Entities: The Selected Novels of Eric Frank Russell (76 page)

Harper sought frantically for a method of making a highly dangerous move appear disarmingly innocent. He looked into Riley’s questioning eyes which all along had seemed entirely normal and gave no hint of what was lurking behind.

Wetting his lips, he said, “Langley and some other fellow were trapped. They shot it out like madmen. It proved impossible to take them alive.”

Riley raised an eyebrow in false surprise. “Everybody knew he was wanted but nobody’s been told what for. Judging by that reaction the reason must have been mighty serious. So where’s the sense in all the secrecy?”

“Don’t ask me. I have no say in government policy.” He made a gesture of bafflement. “You know how the top boys sometimes love to be mysterious.”

The other grunted in disdain.

Now then, this was it, the critical play. It had to be done delicately, like handling dynamite. One slip and there’d be an explosion of wild action with Norris and the others caught by surprise. Thank goodness Moira was out of it.

With a deceitfully reminiscent air, Harper went on, “It’s possible that Langley really was cracked in the head. If so, I don’t like it. Everyone has pet fears and I’ve got mine.”

“Such as what?”

“When I was a small child I was afraid of big black dogs. Now I’m older I have a violent revulsion toward mental disease. I fear loonies.” He pulled a face, nerved himself and made the move. “What scares
you
the most?”

By God, he got it! He got it as clearly and vividly as only a lifelong terror can be pictured. What’s more, he felt sure that he recognized it, not by its form but by its brutal nature. And it was here, on Earth, waiting around and ready for use. He had to tighten his mouth to prevent himself from shouting aloud.

Standing up, Riley frowned at him and asked in taut tones, “What makes you ask me that?” And his mind followed on with,
“A while ago he said that talk was of no avail, that he was busy and had work to do. Yet he’s been maintaining the conversation ever since. He has been prompting me repeatedly and I’ve had to keep avoiding his leads. Nevertheless he appears satisfied with answers that I’ve been careful not to give. How can that be?”

The enemy mentality was searching with swiftly mounting alarm. Telepathy was completely outside its experience, nothing like it having been encountered in its native habitat. But when an astute mind fails to solve a problem on the basis of recorded data and steps right outside of experience to seek a solution within the imagination, anything is possible.

At any moment Riley was going to conceive the formerly inconceivable.

Then would come the eruption.

Casually scratching under one arm in order to have fingers near the gun, Harper said, “I don’t know why I asked you. I’m not in the least interested. If you feel touchy on the subject you can attribute my question to mere yap. I’ve been doing too much of that considering the jobs waiting to be done. Go away and let me tend to my business.”

He failed in his attempt to divert the thoughtstream into another direction.

“He has a weapon there, ”
it flowed on.
“I have seen him carrying it many a time. He has his hand on it and cannot conceal his tenseness. He would not be like that if he knew nothing. Therefore he knows something in spite of all my attempts to hide it. ” A 
puzzled pause, then,
“I came in the role of an old friend. Yet he makes ready to deal with, me for what I am. ”

Grinning at him, Harper withdrew the hand, used it scratch his head instead. It was a mistake.

“By the Great Black Rock of Karsim, he can hear my thoughts!”

The desk went over with a crash that shook the floor as Harper dived headlong across it and grabbed the hand which Riley was digging into a pocket. Something small, oval and metallic lay in the pocket but did not come out.

Voicing a loud oath in no known language, Riley used his free hand to try to haul Harper from the pinioned one. He was a heavy, powerful man with a huge grip that had clamped itself unbreakably on many a struggling felon. Hauling with irresistible strength, he was caught unaware when Harper went willingly with the pull and helped it farther. The unexpected co-operation sent him teetering on his heels, at which point Harper shoved with all his might.

Together they fell to the floor, with Harper partly on top. Riley’s eyes were aflame, his features crimson as he fought to beat off his opponent long enough to get at the object in his pocket. Pinning him down was like trying to fasten an enraged tiger to the earth.

A chick-knuckled fist landed squarely on Harper’s mouth and brought a spurt of blood from split lips. The sight of it created a horrible eagerness in Riley’s features. He redoubled his efforts to throw the other off, heaving tremendously and keeping his gaze on the blood.

Panting as he strove to maintain his position of vantage, Harper caught a knee-thrust in the stomach, whooshed expelled breath, spat crimson drops and hoarsed, “No you don’t, you—!” He released his hold on Riley’s right wrist, got a two-handed grip on his neck and dug thumbs into his windpipe.

At that point Norris jumped through the doorway, gun in hand, and bawled, “Break it up! Break it up, I tell you!”

Riley heaved with maniac force, tossed Harper off his middle, kicked at his head as he rolled aside and missed. He shot upright, glaring at Norris and showing complete disregard of the gun. He made a motion toward his pocket, came down flat before he could touch it as Harper twisted on the floor and snatched the feet from under him.

Clutching each other afresh, the two threshed around with bodies squirming and legs flailing right and left. A tall filing cabinet shuddered under their impact, rocked forward, toppled and flung a shower of business papers across the office. The telephone leaped from its rack, two bottles of ink and one of paste added themselves to the mess. The combatants continued to fight fiercely amid the litter.

Rausch and two more agents appeared just as Norris firmed his lips and stepped forward determined to end the battle. The four made a concerted rush that swept Harper aside and got Riley good and tight. They dragged him upright.

Sweating profusely, Riley stood in their grip, forced righteous indignation into his face and declaimed with plausible resentfulness, “The man’s gone completely mad. He attacked me without warning and for no reason at all. There must be something wrong with him.”

It was said with such a natural air that Norris had a nervy moment of wondering whether Harper had gone bad right under his nose and despite all their precautions.

“Feel in his pocket and see what he’s got,” suggested Harper. Sitting on the edge of the upended desk, he dabbed his bleeding lips with a handkerchief.

Norris did that, produced a grenade, examined it. “Army model, same as Baum used.” He gazed hard-eyed at Riley. “Funny sort of thing for a police officer to carry around, isn’t it?”

“He’s not a police officer any more,” Harper put in. “And he isn’t Riley either. Rush him down to the Biological Research Laboratory. They need him there at once.”

These words created a sudden frenzy in the prisoner. His arms were held but his legs were not. He kicked Norris in the middle, tore loose, tried to snatch the grenade. Norris bent forward doubled with agony, but held on to it. Riley pulled at him, gobbling and foaming, making strange whining noises and working his features almost out of recognition.

An agent slapped him. Riley rocked dazedly, let his hands hang. The agent slogged him again, a vicious crack devoid of mercy. Riley collapsed like an empty sack. He lay with eyes closed, lips shut and breathed with eerie bubbling sounds.

“I’ve no time for belly-kickers,” said the agent.

Norris straightened himself painfully, his face white and strained. He held out the grenade. “Take it away some place where it can do no harm.”

“Same applies to the owner,” Harper reminded. “Tie him up so he can’t choke himself with his own fingers and get him to the Bio. Lab.”

“Is he—?”

“Yes, he is. And it’s my fault. He had entry to this office and it’s cost him his soul.”

“I thought you were supposed to be able to smell them coming,” Norris complained. “What's the use of us guarding you for half a mile around if they can walk in like this and—”

“I knew he was coming.”

“Then why didn’t you tell us? I was listening-in to your conversation and thought it decidedly fishy. You were needling him for some reason or other. But seeing that you had sounded no alarm we—”

“Look,” said Harper firmly, “this is no time for explanations or post-mortems. Rush him to Doctor Leeming at the Bio. Lab. as fast as you can make it. And don’t give him the slightest opportunity to finish himself on the way there. I’m giving you fair warning that if he can’t escape he’ll kill himself by any means to hand. He must be delivered alive and in one piece.”

“All right.”

Norris signed to the others. They lifted Riley, who now had steel cuffs on wrists and ankles and was still unconscious. They carried him out.

Mopping his lips again, Harper stared moodily at the wreckage of his office. He was not really seeing it, though. He was physically and spiritually shaken and striving to overcome it. Crazy circumstances had turned an old law topsy-turvy and made the reversal equally true: greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down a friend’s life for himself.

Horrible, horrible!

Moira came in, saying, “I left all my money behind, so I couldn’t—” She halted, went wide-eyed, let go a gasp. “Why, Mr. Harper, what on earth has happened?”

“I had a fit of sneezing.”

Dragging his desk upright and restoring his chair to its legs, he sat and continued to ruminate while Moira scrabbled for loose papers. Then suddenly he smacked a hand to his forehead and ejaculated, “I go dafter as I get older!”

He dashed out while Moira knelt in the middle of the floor and gaped after him.

On the sidewalk Norris and Rausch were standing with hands in pockets while watching two cruisers speed along the street.

Norris greeted him with, “He’s gone. They’ll hand him over to Leeming in no time.” Then a mite doubtfully, “And I hope you know what you’re doing.

There’ll be plenty of trouble if we’ve blundered in this case.”

“You’ve not dealt with the half of it yet,” informed Harper hurriedly. “There’s a gang of them hiding in his home. What’s more, I’ve reason to think they knew of his capture the moment he was slapped to sleep. Ten to one it got them on the run forthwith. You’ll have to move fast to nab them.”

“We can do no more than our best,” said Norris unimpressed and making no move.

“McDonald’s there and several others,” Harper urged. He scowled impatiently at the other. “Well, are you going to take action or do I have to go myself?”

Easy now,” Norris advised. He gave a slow smile. “We know exactly where Riley lives. He’s been followed time and again.”

“What of it?”

“When we carted him out a raid on his house became the next logical step. Five cars with twenty men have gone there. They’ll grab everyone they can lay hands on. Afterwards, and if necessary, we’ll use you to tell us who is which.”

“So you’ve been thinking ahead of me, eh?”

“It happens sometimes,” assured Norris, smiling again. “You can’t lead the field all the way. Nobody can do that, no matter what his mental speed.”

“Thanks for the reminder. Send a man round the garbage cans to get a few ashes, will you? I wish to put them upon my head while work proceeds.”

He returned to the office. Moira had already succeeded in restoring some semblance of order. She filed the last of the scattered papers in the cabinet, closed it with an emphatic slam, surveyed him much as a long-suffering mother would regard an irresponsible child. That did nothing for his ego, either.

“Thank you, Angel. Now go get your lunch.”

He waited until she had departed, picked up the phone, made a long-distance call to Leeming.

“A live one is on the way to you right now and, with luck, there’ll be several more to come. Don’t tell me what you propose to do to the first arrival. I don’t want to know.”

“Why not?” Leeming asked, exhibiting curiosity through the visiscreen. “Is it somebody close to you?”

“Yes. A big, lumbering, good-natured cop I’ve known for years. I hate to think of you carving him up. ”

“He won’t be carved. We’ve done all we need of that on dead bodies. Living victims will be used as test-subjects for likely vaccines.”

“What’s the chance of developing a satisfactory cure?” Harper asked.

“There’s another problem far more important,” Leeming gave back. “Namely, whether we can find one in adequate time. We can succeed and yet fail because success comes too late.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I refuse to commit myself at this stage. We aren’t the only ones on the job. In a crisis of this sort, the government turns to anyone and everyone who can lend a hand, private laboratories included. Somebody else may strike lucky and come up with a solution while were still seeking it. All we can do here is work like hell and pray.”

“If producible, an effective vaccine should be innocuous, shouldn’t it?” Harper pursued.

“What do you mean?”

“The cure shouldn’t be little better than the disease?”

“What the devil are you getting at?”

Harper hesitated, continued carefully, “I’ll tell you something. That virus cannot think by itself any more than you can drive a non-existent car. But it can think when in possession of a brain. And I know one thing it thinks about. It is scared to death of meningococci.”

“What?” yelled Leeming, thunderstruck.

“I’m giving you a genuine, basic fact. That alien nightmare has a nightmare of its own. No living thing can be afflicted by it and have cerebro-spinal meningitis at one and the same time. Something has to go under and it’s the virus that does the going.”

“Where did you learn all this?”

“From a victim. The one they’re taking down to you at this moment.”

“How did you find out?”