Entities: The Selected Novels of Eric Frank Russell (97 page)

Thomas, quickly: “You’ve got me wrong. What I meant was that as Lathian casualties mount up the number of unattached Willies will increase. Obviously even the best of Willies cannot control a corpse, can he? There will be lots more Willies loafing around in proportion to the number of Lathian survivors.”

Shomuth “Yes, I see what you mean. And it will create a psychic problem of great seriousness.” Pause. “Now, Captain Thomas, have you any reason to suppose that a large number of partnerless Willies might be able to seize control of another and different lifeform? Such as my own species for example?”

Thomas, with enough menace to deserve a space-medal: “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Shomuth: “You don’t know for sure?”

Thomas: “No.”

Shomuth “It is true, is it not, that you are aware of the real Lathian nature only because you have been warned of it by your Eustace?”

Thomas, startled: “By my
what?”

Shomuth: “By your
Eustace.
Why should that surprise you?”

Thomas, recovering swiftly enough to earn a bar to the medal: “I thought you said Useless. Silly of me. Yes, my Eustace. You’re dead right there.”

Shomuth, in lower tones: “There are more than four hundred Terran prisoners here. That means more than four hundred Eustaces wandering around unchallenged on this planet. Correct?”

Thomas: “I am unable to deny it.”

Shomuth: “The Lathian heavy cruiser
Veder
crashed on landing and was a total loss. The Lathians attributed it to an error of judgment on the part of the crew. But that was just three days after you prisoners were brought here. Was it a mere coincidence?”

Thomas, scintillating: “Work it out for yourself.”

Shomuth: “You realize that so far as we are concerned your refusal to reply is as good as an answer?”

Thomas: “Construe it any way you like. I will not betray Terran military secrets.”

Shomuth: “All right. Let me try you on something else. The biggest fuel dump in this part of the galaxy is located a few degrees south of here. A week ago it blew up to total destruction. The loss was a severe one; it will handicap the Combine fleets for quite a time to come.”

Thomas, with enthusiasm: “Cheers!”

Shomuth: “Lathian technicians theorize that a static spark caused a leaking tank to explode and that set off the rest in rapid succession. We can always trust technicians to come up with a glib explanation.”

Thomas: “Well, what’s wrong with it?”

Shomuth: “That dump has been established for more than four years. No static sparks have caused trouble during that time.”

Thomas: “What are you getting at?”

Shomuth, pointedly: “You have admitted yourself that more than four hundred Eustaces are roaming this area, free to do as they please.”

Thomas, in tones of stern patriotism: “I am admitting nothing. I refuse to answer any more questions.”

Shomuth: “Has your Eustace prompted you to say that?”

Silence.

Shomuth: “If your Eustace is now present, can I question him through you?” No reply.

Switching off, the Commandant said, “There you are. Eight other Terran officers gave more or less the same evidence. The rest tried to conceal the facts but, as you have heard, they failed. Zangasta himself has listened to the taped records and is deeply concerned about the situation.”

“He needn’t worry his head about it,” Leeming offered.

“Why not?”

“It’s all a lot of bunk, a put-up job. There was collusion between my Eustace and theirs.”

The Commandant looked sour. “As you emphasized at our last meeting, there cannot be collusion without Eustaces, so it makes no difference either way.”

“I’m glad you can see it at last.”

“Let it pass,” chipped in Pallam impatiently. “It is of no consequence. The confirmatory evidence is adequate no matter how we look at it.”

Thus prompted, the Commandant continued, “I have been doing some investigating myself. In two years we’ve had a long series of small-scale troubles with the Rigellians, none of them really serious. But after you arrived there comes a big break that obviously must have been planned long before you turned up but soon afterward took place in circumstances suggesting outside help. Whence came this assistance?”

“Not telling,” said Leeming knowingly.

“At one time or another eight of my guards earned your enmity by assaulting you. Of these, four are now in hospital badly injured, two more are to be drafted to the fighting front. I presume that it is only a matter of time before the remaining two are plunged into trouble?”

“The other two have arbitrated and earned forgiveness. Nothing will happen to them.”

“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. “It is an old-established practice and a necessary deterrent.”

“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 subconsciously,” 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 bothers 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 ready 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 scale vaster 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 been trying to lift himself over the wall with his tongue. Now they were taking his story and plastering it all over the galaxy. Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive!

“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 walk 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 night-times 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 qualms of conscience even if belatedly,” 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 the 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 nosiness and kept 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.