Mack Reynolds: Ability Quotient

“And a chaperon, old buddy. I’m not forgetting my girl lives next door.”

Bert Alshuler made it back to the Administration Building without incident, but then, for some reason, he didn’t want to go up to his suite quite yet. He had spent too much time there in the past few days. Spacious as it was, he had the feeling of being cooped up. He knew very well that the moment he got back into the study he would start cramming again and in a way, fascinating though it was, he revolted against so many hours at an auto-teacher. In the past he had only been a moderate student, studying enough to get by but not pushing it. He had the feeling now that the next weeks were going to be one of the longest drags he had ever been through.

So he dropped off into the auto-cafeteria where he had met Jill and Jim—was it only yesterday?

He took the same table they had been at before and put his Identity Card in the table’s slot and called for a glass of imported British ale, a drink he had always liked but which hadn’t been on his budget as a student on Guaranteed Annual Income. Evidently, just about anything was on his budget now.

When the brew came, he sipped it slowly. He was wondering what the computers would decide to give him next when someone said, “Major Caine?”

Bert looked up. “The name is Albert Alshuler.”

“All right. Mind if I sit down?”

The newcomer was in his mid-thirties, neatly dressed, open-faced and didn’t project being either a student or a member of the university’s faculty.

Bert Alshuler shifted his shoulders so that his jacket draped in such manner as to facilitate a quick draw from the shoulder rig slung beneath his left armpit.

He said, “ I have no monopoly on the table. However, there seem to be others in the vicinity that are empty.”

The other nodded, but sat down. “My name’s Harmon. Frank Harmon. I wanted to talk with you.”

“Start talking, friend. Drink?”

“I’m on duty.”

“Oh? What kind of duty?”

“Local Security. I’m a cop… Mr. Alshuler.”

“Kay. What can I do for you?” Bert Alshuler finished his ale and summoned another one.

“Three students were killed yesterday and, we’re not sure, but another seems to be missing.”

Bert Alshuler was wide-eyed. “You mean here in town?”

“In the jurisdiction of this university city.”

“Well, what’s all this razzle about? What do you want with me?”

“They were killed with a laser.”

Bert looked at him, frowning puzzlement. “So?”

“You’re acquainted with the use of laser weapons?”

“Obviously. They were just coming in during the last months of my service. For that matter there must be thousands of ex-military personnel in this city who have been checked out on lasers.”

“But few so well as you and Captain Jim Hawkins.”

Bert shrugged and took up his fresh glass. “What are you getting at, uh, Harmon?”

Frank Harmon looked at him for a long moment. “I was in the big one too, Killer.”

“Don’t call me that. I never asked for the handle and never liked it. So you were in the Asian War too. Does that make us old comrades in arms?”

“I’m not trying to antagonize you, Mr. Alshuler. This is my job. I don’t want to intrude on you. I can understand you wanting to drop out of all the publicity crud they heaped on you. Like I say, I was in it too. I’ve got a lot of respect for… for the man who took as many decorations as you did.”

Bert said, “I’ve mislaid my violin. What did you want, Harmon?”

“Where were you yesterday?”

“When? Mostly I was in my apartment.”

“Your student mini-apartment in the Parthenon Building?”

Bert looked at him in disgust. “I assume you know better than that. Professor Leonard Katz has made arrangements for me to take over Suite G. in this building while I do some special courses utilizing new education methods he and some of his associates have dreamed up.”

“Where were you at about two o’clock?”

“I imagine in my suite. I don’t recall checking the time particularly during the afternoon. Why?”

“Because something strange happened. An electro-steamer was summoned down in the metro and was driven to the house in which the three students were found. Later it returned to this building again. The thing is, there is no record of whose identity card was utilized to rent the vehicle. Somehow that information was erased from the data banks.”

Bert Alshuler tried to look pained. “Oh, now really. Do I look like somebody who has access to the data banks? I’ve only been in town a few days. I don’t even know where the data banks are located, and I’m not an electronic technician. Why pick on me to question, Harmon?”

The other sighed. “We’ve never had a murder before in this university city. Certainly not three at a crack—performed with lasers. You turn up under an assumed name, are shortly established in luxurious quarters, although you have no known source of income beyond GAI, and in a few days three men are beamed down. What did you come here for, Alshuler?”

Bert projected disgust. “Would you believe to study?”

Frank Harmon said abruptly, indicating Bert’s jacket, “You’re heeled, aren’t you, Alshuler? You’re carrying a concealed weapon. Do you have a permit?”

“I wouldn’t have any trouble getting one. Sure I’m heeled. Before I changed my name and underwent a little plastic surgery, I used to get a dozen crank letters a week. Every crackpot in the country would have loved to get his face in the news by knocking off Killer Caine.”

“Is it a laser? They’re forbidden to civilians, under any circumstances.”

“Of course not. It’s a gyro-jet.”

“May I see it, please?”

“No. See here, friend, I’m getting tired of this. If you think you have anything on me, then take me and charge me. You’ll have a hot potato on your hands when the news boys plaster the fact around that you’ve arrested the most highly decorated man to come out of the war, for carrying a gun for self-defense.”

The Security man stared at him in frustration, then came to his feet. He said wearily, “All right, Alshuler. But something smells here and I’m going to find out what’s causing the stench.”

“Good luck,” Bert said, and turned his attention back to his glass.

When Frank Harmon was gone, Bert Alshuler ran his right hand over his mouth unhappily. Double damn it.

These days, the police had methods undreamed of even a quarter of a century ago. He wondered if he had left any fingerprints, or anything else in that house where the shooting had taken place. Or if Jill had. Damn it Why hadn’t he thought to check that out?

He brought his pocket phone from his jacket, activated it and said into the screen, “Lieutenant General Russell Paul. The number is undoubtedly restricted, but I assume I have priority.”

The general’s face faded in.

Bert said, “Can you scramble this so that it won’t be recorded in the data banks, or anywhere else, for that matter?”

“Yes, if necessary.”

“It’s necessary.”

“Just a moment, then.” The other did something off screen and then came back, full face and looked at Bert quizzically. “Go on.”

“Kay. There’s one of your lower echelon boys here, Frank Harmon, who’s bugging me, as Jim Hawkins would probably put it. That matter yesterday. Can’t you have him transferred to Greater Denver, or something?”

“I see. I’ll have him eliminated.”

“Eliminated, for God’s sake! Listen, he seems to be a good man. Bounce him up a grade or two—but send him to Alaska or Peru for the time being.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Major. I had no intention of physically eliminating the man.”