"You mean we would make a billion a month?"
"Whatever you say," said Heller.
"How do you operate the machine?" said Izzy.
"Well, I can't demonstrate that until you take an Oath of State Secrecy. The Fleet is very touchy about these."
Izzy promptly raised his right hand.
"No," said Heller. "Put your hand on your heart."
Izzy did.
Heller said, "Repeat after me: 'I do hereby solemnly acknowledge that I have been entrusted...' "
Izzy did.
Heller continued, "'... with a secret of state and swear never hereafter to impart its portent or content in any way whatsoever...'"
Izzy repeated it.
Heller went on, "'...to any unauthorized person, even under the threat or fact of torture or extinction.'"
Izzy repeated that with his eyes a bit round behind his glasses.
Heller continued, " 'And should I violate this oath, I hereby surrender all my rights and privileges as a citizen, my rank as an officer and my name as an individual.' "
Looking a bit white, Izzy did so.
Heller concluded, " 'Long Live His Majesty!'"
Izzy looked at him, cocking his head over oddly. I knew what had happened. Heller was so used to simply spilling out the Oath of State Secrecy he had overrun it accidentally.
Izzy said, "Long Live His Majesty?"
"Correct!" said Heller, hurriedly. "Now I can show you how to operate this."
"His Majesty?" said Izzy. "Then it is black magic after all. You made me take an oath to Satan, the King of the Nether Regions!"
I hurriedly grabbed a pen. Heller was skidding right on into an outright Code break. He'd have to tell Izzy now that he was an extraterrestrial, a Royal officer of the Voltar Fleet and a subject of the Emperor, Cling the Lofty.
But instead, Heller replied, "Of course. Isn't it said that money is the root of all evil?"
Izzy thought that over. He nodded. "How do you run the sight?" he said.
I threw down my pen in disgust. Heller was getting too knowledgeable about this planet!
Heller was showing him, in some detail. Izzy, looking through the eyepiece, said, "Wait. Look at those pork bellies! The March contract will go down to thirty-four, the lowest I've ever seen them. Hurry, Mr. Jet. Finish showing me. I can sell them short in the next half hour and make three hundred thousand dollars!
Pork bellies will really get us out of the mud today!"
I mourned. Now, with Izzy's expertise on commodity futures, the money would roll in!
I turned my attention to the Countess Krak. With Heller making money absolutely at will with the time-sight on the commodity market, she mightn't use her credit card. MY credit card.
Yikes! She wasn't in the fur shop now. She was in an auto salesroom-Porsche!
A huge sign said:
Who Cares about the Cost
When You Can Ride in Foreign Luxury?
A salesman was bustling up to her. She was looking at a sparkling blue Porsche 1002 coupe.
"Do you have any disposable cars?" said the Countess Krak. "We won't be on the planet very long."
The salesman caught his breath. He, however, was up to it, (bleep) him. He said, "Oh, yes, miss. Disposable cars? That one right there."
She regarded it thoughtfully.
"It's eighty-five thousand dollars," said the salesman. "It's turbocharged for track and street. It's the fastest thing in America. Its slalom is 8.0 seconds, five-speed box, overhead cams..."
"I'll take it," said the Countess Krak. "It matches the color of his eyes."
"Time payment?" said the salesman.
"Oh, no. He had a sort of birthday a month ago and the present was a bust. So I'll want the car right away. Tie a nice blue ribbon around it and send it over. And just put it on this Squeeza credit card."
I was frantic.
I had to act.
In a blur of action, I made up my mind.
I would send Crobe!
Only Crobe could be counted upon to do Heller in!
Ters was in the yard. I flew into the car. With tensely pointing finger, I had him race me to the hospital.
A wild search through the Zanco shelves of the warehouse revealed a third audio and visio set, complete with an 831 Relayer, hidden under the other cases.
With this box under my arm, I sped into the hospital.
Prahd was in the basement operating room, working to alter the fingerprints of a newly arrived criminal. He was fortunately at a rest point and was just telling the hunted man he could go back to his cell.
Prahd looked up and saw me. "Ah," he said, "you've come to tell me my pay has started."
I gritted my teeth. I was in no mood for labor-relations conferences. "Grab whatever you need to install these you-know-whats," I said. "And come with me! You have a colleague in dire peril. There must be no delay."
"A cellologist?" he said, blinking his big green eyes.
"No, me!" I said. "Get going!"
He grabbed what he thought he would need. I even helped him carry it.
We got into the car and sped for the archaeological workman's barracks.
We hurried down the tunnel. We crossed the vast hangar floor. We went up the cell block corridor.
I peered in. We were in luck! When there is no sun to watch going up and down, one can lose track of day and night. Obviously, this was the case with Crobe. He was lying in the bunk, sound asleep.
With a firm push on the remote control button, I activated the bed clamps.
The metal arms swung over and pinned the body firmly to the mattress.
I undid the combination lock of the outer door. I turned the key on the inner door.
Crobe was looking around wildly, staring down at the metal arms and then at me and Prahd. "Wh... wh... wh...?"
"Feed him the gas!" I said.
Prahd instantly had the mask ready. He clamped it on.
"Wh... wh... wh...?" sputtered Crobe.
He was out.
I covered the viewport on the inside of the armored door. I thrust the box at Prahd.
"Install them quick," I said. "There is no time to lose."
"Wait a minute," said Prahd. "These are a different type. There are three units. Unit A alters the vision response of one eye so that it sees through solids like metal or clothes or bone, depending on where the person focuses his vision. Unit B registers the emotional response of the spy to what he sees. Unit C is just the usual audio bug."
I looked at the box. He was right. So Spurk had lied when he told me that he had only two units and then lied again when he said they didn't make any that monitored emotions. No wonder I felt justified in killing him and emptying his safe. Spurk was a crook.
"Details, details," I snapped. "Do they all operate as respondo-mitters? Do they have a two-hundred-mile activator-receiver? Is there an 831 Relayer for them?"
"Yes," he said.
"Well, put them in! What are we waiting for?"
Prahd set up some burners and catalysts on the desk. He sprayed the place with disinfectant-it was pretty filthy, as Crobe had not used the toilet to relieve himself– and shortly got to work.
I rushed out. I went to see Faht Bey. He sat at his desk and said icily that he was out.
"You've got to help me," I said.
"That would be a distant day," he said.
"No, no. This affects the security of the base. I have to ship Doctor Crobe to New York."
"You mean he'll be out of this base?"
"Yes."
"Never to return?"
"Yes."
"I'll give you all the help you need."
We made the arrangements at once. Crobe would be put in a Zanco restraint coat-something like a strait-jacket they use on Earth, except it is held magnetically and has no ties. Two guards in plain clothes would accompany him to make sure he got there. The guards would have instant two-way-response radio contact with the base in case he got loose or anything went wrong.
While Faht Bey finalized those vital steps, I went back to the cell.