“Verrick fired our research labs.”
“Our? Say, you’re with Verrick, now.” Davis’ indignation boiled over. “That’s a hell of a way to talk! Verrick is your protector and you’re standing here—”
“All right, boys,” Laura exclaimed, cheeks flushed with domestic prowess. “Dinner’s on the table, and I want you to go get some chairs for us to sit on. Al, you wash your hands before we eat. And put on your shoes.”
“Sure, honey,” Davis said obediently, getting to his feet.
“Can I help?” Benteley asked.
“Just find yourself a chair and sit down. We have real coffee. Do you take cream? I can’t remember.”
“Yes,” Benteley said. “Thanks.” He pulled up a couple of chairs and sat down moodily.
“Don’t look so sad,” Laura said to him. “See what you’re getting to eat. Aren’t you living with Julie any more? I’ll bet you eat out all the time, at restaurants where they serve that awful protine stuff.”
Benteley toyed with his knife and fork. “You have a nice place here,” he said presently. “When I saw you last you were living in a Hill dorm. But you weren’t married then.”
“Remember when you and I were living together?” Laura began cutting the twine that held the rolled-roast together.
“That wasn’t more than a month, as I remember.”
“A little under a month,” Benteley agreed, remembering back. He relaxed somewhat, thawed by the smell of hot food, the bright living room, the pretty woman sitting across from him. “That’s when you were still under fealty to Oiseau-Lyre, before you lost your classification.”
Al appeared, sat down, unfolded his napkin, and rubbed his hands together with anticipation. “It sure smells good,” he announced. “Let’s get going; I’m starved.”
While they ate, the tv murmured and spilled out a flickering tide of light into the living room. Benteley listened between conversations, his mind only half on what Laura and Al were saying.
“… Quizmaster Cartwright has announced the dismissal of two hundred Directorate employees,” the announcer was saying. “The reason given is b.s.r.”
“Bad security risk,” Laura murmured, sipping her coffee. “That’s what they always say.”
The announcer continued:
… Convention plans are booming. Already, hundreds of thousands of applications are flooding the Convention Board and the Westinghouse Hill office. Reese Verrick, the former Quizmaster, has agreed to handle the multiplying technical details in order to set in motion what promises to be the most exciting and spectacular event of the decade …
“You bet,” Al said. “Verrick has that Hill under lock. He’ll have this thing humming.”
“Is old Judge Waring still sitting on the Board?” Laura asked him. “He must be a hundred years old, by now.”
“He’s still on the Board. He won’t resign, not until he’s dead. That crusty old fossil! He ought to get out of the way and let somebody younger take over.”
“But he knows everything about the Challenge,” Laura said. “He’s kept it all on a high moral plane. I remember when I was a little girl still in school; that Quizmaster was quacked, that funny one who stuttered. And that good-looking young man got in, that black-haired assassin who made such a wonderful Quizmaster. And old Judge Waring set up the Board and ruled over the Convention like Jehovah in the old Christian myths.”
“He has a beard,” Benteley said.
“A long white beard.”
The tv set had changed announcers. A view of the massive auditorium in which the Convention was being formed swam into focus. Seats were already set up, and the huge platform at which the Board sat in judgment. People milled back and forth; the auditorium boomed and echoed with sounds of furious activity and shouted instructions.
“Just think,” Laura said. “All that momentous business going on while we sit here quietly eating our dinner.”
“It’s a long way off,” Al said indifferently.
… Reese Verrick’s offer of a million gold dollars has galvanized the Convention proceedings. Statisticians estimate a record number of applications—and they’re still pouring in. Everybody is eager to try his hand at the most daring role in the system, the greatest risk and the highest stakes. The eyes of six billion people on nine planets are turned on the Westinghouse Hill tonight. Who will the first assassin be? Out of these many brilliant applicants, representing all classes and Hills, who will be the first to try his hand for the million gold dollars and the applause and acclamation of a whole civilization?
“How about you?” Laura said suddenly to Benteley. “Why don’t you put in your application? You don’t have an assignment, right now.”
“It’s out of my line.”
Laura laughed. “Make it your line! Al, don’t we have that big tape they put out, all the successful assassins of the past, their lives and everything about them? Show it to Ted.”
“I’ve seen it,” Benteley said curtly.
“When you were a boy, didn’t you dream of growing up to be a successful assassin?” Laura’s brown eyes were dim with nostalgia. “I remember how I hated being a girl because then I couldn’t be an assassin when I grew up. I bought a lot of charms, but they didn’t turn me into a boy.”
Al Davis pushed his empty plate away with a gratified belch. “Can I let out my belt?”
“Sure,” Laura said.
Al let out his belt. “That was a good meal, honey. I wouldn’t mind eating like that every day.”
“You do, practically.” Laura finished her coffee and daintily touched her napkin to her lips. “More coffee, Ted?”
… Experts predict that the first assassin will have a seventy-thirty chance of destroying Quizmaster Cart-wright and winning the million dollar prize put up by Reese Verrick, the previous Quizmaster, quacked less than twenty-four hours ago by an unexpected twitch of the bottle. If the first assassin fails, the dopesters have their money sixty-forty on the second assassin. According to their scratch sheets Cartwright will have better control over his army and telepathic Corps after the initial two days. For the assassin, speed rather than form will count high, especially in the opening phase. During the last lap the situation will be tight because of …
“There’s already a lot of private betting,” Laura said. She leaned contentedly back, a cigarette between her fingers, and smiled at Benteley. “It’s good to have you come by again. You think you’ll move your things here to Farben? You could stay with us for a while, until you find a decent place.”
“A lot of places that used to be good are being taken over by unks,” Al observed.
“They’re moving everywhere,” Laura agreed. “Ted, remember that wonderful area near the synthetics research lab? All those new housing units, those green and pink buildings? Unks are living there, and naturally it’s all run down and dirty and bad-smelling. It’s a disgrace; why don’t they sign up for work-camps? That’s where they belong, not loafing around here.”
Al yawned. “I’m sleepy.” He picked a date from the bowl in the center of the table. “A date. What the hell’s a date?” He ate it slowly. “Too sweet. What planet’s it from? Venus? It tastes like one of those pulpy Venusian fruits.”
“It’s from Asia Minor,” Laura said.
“Here on Earth? Who muted it?”
“Nobody. It’s a natural fruit. From a palm tree.”
Al shook his head wonderingly. “The infinite diversity of God’s creations.”
Laura was shocked. “Suppose somebody at work heard you talk like that!”
“Let them hear me.” Al stretched and yawned again. “I don’t care.”
“They might think you were a Christian.”
Benteley got slowly to his feet. “Laura, I have to get going.”
Al rose in amazement. “Why?”
“I have to collect my things and get them over here from Oiseau-Lyre.”
Al thumped him on the shoulder. “Farben’ll transport them. You’re o
ne of Verrick’s serfs now—remember? Give the Hill traffic office a call and they’ll arrange it. No charge.”
“I’d rather do it myself,” Benteley said.
“Why?” Laura asked, surprised.
“Less things get broken,” Benteley answered obliquely.
“I’ll hire a taxi and load up over the weekend. I don’t think he’ll want me before Monday.”
“I don’t know,” Al said doubtfully. “You better get your stuff over here as soon as possible. Sometimes Verrick wants a person right now, and when he wants you right now—”
“The hell with Verrick,” Benteley said. “I’m taking my time.”
Their dazed, shocked faces danced around him as he moved away from the table. His stomach was full of warm well-cooked food, but his mind was thin and empty, a sharp acid rind over—what? He didn’t know.
“That’s no way to talk,” Al said.
“That’s the way I feel.”
“You know,” Al said, “I don’t think you’re being realistic.”
“Maybe not.” Benteley found his coat. “Thanks for the meal, Laura. It was terrific.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m not,” Benteley answered. “You have a fine little place here. All the comforts and conveniences. I hope you’ll both be very happy. I hope your cooking keeps on convincing you, in spite of me.”
“It will,” Laura said.
The announcer was saying: “… more than ten thousand already, from all parts of Earth. Judge Waring’s announcement that the first assassin will be chosen at this session …”
“Tonight!” Al exclaimed. He whistled appreciatively. “Verrick doesn’t waste any time.” He shook his head, impressed. “That man really moves, Ted. You have to hand it to him.”
Benteley crouched down and snapped the tv set off. The rapid procession of sounds and images faded out of existence and he rose to his feet. “You mind?” he said.
“What happened?” Laura faltered. “It went off.”
“I turned it off. I’m tired of hearing that goddamn racket. I’m tired of the Convention and everything about it.”
There was an uneasy, unnatural silence.
After a moment Al grinned uncertainly. “How about a shot of booze before you go? It’ll relax you.”
“I’m relaxed,” Benteley said. He crossed over to the transparent wall and stood with his back to Laura and Al, gazing gloomily out at the night and the endless winking procession of lights that moved around Farben Hill. In his mind a similar phantasmagoria of shapes and images swirled; he could turn off the tv and opaque the wall, but he couldn’t halt the rapid activity in his mind.
“Well,” Laura said finally, to no one in particular, “I guess we don’t get to watch the Challenge Convention.”
“You’ll see review tapes the rest of your life,” Al said genially.
“I want to see it now!”
“It’ll be awhile, anyhow,” Al said, automatically seeking to smooth things out. “They’re still testing their equipment.”
Laura made a short breathing sound and whirled the dinner table back into the kitchen. Roaring water leaped in the sink; dishes banged and scraped furiously.
“She’s mad,” Al observed.
“It’s my fault,” Benteley said, without conviction.
“She’ll get over it. You probably remember. Say, if you want to tell me what’s wrong I’m all ears.”
What am I supposed to say? Benteley thought futilely. “I went to Batavia expecting to get in on something big,” he said. “Something beyond people grabbing for power, struggling to get to the top of the heap over each other’s dead bodies. Instead I find myself back here—with that shrill thing yelling at the top of its lungs.” He gestured at the tv. “Those ads are like bright shiny sewer-bugs.”
Al Davis solemnly extended a chubby finger. “Reese Verrick will be back in the number One spot inside a week. His money picks the assassin. The assassin is under fealty to him. When he kills this Cartwright person the spot returns to Verrick. You’re just too damn impatient, that’s all. Wait a week, man. It’ll be back the way it was—maybe better.”
Laura appeared at the doorway. Her rage was gone; now her face was flooded with peevish anxiety. “Al, couldn’t we please get the Convention? I can hear the neighbors’ set and they’re choosing the assassin right now!”
“I’ll turn it on,” Benteley said wearily. “I’m going, anyhow.” He squatted down and snapped on the power. The tv set warmed rapidly; as he made his way out onto the front porch, its tinny scream rose in a frenzy behind him. The metallic cheers of thousands rolled out after him, into the chill night darkness.
“The assassin!” the tv set shrieked, as he plunged down the dark path, hands deep in his pockets. “They’re handing up his name right now—I’ll have it for you in a second.” The cheering rose to an orgiastic crescendo; like the rolling waves of the sea, it momentarily blotted the announcer out. “Pellig,” the announcer’s voice filtered through, rising above the tumult. “By popular acclamation—by the wishes of a planet! The assassin is—Keith Pellig!”
FIVE
The burnished wisp of cold gray slid silently in front of Ted Benteley. Its doors rolled back and a slim shape stepped out into the chill night darkness.
“Who is it?” Benteley demanded. The wind lashed through the moist foliage growing against the Davis house. The sky was frigid; far off sounds of activity echoed hollowly, the Farben Hill factories booming dully in the darkness.
“Where in God’s name have you been?” a girl’s clipped, anxious contralto came to him. “Verrick sent for you an hour ago.”
“I was right here,” Benteley answered.
Eleanor Stevens emerged quickly from the shadows. “You should have stayed in touch when the ship landed. He’s angry.” She glanced nervously around. “Where’s Davis? Inside?”
“Of course.” Anger rose inside Benteley. “What’s this all about?”
“Don’t get excited.” The girl’s voice was as taut as the frozen stars shining overhead. “Go back inside and get Davis and his wife. I’ll wait for you in the car.”
Al Davis gaped at him in amazement as Benteley pushed open the front door and entered the warm yellow-bright living room. “He wants us,” Benteley said. “Tell Laura; he wants her along, too.”
Laura was sitting on the edge of the bed unstrapping her sandals. She quickly smoothed her slacks down over her ankles as Al entered the bedroom. “Come on, honey,” Al said to his wife.
“Is something wrong?” Laura leaped quickly up. “What is it?”
The three of them moved out into the chill night darkness, in greatcoats and heavy workboots. Eleanor started up the motor of the car and it purred forward restlessly. “In you go,” Al murmured, as he helped Laura find a seat in the inky gloom. “How about a light?”
“You don’t need a light to sit down,” Eleanor answered. She rolled the doors shut; the car glided out onto the road and instantly gained speed. Dark houses and trees flashed past. Abruptly, with a sickening whoosh, the car lifted up above the pavement. It skimmed briefly, then arched high over a row of tension lines. A few minutes later it was gaining altitude over the vast sprawling mass of buildings and streets that made up the parasitic clusters around the Farben Hill.
“What’s this all about?” Benteley demanded. The car shuddered, as magnetic grapple-beams caught it and lowered it toward the winking buildings below. “We have a right to know something.”
“We’re going to have a little party,” Eleanor said, with a smile that barely moved her thin crimson lips. She allowed the car to settle into a concave lock and come finally to rest against a magnetic disc. With a quick snap she cut the power and threw open the doors. “Get out. We’re here.”
Their heels clattered in the deserted corridor, as Eleanor led them rapidly from one level to the next. A few silent uniformed guards stood at regular intervals, their pudding faces sleepy and impassive, bulging r
ifles gripped loosely.
Eleanor waved open a double-sealed door and nodded them briskly inside. A billow of fragrant air lapped around them as they pushed uncertainly past her, inside the chamber.
Reese Verrick stood with his back to them. He was fumbling angrily with something, massive arms moving in a slow grind of rage. “How the hell do you work this damn thing?” he bellowed irritably. The protesting shrill of torn metal grated briefly. “Christ, I think I broke it.”
“Here,” Herb Moore said, emerging from a deep low chair in the corner. “You have no manual dexterity.”
“You bet,” Verrick growled. He turned, a huge hunched-over bear, his shaggy brows protruding bone-hard, thick and belligerent. His blazing eyes bored at the three newcomers as they stood uneasily together. Eleanor Stevens unzipped her greatcoat and tossed it over the back of a luxurious couch.
“Here they are,” she said to Verrick. “They were all together, enjoying themselves.” She stalked over, long-legged in her velvet slacks and leather sandals and stood before the fire warming her breasts and shoulders. In the flickering firelight her naked flesh glowed a deep luminous red.
Verrick turned without ceremony to Benteley. “Always be where I can find you.” He bit his words out contemptuously.
“I don’t have any more teeps around to thought-wave people in. I have to find them the hard way.” He jerked his thumb at Eleanor. “She came along, but minus ability.”
Eleanor smiled bleakly and said nothing.
Verrick spun around and shouted at Moore, “Is that damn thing fixed or not?”
“It’s almost ready.”
Verrick grunted sourly. “This is a sort of celebration,” he said to Benteley, “although I don’t know what we’ve got to celebrate.”
Moore strolled over, confident and full of talk, a sleek little model of an interplan rocket in his hands. “We’ve got plenty to celebrate. This is the first time a Quizmaster chose an assassin. Pellig isn’t somebody chosen by a bunch of senile old fogies; Verrick has had him on tap and this whole thing worked out since—”