Keith Laumer - The Star-Sent Knaves

“I was tempted, Snithian. But I don’t spook easy. There is the matter of some unfinished business.”

“Excellent!” Snithian exclaimed. “I’ll have another consignment ready for you by tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow! How is it possible, with Percy and Fiorello lodged in the hoosegow?” Blote looked around; his eye fell on the stacked paintings. He moved across to them, lifted one, glanced at the next, then shuffled rapidly through the stack. He turned.

“What duplicity is this, Snithian?” he rumbled. “All identical! Our agreement called for limited editions, not mass production! My principals will be furious! My reputation—”

“Shrivel your reputation!” Snithian keened. “I have more serious problems at the moment! My entire position’s been compromised. I’m faced with the necessity of disposing of this blundering fool!”

“Dan? Why, I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Snithian.” Blote moved to the carrier, dumped an armful of duplicate paintings in the cage. “Evidence,” he said. “The Confederation has methods for dealing with sharp practice. Come, Dan, if you’re ready…”

“You dare to cross me?” Snithian hissed. “I, who act for the Ivroy?”

Blote motioned to the carrier. “Get in, Dan. We’ll be going now.” He rolled both eyes to bear on Snithian. “And I’ll deal with you later,” he rumbled. “No one pulls a fast one on Gom Blote, Trader Fourth Class—or on the Vegan Federation.”

Snithian moved suddenly, flicking out a spidery arm to seize the weapon he had dropped, aim and trigger. Dan, in a wash of pain, felt his knees fold. He fell slackly to the floor. Beside him, Blote sagged, his tentacles limp.

“I credited you with more intelligence,” Snithian cackled. “Now I have an extra ton of protoplasm to dispose of. The carrier will be useful in that connection.”

Dan felt a familiar chill in the air. A Portal appeared. In a puff of icy mist, a tall figure stepped through.

Gone was the tight uniform. In its place, the lanky Australopithecine wore skin-tight blue jeans and a loose sweatshirt. An oversized beret clung to the small round head. Immense dark glasses covered the yellowish eyes, and sandals flapped on the bare, long-toed feet. Dzhackoon waved a long cigarette holder at the group.

“Ah, a stroke of luck! How nice to find you standing by. I had expected to have to conduct an intensive search within the locus. Thus the native dress. However—” Dzhackoon’s eyes fell on Snithian standing stiffly by, the gun out of sight.

“You’re of a race unfamiliar to me,” he said. “Still, I assume you’re aware of the Interdict on all Anthropoid-populated loci?”

“And who might you be?” Snithian inquired loftily.

“I’m a Field Agent of the Interdimensional Monitor Service.”

“Ah, yes. Well, your Interdict means nothing to me. I’m operating directly under Ivroy auspices.” Snithian touched a glittering pin on his drab cloak.

Dzhackoon sighed. “There goes the old arrest record.”

“He’s a crook!” Dan cut in. “He’s been robbing art galleries!”

“Keep calm, Dan,” Blote murmured. “No need to be overly explicit.”

The Agent turned to look the Trader over.

“Vegan, aren’t you? I imagine you’re the fellow I’ve been chasing.”

“Who, me?” the bass voice rumbled. “Look, officer, I’m a home-loving family man, just passing through. As a matter of fact—”

The uniformed creature nodded toward the paintings in the carrier. “Gathered a few souvenirs, I see.”

“For the wives and kiddie. Just a little something to brighten up the hive.”

“The penalty for exploitation of a sub-cultural Anthropoid-occupied body is stasis for a period not to exceed one reproductive cycle. If I recall my Vegan biology, that’s quite a stretch.”

“Why, officer! Surely you’re not putting the arm on a respectable, law-abiding being like me? Why, I lost a tentacle fighting in defense of peace—” As he talked, Blote moved toward the carrier.

“—your name, my dear fellow,” he went on. “I’ll mention it to the Commissioner, a very close friend of mine.” Abruptly the Vegan reached for a lever—

The long arms in the tight white jacket reached to haul him back effortlessly. “That was unwise, sir. Now I’ll be forced to recommend subliminal reorientation during stasis.” He clamped stout handcuffs on Blote’s broad wrists.

“You Vegans,” he said, dusting his hands briskly. “Will you never learn?”

“Now, officer,” Blote said, “you’re acting hastily. Actually, I’m working in the interest of this little world, as my associate Dan will gladly confirm. I have information which will be of considerable interest to you. Snithian has stated that he is in the employ of the Ivroy—”

“If the Ivroy’s so powerful, why was it necessary to hire Snithian to steal pictures?” Dan interrupted.

“Perish the thought, Dan. Snithian’s assignment was merely to duplicate works of art and transmit them to the Ivroy.”

“Here,” Snithian cut in. “Restrain that obscene mouth!”

Dzhackoon raised a hand. “Kindly remain silent, sir. Permit my prisoners their little chat.”

“You may release them to my custody,” Snithian snapped.

Dzhackoon shook his head. “Hardly, sir. A most improper suggestion—even from an agent of the Ivroy.” He nodded at Dan. “You may continue.”

“How do you duplicate works of art?” Dan demanded.

“With a matter duplicator. But, as I was saying, Snithian saw an opportunity to make extra profits by retaining the works for repeated duplications and sale to other customers—such as myself.”

“You mean there are other—customers—around?”

“I have dozens of competitors, Dan, all busy exporting your artifacts. You are an industrious and talented race, you know.”

“What do they buy?”

“A little of everything, Dan. It’s had an influence on your designs already, I’m sorry to say. The work is losing its native purity.”

Dan nodded. “I have had the feeling some of this modern furniture was designed for Martians.”

“Ganymedans, mostly. The Martians are graphic arts fans, while your automobiles are designed for the Plutonian trade. They have a baroque sense of humor.”

“What will the Ivroy do when he finds out Snithian’s been double-crossing him?”

“He’ll think of something, I daresay. I blame myself for his defection, in a way. You see, it was my carrier which made it possible for Snithian to carry out his thefts. Originally, he would simply enter a gallery, inconspicuously scan a picture, return home and process the recording through the duplicator. The carrier gave him the idea of removing works en masse, duplicating them and returning them the next day. Alas, I agreed to join forces with him. He grew greedy. He retained the paintings here and proceeded to produce vast numbers of copies—which he doubtless sold to my competitors, the crook!”

Dzhackoon had whipped out a notebook and was jotting rapidly.

“Now, let’s have those names and addresses,” he said. “This will be the biggest round-up in IDMS history.”

“And the pinch will be yours, dear sir,” Blote said. “I foresee early promotion for you.” He held out his shackled wrists. “Would you mind?”

“Well…” Dzhackoon hesitated, but unlocked the cuffs. “I think I’m on firm ground. Just don’t mention it to Inspector Spoghodo.”

“You can’t do that!” Snithian snapped. “These persons are dangerous!”

“That is my decision. Now—”

Snithian brought out the pistol with a sudden movement. “I’ll brook no interference from meddlers—”

There was a sound from the door. All heads turned. The girl Dan had seen in the house stood in the doorway, glancing calmly from Snithian to Blote to Dzhackoon. When her eyes met Dan’s she smiled. Dan thought he had never seen such a beautiful face—and the figure matched.