Authors: The Plot Against Earth
"The
Earthman is being unjust," said the Skorg, coming to Beryaal's defense.
"I was present at the interrogation; you and our Arenaddin colleague were
not. I can vouch for the fact that every attempt was made to elicit information
from the prisoners."
Or else
you and Beryaal are in cahoots,
Catton thought. He shrugged and said, "All right. I'm not placing
any charges of incompetence. I'm simply saying that I went out and got you five
perfectly good sources of information, and you used them up and threw them away
without getting a damned thing out of them."
Beryaal said, "Like most Earthmen, you
are overly impatient. It's a characteristic of young and uncertain
races."
"Maybe so.
If it's a racial failing to want to get results, I plead guilty."
Catton gestured with open hands. "The job of this Commission is to smash
the hypnojewel racket. I'd like to get that job done as quickly and as directly
as I can."
"Have
you any immediate suggestions?" Beryaal inquired calmly.
"I have several," Catton said.
"I've checked carefully through the record of your past deliberations, and
so far as I can figure very little has been done by way of figuring out the
planet of entry for the jewels. I'm not talking about the place of origin,
now—I mean the planet that funnels hypno-jewels into the main stem of the
galaxy. I think I have a lead on that planet's identity."
"Oh?" Beryaal said.
"When
I was engaged in the purchase of that hypnojewel, someone let drop a remark
implying that the planet where hypnojewels might be obtained from the makers
was—was a major planet in this galaxy," Catton finished, deciding at the
last moment not to name the world.
"This is hearsay, is it not?"
Beryaal said.
"What of it?" Catton retorted.
"It's worth investigating. At this stage, any lead at all is worth
following up. And I intend to follow this one up personally."
"We
have a network of agents for this purpose," remarked the Skorg.
"I realize that. I still intend to visit
this planet on my own."
"With
typical Earthman energy," Beryaal noted. "Very well; what is this
planet you suspect?"
"Ill
file
my report when I return," said Catton.
Beryaal leaned forward. "It would be
safer if you told us now. That way we could arrange for your protection, you
see.
"And
in the event of an accident to you," added the Skorg coldly, "we
would know which planet it was you suspected. It is not wise to withhold
information of such importance, Cat-ton."
"All
right," the Earthman said. "Be it hereby read into our records, then.
I'm requesting a leave of absence from my Commission duties in order to make a
journey to Skorg."
Merikh eMerikh reacted as if he had been
slapped.
The thin, angular being jerked upright and goggled
amazedly at Catton.
"Skorg?
You
claim the hypnojewel traffic originates on Skorg?"
"I
make no claims," Catton said quietly to the outraged Skorg. "I simply
want to check."
"This accusation is perhaps a trifle
rash," Pouin Beryaal said slowly. "One must consider that crime
prevention on Skorg is well organized, and that—"
"One must consider
nothing," Catton snapped. "I'm leaving for Skorg immediately. If I
find anything, 111 let you know."
Uruod, the Arenaddin, said in his gentle
voice, "It is wrong for the delegate from Skorg to take the statement of
the delegate from Earth as a personal insult. The honor of Skorg is not
impugned."
Catton smiled thankfully at the blubbery
Arenaddin. "I've made no accusations. For that matter, it might be wise to
intensify investigation on Arenadd too—and on Morilar. There's no reason to
assume that these hypnojewels necessarily come from outside the galactic core.
I had hoped to get-some information out of the men I brought in today,
but—" He gestured expressively.
"Very
well," Pouin Beryaal said with obvious reluctance. "The delegate from
Earth
is,
of course, free to conduct investigations
wherever he pleases. Well manage to'carry on by ourselves until your return,
Catton."
"Glad to hear it," the Earthman
snapped. The meeting was rapidly degenerating into a backbiting contest; and,
though the Arenaddin had attempted to act as a kind of moderator, Catton was
aware that the true alignment was Beryaal, eMerikh, and Uruod against him.
These aliens obviously did not want an Earthman stealing their thunder. He was
on the Commission solely for the sake of appearances, because it was felt to
be a measure of loosening the tension that bound the galaxy since the emergence
of Earth as a major power. But they had never expected the Earth delegate to go
charging around investigating such worlds as Skorg.
Well,
they had no choice, Catton thought. They had a-greed to accept a delegate from
Earth, and now they were stuck with him.
"Do
you plan to make the trip alone?" Beryaal asked. "Or will you accept
the use of the Commission staff?"
"I could use a few
assistants," Catton said. "Ill
need
an
interpreter, for one thing—I'm anything but fluent in the Skorg language. Ill
also need an administrative adjutant, and a personal secretary.
Three men; that ought to be sufficient."
"Will
you make the necessary travel arrangements yourself?"
"Ill arrange for the passage, yes, out
of my allotted expense fund," said the Earthman. "My passport isn't
validated for
Skorg,
merely because I wasn't
originally planning to go there, but I'm certain that my colleague eMerikh
will help me make the necessary visa arrangements, and that there'll be no
difficulties on that score."
Catton glanced inquisitively at the Skorg, who nodded
stiffly. Catton was certain that the tortured Morilaru had let
slip something about their source of supply being on Skorg
,
and that Beryaal and eMerikh had agreed between them-
selves to keep that fact from the records. No wonder they
were annoyed at having Catton pop up with the same in-
formation, and, worse, embedding it inextricably in the Com-
mission minutes. It was too late for Beryaal and eMerikh
to do anything but acquiesce, now. Catton had successfully
boxed them in.
v
Catton rose.
"Is there any further business to be
discussed at this meeting?" he asked.
"No," Beryaal said. "I merely
wished to present the results of the interrogation."
"Those
results having duly been presented," Catton said, "I intend to leave
now. You can reach me at the Terran Embassy, eMerikh, when you've obtained a
visitor's permit for me."
"I will contact you then," the
Skorg said.
Catton nodded to them, turned, and left the
meeting room. It was late in the day, now. Some of the heat had left the air.
He smiled as he thought of how discomforted his fellow Commission members had
been. But their motives troubled him. Why hide information? Why object to his
going to Skorg? It was a poor prognosis when he couldn't even trust the alleged
forces of crime prevention on these worlds.
He
decided to leave for Skorg on the first available flight. Perhaps, he thought,
the trail might be less muddy there. But he doubted it. He realized that forces
were operating on levels deeper than he suspected; the only thing certain was
that Earth stood to lose in the coming maneuver for galactic power, if these
worlds had their way.
VHI.
Two
days
later
, a Terran Embassy
autombile deposited Carton at the passenger desk of the Dyelleran Spaceport. In
the Earthman's pocket was a ticket for a first-class passage, round trip from
Morilar to Skorg and back, aboard the Skorg Spacelines vessel,
Silver Spear.
Two days of feverish preparation had
preceded Catton's arrival at the spaceport.
It
had been necessary to obtain an entry visa for Skorg; some fast subradio
communication had taken care of that matter, with the more or less willing
cooperation of Merikh eMerikh and the local Skorg Ambassador. It had also been
necessary, for Catton's own protection, for him to receive a neural block
inhibiting his sense of smell; the planetary odor of Skorg was something to
make strong men blanch. And, for the same reason and at the same time, he had
received a metabolic booster shot designed to reduce production of the bodily
secretions that made an Earthman's smell so intolerable to a Skorg.
Thus
fortified, Catton was ready to go. Three Morilaru attaches accompanied him, as
he requested. Untroubled by budget restrictions, Catton had lightheartedly
purchased first-class passages for the four of them on the twelve-day voyage—a
matter of some eight thousand thrones, or better than $10,000 Terran, for the
four tickets. The
Silver
Spear
was a luxury liner.
It was virtually a spaceborne city, holding nearly eight hundred passengers.
Catton and his three men, with their
diplomatic visas, passed through the emigration desks with no trouble, and
boarded the ship two hours before blastoff. The three aides said litde as they
inspected their magnificent staterooms. Either they were not impressed, or else
they were too overwhelmed by the luxury to be able to comment.
Alone, Catton surveyed his room with awe. It
was twice the size of the cabin he had occupied on the Terran liner coming to
Morilar, and that had been one of Earth's finest passenger vessels. On the
Silver Spear
his room was carpeted with thick broadloom,
hung with noise-cushioning drapes, furnished with a handsome record player, a
supply of music tapes, a video set which could tap the ship's immense library
of Skorg films, and other elegant appurtenances. He sprawled out on the
oversized bed, clamped his learning-disk of Skorg to his ear, and settled down
for a couple of hours of intensive study of the Skorg language before blastoff
time came.
An hour later, his cabin door chimed; Catton
nudged the remote-wave opener and the door slid into its oiled niche. A Skorg
in the uniform of a crewman waited in the corridor outside his room.
The Skorg bowed obsequiously, a gesture that
looked strange coming from a member of that austere-faced species. "I am
your steward, Mr. Catton," the Skorg said, in Morilaru. "If you lack
anything, be sure to call upon me."
"Thanks," Catton
said, using the Skorg word.
"Blastoff is in thirty minutes. When the
signal comes, please go to your bed and remain on it until we enter free
nulldrive. Dinner will be served one hour after the entry into warp, sir."
The steward bowed again and moved off down
the hall. Catton closed the door, resetting his learning-disk and focusing his
concentration once again on the difficult inflections of the Skorg tongue.
Blastoff
was right on schedule. A speaker grid in the ceiling of his stateroom came to
sudden life and advised him purringly in Skorg, Morilaru, and Arenaddin to
remain on his bed until further word. Catton wondered what happened if you
didn't understand any of the languages the instructions had been delivered in.
You didn't travel the Skorg lines, in that case, he decided.
There was a countdown, in Skorg numbers. When
it got down toward the final numbers Catton tensed involuntarily, waiting for
the thrust of blastoff to jam him down against the spun foam of his bed.
".
. . drog. . . .
. .
halk-segan. . . .
".
. . zhuur. . . .
".
. . naair
Naal.
Zero! But there was no fist of acceleration on the final count. Catton
felt a momentary pressure, flattening him gendy against the bed, but it was so
light a push that he could have remained upright through it without difficulty.
Evidendy on a Skorg luxury liner, one traveled in
luxury.
Blastoff had been so thoroughly cushioned,
probably by contragrav, that it almost seemed like an inertialess drive was at
work.