"Oh," Reetal said, "adding things up gave me that notion.... Care to
hear what the things were?"
"Go ahead, doll."
"First," said Reetal, "I understand that a while ago, after you'd first
sent me off to do some little job for you, you were in the transmitter
room having a highly private--shielded and scrambled--conversation with
somebody on board the _Camelot_."
"Why, yes," Quillan said. "I was talking to the ship's security
office. They're arranging to have a Federation police boat pick up
what's left of the commodore's boys and the Brotherhood in the
subspace section.
"And that," said Reetal, "is where that embarrassing little problem
begins. Next, I noticed, as I say, that you were showing this tendency
to avoid a chance for a private talk between us. And after thinking
about that for a little, and also about a few other things which came
to mind at around that time, I went to see Ryter."
"Now why--?"
Reetal ran her fingers soothingly through his hair. "Let me finish,
big boy. I found Ryter and Orca in a highly nervous condition. And do
you know why they're nervous? They're convinced that some time before
the _Camelot_ gets here, you're going to do them both in."
"Hm-m-m," said Quillan.
"Ryter," she went on, "besides being nervous, is also very bitter. In
retrospect, he says, it's all very plain what you've done here. You
and your associates--a couple of tough boys named Hagready and Boltan,
and others not identified--are also after these Hlats. The Duke made
some mention of that, too, you remember. The commodore and Ryter
bought the story you told them because a transmitter check produced
the information that Hagready and Boltan had, in fact, left their
usual work areas and gone off on some highly secret business about a
month ago.
"Ryter feels that your proposition--to let your gang in on the deal
for twenty per cent, or else--was made in something less than good
faith. He's concluded that when you learned of the operation being
planned by Velladon and the Brotherhood, you and your pals decided to
obstruct them and take the Hlats for delivery to Yaco yourselves,
without cutting anybody in. He figures that someone like Hagready or
Boltan is coming in on the _Camelot_ with a flock of sturdy henchmen
to do just that. You, personally, rushed to the Seventh Star to
interfere as much as you could here. Ryter admits reluctantly that
you did an extremely good job of interfering. He says it's now obvious
that every move you made since you showed up had the one purpose of
setting the Star group and the Brotherhood at each other's throats.
And now that they've practically wiped each other out, you and your
associates can go on happily with your original plans.
"But, of course, you can't do that if Ryter and Orca are picked up
alive by the Federation cops. The boys down in the subspace section
don't matter; they're ordinary gunhands and all they know is that you
were somebody who showed up on the scene. But Ryter could, and
certainly would, talk--"
"Ah, he's too imaginative," Quillan said, taking a swallow of his
drink. "I never heard of the Hlats before I got here. As I told you,
I'm on an entirely different kind of job at the moment. I had to make
up some kind of story to get an in with the boys, that's all."
"So you're not going to knock those two weasels off?"
"No such intentions. I don't mind them sweating about it till the Feds
arrive, but that's it."
"What about Boltan and Hagready?"
"What about them? I did happen to know that if anyone started asking
questions about those two, he'd learn that neither had been near his
regular beat for close to a month."
"I'll bet!" Reetal said cryptically.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Hm-m-m," she said. "Bad News Quillan! A really tough boy, for sure.
You know, I didn't believe for an instant that you were after the
Hlats--"
"Why not?"
Reetal said, "I've been on a couple of operations with you, and you'd
be surprised how much I've picked up about you from time to time on
the side. Swiping a shipment of odd animals and selling them to Yaco,
that could be Bad News, in character. Selling a couple of hundred
human beings--like Brock and Solvey Kinmarten--to go along with the
animals to an outfit like Yaco would not be in character."
"So I have a heart of gold," Quillan said.
"So you fell all over your own big feet about half a minute ago!"
Reetal told him. "Bad News Quillan--with no interest whatsoever in the
Hlats--still couldn't afford to let Ryter live to talk about him to
the Feds, big boy!"
Quillan looked reflective for a moment. "Dirty trick!" he observed.
"For that, you might freshen up my glass."
* * * * *
Reetal took both glasses over to the liquor cabinet, freshened them
up, and settled down on the armrest of the chair again. "So there
we're back to the embarrassing little problem," she said.
"Ryter?"
"No, idiot. We both know that Ryter is headed for Rehabilitation.
Fifteen years or so of it, as a guess. The problem is little Reetal
who has now learned a good deal more than she was ever intended to
learn. Does she head for Rehabilitation, too?"
Quillan took a swallow of his drink and set the glass down again. "Are
you suggesting," he inquired, "that I might be, excuse the expression,
a cop?"
Reetal patted his head. "Bad News Quillan! Let's look back at his
record. What do we find? A shambles, mainly. Smashed-up organizations,
outfits, gangs. Top-level crooks with suddenly vacant expressions and
unexplained holes in their heads. Why go on? The name is awfully well
earned! And nobody realizing anything because the ones who do realize
it suddenly ... well, where _are_ Boltan Hagready at the moment."
Quillan sighed. "Since you keep bringing it up--Hagready played it
smart, so he's in Rehabilitation. Be cute if Ryter ran into him there
some day. Pappy Boltan didn't want to play it smart. I'm not enough of
a philosopher to make a guess at where he might be at present. But I
knew he wouldn't be talking."
"All right," Reetal said, "we've got that straight. Bad News is
Intelligence of some kind. Federation maybe, or maybe one of the
services. It doesn't matter, really, I suppose. Now, what about me?"
He reached out and tapped his glass with a fingertip. "That about you,
doll. You filled it. I'm drinking it. I may not think quite as fast as
you do, but I still think. Would I take a drink from a somewhat
lawless and very clever lady who really believed I had her lined up
for Rehabilitation? Or who'd be at all likely to blab out something
that would ruin an old pal's reputation?"
Reetal ran her fingers through his hair again. "I noticed the deal
with the drink," she said. "I guess I just wanted to hear you say it.
You don't tell on me, I don't tell on you. Is that it?"
"That's it," Quillan said. "What Ryter and Orca want to tell the Feds
doesn't matter. It stops there, the Feds will have the word on me
before they arrive. By the way, did you go wake up the Kinmartens
yet?"
"Not yet," Reetal said. "Too busy getting the office help soothed down
and back to work."
"Well, lets finish these drinks and go do that, then. The little
doll's almost bound to be asleep by now, but she might still be
sitting there biting nervously at her pretty knuckles."
* * * * *
Major Hesler Quillan of Space Scout Intelligence, was looking unhappy.
"We're still searching for them everywhere," he explained to Klayung,
"but it's a virtual certainty that the Hlat got them shortly before it
was trapped."
Klayung, a stringy, white-haired old gentleman, was an operator of the
Psychology Service, in charge of the shipment of Hlats the _Camelot_
had brought in. He and Quillan were waiting in the vestibule of the
Seventh Star's rest cubicle vaults for Lady Pendrake's cubicle to be
brought over from the Executive Block.
Klayung said reflectively, "Couldn't the criminals with who you were
dealing here have hidden the couple away somewhere?"
Quillan shook his head. "There's no way they could have located them
so quickly. I made half a dozen portal switches when I was taking
Kinmarten to the suite. It would take something with a Hlat's
abilities to follow me over that route and stay undetected. And it
must be an unusually cunning animal to decide to stay out of sight
until I'd led it where it wanted to go."
"Oh, they're intelligent enough," Klayung agreed absently. "Their
average basic I.Q. is probably higher than that of human beings. A
somewhat different type of mentality, of course. Well, when the
cubicle arrives, I'll question the Hlat and we'll find out."
Quillan looked at him. "Those control devices make it possible to hold
two-way conversations with the things?"
"Not exactly," Klayung said. "You see, major, the government
authorities who were concerned with the discovery of the Hlats
realized it would be almost impossible to keep some information about
them from getting out. The specimen which was here on the Star has
been stationed at various scientific institutions for the past year; a
rather large number of people were involved in investigating it and
experimenting with it. In consequence, several little legends about
them have been deliberately built up. The legends aren't entirely
truthful, so they help to keep the actual facts about the Hlats
satisfactorily vague.
"The Hlat-talker is such a legend. Actually, the device does nothing.
The Hlats respond to telepathic stimuli, both among themselves and
from other beings, eventually begin to correlate such stimuli with the
meanings of human speech."
"Then you--" Quillan began.
"Yes. Eltak, their discoverer, was a fairly good natural telepath. If
he hadn't been abysmally lazy, he might have been very good at it. I
carry a variety of the Service's psionic knick-knacks about with me,
which gets me somewhat comparable results."
He broke off as the vestibule portal dilated widely. Lady Pendrake's
cubicle floated through, directed by two gravity crane operators
behind it. Klayung stood up.
"Set it there for the present, please," he directed the operators. "We
may call for you later if it needs to be moved again."
He waited until the portal had closed behind the men before walking
over to the cubicle. He examined the settings and readings at some
length.
"Hm-m-m, yes," he said, straightening finally. His expression became
absent for a few seconds; then he went on. "I'm beginning to grasp the
situation, I believe. Let me tell you a few things about the Hlats,
major. For one, they form quite pronounced likes and dislikes. Eltak,
for example, would have been described by most of his fellow men as a
rather offensive person. But the Hlats actually became rather fond of
him during the fifteen or so years he lived on their island.
"That's one point. The other has to do with their level of
intelligence. We discovered on the way out here that our charges had
gained quite as comprehensive an understanding of the functioning of
the cubicles that had been constructed for them as any human who was
not a technical specialist might do. And--"
He interrupted himself, stood rubbing his chin for a moment.
"Well, actually," he said, "that should be enough to prepare you for a
look inside the Hlat's cubicle."
Quillan gave him a somewhat surprised glance. "I've been told it's
ugly as sin," he remarked. "But I've seen some fairly revolting
looking monsters before this."
Klayung coughed. "That's not exactly what I meant," he said. "I ...
well, let's just open the thing up. Would you mind, major?"
"Not at all." Quillan stepped over to the side of the cubicle,
unlocked the door switch and pulled it over. They both moved back a
few feet before the front of the cubicle. A soft humming came for some
seconds from the door's mechanisms; then it suddenly swung open.
Quillan stooped to glance inside, straightened instantly again, hair
bristling.
"_Where is it?_" he demanded, the Miam Devil out in his hand.
Klayung looked at him thoughtfully. "Not very far away, I believe. But
I can assure you, major, that it hasn't the slightest intention of
attacking us--or anybody else--at present."
Quillan grunted, looked back into the cubicle. At the far end, the
Kinmartens lay side by side, their faces composed. They appeared to be
breathing regularly.
"Yes," Klayung said, "they're alive and unharmed." He rubbed his chin
again. "And I think it would be best if we simply closed the cubicle
now. Later we can call a doctor over from the hospital to put them
under sedation before they're taken out. They've both had thoroughly
unnerving experiences, and it would be advisable to awaken them
gradually to avoid emotional shock."
He moved over to the side of the cubicle, turned the door switch back
again. "And now for the rest of it," he said. "We may as well sit down
again, major. This may take a little time."
* * * * *
"Let's look at the thing for a moment from the viewpoint of the Hlat,"
he resumed when he was once more comfortably seated. "Eltak's death
took it by surprise. It hadn't at that point grasped what the
situation in the Executive Block was like. It took itself out of sight
for the moment, killing one of the gang leaders in the process, then
began prowling about the various levels of the building, picking up
information from the minds and conversation of the men it encountered.
In a fairly short time, it learned enough to understand what was
planned by the criminals; and it arrived at precisely your own
conclusion ... that it might be possible to reduce and demoralize the
gangs to the extent that they would no longer be able to carry out
their plan. It began a systematic series of attacks on them with that
end in mind.
"But meanwhile you had come into the picture. The Hlat was rather
puzzled by your motive at first because there appeared to be an
extraordinary degree of discrepancy between what you were saying and
what you were thinking. But after observing your activities for a
while, it began to comprehend what you were trying to do. It realized
that your approach was more likely to succeed than its own, and that
further action on its side might interfere with your plans. But there
remained one thing for it to do.
"I may tell you in confidence, major, that another legend which has
been spread about these Hlats is their supposed inability to escape
from the cubicles. Even their attendants are supplied with this
particular bit of misinformation. Actually, the various force fields
in the cubicles don't hamper them in the least. The cubicles are
designed simply to protect the Hlats and keep them from being seen;
and rest cubicles, of course, can be taken anywhere without arousing
undue curiosity.
"You mentioned that the Kinmartens very likable young people. The Hlat
had the same feeling about them; they were the only human beings aside
from Eltak with whose minds it had become quite familiar. There was no
assurance at this point that the plans to prevent a bomb from being
exploded in the Star would be successful, and the one place where
human beings could hope to survive such an explosion was precisely the
interior of the Hlat's cubicle, which had been constructed to
safeguard its occupant against any kind of foreseeable accident.
"So the Hlat sprang your cubicle trap, removed the bait, carried the
Kinmartens inside, and whipped out of the cubicle again before the
rest current could take effect on it. It concluded correctly that
everyone would decide it had been recaptured. After that, it moved
about the Executive Block, observing events there and prepared to take
action again if that appeared to be advisable. When you had concluded
your operation successfully, it remained near the cubicle, waiting for
me to arrive."
Quillan shook his head. "That's quite an animal!" he observed after
some seconds. "You say, it's in our general vicinity now?"
"Yes," Klayung said. "It followed the cubicle down here, and has been
drifting about the walls of the vestibule while we ... well, while I
talked."
"Why doesn't it show itself?"
Klayung cleared his throat. "For two reasons," he said. "One is that
rather large gun you're holding on your knees. It saw you use it
several times, and after all the shooting in the Executive Block, you
see--"
Quillan slid the Miam Devil into its holster. "Sorry," he said. "Force
of habit, I guess. Actually, of course, I've understood for some
minutes now that I wasn't ... well, what's the other reason?"
"I'm afraid," Klayung said, "that you offended it with your remark
about its appearance. Hlats may have their share of vanity. At any
rate, it seems to be sulking."
"Oh," said Quillan. "Well, I'm sure," he went on rather loudly, "that
it understands I received the description from a prejudiced source.
I'm quite willing to believe it was highly inaccurate."
"Hm-m-m," said Klayung. "That seems to have done it, major. The wall
directly across from us--"
Something like a ripple passed along the side wall of the vestibule.
Then the wall darkened suddenly, turned black. Quillan blinked, and
the Hlat came into view. It hung, spread out like a spider, along half
the length of the vestibule wall. Something like a huge, hairy amoeba
in overall appearance, though the physical structures under the
coarse, black pelt must be of very unamoeba-like complexity. No eyes
were in sight, but Quillan had the impression of being regarded
steadily. Here and there, along the edges and over the surface of the
body, were a variety of flexible extensions.
Quillan stood up, hitched his gun belt into position, and started over
toward the wall.
"Lady Pendrake," he said, "honored to meet you. Could we shake hands?"