Mission: Earth "Black Genesis" (2 page)

To My Lord Turn, Justiciary of the Royal Courts and Prison, Government City, Planet Voltar, Voltar Confederacy

Your Lordship, Sir!

I, Soltan Gris, late Secondary Officer of the Coordinated Information Apparatus, Exterior Division of the Voltar Confederacy (Long Live His Majesty Cling the Lofty and All 110 Planets of the Voltar Dominions), in all humbleness and gratitude am herein forwarding the second volume of my accounting of MISSION EARTH.

I am still relying on my notes, logs and strips to record everything as you requested. In this way, I hope to prove to you that my incarceration in your fine prison is well founded.

At the same time, I'm sure Your Lordship will see that nothing was my fault, especially the violence described earlier. Jettero Heller is to blame for everything that happened. Until his appearance, I was merely another Secondary Officer in the Apparatus. That I happened to be the head of Section 451 meant little. Section 451 had only one yellow dwarf star that had only one populated planet (Blito-P3) that its inhabitants called Earth.

Like many other planets, Earth was on the Invasion Timetable. It wasn't to be conquered for another century, so there was no urgency about the scouting mission

sent there. (Scouts are still used because other methods, such as reconnaissance satellites disguised as comets, work fine as general fly-by probes of systems but they can't get air, soil or water samples of particular planets.)

That was how Jettero Heller entered my life. Heller led this particular scouting party to Earth. They slipped in, got their information and left unnoticed. And even if seen, there was no real problem. Earth governments very conveniently disclaim the existence of "extraterrestrials," explaining away every sighting and keeping everything a secret. (Anyone who poses a threat is diagnosed by a psychiatrist, which is a profession funded by Earth governments to keep the riffraff in line.)

When Heller returned to Voltar, he filed his report and that was when all Hells broke loose.

My task as the head of Section 451 was to make sure that all such reports were altered, so that no attention was drawn to Blito-P3. The reason was the secret Apparatus base in a country called Turkey. But Heller's report got by me and ended up before the Grand Council.

What he found was quite alarming: Earth was polluting itself at a rate that would destroy the planet well before the still-distant invasion. That meant the Grand Council would have to order a pre-emptive strike, a very unpopular idea given the costs and resources. But it was even more unpopular with my boss, Lombar Hisst. He wasn't happy being the head of the Apparatus. He wanted to take over Voltar and the base in Turkey was the key that he would lose if he didn't act fast.

That was how Lombar created the idea of MISSION EARTH. He convinced the Council that rather than ordering a full-scale invasion, a single agent could secretly infiltrate the planet to introduce some technology that would arrest the pollution. It was a simple and cheap

idea, the Grand Council loved it and I thought the matter was done. Then Hisst gave me the first bad news. He planned to send Heller who, as an officer of the Royal Fleet, epitomized everything we despise in the Apparatus: honesty, cleanliness, discipline. The second piece of bad news was that I was to go along and sabotage Heller's mission.

We briefed Heller at Spiteos, that dark, mountain prison that the Apparatus has secretly maintained in the Great Desert for over a thousand years. That was also where Heller met, much to my regret, the Countess Krak.

I couldn't understand why he was interested in her. Yes, she's tall and beautiful and from his home planet, Manco. But she was also a convicted murderess.

They drove me crazy. I was trying to get Heller ready for the mission and he was acting like some lovesick calf, showering her with gifts, cooing to her over canisters of sparklewater and plates of sweetbuns. They would sit for hours relating that stupid Folk Legend 894M about how a Prince Caucalsia fled Manco and set up some colony on an Earth island called Atlantis. That's all they could talk about. I couldn't take it.

Then when Heller finally got around to picking the ship for the flight to Earth, he wasn't satisfied with one that could make the 22 1/2-light-year voyage in a safe, reliable six weeks. Oh, no! He found Tug One. Powered by the dangerous Will-be Was time drives, it would cut the trip to a little over three days. That, he said, gave him time to prepare for the mission.

But that gave me time to make my own preparations. When we got to Earth, I would have to keep track of him because I would be operating from the base in Turkey while he would be in the United States. The solution was micro-bugs that could be surgically implanted next to the audio and optic nerves. With a transmitter-receiver,

I could tap Heller's sight and hearing. With the 831 Relayer, I could monitor Heller from 10,000 miles away.

My real genius was how I stole them and implanted them into Heller without his knowledge. They worked beautifully. I could see and hear everything Heller was doing and he didn't have the faintest idea that it was happening. But that just goes to show what an amateur Heller is and what a professional I am!

For further assistance, Lombar Hisst gave me Raht and Terb, two Apparatus agents operating on Earth, to help implement a plan that guaranteed Heller's quick failure. Lombar's scheme was to give Heller the identity of the son of the most powerful man on the planet—Delbert John Rockecenter. Since there was no such offspring and since everyone knew and feared Rockecenter, as soon as Heller used the name, he would be finished!

Finally, Tug One was loaded and ready. I naturally expected a quiet lift-off, one befitting a secret mission operating on Grand Council orders.

Then I happened to look out of the ship.

People were pouring into the hangar area! Construction crews were assembling sprawling stages and soaring platforms. Lorries were pouring in with food and drink. Vans were unloading dancing girls and bands!

Heller was throwing a going-away party!

That's when I found the I. G. Barben bottle and took the Earth-drug called "speed."

Suddenly, everything was beautiful.

I didn't care about the thousands of people, the five music bands or the dancing bears. I even enjoyed the fireworks display twenty miles up and the 250 spacefighters that filled the skies. I was even pleased that a Homeview video crew was beaming the festive send-off of our secret mission to billions of people around the Confederacy.

I watched in dreamlike color as a fist fight blossomed

into a full-scale riot. Cakes, pastries and canisters flew. Gongs, sirens and blast signals from scores of ships, airbuses and lorries blended with screams, shouts, profanities and snarls (from the dancing bears) while two fifty-man choruses gave a stirring rendition of "Spaceward, Ho."

I didn't even care about the assassin that Lombar said was following me to ensure that I didn't mess up. Besides, I wasn't messing up. This was a party!

Heller announced it was time to leave and retired to the local pilot seat. I dutifully struggled to shut the airlock but my hands weren't working. Heller didn't wait. He lifted us from the pad while I dangled out of the open door until someone pulled me in and slammed it shut.

Suddenly, my euphoria was gone. I realized what had happened.

This was the most UNsecret secret mission anyone had ever heard of!

I had to find Heller and handle this!

Jettero Heller was perched on the edge of the local pilot seat.

He was still in dress uniform. He had pushed the little red cap to the back of his blond head. With his left hand he was jockeying the throttle to keep the ship moving but no more.

He was holding a microphone in his right hand. He was speaking in the crisp staccato of a Fleet radio officer. "Calling Voltar Interplanetary Traffic Control. This is Exterior Division Tug Prince Caucalsia requesting permission to depart pursuant to Grand Council Order..." He rattled off the numbers and the whole order, right there on open radio band!

I was feeling irritable beyond belief already and this grated on my raw nerves. "For the sake of the Gods, get some notion of security!"

He didn't seem to hear me. He shifted the mike to his left hand and beckoned at me urgently: "Gris, your identoplate!"

I fumbled in my tunic. Suddenly my fingers connected with an envelope!

There shouldn't be any envelope in these pockets. All my papers had been put in spaceproof sacks before we left. Where the blazes had this envelope come from? Nobody had handed me any envelope! I felt terribly irritated by it. The thing offended me. It should not have been there!

Heller was frisking me. He found my identoplate and sat back down. He pushed it in the identification slot.

The speaker spat out, "Interplanetary Traffic Control to Exterior Division Tug Prince Caucalsia, Apparatus Officer Soltan Gris in charge. Permission authorized and granted."

The voyage authority copy slithered out of the radio panel. Heller slid it under a retaining clip and then handed me back my identoplate.

He must have noticed I was still standing there staring at the envelope. He said, "You look bad." He got up and unsnapped my too tight collar. "I'll take care of you in a minute. Where's the captain?"

He didn't have to look very far. The Antimanco captain had been in the passageway, glaring at Heller. Obviously, the fellow resented Heller's taking the tug up without a word to him.

"I'll take over my ship now," the Antimanco said in a nasty voice.

"Papers, please," said Heller.

This irritated me. "He is the assigned captain!" I said.

"Papers, please," said Heller, hand extended to the Antimanco.

The captain must have been expecting this. He hauled out a sheaf of documents in their spaceproof sleeves. They weren't just his, they were those of the whole crew, five of them. They were stained and crimped and very old.

"Five Fleet subofficers," said Heller. "Captain, two astropilots, two engineers. Will-be Was engines." He looked at the seals and endorsements very critically, holding them very close to his eyes. "They seem authentic. But why is there no detaching endorsement from your last ship... three years ago? Yes."

The captain snatched the documents out of Heller's hand. There was no endorsement detaching them from their last cruise because they had turned pirate.

The small time-sight was in its slot at the astropilot's chair. Heller laid a hand on it. "Do you know how to operate this time-sight? It's obsolete."

"Yes," grated the captain and continued in a snarling monotone, "I was serving in the Fleet when they were issued. I was serving in the Fleet when they went obsolete. This whole crew has been serving in the Fleet four times as long as the age of certain Royal officers." There was real hate in his narrow-set black eyes. Every time he had said "Fleet" he had sort of spat. And when he said "Royal officers" you could hear his teeth snap together at the end of each word.

Heller looked at him closely.

The captain then made what might have been a gracious speech if there hadn't been so much snarling hatred in it. "As captain, I am of course at your service. It is my duty and that of my crew to see that you arrive safely at your destination."

"Well, well," said Heller. "I am very glad to hear that, Captain Stabb. If you need my help, please do not hesitate to call on me."

"I do not think we will require it," said Captain Stabb. "And now, if you will please retire to your quarters, I will man this control deck and get this voyage underway."

"Excellent," said Heller.

Oh, I didn't blame the Antimanco for being annoyed. Heller irritated everybody and right now, especially me! All Heller ever did was carp and pick fights!

Heller took me by the arm, "And now we'll attend to you."

He lead me down the tilted passageway and into my

room. I had not known what he meant. I got a feeling that he was after me and that by the words "attend to you" he must mean he was going to throw me out the airlock. But I didn't fight very much. I somehow knew that if I moved my arms, the nerves, already stretched to their limit, would snap. And besides, my hands had begun to shake and I couldn't walk very well.

Very gently, he got me down onto the bed. I was certain he was going to pull out a knife and slash my throat, but all he did was get me out of my tunic. It is a tactic many murderers use—get the victim off guard. I tensed so hard I went into a spasm.

He pulled off my boots and then stripped off my pants. I was certain he was going to lash my ankles together with electric cuffs. He was opening a locker. He must not have been able to find any electric cuffs for he brought out a standard insulation suit and began to wrestle me into it. I would have fought him except that I was beginning to shake too hard.

He got the suit on me and tightened up its pressure around my legs and ankles. I understood now that this was how he was going to shackle me.

"Keep that suit on," he said. "In case of fast changes in G's the blood rushes to the legs. Also, you'll be insulated against stray sparks."

He began to fasten the straps that hold the body to the bed. Now I knew he had really worked it out how to trap me.

"The quick release is right there by your hand," he said.

Then he started going around the room, touching things. I knew he was looking for something to torture me with. Didn't he understand that the way my nerves were tightening up I was being tortured enough?

But it seemed he was only picking up my clothes

and loose objects. He had my rank locket in his hand and as he stood considering, I knew he was weighing its use in strangling me. He must have decided against it for he put it in the valuables safe in the wall.