string of undistinguished dukes who’ve fumbled around without accomplishing anything.
The present duke is only thirteen, and. . . .” She stopped abruptly. “I’m terribly sorry. You
didn’t come here to listen to my problems or Chandakha’s. You’ve . . . we’ve got a case
to solve, and the sooner we get onto that, the better.
Jules put his shock at the conditions on Chandakha to the back of his mind. Kantana was
right; they bad work to do. “What I’m thinking,” he said, “is that there is a regular
program of recruitment going on. This conspiracy picks out people who already have
criminal tendencies and who have large families to support-men who are desperate
enough to do anything for money. They can be trained to be callous about anything, even
wholesale murder, if the incentive’s right.
“If ever there was a recruiter’s paradise for that sort of thing,” Kantana agreed,
“Chandakha is it. In fact, as far as I can see, the hardest part of a recruiter’s job would
be choosing from an almost limitless number of candidates.
Jules brooded on that for a bit. “Then what we have to do,” he said at last, “is to make
sure I’m an irresistible candidate for them.
Before leaving Vesa, Jules phoned and bad an ad placed in the personal column of the
major newsroll: Chandakha sings a siren song. The natives are restless. Frenchie Yvette
would know from that that her brother had gone down to the planet’s surface, and that
Chandakhari were somehow involved. He hated being so mysterious, but she had her
own independent investigation to perform, -and he didn’t want to prejudice her findings.
At least she would know he was all right; if she had any further questions she could
contact Kantana, just as he did.
The transfer to Kantana’s ship was accomplished smoothly, with Jules riding inside her
capacious trunk. The trunk was carried aboard ship through the passenger ramp; Jules
was jarred a bit, but he got past any possible spies at the spaceport without detection.
As Kantana piloted them down on the short flight to Chandakha, she and Jules discussed
his upcoming transformation into a leading criminal of the planet.
The physical part would be the hardest. Jules’ light brown hair, fair skin and gray eyes
would never pass muster but Kantana assured him she had makeup experts at her
disposal who could administer skin and hair dyes that would last for several weeks.
Service opthalmologists could also dye his eyes temporarily to a more passable brown.
As for his distinctively DesPlainian physique, Kantana assured him that the standard garb
on Chandakha was a loosefitting garment cut like a caftan. By taking certain pills to
promote water retention, Jules could make most of his musculature look like just plain
flab. Sleep tapes helped him learn the local dialect in six nights.
Being more familiar with the culture of the planet, Kantana invented Jules’ background.
He would be Har Koosman, twenty-eight, a family man with a wife and nine children to
support. He had lived all his life in Calpuna, the second largest city on the planet, and had
been in and out of jails since he was sixteen-she could fake the records for that easily
enough, and the local police would cooperate with her fully. Two months ago, he had
gotten into his most serious trouble by trying to break into the estate of the Baron of
Calpuna and steal his jewels. He was discovered and captured-but not before he had
killed two of the Baron’s guards attempting to escape. He was imprisoned in solitary
confinement in Calpuna for a while, but managed to escape. He had just been recaptured
and the Service, acting at the request of the Baron, had stepped in to assist the local
police. Koosman was now being transferred to the Imperial prison at Bhangora,
Chandakha’s largest city, where security would be a lot stricter. “And,” as Kantana
pointed out, “where no one would be expected to know a criminal from Calpuna.
Har Koosman paced his small cell impatiently. He had been locked in with a man named
Passar, a tiny man about forty years old with the face of a weasel and eyes permanently
hardened to criminal activities. “Passar has connections all through the underworld,”
Kantana had told Jules. “If he doesn’t know how to get you through to the recruiters, no
one will.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Jules muttered as he paced. He turned to look at Passar.
“You know this area better than I do, you must know a way out.
The older man chuckled grimly. “If I knew, would I still be here?.
“There must be a way out. No prison is escape proof.” “True enough, tovarishch. Men
have escaped from here before. But they thought up their plans over the course of
months. You just got here this morning, what can you expect?.
Jules shook his head. “I’ve got a wife and nine kids, two aged parents and a
brother-in-law, none of whom can support themselves. I’m alone in a strange city, without
a friend to my name, being held on a charge of murder. What am I going to do?” Jules
sat down on the edge of the crude bunk he’d been provided and buried his face in his
hands.
“I’ll tell you what you won’t do,” said Passar, becoming annoyed. “You won’t bore me any
more with the tearful story of your problems. I’ve been in and out of jails for thirty years,
and I’ve had so many people sob on my shoulder that it’s permanently soggy. Every cell
in this building has men who, by their own admission, shouldn’t be there, and each has a
tale as pitiful as yours. This cell is three meters wide and four long; if you intend to share
it peacefully with me, you will keep your damned mouth shut and stop your wail of
self-pity.
“Why you miserable little bastard,” Jules let his anger flare. “How dare you talk to me like
that? I’ll kill you!” And with that, he surged off his cot and over to where his cellmate was
seated.
His large powerful hands closed over the smaller man’s throat. To Passar it felt as
though the newcomer was using all his strength in a murderous rage, though in truth
Jules was using but a tenth of what he could have. He certainly didn’t want to kill Passar,
though the other had to think he would.
Passar had just enough warning and enough air left in his lungs to yell for the guard. He
tried beating Jules off, but his blows were very light and struck uselessly on the
attacker’s toughened bide. Jules shifted position slightly, in what looked like an attempt
to gain a better grip but what was actually a chance to let Passar get more air in his
lungs to scream. The weaselly little criminal did so with gratifying volume.
“What’s going on here?” came a voice from outside the cell. A large, burly guard stood
there, his stun-gun drawn and aimed at the participants in the struggle. He was trying to
get a clear shot at Jules, but in another second he would fire at both men, on the theory
that stunning both of them would ease the problem and allow him time to sort out the
bodies in peace afterwards.
Before he could fire, through, Jules suddenly dropped Passar and lunged with his arm
through the bars at the guard. He caught the man’s unhand and, with a vicious yank,
pulled the guard towards him. The man hit his bead hard against the metal bars and was
knocked unconscious. He would have slumped to the. floor had not Jules held his body
upright. The stun-gun dropped from the guard’s limp hand onto the floor of the cell, but
Jules was much more interested in the other gun the guard had carried-a Mark Twenty
blaster. Stretching his other hand between the bars, he pulled the heavy weapon out of
the guard’s holster. Then he let the man’s body fall to the ground.
Wasting no time, Jules turned the blaster’s sizzling beam on the lock mechanism of the
cell. Within three seconds the lock had been burned away. The DesPlainian kicked open
the door, picked up the stun-gun as well and turned back to the startled Passar, who had
watched the action while cowering in his bunk. “Thanks,” Jules told him. “I needed a
commotion to draw the guard’s attention, and it bad to seem realistic.” He stepped out of
the cell. “Be seeing you.
“What about me?” Passar called after him.
Jules shrugged. “Door’s open. You’re free to try a break, too, if you want.
Passar’s weasel brain was working overtime. “You’ll never be able to get out of here
alone, and neither will I. You don’t know the layout and I don’t have a gun. Together,
though, we stand a chance.
Though Jules pretended to consider that, it was actually exactly what he’d hoped for. The