"The identifying marks regulation I just gave you is a secret court interpretation of it. We're bound by it, you know." Heller shook his head. "I confess I have not seen it. And if that interpretation is Apparatus, I'm Fleet. I'm not bound by it." It was plain I was not progressing. But the psychology of Blito-P3 had not yet been brought into play. This is the real standby of my personal tradecraft. Nobody ever knew, until these disclosures here, that I owed my success to it.
A child, it says, when denied the things it wants, often goes into what is called a tantrum,which is one of their scientific terms. Adults, faced with it, usually recoil and surrender. I went into Stage One of a tantrum.
"You," I pouted, "are just trying to make my job difficult. You are an old meany." It is a magic psychological term, an incantation phrase. Right away, I could see it was having an affect. Heller looked at me, puzzled.
I went into Stage Two: negation."If you don't go with me for your physical readiness appointment, I WILL NOT STAMP ANY MORE COMPLETION ORDERS FOR YOU!" I shouted the last in a proper pitch and wail.
It was working. He was peering at me, perplexed.
I went into Stage Three: convulsive denial.I fell on the floor on my back, I writhed. I beat my heels against the floor in a furious tattoo, simulating an epileptiform seizure.It is that which gets them. The secret is that an epileptiform seizure also occurs in death: the adults fear the child is in the last convulsions of dying. I was watching carefully out of the corner of my eye.
It really was working! He took a long sigh – the textbook response – and rolled his eyes up to heavens.
Stage Four is putting a piece of soap in the mouth and frothingand I had the soap all ready. I was also ready to go into Stage Five which is the simulated death rattle.
I didn't have to!
Heller said, "Oh, for Gods sakes, Soltan! You don't have to put on a phony act! If my not going will get you into trouble with Lombar Hisst, I'll come along!" I had him!
Outside I told the subofficer and guard to stay by the ship. Heller would be gone for the day.
We took off.
Earth psychology works every time! Not as pleasant, of course, as a Bugs Bunny activity. But every bit as effective! Those psychologists and psychiatrists on Earth have it down pat! They can fool the suckers every time! Absolute masters of cold-blooded deception and chicanery!
Satisfyingly cruel, too. Just like my plans for today.
PART ELEVEN
Chapter 1
"Well, well," said Heller as we flew in. "Pausch Hills suburbs. An improvement over the operating rooms of Spiteos." Ske was taking a low approach to the Widow Tayl's estate. "Oh, yes, indeed. I knew what I was doing when I persuaded you. You were very wise to come along. Everything will be just lovely. Nothing but the best." And I pointed out the sign on the gate, Sacred Memorial Hospital Preserved in Memory of My Beloved Husband Too bad, I thought to myself, that we can't bury you the same way. "A specialist doctor, the top of his profession, will take wonderful care of you." You crew-corrupting (bleepard). I smiled. We landed. "Well, here we are and out you get." Prahd was standing way over outside the miniature hospital door. He had a surgical, aseptic mask on. He was holding a glittering pair of forceps in his hand. The sun flashed on the polished metal as he opened and closed them.
Heller jumped down out of the airbus. He took a deep breath of the fragrant, blossom-laden air and stretched. Then he started across the lawn and past the swimming bath toward Bittlestiffender. I could hardly contain my glee: he had taken the bait; I had him!
Over under the blossoming trees, I had not seen the Widow Tayl. She was standing there in the shadows. She had not moved forward. She was just standing there. Her mouth was half-open, her eyes round. She was holding one hand to her breast as though finding it hard to breathe. I thought to myself that she was, unfortunately, really developing a case on me. "Adoration fixation," they call it: the inexplicable attraction of the female for a virile and handsome male. I regretted having this effect on women at the moment. I had other business in mind. I hastened to keep up with Heller.
"Doctor Bittlestiffender," I said. "Here is your . . . patient." I had almost said "meat." I had already briefed young Doctor Prahd Bittlestiffender. But he was a little nervous. Why not? He thought his world would collapse if he failed with this case. He nodded, snap-snipping the instrument in his hand convulsively. He led the way hurriedly inside.
Heller took a brief tour around the room. "Well, well. All the latest and the newest."
"Now, if you will just remove your clothes and lie down on this operating table," said young Doctor Prahd, "we can get on with it."
"I hope so," said Heller. "I've got a lot of things to do at the ship. We're sailing very soon, so ..." His ignorance of espionage and security was awful! He'd be telling Bittlestiffender his life history and right name next! I cut him off. "Then the sooner you do what the doctor says, the quicker it will be over." Heller kicked off his shoes and peeled. He lay down on the operating table.
"Hm," said the young Doctor Prahd, "you are certainly extremely well built. And equipped." It startled me. I glanced to see if there was amour in this young doctor's eyes. But there wasn't. He was just being matter-of-fact professional. And it was true, unfortunately, what he said of Heller. He was a very muscular, well-proportioned athlete and he was very well equipped. I realized Prahd was building patient empathy. Then I realized the compliment had made me a little cross. Other people are well built and equipped, too. Well, not really.
"Doctor," I said, "I want to call your attention to certain deadly identifying marks. Quite disfiguring. And a total catastrophe in our line of work." Prahd was looking and looking. He couldn't see any. And the dumb (bleepard) was about to say so when I firmly pointed at the tiny white scar Lombar's paralysis dagger had made. "That," I said, leaving no room for dispute, "must be taken care of!" I pointed at the end of the right eyebrow. "And thereis the dead giveaway. Stands out like a glaring boil!" Young Doctor Prahd peered and peered and finally saw the faint scar tissue. He shocked me by saying, "He certainly heals well. It would take a magnifying . . ."
"That,"I said hurriedly – my Gods, this doctor was stupid, for I had drilled him well – "is the remains of a bone-deep wound. It was the result of a skull-shattering blow from a primitive stone arrowhead!" Prahd blinked. "A stone arrowhead?" Then both he and Heller had no better sense, at this crucial moment, than to laugh. Heller told the story to him. It seemed they weren't even fighting the primitives and Heller had been curious as to how they held their stockade wall up – it seemed to be floating two feet off the ground – and, as a precaution as he approached it, had drawn his blastgun and a little kid had shot him with a stone-headed arrow. For the life of me, I couldn't see what was so funny about it. Further, I judged he must tell the story differently every time he had a new audience. It didn't make sense. If he had a blastgun in his hand, he could easily have killed the little kid first. So he was lying.