The Gripping Hand Read online

  "And it is not?" Bury asked.

  "I've read the old records," Governor Jackson said. "It's a planet. More land surface than the Purchase, higher mountains, and even fewer minerals close to the surface. Stayed molten longer, maybe. The weather's more extreme. Do you care for more wine, Your Excellency?"

  "Thank you, no."

  "Oh, that's right, Moslems don't drink," Mrs. Muller said. "I'd forgotten."

  "Probably most do not," Bury said. "Just as most Jews do not eat pork." He'd noticed that both the Governor and his wife were drinking soda water. "Governor, would there be strong reasons for the Outies to wish for trade with the Purchase?"

  "Very likely, Excellency," Governor Jackson said. "New Utah is quite deficient in certain minerals and organics. There's no selenium at all, for example. They'll need food supplements."

  "Just a few tonnes a year," Norvell White Muller said. "A couple of ships' worth, and the profits on those ships—" He licked his lips. "Utah Churchies would buy medical supplies, too, if the Empire would let them."

  Governor Jackson laughed. "The Navy can't spare me any ships," he said. "So I can't go bring New Utah into the Empire by force—"

  "You can't even get there," Mrs. Muller giggled.

  "Well, we can, but I agree, it's not easy. Two jumps past wretched red dwarfs, and then across a big bright E-class system with only one planet and that a rock ball. There was an expedition a few years before I got here." Jackson looked thoughtful. "The Navy has records showing it wasn't always so hard."

  "I believe I heard that as well," Bury said.

  "Anyway, as long as I don't have Navy ships, the trade embargo is the only weapon I've got to bring New Utah in. All they have to do is join and they can have all the trade they want."

  "The gripping hand is they don't want to," Renner said.

  Jackson laughed. "Maybe. They've had time enough to change their minds. It's all academic because the direct Jump point disappeared a hundred and thirty years ago, during the Secession Wars. I sent them an ambassador twelve years ago, with a trade ship . . . one of yours, Mister Bury. No luck."

  Stars wander, Bury thought. Jump points depend upon the luminosities within a pattern of stars. They come and go . . . Why did that thought suddenly have the fringe of hair around his neck trying to stand up? Tiny six-limbed shadows flailed behind his eyes . . .

  Across the table he heard Renner murmur, "Jackson and Weiss?"

  Governor Jackson said, "There was some traffic, I think, up until the Navy came back forty years ago. New Utah would have paid high for fertilizer. But with what? And the trip is just too long—"

  Renner's belly laugh cut through all conversation. Into the silence Renner said, "I was trying to remember where I met you."

  The Governor was laughing, too, with his head thrown back. His wife giggled.

  "Governor? Sir? I watched your hands," Renner said. "Like this?" He pushed back his chair and stood; never mind that they were in the middle of dessert. Right hand up, closing: "On the one hand, high price for fertilizer." Right hand dropped to near the hip, closed again. Bury nodded. "On the other hand, they don't seem to have anything to pay with," Renner said. Left hand out, fingers closed in pairs, like a hand with three thick fingers. "Gripping hand, it's too far anyway. Did I get that right?"

  "Why, yes, Sir Kevin. My wife's tried to break me of the habit—"

  "But the whole planet's doing it. Did you learn it here, or on Mote Prime?"

  Bury's vision swam. He pulled the diagnostic sleeve out of his chair arm and inserted his arm, hoping nobody would notice. Orange dots blinked, and he felt the coolness of a tranquilizer injection.

  The Governor said, "I was sure you wouldn't recognize me. Couldn't remember where you'd met me, hey? . . . Bury? Are you all right?"

  "Yes, but I don't understand."

  "You were an honored passenger, and Sir Kevin was the Sailing Master, and Weiss and me, we were only Able Spacers. I was sure you wouldn't know me. But we went down to Mote Prime, and we stayed till Captain Blaine decided we weren't needed and sent us back. Weiss, he picked up that habit from the aliens, the Moties. One hand, other hand, gripping hand, and they shrug with their arms

  because their shoulders don't move. I learned it from him. We were on the holoscans a lot when we were fighting the Outies, and I've been on since Sparta made me Governor, and I guess . . . The whole planet, eh?"

  Renner said, "All of Pitchfork River, at least. Top to bottom, hill to spill, they've taken up that three-sided Aristotelian logic. You're not just the governor, you're a holo star too."

  The Governor seemed embarrassed, but pleased. "That's the way it is in the outlying worlds. Sir Kevin, Excellency, I was purely delighted to meet you again after so long." As equals, he didn't say.

  "So that's all there was to it," Renner said. He sprawled back in the big RelaxaChair in Bury's study and let the massage begin as he lifted a glass of real cognac. "Jackson and Weiss got successful and become tri-vee stars. Local boys made good. So everybody copied them. Wow! And to think we knew them when." He laughed suddenly. "Weiss must have driven his Fyunch(click) crazy, imitating him like that! It's supposed to go the other way around."

  "Naive." Bury let himself sink cautiously into his chair and touched the button twice for coffee.

  "How so naive? You heard the Governor."

  "I heard him explain away a peculiar habit," Bury said softly. "I did not hear an explanation of why there is too much money in this system."

  "That's true," Renner admitted.

  "He has been to Mote Prime," Bury said. "The Governor himself. He and Weiss had money to buy and outfit a spacecraft. If there ever was a man better suited to hide captured Watchmakers. Or an Engineer, or—"

  Renner laughed. "Bury, that's bizarre!" He leaned back into the massage chair and let it work as he remembered the miniature Moties. Small aliens, not really intelligent, but able to manipulate technologies beyond anything Renner had ever seen. Oh, they'd have been valuable, all right! And they'd destroyed the battle cruiser MacArthur.

  Still. "Horace, you've been clinically paranoid since long before I met you. Blaine let the Watchmakers get loose on his ship, but Christ, it was impossible to get Moties into Lenin! The Marines didn't let anything through unless it went through molecule-by-molecule inspection!"

  "Not impossible. I did it myself." Bury's hands kneaded the chair arms.

  Renner sat bolt upright. "What?"

  "It would have worked." Bury waited as Nabil came into the room with an ornate silver coffeepot and thin cups. "Coffee, Kevin?"

  "Sure. You smuggled out a Motie?"

  "We did that, didn't we, Nabil?"

  Nabil grinned mirthlessly. "Excellency, that is one profit I am pleased that you never collected." It was a liberty Nabil would not normally have taken; but Bury only shivered and sipped at his coffee. He was wearing the diagnostic sleeve.

  "Bury, what in hell?"

  "Have I shocked you after twenty-five years? The Watchmakers were potentially the most valuable thing I had ever seen," Bury said. "Able to fix and repair and rebuild and invent. I thought it madness not to keep a pair. And so we arranged it, a pair of Watchmakers in suspended animation, hidden in an air tank. My air tank on my pressure suit."

  "On your back?" If Bury was lying, he was doing it well. But Bury did lie well. "You don't have Watchmakers. I'd know."

  "Of course I do not," Bury said. "You know part of the story. MacArthur was lost to us, the Watchmakers were running wild throughout the ship, changing the machines for their own use, killing Marines who peeped into their nests. We crossed on lines between MacArthur and Lenin. Long spiderwebs of line with passengers strung like beads. The universe was all around us and the great globe of Mote Prime below, all circles, the craters left by their wars. The huge globe of a ship came near. I could feel the wealth and danger on my back, Marines ahead, and the risk of running out of air too soon. I had accepted that risk. Then—"

  "Then you looked
back. Like Orpheus."

  "The sun happened to shine directly into the faceplate of the man behind me."

  "You saw tiny eyes—"

  "The djinni take you, Kevin! It's my nightmare, after all!

  Three pairs of tiny eyes looked at me out of the faceplate. I hurled my briefcase at them. I reached around and wrenched one of my air tanks loose and hurled it after. The suit dodged—clumsy, it was a wonder they could get it to move at all—dodged the briefcase and was in perfect position when the air tank smashed the faceplate."

  "I've had this nightmare twice myself, I've heard it so often. Bury, it would have served you right if you'd grabbed the wrong air tank."

  "It was not the worst of my fears. The faceplate smashed and a score of Watchmaker-class Moties blew out and thrashed in the vacuum, and with them came a tumbling head. That was how they got past the Marines. And I would have taken that air tank past Lenin's, Marines."

  "Maybe."

  "And maybe I was not the only one. Two Able Spacers were on Mote Prime. We all saw how useful Watchmakers were when properly used by the Engineer class of Moties. Did one of them find yet another way to conceal Watchmakers? Or Engineers or Masters?"

  "It's hard to disprove, Bury, but you really don't have any reason for thinking so. By the way, don't tell that story to anyone else."

  Bury glared. "I haven't told you for twenty-five years. Kevin, we do have something useful. If'this three-hand way of thinking spread because there are Moties around—of whatever class—then I know who is guilty. The Governor says that he and his companion spread that. He would be lying, covering up."

  "Maybe not. He might really believe—"

  "Kevin—"

  "Or maybe it was Weiss. All right, all right. We still don't know about the money flow. We don't know where the cargoes went when Captain Fox used his flinger. We need to find out."

  "You must report to the Navy first. In case we should disappear."

  "Right. And then I'll find a way to chase Outies, and you find a way to chase Moties, and I'll be in Scotland before ye. Now I'm going to bed. When I was in the sauna, I swore I'd go to bed sober."

  ". . . Yes."

  3

  The Maguey Worm

  Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

  —Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act 4, Scene 1

  Ruth Cohen led the way downstairs into the cellar of Government House. Two Marines were seated at the far end of a long, blank-walled corridor. One stood to attention. The other remained at his console.

  "Identity, Commander, please." He waited as Ruth stared into a retinal pattern reader and put her hand on the Identiplate.

  "Ruth Cohen. Lieutenant Commander, Imperial Navy. Unrestricted access to security systems," the box said.

  "Now you, sir."

  "It won't know me," Renner said.

  "Sir . . ."

  "I know the drill, Sergeant." Renner looked into the box. A red light danced about in his eyes.

  "Pattern recorded. Subject unknown," the box said.

  The Marine touched buttons on his console. A door swung open to reveal a small antechamber that looked much like an airlock. As Renner and Cohen entered the antechamber, the Marine dictated, "Lieutenant Commander Cohen and subject identified as Kevin Renner, civilian, Imperial Autonetics, entered security rooms . . ."

  The inner door opened when the outer door was closed and locked. Renner couldn't help thinking of the weapons the Marines could use on them while they were locked into the comfortably furnished suite. There was a conference table, good chairs, and a couch, all identical to security rooms Renner had seen on a dozen planets. "Seems like home," he said.

  Ruth Cohen held herself stiffly. She set her recorder on the table and wiped her palms on her skirt. Renner read her nervousness. "You all right?"

  "Maybe I don't interview captains all that often."

  Renner grinned. "Don't look like one, do I? There's a price for this, you know."

  "What?"

  "You'll have dinner with me tonight."

  "Captain . . ."

  "What are they going to do, fire me?" Renner demanded. He made faces at the recorder, which wasn't on. "That for you. And no report until Commander Cohen agrees to go out with me."

  "Suppose I refuse?"

  Renner stared. "Then I make my report."

  "Oh." She smiled enchantingly. "In that case, I'd be delighted to have dinner with you."

  "Hot damn! How do you feel about—"

  "I won't touch crottled greeps. Why is it everyone who's seen a crottled greep wants to watch someone else coping? Captain, does it strike you that you and I shouldn't be seen together very much?"

  "You're right," Renner said. "Heckfire."

  "So I guess that's that." She sat at the table. "Ready? Okay. Recorder's on." She dictated date and time. "Report of Kevin Renner, Captain, Imperial Navy Intelligence. Case officer, Lieutenant Commander Ruth Cohen . . ."

  Renner waited until she had finished the introduction and header, then sat at the table. "Captain Sir Kevin Renner, KCMG, Navy Intelligence, Special Assignment. As stated in previous reports, we brought the Imperial Autonetics yacht Sinbad to Maxroy's Purchase because of the suspicions of His Excellency Horace Hussein al-Shamlan Bury, Magnate. Bury's financial analysis indicated there might be irregularities. Imperial Autonetics has a start-up factory here, and owns three ships, so there was no problem about cover stories.

  "Two days after we arrived there was an attempt to kidnap me—"

  Ruth Cohen involuntarily drew in a deep breath.

  Renner grinned. "Glad you care." He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for a moment, then began to talk. He told about the attack, then what had preceded it.

  " '. . . healthy greep. Look how it shimmies.' Commander, if you keep laughing in the middle I'll never get done."

  "That's not fair!"

  "Sure it is." Renner continued with his night in the capital. At appropriate points he inserted recordings of what they had found out about the three attackers, Captain Reuben Fox, and the history of Nauvoo Vision.

  "Mormons," Ruth Cohen said. "Three of them. It's hard to believe they're ordinary robbers."

  "Yeah, I noticed that," Renner said. "One Mormon going bad is unfortunate. Three at once is a conspiracy. Not to mention that Bury is sure that Captain Fox is covering up."

  "General conclusions?" Ruth prompted.

  "Of my own, none, but His Excellency Horace Bury believes there may be Moties loose in the Purchase system. I do not. I think the Outies are back."

  Ruth nodded grimly, "I don't think I believe in Moties either," she said. "But the regulations are clear enough. This interview gets off to Sector Headquarters soonest. Discussion?"

  "Bury's paranoid," Renner said. "He always sees a Motie threat. But he could be right, and if he is, the Governor's in a conspiracy against the Empire."

  "Captain, this report will go directly to Sector Headquarters. They may not know about you and His Excellency."

  Renner grinned. "Okay. Horace was born rich. His father made a massive fortune in interstellar trade after the Empire annexed Levant. Bury extended it. He's a hundred and sixteen years old, and he understands the flow patterns of money. A powerful force in the Empire is Horace Bury.

  "He . . . um. He committed acts which put him afoul of Empire law, details classified, twenty-six years ago. We had both visited Mote Prime as part of the official expedition. I

  was just getting out of the Navy, having served as Sailing Master of the INSS battle cruiser MacArthur of ill fame."

  "The only ship ever destroyed by aliens," she remembered.

  "Other than blockade battles," Renner said. "But essentially yes. MacArthur was destroyed by Motie Watchmakers. It's a class of Motie animal. Not intelligent, and they have four arms, not three. All kinds of people have speculated about that, including the Moties at Blaine Institute. Anyway, I was getting out, and Bury was facing a hangman's no
ose. He made a deal. For twenty-five years he's been holding down rebellion and Outie action all across the Empire, largely at his own expense, and I'm the guy the Navy assigned to watch him. He's dedicated, too. I've never caught him doing anything that would get in the way of his mission." Except once, he remembered.

  "Why Outies? Vengeance? Outies gored his ox?"

  Renner sighed. "Horace doesn't give a damn about Outies. Outies take up time and resources. Anything that distracts the Empire from dealing with Moties is a threat to the human race and the children of Allah. Moties frightened Horace once. Nobody does that twice. Horace wants them extinct."

  Ruth Cohen looked puzzled. She glanced at the recorders. "Captain, if the Moties did break out, would they be that big a threat?"

  "I don't know," Renner said. "It's not impossible. It isn't that their technology is so much better than ours, as that their instinct for technology is beyond anything we know. Humans are better at science, but once the principles have been discovered, the Moties—the Browns, anyway, the Engineers—are better at turning them to practical use than any humans who ever lived.

  "Example. They'd never heard of the Langston Field when we arrived at Mote Prime, and before we left their system they'd made improvements we never thought of! Another example: the magic coffeepot we got off MacArthur. By now that technology is all over the Empire, even here. I'm sure some variant of the coffeepot is used to get the alcohol out of the sake I was drinking night before last."

  "Thank you. Have you other observations?"

  "Yeah. My own plans. Bury's paranoia can be useful sometimes, but I don't like seeing him so nervous. He might do something . . . hasty. Anyway, I trust he'll be busting his

  arse to find what he thinks are Moties. That leaves me free to track Outies, if that's what we're facing. I want to show Bury that the Moties are still safely bottled up.

  "We can't trust anyone but Bury's people, so we don't have any troops. Can't use the local cops. But there are some . . . mmm, avenues. Where has Captain Fox been sending his cargo pods? Is there an Outie base in the asteroids? Why the peculiar flow of money? Imperial Autonetics is constantly being picked at by embezzlers. Robbing a corporation, it's like robbing a machine, for some people. Here, it doesn't look like anyone's being robbed."