Mack Reynolds: Ability Quotient

That afternoon, following lunch and just before taking his stimulant, Bert heard a slight sound behind him. He spun and almost drew his gun, but then recognized the man leaning in the study’s doorway, a gyro-jet pistol in hand.

It was Frank Harmon, the Security man. “Don’t go for it, Major Caine,” he said. “Like I told you, I too was in the big one. I can handle a shooter possibly just as well as you.”

Bert said, “You startled me. An old combat man’s reflexes are automatic when somebody comes up behind him. How did you get in here? Do you have a warrant?”

Harmon looked about the study, ignoring the questions. “So you were telling the truth. One of the professors has you up here on a special study experiment.”

“That’s right,” Bert said, forcing himself to simmer down. “Come on into the living room and tell me what this is all about.”

Frank Harmon followed him into the other room, his gun at the easy ready. Bert sat down and looked politely inquiring; the Security man remained standing.

“The other day,” he said, “the same day as the shoot out, an assistant professor in political economy, Kenneth Kneedler, disappeared. His offices were in this building. The lock of the door had been shot off with a laser beam. Immediately previous to his disappearance there had been some inquiries about him and his whereabouts to the computers. Whose Identity Card was utilized to acquire the information had been wiped from the data banks. I was looking into it further when I was suddenly informed I had been promoted to captain and assigned to Hawaii.”

“Congratulations,” Bert said.

“I’m not going, Caine.”

“Alshuler,” Bert said mildly. “Why bother to tell me about it?”

The Security man motioned with his gun. “Line up against the wall over there. Lean up against it with your hands, and spread your legs wide. I want to take a look at that gun of yours. Say no, and I’ll take you in.”

Bert’s mind raced. If he could talk this character out of it, it might go no further. But if he was taken down to headquarters and booked, then it would be all over the town, probably all over the world, in short order, and then God only knew who might start prying further.

He shrugged and came to his feet and went over to the wall and leaned against it, in the standard position used for shaking down prisoners. Harmon came up behind him with great care which amused Bert—there was nothing like having a reputation—reached around and drew the gun from its underarm holster. Harmon stepped back.

“A laser,” he said. “You claimed you carried a gyro-jet.”

Bert turned and his voice took on a weary note. “I did, when you asked me there in the auto-cafeteria. I just got that yesterday.”

“You have a permit for it, of course. There is no such thing as a permit to carry a laser pistol.”

“Of course.”

“Where is it?” the other said scornfully.

“The general hasn’t sent it around yet.”

“What general? Where did you get this gun, Caine?”

“Alshuler. Your superior, General Russell Paul, gave it to me. He’s an old war acquaintance. When I told him about all the shooting that was going on around here, he insisted that he issue me a laser. I didn’t really think I needed it, but he insisted.”

The other snapped, “You expect me to believe that?”

“You can always call the general, friend.”

Jill entered from the bedroom that connected with her own suite. She looked from Bert to the newcomer, surprised, especially in view of the fact that Frank Harmon had a gun in each hand.

Bert’s mind was working rapidly. The implication of her coming out of what was obviously a bedroom was clear.

He said, “Darling, this is Frank Harmon, of Security. He has a few questions to ask. For instance, where was I at two o’clock last Thursday? Remember, that was the day those three students were shot in that mysterious affair out in the suburbs.”

She said, “Why, darling, you were right here with me, all afternoon.”

Frank Harmon was obviously set back.

Bert said to him, “Well, aren’t you going to call the general?”

Harmon said, “Bugs Paul is the one who gave the orders to ship me off to Hawaii. I’m taking you in, Caine. A little truth serum down at headquarters and we’ll get to the bottom of this before the general even hears about it.”

From the doorway behind him a new voice said, “So they still call him Bugs. I’ll have to let him know about that.”

Frank Harmon shot a startled look over his shoulder. Jim Hawkins stood there, a benign look on his face, a laser pistol in hand, nonchalantly trained on Harmon.

He said, “I’ve been out here in the hall, taking most of this in. You sure are an eager beaver, Harmon. Uh, Jim Hawkins is the handle.”

Harmon said inanely, “You wouldn’t dare shoot. I’m taking you both in.”

Jim chuckled softly. “Old buddy, you’ve been accusing Bert and me of bumping off three men, kind of putting the snatch on an assistant professor and all sorts of fun and games. Now if we’d really swing all that, do you think we’d hesitate knocking off one more?”

Harmon’s face registered indecision.

Jim said to Bert Alshuler in mock complaint, “See how it is? Everybody thinks I’m just an easygoing slob. Now if you’d give him his marching orders, Killer, he’d be out of here in a hurry.”

Harmon said wanly, “Your own reputation is as notorious as the major’s, Captain Hawkins.” He tossed Bert’s gun to the couch. “This isn’t the end, you know.” I le returned his own gun to a hip holster.

Jim said, his voice friendly, “When you contact the general, remember me to him. Used to make dates for him, locate decent booze for him, get him home when it got a little drunk out; shucks, I was the most valuable member of his staff there in Siam.”

Frank Harmon growled something inarticulately and brushed by the lanky Hawkins on his way out.

When he was gone, Bert snapped, “How much of that did you hear?”

“Practically all of it. I came in the front door, just as you two were entering this room. I stood out in the hall and listened.” He leered at Jill. “I even heard the little bit that suggested you two were shacked up here.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Jim,” she said. “It obviously made a perfect alibi.”

Bert went over to the bar for drinks. “How about a cognac, all around?” he said. “We could use one. Where’ve you been, Jim?”

“Make mine a double,” Jim said, returning his gun to its holster. “Running errands for my old buddy.”

Jill sank into a chair. “Make mine a double too,” she said wearily. “This is beginning to pile up on me. I don’t have the background you two do. I get frightened.”

Jim chuckled, “Nobody has the background we two do, Sweetie Pie. This would have been considered a restful weekend in the old days.”

Bert said, “Easy, Jim. The poor kid’s about had it” He brought the three drinks and handed the others theirs.

He said to Jim, “You’d better get the general on the phone and let him know what happened. Tell him to get this man off our backs soonest. Harmon’s not stupid, and he’s sore. If he’s on this another twenty-four hours he’ll crack something and even generals can’t cover over three killings, particularly when the three are students, rather than mugs.”

Jim started for the phone screen, saying over his shoulder, “What the devil happened to Kneedler? He walked out of here all right.”

Bert knocked back half of his brandy. “He’s probably gone to ground. Hiding out with some of his group. He’s got his wind up. Too much shooting going on. He’s probably okay.”