Eleven

To Bray, that morning, waiting at the rear entrance of the main hospital building, there had come a reluctant realization that something had gone wrong.

Struthers and he sat in the car, gloomily discussing possibilities, arriving finally at the conclusion that they would have to have assistance.

The question was, who would help a member of the Negotiating Committee?

He decided against asking for the help of the Committee itself. If it ever got out that the head of the Intelligence branch of the Negotiating Committee was in the process of getting himself involuntarily ejected from Diamondia—well!

He couldn’t do that to Morton.

For the same reason, it seemed inadvisable to directly contact Earth federation headquarters. The innumerable Diamondian lovers over there had no use for the Negotiating Committee.

For a time, Bray pondered the problem gloomily. No plan occurred. Reluctantly, he had Struthers drive him back to the Negotiating Committee palace. There, with part of his mind still probing anxiously at Morton’s dilemma, he went about doing in his fashion those duties which—he judged—would be valuable if and when.

There were five captains and three majors in the Intelligence section. Of these, one of the majors and two captains mildly enjoyed Lieutenant Lester Bray. Of the remaining two majors, one—his name was Sutter—disliked all lieutenants, but he had a special niche of hate in his heart for Bray, whom he considered brash and presumptious.

So it was with a certain amount of pleasure that Bray, later in the morning, approached this latter officer, and in his blandest voice reported that he had received a phone call from Colonel Morton during the night. (“The colonel didn’t wish to disturb the sleep of upper echelon people like yourself, major.”)

What Morton wanted, as Bray suavely outlined it, was information about the Diamondian peace delegation. Was anyone assigned to the task of searching cars in the Capodochino area?

Major Sutter had frosty blue eyes. He was the only officer who, when the Negotiating Committee arrived, had taken the trouble to move out the local office furniture and have brought in metal files, a metal desk and a metal chair. That these gleaming but plain items were out of place in that cunningly shaped room, with its delightful walls and a sense of space, did not seem to occur to him.

He had a clipped tenor voice that could have doubled for certain computer speaker systems. In this totally neutral and totally unfriendly voice, he said, “And when this information becomes available, what did Colonel Morton say should be done with it?”

Bray said, “He expects to be in his office late in the day, sir, and he would like to have the report on his desk by that time.”

The lean body with the lean, tense face started to turn dismissingly away. “Very well, lieutenant, you may consider your message has been transmitted.”

Bray held his ground. “What can I tell Sergeant Struthers to say to the colonel in the event that he phones and asks about the matter, major, sir.”

Sutter was not about to be trapped by such a device. “As soon as I have some information,” he replied in a formal tone, “I shall talk directly to Struthers and give him the requisite instructions. That is all, lieutenant.”

“Thank you, major.”

Bray saluted in the extra sharp, extra spit and polish, clickety-click style which he reserved for officers of this ilk. Whereupon he backed respectfully all the way to the door and out. And Sutter, who understood every nuance of what he was doing, hated him the more for it but still did not suspect that he had been given a message which had originated exclusively in the brain of Lester Bray, himself. Presumption on that level was outside Major Sutter’s reality.

Bray now repeated the approach he had made to Sutter on Major Luftelet. There was nothing particularly dislikeable about Luftelet. He was a dull fellow. How, lacking sharpness, he had got into Intelligence was not obvious. Certain technical qualifications seemed to be his forte; he was a stickler on detailed information and usually made himself a little obnoxious in that department.

Again Bray took the attitude that it was Morton who wanted to know—this time about the exact nature of the building where Marriott had his otherwise minor, unimportant, village level military command post.

The older man sat behind one of the native desks, with its exquisite design like a waterfall in wood; and for several seconds he seemed to be staring off into the distances of his own soul. He radiated a kind of extra-sensitiveness, as if somehow inside him was a better person; a man who knew more, thought more clearly and felt things more keenly than lesser mortals.

It seemed sad to Bray when, after all that preliminary, there emerged from the pensive lips Luftelet’s stereotype:

“What are your qualifications, lieutenant, for even discussing such technical matters.”

“Sir,” said Bray, “it is not my qualifications which are at issue. Naturally, I had to have certain trainings and a science degree—like everyone else here. But Colonel Morton will be the person who reads your report.”

For a long moment, the other man’s face was a study in conflicting emotions. His expression silently questioned anyone’s ability to comprehend what he knew. And yet he had the resigned look of someone who has come to realize that the world is a hard place for truth. His whole body now put forth an attitude of understanding that there were such people as superior officers, who held authorized positions which they might not be qualified for, but still—there they were.

In that resigned fashion, Luftelet said, “Very well, I shall make a, uh, summary of what this building can do. Mind you,” he went on hastily in a severe tone, “this will not be a technical report, such as I might make to a person with my own training, but—”

He let the sentence hang; and Bray said, “I’m sure, major, you will not underrate Colonel Morton’s numerous technical qualifications for understanding intricate electronic designs.”

The darkness of that thought seemed to depress Luftelet. He nodded gloomily, and Bray took advantage of the resulting silence to salute and depart.

Now what?

Wait, of course.

He sat at his desk in a small room, which he had early decided had once been a broom closet, and wondered if he had actually accomplished anything.

Thinking thus, he watched the minute hand move from twenty-three minutes after noon to ten minutes after six.

It was as twilight began to gray the world of Diamondia that Bray had had a simple thought: This thing needs a devious solution… He was momentarily stunned at not having realized it earlier. Because, of course, that was his way.

When he explained his plan to Struthers, that lantern-jawed individual looked startled and said, “Lieutenant, for God’s sake, you’ll have the colonel off this planet in record time if you don’t watch out.”

Bray was calm. “We need help. The way to get it is to set in motion the forces of law and order.”

He had Struthers drive them back to the hospital. He was shortly engaged in a conversation with a certain Diamondian M.D. named Dr. Fondier, who became very excited when he discovered that a patient had taken it upon himself to depart from the hospital without being officially discharged.

It was he who indignantly set in motion the forces which brought Bray and the Earth federation soldiers to the house which the lieutenant eventually decided needed to be investigated.