?"
"They don't need one."
"Why not?"
"Because when more than four hundred of them are imprisoned together, they can always count on at least a few of their Eustaces being within easy reach at any given time."
Somehow he beat them off, feeling hot in the forehead and cold in the belly. Then the Commandant took over.
"The Allies have flatly refused to accept Terran prisoners ahead of other species, or to exchange them two for one, or to discuss the matter any further. What have you to say to that?"
Steeling himself, Leeming commented, "Look, on your side there are more than twenty lifeforms of which the Lathians and the Zebs are by far the most powerful. Now if the Allies had wanted to give priority of exchange to one species do you think the Combine would agree? If, for example, the favored species happened to be the Tansites, would the Lathians and Zebs vote for them to get home first?"
A tall, authoritative civilian chipped in. "I am Daverd, personal aide to Zangasta. He is of your opinion. He believes that the Terrans have been outvoted. Therefore, I am commanded to ask you one question,"
"What is it?"
"Do your allies know about your Eustaces?"
"No."
"You have succeeded in hiding the facts from them?"
"There's never been any question of concealing anything from them. With friends, the facts just don't become apparent. Eustaces take effective action only against enemies and that is something that cannot be concealed forever."
"Very well." Daverd came closer, put on a conspiratorial air. "The Lathians started this war and the Zebs went with them by reason of their military alliance. The rest of us got dragged in for one cause or another. The Lathians are strong and arrogant but, as we now know, they are not responsible for their actions."
"What's this to me?"
"Separately, we numerically weaker lifeforms cannot stand against the Lathians or the Zebs. But together we are strong enough to step out of the war and maintain our right to be neutral. So Zangasta has consulted the others."
Lord! Isn't it amazing what can be done with a few yards of copper wire?
"He has received their replies today," Daverd went on. "They are willing to make a common front for the sake of enjoying mutual peace—providing that the Allies are equally willing to recognize their neutrality and exchange prisoners with them."
"Such sudden unanimity among the small fry tells me something pretty good," observed Leeming with malice.
"It tells you what?"
"Allied forces have won a major battle lately. Somebody has been given a hell of a lambasting."
Daverd refused to confirm or deny it. "You are the only Terran we hold on this planet. Zangasta thinks he can make good use of you."
"How?"
"He has decided to send you back to Terra. It will be your task to persuade them to agree to our plans. If you fail, a couple of hundred thousand hostages will suffer—remember that!"
"The prisoners have no say in this matter, no hand in it, no responsibility for it. If you vent your spite upon them a time will surely come when you'll be made to pay—remember that!"
"The Allies will know nothing about it," Daverd retorted. "There will be no Terrans and no Eustaces here to inform them by any underhanded method. Henceforth we are keeping Terrans out. The Allies cannot use knowledge they do not possess."
"No," agreed Leeming. "It's quite impossible to employ something you haven't got."
-
They provided a light destroyer crewed by ten Zangastans. With one stop for refueling and the fitting of new tubes it took him to a servicing planet right on the fringe of the battle area. This dump was a Lathian outpost but those worthies showed no interest in what their smaller allies were up to, nor did they realize that the one Terran-like creature really was a Terran. They got to work relining the destroyer's tubes in readiness for its journey home. Meanwhile, Leeming was transferred to an unarmed one-man Lathian scout-ship. The ten Zangastans officiously saluted before they left him.
From this point he was strictly on his own. Take-off was a heller. The seat was far too big and shaped to fit the Lathian backside, which meant that it was humped in the wrong places. The controls were unfamiliar and situated too far apart. The little ship was fast and powerful but responded differently from his own. How he got off the ground he never knew, but he made it.
After that there was the constant risk of being tracked by Allied detector stations and blown apart in full flight. He charged among the stars hoping for the best and left his beam transmitter severely alone; calls on an enemy frequency might make him a dead duck in no time at all.
He arrowed straight for Terra. His sleeps were restless and uneasy. The tubes were not to be trusted, even though the flight-duration would be only a third of that done in his own vessel. The strange autopilot was not to be trusted merely because it was of alien design. The ship itself was not to be trusted for the same reason. The forces of his own side were not to be trusted because they tended to shoot first and ask questions afterward.
