Eric Russell: Panic Button

Slightly disconcerted, Lagasta took the lead. “This way to the officers’ mess. We are honored to have you as our guest.”

“That’s nice,” responded Len, following.

At the table Lagasta seated the newcomer on his right, said to Havarre, “You speak some Terran so you sit on his other side.” Then surreptitiously to Kaznitz, “You sit on my left—I want a word with you soon.”

The ship’s officers filed in, took their places. Lagasta made formal introductions while Len favored each in turn with a blank stare and a curt nod. Dinner was served. The Terran tasted the first dish with suspicion, pulled a face and pushed it away. The next course was much to his liking and he started scooping it up with single-minded concentration. He was an unashamed guzzle-guts and didn’t cure who knew it.

Lagasta grabbed the opportunity to lean sidewise and question Kaznitz in his own language. “You sure he’s not full of disease?”

“Yes.”

“How d’you know?”

“Because he’s expecting to be picked up and taken home before long. In fact he has recorded the date of his return.”

“Ah! So the Terrans do know he’s here?” Lagasta suppressed a scowl.

“Yes. They dumped him here in the first place.”

“Alone?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t know.”

After digesting this information, Lagasta growled, “It doesn’t make sense. I think he’s lying.”

“Could be,” said Kaznitz.

Stewards brought bottles. Len’s reaction to drink was the same as that to food: a wary and suspicious sip followed by lip-smacking approval and greedy swallowing. Whenever a new course was brought in his active eyes examined all the other plates as if to check that they didn’t hold more than was on his own. Frequently he signed for his glass to be filled. His general manner was that of one cashing in on a free feed. Perhaps, thought Lagasta, it was excusable in one who’d had an entire world to himself and may have gone hungry most of the time. All the same, he, Lagasta, didn’t like Terrans and liked this one even less.

With the long meal over and the officers gone, Lagasta, Kaznitz and Havarre settled down to more drinking and an informative conversation with their guest. By this time Len was feeling good, sprawling in his chair, a full glass in one hand, his face flushed with an inward glow. Obviously he was mellow and in the mood to talk.

Lagasta began politely with, “Company, even strange company, must be more than welcome to one leading such a lonely life as yours.”

“Sure is,” said Len. “There’ve been times when I’ve talked to myself for hours. Too much of that can send a fellow off his head.” He took an appreciative swig from the glass. “Thank God I’ve a date marked on the wall.”

“You mean you’re here for a limited time?”

“I was dumped for four years maximum. Most of it’s now behind me. I’ve only seven more months to go—then it’s home, sweet home.”

Seeing no satisfactory way of getting to the point obliquely, Lagasta decided to approach it on the straight. “How did you come to be put here in the first place?”

“Well, it was like this: I was a three-time loser and—”

“A what?”

“I’d done two stretches in prison when I qualified for a third. The judge gave me fifteen to twenty years, that being mandatory. So I was slung into the jug.” He sipped his drink reminiscently. “Hadn’t been there a week when I was called to the warden’s office. Two fellows there waiting for me. Don’t know who they were. Said to me, ‘We’ve been taking a look at you. You’re in good physical condition. You’re also in a jam and plenty young enough to have regrets. How’d you like to do four years in solitary?’ ”

“Go on,” urged Lagasta, managing to understand about three-quarters of it.

“Naturally, I asked who was crazy. I’d been plastered with fifteen to twenty and that was suffering enough. So they said they weren’t trying to pin something more on me. They didn’t mean four years in addition to—they meant four instead of. If I wanted it I could have it and, what’s more, I’d crane out with a clean sheet.”

“You accepted?”

“After crawling all over them with a magnifying glass looking for the gag. There had to be one somewhere. The law doesn’t suddenly ease up and go soft without good reason.”

“What did they tell you?”

“Wanted me to take a ride in a spaceship. Said it might plant me on an empty world. They weren’t sure about that but thought it likely. Said if I did get dumped all I had to do was sit tight for four years and behave myself. At the end of that time I’d be picked up and brought home and my prison records would be destroyed.”

“So you’re a criminal?”

“Was once. Not now. Officially I’m a solid citizen. Or soon will be.”

Kaznitz put in with mild interest, “Do you intend to remain a solid citizen after your return?”

Giving a short laugh, Len said, “Depends.”

Staring at him as if seeing him for the first time, Lagasta remarked, “If it were possible to make a person acquire respect for society by depriving him of the company of his fellows, it could be done in jail. There would be no need to go to the enormous trouble and expense of putting him on some faraway uninhabited planet. So there must be some motive other than the reformation of a criminal. There must be an obscure but worthwhile purpose in placing you here.”

“Search me,” said Len indifferently. “So long as I get the benefit, why should I care?”

“You say you’ve been here about three and a half Earth-years?”

“Correct.”

“And nobody has visited you in all that time?”

“Not a soul,” declared Len. “Yours are the first voices I’ve heard.”

“Then,” persisted Lagasta, “how have you managed to live?”

“No trouble at all. When the ship landed the crew prospected for water. After they’d found it they put down a bore and built the shack over it. They fixed a small atomic engine in the basement; it pumps water, heats it, warms and lights the place. They also swamped me with food, books, games, tape-recordings and whatever. I’ve got all the comforts of the Ritz, or most of them.”

“Then they’left you to do nothing for four years?”

“That’s right. Just eat, sleep, amuse myself.” Then he added by way of afterthought, “And keep watch.”

“Ah!” Lagasta’s long ears twitched as he pounced on that remark. “Keep watch for what?”

“Anyone coming here.”

Leaning back in his seat, Lagasta eyed the other with ill-concealed contempt. Under clever questioning and the influence of drink the fellow’s evasions had been driven from the sublime to the ridiculous. Persistent liars usually gave themselves away by not knowing when to stop.

“Quite a job,” commented Lagasta, dangerously oily, “keeping watch over an entire planet.”

“Didn’t give me any gray hairs,” assured Len. He exhibited an empty glass and Havarre promptly filled it for him.

“In fact,” Lagasta went on, “seeing that you have to eat and sleep, it would be a major task merely to keep watch on the relatively tiny area within your own horizon.”

“Sure would,” Len agreed.

“Then how is it possible fpr one man to stand guard over a planet?”

“I asked them about that. I said, ‘Hey, d’you chumps think I’m clairvoyant?’ ”

“And what was their reply?”

“They said, ‘Don’t worry your head, boy. If anyone lands north pole or south pole, your side or the other side, by day or by night, you don’t have to go looking for them. They’ll come looking for you! ’ ” A smirk, lopsided and peculiarly irritating, came into Len’s face. “Seems they were dead right, eh?”