Requiem for a Ruler of Worlds (8 page)

Floyt was studying Alacrity as though he were something for which there ought to have been a vaccine. "If you
should
begin to approve of me, let me know, Fitzhugh. I'll change at once," he replied calmly.

Viewing the readouts, the hidden clinicians smiled, well pleased. Their chief made calming gestures; his two subjects settled down. Alacrity saw that he must surrender to the inevitable; Floyt obeyed Earthservice, as he had all his life.

Citizen Ash spoke up; the others were surprised to realize how inconspicuous he could be when he wished. "I must leave you now. Hobart, Alacrity: good luck to you both. I pray that you return soon." He turned to go; Alacrity called out to him, and he paused.

"What happened to the girl?" the breakabout wanted to know. "The one you were going to talk to when you left me? The one with no third way out?"

"I will see her again, a last time." Ash's face was a mask. The clinicians noticed strange peturbations in their readings. Then the executioner was gone.

Skinner began to rebuild the mood he desired, furious with the disruption but not even daring to consider criticizing Citizen Ash. He rubbed his hands together heartily. "Now then, gentlemen, shall we begin?" Alacrity decided that, if the opportunity should ever present itself, he would knock Chief Behavioral Engineer Skinner's dong to the deck.

"You've both been briefed on the therapy you're to undergo here," Skinner began. He ignored the breakabout's bitter snort of derision. "Basically, it's a standard procedure. Citizen Floyt, you're aware of how common its use is in, ah, somewhat different circumstances here on Terra. Alacrity, you have no doubt encountered standard conditioning techniques, eh?"

Alacrity scowled. "I roger 'techniques', all right." He also knew of places where it was possible to have behavioral programming erased or counteracted. He grinned wolfishly.

"Good!" Skinner replied, too genially. "Now, the one major problem we have is that of time. The provisions of Weir's will require that all Inheritors be present for the reading; this means that you must depart for Epiphany in slightly over two days.

"So instead of a full course of treatment, you'll only have time for a rather abbreviated conditioning, concentrating on your task. That is, going to Epiphany, claiming the inheritance, and returning with it to Earth. Obviously, this involves certain priorities."

Alacrity made a sour face, glancing aside at a reproduction of a Remington painting. One of the priorities would
not
be his own welfare.

Floyt was expressionless; Skinner looked forward to analyzing the readings being recorded by Subutai and Seism, to find out just what it was the man was feeling.

"Priorities. You, Alacrity, will see to it that Hobart performs his mission and returns safely, Hobart, it's necessary to place all emphasis on your mission. Understand, please, both of you: this will
not
make you feel like some sort of automaton. It will seem reasonable and desirable that you do what is required."

"How about
him
?" Alacrity broke in with a head motion at Floyt. "How do I keep him from doing some vapor-brained damn fool Earther thing or other and getting us into trouble.
Who's gonna be in
charge?"

Floyt went rigid with anger; he gave the breakabout a direct and unswerving stare. Embarrassed, Skinner hastened to add, "Er, you'll
both
be enjoined against provocative conduct. But this is hardly the time to go into that, eh?"

Alacrity's eyes dropped first, away from Floyt's unwavering glare. Maybe there was a little something to the guy after all. Too, he was disturbed by what Skinner had said. He had a premonition that, in a typical Earthservice reflex, the two unwilling companions were to be turned into some sort of
committee.

"And now to work!" Skinner trumpeted, clapping his hands. Floyt looked back to Alacrity
wanting to clarify matters then and there, but the breakabout was fast asleep in his chair, Subutai and Seism having cut in its soporific field.

Floyt spent the better part of two days in conditioning-pseudosomnolence while Earthservice told him what he was to do. His loyalty to Terra and long-fostered resentment of things alien were bent toward a commitment to mission completion.

Motivation was hardly a problem for the behavioral engineers; it was more a matter of fine-tuning Floyt's xenophobia so that he could endure offworld travel and contacts. His conscious acceptance of the idea was fragile enough; his underlying fear and aversion were nearly off the scale.

While he was under, they brought in medical teams for his immunization and adaptive treatments, from Earthservice's point of view, the most expensive part of the mission. It might prove needless, in which case it would be eliminated from future Project Shepherd missions, but Supervisor Bear could not afford to have anything go wrong. Alacrity, of course, had received equivalent or superior treatment long ago.

Floyt did spend some waking time. A little groggy, he was given general orientations on interstellar travel and conditions in human space, those in the realm of the late Weir in particular.

He was also lectured on the reasons for Earthservice's actions. But his opposition to travel couldn't be eradicated, only submerged. It wasn't difficult at all to insure that he be prudent.

Getting the Earther to accept companionship with Alacrity was something else again. It was probable that Floyt would on occasion have to bow to Alacrity's judgment, or at least weigh it impartially. That required the tearing down of some of his distaste for aliens, which the clinicians did very carefully, considering the short time they had. They made sure that among aliens Alacrity was considered a unique exception. They wanted the remainder of Floyt's prejudice to stay intact.

Alacrity, younger and more resilient, didn't wake up again for over forty-eight hours. He had to be imbued with the desire to accompany, protect, and cooperate with Floyt. They had little enough to work with, especially after his experiences at Machu Picchu.

But they
did
have Floyt. The team deemed it best to create and stress a personal loyalty. In the process, they encountered a tremendous defensive blockage surrounding and sealing off the breakabout's past, origins, and upbringing. The two clinicians thought it natural, a protective mechanism of some sort.

But Skinner felt that it was too strong, and must have been painstakingly constructed. He was intrigued and mightily tempted to probe it, but there was no time.

To cultivate the synthetic bonding, the team used recordings from Floyt's sessions on Alacrity. Their evaluation of the psychodynamics involved prompted them to emphasize Floyt's vulnerability, though the man actually displayed a surprising streak of self-reliance. They played it against the breakabout's rather easily provoked sympathy for an underdog or victim. The by-product, they knew, would be a certain contempt for Floyt's perceived weakness. The clinicians were willing to accept that.

They knew that they'd made progress early on the second day. Heavily medicated, Alacrity sat in a recliner viewing a tape of Hobart Floyt while a hypnofield worked on him. The recording, made in the course of the functionary's sessions, had been edited and orchestrated masterfully to portray Floyt as a likable but frightened man caught up in a dilemma beyond his understanding or abilities.

Suddenly the clinicians heard Alacrity mumbling. The team leaned closer, straining to hear.

"Poor sonuvabitch … poor little sonuva … "

Chief Behavioral Engineer Skinner broke into a beaming grin.

The time limit forced the team to discontinue its regimen, though there hadn't been nearly enough conditioning for a deep, completely reliable treatment. The team's disclaimers were ignored; Floyt
must
be present for the Willreading.

Alacrity was groggily led back to the bogus drawing room by an aide. Floyt was already waiting, along with Skinner and his crew. The oriental screen had been removed; a surprisingly modern and compact control console glittered in the corner.

The conditioning team seemed so relaxed and jocular that it depressed Floyt and made him somewhat bitter, even though he knew he had to carry out his mission for the good of Terra. But the behavioral engineers would get to stay behind, among the true children of Terra, while he, Floyt, must venture out among the mongrelized, mutated, and crossbred offworlders.

Then his conditioning cut in, though it felt to him quite simply as though another thought had occurred to him. He was filled with a warm glow at the thought of all the good that he might be able to do with his inheritance.

Swaying for a moment as the aide released his arm, Alacrity stopped. Skinner and company raised the breakabout's hackles; they'd left his nervous system jangling and played out.

Then he spied Floyt. A wave of compassion swept through him. Poor little sonuvabitch!

A last attendee showed up, Supervisor Bear, looking triumphant. She gave the seated Floyt a pat on the shoulder, gazing down on him benignly. "You've done well, Hobart. From this point forward, physical hardships will be few."

On a jaunt to Epiphany and back, with somebody out to get him—or us?
Alacrity marveled at her knack for lying. But he felt a sudden resolve to see to it that the Earther
did
make it. After all, none of this was really Floyt's fault either. The conditioning made him feel that way so strongly, he knew, but a good deal of his real self was in there someplace too.

Floyt made some halting reply. Though he'd gone through far lighter treatment than the breakabout, he was still a bit disoriented.

Bear turned to Alacrity. The subzero cordiality only made him loathe her more. "You have a rare opportunity to atone for your crime by doing something worthwhile. I trust you'll show gratitude and make good use of it."

"If I had my way, Bear, there'd be a filter in every urethral duct to eliminate your type."

A shade paler, Bear launched into a general pep talk. The others listened deferentially, but Alacrity, anger smoldering, looked around the room restlessly. Then he noticed that, eyes still on Bear, the little clinician, Seism, was edging toward the console. He covered the movements of his hand with his body as he reached for the controls.

As punchy as he was from the things that had taken place since Machu Picchu, Alacrity had nonetheless picked up a fair idea of how the console worked, his normal reaction in encountering new machinery. Seism seemed about to give a lethal twist to the control governing energy influx for Floyt's chair.

Alacrity
ejected
from his chair, hurling himself across the room at Seism. The clinician whirled the dial; Floyt yipped in pain and surprise, stiffening. Seism faced Alacrity, aiming a slender, glittering tube his way.

The breakabout never even slowed down; Floyt was injured but, for the moment, still alive. Alacrity tried to dodge, meaning to try a flying tackle, hollering for the others to help.

Seism was faster than he looked. The beam caught Alacrity full in the face, stretching him headlong on the rich, imitation-Persian carpet.

He only lost his sense of time for a moment; it felt like no more than seconds later that he came to, battered and sore, staring up at the replica chandelier.

Paralyzer, stungun, whatever they call them on Earth,
he realized; he couldn't have survived anything else at point-blank. At that, the gun must've been set at low power. He still felt as though somebody had dialed up a couple of extra gravities. He strained, raised his head.

First he saw Floyt's face, wearing a strange mixture of perplexity and amazement. Bear was next to him, still wearing her bland expression over a certain gloating. The team stood in a loose circle, peering down.

Skinner was taking his pulse manually. "Jus"n ole-fashioned doctor, huh?" The patient yanked his wrist free.

Seism gazed down sympathetically; Subutai was murmuring psychometric observations into a recorder. Alacrity congratulated himself sourly on having fallen for another Earthservice setup.

"Did I pass, you mucus wads?"

"Magnificently," Skinner acclaimed. He helped Alacrity up, knowing the breakabout would be too weak to take more than an ineffective imitation of a punch or kick at him. "Sorry we had to do it, young man, but that was your final test."

"I would say you're in dependable company, Citizen Floyt," Subutai observed.

Alacrity saw from the look on Floyt's face that he'd been as much taken by surprise as the breakabout.

Then, brows knit, the functionary faced Bear and Skinner. "That was a vicious, unnecessary thing to do." In his confusion and anger, he thought back to the woman who'd attacked him with the styrette.

Another Earthservice ruse, a test? Of what?

For the first time, Bear's countenance grew troubled. Floyt's asserting himself, particularly for the offworlder, was no part of her scheme. The team was watching the functionary intently.

"Forget it," Alacrity said to Floyt in disgust. "We've got a ship to catch."

Alacrity wanted their leavetaking to be inconspicuous—secret, if possible. However, that didn't dovetail with Bear's plan to make the pilot mission a shining achievement and propaganda victory.

And so the waiting room at Earth's last remaining spaceport, closed to the public, was filled with recording teams and their equipment. All material would be heavily edited later on, naturally. In the event that this mission came to a bad end too, the recordings could be disposed of. The first
successful
mission would be the one palmed off on Terrans at large as Project Shepherd's initial one.

"Make sure you have the letter of Free Import," Supervisor Bear reminded Floyt for the third time.

"In fact, let me see it."

He sighed and extracted it. The Earthservice letter of Free Import was a rare document; few Terrans had even heard the term. The one-page form, bearing Floyt's name in glowing characters, cited regulations of which he was totally ignorant. It authorized him to return to his place of residence—presumably with his inheritance—without hindrance or interference from Earthservice customs officials or Peaceguardians. What with the many interbureaucratic rivalries and feuds, Bear was taking no chances on having to share Project Shepherd's thunder with anyone, or having the bequest or its proceeds diverted from her own budget.