I looked around his office. It was very dirty. There were five tiers of shelves along two walls. They had transparent jars on them, hundreds of transparent jars. Each jar contained something in a discolored fluid. I flinched. They were human brains.
He waved his arm toward them. "My very best customers," he said pleasantly. His voice sounded like it had been greased. "I am sure that we can satisfy your needs." I told him my name was Ip – that being about the commonest name on Voltar. I told him that I had a friend who had a problem and that I wanted some advice for my friend.
He sat me down in a reclining chair. He sat down on a stool beside me.
I told him my friend didn't have any metal bits in him or broken bones and that my friend didn't suffer from battleshock or neurosis. But my friend had had a dreadful thing happen to him: he had tried to draw his gun to shoot in self-defense, only to find his arm and hand refused to obey him. And then less than an hour later it vanished. That my friend was in a dangerous line of work and couldn't afford not to be able to draw his gun and shoot people.
He was very sympathetic. He patted my hand – leaving a smear of grease on it. He got up and went to a closet and came out holding a hypnohelmet. A label had been scratched off the back of the helmet but it could still be read, Stolen from the University of Voltar "I think," he said, "that your friend must have been hypnotized. Just put this helmet on and we'll see if we can't learn more, Citizen Ip." This seemed reasonable. The helmet fit well. He buckled the strap under my chin and turned on the current.
Immediately I could hear his voice like a shadow in the background. He was asking something and my mouth seemed to be answering. I did not pay much attention to it. It went on for a very long time. I seemed to be in other times and other places. My mouth kept on talking.
Then suddenly, just as if it was in this same room, a voice seemed to say, loud and clear: "You are now going to hear some orders. These orders are something over which you have no control.
"Think of the name Jettero Heller. Think of what he looks like.
"The first order is that any time you contemplate hurting or harming Jettero Heller in any way, you will get a sick feeling in your stomach.
"The second order is that if you actively plan or agree to commit physical alteration or damage to Jettero Heller, you will become violently sick at your stomach.
"The third order is, if you plan or connive in hurting Jettero Heller's career, you will have nightmares and a Manco Devil will appear and you will go crazy.
"The fourth order is, if you ever seek to poison or strike or draw a weapon of any kind on Jettero Heller, your arm will instantly experience total paralysis.
"When you awaken I will give you something to read. It will have the word obediencein it. The moment you read that, these orders will go deep into your consciousness and through your body. You will be totally incapable of resisting them and you will obey them utterly from here to eternity.
"You will now forget and banish from consciousness everything I have said to you but it will continue in total effect. Forget, forget! You have no knowledge of where these orders came from. Forget, forget!" The words were brilliantly clear.
Through the visionary fog there was a face. The face of the Countess Krak!
That day in the training room! That day she had cleared everyone out and told me it was an "accent review." The day she had given me that book, afterwards, that had the word obedienceseveral times on the pages.
It was like a sun had supernova'd in my skull!
The hypnohelmet was turned off. I was wide awake.
The Countess Krak!
(Bleep) her! (Bleep) (bleep) her!
She, and she alone, out of some stupid impulse to protect Heller, had consigned me to weeks and weeks of purest Hells! And all because I was just doing my simple, normal duty!
The strange illness that turned on each time I even casually thought of harming Heller! The Manco Devil in the nightmare! The fleeing from the scene to the mountains! The paralysis of my arm! My whole inability to carry out this mission! To even be my normal self!
All was explained!
The effects were gone!
The orders no longer held!
(Bleep) you. Countess Krak!
Aha, you wait and see now what happens to that (bleeped) Heller.
And to you!
Every Hells any planet ever heard of would be a lovely place compared to the Hells you two will be in now!
Chapter 5
For a seething half hour I just sat there.
Gradually I became aware of Doctor Cutswitz. He had let me be. He had removed the hypnohelmet long since and he was sitting over on a bench across the room just watching me. He saw now that I had fully come around.
I wanted to get out of there and get about my business. I reached into my pocket and got out a counterfeit five-credit note. He was no trained cashier. Might as well get him killed off by his friends the bluebottles.
I extended the note.
He smiled. "I am afraid that is not quite enough, Officer Gris." I froze. How could he know my name? I had no identification on me!
"Not five credits," he said pleasantly. "I think five thousand credits would be more accurate." I was thinking fast. "I don't have money like that."
"Oh, I think you could get it. You could give me all you have on you right now. And then give me the rest in installments – say, during the next week."
"You know nothing but my name!"
"Oh, and perhaps a few things more. Like twenty dead Fleet spacers in a dungeon. I think the Fleet would dearly love to know about them." I pretended to sag. Listlessly, I put the riding helmet on and dropped the visor. Then, as though hopeless, I took the rest of the counterfeit money out. I got up and walked over to him. He stood. He reached out his hand.
There was nothing wrong with my arm now and never would be again.
The hand that was extending the money to him did a small jerk.
A ten-inch tri-knife snapped out of my sleeve into my palm.
The (bleeped) fool was still smiling, thinking he had won.
I lunged. Ten inches of steel went through his heart.
Abrupt surprise shot into his eyes. And the knowledge he was dead.
I yanked the knife back, stepping aside. The blade inside him turned into three parts. Guts and a gush of blood rushed out of him, splatting on the floor.
He fell in it face down.
I prodded him. He was dead. Very messily dead.
The bills had flown sideways. I picked them up and wiped the blood stains off the shiny paper by rubbing them on the back of his coat. I put them in my pocket.
Then I ransacked the room and found the recording strips he had made on a hidden machine. I destroyed them.
He had uttered no sound. I had been silent. I went to the door and opened it a crack.
For an instant I thought I saw someone at the lower end of the hall, someone who had abruptly stepped out of sight. A witness?
Footsteps were coming down the hall from the other direction. It was a woman. She was middle-aged. She looked like she worked in this building.
I stepped out in front of her. I was holding the bloody knife. She stopped. I handed it to her hilt first.
"Quick," I said in a low urgent voice. "Take this and run down to the bluebottle station and show them that Doctor Cutswitz has been murdered." She would have screamed. But a low, secret sort of voice prevents that when used right. Her eyes went round and glazed.