Starhaven

Chapter X

“I want you to do the impossible for me,” Thurdan had told him. And, Mantell reflected soberly, that was pretty close to the truth.

He stood silently looking down at the huge man in the relaxing cradle who had built Starhaven. The personal defense screen was the goal of every defense outfit and of every planet in the galaxy, but so far even the basic working principles had eluded everyone’s grasp. The problem was a horribly complex one: there had to be an arrangement which would selectively block off blaster energy while still admitting air, and although this could be accomplished within the realm of technological possibility, there were all the additional fillips that made the thing impossible. The unit had to be made small enough for a man to carry it about with him; then there was the necessity of somehow grounding the diverted energy, as well as providing for a steady and unstoppable power flow.

And, Mantell thought, even if all these problems were to be solved, such a screen would be useless. Round and round, and no answer without new problems. If a screen could be devised that was portable and efficient, as a perfect defense against energy weapons, its only effect would be to make energy weapons obsolete. Then, perhaps, the old, crude weapons of the ancient past would be reborn. And if so, there would be the problem of how to devise a screen that would block off knives and bullets and acid and still not cut off air and food.

“Well?” Thurdan said.

“You hit the nail square,” Mantell said. “A screen like that is damned close to being an impossibility.”

“So was building Starhaven,” Thurdan shot back immediately. “But I built it! I don’t know a damned thing about electronics, but I found men who did know. I found the best men in their fields, and they laughed when I showed them my rough plans for Starhaven. But I didn’t listen to them. I told them to go ahead and do what I was paying them to do. I never take ‘impossibles’ for answers, Mantell.”

Mantell shrugged. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t try. I’m just not promising delivery until I know I can do it.”

“Fair enough,” Thurdan said. “Don’t promise anything. Just deliver. I don’t want to die, Johnny.”

Mantell caught the undertone in Thurdan’s voice as he spoke the last words, and it was a startling revelation of the big man’s character. For behind the bold voice, the resounding tones of command, there lay fear of the unknown, of death, just as in every other human being. Ben Thurdan didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to lose the world and private empire that he had planned and brought into being.

Well, Mantell considered, you can’t blame him for that.

“There’s one other thing I want to talk about, Mantell.” The fear was gone from Thurdan’s voice. “It’s the matter of Miss Butler.”

Mantell tensed. “What does she—?”

“I asked her to accompany you around during your first few days on Starhaven, Johnny. To help you out until you got your footing here, you understand. But right now, let’s avoid any future conflict by getting things clear at the beginning. Myra isn’t available. I’m marrying her just as soon as I get this problem solved.”

“I—I never—” Mantell stammered.

“You never—what?” Thurdan snapped. “You called her place at three o’clock the other morning. I don’t know what you had to say to her at three o’clock in the morning, but I can pretty well guess. So keep your hands off. There are plenty of women on Starhaven, and if you’re interested, I’ll see that you have your pick. But you don’t have Myra!”

Mantell met Thurdan’s eyes, and flinched. There wasn’t any arguing with the strength he saw there. If Thurban had kept tabs on him to the extent of monitoring his phone, then lying to him was pointless. Even possibly suicidal.

He said, “Thanks for warning me, Ben. I wouldn’t want to cross you.”

“No,” Thurdan said quietly. “It wouldn’t be wise even to consider it.”

Mantel! spent another hour listening to Thurdan daydream out loud about Starhaven. Thurdan showed him a small room not far from his which was to be Mantell’s office, introduced him to three or four lab workers, technicians and scientists who would be responsible to him and who would supply him with any materials he might need in his research. As a last item, Thurdan handed him five hundred chips as pocket money, by way of a starting salary.

“From now on you’ll draw your pay off the standard payroll here,” Thurdan told him. “You’ll be getting five hundred a week. That ought to keep you comfortable for a while.”

“I imagine I can manage on five hundred. I scrounged for pennies for seven years.”

Thurdan smiled grimly. “The penny-scrounging days are all done with now, Mantell. This is Starhaven. Things are different here.”

They returned to the roof landing stage, boarded the waiting aircab, and Thurdan drove him back to the center of the city. Mantell watched the big broad-shouldered figure vanish into the doorway of his office. Then he turned and walked away.

He was thinking of Myra.

It was funny, Mantell reflected. From now on he would be getting five hundred a week, and for that he was supposed to figure out a way of preserving Ben Thurdan’s life. But so long as Thurdan lived, Myra was his.

As Mantell stood there considering that, she came out of another office on the floor. They nearly collided. Backing off, they laughed.

“Hello, Johnny,” she said—a little coolly, he felt. “I thought you were out in the control tower with Mr. Thurdan.”

“I was. We just got back five minutes ago. He’s in his office.”

“Oh. I’ll have to see him, then. Some urgent messages—”

She started away, but before she had taken three steps Mantell strode after her and caught her by the arm. Then he remembered that hidden photon-absorbers in the ceiling were probably soaking up every bit of this scene. Or perhaps Thurdan was watching it directly. He was as close to omniscient as a human being could be.

“What is it, Johnny?”

Mantell hesitated. “I—I just wanted to say so long, that’s all. I suppose I won’t be seeing much of you, now that—now that I’ll be working at the tower. My week of loafing is all used up.” His voice came haltingly; he was sure she knew what he was trying to say. Thurdan had probably warned her to keep away from him, too. Thurdan never missed his bets.

“Sure, Johnny. It was swell,” she said.

She disengaged her hand from his grasp gently but emphatically, turned on a wholly mechanical and unconvincing smile, then clicked it off again like the closing of a camera shutter. She walked through the faintly glowing barrier-beam into Thurdan’s office. Mantell stood looking after her. He shook his head and turned away.

He gravshafted downstairs, caught a passing cab and drove to his hotel room. As he entered the lobby of Number Thirteen, the robot attendant that guarded the place slid forward holding out a package.

“Mr. Mantell, this just came for you. It was delivered by special courier.”

“Thanks,” Mantell said abstractedly. He took the package and made his way to the lift tube. The package was bound in a plain plastic wrapper; it was about the size of a book. He frowned, wondering who might be sending him books.

Upstairs he threw the package on the bed, depolarized the window, stared out at Starhaven, stared up at the synthetic sky and at the synthetic sun, and at the synthetic clouds circling under the metal skin.

Starhaven, he thought. Property of Ben Thurdan, Esq., lord and master of a world of fugitives. And Mantell was the hope he had to avoid death.

Mantell tried to picture Starhaven without Thurdan. The entire planet revolved around his whims; he was an absolute monarch, even though an enlightened one. The social system he had evolved here worked—though whether or not it would work with any other man at its helm was a highly debatable point.

And what would happen if Thurdan died? Probably the whole delicate fabric of the Starhaven system would come tumbling in chaotically on itself, ending a unique experiment in political theory. It was easy to foresee a mad scramble for power; the man who grabbed possession of the control tower would rule unchallenged— until another assassin struck him down.

Suddenly Mantell went cold all over. If anybody were to gain control of that tower, it would be John Mantell! His research laboratory was close to the central control room, and it was safe to consider that he would become a close associate of Thurdan during the course of his work.

New, strange ideas occurred to him.

After a while he turned away from the window and glanced at the package lying forgotten on his bed. He snatched it up and held it to his ear. There was no sound of a mechanism within. Cautiously, he opened it.

It had felt like a book, and it was a book—the old-fashioned bound land, not a tape. Inscribed in dark letters on its jacket was its title: A Study of Hydrogen —Breathing Life in the Spica System.

Some land of joke? he wondered. He opened the book to the title page.

A folded slip of paper lay nestling between the flyleaf and the title page. Mantell frowned and drew it out, unfolded it, read it.

A moment later the slip flared heatlessly in his hand, became an ash, and was gone, drawn quickly into the circulating system of the room along with all other molecule-sized fragments of debris that happened to be in the air.

It had been a very interesting message, printed in square anonymous vocotype capitals, standard model. It said: