“And then?”
“Later I pointed out to him that if one of us was in danger of being snagged that the other would have to finish him off. Or if both were in such danger that we’d have to suicide. Some time after, I took a minor hit, but pretended it was much worse. I ordered him to garrot me with his belt, since we had no weapons. He refused and insisted on helping me back to where Lee Chang was scheduled to pick us up. Finally, I told him I was going to faint and gave him a direct order to finish me. He still refused.”
Sid Jakes got out a happy laugh. “Suppose he’d have obeyed the order? That would’ve been a neat trick on you if he’d done it.”
Ronny shook his head. “If he had started to, I would have recalled the order and proceeded on to the rendezvous point on my own two feet. He’s not field agent material, Sid. He’s too emotional, too sentimental.”
Sid Jakes grinned at him. “Ronny, he was trying to save your life.”
Ronny looked at him emptily and said, “Under the circumstances, Sid, at that time, that supposedly wasn’t the requirement.”
Sid Jakes flicked on his order box and said into it, “Sweetheart, assign former Probationary Agent Willy de Rudder to some desk job here at headquarters.”
The box squawked back and he grinned and said, “All right, all right, but if your disposition doesn’t improve I’ll withdraw my proposal of marriage.”
He flicked the orderbox off and laughed amusement and said, “What a woman. I’ll wager she drinks vinegar with her meals instead of wine. If she wasn’t so indispensible, Metaxa would have fired her years ago. As it is, you’re the only one in the Bureau she doesn’t climb all over.”
Chapter Four
The phone screen lit up and Ross Metaxa was there. As usual, he looked rumpled, tired, and as though he’d had too much to drink, or too little sleep, or both, the night before. The Commissioner of Section G was in his middle years, sour of expression and disposition, moist of eye, dark of complexion, as though he was of Mediterranean extraction.
He said now, “Irene tells me that Ronny is there with you. How did the Neu Reich assignment come off?”
Sid Jakes chuckled. “You know Ronny. Never fails. But we had to scratch that probationary agent we sent with him.”
“All right. Don’t bother me with the details. Both of you come to my office. I’ve got another job for Ronny.”
Sid said, “He’s recuperating from a wound.”
“Can he walk?”
“Sure. As Irene told you, he’s here in my office.”
“Then come on over.” The weary face faded.
Sid Jakes shook his head. “The Old Man’s a goddamned slave driver. Maybe we can talk him out of it.” He came to his feet and led the way.
Ronny sighed and followed. Damn little chance there was of ever changing Ross Metaxa’s mind about anything.
They went down the hall to a door inconspicuously lettered
Sid Jakes knocked briefly and pushed on through followed by his top agent, without waiting for response.
Metaxa was behind the desk. On their appearance, he opened a drawer and brought forth a squat dark bottle and a glass. “Drink?” he said, pouring a heavy shot.
“At this time of day? And that?” Sid Jakes snorted. “I’m much too young.”
Ronny made with an exaggerated wince. “Denebian tequila,” he said. “I wonder what the hell they make it out of.”
Metaxa knocked the water-colored guzzle back over his tonsils with the stiff wrist of the practiced drinker.
He said, “Sit down. How bad’s your wound, Ronny?”
“Not too bad. I’ll be taking the bandage off in a couple of days. However, I
“It’ll have to wait. But this assignment will be the next thing to a vacation.”
Sid Jakes chuckled, “I’ll bet.”
Ronny said in resignation, “What’s it all about?” The newcomers had taken seats.
But at that moment came another knock on the door and Ross Metaxa pressed a button beneath his foot to activate it.
There entered possibly the largest man Ronny Bronston could ever remember having seen. His size was considerably muted, however, by his ultra-conservative dress, the anachronistic pince-nez glasses he wore, and his air of the scholar. It was Doctor Dorn M. Horsten. All three knew him, though he and Ronny hadn’t been in contact since the noted research algae specialist had been recruited into Section G.
Ronny and Sid Jakes came to their feet and shook hands and exchanged the usual amenities.
Metaxa growled, “Sit down, everybody.” He looked at the big man. “You’re the least likely seeming agent in the section. I understand that Lee Chang Chu recruited you into her Special Talents class, as she calls it. ESPers, midgets, pickpockets and everything else off-beat. What’s your special talent?”
Doctor Horsten was a very nice, very soft-spoken man. He said, “I suppose that the best thing would be for me to demonstrate.”
He brought forth from its shoulder rig his H-gun. In his hands the large weapon was dwarfed. He took the barrel and twisted it into the shape of a pretzel.
The Section G Commissioner bug-eyed him. “You can’t do that!” he said indignantly.
Dorn Horsten said mildly, “Yes, I can. The standard prejudice that double-domes, as the expression goes, don’t have muscles fails to stand up on my home world of Brobingnag, Commissioner. You see, we have a 1.4 G planet. On top of that, the original colonists, from Scandinavia, were, ah, nature boys, I believe is the usual term of disapprobation. At any rate, I would wager than Brobdingnag produces the strongest citizens in United Planets. Besides that, since boyhood I’ve made a hobby of weight lifting and, ah, doing such things as tying knots in one-inch mild steel bars.”
“Wizard,” Metaxa sighed. “Happily, you won’t be needing your special talent on the brainworld. This assignment is purely routine.”
“Brainworld?” Ronny said.
“Einstein,” Metaxa said, looking over at him. “Ever heard of it?”
“I don’t believe so. Wasn’t Einstein a prominent physicist of the 20th Century?”
“I’ve heard of it vaguely,” Dorn Horsten said. “I met one of their scientists, a brilliant chap, at a conference on the phylum
Metaxa nodded. “He’d be brilliant all right, if he came from Einstein.”
“Member of the United Planets?” Ronny said.
His superior shook his head. “No. That’s why we’re here. They just applied for membership.”
He took up his bottle of tequila and poured himself another slug and gestured with the bottle in way of offering to Horsten.
Doctor Horsten shook his head. “I’ve heard about your tequila,” he said mildly.
Metaxa knocked the drink back and said, “Let me give you some background. When Einstein was first colonized, some time ago, there was one big basic requirement demanded of the colonists. Aside from good physical health, they had to have an I.Q. of at least 130.”
