The Universe Twister (38 page)

"So—he had a reason! Aren't you curious as to what the reason was?"

"I wonder." Sprawnroyal picked up the ring, held it to his nose, and studied it. "He couldn't've tinkered with it . . .?"

"Nonsense; only a man trained in our shops—" Flimbert broke off. "Now that you mention it, Krupkin
was
trained in our shops . . ."

"Yeah—and he's a top man, microengineeringwise," Sprawnroyal put in. "Cripes, but—could the guy have had a angle he was working?"

The security chief whipped out a jewelers' loupe, examined the ring.

"Just as I thought," he said crisply. "Tool marks." He laid the ring aside, poked a button on his desk. "Security to lab," he barked.

"Pinchcraft here," a testy voice responded. "What do you want, I'm in the midst of a delicate operation."

"Oh—the gnat-borne miniaturized-TV-camera project?"

"No, I was fishing the olive out of my martini with a paper straw. I almost had it when you made me jiggle it!"

"Forget the olive; I'm on my way down with a little item I want you to take a look at before I carry out the death sentence on a spy!"

The laboratory was a rough-hewn cavern crowded with apparatus as complex and incomprehensible to O'Leary as a Chinese joke book. They found the research boss perched on a high stool before a formica-topped bench poking at a glittering construction of coils and loops of glass tubing through which pink and green and yellow fluids bubbled, violet vapors curled.

Security Chief Flimbert handed over the ring. The research chief spun on his stool, snapped on a powerful light, flipped out a magnifying lens, bent over the ring.

"A-ha," he said. "Seal's broken." He pursed his lips, gave O'Leary a sharp look. With a needle-pointed instrument, he prodded the bezel of the ruby, flipped open a tiny cover, revealing an interior hollow packed with intricate components.

"Well, well," he said. "Haven't we been a busy boy?" He put the ring down and quickly placed an empty coffee cup over it.

"Find somethin'?" Roy asked anxiously.

"Nothing much—just that the entire device has been rewired," Pinchcraft snapped. "It's been rigged to act as a spy-eye." He glared at O'Leary. "What did you hope to learn? Our trade secrets? They're freely available to the public: hard work and common sense."

"Don't look at me," O'Leary said. "I haven't tampered with it."

"Uh—the ring was made up for Prince Krupkin," Roy pointed out.

"Krupkin, eh? Never did trust that jumped-up jack-in-office. Sneaky eyes."

"Yeah—but Slim here says he didn't get the bauble from Krupkin. He claims it was given to him by Duke Rodolpho."

"Nonsense. I remember this order now: I designed the circuits myself, in accordance with Krupkin's specs. Yes, and now I see why he insisted there be no modifications! The thing was shrewdly designed for easy conversion. All he had to do was switch the A wire to ground, the B wire to contact A, the C wire to contact D, reverse wires D and E, shunt wire F off to resistance X, and throw in the odd little black box. Nothing to it."

"I still got it from Rodolpho," Lafayette said hotly. "He gave it to me as a safe-conduct for a mission I undertook for him."

"You'll have to think up a better story," Flimbert said. "That ring wouldn't get you through a schoolboy patrol line."

"Say," Roy put in, "maybe he meant to give you the ducal signet—I saw him wearing it when we were dickering. It's got a ruby, too, with a big RR carved on it. Maybe he grabbed the wrong one. How was the light?"

"Wet, as I recall," Lafayette said. "Look, gentlemen, we're wasting time. Now that the misunderstanding is cleared up, if I could have my clothes back, I'll be on my way—"

"Not so fast, you!" Pinchcraft said. "We have methods of dealing with those who renege on the solemn fine print in a contract!"

"Then see Krupkin, he's the one who signed it."

"He has a point," Pinchcraft said. "Krupkin, as contracting party, is ultimately responsible. This fellow is merely an accessory."

"What's the penalty for that?"

"Much less severe," Flimbert said grudgingly. "Only one hundred years on the treadmill."

"Hey, that's a break, hey, Slim?" Roy congratulated him.

"I'm overwhelmed," Lafayette said. "Look, fellows, couldn't we work something out? A suspended sentence, maybe?"

"Hey, maybe we could give him a feat to perform," Roy proposed. "We got a couple lines of hand-painted neckties that ain't been moving. Maybe he could go on the road with 'em—"

"This is all wrong!" O'Leary protested. "Krupkin is the one behind this—I'm just an innocent bystander. And I think he's also behind the Lady Andragorre's kidnapping."

"That's no concern of ours."

"Maybe not—but I thought you had dire penalties for anybody who tinkered with your products."

"Hmmm." Flimbert fingered his nose. "We do, at that."

"Listen," O'Leary said urgently. "If Krupkin could convert a personal signaler to a spy-eye, why couldn't you rewire the ring to reverse the action?"

"Eh?"

"Rig it so that instead of relaying sounds from the vicinity of the ring back to Krupkin, it would transmit sounds from Krupkin to you."

Pinchcraft frowned. "Possibly. Possibly." He signaled for silence, lifted the cup. Holding the ring in the light, he went to work. The others watched silently as he probed inside the case, murmuring " . . . wire B to Contact D . . . conductor E to remitter X . . . red . . . blue . . . green . . ." After ten minutes, he said "Ha!," closed the back of the ring, and held it to his ear. He smiled broadly.

"I can hear him," he said. "No doubt this ring is tuned to its twin, which Krupkin keeps on his person." He handed the ring to Flimbert.

"Ummm. That's his voice, all right."

"Well—what's he saying?" O'Leary demanded.

"He's singing. Something about a road to Mandalay."

"Let me listen." Flimbert gave him the ring; he held it to his ear: " . . .
Bloomin' idol made of mu-ud . . . what they called the great god Buddd
 . . ." The words came indistinctly through the sound of running water. Lafayette frowned. The voice seemed to have a half-familiar note. Abruptly, the singing cut off. Lafayette heard a faint tapping, followed by a muttered curse, footsteps, the sound of a door opening.

"Well?" the voice that had been singing said testily.

"Highness . . . the pris—that is to say, your guest declines to join you for breakfast—with, ah, appropriate apologies, of course."

"Blast the wench, can't she see I'm trying to make her comfortable, nothing more? And don't bother lying to me, Haunch. That little baggage doesn't know the meaning of the word 'apology.' She's done nothing but stamp her foot and make demands since the moment she arrived. I tell you, there are times when I wonder if it's worth all the maneuvering involved, trying to set up shop as a benevolent despot."

"Shall I, er, convey your Highness's invitation to lunch?"

"Don't bother, just see that she has whatever she wants served in her room. Keep her as content as possible. I don't want her developing frown lines or chapped knuckles while in my care."

"Of course, Highness." Footsteps, a closing door; a few bars of under-the-breath whistling; then sudden silence, with heavy breathing.

"Damn!" the voice muttered. "Could those little—?" The voice broke off. There were loud, rasping sounds, then a dull
clunk!
followed by total silence.

"Oh-oh," Lafayette said. "He's stopped transmitting."

The others listened in turn. "He must have realized something was amiss," Pinchcraft said. "Probably stuffed the ring in a box and closed the lid. So much for counterintelligence."

"Too bad," O'Leary said brightly. "Just as it was getting interesting."

"Yes; well, let's be going, fellow," Flimbert said. "The treadmill is waiting."

"Well—good-bye, Roy," O'Leary said. "I wouldn't want to default on my debt to society, of course—but I certainly will hate missing all the excitement."

"Oh, life around the Ajax Works is pretty quiet, Slim; you won't be missing much."

"Just the invasion," Lafayette said. "It ought to be quite spectacular when Krupkin arrives with his army, navy, and air force."

"What's that?" Flimbert snapped. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh—I forgot I was the only one who heard him. But never mind. Maybe he was only fooling."

"Who?"

"Prince Krupkin. He was closeted with his War Cabinet, laying on the strategy for the takeover. He cut off just as he was about to announce the timetable for the three-pronged assault."

"Nonsense! Krupkin wouldn't attack Ajax!"

"Probably not. Just his idea of a joke. Of course, he didn't know we were listening—but then maybe he's an eccentric and was just reading off logistical schedules for the fun of it."

"He couldn't be so base as to use our own equipment against us?" Flimbert inquired, aghast.

"I wouldn't put it past him!" Pinchcraft said.

"Well, I'd better get started treading that mill," Lafayette said. "You gentlemen will be pretty busy for the next twenty-four hours, I suppose, making out wills and burying your valuables—"

"Just a moment. What else did he say? When does he plan to hit us? How many troops has he under arms? What will his primary objectives be? What kind of armaments—"

"Sorry, that was the part he was just coming to."

"Drat it! Why couldn't we have tuned in sooner!"

"Look here—can't you rig up something else, Pinchcraft?" Flimbert demanded. "We have to know what's going on over there!"

"Not without a pickup planted at that end, I can't."

"What about sending over a robot bird to scatter a few bugs around the premises?"

"Useless. The range on these micro-micro jobs is very short. The pickup has to be planted on or near the person of the subject to do us any good."

"We'll have to send a man in."

"Nonsense. None of our boys are as tall as those beanpoles; anyone we sent would be spotted instantly. Unless—"

All eyes turned to O'Leary.

"What, me stick my head in the lion's den?" he said with raised eyebrows. "Not a chance. I'm on my way to a nice, safe treadmill, remember?"

"Now, now, my boy," Flimbert said with a smile like the father of a pauper's bride, "don't worry about the treadmill. You can always serve out your sentence after you get back—"

"Forget the sentence," Pinchcraft said. "This is more important. Don't you want to do your bit, fellow, to assist the forces of righteousness?"

"What have the forces of righteousness done for me lately?" O'Leary inquired rhetorically. "No, thanks, men, you can just carry on without me as you did before I came along."

"See here, Slim," Roy said. "I didn't think you were the kind of fellow who'd let the side down when the pinch came."

"The pinch came half an hour ago, remember? You did the pinching."

"Sir," Pinchcraft spoke up, "we appeal to your nobler instincts! Assist us now, and earn our undying gratitude!"

O'Leary patted back a yawn. "Thanks—I'm overstocked on gratitude."

"Possibly some more negotiable form of payment . . .?" Flimbert suggested.

O'Leary raised an eyebrow, pursed his lips.

"You'll have the best equipment from our labs," Pinchcraft said quickly. "I'm just finishing up a blackout cloak in your size, as it happens, and—"

"We'll drop you onto a balcony on the main turret of the Glass Tree on a fast one-place rug," Flimbert chimed in. "The trip won't take an hour."

"Are you out of your minds?" O'Leary demanded. "My only chance would be to sneak up after dark and try for an unlocked door."

"Not with this on!" Pinchcraft hopped from his stool, grabbed up a long, red-lined green-velvet cape from a worktable, and swirled it around himself. The heavy fabric whirled, shimmered—and disappeared, along with the small technician.

"Huh?" O'Leary said.

"Not bad, eh?" Pinchcraft's voice spoke from the emptiness where he had stood a moment before.

"M-magic?" Lafayette stuttered.

"Nonsense. Electronics." Pinchcraft's face appeared, framed by nothingness. "Well, how about it?"

O'Leary forced the astounded look from his face.

"Well—I
might
go," he said, "provided you make that a two-man rug."

"Whatever you want, Slim," Roy spoke up. "For a volunteer hero like you, nothing but the best!"

"Don't worry, we'll get you in," Pinchcraft said.

"And out again?" O'Leary countered.

"One thing at a time," Flimbert said. "Come along, fellow, let's get you fitted out. I want you inside the Glass Tree by sundown."

It was late afternoon, Lafayette saw, when Sprawnroyal led him along a twisting passage to a double door opening on a tiny balcony overlooking the vast sweep of the valley below.

"Now, you want to be careful of the carpet, Slim," the Customer Relations man said as he rolled out the six-by-eight-foot rectangle of what looked like ordinary dark-blue Wilton carpet. "The circuits are tuned to your personal emanations, so nobody can hijack her. She's voice-operated, so be careful what you say. And remember, there's no railings, so watch those banked turns. The coordination's built in, naturally, but if you're careless—well, keep in mind you've got no parachute."

"That's all very encouraging," Lafayette said, adjusting the hang of the blackout cloak and fighting down a quivering sensation in his stomach. "With all this gear Pinchcraft loaded on me, I feel as maneuverable as a garbage scow."

"Frankly, he sees this as a swell chance to field-test a lot of the offbeat items he and his boys cook up on those long winter nights. Like the sneeze generator: top management wouldn't let him call for volunteers, even. And the flatwalker: it's a dandy idea, but if it doesn't work—
blooie!
There goes your research worker and a big chunk of lab."

"Fill me in with a little more data, and the flight is off," O'Leary said. "Just point me in the right direction before common sense overwhelms my instinct for making mistakes."

"Just steer due west, Slim. You can't miss it."

"You'd be amazed at some of the things I've missed," Lafayette said. "By the way, my name's not really Slim, you know. It's Lafayette O'Leary."