The Hub: Dangerous Territory by James H. Schmitz

He was looking into the living room of his home, fifty miles away in another section of Orado’s great city of Draise. A few steps from the entry, a man lay on his back on the carpeting, eyes shut, face deeply flushed, apparently unconscious. Halder Leorm’s mouth tightened. The man on the carpet was Dr. Atteo, his new assistant, assigned to the laboratory earlier in the week. Beyond Atteo, the entry from the residence’s delivery area and car port stood open.

Fingering the rim of the tiny scanner with practiced quickness, Halder Leorm shifted the view to other sections of the house, finally to the car port. An empty aircar stood in the port; there was no one in sight.

Halder sighed, replaced the instrument on his wrist, and glanced over at a wall mirror. His face was pale but looked sufficiently composed. Leaving the radiation room, he picked up his hat, said to the technician, “Forgot to mention it, Reef, but I’ll have to head over to central laboratories again.”

Reef, a large, red-headed young man, glanced around in mild surprise. “They’ve got a nerve, calling you across town every two days!” he observed. “Whose problem are you supposed to solve now?”

“I wasn’t informed. Apparently, something urgent has come up and they want my opinion on it.”

“Yeah, I bet!” Reef scratched his head, glanced along the rows of culture trays. “Well . . . nothing here at the moment I can’t handle, even if Atteo doesn’t show up. Will you be back before evening?”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Halder said. “You know how those conferences tend to go.”

“Uh-huh. Well, Dr. Leorm, if I don’t see you before tomorrow, give my love to your beautiful wife.”

Halder smiled back at him from the door. “Will do, Reef!” He let the door slide shut behind him, started towards the exit level of the huge pharmaceutical plant. Reef had acted in a completely normal manner. If, as seemed very probable, “Dr. Atteo” was a Federation agent engaged in investigating Dr. Halder Leorm, Halder’s co-workers evidently had not been apprised of the fact. Still, Halder thought, he must warn Kilby instantly. It was quite possible that an attempt to arrest him would be made before he left the building.

He stepped into the first ComWeb booth on his route, and dialed Kilby’s business number. His wife had a desk job in one of the major fashion stores in the residential section of Draise, and—which was fortunate just now—a private office. Her face appeared almost immediately on the screen before him, a young face, soft-looking, with large, gray eyes. She smiled in pleased surprise. ” ‘Lo Halder!”

” ‘Lo, Kilby . . . Did you forget?”

Kilby’s smile became inquiring. “Forget what?”

“That we’re lunching together at Hasmin’s today.”

Halder paused, watching the color drain quickly from Kilby’s cheeks.

“Of course!” she whispered. “I did forget. Got tied up in . . . and . . . I’ll leave right now! All right?”

Halder smiled. She was past the first moment of shock and would be able to handle herself. After all, they had made very precise preparations against the day when they might discover that the Federation’s suspicions had turned, however tentatively, in their direction.

“That’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m calling from the lab and will leave at once”—he paused almost imperceptibly—”if I’m not held up. Meet you at Hasmin’s, in any case, in around twenty minutes.”

Kilby’s eyes flickered for an instant. If Halder didn’t make it away? She was to carry out her own escape, as planned. That was the understanding. She gave him a tremulous smile. “And I’m forgiven?”

“Of course.” Halder smiled back.

The guards at the check-out point were not men he knew, but Halder walked through the ID-scanning band without incident, apparently without arousing interest. Beyond, to the left, was a wide one-way portal to a tube station. His aircar was in the executive parking area on the building’s roof, but the escape plan called for both of them to abandon their private cars, which were more than likely to be traps, and use the public transportation systems in starting out.

Halder entered the tube station, went to a rented locker, opened it and took out two packages, one containing a complete change of clothing and a mirror, the other half a dozen canned cultures of as many varieties of microlife—highly specialized strains of life, of which the pharmaceutical concern that employed Dr. Halder Leorm knew no more than it did of the methods by which they had been developed.

Halder carried the packages into a ComWeb booth which he locked and shielded for privacy. Then he opened both packages and quickly removed his clothing. Opening the first of the cultures, he dipped one of the needles into it and, watching himself in the mirror, made a carefully measured injection in each side of his face. He laid the needle down and opened the next container, aware of the enzyme reaction that had begun to race through him.

Three minutes later, the mirror showed him a dark-skinned stranger with high cheek bones, heavy jaw, thick nose, slightly slanted eyes, graying hair. Halder disposed of the mirror, the clothes he had been wearing and the remaining contents of the second package. Unchecked, the alien organisms swarming in his blood stream now would have gone on to destroy him in a variety of unpleasant ways. But with their work of disguise completed, they were being checked.

He emerged presently from a tube exit in uptown Draise, on the terrace of a hotel forty stories above the street level. He didn’t look about for Kilby, or rather the woman Kilby would turn into on her way here. The plan called for him to arrive first, to make sure he hadn’t been traced, and then to see whether she was being followed.

She appeared five minutes later, a slightly stocky lady now, perhaps ten years under Halder’s present apparent age, dark-skinned as he was, showing similar racial characteristics. She flashed her teeth at him as she came up, sloe eyes flirting.

“Didn’t keep you waiting, did I?” she asked.

Halder growled amiably, “What do you think? Let’s grab a cab and get going.” Nobody had come out of the tube exit behind her.

Kilby nodded understandingly; she had remembered not to look back. She was talking volubly about some imaginary adventure as they started down the terrace stairs towards a line of aircabs, playing her part, high-piled golden hairdo bobbing about. A greater contrast to the slender, quiet, gray-eyed girl, brown hair falling softly to her shoulders, with whom Halder had talked not more than twenty minutes ago would have been difficult to devise. The disguises might have been good enough, he thought, to permit them to remain undetected in Draise itself.

But the plan didn’t call for that. There were too many things at stake.

Kilby slipped into the cab ahead of him without a break in her chatter.

Her voice stopped abruptly as Halder closed the cab door behind him, activating the vehicle’s one-way vision shield. Kilby was leaning across the front seat beside the driver, turning off the comm box. She straightened, dropped down into the back seat beside Halder, biting her lip. The driver’s head sagged sideways as if he had fallen asleep; then he slid slowly down on the seat and vanished from Halder’s sight.

“Got him instantly, eh?” Halder asked, switching on the passenger controls.

“Hm-m-m!” Kilby opened her purse, slipped the little gun which had been in the palm of her left hand into it, reached out and gripped Halder’s hand for an instant. “You drive, Halder,” she said. “I’m so nervous I could scream! I’m scared cold! What happened?”

Halder lifted the cab out from the terrace, swung it skywards. “We were right in wondering about Dr. Atteo,” he said. “Half an hour ago, he attempted to go through our home in our absence. We’ll have to assume he’s a Federation agent. The entry trap knocked him out, but the fat’s probably in the fire now. The Federation may not have been ready to make an arrest yet, but after this there’ll be no hesitation. We’ll have to move fast if we intend to keep ahead of Atteo’s colleagues.”

Kilby drew in an unsteady breath. “You warned Rane and Santin?”

Halder nodded. “I sent the alert signal to their apartment ComWeb in the capital. Under the circumstances, I didn’t think a person-to-person call would be advisable. They’ll have time to pack and get out to the ranch before we arrive. We’ll give them the details then.”

“Did you reset the trap switch at the house entry?”

Halder slowed the cab, turning it into one of the cross-city traffic lines above Draise. “No,” he said. “Knocking out a few more Federation agents wouldn’t give us any advantage. It’ll be eight or nine hours before Atteo will be able to talk; and, with any luck at all, we’ll be clear of the planet by that time.”

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