THE CLOCKWORK TRAITOR
Volume Three of The classic Family d’Alembert series
By E.E. ‘Doc’ Smith
With Stephen Goldin
Prologue
Rawl Winsted’s head felt bruised. It was not a physical feeling but a mental one, a
fuzziness in his mind as though his entire brain were wrapped in cotton wool. And there
was one particular portion of his memory that he simply could not touch. Every time he
would send an exploratory thought in that direction it would dissipate into nothingness,
leaving him with a feeling of mild confusion.
He knew precisely what was causing that sensation: a hypnotic block. It had been
placed there to prevent him from knowing exactly why he had come to the planet
Kolokov, whom he had worked for, and what he had done. He resented it a little-after
all, what man liked having a portion of his life permanently taken away from him? To
never know what he had done or said for a period of about a week was a slightly chilling
concept.
But his resentment was slight. He bad accepted the necessity for the hypnotic block as
one of the conditions of his employment on the just-completed job. And besides, his
employer-whoever it had been-had given him a substantial bonus for agreeing to the
treatment. The thought of the extra ten thousand rubles tucked neatly away in his bank
account was a very consoling one.
Even so, his thoughts could not help but be attracted to that blank spot in his mind, just
like a tongue playing over the vacancy left by a recently extracted tooth.
He brought his mind back to the business at hand. Since he was here on Kolokov
anyway, he could not resist the temptation to make a little extra money, and the piece
of jewelry on the worktable before him represented a sizeable investment that could pay
off handsomely. It was a brooch that had been stolen two nights ago-gold set with
several small diamonds in the center of a triangle of enormous emeralds. It was an
expensive piece, but totally useless in its present form because it was an original and
easily identifiable. He had paid the thief only two thousand rubles for it, which was less
than half the value of the stones and the gold by themselves.
But when he was finished practicing his art, the piece could easily be worth five times
what he had paid for it. Using ultra miniature equipment, he could alter some of the
crystal striations in the stones so that even under radiometric tests they would not
appear to be the stolen ones. The gold he would melt down and re-form into an entirely
new structure, so beautiful it would command a fine price and so different that he could
even sell it to its original owner without fear that it would be recognized.
This was Winsted’s trade, and he was a master at it. So intense was his concentration
upon the brooch that it took him several seconds to realize that someone was knocking
on the door of his rented studio. Concealment was second nature to him; he slipped the
brooch into a secret pocket of his vest and walked cautiously to the door. “Who’s
there?”
“Police, Gospodin Winsted. Open up at once.”
Rawl Winsted knew a moment of blind panic. There was enough evidence in this room
alone to send him to prison for twenty years. He fought at the mist that beclouded his
mind, and then remembered that he had arranged a back exit to this room specifically
against the possibility of being discovered. Without saying another word, he moved
toward the concealing door that led to the crawlspace that in turn led to the roof, where
his personal copter was waiting.
My mind is working slowly today, he thought as he crawled through the hatchway and
pulled the door shut behind him. Must be the aftereffects of the hypnotic block. But I’d
better shake it off soon, or I’ll be in real trouble.
The police, he knew, would wait no more than thirty seconds outside the door before
smashing it in and discovering him missing. He had heard only the voice of one man
outside the door, . but there might be a second. Winsted doubted there would be any
more than that-he was realistic enough to know that his own place in the hierarchy of
crime did not warrant sending more than two policemen out after him. There was a very
good chance, therefore, that his copter would be unguarded and that he’d be able to
make his escape before they could catch him. He’d have to move quickly, though.
The rooftop seemed clear as he emerged from the crawl way and began running across
the open surface to his vehicle. He made it and slid into the pilot’s seat just as two men
came out of the elevator tube. Both had their stunners drawn and, as they caught sight
of him, one dropped to his knees to fire while the other ran toward the copter. The first
officer’s stun-gun beam bounced harmlessly off the windshield of Winsted’s vehicle as it
began lifting rapidly into the air. The second man had dropped his stunner and had
reached, instead, for his blaster. It was probably a low-powered field weapon, but even
so it was something to respect.
Winsted changed all of his copter’s acceleration from vertical to horizontal and skimmed
sideways off the rooftop, avoiding the fire of the policeman who expected him to go
upward. In doing so, Winsted narrowly avoided a collision with another copter coming in
for a landing on the building next door. Swerving his vehicle around, the fugitive took off
into the metropolitan sky, hoping to lose himself in the dense downtown air traffic.
As he flew, he kept a careful watch all about him. At first it seemed as though he had
made a successful getaway; the radar screen showed no other vehicles at this altitude
following him in the traffic pattern. But the policemen at the building must have recorded
and broadcast his serial number, because from out of nowhere five copters surrounded
him, paralleling his course-one below, one above, and three in a triangle around him at
the same altitude.
The radio on his control panel came to life. “Land your craft at once, Winsted, or face
the consequences. We have authorization to fire on your copter if necessary.”
Think, man, Winsted told himself. But his mind still felt slightly muzzy from the hypnotic
block and his thoughts jammed up against one another in a hopeless tangle. He knew
there would be no way he could break out of this formation if the law officers were
authorized to shoot and he would not be likely to survive the crash that would follow
their blasting his vehicle. He had no choice but to give in and hope to win his case in
court.
“Acknowledged,” he said in a weary tone as he began piloting his craft slowly down to a
nearby rooftop. The copter under him got respectfully out of his way and the rest of the
police followed him, maintaining a cautious distance.
Oh well, it could be worse, Winsted thought. I’ve got a lot of money in the bank, I can
afford a sharp lawyer. I may worm my way out of this yet.
But Winsted’s case was never to come to trial … and what began as a routine police
arrest would shortly come to the notice of the Service of the Empire. The repercussions
would be felt from the planet Kolokov all the way to Earth, and would threaten the
stability of the succession to the very Throne of the Empire itself.
Chapter 1
The Princess’s Progress
For Crown Princess Edna Stanley, heiress to the Throne of the Empire of Earth, there
was little time for unhappiness. Her schedule was so filled with official duties that her
own personal emotions had to wait. There was always some bridge to dedicate or a
new starship to christen; there were endless testimonial banquets given in honor of this
or that outstanding personage; there were school graduations at which she was
requested to speak, charity benefits where the presence of a member of the Imperial
Family would bring in more money for some worthy cause; there were art exhibitions
and theater performances and sporting events that she, as a patroness of such
activities, could not avoid. Also, her father insisted that she sit in and give advice at
more and more meetings of the Imperial Council; in two more years she would be
inheriting the Throne following his abdication, and he wanted to make certain that she
was fit to govern the affairs of the Empire wisely. More and more often, he asked her to
make the decisions in his place, to accustom her to the responsibility of power.
All of these things, and a myriad more besides, stole time away from the young
woman’s private life. If she had had any brothers or sisters it would have lightened the