The Stardroppers Page 2

  “I thought it might be. Well, well.” Redvers dumped his spent match in a handy ashtray. “I was wondering when you’d get into that particular act. Everyone else has been in it for months. Just fact-finding?”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Then you’re welcome to dig for any facts you can. And by the way: you needn’t worry that being seen with me in public will foul you up. This is one of my working faces I have on. The name and rank are genuine, though, and so’s the card—I had it made at the Yard this morning.”

  He looked for a reaction in Dan’s face; Dan stonily denied him the pleasure of seeing any.

  “We also checked your room for bugs, and I can assure you there aren’t any. We knew which it was because we have a tap on the computer which centralizes hotel bookings in this village nowadays. All in all I feel rather pleased with myself today, which is why I’m treating myself to this cigar. Oh, I’m sorry—I should have asked if you’d like one. I imagine Havanas are something of a forgotten luxury as far as you people in the States are concerned.”

  “For a guy who knows all the answers, you’re trying very hard to needle me,” Dan said.

  “I suppose I am. I’m sorry. I’ll get back to the point. There are two major and several minor reasons why people get interested in the stardropping craze afflicting us. Among the minor reasons—well, commercial rivalry is one. The thing was invented here, and someone had the sense to tell Rainshaw he ought to file for a patent application, which incidentally makes fascinating reading. It’s a prime example of doubletalk.”

  “I’ve read it,” Dan grunted. But he agreed with Redvers’s description. The application discussed a device for the generation of certain patterned electricial impulses independent of the known spectrum of radiant energy, and it was perfectly clear from the fudged wording of the text that neither the applicant—nominally, the company Rainshaw had been working for at the time of the discovery—nor anyone else had the vaguest notion what was being patented.

  “You see what I mean, then,” Redvers nodded. “Well, obviously stardropping is now big business, and the designs we’ve licensed—I mean we the British—are proving fantastically profitable. But the things are so easy to copy that we’re having the devil’s own trouble with pirate manufacturers, of course. Never mind that, though; I doubt your people would be interested in patent infringements. Then, as you probably know, we get a lot of problems with—well, I suppose one has to call them addicts, who are convinced someone has found a way to convert the signals into plain English and is hiding marvelous secrets from the world. Rubbish, of course, but it’s turning into quite a serious social problem. That, though, is not really my business and I doubt if it’s yours.

  “Of the major reasons, there’s what I consider this idiotic rivalry between the various nations to extract from stardroppers some knowledge which will make them masters of the world. Half the secret services on Earth seem to have sent people to London in the past year to grub around for hints and clues that might lead somewhere. But the Special Agency is the most fanatically internationalist of all the UN organizations, so unless you’ve turned your coat we can rule that out too. Which boils it down to one thing. You’re here to confirm that somebody can’t be found, and you’d far rather disprove the suspicion. Should I suggest a couple of likely names?”

  He looked unblinkingly at Dan. A wisp of aromatic blue smoke drifted across his face.

  “You do know all the answers,” Dan said at length. “I apologize for that crack about needling me.”

  “I wish we did!” Redvers said with sudden heaviness. “One of the constables at the airport mentioned that you were taken aback by Grey’s appearance, as though you hadn’t been prepared for someone in his condition. I assure you that even if Grey was acting he’s fairly typical of his kind.”

  “Acting? That wild-eyed guy yelling nonsense at people?”

  “Oh yes, he’s one of my men too. We’ve been living by our wits in this country for the past decade, Mr. Cross. We’ve become pretty good at it.”

  Professional admiration was getting the better of Dan’s discomfiture. He said, “Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered to fly over. I could have called you up and simply asked you.”

  “Hell, you’d have learned nothing. We’re too close to the problem to make sense of it. What I’d like most is advice from one of these alien creatures people claim to hear in their stardroppers. Failing that, an outsider’s view. And you’re a stranger here, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, it’s my first visit.”

  Redvers nodded. “But you must have been familiarized with the general situation—I know how thoroughly your operatives get briefed. Did your briefing by any chance include a suggestion that if someone like me started being nosy you weren’t to object too strongly?”

  “I was told you might be exceptionally cooperative with Agency representatives.”

  “We try to be, I promise you that. We appreciate your outfit’s insistence on being on everyone’s side instead of one side or the other—which of course is how we regard our own policy nowadays. It’s a bit like walking a tightrope, though. This elderly continent of Europe is the battleground of the late twentieth century, and we’re right in the bloody firing line. You know what I mean?”

  “I guess I do. Not that anyone could tell just by looking.”

  “Oh, of course not. On the surface everything’s fine. We’re richer, better-housed, better-fed, better-educated than ever before in history, and we’re climbing back up the ladder of the world’s biggest trading nations at a rate of vertical knots. But what I’m talking about is in the mind. When we opted out of the arms race ten years ago the decision was called cowardice or treachery or worse, and I must admit I wasn’t sure myself it was a good thing. And there was that uproar over adopting the Swiss citizen-militia defense system, which nearly brought down the government. But now I’ve been convinced by the results. No slums, no poverty, lowest crime rate in London of any city of its size in the world—you could imagine a policeman being pleased about that!”

  “So what are these drawbacks you mentioned—in the mind, you said?”

  Redvers wiped a fine gray cylinder of ash from his cigar. “Ah, yes. Maybe I can illustrate that with a little story. I once asked one of your compatriots how he liked it here, and he said it was a hell of a good place, bar two things—the nonstop political arguments in which we British try to figure out our own motives, and the knowledge that if things do ever come to the crunch both sides are going to hit this country on the principle of ‘denying ground to the enemy.’ ” He gave a chuckle. “Well, you only die once. I hope. And, naturally, from a professional point of view the last ten years have been a troublesome time. At first we were staving off American intriguers who were sure we’d had a momentary brainstorm and would reconsider if they promised us enough dollar credit, and Soviet intriguers who were sure neutrality was unthinkable and we were really intending to join the Soviet bloc. They were both wasting their time, but between them they contrived to turn this island into a sort of vast Tangier, a strategically sited zone where everyone and his uncle is plotting a coup d’état. Life isn’t dull, but the risk of ulcers is on the high side.

  “And that, according to the psychologists, is why stardropper was taken up so avidly. People, they maintain, are desperate for reassurance because they’re being denied security, and they’ll grab at even so slim a chance as the hope of knowledge from the stars. If that were the whole story, of course, it would be fine.”

  “I’ve heard that theory before. Is it sound?”

  “Possibly. On the other hand the country where stardropping is most widespread, after this one, isn’t in Europe at all. It’s India. The Japanese get out this very cheap solar-powered model, and people go out with loads of them on incredible ramshackle vehicles—I’ve seen pictures—and in the villages they club together to buy the largest and loudest they can afford. Then they put the earpiece in a washtub or something to act as a
resonator, and bob’s your uncle: every man his own guru. It’s alleged to appeal to the religious instinct of the people. Take your choice of explanations. There are enough to go around, heaven knows!”

  He realized suddenly he had forgotten his coffee, and gulped the whole cupful down at once.

  “How are things doing in the States?” he continued after a pause.

  “I have the impression the craze is six months to a year behind the peak it’s reached in Britain,” Dan answered. “It has a strong hold on the West Coast, but all kinds of fads have always flourished there. In the East it’s mainly young people and Greenwich Village types who are hooked, while the Midwest is barely touched—apart from universities, I mean. Even there, I think you have a worse student problem than we do, isn’t that right?”

  “That’s a very bad area indeed,” Redvers confirmed. “One hears every day about the number of kids who are dropping out—stardropping out,” he amended with a grimace. “It’s mainly the sensitive, highly intelligent kids who are affected, too. They’re suffering the low-grade version of the ultimate addiction, which can cause you to lose interest in your home, your job, your family, your other hobbies.… But of course the insanity isn’t the worst part of it.”

  “Not the worst part of it?” Dan echoed. “What in hell could be worse, if you were right in saying Grey was based on a typical—ah—addict?”

  “Oh, the fact that people do disappear.”

  Redvers uttered the words so casually that Dan wondered whether he had heard right. He could not stop himself from jerking with surprise.

  “Yes, Mr. Cross,” Redvers said soberly. “They disappear. And judging by your reaction I take it I was right about the main purpose of your visit?”

  “Well, yes, I’m here to check out some rumors. But—”

  “But what makes me believe such a fantastic story?”

  Dan nodded.

  “We’ve documented twenty cases where we can’t shake the witnesses. They say—they swear—that people known to them have literally and physically vanished, usually with a noise like a door slamming. Up till now we’ve prevented any reputable news agency from picking up such stories, but we can’t stop the rumors.”

  Dan’s palms were slippery with sweat. He said, “What do these—these witnesses think about what they claim to have seen?”

  “What you’d expect: that these were people who’d discovered mystic alien abilities through the stardropper and went to put them to use.”

  “And you honestly believe them?”

  “No. Not yet. But I have a sneaking suspicion I shall have to eventually. And if this is true, of course, it’s a pretty explosive fact. A power of instantaneous displacement, if it could be brought under control, could be put to use as a weapon: imagine eliminating the need to deliver H-bombs by plane or missile! Surely that if anything might tempt one of the nuclear nations into a pre-emptive strike once they were convinced the ‘other side’ was on the verge of such a breakthrough. I presume this is why your people are investigating the rumors?”

  Dan nodded. The Agency had one sole purpose: to identify threats to the peace of the world and ruthlessly cancel them out. For example, within the past year two prime ministers had died, one of a heart attack and the other of a cerebral embolism. Social psychologists had plotted graphs and said, “Such a man is not sane, and a lunatic in his position could start a war.”

  “Well, for my part I’m very glad to see you,” Redvers went on. “And any help I can give, I certainly will. To begin with, perhaps you’d like to meet Rainshaw?”

  “I wouldn’t object.”

  “Fine, I’ll arrange that as soon as possible. And I’ll keep in touch during your stay, make sure you don’t run into any difficulties. Maybe you’ll come up with a practical way of cooling the situation. Lord knows we need some bright ideas!”

  He stubbed his cigar, rose, and offered his hand. “Well, it’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance, Mr. Cross. Do contact me at the Yard, won’t you, if there’s anything else I can do?”

  Feeling slightly numb, Dan shook hands with him and watched him stride toward the exit.

  I was never so politely told I was incompetent.

  Gradually he began to relax. The superintendent struck him as the kind of man one could respect for being clever without suspecting him of being cunning. That trap at the airport, for instance, had been as brilliant a stratagem as Dan had ever seen. He hadn’t given a thought to how closely Grey could study his face, hear his voice, and even feel his clothes while howling his nonsense.

  And he did know all the answers. It was precisely those rumors that stardropper enthusiasts were vanishing which had brought Dan across the Atlantic. Now Redvers had told him of twenty well-documented cases, hard though that was to accept. Which implied that even if they had opted out of the arms race, these people—by turning stardroppers loose on the world—had lit the fuse on a sizable bomb of a brand-new kind.

  III

  Shaking his head, Dan turned to the table beside him and picked up the gaudy-covered magazine on which his stardropper was lying. He had spent the flight from New York reading a stack of these magazines; the stardropper craze had probably set some sort of record for the speed with which it had produced clubs of enthusiasts, hobby magazines, and do-it-yourself kits.

  This was the glossiest he had found. It was called Starnews and it was published in California. On the cover, a line of puff claimed it was “The FIRST and still the BEST magazine for starpdroppers.” But, considering it ran to 112 large slick pages, it was remarkably uninformative. At the beginning, twenty pages of advertisements were interspersed with chatty social news and correspondence between people asking advice, recounting their experience with various makes of instruments, and singing the praises of their own favorite settings on the dials.

  Then the meat of the issue: articles, reviews of equipment, and progress reports by serious researchers including one or two working for big-name companies, all illustrated in color. The tone of the articles was either technical or semi-mystical. One contribution aimed at proving that the truths of astrology had foreshadowed the stardropper, with a passing reference to Nostradamus, but the editor had put in a box on the second page a notice that contributors’ opinions didn’t reflect those of the magazine.

  The most notable impressions Dan had gleaned from this and similar publications were, first, the overtone of respect in most of the articles, such as is heard in the voice of a man discussing a religion he admires without belonging to, and second, the total absence of what he regarded as the two most crucial points about the entire subject.

  No one so much as questioned the corrections of Berghaus’s theories. It was taken for granted that stardropper signals were really a way of overhearing alien minds at work.

  And there was no mention of anyone having disappeared.

  Granted, as he had told Redvers, the grip the craze now had in the States was nothing compared to the situation here—but there were plenty of items of British news, and advertisements from British companies. Surely, if there were any solid foundation for these wild stories of people vanishing, you’d expect to find at least one reference to it.

  Sighing, he leafed through the advertisement section at the end until he found what he was after: a full-page insertion by an Oxford Street, London, store. If it advertised on this scale in a magazine from Los Angeles it might be a good place to start asking questions.

  Behind curved nonreflecting glass a six-foot star turned slowly, hung apparently on nothing. Beneath it a dozen recent-model stardroppers were displayed on red velvet; the display was as restrained as that of an expensive jewelry store. In place of a door there was an air-curtain. Dan stepped through.

  Her feet hushing on deep-piled carpet, a pretty milky-chocolate girl came up to him. She wore a fashionable high-collared yellow shirt and full black culotte pants to mid-calf, but to identify her to the customers a miniature duplicate of the star in the window was pinned on he
r bosom.

  “Good afternoon, sir!” she said cheerfully. “Can we help you?”

  Dan lifted his stardropper. “I think my vacuum’s gone soft,” he lied straight-faced. “Do you keep trade-in tanks for this model?”

  The girl took the instrument from him and looked it over. “Oh yes. If you’d like to come to the back counter I’ll get you one.”

  “Thank you.”

  He followed her slowly, looking around. There was no doubt this must be a profitable business. The layout was too subdued to be called lush, but everything had a rich look. Even the stock-display shelves down either side were covered in the same red velvet he had seen in the window. Four other customers were present. A middle-aged man and woman sat side by side in the corner farthest from the door, listening jointly to a type of stardropper Dan hadn’t run across before: it was fitted with two pairs of double earpieces, like twin stethoscopes, connected to the same unit. His mouth quirked at this example of togetherness.

  Neither of them moved the entire time he was in the store.

  And at the counter two young Chinese were leafing through a catalog and asking technical questions of a youthful clerk. During his brief walk from the hotel he had noticed how many Chinese tourists there were around, but according to his briefing stardropping was considered an antisocial time-wasting habit in all the Maoist countries, so it was surprising to find them here.

  The girl came back with the fresh tank of vacuum. “Shall I fit it for you?” she inquired.

  “Well—thanks very much.”

  She attended to the job deftly. “We haven’t seen you before, have we?” she said conversationally. “Are you an American?”

  “That’s right. I saw your spread in Starnews and found out your place was handy to my hotel. Say—uh—something else you might be able to do for me. I’m new to this, but I’m very interested, and I’d kind of like to get in touch with a club while I’m in London. Meet some people doing serious work in the field.”