A Plague of Demons

taboos have to do with eating, sex, elimination, or gods; so remember, look before you sit down, lie down, squat down or kneel down!

Ladies With Beards Please Note:

Friend husband may be on the crew clearing clogged drains-so watch that shedding in the lavatories, eh, girls? And you fellas, too! Sure, good grooming pays-but groom each other out in the open, okay?

NOTE: There has been some agitation for 'separate but equal' facilities. Now, honestly, folks; is that in the spirit of Center No. 23? Males and females will continue to use the same johns as always. No sexual chauvinism will be tolerated.

A Word to The Kiddies!

No brachiating will be permitted in the Social Center area. After all, a lot of the Dads sleep up there. There are plenty of other trees!

Daintiness Pays!

In these more-active-than-ever days, Personal Effluvium can get away from us almost before we notice. And that hearty scent may not be as satisfying to others as it is to ourselves! So remember, fellas: watch that P.E.! (Lye soap, eau de Cologne, flea powder and other beauty aids available at supply shed!)

***

Dan tossed the book aside. There were worse things than solitude. It looked like a pretty nice world-and it was all his-so far.

The entire North American continent, all of South America, Europe, Asia, Africa-the works. He could cut down trees, build a hut, furnish it. There'd be hunting-he could make a bow and arrows-and the skins would do to make clothes. He could start a little farming, fish the streams, sun bathe-all the things he'd never had time to do back home. It wouldn't be so bad. And eventually Dzhackoon would arrange for his release. It might be just the kind of vacation 'Ah, Dan, my boy!' a bass voice boomed. Dan jumped and spun around.

Blote's immense face blinked at him from the portal. There was a large green bruise over one eye. He wagged a finger reproachfully.

'That was a dirty trick, Dan. My former employees were somewhat disgruntled, I'm sorry to say. But we'd best be off now. There's no time to waste.'

'How did you get here?' Dan demanded.

'I employed a pocket signaler to recall my carrier-and none too soon.' He touched his bruised eye gingerly. 'A glance at the instruments showed me that you had visited the park. I followed and observed a IDMS Portal. Being of an adventurous turn, and, of course, concerned for your welfare, I stepped through-'

'Why didn't they arrest you? I was picked up for operating the carrier.'

'They had some such notion. A whiff of stun gas served to discourage them. Now let's hurry along before the management revives.'

'Wait a minute, Blote. I'm not sure I want to be rescued by you-in spite of your concern for my welfare.'

'Rubbish, Dan! Come along.' Blote looked around. 'Frightful place! No population! No commerce! No deals!'

'It has its compensations; I think I'll stay. You run along.'

'Abandon a colleague? Never!'

'If you're still expecting me to deliver a time machine, you're out of luck. I don't have one.'

'No? Ah, well, in a way I'm relieved. Such a device would upset accepted hyper-physical theory. Now, Dan, you mustn't imagine I harbor ulterior motives-but I believe our association will yet prove fruitful.'

Dan rubbed a finger across his lower lip thoughtfully. 'Look, Blote, you need my help. Maybe you can help me at the same time. If I come along, I want it understood that we work together. I have an idea-'

'But of course, Dan! Now shake a leg!'

Dan sighed and stepped through the portal. The yellow-clad guard lay on the floor, snoring. Blote led the way back into the great hall. IDMS officials were scattered across the floor, slumped over desks, or lying limp in chairs. Blote stopped before one of a row of shimmering portals.

'After you, Dan.'

'Are you sure this is the right one?'

'Quite.'

Dan stepped through in the now familiar chill and found himself back in the park. A small dog sniffing at the carrier caught sight of Blote, lowered his leg and fled.

'I want to pay Mr. Snithian a visit,' Dan said, climbing into a seat.

'My idea exactly,' Blote agreed, lowering his bulk into place.

'Don't get the idea I'm going to help you steal anything.'

'Dan! A most unkind remark. I merely wish to look into certain matters.'

'Just so you don't start looking into the safe.'

Blote tsk!ed, moved a lever. The carrier climbed over a row of blue trees and headed west.

4

Blote brought the carrier in high over the Snithian Estate, dropped lower and descended gently through the roof. The pale, spectral servants moving about their duties in the upper hall failed to notice the wraithlike cage passing soundlessly among them.

In the dining room, Dan caught sight of the girl-Snithian's daughter, perhaps-arranging shadowy flowers on a sideboard.

'Let me take it,' Dan whispered. Blote nodded. Dan steered for the kitchen, guided the carrier to the spot on which he had first emerged from the vault, then edged down through the floor. He brought the carrier to rest and neutralized all switches in a shower of sparks and blue light.

The vault door stood open. There were pictures stacked on the bunk now, against the wall, on the floor. Dan stepped from the carrier, went to the nearest heap of paintings. They had been dumped hastily, it seemed. They weren't even wrapped. He examined the topmost canvas, still in a heavy frame; as though, he reflected, it had just been removed from a gallery wall 'Let's look around for Snithian,' Dan said. 'I want to talk to him.'

'I suggest we investigate the upper floors, Dan. Doubtless his personal pad is there.'

'You use the carrier; I'll go up and look the house over.'

'As you wish, Dan.' Blote and the carrier flickered and faded from view.

Dan stooped, picked up the pistol he had dropped half an hour earlier in the scuffle with Fiorello and stepped out into the hall. All was silent. He climbed stairs, looked into rooms. The house seemed deserted. On the third floor he went along a corridor, checking each room. The last room on the west side was fitted as a study. There was a stack of paintings on a table near the door. Dan went to them, examined the top one.

It looked familiar. Wasn't it one that Look said was in the Art Institute at Chicago?

There was a creak as of an unoiled hinge. Dan spun around. A door stood open at the far side of the room-a connecting door to a bedroom, probably.

'Keep well away from the carrier, Mr. Slane,' a high, thin voice said from the shadows. The tall, cloaked figure of Clyde W. Snithian stepped into view, a needle- barreled pistol in his hand.

'I thought you'd be back,' he piped. 'It makes my problem much simpler. If you hadn't appeared soon, it would have been necessary for me to shift the scene of my operations. That would have been a nuisance.'

***

Dan eyed the gun. 'There are a lot more paintings downstairs than there were when I left,' he said. 'I don't know much about art, but I recognize a few of them.'

'Copies,' Snithian snapped.

'This is no copy,' Dan tapped the top painting on the stack. 'It's an original. You can feel the brushwork.'

'Not prints, of course. Copies,' Snithian whinnied. 'Exact copies.'

'These paintings are stolen, Mr. Snithian. Why would a wealthy man like you take to stealing art?'

'I'm not here to answer questions, Mr. Slane!' The weapon in Snithian's hand buzzed. A wave of pain swept over Dan. Snithian cackled, lowering the gun. 'You'll soon learn better manners.'

Dan's hand went to his pocket, came out holding the automatic. He aimed it at Snithian's face. The industrialist froze, eyes on Dan's gun.

'Drop the gun,' Dan snapped. Snithian's weapon clattered to the floor. 'Now let's go and find Kelly,' Dan ordered.

'Wait!' Snithian shrilled. 'I can make you a rich man, Slane.'

'Not by stealing paintings.'

'You don't understand. This is more than petty larceny!!'

'That's right. It's grand larceny. These pictures are worth millions.'

'I can show you things that will completely change your attitude. Actually, I've acted throughout in the best interests of humanity!'

Dan gestured with the gun. 'Don't plan anything clever. I'm not used to guns. This thing will go off at the least excuse, and then I'd have a murder to explain.'

'That would be an inexcusable blunder on your part!' Snithian keened. 'I'm a very important figure, Slane.' He crossed the deep-pile rug to a glass-doored cabinet. 'This,' he said, taking out a flat black box, 'contains a fortune in precious stones.' He lifted the lid. Dan stepped closer. A row of brilliant red gems nestled in a bed of cotton.

'Rubies?'

'Flawless-and perfectly matched.' Snithian whinnied. 'Perfectly matched. Worth a fortune. They're yours, if you cooperate.'

'You said you were going to change my attitude. Better get started.'

***

'Listen to me, Slane. I'm not operating independently. I'm employed by the Ivroy, whose power is incalculable. My assignment had been to rescue from destruction irreplaceable works of art fated to be consumed in atomic fire.'