The Invaders Plan (22 page)

The screen had begun to blink a warning that I was about to be cut off due to delay in use.

"You going to pay for the chairs you wear out?" snarled the old clerk.

I hastily pushed the
"Deliver copy"
button and
"10"
to keep the machine busy for a moment and also to have the sheet to use as authority pending the routine delivery of the appointments on other channels.

What could I do with this thing to help my dilemma? Maybe if I fed Heller data about Blito-P3 he would get more interested.

As soon as the printer had finished spitting out ten copies of the appointments, I punched in, Blito-P3 Prince Caucalsia. The screen promptly said, In the Mists of Time, Folk Legend 894M. Well, (bleep), I knew
that.

"Console time," said the old criminal clerk, "is charged double to idiots." I hastily tried to think of something else. Ah! I punched in, Royal Successions. Pretenders. The machine said, Really? You really want 125,000 years of threats to throne? I hastily punched in, Fortress of Dar, Manco and Atalanta, Manco. The screen started to roll up lists so fast I couldn't follow them. Good Gods, had there been that many revolts and pretenders in just one area of one planet? I remembered the poet's quote, "Shot full of holes is the head that wears a crown." I couldn't track with the speed frames. I pushed
"Deliver copy."
The machine promptly began to spit out paper. Yards of it.

That gave me time to think of something else. So when it finally halted, I pushed, Nepogat. The screen said, In the Mists of Time, Folk Legend 894M. (Bleep). Right back where I started. I quickly punched, Apparatus records, Fortress of Dar, relating to interrogation of crews of two freighters returned from Blito-P3. It said, In the Mists of Time, Folk Legend 894M. I quickly punched, Fortress of Dar, Manco. The computer said, If you are so interested in fables we suggest you consult a competent poet.

One way of saying it wasn't going to flash In the Mists of Time any more for this operator! And that also meant it was going to go off!

I had to get
something
that might interest Heller. I punched, All surveys and surveillances Blito-P3 prior to one hundred years ago.

Ah, a speeding roll! They
had
been surveying it for a long, long time! With a sigh of relief, I punched
"Deliver copy."
Promptly a series of papers started to spit out. And they spit out and they spit out! I hastily started to corral them before they inundated the whole console. It went on for minutes!

"You there!" screeched the old clerk. "You're going to run us out of paper! Quit it!" He stood over me positively squeaking! But there is no way of shutting the contraption off once it starts: computers can do no wrong. I was busy baling up the spit-outs. Gods, I would need a dolly!

Finally it quit. I thought the old clerk was going to hit me. But it had given me time to think. It's all very well to tell operators that they should know what they were going to ask before they begin to work a console. That doesn't allow for inspiration. And I had one!

It was
money
that made it possible for Heller to delay leaving. So long as he could buy guards, he had me at bay. If there was some way to run him out of money . . .

I held the old clerk off with one hand. I punched in, Jettero Heller. Financial standing and credit. The screen promptly flashed, Fleet officer pay. Engineer pay. Combat danger pay. See tables.

Ow, I thought. I don't need any tables. Heller, by just those items, received ten times my old General Service pay.

The machine said: Money disposition: does not spend much as usually on combat missions. Sends half his pay to mother and father for their support but they are moderately well-off and mother puts it in trust account for him: mother does same with money sent by his very wealthy sister Hightee Heller the Homeview star; rooms at Officers' Club gratis.

Ow, ow, I thought. Lots of money, far beyond the average junior officer.

Credit: very honorable about paying bills. No known debts. Totally trustworthy. Ow, ow, ow, ow! I thought. Bad show for me. And then the computer said something astonishing.

Credit rating: zero! Do not extend advances or credit to this officer.

I was really startled. The machine looked like it wasn't going to say any more so I pushed
"Query."
It said: Zero. Hazardous life. Combat engineers have average professional life expectancy of two years service: subject has exceeded this by triple; statistical demise grossly overdue; Fleet pays only terminal pay for symbolic funeral.

Well, that didn't leave me much option. I couldn't kill him here. And it didn't solve my problem as he
was
still alive and he
did
have money.

Ho, ho! Big thought. If I could get the money he had away from him he would be broke.

The old clerk had sort of gone into apathy and wasn't struggling so much so I punched in, Any bad financial habits?

I wasn't very hopeful due to what the computer had already said. The machine flashed: Gambles on occasion. Dice and other games. Common to officers in danger categories. Not listed as a negative because by tax records he usually wins games of chance.

I had it! Right there! Heller gambled! Aha! Some guards had come in by that time to see what the commotion had been all about. I gave them a masterly handling. I said, "I'm leaving at once!"

I was utterly elated. I was sure I had found Heller's fracture! Gambling!

If I could get all of his money away from him, he wouldn't be able to bribe the guards, the Countess would no longer be brought to my room, he would simply leave for the mission in disgust. No threat from Crown inspectors, no further danger from Lombar. Perfect!

I broke all records getting to my town office. I went tearing through my desk and there it was, in the bottom under the secret panel.

Two months before, one of the Section 451 clerks had been killed in a gambling row. He was trying to bet with counterfeit money but in going through his effects I had found a little dice bag. I had almost passed it by but, knowing the clerk, I examined them.

The six twelve-sided dice appeared perfectly normal. But they were hollow. A densimeter showed that the hollow was lined with a sticky substance and contained a lead pellet. By turning upward the number you wanted and giving the die a slight jolt, the lead pellet was momentarily stuck in the goo. When you threw the die, of course the weight would make the chosen number come up.

Old Bawtch, the chief clerk, wanted to know what I was doing there. I gave him a copy of my new appointments and instead of congratulating me, he shook his head sadly. He said, "Now I know everything is going to Hells." Nobody can get along with Bawtch.

The roaring heat of the Great Desert scorched my airbus but I did not even mind. I landed in an explosion of dust at Camp Kill. I sprinted to Snelz's cave. I was running so fast his door sentry hardly had time to leap up. But it was daylight and he let me by.

Snelz was lying back on his bed, hands folded behind his head. A not too bad-looking prostitute was putting some food on the table: she had on a new dress and looked like she was a permanent fixture. Food, his own woman; Snelz was doing all right for himself!

They both flinched when they saw who it was.

I pointed at the prostitute. "Get outside and don't listen at the door."

"Don't break my hand!" she said. But it was more a sneer than terror. The camp riffraff never learn. She spat on the floor in front of me and left. Maybe the other whore had been a friend of hers. Funny people, whores.

"Snelz," I said, "you are doing all right now, but you are going to be wealthy." He was instantly on his guard.

"How much money does Heller have left?"

"Oh, no," he said. "He's a nice guy. Don't seek my help in robbing him."

"No, no. Just tell me." He figured for a bit. "He hasn't spent much really. A credit goes a long way here. He's only spent about two hundred credits."

"Means he must have eight hundred left," I said. "And
you
are going to win it off him." As an afterthought, I said, "And split with me, of course." Snelz has a very suspicious mind. I got out the bag of dice. I arranged them in my palm so the 12s were all up. I gave my knuckles a rap on the table and threw them. They all came up twelve.

Snelz said, "Weighted dice! And what happens to my head after he knocks it off? That guy can
fight!
Also, if you have a set of dice weighted to always come up 12s, you have to do an under-the-table switch with another set and I'm not that good at palming."

"Snelz," I said, "this is a modern world. Science advances. Don't you trust me?"

"No." I picked up the six dice, cupped my palms over them and shook them and then threw again. The lead pellets inside had let loose, of course. I threw. The dice came up with random numbers.

The platoon commander looked at them in confusion. He thought I must have palmed in another set. So he did it. He put them, all twelve up in his palm, knocked the back of his knuckles, threw and got all 12s. Then he shook them and threw and got random numbers.

"Good, fine," I said at his rounded eyes. "Science, as you see, has triumphed again. Do it some more." He arranged them in different combinations, knocked his knuckles and got what he arranged every time. He shook them without knocking and they were random.

The usual dice game is just two throws, one by each player and the one that gets the highest count of points in his throw wins.

"Now," I said, "as you know, the maximum number of points is
72.
Half of 72 is 36. So if you always arrange the dice so as to total more than 40, in the long run you will win. The other player, using these very dice, will get random. But the different combinations you arrange, if always above 40, will let you win all the other fellow's money. And he will never suspect."

"I'm not going to do it," said Snelz. "Aside from fraternizing with prisoners" (was there a sneer at me here?), "I like Heller. I was an officer in the Fleet marines until I was cashiered. Even amongst Fleet officers, he would be tops. I'm not going to do it and lose a friend."

"You're going to do it or lose your head," I said.

He looked at my hand on a blastick and sighed. Beaten. Then he bristled a bit. "But I won't use my own money. You can't order me to do that. You'll have to fund me." This was a new twist. I thought it over. But then, I realized, it was a good investment. I started to reach for my wallet but Snelz held up his hand.

"I doubt," said Snelz, "that you're carrying enough. You have miscalculated how much Heller has got. I am absolutely certain they shipped him at least five thousand credits. I see him handle his money more than you do." Ow! If we started with too little, the odds could make us lose. It would take a lot of throws to do it or Heller would become suspicious.

"To be convincing in a deal like this," said Snelz, "you have to be able to lose before you win it back. I'm an expert at this. I was cashiered from the marines for cheating. So what you have to do is go draw some money. Match his bankroll. Five thousand credits to be safe. Otherwise we'll never get started." It was very painful. And then I realized how many paychecks I was drawing. Being General Service pay and not hazard I could get an advance easily. I even had the certified orders on me.

So, after a lot more persuasion by Snelz, we went to the finance office and bribed the clerk to do his routine duty and my identoplate got us a five-thousand-credit advance. That was nearly a year's pay. But soon, I was confident, I would be several thousand credits richer. And I would be in no danger afterwards from the stalled mission.

My stomach was acting up again but I was very hopeful.

I gave Snelz the money and the dice and left him practicing. Heller would shortly be headed for Earth!

Jettero Heller sat in my room, idly watching Homeview. Each day there had been three sagging hours between the time he came back from training and the moment the Countess was smuggled up for supper and the night.

Apparently the Countess had to put in some time late in the day to teach her assistants to train and, femalelike, there was some nonsense about bathing and getting dressed before her nightly date.

Heller had glanced over the four-foot pile of old Blito-P3 surveys, more to identify them than get any data out of them. He had smiled to see the lists of revolts and pretenders in that one province of Manco but he had also laid it aside. He was doing just one thing – waiting for the Countess. He glanced at his watch: nearly all of the three hours had yet to run. He sighed, bored.

I sat in a chair over by the wall, pretending to study some entries in my notebooks – actually I was looking at blank pages. Tonight would be different!

A knock on the door. Snelz entered. He took off his cap to indicate it was social. He said to me, "Officer Gris is it all right with you if I talk to Officer Heller for a bit?" It was all rehearsed. "Go ahead, go ahead," I said.

Heller looked up languidly. He pointed to a chair.

Snelz said, sitting down, "Jettero, I need some help. As you know, we play a lot of dice down at Camp Endurance and there are some very sharp fellows there. I once heard in the Fleet, before they cashiered me, that you were really an expert at dice. As a personal favor, could you teach me something about it?" Heller looked at him a bit oddly, I thought. I held my breath. Was this going to work?

But Heller laughed. "I shouldn't think there could be much about dice that a Fleet marine officer didn't know."

"Oh, come along," pleaded Snelz in a very convincing protest. "There's lots to know about it. I've just come into a bit of money and I don't want to be smarted out of it. What I don't understand is probabilities and second bets." In the most popular version of dice then in vogue, there was always a second side bet between the players. The original bet was made and then there was a throw and then a second bet was made based on odds for or against the other player winning. The one who threw would then chant something like, "Ten credits to one you can't beat that." Then the other would throw and if he had beaten the first player's throw, he won both bets.