Thoughts of her father tumbled into her head; sharp, clear memories that time couldn’t blur. There had existed an indescribable bond between them that had been intensified after her mother’s death to the point where at times she almost thought she knew what her father was thinking. She hadn’t understood then why he had left her with her aunt and uncle and gone off to another planet. It had crushed her. She couldn’t fully understand it now, but at least she could accept it. Her acceptance in no way, however, diminished the inner tension between the love she still felt for her father and the residual anger and resentment at what she considered a callous desertion.
She looked again at the planet outside the viewport and felt a pressure within her. She wanted to strike out at something, someone, anything. She was like a dying giant star that had collapsed in on its iron core and was waiting to go supernova. But she held on. You couldn’t hate a planet. There was a human hidden somewhere on Jebinose who was responsible for what happened to Larry. She knew what he looked like – she had replayed the recording of Larry’s subspace call over and over on the way out from Ragna until that balding head, sallow skin, and pair of merciless eyes were seared upon her memory. She fingered the tiny blaster in her hip pouch. She would find him…
She would find Old Pete, too. And what an explosive confrontation that would be. It was all his fault, really. If he had only stayed on his island in the Kel Sea, if he had only stayed out of her life, if he had only kept his suspicions to himself, she and Larry would probably be at the casino now playing a round or two of pokochess.
True, his suspicions had not been unfounded – there was most certainly a plot against the Federation and he deserved credit for recognizing it long before anyone else. But that could not absolve him from whatever he was covering up on the planet below.
The steward was signaling her that it was time to board the shuttle. With a deep breath and clenched fists, she turned from the viewport and walked toward the lock.
THE SPACEPORT OUTSIDE COPIA doubled as a port for intra-atmospheric travel as well and was jammed with people at this hour. Jo felt very much alone despite the crowd eddying about her. She didn’t even have her own name to lean on – she was traveling under an assumed identity and had paid for her ticket in cash on the chance that someone might be looking for a traveler named Finch or one from IBA.
As she stepped out of a dropchute from the upper level, Jo saw her first Vanek, unmistakable in his dusty robe with his blue-tinted skin and braided black hair. He sat silent and cross-legged with his back against a column in the middle of the wide, crowded, ground floor mall. His left hand was folded inside his robe and his right held a cracked begging bowl in his lap. A few coins gleamed dully from the bowl. Passers-by took little notice of him and the Vanek, in turn, seemed oblivious to the activity around him. His hooded eyes were apparently fixed on something within.
Jo stopped and stared at the beggar momentarily. So here was one of the half-breeds who had killed her father. Perhaps the very one. Looked harmless enough.
With a quick shake of her head and shoulders – almost as if she felt a chill – she started walking. There were too many things to do before warp lag caught up with her to waste time sight-seeing. She passed within arm’s length of the Vanek without another glance she certainly wasn’t going to give him anything for his bowl – and didn’t notice his eyes snap open and follow her as she moved away. She was about to round a corner when she heard a crash behind her.
Startled, she turned to see the Vanek beggar on his feet, statue still, staring at her with wide dark eyes. His earthen bowl was shattered on the floor, some of the coins still rolling away on end in random directions. The travelers passing through the mall slowed their comings and goings to watch the tableau.
Then the Vanek moved toward Jo, his step faltering, hesitant. Drawing to within a half meter of her, he stopped.
“It is you!” His voice was a hoarse, high-pitched whisper.
He reached out a spindly arm and touched her hand. Jo recoiled from the dry, parchment touch.
“It is truly you! The Wheel has turned full circle!”
He whirled abruptly and hurried away.
When he was out of sight, Jo shrugged uncomfortably and continued on her way. The momentary spectators around her did the same. Soon, only two small boys remained at the scene, picking spilled coins from among the shards of the forgotten begging bowl.
SHE FOUND A PUBLIC vidphone booth and called Copia Hospital. The Vanek incident moments earlier lingered in her mind. There was an eerie quality about the whole thing. He seemed to recognize her. Could he have somehow perceived the relationship between her and Junior Finch? She shrugged again. Who knew what went on inside a Vanek head anyway?
A middle-aged woman in traditional medical white appeared on the screen. “Copia Hospital,” she said.
“I’d like some information on a patient named Lawrence Easly,” Jo told her. “He was admitted as an emergency three nights ago.”
“I’m sorry, but that is considered privileged information and not for release. If you wish, you may contact the patient’s physician directly–”
“I was given to understand,” Jo cut in, “that he was alive three days ago. Can you tell me that much?”
“I can tell you that he is stable and that’s about all,” the woman said, sensing Jo’s concern. “Does that help any?”
“Yes, it does,” Jo replied, relieved. That meant he was holding his own.
A sign on the wall outside the vidphone area glowed “Subspace Calls” and she followed the blinking arrow. The booths were located halfway down a long, low mezzanine that ran between the mall and the service area. Jo stood and surveyed the six deluxe booths. All were identical and it would have been virtually impossible to identify the booth she sought had she not noticed the tool cart sitting outside the furthest one.
A closer look revealed a man in coveralls crouching on the floor of the booth, peering through an inspection port.
Playing a hunch, Jo opened the door. “Find out what hurt that guy yet?” she asked.
The serviceman looked up. “Nothing in here hurt anybody, lady. Everything’s in top shape.” His attitude was defensive.
“I’ve got a few questions about these booths–” Jo began.
“Look, lady,” he said with some annoyance, “I’m not supposed to say anything. If you’ve got questions, go ask them down at the main office. Addams Leasing – it’s in the directory.”
“Okay. I’ll do just that.”
She rented a flitter, punched in the code number of the company’s main office, and sat lost in thought while Copia passed unnoticed beneath her. It stopped automatically above her destination and she brought it down for a landing on the roof.
Inside, a lean, hawkish man awaited her behind a counter. “May I help you?” he said in unctuous tones as she approached.
“Yes. I’d like some information on your subspace call booths.”
A sign on the counter identified the man as Alvin Mirr and he brightened visibly. “Ah! You wish to lease some?”
“No, I just want to ask somebody a few questions.”
Mr. Mirr’s attitude cooled abruptly. “Oh. In that case, you can find all you want to know in this.” He brusquely flipped a pamphlet across the counter at her and started to turn away.
“Listen, you!” Jo flared, flinging the pamphlet back in his face. “One of my employees – who happened to be in excellent health until he stepped into one of your booths – has spent the last three days in the local hospital, and whether or not you find yourselves up to your ears in a lawsuit may very well depend on the answers I get here today!”
Mr. Mirr suddenly became very accommodating. “You must be referring to that unfortunate incident out at the spaceport. We’re terribly sorry about that, of course, but I can assure you unequivocally that our callbooths are absolutely accident-proof. Especially our deluxe models – they’re shielded in every way with the finest insulation. Why
, we even have a psi-shield on each and every one. We haven’t overlooked a thing. And something else I should–”
“Wait! Stop!” Jo said, interrupting the torrent of explanations. “Did you say the callbooths have psi-shields?”
“The deluxe models, yes,” he nodded. “For the utmost in privacy. The caller can even opaque the glass to guard against lip-readers if he so desires.”
“But why a psi-shield?”
“Some very important and sensitive communiqués regarding high-level business and political matters go out from those booths. Our customers want to know that every effort has been made to ensure their discretion. They want to know that even a telepath can’t eavesdrop on them.”
Jo considered this for a moment. “Does it work in both directions?” she asked after a pause.
“I don’t under–” Mirr began, a puzzled expression flickering across his face. Then, “Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, the psi-shield is non-directional: there’s a damper effect on either side of the booth wall.”
“Thank you!” Jo said and turned and headed for the root.
Next stop was Copia Hospital. She punched in the number and thought about psi-shields. Before collapsing, Larry had mentioned a “wild card,” a psi-talent who was somehow involved – involved with her father or involved with deBloise, he never said. Then there was that horrible little man who looked into the booth after Larry went down. She wondered… maybe Larry was supposed to die in that booth and maybe the psi-shield saved his life.
But that would mean she was dealing with a psi-killer and such people were not supposed to exist. Of course, the psi-killers lurking about Occupied Space would certainly like everyone to think so. There had never been a confirmed case, but Jo was sure that somewhere a psi who could kill with his mind existed… in all of humanity’s trillions on all the inhabited planets, there should be at least one – more than one.
One thing she knew: Larry uncovered something here, something potentially damaging to deBloise or his plans. There was even an intimation of deBloise’s involvement in her father’s death in that foreshortened call. But how could that be?
Unless Old Pete was the link.
The flitter slowed and hovered. Copia Hospital waited below.
JO HAD NEVER BEEN inside a hospital before and she did not find the experience a pleasant one. It was as if the big building existed apart from the rest of society, isolated in its own time and space. The subculture here consisted of the physically ill and those who cared for them. Nothing else seemed to matter.
A nurse guided her to Larry’s private room where she happened to catch his doctor on afternoon rounds. Most of the medical care as well as most of the scut work in the hospital could have been handled by machines at greater speed and at much less expense. But the fully automated hospital had been tried long ago… and found wanting. Patients simply didn’t do well in them. There appeared to be significant psychophysiological benefit to be derived from personalized care by another human being, rather than a machine. And so the. physical presence of the attending physician at intervals, and the ever-present nursing staff, remained an integral and indispensable part of the hospital routine.
“At first we thought he was another case of the horrors,” the doctor said.
He was a heavy-set, swarthy man who spoke in clipped tones and wasted neither time nor words. “But we have ways of testing for the horrors, and this is definitely something else.”
Jo was surprised at Larry’s appearance – he looked so healthy. He lay quietly in the bed, breathing easily, a calm, untroubled expression on his face. He looked for all the world like a man taking an afternoon nap. But no one could wake him.
“The horrors,” the doctor was saying, “is an unwillingness to respond to any external stimuli. The conscious and subconscious portions of the brain receive the stimuli but block response as part of the pathological process. Mr. Easly’s problem is different: he seems to be suffering from complete deafferentation.”
“You’ll have to explain that term, doctor.” Jo was listening attentively but her eyes had not moved from Larry’s face.
“Well, it means that all – and I mean all external stimuli are being blocked from his conscious mind. For a crude analogy, think of a computer with all its inputs disconnected.”
“And what could cause something like that?”
“Can’t say. Was he a stable personality? We could be dealing with a psychotic state.”
“He was about as stable as they come,” Jo said, glancing at the doctor. “Could this… deafferentation, as you call it, be some sort of defense mechanism?”
The doctor’s smile was condescending. “Highly unlikely. And if it were, it isn’t a very good one. It’s like sticking your head in the sand: it doesn’t do much for the rest of the body.”
“It does if someone’s aiming at your head,” Jo muttered. She caught a puzzled look from the doctor and changed the subject. “How long before he comes out of it?”
“Impossible to say at this point – tomorrow, a week, a year, I don’t know. But he will come out of it.”
“You’re sure?”
“As sure as I can be with no past experience in this kind of thing. Our tests this morning showed a slight decrease in the level of deafferentation; we repeated them just before you came in, and if those show a further decrease, we’ll be able to estimate the rate of improvement and give you a prognosis.” So saying, he turned and left the room.
Jo returned her attention to Larry and the sensation of an impending internal explosion returned, more forcefully than ever this time. Larry should not be like this – he was such a strong, capable man, it was obscene to see him lying in a comatose state, utterly helpless. And there was nothing she could do to help him.
She grasped the top rung of the guardrail at the side of the bed and squeezed until her knuckles turned white and emitted little popping sounds of protest. She wanted to scream in frustration but held back. She would save it for the time when she caught up with the man who did this.
Eventually, she made herself relax with slow, deep breaths. She released the guardrail and paced the room with her arms folded across her chest. She was almost herself again by the time the doctor returned.
“He’s making excellent progress,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Should be out of it in six or eight hours if he continues his present rate of reafferentation.”
Jo’s heart leaped. “How will he be when he wakes up?”
The doctor shrugged. “How can I say? Anything I tell you will be pure guesswork. He could be alert and well rested, like a man awakening from a good night’s sleep, or he could be irreversibly psychotic. We’ll have to wait and see.”
The nurses were changing shifts then and the new head nurse came in as the doctor was leaving.
“Sorry,” she said, “but visiting hours are over.”
“Not for me,” Jo said.
Something in her tone made the head nurse hesitate. She glanced at the doctor.
“Let her stay,” he said. “It’s a private room and she won’t be disturbing anybody.”
The nurse shrugged. “As long as you chart it as done by your authority, it makes little difference to me.”
When they were gone, Jo dropped into a chair, then flipped a switch and watched as part of the outer wall became transparent. The sun was setting in gory splendor, she closed her eyes and let its bloody dying light warm her face until it was out of sight behind he neighboring buildings. A noise behind her made her turn.
The door was opening and through it passed a procession of five cloaked and hooded figures. The last to enter closed the door behind him and then all pulled back their hoods at once to reveal blue-gray skin, high-domed foreheads, and long black hair in a single braid.
Vanek!
Jo rose to her feet as the first visitor approached her. He appeared to be identical in features to the other four except for a spot of darker blue pigment to the left of center on his forehead. Althoug
h there was nothing menacing in their actions, Jo felt uneasy… these were the creatures who freely admitted murdering her father.
“What do you want?” she asked, and cursed her voice for the way it quavered on the last word.
The one who appeared to be the leader stopped before her and bowed at the waist. His four companions did likewise. Holding this position, they began a sonorous chant in the old Vanek tongue. There was a queer melodic quality to the sound that Jo found oddly soothing. As they held the final note, they resumed an erect posture.
The leader then withdrew his hands from beneath his robe. The right held a cracked earthen bowl, the left a delicate carving of a fruit tree in bloom.
“These belong to you,” he said in a sibilant voice. Jo could not read his expression clearly. There was deep respect there, but it was overlaid with a mixture of awe and vindication.
She took the gifts and tried to speak, but found she could not. She knew they originally had been given to her father and holding them in her hands suddenly made her feel close to him again.
“The evil one is near,” the leader said. “But he will not harm you again. I will see to that.”
“Evil one!” she said, finding her voice at last. “Who is he? Where can I find him?”
“Wheels within wheels, bendreth,” was the answer.
Then the five Vanek pulled their hoods up and filed out the door without another word. Dazed by the entire incident, Jo simply stood in the middle of the room and watched them leave. With the click of the closing door, however, she shook herself and hurried after them.
The hall was deserted. A nurse rounded the corner and Jo stopped her.
“Where did those Vanek go?” she asked.
The nurse cocked her head. “Vanek?”
“Yes, five of them were in Lawrence Easly’s room just now.”
“My dear,” she said with a short laugh, “I’ve spent half my life working in this hospital and I’ve never seen one Vanek in these hails, let alone five! They have their own medicine.” Her brow, furrowed momentarily. “Come to think of it, though, there have been an awful lot of them outside the hospital lately. I guess they could sneak in, but I don’t know why they’d want to.”