Entities: The Selected Novels of Eric Frank Russell (39 page)

Charles murmured, “They fitted that gate with a wonderlock containing fourteen tricky wards. Then they fitted the lock itself with an alarm guaranteed to scream bloody murder the moment anyone tried to tamper with it. Finally, they included a cut-off for the alarm in the attendant’s room so that it wouldn’t operate while he was dealing with a caller.” He gave a loud sniff. “That’s what I call ingenuity carried to the point of imbecility.”

“Not necessarily,” Raven differed. “They designed that layout solely for coping with their own kind, mutant or nonmutant. It is quite adequate for such a limited purpose. Dealing with Denebs—or the likes of you and me—is quite another problem. Thorstern and all his hosts would have a deuce of a time trying to solve it.”

“I suppose you’re right. That gate comes near to the unbustable according to this world’s notions of unbustability.” Charles ran deceitfully dull-witted eyes over the big door and the black rock around it. “Do you see what I see?”

“Yes, there’s an invisible light beam across the passage just behind the door. Open the door and break the beam and curfew rings tonight.”

“Everything to delay us,” grumbled Charles, impatient of time-wasting futilities. “You would think they’d done it deliberately.” He glanced down at his paunch, feeling that frequent inspection never made it any smaller, added in mournful tones, “This is where we're handicapped by our disguise. Without it we could go straight in.”

“The same applied a few minutes ago. We're dealing with men and therefore must do things somewhat like men.” He eyed Charles with mild humor. “We
are 
men, aren’t we?”

“No—some of us are women.”

“You know what I mean, Gusty. We are men and women.”

“Of course. But sometimes I—” His voice trailed off, his plump face quirked, then he said, “That brings back a thought to me, David. I stew it over from time to time.”

“What is it?”

“How many horses really are horses? How many dogs really are dogs?”

“Well, that is something to look into after more urgent and important business has been settled,” Raven opined. “It will be an interest to divert us through a few millennia to come.” He gestured toward the door. “Right now there’s this little trap. The beam has to be switched off whenever anyone answers the door from inside. Following the lines back to the switch is going to take a bit of time if it’s deep inside the place.”

“You trace the lines while I tend to the door,” suggested Charles. “One man, one job.”

He got on with his part straightaway. It involved no more than standing with hands in pockets and staring intently at the obstacle.

Meanwhile, Raven gazed with equal concentration at the thick rock to one side. On the face of it there was nothing to see worth seeing, nevertheless his pupils shifted slowly, moving rightward, rising and falling occasionally.

Neither made further remark. Each engrossed in his own special task, they stood side by side, unmoving, and stared to the front as if transfixed by a supernatural apparition, invisible to all but themselves. After a short while, Charles relaxed but was careful not to disturb the other.

Half a minute later Raven likewise eased up, said, “The lines go along a corridor then down a passage to the right and into a small anteroom. The switch made a loud click when it snapped up but luckily the room was empty.”

Bracing a hand against the door he gave it a shove. It swung inward, heavily, soundlessly. The two stepped through, closed it behind them, walked along a narrow corridor illuminated by sunken ceiling lights. Their manner had the casual confidence of people who purchased the castle last week and plan to furnish it tomorrow.

“All this gives some indication of the psychology of Thorstern,” Raven remarked. “The bolts and bars and invisible light beams could be detected by any mutant endowed with first-class extra-sensory perception, though he’d be unable to do anything about them. On the other hand, a teleport could manipulate the lot without any trouble whatsoever, if only he could see them. So the place is wide open to a multi-talented mutant such as a teleport with e.s.p. Thorstern proceeds on the assumption that there is no such creature, or anything resembling such a creature. He’ll hate to think he’s wrong.”

“He isn’t wrong so far as multi-talented humans are concerned.”

“Not yet. Not today. But someday he may be. That fellow Haller was classified as a pyrotic and no more, yet he realized too much the moment I touched him. He’d got a rudimentary form of e.s.p. and didn’t know it himself until that moment. He’d got one and one-tenths mutational talents.”

“A freak,” said Charles.

“Yes, you could call him that. So Brother Thorstern is going to be anything but amiable when confronted by two freakier freaks such as ourselves. Being a pawn, even though a clever one, his attitude toward mutants is determined by suppressed fear rather than open jealousy.”

“That’s a handicap considering that our purpose is to persuade him to see reason.” “Your Finger is right on the sore spot, Charles. It’s not going to be easy to knock sense into a powerful and ruthless individual motivated by fear. And it’s so much the harder when you dare not show him why his suppositions are wrong and his fears utterly groundless.”

“Have you ever imagined which of a thousand possible reactions this world would favor were we free to tell it a few cogent things?” asked Charles.

“Yes, many a time. But what is the use of speculating about it? Someday the Denebs are sure to get this far. The less they learn, the better.”

“The odds are at least a million to one against them finding anything worth the discovery.” Charles was very sure of himself on this point. “Look at Tashgar and Lumina and the Bootes group. They explored the lot, treated the life-forms thereon with contempt and beat it elsewhere, searching, searching, always searching and never getting any place. They’d go clean crazy if they knew that a hundred times over they’ve found what they’re looking for but couldn’t recognize it when it was right in their hands.” He permitted himself a sardonic chuckle. “The Denebs are geniuses who lack the elementary ability to put two and two together and make it four.”

“In given circumstances the addition of two and two can be a really tough mathematical problem,” Raven pointed out. “Sometimes I feel sorry for the Denebs. If I were in their shoes I’d become boiling mad at frequent intervals and—”

He let the subject drop as they reached the end of the corridor, turned into the right-hand passage and found several men walking toward them.

Before any one of this small bunch had time to react to his suspicions, Raven said brightly and with disarming confidence, “Pardon me, can you tell me the way to Mr. Thorstern’s room?”

He was answered by a burly man in the middle who bore himself with a touch of authority. “First turn on the left, second door on the left.”

“Thanks.”

They stood aside to let Raven and Charles go past, watched in silence as the pair strolled by them. Their expressions said nothing but their minds were shouting their inmost thoughts.

“Any caller for Thorstern is met at the gate and conducted to his room. How come these two are ambling around on their own?”

“Something out of kilter here,” pondered a second one. “Not usual for visitors to be left on the loose; in fact, it never happens.”

A third was saying to himself, “I don’t like this. Why don’t I like it? Is it because I haven’t enough worries of my own? I’ve got plenty!” His thoughts veered away. “To heck with them!”

“Second door on the left, eh?” projected a fourth mind, amused and unworried. “Gargan thought fast when he gave them that one. Trust him to play safe. That’s why he never gets anywhere, he always plays safe.”

The first one, who was Gargan, resumed by deciding, “The moment they get around that next bend I’ll give the boss a warning buzz.” He commenced edging toward a wall-stud.

Turning the corner, Raven threw Charles a knowing glance, found the second door to the left, paused before it.

I can pick up a hopeless tangle of thought-streams but not one that says it’s coming from Thorstern.” He nodded toward the door. “And there are no active minds behind that. The room is empty. Not a soul inside it.” Studying the blank panels for a moment, he added, “Half a dozen chairs, a table and a screen cabinet for intercommunication. The walls are solid rock. The door can be sealed by remote control, opened only by remote control. H’m!”

“The better mouse-trap,” defined Charles. His fat face developed creases around the mouth. It gave him the look of a child about to break somebody’s window. “Just the sort of place I like to enter to show how little I care.”

“Me too.” Raven gave the door a push. It opened without trouble, Going inside, he relaxed in a chair, eyed the blank screen.

Charles took a seat beside him, making the chair squeak under his bulk. He also turned his attention to the screen but his mind—like Raven’s—probed carefully in all directions and tried to sort out the incoherent babble coming through surrounding stonework.

“I was holding two aces when, durn me ... a typical Martian joint with cold air and warm beer . . . went up with a bang that shook the entire town. We ran for a copter while Intelligence was still. . . got blonde hair that reaches down to her knees . . . left the Terran patrols spinning like dizzy ... so this stinking skewboy reads my thoughts and beats me to the dame and . . . yes, a hypno named Steen. They wanted him badly, I don’t know ... I tell you these skewboys aren’t to be . . .
what’s that?”

“Here it comes,” remarked Raven, licking his lips.

“This Steen, it is said that he . . .
Where? Two in Room Ten? How did they get inside?.
.. fed up with Mars in short time. Don’t know how guys can ...
All right, Gargan, leave it to me . .
. when you’ve finished with the green bottle maybe we can . . . dived headlong into the forest and dug himself a hole twenty feet deep.”

Click!
went the door as relays operated and a dozen heavy bolts slid home. The screen glowed to life, swirled and colored. A face appeared.

“So Gargan was right. What are you two doing there?”

“Sitting and waiting,” said Raven. He stretched out his legs, gave a picture of one making himself thoroughly at home.

“I can see that. You’ve not much choice about it now.” The face exposed a toothy and unpleasant smirk. “The guard at the gate swears that nobody has been admitted. Nevertheless, you two are here. There’s only one answer to that: you’re a pair of hypnos, You took him over and then wiped the marks off his brain.” The smirk gave way to a harsh laugh. “Very clever of you. But look where it’s got you. See if you can hypnotize a scanner.”

“You seem to think it’s a crime to be a hypno,” said Raven dexterously kicking the sore spot in a typical pawn-mind.

“It’s a crime for a hypno to use his power for illegal purposes,” the other retorted. “And just in case you don’t know, it’s a crime to break into a private residence.”

Conscious that all this was a waste of time, Raven growled, “In my considered opinion, it’s also a crime for a thick-headed underling to amuse himself indulging adolescent triumph and let his own boss go hang.” His face hardened. “We’ve come to talk to Thorstern. Better get him before someone paddles some sense into your tight end.”

“Why, you loudmouthed marsh-stink!” began the other, going livid. “I could—”

“You could what, Vinson?” inquired a deep, resonant voice that came clearly from the cabinet’s loudspeaker. “It is a great mistake to lose one’s temper. One should retain control of it at all times. At all times, Vinson. To whom are you speaking?”

Charles gave Raven a gentle nudge. “That sounds like the almighty Thorstern himself.”

The face in the screen had turned sidewise and become submissive. “It’s a couple of skewboys, sir. They busted in somehow. We’ve pinned them down in Room Ten.”

“Indeed?” The voice was rich, calm, unhurried. “Have they offered any reason for such precipitate action?”

“They say they want to talk to you.”

“Dear me! I know no justification for gratifying their desire. On the contrary, it would establish a precedent. I would be expected to hobnob with any and every eccentric who managed to crawl through the walls. Do they think I’m at everybody’s beck and call?”

“Don’t know, sir.”

The invisible speaker changed his mind. “Oh, well, providing this occasion is not used as a pretext to cover future ones, I might as well hear what they have to say. There’s a remote chance I might learn something useful. I can deal with them most effectively,
most
effectively if it proves that they are trifling with me.”

Servilely, “Yes, sir.”

The face slipped off the screen, was replaced by another, large, muscular, square-jowled. Thorstern was well past middle age, had a thick mop of white hair, deep bags under his eyes, but was still handsome in a virile way. His character was engraved upon these broad features, intelligent, ambitious.

His calculating eyes estimated Charles first, taking in all details from feet to head, then moved to the other.

Without slightest evidence of surprise, he said, “Ah, I know you! Only a couple of minutes ago I received a copy of your picture. The name is David Raven.”

Raven gazed back level-eyed. “Now why on earth should you want a picture of
me?”

“I did not want it,” riposted Thorstern, too quick-witted to admit anything even by implication. “It was thrust upon me by our authorities who, on this planet, can lay fair claim to efficiency. Your photograph is being circulated. Apparently our police are most anxious to get hold of you.”

“I wonder why?” said Raven, pretending puzzlement.

Harumphing to clear his throat, Thorstern continued, “A person in my position would be gravely embarrassed were he to be found harboring a wanted man. Therefore if you have anything to say you'd better say it quickly, because you haven’t got long.”

“After which—?”

Thorstern’s broad shoulders rose in an expressive shrug. It was done in the manner of a Roman emperor turning thumbs down.