Entities: The Selected Novels of Eric Frank Russell (44 page)

At the present moment he was helpless in the hands of this bellyaching pair. They could end his stubborn ambitions, but they would have to finish him like Greatorex. He had no doubt they could do it. That they were willing to do it was something that remained to be seen.
He
would have no qualms.

Stealthily, in the hope that none would notice, his attention turned toward the door. But he could not suppress concomitant thoughts no matter how hard he tried. If a patrol had overheard that talk about murder they would not necessarily bust in at once. They might first go for help of a formidable kind. There was a chance, any minute, of a rowdy diversion during which he might break free.

Raven was still talking although the other only half listened. “If your Venusian nationalist movement really were no more than a means of gaining self-government we could find it in us to sympathize despite the violence of its methods. But it isn’t what it pretends to be. Your brain reveals that it’s your personal instrument of self-glorification. It is designed solely to gain you the power you crave. You poor little crawling, creeping grub!”

“Eh?” Thorstern’s attention snapped back.

“I said you’re a poor little crawling, creeping grub, hiding from the light, squirming around in the dark and pathetically afraid of a thousand things including anonymity.”

“I fear no—”

“So you yearn for petty predominance over a colony of similar grubs during a mere heart-beat in the span of time. After which you will be gone, for ever and ever. Dust into dust. An empty name in a useless book, mouthed by myopic historians and cursed by weary school children. In distant time some naughty moppet may be punished by having to write a tiresome essay about you. The rise and fall of Emperor Emmanuel.” Raven’s sniff was loud and contemptuous. “I suppose you call that immortality?”

It was too much. Thorstern’s thick hide was thin in one spot. He enjoyed insults because they were acknowledgment of his strength and ability. He appreciated enmity because it gratified his ego to know he was feared. Jealousy he viewed as an oblique form of worship. Hatred served only to magnify him. The one thing he could not endure was to be regarded as a no-account, a piker, a comparative seeker of butts on the sidewalk. He could not tolerate being thought small.

His features livid, he came to his feet, thrust a hand in a pocket, extracted three photographs and flung them on the table. His tones were savage.

“You’ve some good cards and they tickle you pink. But I’ve seen them. Now take a look at a few of mine. Not all of them, for you’ll never see the rest!”

Picking up the top one, Raven studied it imperturbably. A blown-up photograph of himself, rather old, not very good but still good enough to serve for purposes of identification.

“It’s being exhibited on the spectroscreen every hour,” said Thorstern, with vicious pleasure. “Reproductions are being issued to patrols as fast as they can be turned out. By midday tomorrow everyone will know your face—and the reward will push the search.” He was full of ireful triumph as he stared at the other. “The tougher you get with me the tougher I’ll make it for you. You pranced easily into this world in spite of all preparations to grab you on arrival. See if you can get out of it.” He switched to Charles. “And the same applies to you, Fatman.”

“It doesn’t. I have no intention of departing.” Charles settled himself lower in his chair. “I’m quite comfortable here. Venus suits me as much—or as little—as any other ball of dirt. Besides, my work is here. How can I do it if I don’t stay with it?”

“What work?”

“That,” said Charles, “is something you wouldn’t understand.”

“He walks dogs and is ashamed to admit it,” Raven chipped in. Tossing the photograph onto the table, he picked up the second, glanced at it. His features went taut. Flourishing it in front of the other, he demanded, “What did you do to him?”

“Me? Nothing.”

“You did your dirty work by proxy.”

“I gave no specific instructions,” denied Thorstern, taken aback by Raven’s reaction. “All I told them was to pick up Steen and make him tell what had occurred.” He assumed an expression of fastidious revulsion as he glanced at the offending picture. Running in a typical path, his mind dutifully deplored the sight. “So they did it.”

“And enjoyed the doing by the looks of it.” Raven was annoyed and showed it openly. “They made a gory mess of him. Now Steen is dead through no fault of his own. I don’t mind that any more than he minds it.”

“Don’t you?” Thorstern was surprised by a comment so contradictory of visible reaction.

“No. His end doesn’t matter a hoot. It would have come sometime even though he lived to be a hundred. No man’s end matters.” With a jerk of disgust he flipped the photograph aside. “What I do dislike most intensely is the fact that he was slow to die. He took a long time over it. That is bad. That is unforgivable.” The eyes shone with sudden fires. “It will be remembered when your turn comes!” Again Thorstern felt a cold shiver. He was not afraid, he told himself. It wasn’t within him to admit fear. But he conceded himself a certain degree of apprehension. He had played a card hoping it would serve as a dire warning. Perhaps it had been a mistake.

“They exceeded my orders. I administered a most serious reproof.”

“He reproved them,” said Raven to Charles. “How nice!”

“They pleaded that he was stubborn and made them go farther than they’d intended.” Thorstern decided it might pay to enlarge on this subject while yet it was hot. No rescue party had responded to his earlier talk about murder. Maybe somebody would pick up his dissertation on Steen. Any form of hollering would do so long as it brought results.

He went on, “They used a telepath to try to pick his mind, from a safe distance so Steen couldn’t make a dummy of him. It was no use. He could catch only what Steen was thinking and he insisted on thinking about other things. So they had to persuade Steen to mull over what had made him pull a fast one on us. He didn’t want to. He tried not to. He tried very hard.” Thorstern spread hands to emphasize personal helplessness and lack of blame. “By the time he became co-operative they had overdone the persuading.”

“Meaning—?”

“His mind turned, same as Haller’s did. He babbled a lot of crazy stuff and passed out for keeps.”

“And what was the crazy stuff?”

“He said that you were an entirely new, redoubtable and previously unsuspected type of mutant. You’ve a detachable ego. He said you had swapped bodies with him against his will.”

“By heavens!” interjected Charles, popping his eyes in mock astonishment. “Now we’ve got bio-mechanics, prognosticators, ego-masters and whatever. There’s going to be no end to this.”

“It was unadulterated blah,” continued Thorstern, peevishly. “I checked with several of our leading authorities on paranormal aptitudes. They declared it ludicrous—but they knew why Steen told it.”

“What was their diagnosis?”

“That he’d been out-hypnoed by one of his own type far more powerful than himself. They’ve no case on record of such absolute dominance but theoretically it is possible.”

His gaze shifted sidewise, for the first time noticed his cup of coffee now half cold. Licking dry lips, he picked it up, drank it in three or four gulps.

“For a short time you made Steen believe he was
you.
And you made him send Haller off balance, at which point his delusion ran out. Now, ordinary as I am, I can do some mindreading of my own. You’re thinking that if I don’t play it your way you will put the same sort of bee on me.”

“Will I?”

“Either that or dispose of me outright as you did with Greatorex. Whichever course you take will be futile. If you fix me up like Steen it will wear off. Hypnosis always wears off within twenty-four hours at most. Whatever I’m compelled to do during that time I can undo later.”

“True,” admitted Raven, gravely.

“While if you finish me completely you will have a mere body on your hands. A body can’t call off a war. You’ve told me six times that the dead don’t care. Take a bite out of your own philosophy and think how little I’ll care about Terra’s troubles. Bah, I’ll be less concerned than is Greatorex!” A notion struck him and he demanded, “How did you finish Greatorex? Even a super-super-hypno cannot persuade a man to lay flat and expire. What did you
do
to him?”

“The same as we'll be compelled to do to you once we’re convinced that there is no alternative.” Raven stared significantly at the other. “Get it into your mulish head that we have few compunctions in dealing with an obstacle. We differ from you only in that we make it mercifully swift. We don’t let the subject linger.
That
is the real crime: to prolong deliberately the act of dying!” He studied his listener, finished, “Greatorex went so fast he hardly had time to fight it. Steen was denied that fundamental privilege.”

“I told you—”

Raven brushed the words aside. “You are not going to make the planet Venus your personal property and, sometime in the future, join with the Martians to hold Terra to ransom in her hour of trial. If humanity ever gets into a tight corner it’s going to be humanity that’ll fight its way out, not just Terrans. All of us! So you will cease hostile action against Terra and persuade the Martians to follow suit. Alternatively, you will be removed from the scene forever, after which we shall deal similarly with your successors, whoever they may be. We shall destroy them one by one until your entire movement collapses from sheer lack of leadership.” He pointed to the tiny radium chronometer in the ring on Thorstern’s middle finger. “You’ve five minutes to make up your mind.”

“I’ve more than that, much more. In fact, I’ve got just as long as I like.” He poked the third photograph across the table. “Take a look at that.”

Not bothering to pick it up, Raven bent over and examined it. His expression did not change in the slightest.

“Who is it?” inquired Charles, too lethargic to get up and see for himself or exercise any other visual sense.

“Leina,” informed Raven.

Thorstern laughed. It was a grating sound. He was enjoying his own foresight to the full. In particular, he was pleased with his success in keeping his mind away from the subject of Leina until this moment. Not once had a thought of her drifted through his brain. And again a pawn had out-guessed a mutant.

Nothing delighted him more than to be a jump ahead of a paranormal. It was his characteristic weakness which would have greatly interested any ecologist studying the effect of an environment containing superior life-forms.

“Your woman,” he mouthed with unconcealed scorn. “We know her habits, movements, aptitudes. We know, for instance, that she’s another superior breed of hypno, like yourself. Steen said so. He wasn’t lying, not in his condition. Maybe that’s the attraction between you and this heavyweight tart. I can’t imagine any other unless you’re fond of elephants and—”

“Leave her physical proportions out of this. She was not constructed to suit your taste. Get to the point.”

“The point is,” said Thorstern, unable to resist showing relish, “that the moment I die or go nuts or obviously out of character”—he tapped the picture with a heavy forefinger—“she pays!”

“That’s a laugh,” said Raven.

“I hope you’ll enjoy it when you find her dead.”

“I won’t weep,” Raven assured, carelessly. It was not at all sardonic. He made it true, dreadfully true.

Even Thorstern thought it horrible. He looked uncertainly at Charles, seeking confirmation of his own feelings in that person’s revulsion, found him mooning boredly at the ceiling. His attention came back to Raven, his features incredulous. “She can die slowly.”

“Do you think so?”

“I am positive of it. Unless she happens to have a weak heart she can take ten times longer than did Steen. How would you like that?”

“I think it disgusting.”

“Eh?”

“The mastermind, the mighty conqueror, hides behind a woman’s skirts.” Back came the old fury at belittlement, but Thorstern managed to beat it down and say, “Listen who’s talking—somebody willing to let a woman pay for his sins.”

“She won’t mind,” smiled Raven, offering him a completely unexpected angle.

“You’re mad!” declared Thorstern, beginning to believe it.

“Greatorex doesn’t mind. Neither does Haller. And Steen is coldly indifferent. So why should Leina care? Why, even you—”

“Shut up, you murderous maniac!” Thorstern was on his feet again, both fists clenched until the knuckles showed white. His voice was loud with a mixture of strain, near-relief and triumph. “You’ve left it too long. You were so cocky you wanted to chew the fat all night. And we’ve been overheard, see?” He made an ecstatic gesture toward the front door. “Hear those feet? Twenty of them? Fifty! A hundred! The whole city is roused!”

“Too bad,” said Raven, watching him blank-faced.

“Take me and see what it buys you,” invited Thorstern, full of nerve. “In a few seconds the rush will come after which you’ll get what you’ve earned.” Trying to keep a wary eye on Raven and at the same time watch the front, he added with emphasis, “Unless I am in complete possession of myself and order them to hold their hands.”

“It appears that we’re in a bad fix,” commented Charles, blearing in fat reproof, gazing at the door.

Thorstern was now standing with compressed lips while his mind ran its untrammeled course without regard for who could read his thoughts. They dare not try anything
now.
The cost would be too great. They will postpone designs to a moment that will never come. They will be dealt with according to Terran law. The case will be sewn up good and tight, beyond Heraty's power to unstitch. Or I could arrange an accident. That might be quicker and more effective. Yes, one way or another—

Like Charles, his full attention was on the door beyond which he had heard— or could have sworn he had heard—the cautious scuffling of many feet. A few of the patrol, he decided, might be made jittery by the presence of such formidable characters as Raven and the other. They’d be dangerously touchy. When they broke in he would have to move fast and roar orders faster lest he fall foul of someone too trigger-happy to look where he was throwing it.