J. F. Bone, page 2
I was on a euphoria kick that made any possible horror Cth could create a thing of no importance. Getting Bennett wasthat bearded too great a triumph; the man was a meddler, an interferer, an organizer of cells of dissatisfied subversives. He was a boon companion to dictators, autarchies, lobbyists, political manipulators, bureaucrats, and corporation executives. Wherever there was power, there was Bennett. As Chairman of the Board of Spaceways, the fourth of a line of Bennetts who stretched backward into antiquity, he was the summation of family power. I grinned wryly. Fourth—hell! George Gordon Bennett IV was the same person as George Gordon Bennett I. The man was immortal! And it wasn’t agerone that kept him young. The antiagathic that gave humans and humanoids life spans of well over two centuries was good, but merely postponed death and dissolution. It didn’t restore youth, and that’s what Bennett’s technique did. It peeled age from the body as one would peel the layers off the heart of an onion. And the process worked for aliens as well as man. Eldor XIV was the same person as Eldor XII—or so similar that resemblance passed the bounds of coincidence. There was no Eldor XIII. Parthians, too, had triskidecaphobia.
And there were others who seemed to live exceptionally long lives. Somewhere, someone had the secret of eternal life—and eternal youth. It might not be Bennett, but the big man was obviously a very big man in the organization. He ran the show on a score of worlds inhabited by feathered, furry, scaly and smooth-skinned power wielders. They obeyed him because they would sell their souls for immortal life and unlimited power. Whatever Bennett’s motives might be, he controlled the commodity and exacted the price.
And the price was chaos.
Right now, mostly because of Bennett, the confederacy was tottering on the brink of disaster. A few pushes and the entire organization could disappear. Worlds that were once firm members were drawing away from the Central Authority. Civilization was teetering between order and anarchy. If Bennett had his way, the confederacy would be fragmented into enclaves controlled by absolute rulers. Civilization would be set back to the days when there was no such thing as interworld cooperation. The sector-wide organization of the confederacy would be shattered—to disappear perhaps forever. And that bearded atavism would become the greatest wrecker of all time.
I shook my head. The picture wasn’t complete. Why would Bennett want to wreck the confederation? It didn’t make sense. Granted, the confederacy was an unwieldy instrument and most worlds didn’t appreciate the authority that the organization held over their planets. But organization was the only alternative to anarchy and the sociologicians managed to keep some order in the hodgepodge of worlds.
I began to become suspicious of Bennett years ago; for the last five I had trailed him from one world to another observing what he did and trying to fit the patterns together. It had started innocently with a feature article entitled “Profile of a Tycoon,” which Transworld wanted for a holiday supplement. Material was plentiful, since the rich are always a source of news and Transworld’s morgue was remarkably complete. For a switch, I decided to write the yarn from a physical viewpoint and was in the process of assembling data when I noticed the incredible resemblance between George Gordon Bennett IV, twelfth president of IP Spaceways, and George Gordon Bennett I, third president of IP Spaceways. The two were virtually identical except that the first George Gordon Bennett had been dead for nearly two thousand years! Curious, I checked further and found other odd resemblances. Ezra Wheeler, Chairman of the Board of United Metals; Walter Heppner, President of Confederated Atomics; and Arthur Johansson, junior delegate to the Confederation Council, all from different time periods, all closely resembled George Gordon Bennett. All except the present Bennett had died violently or mysteriously and in no case was a body recovered. The five men spanned the twenty-century gap between the present George and the first one. Photos showed detailed similarities of face and body that could not possibly have been coincidental. All five were the same man!
CHAPTER 4
It was nice to be home again, I thought as I looked out of the view wall across the scintillating splendor of San Francisco spread below me. Not that I saw much of these quarters in Transworld Towers. Most of the time I was far too busy roaming the confederacy looking for stories for Transworld’s insatiable appetite. I got to use the apartment—one of my prerequisites for taking the job—whenever I was in town, which wasn’t more than a few days at a time, often months apart. Yet it was the place I called home, and I looked upon it as my base, my anchor to reality in a civilization that often seemed madly bent upon its own destruction.
The robobutler handed me a martini, clicked, beeped and announced in its impersonal, impeccable voice that there was a visitor at the door.
“Who is it?”
The robot clicked, twittered and cheeped behind its transite facade. > >He doesn’t say, sir. < <
“Tell him to go away. I’m not receiving company tonight.”
>>I cannot, sir.< <
“Why not?”
“Because I jiggered your Tin Woodman a couple of days ago,” a heavy amused voice said. “It can’t stop me from doing anything.”
I whirled. Bennett was standing in the middle of the room looking at me with a quizzical smile on his bearded face. “Did you think a robot would stop me?” he asked. His blue eyes lighted wickedly. “I see you did; well, live and learn.”
The thought came to me that I had never really seen the man before—just the shell. He was tremendous, not in size but in force. The impact of his personality was like a hammer blow. And for the first time in my life I was really afraid. It wasn’t the titillating fear of discovery or pursuit, but the cold gut fear of someone so hard and ruthless that your best is of no avail. The fact that my story was already in Flynn’s hands was no assurance of safety. It might be more dangerous than if it hadn’t been written at all.
“What do you want?”’ I asked.
“You!” Bennett said as he lifted the metallic thing in his hand and pressed its trigger. It was a weapon, I noted without surprise, and death, my mind reported with fading wonderment, was neither terrible nor heroic. It was merely final…
When I awoke I was in a spaceship. The standard shockcouch and web told me that much.
But what sort of spaceship?
The harsh monochromatic color that pervaded every object in the tiny cabin was a deep uncompromising violet.
Violet!
The implication struck like a thunderbolt! I was in a hypership travelling in absolute Cth! But violet was impossible! At that tremendous velocity the ship should buck and slam across the narrow warps of Cth like an unbroken horse! But this job didn’t even vibrate; there wasn’t even the smooth surges of a freighter travelling in the lower red. It was years in advance of the best that Earth could produce—and Earth had the highest technological civilization in the known galaxy!
“Ah! Awake, I see.” The bass voice was almost friendly.
I looked across the cabin at the open door framing the massive figure of George Bennett. He smiled, his beard parting to reveal a white flash of teeth.
“Sorry I had to stun you, but I didn’t have time to reason with you. Wouldn’t have done much good anyway. And I’m too old to outmuscle you—though give me a month to get in shape and I’d take you on just for the hell of it.”
“What does this mean? Where am I?”
“Dead,” Bennett grinned. “At least for the record. You were seen going to your ship at San Quentin Spaceport. Something went wrong. You defocused on takeoff and triggered a second order explosion in the pit.” Bennett shrugged. “That was the end of you. Naturally no one knew you were never near your ship, but instead were in mine. It’s getting harder to die accidentally nowadays what with this technological spurt the confederation is going through. Time was when one could simply disappear in hyperspace, but with the new detectors that’s getting risky, except for an emergency exit. One of these days we’re going to have to find a new sort of out.” Bennett shrugged. “I expect we may have to take a few years and die naturally. All these accidents are beginning to pile up. They make people like you suspicious,” Bennett chuckled in a rumbling bass.
“You won’t get away with this!” I snapped, and then groaned silently. Another cliche! Nobody listening to me would ever believe I was the man who had won the Mc-Cormick Award for creative journalism. I sounded more like a terrified college freshman in a speech exam.
“Those accidents are only suspicious if you’re looking for something. Nowadays they’re used only for emergencies. Like tonight.” Bennett eyed me speculatively. “You know, you would have done better if you had been less impatient. Jim Flynn was scheduled to die next year and he had chosen you to be his successor. You could have blown things sky high if you’d waited. Now he’ll stay on and train another successor. That’s hard on an old man with too much fat and a bad heart. You may kill him; really kill him.”
“I? What have I to do with this? Wait a minute. You’re not trying to tell me that Jim’s mixed up in this?”
“Up to his ears. I never would have spotted you if he hadn’t pointed you out.”
I was stunned. It was impossible to believe that fat, honest Flynn was a member of a power group that included Bennett. It didn’t make sense. Flynn was against consolidation of power. Said it meant nothing but trouble. “I don’t believe it,” I said flatly.
“That’s your privilege. It really doesn’t matter whether you do or don’t. You’re not going to tell anyone about it. You’re crossed off the confederation census list.” Bennett’s voice turned grim. “And since you’re officially dead, it wouldn’t cause too much pain to translate the official into the actual. So exercise a little caution. Sure, I know you dislike me, but don’t let emotion cloud reason. Any group that can count people like Wadsworth, DakKohl, Bernstein, Caantrava, and Chang Li among its members can’t be too bad.”
My face froze as Bennett calmly recited some of the more important names in the confederation. There was no doubt the big man was telling the truth. I had too much experience with liars and the Sorovkin technique not to be able to recognize one.
“Son, you only began to strike pay dirt when you stumbled on me. This time I’m just a minor fish in the pool. You missed the real payoff; it was right under your nose. Flynn is the big boy in this cycle; he is the focal point. I was just an expediter collecting the loose ends and making the machinery run efficiently. Trouble is that your outlook’s too narrow and too short. You don’t think big enough or long enough.”
I drew a long, slow breath. Bennett’s implications were frightening. If his organization reached into so many high places, how low did it reach?
“We go all the way in both directions,” Bennett replied, answering my unspoken question. “There’s nearly a hundred thousand of us and we can’t all be on top. That would be neither wise nor efficient. When you’re out to change society you don’t work by imposing your will on the majority. That’s never worked since the beginning of history. Any change that’s permanent has to come from the mass of society. So we condition the mass. We’re changing a whole planetful of serfs into something that’ll be a credit to the galaxy in another century.”
My self-control wavered. “So you’re a telepath, too,” I murmured. “I hadn’t suspected that.”
Bennett shook his head. “Not exactly. To anyone who knows the Sorovkin techniques, your thoughts were obvious.”
I flushed. This was almost an insult.
“Oh come now—don’t take it so hard. The Sorovkin method isn’t telepathy; you use it yourself. The only difference between us is that I learned the tricks from the Master, while you had to be content with a disciple. You’ll have an opportunity to correct your errors if you wish. Sorovkin still takes a few advanced students.”
“But he’s been dead for centuries.”
“Believe me, the reports of his death are greatly exaggerated. He’s going strong.”
“He’s with you?”
“Sure, why not? Our philosophy appealed to him. So did rejuvenation. You’re conditioned,” Bennett said. “In your way, you’re just as bad as those newsmongers during the interregnum. You haven’t got the long view— and since you don’t know what we’re up to, you think we’re evil.”
I snorted.
Bennett chuckled. “You can’t help being yourself, can you?” He laughed. “Maybe I sound like an old-fashioned villain, but I get a kick out of being melodramatic. Adds a touch of spice to a long dull life. But it’s the simple truth, son, you’re in my power. And don’t get any ideas about escaping. It can’t be done.”
“You can’t watch me forever.”
“I won’t have to. A few hours more and we’ll reach home base. Then we’ll let Nature take her course. In a month or so you should be acquiring some sense. But enough of this. I’m an old man and I’m getting garrulous. Just relax and enjoy the ride. We’ll be hitting breakout in a few more hours. I just wanted to welcome you aboard.” Bennett turned abruptly and left the cabin.
I looked around the bare walls and ceiling. There wasn’t much there. I patted my clothing. My kelly was gone. So was my wallet, my keys, and my pocketknife. They hadn’t left me a thing except my clothing.
I wondered why Bennett had visited me. The welcome was as phony as an Eridean’s honesty. Bennett wanted something—and in all probability had planted the stimulus that would get him the response he wanted. But if Bennett was trying to recruit me he was in for trouble. I had strong feelings about meddlers in human affairs—no matter what their intentions or motives might be. Interference with individual liberty and privacy was interference in the two basics on which society was built.
I rose to my feet and quietly inspected the cabin. The door was locked and the mirror set in its surface probably served double duty as a scanner lens. Bennett was on hand too soon after I had awakened for it to be an accident. Getting out of the room would be easy enough, but leaving a ship travelling in Cth violet would be another story.
I smiled wryly. One thing at a time. First I had to get out of this room. Then I could worry about getting off the ship. I turned away from the mirror on the door and reached for the lapels of my jacket. The thin, flexible-plastic stiffeners were still there. Carefully I extracted one, slipped it into my pocket and turned back to the shockcouch.
I turned off the cabin light and lay there in the darkness wondering whether the scanner in the door was sensitive to infra red and if someone was constantly watching. I doubted it, but the only way to find out was to try. This yacht wasn’t a prison ship, nor were Bennett and his crew jailors. Amateurs would be careless no matter how conscientious they tried to be.
I lay quietly, waiting.
The lights in my room flicked on briefly and then went off again.
That solved one problem. The scanner wasn’t sensitive to infra red. I came off the couch and knelt before the cabin door. Spaceship locks were child’s play: I probed with the thin plastic strip, twisted gently and swung the door open. Step one; I was out of the cabin. Now to get out of the ship.
I moved out into the companionway. It was annular, a ringlike passage separating two levels of the ship. Somewhere along it a manway led to the central shaft that connected the converter room and drive to the living quarters and the control cabin. And opposite the manway would be a lifeboat. Such an arrangement was standard.
I walked swiftly and silently down the passage and spotted the small red handle of the emergency lifeboat release protruding from the wall beside me. I broke the safety seal, inserted the handle into the release slot and heard a voice.
“Hold it right there, mister,” an icy contralto ordered.
My shoulders twitched with a slow, half-resigned shrug. “Well, you have to admit it was a good try,” I said as I turned slowly around, the release lever still gripped in my right hand. It was a woman—wouldn’t you know it! They always appear at the wrong time and in the wrong place. Ten seconds later and I’d have had it made. I eyed her curiously, from the soft spaceboots to the form-fitting jumper to a pale face crowned with a wealth of blue-black hair over dark blue eyes. She wasn’t beautiful. Her face was too strong and her body too lean. But I liked what I saw, except for the coldness in her eyes and the kelly held competently in her slim right hand.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The woman’s eyes suddenly widened, “Robertshaw!” she gasped. “You’re supposed to be locked up!”
“Stone walls do not a prison make,” I said and took a step toward her.
“Stay where you are or I’ll shoot!”
“You don’t look like a killer,” I said. Nevertheless I stopped.
“That’s better. Now turn around and walk right back where you came from, carefully. I know your reputation.”
I smiled. “Then you should know I never fight with women.”
“Only because they never give you a chance. They’re too busy gushing over you and falling down in your path.”
“It would be nice if you conformed to type.”
“I’m different,” she snapped.
I turned to face the wall and reached for the edge of the lifeboat release.
A sizzling needle of energy scorched my fingers. “Try that again,” the girl said grimly, “and I’ll burn a hole clean through your hand.”
“Well, that answers one question,” I said, as I threw the release lever at her head. I wasn’t gentle about it. Her hands rose instinctively to ward off the flying metal, and while her gun was raised my shoulder struck her in the midriff. I got my hands around the kelly, tore it from her grasp and smashed the heavy receiver against the side of her head in one uninterrupted motion. The girl’s eyes rolled upward as she crumpled to the floor. She wants to make like a man—then she’s gotta take it like a man, I thought; yet mixed with that was a feeling of uneasiness.
Stuffing the kelly into the waistband of my trousers, I turned back to the lifeboat, and opened the hatch cover. I hesitated for a microsecond and then scooped the unconscious girl from the floor and stuffed her into the boat. Not only would she be useful as a hostage, but from the angle I was looking at her she had a strong resemblance to Bennett.
