“Don’t you know?” Thorpe knew that he was being cruel but he could find no pity for the man before him. Understanding, yes. Pity, no. Men do not pity those who destroy the scaffold of their life, but, staring at the tormented face before him, he felt a sudden revulsion. #451 | | |
“You are the man,” he said tiredly. “You are the only man it could be.” #452 | | |
For a moment Kenton thought his head would burst then, as the shock passed, he felt a dull resignation steal over him. It was over. All his plotting and planning, his cleverness and desperation, all his cunning and use of his position, all was over. #453 | | |
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Numbly he sat down. He was surprised to find that he had a cigarette between his fingers and he lifted it to his mouth, inhaling and exhaling with automatic gestures, not really knowing or caring what he was doing. He even listened to Thorpe as he piled up the damning evidence. #455 | | |
“Who else could it be?” said Thorpe. “The criminal had to be someone with three things; motive, opportunity and availability of method. Kenton is the only one with all three. He, like every other farmer, received sample radiation bombs from the manufacturers. Instead of issuing them he retained them. When we search we shall probably find the others where he has hidden them. That takes care of the availability of method; the seeds, of course, were ruined by easily obtainable spores, but only he: could have destroyed the tobacco crop in such a way that it would appear to have been caused by a virus.” #456 | | |
“I can’t believe it,” said King sickly. “The Controller!” #457 | | |
“Being Controller gave him the opportunity,” continued Thorpe. “Who would question his presence anywhere in the farm? Who would even suspect him of deliberate sabotage? His position was his surest safeguard.” #458 | | |
Kenton became aware of the doctor looking at him. He did not return the gaze. He was thinking, not of what Thorpe was saying, but of a planet five hundred light years away, a planet of green fields and blue seas, fleecy white clouds and laughing people. Home. #459 | | |
“Kenton is insane, of course. Not insane as is generally understood by the term, but unbalanced by frustration and inward conflict. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to go home but, as Controller, he can’t just leave without being liable for heavy penalties. So he had to think of some way in which he could get off Lubridgida.” Thorpe sighed. “His plan was brilliant and it almost worked. First he destroyed the seeds and then the actual crop. He knew that he wouldn’t be suspected and, more important, he had a good reason to ask Ransom to give him authority to leave his post. But space travel is erratic, he couldn’t just catch a ship home, he had to planet-hop on stray traders and company vessels, hopping nearer and nearer to Earth until he could make the final jump.” #460 | | |
“What about the Denebians?” That was Jelkson, his hated features twisted like those of a monkey as his clockwork brain gnawed at the logic of the problem. Kenton smoked and stared and listened still without real interest, but with the appearance of attention. He was more interested in something else. #461 | | |
“Luck,” said Thorpe. “Ransom told me about that when I went into town. Sheer luck, but Kenton’s plan would have worked without Blake’s strike. Ransom is naturally suspicious of anything not human, given the hint and he would automatically think of the Denebians as being behind the sabotage. Planting the bomb in Perchon’s room was insurance against discovery. Kenton didn’t care what happened to Perchon just so long as he could get off-planet.” Thorpe sighed. #462 | | |
“Peculiar, isn’t it? All Kenton wanted to do was to get home. But to do that he needed money for passage, an official authorisation so that he could obtain food while on his travels, and a good reason for deserting his post. Once off-planet he would have been safe. He would have been ahead of the couriers and we could never have warned the planets against him.” #463 | | |
Too slow! Kenton hid his face behind a veil of smoke. Had he been too slow? One more day and he would have succeeded. One single day! #464 | | |
The fools were still talking about his great failure, mouthing nonsense about Ransom and first degree execution, of trials and punishment. He dug the fingers of his left hand into his palm, feeling the pain from the red patch of the radiation sore, the sore caused by the hot shell of the bomb when he had scooped it up while pretending to examine the plants. Only a sore, but it was enough to convict him beyond doubt. He had known of the danger and accepted it because there was nothing else he could have done. #465 | | |
Just as now there was nothing else he could do but… #466 | | |
Muscles exploded into action as he surged from his chair. Faces peered at him as he lunged forward, not towards them, but towards the clean, wide expanse of the windows. He jumped as he neared them, hurling himself forward with all his strength and glass shattered in a thousand crystalline shards as he dived through. #467 | | |
The moonlight was in his eyes as he fell. #468 | | |
