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diff --git a/33790-h/33790-h.htm b/33790-h/33790-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..de15a59 --- /dev/null +++ b/33790-h/33790-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1326 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Delayed Action, by Charles V. Devet + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 35%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.blockquot1 { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.p1 { font-weight:bold; margin-left: 80%; } + +.center {text-align: center;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft1 { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; + margin-top: 0.2em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Delayed Action, by Charles Vincent De Vet + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Delayed Action + +Author: Charles Vincent De Vet + +Illustrator: Dick Francis + +Release Date: September 21, 2010 [EBook #33790] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DELAYED ACTION *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Robert Cicconetti, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from the September 1953 issue of Galaxy Science Fiction. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>This planet gave him the perfect chance to<br /> +commit the perfect crime—only he couldn't<br /> +remember just what it was he had committed.</i></p></div> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 800px;"> +<img src="images/image_001.jpg" width="800" height="750" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<h1>DELAYED ACTION</h1> +<p> </p> +<h2>By CHARLES V. DeVET</h2> +<p> </p> +<h3>Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i1.jpg" alt="I" width="24" height="50" /></div> +<p>t was just a hunch. Johnson knew that, but his hunches had often paid +off in the past, and now he waited with a big man's patience. For five +hours he sat in the wooden stands, under the rumpled canvas the +concessionaires had put up to protect the tourists from Marlock's +yellow sun.</p> + +<p>The sun was hot and soon Johnson's clothing was marked with large +soiled patches of sweat. Now and then a light breeze blew across the +stands from the native section and at each breath his nostrils +crinkled in protest at the acrid smell.</p> + +<p>Marlock wasn't much of a planet. Its one claim to fame was its +widely advertised Nature's Moebius Strip. For eighteen months of the +year—nine months of sub-zero cold, and nine months of sultry, +sand-driven summer—the only outsiders to visit the planet came to buy +its one export, the fur of the desert ox. But during the two months of +fall and two months of spring the tourists poured in to gape at the +Strip.</p> + +<p>Idly, for the hundredth time, Johnson let his gaze run over the +tourists lining up for their "thrill" journey out onto the Strip. Most +of them wouldn't go far; they only wanted to be able to say they'd +been on it. They would build up some pretty exciting stories about it +by the time they returned home.</p> + +<p>There was no sign of Johnson's man.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> + +<p>he party started out onto the Strip. At the first sensation of +giddiness women squealed and most of them turned back. Their men came +with them, secretly relieved at the excuse.</p> + +<p>Johnson watched disinterestedly until only two remained: the young +couple he had designated in his mind as honeymooners. The girl had +grit. Perhaps more than the young fellow with her. He was affecting +bored bravado, laughing loudly as the girl hesitated, but white +streaks had appeared along his jawline and across his temples as he +waited his turn.</p> + +<p>The young couple had gone far enough out now so that they were in the +first bend of the Strip's twisting dip. Already their bodies were +leaning sharply, as the mysterious gravity of the Strip held them +perpendicular with their pathway. From where he sat Johnson could read +nausea on their faces.</p> + +<p>When they had followed the Strip around until they were leaning at a +35-degree angle, the girl seemed to lose her nerve. She stopped and +stood gripping the guide rope with both hands. The boy said something +to her, but she shook her head. He'd have to show his superiority now +by going on, but it wouldn't be for much farther, Johnson was willing +to wager.</p> + +<p>The boy took three more steps and paused. Then his body bent in the +middle and he was sick. He'd had enough.</p> + +<p>Both turned and hurried back. The crowd of tourists, watching or +waiting their turn, cheered. In a few minutes, Johnson knew, the kid +would be thinking of himself as a hero.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Johnson straightened up, having spotted a new arrival, who +gripped a tan brief-case tightly under one arm, buying a ticket. He +had bulky shoulders and a black beard. Johnson's man had come.</p> + +<p>When he saw the bearded man go out with the next bunch to brave the +Strip, Johnson rose and walked rapidly to the entrance. Elbowing his +way through, with a murmured apology, he joined the waiting group.</p> + +<p>A thin-faced odd-job man opened the rope gate and they shuffled +through. The group must have walked fifty paces, with the bearded man +well up in front and Johnson somewhere in the middle, before Johnson's +stomach sent him its first warning of unrest. Most of those ahead had +stopped and Johnson threaded his way carefully past them.</p> + +<p>Another twenty-five steps and he left the others behind. All except +the bearded man. He neither paused nor looked back.</p> + +<p>Johnson's stomach had drawn up into a tight knot now, and his head was +beginning to feel light. There was a faint ringing in his ears.</p> + +<p>By the time he reached the end of the guide rope, nausea was creeping +up from his stomach and into his throat. This was as far as it was +supposed to be safe to go; the advertising literature had it that here +was the point of no return. Up ahead his quarry was walking half +doubled over, weaving back and forth, as though he were intoxicated. +But he did not pause.</p> + +<p>Johnson turned to look back, and felt his breakfast fighting to come +up. From his perspective, the ground and the spectators watching him +had swung to a position almost perpendicular to him. He felt that he +was about to slide off into space. A wave of vertigo swept over him, +his legs folded and he fell to the ground—sicker than he had ever +been before in his life. Now he knew why the man ahead never looked +back.</p> + +<p>For a moment Johnson wondered whether he should give up. But, even as +he debated, tenacity pulled him to his feet and forced him on.</p> + +<p>And now something new was added to his vast discomfort. Tiny twinges +of pain, like small electric shocks, began shooting up his legs, +increasing in intensity with each step he took. The pain built up +until the rusty taste of blood in his mouth told him that he had +bitten into the flesh of his lower lip.</p> + +<p>Johnson's only consolation now was the thought that the man ahead of +him must be suffering worse than he. At each step the pain increased +its tempo, and the sound within his head grew to a battering roar. +Although he felt himself at the last frayed ends of his vitality, he +managed to stagger on.</p> + +<p>Abruptly he realized that he had very nearly overtaken the man ahead. +Through eyes glazed with pain, he saw the other, still standing, but +swaying with agony and sickness. The man seemed to be gathering his +resources for some supreme effort.</p> + +<p>He tottered ahead two more steps, threw himself forward—and +disappeared!</p> + +<p>If he paused now, Johnson knew he would never be able to move again. +Only will power and momentum carried him on. He stumbled and pitched +forward. A searing pain traced a path through his head and he felt +himself falling.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="41" height="40" /></div> +<p>e was certain that he had never lost consciousness. The ground came +up to meet him, and, with a last effort, he twisted his right shoulder +inward. His cheek slid along the dirt and he lay on his side without +strength. His legs pushed forward in a steady jerking movement as he +fought to quiet his quivering muscles.</p> + +<p>Gradually a soothing lethargy bathed Johnson's body. His pains +vanished, and the sickness left his stomach.</p> + +<p>But something was wrong—terribly wrong!</p> + +<p>Slowly he climbed to his feet and stood looking about him. He was +still on the narrow arm of the Strip. On either side of him banks of +white clouds, with the consistency of thick smoke, billowed and curled +about the Strip—but somehow they left its pathway clear.</p> + +<p>Johnson shook his head. The wrongness, he guessed, was in his own +mind. But he was unable to determine what it was. Desperately he +marshalled his scattered thoughts. Nothing. He took one groping step +in the direction from which he had come—and staggered back from a +wall of pain as tangible as a concrete structure.</p> + +<p>He had no choice except to go forward. There was something he must do, +he realized, but what was it? With the question came the answer to +what was troubling him.</p> + +<p>His memory was gone!</p> + +<p>Or, at least, a great gap had been torn through it as though carved +out by a giant blade. Briefly, despair threatened to overwhelm him.</p> + +<p>"Hold it!" Johnson spoke aloud, and the words sobered him.</p> + +<p>All fears became worse when not looked at. He had to bring this +disaster out into the open where he could face it; where he could +assay the damage. He had always taken pride in having a logical mind, +with thought processes as clear and orderly as a bookkeeper's ledger. +Closing his eyes, he went swiftly over his recollections, placing each +in its appropriate column.</p> + +<p>When he finished he found the balance extremely unfavorable, but not +hopeless. On the asset side he remembered: His name. Donald Johnson. +Right now he was on Nature's Moebius Strip, on the planet, Marlock. +There was some man he had been following.... The rest was on the +liability side of his balance sheet.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="41" height="40" /></div> +<p>is name remained: All other memory of his own identity was gone. +There was no recollection of his reason for being on Marlock, or whom +he had been following or why. That left him little with which to work.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, he mused, he might never be able to get off the +Strip, so that didn't matter much. He doubted his ability to stand the +stress of penetrating that electric curtain again. His body had been +able to take the punishment the first time because the force had built +up gradually. Going back would be something else again.</p> + +<p>Still he planned his next actions methodically—only in that way could +he retain his sanity. He would go forward for one hour, he decided—he +checked his wrist watch and discovered it had run down—and, if he +found nothing, he would return and take his chances on getting through +the curtain.</p> + +<p>At the end of ten minutes he sighted land ahead of him. When he +stepped off the Strip, he stopped in amazement!</p> + +<p>Somehow the Strip had doubled back on itself, and he had returned to +his starting place!</p> + +<p>To his right was the rough wooden viewing platform, with its green +umbrella gone. The stands were empty, and not a person—tourist or +concessionaire—was in sight.</p> + +<p>As Johnson stood, perplexed, he became aware of numbness spreading +over his body. He brought up his hands and watched them slowly turn +blue with cold. He realized then, in a burst of wonder, that winter +had come to Marlock. Yet it had been spring when he had gone out on +the Strip!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_g1.jpg" alt="G" width="47" height="40" /></div> +<p>ood God, man!" the clerk exclaimed. "Have you been out in that cold +without a coat and hat? It must be thirty below."</p> + +<p>Johnson was unable to answer. He had run from the Strip—luckily he +remembered its location in relation to the town—but it must have been +over a mile to the hotel. Now, as he stamped his feet and beat at his +sides with numbed hands, he breathed heavily, gasping great gulps of +air into his tortured lungs.</p> + +<p>"Come and warm yourself," the clerk said, leading him over to a hot +water radiator.</p> + +<p>Johnson made no protest. He let the heat penetrate until it scorched +the skin on his back. Only after the coldness left his body and was +replaced by a drowsy inertia did his attention return to the clerk.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see me before?" Johnson asked.</p> + +<p>The clerk shook his head. "Not that I know of."</p> + +<p>Any further investigation would have to wait until the next day, +Johnson decided. He was dead tired, and he had to have some sleep. +"Sign me up for a room, will you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Once up in his room, Johnson counted his money. One hundred and +fifty-four credits. Enough to buy winter clothing and pay his room and +board for a week. Maybe two. What would he do if he could learn +nothing about himself before then?</p> + +<p>The next day Johnson left the hotel to buy warm clothes. The town's +only store was a half-block down the street—as he remembered it, one +of the big Interplanet Company stores.</p> + +<p>Johnson waited until the storekeeper finished with two of the +hairy-eared natives before giving his order. As he paid for the +purchase, he asked: "Have you ever seen me before?"</p> + +<p>The storekeeper glanced at him uneasily, and shifted his feet before +answering. "Am I supposed to have?"</p> + +<p>Johnson ignored the question. "Where can I find the manager?" he +asked, slipping into the heavy coat the clerk held for him.</p> + +<p>"Go up that stairway by the door," the clerk said. "You'll find him in +his office."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> + +<p>he manager was an old man. Old and black, with the deep blackness +only an Earth-born Negro possesses. But his eyes retained their +youthful alertness.</p> + +<p>"Come in and sit down," he told Johnson as he looked up and saw him +standing in the doorway.</p> + +<p>Johnson walked over and took the chair at the manager's left. "I've +had an accident," he said, without preliminary, "and I seem to have +lost my memory. Do you, by any chance, know who I am?"</p> + +<p>"Never saw you before in my life," the manager answered. "What's your +name?"</p> + +<p>"Don Johnson."</p> + +<p>"Well, at least you remember something," the old man said shrewdly. +"You didn't come during the last six months, if that'll help any. +There've been only two ships in that time. Both the Company's. I meet +all Company ships. If you came in during the tourist season I wouldn't +know."</p> + +<p>"Where else could I make inquiries?"</p> + +<p>"Son," the old man said kindly, "there's three Earthmen on Marlock, +that I know of—besides yourself, of course—the clerk at the hotel, +my storekeeper, and myself. If you started asking questions at the +hotel, you're at the end of the line now."</p> + +<p>Something in Johnson's expression caused the old man to go on. "How +you fixed for money, son?"</p> + +<p>Johnson drew a deep breath. "I've got enough to last me about two +weeks."</p> + +<p>The manager hesitated, and carefully surveyed the ceiling with his +eyes before he spoke again. "I've always felt we Earthmen should stick +together," he said. "If you want a job, I'll find something for you to +do and put you on the payroll."</p> + +<p>Twenty minutes later Johnson took the job—and twenty years later he +was still working for the Company. He worked for them until....</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_j.jpg" alt="J" width="26" height="40" /></div> +<p>ohnson was glad when the first twinge of fear came that it brought no +panic. Instead it washed through his body, sharpening his reflexes and +alerting his muscles for action.</p> + +<p>He never ceased to wonder about this faculty he had acquired for +sensing the presence of danger. There was no doubt in his mind that it +had come into active function through the influence of his +environment. But it must have been an intrinsic part of him even +before that, waiting to be activated.</p> + +<p>A moment before he had localized the source of his uneasiness—an +Earthman, following perhaps fifty paces behind him. The one quick +glance Johnson had allowed himself told him his follower was above +average in height, and lean—with the wiry, muscular command of +himself that marked him as a man capable of well-coordinated action.</p> + +<p>He fought the rising force of the next "sand-blaster" boiling in from +the desert, until he was unable to take a step against it. Then he +moved behind a mud-packed arm projecting from the native dwelling at +his right. Every building had one of these protecting arms added on; +even the concrete buildings in the newer, Earth-built section of the +city conformed to the custom. The sandstorms raged intermittently on +Marlock through the entire nine month summer season, and could not be +ignored, either by visitors or natives.</p> + +<p>Johnson huddled against the projection, but the sand whipped around +the corner and pounded at his back. Fine grains sifted through his +clothing and mingled with the clammy sweat of his body. He resisted +the frantic urge to scratch his itching, tormented skin, for he knew +the flesh would be rubbed raw in a minute and increase the irritation +to maddening proportions.</p> + +<p>As the "sand-blaster" lost its intensity, he came out from his shelter +and walked away as rapidly as the diminishing force of the wind would +permit. If he could reach his office before his stalker closed in, he +would be safe.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a second Earthman, a short length of pipe in his right hand, +came out of a doorway across the street and ran toward him.</p> + +<p>Johnson realized that here was the source of the warning his intuition +had sent—not the man behind him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_f.jpg" alt="F" width="32" height="40" /></div> +<p>or a brief instant, he weighed the situation. The man was equipped +for assault, but the chances were he was interested only in robbery. +Johnson could probably save himself a beating by surrendering his +money without resistance. He rejected the thought. A man had to live +with his pride, and his self-respect; they were more necessary than +physical well-being. Setting his shoulders firmly against the wall, +he waited.</p> + +<p>The man slowed to a walk when he saw his intended victim on guard. +Johnson had the chance to observe him closely. He was a short and dark +man, heavy of bone, with the lower half of his face thickly bearded, +and sweat making a thin glistening film on his high cheekbones.</p> + +<p>Abruptly a voice said, "I wouldn't touch him if I were you."</p> + +<p>Johnson followed the gaze of his near-attacker to his left where the +lean man he had noted before stood with a flat blue pistol pointed in +their direction. He held the pistol like a man who knew how to use it.</p> + +<p>"A gun!" the man in the street gasped. "Are you crazy?"</p> + +<p>"Better put it away—fast," Johnson warned his ally. "If the native +police catch you with that gun, you're in bad trouble."</p> + +<p>The lean man hesitated a moment, then shrugged and pocketed the gun. +But he kept his hand in the pocket. "I can still use it," he said, to +no one in particular.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/image_002.jpg" width="350" height="932" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Look, chum," the bearded thug grated. "You're evidently a stranger +here. Let me give you a tip. If you get caught using a gun, or even +having one on you, the police'll slap you in jail with an automatic +sentence of ten years. An Earthman couldn't stay alive in one of +their so-called jails for a year.</p> + +<p>"Now I've got a little business to attend to with Mr. Johnson, and I +don't want any interference. So be smart and run along."</p> + +<p>The smile never left the stranger's face. "Right now," he said, "I am +interested in seeing that Mr. Johnson remains in good health. If you +take another step toward him, I'll shoot. And, if I'm not successful +in evading the police afterwards, you won't be alive to know it."</p> + +<p>"You're bluffing," the bearded man said. "I...."</p> + +<p>"Let me point out something," Johnson interrupted. "Suppose he is +bluffing and doesn't use the gun: The odds are still two to one +against you. Are you sure you could handle both of us—even with the +help of that pipe?"</p> + +<p>The man wasn't sure. He stood undecided, then his face showed black +frustration. He mouthed a few choice phrases through his beard, turned +and walked away.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>The lean man extended his hand. "My name's Alton Hawkes."</p> + +<p>The rising whine of the next "sand-blaster" drowned out Johnson's +answer. He drew his new acquaintance into the shelter of a sand-arm.</p> + +<p>As they hugged the corner, they felt a third body press against them. +The musky odor, mingled with the taint of old leather, told Johnson +that their companion was a native.</p> + +<p>The storm eased its force and the two Earthmen raised their heads to +regard the corner's other occupant. He was a mahogany brown, almost +the exact color of the ankle-length leather skirt he wore. "Man, he +stinks!" Hawkes said.</p> + +<p>Their visitor spread his hairy, wide-nostriled nose into the native +equivalent of a smile. His hairy ears twitched with pleasure and he +swelled his chest. "Blee strong all over," he said. "Want him guard?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?" Johnson answered, glancing inquiringly at Hawkes. He +slipped a coin into the extended brown palm. "Guard us until we get to +the big-house section."</p> + +<p>"Pale-smells be very safe," the native said.</p> + +<p>They left their shelter as the wind died down and started toward the +taller buildings of the foreign section. "I must have said the right +thing when I said he stinks," Hawkes remarked.</p> + +<p>"Telling a native that is the same thing, to him, as calling him +strong and virile," Johnson answered. "They admit, reluctantly, that +we foreigners have some good fighting qualities, but we're still +regarded as unmanly because of our weak odor. Their females wouldn't +look twice at either of us."</p> + +<p>When they reached one of the few three-story structures in the city, +Johnson dismissed their guard. They entered the building and walked +down a short corridor and through a door lettered:</p> + +<p class="center"> +DONALD H. JOHNSON<br /> +District Manager<br /> +Interplanets Trade Company +</p> + +<p>"To be frank with you," Hawkes said, as he eased his lank body into +the chair Johnson offered, "I had planned to learn more about your +local activities before I introduced myself. However, I've found in +the past that my first judgment of a man is usually right, so I think +I'll get down to business immediately." He drew a set of papers from +an inside pocket and tossed them on the desk in front of Johnson. "I'm +a Company Secret Service man," he said.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_j.jpg" alt="J" width="26" height="40" /></div> +<p>ohnson raised his eyebrows, but looked at the papers without comment. +He glanced up at Hawkes.</p> + +<p>"Do you recognize either of the men in the pictures?" Hawkes asked, +when he saw that Johnson had no intention of speaking.</p> + +<p>Unhurriedly Johnson picked up the papers and removed a rubber binder. +He pulled out two photos and laid them on the desk in front of him. +"The bearded one is the man who waylaid me," he said. "Of course."</p> + +<p>"Look at both a little closer," Hawkes suggested, "and see if you +don't notice something else."</p> + +<p>Johnson studied the pictures. "There's no doubt about the first," he +murmured. "Evidently I'm supposed to recognize the other also." +Abruptly he sat erect. "They're both the same man," he exclaimed. +"Only in the second picture he's clean-shaven."</p> + +<p>Hawkes nodded. "There's a story about those two pictures," he said. +"But first, let me fill you in on some background. You know that +Interplanets has branches on more than a thousand worlds. Because of +this widespread operation it's particularly vulnerable to robbery. But +it would cost more than the Company's earnings to post adequate guards +on every station. And it would be impractical to depend on the +protection of the local governments, many of which are extremely +primitive. On the other hand, allowing themselves to be robbed with +impunity would be financial suicide."</p> + +<p>Johnson nodded. "Of course."</p> + +<p>"That," Hawkes continued, "is where the Company's Secret Service +comes in. It never lets up on the effort it will make to solve a +robbery and bring the perpetrators to justice. And it never quits, +once it begins an investigation. That policy has proven very effective +in discouraging thievery. During the Company's entire tenure there +have been less than a dozen unsolved thefts—and two of them occurred +right here on Marlock."</p> + +<p>"I was a clerk with the Company at the time of the second," Johnson +said reminiscently. "Been with them about three years then. That must +have been over twenty years ago. I...." He paused and looked down. "I +remember," he said. "The picture without the beard.... That's the +thief. The photograph was taken by one of the automatic cameras set up +for just that purpose; we still use them. But they never found the +man."</p> + +<p>"That's right," Hawkes agreed. "That robbery occurred a little over +twenty years ago. And the other picture you have was taken at the time +of the first robbery—approximately twenty-five years before that."</p> + +<p>"But it isn't possible," Johnson protested. "These pictures are of the +same man. And there's obviously no twenty-five year spread in age +between them. Unless...."</p> + +<p>"Unless one is the other's father, or a relative that resembles him +very closely?" Hawkes finished. "Look at the pictures again. There's +the same scar on both foreheads, the same pock-mark on the right +cheek; our special section has even made measurements of the +comparative sizes of the nose, ears and other features. There's no +possible doubt that the pictures are of the same man."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_h1.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="40" /></div> +<p>ow do you explain it?" Johnson asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't," Hawkes replied quietly. "That's one of the things I'm here +to learn. But did you notice this? The man we encountered this +afternoon was not only the same as the one on those pictures: he still +looks the same. We might, for the sake of argument, grant that a man's +appearance would change only slightly in twenty-five years. But when +you add another twenty-three on top of that—and he's still +unchanged...?"</p> + +<p>"If you're certain that he's the man, why don't you arrest him?" +Johnson asked.</p> + +<p>"Can we arrest a man apparently about thirty years old and accuse him +of a crime committed forty-eight years ago—or even twenty-three years +ago?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose not," Johnson agreed. "What do you intend to do?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't decided yet. First I'll have to learn more about the +situation here. You can help me with that. Right now I'd like to know +something about the native customs—especially in regard to legal +matters."</p> + +<p>"Their laws are fairly simple," Johnson began. "There's no law against +stealing or taking by force anything you can get away with. That +sounds absurd by Earth standards, it prevents the amassing of more +goods than an individual needs, and makes for fairly equitable +distribution. If a native somehow acquires a sudden amount of +wealth—goods, in their case—he must hire guards to protect it. +Guarding is a major occupation. They do an especially big business +during the tourist seasons. In time the pay of the guards will eat up +any native's surplus. Either way—by loss or guard pay—the wealth is +soon redistributed."</p> + +<p>"Can they even kill one another with impunity?"</p> + +<p>"No. Their laws are rigid in that respect. In the process +of—relieving another of his property, they must neither break a major +bone, nor inflict permanent damage. If they disobey, they are tortured +to death in the public square."</p> + +<p>Hawkes asked, "Who enforces their law?"</p> + +<p>"One of the clans. Its members are supported in their duties by all +the others. And there's a permanent open season on murderers. Anyone, +police or civilian may revenge a victim."</p> + +<p>"How about the law against carrying firearms?"</p> + +<p>"With them, intent is tantamount to commission," Johnson replied. +"Only foreigners are ever foolish enough to be caught armed. However, +all native laws apply to them also. The only concession the Company +has been able to force is that a foreign offender isn't tortured: He's +put in jail for ten years. None ever live to come out."</p> + +<p>"I see," Hawkes said. "Interesting. However, the immediate situation +is this. I've been sent here because the Service received reports that +our bearded friend had made another appearance. And we believe it's +safe to assume that he's here to attempt a third robbery. Right now +we'll have to pass over his trick of longevity. Our problem is to +catch him in the act. When do you think he'll make his play?"</p> + +<p>"It'll have to be some time before tomorrow noon," Johnson answered. +"Under our setup we accept furs from the natives whenever they're +brought in. But we pay off only once a year. That way I'm not burdened +with guarding money the whole year around. I have well over fifty +thousand credits in the safe now. And tomorrow I begin paying off."</p> + +<p>"Then we'll have to be ready for him," Hawkes said, "though I don't +expect him until tonight. Probably just about the time you're ready to +close. He'll need you to open the safe. I can count on your help?"</p> + +<p>Johnson nodded.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> + +<p>hat night as they waited in his office, Johnson turned to Hawkes. +"I've been giving some thought to what you told me this afternoon +about the robberies. I have a theory that might account for some of +the things we don't understand."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" Hawkes looked closely at Johnson.</p> + +<p>"You've probably heard of our tourist attraction called Nature's +Moebius Strip? As far as we know, no one has ever gone beyond a +certain point—and returned. Suppose there's a time flaw at that +point—and the bearded man has somehow learned about it. Suppose +anyone completing the Moebius circle, and returning, finds—say, +twenty years have elapsed, while to him only a few minutes have +passed?"</p> + +<p>"Go on." Hawkes leaned forward intently.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> +<img src="images/image_003.jpg" width="700" height="699" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"He makes his first holdup," Johnson continued, "and goes around the +Strip. When he comes out twenty years later they're no longer looking +for him. He leaves Marlock, and during the next five years he goes +through the money he stole. He returns and repeats the process. This +time the money lasts only three years. Now he's back to try it again. +Do you see how that would tie everything up in a neat little package?"</p> + +<p>Hawkes smiled, as he relaxed and sat back. "A bit too neat," he said. +"Also, you don't have an ounce of concrete evidence to back up your +theory."</p> + +<p>"That's right. I don't," Johnson agreed.</p> + +<p>Outside the door a board creaked. Johnson glanced quickly across the +room to where Hawkes sat with a pistol on his lap. Hawkes' eyebrows +raised, but he made no sound.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="26" height="40" /></div> +<p>uddenly the door was kicked open and the black-bearded stranger stood +framed in the doorway. "Raise 'em!" he barked. The gun in his hand was +aimed at Johnson.</p> + +<p>The man took two steps into the room. Hawkes shifted slightly in his +chair and the gunman's head swiveled in his direction. The slug from +Hawkes' pistol made a small blue hole in the upper left corner of his +forehead.</p> + +<p>The thug's face tipped up, shocked and unbelieving. He swayed slowly +before he fell backward, his body rigid. His fur cap flew from his +head as he struck the floor.</p> + +<p>"I thought we'd better play it safe," Hawkes said as he rose and +walked over to the fallen man. He slipped his gun into his pocket +before he bent and picked up the cap at his feet. He dropped it over +the upturned face.</p> + +<p>For a long moment the silence held thin as the two men looked at each +other. Hawkes stood, wiping his right hand on his trouser leg. Johnson +toyed idly with the gun he had picked up from the desk in front of +him.</p> + +<p>Finally Hawkes let his body sag into a chair at Johnson's right. "This +is always a dirty business," he said sourly.</p> + +<p>Johnson sat down also. "Did you notice the look on his face when he +saw you, and you shot him?" he asked, abstractedly turning the pistol +in his hand. "Funny thing. In that half-second before he fell an +article I read somewhere flashed into my mind. It seems that during +the French Revolution a certain doctor got to wondering just how long +a man's brain remained active after his head had been cut off. He +persuaded some of his friends who were due to be guillotined to +cooperate in a series of tests. Each man was to keep blinking his +eyes as long as possible after his head left his body, as a sign that +he was still conscious. The doctor counted as high as six winks."</p> + +<p>"Very interesting, I'm sure," Hawkes said guardedly. "But a bit +morbid, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"I was wondering," Johnson went on as though he had not heard the +other, "whether he was still conscious for that instant after you shot +him. And if that brought the look of surprise to his face."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="41" height="40" /></div> +<p>awkes turned in his chair to face Johnson fully. "You're driving at +something," he said sharply. "Get to the point."</p> + +<p>"Personally I've wondered at a few things about you myself," Johnson +said. He held the gun steadily in his hand now, no longer pretending +to play with it. "I told you that our second robbery occurred while I +was a clerk with the Company," he went on. "They jerked me in to the +Home Office, and for a while I had a pretty rough time.... You know, +when I joined the Company, I was an amnesiac. I remembered my name, +but that's about all...."</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't know," Hawkes muttered, growing slightly paler.</p> + +<p>"I learned then from the Home Office that I had been a member of their +Secret Service some twenty years earlier. I'd been sent here to +investigate the first robbery. And I had disappeared. Naturally, they +had suspected me.</p> + +<p>"However, they had no evidence, and when I reappeared twenty years +later they played it smart by just waiting, instead of arresting me. +When the second robbery occurred, they closed in.</p> + +<p>"The only thing that saved me was the fact that tests proved my memory +was really gone, and that I had told the truth—as I knew it. From the +few scraps of information I retained—about being out on the Moebius +Strip—they and I arrived at the theory I mentioned a short time ago. +I was sent back here to wait. The Company never gives up. Remember?"</p> + +<p>"Are you insinuating that I was in cahoots with this fellow here?" +Hawkes asked harshly.</p> + +<p>"I'd say it was more than an insinuation," Johnson replied. "You made +several other slips. In the first place, Secret Service men are +usually better informed about a situation they're investigating than +you seemed to be. Also, those identification papers you showed me were +faked."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> + +<p>he skin along the bridge of Hawkes' nose had drawn tight, and now his +lips grew narrower. "In that case, why did I save you from that man +this afternoon?" he asked. "And why would I shoot him now?"</p> + +<p>"Your saving me was an act, to get into my confidence. You shot him so +you wouldn't have to split the loot. I figure you were in with him on +the second robbery also. There had to be someone because his memory +would be gone, when he came off the Strip. But you weren't satisfied. +Together you decided to pull off another robbery while you were here +and double the spoils. Then you decided you wanted it all for yourself +and you shot him."</p> + +<p>"There's one big flaw in your reasoning," Hawkes pointed out. "How did +I plan to get away? The only ships leaving here for several months +belong to the Company. Do you think I'd be foolish enough to expect +them to let me slip out on one of their ships?"</p> + +<p>"No. I think you intended to go out on the Strip yourself."</p> + +<p>"All right then," Hawkes countered. "You admitted that this was a +two-man job. How could I protect myself when I returned, if I knew in +advance that I wouldn't know who I was, let alone what I had done?"</p> + +<p>"I'll come back to that in a minute," Johnson said. "But now I'd +advise you to drop your gun on the floor and give yourself up. You've +got nothing to gain by carrying on the bluff. You know I'll never let +you get to the Strip. And, once I put you on the ship, the Company +will take over."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="41" height="40" /></div> +<p>awkes' shoulders drooped. Finally he smiled raggedly. "There's no use +my arguing any longer," he said. "But you've made the mistake of +underestimating me, my friend. I've lost my gamble. That's all. You +have nothing on me. I'm not as ignorant of native law as I may have +pretended. Granted, I am carrying a lethal weapon. But I'm on private +property. That's legal. I shot a man. But only in defense of my own +life. His gun on the floor will prove he came in armed. So I'm clean +as far as the natives are concerned. Right?"</p> + +<p>Johnson nodded.</p> + +<p>"And, as for the Company, what will they hold me for? They can't prove +any connection between me and him." Hawkes indicated the man on the +floor. "And this robbery—it never actually came off. Earth laws don't +allow prosecution for intent. Now, where does that leave you?"</p> + +<p>Johnson stood up. "You're right—as far as you went," he said. "But, +returning to your earlier question about one man pulling this job, I +asked myself how I would do it, if it had to be done alone. And I +found a way. You'd probably figure the same one. Now I'll take that +paper in your pocket. It will serve very well as a confession."</p> + +<p>Suddenly Hawkes' right hand streaked toward a side pocket. Johnson +leaned forward and brought the flat of his gun across the other's +temple.</p> + +<p>As Hawkes sagged, Johnson ripped open his coat and took out a sealed +envelope. He removed a sheet of paper and read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot1"><p><i>This has been written for my own information. My name is +Alton Hawkes. I have robbed the Interplanets Company and +gone out on the Strip with the money. When I read this my +memory will be gone and twenty years will have elapsed.</i></p></div> + +<p class="p1">—CHARLES V. DE VET</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Delayed Action, by Charles Vincent De Vet + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DELAYED ACTION *** + +***** This file should be named 33790-h.htm or 33790-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/7/9/33790/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Robert Cicconetti, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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