Empire of Two Worlds

But Bec was sitting here talking about it without batting an eyelid. “In Rheatt I had one or two projects going that I didn’t tell you about,” he said. “Maybe you heard about them indirectly. Anyway, while you were building up the League I got a few Rheattite scientists to work for me.” He paused, lighting up another tube. “It’s a funny thing. They’re clever that way. But they never used any weapons like this against the Rotrox. I guess they were scared it might get back to them. Anyway, they bred a special strain of tank plague, a disease that attacks the nutrient in the tanks but leaves protein and all animal life unharmed. I’m pretty sure there’s no defence against it.”

“So within a year there won’t be a productive tank anywhere.”

Bec nodded, giving me another glance with his glittering eyes. “It’s beautiful. A virus. I’ve got agents flying out now to a dozen cities. They’re wearing skin dyes so they won’t look too strange. They’ve got orders to penetrate the cities — that’s not too difficult for a man on his own — and release the virus. Once it gets into the air it has to get through to the tanks before long: there’s no known filter that can keep it out. You realise what that means, Klein?”

“Sure.” My throat was dry. “It means you’re the master.”

He was watching me carefully. “That’s right. For some years I’ve been building up enormous stockpiles of food in Rheatt. The only food available on Killibol will have to come from Earth, through the gateway, which we control. Anybody who wants to eat will have to come to us. Things are going to have to be run as we

say, and no other way.”

But did Bec have enough food to feed everybody? I doubted it. Even granted that he couldn’t get round to infecting every city in Killibol straight away, the population would still run into tens of millions, perhaps hundreds of millions. Perhaps he would set up tanks on Earth to produce protein faster than soil-grown food; but taking care of everybody he robbed of sustenance didn’t seem to be uppermost in his mind right now.

“No,” I said softly.

Something indefinable happened in his hard black eyes.

“What do you mean, Klein, no?”

I threw down the tube I was smoking. There was a feeling in my chest that seemed to be bursting. “That isn’t the new state we talked of creating, Bec. You talked about freeing people from the slavery of the tanks. About breaking the stasis. Now you’re putting a stranglehold on the cities that the tank owners could never even have dreamed of. How do you square that with everything you said, Bec?”

His right hand, resting on the table, shifted uneasily. “Don’t be a klug. You have to be an iron man, a king, to achieve anything.”

Bec was always a faster thinker than me. I could see I would have to get this over with quick. “I can’t let you do it, Bec.” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come so far with you for this.”

He glared at me, his face raging.

“You punk! You trying to tell me how to run my own outfit?”

Keeping his glittering eyes on me, he got to his feet. Suddenly he lunged for his holster which was hanging on a hook on the wall. My gun was already in my hand. I fired once. The heavy slug caught him in the chest and knocked him sideways. He fell sprawling, face down, and didn’t move.

I stood there, the gun still held stupidly in my hand, the blast still sounding in my ears. I felt lost, overpowered, like a son who has killed his father, or a dog that has killed its master. It was the first time I could remember that I had wanted to cry.

I believe I would never have seen it if it hadn’t been for that mind-blowing experience in Harmen’s laboratory. The visions I had seen there had expanded my mind and made me see things from a different angle. I saw clearly now that it wasn’t any altruistic idea that had motivated Bec, but deeply selfish ambition. Valid though they were in themselves, the ideas he had taught me had been only means to establishing his own glory.

Perhaps he really had believed in them at one time; perhaps he had never ceased to imagine he still did believe in them. But towards the end he was too far gone for such claims to be credible. Had he lived, I could see nothing ahead for Killibol but an iron-jacketed tyranny.

“Hello, Klein.”

The familiar flat baritone made my blood freeze. The side door was opening. Becmath stood there — the same Becmath I had just shot and who was lying on the floor!

Harmen’s warning flashed into my mind.

Doppelganger!

Becmath moved into the room and turned over his own body with his foot, bringing the face into view. Then he looked up at me, wearing his usual sardonic smile.

“Looks like I underestimated you this once, Klein. Or maybe it was one of those subconscious mistakes Harmen talks about.”

“Bec,” I tried to speak, but could only croak.

“Don’t worry about it. I guess I did go slightly off the rails, didn’t I? You can do it your way, now. Keep the boys in line, Klein. Don’t let things get out of hand.”