The complete fiction, p.33
The Complete Fiction, page 33
“We have four technicians working on that now,” rasped the governor. “Is he one of them, or an independent engineer?”
“He’s an independent,” replied Margot, crossing index and middle fingers with a grim little smile.
“We’ll see him,” said the governor wearily. “Send him in.”
She flipped the switch, turned soberly to Andress. “All right, but it’s still not too late for me to tell him you left without leaving your name.”
“Don’t do that!” he answered quickly.
“Aren’t you nervous?”
He grinned. “That isn’t rapid-fire you hear. It’s my teeth.”
“Good luck!” she whispered.
He picked up the box and vanished behind the door that automatically opened for him.
Governor Widrin wore the harassed look of a plump groat being worried by marsh wolves. “I’ll give you ten minutes,” he stated bruskly. “First of all, who are you?”
“My name is David Andress. But that doesn’t matter.”
“I asked you, so it does matter. What’s your technical standing?”
“Well, I—I’m in the coordination bureau, division of statistics. But, you see—”
“A clerk!” groaned the Governor. “A damned clerk! You have the cheek to pose as a communications engineer and claim you can unscramble Tolos’ visiphone wave, and you aren’t even a technical cadet! Get out of here.” Andress’ long, slender body seemed poised for flight as he stared from the angry executive to the other two men in the room. One of them, burly in the blue-and-gold of a militia officer, advanced truculently.
“You heard, didn’t you? Or would you rather be thrown out?”
ANDRESS hugged the box more tightly, turned desperately back to the governor.
“Your Excellency! I was forced to give that impression to gain an audience. I am not an engineer, but an antiquary.”
“And what would that be?” growled Martan.
“A student of the ancient days, particularly one who collects and studies obsolete instruments and other articles. It’s my hobby, but I’m also somewhat of an authority. When I found a device which will enable me to read Harl Tolos’ thoughts by translating televised image impulses—”
“You mean you’ve unearthed some obsolete gadget that can probe a distance mentality?” interrupted Widrin.
“That’s absurd!” snapped Martan. “If there had ever been such an instrument we’d have some record of it.”
“Not necessarily,” corrected Andress mildly. “During the twentieth century there were issued in the United States alone—if I may be permitted to use that ancient political designation—thousands of patents that were commercially useless at the time, or overlooked, or improperly exploited and allowed to lapse from sight. Coordination of research was almost unknown. An enormous waste of effort, with the loss of valuable material, was therefore inevitable.
“Possibly some mischance overtook the inventor of the device I have with me. Although it dates from nineteen-forty-one, I have been able to restore it to usefulness, and if I may connect this instrument to the televisor upon which the image of Harl Tolos appears, I shall be able to tell you at least such thoughts as pass through his mind when he speaks.”
While he talked his hands had been busy, and from its wrappings he now drew an object that held every eye in the room. It was a grotesque thing, mounted upon a massive iron base, the boxlike body of it fitted with several small levers, and jutting sidewise from the rest a Y-shaped yoke of no apparent utility, between the arms of which projected a short horizontal tube. The black crackle finish was badly flaked, the unpainted levers, which had probably once been nickle-plated, were pocked with rust. A thick, black cord dangled from one side of the thing. A thinner one connected the device to a second curious object—a metal band with two drumlike black cylinders.
Andress put all reverently upon the table, then looked up full into the eyes of Margot, who had quietly entered and was standing just inside the door. His jaw dropped and he made a hasty signal for silence. The girl seemed strangely moved. Her eyes widened and one hand flew to her mouth as though to stifle an involuntary cry.
The others present had not noticed. They stared at the strange device with expressions ranging from uncertain interest to belligerent disbelief. Martan put the latter into words.
“Gentlemen, I’m certain that this is a rank deception. There have been successful experiments in telepathy, but always with the full conscious cooperation of both subjects. No material instrument of any kind has ever been found of the least value in receiving impressions from the human mind. This man is either mistaken or a deliberate liar.”
The governor waved a pudgy hand. “He won’t find it easy or profitable to deceive us, Captain.” He turned to Andress. “You will demonstrate your claims?”
“Provided certain conditions are met, yes, your Excellency.”
CAPTAIN MARTAN snorted.
“There you are, sir! Certain impossible conditions, or the payment of some thousand credits and a safe conduct from the colony, I imagine.”
“By no means,” Andress replied. “The fact is this instrument can read only thoughts transmitted by an electrical medium. It cannot read the thoughts of you who are in this room. It cannot read subconscious thoughts, or those which the subject deliberately wills to keep secret. But these limitations would not affect our purpose. It can read what I term the spoken thought, or the thought which must accompany speech. It should reveal anything Harl Tolos says to his underlings, if you will allow me to connect it to a televisor upon which his image appears.”
“You realize that his speech wave is artificially distorted at such times?” asked Widrin.
“Yes, sir. The artificial scrambling of speech dates back to the early part of the twentieth century, when it was used to keep wireless telephone transmission secret. The received impulses cannot be rendered intelligible except by properly matched apparatus. To unscramble such speech is otherwise impossible, but my method is wholly different. In fact, I would shut off the speech wave entirely as it would tend to confuse me.”
“This becomes more absurd every moment,” sneered Martan. “The whole thing is an insult to our intelligence.”
Widrin looked doubtful; his eyes fell upon Margot.
“Yes, Miss Young? What is it?”
Her cheeks glowed. “Your Excellency, it may be presumptuous, but I wish to say that I know David Andress, and that he is loyal and sincere. Please give him a chance.”
The governor grunted as the fourth man, Caldwell, Chief of Council, came forward. Silent until now, he spoke with characteristic bluntness.
“For God’s sake, Widrin, either throw the man out or let him try right now while we’re all together. I doubt if there’s anything in it, of course, but I won’t stand in his way. Only get it over with, one way or the other.”
Widrin’s indecision vanished. “As you’re not opposed, Caldwell, I’m willing to let him try. It’s eleven-twenty now. I suppose Tolos will go on the ether at the same time as during the past six days, and we can expect the usual raid half an hour after his ranting is over, unless we accept his terms. Are you ready, young man?”
Andress swallowed visibly, nodded. Caldwell pressed a button, and a wall panel slid aside to reveal a superb allwave televisor, its stereoscopic screen gleaming dully in the soft light of the room fluorescents. The governor paced the floor, his double chins trembling, while Andress found a 100-volt outlet and plugged in the standard terminal he had attached to the ancient machine. A push on two small toggle switches brought a glow into being in the ugly carcass of the instrument, followed by a faint hum. He put the other object over his head so that the drumlike black cases covered his ears.
Martan scowled. “Your Excellency! If by chance this impossible contraption should work, it would be better if important information did not reach an outsider. May I take his place?” Caldwell and Widrin looked at one another. The governor nodded. “You will operate your device for Captain Martan, Andress.”
Andress did not budge. “That is impossible, sir. Nobody but myself can interpret the feeble thought impulses delivered to the brain by the detectors I wear. It would take the captain several hours to learn how to do so. I must ask you to let me handle this in my own way.”
Caldwell shrugged. Martan muttered under his breath and Margot, standing behind the others, shivered a little as though with cold.
“Might as well get it over with,” growled Caldwell.
UNDER his hand the screen glowed into life. Random light broke over its multi-prismed surface, steadied into the image of a well known news commentator as the speakers came alive with his voice.
“—daily contact is due any minute. From his secret headquarters Harl Tolos will probably again address the governor and council. We regret the executive order which makes it impossible for us to bring you his voice and image directly. Apparently he himself is equipped to broadcast only upon the high official waveband used for space-ship communication. However, we shall rebroadcast such of his remarks as the council permits. Courage in this dark hour is urged upon you all. Seek the shelter of cellars and subways at the first sign of a raid. Be calm. Be orderly. Remember that your government is exerting every effort in your behalf.”
As though racing to livelier topics, the voice gathered itself dramatically, then rushed on: “Unless Governor Widrin and the council meet Tolos’ demands immediately, we may expect another raid within half an hour after his speech. Where will he strike next? Will our militia this time be on hand to strike a blow in our defense? Where is Harl Tolos himself? Authorities deny that he may be on the attacking vessel, pointing out that Venusian military strategy traditionally demands that high officials remain in safety during combat.
“He may be in the colony itself. The Venusian government disclaims all knowledge of him, and has put a price on his head, but refuses to send us aid because under the disarmament conference of forty-seven they too are limited to one mobile anti-aircraft defense unit per city, and fear Tolos’ retaliation against any community they may leave undefended by sending its militia to us. They point out, too, that Tolos has but a single ship, with which our own unit should be able to deal.
“This argument overlooks the fact that Tolos can strike with lightning swiftness and be safely away before our ground unit can reach the attacked area. It took him only ninety seconds to cause the loss of two hundred and fourteen lives and four hundred casualties at Nol Evrum. Captain Martan’s unit was meanwhile at Southside, thirty miles away—”
The voice ceased abruptly as Governor Widrin turned the selector dial with trembling fingers. Martan scowled fiercely, and Caldwell helped himself with grave deliberation to a pinch of Venusian snuff which he sucked up noisily.
There was a sudden blur of sound from the loudspeakers, and with it appeared a very different image from that of the commentator. The prismatic three-dimensional screen gave it depth and color and the illusion of life. A lean, saturnine, elongated jaw line at once stamped the man a Venusian. His eyes were a brilliant and piercing green, the nose long, straight, and flaring at the nostrils, thin lips a red gash above a small pointed beard.
Evidently seated before a transmitting grid, he was visible to the waist, and clad in a bright yellow uniform with glossy black leather braid. He wore the conventional golden helmet of the military class, but in place of the usual insignia appeared a four-pointed star, emblem of the house of Tolos.
He spoke, showing pointed white teeth.
“To the rulers of the Earth Colony of Terrella: I hope that you have abandoned the obdurate attitude which has already compelled me to lay so much of your community in ruins. Nothing could be more painful to me than the loss of life which you force me to inflict upon a helpless people. I deeply regret your unfortunate attitude in the face of the inevitable. Surely you must realize that I am invulnerable, whereas your city, your farms, your vital centers such as the water plant and generating stations, exist only by my tolerance.
“I repeat my simple terms: one million credits to be deposited with agents whom I shall name, your militia to be disbanded, your anti-aircraft cannon dismantled. If you say that will put you at my mercy, let me point out that you are at my mercy now. Finally, three hostages are to be given me as a guarantee that no new defense munitions will be retained here after the usual traffic with Earth at the next conjunction. Thereafter, one million credits a year . . .”
For ten minutes he spoke, gesticulating freely, his voice rising at times in a frenzy of threats. Caldwell snorted in the midst of it and helped himself to more snuff. Martan frowned blackly and Widrin fidgeted.
SUDDENLY it was over. The image remained, signifying that Harl Tolos awaited a reply, but it was silent. A second Venusian appeared, saluted Tolos, and spoke. His words rattled unintelligibly.
“He’s got that damned scrambler connected now,” explained Caldwell.
Widrin tremblingly replaced the telephone into which he had spoken briefly. “The council stands seven to three against giving in.”
“Make it eight,” growled Caldwell. “If I’d thought they would vote differently I wouldn’t have left them.”
“Quiet!” said Andress suddenly. A sub-officer had appeared on the screen beside Tolos, and the leader was speaking again. A cacaphony of sound roared from the speakers. Andress hastily snapped them off. The black machine hummed by his side. Margot held her breath.
“What did he say?” whispered Caldwell the instant Tolos ceased to speak.
Andress was as though he had not heard. He sat staring at the image. Caldwell seized his shoulder roughly.
“Did you get it or not? Speak up, man!”
Andress seemed to shake himself back to a realization of time and place. He stared at the four of them.
“I got it,” he said slowly. “Every word of it. Harl Tolos just said: ‘We’ll give the swine fifteen minutes to think it over, then take off. Our ally has promised that the militia will be sent to guard the generating stations at Sors Evrum, shortly after my broadcast. I threatened those stations just now, which should make his work all the easier. We shall, of course, attack elsewhere’.”
Silence swept down and sealed the words.
It was Caldwell who first found voice. “His ally. So there is somebody—Martan! By the seven hells, Martan! You were all for guarding the generating stations this morning. You’re the man who could best be of use to Tolos! You’ve played into Tolos’ hands right along. You, Martan!”
The militia captain licked his lips. All color had fled from his florid face.
“That’s a lie!” he said hoarsely. “I’ve always taken the militia where we three or the council decided it should go. You agreed with me about the generating stations this morning.” He swung furiously upon Andress. “This is a plot to discredit me. The machine’s a fake. You’re making this up. You’re the one who’s in Harl Tolos’ pay!”
ANDRESS rose to his feet, laid down the headband carefully. Widrin stared from each man to the next in an agony of indecision.
“You’re overlooking one thing, Martan,” growled Caldwell. “Twenty minutes ago we three agreed the militia was to go to Sors Evrum—we three, in secret. If Andress is making this up, how did he know where your company is to be sent?”
There was the silence that follows a bombshell. In the midst of it Harl Tolos again spoke briefly to his officer. Andress moved to pick up the headband he had laid down, but Caldwell’s hand restrained him.
“Wait! We’ve enough to go on now. Before you say another word, we have a traitor to deal with.”
Andress, staring at the image on the screen, reluctantly released the headband. As Caldwell stepped back, a compact, deadly little electro-gun appeared in his hand as if by magic.
“Put your hands up, Martan! Andress, take his gun—keep them up!”
Andress jerked his eyes from the screen just in time to see Caldwell fire. Close beside Captain Martan metal cracked and crumpled under the impact of the bullet. The militia captain froze where he stood, and Andress snatched his gun from its holster. Two militiamen appeared in response to Caldwell’s pressing of a button.
“Take Captain Martan into custody. The charge is treason,” he said, holstering his weapon. “We four are witnesses—Andress! Are you mad?”
The gun in Andress’ hand was pointed steadily at the Chief of Council. “Stand by until Governor Widrin gives you orders,” he told the perplexed soldiers. “Your Excellency, Captain Martan is innocent. I did not tell you all that Harl Tolos said. The rest was: ‘We can depend upon Caldwell to see that the militia goes to Sors Evrum. I shall announce the objective of our raid in a few minutes. After what happens today Caldwell will find it easy to reverse his stand before the council. He will admit that he sees the folly of further resistance, and advise that my terms be met. His example will throw the whole council out of gear. In a few days Terella will be ours.
“Your Excellency, it is Chief Caldwell who is the traitor. He permitted my attempt because it was vital to him that he be present if such an attempt to read Harl Tolos’ mind was to be made. If it were successful, he was armed and ready to act. He hoped to save himself and disorganize the militia by accusing Captain Martan as he quick-wittedly did. You will notice that the shot he fired at such close range missed the captain, but struck my thought-detector squarely. Chief Caldwell evidently has heard quite enough from that instrument!”
The governor stared at the wreckage of the ugly little machine, incredulity and shock mirrored in his pink face.
“Clever, but quite fantastic,” remarked Caldwell calmly. “This fellow and Martan must be working together. We all saw Tolos speak, and he certainly didn’t have time to say all that Andress claims during the few seconds Andress was using his machine. You know that too, Widrin.”
The argument produced a visible impression. “But he spoke again, later on,” the governor pointed out doubtfully.
“When Andress wasn’t wearing that headband!” Caldwell added triumphantly. “Plain proof that he’s lying. I’ll even grant that I may be mistaken about Martan, as Andress is obviously a fraud.”
