Vulcan's Hammer (9 page)

“I came here to talk to you,” Barris said. He shut the office door after him; it closed with a bang, startling the older man. Jason Dill half stood up, then subsided.

“Director Barris,” he murmured. His eyes narrowed. “File a regular appointment slip; you know procedure well enough by now to—”

Barris cut him off. “Why did you turn back my DQ form? Are you withholding information from Vulcan 3?”

Silence.

The color left Jason Dill’s face. “Your form wasn’t properly filled out. According to Section Six, Article Ten of the Unity—”

“You’re rerouting material away from Vulcan 3; that’s why it hasn’t stated a policy on the Healers.” He came closer to the seated man, bending over him as Dill stared down at his papers on the desk, not meeting his gaze. “Why? It doesn’t make sense. You know what this constitutes. Treason! Keeping back data, deliberately falsifying the troughs. I could bring charges against you, even have you arrested.” Resting his hands on the surface of the desk, Barris said loudly, “Is the purpose of this to isolate and weaken the eleven Directors so that—”

He broke off. He was looking down into the barrel of a pencil beam. Jason Dill had been holding it since he had burst into the man’s office. Dill’s middle-aged features twitched bleakly; his eyes gleamed as he gripped the small tube. “Now be quiet, Director,” Dill said icily. “I admire your tactics. This going on the offensive. Accusations without opportunity for me even to get in one word. Standard operating procedure.” He breathed slowly, in a series of great gasps. “Damn you,” he snapped,
“sit
down.”

Barris sat down watchfully. I made my pitch, he realized. The man is right. And shrewd. He’s seen a lot in his time, more than I have. Maybe I’m not the first to barge in here, yelling with indignation, trying to pin him down, force admissions.

Thinking that, Barris felt his confidence ebb away. But he continued to face the older man; he did not draw back.

Jason Dill’s face was gray now. Drops of perspiration stood out on his wrinkled forehead; bringing out his handkerchief he patted at them. With the other hand, however, he still held the pencil beam. “We’re both a little calmer,” he said. “Which in my opinion is better. You were overly dramatic. Why?” A faint, distorted smile appeared on his lips. “Have you been practicing how you would make your entrance?”

The man’s hand traveled to his breast pocket. He rubbed a bulge there; Barris saw that he had something in his inner pocket, something to which his hand had gone involuntarily. Seeing what he had done, Dill at once jerked his hand away.

Medicine? Barris wondered.

“This treason gambit,” Dill said. “I could try that, too. An attempted coup on your part.” He pointed at a control on the edge of his desk. “All this—your grand entrance—has of course been recorded. The evidence is there.” He pressed a stud, and, on the desk vidscreen, the Geneva Unity monitor appeared. “Give me the police,” Dill said. Sitting with the pencil beam still pointed at Barris, he waited for the line to be put through. “I have too many other problems to take time off to cope with a Director who decides to run amuck.”

Barris said, “I’ll fight this all the way in the Unity courts. My conscience is clear; I’m acting in the interests of Unity, against a Managing Director who’s systematically breaking down the system, step by step. You can investigate my entire life and you won’t find a thing. I know I’ll beat you in the courts, even if it takes years.”

“We have a letter,” Dill said. On the screen the familiar heavyjowled features of a police official appeared. “Stand by,” Dill instructed him. The police official’s eyes moved as he took in the scene of the Managing Director holding his gun on Director Barris.

“That letter,” Barris said as steadily as possible, “has no factual basis for the charges it makes.”

“Oh?” Dill said. “You’re familiar with its charges?”

“Rachel Pitt gave me all the information,” Barris said. So she had been telling the truth. Well, that letter—spurious as its charges were—coupled with this episode, would probably be enough to convict him. The two would dovetail; they would create together the sort of evidence acceptable to the Unity mentality.

The police official eyed Barris.

At his desk, Jason Dill held the pencil beam steadily.

Barris said, “Today I sat in the same room with Father Fields.”

Reaching his hand out to the vidsender, Jason Dill reflected and then said, “I’ll ring you off and recontact you later.” With his thumb he broke the connection; the image of the police official, still staring at Barris, faded out.

Jason Dill rose from his desk and pulled loose the power cable supplying the recording scanner which had been on since Barris entered the room. Then he reseated himself.

“The charges in the letter are true!” he said with incredulity. “My God, it never occurred to me . . . ” Then, rubbing his forehead he said, “Yes, it did. Briefly. So they managed to penetrate to the Director level.” His eyes showed horror and weariness.

“They put a gun on me and detained me,” Barris said. “When I got here to Geneva.”

Doubt, mixed with distraught cunning, crossed the older man’s face. Obviously, he did not want to believe that the Healers had gotten so far up into Unity, Barris realized. He would grasp at any straw, any explanation which would account for the facts . . . even the true one, Barris thought bitingly. Jason Dill had a psychological need that took precedence over the habitual organizational suspicions.

“You can trust me,” Barris said.

“Why?” The pencil beam still pointed at him, but the conflicting emotions swept back and forth through the man.

“You have to believe someone,” Barris said. “Sometime, somewhere. What is that you reach up and rub, there at your chest?”

Grimacing, Dill glanced down at his hand; again it was at his chest. He jerked it away. “Don’t play on my fears,” he said.

“Your fear of isolation?” Barris said. “Of having everyone against you? Is that some physical injury that you keep rubbing?”

Dill said, “No. You’re guessing far too much; you’re out of your depth.” But he seemed more composed now. “Well, Director, ” he said. “I’ll tell you something. I probably don’t have long to live. My health has deteriorated since I’ve had this job. Maybe in a sense you’re right . . . it
is
a physical injury I’m rubbing. If you ever get where I am, you’ll have some deep-seated injuries and illnesses too. Because there’ll be people around you putting them there.”

“Maybe you should take a couple of flying wedge squads of police and seize the Bond Hotel,” Barris said. “He was there an hour ago. Down in the old section of the city. Not more than two miles from here.”

“He’d be gone,” Dill said. “He turns up again and again on the outskirts this way. We’ll never get him; there’re a million ratholes he can slither down.”

Barris said, “You almost did get him.”

“When?”

“In the hotel room. When that robot tracking device entered and made for him. It almost succeeded in burning him up, but he was quite fast; he managed to roll away and get it first.”

Dill said, “What robot tracking device? Describe it.” As Barris described it, Dill stared at him starkly. He swallowed noisily but did not interrupt until Barris had finished.

“What’s wrong?” Barris said. “From what I saw of it, it seems to be the most effective counterpenetration weapon you have. Surely you’ll be able to break up the Movement with such a mechanism. I think your anxiety and preoccupation is excessive.”

In an almost inaudible voice, Dill said, “Agnes Parker.”

“Who is that?” Barris said.

Seemingly not aware of him, Dill murmured, “Vulcan 2. And now a try at Father Fields. But he got away.” Putting down his pencil beam he reached into his coat; rummaging, he brought out two reels of tape. He tossed the tape down on the desk.

“So that’s what you’ve been carrying,” Barris said with curiosity. He picked up the reels and examined them.

Dill said, “Director, there is a third force.”

“What?” Barris said, with a chill.

“A third force is operating on us,” Jason Dill said, and smiled grotesquely. “It may get all of us. It appears to be very strong.”

He put his pencil beam away, then. The two of them faced each other without it.

CHAPTER NINE

The police raid on the Bond Hotel, although carried out expertly and thoroughly, netted nothing.

Jason Dill was not surprised.

In his office by himself he faced a legal dictation machine. Clearing his throat he said into it hurriedly, “This is to act as a formal statement in the event of my death, explaining the circumstances and reasons why I saw fit as Unity Managing Director to conduct
sub rosa
relations with North American Director William Barris. I entered into these relations knowing full well that Director Barris was under heavy suspicion concerning his position vis-à-vis the Healers’ Movement, a treasonable band of murderers and—” He could not think of the word so he cut off the machine temporarily.

He glanced at his watch. In five minutes he had an appointment with Barris; he would not have time to complete his protective statement anyway. So he erased the tape. Better to start over later on, he decided. If he survived into the later on.

I’ll go meet him, Jason Dill decided, and go on the assumption that he is being honest with me. I’ll cooperate with him fully; I’ll hold nothing back.

But just to be on the safe side, he opened the drawer of his desk and lifted out a small container. From it he took an object wrapped up and sealed; he opened it, and there was the smallest heat beam that the police had been able to manufacture. No larger than a kidney bean.

Using the adhesive agent provided, he carefully affixed the weapon inside his right ear. Its color blended with his own; examining himself in a wall mirror he felt satisfied that the heat beam would not be noticed.

Now he was ready for his appointment. Taking his overcoat, he left his office, walking briskly.

He stood by while Barris laid the tapes out on the surface of a table, spreading them flat with his hands.

“And no more came after these,” Barris said.

“No more,” Dill said. “Vulcan 2 ceased to exist at that point.” He indicated the first of the two tapes. “Start reading there.”

This Movement may be of more significance than first appears.
It is evident that the Movement is directed against Vulcan 3 rather
than the series of computers as a whole. Until I have had time to
consider the greater aspects, I suggest Vulcan 3 not be informed of
the matter.

“I asked why,” Dill said. “Look at the next tape.”

Consider the basic difference between Vulcan 3 and preceding
computer. Its decisions are more than strictly factual evaluations
of objective data; essentially it is creating policy at a value level.
Vulcan 3 deals with teleological problems . . . the significance of
this cannot be immediately inferred. I must consider it at greater
length.

“And that’s it,” Dill said. “The end. Presumably Vulcan 2 did consider it at greater length. Anyhow, it’s a metaphysical problem; we’ll never know either way.”

“These tapes look old,” Barris said. Examining the first one he said, “This is older than the other. By some months.”

Jason Dill said, “The first tape is fifteen months old. The second—” He shrugged. “Four or five. I forget.”

“This first tape was put out by Vulcan 2 over a year ago,” Barris said, “and from that time on, Vulcan 3 gave out no directives concerning the Healers.”

Dill nodded.

“You followed Vulcan 2’s advice,” Barris said. “From the moment you read this tape you ceased informing Vulcan 3 about the growth of the Movement.” Studying the older man he said, “You’ve been withholding information from Vulcan 3
without
knowing why.”
The disbelief on his face grew; his lips twisted with outrage. “And all these months, all this time, you went on carrying out what Vulcan 2 told you to do! Good God,
which is
the machine and which is the man?
And you clasp these two reels of tape to your bosom—” Unable to go on, Barris clamped his jaws shut, his eyes furious with accusation.

Feeling his own face redden, Dill said, “You must understand the relationship that existed between me and Vulcan 2. We had always worked together, back in the old days. Vulcan 2 was limited, of course, compared with Vulcan 3; it was obsolete—it couldn’t have held the authoritative position Vulcan 3 now holds, determining ultimate policy. All it could do was assist . . .” He heard his voice trail off miserably. And then resentment clouded up inside him; here he was, defending himself guiltily to his inferior officer. This was absurd!

Barris said, “Once a bureaucrat, always a bureaucrat. No matter how highly placed.” His voice had an icy, deadly quality; in it there was no compassion for the older man. Dill felt his flesh wince at the impact. He turned, then, and walked away, his back to Barris. Not facing him, he said:

“I admit I was partial to Vulcan 2. Perhaps I did tend to trust it too much.”

“So you did find something you could trust. Maybe the Healers are right. About all of us.”

“You detest me because I put my faith in a machine? My God, every time you read a gauge or a dial or a meter, every time you ride in a car or a ship, aren’t you putting your faith in a machine?”

Barris nodded reluctantly. “But it’s not the same,” he said.

“You don’t know,” Dill said. “You never had my job. There’s no difference between my faith in what these tapes tell me to do, and the faith the water-meter reader has when he reads the meter and writes down the reading. Vulcan 3 was dangerous and Vulcan 2 knew it. Am I supposed to cringe with shame because I shared Vulcan 2’s intuition? I felt the same thing, the first time I watched those goddamn letters flowing across that surface.”

“Would you be willing to let me look at the remains of Vulcan 2?” Barris said.

“It could be arranged,” Dill said. “All we need are papers that certify you as a maintenance repairman with top clearance. I would advise you not to wear your Director’s stripe, in that case.”

“Fine,” Barris said. “Let’s get started on that, then.”

At the entrance of the gloomy, deserted chamber, he stood gazing at the heaps of ruin that had been the old computer. The silent metal and twisted parts, fused together in a useless, shapeless mass. Too bad to see it like this, he thought, and never to have seen it the way it was. Or maybe not. Beside him, Jason Dill seemed overcome; his body slumped and he scratched compulsively at his right ear, evidently barely aware of the man whom he had brought.

Barris said, “Not much left.”

“They knew what they were doing.” Dill spoke almost to himself; then, with great effort, he roused himself. “I heard one of them in the corridor. I even saw it. The eyes gleaming. It was hanging around. I thought it was only a bat or an owl. I went on out.”

Squatting down, Barris picked up a handful of smashed wiring and relays. “Has an attempt been made to reconstruct any of this?”

“Vulcan 2?” Dill murmured. “As I’ve said, destruction was so complete and on such a scale—”

“The
components,
” Barris said. He lifted a complex plastic tube carefully. “This, for instance. This wheeling valve. The envelope is gone, of course, but the elements look intact.”

Dill eyed him doubtfully. “You’re advancing the idea that there might be parts of it still alive?”

“Mechanically intact,” Barris said. “Portions which can be made to function within some other frame. It seems to me we can’t really proceed until we can establish what Vulcan 2 had determined about Vulcan 3. We can make good guesses on our own, but that might not be the same.”

“I’ll have a repair crew make a survey on the basis which you propose,” Dill said. “We’ll see what can be done. It would take time, of course. What do you suggest in the meanwhile? In your opinion, should I continue the policy already laid down?”

Barris said, “Feed Vulcan 3 some data that you’ve been holding back. I’d like to see its reaction to a couple of pieces of news.”

“Such as?”

“The news about Vulcan 2’s destruction.”

Floundering, Dill said, “That would be too risky. We’re not sure enough of our ground. Suppose we were wrong.”

I doubt if we are, Barris thought. There seems less doubt of it all time. But maybe we should at least wait until we’ve tried to rebuild the destroyed computer. “There’s a good deal of risk,” he said aloud. “To us, to Unity.” To everyone, he realized.

Nodding, Jason Dill again reached up and plucked at his ear.

“What do you have there?” Barris said. Now that the man had stopped carrying his two tape-reels he had evidently found something else to fall back on, some replacement symbol of security.

“N-nothing,” Dill stammered, flushing. “A nervous tic, I suppose. From the tension.” He held out his hand. “Give me those parts you picked up. We’ll need them for the reconstruction. I’ll see that you’re notified as soon as there’s anything to look at.”

“No,” Barris said. He decided on the spot, and, having done so, pushed on with as much force as he could muster. “I’d prefer not to have the work done here. I want it done in North America.”

Dill stared at him in bewilderment. Then, gradually, his face darkened. “In your region. By your crews.”

“That’s right,” Barris said. “What you’ve told me may all be a fraud. These reels of tape could easily be fakes. All I can be sure of is this: my original notion about you is correct, the notion that brought me here.” He made his voice unyielding, without any doubt in it. “Your withholding of information from Vulcan 3 constitutes a crime against Unity. I’d be willing to fight you in the Unity courts any time, as an act of duty on my part. Possibly the rationalizations you’ve given are true, but until I can get some verification from these bits and pieces . . . ” He swept up a handful of relays, switches, wiring.

For a long, long time Dill was silent. He stood, as before, with his hand pressed against his right ear. Then at last he sighed. “Okay, Director. I’m just too tired to fight with you. Take the stuff. Bring your crew in here and load it, if you want; cart it out and take it to New York. Play around with it until you’re satisfied.” Turning, he walked away, out of the chamber and up the dim, echoing corridor.

Barris, his hands full of the pieces of Vulcan 2, watched him go. When the man had disappeared out of sight, Barris once more began to breathe. It’s over, he realized. I’ve won. There won’t be any charge against me; I came to Geneva and confronted him—and I got away with it.

His hands shaking with relief, he began sorting among the ruins, taking his time, beginning a thorough, methodical job.

By eight o’clock the next morning the remains of Vulcan 2 had been crated and loaded onto a commercial transport. By eight-thirty Barris’ engineers had been able to get the last of the original wiring diagrams pertaining to Vulcan 2. And at nine, when transport finally took off for New York, Barris breathed a sigh of relief. Once the ship was off the ground, Jason Dill ceased to have authority over it.

Barris himself followed in the ten o’clock passenger flight, the swift little luxurious ship provided for tourists and businessmen traveling between New York and Geneva. It gave him a chance to bathe and shave and change his clothes; he had been hard at work all night.

In the first-class lounge he relaxed in one of the deep chairs, enjoying himself for the first time in weeks. The buzz of voices around him lulled him into a semidoze; he lay back, passively watching the smartly dressed women going up the aisles, listening to snatches of conversation, mostly social, going on around him.

“A drink, sir?” the robot attendant asked, coming up by him. He ordered a good dark German beer and with it the cheese hors d’oeuvres for which the flight was famous.

While he sat eating a wedge of
port de salut,
he caught sight of the headlines of the
London Times
which the man across from him was reading. At once he was on his feet, searching for the newspaper-vending robot; he found it, bought his own copy of the paper, and hurried back to his seat.

DIRECTORS TAUBMANN AND HENDERSON
CHARGE AUTHORITY IN ILLINOIS HEALERS
VICTORY. DEMAND INVESTIGATION

Stunned, he read on to discover that a carefully planned mass uprising of the Movement in Illinois rural towns had been coordinated with a revolt of the Chicago working class; together, the two groups had put an end—at least temporarily—to Unity control of most of the state.

One further item, very small, also chilled him.

NORTH AMERICAN DIRECTOR BARRIS UN-
AVAILABLE. NOT IN NEW YORK

They had been active during his absence; they had made good use of it. And not just the Movement, he realized grimly. Taubmann, also. And Henderson, the Director of Asia Minor. The two had teamed up more than once in the past.

The investigation, of course, would be a function of Jason Dill’s office. Barris thought, I barely managed to handle Dill before this; all he needs is a little support from Taubmann, and the ground will be cut from under my feet. Even now, while I’m stuck here in mid-flight . . . Possibly Dill himself instigated this; they may already have joined forces, Dill and Taubmann— ganging up on me.

His mind spun on, and then he managed to get hold of himself. I am in a good position, he decided. I have the remains of Vulcan 2 in my possession, and, most important of all, I forced Dill to admit to me what he has been doing.
No one else knows!
He would never dare take action against me, now that I have that knowledge. If I made it public . . .

I still hold the winning hand, he decided. In spite of this cleverly timed demand for an investigation of my handling of the Movement in my area.

That damn Fields, he thought. Sitting there in the hotel room, complimenting me as the “one decent Director,” and then doing his best to discredit me while I was away from my region.

Hailing one of the robot attendants, he ordered, “Bring me a vidsender. One on a closed-circuit line to New York Unity.”

He had the soundproof curtains of his chair drawn, and a few moments later he was facing the image of his sub-Director, Peter Allison, on the vidscreen.