All My Sins Remembered (9 page)

Kill him use body as shield would work one gee Otto-body but Crowell-body too slow too big
… Jonathon plucked the gun from his belt and hopped back. “You aren’t as dangerous as Stuart said you would be.”

“He’s dangerous, all right. But we’ve pulled his fangs. Go on back to your office, Lyndham. Fitz and I’ll finish this job; you’re the only one without any good reason for being here.”

Jonathon went out the front door. “Well, Mr. McGavin—I suppose you find this rather embarrassing, to be held at bay by a ‘meek fellow’ like me.

“Yes, we heard your whole conversation this morning—Dr. Norman’s radiophone really doesn’t work too well, and neither does Dr. Struckheimer’s; they broadcast all the time, straight into a recorder in my office.” He motioned with the gun. “Come sit in the living room, Mr. McGavin. By all means bring your wine. I d love to join you, but my good hand is full—that should make it even easier to kill you when the time comes.”

Crowell sat in the old-fashioned chair and wondered when the time would come. “You can’t actually think you can keep getting away with this.”

“It’s a big dustpit, the biggest. I’m afraid Doctors Norman and Struckheimer will be following you into it, too. We can’t afford to have dozens of specialists prying around.”

Crowell shook his head. “If I don’t report, you’re going to have to contend with more than a handful of scientists. A battle cruiser will land in your port and put the whole Goddamn planet under arrest.”

“Strange they didn’t do it when the first two agents disappeared. That’s a pretty clumsy bluff, McGavin.”

“Those two good men were agents, Mr. Kindle, but just agents. I’m a prime operator, one of twelve such. You can ask Fitz-Jones what that means when he gets back.”

“You may not be alive when he gets back. He didn’t want to kill you here, because that would entail dragging your body over nearly a kilometer of desert. But it occurs to me that we could make more than one trip.”

“A grisly alternative. Do you actually think you could cut up a man as if he were a side of beef? Very messy.”

“I’m desperate…”

“Whatever are you two talking about?” Fitz-Jones came in through the hall entrance. “I saw Jonathon on the way here. I thought he was supposed to wait with you until I got back.”

“I was afraid he’d do something stupid, so I told him to go on. Never did feel I could trust the man very much.”

“You may be right. But I didn’t want to leave you alone with this expert murderer.”

“Hasn’t murdered me yet. Fitz, he says he’s a prime operator—does that mean anything to you?”

Fitz-Jones’s eyebrows went up a fraction and he looked at Crowell. “That can’t possibly be true. This planet’s too small to rate a prime operator.”

“We always send a prime when an agent gets killed,” Crowell said. “No matter how unimportant the case is otherwise.”

“Possibly,” Fitz-Jones mused, “and if so, I am indeed honored.” He gave a little mocking bow. “But the most expert bridge player would lose if he couldn’t pick up his cards. That’s the position you’re in, sir.”

“Do you know what will happen if you murder me, ambassador?”

“No if.’
After
we murder you… what, they’ll send another prime operator? They’ll soon run out.”

“They’ll quarantine this whole planet and ferret you out. You haven’t got a chance.”

“On the contrary, we have a very good chance—the chance that you’re lying. Which is rather large, considering your circumstances. I don’t think ill of you for it, Mr. McGavin. I would do the same in your position.”

“Why don’t you stop gloating at him and get some rope. My arm’s getting tired.”

“Excellent idea.” Fitz-Jones went outside and returned with a long coil.

“Finish your wine, Isaac. Come over here beside him, Kindle. If he tries anything, I don’t want you to roast me along with him.”

Otto expanded his chest and his biceps as Fitz-Jones wound the rope around him. An old trick and not very subtle, but Fitz-Jones didn’t notice. The way he tied him up, just winding the rope around and around his body, reminded Otto that he was dealing with inexperienced amateurs, and he chastised himself again for being so careless. Why, they hadn’t even searched him, though he had to admit that he had nothing more lethal than a penknife stashed away. Still, he had his hands and feet.

“We have several hours’ wait, Mr. McGavin. I suggest you try to sleep.” Fitz-Jones went into the kitchen and came out with Otto’s laser and a soda bottle. He walked over to Otto and chopped down with the plastic bottle. Otto tried to dodge but it hit the side of his head and the room went all blue sparks and gelatin and faded away.

He had been awake, listening, for at least an hour when Fitz-Jones came over with a glass of water and poured it on his head.

“Wake up, Mr. McGavin. It’s midnight, the lights are out, and we’re going for a little stroll.” Otto staggered to his feet, careful to puff out his chest and flex his muscles so the bonds appeared taut.

“I just thought of something, Fitz. Do you have an extra pair of nightglasses?”

“What? You didn’t bring yours?”

“I’m not in the habit of carrying them around in broad daylight.”

“Well, then, I’ll just take care of him alone. We aren’t going to take a light.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. After what he did to me I want the pleasure of roasting him—slowly.”

“Sure, and stumble into a dustpit along the way. I’m
not
letting you use the glasses and go out with him alone. You couldn’t hit the ground with a rock, not even right-handed.”

“Fitz, he’s unarmed and tied up. And he can’t see in the dark.”

“Unarmed and tied up and blind, he’s more dangerous than you would be in command of a battle cruiser. That’s the end of the discussion.”

“All right, all right. Just let me come along to finish him off. I can hang onto your belt.”

Fitz-Jones glanced at McGavin, who was smiling in spite of his predicament. “The arrangement has a certain lack of dignity. I can see it amuses our friend. But all right. You can walk along behind me, but if he tries anything, let me handle it.”

“Sure, Fitz.” He ostentatiously switched the laser to safety. “Even if he starts throwing fission bombs, I won’t fire until we get there. Then let me get in front of you and find him by laser-light.”

“Let’s be on with it, then. Mr. McGavin, it will be your honor to lead us. I’ll direct you.” They went out the kitchen door into the absolute blackness of the desert.

Otto knew he had half a kilometer in which to make his move. He figured that they would be least alert about halfway there. He counted carefully measured steps, twelve hundred to a kilometer.

The men were silent except for occasional terse directions from Fitz-Jones. Otto counted three hundred steps, then moved slightly to his left. Under the rope, he raised his left hand to his right shoulder and his left arm popped out of the coil. His body shielded the action from Fitz-Jones. He had a firm mental picture of the man behind him, and could strike at any vital spot once he knew where any part of his body was.

He stopped and Fitz-Jones prodded him with the laser, giving him a reference point. He brought his left hand around in a shallow chop that sent the laser spinning, and before it hit the ground he delivered a savage, killing kick to the groin with enough force to knock both men down.

He heard the laser skitter away and ran after it as the two men fell. But on the third step he skidded on loose gravel, lost his balance, and, falling, went into a shoulder roll—but his shoulder never hit the ground.

He hit the dustpit with a faint pop and was floating through a nightmarish world of viscous powder. He fought to hold his breath as the dust crawled into his nostrils. Then his knees bumped against the rock floor of the pit. Fighting panic, he stood and pushed his free arm straight up. He couldn’t tell whether his hand cleared the surface of the pit. Lungs burning, he tried to walk back the way he had fallen, then realized that his sense of direction had vanished. He tried to walk in a straight line, any direction was all right, the pit couldn’t be more than a few meters in diameter; if it were bigger they would use
it
for their dumping place; but it was impossible to walk and he drifted to his knees and crawled slowly until his Head pressed against the stony wall of the pit and he dragged himself upright and painfully started to pull the heavy Crowell-body up handhold foothold right arm free biceps bruising against plastiflesh eyes on fire itching have to sneeze cool breeze on hand find edge pull up freedom.

Otto put his chin on the edge of the pit, exhaled in a quick hiss and sucked in air, started to sneeze, and bit his tongue hard. Kindle was screaming.

“I can’t
see!
You broke them, Goddamnit!” Fitz-Jones was moaning, little animal whimpering sounds. Suddenly the red glare of a laser flooded the scene. Kindle was fanning it around, using it as a searchlight. That was stupid; if anyone was awake back at the Company, they’d see it. Not likely they would come out and investigate, though.

Fitz-Jones, who shouldn’t even have been alive, was actually standing, staggering, doubled over with pain. The edge of the beam caressed him and one leg burst into flame. He whirled around twice and disappeared. Another dustpit.

The light flickered off. “McGavin? I hope you saw that! You’re hiding out there somewhere, I know it! But I can wait, I can wait—when it gets light, you’re a dead man!”

McGavin cautiously pulled himself out of the dustpit. He unwound the rope that was still wrapped loosely around his body. After investigating the ground around the pit by touch, he had to admit that Fitz-Jones’s laser must have fallen in. He wasn’t going after it.

There was a large outcropping of rock about thirty meters away; he had seen it by laser-light. Slowly, silently he crawled in that direction, groping in front of him, patting the ground with his palm. Several times his hand found the warm talcum-powder softness of a dustpit; he detoured around. Finally he got to the outcropping and sat behind a large boulder.

He took stock. One vibroknife, two hands, two feet, and lots of rocks. One coil of rope. He had the alternatives of garrotting Kindle, cutting him to pieces, or simply breaking every bone in his body. All of them very effective against an unarmed man. But suicide against a laser.

He was tired, more tired than he could remember having been in all of his strenuous life. He rattled the pillbox softly.
One Gravitol left, have to save it, take it just before dawn
.

He formulated and discarded half a dozen plans. Might as well have just taken a deep breath in the dustpit. So tired.

Footsteps—Kindle wouldn’t be insane enough to walk up in the dark… no, too confident; it was a Bruuchian. He walked right up and sat down, not a meter away. Otto could hear his breathing.

McGavin whispered in the informal mode, “Do I know you/ friend who comes in the night?”

“Crowell-who-jests/ I am Pornuuran/ of the family Tuurlg./ You do not know me/ though I know you./ You are a friend of my brother/ Kindle-who-leads.” The Bruuchian also whispered.

“Kindle-who-leads/ is in your family?”

“Yes/ the priests gave the family Tuurlg/ the honor-tradition of adopting/ the highest humans/ Kindle-who-leads and/ before him/ Malatesta-the-highest.”

“Brother-of-my-friend Pornuuran/ could you lead me/ from this place/ before the desert is light?”

The Bruuchian laughed, an almost silent belch. “Crowell-who-jests/ you are indeed the merriest human./ My brothers and I/ came to observe/ the human stillness ritual./ Of course we cannot interfere.

“The priests/ saw the red light in the desert/ and sent us here for instruction/ perhaps to help/ carry the still one.”

“Where are your older brothers?”

“Crowell-who-jests/ my oldest and youngest brothers/ stand near their brother/ Kindle-who-leads./ He also asked us to/ lead him in darkness/ to lead him to you/ but we would not disobey/ the priests’ order.”

Thank God for that
, Otto thought. He briefly considered using the native as a shield, but that would be pretty low. And ineffective; the native was too small.

With a start Otto realized that he could see a vague outline of the native silhouetted against the lighter rock. He took out the pillbox and swallowed his last Gravitol. Instantly the tiredness washed away.

He peered over the side of the boulder. He couldn’t yet see Kindle, but it would only be a matter of minutes; dawn came swiftly here. Then Kindle could walk up at his leisure.

Suddenly McGavin had a plan… it was outrageously simple, and rather risky. But it might work—and he had little choice.

Otto gathered an armload of rocks and set out across the plain, moving as quickly as he could with safety. By the time his hand found a dustpit, there was enough light that he could see it disappear into the powder. He felt around and determined where the edge was, then set down the rocks and his vibroknife and lowered himself into the warm pool, fighting the urge to scramble out immediately.

He arranged the rocks around the flat edge in such a way that his head would be hidden from view when he was immersed up to his chin.

The blade of the knife only slid out halfway when he touched the button on the side. He checked with his finger-nail, and it wasn’t vibrating. The dust must have fouled the mechanism. Well, it still had a point and an edge.