J. F. Bone, page 18
“That remains to be proved,” Marlin said, but behind the voice lay uncertainty.
“You never found an addict among my staff, did you?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No,” he admitted, “and I thought the charge was phony. But the local Medical Association had your girl Sofra dead to rights on that illegal practice charge. And the mayor got in the act on account of his nephew. The drug evidence was concealed because we don’t want the public to know about tonocaine. But it affected the verdict. We should never have brought the girls to trial, but the mayor wanted blood, and I couldn’t stop it once it started. Your Sofra has a poor reputation. She’s been involved in a number of shady deals that never came to court.”
I wished the Old Man had a bit more iron in his pants. He wasn’t a bad guy, but once he let the initiative slip, he lost it completely.
“Where’s Dawson?” I asked.
“No way. You’re not going near him.”
“Why not? He’s mine. He leaned on my girls, and I want to lean on him.”
“Don’t be a fool, Williams. He’s not yours, he belongs to the law. And he wasn’t to blame for what he did to your—er—”
“Zelda,” I said.
“She broke a bottle of formaldehyde over his head.”
“Before or after he hit her?”
“The evidence isn’t clear on that point. She says after. He says before.”
“He’s a liar.”
“Maybe, but we can’t prove it. Anyway, I can’t blame him too much. A formaldehyde shower isn’t pleasant. It raises hell with the eyes and mucous membranes. Dawson was hospitalized for a week.”
“Good for Zelda! Now maybe that bastard’ll leave honest folks alone.” I chuckled. “I’ll bet he didn’t do much after that stuff hit him.”
“As a matter of fact he didn’t. His partner Officer Zeihlski made the arrest.”
“Do me a favor,” I said. “Give me Dawson for twenty minutes.”
“No way. I’m going to put you in protective custody, hold you incommunicado and keep you safe until we’re ready for your evidence.”
“What about Sofra?’
“Well—what about her?”
“I married her in Bluestone, and brought her back with me.”
“Oh, she’ll keep. No one will bother her. She’s not important now. You’re the material witness.”
“If you don’t give her protection, she’ll be snatched to shut my mouth—and it will shut it.”
“No dice. All we’d do is call attention to her.”
“Gratitude, thy name is Marlin,” I replied.
Marlin looked at me. “All right, let’s go downstairs.”
I resisted on principle, and Marlin growled at me. But, it was all strictly routine, and I was presently installed in a nice, quiet windowless cell. The scanners gave an impression of windows and I had a good view of the Hub. It was as though I was up in the penthouse rather than three stories underground. There was even a private John in a little room by itself.
The days passed while Headquarters laid plans. Sofra wanted me out, but Marlin talked her out of it when she phoned in. She didn’t like it, but she did as she was told, and stayed away from police headquarters. Her appearance would only complicate an already sticky situation, and since Marlin didn’t mind her being in town and would do nothing as long as she stayed out of sight, she stayed out of sight. As far as I was concerned, the enforced rest did me good and I slept better than I had in weeks.
Waiting wasn’t easy, particularly since the action at Trader’s Roost had certainly alarmed the gang. But there wasn’t a thing I could do except grind my teeth and hope everything came off all right. I’d done my part. Now it was a strategic rather than a tactical problem and in the bailiwick of Commissioner Crowninshield and Inspector Lantham.
It was almost a week before Headquarters gave the go ahead signal. I don’t think time has ever dragged more slowly. I’ll never forget the feeling when the cops hauled the first arrest into the pokey. The operation was rolling now. H-Day had been beaten. I could imagine that all over Arthe the police were moving just as they were here. It was a comforting thought.
* * *
CHAPTER XIX
« ^ »
In Dunkelburg the police ran into trouble almost immediately. Apparently the pushers also had plans for an emergency. Violence broke out in a dozen spots all over town. It started with a raid on our communications center by a dozen hopped-up ‘breeds armed with Mark IV Kellys.
We stopped it but we lost three men and had to use a semiportable to wipe out the diehards. Right on the heels of that, there was an attack on the air regenerators. This was apparently the main effort and was sparked by a hard core of normals leading a group of about forty addicts. They had Mark VIIs and twenty kilograms of tonocaine with them which they apparently intended to put into the air regenerators. We lost twelve men smashing that one. Law and order vanished from the Rim as Marlin pulled his men into the Hub and around the gates to protect the vital installations.
Marlin was having a bad time. As chief of police he was responsible for Dunkelburg’s security and in a peaceable and fairly law-abiding town he did all right, but in this charged and violent atmosphere he lost his judgment. He could have kept order with the regular police force, but he tried to play it safe. In the beginning a show of force might have snuffed out the riot, but the trouble had grown beyond control by the time Marlin called up the reserves, filled the cadres to full strength and placed the town under martial law.
He had the power to do this, but it was exactly the wrong thing to do. To the fear filled ‘breeds, and to the tonocaine addicts that the pushers were making by the dozen and injecting into the riots, a military mobilization meant another pogrom and the call-up of the police reserve was a threat against their lives. It didn’t require anything to set the addicts off. They were already fused and primed by years of grievance and frustration. And the normals had past experiences with these undisciplined civilians and wanted no part of them. A regular cop could always get cooperation of a sort, but the civilian levies only provoked a lot of resistance.
Barricades sprang up all over town, cutting the Hub off from the Rim and the outside world. Kellys and native projectile weapons appeared from a thousand hiding places as desperate and frightened men and women prepared to resist the slaughter they were sure was coming. Within an hour after the attack on the air regenerators, the police were confined in the center of the dome, and in the fortified islands of the gates, surrounded by angry mobs of ‘breeds who needed only leadership to explode. And behind their cover the pushers were at work making new addicts out of as many ‘breeds as they needed and hurling them at the Hub in suicidal forays that were quickly wiped out or driven back, but which accounted for a few of our people in the bargain. For some reason I couldn’t understand, the ‘breeds left the dome virtually untouched. There were a few holes blown through the plastic, but the repair mechs quickly sealed them over, and none of them really influenced the air supply inside.
Marlin established a perimeter defense that was sound in every essential aspect except the important one. It left the initiative to the rioters. What he really needed was a plan that would deny the enemy support they were now getting. But he’d never get that on the defensive.
Outside of the first few pickups there were no more arrests. The enemy disappeared behind the barricades, lost in the mass of ‘breeds and the smattering of sympathizers. Although there was little shooting, the tension was severe and the strain was beginning to tell on the reservists in our ranks. They had no real discipline or experience in combat, and defensive actions are always hardest on the nerves since the excitement of the attack and the hope of victory are all on the other side. Right now their morale was low and they were ready to panic if some unforeseen danger appeared.
That was when Marlin turned me loose. He came down to my cell personally. His face was gray with the strain of the past twenty-four hours. “Sam” he said as he opened the cell door, “All hell’s broke loose! The town’s an armed camp. I’m afraid that I really loused things up by calling out the militia.”
“You called up the reserves!” I blurted. That was the first I knew of it. “Oh, Great! Now I suppose the ‘breeds think we’ve declared war.”
Marlin nodded. “That’s about it. We’re penned up here and we can’t expect help for at least a week. Other domes are having their troubles, too. Some are destroyed and the ‘breeds in those that are still operational are so jumpy that regular police can’t be spared.”
“Dammit!” I snapped. “That’s what Headquarters gets for piddling around for a week before ordering a roundup. They could have done it in twenty-four hours—but no—they had to give the pushers time to get organized!”
“They wanted a complete cleanup,” Marlin said.
“Yeah, and they’re going to get it! Well, what do you want me to do?”
“Get out there and stop this riot.”
I laughed in his face. “Me?—stop that? You’d do a lot better by sending out an SOS for the Patrol or the Service.”
“The ‘breeds know and trust you,” Marlin said. “You can assure them that we intend them no harm, that what we want to do is clean up these people who want to destroy us, and who are danger to us all. You can do it, and you’re probably the only one who can. They’re too afraid of a pogrom to think straight. Get them off the streets. That’s all I want. They can keep their weapons if they’re afraid. Make any promises you wish. I’ll back you to the limit. Just get those people off the streets.”
“Oh, well—there’s nothing like dying young,” I said. “I’ll see what I can do. Get me a shielded prowler with a PA system and I’ll give it a try. The worst they can do is kill me.”
That was how I found myself in the middle of Fourth Street with about twenty ‘breeds throwing solid and electronic death at me from behind a ten foot high barricade of machinery, office furniture, and great blocks of raw plastic shapes from the shops. The rain of projectile and blaster bolts bounced off the car’s metal and energy shielding.
I opened the PA system. “Friends,” I said over the amplifier, “this is Doc Williams. I want to talk to you!”
The howls died to a confused murmur as a tall black-browed ‘breed holding a Kelly poked his head over the barricade. I recognized him. Ramah Sotris was a driller at the Consol installations, and a leader of that loose, unofficial organization which the ‘breeds called the Union—a sort of government within a government that the authorities frowned upon but could do little or nothing about.
Ramah was the man whose girl Tehane encountered Pete Krasna and I figured he owed me a debt for patching her up, but apparently he didn’t feel the same way about it. He scowled at me as I focussed the directional microphone on him.
“What have you got to say, Cop?” he shouted.
“Fine thanks I get,” I said. “I asked for help so you wave a Kelly and call me cop. To hell with you Ramah Sotris. Hey—people—how about sending someone to talk who isn’t blinded with propaganda.”
His face changed color, and he looked a little ashamed.
I left the volume high on the PA. “I’m here to help you out of a jam,” I continued. “If you don’t want to listen you can keep on fighting. It isn’t going to do you any good. The Hub will hold out, and in a couple of days you’ll have the armed forces on your necks.”
Silence fell on the mob. Nobody wanted the service. Troopers had a reputation for shooting first and asking questions afterwards, and they had the power to flatten Dunkelburg into a heap of hot slag.
No one else appeared. Apparently Ramah was the spokesman for this group. All right, so be it, I thought. It could be worse. He was just a hothead. He wasn’t a fool. He finally started to say something. There was a lot of background noise, and all I got was “What is your proposition?”
“Come down here and I’ll tell you,” I said. “Bring others if you don’t want to come alone.”
“I’m not afraid,” he said, “but others should hear. And I guess you’re safe enough behind that screen—”
“I’ll drop it,” I said.
Ramah nodded and disappeared behind the barrier. Presently Ramah and a half dozen ‘breeds climbed over the roadblock. Most of them were carrying Kellys, and all of them looked frightened and determined.
“Well,” Ramah asked. “How about dropping the screen?”
I cut the screen off—and right then one of them levelled his Kelly at the car and triggered a blast. My reflexes were a trifle faster than his as I snapped the screen back on and let the shot splash harmlessly on the impervious electronic shield. A couple of others jumped the gunner, bore him to the pavement and wrenched the Kelly from his hand.
“You damn fool,” one of them growled, “that’s Doc!”
I left the screen up. The gunner probably had friends in the mob. “Hang onto that guy,” I snapped. “He’s one of those who’s getting you in trouble. You, Ramah, get over here and tell your people that I want to talk to them, that I’m here for their own good.”
“How do I know that?”
“You have my word,” I said. “Have I ever cheated you, or hurt you, or failed to keep my word all the time I worked on the Rim? Have I ever been your enemy?” There was bitterness on my tone. “Hell—I even avenged Tehane for you. The man who hurt her no longer lives.”
His face was a study of conflicting emotions. If what I said was true I had put him under an obligation that could not be denied. I was a blood brother, a kinsman, a defender of the family honor. Of course, I could be a liar, but that was out of character. He shrugged. “No, Doc, you’ve always been our friend,” he said reluctantly.
“Then get over here!”
“But—”
“Do you want to die so someone can get rich?” I asked.
He shook his head and came over, to the car. “Can you prove that?” he asked.
I snapped the power switch on and handed him the microphone through a safety port. “I can prove Confeds are mixed up in it,” I said. “Get it through your head that I’m not about to doublecross you. I’m trying to save your lives. Hell!—I’m married to Sofra.”
He looked at me curiously and then smiled. “I think you’re levelling,” he said. “I’ll take the chance.” He pressed the button on the side of the mike and shouted into it.
“MY PEOPLE!” the thunderous roar echoed down the broad street enforcing silence. Ramah grinned at me. “With this I could outshout Tehane,” he muttered. The sensitive microphone picked up his words and hurled them across the crowd. Somebody laughed and the laughter was picked up and re-echoed briefly before it died away. I felt a queer relief at the sound. There was hope here yet. The mob wasn’t hysterical. Ramah waited until there was silence. “Now hear me,” he began again. “This is Ramah Sotris of the Union Council. Doc Williams wishes to talk to you. Listen to him.” He handed me the microphone. “It’s your baby now,” he said.
I nodded as I pressed the contact button. Except for a few hecklers and a shot that splashed off the screen, the crowd was quiet as I began the story of tonocaine. I started with Gakan and told them what tonocaine did to men and why we did what we did to Gakan. I told them of the plot against Arthe as much as I knew of it, and that Dunkelburg was one of the towns marked for slaughter. I told them of Dawson, and Sofra, and Zelda. I told them that what they were doing here and how it would make their death certain if they continued. I told them how their fears were helping to destroy themselves by pinning down the only force which could help them. I asked for their cooperation to help the police restore order.
I pulled the emotional stops just like a professional politician—with one exception. I didn’t have to fake the sincerity behind the emotion. I believed everything I said and my voice carried my convictions. Finally, I was through. I had the ghastly feeling that I had done it all wrong. It was out of character. I had denied my scientific training and gave a spread-eagle speech like someone running for the Planetary Council. But then I heard the sound from behind the barrier, the sound that became a roar of approval and acceptance, and my worry disappeared in a great welling wave of thankfulness. They had listened to me, and believed!
I turned to Ramah. His face was impassive. “Come, my friend, let me in your car. We must go,” he said. “There are others who should hear you.”
I dropped the screen and he entered and sat beside me as I restored the car’s defenses.
He smiled uneasily. “I am sure you have not lied,” he continued. “But will the police do as you have said? We have had trouble with them before, and we do not trust them.”
“There will be no trouble this time. Everything will be all right.” I spoke with reasonable confidence. I didn’t think much of Marlin as a military leader, but he was honest and courageous, and once he had a plan to follow he was efficient. He’d hold the hotheads back.
Ramah took the microphone and gave directions to his followers behind the barricade. A thousand hands tore away a section of the barrier, and with Ramah sitting beside me, I drove through the gap and into the surging crowd on the other side. It was like a triumphal procession.
We played the same act with minor variations at the remaining barricades, except that I didn’t have to speak. Marlin had recorded my voice and was broadcasting it over the local communications network. It worked even when Ramah and I didn’t show up to give it the authority of our presence. Everywhere the results were the same. People were quietly going home. The pushers, of course, didn’t like it at all. I was shot at four times, but the bolts bounced off the car’s screen and the potential assassins were quickly hunted down by the dispersing crowd which was now my mob almost to a man. The ‘breeds had done a complete flopover. With the characteristic fickleness of a mob they were now all for law and order because I told them with simple sincerity that it was a good idea, and because, for some reason, they trusted me beyond their distrust of the police.
