Lies, Inc Part 2

"I know Rachmael is right. I knew it when he walked in the door; I knew it from your memo. I'm not going; that's that." She faced her employer-paramour calmly.

"Then I'll draw at random from the field-personnel pool." He had not been serious; why should he offer his mistress as a p.a.w.n in this? But he had proved what he wished to prove: their joint fears were not merely intellectual. At this point in their thinking neither Freya nor he would risk the crossing via Telpor to Whale's Mouth, as thousands of guileless citizens of Terra, lugging their belongings and with innocent high hopes, did daily.

I hate, he thought, to turn anyone into the goat. But- "Pete Burnside. Rep in Detroit. We'll tell him we wish to set up a Lies Incorporated branch at Whale's Mouth under a cover name. Hardware store. Or TV fixit shop. Get his folio; see what talents he has." We'll make one of our own people, Matson thought, the victim-and it hurt, made him sick. And yet it should have been done months ago.

But it had taken bankrupt Rachmael ben Applebaum to goose them into acting, he realized. A man pursued by those monster creditor balloons that bellow all your personal defects and secrets. A man willing to undergo a thirty-six-year trip thirty-six-year trip to prove that something is foul in the land of milk and protein on the far side of those Telpor gates through which, on receipt of five poscreds, any adult Terran can avail himself for the purpose of- to prove that something is foul in the land of milk and protein on the far side of those Telpor gates through which, on receipt of five poscreds, any adult Terran can avail himself for the purpose of- G.o.d knew.

G.o.d-and the German hierarchy dominating the UN plus THL; he had no illusions about that: they they did not need to a.n.a.lyze the crowd-noise track of the time capsule ceremony at Whale's Mouth to know. did not need to a.n.a.lyze the crowd-noise track of the time capsule ceremony at Whale's Mouth to know.

As he had. And his job was investigations; he was, he realized with spurting, burgeoning horror, possibly the only individual on Terra really really in a position to push through and obtain an authentic glimpse of this. in a position to push through and obtain an authentic glimpse of this.

Short of eighteen years of s.p.a.ce flight . . . a time-period which would allow infinite millions, even a billion if the extrapolations were correct, to pa.s.s by way of Telpor constructs on that-to him- terrifying one-way trip to the colony world.

If you are wise, Matson said to himself grimly, you never take one-way trips. Anywhere. Even to Boise, Idaho . . . even across the street. Be certain, when you start, that you can scramble back that you can scramble back.

FOUR.

At one in the morning, Rachmael ben Applebaum was yanked from his sleep-this was usual, because the a.s.sorted creditor-mechanisms had been getting to him on a round-the-clock basis, now. However, this time it was no robot raptor-like creditor mechanism. This was a man. Dark, a Negro; small and shrewd-looking. Standing at Rachmael's door with i.d. papers extended.

"From Listening Instructional Educational Services," the Negro said. He added, "I hold a Cla.s.s-A inter-plan vehicle pilot-license."

That woke Rachmael. "You're going to take the Omphalos Omphalos off Luna?" off Luna?"

"If I can find her." The dark, small man smiled briefly. "May I come in? I'd like you to accompany me to your maintenance yard on Luna so there's no mistake: I know your employees there are armed; otherwise-" He followed Rachmael into the conapt living room- the sole room, in fact: living-conditions on Terra being what they were. "Otherwise Trails of Hoffman would be ferrying equipment to their domes on Mars with the Omphalos Omphalos as of last month-right?" as of last month-right?"

"Right," Rachmael said as he blearily dressed.

"My name's Al Dosker. And I did you a small side-favor, Mr. ben Applebaum. I took out a creditor-construct waiting in the hall." He displayed, then, a side arm. "I suppose, if it got into litigation, it'd be called 'property destruct.' Anyhow, when you and I leave, no THL device is going to monitor our path." He added, half to himself, "That I could detect, anyhow." At his chest he patted a variety of bug chasers bug chasers; minned electronic instruments that recorded the presence of vid and aud receptors in the vicinity.

Shortly the two men were on their way to the roof field- And then Rachmael was back at the settlement.

"It's my food," Fred said.

Oh G.o.d, Rachmael thought. Here I am again.

"The thing is," Fred said amiably, as he dragged the turkey leg across the weed-pocked ground, "that a SubInfo computer screwed up. Subliminal information, right? They're repairing it, but meanwhile it's transmitted a lot to the right hemisphere hebesphere-I forget." He gave up trying to drag the turkey leg and extended his hand to Rachmael. "Name's Stine," he said. "Lewis Stine. I've d.a.m.n near got it fixed."

Numbly, Rachmael shook hands. He wondered what had become of Dosker.

"Want to know how I'm fixing it?" Fred said.

"I'd rather know-"

"With this," Fred said, indicating the turkey leg. "It's a highly specialized piece of technogonically sophisticated-"

"You're just a G.o.dd.a.m.n rat," Rachmael said, "and you've got about four words scrambled up together. I'm living in a rat heap with other rats."

"No, I'm a highly skilled computer repairman," Fred-or Lewis Stine-said, looking nettled. "Or am I?" He contemplated the turkey leg. "You're right. It doesn't look like something you'd fix a computer with. Maybe I should lay back for a while and think this over. The problem is, I intended to eat that turkey leg. If that's what it is. See, while I'm working on the computer-which is what I'm doing right now, although you'd never know it-my thoughts are being transmitted to you because I haven't been able to shut the computer down. I mean I can can shut it down, but that's contravindicated." shut it down, but that's contravindicated."

"Indicated," Rachmael corrected him.

"Yeah; contraindicated. Thank you." Fred eyed him. "You a computer repairman, too?"

"G.o.d no," Rachmael said.

"Rats are highly telepathic," Fred said. "This was proved back in 1978 by the Russians. They took these rats, see, and shut them inside a lead enclosure which screened out all thoughts. Then they hooked up the rats to an encephalograph. And then-" Fred grinned. "Get this. They killed the rats. You know what the encephalogram showed?"

"Flat line," Rachmael said.

"Right. And then they quickly brought in a psychic. The psychic thought at the dead rats, and the encephalograph showed brain-wave activity. See? Isn't that clever?"

"Fascist Russians," Rachmael said hotly. He was not amused.

"You have to admit it's a clever way to prove that rats are telepathic," Fred said.

"No," Rachmael said, "it proves that psychics are telepathic. It just showed-"

"I'll mash in your head with this crescent wrench," Fred said, grabbing up the turkey leg as best he could. "All the great scientific discoveries were made by rats-are made by rats." made by rats."

"Made by the use of rats," Rachmael corrected. He could see that Fred would never get the turkey leg off the ground.

"Rats keep the human population down," Fred said, abandoning his attempts to pick up the turkey leg. "Abba explained that to us before he died. He also explained where we go when we die."

"I know," Rachmael said. "I was there. I heard him."

The roof field faded back in, replacing the weed-pocked settlement; Fred and his turkey leg vanished.

Dosker had parked his taxi-marked flapple off to one side. "Get in," Dosker said to him.

"Have I been here all this time?" Rachmael said.

Glancing at him, Dosker said, "I don't get you."

"Never mind," Rachmael said.

How ordinary the flapple looked. But as it arced into the night sky Rachmael blinked at its velocity; he had to accept the obvious: this was not the usual thrust which now impelled them. They had hit 3.5 Machs within nanoseconds.

As Dosker piloted the flapple he reached into the glove compartment, brought out a turkey leg and began gnawing on it. Rachmael gazed at him fixedly, stricken. "What's the matter?" Dosker said. "Haven't you ever seen a turkey leg before?"

"It's fine," Rachmael said. "Fine looking turkey leg. d.a.m.n fine." He lapsed into silence.

A computer foul-up. But being repaired. To have to be clued in by a rat . . . another rat, he realized. And the tender and wise Abba had pa.s.sed on to his celestial reward. But he would be reborn; always, Abba was reborn. Every year or so. He was their-eternal leader.

"You'll direct me," Dosker was saying as he gnawed on the turkey leg. "Since even we at Lies, Incorporated don't know where you've got the Omphalos Omphalos. You did a good job of berthing her, or perhaps we're beginning to slip . . . or both."

"Okay." At the 3-D Lunar map he took hold of the locating trailing-arm, linked the pivot in position, then swept out a route until the terminus of the arm touched the recessed locus where his technicians worked busily at . . .

I wish he'd stop gnawing on that turkey leg, Rachmael said to himself.

. . . at the Omphalos Omphalos. Worked, while waiting for parts which would never come.

"We're off course," Dosker said abruptly. Speaking not to Rachmael but into his console mike. s.h.i.t; we've been phooed."

Phooed-a trade term. Rachmael felt fear, because the word was a condensation of PU-picked up. Picked up by a field, and this one was moving Dosker's small flapple out of its trajectory. At once Dosker fired the huge Whetstone-Milton rockets, tried to rea.s.sert with their enormous strength homeo-course . . . but the field continued to tug, even against the millions of pounds of thrust of the twin engines, as both fired in unison, acting as retro-jets against the field exerting its presence unseen. But, on a variety of console instruments, registering.

Rachmael, after an interval of strained, wordless silence, said to Dosker, "Where's it taking us?"

"From a Three to L course," Dosker said laconically. He set down his turkey leg, now.

"Not to Luna, then." They would not, the two of them, reach the Omphalos' Omphalos' place of berth; that was now clear. But- place of berth; that was now clear. But- Where instead?

"We're in T-orb," Dosker said. Orbit around the Earth, despite the push of the two W-M engines. Dosker, now, reluctantly, in a motion of admitted defeat, cut them. Fuel for them had no doubt dropped to a dangerously low level: if the field let go they would orbit anyhow, orbit without the possibility of being capable of creating a trajectory that would lead to an ultimate landing either on Luna or or on Terra. "They've got us," Dosker said, then, half to Rachmael and half into the mike that projected from the ship's console. He recited a series of encoded instructions into the mike, listened, then cursed, said to Rachmael, "We're cut off aud and vid, all signal-contact; I'm not getting through to Matson. So that's it." on Terra. "They've got us," Dosker said, then, half to Rachmael and half into the mike that projected from the ship's console. He recited a series of encoded instructions into the mike, listened, then cursed, said to Rachmael, "We're cut off aud and vid, all signal-contact; I'm not getting through to Matson. So that's it."

"That's what?" Rachmael demanded. "You mean we give up? We just orbit Terra forever and die when we run out of oxygen?" Was this the fight that Lies, Incorporated put up when faced by Trails of Hoffman? He, alone, had held out better; now he was disgusted, astonished and completely perplexed, and he watched without comprehension as Dosker inspected his bank of bug chasers bug chasers at his chest. At the moment the Lies, Incorporated pilot seemed interested only in whether or not monitors were picking them up-as well as controlling, externally, the trajectory of their ship. at his chest. At the moment the Lies, Incorporated pilot seemed interested only in whether or not monitors were picking them up-as well as controlling, externally, the trajectory of their ship.

Dosker said, "No monitors. Look, friend ben Applebaum." He spoke swiftly. "They cut my transmission on aud by micro-relay to Matson's satellite, but of course-" His dark eyes glinted with amus.e.m.e.nt. "I have on me a dead man's throttle; if a continuous signal from me is interrupted it automatically sets off an alarm at Lies, Incorporated, at its main offices in New New York and also at Matson's satellite. So by now they know something's happened." He lowered his voice, speaking almost to himself alone. "We'll have to wait to find out if they can get to us before it doesn't matter."

The ship, without power, in orbit, glided silently.

And then, jarringly, something nosed it; Rachmael fell; sliding along the floor to the far wall he saw Dosker tumble, too, and knew that this had been the locking of another ship or similar device against them-knew and then all at once realized that at least it hadn't detonated. At least it had not been a missile. Because if it had- "They could," Dosker said, as he got unsteadily to his feet, "have taken us out permanently." By that he, too, meant a detonating weapon. He turned toward the tri-stage entrance hatch, used for null-atmosphere penetration.

The hatch, its circular seal-controls spun from impulses emanating outside, swung open.

Three men, two of them riffraff with lasers, with the decayed eyes of those who had been bought, hamstrung, lost long ago, came first. And then a clear-faced elegant man who would never be bought because he was a great buyer in the market of men; he was a dealer, not produce for sale.

It was Theodoric Ferry, chairman of the board of Trails of Hoffman Limited. Ahead of him his two employees swung a vacuum-cleaner-like mechanism; it searched, buzzing and nosing, probing until its operators were satisfied; they nodded to Theodoric, who then addressed Rachmael.

"May I seat myself?"

After a startled pause Rachmael said, "Sure."

"Sorry, Mr. Ferry," Dosker said. "The only seat is taken." He sat at the control console in such a way that his small body had expanded at its base to fill both bucket seats; his face was hard and hating.

Shrugging, the large, white-haired man said, "All right." He eyed Dosker. "You're Lies' top pilot, aren't you? Al Dosker . . . yes, I recognize you from the clips we've made of you. On your way to the Omphalos Omphalos. But you don't need Applebaum here to tell you where she is; we we can tell you." Theodoric Ferry dug into his cloak, brought out a small packet which he tossed to Al Dosker. "The locus of the dry-docks where Applebaum has got her." can tell you." Theodoric Ferry dug into his cloak, brought out a small packet which he tossed to Al Dosker. "The locus of the dry-docks where Applebaum has got her."

"Thanks, Mr. Ferry," Dosker said with sarcasm so great that his voice was almost forged into incomprehensibility.

Theodoric said, "Now look, Dosker; you sit quietly and mind your own business. While I talk to Applebaum. I've never met him personally, but I knew his very-much-missed late father." He extended his hand.

Dosker said, "If you shake with him, Rachmael, he'll deposit a virus contamination that'll produce liver toxicity within your system inside an hour."

Glowering, Theodoric said to the Negro, "I asked you to stay in your place. A pun." He then removed the membrane-like, up-to-now invisible glove of plastic which covered his hand. So Dosker had been right, Rachmael realized as he watched Theodoric carefully deposit the glove in the ship's incinerating disposal-chute. "Anyhow, " Theodoric said, almost plaintively, "we could have squirted feral airborne bacteria around by now."

"And taken out yourselves," Dosker pointed out.

Theodoric shrugged. Then, speaking carefully to Rachmael, he said, "I respect what you're trying to do. Don't laugh."

"I was not," Rachmael said, "laughing. Just surprised."

"You want to keep functioning, after the economic collapse; you want to keep your legitimate creditors from attaching the few- actually sole-a.s.set that Applebaum Enterprise still possesses- good for you, Rachmael. I'd have done the same. And you impressed Matson; that's why he's supplying you his only decent pilot."

With a mild grin, Dosker reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarillos; at once the two decayed-eyed men accompanying Theodoric caught his arm, expertly manipulated it-the harmless pack of cigarillos fell to the floor of the ship.

One after another, the cigarillos were cut open by Theodoric's men, inspected . . . the fifth one turned out to be hard; it did not yield to the sharp-bladed pocket knife, and, a moment later, a more complex a.n.a.lytical device showed the cigarillo to be a homeostatic cephalotropic dart.

"Whose Alpha-wave pattern?" Theodoric Ferry asked Dosker.

"Yours," Dosker said tonelessly. He watched without affect as the two decayed-eyed but very expert employees of THL crushed the dart under heel, rendering it useless.

"Then you expected me," Ferry said, looking a little nonplussed.

Dosker said, "Mr. Ferry, I always always expect you." expect you."

Returning once more to Rachmael, Theodoric Ferry said, "I admire you and I want to terminate this conflict between you and THL. We have an inventory of your a.s.sets. Here." He extended a sheet toward Rachmael; at that, Rachmael turned toward Dosker for advice.

"Take it," Dosker said.

Accepting the sheet, Rachmael scanned it. The inventory was accurate; these did const.i.tute the slight totality of the remaining a.s.sets of Applebaum Enterprise. And-glaringly, as Ferry had said, the only item of any authentic value was the Omphalos Omphalos herself, the great liner plus the repair and maintenance facilities of Luna which now, hive-like, surrounded and checked her as she waited futilely . . . he returned the inventory to Ferry, who, seeing his expression, nodded. herself, the great liner plus the repair and maintenance facilities of Luna which now, hive-like, surrounded and checked her as she waited futilely . . . he returned the inventory to Ferry, who, seeing his expression, nodded.

"We agree, then," Theodoric Ferry said. "Okay. Here's what I propose, Applebaum. You can keep the Omphalos Omphalos. I'll instruct my legal staff to withdraw the writ to the UN courts demanding that the Omphalos Omphalos be placed under a state of attachment." be placed under a state of attachment."

Dosker, startled, grunted; Rachmael stared at Ferry.

"What," Rachmael said, then, "in return?"

"This. That the Omphalos Omphalos never leave the Sol system. You can very readily develop a profitable operation transporting pa.s.sengers and cargo between the nine planets and to Luna. Despite the fact-" never leave the Sol system. You can very readily develop a profitable operation transporting pa.s.sengers and cargo between the nine planets and to Luna. Despite the fact-"

"Despite the fact," Rachmael said, "that the Omphalos Omphalos was built as an inter-stellar carrier, not inter-plan. It's like using-" was built as an inter-stellar carrier, not inter-plan. It's like using-"

"It's that," Ferry said, "or lose the Omphalos Omphalos to us." to us."

"So Rachmael agrees"-Dosker spoke up-"not to take the Omphalos Omphalos to Fomalhaut. The written agreement won't mention any one particular star system, but it's not Prox and not Alpha. Right, Ferry?" to Fomalhaut. The written agreement won't mention any one particular star system, but it's not Prox and not Alpha. Right, Ferry?"

After a pause Theodoric Ferry said, "Take it or leave it."

Rachmael said, "Why, Mr. Ferry? What's wrong at Whale's What's wrong at Whale's Mouth Mouth? This deal-it proves I'm right." That was obvious; he saw it, Dosker saw it-and Ferry must have known that in making it he was ratifying their intimations. Limit the Omphalos Omphalos to the nine planets of the Sol system? And yet-the corporation Applebaum Enterprise, as Ferry said, to the nine planets of the Sol system? And yet-the corporation Applebaum Enterprise, as Ferry said, would continue would continue; it would live on as a legal, economic ent.i.ty. And Ferry would see that the UN turned a certain amount, an acceptable quant.i.ty, of commerce its way. Rachmael would wave goodbye to Lies, Incorporated, to first this small dark superior s.p.a.ce pilot, and then, by extension, to Freya Holm, to Matson Glazer-Holliday, cut in effect himself off from the sole power which had chosen to back him.

"Go ahead," Dosker said. "Accept the idea. After all, the deep-sleep components won't arrive, but it won't matter, because you're not going into 'tween system s.p.a.ce anyhow." He looked tired.

Theodoric Ferry said, "Your father, Rachmael; Maury would have done anything to keep the Omphalos Omphalos. You know in two days we'll have her-and once we do, there's no chance you'll ever get her back. Think about it."

"I-know right now," Rachmael said. Lord, if he and Dosker had managed to get the Omphalos Omphalos out tonight, lost her in s.p.a.ce where THL couldn't find her . . . and yet that was already over; it had ended when the field had overcome the enormous futile thrust of the twin engines of Dosker's Lies, Incorporated ship: Trails of Hoffman had stepped in too soon. In time. out tonight, lost her in s.p.a.ce where THL couldn't find her . . . and yet that was already over; it had ended when the field had overcome the enormous futile thrust of the twin engines of Dosker's Lies, Incorporated ship: Trails of Hoffman had stepped in too soon. In time.