Entities: The Selected Novels of Eric Frank Russell (49 page)

Daytimes they also looked and listened but did it with less concentration and more spasmodically, with their attention more on this world than the countless ones outside. Together they had looked and listened by day and by night for years. The task would have been unbearably monotonous but for the fact there were two of them at it. The presence of one broke the solitude of the other. Moreover, the things they “saw” and “heard” had the merit of infinite variety.

On Terra and far, far beyond Terra things always were happening, always, always. And never did incidents come twice the same. This was the task of the eternal watcher, a responsible job and highly essential. Each was like a sentinel in a midnight tower, protecting a sleeping city by watching the forest beyond the walls for any inward creeping foes. Many shared this job, holding themselves ready to sound the alarm should the need arise, Charles and Mavis on Venus, Horst and Karin on Mars, thousands more—aye, tens of thousands—all posted in pairs.

His mind turning to this last couple, he eyed a pink light hanging low in the sky and called, “Horst! Horst!”

It came after a while, slightly dulled by Terra’s atmospheric blanket. “Yes, David?” “Know what your insurgents are doing?”

“Mostly arguing with each other, David. They have split into several groups. One wants to continue against Terra. Another resents what it calls the treachery of Venus and wants to strike at her. Yet another is anti-mutant. The largest group is disgusted with everything and about to break up.”

“So they’re going through a period of chronic indecision?”

That's about it.

“Thanks, Horst. Love to Karin.”

He redirected his mind. “Charles! Charles!”

This time it came quicker and with a little more strength. “Yes, David?”

“Any news?”

“Thorstern left for Terra yesterday.”

“Know the reason?”

“No, but I can make a guess. It’s for something deemed advantageous to himself.”

“That’s a foregone conclusion. Well, I’ll watch for him when he gets here. Let you know what I discover.”

“Do that. You’ve heard about Wollencott?”

“I have. Nasty business.”

“Clumsy,” endorsed Charles. “Wollencott might have landed in some soft place and suffered injuries that meant slow dying. As it happened he didn’t, but that was sheer luck.” His mental beam cut off a moment, came back. “Here, the organization appears to be reluctantly falling to bits but its potential will remain and it can be rebuilt anytime. I can’t help wondering.”

“And I know why.”

“Why?”

“Mavis keeps reminding you that you’ve blundered.”

“True,” admitted Charles, dolefully. “And I know how you’ve guessed it.”

“How?”

“Leina keeps telling you the same.”

“Correct.” said Raven. “We’ve agreed not to agree.”

“Same here. You would think I was a juvenile delinquent by the way she looks at me sometimes. The main issue will be protected no matter what happens, so why do women get the heebies?”

“Because, my boy, they look at these worlds from a feminine viewpoint and it’s a maternal one. You and I have been throwing the baby too high. It makes them nervous to watch us.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Charles’ thought-form became sardonic. “But how do
you
know all this? How many babies—?”

“I use my imagination,” interrupted Raven. “Bye, Charles.”

All that came back was a telepathic grunt. He glanced at Leina. She was reposing in her chair, eyes closed, face to the stars. For a little while he studied her fondly and was not looking at the fleshly features visible to ordinary men. The face was no more than a borrowed mask behind which he could see the real Leina. Most times he failed to notice that she had a face—somebody else’s face—and saw only what shone forth from the great orbs.

She was quite unconscious of his scrutiny. Her mind was tuned elsewhere and absorbing the never ending chatter of the heavens. Soon he followed her example, listened to messages dimmed by distance and atmosphere but still discernible.

“Scouting warily around Bluefire, a condensing giant. Twenty black ships of destroyer type.”

“. . . repeatedly, but complete lack of common ground makes it impossible to communicate with these Flutterers. Can’t even make them sense that we're trying to speak to them, much less warn them. If the Denebs arrive and become hostile toward them we’ll have to take appropriate action and—”

“Calling from Thais. I got in right away without arousing suspicion. Struck it lucky in finding a suitable one on his way out. He had superswift co-ordination and said, ‘Yes, by all means.’ ”

“The Benders have remarkable visual powers despite that they are low in the scale. See us clearly, call us the Shining Ones and insist on worshipping us. It is very embarrassing.”

“We swept past Jilderdeen unnoticed and saw that the Denebs are building an immense crystal-growing plant in its temperate zone. The implication is that they’re there for keeps.”

“. . . poor savages have chosen us for their annual sacrifice to the Twin Suns. Just sheer bad luck that they should pick us two out of all the tribe. It won’t be long now! Somebody else had better be ready to take over after we’re gone.”

That last message bit into his being. Poor savages. All watched worlds were so possessed, including this one, because all children can be poor savages by a genuinely adult standard. He stirred, sat up, felt restless. The stars blazed down but the world around him was deep and dark, bitterly dark.

Over the following three weeks he kept close tab on world news distributed by the radio and spectroscreen networks. It was boringly uneventful but he stuck to the task in the dogged manner of one who waits for something that must not be missed although it may never come.

No mention of erstwhile anti-Terran activities came over the air. This was not remarkable for there had been no hint of any sort even when they were at their height.

Neither was anything said about development of spaceships or prospects of plunging farther into unknown deeps. Bureaucratic love of secrecy again was responsible. The autocratic type of mind insists that news of public interest must not be divulged in the public interest.

Patiently he checked not only the news but also the unending flow of twaddle put over in the guise of entertainment, selecting likely items for close personal examination and seeing them through in all their wearisome completeness. From his peculiar viewpoint, he was like an elderly man compelled to endure hours of face-pulling and rattle-shaking designed to amuse a bunch of mewling babies.

At the end of the third week the fully colored three-dimensional spectroscreen commenced a new thriller serial of four parts. Just another of a regular series of emotion-tickles, it featured a telepathic hero who had looked long and ardently into the non-mutant heroine’s mind and found it pure and sweet and clean. The villain was depicted as a low-browed, lower-minded insectivocal with a lopsided sneer and a penchant for the sinister fondling of poisonous centipedes.

It was trash of a kind intended to occupy minds that otherwise might find time to think. Nevertheless, Raven followed the whole performance with the avidity of an incurable addict. When the end came, the villain had been foiled, virtue had triumphed amid soft lights and falling rose petals, and a symbolic boot had crushed a symbolic centipede, he sighed like one satiated—then went to see Kayder.

The man who answered his ring was a pawn resembling a broken-down pugilist. He had a smashed nose, ragged ears, wore a gray sweater.

“Kayder in?”

“Don’t know,” he lied. “I’ll see.” His small sunken eyes carefully measured the caller. “Who’ll I say?”

“David Raven.”

It meant nothing to him. He shambled down the passage, his mind reciting the name as though it would slip away if he didn’t go into a clinch with it. Presently he returned.

“Says he’ll see you.”

Legs bowed and arms swinging so that his fists were level with his knees, he conducted the other to the rear of the house, announced in a hoarse voice, “Mr. Raven,” and lumbered away.

It was the same room as before, same ornaments, same desk, but the boxes had gone. Kayder stood up as he entered, tried to decide whether or not to offer his hand, finally contented himself with indicating a chair.

Raven sat, stretched legs out front, smiled at him. “So Sammy did it. He had his little hour.”

“The case was dismissed on payment of costs. It set me back a hundred credits but was cheap at the price.” Kayder’s heavy features quirked as he added, “The old buffoon on the bench saw fit to warn me that even evidence like yours wouldn’t save me if I abused the public communication channels a second time.”

“Perhaps Sammy annoyed him by overdoing the drama,” Raven ventured. “Anyway, all’s well that ends well.”

“It is.” Leaning forward, Kayder eyed him expectantly. “And now you’ve come to collect?”

“An astute assumption rather crudely expressed,” opined Raven. “Let’s say I’ve come to put the squeeze on you.”

Pulling open a drawer, Kayder looked resigned. “How much?”

“How much what?”

“Money.”

“Money?” Raven echoed it incredulously. He eyed the ceiling, his expression pained. “He talks about money!”

Kayder slammed the drawer shut. “Look, I want to know something: why did you get me in bad one minute and lug me out of it the next?”

“They were different minutes.”

“Were they? In what way?”

“In the first there was a conflict and you were a menace safer out of the road. In the second the trouble had ceased or was about to cease and the need to pin you down had vanished.”

‘So you know the war has been called off?”

“Yes. Have you had orders to that effect?”

“I have,” said Kayder, with some sourness. “And I don’t like it.” He made a gesture indicative of impotence. “I am being candid with you. There’s no other choice with you reading my mind whenever you feel like it. I don’t care for this sudden collapse but there’s nothing I can do about it. The entire movement is going rapidly to pot.”

“Which is all to the good. You were fighting for self-government—if the secret dictatorship of one man can be called self-government.”

“Wollencott was a natural born leader but he hadn’t the guts to be a dictator.”

“He didn’t need the guts,” said Raven. “The intestinal items were supplied by Thorstern.”

Kayder raised a surprised eyebrow. “Why drag Thorstern into this?”

“You know of him?”

“Every Venusian knows of him. He’s one of the planet’s seven biggest men.”

“He’s the biggest,” Raven corrected. “In fact, he’s so big he thinks Venus ought to be his personal property. He owned Wollencott body and soul until he gave him his freedom recently.”

“Gave him his freedom? You mean—?” His mind stimulated into furious thought, Kayder sat erect and let his fingers drum on his desk. From time to time he frowned to himself.

After a while, he growled, “It could be. I have never met Thorstern in person. He is generally thought of as a hard and ambitious character. If Wollencott was picking up steam from someone else, Thorstern is the likeliest source.” He frowned again. “I never suspected him. He kept himself well concealed.”

“He did.”

“Thorstern, ye gods!” Kayder stared at the other. “Then why did he get rid of Wollencott?”

“Thorstern was persuaded to give up his systematic bleeding of Terra and confine himself to more legitimate activities. So Wollencott, a former asset, immediately became an embarrassing liability. Thorstern has a way of ridding himself of unwanted liabilities.”

“I hate to believe all this.” Kayder showed resentment. “But I’ve got to. It all adds up.”

“Your mind says more,” Raven pointed out. “It says the anti-Terran organization has divided into splinter groups and you fear that some may try to curry favor with the authorities by ratting on the others. You think there are now too many people who know too much.”

“I’ll take my chances along with the rest,” said Kayder, grimly. “Ratting’s a game that can be played both ways. I have less on my conscience than some.”

“Is a hypno named Steen on your conscience?”

“Steen?” He rocked back. “I never got him. He sneaked aboard the
Star Wraith
couple of days after you left on the
Fantôme. ”
He gave his listener a significant glance. “I had more than enough to think about just then, remember?”

Raven nodded without sympathy. “I remember.”

“So I heard no more about him.”

“He died—very slowly.”

“So did Haller!” Kayder shot back with sudden vim.

“Wrong on two counts. Haller went more or less of his own volition. Above all, he went quickly.”

“What’s the difference? One’s as dead as the other.”

“The difference is not in their ultimate condition,” said Raven, seriously and with emphasis, “but in the speed of their transition to it. Once upon a time you evinced a nasty desire to reduce me to my framework. Had you done it with praiseworthy swiftness I could have passed it off with a light laugh.” He gave a light laugh by way of illustration. “But if you had made the process unjustifiably prolonged I would have resented it.”

Popping his eyes, Kayder exclaimed, ‘That’s about the craziest piece of talk I’ve ever heard!”

Raven said, “It’s a crazy trinity of worlds we’re in.”

“I know that, but—”

“Besides,” he continued, ignoring the interruption, “you’ve not yet heard the half of it. I didn’t come round merely to pay a social call and indulge an hour’s idle gossip.

“You’ve told me that already. You want something and it isn’t money.”

“I did you a favor. Now I want you to do one for me.”

“Here it comes!” Kayder regarded him with undisguised suspicion. “What’s the favor?”

“I want you to kill Thorstern should the necessity arise.”

“Aha, you do? Look, you saved me something though I don’t know what. The maximum was seven years in clink but I might have got away with six months. Let’s say you’ve saved me six months upward—do you think that is worth a murder?”

“You have overlooked my qualifying words: should the necessity arise. If it does arise it won’t be murder—it’ll be summary execution.”