The Invaders Plan

I gri

I didn't even return the Fleet Intelligence officer's sneer at me. Let them hiss. It was all going my way now!

My destinations for the day were all mapped out. Using the soon to be officially defunct Doctor Bittlestiffender's fake identoplate, I had culled from the master console in my office, all the company names I needed. I knew exactly what they sold. The one chosen for my first stop was the biggest: from the number of government contracts they got, I knew they were absolutely up to the crown of their corporate heads in graft.

After the short flight to Commercial City, I was introducing myself to reception in the very sanitary, haughty, towered anteroom of the chief of Zanco Cello-logical Equipment and Supplies. Through the huge windows, the vast roofs of Commercial City panorama'd widely in industrial haze.

The receptionist thought I must look a little seedy to be calling on the chief himself for he tried to get me to sit down and wait. I said, "Million-credit orders don't wait, clerky. Shove me in and right now." That produced the desired buzzes, bows and open doors.

The chief, a huge, sleek executive in the latest twinklecloth executive suit, extended his huge, sleek, sanitary, gloved hand, shook mine and indicated his very best interview chair. The flashing label light on his desk said, KOLTAR ZANCO To myself I said, Koltar, you are about to make some people rich. Aloud I said, "Professor Gyrant Slahb, an old and intimate family friend, recommended your firm, Chief Zanco. I do hope you are prepared to furnish what is needed." Oh, indeed he and they could! He extended a chank-pop to relieve my possible fatigue. He must have had an open communicator and heard that million credits.

"I am on a secret project," I said. And I gave him the project number. "You may only have the number, but I suggest that you check it on your commercial computer. And also my identoplate." And I reeled off its numbers.

The receptionist must have an open communicator also. Before I had time to light the oversized puffstick Zanco gave me, the receptionist's voice jumped up from his electronic desk. "Valid, chiefy. Both valid. The unexpended balance is twenty-five million credits." No surprise to me. I had checked it last night. It would take days and days for Endow and Lombar to dream up enough companies and fake bills and orders to use up such a huge sum. Some bills would have to be factual and I intended to help them out despite Lombar's forbidding me to grab any graft.

Zanco was even friendlier. I tossed the two lists on his desk. "Can you fill these?"

"Usually," he said hugely, "such matters are handled by our sales department but ..."

"The secret nature of the project and the size of the order . . ."

"Precisely." Then he frowned. "These orders only run to, at a guess, about a third of a million."

"That's why I want you to shut off that communication link," I said.

He smiled. He touched a master plate. All the lights on his desk went dead.

"The bill," I said, "must be exactly doubled. Half of the whole charge is to be untraceably sent to Lombar Hisst, Chief of the Apparatus."

"Ah," he said. But he looked a little worried. "That will only be two-thirds of a million." I had seen he had a huge catalogue on his desk. With his gracious permission I took it. I got out a pen. I started going through it, checking off everything of interest that I saw and writing quantities: electric surgical knives, instant heat flasks, seven varieties of anesthetic applicators, stainproof coats . . . on and on.

He was quite patient.

I ran out. I got the major list back and quadrupled the usable, expendable items on it like chemicals and power packs. It was enough to patch up an army or two.

I was very interested that he had been keeping a little wrist computer going. He must have very good eyes or he knew where the items were on the pages I had gone over.

"That's only four hundred and sixty thousand, before doubling," he complained.

"Well, I tell you what you do," I said. "You probably have several items that are exotic and not advertised.

Throw those in. Then get the actual price up to four hundred and ninety thousand credits."

"Why not half a million?" he said.

"Because," I said, "you are going to pad the price of some of the items to make it come out to half a million but you are going to hand me ten thousand in cash." Oh, he could do that. He got permission to turn his desk back on and in seconds we had an office absolutely jammed with junior executives, accountants, stock clerks, shipping clerks and people to hold things for them while they ran off bills and orders and instructions. A beautiful display of utter efficiency.

I sat with lordly mien, puffing on an oversized puff-stick the while. And soon they were all cleared out. They had left some paper on his desk. He was waiting expectantly for me to produce my identoplate and start stamping. I opened a fresh chank-pop instead.

"There's one more thing," I said. "Take a little scrap of paper – that blue blank there will do – and write on it, 'Officer Gris: I consider your request for personal commission outrageous and refuse it. We only do business on proper cha

"Now," I said, "the ten thousand!" Some clerk had already brought it in. It was in a fabric wraparound case. He handed it over. I did not bother to count it. We big tycoons of business have to trust one another.

I began to stamp. Every time my identoplate hit a piece of paper, his grin appeared broader by half an inch. His head was practically split in half when I had finished. He was too satisfied. He was going to put in inferior goods or chemicals.

"As Inspector General Overlord for the project," I said, "I must warn you that I will catch all shorts and any spoiled chemicals or any faults in packing." A little bit of his smile faded.

"And if Lombar Hisst ever hears about this ten thousand, I will say allthe goods arrived damaged and the chemicals spoiled." He looked at me for a moment. Then he jumped up and pumped my hand. "I appreciate a careful client, Officer Gris." And he laughed. "We understand each other completely."

"I will stop by your shipping department and tell them where the two different shipments are sent. I will also want fifty spare shipping labels just in case some fall off." He handed me the fabric wraparound case. I put it and the blue handwritten note into an old lunch sack I had, folded, in my pocket. He saw me out clear through the bustling shipping department and to my airbus. He even waved as I took off.

"Am I rich yet?" Ske badgered at me.

I handed him ten credits. "You're rich," I said.

Actually, I had a glow inside me like a gallon of bubblebrew.

I suddenly wasn't poor! I could even buy some hot jolt and a bun!

"There was somebody watching this airbus," said Ske. He didn't seem as happy as I was. "I think you're being shadowed."

"Nonsense," I said. "Who would be interested in a perfectly legal government transaction? There's a jolt joint down there. Land so I can have some breakfast." Nothing was going to spoil this marvelous day!

Heavens help you now, Heller, I said to myself as I ravenously chomped down on a sweetbun. A clever Gris might not be enough. But a clever Gris and a richGris are an unbeatable combination! You're sunk!