“Why not?”
“Because,” Reetal said dryly, “what the Duke is planning to get in on is an hour of tender dalliance. Before the Camelot arrives, necessarily. The cold-blooded little skunk!” She hesitated a moment; when she spoke again, her voice had turned harsh and nasal, wicked amusement sounding through it. “Sort of busy at the moment, sweetheart, but we might find time for a drink or two later on in the evening, eh?”
Quillan grunted. “You’re as good at the voice imitations as ever. How did you find out about the cubicles?”
“I took a chance and fed him a Moment of Truth.”
“With Fluel,” Quillan said thoughtfully, “that was taking a chance!”
“Believe me, I was aware of it! I’ve run into card-carrying sadists before, but the Duke’s the only one who scares me silly. But it did work. He dropped in for about a minute and a half, and came out without noticing a thing. Meanwhile, I’d got the answers to a few questions. The bomb with which they’re planning to mop up behind them already has been planted up here in the norm-space section. Fluel didn’t know where; armaments experts took care of it. It’s armed now. There’s a firing switch on each of their ships, and both switches have to be tripped before the thing goes off. Part of what they’re after is in those Pendrake rest cubicles—”
“Part of it?” Quillan asked.
“Uh-huh. An even hundred similar cubicles will be unloaded from the Camelot—the bulk of the haul; which is why Nome Lancion is supervising things on the liner. I started to ask what was in the cubicles, but I saw Fluel was beginning to lose that blank look they have under Truth, and switched back to light chitchat just before he woke up. Yaco’s paying for the job—or rather, it will pay for the stuff, on delivery, and no questions asked.”
“That’s not very much help, is it?” Quillan said after a moment. “Something a big crooked industrial combine like Yaco thinks it can use—”
“It must expect to be able to use it to extremely good advantage,” Reetal said. “The Brotherhood will collect thirty million credits for their part of the operation. The commodore’s group presumably won’t do any worse.” She glanced past Quillan toward the room portal. “It’s O.K., Heraga! Come in.”
* * *
Sher Heraga was a lean, dark-skinned little man with a badly bent nose, black curly hair, and a nervous look. He regretted, he said, that he hadn’t been able to uncover anything which might be a lead to the location of the bomb. Apparently, it wasn’t even being guarded. And, of course, a bomb of the size required here would be quite easy to conceal.
“If they haven’t placed guards over it,” Reetal agreed, “it’ll take blind luck to spot it! Unless we can get hold of one of the men who knows where it’s planted—”
There was silence for some seconds. Then Quillan said, “Well, if we can’t work out a good plan, we’d better see what we can do with one of the bad ones. Are the commodore’s security men wearing uniforms?”
Heraga shook his head. “Not the ones I saw.”
“Then here’s an idea,” Quillan said. “As things stand, barging into the Executive Block with a small armed group can’t accomplish much. It might be more interesting than sitting around and waiting to be blown up, but it still would be suicide. However, if we could get things softened up and disorganized in there first—”
“Softened up and disorganized how?” Reetal asked.
“We can use that notion you had of having Heraga float in another diner. This time, I’m on board—in a steward’s uniform, in case the guards check.”
“They didn’t the first time,” Heraga said.
“Sloppy of them. Well, they’re just gun hands. Anyway, once we’re inside I shuck off the uniform and get out. Heraga delivers his goodies, and leaves again—”
Reetal gave him a look. “You’ll get shot down the instant you’re seen, dope!”
“I think not. There’re two groups in there—around a hundred men in all—and they haven’t had time to get well acquainted yet. I’ll have my gun in sight, and anyone who sees me should figure I belong to the other group, until I run into one of the Brotherhood boys who knows me personally.”
“Then that’s when you get shot down. I understand the last time you and the Duke of Fluel met, he woke up with lumps.”
“The Duke doesn’t love me,” Quillan admitted. “But there’s nothing personal between me and Movaine or Marras Cooms—and I’ll have a message for Movaine.”
“What kind of a message?”
“I’ll have to play that by ear a little. It depends on how things look in there. But I have a few ideas, based on what you’ve learned of the operation. Now, just what I can do when I get that far, I don’t know yet. I’ll simply try to louse the deal up as much as I can. That may take time, and, of course, it might turn out to be impossible to get word out to you.”
“So what do we do meanwhile?” Reetal asked. “If we start lining up our attack group immediately, and then there’s no action for another five or six hours, there’s always the chance of a leak, with around twenty people in the know.”
“And if there’s a leak,” Quillan agreed, “we’ve probably had it. No, you’d better wait with that! If I’m not out, and you haven’t heard from me before the Camelot’s actually due to dock, Heraga can still take the group—everyone but yourself—in as scheduled.”
“Why everyone but me?” Reetal asked.
“If nothing else works, you might find some way of getting a warning to the liner’s security force after they’ve docked. It isn’t much of a possibility, but we can’t afford to throw it away.”
“Yes, I see.” Reetal looked reflective. “What do you think, Heraga?”
The little man shrugged. “You told me that Mr. Quillan is not inexperienced in dealing with, ah, his enemies. If he feels he might accomplish something in the Executive Block, I’m in favor of the plan. The situation certainly could hardly become worse.”
“That’s the spirit!” Quillan approved. “The positive outlook—that’s what a thing like this mainly takes. Can you arrange for the diner and the uniform?”
“Oh, yes,” Heraga said. “I’ve had myself put in charge of that detail, naturally.”
“Then what can you tell me about the Executive Block’s layout?”
Reetal stood up. “Come over to the desk,” she said. “We’ve got diagrams.”
* * *
“The five levels, as you see,” Heraga was explaining a few moments later, “are built directly into the curve of the Star’s shells. Level Five, on the top, is therefore quite small. The other levels are fairly extensive. Two, Three, and Four could each accommodate a hundred men comfortably. These levels contain mainly living quarters, private offices, and the like. The Brotherhood men appear to be occupying the fourth level; Velladon’s group the second. The third may be reserved for meetings between representatives of the two groups. All three of these levels are connected by single-exit portals to the large entrance area on the ground level.
“The portals stood open when I went in earlier today, and there were about twenty armed men lounging about the entrance hall. I recognized approximately half of them as being members of the Star’s security force. The others were unfamiliar.” Heraga cleared his throat. “There is a possibility that the two groups do not entirely trust each other.”
Quillan nodded. “If they’re playing around with something like sixty million CR, anybody would have to be crazy to trust the Brotherhood of Beldon. The transmitter room and the control offices are guarded, too?”
“Yes, but not heavily,” Heraga said. “There seem to be only a few men stationed at each of those points. Ostensibly, they’re there as a safeguard—in case the imaginary raiders attempt to break out of the subspace section.”
“What’s the arrangement of the ordinary walk-in tube portals in the Executive Block?”
“There is one which interconnects the five levels. On each of the lower levels there are, in addition, several portals which lead out to various points in the Seventh Star Hotel. On the fifth level, there is only one portal of this kind. Except for the portal which operates between the different levels in the Executive Block, all of them have been rendered unusable at present.”
“Unusable in what way?”
“They have been sealed off on the Executive Block side.”
“Can you get me a diagram of the entry and exit systems those outgoing portals connect with?” Quillan asked. “I might turn one of them usable again.”
“Yes, I can do that.”
“How about the communication possibilities?”
“The ComWeb system is functioning normally on the second, third, and fourth levels. It has been shut off on the first level—to avoid the spread of `alarming rumors’ by office personnel. There is no ComWeb on the fifth level.”