Phase Two
JOKER IN THE PACK
Conrad held his conference in the saloon. Lieutenant Smith and Kurt Kwango, being very recently out of S.A., were ravenously hungry. Conrad watched them attack massive genuine Scotch steaks washed down with real red wine. Even on Earth, such a meal would have cost a very great deal. Add to that the cost of transporting such food fifty-six light-years, and the meal was worth more than its weight in platinum. Conrad had satisfied his own intense protein hunger some time ago. It was odd, he reflected, how everyone coming out of S.A. had this tremendous protein hunger. No doubt the medicos would explain it in terms of temporary alterations in body chemistry caused by the shock of being returned to normal temperature.
Well, he reflected, let them both enjoy their luxury. Soon they would be eating synthetic concentrates, recycled food, or living on whatever Tantalus would provide. Indira, he thought, was already beginning to look her usual attractive self. The white hair was a perfect frame for her delicate features and for the subtly light Indian skin. He remembered, briefly, the ten days they had spent together in the North West Highlands of Scotland, after returning from Kratos. A wonderful ten days to be locked away in some secret part of the mind and be treasured for ever. He pushed the memory back into its dark mental capsule.
Until Tantalus was proved, he did not want to take it out again. Until Tantalus was proved, he supposed, Indira would have to be Lieutenant Smith, Second-in-Command, Expendables Team Two.
Kwango seemed to be in great form. Unlike the last time, when Surgeon Lieutenant Smith had had to cut out his dead heart and implant a new one. The Nigerian ecologist had a magnificent physique, which showed little trace of the fact that his mother was German. The negro genes were dominant.
“So, Boss, we got problems,” said Kwango with a broad smile. “Somebody wants to bust up de party, and we don’t know who it is.”
“We must not take it for granted that there is a saboteur in the cooler,” said Conrad. “For all we know, the four recruits still on ice may be first class Expendables. The training programme showed that they were all outstanding.”
“It would,” retorted Kwango. “Anybody planted would have to prove that he—or she—was damn good… No, Commander. They didn’t send you that message just to make you nervous. If we assume that one or more of our cool friends is going to remain cool towards us when brought up to room temperature, we may live a little longer.”
“Have you had a chance to look at their files again?” asked Lieutenant Smith.
Conrad nodded. “It didn’t make me any wiser. In theory, Alexei Pushkin, being Russian, should be above suspicion. He was convicted for murdering his wife. Oddly, she was a U.N. delegate. Even more oddly, at a press conference, she went on record as saying that Third World countries were already getting too much aid and doing little to help themselves. She said that unless various South American and Arab countries accepted a strict programme of birth control, they ought to be left to fend for themselves. Incidentally, the motive for murder established at Pushkin’s trial was jealousy. It seems the late Mrs. Pushkin was pretty generous with her favours— particularly where they might help her political career.”
Kwango gave a low whistle. “So Alexei, our friend and brother, might have knocked her off not for laying but for saying?”
Conrad gave a faint smile. “Precisely. We have a similar difficulty with Lisa Uhlmann. Though she is American, her particular crime consisted of holding the U.S. Ambassador to Mexico for ransom. She wanted the U.S. to increase its aid to Latin-American countries by fifteen
per cent
. And how do you like that?”
“Not greatly, Boss.” Kwango laughed. “But, as your resident genius, I now proclaim that a pattern is going to emerge. We are going to find reasons for suspecting all four. Right?”
“Right.”
“Wrong,” said Lieutenant Smith. “Ruth Zonis is an Israeli. I got to know her fairly well on the training programme. She is absolutely dedicated to the programme of extra-solar colonisation. Also, she comes from a small but highly efficient country that solved all its own problems the hard way and now has a highly integrated and independent economy. She has no motive for aiding and abetting Third World blackmail.”
“Ruth Zonis,” said Conrad drily, “is a very idealistic woman. She was one of a team of Israelis sentenced to twenty years hard labour by an Egyptian court for trying to lift just about half the treasures of the Pharaohs from Cairo Museum. The aim was a subtle one. They were not trying to gain anything directly for Israel. That would have brought about yet another Arab-Israeli conflict. They simply wanted to blackmail U.N. into giving the Arab countries the know-how and the resources for turning their deserts into fertile agricultural lands. That way, they thought, it would be possible to cool the old Arab-Israeli feud for good.”
Lieutenant Smith shook her head. “I still think Lisa would not dream of sabotage. She is not stupid. She knows that the colonisation programme is set apart from any political manoeuvres on Earth. It isn’t dominated by American or Russian or Third World thinking. She knows that the long-range issue is simply racial survival.”
“And I bet she also knows,” said Kwango drily, “that if ExPEND folded, the Arabs would get a lot more aid. Idealists are very dangerous people.” He grinned. “Especially if they happen to be women.”
Lieutenant Smith said nothing, merely contenting herself with gazing at Kwango coldly.
“The Number One Suspect, of course,” resumed Conrad, “is Ahmed Khelad. Ironically, he was on the same kick as Zonis. Only Khelad tackled it the Ar
a
b way. He and three of his friends took over a fully laden jumbo passenger rocket at Kennedy. They threatened to lift off and come down with a bump on the U.N. building if aid to North African countries was not increased by several billion solars. Fortunately, that kind of gambit had been anticipated. Three C.I.A. agents were already aboard. There was a shoot-out, and the Arabs were chopped before they could blow the rocket. All the C.I.A. men died, and so did all the Arabs except Khelad.” He gave a grim smile. “An American matron threw herself on him before he could trigger the charges.”
“So,” said Kwango, almost gaily, “we are left with the following range of possibilities—in descending order of absurdity. One, all four of our chilled comrades are saboteurs; two, none of our chilled comrades are saboteurs; three, one or more are saboteurs.”
Conrad shrugged. “I’m afraid that is about it.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Indira.
“As Kurt would say: let us consider the options. One, we keep them all in the cooler and try to prove the planet ourselves. Two, we bring them out of S.A. and proceed as if we had not a care in the world. Three, we get them up and caution them that one may be a saboteur. That forewarns the joker, of course—if there is a joker—but it also forewarns the others.”
“There is a fourth option, Boss.” Kwango smiled. “It may have escaped your notice because your I.Q. is somewhat less than mine.”
Conrad let out a sigh. “Kurt, don’t let yourself get fined one booze ration for insubordination so early in the game. Now, what is the fourth option?”
“We only take three out. We don’t tell them anything; but we ensure that one of us is always working with one of them. That way, if there are any ‘accidents’ we will know who the naughty boy or girl is.”
Indira said: “It’s the best suggestion yet.”
Conrad was silent for a while. “It’s probably the best form of insurance that can be devised,” he said. “But it won’t work for long. There will be far too much to do for the three of us.”
“I know that, Commander,” said Kwango. “We can work out a shift system with, at certain times, one of us supervising two or maybe all three simultaneously. If there is a sabotage merchant with us, I’m betting it won’t be too long before the action starts. Also, the stress factor may become apparent before he or she presses the button.” A thought seemed to strike him. “I suppose it has to be a kami-haze job?”
Conrad nodded. “I think so. If one survivor managed to get back to Terra in the
Santa Maria
, he’d get the polygraph treatment, truth drugs—the lot. And then the whole thing would be blown.”
Kwango brightened. “Good. That makes it easier. Someone who knows he is under sentence of death has to be pretty damn good not to lose his cool.”
“What about us?” asked Indira. “The stress factor may cause one of us to crack too.”
Kwango
shrugged. “It may,” he conceded. “But this is not our first mission. We have had it rough before and we haven’t cracked. Also, we only
think
we may get smashed. If there is a saboteur, he
knows
he is heading for de big dark. There’s a difference.”
Conrad said: “Supposing I do accept your suggestion, Kurt. There’s still the problem of who we leave in the cooler, and how we explain this decision to the others.”
Kwango laughed. “No problem, Massa Boss.”
“Cut the Uncle Tom stuff,” said Conrad gently, “or I’ll pound your hard black head into a jelly.”
“Kindly note, Lieutenant,” said Kwango, “dat de good Commander shows signs of being de fust to crack. Mebbe he is de bad man we bin lookin’ for.”
Conrad raised his prosthetic arm menacingly.
“Sorry, Boss,” said Kwango hastily. “My sense of humour runs away with me at times… The choice obviously lies between Pushkin and Khelad. Logically, we have to bring out Zonis and Uhlmann.”
“Why?” enquired Lieutenant Smith.
“Because women are more vulnerable than men,” said Kwango with a hint of malice. “Saving your presence, Lieutenant, this is something I know from personal experience.”
Conrad gave a faint smile. “He’s right, of course… Women are more vulnerable.” He gave Indira a sly glance. “But that does not necessarily make them any easier to deal with. Still, if either Zonis or Uhlmann is the bad apple, we should stand a reasonable chance of finding out before it is too late.”
“Don’t underestimate women,” retorted Lieutenant Smith. “The female can be more deadly than the male. There’s still the problem of who we leave in S.A. And there is the additional problem of how we explain it to the rest.”
Kwango gave a big smile. “No problem about the explanation, Lieutenant. The heart is all bust up—like mine was when we went to Kratos. You gave me a new heart while we were in orbit. But they don’t know that. You can say you can’t operate in zero G.”
“Agreed,” said Conrad. “At least it buys us some time. I have my own ideas about who should remain chilled, but I would like to have both your recommendations.”
“Khelad,” said Kwango.
“Pushkin,” said Lieutenant Smith.
“Why? You first, Lieutenant.”
“Because I don’t believe Pushkin is the kind of man to commit what the French call
crime passionel
… I like him. His record shows that he is a brilliant engineer. Also he is an International Grand Master of chess. I do not think he would kill because of sexual jealousy.
If
we have a saboteur, Alexei Pushkin is a strong candidate. He is the kind of man who would not destroy for personal motives but only for ideas.”
“Well, Kwango?”
“I go along with much of what Lieutenant Smith says. Alexei is a nice guy, but very cerebral… Boss, I declare my prejudices. I don’t like Arabs. They were the first slavers. They sold my people into slavery long before the first white man cut himself in on the percentage. They are real tough when the odds are with them; but when the odds are against them, they melt into the night. History shows they have a weakness for dark alleys and knives. Tantalus is a dark alley, and I am betting that Khelad has a sharp knife.” ,
“That’s settled, then,” said Conrad. “We keep Pushkin chilled.”
Kwango was amazed. “Why, Commander?”
“Because if Khelad is the one, the sooner we find out, the better our chances of survival. I will delay touch-down for a while, on some pretext or other. He would doubtless have many excellent opportunities once we begin the proving programme. But while the
Santa Maria
remains in orbit, his opportunities will be more limited. Naturally, I shall do my best to limit the access of all our new comrades to sensitive areas of the vessel. The robots can help. I will have one on permanent duty in the engine-room and other sensitive areas. They will be instructed not to allow anyone to pass unless accompanied by one of us.”
At that moment, Matthew came into the saloon.
“Permission to report, sir?”
“Permission granted.”
“Luke has remained on observation duty on the navigation deck, as you required, Commander. He reports that there are two bright objects, provisionally classified as satellites or moons, orbiting the planet Tantalus.”
“So what?” snapped Conrad irritably. “Luke is a bloody—” Then the implication hit him.
“Query, sir. What bloody object—presumed—is Luke?”
“Cancel statement. What data has Luke acquired?”
“Satellite one, designated as moon of Tantalus, conforms to mass, orbit and velocity as reported by robot probe. Identification positive. Satellite two was not reported by robot probe. Mass estimated at one point five million tonnes, Earth norm at G one. Orbit eccentric. Present distance from
Santa Maria’s
orbit two hundred and forty thousand kilometres approximately, Relative velocity three thousand one hundred kilometres per hour, approaching.” Conrad stood up. “Let’s get to the navigation deck on the double.”