The compleat collected s.., p.55
The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 55
And now Lockhart realised that it had all been an act. They were not drunk on Kerron's smuggled Earth whisky last night, they had gone into a state of euphoria produced by the Crylthis in their systems—the 'whisky' taste probably being synthetic. They had trusted Kerron because of his actions on the ship—in a stiff-necked, disapproving sort of way he had been their friend, they thought. But Lockhart now knew that Kerron had been acting from the very first.
Kelly had told him the truth about the Earth party just before the landing on Retlone. He had pretended to be on their side, but while Lockhart had been busy with the Grosni Kerron had sent the ferry-ship to Harla with a report of the Earth party's bid to reach the Galactic Court. And if the Shekkaldor escaped from Retlone Kerron had asked that the ferry-ship rendezvous with him on Karlning with instructions from his superiors. That was the reason for the delay in taking off from the Karlning system.
Lockhart saw it all clearly now. After the Grosni incident the fantastic popularity of the Earth humans had frightened Kerron, and on his own initiative he had decided to do something about it. The Astrogation officer acting scared of Junior's toy gun so that he could kill Draper and Simpson had been acting on Kerron's orders. The fact that he had only killed two of the Earth party was probably the reason for his later being shot by an Agency man wearing Lockhart's clothes, he should have bagged more. They had all heard that shot, but had dismissed it as an accidental discharge of one of their confiscated weapons. Shortly afterwards Lockhart's clothing, cleaned of green mess of the Grosni ship, had been returned to him.
But that killing, and Kerron's decision to segregate the Earth party again, had occurred after the arrival of the ferry-ship with instructions from Headquarters. Those instructions must have stated that the Earth people were to be discredited rather than harmed, and the murder of the Astrogator had been towards that end. They had also ordered that Kerron, who had acted sympathetically towards them up until then, continue to do so until he had their trust. Then he would be in a position to really discredit them ...
Lockhart became aware that the Agency man had risen to reply to Hedley. His tone was scornful.
"The Captain Kerron you mention left on the Shekkaldor this morning. He is an exceptionally able officer and has never yet been disciplined in any way."
Lockhart had been expecting something like that.
"So Kerron isn't here either. Nor are the men responsible for taking those pictures you've shown us." Hedley turned to the Judges "Don't you think," he said with biting sarcasm, "that is just a little bit suspicious?"
"No," one of the off-planet Judges replied coldly. "The Tourist Class is not encouraged on Harla. There is no time for them here, so it is natural for them to leave after a very short stay. And let me remind you that you have used drugs which inhibit the body functions which indicate to the Detector whether the truth or a lie has been told. Your accusations and suspicions, like your evidence, are worthless."
HEDLEY began to argue, but Lockhart knew that it was no good. The Detector had the last word here, and anyone caught trying to influence it in any way was practically considered guilty on the spot. There was no chance of bringing Kerron back for Detector questioning, or anyone else who might help—the Agency would make sure of that. And the Crylthis took a long time to disappear from the system. The decision, the sentence, would be given here and not very many minutes from now.
The Agency, Lockhart knew, were only slightly less powerful than the Administration. If they succeeded here they would emerge stronger, and the Earth case would never again be opened. Lockhart shivered involuntarily.
The Court, that emotionless and impartial machine, had been effectively disposed of by the Crylthis being in their systems, which left the six human Judges. But these were hostile, even though most of them knew that the Agency was not completely innocent. They, long-lived, highly civilised and, because of this, having a veritable phobia about physical suffering, were so outraged at what appeared to be a cold-blooded murder by Lockhart that even Harlnida seemed to be against them.
But in the Galactic Federation they were civilised. They did not throw you in gaol, use the cat or anything else likely to cause physical or mental pain—such as awaiting one's execution. Lockhart remembered how, on the Shekkaldor, Kerron had given Hedley a needlegun and told him that it was his right to perform the execution of the Astrogator ...
The Earth party was in danger of quick, painless and imminent death.
"But someone must have seen Kerron on his way to our apartments last night," Hedley protested. "And seen how drunk he acted. That would prove part of our evidence—"
"They may have seen a person resembling Kerron," another Judge cut in. "It proves only your foresight in providing yourselves with this story on the chance that your attempt to trick the Court would fail. The attempt has failed, and this second line of defence convinces no-one." He turned to glance along the five stern faces of his colleagues. "I think we have wasted enough time. Let us agree on the sentence."
"Wait!"
Lockhart had not known that he shouted until he saw the Judges turn to look at him. It was an involuntary protest against the cruel injustice of what was happening. It wasn't fair after all they had come through, and done. Desperately, he tried to think of some way out, but his mind was an incoherent, seething whirlpool that circled madly around his personal fear of dying. The eyes of the Judges were boring at him, but he could not think of a single thing that could help them. Oh please, he thought desperately, and he did not know whether it was a prayer or a curse, please don't let this happen ...
SUDDENLY there seemed to be a pressure on his mind. It was a peculiar sensation. His mind was—rather, it had been forced to become—perfectly calm, but Lockhart knew that he was not responsible for this strange feeling of detachment. Their problem was still of great importance, but now it had become separated from the confusing side-issues of personal fear for himself and for his friends and race. It was simply a problem, and not a very difficult one. As Lockhart solved it he knew that it was he who had found the answer, but the vast, awesome calm which had descended on his mind, allowing him to find it, that had not been him. He had experienced a similar feeling before, however ...
Thank you, Lockhart thought. And thank you for letting me do it myself. He wondered if it was the same Grosni. Then he swung round to Hedley.
"There's a way out of this, but you've got to stall these people until I get back." Seeing Hedley's mouth opening, he added quickly, "I can't tell you about it in case there are Agency men outside who could get there first. And keep the mike of your set switched on. I want to know what's going on in here."
Only four people made a determined effort to stop him as he sprinted towards the exits. The first he laid on his back with a perfectly clean rugby charge, but the other three ganged up on him, their concerted action making him positive that they were Agency men placed especially among the public. Lockhart was not trained in dirty fighting, but as a doctor he knew all the vital spots. He left them writhing on the aisle behind him and ran on.
Outside in the corridor leading to the observation gallery, the confusion of the chamber he had left came through the tiny 'speaker in his ear. Gradually order was being restored, one of the Judges was reassuring the Agency counsellor that the murderer Lockhart could not escape the building, who in turn was calling for an immediate sentence. Lockhart stopped as a thought occurred to him. He said, "Hedley, can you hear me ..." and spoke rapidly for several seconds, then continued along the corridor.
He heard the voice of Hedley asking the Agency man if there had been any wars recently on Earth, and if so would he mind describing them as the testimony of the Earth-humans was not acceptable. Just, the agent added, to satisfy the curiosity of the Judges and public.
Oh, good man! Lockhart thought.
Agency counsel seemed to be reading from something as he replied. He said, "There have been no wars of the kind you described in the time which the Agency has been on Earth, some forty of your years. There have been petty squabbles—small, inter-tribal wars—which the Agency acting undercover has been able to curb before more than a few fatalities were suffered. Anything of such an inhuman and catastrophic nature as you have described would be immediately reported to the Administration ..."
There was more of it, but Lockhart knew that the Agency man had said more than enough. If the Agency could be caught out in that lie, then they would be discredited, too. And knowing the horror most Galactic citizens felt for deliberately inflicted pain of any kind, that discredit would be great indeed.
Viciously Lockhart curbed his mounting exultation. He was being a little premature.
When he reached the observation gallery, the stretch of it visible to him was deserted. But it curved away out of sight on both sides of him, following the contour of the building, he knew, until it made full circle. Lockhart turned right and began running again.
Lockhart ignored the impressive view of Harla spread out on his left, instead he kept his eyes fixed on each section of the gallery curving into sight as he ran. He must have gone half way round the building by now, he thought in mounting anxiety, and still he hadn't seen them. In his 'speaker he heard Hedley appealing for the chance to present a further piece of evidence. This evidence did not have to be tested by the Detector, he stated because it was evidence of ability, and of the emotional depth and richness of a small section of their race ...
Fox began playing Malaguena ...
Lockhart would have laughed if he'd had enough breath to do it. But three minutes later Fox was still playing, and the protests of the Agency counsellor had been curtly silenced.
Suddenly Lockhart came into sight of them. They were looking out over the city with their backs to him. Breathlessly, Lockhart shouted, "Mrs. Keeler ...!"
HEDLEY said, "Keeler, you'd better handle this."
The FBI man moved across to the Detector cabinets and glanced up. Both indicator lights burned a clear amber, signifying that the witness was free of drugs or psychological conditioning, and hence a fit subject for the infallible Detector.
Naturally he was free of drugs, Lockhart thought; whisky was not, as a rule, given to eight-year-old boys.
Keeler said, "Son, this is a sort of quiz. It's the most important quiz you were ever in. But if you don't know any of the answers, don't guess at them—that's lying, and it will disqualify you. Now," he went on, taking a deep breath, "this is a triple question.
"How many World Wars has there been on Earth in the past forty years, how long did each of them last, and what sort of weapons were used in them?"
Junior giggled. "That's an easy one," he said smugly, and began his answer: While he spoke the indicator lights above him burned a steady amber. Detailed and blood-curdling descriptions of air-raids, submarine warfare, V-2's and flame-throwers—seen on news-reels for the most part, but acceptable as evidence because he knew that they were records of true events—made up the biggest part of the answer.
The silence in the great room could be felt. In the public section the faces of the crowd had gone a sickly grey. So had those of the Judges, and even the Agency counsellor. Harlnida's face was a shocked horrified mask, but a gleam of triumph had come into his eyes.
Keeler said, "Now this is a harder one ..."
When Junior gave the casualty figures of both the World Wars, adding self-importantly that these did not include Korea, the trial was as good as over.
A LOT had happened in the two months following the trial. Hedley, Cedric and the Keelers had been returned to Earth, Fox was rapidly becoming the most famous and widely-travelled minstrel ever known, and Lockhart was up to his eyes.
The things which he could learn in the medical centres of Harla and Vitlimen were awesome, yet he was able to teach them a lot, too. Starting in the near future was a project which Harlnida had asked him to head. A Grosni had died several years back and its body had taken up a stable orbit in the fringe of the Harlan system, preserved intact by the cold of space. Lockhart, with the assistance of an army of mining engineers, was to make a complete study of it so that the living members of the race could profit. He was becoming a famous man now, and as such had been able to secure appointments many times with the Federation's Chief Administrator. But this time he was not seeing Harlnida on business, and the reception he might receive made him uneasy.
But Harlnida was in one of his rare talkative moods. "I have heard that you intend making the Grosni life-form your specialisation, Doctor," he began. "I approve: in their present highly artificial existence they are helpless against any form of disease or injury, and their race—which has much of value in its philosophy—will die out unless something is done for them. But I hope your decision is not based solely upon gratitude ..."
He was talking about the trial, when a Grosni had touched Lockhart's mind at the most critical point, calming it and allowing him to solve their problem. It had been the first time that anything like that had happened—previously it was thought that their telepathy did not extend beyond the hulls of their ships—and the occurrance had impressed Harlnida very much.
"No," Lockhart replied, a little impatiently. He had told Harlnida about his intended specialisation weeks ago.
"I'm glad," Harlnida said, then thoughtfully. "You belong to an unusual race, Doctor. When you discover the Interstellar Drive for yourselves, I hope you don't give the Federation an inferiority complex."
"Er, the reason I came," Lockhart interrupted with a gentle reminder. He felt his ears getting red.
"Oh, of course," Harlnida said apologetically. He picked Lockhart's note from the desk. His mouth quirked faintly, then he became business-like again.
"On Harla," he said, "the marriage formalities are quite simple ..."
The End
The Secret Visitors
Ace Books – 1957
Chapter One
THE SUNSET was unbelievable, an explosion of color so breathtaking that its sheer resplendence seemed somehow to be in questionable taste. It was a shade too beautiful, Lockhart thought. Bathed in that amber flood of light, the evening strollers along the Boulevard Saint-Michel were transformed into actors in some colorful, romantic drama instead of the drably commonplace characters that the majority of them were. Almost, it brought warmth to the face of the old man who was dying at the café table across the street.
Lockhart's eyes rested on the old man only long enough to be sure that he was still alive, then he shifted them back to the crowd, the sunset, and to the car containing three of Hedley's men which was parked further along the street. The thought returned then of what he was here to do, and the sunset abruptly lost its appeal; the pulsing bands of fire filling the western sky became nothing more than an interesting group of meteorological phenomena which gave strong indications of rain before morning.
A sharp intake of breath made Lockhart look quickly at the man sharing the café table with him. Hedley was staring anxiously across the street and Lockhart saw the cause of the agent's anxiety at once. Two people were trying to talk to the old man.
The girl looked vaguely Spanish—dark complexion with that peculiar combination of thin, aristocratic nose and wide, full lips. Her hair was dark brown or black, and her figure was attracting the appreciative gaze of a passing group of students. Her companion was a small, thin-faced man whose clothing seemed to indicate a certain degree of effeminacy; he was pretty rather than handsome. They were bending over the old man and the girl was apparently asking a question. After a pause she repeated it, louder.
Why, thought Lockhart suddenly, I know that girl!
"What's she saying?" Hedley said, holding his voice to a conversational level with difficulty. "What language is it, at least?"
Lockhart shook his head. "She's too far away to tell," he replied. "But I know her—she isn't anyone you're looking for."
Hedley made an annoyed sound. "I'll be the judge of that. How long have you known her?"
"I saw her at a concert," Lockhart said. "We didn't speak." He paused awkwardly, thinking of how this would sound to Hedley, then went on. "It's rather complicated, but I know she isn't the type to be mixed up in this. You see—"
"This is the first time," Hedley cut in, "that one of these old men has been contacted by someone who might be an enemy agent. Maybe they are just a couple of kind-hearted types who think he's sick and want to help, but again, maybe they are nothing of the sort." He exhaled irritably. "So, despite your unsolicited testimonial, Doctor, I'll have them followed."
He took a handkerchief from his breast pocket, shook it out twice and blew his nose. A hundred yards away one of his men got out of the waiting car and merged with the crowd. The couple across the street had unknowingly acquired a shadow, and Lockhart, who was firmly convinced that the agent was wasting his time, kept angrily silent.
Usually Lockhart was not so touchy about things, but Hedley—and the job the agent wanted him to do—had kept him on edge all day.
Prior to that morning, Lockhart had not seen Hedley since the time during the closing months of the war when an air ambulance had set him down, literally, on the hospital's front lawn. Lockhart had been attached to a south coast Bomber Group at the time, doing his best to repair partially wrecked men so that they could go back to wrecking more aircraft. Hedley had kept him busy that day and most of the following night, he remembered.
The holes in Hedley's legs and side were flesh wounds and not in themselves dangerous, but from his condition upon arrival Lockhart guessed that he must have crawled through about a mile of mud before they had been dressed. With the antibiotics he had been given battling the infection raging through his system, it was no surprise that the patient had been delirious. Consequently, Lockhart had found out a lot he wasn't supposed to know.
