Mack Reynolds: Dawnman Planet

Even as Ronny scribbled a note on the paper, Rosen, still scowling, absently scratched the back of that hand.

Ronny pushed the note over. It said, merely, Come along with me, Citizen Rosen .

Rosen read it and flushed anger. “Do you think I’m drivel-happy?” he began. Then his face went infinitesimally lax, his eyes, slightly strange. Deep in their depths, there seemed to be a trapped fear.

Ronny came to his feet. “Let’s go,” he said. “Citizen Jakes is waiting.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Rosen said emptily. He stood up also.

His guards reacted.

Jed blurted, “You ain’t going with this funker, are you, Boss? You said you expected him to pull some kinda quick one.”

Ronny picked up his gun from the desk, reactivated it and slid it back into its holster. He picked up the note he had written and slipped it into his side pocket. Without looking again at the musclemen, he headed for the door, followed by the chief of the Interplanetary News Octagon desk.

Back at the offices of Section G, in the Bureau of Investigation branch offices, still leading, Ronny pushed his way through to the office of Sid Jakes. The irrepressible Sid was sitting at his desk, legs elevated, feet messing up a half dozen reports that lay there.

The supervisor waved a hand in greeting. “Who’s this fella?” he asked happily.

Ronny growled, “You wanted Rosen. So here’s Rosen.”

Jakes peered at the small newsman. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s got a Come-Along shot in him.”

“Holy Ultimate, Ronny. You know that’s illegal. Interplanetary News will have you on a kidnap romp charge.”

Ronny grunted. “Remember? You were going to give this cloddy and his girl, Rita, a memorywash. That isn’t exactly part and parcel of the United Planets Charter, either. But one will wash out the recall of the other, so what’s the difference? What’s going on between all the bigwings?”

Before answering, Sid Jakes flicked on his order box, and said into it, “Irene, send me an antidote syrette for a Come-Along. Our boy, Ronny, has been tearing up the peapatch. Okay, okay, I know you’re busy.” He leered. “But who else could I trust with Ronny’s neck at stake?” He flicked the box off, and turned back to his field man. “That old mopsy’s sugar on you, you know.”

“How’s the chief doing?”

“The old man’s still at them, hot and heavy. He’s let them know the fat’s in the fire now. That, willy-nilly, they’re going to have to get together in an all-out cooperation, through United Planets, to meet the danger of these new aliens. It’s a madhouse.”

Sid looked at Rosen. “Sit down, fella. You look tired.”

The terror was in the depths of the other’s eyes. The wild desire to escape.

Ronny said, “He’s tuned to me, of course.” He said to the newsman. “Sit down, Rosen.”

Rosen sat down.

Sid Jakes flicked his order box again. “Send Terry Harper over with a charge of Scop.”

Ronny said wryly, “Our friend here is going to look like a pincushion before we’re through with him, what with Come-Along and its antidote, Scop, and then the memory-wash.”

There was fear and hate in the depths of the eyes again.

Later, shots administered, they sat around, Jakes, Bronston and Harper, and stared at the Interplanetary News man, freed of the kidnapping drug now, but loaded with Scop. Sid Jakes grinned at him, as though forgivingly. “Now, my stute friend, how many others, besides you and this Rita Daniels, knew about her assignment to break in on the UP conference?”

The other was trying to fight and couldn’t. He tried to hold back each word, and couldn’t.

“Nobody… except… my informant.” Sid nodded encouragement. “All right. And who told you about the meeting at all?”

“Baron Wyler.”

Sid looked at Ronny and Terry. “Who’s Wyler?” Rosen took it as a question directed at him. “Baron Wyler, Supreme Commandant of the Planet Phrygia.”

“Phrygia!” Ronny blurted. “That’s the planet nearest to the alien threat. The Space Forces expedition that found the three star systems, where the little aliens came from, took off from Phrygia as its final base.”

Sid Jakes chuckled. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He bent a cheerful eye on his victim. “And why did the good Baron tell you about the meeting?”

“I… I’m not… sure. I think… it’s because… he gives us… news beats… available to him… as result… of his high… office. We… support… his politics… on Phrygia.” There were blisters of cold sweat on the little man’s forehead and his shirt was soaked, but his efforts were valueless. There was hate rather than fear in his eyes now.

“I see,” Jakes drawled. “Which would come under the head of interfering with the internal political system of a member planet of United Planets, eh? Naughty, naughty, Rosen. Violation of Article Two. Interplanetary News could lose its license to operate on an interplanetary basis. My, wouldn’t your competitor, All-Planet Press just love that?”

But in spite of the levity of his words, his eyes were bleak and he spun to his order box. “If that yoke, Baron Wyler, would break ultra-security to tip off a newsman, who knows who else he might sound off to?” He flicked a switch, and blatted, “Irene, have the boys pick up Baron Wyler of the planet Phrygia and bring him here. Absolutely soonest. Kid gloves, he’s a chief of state.”

The order box squawked a reply and Sid Jakes winced. “All right. Find out soonest where he’s staying and send the boys to get him.”

He turned to Bronston and Harper. “It’s the most delicate situation that’s come up in the history of the UP. We’ve got almost three thousand member planets, but the leaders of only two thousand were let in on the crisis. If the word gets out to some of these more backward, reactionary or crackpot worlds, that they were ignored and that their internal matters have been messed with, they’ll be dropping out of United Planets like dandruff.”

“What happened?” Ronny said.

Sid Jakes grumbled deprecation. “The conference has knocked off for the day and the delegates have melted away into their various embassies, to hotels, or to the homes of friends. The Holy Ultimate only knows where the Baron is. It’ll be a neat trick finding him, if he doesn’t want to be found.”

When Ronny Bronston came in, in the morning, Irene Kasansky looked up from her desk, and said, in comparatively good humor, “Where’ve you been, Ronny? The commissioner’s been asking for you.”

Ronny said mildly, “I’ve been getting some sleep. Remember? Even Section G operatives have to do it occasionally.”

She snorted, but not with her usual acidity. “Jetsam, jetsam. All I get around here is jetsam. Why I don’t go drivel-happy…”

Ronny grinned at her, pushed through the door beyond her desk, turned left in the corridor and knocked at another door, which was inconspicuously lettered, Ross Metaxa, Commissioner, Section G . Ronald Bronston seldom entered here, without the realization coming over him, all over again, that behind this door was possibly the single most powerful man in United Planets, and that not one person in a million had ever heard of him. Ross Metaxa of Section G, the ultra-secret enforcement arm of the inner-workings of United Planets. Section G, whose unstated principle was that the ends justified the means: any means necessary to achieve the United Planets dream were acceptable. As always, when this thought came to him, Ronny Bronston shook his head. He had been raised in another ethic.

By his appearance, one would have assumed that the commissioner of Section G had not seen his bed the night before. Either that, or he had been on a monumental toot. He was red and slightly moist of eye, his clothes more disheveled than before. He looked up grumpily, when Ronny entered.