efforts to the instrument check. They knew he had thatnumber and they'd have someone on it, tracing everyone who called her.
Noon passed and his stomach called attention to it. He hadn't eatensince yesterday. He took a short break, ate hurriedly, and resumed thesearch.
Doumya Filone was difficult to find. It was getting late and he hadascertained she wasn't on the staff of any hospital not listed forprivate practice.
He finally located her almost by accident. She had an office withMedical Research Incorporated. That was the only thing registered underher name.
Evening came early to Venus, as it always did under the massive cloudformations. He got off the air cab a few blocks from his destination andwalked the rest of the way.
Inside the building, he paused in the lobby and found her office.Luckily it was in a back wing. He wandered through the corridors, gotlost once, and found the route again. The building was almost empty bythis time.
Her name was on the door. Dr. Doumya Filone. Research NeurologicalSystems, whatever that meant. There was a light in the office, a dimone. He eased the door open. It wasn't locked, which meant, he hadn'ttripped an alarm.
* * * * *
No one was inside. He looked around. There was another door in back. Hewalked over to it. It didn't lead to a laboratory, as he expected.Instead, there were living quarters. A peculiar way to conduct research.
The autobath was humming quietly. He sat down facing it and waited. Shecame out in a few minutes, hair disarranged, damp around her forehead.She didn't see him at first.
"Well," she said coolly, staring at him. There was no question that sherecognized him through the disguise. She slipped quickly into a robethat, whatever it did for her modesty, subtracted nothing from the view.He wished he was less tired and could appreciate it.
She found a cigarette and lighted it. "You're pretty good, you know."
"Yeah." But not good enough, he thought.
"Why are you here?" she asked. She was nervous.
"You know," he said. She had promised him help once before. Now let herdeliver. But she had to volunteer.
"I know." She looked down at her hands, long skilled hands. "I put inthe circuit. But I didn't choose you."
He began to understand part of it. The 'Medical Research' business wasjust a cover. The real work was done at the police emergency hospital.That was why she had no laboratory. And the raw material--
"Who did choose me?"
"The police. I have to take what they give me."
There were certain implications in that statement he didn't like. "Havethere been others?"
"Two before you."
"What happened to them?"
"They died."
He didn't like where this was taking him. His hand slid toward thetangle gun in his pocket. "Maybe I should die, too."
She nodded. "That would be one solution." She added harshly: "Theyshouldn't have taken you. Legally speaking, you're not a criminal. ButI couldn't investigate you personally before I put the circuit in."
Why not? Was she an automaton that reacted in response to a button? In away she was, but the button was psychological.
"That doesn't help me," he said tiredly. "The police wanted to catchBurlingame through me. That's right, isn't it?"
She indicated that it was.
"I did, without knowing what I was doing," he went on. "Now I want out.Even if I cooperated with the cops, which I'm not going to do, I'm of nofurther value to them. Every criminal on Venus knows about me by now."
"That's part of it," she said. "But there's more. You've tied up themachine and neither I nor the police can use it."
* * * * *
Explanations were coming faster. It was no wonder the police wanted himbadly. They had a perfect device to use against criminals, which was allthey were concerned with, and they couldn't use it as long as thecircuit was in him. It made sense, but that kind of logic wasdeadly--for him.
"I'll face it," he said. "I'll take whatever charge they hang on me. Itshouldn't be more than a few years. You can use the time to take thisdamn thing out of me. Only I want a guarantee first."
She got up and stood with the light behind her. It was deliberatelyintended to distract him. Under other circumstances, it would have.
"If it were a small circuit, over just a fraction of your body, I couldcut it out," she said. "But the way it is, I can't. It would kill you."
At least she was honest about it. And he still didn't know what shemeant when she had written, with his hands in the apartment, that shewould help him. He would have to find out.
"I can smash the machine," he said. "That's the other solution."
She leaned against the wall. "You can't. And neither can I, though it'stechnically my machine. It's in the police department with an armedguard around it at all times. Besides, the machine can defend itself."
He looked at her without understanding. It didn't sound right. He wassweating under the makeup and part of it was coming loose.
"Then what did you mean when you said you'd help?" he asked. "Youpromised, but what can you do?"
"I never promised to help." It was her turn not to understand. Her handslipped down and so did the robe.
She was lying to him, had been lying all along. She never intended tohelp, though she said she would. The purpose? To lead him into a trap.She'd been successful enough. He looked up in anger, in time to see anobject hurtling from her hand.
It struck him on the side of the head, hard. Some of the makeup chippedand fell off, but that was less important than yanking out the tanglegun. He fired twice, once at her feet and once at her shoulders. He hadaimed at her head, but the shot went low.
Her face was still pretty, though no longer indifferent or so strong."What do you want?" she screamed. "Why don't you leave me alone? I can'thelp you. Nobody can."
She was standing there rigid, not daring to move. The robe rippled in abreeze from the vent and the tangle stuff gripped it and the fabrictore. She'd stand there a few more hours and then topple over. They'dfind her in the morning and remove the tangle with the special tongs.
As for himself, it was too late. He might have got off Venus at one timeif he had concentrated on it. He hadn't tried harder because of DoumyaFilone. He had _wanted_ to believe her because--well, because.
"I told you I'd help, Jadiver. I will." The voice was distinct.
It wasn't Doumya Filone who'd said it. A tangle strand had worked up herthroat and gripped her face. She couldn't speak if she tried. Her grayeyes weren't gray; they were the color of tears.
* * * * *
He looked around. It wasn't Doumya Filone--and there wasn't any otherperson in the room.
"I've kept the police away," said the familiar voice. "I can protect youfor a while longer. There's still time to save yourself. But you have toguess right. You can't make any more mistakes."
Strictly speaking, it wasn't a voice. Doumya Filone didn't hear it; thatwas obvious. It was the circuit then. Someone was making use of themachine to actuate the auditory nerve directly. That was what he seemedto hear.
Jadiver was tired and his body grimy, muscles twitching under thetension. But if his unknown friend--real, after all--could out-wit aroom full of police and tinker with the mechanism which was supposedto spot him, he couldn't do less.
He grinned. "I'll make it this time. I know what to do."
"The police haven't given up," said the voice. "I'm going to be busywith them. Don't expect further communication from me."
He didn't know who the person was, in spite of the haunting familiarityof the voice. And he wasn't going to find out soon. Probably never. Itwas enough, however, to know that he had a friend.
He left Doumya Filone standing there, which was a mistake, he realizedas he reached the front office. He should have fired once more at herhands. The screen was crackling; her hands had been free and she'dmanaged to turn the screen on before the tan
gle strands interfered withher movement.
He'd made a grave error, but not necessarily fatal. It would be sometime before anyone got there. By then he hoped to be safe.
He slipped through the corridors, went out the rear of the building andlooked around for an air cab. The place was deserted at this hour and nocabs were in the nearby sky.
He had to walk and he didn't have that much time. He headed toward thenearest main thoroughfare. It was in the opposite direction to hisdestination, but he should be able to find an air cab there. He waswalking too fast,