FINAL FOE
It was still as death inside the space-warp chamber.
But the indicators showed that I'd now reached the Interplanetary
Center. Grimly, I shoved shut the switch that released the heavy
warp-hatch ... stood motionless while I waited for the mechanism to
grind through its inexorable cycle.
A click. A whir.
I drew a swift breath; eased the paragun from my waistband.
Again, a click. The vault-thick cylinder slid smoothly inward on its
guides. Air hissed. The world outside the hatch took form, all dim and
shadowy.
For a moment I waited, not breathing ... straining my ears for the
slightest sound.
None came.
Cat-silent, now I clambered through the exit ... looked down the
corridor beyond, with its gleaming ceracoid walls and emblazoned motif
of FedGov Security insignia.
Still no one. Moving swiftly down the hall, I sought out the fifth of
the row of shaft-lifts.
Soundlessly, it bore me upward. When it halted, I stepped out onto
thick, rich veldrence carpeting, crossed to the far side of the alcove,
and peered past the draperies into the larger room beyond.
Controller Alfred Kruze sat at his desk, alone, attention focused on a
spinning reader-reel.
Shifting, I checked the other door, the one to Kruze's left.
It was closed.
Some of the tightness left my chest. Pulling back the drape, I stepped
into the room.
Kruze's head jerked up. The reader-reel clattered to the desk.
I said, "Don't move, Kruze. Don't even breathe. Not if you want to
live."
Kruze's eyes distended. His hands stopped in mid-air.
I crossed to him; gestured with the paragun. "Palms flat on the desk,
Controller. Thanks to your private warp and lift, no one knows I'm
here. Let's keep it that way. No loud noises, no tricks with buzzers,
nothing to attract the attention of the guards in the anteroom. They
couldn't do you any good. You'd be dead before they got here."
Kruze lowered his hands jerkily. An angry flush was darkening his face.
"Just what's the meaning of this, Traynor? Do you want a trip to the
blocking rooms, with orders to psych you down to Drudge Third level?"
Instead of answering, I brought up the paragun and leveled it at his
head.
The heavy shoulders shifted, just a trifle. A wariness came to the
cold, unblinking eyes.
I said, "Kruze, you've got just one order left to give. You're going to
stop those executions on Rizal!"
"Executions--? What executions?"
"You know the edict." I held my voice very flat, very factual. "It
provided that any person found in possession of a thrill-mill should
be shot summarily, without trial."
"And now you want me to countermand it? You'd have me relieve those
Kel-lovers of the penalty for their treason?" Angrily, Kruze gave vent
to a belligerent snort. "You're even more of a fool than I thought you
were, Traynor. What possible reason can you advance why I should let
such scoundrels live?"
"The best reason in the world, Controller," I answered, ever so gently.
"It's the only way you can even hope to stay alive yourself." And then,
after an instant's pause and with a gesture of my paragun: "You see, I
agree with your sentiments on treason--and I also happen to know you're
the man who gave the Kel those thrill-mill gadgets in the first place!"
* * * * *
For an instant Kruze's knuckles went white against the desk. Then,
quite suddenly, he leaned back. His head seemed to sink down between
his shoulders. "You've either said too much or not enough, Traynor."
I said, "I should have recognized it from the start, of course: No
alien ever could have achieved such insight into the workings of
the human mind. That made our villain a man--a man so high in the
Federation that he was allowed to operate under minimal conditioning or
none at all; a man who had access to whatever he needed in the way of
supplies or equipment or personnel, and no questions asked or answers
given.
"Give a man like that a lust for power. Then throw in a stalemated war
against the Kel--a war that neither side can hope to win.
"As a human among humans, our man's authority is strictly limited.
Conditioned or not, our race has had enough of despots.
"But supposing he can help the Kel to victory? Mightn't they be willing
to make him absolute and autocratic ruler of his kind?"
Again, I gestured. "There it is, Kruze. That's how you worked it. And
that's why you were so bitter when I kept blowing everything apart.
"All along the line, there were pointers to your collaboration. Like
the way the Kel turned loose Celeste and me, back at that warehouse on
Rizal. That was your work: You didn't want to chance my having too much
contact with them. So you ordered them to let me go.
"And don't bother reminding me they took you prisoner, too. Because
that was more of your own planning. You didn't intend to take chances
of being killed accidentally, once the actual invasion got under way.
"If that's still not enough--if you want court proof--I found cargo
manifests aboard that globeship that I captured. They show the
thrill-mills went to Rizal as classified Security supplies. With that
to go on, it won't be any trick to find the techs who made them.
They'll tie you to it tight."
Silence. A long, long moment of silence.
Then, abruptly, Kruze asked, "How many people know about this, Traynor?
Just you? Or is the Stelpa girl in on it too?"
I shrugged. "Does it matter? I'm here, now. You're trapped. That's all
that counts."
"Perhaps." Heavily, the controller shifted in his chair. "Very
honestly, Traynor, your hypotheses are all wrong. But even the
unfounded accusations could prove a nuisance, so tell me: What would it
take to persuade you to forget all this? Money? A guarantee that you'll
stay unconditioned? A planetary controllership?"
I didn't answer.
"I might even go so far as to countermand my execution edict, if that
really matters to you." Kruze frowned thoughtfully. "I hate to chance
it, though. Those mills shatter conditioning badly. And once that's
happened, someone's likely to jump to the wrong conclusions, the way
you've done."
Wearily, I shook my head. "Save your breath, Controller. The only deal
I'll make is not to kill you, providing you stop those executions.
Beyond that, you'll have to take your chances with the courts."
Silence again. And still Kruze sat granite-solid in his chair. Only his
eyes showed that he'd heard me--the emotionless, unblinking eyes that
never left mine for an instant. Between us, the desk-top gleamed dully,
bleak and bare as a sheet of the wind-polished black lake ice you see
sometimes in the wintry hinterlands of Bejak II.
I tightened my grip on the paragun's butt. "The order, Kruze. Write it
down, ready for plating, or I shoot."
A thick-shouldered shrug. "Very well, Traynor. If that's the way you
want it...."
Kruze leaned forward.
The next instant, there was the faintest of humming, whirring sounds,
apparently issuing from the desk.
Simultaneously, involuntarily, my right arm jerked forward and down.
The gun tore from my fingers and slapped against the desk-top's
polished surface with a noisy _crack!_ as if impelled by unseen springs.
For the fraction of a second I lurched off balance--incredulous, gaping.
Before I could recover, Kruze whipped a gun of his own from the desk's
sorter-slot. His voice rang with harsh triumph: "As you said earlier,
Friend Traynor--don't move, if you want to live!"
The light in his eyes said even more. I stood ever so still.
Heaving up from his chair, he came around the desk, pocketing my own
paragun in the process. "You're an ingenious man, Traynor. So I know
you'll appreciate ingenuity in another. You see, a buzzer can be under
a desk just as well as on top of it. And sometimes, instead of buzzing,
it turns on a magnetic field strong enough to jerk an anvil clear
across the room. I've found it quite effective in discouraging would-be
assassins. It's so unanticipated--like this--"
The controller had come abreast of me as he spoke. Now, without
warning, he suddenly hammered a sledge-like fist straight to the pit of
my stomach.
Retching, I lurched back; bent double.
Savagely, Kruze brought up a rock-hard knee, square into my face.
Jagged pain-colors exploded in my brain. I crashed to the floor, the
room swirling around me.
Kruze again; words coming from afar: "No noise, now, Traynor! As you
warned me, we mustn't attract the attention of my guards. We'll just
leave the way you came--down the shaft-lift, into the space-warp, and
then away on a little trip."
* * * * *
Groggily, prodded on by kicks, I lurched to my feet ... stumbled back
to the alcove and the shaft-lift. My nose was bleeding badly. My belly
screamed protest at every step.
Down, now; all the way down, with Kruze and his gun crowded close
against me. Then a death-march that ran the length of the corridor from
the lift to the space-warp chamber.
When I lagged at the entry-hatch, my captor gave me yet another kick,
from behind and to the hinge of my left knee, so that I fell through
the slot bodily, sprawling on my face on the stone-hard floor inside.
More kicks, as Kruze himself entered. I lurched from his path and,
shaking, dragged myself onto the nearest bench. My nails gouged the
plasticon in stiff-fingered spasms of pure homicidal fury. But always,
always, there was the gun in Kruze's hand--an unwavering gun, centered
dead upon me and backed with eyes as bleak and chill as far-off Pluto's
ice-mass.
Now Kruze stepped to the warp-board, adjusting controls with swift,
sure skill. "This should interest you, Traynor." He talked as he
worked, a cool, conversational monolog. "As you know, a space-warp
calls for both transmitting and receiving units. For round-trip travel,
you have to have both at each terminal point.
"That fact gave me an idea--one designed to take care of crises just
such as this one you've precipitated.
"First, I looked for precisely the right planet: one not only
uninhabited, but completely devoid of any means of sustaining life.
"I found the ideal spot when an exploration party visited Aldebaran's
solar system. It's a world there they named Sheol--a planetary hell, an
abode fit only for the dead.
"In accordance with my orders, techs installed a space-warp chamber on
it, complete with a receiving unit.
"There's no transmitter, however. So whoever's sent there can plan on
permanent residence, alive or dead.
"That's where you come in, Traynor: You'll be the first among those
permanent residents...."
Somehow, I didn't even shudder. It was as if I'd been expecting such;
as if this only reaffirmed my insight into Kruze and his potentialities
for evil.
But the controller was still talking: "... and then, there's the
matter of the girl. From your very reticence, I take it for granted
you've confided in her. So I'll simply see that she's hunted down,
supplied with a thrill-mill, and then executed on the spot for
possession of it. I suspect it can all be taken care of before she even
realizes that anything out of line has happened to you."
I looked up, then. Slowly. Painfully. Still not quite believing.
"That hit you, did it?" Kruze laughed--a harsh, mirthless sound, deep
in his throat. "I thought it would. That's what happens, when a man's
emotions run unconditioned, unrestrained."
I gripped the bench. I had a feeling that all my nails were broken, my
fingers bleeding. But I didn't look to see.
Kruze said, "I know. You're trying to nerve yourself to rush me. Only
believe me, it wouldn't do any good. I can ship you to Sheol dead just
as well as living."
He turned from the board as he spoke, so that he faced me squarely.
Never had the gun been steadier; never the challenge of the cold eyes
more apparent, more relentless.
"Rack you, Kruze!" I choked. I wouldn't keep my voice from shaking.
"Would you like to check my logic, Traynor?" My tormentor was openly
taunting now, his whole heavy body aquiver with enjoyment. "As I see
it, once you and the girl are dead, I've nothing to fear. If you'd told
anyone else about this, any man, he'd have come here with you. Because
not even an unconditioned fool like you could have enjoyed playing out
a hand like this alone. Right?"
I didn't answer.
"You and the girl, you and the girl.--Traynor, perhaps I can solace
your final hours on Sheol. Instead of having the girl summarily
executed, it may be I can arrange a less public end for her so that she
spends a long time dying. Does that appeal to you?"
I waited for a moment before I spoke. Somehow, for no good reason, it
seemed that I had to find precisely the right words, the right pattern.
Then, abruptly, that moment passed, and language no longer mattered.
"Kruze," I said, quite levelly, "count on one thing: I'm going to kill
you."
The controller's eyes widened, just a fraction. "Traynor, you fool--!"
I got up, paying him no heed. It was a stolid, unhurried movement,
better suited to his temperament and heavy body than to mine.
"Traynor, I'll shoot!"
I laughed aloud.
"Traynor--!"
I said, "Don't worry. You'll kill me. But I'll still get to you, even
so. Dead or alive, bare-handed, I'll tear open your throat and bash
your brains out!"
"Traynor, listen...."
Flat-footed, unspeaking, I took a slow step towards him.
Kruze's knuckles whitened on the paragun's trigger.
Deliberately, I took another step.
Just as deliberately, Kruze adjusted his aim.
And there it stood: Beyond all doubt, Controller Alfred Kruze would
kill me.
What were the odds, then? How much chance did I have, for all my talk,
of charging in to strike him down?
Only I didn't have any choice but to try. Not really. Not with
Celeste's very life at stake.
Tight-lipped, I drew a long, deep breath.
Only then, incredibly, off beyond Kruze, by the warp-room's entrance,
movement flickered.
The breath caught in my throat. I forced myself to hold my eyes full
front on Kruze.
* * * * *
Over by the hatchway, the movement resolved itself into a death-pale,
shadow-silent figure ... the figure of a woman, creeping out from
behind the solid banks of micromesh transistors.
Celeste.
Only that was impossible.
I began to shake.
Kruze laughed. "It's not so easy, is it Traynor? Not when you know the
other man will shoot!"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
And still Celeste moved, like a figure out of nightmare. Step after
aching step, closer and closer to the entry.
Kruze again: "All right, Traynor. Make up your mind. Have you got the
nerve or not?"
Against the wall, Celeste's sleeve whispered in the stillness.
It seemed incredible that Kruze showed no sign that he heard it.
Desperately, and in a voice that cracked till it held no faintest
resemblance to my own, I said, "Don't worry, Kruze. I'm coming."
I poised, ready to lunge. Over by the hatch, Celeste was reaching out.
Stretching, her fingers touched, then grasped, the light-switch.
Her eyes flicked to me in the same instant. Her other hand came up in a
swift signal.
Like an echo, the lights blacked out.
I lunged, then. Sidewise and down, hurling myself away from the line of
Kruze's aim.
Simultaneously, almost, the paragun's pencil-shaft of purple fire
lanced through the black, straight to the spot where I had stood.
I dived in low, striking blindly for Kruze's legs. Pain from the shock
of impact splashed through my shoulder. Together, my quarry and I
crashed to the floor.
That stone-hard floor.
Writhing, I rolled clear of Kruze, then brought up my legs and smashed
my feet into him with all my might.
Breath went out of him in an anguished, incoherent gust. Hands clawed
at my ankles in the darkness--jerking me close, wrenching my leg around.
I rolled fast with the twist. Groping, I flailed and pawed at the
thick, heavy-muscled body.
An ear came under my fingers. Mouth. Nose. Hair.
Savagely, I jerked the head high, then threw my whole weight forward on
it as I smashed it to the floor.
It struck with a pulpy, popping sound. The body twitched convulsively,
then went limp.
For an instant I lay there slack-jawed, staring stupidly into the
darkness.
But Kruze still didn't move. The hands that but a moment before had
sought to break my leg now sagged like sodden sacks of meal.
Panting, half-sobbing, I pulled myself clear. Then, lurching erect, I
stumbled to the grey circle that was the entry-hatch and fumbled for a
light.
Another hand was already on the switch.
That instant--it lasted through five hundred centuries and more.
Then, raggedly, I whispered, "Celeste--? Celeste?"
The answer, just as ragged: "You didn't really think I'd let you come
alone?"
And somehow, after that, there was only the bright future stretching
out before us, our future and an unconditioned mankind's, and there
wasn't any need for light or words....