4. Counglman Accused!
Bigman's eyes sparkled. "It's never too late once Lucky gets going. Where do we start, Lucky?"
Lucky said quietly, "With Lou Evans. I've been waiting for you to mention him, Dr. Morriss."
Morriss's eyebrows drew together; his plump face contracted into a frown. "You're his friend. You want to defend him, I know. It's not a pleasant story. It wouldn't be if it involved any councilman at all-but a friend at that."
Lucky said, "I am not acting out of sentiment only, Dr. Morriss. I knew Lou Evans as well as one man can know another. I know he is incapable of doing anything to harm the Council or Earth."
"Then listen, and judge for yourself. For most of Evans's tour of duty here on Venus, he accomplished nothing. A 'trouble shooter' they called him, which is a pretty word but means nothing."
"No offense, Dr. Morriss, but did you resent his arrival?"
"No, of course not. I just saw no point in it. We here have grown old on Venus. We have the experience. What do they expect a youngster, new from Earth, to accomplish?"
"A fresh approach is helpful sometimes."
"Nonsense. I tell you, Lucky, the trouble is that Earth headquarters don't consider our problem important. Their purpose in sending Evans was to have him give it a quick glance, whitewash it, and return to tell them it was nothing."
"I know the Council on Earth better than that. You do, too."
But the grumbling Venusian went on. "Anyway, three weeks ago, this man Evans asked to see some of the classified data concerning yeast-strain growth. The men in the industry objected."
"Objected?" said Lucky. "It was a councilman's request."
"True, but yeast-strain men are secretive. You don't make requests like that. Even councilmen don't. They asked Evans why he wanted the information. He refused to tell them. They forwarded his request to me, and I quashed it."
"On what grounds?" demanded Lucky.
"He wouldn't tell me his reasons either, and while I'm senior councilman on Venus, nobody in my organization will have secrets from me. But your friend Lou Evans then did something I had not expected. He stole the data. He used his position as councilman to get inside a restricted area in the yeast-research plants, and he left with microfilms inside his boot."
"Surely he had a good reason."
"He did," said Morriss, "he did. The microfilms dealt with the nutrient formulas required for the nourishment of a new and very tricky strain of yeast. Two days later a workman making up one component of that mixture introduced a trace of mercury salt. The yeast died, and six months' work was ruined. The workman swore he'd done no such thing, but he had. Our psychiatrists psychoprobed him. By now, you see, we had a pretty good notion of what to expect. He'd had a blackout period. The enemy still hasn't stolen the strain of yeast, but they're getting closer. Right?"
Lucky's brown eyes were hard. "I can see the obvious theory. Lou Evans had deserted to the enemy, whoever he is."
"Sirians," blurted Morriss. "I'm sure of it."
"Maybe," admitted Lucky. The inhabitants of the planets of Sirius had, for centuries now, been Earth's most fervent enemies. It was easy to blame them. "Maybe. Lou Evans deserted to them, let us say, and agreed to get data for them that would enable them to start trouble inside the yeast factories. Little, troubles at first, which would pave the way for larger troubles."
"Yes, that's my theory. Can you propose any other? "Couldn't Councilman Evans himself be under mental domination?"
"Not likely, Lucky. We have many cases in our files now. No one who has suffered from mental domination has blacked out for longer than half an hour, and all gave clear indication under the psychoprobe of periods of total amnesia. Evans would have had to be under mental domination for two days to have done what he did, and he gave no signs of amnesia."
"He was examined?"
"He certainly was. When a man is found with classified material in his possession-caught in the act, as it were-steps have to be taken. I wouldn't care if he were a hundred times a councilman. He was examined, and I, personally, put him on probation. When he broke it to send some message on his own equipment, we tapped his scrambler and made sure he'd do it no more-or, at least, not without our intercepting whatever he sent or received. The message he sent you was his last. We're through playing with him. He's under confinement now. I'm preparing my report for central headquarters, a thing I should have done before this, and I'm requesting his removal from office and trial for corruption, or, perhaps, for treason."
"Before you do that..." said Lucky.
"Yes?"
"Let me speak to him."
Morriss rose, smiling ironically. "You wish to? Certainly. I'll take you to him. He's in this building. In fact, I'd like to have you hear his defense."
They passed up a ramp, quiet guards snapping to attention and saluting.
Bigman stared at them curiously. "Is this a prison or what?"
"It's a kind of prison on these levels," said Morriss. "We make buildings serve many purposes on Venus."
They stepped into a small room, and suddenly, quite without warning, Bigman burst into loud laughter.
Lucky, unable to repress a smile, said, "What's the matter, Bigman?"
"No-nothing much," panted the little fellow, his eyes moist. "It's just that you look so funny, Lucky, standing there with your bare upper lip hanging out. After all those mustaches I've been watching, you look deformed. You look as though someone had taken a whiffgun and blown off the mustache you should have had."
Morriss smiled at that and brushed his own grizzled mustache with the back of his hand, self-consciously and a little proudly.
Lucky's smile expanded. "Funny," he said, "I was thinking exactly the same about you, Bigman."
Morriss said, "We'll wait here. They're bringing Evans now." His finger moved away from a small pushbutton signal.
Lucky looked about the room. It was smaller than Morriss's own room, more impersonal. Its only furniture consisted of several upholstered chairs plus a sofa, a low table in the center of the room, and two higher tables near the false windows. Behind each of the false windows was a cleverly done seascape. On one of the two high tables was an aquarium; on the other, two dishes, one containing small dried peas and the other, a black, greasy substance.
Bigman's eyes automatically started following Lucky's about the room.
He said, suddenly, "Say, Lucky, what's this?
He half-ran to the aquarium, bending low, peering into its depths. "Look at it, will you?"
"It's just one of the pet V-frogs the men keep about here," said Morriss. "It's a rather good specimen. Haven't you ever seen one?"
"No," said Lucky. He joined Bigman at the aquarium, which was two feet square and about three feet deep. The water in it was criss-crossed with feathery fronds of weed.
Bigman said, "It doesn't bite or anything, does it?" He was stirring the water with a forefinger and bending close to peer inside.
Lucky's head came down next to Bigman's. The V-frog stared back at them solemnly. It was a little creature, perhaps eight inches long, with a triangular head into which two bulging black eyes were set. It rested on six little padded feet drawn up close to its body. Each foot had three long toes in front and one behind. Its skin was green and froglike, and there were frilly fins, which vibrated rapidly, running down the center line of its back. In place of a mouth it had a beak, strong, curved and parrotlike.
As Lucky and Bigman watched, the V-frog started rising in the water. Its feet remained on the floor of the aquarium, but its legs stretched out like extendible stilts, as its numerous leg joints straightened. It stopped rising just as its head was about to pierce the surface.
Morriss, who had joined them and was staring fondly at the little beast, said, "It doesn't like to get out of the water. Too much oxygen in the air. They enjoy oxygen, but only in moderation. They're mild, pleasant little things."
Bigman was delighted. There was virtually no native animal life on Mars, and living creatures of this sort were a real novelty to him.
"Where do they live?" he asked.
Morriss put a finger down into the water and stroked the V-frog's head. The V-frog permitted it, closing its dark eyes in spasmodic motions that might have meant delight, for all they could guess.
Morriss said, "They congregate in the seaweed in fairly large numbers. They move around in it as though it were a forest. Their long toes can hold individual stems, and their beaks can tear the toughest fronds. They could probably make a mean dent in a man's finger, but I've never known one of them to bite. I'm amazed you haven't seen one yet. The hotel has a whole collection of them, real family groups, on display. You haven't seen it?"
"We've scarcely had the chance," said Lucky dryly.
Bigman stepped quickly to the other table, picked up a pea, dipped it into the black grease, and brought it back. He held it out temptingly, and with infinite care the V-frog's beak thrust out of the water and took the morsel from Bigman's fingers. Bigman crowed his delight;
"Did you see that?" he demanded.
Morriss smiled fondly, as though at the tricks of a child. "The little imp. They'll eat that all day. Look at him gobble it."
The V-frog was crunching away. A small black droplet leaked out of one side of its beak, and at once the little creature's legs folded up again as it moved down through the water. The beak opened and the little black droplet was caught.
"What is the stuff?" asked Lucky.
"Peas dipped in axle grease," said Morriss. "Grease is a great delicacy for them, like sugar for us. They hardly ever find pure hydrocarbon in their natural habitat. They love it so, I wouldn't be surprised if they let themselves be captured just to get it."
"How are they captured, by the way?"
"Why, when the seaweed trawlers gather up their seaweed, there are always V-frogs collected with it. Other animals, too."
Bigman was saying eagerly, "Hey, Lucky, let's you and I get one..."
He was interrupted by a pair of guards, who entered stiffly. Between them stood a lanky, blond young man.
Lucky sprang to his feet. "Lou! Lou, old man!" He held out his hand, smiling.
For a moment it seemed as though the other might respond. A flicker of joy rose to the newcomer's eyes.
It faded quickly. His arms remained stiffly and coldly at his side. He said flatly, "Hello, Starr."
Lucky's hand dropped reluctantly. He said, "I haven't seen you since we graduated." He paused. What could one say next to an old friend?
The blond councilman seemed aware of the incongruity of the situation. Nodding curtly to the flanking guards, he said with macabre humor, "There've been some changes made since then." Then, with a spasmodic tightening of his thin lips, he went on, "Why did you come? Why didn't you stay away? I asked you to."
"I can't stay away when a friend's in trouble, Lou."
"Wait till your help is asked for."
Morriss said, "I think you're wasting your time, Lucky. You're thinking of him as a councilman. I suggest that he's a renegade."
The plump Venusian said the word through clenched teeth, bringing it down like a lash. Evans reddened slowly but said nothing.
Lucky said, "I'll need proof to the last atom before I admit any such word in connection with Councilman Evans." His voice came down hard on the word "councilman."
Lucky sat down. For a long moment he regarded his friend soberly, and Evans looked away.
Lucky said, "Dr. Morriss, ask the guards to leave. I will be responsible for Evans's security."
Morriss lifted an eyebrow at Lucky, then after an instant's thought, gestured to the guards.
Lucky said, "If you don't mind, Bigman, just step into the next room, will you?"
Bigman nodded and left.
Lucky said gently, "Lou, there are only three of us here now. You, I, Dr. Morriss; that's all. Three men of the Council of Science. Suppose we start fresh. Did you remove classified data concerning yeast manufacture from their place in the files?"
Lou Evans said, "I did."
"Then you must have had a reason. What was it?"
"Now look. I stole the papers. I say stole. I admit that much. What more do you want? I had no reason for doing it. I just did it. Now drop it. Get away from me. Leave me alone." His lips were trembling.
Morriss said, "You wanted to hear his defense, Lucky. That's it. He has none."
Lucky said, "I suppose you know that there was an accident inside the yeast plants, shortly after you took those papers, involving just the strain of yeast the papers dealt with."
"I know all that," said Evans.
"How do you explain it?"
"I have no explanation."
Lucky was watching Evans closely, searching for some sign of the good-natured, fun-loving, steel-nerved youth he remembered so well at the academy. Except for a new mustache, grown according to Venusian fashion, the man Lucky saw now resembled the memory as far as mere physical appearance was concerned. The same long-boned limbs, the blond hair cut short, the angular, pointed chin, the flat-bellied, athletic body. But otherwise? Evans's eyes moved restlessly from spot to spot; his lips quivered dryly; his fingernails were bitten and ragged.
Lucky struggled with himself before he could put the next blunt question. It was a friend he was talking to, a man he had known well, a. man whose loyalty he never had questioned, and on whose loyalty he would have staked his own life without thought.
He said, "Lou, have you sold out?"
Evans said in a dull, toneless voice, "No comment."
"Lou, I'm asking you again. First, I want you to know that I'm on your side no matter what you've done. If you've failed the Council, there must be a reason. Tell us that reason. If you've been drugged or forced, either physically or mentally, if you've been blackmailed or if someone close to you has been threatened, tell us. For Earth's sake, Lou, even if you've been tempted with offers of money or power, even if it's as crude as that, tell us. There's no error you can have made that can't be at least partially retrieved by frankness now. What about it?"
For a moment, Lou Evans seemed moved. His blue eyes lifted in pain to bis friend's face. "Lucky," he began, "I..."
Then the softness in him seemed to die, and he cried, "No comment, Starr, no comment."
Morriss, arms folded, said, "That's it, Lucky. That's his attitude. Only he has information and we want it, and, by Venus, we'll get it one way or another."
Lucky said, "Wait..."
Morriss said, "We can't wait. Get that through your head. There is no tune. No time at all. These so-called accidents have been getting more serious as they get closer to their objective. We need to break this thing now." And his pudgy fist slammed down on the arm of his chair, just as the communo shrilled its signal.
Morriss frowned. "Emergency signal! What in space..."
He flicked the circuit open, put the receiver to his ear.
"Morriss speaking. What is it?... What?... WHAT?"
He let the receiver fall, and his face, as it turned toward Lucky, was a doughy, unhealthy white.
"There's a hypnotized man at lock number twenty-three," he choked out.
Lucky's lithe body tightened like a steel spring. "What do you mean by 'lock'? Are you referring to the dome?"
Morriss nodded and managed to say, "I said the accidents are getting more serious. This time, the sea dome. That man may-at any moment-let the ocean into-Aphrodite!"
***