Гарри Гаррисон - The Jupiter Plague

“What do you mean?” The launch was so close now that they had abandoned the bullhorn. “Catch this line, we want to search you.”

Sam controlled his involuntary movement as the rope thudded across the canvas. The lieutenant reached out his foot and kicked it into the water.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “This is a unit engaged on active duty and we’ve just put some equipment ashore and our orders are to return at once.”

The launch had stopped and the policemen on deck were all armed: a power turret with quadruple recoilless one-inchers was manned and the barrels depressed. The Army boat, moving slowly, was already past the stern of the other boat. The police sergeant looked down at it angrily.

“Stop at once — that is an order. Or…”

“This is a military zone, you cannot issue any orders to me.” The lieutenant swung up his machine pistol and aimed it at the launch. “Open her wide when I say good-by,” he said in a low voice to the coxswain; then loudly, “If you attempt to restrain us I will open fire. I’m sure you don’t want any incidents like that, do you? So let’s just say good-by.”

A loud burbling sounded under the keel and the boat leaped forward; the lieutenant braced himself against the sudden thrust and kept the gun aimed at the launch.

“Stop there! Stop!” the bullhorn shouted and the launch started to swing about but no shots were fired. Before it had turned all the way the recon boat had cleared the end of the pier and swung downstream. The lieutenant dropped down as they began pounding from wave crest to wave crest.

“Can we outrun them?” Sam asked, throwing off the tarp.

“With one jet plugged,” the lieutenant said. He was smiling easily but his forehead was dotted with drops of sweat as well as rain. “This is one of the new jobs, no armor, no range — but it can beat anything that floats.”

Sam looked back, the dock had vanished in the mist and the launch still hadn’t appeared.

“Thanks, Lieutenant…?”

“Haber, Dennis Haber. They call me Dan.”

“… Thanks, Dan. That wasn’t so easy.”

“It was easy, I guarantee it. The general told me to come back with you, or to get you back alone, but if I came back without you… listen, you know the general. I would much rather get into a fire fight with the cops any day.”

“I think you’re right.”

They grabbed for handholds as the boat heeled over to miss a buoy, then straightened out toward Governors Island again. The dark shape of the fort was already visible ahead and the coxswain throttled back, heading for a narrow dock that paralled the shore. A jitter was waiting there and its motor ground into life as they approached. Cleaver Burke climbed out of it and helped Sam up from the boat himself, his fingers clamping like pliers.

“I’m glad you changed your mind, Sam — it’s about time we had some action over that spaceship. Now, with the right publicity, we can get enough public approval to open it up.” Lieutenant Haber went into the front of the jitter while they stepped over the low side into the back.

“It’s too late for the publicity, Cleaver. Too much has changed and I — well, I’ll tell you when we’re alone.”

“Alone?” The general lowered his thick eyebrows in the well-known scowl that always meant trouble. “Don’t you know where you are? This is my unit, my driver… and Dan there is one of my officers. Now bite it out, boy. What’s all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense?”

“The police are after me.”

“Is that all? They won’t arrest you here, hah! Is there any secret why they are after you?”

“They don’t want me to get in touch with you.”

“Well, they haven’t been doing too well.” He glanced at Sam out of the corners of his eyes. “And just what is wrong with your getting in touch with me?”

“That should be obvious, Cleaver — they’re afraid of trouble and they don’t want any interference with Operation Cleansweep.”

“Maybe I’m being a little thick today, Sam. What can you or I do that could possibly interfere with Cleansweep?”

“You might cause trouble over the Emergency Council’s decision about A-bombing the ‘Pericles.’”

“Now isn’t that interesting,” Cleaver said, and his voice was suddenly very cold. “This is the first time I have heard anything about that.”

The jitter bounced to a stop in front of the headquarters building. “Come up to my office,” Cleaver told Sam, then turned to the lieutenant and the driver. “Pass the word along that no civilians have come to this island today and no one here has ever heard of a Dr. Bertolli.”

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Haber said as he saluted. “You’ll be alone in your office now, General?”

“You catch on quick, boy. You better hang around the orderly room and take my calls for a while. The corporal here can carry the message back to the dock.”

Once inside, with the door closed, Cleaver relinquished his hold on his temper. “Politicians,” he snorted, stamping the length of the room. “Meatheads! Sitting up there on their fat duffs and making unilateral decisions that may affect the entire future of the human race — and making those decisions out of fear. I hadn’t realized that the old philosophy of a bomb-waving solution for international problems was still lurking in dark, spider-filled corners of the political mind. Cretins! They talk about war on disease without realizing that it is a war, particularly now, and has to be run like a war. We need good intelligence and the only place we’re going to find it is inside that spaceship. They’re operating out of fear — if you can’t run away from the unknown, why just blow it up!”

“They seem to be afraid of you too, Cleaver— even though you are under UN command. Why else wouldn’t they inform you about the decision to destroy the ”Pericles‘?“

The general pulled open a file cabinet and took out a giant, two-quart bottle of bourbon. “Get the glasses out of the desk drawer,” he said, then rilled the large water glasses almost to the brim. “Are they really afraid I’ll bust into that spacer?”

“It looks like it.”

“Well — should I? What’s the reason you want to look at it? What do you think we can find?”

Sam had the glass raised to his lips when he stopped suddenly, frozen, then slowly Iowered it, untasted, back to the desk.

He knew what they would find in the ship.

This was no logical conclusion but a leap in the dark as his subconscious put together a number of clues that had been collecting ever since the spaceship had landed. It was a single answer that could explain everything that had happened — yet it was an incredible answer that he did not dare speak aloud if he wanted Cleaver to help him get into the “Pericles.” He couldn’t tell him this, so he had to fall back upon the general’s own arguments.

“We can’t possibly know what we’ll find in there, Cleaver, though there should surely be records of some kind. The important thing is that we cannot completely ignore the possibility of missing out on anything that might be of help. And there is — well — something else.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, it’s just a guess — a wild hunch— and so wild I don’t want to talk about. But I do know that we must get into that ship.”

“That’s not much to go on, Sam, you realize that? Not now. It would have been enough awhile back when we could have raised a political stink and got some public pressure working on our side to take a look into the ship. But public pressure and publicity are out now and there is only one way left that we can get into that ship…” He broke off, swirling the liquor round and round in his glass before drinking the remainder in a long swallow.