The Ganymede Takeover

Quickly and without wasting words, Paul outlined his plan. It impressed Percy X, impressed him very much.

“Now I’m going to bed and try to get a few hours’ sleep,” Paul Rivers telepathed. “And I advise you to do the same. I’ll see you tomorrow, if nothing goes wrong.”

Percy felt the amplified mind of Doctor Rivers switch off, leaving only a last fleeting impression of great weariness.

Sleep. That was easy enough to say, Percy thought, but not so easy to achieve. Something lay in the back of his mind, something which ate away at him without letup, draining away his strength and resolution slowly and steadily. He wondered what it was.

A picture of Balkani’s face rose in Percy X’s mind. The beard. The pipe. The fire-ignited glittering eyes with the dilated pupils. No matter who rules this planet, Percy realized, Balkani will still find a place in the ruling class. . And what about me? he asked himself. What in God’s name is happening back in Tennessee? What are my last Neeg-parts doing? As-uming any are left.

I’ve got to get out of here, he said to himself. If I stay, Balkani will have me the way he had Joan.

Only a matter of time, he realized. And, when that happens, it’ll be foreordained as far as the bale is concerned.

He would not be getting any sleep, not with such thoughts lodged starkly in his mind.

At dawn the garbage truck came crashing and banging down the old highway beside the fjord and halted at the guard station just before the bridge, as it had done so many times over the years. The guards gave it a routine inspection and let it by. The truck

crossed the single-span suspension bridge and made its way, roaring, snorting and wheezing, up the road to the gates of the prison. There it was again in­spected and again passed, to park at last behind the prisoners’ mess hall. Two men in white coveralls stepped out, marched over to the garbage shed and disappeared inside. A moment later two guards stepped out into the sunlight and made their way briskly down the hallways that led from the kitchen.

A clank of keys sounded at the lock of Percy X’s door and a voice said, “Routine check. Step outside a minute, will you?” Percy scanned the area tele- pathically. Nobody was anywhere near.

He looked in the direction of the voice. There stood a man in a guard’s uniform. It was Percy X.

For a moment the human Percy X and the robot Percy X gazed at each other; then the human stepped out into the hall, where no TV spy-monitors watched. A moment later the robot Percy X reen­tered the room and lay down on the cot, while the human Percy X, now dressed in the guard’s uniform, locked the door.

Quickly he made his way to Joan Hiashi’s cell, making use of the knowledge of the combination on the intervening doors that he had gained in his pro­tracted period of mind-picking.

Two Joan Hiashis stood inside Joan’s door, one in prison uniform, the other in guard’s uniform. He could not tell which was the robot and which the human until the one in the guard’s uniform said, barely audibly, “She says she won’t go, sir.”

“If you don’t go,” Percy whispered hoarsely to her, “I won’t go.”

For a moment Joan remained silent. But he read in her mind, I can’t have you giving your life for me. She shrugged, then, and began listlessly, with agonizing slowness, to change clothes with the robot.

A moment later two “guards,” one tall and one short, made their way to the garbage shed. After a pause two garbage men, one tall and one short, emerged from the shed and carried two garbage cans to the truck. The shorter one seemed hardly strong enough for the task, but somehow she made it. Two more trips and all the garbage had been taken out.

The white-coveralled figures climbed into the truck and drove back out the gate.

“Took a long time, today,” the uniformed inspec­tor at the gate said sourly.

“Had to stop by the men’s room,” Percy X said.

The inspector shrugged and waved them past.

“Why didn’t they recognize us?” Joan whispered.

“Look at me,” Percy said briefly. She looked— and her eyes widened, The man beside her wasn’t Percy X at all. “It’s these gadgets on our belts,” Percy explained. “They project a false image into people’s minds; they make us look like what the person expects. Balkani perfected it a number of years ago, according to Doctor Rivers.”

“Oh yes,” Joan said faintly. “Doctor Rivers. I wondered when he’d show up again.”

They passed inspection at the other end of the bridge, too, and from there they found themselves in the clear.

In a garage just off the fjord-side highway, Doctor Paul Rivers and Ed Newkom sat on the fender of a sleek ionocraft, tensely waiting. Next to the wall two authentic garbage men, stiff and silent, looked sight­lessly on.

“Yes,” Paul said, glancing with approval at the hypnotized men. “I haven’t lost it, the ability.” In the old days, at the beginning of his professional practice, he had gone in a great deal for hyp­notherapy as had Freud. Much better, he reflected, to save something of the potency of hyp­notism for special occasions. Such as this.

“Got a light?” Ed asked tautly.

“I don’t smoke,” Paul answered. He brought outa tin of Inchkenneth Dean Swift snuff. “Oral gratifica­tion is oral gratification, and snuff doesn’t get soot down into you windpipe.”

“I’ll use the car lighter.” Ed muttered, with a psychosomatic cough. “Snuff—keerist; I prefer a bag of peanuts.” He climbed into the ionocraft and nervously lit a cigarette.

For a time the two men sat in silence, one smoking and the other taking pinch after pinch of snuff, and then they heard the distant roar of the elderly garbage truck, slamming and banging down the highway.

Instantly Paul hopped down from the fender and swung open the garage door. With a snort and noisy backfire the truck came rumbling in and stopped with a squeal of brakes. Percy X killed the turbine and jumped out, followed, more slowly, by Joan Hiashi. Paul at once closed the garage doors and strode over to greet them.

“I’m Paul Rivers, Percy,” he said as he shook hands with the hard-eyed Neeg-part leader, “and this is my coworker and friend, Ed Newkom.

Perhaps you recall, Miss Hiashi, that we met. Briefly.”

Joan gazed at him with unfocused eyes and ex­pressionless face, saying nothing. Within him, Paul shuddered. What has Balkani done to her? he asked himself. Such a lovely little creature and he’s man­aged to turn her into— God knows what. But, he thought, perhaps I can help her.

He gave a few instructions to the hypnotized gar­bage men, then stood back with a humorless smile on his lips as they obediently climbed into their truck. “Open the garage; door for them,” he said to Percy X. “Before they break it down.” Percy opened the door; the truck motor exploded into life and, a mo­ment later, lurched down the short driveway, swerved out onto the highway and headed off in the direction of Oslo.

“Let’s get out of here,” Ed said impatiently, stub­bing out his cigarette. The four of them got into the ionocraft, Paul seating himself behind the wheel; with a whoosh the vehicle shot out of the garage and over the smooth waters of the fjord.

“There’s one thing I’d like to know, Doctor Riv­ers,” Percy X said, not using his telepathic powers out of politeness to the non-telepaths present. ‘‘Why did you go to such risk and trouble to get us out?” He felt suspicion, deep and abiding.

“We have a favor,” Paul Rivers said, “to ask of you.” His voice held softness—and yet it sounded peculiarly firm.

“What favor?”

Paul Rivers said, “We want you to go back to Tennessee and die. Preferably like a hero.”

IX

Major Ringdahl met Doctor Rudolph Balkani in the dim hallway outside the psychiatrist’s office. Bal­kani tried to get by him with only a mumbled greet­ing, but the major touched his arm and said, “Wait a moment, there.”