Diplomatic Immunity Page 2

I've been put incharge." Cercy grinned with regret. "Probably because no one higher upwants the responsibility of failure. And I've selected you three as mystaff. We can have anything we want, any assistance or advice we need.All right. Any ideas?"

  "How about Plan Three?" Harrison asked.

  "We'll get to that," Cercy said. "But I don't believe it's going towork."

  "I don't either," Darrig agreed. "We don't even know the nature of hisdefense."

  "That's the first order of business. Malley, take all our data so far,and get someone to feed it into the Derichman Analyzer. You know thestuff we want. What properties has X, if X can do thus and thus?"

  "Right," Malley said. He left, muttering something about theascendancy of the physical sciences.

  "Harrison," Cercy asked, "is Plan Three set up?"

  "Sure."

  "Give it a try."

  While Harrison was making his last adjustments, Cercy watched Darrig.The plump little physicist was staring thoughtfully into space,muttering to himself. Cercy hoped he would come up with something. Hewas expecting great things of Darrig.

  Knowing the impossibility of working with great numbers of people,Cercy had picked his staff with care. Quality was what he wanted.

  With that in mind, he had chosen Harrison first. The stocky,sour-faced engineer had a reputation for being able to build anything,given half an idea of how it worked.

  Cercy had selected Malley, the psychiatrist, because he wasn't surethat killing the Ambassador was going to be a purely physical problem.

  Darrig was a mathematical physicist, but his restless, curious mindhad come up with some interesting theories in other fields. He was theonly one of the four who was really interested in the Ambassador as anintellectual problem.

  "He's like Metal Old Man," Darrig said finally.

  "What's that?"

  "Haven't you ever heard the story of Metal Old Man? Well, he was amonster covered with black metal armor. He was met by Monster-Slayer,an Apache culture hero. Monster-Slayer, after many attempts, finallykilled Metal Old Man."

  "How did he do it?"

  "Shot him in the armpit. He didn't have any armor there."

  "Fine," Cercy grinned. "Ask our Ambassador to raise his arm."

  "All set!" Harrison called.

  "Fine. Go."

  In the Ambassador's room, an invisible spray of gamma rays silentlybegan to flood the room with deadly radiation.

  But there was no Ambassador to receive them.

  "That's enough," Cercy said, after a while. "That would kill a herd ofelephants."

  But the Ambassador stayed invisible for five hours, until some of theradioactivity had abated. Then he appeared again.

  "I'm still waiting for that typewriter," he said.

  * * * * *

  "Here's the Analyzer's report." Malley handed Cercy a sheaf of papers."This is the final formulation, boiled down."

  Cercy read it aloud: "The simplest defense against any and allweapons, is to _become_ each particular weapon."

  "Great," Harrison said. "What does it mean?"

  "It means," Darrig explained, "that when we attack the Ambassador withfire, he turns into fire. Shoot at him, and he turns into abullet--until the menace is gone, and then he changes back again." Hetook the papers out of Cercy's hand and riffled through them.

  "Hmm. Wonder if there's any historical parallel? Don't suppose so." Heraised his head. "Although this isn't conclusive, it seems logicalenough. Any other defense would involve recognition of the weaponfirst, then an appraisal, then a countermove predicated on thepotentialities of the weapon. The Ambassador's defense would be a lotfaster and safer. He wouldn't have to recognize the weapon. I supposehis body simply _identifies_, in some way, with the menace at hand."

  "Did the Analyzer say there was any way of breaking this defense?"Cercy asked.

  "The Analyzer stated definitely that there was no way, if the premisewere true," Malley answered gloomily.

  "We can discard that judgment," Darrig said. "The machine is limited."

  "But we still haven't got any way of stopping him," Malley pointedout. "And he's still broadcasting that beam."

  Cercy thought for a moment. "Call in every expert you can find. We'regoing to throw the book at the Ambassador. I know," he said, lookingat Darrig's dubious expression, "but we have to try."

  * * * * *

  During the next few days, every combination and permutation of deathwas thrown at the Ambassador. He was showered with weapons, rangingfrom Stone-Age axes to modern high-powered rifles, peppered with handgrenades, drowned in acid, suffocated in poison gas.

  He kept shrugging his shoulders philosophically, and continued to workon the new typewriter they had given him.

  Bacteria was piped in, first the known germ diseases, then mutatedspecies.

  The diplomat didn't even sneeze.

  He was showered with electricity, radiation, wooden weapons, ironweapons, copper weapons, brass weapons, uranium weapons--anything andeverything, just to cover all possibilities.

  He didn't suffer a scratch, but his room looked as though a bar-roombrawl had been going on in it continually for fifty years.

  Malley was working on an idea of his own, as was Darrig. The physicistinterrupted himself long enough to remind Cercy of the Baldur myth.Baldur had been showered with every kind of weapon and remainedunscathed, because everything on Earth had promised to love him.Everything, except the mistletoe. When a little twig of it was shot athim, he died.

  Cercy turned away impatiently, but had an order of mistletoe sent up,just in case.

  It was, at least, no less effective than the explosive shells or thebow and arrow. It did nothing except lend an oddly festive air to thebattered room.

  After a week of this, they moved the unprotesting Ambassador into anewer, bigger, stronger death cell. They were unable to venture intohis old one because of the radioactivity and micro-organisms.

  The Ambassador went back to work at his typewriter. All his previousattempts had been burned, torn or eaten away.

  "Let's go talk to him," Darrig suggested, after another day hadpassed. Cercy agreed. For the moment, they were out of ideas.

  * * * * *

  "Come right in, gentlemen," the Ambassador said, so cheerfully thatCercy felt sick. "I'm sorry I can't offer you anything. Through anoversight, I haven't been given any food or water for about ten days.Not that it matters, of course."

  "Glad to hear it," Cercy said. The Ambassador hardly looked as if hehad been facing all the violence Earth had to offer. On the contrary,Cercy and his men looked as though they had been under bombardment.

  "You've got quite a defense there," Malley said conversationally.

  "Glad you like it."

  "Would you mind telling us how it works?" Darrig asked innocently.

  "Don't you know?"

  "We think so. You become what is attacking you. Is that right?"

  "Certainly," the Ambassador said. "You see, I have no secrets fromyou."

  "Is there anything we can give you," Cercy asked, "to get you to turnoff that signal?"

  "A bribe?"

  "Sure," Cercy said. "Anything you--?"

  "Nothing," the Ambassador replied.

  "Look, be reasonable," Harrison said. "You don't want to cause a war,do you? Earth is united now. We're arming--"

  "With what?"

  "Atom bombs," Malley answered him. "Hydrogen bombs. We're--"

  "Drop one on me," the Ambassador said. "It wouldn't kill me. Whatmakes you think it will have any effect on my people?"

  * * * * *

  The four men were silent. Somehow, they hadn't thought of that.

  "A people's ability to make war," the Ambassador stated, "is a measureof the status of their civilization. Stage one is the use of simplephysical extensions. Stage two is control at the molecular level. Youare on the threshold of stage three, althoug
h still far from masteryof atomic and subatomic forces." He smiled ingratiatingly. "My peopleare reaching the limits of stage five."

  "What would that be?" Darrig asked.

  "You'll find out," the Ambassador said. "But perhaps you've wonderedif my powers are typical? I don't mind telling you that they're not.In order for me to do my job and nothing more, I have certain built-inrestrictions, making me capable only of passive action."

  "Why?" Darrig asked.

  "For obvious reasons. If I were to take positive action in a moment ofanger, I might destroy your entire planet."

  "Do you expect us to believe that?" Cercy asked.

  "Why not? Is it so hard to understand? Can't you believe that thereare forces you know nothing about? And there is another reason for mypassiveness. Certainly by this time you've deduced it?"

  "To break our spirit, I suppose," Cercy said.

  "Exactly. My telling you won't make any difference, either. Thepattern is always the same. An Ambassador lands and delivers hismessage to a high-spirited, wild young race like yours. There isfrenzied resistance against him, spasmodic attempts to kill him. Afterall these fail, the people are usually quite crestfallen. When thecolonization team arrives, their indoctrination goes along just thatmuch faster." He paused, then said, "Most planets are more interestedin the philosophy I have to offer. I assure you, it will make thetransition far easier."

  He held out a sheaf of typewritten pages. "Won't you at least lookthrough it?"

  Darrig accepted the papers and put them in his pocket. "When I gettime."

  "I suggest you give it a try," the Ambassador said. "You must be nearthe crisis point now. Why not give it up?"

  "Not yet," Cercy replied tonelessly.

  "Don't forget to read the philosophy," the Ambassador urged them.

  The men hurried from the room.

  * * * * *

  "Now look," Malley said, once they were back in the control room,"there are a few things we haven't tried. How about utilizingpsychology?"

  "Anything you like," Cercy agreed, "including black magic. What didyou have in mind?"

  "The way I see it," Malley answered, "the Ambassador is geared torespond, instantaneously, to any threat. He must have anall-or-nothing defensive reflex. I suggest first that we try somethingthat won't trigger that reflex."

  "Like what?" Cercy asked.

  "Hypnotism. Perhaps we can find out something."

  "Sure," Cercy said. "Try it. Try anything."

  Cercy, Malley and Darrig gathered around the video screen as aninfinitesimal amount of a light hypnotic gas was admitted into theAmbassador's room. At the same time, a bolt of electricity lashed intothe chair where the Ambassador was sitting.

  "That was to distract him," Malley explained. The Ambassador vanishedbefore the electricity struck him, and then appeared again, curled upin his armchair.

  "That's enough," Malley whispered, and shut the valve. They watched.After a while, the Ambassador put down his book and stared into thedistance.

  "How strange," he said. "Alfern dead. Good friend ... just a freakaccident. He ran into it, out there. Didn't have a chance. But itdoesn't happen often."

  "He's thinking out loud," Malley whispered, although there was nopossibility of the Ambassador's hearing them. "Vocalizing histhoughts. His friend must have been on his mind for some time."

  "Of course," the Ambassador went on, "Alfern had to die sometime. Noimmortality--yet. But that way--no defense. Out there in space theyjust pop up. Always there, underneath, just waiting for a chance toboil out."

  "His body isn't reacting to the hypnotic as a menace yet," Cercywhispered.

  "Well," the Ambassador told himself, "the regularizing principle hasbeen doing pretty well, keeping it all down, smoothing out theinconsistencies--"

  Suddenly he leaped to his feet, his face pale for a moment, as heobviously tried to remember what he had said. Then he laughed.

  "Clever. That's the first time that particular trick has been playedon me, and the last time. But, gentlemen, it didn't do you any good. Idon't know, myself, how to go about killing me." He laughed at theblank walls.

  "Besides," he continued, "the colonizing team must have the directionnow. They'll find you with or without me."

  He sat down again, smiling.

  * * * * *

  "That does it!" Darrig cried. "He's not invulnerable. Something killedhis friend Alfern."

  "Something out in space," Cercy reminded him. "I wonder what it was."

  "Let me see," Darrig reflected aloud. "The regularizing principle.That must be a natural law we knew nothing about. And underneath--whatwould be underneath?"

  "He said the colonization team would find us anyhow," Malley remindedthem.

  "First things first," Cercy said. "He might have been bluffing us ...no, I don't suppose so. We still have to get the Ambassador out of theway."

  "I think I know what is underneath!" Darrig exclaimed. "This iswonderful. A new cosmology, perhaps."

  "What is it?" Cercy asked. "Anything we can use?"

  "I think so. But let me work it out. I think I'll go back to my hotel.I have some books there I want to check, and I don't want to bedisturbed for a few hours."

  "All right," Cercy agreed. "But what--?"

  "No, no, I could be wrong," Darrig said. "Let me work it out." Hehurried from the room.

  "What do you think he's driving at?" Malley asked.

  "Beats me," Cercy shrugged. "Come on, let's try some more of thatpsychological stuff."

  First they filled the Ambassador's room with several feet of water.Not enough to drown him, just enough to make him good anduncomfortable.

  To this, they added the lights. For eight hours, lights flashed in theAmbassador's room. Bright lights to pry under his eyelids; dull,clashing ones to disturb him.

  Sound came next--screeches and screams and shrill, grating noises. Thesound of a man's fingernails being dragged across slate, amplified athousand times, and strange, sucking noises, and shouts and whispers.

  Then, the smells. Then, everything else they could think of that coulddrive a man insane.

  The Ambassador slept peacefully through it all.

  * * * * *

  "Now look," Cercy said, the following day, "let's start using ourdamned heads." His voice was hoarse and rough. Although thepsychological torture hadn't bothered the Ambassador, it seemed tohave backfired on Cercy and his men.

  "Where in hell is Darrig?"

  "Still working on that idea of his," Malley said, rubbing his stubbledchin. "Says he's just about got it."

  "We'll work on the assumption that he can't produce," Cercy said."Start thinking. For example, if the Ambassador can turn intoanything, what is there he can't turn into?"

  "Good question," Harrison grunted.

  "It's the payoff question," Cercy said. "No use throwing a spear at aman who can turn into one."

  "How about this?" Malley asked. "Taking it for granted he can turninto anything, how about putting him in a situation where he'll beattacked even _after_ he alters?"

  "I'm listening," Cercy said.

  "Say he's in danger. He turns into the thing threatening him. What if_that thing_ were itself being threatened? And, in turn, was in theact of threatening something else? What would he do then?"

  "How are you going to put that into action?" Cercy asked.

  "Like this." Malley picked up the telephone. "Hello? Give me theWashington Zoo. This is urgent."

  The Ambassador turned as the door opened. An unwilling, angry, hungrytiger was propelled in. The door slammed shut.

  The tiger looked at the Ambassador. The Ambassador looked at thetiger.

  "Most ingenious," the Ambassador said.

  At the sound of his voice, the tiger came unglued. He sprang like asteel spring uncoiling, landing on the floor where the Ambassador hadbeen.

  The door opened again. Another tiger was pushed in. He snarle
d angrilyand leaped at the first. They smashed together in midair.

  The Ambassador appeared a few feet off, watching. He moved back when alion entered the door, head up and alert. The lion sprang at him,almost going over on his head when he struck nothing. Not finding anyhuman, the lion leaped on one of the tigers.

  The Ambassador reappeared in his chair, where he sat smoking andwatching the beasts kill each other.

  In ten minutes the room looked like an abattoir.

  But by then the Ambassador had tired of the spectacle, and wasreclining on his bed, reading.

  * * * * *

  "I give up," Malley said. "That was my last bright idea."

  Cercy stared at the floor, not answering. Harrison was seated in thecorner, getting quietly drunk.

  The telephone rang.

  "Yeah?" Cercy said.

  "I've got it!" Darrig's voice shouted over the line. "I really thinkthis is it. Look, I'm taking a cab right down. Tell Harrison to findsome helpers."

  "What is it?" Cercy asked.

  "The chaos underneath!" Darrig replied, and hung up.

  They paced the floor, waiting for him to show up. Half an hour passed,then an hour. Finally, three hours after he had called, Darrigstrolled in.

  "Hello," he said casually.

  "Hello, hell!" Cercy growled. "What kept you?"

  "On the way over," Darrig said, "I read the Ambassador's philosophy.It's quite a work."

  "Is that what took you so long?"

  "Yes. I had the driver take me around the park a few times, while Iwas reading it."

  "Skip it. How about--"

  "I can't skip it," Darrig said, in a strange, tight voice. "I'm afraidwe were wrong. About the aliens, I mean. It's perfectly right andproper that they should rule us. As a matter of fact, I wish they'dhurry up and get here."

  But Darrig didn't look certain. His voice shook and perspirationpoured from his face. He twisted his hands together, as though inagony.

  "It's hard to explain," he said. "Everything became clear as soon as Istarted reading it. I saw how stupid we were, trying to beindependent in this interdependent Universe. I saw--oh, look, Cercy.Let's stop all this foolishness and accept the Ambassador as ourfriend."

  "Calm down!" Cercy shouted at the perfectly calm physicist. "You don'tknow what you're saying."

  "It's strange," Darrig said. "I know how I felt--I just don't feelthat way any more. I think. Anyhow, I know _your_ trouble. You haven'tread the philosophy. You'll see what I mean, once you've read it." Hehanded Cercy the pile of papers. Cercy promptly ignited them with hiscigarette lighter.

  "It doesn't matter," Darrig said. "I've got it memorized. Just listen.Axiom one. All peoples--"

  Cercy hit him, a short, clean blow, and Darrig slumped to the floor.

  "Those words must be semantically keyed," Malley said. "They'redesigned to set off certain reactions in us, I suppose. All theAmbassador does is alter the philosophy to suit the peoples he'sdealing with."

  "Look, Malley," Cercy said. "This is your job now. Darrig knows, orthought he knew, the answer. You have to get that out of him."

  "That won't be easy," Malley said. "He'd feel that he was betrayingeverything he believes in, if he were to tell us."

  "I don't care how you get it," Cercy said. "Just get it."

  "Even if it kills him?" Malley asked.

  "Even if it kills you."

  "Help me get him to my lab," Malley said.

  * * * * *

  That night Cercy and Harrison kept watch on the Ambassador from thecontrol room. Cercy found his thoughts were racing in circles.

  What had killed Alfern in space? Could it be duplicated on Earth? Whatwas the regularizing principle? What was the chaos underneath?

  _What in hell am I doing here?_ he asked himself. But he couldn'tstart that sort of thing.

  "What do you figure the Ambassador is?" he asked Harrison. "Is he aman?"

  "Looks like one," Harrison said drowsily.

  "But he doesn't act like one. I wonder if this is his true shape?"

  Harrison shook his head, and lighted his pipe.

  "What is there of him?" Cercy asked. "He looks like a man, but he canchange into anything else. You can't attack him; he adapts. He's likewater, taking the shape of any vessel he's poured into."

  "You can boil water," Harrison yawned.

  "Sure. Water hasn't any shape, has it? Or has it? What's basic?"

  With an effort, Harrison tried to focus on Cercy's words. "Molecularpattern? The matrix?"

  "Matrix," Cercy repeated, yawning himself. "Pattern. Must be somethinglike that. A pattern is abstract, isn't it?"

  "Sure. A pattern can be impressed on anything. What did I say?"

  "Let's see," Cercy said. "Pattern. Matrix. Everything about theAmbassador is capable of change. There must be some unifying forcethat retains his personality. Something that _doesn't_ change, nomatter what contortions he goes through."

  "Like a piece of string," Harrison murmured with his eyes closed.

  "Sure. Tie it in knots, weave a rope out of it, wind it around yourfinger; it's still string."

  "Yeah."

  "But how do you attack a pattern?" Cercy asked. And why couldn't heget some sleep? To hell with the Ambassador and his hordes ofcolonists, he was going to close his eyes for a moment....

  * * * * *

  "Wake up, Colonel!"

  Cercy pried his eyes open and looked up at Malley. Besides him,Harrison was snoring deeply. "Did you get anything?"

  "Not a thing," Malley confessed. "The philosophy must've had quite aneffect on him. But it didn't work all the way. Darrig knew that he_had wanted_ to kill the Ambassador, and for good and sufficientreasons. Although he felt differently now, he still had the feelingthat he was betraying us. On the one hand, he couldn't hurt theAmbassador; on the other, he wouldn't hurt us."

  "Won't he tell anything?"

  "I'm afraid it's not that simple," Malley said. "You know, if you havean insurmountable obstacle that _must_ be surmounted ... and also, Ithink the philosophy had an injurious effect on his mind."

  "What are you trying to say?" Cercy got to his feet.

  "I'm sorry," Malley apologized, "there wasn't a damned thing I coulddo. Darrig fought the whole thing out in his mind, and when hecouldn't fight any longer, he--retreated. I'm afraid he's hopelesslyinsane."

  "Let's see him."

  They walked down the corridor to Malley's laboratory. Darrig wasrelaxed on a couch, his eyes glazed and staring.

  "Is there any way of curing him?" Cercy asked.

  "Shock therapy, maybe." Malley was dubious. "It'll take a long time.And he'll probably block out everything that had to do with producingthis."

  Cercy turned away, feeling sick. Even if Darrig could be cured, itwould be too late. The aliens must have picked up the Ambassador'smessage by now and were undoubtedly heading for Earth.

  "What's this?" Cercy asked, picking up a piece of paper that lay byDarrig's hand.

  "Oh, he was doodling," Malley said. "Is there anything written on it?"

  Cercy read aloud: "'Upon further consideration I can see that Chaosand the Gorgon Medusa are closely related.'"

  "What does that mean?" Malley asked.

  "I don't know," Cercy puzzled. "He was always interested in folklore."

  "Sounds schizophrenic," the psychiatrist said.

  Cercy read it again. "'Upon further consideration, I can see thatChaos and the Gorgon Medusa are closely related.'" He stared at it."Isn't it possible," he asked Malley, "that he was trying to give us aclue? Trying to trick himself into giving and not giving at the sametime?"

  "It's possible," Malley agreed. "An unsuccessful compromise--But whatcould it mean?"

  "Chaos." Cercy remembered Darrig's mentioning that word in histelephone call. "That was the original state of the Universe in Greekmyth, wasn't it? The formlessness out of which everything came?"


  "Something like that," Malley said. "And Medusa was one of those threesisters with the horrible faces."

  Cercy stood for a moment, staring at the paper. Chaos ... Medusa ...and the organizing principle! Of course!

  "I think--" He turned and ran from the room. Malley looked at him;then loaded a hypodermic and followed.

  * * * * *

  In the control room, Cercy shouted Harrison into consciousness.

  "Listen," he said, "I want you to build something, quick. Do you hearme?"

  "Sure." Harrison blinked and sat up. "What's the rush?"

  "I know what Darrig wanted to tell us," Cercy said. "Come on, I'lltell you what I want. And Malley, put down that hypodermic. I haven'tcracked. I want you to get me a book on Greek mythology. And hurry itup."

  Finding a Greek mythology isn't an easy task at two o'clock in themorning. With the aid of FBI men, Malley routed a book dealer out ofbed. He got his book and hurried back.

  Cercy was red-eyed