The Best Made Plans Part 30

"Advance, one, to be recognized."

Hense sighed and stepped forward, then halted again at the guard's command.

The man flashed a light on him, then raised his weapon to his face and snapped it to the raise position again.

"I recognize you, sir. Any special instructions?"

"None. Just continue on your post."

Inwardly, Hense was reaching the boiling point. That hadn't been what he'd intended to say, dammit! He----

"Pardon, sir," the guard was saying, "but how about this man here?"

Now, Hense realized, there must be something really going on. Dream creatures just couldn't walk out of a man's mind and show up in front of an alert guard. Or had he completely lost gyro synch? He----

Michaels broke in again. "It's all right, guard. Just continue on your post. And keep an especially sharp lookout from now on."

"Yes, sir." The guard snapped his weapon up to his face again, then holstered it and turned to continue his tour.

Hense looked after him.

It wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare.

He resumed his pacing, toward the Residence.

"Oh, well," he thought resignedly, "might as well relax and enjoy it.

Wonder what'll happen next."

Commissioner Jackson himself came to the door.

"What was that fire, lieutenant?" he demanded. He noticed Michaels.

"And what have we here?" He drew his head back a little, frowning.

Don interrupted. "Are you Commissioner Jackson?"

"Yes. But----"

"Good! Here, take this." Don shoved the book out. "And let's go into your office."

Benton Jackson looked incredulously at the figure before him. He reached out and accepted the book, then turned.

"Another of those!" he said softly.

Hense followed them inside. There were, he was discovering, peculiar things about this dream business. He had completed his mission. He hadn't been dismissed. But he could wait here, or he could tag along and see what happened.

"Well, now," he told himself. "Things are looking up."

Jackson walked over to his desk, snapping on the room lights as he pa.s.sed them. He sat down and placed the book on the desk.

"Well," he demanded, "what's next?"

Don Michaels reached over the desk and flipped the book open.

"Page seven oh one," he said simply. "Read it. Then, I'll start telling you a lot of things." He hesitated.

"You _can_ read Oredanian script, I hope?"

Jackson nodded in annoyance. "Of course. Part of my business." He flipped over the pages, looking at numbers. Then he glanced up.

"How about the lieutenant?"

Don faced about. "Oh," he said. "Sorry. You can go back to your guardroom, lieutenant. I'm sorry I had to get rough with you, but I was in a hurry. Still am, for that matter. Only one more thing. For the love of all that's holy, have your people keep a sharp lookout for the rest of the night. I've a hunch Stern's people will try almost anything right now, short of risking full-scale battle."

Hense shook his head dazedly. Jackson looked up from the book.

"It's all right, lieutenant," he said. "Go ahead. And you might take this man's word on the heavy guard. If we've got what I think we've got, and if Stern knows it, he might even risk a battle."

Hense suddenly realized he was no longer under any kind of restraint.

And, he realized, this had been no dream.

He had actually been ordered around like some recruit. And that by some no-good, naked native kid.

His guard had been pushed around. Unauthorized orders had been given to them.

And they'd obeyed those orders--without question.

In fact, the whole compound had been virtually taken over.

And all by this same kid.

And the commissioner said it was all right?

Hense turned away. He'd----

He took a step, then reconsidered. He had a better idea.

"This place," he said savagely, "has just plain gone to h.e.l.l!" He stalked through the door.

The commissioner's amused voice followed him.

"Not yet," it said, "but it very possibly might, lieutenant. Don't forget to double your guard."

As the door closed, Jackson looked at Don, a smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes.