The Universe — or Nothing by Meyer Moldeven (summer reads .txt) 📖

by a personal message from Camari to Chiefs of State. He has had audiences with INOR Presidents or Ministers. They have informed you of their replies to his appeals. Those who declined to meet with him took the course they did because they had nothing to add to what had already been stated by the others.

"Because of your initiatives, President Narval, you are central among the INOR leaders in pressing the issues between the Regions. Refusing to see him may be interpreted by our colleagues in INOR as a lack of conviction in our cause, or even as weakness. My recommendation is that you see him, but manipulate the discussions to give our rights dominance. Insofar as 'safe conduct', I suggest we ignore the insult, grant him permission to visit our planet, and wish him a pleasant stay."

Narval drummed on the desk, pushed at the message again, and shifted about. He was uncomfortable.

"I'll think about it, Drummer," he said. "Meanwhile, extend the invitation, set up suitable quarters for him away from our official guest house, meet him when he arrives, and so on. Have him stand by. When I decide on the approach to the discussions, I'll let you know whether I'll meet with him."

##

"Well, Scarf, have you finished reading that thing?" Narval impatiently bit a fingernail.

"Yessir, Mr. President."

"Well?"

"Sir?"

"What the hell do you mean by 'sir'? I asked for your opinion, dammit."

"Well, sir, he asks for an audience with you…"

Narval sighed. "Don't just repeat the message,
Scarf. Tell me what you know of this man."

Scarf's face lost its embarrassed flush and he hastily pulled a reader device from his pocket. Striking a series of keys, Scarf peered closely at the screen. He pointed to the reader as verification for his words.

"Ambassador Xindral is a senior Intelligence Officer assigned to Slingshot. That's about all we've got on him. Definitely not a run-of-the-mill diplomatic type."

"That's what concerns me, Scarf. I'm highly suspicious of his motives even if Camari did notify us in advance. Intelligence officer, indeed. If he becomes aware of our preparations and reports back, our plans will be jeopardized. Drummer wants me to see him. I don't want to be in the same room with this person. Yet I can't refuse without losing face. Now, get me out of this, Scarf."

"How far can I go, Mr. President?"

"As far as you like, just keep me out of it."

Scarf rubbed his beefy jaw reflectively, then grinned.

"I have reason to suspect, Mr. President, that this known UIPS intelligence officer is using an Ambassadorial cover for purposes harmful to Planet Pluto's internal security. How's that for starters, sir?"

Narval's eyes gleamed with sudden craft.

"Go on," he said.

"His ostensible mission to meet with the President of Planet Pluto is, in actuality, a guise under which he intends to meet with dissident elements among our people. His real mission is to subvert and undermine the foundations of our government. In other words, his coming here is to disrupt. He should be dealt with according to the rules of his own game, and not those of normal interplanetary or interregional diplomacy."

"Explain."

"Agents that conduct a mission such as his are expendable, Mr. President. There are no rules."

"Repercussions?"

"Whatever happens to him will be outside accepted protocols, and will occur prior to his arrival at the President's Official Residence. The incident will result from initiatives taken by the UIPS Ambassador, himself. The Government of Planet Pluto will not be involved."

"Very well, Scarf. I leave it to you."

##

"Hodak," Brad motioned him forward. "I want you to show me the new power pack for the cruiser being overhauled in tunnel 3. Where is it?"

Hodak glanced at Brad, then away.

"It's still in the shop near the north side of the dome. Take us a few minutes to get there."

"OK, let's go."

Leaving the cubicle that served as office they boarded the strip. Standing close, they spoke through unmoving lips.

"Ram's here."

"In Coldfield?"

"Not yet, but soon."

"What's up?"

"He's to see Narval. His job is to try to work out an agreement that'll keep Slingshot construction moving along."

"How'd you find out?"

"Drummer mentioned it to me in passing. He's arranging a meeting between Narval and Ram."

"Has the time been set?"

"Not yet. Drummer's waiting for the go ahead from
Narval."

"You mean Narval isn't sure he wants to meet Ram?"

"Suspicious, isn't it?"

"Damn right."

Their eyes met and moved on to the passing scene.

"If there's to be an incident," Brad asked, "who'll be setting it up?"

"Scarf, who else?"

"Soon as I hear when Ram's due and where he's to be lodged, I'll get back to you. For as long as he's on Planet Pluto your job is to keep him out of harm's way."

Chapter TWENTY-NINE

Entering the Charnel Pit, Ram scanned the tavern. An empty table beckoned, and he folded his long frame onto its stool and delicately leaned an elbow on the least filthy spot of the scarred surface. Shifting his body slightly, he observed the milling crowd with frequent glances toward the entry.

Garbed in earth-toned street clothes, he had just left his room at the Condor, his mind on Drummer. Their meeting at the landing pad had been proper and courteous, with no attempts at prying, either way. Confining themselves to amenities, they spoke of tedious space jumps, the quality of accommodations in various parts of the system, and generalities on a better life for humankind from a benevolent Slingshot.

Drummer had taken leave following Ram's inspecting his lodgings at the Condor and shrugging them acceptable under the circumstances. Departing, Drummer informed Ram that he would call for him or send an escort as soon as a suitable time for his meeting could be arranged with President Narval. Ram expressed his trust that the meeting would be soon and productive.

As his eyes accustomed to the bar-room's smoke-diffused lighting the harsh faces of the jostling crowd emerged. A frontier, indeed, he mused. Satisfied that he drew no untoward attention, he glanced once more toward the door and signaled a robo-dispenser.

A face drifted past, paused for the briefest moment, and moved on. It was enough. Ram gave no outward sign, but felt less alone. Hodak ambled to the bar, where the drinkers greeted him and jovially made room. An hour and several drinks slipped by. Hodak and Ram ignored each other.

A small man in a nondescript tunic sidled up Ram's table.

"Xindral?" He wheezed.

Ram glanced at him and away. He remained silent.

"I have a message for Ram Xindral."

"Give it."

"If you're Xindral, the person you're here to see prefers to meet with you away from his normal place of business. I am to guide you to the meeting. Follow me."

"Name the man who sent you?"

"Drummer."

"Why didn't he come himself?"

"He is with his superior at the meeting place."

Ram was suspicious. It could be a trap. On the other hand, it was not unreasonable that Narval might want to meet away from the formal seat of government. His options were limited. If Drummer had really sent the message, and he refused the escort, the meeting with Narval would be off to a bad start, perhaps canceled.

The messenger stood by, subservient, waiting. Ram brought his hands to his forehead as if deliberating a decision, and gently rubbed his temple to cover a flashing glance at Hodak. Hodak subtly acknowledged the sign.

"Be with you as soon as I finish my drink," Ram said.

Taking a sip, he placed the goblet on the table and began to fish about in his tunic pockets, clumsy and time-consuming. Finally, he rose slowly, towering over the small man.

"Lead on," he said.

Alarms shrilled in Hodak's mind as he recognized the person speaking with Ram. What were Scarf's stooge and Ram discussing? Ram's mission to Planet Pluto was clearly diplomatic and entirely Drummer's show. Drummer would not have knowingly accepted Scarf's involvement in the proceedings.

Ram's surreptitious glance in his direction and deliberate clumsy hesitation imparted doubts concerning his predicament. Hodak stretched, quickly finished his drink, paid his tab, and slapped drinking partners' shoulders good-bye. He sauntered toward the door, left the bar-room and, outside, turned away as Ram and his escort emerged and moved off. Hodak turned casually to observe.

A man in a dark tunic slipped out from a shadow along the wall and followed behind Ram. Another trailed further behind. As Hodak watched, two more moved out of an alley and took positions ahead of Ram and his escort. Ram was boxed.

Hodak followed, barely close enough to distinguish
Ram's swaying form in the street crowds.

Ram's guide moved toward a break in the wall and motioned Ram to follow. Hodak saw Ram hesitate, speak harshly, and draw back. He was too late. The others closed in and pushed him forward. Ram stumbled, tripped, fell, tried to rise. Arms whipped about and he stayed down. The four lifted and dragged him through the breach. The fifth waited until they disappeared and darted away. It had happened fast.

Direct intervention on his part, Hodak realized, would be extremely hazardous. Recognition would instantly compromise the Sentinel mission. He had to help Ram in a way that would not disclose his own identity.

He slipped silently into the alley.

From up ahead came rumbled curses and harsh laughter; they were sure of themselves.

Hodak's eyes searched the shadows without success except for the grind of boots on stony detritus and the scrape of a weight being dragged. He closed the gap, counting on the procession ignoring their rear.

The sounds muted and stopped. Peering from a recessed slot along the wall he saw Ram's abductors crowd around the entry to an open utility. One of them crawled in and Ram's unconscious form passed to him. The remaining three followed and the cover drawn into place.

Hodak moved swiftly to the entry and pressed his ear against its thick cover. Shifting position and scooping aside loose dirt and pebbles, he pressed his ear first against the ground then back to the cover. Scraping noises from the other side were audible, but diminishing.

The odds were not with him but timing and surprise might even them a bit. Lifting the cover slowly, he felt the texture of the surface and slipped into the dimness beyond. He crouched in the rubble, the faint sounds giving him direction.

The tunnel lights were low and flickering, their sconces widely spaced. It was enough.

Working his way forward along the tunnel, short dashes from one bend to the next, Hodak closed on the laughing, cursing pack. They were close beyond the next bend.

Feeling along the waistband of his tunic, Hodak drew a thin, flat metal strip from the weave. Holding the strip gingerly, he jerked their ends in opposite directions and sensed the sharpness of the blades that instantly snapped outward along both edges. Twisting and turning formed a half-meter long scimitar and bending it slightly along its length added a curve comparable to the ancient Australian boomerang. It was both silent and deadly.

Hodak eased closer to the bend in the tunnel, and snaked his way along the ground until he had a view of the scene ahead.

Ram lay in a heap against one wall, motionless. His captors, facing the opposite wall, were busily examining its surface. Words bounced back along the wall.

"…as good a place as any, huh?"

"Yeah. Let's get this over with and head for the
Blind Pig. I'm thirsty as hell."

"OK, Patch and Swat, you two — start burning the hole. Cut it deep enough so all of him can be shoved in. Leave enough room so we can seal it over with the same dirt. Flume, you start collecting rocks to pack around the body once we get it in place. Then we'll just pack and fuse-seal until it's all smoothed over. This guy'll be riding this ice ball when hell freezes over."

"What're you gonna do, Angel?"

His tone was sarcastic. It brought a snarl in return.

"Scarf put me in charge of this detail, Flume. Remember? So when I tell you to haul rocks, don't fight it." The heavy tone eased. "I was ordered to search the guy. Scarf wants everything from his pockets, and all his clothes, just in case he's got something stashed away. I gotta deliver the stuff as soon as we're done here. My orders are also to mess up the body so it'll never be identified, even if it does get found. So let's get with it."

As Hodak watched, Flume, the rock gatherer moved off down the tunnel. Two of the remaining three drew soil-fusers from a backpack and concentrated on their power settings. The fourth, obviously Angel, turned toward Ram who was beginning to stir.

Seeing Ram's movement, Angel drew his weapon, hefted it, and aimed it at Ram's head. Angel's mouth twisted into a savage grin.

His companions turned from their work to watch.

"Wait.