A young lad, one of the gang members who wore flashy clothes and carried himself proudly as a member of Harakah, had been shot in an alley. His corpse had been found by his friends going to their afternoon swim on their day off. It was all pathetic, unnecessary, and a sample of human passions tied up to the extent that murder seemed the only way out.
Greg Rawson devoured the item.
No shots of the body were shown. The boy’s mother appeared briefly. She was a widow. Lack of parental control, surmised Caradine, had led her son to this.
The lad’s name had been Tommy Gorse. They were already calling it the Gorse Murder.
Caradine stood up, excusing himself, and went to his room. He needed to freshen up before dinner. The afternoon hadn’t been wasted. He’d had a pleasant drive out and although he hadn’t seen the Painted Caves, he’d witnessed the edifying spectacle of two beautiful women clawing each other like cats.
Hiff intercom beeped and he answered.
“Mr. John Carter? There are two gendemen to see you. On the way up.” The robot switched off before he could question it.
His door chime gonged. He reached a hand up and touched his white shirt. The Beatty was snugged down in the shoulder holster. He activated the door catch, the same one that Allura had shorted out the previous night, and the two men walked in.
“Mr. John Carter?” One was grizzled, tough, dour and full of familiar confidence that at once put Caradine’s nerve on a tingling alert. The other was younger, brash, and learning the tricks of the trade from the old hand.
“Yes?” he said courteously. “Come in. Sit down. What can I do for you?”
“We’re police officers, Mr. Carter. We’d like to ask you a few routine questions.”
“Please go ahead.”
“You were in the Nebula Restaurant yesterday?”
“Is that the place—”
“You had a fight with four youths. You agree?”
“I remember. They tried to beat me up for no reason.” Caradine was getting the picture now. And it stank. He was a member of a stellar grouping of about fifty-two planets. These policemen represented a grouping of a thousand or more worlds. They’d treat him with contemptuous severity. One of their citizens had been murdered. Caradine reckoned he knew who Tommy Gorse was.
“This afternoon, in an alley in the city, Tommy Gorse, the leader of the group with whom you fought, was brutally murdered. We’d like to hear your movements this afternoon, Mr. Carter.”
“That’s simple enough. I went with friends to visit the Painted Caves.”
“Anyone vouch for that?”
“Well, we didn’t actually reach the Caves. The car broke down and we had to force land. Mr. Greg Rawson and Miss Sharon Ogilvie were with me. They can corroborate that.”
“Are they from Shanstar, too?”
There it was. The savage minority-group hate. “No. They’re from Ahansic.”
“Ahansic.” The younger of the two policemen said it. He made it a spitting curse.
There was Allura Koanga, too. But she was from Shanstar. They just wouldn’t believe her. But perhaps with the four of them all giving the same story, a story that, as it was true, would hold up under questioning, he might be believed.
“After we had to put down,” he said, still in that polite, matter-of-fact voice, “we were picked up and given a ride back into town.”
“Yes?”
“A Miss Allura Koanga picked us up.”
“Koanga? She’s with Hsien Koanga. Staying here?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Well, that shouldn’t bother us overmuch.”
Caradine didn’t like the way the policeman had picked that up so fast. Maybe the Koangas were down in the police records as spies. Maybe he’d only made his case worse.
“Well, Mr. Carter. Well check with these people. But I’d advise you to stay in the city. You will be under surveillance. Well call on you again.” He turned to go and the younger cop went to the door. “You see, Mr. Carter, young Tommy Gorse was shot with a one millimeter needle-beam. A one millimeter needle-beam that was almost certainly a Beatty. Just like the one you have under your arm.”
VII
Well, they hadn’t arrested him.
Not that that meant a great deal. There would be no trouble picking him up. And all the nuclear artillery in this city wouldn’t save him once they opened up. His own little popgun had been left him as a contemptuous matter of indifference.
He was condemned already and as good as executed. Or brain-cleared or whatever type of corrective punishment they favored here. As he was an outworlder they’d probably take the easiest and cheapest way out.
The door chimes went. With a resigned grunt he opened the door and Greg Rawson and Sharon Ogilvie came in. They were not smiling.
“Didn’t waste much time, Mr. Carter, did they?”
“No. They’ll be seeing you next.”
“I expect they will. I understand they work fast here.”
Sharon moved across and put a hand on Caradine’s arm. The hand shook. She stared at him full in the face and her eyes flicked sideways. Caradine caught on. They knew this room was tapped. They wanted to talk and they didn’t want eavesdroppers.
He said evenly, “I was about to go down to dinner.”
“Yes.” Rawson said meaningfully. “A day tramping around museums does make you peckish.”
On the way out Caradine digested that.
It was just one more smell to add to the rest.
And he’d walked right into it like a newborn babe!
They all went out into the open-air patio for a few moments before going in to dinner. Caradine paused by an arch where crimson flowers not unlike a rose bloomed gorgeously.
“You don’t have to spell it out,” he said harshly. “What’s your price?”
“Now, Mr. Carter!” said Sharon, lifting her eyebrows in mock surprise.
Rawson said, “We discussed the designs Horakah have on both Ahansic and Shanstar. You have a visa to go to Alpha—”
“I doubt that that will stay in force now.”
Sharon said, “I believe we can trust your word, Carter. If you promise to help us, we will go along purely on the strength of that.”
“And suppose AHura Koanga also testifies?”
Rawson laughed. “Let her. She can’t get you out of this, Carter. Only Sharon and I can. And even then it’ll be touch and go. We can swing a few heavier weapons than you suspect. If we corroborate your story, then youll go free. And to Alpha. If we merely say that we were in museums this afternoon, and can prove it, you’ll bum.”
“And the wrecked car out there in that field?”
Sharon flashed Rawson a nasty look. He said equably, “Hired in the name of Brown, by a robot agency. And it will be disposed of by this time, anyway. Of course, that cost plenty of Galaxos.”
“So it seems you have me.”
“Yes. You’ll go along with us, Carter, or you’ll bum.”
“I’ve given my word already. You mentioned that just now.
I’ve promised that I won’t spy for anyone on Alpha. So where do we go from here?”
Rawson smiled his ugly smile again.
“You misunderstand me, Carter. We’re not asking you to spy on Alpha for us. Oh, no.”
“What then?”
“You will arrange for us to go with you to Alpha, Carter. Simply that.”
After lunch Caradine had looked forward to an interesting afternoon excursion. Then he was going to pick up his visa and take the next ship out to Alpha.
After dinner he felt that the whole galaxy had fallen in on him.
He had to keep remembering that he had no rights on this world. If Rawson and Sharon denied his story, then he would be condemned out of hand. Oh, sure, there’d be a trial. But it would be robotic, open and shut. There would be no he-detector tests. Why bother? He’d claim an alibi, and that alibi had been proved to be a clumsy He.