‘Nerves, my boy; nerves and shock,’ Graves diagnosed. ‘Losing an arm would knock hell out of anybody’s nervous system, I’d say. Maybe the Phillips treatment—the new one growing on— sort of pulls you out of shape.
‘Could be,’ Cloud assented, moodily. His act had been a flop. If Graves knew anything—and he’d be damned if he could see any grounds for such a suspicion—he hadn’t given away a thing.
41
Nevertheless, Cloud went to the Patrol office, which was of course completely and permanently shielded. There he borrowed the detector and asked the lieutenant in charge to get a special report from the Patrol upon the alleged gems and what it knew about either the cruiser or the pirates. To justify his request he had to explain his suspicions.
After the messages had been sent the young officer drummed thoughtfully upon his desk. ‘I wish I could do something, Dr. Cloud, but I don’t see how I can,’ he decided finally. ‘Without a shred of evidence, I can’t act.”
‘I know. I’m not accusing anybody, yet. It may be anybody between here and Andromeda. Just call me, please, as soon as you get that report.’
The report came, and the Patrolman was round-eyed as he imparted the information, that, as far as Prime Base could discover, there had been no Lonabarian gems and the rescuing vessel had not been a Patrol ship at all. Cloud was not surprised.
‘I thought so,’ he said, flatly. ‘This is a hell of a thing to say, but it now becomes a virtual certainty—six sigmas out on the probability curve—that this whole fantastic procedure was designed solely to keep me from analyzing and blowing out that new vortex. As to where the vortex fits in, I haven’t even the dimmest possible idea, but one thing is clear. Graves represents TPI—on this planet he is TPI. Now what kind of monkey business would TPI—or, more likely, somebody working under cover in TPI, because undoubtedly the head office doesn’t know anything about it—be doing? I ask you.’
‘Dope, you mean? Cocaine—heroin—that kind of stuff?’
‘Exactly; and here’s what I’m going to do about it.’ Bending over the desk, even in that ultra-shielded office, Cloud whispered busily for minutes. ‘Pass this along to Prime Base immediately, have them alert Narcotics, and have your men ready in case I strike something hot.’
‘But listen, man!’ the Patrolman protested. ‘Wait—let a Lensman do it. They’ll almost certainly catch you at it, and if they’re clean nothing can keep you from doing ninety days in the clink.’
‘But if we wait, the chances are it’ll be too late; they’ll have had time to cover up. What I’m asking you is, will you back my play if I catch them with the goods?’
‘Yes. We’ll be here, armored and ready. But I still think
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you’re nuts.’
‘Maybe so, but even if my mathematics is wrong, it’s still a fact that my arm will grow back on just as fast in the clink as anywhere else. Clear ether, lieutenant—until tonight!’
Cloud made an engagement with Graves for luncheon. Arriving a few minutes early, he was of course shown into the private office. Since the manager was busily signing papers, Cloud strolled to the side window and seemed to gaze appreciatively at the masses of gorgeous blooms just outside. What he really saw, however, was the detector upon his wrist.
Nobody knew that he had in his sleeve a couple of small, but highly efficient, tools. Nobody knew that he was left-handed. Nobody saw what he did, nor was any signal given that he did anything at all.
That night, however, that window opened alarmlessly to his deft touch. He climbed in, noiselessly. He might be walking straight into trouble, but he had to take that chance. One thing was in his favor; no matter how crooked they were, they couldn’t keep armored troops on duty as night-watchmen, and the Patrolmen could get there as fast as their thugs could.
He had brought no weapons. If he was wrong, he would not need any and being armed would only aggravate his offense. If right, there would be plenty of weapons available. There were. A whole drawer full of DeLameters—fully charged—belts and everything. He leaped across the room to Graves’ desk; turned on a spy-ray. The sub-basement—’private laboratories’, Graves had said—was blocked. He threw switch after switch—no soap. Communicators—ah, he was getting somewhere now—a steel-lined room, a girl and a boy.
‘Eureka! Good evening, folks.’
‘Eureka? I hope you rot in hell, Graves …’
‘This isn’t Graves. Cloud. Storm Cloud, the Vortex Blaster, investigating…’
‘Oh, Bob, the Patrol!’ the girl screamed.
‘Quiet! This is a zwilnik outfit, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll say it is!’ Ryder gasped in relief. ‘Thionite …’
‘Thionite! How could it be? How could they bring it in here?’
‘They don’t. They’re growing broadleaf and making the stuff. That’s why they’re going to kill us.’
‘Just a minute.’ Cloud threw in another switch. ‘Lieutenant? Worse than I thought. Thionite! Get over here fast with every-
thing you got. Armor and semi-portables. Blast down the May-ner Street door. Stairway to right, two floors down, corridor to left, half-way along left side. Room B-Twelve. Snap it up, but keep your eyes peeled!’
‘But wait, Cloud!’ the lieutenant protested. ‘Wait ’til we get there—you can’t do anything alone!’
‘Can’t wait—got to get these kids out—evidence!’ Cloud broke the circuit and, as rapidly as he could, one-handed, buckled on gun-belts. Graves would have to kill these two youngsters, if he possibly could.
‘For God’s sake save Jackie, anyway!’ Ryder prayed. He knew just how high the stakes were. ‘And watch out for gas, radiation, and traps—you must have sprung a dozen alarms already.’
‘What kind of traps?’ Cloud demanded.
‘Beams, deadfalls, sliding doors—I don’t know what they haven’t got. Graves said he could kill us in here with rays or gas or …’
‘Take Graves’ private elevator, Dr. Cloud,’ the girl broke in. ‘Where is it— which one?’
‘It’s the blank wall—the yellow button on his desk opens it. Down as far as it will go.’
Cloud jumped up listening with half an ear to the babblings from below as he searched for air-helmets. Radiations, in that metal-lined room, were out—except possibly for a few beam-projectors, which he could deal with easily enough. Gas, though, would be bad; but every drug-house had air-helmets. Ah! Here they were!
He put one on, made shift to hang two more around his neck —he had to keep his one hand free. He punched the yellow button; rode the elevator down until it stopped of itself. He ran along the corridor and drove the narrowest, hottest possible beam of a DeLameter into the lock of B-12. It took time to cut even that small semi-circle in that refractory and conductive alloy—altogether too much time—but the kids would know who it was. Zwilniks would open the cell with a key, not a torch. They knew. When Cloud kicked the door open they fell upon him eagerly.
‘A helmet and a Delameter apiece. Get them on quick! Now help me buckle this. Thanks. Jackie, you stay back there, out of the way of our feet. Bob, you lie down here in the doorway.
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Keep your gun outside and stick your head out just far enough so you can see. No farther. I’ll join you after I see what they’ve got in the line of radiation.’
A spot of light appeared in a semi-concealed port, then another. Cloud’s weapon flamed briefly.
‘Projectors like those aren’t much good when the prisoners have Delameters,’ he commented, ‘but I imagine our air right now is pretty foul. It won’t be long now. Do you hear anything?’
‘Somebody’s coming, but suppose it’s the Patrol?’
‘If so, a few blasts won’t hurt ’em—they’ll be in G P armor.’ Cloud did not add that Graves would probably rush his nearest thugs in just as they were; to kill the two witnesses before help could arrive.
The first detachment to round the corner was in fact un-armored. Cloud’s weapon flamed white, followed quickly by Ryder’s, and those zwilniks died. Against the next to arrive, however, the DeLameters raved in vain. But only for a second.
‘Back!’ Cloud ordered, and swung the heavy door shut as the attackers’ beams swept past. It could not be locked, but it could be, and was, welded to the jamb with dispatch, if not with neatness. ‘We’ll cut that trap-door off, and stick it onto the door, too —and any more loose metal we can find.’
‘I hope they come in time,’ the girl’s low voice carried a prayer. Was this brief flare of hope false? Would not only she and her Bob, but also their would-be rescuer, die? ‘Oh! That noise—s’pose it’s the Patrol?”
It was not really a noise—the cell was sound-proof—it was an occasional jarring of the whole immense structure.
‘I wouldn’t wonder. Heavy stuff—probably semi-portables. You might grab that bucket, Bob, and throw some of that water that’s trickling in. Every little bit helps.’