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                       The Luckiest Man in Denv

                            By SIMON EISNER

                          Illustrated by EMSH

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                   Galaxy Science Fiction June 1952.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]




             To get the break of his life, all Reuben had
             to do was turn the death trap into a jackpot!


May's man Reuben, of the eighty-third level, Atomist, knew there was
something wrong when the binoculars flashed and then went opaque.
Inwardly he cursed, hoping that he had not committed himself to
anything. Outwardly he was unperturbed. He handed the binoculars back
to Rudolph's man Almon, of the eighty-ninth level, Maintainer, with a
smile.

"They aren't very good," he said.

Almon put them to his own eyes, glanced over the parapet and swore
mildly. "Blacker than the heart of a crazy Angel, eh? Never mind;
here's another pair."

This pair was unremarkable. Through it, Reuben studied the thousand
setbacks and penthouses, of Denv that ranged themselves below. He was
too worried to enjoy his first sight of the vista from the eighty-ninth
level, but he let out a murmur of appreciation. Now to get away from
this suddenly sinister fellow and try to puzzle it out.

"Could we--?" he asked cryptically, with a little upward jerk of his
chin.

"It's better not to," Almon said hastily, taking the glasses from his
hands. "What if somebody with stars happened to see, you know? How'd
_you_ like it if you saw some impudent fellow peering up at you?"

"He wouldn't dare!" said Reuben, pretending to be stupid and indignant,
and joined a moment later in Almon's sympathetic laughter.

"Never mind," said Almon. "We are young. Some day, who knows? Perhaps
we shall look from the ninety-fifth level, or the hundredth."

Though Reuben knew that the Maintainer was no friend of his, the
generous words sent blood hammering through his veins; ambition for a
moment.

He pulled a long face and told Almon: "Let us hope so. Thank you for
being my host. Now I must return to my quarters."

He left the windy parapet for the serene luxury of an
eighty-ninth-level corridor and descended slow moving stairs through
gradually less luxurious levels to his own Spartan floor. Selene was
waiting, smiling, as he stepped off the stairs.

She was decked out nicely--too nicely. She wore a steely hued corselet
and a touch of scent; her hair was dressed long. The combination
appealed to him, and instantly he was on his guard. Why had she gone to
the trouble of learning his tastes? What was she up to? After all, she
was Griffin's woman.

"Coming _down_?" she asked, awed. "Where have you been?"

"The eighty-ninth, as a guest of that fellow Almon. The vista is
immense."

"I've never been...." she murmured, and then said decisively: "You
belong up there. And higher. Griffin laughs at me, but he's a fool.
Last night in chamber we got to talking about you, I don't know how,
and he finally became quite angry and said he didn't want to hear
another word." She smiled wickedly. "I was revenged, though."

Blank-faced, he said: "You must be a good hand at revenge, Selene, and
at stirring up the need for it."

The slight hardening of her smile meant that he had scored and he
hurried by with a rather formal salutation.

Burn him for an Angelo, but she was easy enough to take! The contrast
of the metallic garment with her soft, white skin was disturbing, and
her long hair suggested things. It was hard to think of her as scheming
something or other; scheming Selene was displaced in his mind by
Selene in chamber.

But what was she up to? Had she perhaps heard that he was to be
elevated? Was Griffin going to be swooped on by the Maintainers? Was he
to kill off Griffin so she could leech onto some rising third party?
Was she perhaps merely giving her man a touch of the lash?

He wished gloomily that the binoculars-problem and the Selene-problem
had not come together. That trickster Almon had spoken of youth as
though it were something for congratulation; he hated being young and
stupid and unable to puzzle out the faulty binoculars and the warmth of
Griffin's woman.

       *       *       *       *       *

The attack alarm roared through the Spartan corridor. He ducked through
the nearest door into a vacant bedroom and under the heavy steel table.
Somebody else floundered under the table a moment later, and a third
person tried to join them.

The firstcomer roared: "Get out and find your own shelter! I don't
propose to be crowded out by you or to crowd you out either and see
your ugly blood and brains if there's a hit. Go, now!"

"Forgive me, sir! At once, sir!" the latecomer wailed; and scrambled
away as the alarm continued to roar.

Reuben gasped at the "sirs" and looked at his neighbor. It was May!
Trapped, no doubt, on an inspection tour of the level.

"Sir," he said respectfully, "if you wish to be alone, I can find
another room."

"You may stay with me for company. Are you one of mine?" There was
power in the general's voice and on his craggy face.

"Yes, sir. May's man Reuben, of the eighty-third level, Atomist."

May surveyed him, and Reuben noted that there were pouches of skin
depending from cheekbones and the jaw line--dead-looking, coarse-pored
skin.

"You're a well-made boy, Reuben. Do you have women?"

"Yes, sir," said Reuben hastily. "One after another--I _always_ have
women. I'm making up at this time to a charming thing called Selene.
Well-rounded, yet firm, soft but supple, with long red hair and long
white legs--"

"Spare me the details," muttered the general. "It takes all kinds.
An Atomist, you said. That has a future, to be sure. I myself was a
Controller long ago. The calling seems to have gone out of fashion--"

Abruptly the alarm stopped. The silence was hard to bear.

May swallowed and went on: "--for some reason or other. Why don't
youngsters elect for Controller any more? Why didn't you, for instance?"

Reuben wished he could be saved by a direct hit. The binoculars,
Selene, the raid, and now he was supposed to make intelligent
conversation with a general.

"I really don't know, sir," he said miserably. "At the time there
seemed to be very little difference--Controller, Atomist, Missiler,
Maintainer. We have a saying, 'The buttons are different,' which
usually ends any conversation on the subject."

"Indeed?" asked May distractedly. His face was thinly filmed with
sweat. "Do you suppose Ellay intends to clobber us this time?" he
asked almost hoarsely. "It's been some weeks since they made a maximum
effort, hasn't it?"

"Four," said Reuben. "I remember because one of my best Servers was
killed by a falling corridor roof--the only fatality and it had to
happen to my team!"

He laughed nervously and realized that he was talking like a fool, but
May seemed not to notice.

Far below them, there was a series of screaming whistles as the
interceptors were loosed to begin their intricate, double basketwork
wall of defense in a towering cylinder about Denv.

"Go on, Reuben," said May. "That was most interesting." His eyes were
searching the underside of the steel table.

Reuben averted his own eyes from the frightened face, feeling some
awe drain out of him. Under a table with a general! It didn't seem so
strange now.

"Perhaps, sir, you can tell me what a puzzling thing, that happened
this afternoon, means. A fellow--Rudolph's man Almon, of the
eighty-ninth level--gave me a pair of binoculars that flashed in my
eyes and then went opaque. Has your wide experience--"

May laughed hoarsely and said in a shaky voice: "That old trick! He
was photographing your retinas for the blood-vessel pattern. One of
Rudolph's men, eh? I'm glad you spoke to me; I'm old enough to spot a
revival like that. Perhaps my good friend Rudolph plans--"

There was a thudding volley in the air and then a faint jar. One had
got through, exploding, from the feel of it, far down at the foot of
Denv.

The alarm roared again, in bursts that meant all clear; only one flight
of missiles and that disposed of.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Atomist and the general climbed out from under the table; May's
secretary popped through the door. The general waved him out again and
leaned heavily on the table, his arms quivering. Reuben hastily brought
a chair.

"A glass of water," said May.

The Atomist brought it. He saw the general wash down what looked like a
triple dose of XXX--green capsules which it was better to leave alone.

May said after a moment: "That's better. And don't look so shocked,
youngster; you don't know the strain we're under. It's only a temporary
measure which I shall discontinue as soon as things ease up a bit. I
was saying that perhaps my good friend Rudolph plans to substitute one
of his men for one of mine. Tell me, how long has this fellow Almon
been a friend of yours?"

"He struck up an acquaintance with me only last week. I should have
realized--"

"You certainly should have. One week. Time enough and more. By now
you've been photographed, your fingerprints taken, your voice recorded
and your gait studied without your knowledge. Only the retinascope is
difficult, but one must risk it for a real double. Have you killed your
man, Reuben?"

He nodded; It had been a silly brawl two years ago over precedence at
the refectory; he disliked being reminded of it.

"Good," said May grimly. "The way these things are done, your double
kills you in a secluded spot, disposes of your body and takes over your
role. We shall reverse it. You will kill the double and take over _his_
role."

The powerful, methodical voice ticked off possibilities and
contingencies, measures, and countermeasures. Reuben absorbed them
and felt his awe return. Perhaps May had not really been frightened
under the table; perhaps it had been he reading his own terror in the
general's face. May was actually talking to him of backgrounds and
policies. "Up from the eighty-third level!" he swore to himself as the
great names were uttered.

"My good friend Rudolph, of course, wants the five stars. You would
not know this, but the man who wears the stars is now eighty years old
and failing fast. I consider myself a likely candidate to replace him.
So, evidently, must Rudolph. No doubt he plans to have your double
perpetrate some horrible blunder on the eve of the election, and the
discredit would reflect on me. Now what you and I must do--"

You and I--May's man Reuben and May--up from the eighty-third! Up from
the bare corridors and cheerless bedrooms to marble halls and vaulted
chambers! From the clatter of the crowded refectory to small and
glowing restaurants where you had your own table and servant and where
music came softly from the walls! Up from the scramble to win this
woman or that, by wit or charm or the poor bribes you could afford,
to the eminence from which you could calmly command your pick of the
beauty of Denv! From the moiling intrigue of tripping your fellow
Atomist and guarding against him tripping you to the heroic thrust and
parry of generals!

Up from the eighty-third!

Then May dismissed him with a speech whose implications were
deliriously exciting. "I need an able man and a young one, Reuben.
Perhaps I've waited too long looking for him. If you do well in this
touchy business, I'll consider you very seriously for an important task
I have in mind."

       *       *       *       *       *

Late that night, Selene came to his bedroom.

"I know you don't like me," she said pettishly, "but Griffin's such a
fool and I wanted somebody to talk to. Do you mind? What was it like up
there today? Did you see carpets? I wish I had a carpet."

He tried to think about carpets and not the exciting contrast of
metallic cloth and flesh.

"I saw one through an open door," he remembered. "It looked odd, but I
suppose a person gets used to them. Perhaps I didn't see a very good
one. Aren't the good ones very thick?"

"Yes," she said. "Your feet sink into them. I wish I had a _good_
carpet and four chairs and a small table as high as my knees to put
things on and as many pillows as I wanted. Griffin's such a fool. Do
you think I'll ever get those things? I've never caught the eye of a
general. Am I pretty enough to get one, do you think?"

He said uneasily: "Of course you're a pretty thing, Selene. But carpets
and chairs and pillows--" It made him uncomfortable, like the thought
of peering up through binoculars from a parapet.

"I want them," she said unhappily. "I like you very much, but I want so
many things and soon I'll be too old even for the eighty-third level,
before I've been up higher, and I'll spend the rest of my life tending
babies or cooking in the creche or the refectory."

She stopped abruptly, pulled herself together and gave him a smile that
was somehow ghastly in the half-light.

"You bungler," he said, and she instantly looked at the door with the
smile frozen on her face. Reuben took a pistol from under his pillow
and demanded, "When do you expect him?"

"What do you mean?" she asked shrilly. "Who are you talking about?"

"My double. Don't be a fool, Selene. May and I--" he savored it--"May
and I know all about it. He warned me to beware of a diversion by a
woman while the double slipped in and killed me. When do you expect
him?"

"I really _do_ like you," Selene sobbed. "But Almon promised to take
me up there and I _knew_ when I was where they'd see me that I'd meet
somebody really important. I really do like you, but soon I'll be too
old--"

"Selene, listen to me. Listen to me! You'll get your chance. Nobody but
you and me will know that the substitution didn't succeed!"

"Then I'll be spying for you on Almon, won't I?" she asked in a choked
voice. "All I wanted was a few nice things before I got too old. All
right, I was supposed to be in your arms at 2350 hours."

       *       *       *       *       *

It was 2349. Reuben sprang from bed and stood by the door, his pistol
silenced and ready. At 2350 a naked man slipped swiftly into the room,
heading for the bed as he raised a ten-centimeter poignard. He stopped
in dismay when he realized that the bed was empty.

Reuben killed him with a bullet through the throat.

"But he doesn't look a bit like me," he said in bewilderment, closely
examining the face. "Just in a general way."

Selene said dully: "Almon told me people always say that when they see
their doubles. It's funny, isn't it? He looks just like you, really."

"How was my body to be disposed of?"

She produced a small flat box. "A shadow suit. You were to be left here
and somebody would come tomorrow."

"We won't disappoint him." Reuben pulled the web of the shadow suit
over his double and turned on the power. In the half-lit room, it was a
perfect disappearance; by daylight it would be less perfect. "They'll
ask why the body was shot instead of knifed. Tell them you shot me with
the gun from under the pillow. Just say I heard the double come in and
you were afraid there might have been a struggle."

She listlessly asked: "How do you know I won't betray you?"

"You won't, Selene." His voice bit. "You're _broken_."

She nodded vaguely, started to say something and then went out without
saying it.

Reuben luxuriously stretched in his narrow bed. Later, his beds would
be wider and softer, he thought. He drifted into sleep on a half-formed
thought that some day he might vote with other generals on the man to
wear the five stars--or even wear them himself, Master of Denv.

He slept healthily through the morning alarm and arrived late at his
regular twentieth-level station. He saw his superior, May's man Oscar
of the eighty-fifth level, Atomist, ostentatiously take his name. Let
him!

Oscar assembled his crew for a grim announcement: "We are going to even
the score, and perhaps a little better, with Ellay. At sunset there
will be three flights of missiles from Deck One."

There was a joyous murmur and Reuben trotted off on his task.

All forenoon he was occupied with drawing plutonium slugs from
hyper-suspicious storekeepers in the great rock-quarried vaults, and
seeing them through countless audits and assays all the way to Weapons
Assembly. Oscar supervised the scores there who assembled the curved
slugs and the explosive lenses into sixty-kilogram warheads.

In mid-afternoon there was an incident. Reuben saw Oscar step aside
for a moment to speak to a Maintainer whose guard fell on one of the
Assembly Servers, and dragged him away as he pleaded innocence. He had
been detected in sabotage. When the warheads were in and the Missilers
seated, waiting at their boards, the two Atomists rode up to the
eighty-third's refectory.

The news of a near-maximum effort was in the air; it was electric.
Reuben heard on all sides in tones of self-congratulation: "We'll
clobber them tonight!"

"That Server you caught," he said to Oscar. "What was he up to?"

His commander stared. "Are you trying to learn my job? Don't try it, I
warn you. If my black marks against you aren't enough, I could always
arrange for some fissionable material in your custody to go astray."

"No, no! I was just wondering why people do something like that."

Oscar sniffed doubtfully. "He's probably insane, like all the Angelos.
I've heard the climate does it to them. You're not a Maintainer or a
Controller. Why worry about it?"

"They'll brainburn him, I suppose?"

"I suppose. _Listen!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

Deck One was firing. One, two, three, four, five, six. One, two, three,
four, five, six. One, two, three, four, five, six.

People turned to one another and shook hands, laughed and slapped
shoulders heartily. Eighteen missiles were racing through the
stratosphere, soon to tumble on Ellay. With any luck, one or two would
slip through the first wall of interceptors and blast close enough to
smash windows and topple walls in the crazy city by the ocean. It would
serve the lunatics right.

Five minutes later an exultant voice filled most of Denv.

"Recon missile report," it said. "Eighteen launched, eighteen perfect
trajectories. Fifteen shot down by Ellay first-line interceptors, three
shot down by Ellay second-line interceptors. Extensive blast damage
observed in Griffith Park area of Ellay!"

There were cheers.

And eight Full Maintainers marched into the refectory silently, and
marched out with Reuben.

He knew better than to struggle or ask futile questions. Any question
you asked of a Maintainer was futile. But he goggled when they marched
him onto an upward-bound stairway.

They rode past the eighty-ninth level and Reuben lost count, seeing
only the marvels of the upper reaches of Denv. He saw carpets that ran
the entire length of corridors, and intricate fountains, and mosaic
walls, stained-glass windows, more wonders than he could recognize,
things for which he had no name.

He was marched at last into a wood-paneled room with a great polished
desk and a map behind it. He saw May, and another man who must have
been a general--Rudolph?--but sitting at the desk was a frail old man
who wore a circlet of stars on each khaki shoulder.

The old man said to Reuben: "You are an Ellay spy and saboteur."

Reuben looked at May. Did one speak directly to the man who wore the
stars, even in reply to such an accusation?

"Answer him, Reuben," May said kindly.

"I am May's man Reuben, of the eighty-third level, an Atomist," he said.

"Explain," said the other general heavily, "if you can, why all
eighteen of the warheads you procured today failed to fire."

"But they did!" gasped Reuben. "The Recon missile report said there
was blast damage from the three that got through and it didn't say
anything about the others failing to fire."

The other general suddenly looked sick and May looked even kindlier.
The man who wore the stars turned inquiringly to the chief of the
Maintainers, who nodded and said: "That was the Recon missile report,
sir."

The general snapped: "What I said was that he would _attempt_ to
sabotage the attack. Evidently he failed. I also said he is a faulty
double, somehow slipped with great ease into my good friend May's
organization. You will find that his left thumb print is a clumsy
forgery of the real Reuben's thumb print and that his hair has been
artificially darkened."

The old man nodded at the chief of the Maintainers, who said: "We have
his card, sir."

Reuben abruptly found himself being fingerprinted and deprived of some
hair.

"The f.p.s check, sir," one Maintainer said. "He's Reuben."

"Hair's natural, sir," said another.

The general began a rear-guard action: "My information about his hair
seems to have been inaccurate. But the fingerprint means only that
Ellay spies substituted his prints for Reuben's prints in the files--"

"Enough, sir," said the old man with the stars. "Dismissed. All of you.
Rudolph, I am surprised. All of you, go."

       *       *       *       *       *

Reuben found himself in a vast apartment with May, who was bubbling and
chuckling uncontrollably until he popped three of the green capsules
into his mouth hurriedly.

"This means the eclipse for years of my good friend Rudolph," he
crowed. "His game was to have your double sabotage the attack warheads
and so make it appear that my organization is rotten with spies. The
double must have been under post-hypnotic, primed to admit everything.
Rudolph was so sure of himself that he made his accusations before the
attack, the fool!"

He fumbled out the green capsules again.

"Sir," said Reuben, alarmed.

"Only temporary," May muttered, and swallowed a fourth. "But you're
right. You leave them alone. There are big things to be done in your
time, not in mine. I told you I needed a young man who could claw his
way to the top. Rudolph's a fool. He doesn't need the capsules because
he doesn't ask questions. Funny, I thought a coup like the double
affair would hit me hard, but I don't feel a thing. It's not like the
old days. I used to plan and plan, and when the trap went _snap_ it was
better than this stuff. But now I don't feel a thing."

He leaned forward from his chair; the pupils of his eyes were black
bullets.

"Do you want to _work_?" he demanded. "Do you want your world stood on
its head and your brains to crack and do the only worthwhile job there
is to do? Answer me!"

"Sir, I am a loyal May's man. I want to obey your orders and use my
ability to the full."

"Good enough," said the general. "You've got brains, you've got push.
I'll do the spade work. I won't last long enough to push it through.
You'll have to follow. Ever been outside of Denv?"

Reuben stiffened.

"I'm not accusing you of being a spy. It's really all right to go
outside of Denv. I've been outside. There isn't much to see at first--a
lot of ground pocked and torn up by shorts and overs from Ellay and us.
Farther out, especially east, it's different. Grass, trees, flowers.
Places where you could grow food.

"When I went outside, it troubled me. It made me ask questions. I
wanted to know how we started. Yes--started. _It wasn't always like
this._ Somebody built Denv. Am I getting the idea across to you? _It
wasn't always like this!_

"Somebody set up the reactors to breed uranium and make plutonium.
Somebody tooled us up for the missiles. Somebody wired the boards to
control them. Somebody started the hydroponics tanks.

"I've dug through the archives. Maybe I found something. I saw
mountains of strength reports, ration reports, supply reports, and yet
I never got back to the beginning. I found a piece of paper and maybe
I understood it and maybe I didn't. It was about the water of the
Colorado River and who should get how much of it. How can you divide
water in a river? But it could have been the start of Denv, Ellay, and
the missile attacks."

The general shook his head, puzzled, and went on: "I don't see clearly
what's ahead. I want to make peace between Denv and Ellay, but I don't
know how to start or what it will be like. I think it must mean not
firing, not even making any more weapons. Maybe it means that some of
us, or a lot of us, will go out of Denv and live a different kind of
life. That's why I've clawed my way up. That's why I need a young man
who can claw with the best of them. Tell me what you think."

"I think," said Reuben measuredly, "it's magnificent--the salvation of
Denv. I'll back you to my dying breath if you'll let me."

May smiled tiredly and leaned back in the chair as Reuben tip-toed out.

       *       *       *       *       *

What luck, Reuben thought--what unbelievable luck to be at a fulcrum of
history like this!

He searched the level for Rudolph's apartment and gained admission.

To the general, he said: "Sir, I have to report that your friend May is
insane. He has just been raving to me, advocating the destruction of
civilization as we know it, and urging me to follow in his footsteps. I
pretended to agree--since I can be of greater service to you if I'm in
May's confidence."

"So?" said Rudolph thoughtfully. "Tell me about the double. How did
that go wrong?"

"The bunglers were Selene and Almon. Selene because she alarmed me
instead of distracting me. Almon because he failed to recognize her
incompetence."

"They shall be brainburned. That leaves an eighty-ninth-level vacancy
in my organization, doesn't it?"

"You're very kind, sir, but I think I should remain a May's
man--outwardly. If I earn any rewards, I can wait for them. I presume
that May will be elected to wear the five stars. He won't live more
than two years after that, at the rate he is taking drugs."

"We can shorten it," grinned Rudolph. "I have pharmacists who can see
that his drugs are more than normal strength."

"That would be excellent, sir. When he is too enfeebled to discharge
his duties, there may be an attempt to rake up the affair of the double
to discredit you. I could then testify that I was your man all along
and that May coerced me."

They put their heads together, the two saviors of civilization as they
knew it, and conspired ingeniously long into the endless night.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Luckiest Man in Denv, by Simon Eisner