“Come now, Ratman. I was suspicious yesterday when I saw the way you gave Houghton's computer a going over and this morning's revelation confirmed it. Why deny it?”
Orz shrugged. “O.K., I occasionally do some snooping for the Federation.”
“How did you get on to me?” Lesno asked earnestly. “I thought I had a foolproof arrangement.”
“Well, I wasn't sure, but Houghton's centralized setup started me on a new approach. I figured that if one man could centralize his computers, another could decentralize a subspace transmitter. Then it struck me that you'd have to take the transmitter apart in order to sneak it into town. And since it was already in pieces, why not leave it that way? At least that's what I would have done. So the next thing to do was to look for the man with the slightly larger computers. You fit the bill.”
“But how did you manage to tear the place apart?”
“That was easy. If you could go back to that warehouse now, you'd find a tiny, high-frequency labeler attached to the door. I have a number of vandal rats trained to be specialists in making a mess out of a building. The labeler told them where to go to work.”
Shaking his head in admiration, Lesno remarked, “You should be working for us.”
“But I don't want a restructured Federation,” Orz replied. “I sort of like it the way it is.”
“But there are such inequalities in the galaxy! Some planets are drowning in their surpluses while other planets are starving, and the Federation does nothing.”
“The Federation doesn't think such matters are within its scope.”
“They will be when we win,” he replied righteously.
Orz knew argument was futile and allowed a shrug to be his only reply. Once on the ship, it was evident to Orz that Lesno knew his way around freighters. He retracted the ramp, secured the hatch, and then followed Orz to the bridge.
He gestured to the extra seat. “You just sit there and keep out of the way, Mr. Ratman, and you won't get hurt. I'm not a murderer. If all goes well, I'll drop you off at the first neutral port we reach. But I won't hesitate to shoot you if you try anything.”
“Don't worry,” Orz told him. “My mission was to stop you, not capture you. I really don't care if you get away.”
Lesno's eyes narrowed. This lack of chauvinism did not fit his conception of a Fed man. Something was up. His suspicions were reinforced when he found the console inoperable.
“Where's the lock?” he demanded.
Orz pointed across the room. “By the speaker.” But Lesno made no move. Instead his eyes roved the room until they came to rest on the red lever. His face creased into a smile.
“You didn't think anyone would be fooled by that, did you?”
Orz nearly leaped from his seat as the Restructurist reached for the lever. “Don't touch that!”
“Sit down!” Lesno warned, pointing the gun at Orz's chest. “I told you before, I'm not a killer but-”
“I know you're not.” Orz said frantically. “Neither am I. That's why you've got to leave that lever alone!”
Lesno merely smiled and kept him covered while he released the first two safety catches. “Listen to me, Lesno! That lever sets off a special tone stimulus and releases every one of my rats! They've all been trained to attack anyone and everyone but me when they hear that tone…I installed it for use in a situation when it was either kill or be killed! This is not one of those situations!”
Lesno was having some trouble with the third catch, but it finally yielded. “A good try, Ratman,” he said and, ignoring Orz's cry of protest, pulled the lever.
Faintly, from far down the corridor, came a metallic clang. A loud, wailing tone filled the ship. Lesno paled and turned anxiously toward his captive.
“Why didn't you listen to me, you fool!” Orz yelled.
Lesno suddenly believed. Horror-stricken, he began to push and pull the lever back and forth but with no effect. He was still working at it when the squealing, gray-brown carpet swept through the door.
Orz turned away and tried unsuccessfully to block out the screams and sickening sounds of carnage that filled the bridge. He had trained the rats too well…there would be no stopping them.
And when all was quiet again, Orz congratulated himself on having kept his stomach in place. But then 62 leaped up to his accustomed spot on his shoulder and began with great contentment to clean his reddened claws and jowls.
ONLY JESSICA CAME to see him off. Orz had cleaned up the rat problem and the people were appreciative, but they had either seen the corpse that had been removed from his ship, or they had heard about it. It hadn't been easy to identify it as Aaron Lesno.
“I see the red lever's been removed,” Jessica remarked. She hadn't been near the ship since the incident.
Orz avoided her gaze. “Yeah. I took it out…can't quite look at it.” He changed the subject abruptly. “Well, now that this thing's been cleared up, what'll you be doing with yourself?”
“I've no intention of settling down and becoming a good Neekan citizen, you can be sure of that,” she replied. “I'm putting in for an assignment as soon as possible. There's too much going on out there for me to get tucked away on this rock.”
Orz smiled for the first time in several days. “That's funny. I was thinking of taking on an assistant. This business is getting a little too complicated for me to handle alone.”
He paused as Jessica waited eagerly.
“You like rats?” he asked.
LIPIDLEGGIN’
Butter. I can name a man's poison at fifty paces. I take one look at this guy as he walks in and say to myself, “Butter.” He steps carefully, like there's something sticky on the soles of his shoes. Maybe there is, but I figure he moves like that because he's on unfamiliar ground. Never seen his face before and I know just about everybody around.
It's early yet. I just opened the store and Gabe's the only other guy on the buying side of the counter, only he ain't buying. He's waiting in the corner by the checkerboard and I'm just about to go join him when the new guy comes in. It's wet out-not raining, really, just wet like it only gets up here near the Water Gap-and he's wearing a slicker. Underneath that he seems to have a stocky build and is average height. He's got no beard and his eyes are blue with a watery look. Could be from anywhere until he takes off the hat and I see his hair. It's dark brown and he's got it cut in one of those soup-bowl styles that're big in the city.
Gabe gives me an annoyed look as I step back behind the counter, but I ignore him. His last name is Varadi-sounds Italian but it's Hungarian-and he's got plenty of time on his hands. Used to be a Ph.D. in a philosophy department at some university in Upstate New York till they cut the department in half and gave him his walking papers, tenure and all. Now he does part-time labor at one of the mills when they need a little extra help, which ain't near as often as he'd like.
About as poor as you can get, that Gabe. The government giraffes take a big chunk of what little he earns and leave him near nothing to live on. So he goes down to the welfare office where the local giraffes give him food stamps and rent vouchers so he can get by on what the first group of giraffes left him. If you can figure that one out…
Anyway, Gabe's got a lot of time on his hands, like I said, and he hangs out here and plays checkers with me when things are slow. He'd rather play chess, I know, but I can't stand the game. Nothing happens for too long and I get impatient and try to break the game open with some wild gamble. And I always lose. So we play checkers or we don't play.
The new guy puts his hat on the counter and glances around. He looks uneasy. I know what's coming but I'm not going to help him out. There's a little dance we've got to do first.