Empire by Clifford D. Simak (the dot read aloud TXT) 📕

Wilson, you sold me out. But you will pay. No matter where you go, I will find you. You cannot hide from me.

The music pulsated in the room, the hum of conversation ran like an undertone, but Wilson did not hear. His entire consciousness was centered on the writing, the letters and the words that filled his soul with dread.

Something seemed to snap within him. The cold wind of terror reached out and struck at him. He staggered from the chair. His hand swept the wine glass from the table and it shattered into chiming shards.

"They can't do this to me!" he shrieked.

There was a silence in the room a silence of terrible accusation. Everyone was staring at him. Eyebrows raised.

A waiter was at his elbow. "Do you feel ill, sir?"

And then, on unsteady feet, he was being led away. Behind him he heard the music once again, heard the rising hum of voices.

Someone set his hat on his head, was holding his coat. The cold air of the night struck his face and the doors sighed closed behind him.

"I'd take it easy going down the step, sir," counseled the doorman.

An aero-taxi driver held open the door of the cab and saluted.

"Where to, sir?"

Wilson stumbled in and stammered out his address. The taxi droned into the traffic lane.

Hands twitching, Wilson fumbled with the key, took minutes to open the door into his apartment. Finally the lock clicked and he pushed open the door. His questing finger found the wall switch. Light flooded the room.

Wilson heaved a sigh of relief. He felt safe here. This place belonged to him. It was his home, his retreat....

A low laugh, hardly more than a chuckle, sounded behind him. He whirled and for a moment, blinking in the light, he saw nothing. Then something stirred by one of the windows, gray and vague, like a sheet of moving fog.

As he watched, shrinking back against the wall, the grayness deepened, took the form of a man. And out of that mistiness a face was etched, a face that had no single line of humor in it, a bleak face with the fire of anger in the eyes.

"Manning!" shrieked Wilson. "Manning!" He wheeled and sprinted for the door, but the gray figure moved, too ... incredibly fast, as if it were wind-blown vapor, and barred his path to the door.

"Why are you running away?" Manning's voice mocked. "Certainly you aren't afraid of me."[63]

"Look," Wilson whimpered, "I didn't think of what it meant. I just was tired of working the way Page made me work. Tired of the little salary I got. I wanted money. I was hungry for money."

"So you sold us out," said Manning.

"No," cried Wilson, "I didn't think of it that way. I didn't stop to think."

"Think now, then," said Manning gravely. "Think of this. No matter where you are, no matter where you go, no matter what you do, I'll always be watching you, I'll never let you rest. I'll never give you a minute's peace."

"Please," pleaded Wilson. "Please, go away and leave me. I'll give you back the money ... there's some of it left."

"You sold out for twenty thousand," said Manning. "You could have gotten twenty million. Chambers would have paid that much to know what you could tell him, because it was worth twenty billion."

Wilson's breath was coming in panting gasps. He dropped his coat and backed away. The back of his knees collided with a chair and he folded up, sat down heavily, still staring at the gray mistiness that was a man.

"Think of that, Wilson," Manning went on sneeringly. "You could have been a millionaire. Maybe even a billionaire. You could have had all the fine things these other people have. But you only got twenty thousand."

"What can I do?" begged Wilson.

The misty face split in a sardonic grin.

"I don't believe there's anything left for you to do."

Before Wilson's eyes the face dissolved, lost its lines, seemed to melt away. Only streaming, swirling mist, then a slight refraction in the air and then nothing.

Slowly Wilson rose to his feet, reached for the bottle of whiskey on the table. His hand shook so that the liquor splashed. When he raised the glass to his mouth, his still-shaking hand poured half the drink over his white shirt front.

[65]

Ludwig Stutsman pressed his thin, straight lips together. "So that's the setup," he said.

Across the desk Spencer Chambers studied the man. Stutsman was like a wolf, lean and cruel and vicious. He even looked like a wolf, with his long, thin face, his small, beady eyes, the thin, bloodless lips. But he was the kind of man who didn't always wait for instructions, but went ahead and used his own judgment. And in a ruthless sort of way, his judgment was always right.

"Only as a last resort," cautioned Chambers, "do I want you to use the extreme measures you are so fond of using. If they should prove necessary, we can always use them. But not yet. I want to settle this thing in the quietest way possible. Page and Manning are two men who can't simply disappear. There'd be a hunt, an investigation, an ugly situation."

"I understand," agreed Stutsman. "If something should happen to their notes, if somebody could find them. Perhaps you. If you found them on your desk one morning."

The two men measured one[66] another with their eyes, more like enemies than men working for the same ends.

"Not my desk," snapped Chambers, "Craven's. So that Craven could discover this new energy. Whatever Craven discovers belongs to Interplanetary."

Chambers rose from his chair and walked to the window, looked out. After a moment's time, he turned and walked back again, sat down in his chair. Leaning back, he matched his fingertips, his teeth flashing in a grin under his mustache.

"I don't know anything about what's going on," he said. "I don't even know someone has discovered material energy. That's up to Craven. He has to find it. Both you and Craven work alone. I know nothing about either of you."

Stutsman's jaw closed like a steel trap. "I've always worked alone."

"By the way," said Chambers, the edge suddenly off his voice, "how are things going in the Jovian confederacy? I trust you left everything in good shape."

"As good as could be expected," Stutsman replied. "The people are still uneasy, half angry. They still remember Mallory."

"But Mallory," objected Chambers, "is on a prison ship. In near Mercury now, I believe."

Stutsman shook his head. "They still remember him. We'll have trouble out there one of these days."

"I would hate to have that happen," remarked Chambers softly. "I would regret it very much. I sent you out there to see that nothing happened."

"The trouble out there won't be a flash to this thing you were telling me about," snapped Stutsman.

"I'm leaving that in your hands, too," Chambers told him. "I know you can take care of it."

Stutsman rose. "I can take care of it."

"I'm sure you can," Chambers said.

He remained standing after Stutsman left, looking at the door through which the man had gone. Maybe it had been a mistake to call Stutsman in from Callisto. Maybe it was a mistake to use Stutsman at all. He didn't like a lot of things the man did ... or the way he did them. Brutal things.

Slowly Chambers sat down again and his face grew hard.

He had built an empire of many worlds. That couldn't be done with gentle methods and no sure goal. Fighting every inch from planet to planet, he had used power to gain power. And now that empire was threatened by two men who had found a[67] greater power. That threat had to be smashed! It would be smashed!

Chambers leaned forward and pressed a buzzer.

"Yes, Mr. Chambers?" said a voice in the communicator.

"Send Dr. Craven in," commanded Chambers.

Craven came in, slouchily, his hair standing on end, his eyes peering through the thick-lensed glasses.

"You sent for me," he growled, taking a chair.

"Yes, I did," said Chambers. "Have a drink?"

"No. And no smoke either."

Chambers took a long cigar from the box on his desk, clipped off the end and rolled it in his mouth.

"I'm a busy man," Craven reminded him.

Puckering lines of amusement wrinkled Chambers' eyes as he lit up, watching Craven.

"You do seem to be busy, Doctor," he said. "I only wish you had something concrete to report."

The scientist bristled. "I may have in a few days, if you leave me alone and let me work."

"I presume that you are still working on your radiation collector. Any progress?"

"Not too much. You can't expect a man to turn out discoveries to order. I'm working almost night and day now. If the thing can be solved, I'll solve it."

Chambers glowed. "Keep up the good work. But I wanted to talk to you about something else. You heard, I suppose, that I lost a barrel of money on the Ranthoor exchange."

Craven smiled, a sardonic twisting of his lips. "I heard something about it."

"I thought you had," said Chambers sourly. "If not, you would have been the only one who hadn't heard how Ben Wrail took Chambers for a ride."

"He really took you then," commented Craven. "I thought maybe it was just one of those stories."

"He took me, but that's not what's worrying me. I want to know how he did it. No man, not even the most astute student of the market, could have foretold the trend of the market the way he did. And Wrail isn't the most astute. It isn't natural when a man who has always played the safe side suddenly turns the market upside down. Even less natural when he never makes a mistake."

"Well," demanded Craven, "what do you want me to do about it? I'm a scientist. I've never owned a share of stock in my life."

"There's an angle to it that might interest you," said Chambers[68] smoothly, leaning back, puffing at the cigar. "Wrail is a close friend of Manning. And Wrail himself didn't have the money it took to swing those deals. Somebody furnished that money."

"Manning?" asked Craven.

"What do you think?"

"If Manning's mixed up in it," said Craven acidly, "there isn't anything any of us can do about it. You're bucking money and genius together. This Manning is no slouch of a scientist himself and Page is better. They're a combination."

"You think they're good?" asked Chambers.

"Good? Didn't they discover material energy?" The scientist glowered at his employer. "That ought to be answer enough."

"Yes, I know," Chambers agreed irritably. "But can you tell me how they worked this market deal?"

Craven grimaced.