The Long Result by John Brunner Page A

We can’t just say, “Sorry someone tried to murder you!”’
    ‘What?’ bin Ishmael said, turning away from the screen. ‘Don’t you believe it was attempted murder? I do! The evidence is absolutely —’
    ‘Just a second,’ I interrupted. ‘We can’t tell the Tau Cetians that, can we? It’ll make the Ark staff look bad, I’m afraid, but we positively
have
to say it was a mechanical fault – the valves got crossed, or however it might happen.’
    ‘I guess so,’ bin Ishmael conceded. ‘Though covering up for some bastard’s —’
    ‘Sssht! Don’t forget Shvast speaks Anglic,’ I said in horror. ‘He’s got to see we’re doing all in our power to put things right. Ah – get him a sight of the rescue workers, for instance; it’s an impressive operation you’re mounting.’
    ‘Shvast’s clever enough to tell if we’re faking.’
    ‘What’s going on right now is
not
faked – though some fakery might be a good idea, at that.’ My mind was in top gear now. ‘From what I saw of him earlier I think Ambassador Vroazh is the type to appreciate a scapegoat. Let’s stage what they’d regard as adequate punishment for some technician’s carelessness; pick someone who’s due for transfer or retirement, and act it out where they can see it.’
    ‘Yes, we might manage it,’ bin Ishmael said thoughtfully. ‘There’s an atmosphere engineer who’s put in for transfer to Australia…’
    The surgeons broke in to report success with the anaesthetic and to demand quantities sufficient for all the unconscious aliens. Jacky and I sat silent till bin Ishmael had dealt with this request.
    The moment he could catch the doctor’s attention again, though, Jacky spoke up. ‘Look, this business of calling it a murder attempt – I’ve been thinking. Even the Bureau didn’t know before last night that Tau Cetians were due to arrive. So how could a murderer —?’
    ‘Doesn’t matter,’ bin Ishmael grunted. ‘You go look at the airpipe, and if you can see how it could have been accidentally fractured, I’ll
eat
it. Every yard of it. And who said it was necessarily meant to be the Tau Cetians who died? My guess is that any aliens would do as well.’
    ‘But who’d do such a thing?’ Jacky demanded.
    I almost wanted to scream at bin Ishmael; I knew what his answer would be, and I knew he’d aim it at me, not Jacky.
    ‘I would suggest the kind of people who crash alien wagons – who think aliens are inferior beings – who claim men have a divine right to rule the universe—’
    ‘The Stars Are For Man League?’ I said sourly, and to my amazement Jacky swung his dark head.
    ‘The bunch they think wrecked Anovel’s rocket?’ he blurted.
    ‘They did that too?’ bin Ishmael exclaimed.
    ‘Oh, for—!’ I could have wrung Jacky’s neck. I didn’t know where he’d picked up that wild idea – perhaps from Klabund who apparently subscribed to it. ‘Jacky, a moment ago you were questioning that this here is a murder attempt – now you’re tossing wild rumours around like purest gospel. I think we’d better leave bin Ishmael alone. Maybe we can look at this airpipe for ourselves, hm?’
    I glanced at bin Ishmael. ‘Which way do we go?’
    ‘Oh – through G block and straight out. It’s not under gas any longer.’

11
    The rooms the Tau Cetians had so briefly occupied had been flushed out with moistened air, and we picked our way through charred alien furniture made of substances resistant to chlorine but ready fuel for the more reactive oxygen. Firemen were playing sprays of inert gas on the few still-smouldering embers.
    On the far side of the room where I had earlier met Shvast, Vroazh and their companions, an emergency access lock stood ajar. A police floodlight was focused on the opening, and as we went through to the exterior a man in police black came forward to challenge us harshly. We explained our business, and he turned with a curt, ‘Follow me!’
    Through a tangle of forensic