WITHIN THE offices of the AAA Ace Interplanetary Decontamination Service, a gloomy silence reigned. By the faint light that filtered through the dirty windows, Richard Gregor was playing a new form of solitaire. It involved three packs of cards, six jokers, a set of dice and a slide rule. The game was extremely complicated, maddeningly difficult, and always came out if you persisted long enough.

  His partner, Mike Arnold, had swept his desk clear of its usual clutter of crusty test tubes and unpaid bills, and was now dozing fitfully on its stained surface.

  Business couldn’t have been worse.

  There was a tentative knock on the door.

  Quickly Gregor pushed his playing cards, dice and slide rule into a drawer. Arnold rolled off his desk like a cat and flipped open volume two of Terkstiller’s Decontamination Modes on X-32 (Omega) Worlds, which he had been using for a pillow.

  “Come in,” Gregor called out.

  The door opened, and a girl entered. She was young, slender, dark-haired, and extremely pretty. Her eyes were gray, and they contained a hint of fear. Her lips were unsmiling.

  She looked around the unkempt office. “Is this the AAA Ace?” she inquired tentatively.

  “It certainly is,” Gregor assured her. “Won’t you sit down? We always keep the lights off. Much more restful, don’t you think?”

  And, he thought, quite necessary, since Con Mazda had shut off their power last week for non-payment of a trifling bill.

  “I suppose it is,” the girl said, sitting in the cavernous client’s chair. She surveyed the office again. “You people are planetary decontaminationists, aren’t you? Not taxidermists, or undertakers?”

  “Don’t let the office fool you,” Arnold said. “We are the best, and the most reasonable. No planet too big, no asteroid too small, and every job gets our personal attention,” he added, somewhat unnecessarily.

  “Maybe I’ve come to the right place after all,” the girl said, with a wan but enchanting smile. “You see, I don’t have much money.”

  Gregor nodded sympathetically. AAA Ace’s clients never had much money.

  “But I do have a tiny little planet which needs decontaminating,” the girl said. “It’s the most wonderful place in the whole galaxy. But the job might be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” Arnold asked.

  The girl nodded and glanced nervously at the door. “I don’t even know if I’m safe here. Are you armed?”

  Gregor found a rusty letter opener. Arnold hefted a bronze paperweight cast in the shape of the spaceship Constitution—a beautiful piece of workmanship.

  Somewhat relieved, the girl went on. “I’m Myra Branch Ryan, and the whole thing started like this. I was on my little planet, minding my own business, when suddenly this Scarb appeared before me, leering horribly—”

  “This what?”

  “Perhaps I should start at the beginning,” Myra Ryan said. “A few months ago my Uncle Jim died and left me a small planet and a Hemstet 4 spaceship. The planet is Coelle, in the Gelsors system. Uncle Jim bought the planet fifteen years ago, for a vacation home. He had just gotten it into shape when he was called away on business. What with one thing and another, he never returned. Naturally I went out there as soon as I could.”

  Myra’s face brightened as she remembered her first impressions.

  “Coelle was very small, but perfect. It had a complete air system, the best gravity money can buy, and an artesian well. Uncle Jim had planted several orchards, and berry bushes on the hillsides, and long grass everywhere. There was even a little lake.

  “But Coelle’s outstanding feature was the Skag Castle. Uncle Jim hadn’t touched this, for the castle was old beyond belief. It was thought to have been built by the Skag Horde, who, according to legend, occupied the universe before the coming of man.”

  The partners nodded. Everyone had heard of the Skag Horde. A whole literature had sprung up around the scanty evidence of their existence. It was pretty well established that they had been reptile-evolved, and had mastered spaceflight. But legend went further than this. The Skag Horde was supposed to have known the Old Lore, a strange mixture of science and witchcraft. This, according to the legends, gave them a power beyond the conception of man, powers sprung from the evil counterforces of the universe.

  Their disappearance, millennia before homo sapiens descended from the treetops, had never been satisfactorily explained.

  “I fell in love with Coelle,” Myra continued, “and the old Skag Castle just made it perfect.”

  “But where does the decontaminating come in?” Gregor asked. “Were there natives on Coelle? Animals? Germs?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Myra said. “Here’s what happened...”

  She had been on her planet a week, exploring its groves and orchards, and wandering around the Skag Castle. Then one evening, sitting in the castle’s great library, she sensed something wrong. There was an unearthly stillness in the air, as though the planet were waiting for something to happen. Angrily she tried to shake off the mood. It was just nerves, she told herself. After she put a few more lights in the halls, and changed the blood-red draperies to something gayer—

  Then she heard a dull rumbling noise, like the sound of a giant walking. It seemed to come from beneath her, from somewhere in the solid granite upon which the castle rested.

  But that, of course, was impossible.

  She stood completely still, waiting. The floor vibrated, a vase crept off a table and shattered on the flagstones. And then the Scarb appeared before her, leering horribly.

  There was no mistaking it. According to legend, the Scarbs had been the wizard-scientists of the vanished Skag Horde; great, powerful reptiles dressed in cloaks of gray and purple. The creature that stood before Myra was over nine feet tall, with tiny atrophied wings and a horn growing from its forehead.

  The Scarb said, “Earthwoman, go home!”

  She almost fainted. The Scarb continued, “Know, rash human, that this planet of Coelle is the ancestral home of the Skag Horde, and this Castle is the original Skag Burrow. Here the spirit of the Skag still lives, through the intervention of Grad, Ieele, and other accursed powers of the universe. Quit this sacred planet at once, foolish human, or I, the Undead Scarb, will exact revenge.”

  And with that, it vanished.

  “What did you do?” Gregor asked.

  “Nothing,” Myra said, with a little laugh. “I just couldn’t believe it. I thought I must have had a hallucination, and everything would be all right if I just got control of myself. Twice more that week I heard the underground noises. And then the Scarb appeared again. He said, ’You have been warned, Earthwoman. Now beware the wrath of the Undead Scarb!’ After that, I got out as fast as I could.”

  Myra sniffed, took out a little handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

  “So you see,” she said, “my little planet needs decontaminating. Or possibly exorcising.”

  “Miss Ryan,” Gregor said, very gently, “I don’t mean to be insulting, but have you—ah—did you ever think of consulting a psychiatrist?”

  The girl stood up angrily. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

  “Not at all,” Gregor said soothingly. “But remember, you yourself spoke of the possibility of hallucination. After all, a deserted planet, an ancient castle, these legends—which, by the way, have very little basis in fact—all would tend to—”

  “You’re right, of course,” Myra said, with a strange little smile. “But how do you explain this?” She opened her handbag and spilled three cans of film and a spool of magnetic tape onto Gregor’s desk.

  “I was able to record some of those hallucinations,” she said.

  The partners were momentarily speechless.

  “Something is going on in that castle,” Myra said earnestly. “It calls itself an Undead Scarb. Won’t you get rid of it for me?”

  Gregor groaned and rubbed his forehead. He hated to refuse anyone as beautiful as Miss Ryan, and they certainly could use the income. But this was not, in all honesty, a job for decontaminators. This looked like a psychic case, and psychic phenomena was notoriously tricky stuff to handle. It was all so intangible.

  “Miss Ryan—” he began, but Arnold broke in.

  “We would be delighted to take your case,” he said. To Gregor he gave an I’ll-explain-later wink.

  “Oh, how wonderful!” Myra said. “How soon will you be ready?”

  “As a rule,” Arnold said, “we need a few weeks notice. But for you—” He beamed fatuously. “For you, we are going to clear our calendar, postpone all other cases, and begin at once.”

  Gregor’s long, sad face was unhappier than ever. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten,” he told his partner. “Joe the Interstellar Junkman has our spaceship, due to a trifling bill we neglected to pay. I’m sorry, Miss Ryan—”

  “Call me Myra,” Myra said. “That’s all right, my Hemstet 4 is fueled and ready to go.”

  “Then we’ll leave tonight,” Arnold said. “Have no fear, Myra. Your little planet is safe in our hands. We’ll radio you as soon as—

  “Radio nothing,” Myra said. “I’m going along. I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

  They arranged for Myra to obtain the clearances, and meet them back at the office. As she walked to the door, Arnold said, “By the way, why did you ask if we were armed?”

  She was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Since I came back to Terra, something’s been following me. Something wearing gray and purple. I’m afraid it might be the Undead Scarb.”

&nbs p; She closed the door gently behind her.

  As soon as she was gone, Gregor shouted, “Have you gone completely out of your mind - Skags, Undead Scarbs—”

  “She’s beautiful,” Arnold said dreamily.

  “Are you listening to me? How are we supposed to decontaminate a haunted planet?”

  “Coelle isn’t haunted.”

  “What makes you think not?”

  “Because the original Skag Burrow, according to the very best evidence, was on the planet Dueritй, not on Coelle. A Skag ghost would know that. Ergo, what she saw was no ghost.”

  Gregor frowned thoughtfully.

  “Hmm. You think someone wants to frighten her off Coelle?”

  “Obviously,” Arnold said.

  “But the planet’s been deserted for years. Why would someone take an interest in it now?”

  “I’m going to find out.”

  “Sounds like a job for a detective,” Gregor told him.

  “Perhaps you’ve forgotten,” Arnold said. “I am an honor graduate of the Hepburn School of Scientific Detection.”

  “That was only a six weeks’ correspondence course.”

  “So what? Detection is simply the rational application of logic. Moreover, detection and decontamination are essentially the same thing. Decontamination just carries the process of detection to its logical conclusion.”

  “I hope you know what you’re talking about,” Gregor said. “What about this gray and purple creature that’s been following Myra around?”

  “No such thing. A case of overwrought nerves,” Arnold diagnosed. “The poor girl needs someone to protect her. Me, for example.”

  “Yeah. But who’s going to protect you?

  Arnold didn’t bother answering, and the partners began to make their preparations.

  II

  THEY SPENT the rest of the day loading the Hemstet with various devices they had managed to keep out of hock. Gregor invested in a second-hand Steng needler. It seemed a good weapon against the more palpable forms of wizardry. After a quick dinner at the Milky Way Diner, they started back to their office.

  After they had walked several blocks, Arnold said, “I think we’re being followed.”

  “You have overwrought nerves,” Gregor diagnosed.

  “He was in the diner, too,” Arnold said. “And I’m sure I saw him at the spaceport.”

  Gregor glanced over his shoulder. Half a block behind he saw a man sauntering along and glancing idly into store windows, his attitude studiously casual.

  The partners turned down a street. The man followed. They circled and returned to the avenue they had been on. The man was still there, keeping half a block between them.

  “Have you noticed what he’s wearing?” Arnold asked, wiping perspiration from his forehead.

  Gregor looked again and saw that the man had on a gray suit and a purple tie—Skag Colors.

  “Hmm,” Gregor said. “Do you suppose an Undead Scarb—if there were such a thing—could take on human form?”

  “I’d hate to find out,” Arnold said. “You’d better get that needler ready.”

  “I left it on the ship.”

  “That’s just fine,” Arnold said bitterly. “Just perfect. Someone—or some thing is following us, probably with murderous intent, and you leave your blaster on the ship.”

  “Steady,” Gregor said. “Maybe we can shake him.”

  They continued walking. Gregor looked back and saw that the man—or Scarb—was still there. He was walking more rapidly, closing the gap between them.

  But coming down the street now was a taxi, its flag up.

  They hailed it and climbed in. The man—or Scarb—looked around frantically for another cab, but there was none in sight. When they drove off he was standing on the curb, his purple tie slightly askew, glaring at them.

  Myra Ryan was waiting for them at the office. She nodded when they told her about the follower.

  “I warned you it might be dangerous,” she said. “You can still back out, you know.”

  “What’ll you do then?” Arnold asked.

  “I’ll go back to Coelle,” Myra said. “No Skags are going to keep me off my planet.”

  “We’re going,” Arnold said gazing tenderly at her. “You know we wouldn’t desert you, Myra.”

  “Of course not,” Gregor said wearily.

  At that moment the door opened, and in walked a man wearing a gray suit and purple tie.

  “The Scarb!” Arnold gasped, and reached for his paperweight.

  “That’s no Scarb,” Myra said calmly. “That’s Ross Jameson. Hello, Ross.”

  Jameson was a tall, beautifully groomed man in his early thirties, with a handsome, impatient face and hard eyes.

  “Myra,” he said, “have you gone completely insane?”

  “I don’t think so, Ross,” Myra said sweetly.

  “Are you really going to Coelle with these charlatans?”

  Gregor stepped forward. “Were you following us?”

  “You’re damned right I was,” Jameson said belligerently.

  “I don’t know who you are,” Gregor said, “but—”

  “I’m Miss Ryan’s fiancé,” Jameson said, “and I’m not going to let her go through with this ridiculous project. Myra, from what you’ve told me, this planet of yours sounds dangerous. Why don’t you forget about it and marry me?”

  “I want to live on Coelle,” Myra said, in a dangerously quiet voice. “I want to live on my own little planet.”

  Jameson shook his head. “We’ve been through this a thousand times. Darling, you can’t seriously expect me to give up my business and move to this little mudball with you. I’ve got my work—”

  “And I’ve got my mudball,” Myra said. “It’s my very own mudball, and I want to live there.”

  “With the Skags?”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in that sort of thing,” Myra said.

  “I don’t. But some trickery is going on, and I don’t like to see you involved. It’s probably that crazy hermit. There’s no telling what he’ll try next. Myra, won’t you please—”

  “No!” Myra said. “I’m going to Coelle!”

  “Then I’m going with you.”

  “You are not,” Myra said coldly.

  “I’ve already arranged it with my staff,” Jameson said. “You’ll need someone to protect you on that ridiculous planet, and you can’t expect much from these two.” He glared contemptuously at Gregor and Arnold.

  “Maybe you didn’t understand me,” Myra said, in a very quiet voice. “You are not coming, Ross.”

  Jameson’s firm face sagged, and his eyes grew worried, “Myra,” he said, “please let me come. If anything happened to you I’d—I don’t know what I’d do. Please, Myra?”

  There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice. When Jameson dropped his commanding voice and lowered the imposing thrust of his shoulders, he became a very appealing young man, quite obviously in love.

  Myra said softly, “All right, Ross. And—thanks.”

  Gregor cleared his throat loudly. “We blast off in two hours.”

  “Fine,” Jameson said, taking Myra’s arm. “We have time for a drink, dear.”

  Arnold said, “Pardon me, Mr. Jameson. How does it happen you are wearing gray and purple—the Skag Colors?”

  “Are they?” Jameson asked. “Pure coincidence. I’ve owned this tie for years.”

  “And who is the hermit?”

  “I thought you geniuses knew everything,” Jameson said, with a nasty grin. “See you at the ship.”

  After they had gone, a deep, gloomy silence hung over the office. Finally Arnold said, “So she’s engaged.”

  “So it would seem,” Gregor said. “But not married,” he added sympathetically.

  “No, she’s not married,” Arnold said, becoming cheerful again. “And Jameson is obviously the wrong man for her. I’m sure Myra wouldn’t marry a liar.”

  “Of course she wouldn’t marry a— Huh?”

  “Didn’t you notice? That purple tie he’s ’owned for years’ was brand new. I think we’ll keep an eye on Mr. Jameson.”

  Gregor gazed at his partner with admiration. “That’s a very clever observation.”

  “The process of detection,” Arnold said sententiously, “is merely the accumulation of minute discrepancies and infinitesimal inconsistencies, which are immediately apparent to the trained eye.”

  Gregor and the trained eye put the office into order. At eleven o’clock they met Jameson and Myra at the ship, and, without further incident, departed for Coelle.

 

1 2 3