Thats impossible, Quellen insisted. There are records on the known hoppers, and Brogg wasnt on the list.
Even as he spoke, he knew how foolish the words were.The records went back only to A.D. 1979. Broggunless Lanoy were bluffingwas almost nineteen centuries further back. Thered be no record.
Quellen felt sick. He knew that Brogg had planted autonomic telltales all over Appalachia, with taped accounts of Quellens crime in them. The telltales were programmed to march down to headquarters in the event of Broggs death or disappearance. The little springy legs must have been in motion since last night. Im finished, Quellen thought. Unless Brogg had the good grace to deactivate the telltales before he hopped. He could have done it with no great trouble. The boxes responded to telephoned instruction. One call would have shut them down. But had he? Otherwise, the High Government was even now in possession of the truth about Joseph Quellen.
Quellen had talked to Koll only this morning, though, and Koll had congratulated him on his promotion. Koll was guileful, but not to that degree. He would surely have been the recipient of one of Broggs little telltales, and he wouldnt have been able to conceal his fury and envy at the discovery that Quellen had been living in Class Two luxury all this time.
So possibly Brogg had turned the telltales off. Or possibly he had never gone hopper at all.
Scowling, Quellen slammed on his communicator and said, Get me Brogg.
Im sorry, UnderSec Brogg hasnt been in contact today.
Not even to give a locus notice?
We havent heard from him, sir.
Ring his apartment. Check the district headquarters. If theres no word from him within the next fifteen minutes, initiate a televector search. I want to know where he is!
Lanoy was beaming. Youre not going to find him,Quellen. Believe me, hes in Rome. I set up the displacement myselftemporal and geographical. If everything worked out, he landed just south of the city, somewhere along the Via Appia.
Quellens lips twitched. He was gripping the desk very, very tightly, now, so that his fingertips were beginning to make indentations in the top, which was thermal-sensitive and not designed to be handled that way. He said, If you can send somebody back that far in time, how is it that 1979 has been the terminal date for the hopper phenomenon?
Lots of reasons.
Such as?
For one, the process wasnt reliable beyond about five hundred years until recently. Weve improved the process. New research. Now we can confidently shoot people back a couple of thousand years and know theyll get there.
The pigs in the twelfth century?
Yes, Lanoy said. Those were our experimental shots. Now, then: it also happens that such a concentration of hoppers got sent back to the 1979 nexus that the phenomenon came to the attention of authorities. Any hopper landing in a previous elsewhere would generally end up detained for insanity, or arrested for witchcraft, or something. So we tried to limit our hoppers to the 1979 to 2106 period because any hopper landing there would be recognized for what he was, and hed have minimal troubles. We only exceeded that range upon special request, or sometimes by unintentional overshoot. You follow?
Yes, said Quellen glumly. And Brogg went back to Rome?
He really did. For a price. And now youd better let me go, promising to keep the results of your investigation from getting any higher, or Ill expose your little game. Ill let it be known that youve got a hideaway in Africa.
Quellen said coolly, I could put a beam through your head right now and claim that you assaulted me.
No good, Quellen. For one thing, the High Government wants the time-transport process. Kill me and you lose the process.
We could dredge it out of your brain on a neural replay dead or alive.
Not if you lase me through the head, Lanoy pointed out. Anyway, the neural replay would also dredge up the Africa bit, wouldnt it? Besides that, youd suffer if I died. Didnt you know that Brogg fed your story into a bunch of autonomic telltales programmed to walk into government headquarters if anything happened to him?
Yes, but
He keyed them all over to me just before he hopped. Your fate is tied to mine, Quellen. You dont want to harm me. You want to let me go.
Quellen could feel the muscles of his face sag as the nastiness of his position came home. If he did not present Lanoy for prosecution, he ran the risk of demotion. If he turned Lanoy in, Lanoy would expose him. Nor could he simply let Lanoy walk out the way the slyster wished. It was already a matter of record that Lanoy was involved in the hopper affair. Koll knew. Spanner knew. Quellen could not easily expunge the knowledge from the records. If he tried to cover up for Lanoy, he would mire himself in lie upon lie. He was living one fraud as it was; he could not bear the strain of assuming another.
Do I get what I want? Lanoy asked.
A powerful surge of adrenalin rocked through Quellen. He was a man in a trap, and a trapped man fights fiercely. He found unexpected reserves of strength.
There was one thing he could try, a monumentally audacious thing, something so vastly bold that it seemed almostsensible in its way. Perhaps it would fail; probably it would fail. But it was better than making deals with Lanoy and slipping deeper into a morass of bribery and compromise.
No, he said. You dont get what you want. Im not releasing you, Lanoy. Im going to remand you for indictment.
Are you crazy?
I dont think so. Quellen rang for attendants. Put this man back in the custody tank, he said crisply. Leave him there until further notice.
Lanoy was carried away, sputtering and protesting.
Now to secure the bait for the leviathan he hoped to snare.
Quellen jabbed communicator buttons. Get me the Donald Mortensen file, he commanded.
The spool was brought to him. He threaded it through the projector and looked over Broggs investigation. The face of Mortensen gleamed out at him, youthful, pink. He looked like some kind of albino, Quellen thought, with that white hair and eyebrows. But albinos have pink eyes, dont they? Mortensens were blue. Pure Nordic. How had he preserved his bloodline so well, Quellen wondered? He examined Mortensens dossier.
Quellen pored over the recorded texts of Broggs pickups. Mortensen had quarreled with his wife; he had negotiated for a hopper trip several weeks hence; he had put money down, and was busily raising the rest of Lanoys fee. Then the data ended with Broggs notation: INVESTIGATION CONCLUDED BY OFFICIAL ORDER.
Quellen rang the listening room. He gave the number of the Ear that had been pressed into Mortensens palm and asked if it was still functioning.
The Ears been deactivated, CrimeSec, he was told.
Yes, I know. But can it be turned on again?
They checked. A few minutes later they gave him the bad news; the Ear had dissolved a day or two ago, as it was designed to do. There were no further transmissions from Mortensen. Quellen was disappointed, but the setback was not critical. He ordered a televector check on Mortensens whereabouts, hoping fiercely that he had not gone out of Appalachia.
He hadnt. The televector tracer reported that Mortensen was in a sniffer palace less than ten miles from Quellens office. Excellent, Quellen thought. He would make the arrest himself. This was something far too delicate to leave it to a subordinate.
Catching a quickboat, Quellen crossed the city and stationed himself outside the sniffer palace, waiting on street level for Mortensen to come up from the depths. Seamy, shifty-eyed individuals kept shuttling past him. Quellen masked his discomfort and scanned everyone who emerged.
There was Mortensen now.
It was a long time since Quellen had made an arrest in person. He was a desk man, who left such contacts to underlings. Nevertheless he felt calm. He was well armed; taped to the palm of his hand was an anesthetic prong that would flip out at a command of his muscles, and beneath his armpit was a neural spray in case something went awry with the prong. He carried a laser pistol too, but the last thing he intended was to use it on Mortensen.
Moving in behind the man as he strode away from the sniffer palace, Quellen tapped him on the shoulder and said, Just keep walking calmly, Mortensen. Youre under arrest.
What the hell?
Im from the Secretariat of Crime. Ive got orders to bring you in. Theres a prong in my palm and Ill slap it into you in a hurry if you attempt to resist. Walk quietly ahead of me until we get to that quickboat ramp. You do as I say and you wont get into trouble.
I havent done anything wrong. I want to know the charge.
Later, said Quellen. Keep walking.
I have legal rights. A lawyer
Later. Walk.
They ascended the flyramp. Mortensen continued to grumble, but he made no show of resistance. He was a tall man, taller than Quellen. He did not look particularly powerful, though. Quellen kept his prong-laden palm ready. His entire future depended on the successful completion of this maneuver.
The quickboat took them to Quellens apartment building.
Mortensen looked puzzled. As they stepped out on the ramp, he grunted sullenly, This doesnt look like a crime office to me.
Down the ramp, please, Quellen said.
What is this, a kidnapping?
Ill show you my credentials if youre worried. Im an authentic peace officer. As a matter of fact, I hold the rank of CrimeSec. Step in here.
They entered Quellens apartment. Mortensen, facing Quellen, stared at him incredulously.
This is a private residence, he said.
True. Mine.
Somebodys clearly given you the wrong tip on my sexual orientation, friend. Im not
Neither am I, said Quellen sharply. Mortensen, are you planning to go hopper the first week in May?
Glaring, Mortensen said, Whats that to you?
A good deal. Is it true?
Maybe. Im not saying.
Quellen sighed. Youre on the list of hoppers who went back, do you know that? A fully documented list giving your name, your date of birth, the day you arrived in the past, the day you left here. The list says you went back on May 4 of this year. Now do you want to deny that youre planning to hop?
Im not saying anything. Get me a lawyer. Damn you, I didnt threaten you in any way! Why did you have to muck around with my life?
I cant explain that now, said Quellen. It happens that youre the unfortunate victim of a situation thats getting out of hand. Mortensen, Im going to send you on a journey. Youre going to have a vacation. I cant say how long youll be away, but at least youll be comfortable there. Youll find a full food program; help yourself. And rest assured that Ill be looking out for your welfare. Im on your side, actually. Deeply sympathetic to your position. But Ive got to look out for myself, first.
The troubled Mortensen lifted a hand as though to lash out at Quellen. Smoothly, Quellen moved forward and activated the anesthetic prong on his hand. It bit into Mortensens skin. The instantaneous anesthetic went to work, and Mortensen folded up into unconsciousness. He would be out for about an hour, which was more than enough time.
Quellen turned on the stat field and shoved Mortensen through. The blond man vanished. He would wake up in the CrimeSecs African cottage. No doubt that would add to his general bafflement, but Quellen had not been able to offer explanations.
A moment later the stat was turned off at Quellens end. That would keep Mortensen from getting back until Quellen was ready to bring him back.
Waves of vertigo swept through him.
He had the bait. Now he had to play his fish. It seemed incredible that he would succeed, but he had gone too far to permit himself to turn back. And, if he failed, he was beginning to see, there was an alternative way out, less honorable but possibly more rational a solution than what he had in mind.
Can I get away with this, he wondered? Can I actually try to blackmail the High Government and make it stick? Or am I simply out of my mind altogether?
He would find that out soon enough. Meanwhile, he had a hostageMortensen. A hostage against the wrath of the High Government.
Now, just one small thing remained: to get an interview with Peter Kloofman. Himself. In person. Could it be arranged? It was a staggering dream. How could a Class Seven bureaucrat gain admission to the presence of Kloofman?
Hell see me, Quellen thought. When he learns that Ive kidnapped Donald Mortensen.
15.
David Giacomin, who had been carrying out some quiet monitoring of the Mortensen situation himself, was the first to discover that there was trouble. A flashing red light informed him that Mortensen had vanished from the reach of the Appalachia televector field.
Giacomin experienced a sensation of disorientation. The critical day for Mortensen was May 4; and May 4 was still several weeks off. It wasnt possible for him to have gone hopper so soon, was it?
Yes, itwaspossible, Giacomin reflected. But if he had, why hadnt the fabric of space and time tottered? The past had been alteredor else the records had been in error in the first place. Giacomin ordered a full investigation into the Mortensen disappearance to be carried out, mobilizing every resource of the High Government. Kloofman had personally instructed Giacomin to see that nothing happened to Mortensen; and now it appeared as though something had indeed happened. The perspiring Giacomin reflectedthat he better damned well get Mortensen back before Kloofman found out he was missing.
Then, almost simultaneously, Giacomin learned that he was going to have to break the news to Kloofman after all.
A call came through from Koll in the Secretariat of Crime, the ratty-faced little Class Six through whom Giacomin supervised that wing of governmental activities. Koll looked upset, even dazed. His face was flushed and his eyes were fixed and glossy.
Ive got someone here who wants an interview with Kloofman, Koll said. A Class Sevenno, hell soon be Six in my department.
Hes insane. Kloofman wouldnt see him, and you know it, so why are you bothering me with this?
He says hes kidnapped Mortensen, and he wants to discuss the situation with somebody in Class One.
Giacomin stiffened. His hands began to move in spasmodic jerks, and he fought to get them under control. Who is this maniac?
Quellen. Hes the CrimeSec here. He
Yes, I know him. When did he make this request?
Ten minutes ago. First he tried to call Kloofman direct, but that didnt work. So now hes going through channels. He asked me and Im asking you. What else can I do?
Nothing else, I suppose, said Giacomin hollowly. His quick mind sifted the possible things that could be done to the troublesome Quellen, beginning with slow disembowelment and proceeding from there. But Quellen had Mortensen, or said he did. And Kloofman was practically psychotic on the subject of Mortensen. He talked of little else.
There went Giacomins carefully crafted plan to keep the news about Mortensens disappearance from getting to the top man. He saw no way of avoiding that now. He could stall for time, but in the end Quellen would have his way.
Well? Koll said. The tip of his nose quivered. Can I remand his request officially to your level?
Yes, Giacomin said. Ill take it off your hands. Let me talk to Quellen.
A moment passed. Quellen appeared on the screen. He looked sane, Giacomin thought. A little frightened at his own audacity, no doubt, but generally rational. At least as rational as Koll, for that matter.
But determined. He wanted to see Kloofman. Yes, he had kidnapped Mortensen. No, he would not divulge the whereabouts of the kidnapped man. Moreover, any attempt to interfere with his freedom of action would result in the immediate death of Mortensen.
Was it a bluff? Giacomin didnt dare take the chance. He looked at Quellen in quiet wonder and said, All right. You win, you madman. Ill pass your request for an audience along to Kloofman and well see what he says.
It was such a long time since Kloofman had consented to speak face to face with a member of the lower orders that he had nearly forgotten what the experience was like. He had some Class Threes and Fours and even Fives in attendance on him, of course, but they didnt converse with him. They could just as well have been robots. Kloofman tolerated no chitchat from such people. High on the lonely eminence of Class One, the world leader had cut himself off from contact with the masses.
He awaited the arrival of this person Quellen, then, with some curiosity. Resentment, of course; he was not accustomed to coercion. Anger. Irritation. Yet Kloofman was amused, as well. The pleasure of vulnerability had been denied him for many years. He could take a light approach to this unexpected crisis.
He was also frightened. So far as the televector men could tell, Quellen actually did have possession of Mortensen. That was distressing. It was a direct threat to Kloofmans power. He could not laugh at such a situation.
The subcranial probe murmured to Kloofman, Quellen is here.
Let him in.
The chamber wall rolled back. A lean, haggard-looking man walked awkwardly in and stood flatfooted before the huge pneumatic web in which Kloofman reposed. Between Kloofman and Quellen there rose a fine, almost imperceptible mist, an assassination screen extending from floor to ceiling. Any particle of solid matter attempting to cross that screen would be instantly volatilized, no matter what its mass or velocity. Robot wardens flanked Kloofman as an additional precaution. Kloofman waited patiently. The artificial systems within his reconstituted body purred smoothly, pumping blood through the vessels, bathing the inner meat with lymph. He saw that Quellen was uncomfortable in his presence. It scarcely surprised him.
At length Kloofman said, Youve had your wish. Here I am. What do you want?
Quellen moved his lips, but there was a lag of several seconds before he produced words. Do you know what Im thinking? he blurted finally. Im glad you exist. Thats what Im thinking. Its relieving to know that youre real.
Kloofman managed to smile. How do you know Im real?
Because Quellen stopped. All right. I retract that. I hope youre real. His hands were quivering at his sides. Kloofman observed the man make a visible effort to pull himself togetheran effort that seemed to be at least outwardly successful.
Are you the man who kidnapped Mortensen?
Yes.
Where is he?
I cant reveal that, sir. Not yet. Ive got to propose a deal with you first.
A deal with me? Kloofman delivered himself of a rumbling chuckle. Youre incredible in your brazenness, he said mildly. Dont you realize what I can do to you?
Yes.
And yet you come here to bargain with me?
I have Mortensen, Quellen reminded him. Unless I release him, he wont be free to hop on May 4. And that means
Yes, said Kloofman sharply. He felt tension levels climbing within his body. This man had found his zone of vulnerability, all right. It was preposterous that he should be held at bay by a prolet, but that was the situation. Kloofman could take no chances with a man who threatened to change the past. No computer simulation could possibly calculate the effects of subtracting the hopper Donald Mortensen from his proper time destination. The world leader was helpless. Kloofman said, Youre playing a dangerous game, Quellen. State your business. Then youll be removed and the location of Mortensen will be dredged from your mind.
Mortensen is programmed to destruct in the event of any tampering with my brain, said Quellen.
Could that be true, Kloofman wondered? Or was this all some gigantic bluff?
Your business.
Quellen nodded. He seemed to be gaining poise and strength, as though he had discovered that Kloofman was no superbeing, but merely a very old man with great power. Quellen said, I was assigned to the investigation into the time-travel operation. Ive succeeded in finding the man who controls it. Hes under arrest now. Unfortunately, hes in possession of information that incriminates me in an illegal act.
Are you a criminal, Quellen?
Ive done something illegal. It could bring me demotionand worse. If I turn the slyster over to your people, hell expose me. So I want immunity. Thats the deal. Ill give you your man, and hell blab about my crime, but youll confirm me in my position and see to it that Im not prosecuted or demoted.
Whats your crime, Quellen?
I maintain a Class Two villa in Africa.
Kloofman smiled. You are a scoundrel, arent you? he said without rancor. You connive out of your class, you blackmail the High Government
Actually I regard myself as fairly honest, sir.
I suppose you do. But youre a scoundrel all the same. Do you know what Id do with a dangerous man like you, if I had my options? Id put you in the time machine and hurl you far into the past. Thats the safest way to deal with agitators. Thats how well cope, once we Kloofman fell silent. After a moment he said, Your boldness stupefies me. What if I lie to you? I grant you your immunity, you turn Mortensen over to me and surrender the time-travel slyster, and then I seize you and arrest you all the same.
I have two other documented hoppers hidden away, said Quellen blandly. One is due to depart later this year and the other one early next year. Theyre further insurance that you wont harm me after Ive given you Mortensen.
Youre bluffing, Quellen. Youve invented those other two hoppers on the spot. Ill put you under a neural probe and check on it.
The moment the probe touches my brain, said Quellen, Mortensen will die.
Kloofman felt unaccustomed anguish. He was certain that this infuriating prolet was piling bluff upon bluffbut there was no way of proving that without peering into his brain, and bluff number one made it too risky for Kloofman to try that. It might just not be a bluff.
He said, What do you really want, Quellen?
Ive told you. A pledge of immunity, before witnesses. I want you to guarantee that I wont be punished for maintaining my place in Africa, and that Ill come to no harm for having bearded you like this. Then Ill give you the slyster and Mortensen.
And the other two hoppers.
Those also. After Ive become assured of your good faith.
Youre incredible, Quellen. But you seem to hold a strong position. I cant let you keep Mortensen. And I want that time machine. Its got many uses. Too dangerous to let it stay in private hands. All right. All right. Youll have your pledge. Ill give you more than that, Quellen.
More, sir?
Your villas Class Two, you say? I assume you want to go on living in it. Well have to make you Class Two then, wont we?
Take me into the High Government, sir?
Of course, said Kloofman warmly. Consider: how can I send you back to lower levels, after youve triumphed over me like this? Youve won status. Ill put you up here. Giacomin will find room for you. A man whos done what youve done cant possibly remain in a low bureaucratic post, Quellen. So well arrange something. Youve won more than you came looking for. Kloofman smiled. I congratulate you, Quellen.
Quellen erupted into the upper air, after having risen level upon level upon level from that mythical catacomb that was the lair of Peter Kloofman. He staggered out into the street and planted himself solidly, feet on the pavement, head upturned to the towers far above. He saw the lacy connecting bridges, the gleaming cones atop the buildings, the faint patch of blue light beyond the summits.
I dont have much time, Quellen thought.
He was numb with shock after his interview with Kloofman. In retrospect he had no idea how he had carried off such an enterprise. To muscle his way into the lair of a Class One administrator, to stand there bluntly making demands and having Kloofman accede to them, to pile fraud upon fraud and carry his bluffs homeit was not real. It couldnt be. It had to be some sniffer palace fantasy, some dream of power that would fade with the ebbing of the drug from his brain.
Yet the buildings were real. The sky was real. The pavements were real. And the interview with Kloofman had been real, too. He had won. He had been invited to accept Class Two status. He had compelled Kloofman to retreat.
Quellen knew that he had not won a thing.
He had done his audacious maneuver with reasonable aplomb, but it had been a fools maneuver, and he saw that more clearly now than he had an hour before. Any man could be proud of having had the nerve to confront Kloofman like that, but, having done it, Quellen knew that he had gained no real safety, only the temporary illusion of triumph. It would be necessary to activate the alternate plan that he had been nurturing for some hours. His mind had prepared itself for this eventuality, and he knew what he had to do, though he was not at all sure that he would have time to do it.
He was in mortal danger. He had to act fast.
Kloofman had not fooled him with his smiles, his words of praise, his promise of an uptwitch to High Governmentstatus, his apparent delight in Quellens audacity. Kloofman was frightened that something might happen to Mortensen that could topple his own power, yes, but Kloofman could not be pushed around as easily as it seemed.
Hell get Lanoy and Mortensen from me, Quellen knew, and then hell destroy me. I should have realized that from the start. How could I hope to outsmart Kloofman?
But he did not regret having made the attempt. A man is not a worm; he can stand up on his legs, he can fight for his position. He can try. Quellen had tried. He had done something foolhardy to the point of absurdity, and he had carried it off with honor, even if his success was probably unreal.
Now, though, he had to hasten to protect himself against Kloofmans wrath. He had at least a little time in which to operate. The euphoria of his meeting with Kloofman had worn off, and he was thinking clearly and rationally.
He reached the headquarters of the Secretariat of Crime and immediately gave orders for Lanoy to be taken from the custody tank once again. The slyster was brought to Quellens office. He looked moody and downcast.
Youre going to be sorry for this, Quellen, Lanoy said bitterly. I wasnt joking when I said Brogg had keyed all his telltales over to me. I can have the news of your African place in the hands of the High Government in
You dont need to inform on me, said Quellen. Im letting you go.
Lanoy was startled. But you said
That was earlier. Im releasing you and wiping out as much as I can of the records involving you.
So you gave in after all, Quellen? You knew you couldnt take the risk that Id expose you?
On the contrary. I havent given in. I told the High Government about my African place myself. I let Kloofman himself know, in person. No sense wasting time talking to underlings. So your telltales wont be telling anything that isnt already known.
You cant ask me to believe that, Quellen!
Its the truth, though. And therefore the price for my letting you go has changed. It isnt your silence any more. Its your services.
Lanoys eyes widened. What have you been up to?