Robert Silverberg: The Planet Killers

After refreshing himself with a quick vibrobath, Gardner donned a fresh tunic, checked his room for spy devices and left, carefully locking and sealing his door. The seal insured that nobody would be able to enter and prowl through his belongings while he was gone, a natural precaution for a jewel merchant, and a sensible one for someone carrying the sonic generator. Harmless though the device looked to a layman, there were those on Lurion who might conceivably be able to guess its dread purpose.

The room sealed, Gardner rode down in the ancient lift-shaft, getting off at the second floor, where, a sign told him, the hotel dining room was located. It Was after the normal Lurioni dinner hour,, and the restaurant was practically deserted. An elderly Lurioni, surprisingly potbellied for one of his race, sat in one corner sleepily shoving yellowish noodles into his mouth. At another table, a bleak-faced Trigonian sipped juice. Two waiters lounged in the back, obviously waiting for the last customers to clear out so they might go off duty.

One came shambling over to Gardner and dropped a grease-specked menu in front of him. The dishes were listed by their Lurioni names, with no attempt at an explanation of their contents.

Gardner picked one out at random and said, “What do they make this Varr Kinash out of?”

The waiter shrugged. “It is good. You will like it.”

“Yes, but what’s it made of?”

“Meat with vegetables.”

Scowling, Gardner realized he wasn’t going to get any specific details from the Lurioni. “All right, let’s have some,” he said.

Service was abysmally slow. When the food finally came, Varr Kinash turned out to be a sort of stew; chunks of pale-looking meat and gobbets of fat were afloat on a glutinous mass of vegetables and sticky sauce. The actual flavor was much less repugnant than the appearance of the dish had promised, but Gardner was hardly pleased by his first encounter with Lurioni cuisine. Grimly, he ate his way through three-quarters of the stuff, out of sheer hunger if nothing else. But he told himself that if this were a fair sample of the local cooking, the gourmets of the universe would be losing very little through the destruction of Lurion.

When the waiter finally brought Gardner his check, the Earthman signed it, covered it with what he hoped was an adequate tip, and left. The waiters returned to lounging in the back. The plump Lurioni was still gravely devouring noodles.

It was still fairly early in the evening, with several hours yet to go before midnight. But Gardner was tired; he had already had a very active day, and there was nothing he could accomplish now that would serve him better than getting some rest.

He undressed, darkened his lights, and got into bed. But hardly had he shut his eyes and begun to doze, than he was awakened almost immediately by the annoying buzz of his door-announcer.

He sat up and blinked irritably.

“Yes?”

A high-pitched Lurioni voice said, “There’s a call for you, ser Gardner. You’ll have to take it at the main phone downstairs.”

“Thanks,” Gardner said wearily. He felt tension quicken his pulse. There was only one person on Lurion who would try to get in touch with him this evening. “I’ll be there right away,” he said, struggling out of bed and switching on the light again.

It took him several minutes to dress. When he finally opened the door, he saw a grinning Lurioni boy waiting in the hall with long arms folded in an improbable knot. He was obviously still waiting for a tip.

Persistent devil, Gardner thought. He gave the boy a coin.

The youngster took it grudgingly and stepped aside while Gardner once again locked and sealed his door. The boy was studying the mechanics of the seal with great interest.

“Will you show me where the phone is?”

“Maybe.”

Gardner scowled and surrendered another coin, muttering a few unprintable words of Terran under his breath. “This way,” the boy said.

The Earthman followed him down the narrow corridor to the lift-shaft, and they rode down to the main lobby. There, Gardner was led to a tiny alcove in a corner near the registration desk. The boy drew aside a moth-eaten cloth curtain, bowed mockingly, and departed.

The phone was of the public-communicator type that had been obsolete on Earth for more than fifty years. It lacked a visiscreen. Gardner thumbed the switch and said, “Hello?”

“Am I talking to Mr. White? ”

“No—that is, yes! Yes, this is white,” Gardner said hastily, realizing that the reference was to his color on the indicator band. “Who am I talking to, please?” he asked.

“I’m a friend of yours from the old country, Mr. White. Perhaps you don’t remember me, but I’d like very much to get to see you. If we could meet, you’d realize that I had red blood in my veins.”

He accented red. Red was Smee’s color on the indicator band. So that was the confirmation.

“That would be a very good idea,” Gardner said, coming awake rapidly. “But isn’t it too late tonight? I’ll abide by yours wishes, of course.”

“Tonight would be best,” Smee said. “It’s been so long since the last time I heard a fellow countryman’s voice that I don’t think I care to wait. Would that be terribly inconvenient for you?”

“I don’t think so,” Gardner said. “I can always relax some other time. Where can we get together?”

“There’s a bar that I’m very fond of on One Thousand Six and the Lane of Light,” Smee said. “Any cab driver will be able to get you there. It’s in North City. Would you care to meet me there in… say, an hour?”

“Fine,” Gardner said. “I’ll be there.”

“How are you enjoying your stay on Lurion so far, Mr. White?”

“It’s been very instructive. Thanks ever so much for getting in touch with me tonight. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Gardner hung up. He hadn’t bothered to arrange any identification signals with Smee. The other agent was smart enough to find some way of identifying himself, and, since the phone might very well be tapped, the less there was between them by way of signals and other cloak-and-dagger hocus-pocus, the less suspicious the Lurioni authorities were likely to be.

He went back upstairs and, before entering his room, checked the seal on his door to satisfy his curiosity. Sure enough, it had sbeen approached, probably by the same houseboy who had brought him the message.

But the seal hadn’t been tampered with; it had merely been pressed and prodded and investigated a little. There was absolutely no way to get that single giant molecule off the door without the key, and since the key happened to be Gardner’s breath he wasn’t particularly worried about being robbed. Thumbprints could be imitated, but it was a little harder to match a man’s breath. And he doubted that anyone wanted to get into his room desperately enough to pull the wall apart.

Gardner exhaled, and the patch of seal that prevented entry slid together into a globe no bigger than his fist. Putting his thumb to the conventional doorplate lock underneath, he opened it and went in.

The room was as he had left it. The Earthman checked briefly, examining the sonic generator and his wallet and the jewels. All were intact. He slipped a few bills out of his wallet and put the rest away. Then, popping an anti-fatigue tablet in his mouth to keep him going the rest of the evening, he left, locking up again and sealing the door.

“Where can I get a taxi?” he asked at the desk.

“We will have to summon one.”

Gardner waited. At length, a cab appeared in front of the hotel. It was an old model, scarred and paint-patched, but the Earthman had no choice. Wearily tipping the desk clerk, Gardner got in.