Starman's Quest Part 23

Usually when Hawkes had friends visiting him late at night, Alan would sit up for a while listening, and then excuse himself and get some sleep. As he lay in bed he could hear low whispering, and once he woke toward morning and heard the conversation still going on. He strained his ears, but did not pick up anything.

One night early in October he had come home from the games parlor and, finding n.o.body home, had gone immediately to sleep. Some time later he heard Hawkes and his friends come in, but he was too tired to get out of bed and greet them. He rolled over and went back to sleep.

But later that night he felt hands touching him, and he opened an eye to see Hawkes bending over him.

"It's me--Max. Are you awake?"

"No," Alan muttered indistinctly.

Hawkes shook him several times. "Come on--get up and put some clothes on. Some people here who want to talk to you."

Only half comprehending, Alan clambered unwillingly from bed, dressed, and splashed cold water in his face. He followed Hawkes back inside.

The living room was crowded. Seven or eight men were there--the ones Alan thought of as the inner circle of Hawkes' cronies. Johnny Byng, Mike Kovak, Al Webber, Lorne Hollis, and some others. Sleepily Alan nodded at them and took a seat, wondering why Hawkes had dragged him out of bed for this.

Hawkes looked at him sharply. "Alan, you know all these people, don't you?"

Alan nodded. He was still irritated at Hawkes; he had been sound asleep.

"You're now facing ninety per cent of what we've come to call the Hawkes Syndicate," Hawkes went on. "These eight gentlemen and myself have formed the organization recently for a certain specific purpose. More of that in a few minutes. What I got you out here to tell you was that there's room in our organization for one more man, and that you fit the necessary qualifications."

"Me?"

Hawkes smiled. "You. We've all been watching you since you came to live with me, testing you, studying you. You're adaptable, strong, intelligent. You learn fast. We had a little vote tonight, and decided to invite you in."

Alan wondered if he were still asleep or not. What was all this talk of syndicates? He looked round the circle, and realized that this bunch could be up to no good.

Hawkes said, "Tell him about it, Johnny."

Byng leaned forward and blinked his drug-stained eyes. In a quiet voice, almost a purr, he said, "It's really very simple. We're going to stage a good old-fas.h.i.+oned hold-up. It's a proposition that'll net us each about a million credits, even with the ten-way split. It ought to go off pretty easy but we need you in on it. As a matter of fact, I'd say you were indispensable to the project, Alan."

_Chapter Fourteen_

Hawkes took over, explaining the proposition to a now very much awake Alan.

"There's going to be a currency transfer at the World Reserve Bank downtown next Friday. At least ten million credits are going to be picked up by an armored truck and taken to branch banks for distribution.

"Hollis, here, happens to have found out the wave-patterns of the roboguards who'll be protecting the currency s.h.i.+pment. And Al Webber has some equipment that can paralyze roboguards if we know their operational wavelength. So it's a simple matter to leave the car unprotected; we wait till it's loaded, then blank out the robots, seize the human guards, and drive away with the truck."

Alan frowned thoughtfully. "Why am _I_ so indispensable to this business?" He had no desire to rob banks or anything else.

"Because you're the only one of us who isn't registered on the central directory. You don't have any televector number. You can't be traced."

Suddenly Alan understood. "So _that's_ why you didn't let me register!

You've been grooming me for this all along!"

Hawkes nodded. "As far as Earth is concerned, you don't exist. If any of us drove off with that truck, all they need to do is plot the truck's coordinates and follow the televector patterns of the man who's driving it. Capture is inevitable that way. But if _you're_ aboard the truck, there's no possible way of tracing your route. Get it?"

"I get it," Alan said slowly. _But I don't like it_, he added silently.

"I want to think about the deal a little longer, though. Let me sleep on it. I'll tell you tomorrow whether I'll go through with it."

Puzzled expressions appeared on the faces of Hawkes' eight guests, and Webber started to say something, but Hawkes hastily cut him off. "The boy's a little sleepy, that's all. He needs time to get used to the idea of being a millionaire. I'll call each of you in the morning, okay?"

The eight were shepherded out of the apartment rapidly, and when they were gone Hawkes turned to face Alan. Gone now was the bland friendliness, gone the warm-hearted brotherliness of the older man. His lean face was cold and businesslike now, and his voice was harsh as he said, "What's this talk of thinking it over? Who said you had any choice about this thing?"

"Don't I have any say in my own life?" Alan asked hotly. "Suppose I don't want to be a bank robber? You didn't tell me----"

"I didn't need to. Listen, boy--I didn't bring you in here for my health. I brought you in because I saw you had the potential for this job. I've coddled you along for more than three months, now. Given you a valuable education in how to get along on this planet. Now I'm asking you to pay me back, a little. Byng told the truth: you're indispensable to this project. Your personal feelings are irrelevant just now."

"Who says?"

"I do."

Alan stared coldly at Hawkes' transformed face. "Max, I didn't bargain for a share in your bank-robbing syndicate. I don't want any part of it.

Let's call it quits right now. I've turned over quite a few thousand credits of my winnings to you. Give me five hundred and keep the rest.

It's your pay for my room and board and instruction the last three months. You go your way, I'll go mine."

Hawkes laughed sharply. "Just as simple as that? I pocket your winnings and you walk out of here? How dumb do you think I am? You know the names of the syndicate, you know the plans, you know everything. A lot of people would pay big money for an advance tip on this bit." He shook his head. "I'll go my way and you'll go it too, Alan. Or else. You know what that _or else_ means."

Angrily Alan said, "You'd kill me, too, if I backed down now. Friends.h.i.+p doesn't mean a thing to you. 'Help us rob this bank, or else.'"

Hawkes' expression changed again; he smiled warmly, and when he spoke his voice was almost wheedling. "Listen, Alan, we've been planning this thing for months. I put down seven thousand to clear your brother, just so I'd be sure of getting your cooperation. I tell you there's no danger. I didn't mean to threaten you--but try to see my side of it. You _have_ to help out!"

Alan looked at him curiously. "How come you're so hot to rob the bank, Max? You earn a fortune every night. You don't need a million more credits."

"No. I don't. But some of them do. Johnny Byng does; and Kovak, too--he owes Bryson thirty thousand. But I organized the scheme." Hawkes was pleading now. "Alan, I'm bored. Deadly bored. Gambling isn't gambling for me; I'm too good. I never lose except when I want to. So I need to get my kicks someplace else. This is it. But it won't come off without you."

They were silent for a moment. Alan realized that Hawkes and his group were desperate men; they would never let him live if he refused to cooperate. He had no choice at all. It was disillusioning to discover that Hawkes had taken him in mostly because he would be useful in a robbery.

He tried to tell himself that this was a jungle world where morality didn't matter, and that the million credits he'd gain would help finance hyperdrive research. But those were thin arguments that held no conviction. There was no justification for what he was going to do. None whatsoever.

But Hawkes held him in a cleft stick. There was no way out. He had fallen among thieves--and, w.i.l.l.y-nilly, he would be forced to become one himself.

"All right," he said bitterly. "I'll drive the getaway truck for you.

But after it's over, I'll take my share and get out. I won't want to see you again."

Hawkes seemed to look hurt, but he masked the emotion quickly enough.

"That's up to you, Alan. But I'm glad you gave in. It would have been rough on both of us otherwise. Suppose we get some sleep."

Alan slept poorly during what was left of the night. He kept mulling the same thoughts round and round endlessly in his head, until he wished he could unhinge the front of his skull and let the thoughts somehow escape.

It irritated him to know that Hawkes had taken him in primarily because he fit the qualifications for a plan concocted long before, and not for his own sake. All the intensive training the gambler had given him had been directed not merely toward toughening Alan but toward preparing him for the role he would play in the projected robbery.

He felt unhappy about the robbery too. The fact that he was being coerced into taking part made him no less a criminal, and that went against all his long-ingrained codes of ethics. He would be just as guilty as Hawkes or Webber, and there was no way out.