Entities: The Selected Novels of Eric Frank Russell (42 page)

“Oh, have it your own way, Fidgety. I’ll order a search. It’s trouble for nix, but we’ll do it. Tell everyone to carry a gun in his hand and that he’ll be excused if found with a strange corpse.”

Raven grumbled under his breath, “Some folk lack the ability to leave well alone.”

“That comes nicely from you,” observed Charles, enjoying a fat smile.

“I asked for it.” Raven gazed again into the courtyard, surveyed surrounding walls. “The hunt is on. We’ve no choice but to try to dodge them until either Thorstern or another spit-image arrives.”

The dodging wasn’t so difficult. They sat in the thick, all-concealing mist atop a blank, battlemented wall some forty feet high. A tree-cat might have scented them up there. A chirruping supersonic could have got a revealing stream of echoes from them. Even a floater could have found them by obeying his natural instinct to snoop where ordinary pawns could not.

But the hunters were men in the accepted, everyday sense of the term, men without mutational talents. They had their limitations as has every other life-form, great or small—for the great remain within other, different and often inconceivable limits, just as binding, just as restricting albeit in immensely wider sense.

So two of the great sat in the dark upon the wall-top, perched like ruminating owls, while lesser life prowled warily but futilely around the basalt castle, its yards and outbuildings, weapons held ready, trigger-fingers made nervous by the greatest fear of all: fear of the unknown.

To these pawn-minds a mutant was a kind of vaudeville character who had gone too far, developed delusions of grandeur and might at any time unite with ruthless prototypes to make slaves of normal men. A multi-talented mutant would be infinitely worse, a non-human creature disguised in human shape and theoretically capable of anything, anything at all.

The notion of being suddenly confronted by a biological monstrosity which was hypno-telepath-pyrotic-whatever all rolled into one, with no handicaps other than the sole inability to outjump a bullet, was too much for a couple of the searchers.

One sneaked through the archway, pointing a peculiar handlamp on the studs to keep them activated. He sought in vain around the area, eyes wide, back hairs erect, and passed a couple of times right under the feet of the quarry before he gave up and went out.

At the same time another emerged from the courtyard door, detected the sound of secret movement through the arch, stared toward it. Weapons ready, they pussyfooted toward each other and saw a vague form loom up through the fog.

Both barked, “Who’s that?” and triggered without waiting for reply.

One was missed by an inch The other got a slug in his left arm. The sound of shots stirred the edgy castle still further. Somebody in the distance beyond the gate fired vertically at an imaginary floater, plugged a darker patch of fog that was anything but man-shaped. The ether became full of abuse, all of it passionate and most of it coarse.

Leaning forward, Raven looked down past his dangling feet. “If only one-tenth of the ancestral details now being broadcast are true, Thorstern must have raided an orphanage to staff this place.”

“I hear something else.” Charles glanced upward. “Do you?”

“Yes. Someone’s coming. I have a feeling it’s the man we want.”

The sound was a superswift
whup-whup-whup
as of giant vanes whirling at considerable altitude. The helicopter was coming from the east flying high above the night fog.

A thin orange-colored ray shot from a corner turret of the castle, spiked through overhead cloud, remained gleaming steadily. Noise of vanes grew louder as the oncoming machine gradually lowered toward the beacon. A minute later it was immediately above, at a few hundred feet and making an explosive roar. There was a distinct downdraft from it. Fog coiled and swirled below it, oozing its scents from far-off jungles.

Guided by its own instruments or by radioed instructions from the ground, the copter lowered into the mist, descended through it, landed on the graveled area outside the gate. The orange beam cut off. Several pairs of feet ran through the courtyard and out the gate toward the new arrival.

“Now to join the deputation.”

Edging off the stonework, Raven dropped forty feet to the ground. He did not drift down like a levitator. He fell in the same manner with which he had plunged into the forest; a swift and normal plunge followed by last moment deceleration.

Charles followed in exactly the same uncanny way, landing imperturbably and brushing the seat of his pants. Raven pointed through the arch.

“Let’s forget that invisible light trap. If somebody does notice the telltale wobbling it will only give him the creeps and add to the fun.”

There was a minor uproar of voices and accompanying thought-forms coming from the direction of the shrouded copter. A dozen agitated men all trying to talk at once. Two of the gate guards were lounging outside their post and looking toward the tumult with such intentness that neither took any notice of the vaguely outlined pair who hastened through the gate, passing them within a couple of yards. Whether or not the telltale had operated and been noticed it was impossible to determine. At any rate, the siren did not resume its wild screaming.

The escaping pair went only a little way toward the machine, just far enough for the fog to hide them from the watchers by the gate. At that point they made a half-circle that brought them near to the copter on the side farthest from the castle. None had noticed them, the gloom was so thick, the subject of discussion too all-absorbing.

A man was standing at the top of the copter’s landing ladder, listening to the talkers, grim-faced and gimlet-eyed. He looked like the twin brother of the unfortunate Greatorex.

The minds of those addressing him revealed a most curious situation. Not one of them knew with any degree of certainty whether Thorstern himself had died and they were now reporting the fact to one of his dummies, or whether a substitute had suffered and they were telling Thorstern himself—or another substitute.

With masterful cunning the would-be dictator of a world had been frank with them, let them in on his scheme of quadrupling himself, then drilled them to accept any seeming Thorstern as the real Thorstern. So accustomed had they become to their master’s in-hiding technique that automatically their minds grouped Thorstern and his three malleables together as one personality many-bodied. It was a tribute to the man; a greater tribute to the others who so ably played his part.

The trick was useful in the extreme. No antagonistic mind-probe could detect a substitution in the screen-protected brain of anyone pretending to be the big boss. He would have to go direct to the mind of Thorstern himself and feel around that—if he could find it.

Neither could any of the leader’s rank and file be tempted to take a treacherous crack at him, since they knew the odds were three to one against nailing the right man, and with vengeance surely to follow should they fail. It created within the organizational setup a most discouraging hide-and-seek factor calculated to make any would-be traitor think twice—and then decide discretion to be the better part of valor.

But for once the man atop the ladder was caught napping in spite of all precautions. No silver-mesh screen ensured the privacy of his mind. He was in the open and primarily concerned with getting a clear idea of what had happened in his very hideout and, on the basis of that, decide whether it were safest to stay or depart.

His mind admitted that he was indeed Emmanuel Thorstern and no other, a fact that would have given comfort to the gripers before him had there been a telepath among them. Already he was juggling with the notion of returning to Plain City to give zip to the hunt and sending another impersonator back to the castle to take the full brunt of any second blow that might be made.

"Then this guy glared straight at him as if to say, ‘I hope you drop dead!’ continued the frontmost talker. “Whereupon he did just that! I tell you, boss, it isn’t natural. It would put a scare into a bunch of skewboys, let alone the likes of us.” He spat on the ground. “When a couple of things that aren’t human can waltz straight in and—”

“Through the gate, through the alarm system and everything else,” chimed in a second. “Just as if they didn’t exist. Then they top it by walking out of a triple-locked room.”

A third voiced exactly what was in the listening man’s mind. “What gives me the willies is the fact that if they can do it in once they can do it again and again and again—maybe more besides!”

Thorstern backed half a step. “You’ve searched the place? Thoroughly?”

“Every inch, boss. Couldn’t find hide nor hair of them. We called for some help from the city. They’re sending a herd of pussies and a few skewboys. Fight fire with fire.”

As if in confirmation there came evidence of the pussies referred to. From far away sounded the faint, irritable yowling of haltered tree-cats.

“They’ll do a fat lot of good,” opined the first, too pessimistic to care who knew it. “Not unless they happen to meet Raven and the pot-bellied chump on the way. They’ve had a long start by now. Sweeny and his boys won’t get within a mile of them and neither will the city crowd.” He brooded a couple of seconds, added, “Nor me either, if I can help it.”

Feeling that he had heard enough, Thorstern came to a decision. “In view of all this I’d better go back to the city. I’ll stir up the authorities and get some drastic action.” He drew himself up. “I am not without influence.”

“Yes, boss, sure.”

“I’ll return here immediately I’m satisfied everything’s being done that can be done. Expect me back in a couple of hours’ time or three at most.”

He said it straight-faced, knowing full well that he had not the slightest intention of returning so long as it might be at his personal peril. Another would double for him on his next appearance.

“If anyone else comes asking for me, tell them I’m away and you don’t know where. If a caller proves to be this Raven again, or looks somewhat like him, talks or acts like him, or gives reason to think he’s animated by similar ideas, don’t argue or give him a chance. Use a gun on him and use it effectively.” His hard eye gave them a final authoritative going over. “I will accept full responsibility should anyone make a mistake.”

With that he stepped inside the copter, doing it with an air of self-confident deliberation that concealed his inward desire to get away fast. He was shaken though he took every care not to show it.

Someone had not been fooled by the false front put up by Wollencott even though they’d proved suckers for Greatorex. Someone had painstakingly traced all hidden leads and found them running to Thorstern. Someone had power exceeding his own and at least equal ruthlessness. Someone was determined to remove him from his own tortuously constructed scheme of things and—even in this first failure—had proved ability to succeed with appalling ease.

He growled at the pilot, “Get going,” and lay back in his seat. His mood was worriedly introspective.

The vanes whirled, the machine did a brief bounce, rocked slightly and went up. Raven and his companion went up with it by the simple expedient of stepping close and hooking a leg over the landing-wheel braces. Formerly hidden from view of the talkers by the copter’s intervening bulk, they became momentarily visible as they soared. A group of startled faces got a good look at them for two or three seconds before they disappeared into overhead cloud. Reaction was angry and confused.

“Quick, give me that gun! Quick, I say! You got ten thumbs?”

“Let go, you fool! What’s the use of firing blindly? You can’t see them now.” “Easy, Meaghan, you might hit the boss.”

“Or the pilot. D’you want a couple tons of metal dropped on your crust?” “Got to do something. Darn those skewboys! If I had my way I’d slaughter them all on principle. It’d make life easier for most of us.”

“Phone the city again. They’ll shoot them off the undercarriage as the copter comes down.”

“This is where a couple of well-armed floaters would be useful. Why not—?” “Stick around, Dillworth. The pilot may smell a rat and descend.” The speaker perked his ears, caught the steadily rising
whup-whup-whup.
“No, he’s carrying on. Stick around all the same.”

“Where are you going?”

“Inside. I’ll contact the boss on the radio and tell him what’s underneath.”

“Good idea. A shower of slugs through the floor will blow them off their perch.” The copter came out of the cloud into bright starlight plus the shine from a mock moon called Terra. They had emerged from the haze at two thousand feet.

In parts it thickened to ten thousand while in others—especially the higher shelves of the rain forests—there was none. Daytimes it rose in a complete strata to forty thousand leaving the ground dull but clear.

To one side the Sawtooths spiked against a sable background powdered with stars. Nearby, percolating through the mist, was the glow of Plain City with an orange beam pointing vertically from its westward rim. Far to the south was another almost indiscernible glow coming from Big Mines.

Heading directly for the Plain City beacon, the pilot was content to skim a mere hundred feet above the fog. There was no point in gaining greater altitude for so short a run. He sat hunched over the controls with Thorstern grim and silent at his side, and kept his attention on the orange beam. Subconsciously he sensed that the machine was less lively than it had been an hour ago. Kind of sluggish. But he wasn’t worried about it. Nighttimes the atmosphere’s oxygen content varied from hour to hour and tended to make his motors seem temperamental.

He was already over the city when the radio beeped and he put out a hand to switch it on. At the same time the door opened and Raven stepped inside.

“Good evening,” he said to Thorstern pleasantly.

With his hand still hovering over the switch, the pilot threw an incredulous glance through the windshield to confirm that he really was airborne and flying high, then growled, “How the blue blazes—!”

“Stowaway reporting, sir.” Raven grinned at him. “And there is another outside uncomfortably riding the rods. A much bulkier one.” He returned his attention to Thorstern, followed that person’s intent gaze to a side pocket. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” he advised. It was said in ordinary tones yet sounded threatening.