Tangle Hold

intriguing," Jadiver said, backing away. It sounded more like adeath sentence. Alpha Centauri or some such place--hard grubbing laborunder a blazing or meager sun, it didn't matter which. Exile forever onplanets that lagged and would always lag behind Earth. It took years toget there, even at speeds only a little below that of light, time inwhich the individual was out of touch.

  "I hope you won't forget," said the robot. "It's hard to get people tounderstand. But I can see that you do."

  He understood too well. He ducked out of the flight office. He'd stayand take it here if he had to, escape some way if he could. Nothing wasworth that kind of sacrifice.

  He went slowly back to the apartment. It was not so strange that thepolice hadn't arrested him. They knew that he'd stay on the planet, thathe had to. They'd had it figured out long before he did.

  He fell into the bed without removing his clothing. The bed made noeffort to induce him to sleep. It wasn't necessary.

  * * * * *

  In the morning, Jadiver awakened to the smell of food. The room he sleptin was dark, but in the adjacent room he could hear the Kitch-Henclucking away contentedly as it prepared breakfast.

  He rolled over and sat up. He was not alone.

  "Cobber?" he called.

  "Yeah," said Cobber. He was very close, but Jadiver couldn't see him.

  "The police got them," Jadiver said, reaching for the tangle gun. It wasgone. He'd expected that.

  "I heard. I was waiting for them and they didn't come." He was silentfor a moment. "It had to be you, didn't it?"

  "It was," Jadiver said. "When I found out, I tried to tell them. But itwas too late."

  "Glad you tried," said Cobber. At that instant, so was Jadiver."I checked you myself. I couldn't find anything," Cobber addedthoughtfully. "They must have something new."

  "It is new," Jadiver wearily confirmed. "I can't get rid of it."

  "Mind telling me? I figure I ought to know."

  Hunched up in the darkness, Jadiver told him what he could. At present,he was defenseless. Cobber was a little man, but he was no stranger toviolence and he had the weapons. Perhaps that was what the policecounted on--that Cobber would save them an arrest.

  "Bad," said Cobber after an interval. It sounded like a reprieve.

  Jadiver waited.

  "I liked Burlingame," continued Cobber. "Emily, too."

  Burlingame was a decent fellow. Emily he had seen only once, twice if hecounted last night. She deserved better than she got.

  "I don't know who it was," Jadiver said. "Some big policeman."

  "I know a lot of people--I'll find out," Cobber promised. "I likedEmily."

  It wouldn't do any good, though Jadiver approved. For a while there'd beone less sadist on the force, and after that they'd hire another.

  "You'd better leave while you can," said Jadiver.

  Cobber laughed. "I'll get away. I know Venus and I don't have a spyinside." He got up, turned on the lights and tossed the tangle gun onthe bed. "Here. You need this worse than I do."

  Jadiver blinked gratefully and took it. Cobber believed him. If thepolice wanted to eliminate him, they'd have to come for him, after all.

  He stood up. "Breakfast?"

  "No breakfast," said Cobber. "I'm going to take your advice and get outof here." He went to the door, opened it a fraction and listened.Satisfied, he closed it and turned back to Jadiver. "Tell that cop Iknow a few tricks with a tangle gun he never heard of. I'll show himwhat they are."

  "I won't see him, I hope."

  "You don't have to. They're taking everything down. They'll tell him.That is, I hope they do."

  He slipped out the door and was gone.

  * * * * *

  The Kitch-Hen tired of waiting for Jadiver to come out. It cackleddisgustedly and sent a table into his room. Mechanically he sat down andbegan to eat.

  Not only how far but also what kind of data did the circuit transmit?That was one unanswered problem. If he couldn't outrun it, he mightoutthink it.

  First, the data was transmitted to the police with some degree ofaccuracy. They had been able to anticipate the robbery. Not completely,but they did know it was Burlingame and how many men he was using. Theyalso knew the approximate date. From that, it was a matter of logic todetermine what specific society event he was aiming at. Jadiver had beenable to do the same.

  Thoughts, visual and auditory impressions, tactile and other sensorydata--that was the sum of what the circuit could transmit,theoretically.

  He could almost positively rule out thoughts. It had never been provedthat thoughts could be transferred from one person to another,mechanically or otherwise. But that was not his reason for rejecting it.If they could read his thoughts, it was useless for him to plananything. And he was going to plan ahead, whether it was useless or not.

  Tactile sensations, temperature, roughness, and the like wereunimportant except to a scientist. He doubted that police were thatscientifically interested in him. He could forget about the sense oftouch.

  Sight and hearing. Neither of these could be eliminated at present. Theycould see what he saw, hear what he heard. As long as they could, escapewas out of the question. It wouldn't take much to betray him--a streetsign glimpsed through his eyes, for instance, and they knew where hewas.

  As long as they could see what he saw.

  But there was such a thing as a shield. Any known kind of radiationcould be shielded against.

  He was working with intangibles. He didn't know the nature of thephenomenon he had to fight. He had to extrapolate in part, guess therest. One thing was certain, though: If he was successful in setting upa shield against the circuit, the police would arrive soon after.Arrive here.

  His value to them was obvious. Through him they could make an undetectedcontact with the shadowy world of illegality. If that contact was cutoff or if he seemed about to escape, his usefulness came to an end andthey would want one more arrest while they could get it.

  Once he started to work on the shield, he would have to work fast.

  Jadiver went to the screen. There could be no hesitation; the decisionwas ready-made.

  The bank robot appeared on the screen and Jadiver spoke to him briefly,requesting that his account be cleared. He scribbled his signature andhad it recorded.

  * * * * *

  While waiting, he began to pack, sorting what he wanted to take. Itwasn't much, some special clothing. His equipment, except for a fewsmall tools, he had to leave. No matter. With luck, he could replace it;without luck, he wouldn't need it.

  In a few minutes he was ready, but the money hadn't arrived. He sat downand nervously scrawled on a scrap of paper. Presently the delivery chuteclattered and the money was in it, crisp new bills neatly wrapped, thetotal of his savings over the years. He stuffed the money in his pocket.

  The scrap of paper was still in his hand. He started to throw it away,but his fingers were reluctant to let it go. He stared curiously at thecrumpled wad and on impulse smoothed it out.

  There were words on it, though he hadn't remembered writing any. Thehandwriting was shaky and stilted, as if he were afflicted with somenervous disease; nevertheless, it was unmistakably his own.

  There was a message on it, from himself to himself. No, not fromhimself. But it was intended that he read it. The note said:

  RUN, JADIVER. I'LL HELP. YOUR FRIEND

  He sat down. A picture rose involuntarily in his mind: The face was thatof Doumya Filone.

  He couldn't prove it, but it seemed certain that she was the one. Sheknew about the circuit, of course, had known long before he did. Heremembered the incident when his skin had itched.

  He had called her about it and she hadn't seemed surprised. She had leftthe screen for some time--for what purpose? To adjust the mechanism, orhave someone else adjust it. The last, probably; the mechanism wasalmost certainly at the police end, and at the time he called she hadbeen at home. In any
event, the mechanism had originally been set toostrong and she had ordered the setting to be reduced. That suggested onething: the power to activate the circuit came from the mechanism--aradarlike device.

  Then what? His skin had momentarily become translucent, allowing him tosee the circuit. How she achieved that, he didn't know, but the reasonwas obvious. It had been her way of warning him and it had worked.

  The message in his hand told him one thing. He had known about thedanger, but he hadn't guessed that he didn't have to face it alone.Something else was evident: her control was limited--perhaps she couldstep in at a critical moment, but the greater part was up to him.

  He moved quickly. He opened the delivery chute and put in the small bagthat held his