Entities: The Selected Novels of Eric Frank Russell (48 page)

“That all?”

“No.” Carson admitted it with reluctance, not wanting to keep on the subject. “Heraty said that Thorstern is dickering with him.”

“Is that so? Did he say what about? Did he offer any details?”

“He remarked that he doubted Thorstern’s good faith or, for that matter, that he really is what he claims to be, namely, the man who can call a halt to Venusian intransigence. Thorstern offered to prove it.”

“How?”

“By removing Wollencott—just like that!” Carson snapped his fingers. He was silent awhile, then sighed and went on, “That was the day before yesterday. This morning we received a message from Venus giving the news that Wollencott had just fallen out of an antigrav and bounced too hard for his health.”

“Umph!” Raven could visualize the wallop, almost hear the crunch of bones. “Nice way to dismiss a faithful servant, isn’t it?”

“Better not say that openly—it’s libelous.”

“I can traduce one or two more. World Councilor Gilchist, for example. He is what might fairly be called a louse.”

“What makes you say that?” Carson’s expression had become alert.

“He is your suspected fly in the ointment. Thorstern himself said so without knowing he was betraying a traitor.” He thought a bit, added, “Don’t know what a newcomer like Gilchist resembles, but I sniffed around the Council’s minds during that interview and I didn’t smell a rat. How was that?”

“He wasn’t there.” Carson scribbled a short note on a slip of paper. “Four members were absent because of sickness or urgent business. Gilchist was one of them. He turned up a few minutes after you left.”

“His urgent business was to put a hurried finger on me,” Raven informed. “What are you going to do about him?”

“Nothing. There is nothing I can do merely on your say-so. I’ll pass this information to Heraty and the rest is up to him and the World Council. It’s one thing to state a fact; another to prove it.”

“I guess you’re right. Anyway, it’s of no consequence if they don’t take any action concerning him or even if they award him a gold medal for being sly. Basically, few things of this earth are of real consequence.” He stood up, moved to the door, paused with a hand on the panel. “But there is one item with fair claim to a little weight insofar as anything is weighty. Thorstern is a normal individual. So is Heraty. You and I are not.”

“What of it?” asked Carson, uneasily.

“There are men whose nature won’t let a defeat go unavenged. There are men hard enough to sit in an antigrav and watch a loyal supporter dive to destruction. There are men who can become very frightened if properly stimulated. That is the great curse of this world—fear!” He stared hard at the other, pupils wide, irises shining. “Know what makes men sorely afraid?”

“Death,” ventured Carson in sepulchral tones.

"Other
men,” Raven contradicted. “Remember that—especially when Heraty tells you only a little and carefully omits to give you the rest!”

The other did not inquire what he meant. He had been long accustomed to the defensive techniques of normal, non-talented people. They interviewed him in person when they had nothing to conceal, wrote him or phoned him from a safe distance when they had something to hide. More often than not they did have something to hide.

He sat silent as Raven went out, watched the door close. He was a mutant and hadn’t failed to recognize Raven’s subtle warning.

Heraty, he thought, was fond of doing business by phone.

A tawdry little office up four flights of worn and dirty stairs was the haunt of Samuel Glaustraub, a rudimentary hypno barely able to fascinate a sparrow. Somewhere back in his ancestry there had been one mutant whose talent had skipped a few generations and reappeared greatly weakened. From other forebears he had inherited a legalistic mind and wagging tongue, which features he valued far above the tricks of any skewboy.

Entering this office, Raven propped himself against its short, ink-stained counter and said, “Morning, Sam.”

Glaustraub looked up, dark eyes querulous behind horn-rimmed glasses. “Should I know you?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, I thought maybe I should.” Putting aside some documents he’d been consulting, he left his desk, weighed up the caller cagily. Deep inside, his mind was complaining to itself, “Where’s he get the Sam? Does he think I’m his valet?”

“What, in clothes like those?” Bending over the counter, Raven eyed the other’s baggy pants.

“A telepath, eh?” said Mr. Glaustraub, showing big yellow teeth. He smoothed the pants self-consciously. “Well, I don’t care. Fortunately I have a clear conscience.”

“I envy you. Few people can say as much.”

The other frowned, sensing implied skepticism. He said, “What can I do for you?”

“You have a client named Arthur Kayder?”

“Yes, his case is due to be heard tomorrow.” He shook a sorrowful head. “I shall defend him to the best of my ability but I’m afraid it will be in vain.”

“Why?”

“He is charged with public utterance of homicidal threats and, since the plaintiff has not entered suit because of absence, the charge has been made by the public prosecutor. That makes it very tough. The evidence against him is recorded vocally and pictorially, will be produced in court and cannot be denied.” He gave Raven an apologetic examination. “You’re a friend of his, I presume?”

“His best enemy so far as I know.”

“Ha-ha!” Glaustraub gave a forced laugh, making his belly quiver. “You are joking, of course?”

“Wrong first time, Sammy. I’m the boy he yearns to strip down to a skeleton.”

“Eh?” His jaw dropped, he hurried to his desk, scrabbled nervously through a mess of papers, then asked, “Your name David Raven?”

"Correct."

It upset the other. He took off his glasses, tapped them worriedly, put them on and went around looking for them.

“They are on your nose,” Raven informed.

“Are they?” The confirmatory squint was violent and gave him a villainous appearance. “So they are. How silly of me.” He sat down, stood up. sat down again. “Well, well, Mr. Raven! The hostile witness!”

“Who said I’m a witness against him?”

“Well, I assume so. Seeing you have returned in time to appear on behalf of the prosecution I—”

“Supposing I don’t appear—what does the prosecution do then?”

“Proceeds just the same. The recorded evidence will be deemed sufficient to secure conviction.”

“Yes, but that’s only because my supporting testimony can be taken for granted. What if I say I knew Kayder was only kidding?”

“Mr. Raven, you mean—?” Glaustraub’s hands started trembling with excitement. “You really think that?”

“Like heck I do! He meant every word of it. Kayder would enjoy nothing more than to lie on purple silk eating grapes while listening to me dying the death of a thousand cuts.”

“Then why . . . why—?” The lawyer gaped around, hopelessly confused.

“I’d rather kill a man outright than let him waste years in clink. Anyway, I don’t think Kayder ought to suffer long incarceration merely for shooting off his fat trap.” Leaning across the woodwork, he nudged Glaustraub who promptly jumped a foot. “Do you?”

“Who, me? Of course not! Decidedly not!” He asked uncomfortably, “Are you willing to appear as witness for the defense?”

“Not if there’s an easier way out.”

“You could swear an affidavit,” the attorney suggested, filled with a curious mixture of doubt, suspicion and hope.

“That’ll do me, Samuel. Where do I swear it?”

Glaustraub grabbed a hat, slammed it on back to front, pawed the desk for his glasses, found them on his nose, and took his caller down two flights at a sedate gallop. He ushered him into another office occupied by four men, all overweight. With their aid he concocted a document which Raven read carefully and signed.

“There you are, Sam, old boy.”

“This is generous of you, Mr. Raven.” His hands loved the affidavit, his eyes gleamed, his mind pictured the coming masterstroke when Glaustraub for the defense arose amid breathless silence and in calm, confident, well-modulated tones proceeded to snitch the prosecution’s britches. Here was a rare opportunity for drama. For once Glaustraub was supremely happy. “Exceedingly generous, if I may say so. My client will appreciate it.”

“That is the idea,” said Raven, darkly.

“I’m sure you can depend—” Glaustraub’s voice broke off and he swapped expressions as he became smitten by the horrid thought that the coming drama might have a price on it. A stiff one. “I beg your pardon?”

Raven explained, “I
want
your client to appreciate it. I want him to think of me as Santa Claus, see?” He prodded a forefinger and again the other jumped. “When a bunch of bums comes after one’s scalp there’s nothing like a little gratitude for creating discord in the ranks.”

“Really?” Glaustraub felt that a lot of cogent points were evading him this morning. He fumbled around the region of his ears.

“They’re in your pocket this time,” said Raven, and went away.

The house looked pleasingly quiet and peaceful as Raven approached. Leina was within; he knew that as certainly as she knew he was coming. Your woman, Thorstern had called her, making it sound reprehensible. Yet their association, though unconventional, was utterly devoid of immorality. Other places and other people have other standards of decency and make them very high.

Pausing by the gate, he examined the fresh crater in the field outside. The hole was big enough to swallow an antigrav cab. Apart from this queer feature the house and its surroundings were exactly as he had left them. His attention shifted to the sky, watched the far-off white trail of a Mars-bound freighter going toward the stars, the many, many stars.

Reaching the front door, he turned its lock teleportatively, in the same way that Charles had opened the castle gate. It swung wide. Leina was waiting in the lounge, big hands folded in generous lap, her eyes showing gladness.

“I’m a bit late.”

He did not offer any warmer greeting. Neither did he kiss her. The warmth was mutually sensed beyond need of futile physical expression. He had never kissed her, never wanted to, never had been expected to.

“I stopped to take the bite off Kayder. Before I went away it was worth putting him someplace safe but now it’s no longer necessary. Things have changed.”

“Things never change,” she observed.

“The little things have changed. I’m not referring to the big ones.”

“The big ones are all-important.”

“You’re right, Brighteyes, but I don’t agree with what you imply, namely, that the little things are unimportant.” Under her steady gaze he found it needful to justify himself. “We don’t want them to fall foul of the Denebs—but neither do we want them to destroy themselves.”

“The latter would be the lesser of two evils—regrettable but not disastrous. The Denebs would learn nothing.”

“They’ll never be any wiser as it is.”

“That may be,” she conceded. “But you have sown a few seeds of forbidden knowledge. Sooner or later you will be forced to uproot them.”

“Womanly intuition, eh?” He grinned like a mischievous boy. “Mavis feels the same way about it.”

“With good reason.”

“When the time arrives the seeds can be obliterated, every single one of them.
You
know that, don’t you?”

“Of course. You’ll be ready and I’ll be ready. Where you go I shall go.” Her brilliant optics were unblinking, unafraid. “Yet I still think your interference wasn’t called for and was extremely risky.”

“Risks have to be taken sometimes. The war is ended. In theory, humanity is now able to concentrate on getting farther out.”

“Why do you say, ‘In theory’?”

His face sobered. “There is a slight chance that they may let the opportunity go by in favor of having another and different conflict.”

“I see.” Moving to the window, she stood with her back toward him while she looked over the landscape. “David, in such an event will you again insist on taking part?”

“No, definitely not. Such a war would be aimed against our own kind and those thought to be of our kind. So I won’t be given the chance to chip in. I’ll be smacked down without warning.” He went across to her, slid a comforting arm around her waist. “They may deal with you at the same time and in the same way. Do you mind?”

“Not in the least so long as everything remains covered.”

“It might not happen, anyway.” His gaze turned to the window, found the view beyond. Abruptly he changed the subject. “When are you buying the ducks?”

“Ducks?”

He indicated the crater. “For that pond you’re making over there.” Without waiting for a reply, he insisted, “What happened?”

“I returned from town last Friday afternoon, made to open the door, sensed something inside the lock.”

“What was it?”

“A tiny sphere like a blue bead with a white spot on it. I could see it with my mind. It was so positioned that a key inserted in the lock would press on the white spot. So I teleportated it out, laid it over there and made a pebble drop on the white spot. The house shook.”

“Some mini-engineer undertook a risky job,” he commented, evenly. “Not to mention the teleport who placed it in the lock.” Once more his strange callousness revealed itself as he ended, “If the trick had worked as planned, nobody would have been more surprised than you, eh?”

“One person may have been,” she corrected. “You!”

The night was exceptionally clear, the stars bright and beckoning. To the naked eye the crater walls stood out clear and sharp on the terminator of the three-quarter Moon. From horizon to horizon the vault of space resembled an enormous curtain of black velvet lavishly powdered with sequins, some sparkling steadily, some intermittently, of all colors, white, blue-white, pale yellow, pink and delicate green.

Lying in a tilt-back chair under the roof’s glass dome, Raven studied this scene of incomparable majesty, closed his eyes and listened, opened them to look again. Beside him in a similar chair Leina did the same. These were their own personal, intimate nights: in chairs beneath the dome, looking and listening. There were no bedrooms in this house, no beds. They did not need them. Just the chairs and the dome.