Mark wheeled as the attacker hurtled past him and his straight left
went unerringly to the man's head, jarring him. Automatically Mark's
training came to the fore, as everything else faded until it was only
Spacer Lynn and a murderous enemy. Mark's right was a peg upon which
he hung the attacker's blasting blow, while he used the boxer's left,
long and weaving, throwing it swiftly like a cat sparring with a
mouse dangling by the tail from its teeth. His left bounced off the
attacker's chin. It was a little high, but the man rocked on his heels.
The killer rushed. Mark let his heels touch the ground, refused to run.
The attacker was too aggressive and eager for complete defense. Mark
caught him with a left and right and calmly took a murderous hook to
the belly without flinching, then he let his right hand ride, dropping
it like a sledge-hammer. The attacker's face seemed to lose contour,
its features blurred as the face went gory; his feet crossed and his
knees went suddenly rubbery. The conveyor-road inspector fell with a
crash and didn't get up.
Mark became suddenly aware that two Martian proctors flanked him,
deadly atomo-pistols pressing at his sides.
"Silence and obedience, International! Follow!" came the crisp, laconic
order from the senior proctor.
Instantly a visi-screen lighted and a cold, imperious voice directed:
"Remove the attacker, dispose as power reserve. Spacer Lynn proceed on
mission!"
In unison, the two proctors saluted and the atomo-pistols disappeared.
It was the voice of the Council, through some subordinate.
"The eyes and ears of the universe!" Mark Lynn exclaimed ironically in
a whisper. The cometary reaction must have been psychological as well
as physical to bring about crime in a social order where for centuries
it had disappeared. Or had it? Mark wondered. How many secrets, how
much factual data the Council kept from the people? No one would ever
know. But why try to liquidate him? He'd just arrived from years in
outer space; surely he couldn't possibly have enemies on Terra! Was
his mission known? And come to think of it, just what was his mission
actually? Meditatively, he tapped the cylinder in the inner pocket of
his tunic. Could _that_ have been the motive for the assault?
* * * * *
"Palanth!" Mark Lynn exclaimed delightedly as he spied a dandified
Martian leaning against a column of chrysophrase, upon entering the
lobby of the International Police headquarters to report.
Tall and sinewy-lean, with the exaggeratedly narrow waist
characteristic of the Martians, Palanth gazed startled at his companion
of many adventures, from behind a silken square of Venusian-spider
silk drenched in the overpowering fragrance of Venusian Jasmines. Only
the violet eyes were visible, startling against the background of his
flaming hair.
In the tight-fitting yellow tunic of an International, he resembled an
ancient, narrow-waisted cretan come to life, but for the flaming mane
and towering height.
"Greetings! O bird of ill-omen, what malodorous wind blew you in
from outer space?" He dropped the handkerchief long enough to reveal
chiselled nostrils and white even teeth as he smiled heart-warmingly.
He placed his left hand on Mark's shoulder, in the immemorial gesture
Mars reserved for the closest friends.
"One sec, Planetarian, while I check in," Mark grinned also placing
his hand on the Martian's shoulder, knowing how it annoyed the
Martian to be called by a lower rank. Mark stepped into a booth that
automatically recorded his status as the visi-screen panel glowed into
life.
"Spacer Mark Lynn, Exploratory Astrogator First Class, reporting. Under
sealed orders from the Supreme Council. Last station Io. Awaiting
further orders." In a thousand departments that recorded global
information and checked it in detail even psychologically, Mark's words
automatically became part of the endless record. But there was no
answer. The visi-screen faded to a smouldering green and went blank.
"Strange!" Mark muttered to himself, stepping out of the booth. "These
orders must be final." He touched the slight bulge made by the cylinder
he carried.
Curiosity was beginning to needle him, but orders from the Council
could only be opened in absolute privacy, especially sealed orders.
Palanth was waiting for him, the eternal handkerchief pressed against
his nose. A brilliant panagran, blood-red and flashing made a deep
spot of color against his left ear-lobe. Everything about him seemed
indolent, aesthetic, super-refined. And the exquisite fragrances from
the known universe with which he drenched his squares of silk, thanks
to his mania against human odors, added to the foppish effect.
"Have you come to twist the tail of the comet, O thou especially not
wanted?"
* * * * *
Palanth waved his handkerchief diffusing jasmines in the rich austerity
of the lobby, as he lounged back against the column with a sigh that
might have meant anything. His yellow tunic--as near the color of gold
as he dared, without actually being the hue reserved for the Supreme
head of the Council, shimmered like watered silk. His slender hands
flashed with _acerines_ and _calchuites_.
"Breath-taking, as usual," Mark was grinning from ear to ear,
"specially that godawful jungle fumes you're soaked in ... arrgh! I
can't breathe!"
"My only defense against you creatures," Palanth said languidly. "I
need replenishing, Mark, shall we go?"
"Lord, yes. I could eat an Europan." Mark checked himself as an
odd tight expression came into his eyes, and his hand tightened
on something hard inside a lower pocket of his tunic. He fell
unaccountably silent for a moment.
Palanth strode beside him with a lithe, tigerish stride which belied
his now forgotten languid pose of a few minutes ago. His deceptive
exterior--which many to their final regret had found could disappear
like lightning, still made him seem a Planetarian fop whom the Council
permitted harmless foibles for reasons of their own.
"I never hoped to see you again after that crash on Europa." Palanth
exclaimed with a relieved sigh. "You're so reckless, Mark, and death is
so permanent!"
"Of course, _you_ are not reckless," Mark taunted with obvious irony,
remembering how the Martian International could explode into action
like an enraged Martian Hella. "In your superior wisdom, there's no
reason to take chances--everything's planned in advance, logically,
coldly.... Bah. Do you recall that little incident on Venus when they
served you imitation Thassalian and that little Venusian baggage tried
to dope you with...."
"Cease! O chattering...." Palanth interrupted as near being embarrassed
as it was possible for him to be. The rest of what he said was buried
in the perfumed handkerchief which he hastily pressed against his face
as they joined the crowds that filled the avenue.
"But what are you here for? It is permissible to know?" Mark asked
soberly at last.
"I may as well tell you," Palanth said, his tones muffled by the
handkerchief. "You'd never have the imagination to guess!"
"You probably have been appointed to regulate the last batch of
outgoing freighters enroute to various space stations, in order to
relieve congestion and ease pressure of transportation. There may be
something else ... eh?"
"Master mind! But there's that last _something else_ that you'd never
guess."
"Inductive reasoning tells me that a freight coordinator would
be assigned to freight problems ... let _me_ talk ... but this
seems to be the last time that old Terra is going to send freight
anywhere. I feel there's one last measure to be taken against the
unpredictable--something calculated to checkmate a future result. Oh
I know I sound as if I were talking gibberish, Palanth, but well ...
it's still sort of foggy in my mind. I'll know more when I read my
orders."
"I've already read mine," Palanth said quietly. "I'm persuaded they're
not very different from yours--in the last analysis. It's a gigantic
game, Mark!"
"Then you know?"
"Yes!" It was almost a whisper, almost a telepathic assent. "But here's
our energy center, let's go on in."
* * * * *
Once within the vast dining-hall, known as an Energy Center, they
selected a table and from the menu the number of the meal that suited
them, pressing the numerically corresponding stud on the panel above
the table. The food came on a conveyor belt that passed beneath the
floor and emerged from the center of the table which was hollow and had
a panel that slid aside as the food arrived.
"Well, what have you learned," Palanth asked Mark as they began their
meal.
Mark Lynn outlined what he knew and added a few conjectures of his own,
and Palanth's face split gradually in a wide grin.
"A pretty mess.... How many of you flesh-eating mammals are there left
to transport ... the irreconcilables, I mean, the dissenters."
"Roughly about five hundred million. They're an amazing mixture
of Internationals, Philosophers and Ruralians--the three most
individualistic strata!"
"It would be easier to ray them down, let the Comet wipe them out
in due time, than to go to all this trouble of persuading them to
evacuate." Palanth retorted coldly. "Still, to my Martian mind, they're
far more valuable than your herds of controlled sheep--at least, they
can think for themselves!"
"However, in a controlled, beneficent political economy such as the
World State, any such benevolent treatment as raying them down, or
abandoning them to sidereal extinction is outlawed," a quiet, mellow
voice said behind them.
Both Mark and Palanth looked up with a start to see the exquisite oval
face with the serious, limpid hazel eyes of Doctor Fortun, in her
purple scientist tunic. Palanth rose instantly and bowed, Mark was but
a fraction of a second behind him.
"It's a rare honor for Spacers to enjoy socially the company of a
Scientist," Mark said gravely, but his eyes were dancing.
"Probably just as well, if you express such unorthodox opinions
freely," she replied sitting between them at the table. "However, we
have a long journey ahead, might as well begin to know each ... as
we really are." Her smile was an adventure, and when she turned her
head to survey Palanth with frank curiosity, Mark noted that her hair
escaping the tight-fitting kepis was almost the color of dark honey in
the sun.
"A long journey...." Palanth murmured as he picked absorbedly at
something on his plate that resembled purple pop-corn. "A long journey,
where ... how, and to what end?"
"What are you eating?" Doctor Fortun asked almost too casually, instead
of replying.
"These? Oh, candied violets," Palanth's languid pose had returned aware
that many eyes were upon him in the crowded energy center.
"Don't you have enough perfume as it is without eating it too?" Mark
growled.
"Peace, O spawn of unthinkable misfortune!" Palanth said grandly and
filled his mouth with the delicacy.
* * * * *
Doctor Fortun laughed aloud, it was like the tintinnabulation of
clustered silver bells.
"Fraud!" she exclaimed amiably. "If I were not acquainted with your
past record I'd think you were a fop. Does that pose ever fool anybody,
Palanth?"
The tall Martian grinned shrugging his shoulders. "Who knows? _It's
been so long since I've had adventure for a bride!_" He quoted a line
from the famous Terran poet of the twenty-first century.
"He's done it so long, it's become second nature with him," Mark said
inelegantly. "However, the perfume business is no pose. Wait till you
see his collection of extracts!"
Palanth glared at him, but remained silent. Just then a growing
tremor shook the energy center, and one of the walls split from floor
to ceiling. Their table fell with a crash and the hum of the food
conveyors ceased. Voices rose in startled exclamations and the crash
of other tables added to the increasing noise. A convulsive heave
rent the floor and the continuous series of audio-pictures on the
visi-screen ceased abruptly.
After what seemed an eternity, in reality seconds, the quake subsided,
leaving wreckage behind and the pale, strained faces of the guests.
"Even here in North America, the very heart of the World State, the
quakes are increasing," Doctor Fortun said thoughtfully. "Our estimates
gave us eight more weeks before the proximity of the comet neutralized
astro-warp evacuation. It seems hardly possible, but there may be
elements in the situation we have failed to calculate. I believe the
sooner we complete evacuation the better it'll be." She glanced at Mark
speculatively.
"I suggest you read your orders this evening, once you're registered at
International House, Spacer Lynn."
"That's my plan," Mark told her. "And speaking of unknown elements,
I'm still puzzled at being attacked by an International today. I was
unaware that I had enemies on Terra. What could the motive have been?"
"Attacked?" Palanth was instantly alert. "Why didn't you tell me, Mark?"
The Spacer shrugged his shoulders. "It was a minor incident--only, it's
mystery bothers me. I've been taught there's no crime on Terra, and I
am too unimportant for political liquidation."
"You forget," Doctor Fortun said softly, "the profound dislocations
brought about by this unforeseen situation. Two-thirds of Terra's
population have been evacuated. Another third--the most intractable,
refuses cooperation. There are many sympathizers in high places.
In the inevitable confusion, the efficiency of the World State has
been impaired. What would have been impossible a few months ago,
can happen now. You're not only our chief explorer, but a name to
conjure with among Internationals--your word has never been broken.
Being suspected of having become a subservient tool of the Council is
enough for certain elements to consider you too dangerous to their
aims--therefore, guard your life, Spacer!"
"But I'm not a tool!" Mark exclaimed fiercely. "My allegiance to the
Council only involves my life--not the lives of others--I'll not
defraud them, dissenters or not!"
* * * * *
Doctor Fortun smiled quietly, as if contemplating some inner scene. The
brilliant hazel eyes were veiled and whatever activity went on behind
the smooth forehead was masked. The confusion within the Energy Center
had subsided, and the guests were leaving now in orderly fashion, but
as fast as possible.
"It's time to exit," the girl said casually. "Pity we were interrupted
just when we were beginning to really know each other." Suddenly her
manner changed as with what seemed an unconscious gesture she removed
the tight-fitting cap and her hair fell about her shoulders with the
gleaming patina of dark gold. Her smile had the demure sweetness of an
embarrassed girl, her eyes were soft and luminous as she gazed first at
Mark and then at Palanth.
"There's a strato-cruiser of the first order leaving at six for a
resort on the gulf of Mexico--Havanol--it's perhaps the last time we'll
have a chance to see it. Shall we ..." she hesitated, "shall we dine
there?" Rose mantled her cheeks and her long lashes swept downwards as
she made the suggestion.
"Havanol!" Mark was enchanted. "Martian music and food to tempt
archangels ... but how can you and I enter Havanol? It's open only to
special permit!"
"You're not by any remote chance forgetting me?" Palanth inquired with
elaborate irony. "I've never seen Havanol, besides, I'm sure Doctor
Fortun would like to use some Parnassin for the occasion."
"Parnassin! The perfume of the butterfly orchids of Venus! Why,
Palanth, it's worth more than _calchuites_--it's the rarest, the most
unattainable of extracts!" Doctor Fortun clasped her hands in ecstasy
at the very thought of it. Then her rigid scientific training asserted
itself. "But I couldn't wear it, it's like evaporating a fortune in
credits within a few hours," she said unhappily.
"Bother, control 'one,' forget it for one memorable night!" Palanth was
exasperated. "I know its antidote--and I have it!" he said savagely.
"So have I," Mark said grinning.
* * * * *
"_Thassalian?_" the girl was startled. It was the forbidden Martian
liquor of the Gods. It could achieve almost miraculous cures when taken
in tiny doses; it gave the sensation of ineffable happiness, and when
taken to excess, it drove the addict hopelessly insane.
"We still haven't solved the problem of the special permit," Mark
reminded them.
"I have one for a party of four, which I haven't used as yet," Doctor
Fortun said with a hint of shyness. "You'll have time to read your
orders and then I'll pick you both up at International House in my
helio-plane. Agreed?"
"Agreed!" Both Mark and Palanth said fervently. They watched the
slight figure of the girl as she made her way through the crowds with
precision, her purple tunic vivid against the white carpet of fallen
snow. "Her mind was well guarded!" Palanth thought aloud.
"It is a mind of power, or I would have contacted it," Mark barely
whispered without moving his lips.
"Still, there can be nothing at Havanol that we can't cope with,"
Palanth shot a powerful telepathetic vibration at the Earthian Spacer.
"Have you had the feeling of being under spy-ray, Mark?"
"Yes, for months ... but I've guarded my mind, and as you know, the
Council's spy-ray is not quite effective on those beyond controls one,
six and fifteen; we're beyond conditioning for penetration by their
mental synthesis. At times they're able to obtain partial ideation
which they reconstruct and reform into thought-pattern trends--but
hell! our thought-trends and individualistic patterns have been known
to them all our lives. However, we are being used as tools--indirectly!"
"We have no proof, Earthman! In any event, within certain limits we are
still free agents. Their orders may be one thing, what we do ... is
another. This cataclysm has shorn the World State of most of its power,
on Terra at any rate. Mars and Venus would sweep the resettlements off
their planets if the Terran fleet weren't constantly on guard!"
"Havanol may give us an inkling of what the game is!" Mark observed.
"The whole secret lies within the reason for evacuating the
irreconcilables. The Civicans, Guildians, Technicians and Ruralians
are merely the base of the pyramid; between them and the Scientists
there's a gap that must be filled by the Internationals and the
Philosophers--without pioneers and thinkers in the abstract, their
rule's static. Their scheme, whatever it is, fails without us." Mark
was telepathically communicating with Palanth his conclusions as they
neared International House.
Palanth's violet eyes narrowed in amusement. "They no doubt have
a surprise for us in store--how poetic that we should be the ones
to surprise them!" The Martian waved his perfumed kerchief and the
sparkling iciness of the breeze was scented with fresh jasmines.